Taking PTO

A week ago I took a day of PTO.

I had originally been registered to attend a large coaching conference, with excited plans to meet up with several amazing friends that I have not had the privilege to meet yet in-person. It was going to take place in St Louis, Missouri, which was within driving distance for me, with the added bonus, is also the work location that I am an art admin to for the company I work for, Staples. I had planned / hoped to drive up the weekend before, work from the STL office a few days and meet and greet all my lovely work peeps, and then go on to meet up with all my friends I have met online, and after years of deep friendships, would get to meet and hang out with in-person.

Last summer the live event was covid canceled… and several months ago they announced that this year’s live event would also be covid canceled, and… most Staples peeps are still working from home.

DangNabit anyway. All the hopes, all the plans… yet again yanked from under me.

At that point I should have turned my three PTO days back in, waiting to use them when I actually needed them. See, PTO is a bit tricky for me. I’m the newest hire on a small subteam of beautiful gals… so I only earn a fraction of the time off they all earn each year, and we can only have one person out at a time. It’s all good, but does also leave me basically doing a lot of… well… covering for people. It’s kind of a running joke that if I’m not taking PTO, then someone else is.

I used a big chunk of my PTO for the big wedding earlier this summer. And praise the Lord for that time off! I used and appreciated every second of it, but they were not exactly overly “restful” days off ;-). I have the last bit of my PTO marked off for a full Oldenkamp family adventure to North Carolina over Thanksgiving to celebrate my parents 50th anniversary and get to see all the sights and sounds of where my brother and his family moved last summer.

So, needless to say, between baseball games and all the doctor appointments we navigate through, my rolling PTO excel spreadsheet that we plug everything in to – the tally along the bottom of the page has read ZERO since before this year even started.

Which brings us back to last week. I know I should have turned those days back in… and yet I just never did. That week arrived and I knew I needed to make some decisions. I also knew I was beyond exhausted and burned out, both in life and at work. We have recently gone through several large program / system / software changes, and the added stress of days having to cover when others were off, after living a life completely stuck in full speed ahead mode and amid living through the reality of a world pandemic for the last eighteen months.

My mind kept telling me over and over to turn the time back in and have a little cushion, because Lord only knows what the Lord has in store for us. That is one thing I have learned, one never knows and one is never fully prepared for everything… heck, one never knows and one is never fully prepared for anything anymore, amiright?!?

In the end I did give back a few hours but also took a few hours. One day I spent one-on-one with my son at the lake, and one day… I spent one-on-one with me, myself, and I.

Yup.  I swallowed my pride and I made the ask for my parents to take the teenager overnight Sunday night and have him all day Monday and I would pick him up late afternoon. They probably cringed just a little, but replied with a “That should work.” Praise the Lord. So I drove him from the lake to their house, dropped him off early evening, and drove myself home.

I unpacked, I showered, I put on all the comfy clothes, I made the coffee, and I went downstairs to my craft room. I left all of the dirty laundry on the floor in the hallway. I left all of the dirty dishes in the sink and on counter. I left the kitchen table heaped high with heaven only knows. I didn’t open the mail laying on the other counter. I didn’t sweep up the dust bunnies and I didn’t vacuum up all the bits and specs of all the this and thats that have been building and gathering for probably over a month.

Oh I stood there for a hot second looking at it all, fighting against myself that was screaming that all of that needed to be taken care of first before I could even entertain the thought of … gasp … scrapbooking. I stood there surveying the mess of my house (fully representing the mess of my life, yes I know) and turned and went downstairs anyway.

The steps needed vacuuming, I noticed for the millionth time, as I decended. Oh Lord and the basement… I can’t even… I continued through that mess and walked past the treadmill, and elliptical, and bike, and workout weights. Yup, totally should get those steps in and calories burned first before allowing myself to scrapbook… But I continued through them all and opened the craft room door, my exercise area leaving an audible gasp of disbelief in my brushoff.

I sat down. I looked, I touched. I organized a little, I took a deep breath… and I started where I had last left off, which was… well, before my big back injury in early January.

At midnight, I was still scrapbooking (I am a 9pm in bed asleep gal) and I was still getting messages from the teenager who apparently wasn’t able to sleep and missing me over at my parents house. Part of me wanted to go get in the car and just go get him and bring him home… but I didn’t. Funny how those kiddos of ours never want to actually be with us until they aren’t actually with us, then suddenly they miss us and want us to come get them. Oof.

I went up and went to bed with my alarm set early. If I was going to “selfishly” use a day of PTO, then I was going to take advantage of every single second.

