Bugs

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Six days ago I told Ryan that I was getting bug bites in Annie’s room.

He didn’t believe me.

“How, then, do you explain this???” and I would point to some obscure spot on my body that had been attacked by a small critter while nursing in her room.

“That’s not a bug bite. Me and Annie aren’t getting bug bites, so that’s not a real bug bite.”

This response makes me want to pull my eyeballs out. Why in the world would I make up a bug bite? I know I am getting bitten…I feel it. They are in my hair and on my skin. I know it. I know they are. They are trying to eat our baby in the middle of the night. They want to eat all my skin and suck out all my blood. Our house is a breeding ground for fleas, ticks, mysterious south Nile virus carrying mosquitoes, and probably swine flu. PLEASE someone believe me, I am getting bug bites every time I go in that cursed nursery to nurse.

“Nope,” comes the smug response of my husband, who by the way, doesn’t get bug bites. (And this coming from the man who really does have the strange power of controlling his illnesses, his urge to pee, his need for immediate sleep or food, and other bodily functions. He really does have an annoying command over his body, saying “Jenny, you can have control over your bodily functions if you try hard enough.” This is absolutely infuriating to hear. He must be a wizard, cuz when I have to go, I have to go. Anyways, he probably can wish away mosquitoes, while I, on the other hand, practically beg them to come feast on my body.)

So back to the real story… I have invisible bug bites that no one else seems to be getting. But, seriously, I am under attack.

One night later and three hours before we have to load our infant into the car at 6 a.m. for her seventh flight I am being bitten again. This time they are everywhere. It feels like ants. My body is burning. Maybe they are invisible. Maybe I am cracking up. But oh my gosh everything hurts. I think my eyeballs are being bitten. And, maybe I’m crazy, but I think the back of my head is swollen. Is that possible?

I freak myself out. I’ve got to get Annie out of this room. We have to escape.

Everything gets blurry and I go back to the bedroom, drop Annie on the bed, and in a slightly alarmed-there might be a burglar in the house- voice say to my heavily sleeping husband, “They’re everywhere!!!!” and then proceed to strip down naked, do a dance around the room, and itch all over.

I wish I had recording of this moment.

He pops out of bed. “What’s everywhere?” “What’s wrong?” “Where’s Annie?”

It’s too late. I can’t talk. I have the lights on, I am shaking my body trying to get them off. I am looking in the mirror… my body has welts and bug bites all over it.

Small Victory

This… this my friends is a small victory. Real bug bites. REAL. Proof. I am cunningly happy for my present turmoil.

I get in the shower, scrub the top seven layers of skin off, get out and use an entire tube of hydrocortisone cream on my body, take two Benadryl, and drift off into a bug-free sleep.

Five hours later we land in Omaha, Nebraska.

Two Benadryl’s apparently put me into a coma. I don’t remember anything. I only hope Anniston is alive. I never even checked her skin. I just went into a naked rant of itching and craziness.

So Thursday we drove from Nebraska to Iowa, checked into our hotel for the weekend, and then went and led worship. By seven p.m. I still felt incoherent, but I made it through the evening…

Until

Until three am when the bugs came back.

This time they got me good. One eyeball was swollen. My head had about ten knots on it. The backs of my legs were swollen and puffy. They were in my ears, under my arms, the size of dollar bills spread across my stomach; they were even in, well…unholy, unmentionable places. The worse were my fingers. This is when I felt worried. I couldn’t find my knuckles and my hands ached so badly. I woke Ryan up again. This time a little more afraid.

He sensed my fear and took care of me. Helped me calm down. Got me medicine and coaxed me into sleeping for just a few more hours before going to the emergency room clinic.

Seven a.m. it is unbearable. Eight a.m. I finally make it to the clinic. Nine a.m. the verdict is in: no bug bites.

I have been having a severe allergic reaction to my acne medicine. Emphasis on severe. They write me a prescription for steroids. I beg them for a shot instead. In my eyeball if they have to, just make it go away. They give me shots and steroids. I have hives. 28 years old and getting my first case of hives in the midst of performing three shows and bringing my infant to the middle of no-where Iowa. Hives. Really?

Ryan smiles… I told you you weren’t getting bug bites.

Men. I want to hit him but my knuckles and wrists won’t move.

Six hours later they stop itching. By Saturday they are completely gone. This morning I am headed back home to Dallas with my bug free baby and husband and one exhausted mom…

But I don’t care what the doctor or Ryan say… I am stripping Annie’s room down and methodically getting every living organism out of there before she goes back in… you know…

Just in case it really was bugs.

