Terror on American Thunder

Last Friday evening I reserved tickets for the whole family to attend Fright Fest at Six Flags here in St. Louis (all SIX of us!!!  The twins were both home for the weekend, and Fright Fest is for sure a Family Tradition...just - not usually one that I particularly enjoy partaking in, and usually, not one I even do partake in).  To say I am not a huge fan of this annual family event is notsomuch an understatement as much as it is, at least in this family, an Understood.  It's a: No Questions.  It's a: Don't Even Look This Way.  Don't Think About It.  Mom. Doesn't. Like. Roller. Coasters.  Or scary stuff.  Roller coasters themselves are frightening beasts of sadistic humor, but add chainsaws and gory monsters chasing you through man-made foggy mist of Six Flags during Fright Fest, and it's a shrill, "No Thank You" from Yours Truly.  

Indeed, most years for this "age-old family tradition," I have opted to stay in comfy pjs in front of a roaring gas fire place working on a Shutterfly photo album or watching a rom-com at home.  I much prefer the occasional updates from The Hubby via darkly lit photos and cheerful family texts rather than brave the see-your-breath cold weather, the shoulder-to-shoulder lines and crowds, and the Fright.  But this year? This year my twin babies - who both happen to adore roller coasters and amusement parks and especially Six Flags during Fright Fest - were home, and I didn't want to be That Mom (the one who sits on the sidelines in peaceful tranquility watching her Little Lovelies enjoy themselves but never crossing the threshold to join in their spirited, spooky fun).  

This year was different.  

In fact, I decided to be SO "not this year" Mom that, without telling my family...or even informing myself, honestly, I purposefully headed towards the line at American Thunder right along with them, the first roller coaster to the left inside the park.  Right past the 1900s cars (one of My Favorite Rides EV.ER.).  Now, you may not know it, but "American Thunder is a wooden roller coaster located in the 1904 World's Fair section of Six Flags St. Louis in Eureka, Missouri.  The coaster was originally named after and themed to the famous motorcycle daredevil Evel Knievel.  It was renamed American Thunder for the 2011 season."  According to Google.  But, actually, as you navigate the winding twists and turns of The Wait to Ride this 30-second metal chamber of horrors, the history of roller coasters in general and American Thunder specifically is unveiled through a series of well-placed bill boards marking the path, keeping your mind off the wait and the Impending Doom in which you are about to partake.  I know, because I stood numbly with my family in line to ride this wooden death trap for the first time in my life.  My husband stood in shock and awe, a bolstery "I'm so proud of you!" emitted from his lips several times that I continually and deftly ignored.  After all, one time.  One. Time. I rode The Boss - another roller coaster in the middle of the park, further past the ice cream cones and the turkey legs, and the little kid Tweety Bird section (it had taken longer to convince me/myself to ride back then).  That day, at the incessant insisting of my husband when we were there together on a date, just the two of us, pre-children era, I rode The Boss, clinging to the bar across my lap with an eagle talon death grip, my eyes rammed shut against my cheek bones, my quivering lips on a repeat loop of something akin to a self-soothing, suck-your-thumb, rocking in the corner kind of verbal self-massage of "you are fine.  you are fine.  you are fine."  That day, I exited the ride and burst into hysterical sobs, and my husband left me alone from thence forward - for the most part - about riding roller coasters with him ever again.  But, on this day, fast forward, I skip-read the billboards, noting with fascination my utter numbness to the task I somehow seemed to have chosen to do.  I'm not even sure I drove to Six Flags thinking I would ride a roller coaster.  Yet, here I was, snaking my way closer and closer to the front.

I thought I was calm.  I now see the fear in my eyes.