A few hours later the alarm went off, the coffee started perking, and I again passed by the exercise area and again gave them the unheard of brushoff. I was back in my quiet room busy with my paper and cutters and scissors and stickers, and all the memories from all the moments captured in all those vibrant and beautiful photos.

No music, no noise. No podcasts, no words. Silence, utter silence. Just the slicing of paper and the sipping of coffee, hour after hour. The window to outside went from black, to grey, to light, and I looked at my watch and it was just after 8:00 am.

I still had time to run upstairs and log on, to work, to turn in the PTO. My mind was all at unease with all these thoughts slamming around. There was suddenly so much guilt. Mom guilt that I pawned off my child to my parents. Spouse guilt over all the housework needing to be done.  Work guilt that I was not working but not actually doing “anything” that would warrant the need for the day off. I honestly had a few moments of almost manic to sit and talk myself through.

No. Stay and sit. No. You can and will and are going to scrapbooking all day today. The phone is on silent, you are not going to log on and work. You are not going to message to see how the teenager is doing. You are not going to turn your phone on and start answering messages and emails. You are not going to get caught up scrolling mindlessly on social media. No.

Oh how the wrestle and struggle was real, and I finally sat back and thought, wow – why is it so hard to take a freaking day of PTO? When did that reality turn into this beastlike resistance inside me?

Who told me that this was all just selfishness and irresponsible and that I had not done enough yet to earn this day of silence and renewal? And what if that who – was really only myself, my own distorted beliefs deeply engrained and intricately woven through my very marrow of existence?  (Because of course it's me.)

Why can’t I allow myself to just do nothing? And wait, scrapbooking isn’t just nothing. Scrapbooking to me it is something, a really really big something actually, if I’m honest. It’s that thing that fills me, that brings me joy and creative release. It's one of the things that makes me happy inside.

Why do I allow myself to label my time as earned and unearned? Why do I allow myself to keep and honor unwritten rules inside myself as to what and when I can walk away from all the things (the adulting, the wife-ing, the mom-ing, the cleaning, the cooking, the working, the general busy-ing…)? And where did all these unwritten beliefs of mine come from? My parents growing up? The vacations we took that every single minute and moment was filled with doing something, something that never included nothing? The social media feed I allow myself to ingest? The society shouting it’s hustle and bustle and do’s and overdo’s over and over again one post, one meme, one tweet after another. Always to be in motion, always to be giving, always to be denying, always to be one more-ing to keep up with the Jones’s. Never enough… never enough stuff, never enough money, never enough worth, never enough enough’s.

Now, scrapbooking isn’t the only “earned” belief I carry. I also have foods that need to be earned (I only allow myself the “treat” of a Gatorade choc caramel recovery bar after I have completed a half marathon or longer distance race [not training distance mind you, that doesn’t count – only a specific and timed “race”] … and I only allow myself a massage (my ultimate gift to myself) after I have also completed a half marathon or longer distance race [although on occasion I will allow a training distance run to qualify].

I’m sure I can come up with lots of other similar oddities I hold within as my truth, but I’m not going to try waste my moments on those thoughts, mostly because it just makes me sad. Sad that so much time, talent, and exertion seems to be wasted by the earning and justifying of things we don’t feel we (ok… and least me, but I just can’t seem to think that I am alone in this battle) just deserve for any reason beyond “just because.”

Why do we do this to ourselves? This push to work so hard to earn that which we really want to do, what we really enjoy doing, what we really love being granted the opportunity to fully savor. Or is this just me? Am I the only one needing personal justification and self-validation to earn the gift, the grace, the approval, the admittance to simply do something that fills me up? For no other reason than because… well, because I want to.

Self care. Soul care. Something so needed and yet so complex for some reason. Much more complex surely than it was intended to be.

Well… in the end I did manage to talk myself off that ledge a week ago. I did spend an entire day by myself, with myself, and my own thoughts and happiness. I sat in silence with all these amazing memories, with all the colors of the rainbow at my fingertips, with no worries of interruptions.

I got myself past the guilt and the justification and simply allowed myself something that filled me, for no other reason than ... because it was the thing I wanted to do, I chose to do, I allowed myself to do.

The day didn't end with everything suddenly perfect and all my imperfections fixed, all my insecurities overcome, all my less than's finally more than's... but it did end with a finished scrapbook of our family vacation that we took last summer to the Wisconsin Dells (which we never even told anyone about - but did actually happen even though none of us posted on social media about it ~LOL) and I got to sit and flip through those pages with my family, and smile and remeniece.