A Day in the Night of...

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12:32 p.m. I thought she would make it longer. Two and a half hours? That's it? Do you have tapeworms? Yet, you are adorable and I am sure that after I feed you this time you will drift off into a blissful sleep and not wake up until 4:00 a.m.  

12:50. Burping. Well thinking about it at least. How do you say Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Awe-maw-denny-jawd? Alm-den-i-jawd? All-ma-deen-jad? What about Medvedev? Kim-Jong Il? Is the "J" silent like it is in Spanish? Seriously though, how do you say Mahmoud's name? No wonder these people don't like us... we're too lazy and elite to learn their language or at least learn to pronounce their names correctly. But, I mean, you're kind of asking for it. Ahmadinejad? 
12:54. Burped. Finally. You'd think the way you devour the milk like I have the last utter on the planet would make for pretty good burping. But no, you'd rather take it all out in your diapers; deal with it through reflux. Sigh. You're still too cute to mind.  This will not work when you are 13. Or 5. Or 25 for that matter. [At least I hope not. Though there is the strange fear and suspicion that I might forever be melted and broken down by your precious smile and button nose. Surely I will not love you this unconditionally forever, right? I mean, loving you this way means that mom sacrifices a lot. I put you first. What happened to me? I never knew I was selfish. But I am. Loving you makes me understand the depths of my own selfishness. Because I want to love you perfectly... and trying to attain perfection requires sacrifice.]
1:15 a.m. Swaddled. Sound asleep. Thank God. My toes are tingling and I can barely keep my eyelids open. Did I really ever voluntarily go to lock-ins? Why? Why did I give away precious hours of sleep? I was so young. So stupid. Sleep child! Sleep while you can! Why didn't anyone ever tell me this? 
1:20 a.m. I'm so glad Ryan washed the sheets. They feel like velvet on my legs. My baby will sleep until 4 a.m. and I will lay in a pile of velvet and slip into sweet oblivion. I'm so glad my husband likes to have clean sheets... he's a good man. He picked out perfect sheets too... ahhh... it feels so amazing to be in this bed. Velvet...
2:40 a.m. The beginning of a whimper. 
2:41 a.m. Don't you dare. Don't... Don't do it....Ohhhhh... God, please, please, please. I will call my grandma as soon as I wake up and tithe extra money this week, I will lose the irritability and even go to Africa or something if you want me to, please, just put her to sleep and I will do ANYTHING.  Anything. I'm serious. 
2:42 a.m. Silence. Yep, I'll call grandma. I promise. Thank you. Oh, thank you so much. You are a good God. 
2:45 a.m. Hysteria. Full-blown. 
2:47 a.m. Leaning over the crib. Her eyes are shut. What? Are you sleep crying? Are you OK? Are you having a bad dream? I am so confused. 
2:47:30 a.m. Eyeballs pop open. Creepy. That scared me to death baby. Don't just pop awake like that on mommy, you look like an evil gremlin. Biggest smile I've seen all day. Anniston is not only awake, she is alert and happy. But I read the book little girl. I will not make eye contact with you or talk to you right now. You must learn that this is night time. I will obey the book. She coos. OK. It's night time unless you start cooing, the book must not have used a real baby that cooed, otherwise they would have written about the exceptions to the rules. If there is cooing, then we simply must talk! HI! I'm so glad you're awake! What were you dreaming about? How do you feel? Are you still the most perfect little thing in the whole world? Yes! That's right, you are. 
2:55 a.m. The moment has passed. I might throw-up. I am so tired. Why don't you sleep through the night like I did when I was a baby? I am sure I slept through the night at eight weeks. Oh, i had such a perfect night of sleep planned out for me and the velvet sheets. But eat away little bird, you are hungry, eat away.  
2:57 a.m. Will we go into world war three now? I mean, if Pakistan loses control of their government or military then we will have rogue nuclear weapons in the hands of the Taliban or jihadists or both, and let's be honest, ole Pakistan isn't having a lot of luck reining their terrorist friendly countrymen in. Then you have Jong-Il putting American journalists into labor camps and getting a little too friendly with his nuclear testing. Why go nuclear people? Why? Iran... do you really need something that can obliterate half of the middle east? And Lord only knows how Russia will play into this world struggle for power, they are on the prowl. Russia will reign again! But we are nuclear, aren't we? How can we ask people to adhere to policies that we do not follow ourselves? I need to buy gas mask's for my family and start a war closet stocked with food, flashlights, oxygen, and little Bibles. I don't know. Little Bibles just sound appropriate. 
What time is it? Is she still breathing? 
3:09 a.m. That's it? I have just run World War Three out in my mind and created a war survival strategy for my family.  At this rate I can think all the way through the next five natural catastrophes and at least two more wars. My eyes feel like bricks. I feel sort of sick. 
3:15 a.m. Head jerk. Crap, Jenny. You can't fall asleep while you're holding her. You could have dropped her. Though I guess that would have made the burp come out. What? You just justified dropping your baby? I need sleep. Baby, I need sleep.  
3:30 a.m. Too tired to re-insert her paci and fix her swaddle. We go to sleep together on the couch. Her little breath brushes over my chest. Sometimes it gives me the chills. It might be one of the best feelings in the world. She's breathing. She's at peace. She is she. This tiny (9.4 pounds today!) little thing that we created. She loves me. Or at least needs me. I love her. Desperately. 
6:00 a.m. Wide awake and ready to eat. We feed and then we play. I open the blinds and throw in the towel. The sun is out and Anniston wants to play. She is kicking and cooing and looking at everything. How can you turn that down. Another nights sleep slips through my fingers. Another memory etches its way into that place where only she can leave marks. Who needs sleep when you're making memories? I can sleep tomorrow. 
Good morning Annie. 