We rock-paper-scissored who would sit by whom, 2 to a car, three cars' full.  Sweet Matthew, my 16 year-old giant man-child cut from a cloth of athleticism, sarcastic humor, intelligence, fashion, and good looks got the short straw.  (He actually volunteered to go with me.  Did I mention he has a kind heart and a gentle, tender, and loving soft spot for his mom?)  Suddenly, we were next.  The silver bar jettisoned open, beckoning me to enter the cart.  I continued to marvel at the truest feeling of Numb I had ever encountered within my core.  Certainly that was a good sign.  I couldn't feel anything, so I must have emotionally matured over the last twenty years and would find myself wholly capable of riding - if not enjoying - this little side attraction with my family at Six Flags!  The metal bar collapsed tightly over my lap.  The coaster lurched forward.  I will be fine, I began to recite.  I will be fine.  I will be fine.  I will be

Screaming.  A guttural, piercing, shrill, terrifying sound came from the utter bowels of my center, my core.  I had no control of it.  I began to scream, and I continued screaming for the entirety of the ride.  Through every twist, turn, drop, and pull.  In my ear, my son calmly cajoled, "here comes a big hill..." and other soothing sounds including, "it's OK Mom.  This isn't for everyone."  By the time the coaster came barreling to a stop moments later (years, really), I sobbed uncontrollably in a squishy wet puddle of trauma and embarrassment on the oil, dirt, and probably COVID-encrusted textured floor of the coaster cart.  Matthew took my arm, lifted, and escorted me from the barn, out into the dark, man-made foggy mist of the night.  We shared ice cream, searched the boardwalks for games to play, and then we drove the family home.

Unfocused: Week 4

Wednesday.  We sit at the table with the pages of his planner filling the space between us.  "Did you talk to your teacher about your missing writing assignment?"  He answers, and the beginning of doubt pricks my heart and mind.  We continue to talk.  A sound becomes present in a corner of my hearing.  Crunch. Smack.  Slurp.  Munch.  My head snaps towards this cacophony while the once undetected burning ember of impatience ignites within me.  Before a thought crosses my mind, I react. "Chew with your mouth closed!" The unsuspecting recipient of my wrath looks up.  Suddenly my attention turns to this one, and my words are not chosen wisely.  My heart pounds, my temper flares, my focus scatters.

I breathe in awareness.  I breathe out apology.  Refocus.  Scouts.  "I'm going to make a list of calls you need to make tonight for merit badges.  How are you coming with snow sports?  Have you printed off the worksheet why haven't you printed it off let's find it do you remember who your merit badge counselor is let's write down a script of what you should say what do you mean you don't have his number," I fire in rapid succession.  His white flag is raised.

Focus.  Unfocused.

Writing this brings tears to my eyes.  There are a series of channels replaying in my mind.  Each a similar show.

Tuesday.  Started dark and quiet.  Alarm ringing.  Regret.  Snooze.  Alarm again.  I stumble down the stairs for coffee and hope for a moment of quiet reflection before chaos.  Chaos is not expected, however, as I leave for work before the kids are up.  Morning chaos is the dad's worry today.

Snowy roads.  Backed up traffic.  Work.  I leave for the orthodontist.  Late.  I pick up the oldest daughter.  We go to lunch.  Phone rings.  School warns detention for another.  This one coughs.  Now more phone calls, a doctor's appointment, asthma, medicine, after school, grab snacks, back to work with everyone in tow.  Late.  Tonight our family presents a talk on communication to top notch nursing students.  My badge is missing, the elevator opens and a brand new baby comes on, we exit because my bigs have big germs and this little needs to fight.  My hands shake, my heart pounds, not ready, I smile, we begin.  Everyone home.  Everyone shower.  Everyone bed.  I sit.

Focus.  Unfocused.

Webster defines the word unfocused as "not relating to or directed toward one specific thing (such as a particular goal or task)."

I argue internally.  You're unfocused.  I am focused.  On the calendar.  On the next presentation.  The next game.  The next assignment.  The next book.  The next class.  The next need.  The next unexpected.  Raising children.  To reach their potential.  To love their Father.  To have opportunity and respect that opportunity.  A job.  That stretches me but pulls me from those children at times, and other times brings us together.  On being a Proverbs 31 wife and rising to the task of being the wife God calls me to be.  Being a daughter.  Knowing what it means to be the daughter of a woman who raised me well and is independent and growing in age.

