Meng Menu: Two weeks!

Wow! Those two weeks went fast. Last night I was like, "Aw man! I have to go big grocery shopping tomorrow!" 

Meal planning for two weeks is a bit of work: 

First I look at the weekly Kroger ad for our local store. 

Once I see what is on sale, I check the coupons I have. I am not a huge coupon-er, but Kroger sends me regular coupons so I see what I have on hand each week before I plan my menu. 

Next, I check to see what I already have in the fridge, freezer and pantry so that I can utilize what I already have on hand. 

Then I start planning my meals based on all the previous steps. Whew! It takes me about an hour or  so. But after that, I don't have to have the what-am-I-going-to-make-for-dinner-tonight debate every night for the next two weeks. 

I did pretty well shopping today: I spent $240 and change today so about $120/week. Not bad at all!  

Here is what we are eating for dinner for the next two weeks:

Sunday: Cheesy chicken rice casserole, steamed broccoli

Monday: beef tips and gravy, mashed potatoes, corn

Tuesday: Grilled pork chops, parmesan rice, green beans

Wednesday: Hot dogs, chips, carrots

Thursday: Sausage and kale pasta

Friday: Out to eat

Saturday: Beef fajitas

Sunday: Sloppy joes, baked fries, apples

Monday: Waffles, sausage, fruit

Tuesday:  Grilled pork chops, roasted potatoes, salad

Wednesday: Baked cod, cheesy mashed potatoes, green beans

Thursday: Chicken and broccoli alfredo

Friday: Out to eat

Saturday: Chicken pot pie

Miscarriage and Faith: Walking through the Valley

Note: Candid discussion of miscarriage. 

Grief is a strange land.

Before I miscarried, I thought grief was kind of like sadness: a feeling that overcomes a person but a feeling that can be analyzed and dismissed when one is ready to move on.

But grief is not like that. It is a destination that you are thrust into, a place that you can't leave no matter how much you want to leave until your grief slowly releases its grip on you.

When I first learned that I had miscarried, I felt numb. I remember laying on my bed and trying to pray but I had no words.

Psalm 23:4 came to my mind: 

Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me…

In my mind's eye, I saw this Valley: razor sharp mountains, void of any vegetation, pierced the sky. The Valley was dusky, dark, grey. The path jutted sharply into shadows--I couldn't see beyond a few steps. But I knew the way was full of pain, deep physical and emotional pain.

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I DON'T WANT THIS PATH! I DIDN'T CHOOSE THIS PATH! My mind screamed. I mentally dug in my heels…
I wouldn't go.
I would not walk.

But there wasn't another way. I couldn't make my HCG levels rise. I couldn't make the bleeding stop. I couldn't make the baby live. The baby was dead.

This was The. Only. Way.

...I will fear no evil, for You are with me.

Brittany, He whispered to my soul. I am already there, in the Valley.

But this did not comfort me. The Valley was an evil place; God's presence could not change that. All I could think was if God is already there, I didn't want to follow.

My lowest point was the day I filled a prescription to induce the miscarriage. A week had passed and though I was still bleeding lightly, my numbers were falling very slowly. My midwife recommended that I use misoprostol to "help the process along."

After we went to CVS to get the drugs (and a strong prescription pain killer), Aaron and I stopped by Kroger to get some Motrin. From what I had read online about other women's experience with misoprostol, I couldn't have enough pain killers.

I numbly bought the medicine and started walking back to the car, waiting for a bus to pass before I crossed the street.

This thought entered my mind, unbidden: If I got hit by a bus then I wouldn't have to go through this.

Then: Wow! I just had a suicidal thought. I am in a really, really bad place.

I really didn't want to get hit by a bus, or die. But I cannot express more clearly how much I did not want to go though this, to walk this path, to go through this valley.

Please be with me. Please be with me. Pleasebewithme….

The misoprostol didn't work.
The midwife called in a second dose.
I took it again the next day.
It didn't work.

By this time, I was so messed up with drugs and grief that my whole GI system rebelled against me for a few days. I felt terrible.

I went in for another blood test (number 3? or 4?).My HGC levels had dropped over 100 points. Finally, some good news (so ironic..)!  It had been over two weeks since I first found out. From everything I read online, the miscarriage would be over soon.