The Letter "U"

/

Unpleasant.

I saw a disturbing sign in the window of Taco Bueno yesterday. It said 50% off and then listed two food items. People, you should know by now that thrifty is my middle name, but 50% off at a fast food restaurant sounds like they are having a "clean out the leftovers day." Seriously, they could say "half-off", which is still bad, or "buy one get one free", or even "new low burrito prices!" but 50% off? I only want to see a percentage sign if I'm shopping at Old Navy or Gap. Sorry Taco Bueno but this bueno eating, thrifty girl thinks your ad looks like you are peddling out leftovers. Gross. I'd rather pay the extra dollar! 

Upchuck.

I hate this word. Who came up with it? Anyways, Anniston has reflux which either means never ending hiccups, choking while she is trying to eat, or projectile vomit. The upchuck. We have to hold her upright for at least thirty minutes after every meal, give her medicine in this little dropper (which Ryan loves to do because she makes such a sour face when he injects her with the little juice), and try to encourage her to suck on a pacifier so she can make enough spit to wash the acid down and out of her throat. 
The pacifier has saved us many vomity nights. But, paci's are tricky little buggers and they do not like to stay in the mouth. That's where Mr. Wubba Nub enters in. Meet Mr. Wubby Nubby. A new-mom friend gave us this as a shower gift and said it was the one thing she swore by: a soothie pacifier with a little plush animal attached with weighted legs to keep the pacifier in!!! Brilliant!!! Not only has it helped Anniston learn to grab and hold (she guards Mr. Wubby Nubby fiercely) but it has kept me from re-inserting the thing 30 times an hour. Grandma just bought us a pink pony wubba nub and I am hoping to collect a small army of these life-savers. Check them out at www.wubbanub.com and be looking for my baby list must-haves next week. 

UP.
Go see the movie UP.  Today. And bring kleenex. And be ready to laugh and be totally charmed. And then seriously, go visit an old person in a nursing home or senior center afterwords. And then, go do something you've always wanted to do but have put off. But see the movie first! 
This movie is heavy and might make sensitive children sad, but it is a great teaching opportunity for you and your kids. You could easily talk about growing up, death, loneliness, dreams, and the importance of loving, respecting, and learning from the elderly after watching this movie. For those of you without children, do what Ryan and I did: go in and sit close to some kids and pretend they are yours by giving an occasional look their way, head shake, and smile. That way you won't feel lame being the only people in the theatre without kids and you will get to see a truly beautiful, whimsical, deep movie about what it means to love and to grow old gracefully.