I am.  Focus.  Unfocused.

Week 2: Interpret a Song - Breathe

My favorite song right now is Breathe by Jonny Diaz.  Every time it comes on the radio, Meiners says, "Mom!  The right song at the right time!" because really?  I need that song every moment of every day.  After the millionth moment of absolutely losing my marbles this week, I posted this in our kitchen:

"No Drama Momma" became my battle cry.  I have to admit - it helped.  Mostly.  I would guess my moments of complete and utter loss of control of my patience reduced by...maybe 10%?  Nah.  I kid.  Mostly.  

Way more like 12%.

Grandma and Grandpa came for pasta dinner and a sold out Beginning Violin concert!

Grammie enjoyed dinner and the concert, too!

Yikes.  Just breathe?  Baby?

Ouch.  Breathe. 

Xopenex helps her Breathe!

In addition to BREATHING and REMEMBERING that Jesus wins in the midst of the chaos of single-parenting while The Mister worked out of town with a winter concert this week and extra rehearsals, basketball practices, breakfasts and dinners and crazy school lunch spending, three different school starts, work, two hour bean bag snuggle conversations discussing painful childhood moments for one of my people, and additional doctor's visits because someone broke his arm, we also enjoyed an exorbitant amount of coughing that led to a stethoscope to a chest and every-four-hour breathing treatments.  Oh yeah.  Breathe.  And Just Be.  Because chaos calls and all I really need is for Him to blow air into my lungs (and into hers!) and to keep me moving and going and ultimately worshiping because truly, that is the only point.  He reigns.  He gives.  He wins.  It is good.  It is good to rest at God's feet, and to just be.  Take it in.  Fill your lungs with the peace of God that overcomes.  Lay down what's good and find what's best.  

Love this kid!

He is just the best!

Love.

Lyrics to Jonny Diaz's song Breathe:

Alarm clock screaming bare feet hit the floor
It’s off to the races everybody out the door
I’m feeling like I’m falling behind, it’s a crazy life
Ninety miles an hour going fast as I can
Trying to push a little harder trying to get the upper hand
So much to do in so little time, it’s a crazy life
It’s ready, set, go it’s another wild day
When the stress is on the rise in my heart I feel you say just

Breathe, just breathe
Come and rest at my feet
And be, just be
Chaos calls but all you really need
Is to just breathe

Third cup of joe just to get me through the day
Want to make the most of time but I feel it slip away
I wonder if there’s something more to this crazy life
I’m busy, busy, busy, and it’s no surprise to see
That I only have time for me, me, me
There’s gotta be something more to this crazy life
I’m hanging on tight to another wild day
When it starts to fall apart in my heart I hear you say just

Breathe, just breathe
Come and rest at my feet
And be, just be
Chaos calls but all you really need

Is to take it in fill your lungs
The peace of God that overcomes
Just breathe
So let your weary spirit rest
Lay down what’s good and find what’s best
Just breathe

Just breathe, just breathe
Come and rest at my feet
And be, just be
Chaos calls but all you really need
Is to just breathe
Just breathe

And the video:

31 days of Tired and Worn

I'm tired, I'm worn, 
My heart is heavy 
From the work it takes to keep on breathing 
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail 
My soul feels crushed by the weight of this world 
And I know that you can give me rest 
So I cry out with all that I have left 
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/tenth-avenue-north/worn-lyrics/#ZMUcu6FecIoTsq6o.99

Like a tired pair of shoes, I sit at the computer tonight, determined to be renewed.  Today was a remarkable day of new hearts for a 19 year-old beauty queen, fear of leukemia in a Bazouki friend, and an overriding sense that God loves.  Even in our tired, worn-out days.  

Thunder cracks against the night sky as I sit and love Him in return.  We don't deserve it.  I don't "get it."  But He reigns.  He wins.  And in that alone is any hope I have in this screwed up  world.

Thank you, Lord, for a new heart for Angela.  Though my own heart breaks for the family who made the decision to save another in the midst of their loss, God reigns.  He wins.  May Angela live the life He dreams for her!