I allowed myself a few hours of silence, all alone, doing what I love to do, and rarely allow myself to actually do. I let my weary soul fill back up just a little, nowhere near the top to overflowing, but enough to at least help lighten the steps and brighten the days, at least for a little while. 

The Wedding

Oh I have so many things to write and share about, and I think I’m going to just dive in and start with The Wedding… because it’s a mix of the most exciting thing and I know it’s going probably be a pretty hard thing to try capture, and express, and share.

Last fall my son got down on one knee and asked the love of his life if she would marry him, and she said yes. To say the least, we were all beyond ecstatic.

And over the next nine months, I have never felt more loved and more welcomed by anyone than I have been by my precious new daughter-in-law and her family. I was invited to all the things, got to help make, and create, and be hands on with all the things. The showers and flowers, the dress shopping, the engagement clothes shopping, the invites and programs, the bachelorette party (well most of it anyway ~lol), the spa day, the rehearsal supper, the desserts and the cakes… I was joyfully asked and able to just be a part of it all.

Really there are no words to fully describe the feeling of that love and inclusion of myself, getting to watch the love and growth of my son and his fiancé, getting to know her family, and just the fullness within a mothers heart, soul, and mind knowing the wonderful family that her son was also becoming a part of. I have tears in my eyes just trying to write this.

This may end up becoming a multipart series, as I’m sitting here thinking over all the things I could write about (the friends who show up to handle all the things, the stress of having one son the groom and one son the groomsmen, doing a wedding with a mixed family of ex’s and step’s etc) and to put that all in one post isn’t possible.

I think I will initially start with some of my thoughts and emotions I experienced in regards to being both the mother of the groom, and the mother of a stillborn daughter who was born sleeping six years ago.

First and foremost I need to start by simply stating that even though the focus of this particular post is going to be on the wedding and Faith, that my entire mind and thoughts that day were not solely and wholly centered on her. In fact, they were but small snippets to the whole of that amazing day.

I was filled with so much love and joy, pride and good overwhelm, and was truly focused on taking in all the minutes, moments, and memories that I possibly could. So please, don’t read this and think that I was stuck only in my loss and all that I didn’t have and all who wasn’t there – because that is not the case.

But I also don’t want to not take the opportunity to speak quietly into just a few things within my heart in regards to the reality of having a wedding and not having one of your children there with you in the midst of the celebration and chaos.

We have a pink bear that has come to represent Faith. She sits on a shelf on top of the little box of cards and keepsakes of her life and loss. On occasion she joins us in a family photo. My husband is a little odd about it sometimes, which is totally understandable, so for the most part, she’s just hanging out on the shelf. When he saw the bear out and on top of all the cupcake and wedding cake stands, he immediately asked why the bear was out, wary of what my ulterior motive of inclusion was going to be.

Bailey and Coby asked to bring the bear along to the wedding. I wasn’t exactly sure what the plan was for it, and I don’t think they really did either, we just all kind of felt it needed to be there. They also had a beautiful glass and candle display to remember all of the special people that were already gone and watching from Heaven.

I had plans to ask for one family photo including the pink bear. Beyond that I had no thoughts or expectations. The bear went from the back pew of the church during rehearsal, to the downstairs room where all the girls got ready, and then moved to a corner upstairs on top of my bag of all the mom things.

It was a bustle of activity from the time we woke up the day of the wedding. The guys were off to shoot guns and eat donuts, the girls were off to the hair salon. There was lunch shifts, first the girls, then the boys – because the bride and groom were not to see each other before “the first look moment.” And then suddenly, I was needed upstairs for photos of me and Bailey. I helped him do his hair, I helped straighten his collar, I helped pin on his boutonniere. And then … my husband and I got the unexpected gift of a few slow ticking minutes. We were able to sit with him, just the three of us for a little while as we waited for the bride to be ready.

Those minutes in that room will always be some of the best minutes of my life.

And then just like that, the bride was nearly ready and we were to head to the family farm for the first look and all the photos, about a mile away. I suddenly got to load him in my car and drive him there, just the two of us in the cakemobile. And those minutes – phew – let’s just say it was a good thing I had no idea beforehand I was going to be granted those minutes. I did not have a great little talk planned, I did not have all the right words of wisdom ready to try express all my love and all the mom things of that moment in a short one mile drive on a dusty gravel road.

Hopefully what I did manage to get out was enough. (I say this with a smile).

He was so excited, and so nervous, and so in love. My heart could hardly handle it. And then as we got him in the house and into the back room, watching for the arrival of the bride and getting their first look moment all perfectly set up to happen behind the barn… I realized that I had not taken along the pink bear. It was still sitting on top of my bag of all of my mom stuff.

