Little Momma's Take on the Conflict in Syria

Arab spring has sprung....rather, it sprung in early 2011 and hasn't stopped. The conflict in Syria has been touched on in American and worldwide news outlets for the past couple of years, but is currently being heavily talked about now that America might "get involved".  It is a subject that is proverbially "close to home" for me, as my parents have been working with Syrian refugees in Jordan for some time now.

If you need to be enlightened on the Syrian situation (as I jokingly call it "Arab Rumspringa; too glib perhaps?), you should first read this informative, yet brief, article that has been circulating on Facebook: 9 questions about Syria you were too embarrassed to ask.

In my opinion, anyone who knows a minute amount about geopolitics should recognize how bad of an idea it is to get involved with Syria.  The fact that we even supply arms to the Syrian rebels baffles me.  Both the Syrian government and the opposing rebels are extremely dangerous and bad news and to consider an American military strike type of intervention is idiotic at best. Who would that be helping?  Certainly not the millions of innocent Syrians who are fleeing their country to find refuge.

Why would we went to get involved in the civil war when we could put our resources to much better use providing aid to the Syrian refugees strewn throughout neighboring countries?  My parents work with many refugee families in Jordan, providing mattresses and other supplies to lessen the severity of the dire conditions in which these people are living - and the need for such aid grows and grows. 

They have visited places where multiple families are living in one small room, with a handful of babies who don't even have diapers so the place reeks of stale urine.  On a recent visit, there was a family who wanted to marry their 14 year old daughter off, for protection or money. They have met a young boy who was so traumatized and struck by fear because of the war he saw in his hometown that his hair has fallen out - and won't grow back.  Another young toddler's first word: "enfijar", the Arabic word for explosion - all because that is the word he heard spoken and shouted the most in Syria as bombs went off nearby.

Maybe you are a numbers person, and those sad accounts don't strike a chord.  In that case, here are a few statistics to consider:

• 5,000 people are escaping Syria every day into neighboring nations 

              meaning the conflict has now forced:

• 1/3 of the Syrian population from their homes     

              which is currently:

• the highest number of displaced people anywhere in the world

               and in Jordan it makes up for:

• 8% of their population of 6.2 million
• 52% of the total refugees are CHILDREN 17 and under

People, this is a very sad situation and as a nation we need to DO something to help the Syrians.  And it is not getting our military involved.  We need to send aid to these poor refugees, people trying to protect their children from bombs and chemical warfare.

Syrian children killed by the recent chemical attack

If you are wondering how to actively do your part and help with an EFFECTIVE way of dealing with the Syrian conflict, leave a comment, message me on Facebook, or email price.savannah@gmail.com or thepriceteam@gmail.com and you will be given details on how you can do just that. 

Look, Damascus will disappear! It will become a heap of ruins.

Isaiah 17:1

Little Momma, the Eternal Guest

Always the house guest, never the hostess.

Ever since my parents sold my childhood home and moved to Jordan, I haven't really had a place I've felt comfortable calling "home".  I had an apartment on UofL's campus for a time, but I never knew my roommates and didn't feel comfortable venturing out into the shared space much.  When I got pregnant, I moved in with my aunt and uncle to their house in La Grange. It was a comfortable, peaceful retreat but when I tried calling it "home" it didn't feel true. Presently, I am living with my family at Ian's grandmother's house.  It's a major blessing that we don't have to pay rent or utilities because his grandma invited the three of us into her home - but that is the thing.  It's her home, not my own.

I find myself too often longing for the day I get to move in to a place and know I will be staying there for a year or more.  A place I can decorate as I wish, a place I can schlep around in whatever clothes I want or don't want to wear, a place I can settle in with my new family and finally have a place I truly call "home".  I'm ready to take my possessions out of storage and put them somewhere more permanent and comfortable.  I yearn to hammer in a bunch of nails in the walls to hang up a bunch of pictures.  I can't wait to have a place where I know where everything is, because I put it there, and it's all my family's and my things - no one else's.