Update. 
Good news bad news. That little garden we started on the back porch, you know, the one with no sunlight, that we've only watered twice since we created it back in April? It grew two beautiful red flowers. That's the good news. Bad news? It's a freaking weed thingy. I mean look at that. It flew into the air to be able to get to those bars and get all tangled around them. I am not even sure when this went down, but thank goodness I went out there when I did, who knows how fast that thing grows. We could have come home from the road to find our back porch covered in weed thingys.  
Uneventful.
Ok, that was a stretch. We spent the week in Nashville songwriting. I nursed in the back of cars, bathrooms, at the airport, in between song writing sessions in people's offices. Then all through the night. Talk about an exhausting week. And unnerving. That's the "U" word I should have written. When you have an eight pound wiggle worm that also chokes on your milk and you are trying to feed her without showing the world... well, this can make you sweat. But it was worth it. We finished writing all the songs for the new album and everything clicked into the right place. More on that later. Now we are home for two days and then headed to Glorieta, New Mexico for our first week of Centrifuge/M-Fuge camps. I can't wait! 
Annie is seven weeks old and has been on four plane rides, visited two new states, two hotel rooms, one concert, and been held by numerous loving people. She has four boys to travel with and they all love her. And I love the stares we get in the airport. It's like Three Men and a Baby, people have no clue who the dad is, and I catch them staring as I talk to each of the guys and pass her around. They are utterly confused. But she is happy. Her life is unconventional so far, but whose isn't? 
Unconventional, now that's an understatement. That should be my word for the day or for the year... 
Hope you are enjoying an umbrella free, utopian, understated (I'll stop) weekend.  
Love, your Unconventional friend... 
 

The Letter "U"

/

Unpleasant.

I saw a disturbing sign in the window of Taco Bueno yesterday. It said 50% off and then listed two food items. People, you should know by now that thrifty is my middle name, but 50% off at a fast food restaurant sounds like they are having a "clean out the leftovers day." Seriously, they could say "half-off", which is still bad, or "buy one get one free", or even "new low burrito prices!" but 50% off? I only want to see a percentage sign if I'm shopping at Old Navy or Gap. Sorry Taco Bueno but this bueno eating, thrifty girl thinks your ad looks like you are peddling out leftovers. Gross. I'd rather pay the extra dollar! 

Upchuck.

I hate this word. Who came up with it? Anyways, Anniston has reflux which either means never ending hiccups, choking while she is trying to eat, or projectile vomit. The upchuck. We have to hold her upright for at least thirty minutes after every meal, give her medicine in this little dropper (which Ryan loves to do because she makes such a sour face when he injects her with the little juice), and try to encourage her to suck on a pacifier so she can make enough spit to wash the acid down and out of her throat. 
The pacifier has saved us many vomity nights. But, paci's are tricky little buggers and they do not like to stay in the mouth. That's where Mr. Wubba Nub enters in. Meet Mr. Wubby Nubby. A new-mom friend gave us this as a shower gift and said it was the one thing she swore by: a soothie pacifier with a little plush animal attached with weighted legs to keep the pacifier in!!! Brilliant!!! Not only has it helped Anniston learn to grab and hold (she guards Mr. Wubby Nubby fiercely) but it has kept me from re-inserting the thing 30 times an hour. Grandma just bought us a pink pony wubba nub and I am hoping to collect a small army of these life-savers. Check them out at www.wubbanub.com and be looking for my baby list must-haves next week. 

UP.
Go see the movie UP.  Today. And bring kleenex. And be ready to laugh and be totally charmed. And then seriously, go visit an old person in a nursing home or senior center afterwords. And then, go do something you've always wanted to do but have put off. But see the movie first! 
This movie is heavy and might make sensitive children sad, but it is a great teaching opportunity for you and your kids. You could easily talk about growing up, death, loneliness, dreams, and the importance of loving, respecting, and learning from the elderly after watching this movie. For those of you without children, do what Ryan and I did: go in and sit close to some kids and pretend they are yours by giving an occasional look their way, head shake, and smile. That way you won't feel lame being the only people in the theatre without kids and you will get to see a truly beautiful, whimsical, deep movie about what it means to love and to grow old gracefully.


