If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say...

There's a saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." I disagree. Words are more hurtful to me than any bodily injury. Wounds inflicted to my body will heal, but the pain caused by another's hurtful words will never be forgotten, especially when those words come from someone you love - someone you trust - someone who should be supporting you, not tearing you down.
In the case that spawned this blog, it was a group of people. People that I trust, and whose opinion matter to me. I know it wasn't their intention to cause me pain, but that's what happens isn't it. We speak openly without considering the impact of our words.
Especially when it comes to parenting. What a sensitive subject, for mothers imparticular. If you want to hit a mom where it hurts, question her role as a mother - the decisions she makes regarding her children.
Speaking from experience, as a stay-at-home mom, I truly believe this one of the hardest responsibilities one can have. It is hard on your heart, hard on your body, hard on your patience, hard on your mind and hard on your soul. The moment they place that precious child in your arms, you start to feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. Oh my goodness. I am responsible for this child. Wow. He is completely dependent on me. He will spend the majority of his days as a preschooler with me. Not only am I responsible for feeding, dressing, and bathing him. I am also responsible for his education. I am responsible for his spiritual growth. I am responsible for building his character. Wow. And there is no manual, no job description. It's hard.
I've never struggled with self-esteem issues... until I became a parent. Because I know that each move I make as a mother pertaining to my children is ultimately going to effect the person they become. Now, I am always second guessing every decision, lying in bed each night critiquing myself, wondering if I am doing a good job.
But what makes motherhood the hardest, in my opinion, is that there are so many people out there who are eager to tell you what you are not doing right. Other parents who think their way is the right way, and willlingly pass judgement on you for your way of doing things. I'm amazed at how, not only strangers, but friends and family, let you know when they think your children are less than perfect.
I am not foolish enough to think that my children are perfect in the eyes of this world. But they are perfect to me, in spite of their imperfections. They are boys, and believe me, I'm the first to say, they are ALL BOY. And I know I am not the perfect parent. I don't expect to be, nor do I expect anyone to tell me that I am.
I guess my point is, words are never more painful than when they attack what is nearest and dearest to your heart. My children are nearest and dearest to my heart. And nothing is more important to me than my responsibility for them and to them.
While I know my children are not perfect in your eyes; they are not wildly, uncontrollable five and seven year olds who think the world revolves around their happiness.
While I know I am not the perfect parent, I know I am doing the best I can. No one is more critical of my decisions regarding my children than I am.

So if you don't have anything nice to say... about my children, or my parenting style... PLEASE, don't say anything at all.

Ready, Set, Don't Go

So I know. I stole this title from Billy Ray Cyrus's hit song about his daughter growing up and leaving home. My children are only 7 and 5, so I have a few years before they will be packing up their stuff and waving good-bye. THANK GOD! However, I can totally relate to Billy Ray. You see, my youngest little one will be starting Kindergarten in August. And now that the new year has arrived, I HAVE to start preparing myself for what is to come. Registration is just around the corner, then I'll be taking him to the school for his assessment, then he'll be meeting his teacher and before I know it, I'll be packing two lunches! I'll drop them off, and then what? What will I do for those five days a week that I have my house all to myself for SIX HOURS! I'm terrified!

Out with 2009, In with 2010

As I reflect back on the year that has passed, I can't help but be glad it is over. I am not a pessimistic person, but when I think about all we've experienced this year, mostly the bad stuff sticks out in my mind. This year has felt like a roller coaster ride that I just couldn't get off, with a few highs and so many lows.

Highs

1. There are two new babies in the Boyd clan. We welcomed Zoey (my first niece!) and Gabriel (my godson!).
2. My younger brother was able to come home from serving in Iraq for the birth of his baby girl.
3. We went to two Carolina games and the North Carolina Tarheels went on to win the 2009 NCAA National Championship ~ GO HEELS!!!
4. Boyd Family Beach Trip ~ so much fun!!!!
5. October scrapbook retreat... need I say more?

