Wednesday, October 7, 2009


It's 5:00 AM. Thunder. Lightning. A crying 4 year old. Ok. Ohhh-Kay!! I'm awake. I don't wanna be. But I'm up.

I roll out of bed trying to find some kind of something to throw on so I can hobble into the girls' room and soothe their thunder storm woes. Joshua is downstairs getting ready to leave for work.

"It's raining! Storming, for goodness sake! Why is he not calling his dad to let him know he'll be at work later than o'dark:thirty this morning?" This was one of many thoughts that went through my brain. That- and short word sentences such as: "Coffee, Hmmm." and "Oww. Pain. Bright Light."

Apparently, my hobble was much slower than Joshua's hop-skip-tra-lah-lah up the stairs. (He's a morning person, whether he'll admit it or not.) There he was. To Zoe's rescue! Front and center. Patiently, calmly, lovingly, "It's ok, girl. It's just thunder. It won't hurt you." He's a good Rescue Hero.

I took over Operation Don't Be Scared while he continued getting ready for work. I still didn't understand why he wasn't going to stay home for a bit longer. He's an outside worker. Specifically- he works on people's houses. More specifically, on their roofs!

"Come on down here, and sleep on the bottom bunk, I have a big fluffy blanket for you. Oh? Well- here's your purple blanket, too. Yes. I'll come lay down with you in a little bit. Ok. I'll get Polka Dots...... That's right, it's just thunder..... thunder doesn't hurt you. Mmmmm. Hugs and Kisses. Goodnight sweet girl. Love you Zoe" (and all is well)

The scenario in our girls' bedroom is pretty hilarious. Kyla is sleeping in the pack 'n play that we set up 2 weekends ago for Leah to use while we had guest. The girls enjoyed it being in their room so much, that we just left it up. For the past 2 weeks, it has been a car, a boat, a fire truck, their baby's bed, and now, it's Kyla's hide out bed.

She meticulously covers the entire "portable crib" with various blankets before bed, and then some how manages to leave the blankets in place, while she sort of slithers under them and crawls into the play pen. Her words were "It's not very comfortable to sleep in- but- it's pretty fun!"

Zoe took it upon herself to claim Kyla's top bunk, leaving the lower bunk lonely and grossly unmade. I had worked hard for a long, long time to keep their 'girly girl' room cute, organized, decorated, and CLEAN. Clothes were hung properly, drawers were labeled and in order. Toys had a place, as did books, baby dolls, shoes, and so on.....

Today, you'll find their room a whirl wind of unkempt drawers, clothes falling off hangers and toys scattered under beds, behind dressers, in the closet, and of course, on the floor.

Who has time, energy, and/or the SANITY to keep a 4 year old and 6 year old's room 'KEPT'? Not me. Not me. Oh-so-not-me-anymore.

But, this is a different story- one which I hope to tell once I'm an organized guru, one that resembles a Donna Otto or Emilie Barnes (Yes! I have their books. No. You cannot borrow them. I need both of them. And a few others.... and a how-to cd, as well as an instructional dvd. Organization- LOVE IT. The path to actually becoming (forever) organized!?!? Hate it!. It's painful.)

So. No. This isn't a story about cute kids, messy rooms, or Donna Otto. This is a story about my husband. The Rescuer.

I know- you couldn't tell, could you? I got way off subject, right? Well?! Not so much. Here's the reality. We have a busy (chaotic) household. You just never know what is going to be up, and who's gonna be down.

Leah could be a sweet heart, totally compliant, and the JOY of the house one week-and suddenly- OUT OF NOWHERE- she can turn into a teething monster that will have little or nothing to do with anything resembling the lovely child we once knew. It can make a mom crazy!

The routine we once had? GONE! It's never coming back either. I don't even remember it, now. This is the life of raising babies. Toddlers. Little Kids.... OH please. Don't comment about the rest of the growth chart. I'm taking a scripture verse, and robbing a fellow facebook friend of their claimed family motto: "Don't worry about tomorrow, for it will worry about itself!" (thanks Beth- who knows if you ever read these?- but there's your shout-out!)

More often than not, people, I am in desperate need of a Rescue. I need some light. I need some Truth. I need a break. I need a BATH!!!! I mean, I just need some of something- and sometimes, I don't even know what that something is! I just know I need it.

There isn't a single BETTER person on this planet that could offer me the kind of rescue I need better than my husband.

He knows everything about me. What makes me 'tick'. What brings me joy. What gives me relief. What stresses me out. (what doesn't stress me out?) He knows exactly how hard (or not so hard) life can be while we're going through these various stages of child 'rearing'.

Ok- let me clarify!! He knows most of the time. Let's be honest. Women are hard to read. There are times that only GOD could possibly know how to rescue us, because we're so

So. This morning. After he rescued Zoe, Joshua had to rescue me. I'm not kidding when I write this next paragraph. You'll laugh (at me), and I'm sure you'll assume I'm likely exaggerating. I assure you. What you're about to read is the truth, nothing but the truth, SO (please) help me God (cause it's just sad).

"Will you sit tight for a while?" (not go to work just yet)

"No." (flat.)

THIS is the 8 word start of a ridiculous argument. I got emotional, and started crying. I hate crying. And being emotional. It's just annoying!! He had every right to walk out the door, mad at me for being an unappreciative jerk, but he didn't. He rescued me.

"You're exhausted, Amber. You need to rest. Why don't you go back to bed?" He knew exactly what I needed (though, I didn't.) He stopped me, and explained that all that emotionalism was not real. It was fake. I was just burnt out (extra crispy)!

(The tone in his voice is the most important part of the above phrase. Not impatient. Not sarcastic. It was sweet. Calm. Patient. Loving.... it was exactly what I needed.)

Of course, it made me cry even more. I was a blubbering idiot by the time he had to walk out the door. It was reversed from a sobbing emotional basket case to a relieved that he was so awesome so I'm gonna cry out of humility.

I love being rescued. I love it. I love that Jesus is my ultimate rescuer. And I love that God gave me the man I married to rescue me, too. (It hasn't always been this way. Let me be real about that. It's been 10 years. 9.9 of them NOT always awesome. But I'm living in the awesome right now, so I'm talkin' 'bout it!)

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