The new semester started at Liberty and I started teaching again.
I went grocery shopping.
I took my boys to school.
I publicly shared about our miscarriage.
I wrote about suffering and thankfulness in the midst of grief.

I had days where I laid on the couch all day.
I had functional days.
I had bad days where I cried my eyes out when I saw ANOTHER freakin' "we're preggo!" announcement on Facebook.
I had good days when I smiled and laughed with friends and talked objectively about the miscarriage and my grief.

I was ready to move on. I wanted to move on. I wanted to leave the Valley.

But the bleeding went on and on and on. Two weeks slipped into three. Then four. Then five.

It was now February, over a month since the miscarriage began.

I snapped.

"I can't stand it!" I screamed to my husband. "You don't understand. This has to end! I can't move on until it ends! You don't know what it's like to bleed and bleed and bleed and see red every time you go to the bathroom!  When will it END?!"

I felt utterly alone. My pain was bound up in my body, without any meaningful release. I couldn't give it away if I wanted to. No one could carry this burden with me. NO ONE understood.

Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death . . . You are with me…

The verse had become a mantra, playing over and over again in my mind. At times it comforted me. Other times, it frustrated me. 

On the night of my outburst, I saw this verse in a new light. God wasn't just with me, beside me. He had promised that his Spirit was within me, inside my soul--inside my body, my body that was filled with so much pain, physical and emotional. 

He was with me, inside my body--feeling, suffering, mourning, grieving, walking with me.

I used to think that when God walked with a person through hard times, the darkness of that person's path would somehow be filled with His light. 

My path through the valley was not filled with light.  It was very dark, and at times, I didn't feel God's presence at all. But in the darkness, along this journey of death, He was there. 

Three days after I said "I can't stand it any more!" my bleeding stopped. Two weeks later and another blood test later (7? 8?), I found out that my numbers were at 0.

It was finally over. 

I will fear no evil, for You are with me…

At the beginning of my miscarriage, I was filled with fear: fear of pain, fear of grief, fear of loss, fear of hemorrhage, fear of the disgusting horror that is miscarriage. 

At the end, I realized that the evil I feared did not ever manifest itself.  My bleeding was long, but never heavy. I had cramps but they were mild when compared to the worst menstural cramps I had experienced in my life. My emotional pain, though debilitating, was not devastating. 

I would heal. 

I am healing. 

Today is March 1st. I am wishing myself a Happy New Year.

Because on January 1st… and then on February 1st I was going through hell.

The Valley is a place that I had to travel through. Sometimes I think I have reached the other side; other days, I know I am still there. But there is light.

Source

Because You are with me…

Meng Menu: The Two Week Plan

I have been trying to simplify my life so I decided to start shopping for two weeks worth of groceries at a time instead shopping once a week. I did it for the first time two weeks ago and was really surprised that I saved a lot of money. Our weekly budget is $150 per week. When I shopped for two weeks for the first time, I spent $207. I made two small trips in the two weeks and spent an extra $60 in total but still, I was under the $300/two week budget!

This week I spent $211 in total. (I saved $41.53 with my Kroger card and coupons). So instead of $150 per week, I spent about $105. Awesome. 

Another great perk of doing "big shopping" every two weeks is the time I saved. Shopping took me 40 minutes today and I can forgo a big trip next Sunday. 

I am not really sure why the two week shopping is saving us so much money--maybe I am just planning better, shopping smarter sales, and stocking up? I can't put my finger on it but overall, I am really happy!

Here's what we are eating for dinner in the next two weeks. Of course, the food I bought covers breakfast, lunch, snacks, and drinks for two adults and three kids too. 

Sunday: Leftover BBQ Venison sandwiches, chips, carrots

Monday: Turkey Sub sandwiches, chips, apples

Tuesday: London broil, mashed potatoes, broccoli

Wednesday: Shepherds pie (potluck for Life Group)

Thursday: Pork chops, parmesan rice, green beans

Friday: Out to eat

Saturday: Sloppy joes, baked fries, carrots and broccoli

Sunday: Sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, fruit

Monday: Asian Pork strips, rice, broccoli

Tuesday:  Cheesy chicken rice casserole, steamed broccoli

Wednesday:  BLTs, chips, fruit

Thursday: Spaghetti w/ sausage, salad

Friday: Out to eat

Saturday: Baked Cod filets, parmesan rice, green beans

Miscarriage and Faith: Giving thanks IN…not FOR.