Lows

1. We learned that my youngest son is still allergic to peanuts, peanut butter and all tree nuts. In fact, his allergies have gotten more severe over the last three years.
2. My oldest son is still suffering from moderate to severe eczema. They keep telling me he is going to outgrow it, but he has yet to be free of this pain.
3. Both of my boys spent a month battling impetigo, a very painful and very contagious skin infection.
4. We all contracted H1N1, right at the time of my nephew's birth. Therefore, we weren't able to see him until he was almost one month old.
5. My younger brother has had to spend the entire year away from his family and home with only a brief two week break.
6. I have personally struggled with ongoing anxiety attacks.
7. Keith's job has been soooo stressful this year.
8. My MOPS group, which was once the highlight of my month, has faced too many challenges.

I realized as I am writing this that I sound like the man in the "Footprints" poem. Thankfully, I know that God has been carrying me this year. I am sad to say that I have not thanked Him enough. (Thank You GOD for carrying me through this year!)

Now, I refuse to leave this blog with all that negativity, because I plan to be more optimistic in 2010. So let me put a positive note to all those lows.

1. At least we know what we are dealing with in terms of his allergies, especially as he starts school next August.
2. While just as bad, his eczema "flare-ups" are not as often as they once were.
3. It could have been much worse. Thankfully, it was not MRSA.
4. He won't remember that I wasn't there for his birth. The important thing is that I'm there for him when he needs me now.
5. He is coming home VERY soon.
6. I have successfully weaned off of zoloft (the devil in pill-form).
7. They did hire someone to help lighten Keith's workload.
8. I have formed friendships that I know will last a lifetime.

I know that 2010 is going to be a better year. I don't doubt that Satan will throw obstacles in our way, just as he has in 2009. But I am becoming a stronger person. God is making me a stronger person. As I've said in previous blogs, I CAN DO ALL THINGS THROUGH CHRIST WHO STRENGTHENS ME.

My Pleasure

I took a long hard look into a mirror that shows my outer and my inner self, and I don't like what I see. The first thing I notice is my dramatic weight gain over the last few months. The second is the lack of sparkle in my eye and the forced smile upon my face. The third is the flood of tears constantly ready to flow freely from my eyes. I realized that while I enjoy my life, I am not happy with myself. Why am I not happy?

Maybe it's the fact that I never really lost all the baby weight I put on six years ago, and I can no longer use recent childbirth as an excuse. Maybe it's the fact that my house is rarely as clean and organized as I would like. Maybe it's the fact that I have all these great ideas of various projects I would like to do with my children, but I never seem to find the time to do them. Maybe it's the fact that my husband is so overwhelmed with his work responsibilities that he rarely comes home in a relaxed, uplifting mood. Maybe it's the fact that I live in Denton, and let's face it, there's not much to do in Denton. Maybe it's the fact that I know my parents are getting older and I worry about their health and finances. Maybe it's the fact that my brother is currently serving in Iraq and when he comes home, the military has politely told him that his job is not longer available.

If I am honest with myself, I think the reason that I am not happy is because I have spent my entire life trying to please those around me, but I've never really taken the time to understand what truly pleases me.

I spent my entire high school career trying to do what I thought would make my parents happy ~ graduate first in my class. I spent my college career doing what I thought would make my boyfriend/future husband happy ~ just graduate and find a job. I spent my first five years of marriage doing what I thought would make my husband happy ~ working a part-time job, while keeping the house orderly and having supper on the table every night. I have spent the last seven years doing what I hope will make my children happy ~ pretty much whatever they need for me to do.

Please note, I am not complaining about this. As I said earlier, I have enjoyed my life. And I am not blaming my parents, my husband or my children for my current state of mind. I am not even blaming myself. I've done nothing wrong. But now that I'm beginning to realize what I want, and what I believe will make me happy, I am eager to do these things.

I want to stay-at-home, and take care of my family.
I want to focus on my kids, not my house.
I want to take care of my body.
I want to exercise.
I want to have creative freedom in my home.
I want to spend time with my family and my friends.
I want to go out on a date with my husband.
I want to go out with the girls.
I want to laugh.
I want to cry.
I want to stop worrying about what everyone thinks.
I want to look in the mirror and like what I see.

