Hostile Takeover

Now that I’ve proven I can maintain a blog with somewhat regular updating, it’s time for the next phase in my plan to take over the site: making it pretty. As a military coup, beautification is pretty pointless, but as a cyber attack on Danny’s old blog, I believe there’s an art in asking Isaac, in just the right way, to help me. 

In the age of IG stories and YouTube shorts, blogs are nearly obsolete. They live in the murky, digital realm alongside flip phones and CDs and are now being defined as “words, because I don’t know how to make a reel.” Since I’ve decided to steal it, I really wanted to put the ‘own’ in ownership, so there have been a few minor changes. Thanks to the hours we’ve put into kicking Isaac off computers for the last several years, he was able to figure out how to implement many of the renovations I wanted. Hopefully there will be more to come, but when Danny isn’t looking.🙂

Speaking of hostile takeovers, did you know there is another person living in my house besides the eight of us? I discovered this a few years ago, but this seems like a good time and place to complain about it. This person is virtually invisible and therefore extremely elusive. The only way I know they’ve struck again is when the kids tell me. 

For example, one day I removed eleven bath towels from the hooks in the children’s bathroom. The number of towels was extremely disproportionate to the number of children who were taking regular showers at the time. When I asked each child who needed that many towels, easily giving up the culprit, they each replied, “Not Me.”

Another time, I walked past a bathroom and noticed there was no toilet paper on the roll. To be more specific, the brown cardboard roll was on the hardware with zero ply attached to it. Someone had to have used it up on their last go and didn’t bother to replace it. What a shock when I discovered, upon inquiry of all the children as to who the guilty party was, that “Not Me” had been using our bathrooms again. 

The blame gets placed squarely on the shoulders of “Not Me” for many other infractions outside of the bathroom too, lest you think we have a restroom ghost, but I think you get the picture. I’d really like to corner this “Not Me” though because he (she?) needs to account for his deeds. Instead of being a tactical troll, they need to become a contributing member of this family.Until then, I’ll have my children keep an eye out; they’re sure to catch him before I do. Assuming they’re on my side… 

But if Danny asks who took over his blog, I’m definitely going to tell him it’s Not Me.

Hello?

Does anyone know how an introvert wants to let you know about something? Since we are generally the quiet ones in a conversation, it is immensely tough sometimes to casually bring up a topic we’d like to share or discuss. Rare would be a time when we’d initiate the conversation or blurt out anything of consequence, especially if it was a subject matter leaning towards self-promotion or a matter of concern. 

Often we are content to allow the conversation to flow around us, not needing to join in verbally ourselves. We come to terms with the fact that even if we had something to say, we may never end up saying it. At times, courage is required because we know that when we begin speaking, all eyes are on us and that feels like a solo performance on a stage in front of millions. 

When we do talk, we may even try to attach several caveats because we want our audience to fully understand what we are about to say or why we are about to say it. Most likely our words will be monosyllabic and we will lose the point we were going to make, especially if we make eye contact with those millions. It is possibly the reason why so many introverts end up as authors. Words on paper are so much more comfortable and easy than words out loud, in person.

Which leads me to this next bit. How does an introvert let others know they have a blog for public consumption (that they’ve been working on for a year), assuming the introvert wants the public to read their blog? I am completely aware of the irony here; I’m asking the public how I inform the public about my blog when the public doesn’t even know it exists. But still, what do you suggest?

As a person who generally likes to keep from interacting with anyone, I recognize the oddity in keeping up a blog that seems to be written for others. It’s a little scary, putting your life on display for others’ amusement, even through a screen. Finding a forum I feel comfortable using to share family news is not easy either. Facebook has so many ads that no one ever even knows about any updates on their “friend’s” walls. Instagram works well as long as you only want to share ten or less photos with no captions attached, or you are a famous person. I don’t have Twitter/X or any other social media, so my options are limited.

I think I do want people to read the blog, but the reasons are purely selfish. I write when I have the words and to share our ongoings, but I need constant affirmation that what I write is good, worthwhile even. However, I would rather keep our family life private even though I compose my entries as if they are for you. How do I reconcile this?! Now that you all know how weird I am, how do I let you know my blog exists so you can read about how weird I am? 

One method I try to employ is to convince, beg, or bribe my children to contribute their own musings or stories so I can get out of having to come up with something of my own. It’s good when they do because then you get something far more interesting to read and I get to whine about having nothing to say for another week. Remember, the challenge was to see if I could update regularly, and typically, I feel simultaneously obligated and nervously happy to do so. But you’d only know that if you read the blog.