I shuffled into the kitchen, pushing the Kreuig button and my greasy hair behind my ear.

I was awake. I was functioning. I could make eggs. I could feed my kids breakfast before school...

…before I went to lay on the couch for the rest of the day.

It was a few days since "the phone call" and I was in the "wait and see" days of what they call "miscarriage management."

Micah pushed play on our kitchen CD player and Psalty the Singing Songbook's perky voice and camping exploits filled the air.

"In everything give thanks! In every situation! Sing of song of thanks…and praise him from your heart!!!"

"This is such a stupid song," I thought. "There is nothing, NOTHING to be thankful for in this situation. Everything about this sucks. Miscarriage SUCKS!"**

I put plastic plates of eggs in front of my kids and sat down heavily at the table, wincing from pain in my womb and pain in my heart.

Then I glanced over at Silas and he smiled at me...

...and I felt a little nudge in my soul.

Precious little boy. You are such a comfort to me.

I pushed through the fog in my brain and tried to plan my day…dinner tonight? Oh! That's right. Another dear friend was bringing us a meal.

I'm so glad I don't have to cook tonight. Thank you, Lord, for friends and the meal. 

Aaron came into the kitchen and kissed me on the forehead. "Ready to go, boys?"

Thank you for my husband. He has taken such good care of me and the kids. 

"Bye, Mommy!" My twins said as four skinny arms encircled my waist. "See you after school!"

Photo by Sabrena Carter Deal

Thank you for my children. I have three beautiful children who love me. I am blessed. I am blessed. 

The realization washed over me: 1 Thessalonians 5:18 (and Psalty!) says, "In everything give thanks…." not for everything.

I couldn't be thankful for…but I can be, no, I need to be thankful in. 

I need to be thankful….because thankfulness is ultimately trust in God.

In order to be thankful, I must look outside of myself--my pain, my grief--and see that God is still taking care of me. He has still blessed me with so many good things.

He holds my whole life in his hands, both the good and the bad. Thankfulness is recognizing this truth.

I can still give thanks in this situation, and really, in all things. This is the will of God for me.

**I actually googled "Miscarriage Sucks" and came up with some comforting blog posts that used lots of swear words that summed up my feelings quite nicely.

Miscarriage and Faith: Suffering and God's Goodness

It was 20 minutes after I received the phone call that we got the expected knock at the front door. A friend from church was bringing us dinner.

I was still numb from the news: "Your numbers are dropping. I'm afraid…this confirms a miscarriage."

As our friend set the food on the table, we told her what happened.

She was so sorry. She had been praying for us fervently. She had even shared that she had seen a vision of God cradling my womb during her prayers. This had been a great comfort to me.

"Can I pray for you?" She asked.

She slipped her arm around me in our kitchen and we bowed our heads.

"Oh, Lord," she began. "We thank you for your goodness…"

Everything in my soul recoiled.

How could she thank God for his goodness?
This was not good! This was bad, evil,  horrible, a nightmare!
If God was good, then why did my baby die?
I begged God to let the baby live, let the bleeding stop, let the midwife say "We have good news!"

That was the phone call I played over and over again in my mind. I couldn't imagine the alternative.The pain was beyond my imagination.

Yet here I was, in the midst of it.

And she was thanking God for his goodness?

God was not good. Not to me.

Her prayer and God's presence hovered over my soul at that moment and I shoved them away as hard as I could.

I couldn't pray. I had no words. Only deep pain and suffering that I had never experienced before.

Oh, I had suffered, of course. But as a result of my sin, or someone else's. That suffering had a reason, a purifying effect, a course that led me to repentance.

This. This was new. Stark, and bleak, and shocking, numbing and white hot. Suffering that hit me physically and spiritually.

"We know you are a good God…" she prayed.

I almost wanted to laugh. But I couldn't and so I cried.

We know you are a good God. 

I don't remember anything else from her prayer in my kitchen that day. But her words about God's goodness both shocked me and have stuck with me.

We know you are a good God.