So that's my New Year's Resolution. Instead of spending this year doing what I think will make others happy, I am going to spend this year doing what pleases me. Hopefully, my family and friends will still like me.

I Lost my Friend, and I Don't Know How to Find Her

My circle of high school friends consisted of eight girls ~ Melissa C., Wendy, Heather, Beth, Crystal, Melissa G., Kim and me. We did everything together from studying to sleepovers. We had soooo much fun. Still, within our circle, we developed stronger bonds with some. Wendy and I complemented each other so well that everyone said we shared a brain. As we progressed through high school, we pretty much became inseperable. We finished each other's sentences and had conversations that no one else understood. We developed a bond that we both knew would last forever. We were closer than sisters, we were best friends.
Our college days forced us to become more independent, a thought that thrilled Wendy, but scared me to death! That was when Melissa G. (another friend from our high school circle) became extremely close. Melissa and I went to the same university, while Wendy attended one about a half hour away. Since we were the only people at the University we knew, Melissa and I registered for those Freshman classes hoping to be on the same schedule. We did share a few classes, but as we were both reluctant to become to socially interactive with the other students, we pretty much spent all our spare time together. We served as each other's home away from home. It was weird that we spent all those years in high school together but only became really close in college.
I kept in touch with all the girls in my high school circle of friends for those first few years after high school. But eventually time, distance, various life decisions, and even death, put us on different paths. Kim was killed in a car accident. Crystal got married and has not contacted any of us since then. Heather moved away. Beth and Melissa C. simply moved on. So that left Wendy, Melissa and me. Our trio of friendship became even stronger as the years passed.
I got married first. Melissa and Wendy were in my wedding. Thankfully, my marriage didn't seem to have any effect on our friendship.
Then Wendy got married. Melissa and I were her bridesmaids. Wendy's husband moved her to Arizona, allowing Melissa and I to see her only twice a year. We were devastated. I think we cried at her wedding more than her mother did. As Wendy drove off with her new "best" friend, Melissa and I stood there hugging in the parking lot, figuring things would never be the same. Thankfully, we were wrong. Though much more time passed in between our get togethers, when Wendy came home, it was like she'd never left. We still finished each others sentences. It was obvious that we still shared a brain. And I felt closer to her than I'd ever felt before.
Two years later, Melissa got married. Wendy and I were in her wedding. The three of us had a ball at the reception. As we helped Melissa change out of her gown so she could wear normal clothes to the hotel, we embraced in a meaningful hug.
A few moments later, Melissa and her husband rode off in the limo. Wendy and her husband left to head back to Arizona. And I was in the car with my husband crying a flood of tears because something in my gut told me things would never be the same.
I was wrong. Wendy and I have only become closer and closer over the years. We make time for each other. Every time she comes home, she makes sure to make time for me. I've driven seventeen hours with a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old to see her. Even though she is hundreds of miles away, she knows exactly what is going on in my life. Wendy was the only one who even realized I was suffering from post-partum depression after the birth of my second son. She is still my best friend.
However, I was also right. With Melissa, things have never been the same. I can't quite figure out why. I've tried to make them the same. And sometimes when we're together, it's just like old times. But the gap between phone calls/visits/emails has continued to expand. It has now been twelve months since I last heard from her. I've emailed, I've called, I've sent cards. (My husband says I'm stalking her.) I've gotten no response.
I recently learned that she is expecting her second child in March. She and Wendy and I were once a trio of best friends, and I had no idea she was even pregnant.
What does this mean? Does this mean she doesn't want to be my friend anymore? If so, then why not? How can she possibly justify ending a friendship that carried us through some of the hardest times in our lives? I wonder about these things.
At the same time, I wonder why am I trying so hard to hold on to the way things used to be? Why can't I accept that our season of friendship has passed? Why can't I just let go?
The only reason I can come up with is... because I don't want to.