I pray for my Bazouki Nation.  Rally the Troops.  He reigns.  He wins.

Good night, dear friends.  Supernatural Rest for all.

Everyday Grace

Today I made chocolate salted caramel mini cupcakes.  They are lovely.  A little salty, but I guess that's the point - beings that they're salted caramel and all.  (Originally, I was going to name this post: "I made caramel today."  Because I am just that proud of the fact that I actually made homemade caramel.  From sugar and water and syrup and cream.  Amen.  [I'll post pictures tomorrow].)

In the meantime, tonight I am directing you to The Nester for an incredible message she recently shared.  I watched the video and I have to tell you - by the end of it I truly felt that I was on holy ground.  "She don't know she's beautiful" amid life's everyday messes = God reminding each of us of His grace in the moment.  I, for one, regularly feel like I am failing at this job of stay-at-home motherhood.  That if I could just get my act together or my energy up or let them watch one more show I could clean my house.

Well.  Not today.  Today I made chocolate salted caramel mini cupcakes.  And now I just have to find someone to help me eat them...

I'm Friends with Ugly



Christmas 2006



I'm reading Mary Beth Chapman's book Choosing to SEE.  I've waited quite a while to read it, actually.  I saw it at the Christian bookstore in our area last fall in the midst of bringing home a storage unit full of unread books and useless collections o'junk.  I decided it would be best not to purchase the book but to get it from the library...cuz, you know - library fines are so much cheaper than buying the book outright...

So yesterday morning I ran over to the library after checking its availability online and found the book.  I'll be able to finish it tonite.  It's an easy read.  And it's compelling.  Not in the way A Little Bit Wicked by Kristin Chenoweth will be - I grabbed that one, too, since I'm a new HUGE Wicked fan.  But compelling.

I would love to adopt.  I always have had the heart to do so.  My friend recently adopted a little girl from China (I love you CherBear!).  David Platt, in his book Radical, discusses the plight and the subsequent call to believers to care for widows and orphans.  My husband read that book.  I'm not certain he shares my aspirations of adoption - yet.  I'm going to have him read this book, too. 

:)

Mary Beth discusses how their road to adoption began.  And of course, it ultimately describes the devastating accident that took their sweet daughter Maria away from them.  But in betwixt and between all that, she discusses her faith in the midst of doubts.  And she talks about doing 'hard.'  Kind of like Shawni talks about doing hard.  Well, exactly like Shawni, actually.

And in a week when every day I receive calls from friends being forced to do 'hard,' I decided that life really can be ugly.  But I am choosing to embrace Ugly.  Because through pruning, new, healthier branches of the vine give way to better and more abundant fruit.  Because life stirs from the death of the seed, from the burnt offerings of the hillside, from the revolution of the earth to once again burst forth with Spring again.

So, around here, we'll embrace the hard.  And we'll support and lift up the friends who are walking with the ugly.  We'll join hands with him, too.  Because there is Art in walking through the ugly and emerging, strenghthened, on the other side.   And I am an Art collector.

"So God confirmed this truth yet again: I can choose to SEE His story, or I can miss it.  And I know - in the winter of our grieving and the frozen mourning of my plans that will never be and my dreams that have died - the reality is this: God's warm breath is on the move.  New life is budding...and often where I expected it the least, like right inside of me. ... Yes.  Spring is coming...."(Mary Beth Chapman in Choosing to SEE)

More Awesome Photos!

Seriously, Folks. How could I not follow the last post up with this series of photos? See that? That right there?


What's that girl doing? Is she break dancing?

What girl?

THIS one:
Wait, wait, wait. Wait just a minute. You can't tell from this angle? You think she's just 'Doin' the Mit'n?

Yeah. You might think so. Til I zoom in on this:



She's doin' the mit'n dance all right. My mom told me she was gonna hate me for this one day. I told my mom I had every intention of showing it to Sasha's future husband before she walks down the aisle.

Full disclosure. That's all I'm saying.