I knew, in my head, that God is good. I had repeated those words since I was a child. I had memorized hundreds of verses, could recite every Bible story that spoke to this fact. I had prayed these words myself. I had never doubted God's goodness.

Until now. I doubted in my heart because it was filled with so much pain that there wasn't room for my faith.

But my head knew that God was good. The scriptures came rolling in, the ones I had tucked away for such a time as this.

I heard a song a few days later, a familiar hymn: "His eye is on the sparrow, but I know he watches me."

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I basked in the comfort of this image but a moment later was slammed with this truth:

His eye is on the sparrow….but the sparrow still falls. 

And all I can ask is why? Why did he let the sparrow fall? Why did I have a miscarriage?

That was my only prayer: Why did this happen, God?

I don't know why. But I do know he is with me, watching me. And weeping with me.

This is faith--horrible, hard, gut-wrenching faith: God is good.

______________________________

I'll be sharing more of my spiritual journey through suffering and grief in the coming weeks and how God had brought comfort to my heart through this difficult time.

UPDATE: Click on the links below to read about more of my journey.

Sweet Iz: Our Miscarriage Announcement
Giving Thanks IN…not FOR
Walking through the Valley

"Sweet Iz": Our miscarriage

Your older brother, Micah, named you when you were just a glow in my belly.

"Hi Iz!" he said softly, his hand on my hips, his mouth pressed to my stomach. He planted a kiss near my belly button and then scampered away.

"I'm going to name the baby Iz." He announced, 5 minutes after we told our boys they were going to be big brothers again on December 20th. "I want a baby sister. If it's a boy, I'm going to fuss."

I laughed, reminding him that the baby might not be a girl, and inwardly thinking that I didn't really like the name "Izzy."

But that was the only name you got. It was a sweet name, and full of love and expectation from the big brother you will never know on this side of heaven.

Sweet baby. You left us only a few weeks after we knew you were there. On January 4th, we found out that your soul had slipped away.

We miss you, your mommy especially. Christmas was such a time of hope. I felt like Mary, expecting a child, however small, at such a magical time of year.

Your daddy and I kept looking at each other with wide eyes, saying in hollowed, hallowed tones, "We're going to have FOUR kids. Holy crap."

And we still have four. But not here on earth.

We wonder why this happened, why you won't be joining our family here on earth. I told your big brother Benji that Mommy was very sad that the baby died.

"But Mommy, we still have Silas!" he said.

And that made me smile.

I have three little boys to hold in my arms and one little one to hold in my heart.

We didn't get to know you but your big brother named you.

We miss you, sweet Iz.

You can read more about my journey here: 

Sweet Iz: Our Miscarriage Announcement
Miscarriage and Faith: Suffering and God's Goodness
Miscarriage and Faith: Giving Thanks IN…not FOR
Miscarriage and Faith: Walking through the Valley
Miscarriage and Faith: Searching for Beauty

FREE Stocking Stuffers Your Kids Will Love

For some reason, when thinking of stocking stuffers for my kids, all my brain was saying was "Uhhhh….?"

Then I started thinking about things my kids really like to do. Two of their favorites "special treats" are playing Angry Birds on my iPad and watching shows on Netflix. They only get to do these activities on special occasions so I thought…

"What about a coupon book?" 

 Coupons are easy and FREE and I know my boys will LOVE coupons for Angry Birds...

…and Netflix. I made 3 coupons for each activity with a check box to mark when the coupon has been redeemed. I'm sure these coupons will get good use over Christmas break!

I cut out some printable tags, wrote the coupon info, cut some wrapping paper to size, and stapled. BAM!

What do your kids love to do? Make some coupon books and stuff those stockings!

Your kids will love you! 

My kids are now the "Public School Kids" I used to judge

I sat on a blanket in my friend's yard watching my 6 year old twins run and climb with ten other children on an unseasonably warm fall day.

The other moms and I sipped coffee and started chatting.

"So, where do your older ones go to school?" I asked.

"We homeschool," she smiled.

"We do too," another mom stated, with more of a look of resignation on her tired face. It was 4pm on a Wednesday, after all.

We talked and laughed and commiserated together. A few minutes later, I realized that out of the 4-5 women present, I was the only public school mom at our play date.  I listened to their discussions about curriculum and homeschool groups and contributed to the conversation where I could.