This thought struck my mind as I stood in the hallway looking to my right out the window to their driveway waiting for the arrival of the bride, and looking to my left watching him standing in the doorway of the back room.

I did not take the bear along and they would be doing all the photos at the farm.

I was struck with the reality that first – I had healed enough to actually forget the bear amid the wonderful chaos of that moment with my first born living son, that actually made me smile just a little. And I realized that this also meant that I would not be getting that one family photo with the pink Faith bear. And in that exact moment I found I was more ok with not having the bear in one photo than it was for me to do anything about getting it there. It was of importance, yes… but not enough importance to allow me to miss one single moment of everything happening right then and there. I had a moment of angst and disappointment at myself, but it was gone as fast as it hit.

It was fine. I was fine. There was not going to be a pink bear in one family photo. So, I just took a selfie with it after we got back to the church. And that was good enough for me. She was there, exactly where and how she needed to be.

There were other moments throughout it all, of course, that I had those few thoughts and pangs of the reality that there really should have been one more little cute redheaded five year old running around. One more person I should be worrying about and running around after. One more person to run into Bailey and Coby’s arms for a hug and a kiss and a dance at the reception. This wasn’t my every thought, but it was there.

The bittersweet reality of going on with life after the loss of someone dear. The reality of going on with life with a set of footsteps missing from all the moments and memories happening all around. The watching of other little ones similar to her age, watching and wishing… smiling and hurting, being grateful she’s getting to enjoy the perfection and pleasures of Heaven and not having to endure the sickness and pain of life here on earth, mixed with the guilt of wishing her to still be here with us on this stained and imperfect earth instead of up there embossed in her sparkling perfection.

Bittersweet. It’s the best word I can think of to describe it all.

I am an emotional person, and I may be known to cry easily. I was worried that I would just be one hot crying mess the entire time. I had no idea what to expect, this was our first wedding rodeo you know, as Bailey is our oldest… Coby on the other hand, well she is the way tail ender of a large family – so they were all prepared for all the things. (I say this with a smile of course. I mean really, no matter how many weddings you go through, one will never be fully prepared, this I am sure of.)

Overall I had been doing really well, until that moment at the rehearsal.

You know, that unexpected moment when it all hits and it takes everything in you to not just lay down and just sob… the ugly cry with all the tears and all the snot and all the little hiccups.

Well that moment ended up being the moment when the music started playing and the little flowergirl hit the center isle during the first run through the night of the rehearsal.

And I was not expecting it. And, it hit me hard. All the feels, all the emotions, all the tears. Tears of love and joy and pride and total overwhelm of all the things happening in that exact moment, but also tears of all that wasn’t.

There should have been one more little flower girl walking down that isle beside the adorable Miss Briella. There should have been two little hands tossing pink rose pedals with their sparkly shoes and dresses… but there was not.

There was only one.

And my heart flooded with so many extreme emotions all at exactly the same moment, and I was completely overtaken with tears, just all the tears, and I could not hold them back, could not contain them. Good tears, proud tears, happy tears, sad tears. Just… all the tears.

Words can’t really accurately describe that moment, but that’s ok, because while I can try to express and describe it, I know that I never will be able to fully write the words that would allow anyone else to fully know the magnitude of that moment that I will forever remember and hold near and dear within me.

It was an amazing time of total joy and celebration, mixed with a perfect ting of loss and sadness, just enough to keep me grounded and fully present…

Just enough to keep me fully grateful for every single minute of that amazing event.  And I am humbled and proud to say that we officially went from that family that lost their daughter... to that family that gained thee most amazing daughter ever.

Thank you Coby, for everything, from the bottom of my heart, you are loved beyond words.

 

Previous blog post { Yes, It's Been A While } HERE

Next Blog Post { Taking PTO } HERE

Yes It's Been A While

Well hello my friends… yes it’s been awhile hasn’t it.

It’s been a very busy and chaotic few months for me… actually all of 2021 is proving to be “quite the year”. (As if 2020 wasn’t “enough” of a “quite the year” enough for five years.)

So many things have happened this year… a RunDisney progressive virtual running event, which dovetailed into a multi-month recovery of a fairly major back injury. There was (is) the lingering covid divide of all things anything. There was a wedding and all things involving being the mother-of-the-groom; showers and flowers, invites and cakes, shopping and spa days. There has been camping and a somewhat attempt to return to running. There is now a teenager in the house and all the things involving the aspects of a middle school teenage adopted boy dealing with normal struggles, as well as a few additional struggles that need attention and love and constant navigation. There was a middle school baseball season, with all the practices, carpools, drop offs, pick ups, and games. There has been all the financial struggles I’m sure everyone is also experiencing and the attempts to juggle two jobs, both of which are currently from my home, but one of which will soon be having to return back to the public office setting.

