SAHM I am (16 page)

After dinner, it was Tom, me, Michelle, Kelly, and a few other programmers standing around chatting. Michelle and Kelly, of course, had to bring up Tom’s supposed choices of reading material. They were gushing about how all men should read romances because it makes them “so in touch with male-female relationships.” I just wanted to roll my eyes. They don’t have a clue! If Tom was so great with relationships, then we wouldn’t be having so many problems. And I couldn’t believe it that he is STILL letting them think he actually reads romances. He never reads any novels! The guys were teasing him about it, but he was just soaking up all the girls’ compliments, which made me a bit grouchy.

He suggested to me that we get our picture taken together, but Michelle said, “Wait, I want to hear about Dulcie catching the thief at the mall!”

Why didn’t I tell her to take a hike, that I wanted to be with my husband? Because I was grumpy and jealous of Tom, that’s why. But I wish I hadn’t stayed. I wish I’d never even seen that man in the mall. Or that I’d let him take the dumb packages and be happy. Because I’m quite sure the following never would have happened if I hadn’t been so high on all the fussing and heroworship.

I told the little group all about knocking out the thief, and about
Newsline
and Brenda Walkers. They were impressed, to say the least. The two girls were looking at me like I was a celebrity or something, and the guys were…well, as far as I can figure, they were
flirting
with me! Finally one of the guys grinned at me and said, “Wow, Dulcie. You travel with children, you take them shopping at Crown Center by yourself, and Tom tells me you do house repairs and interior decorating. And you even catch criminals. Is there anything you don’t do?”

You guys, I’m so ashamed to tell you this part. I don’t know where it came from or anything, and if I could take it back, I would. But I simpered up at him and said in my coyest voice, “Well, I certainly don’t read romance novels.”

It took a few seconds for my comment to sink in with Michelle and Kelly. I’d like to blame that on the visits they’d taken to the cash bar, but I’m not sure it would have been any different if they’d been totally sober. (See, even now I’m being a catty snipe.) :( Their smiles disappeared and their mouths dropped open, like, “Hey, you just insulted me!” They didn’t talk to me the rest of the evening. But every once in a while, I’d see them looking over at me with this confused expression, like “What did I do to you?”

But worse was Tom. Here he’d already put up with teasing from his co-workers, and then he got clotheslined by his own wife—in front of everybody! I know perfectly well why he chats with those girls about their relationships. They treat him like an expert, like their own little key into the male mind. He gets to explain to them why men act the way they do, and they actually listen and respect his viewpoint.

When I glanced up at him, he looked stunned…and then, ashamed. And even betrayed. I wish he’d been angry. I’d rather have dealt with anger than this…whatever it is. He laughed a little at what I said, and I don’t think the other guys saw how it hurt him. But I saw. His shoulders slumped the rest of the evening. We actually didn’t stay long after that. He said he was tired, but I know what was really the matter. I tried to talk about it with him, tried to apologize for teasing him. He just brushed it off and said it was no big deal. That he didn’t really like talking to them anyway.

But I’m afraid I really, really hurt him. Seven words! Seven of the stupidest, most callous words in the world, and they came out of MY mouth! Why did I try to make a crack like
that? What’s wrong with me? I love Tom! I’m not normally such a jerk.

I don’t know how to go about making this right, either. You can’t just take back something so snide. I wish I’d stayed in Omaha and never come at all.

Now you know the real me. All the dirty laundry. I don’t like myself very much right now, so I don’t expect you to, either. Good grief, why didn’t I hold my tongue?

Dulcie

exactly
planning to come all the way from Washington to cater your Christmas party! Although I can certainly understand why you’d want me to! But traveling with three kids is wearying enough—I’d like to have at least some chance to relax while we’re there.>

I didn’t ask you to cater the whole dinner, Ros. All I asked is if you could bake your almond kringle for dessert. It’s a special family tradition, and nobody else can make it as good as you can. I know it’s a lot of work, and you sure enough deserve a vacation, but I thought you enjoyed baking—and you know everyone raves about it. But I’m not going to twist your arm. If you don’t want to, fine. I’ll see if one of the bakeries here can do it. There ya go. No need to get your shorts in a knot over it.

Ronnie

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlewomen!

At this sacred and holy time of year, I have been reflecting on the Incarnation of Christ and all it means. I have just spent several hours this morning meditating on Philippians 2:5-8.

“Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

I’m so glad God has gifted me with humility. I seem to be able to serve and give, with never a thought for myself, never an ulterior motive. I’ve just always been that way. It gives me joy to see myself made nothing and others being praised. The spotlight has always made me uncomfortable—I’m so self-effacing. In fact, this Christmas, I’ll be baking our special family almond kringle for my sister’s party. For no other reason than the joy it will bring to our relatives and my sister’s guests.

What can you do this week to humble yourself? How can you more faithfully serve others? For those of us, like me, who are already used to living lives of humility and service, this could be a challenge to find some fresh way to take up our cross and deny ourselves. But I think we can rise to the challenge! Let’s brainstorm ways we can make ourselves
lesser, so that our families—and ultimately Christ—become greater.

In humility,

Rosalyn Ebberly

SAHM I Am Loop Moderator

Come on, honey, it wasn’t that bad. You aren’t sitting alone, depressed, in some closet, slurping down Baby Hydrolyte as a form of self-punishment, are you? Please answer me…

I don’t mean to be selfish here, but I could really use some support. I’m going to talk to Darren tonight about adoption, and I’m so nervous. I know he’s going to say we don’t have the money, that Madeline is as dear to him as any biological child. But the truth is that he’s really hurting over the fact that he’s the one with the fertility problem.

I told you that, didn’t I? He FINALLY got his sperm-count (after I told him that was the only thing I wanted for Christmas—I hope he understands the meaning of HYPERBOLE!). It was the most humiliating experience of his whole life, and I wish I hadn’t pushed so hard for it. If we’d lived closer to the lab in Tulsa, we could have “collected the sample at home” and brought it in, but we’re too far away
and all the little guys would have been toast by the time we arrived.

So as it turned out, Darren had to go to this lab our doctor contracts with, and this bored-looking receptionist gave him the “specimen container” and showed him to a little room. I think he was too embarrassed to let me come in with him. He promised me he didn’t look at the magazines, but it just makes me angry at the lab because I know how hard he tries to keep his mind pure and here he was, surrounded by filth.

Dulcie, it was just awful! Everyone was so insensitive and unprofessional. A couple of female technicians stood outside the door laughing and talking really loud, and then when he had to turn in the container, they acted like they didn’t even care how embarrassing it was for him. They had a big discussion right in front of him about whether or not there was enough to do the test. The worst part was that his count is terribly low. I’d have a better chance of winning the Iron Man Triathalon than Darren would of fathering a child.

I felt so guilty because I threw him into that situation. I guess I didn’t really stop to think about what it would involve. The worst part is that even though they’ve made a ton of advances in female infertility treatments, there’s not much they can do yet about male infertility.

As long as he could pretend it was MY problem, he could be gracious and sweet about it. But now, it’s like his self-esteem is demolished. I keep trying to tell him that the ability to father a child isn’t what makes him a man, but he snapped back that “That’s not how I was raised. You don’t understand the expectations about farming. I’m supposed to produce a kid to take over the farm. That’s how it’s done around here. I’m the fourth generation on this farm—and if I’m the last, then I’ve failed not just myself but my entire family.” And ever
since then, he’s refused to talk about it at all. I don’t know what to do!

I called a few adoption agencies, but when they found out that 1) I’m 24 and Darren just turned 28, and 2) we have a 7-year-old daughter, they all told me we’re too young and not qualified because we have a child already. And even if we did get chosen by a birth mother, we could never afford the adoption. Did you know that some private adoptions cost as much as $25,000 to $30,000 because of “birth-mother expenses”? That’s outrageous!

But even sadder is that we could adopt a biracial or African-American baby for a fraction of that amount, because they aren’t as “placeable” as Caucasian babies. That’s a nice way of saying nobody wants them. Isn’t that horrible? I want them! But the problem is, I live in a community that still sees absolutely no problem at all using the “N-word” and routinely makes racial jokes about sending all of “them” back to the cotton fields. I’d never want to raise a black baby around here—poor kid would be miserable!

So I checked some international programs on the Internet. Some of them are as low as $12,000 to $15,000 and a few of them would even let younger couples adopt. But I just don’t know how we could afford even that, or if Darren would be willing to consider it. Stubborn male pride!

Anyway, you always make me feel so much better about all this. I really need you. Please write to me. (And please, PLEASE don’t share any of this with anybody else. Darren would just kill me if he knew I told you. But I had to talk about it with somebody, and you’re about the only person I’d trust with any of it.)