But I felt an emotional twinge, like I was an outsider.

I inwardly laughed: Me, feeling like an outsider for being a public school mom after I spent my entire childhood and adolescence feeling like an outsider because I was home schooled.

It really was funny…and so, so ironic.

I watched my kids climb into the treehouse and play good guys and bad guys, wielding sticks and plastic swords with their friends.

Then, my smile faded as a realization struck me.

My kids are the "public school kids." 

My kids are now the kids that, as a homeschooler, I used to judge...
…the kids I thought weren't smart enough, good enough, or Christian enough.

My friends and I even whispered about "wayward" home schoolers, saying "Look at her! She's acting so...public schooled!"

It was the worst insult we could slap on a person.

Although I have long come to the realization that my prejudices as a child and teen were unwarranted and flat out wrong, it wasn't until this moment that I felt the tragedy of my own hateful judgement toward others.

What if these sweet home schooled children think my boys are "less than" because they go to public school? 

What if they think that my twins aren't smart because they aren't home schooled?

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What if they shake their heads in pity, thinking my boys can't possibly learn to love Jesus because, don't you know? God isn't allowed in public school. 

As I watched the children play, I saw no discrimination, no judging thoughts, no distinction whatsoever. Only play and fun and equality. 

It was only my own mind that was tortured by the demons of my past.

Wave after wave of guilt and shame hammered my soul as I watched the kids play so freely and so free of judgment and I thought:

Why did I think this way?! My parents never taught me to think I was better than other people. They taught us to love and serve others.  

But somehow this attitude crept in. Maybe it was that first generation homeschoolers felt like they had something to prove.
Homeschooling was new and uncharted waters, after all.
Society questioned, doubted.
So we homeschool students were taught to prove our worth, defend our education:
Our education was just as good as a public school education.
No, it could be it was even better!

Or maybe it was because I heard about the "evils" of public school at homeschool conferences in or in overheard discussions from parents.

Source

While I was growing up, comics like the one above scared me yet also created a smug sense of security and self-importance. Those pieced, spiked, belly-showing, long-haired "creatures" could not be my friends. Oh, I should love them, but from afar, at arms length, as people that should be witnessed to because if they went to public school, they obviously did not know Jesus. But I had to be careful because their bad influence might rub off on me.

I even treated the kids I interacted with at church like this. We were the only homeschooling family in our large church and, to be honest, I was really weird. I mean, I wore a pinafore with 4 inch lace frills (that I sewed myself!) to church…when I was in 8th grade.

I was low on the social totem pole.

But there were sweet, kind girls that invited me to their birthday parties and for sleepovers.

I went but I never reciprocated. I judged them in my heart because they wore knee length skirts, gushed over Justin Timberlake, and talked about (gasp) hickies! I was horrified and I judged those good Christian girls like the bow-wearing, pink-clad homeschool girl judges her public school peers in the comic above.

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My attitude toward public schooled students was like the comic above. I was the happy fish, swimming freely, while public schooled students were "locked up" in "government" classrooms, being "taught to be robots," and were basically brain-dead by the time they graduated, like poor sardines in a can, begging for help!

But it was me that was locked up in a world of prejudice and judgement, shunning people who could have been my friends and who could have opened my eyes to new thoughts and ideas. (Thank God for this awesome public-schooled boy I met in college named Aaron…)

I know that the "us vs. them" attitude of homeschooelers is not dead. I wish it was. Everything I put in quotes in the paragraph under the comic are things I have heard from people I grew up with or from current blogs I have read (usually in the comments section under a controversial homeschooling article).

But when I became a public school mom (an agonizing decision you can read about here), I learned a few amazing things.

My kids are not locked in their classrooms or shackled to their desks (imagine that).
They are not robots, nor are they being taught to be robots (I have a son who constantly reminds me that he has a mind-of-his-own on a daily basis)
They love school and are taught by wonderful teachers who love them.
And, most importantly…

People are people. Not public school kids. Not homeschool kids. Heck, not even private school kids!

No more stereotypes and judgment.

People are people who deserve to be loved and respected for who they are, not judged or discriminated against for the school they attend.