The last place I called home, courtesy of Google Maps

A couple weeks ago, Ian and I read something that really admonished me:

Don't hesitate to accept hospitality, because those who work deserve their pay.

Luke 10:7c

The thing about that is, I haven't wanted to do that.  I want a place where I am finally the hostess.  But I need to remember that many have generously extended their own homes and that I should take it and be grateful.  

It's difficult having been the guest for going on two years.  But one day, Ian and I will be able to afford a place of hour own and I'll be able to move in my nice couches and decide for myself whether or not I want to recycle and the baby will have his own room.  

For now, I wait in the hospitality of others.

Little Momma's Little Wedding

Growing up, I never dreamed about having a big wedding or wearing a big rock.  As I got older, I still didn't care to have a big wedding (I always romanticized eloping), but I will admit I dreamed (okay, am still dreaming) of a sparkly princess cut diamond weighing down my ring finger.

Ian and I have talked about marriage for quite some time and it finally seemed like the right time for us to go forward with it.  As any gentleman does, he asked my father's permission to marry me via Skype since my dad lives overseas.  My dad gave his permission but wanted Ian to do a couple things before we could get married: 1) Tell his family and 2) apply Ephesians 5 to our relationship.

Our original plan was a courthouse wedding with just a few witnesses once Ian had fulfilled the first requirement, but I knew my dad wanted to be there.  It providentially worked out that there was a two week class Dad could attend if he flew over so he would not be coming just for a one day occasion.  So, I quickly started planning the big day.

"How does one plan a wedding without any money?" you ask.  Well, you are asking the right person.  While the average wedding in 2012 cost over $28,000, Ian's and my wedding cost around $1000 - and, while simplistic, it did not look skimpy.

So, for those of you dying to know, I present Little Momma's Tips for a (Very) Low Budget Wedding:

1. Exclusivity.  Invite as few people as you can.  Ian and I invited immediate family, aunts and uncles/cousins, and three friends each.  The total ended up being around 45 people in attendance.

Inviting almost no one means you can invite people verbally and get a verbal RSVP.  It also means that at your reception you don't have to mingle with dozens of people you either don't know or don't care about.  Exclusivity results in less food preparation, smaller cake, and a smaller (perhaps less expensive) venue.

If people get offended they weren't invited to your wedding, explain that it is a very small and intimate affair for monetary purposes and they will usually understand. If they are still sore about it....well, it's your wedding and you don't want someone that childish there anyway.

2. Resourcefulness. MINISTER - For our wedding, I asked my brother to officiate.  Not everyone has an ordained minister related to them but a justice of the peace is not very costly either and they come to you.

Oh my.  That's him on the right. Generally wouldn't want the minister of the wedding dancing like this.

VENUE - I also used my brother's church - a small, country venue that fit the modest feel of the wedding.  Antioch Christian Church doesn't charge for weddings, but, as a minister, my brother requires the couple to go through his one-session premarital counseling.  I am sure there are other small churches, if you look hard enough, that either don't charge, or just request a donation of any amount for their services.  For the reception, I used the basement of his church.

DECOR - For decorations, my mom borrowed tablecloths and fake floral arrangements from a friend whose daughters used them for their weddings.  Various small purchases for the minute details such as candles and sequins were made at a party store.

CAKE - Mom sought out a woman who went to our church who runs a local bakery with her father called Pastry Plus.  I went through a book of designs, opted for butter cream icing instead of fondant (does anyone actually like the taste of fondant?), and she cut us a fantastic deal for the two layer cake that would feed around 55 people.  I highly recommend their work!

Vanilla icing, vanilla cake. Enjoyed by all!