Your friend,

Brenna

Dearest Dulcie,

I love you very much, but I want you to take your head out from under that self-imposed rain cloud and quit pouting. I know…you “are NOT pouting!” You feel an obligation to deprive yourself of friends and any sort of potential encouragement because you don’t deserve to be happy. How do I know? Because I did the exact same thing after Jonathan and I slept together when we were dating—even before I realized I was pregnant with Julia. In fact, for a while, I thought Julia was my “punishment” from God for sinning. (Don’t you EVER tell her that!) It was very hard to accept her as the blessing she really was. She brought me so much joy, and I didn’t think I had a right to feel that way. So I DO understand why you are avoiding us. Obviously, you are trying to stay miserable, and you know that we, your loving friends, will make you insanely happy instead. :) Am I correct?

I discovered something else through what happened with Jonathan and me. It’s oh-so-easy to ask forgiveness from someone you’ve wronged. It’s a relief to accept
their
forgiveness. It’s also relatively simple to forgive somebody else, at least for me. But it’s a bear of a chore to forgive yourself. Don’t you think?

You are already repentant for what happened. You’ve probably even already told God how sorry you are and asked Him to forgive you. However, you’re not going to be able to move past this until you deal with yourself first. When Jesus said, “Forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your
Father also who is in heaven may forgive you,” I personally believe He would have included yourself in that “anyone.”

I’ve come to realize that refusal to forgive yourself is basically pride. It’s as if we’re saying, “God, I know better than You do about myself. You may think it’s okay to forgive me, but You’re wrong. So, I’m just going to handle this one myself, okay? Don’t call me, I’ll call you when I’m done giving myself what I
really
deserve.”

Do you honestly want to send that message to the Lord? I didn’t think so. So come out from that rock you’re hiding under, brush yourself off, let yourself off your own hook, and continue on with making things right with your husband and enjoying your life.

I DO love you,

Phyllis

WHOA! Phyllis, I don’t know whether to be furious with you or…hug you. Good grief, I don’t think anyone has ever given me such a verbal paddling since I was, like, 10 or something! But I have to admit—you’re 100% right. I read your e-mail and it was like God just shook me up inside and said, “PAY ATTENTION, DULCIE!”

The thing is, it’s all very easy to tell me to forgive myself, but how?

Dulcie

What a relief! I was extremely worried you’d be mad at me.

Ah yes, I did sort of forget that part, didn’t I? :) Here is how I managed it. First, I said, “Phyllis, I forgive you for sinning with Jonathan. Yes, it was wrong, but God forgave you and so I will, too.” Then I forced myself to focus on being thankful for the blessings God gave me—for Jonathan’s love, for Julia, and then especially for the strength of our marriage. And every time I was tempted to think “But I deserve…(fill in the blank)” I reminded myself of Romans 8:1. “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” And, over time, I came to believe it in my heart. I still regret what happened, but it doesn’t own me like it used to. Does that make sense?

Phyllis

Thanks, Phyllis. You know, if Jonathan is even half the preacher you are, I might consider talking Tom into moving to Wisconsin just so we can go to your church!

You are SO right. And I got to thinking…if you can learn to forgive yourself after what happened with you and Jona
than, I can, too. After all, it’s not like what I did was anywhere near as big a deal as what you did.

Dulcie

I SO DID
NOT
MEAN THAT THE WAY IT SOUNDED! I’M SOOOOOOO SORRY.

Oh crud. Crud, crud, CRUD! What is wrong with my brain lately? I really am sorry! I can’t believe I sent something so insensitive. I didn’t mean it, honest!

I wouldn’t blame you if you were. You’re furious, aren’t you. You would have written back by now if you weren’t. Oh dear…please, Phyllis, please believe me, I didn’t mean to insult you. Now I’ve hurt both my DH *and* my friend.

I’m going to stitch my mouth shut and duct tape my fingers together. How’s that sound?

Dulcie

LOL!!! Dulcie, R-E-L-A-X. The reason I didn’t answer you right away was that one of the older ladies in our congregation fell down her front steps and broke her hip. I spent all morning at the hospital with her and then had to take the afternoon to get Julia and Bennet back on schedule. I just now read all your e-mails and about pulled a muscle laughing. I
knew
what you were trying to say. And you’re right, only I didn’t want to seem like I was trivializing how you were feeling by saying so. :) Everything’s okay.

Hugs,

Phyllis