I’m sure I could continue on, but I’m also sure I’ve probably already lost several of you along the way as you tried to just get past the above paragraph. I know I know, it’s not just me living in a crazy fog of all the things.

So, I have been fairly silent, at least much of the time. However, I have been leaving the house much more than a year ago. I have been making appearances in public places, as well as attempting to visit one on one with a few of my closer peeps that I have not seen much of over the past 18+ months. I’m still very much an introvert, still very much one who loves to view and experience things from afar.

I have stopped reading self help books, I’ve stopped listening to self help podcasts, and I gave my social media feed a very healthy trim. I finally looked up one day last summer and realized that all the books I was reading, and many of the people and accounts I was following in my attempt to become “better” were actually leaving me worse off than the “worse” I was already at.

So I picked up some non-fiction… said hello to the glorious Twilight series of books and movies, and then on to the Beautiful Creatures series, the House of Night series, the Of Smoke and Bone series, and haven’t really looked back since.

No more For the Love, no more Girl Wash Your Face, no more Carry On Warrior, no more Eat Cake Be Brave. I’ve made some fast friends with some amazing vampires and have zero regrets closing the door for a while on the self improvement ward.

On occasion I will still listen to a random podcast now and then, but overall I have just really cut back on everything, at least attempting to hold the reigns back to all that which influences me from the outside in. My radio is not on at home or in my car.  I don't watch tv.  I set my phone to turn off all notifications from 7pm to 7am, but don’t get me wrong, I’m still very easily the victim of endless social feed scrolling and wasting so many of my precious minutes and hours wishing I had more of this and less of that. 

I’ve also made the odd switch to running to classical music. I have always had a love for it (and you know, Metallica), but never while I was running or walking.  But one day I reached that point of utter burnout that was so extreme I could no longer continue to hear or process any more words.

So in other words, yes, I’m still a hot mess. I’m still not the weight I want to be. I’m still not remotely close to the mother / wife / daughter I need to be to those in my immediate bubble. I still have a daughter that I have to visit every now again over in the cemetery, and absolutely everything (and I do mean everything) in between.

I’ve been doing some thinking about this blog again lately, feeling compelled to post something… but not sure what. I started this blog to tell our story, our story of our Journey to Faith. Our love and loss of our dear little daughter Faith MaryJo. And I did share the details of our very short life with her, and I’ve since gone on to share some of the healing and dealing as I continue to try move forward in this life. She stopped living, but I did not, and somehow I am needing to figure out all the details to all the minutes, days, months, years until it will be my turn to take my last breath here on earth and join her.

And as I think about that, I think about what I really want to write about, to share, to allow you in to see and know and feel. But I have this ever present odd little voice in my head always saying – no one is wanting to know. No one wants to see what coffee mug you are using today.  No one wants to know that you ran today and how far you went. No one wants to hear about the thoughts and pangs and hurts and joys and sorrows and utter disparity continually at war within you.

And for some reason, I tend to listen to that voice, give that voice the power it does not have and surely does not deserve. I am not forcing anyone to do anything, and I do not need to believe the whispers saying no one wants to hear, or see, or know anything about anything I have to say or do.

So I’ve decided, at least for the current moment, to drink the coffee, run the miles, bake the cupcakes, pet the dog, post the photos, and … write the words.

Write the words.

Yesterday as I was in the car driving in silence, all the thoughts and all the words all binging and banging and pin balling around inside my mind, I decided to challenge myself to write and publish one thing a week for the next nine weeks. I was throwing back and forth if I needed to stick to a certain topic or not… and went back and forth over the reason for the blog in the first place.

Our Journey to Faith. "Faith" as in our daughter… "Faith" as in believing and doing all in which you cannot actually see or know, and simply trusting that it is good.

Maybe I'll try write about the joy of watching an amazing son marry the love of his life, while knowing there should be one more little flower girl coming down that isle before them with her pink rose pedals and her sparkly little shoes and dress.

Maybe I'll write about my running and fitness journey, because in reality, it took me being really sick and reaching the lowest of lows with my physical and mental health before I finally was able to find any kind of forward momentum improving my own health.

Maybe I'll write about…. Actually… why don’t you just try pop on here every now again over the next few weeks knowing I will hopefully be fulfilling my personal promise and challenge to myself and sharing whatever it is that God lays on my heart and hands in those moments yet to come. 

 

Previous Blog Post { Faith Week } HERE 

Next Blog Post { The Wedding } HERE