Update. 
Good news bad news. That little garden we started on the back porch, you know, the one with no sunlight, that we've only watered twice since we created it back in April? It grew two beautiful red flowers. That's the good news. Bad news? It's a freaking weed thingy. I mean look at that. It flew into the air to be able to get to those bars and get all tangled around them. I am not even sure when this went down, but thank goodness I went out there when I did, who knows how fast that thing grows. We could have come home from the road to find our back porch covered in weed thingys.  
Uneventful.
Ok, that was a stretch. We spent the week in Nashville songwriting. I nursed in the back of cars, bathrooms, at the airport, in between song writing sessions in people's offices. Then all through the night. Talk about an exhausting week. And unnerving. That's the "U" word I should have written. When you have an eight pound wiggle worm that also chokes on your milk and you are trying to feed her without showing the world... well, this can make you sweat. But it was worth it. We finished writing all the songs for the new album and everything clicked into the right place. More on that later. Now we are home for two days and then headed to Glorieta, New Mexico for our first week of Centrifuge/M-Fuge camps. I can't wait! 
Annie is seven weeks old and has been on four plane rides, visited two new states, two hotel rooms, one concert, and been held by numerous loving people. She has four boys to travel with and they all love her. And I love the stares we get in the airport. It's like Three Men and a Baby, people have no clue who the dad is, and I catch them staring as I talk to each of the guys and pass her around. They are utterly confused. But she is happy. Her life is unconventional so far, but whose isn't? 
Unconventional, now that's an understatement. That should be my word for the day or for the year... 
Hope you are enjoying an umbrella free, utopian, understated (I'll stop) weekend.  
Love, your Unconventional friend... 
 

Homeless

/

I am in my childhood hometown today for a songwriting session. (Currently sitting in a parking lot. I came an hour too early. Oops.)

I thought it would be nostalgic; it’s literally been years since I’ve been here, but it all seems so foreign.

The high school I went to isn’t even there anymore. Not one single building. This massive, high-tech, ultra modern school that looks more like a small college has replaced it. I didn’t go to school there. I’m sitting in a parking lot where I am sure I kissed a boy… I just don’t remember who. I drove by my old house, the one where I lived out my high school days swimming and hanging out in the backyard till the wee hours with my friends, but it struck no connection. It did not feel like my house, much less my home.

Homeless. That’s how I feel right now.

I just thought there would be some sort of attachment to this place, but there isn’t. I can’t even recall a memory of feeling attached. My only attachments are the people who walked in and out of my life between these streets. The lifelong friends.

And come to think of it, that’s how I feel about my college town too, though I remember it more fondly as many, many amazing changes happened in my life there.

But when I drive through Waco, Texas I don’t feel the need to stop. LIE. I feel the need to stop at Ninfa’s, my favorite Mexican food restaurant in the country! But besides that there is not an attachment to my old college apartment, the campus itself, the church I went to, or even the first place where Ryan and I lived after we got married. It does not feel like my home either.

What happened to the Father of the Bride days? Where kids were raised in the same house and got married in the back yard? Does that still happen? Do those kids-turned-adults feel more secure? Or does it hold them back? Always being in the same place? Always coming back to the same thing? I am at a loss. Today some part of me mourns the hometown that isn’t.
So where is home?

As my sister left for Hawaii and entered into the life of a military wife she told me she didn’t know where her home was anymore. And I told her the first thing that came into my head…

I’m your home.

So I don’t have a childhood home.

But there are a lot of people out there, and they are my home. Mike and Patti, Sam and Leslie, Mark and Jade, Steve and Jackie, Steve and Debbie, Benjy and Penny, Howell and Ila, Mark and Molly… these people are my home. Alli, Sara, Brandi, Josh, Jama, Bryan, Missy, Kim, Francene, Kelly, Amy, Lani, the guys… these people are my home. Nashville, Weatherford, Dallas, Deming, Albuquerque, Waco, Hawaii… these places are my home.

So there is part of my soul today longing for a house on a street that I can pinpoint all my memories to; a place that bottles up and captures my childhood, youth, and college days. A place where I threw up as a six year old and as a twenty one year old. A place where the same bed, the same smells, the same clock on the wall, and the same tree in the front yard are still there. Something constant. Something physical.

Oh, but how un-physical this life truly is.

The very essence of what I have surrendered my life and my beliefs to are not physical. The Holy Spirit, that which embodies Jesus Christ and God, is transient. No home. No body. No country.
The Son of God had no place to rest his head and his words constantly reminded us that this was not our home. Jesus was talking about the world of course, but I’m sure He’d agree with me on the house thing to. I don’t think he bought a three bedroom, two-bath home in a nice neighborhood and settled down for good. Not that that is bad. I think it’s a beautiful gift to give your children and grandchildren if you can. But still, I think Jesus got the whole feeling physically homeless bit.

Somehow this is all very freeing.

Though a part of me mourns an ideal; most of me rejoices in my reality.

My husband is my home. My parents are my home. My sisters are my home. My friends are my home. My partners in ministry are my home. Heck, even Josh Wax is part of my home now! A thousand different people make up this beautiful, beautiful home I have.

It may not have a physical address, but it is constant. It is secure. And it is more enduring than any four walls.

So today I realized… thank God I’m homeless.