I Married My High School Sweetheart

Twelve years ago today, I married my high school sweetheart.

I remember telling my parents when they thought we were getting too serious, "We're just dating! It's not like I'm going to marry him!" We were so different, I just couldn't see myself spending the rest of my life with him. Those differences manifested themselves, until I thought it was obvious we weren't meant to be together. So I tried to break up with him. It was then that I realized we weren't just dating. We were falling in love. And it felt so good. I just couldn't let go.

Following is a poem I wrote in the fall of 1994, about six months after we started dating.

Dazed and Confused
by Marci Boyd (Bray)

Dazed and confused
about what is right and wrong
Trying to accept
what I've been denying all along
Never planning to see you
as more than just a friend
Realizing what we have
and not wanting it to end
Frightened by the emotions
my fragile heart implies
Seeing those same feelings
when you look into my eyes
Trying to scream for help
unable to make a sound
Hoping not to fall too hard
but I've already hit the ground
Thinking I could walk away
and forget about me and you
But caring so much more
than I ever intended to
Denying it in my mind
but knowing in my heart it is true
Not being what I planned
I've fallen in love with you

All these years later, he's still the love of my life. Happy Anniversary my handsome!

Wrestling with the Devil

As a result of the events that have transpired in my physical body over the last six weeks, I have determined that zoloft is the devil.

Shockingly enough, I have stress in my life. For some reason, probably the radiation that killed my thyroid, my body can no longer handle stress very well. This is so ironic because, prior to having my thyroid nuked, my daily motto was... "I have to do this, this, this, this, this and this. But that's okay! I can handle it!"
You won't hear me say that anymore. I can't handle it. The slightest confrontation, the mere increase in my workload, the tiniest hint of unwellness in my body sends my heart into palpitations. Before you know it, I'm having panic attacks, and crying uncontrollably. My doctor's solution... zoloft.
In the beginning, I absolutely refused. In my mind, zoloft was for depression. I did not feel depressed. I felt overwhelmed. There was so much to be done, and I didn't have the strength or motivation to do it. Still, I truly believed that I could overcome my physical weakness with my spiritual strength. I fought my doctors on the necessity of taking this drug for three years. But over time, my spirit weakened also.
Then, I hit my all-time low, and in January of this year, I gave in. I began taking zoloft at the lowest possible dosage and noticed changes immediately. It was awesome!!!! I felt like myself again. But that only lasted a few weeks. So my doctor doubled my dosage. The same thing happened. I felt great for a few weeks, then started getting overwhelmed again. So she doubled my dosage again. I stayed on this dosage for four months. In that time, I felt much more able to handle all that comes along with being a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, MOPS Coordinator... Yet I was still having panic attacks daily, sometimes up to 12 times a day.
The doctor recommended switching to Paxil, not realizing she should first wean me off of zoloft. So within a week's time of quitting zoloft and starting paxil (while recuperating from having h1n1), I began suffering from withdrawal syndrome, which, in my opinion, was ten times worse than the flu. I suffered from hallucinations, rapid heartbeat, palpitations, hot sweats, blackouts, uncontrollable sobbing... I ended up in the emergency room thinking I was having a heart attack.
Now, I am in my sixth (and supposedly final) week of the "weaning off" process. In the midst of weaning off, you still suffer from withdrawal syndrome, but at a much lesser level. It is misery at times. I wake up in the middle of the night with my muscles twitching. By the time I get out of bed in the morning, I feel like I've run a marathon. Every muscle aches nonstop throughout the day.

This is why I've come to believe that zoloft is the devil. Weaning off of zoloft is like wrestling with the devil. I figure paxil is just the devil in a different pill, so I have no intention of ever again using an anti-anxiety medication to deal with the overwhelming nature of my life.

The positive of having experienced this ordeal...
After much prayer and meditation, and with the help of my family and friends, I feel spiritually, emotionally and mentally stronger. Yes, I still have to do this, this, this, this and this. And honestly, I CAN'T HANDLE IT. But that's okay! I can do all things through CHRIST who strengthens me.