And so the circle goes unbroken and I am no closer to knowing how to introduce the danberall blog to more than the seven people who are currently aware of it. Of those seven, two are James and Caleb, who haven’t read it, one is Jake, who only reads it when I remind him I’ve added a post, and the last four are tired of me forcing them to read each draft, each week, waiting for a critique before I click “publish”. If you are reading this, please let me know how you found out about the ‘rarely updated’ and totally unknown site in the comment section so I can put a stop to it! 🙂

The Introvert

Inauspicious Beginnings

I can’t take much more of this. I consider myself fairly strong when it comes to my children being hurt, emotionally or physically, but the most recent incidents have burdened me to a breaking point. Parenting is not for the faint of heart, but what do you do when your heart is faint? 

Just under four weeks ago, Caleb broke his thumb. According to the casting technician, he was her first “sledding down the stairs on mattresses when my sister landed on my hand” bone break. Glad we could spice up her tale tally, but do we get a discount for him being the fourth of my children to make it into the orthopedist’s office?

Less than two weeks ago, Anna sprained her foot playing Round Robin, but the pain was so bad we initially believed she’d broken it. After three and a half hours spent at Immediate Care, because of course she hurt it on the weekend, and a couple of x-rays later, we were thrilled to find out it was only a sprain. She was given a most unfashionable boot to wear, directions to stay off of it for a long while, and sent on her merry way.  Little did the doctor know who she was dealing with because Anna was back to basketball practice days later, “running” suicides with the rest of the team until her coach finally told her to go sit down! 

Less than four days ago, Ellie dislocated her shoulder so badly she couldn’t get it back in on her own, earning herself a four hour trip to the ER. It didn’t take long for the questions of “what happened?” (I was taking a one-armed, half court shot.) and “did you make it?” (No.) to become tiresome to her.  After applying medieval torture techniques, the doctor, who was actually extremely kind, placed the joint back where it belonged and Ellie felt instantly better.  The doctor said we’d have to follow-up with Ortho and asked if we had a doctor for that. Oh my, do we ever! Ellie is now my fifth child to enter the hallowed, and dare I say ‘hated’, halls of the orthopedist’s office. We also discovered that Anna probably shouldn’t go into nursing but would make a great traveling comedian to patients, as long as it doesn’t hurt them to laugh. Cow udder glove balloons, anyone? Wheelchair derby? How about an imitation nurse routine? She does it all.

Less than five hours ago (as of this writing), Caleb decided it was his turn for the annual Allan Meet-and-Greet With a Tree while sledding, earning himself a busted lip, scarred nose, bloody mouth, and lost baby tooth. Before I knew about any of this though, my single warning that something was wrong with a child was Danny’s voice coming through the garage door, saying, “You might be making another trip to the hospital,” before going right back to snow blowing the driveway. You might imagine the trepidation with which I creeped around the corner of the living room into the kitchen to see what awaited me.

James and Caleb had been outside, having their last bit of snow fun before bedtime when Caleb’s sled directed him to the nearest tree.  I still haven’t straightened out why Caleb didn’t bail, what tree he hit, what he was thinking, did he only lose one tooth…  but I did keep my cool when he entered the house with his face dripping blood.

Simultaneously to the sledding accident, Jake’s flight back to school for the spring semester was extremely delayed. We had been in constant communication with him, deciding whether to pick him back up from the airport and try again tomorrow, or have him take the late flight and hope he made his connection. Most of that doesn’t matter to anyone else, so the take-away here is that because we had to relinquish our time with our oldest, I was already emotionally wrecked before Caleb got hurt.

Which brings me back to my initial question. What do you do when your heart is faint? We are encouraged in II Thessalonians to not be weary in well-doing, but what about when you are?  Hebrews 12:3 was read in meeting this morning, “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary and fainthearted,” and I was drawn to Lamentations 3: 30-32, “For the Lord will not cast off for ever: But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies. For he doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.” The fact that these verses were put on my heart on this day, of all days, is not lost on me, but one resists the knowing sometimes.

In no way am I trying to diminish any physical pain my children are experiencing. Between administering medication, watching tears stream down faces, and listening to the shouts and groans, I am well aware they are suffering. Our family does not have a monopoly on trials and tribulations, though it does seem like our particular circus has too many side shows right now.  I don’t really have any answers either, but when I set aside my frustrations and fears, I can better lean into His strength and promises and see that the safety that is of the Lord is much more important than the physical needs we have on earth. How wonderful to be recipients of His multitudinous mercies. Caleb’s favorite bedtime song right now is “Safe Am I”*, and it seems to be most apropos, though I almost couldn’t sing through it tonight.

I’ll just end by saying Isaac is my favorite. 🙂

*Safe am I.
Safe am I,
In the hollow of His hand.
Sheltered o’er,
Sheltered o’er, 
With His love forevermore.
No ill can harm me.
No foe alarm me.
For He keeps both day and night.
Safe am I.
Safe am I,
In the hollow of His hand.

When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I.  Psalm 61:2