MUSIC - Who even needs a DJ anymore?  Let's all stop funding this non-job and go with the music we've already paid for on our computers and iPods!  You get to customize your ceremony and reception music, which ensures that the music will suit your taste and what you want to dance to.  The processional was a piano-only version of Alicia Key's If I Ain't Got You with the traditional Wedding March for the recessional. My dad and I did our father-daughter cha-cha to Something Stupid by Michael Buble featuring Reese Witherspoon and Ian's and my first dance was to You're the One by Dondria.

PICTURES - Simple.  Had my cousins take some. As someone who has been in a very fancy, expensive wedding before, I will tell you this is the better way. If they have more than a camera phone, at least.

A wonderful picture taken by a non-professional photographer

DRESS and RINGS - Dress was really just a maxi dress from Kohl's. $48.  Our rings are from James Jewel Box which we got 30% off through a friend.

-

While some might see it as bourgeois, my wedding had an understated elegance that was very inexpensive and practical.  I had a wonderful day with my family and my husband.  It wasn't about the glamour and grandeur: it was about getting a new name (well, for me); uniting with someone who makes me laugh every day, who relates to me and cares for me; and who I want to be with every day forever.

That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh.

Genesis 2:24

And for the record, I love my ring, sans flashy diamond.  

Man and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Ian Kelley

Little Momma 2.0

Life since my hospital stay has been vastly different than this time 3 weeks ago.  When I say vastly different, I mean polar opposite.  Wait, it was just 2 weeks ago? Oh my. It's been a long month to say the least.

Because of my ileostomy, I am relieved of my main Crohn's symptom (chronic bathroom trips) and my crippling abdominal pain has been completely eliminated.  I have gotten better sleep than I have since I was seven.  Without a trip to the bathroom every hour of the night (not an exaggeration) I have been able to get adequate rest that is needed for a complete recovery.

That Johnny Jump Up must be tasty!

I am on a new diet that consists of protein and carbs only - no fiber.  I am encouraged to eat steaks and bacon any time I want and no fruits or veggies.  I'm not kidding!  My nurse also suggested six large marshmallows a day to help with the output of my stoma.  I am pretty sure this diet is every kid's dream:

Child: But my doctor said no broccoli allowed, Mom!
Mom: Okay, well make sure you eat all your marshmallows.

The only real downside thus far has been that I am not able to pick up or hold my son (risk of herniating), rendering me practically useless with him.  This has proven to be very difficult.  As his momma, I want to pick him up and console him when he cries or just dance around with him at all times. I still have five weeks before I am even allowed to carry his weight, so my mom and Ian are his main caretakers in the meantime.  It really kills me to see him but not being able to do much with him, and I almost named this post "Little Momma Can't Pick Up Her Son".  I decided against it, not wanting to be a smellfungus. (2013 National Spelling Bee word.  Look it up.)  My life has greatly improved in the past week, so why focus on the negative?

Just letting it all hang out in the bathtub

I feel so much better than I have in a very long time, and know that the surgery was the right thing to do.  The stoma still scares me at times, but what it has given me outweighs the eyesore it makes on my abdomen.  It is a reversible one, but also built to last in the event that I fall head over heels with it.

A week after my surgery my mom asked me to rate on a scale of 0-10 how I felt when I was admitted to the hospital and how I felt now.  I told her I was an actual zero the day that I went, which was really one of my worst days ever.  Seven days after my surgery, I rated a 6.8, saying that the recovery curve is an exponential one, as I am sure a 10 will feel like an even greater difference than zero to 6.8.

I owe this drastic life change to all the prayers from friends, family, and friends of family.  I thank everyone for their thoughts and prayers, and while thoughts are nice, only prayer is effective.  God is good, all the time.

He lifted me out of the pit of despair,

out of the mud and the mire.

He set my feet on solid ground

and steadied me as I walked along.

Psalms 40:2

Little Momma's Hospital Stay

"I feel like a shell of myself."  That is a direct quote from me to my mom from June 30th.  I had undergone a procedure 6 days prior that was supposed to help improve my health somewhat and it ended up exacerbating problems greatly.  The details are too gritty and more appropriate for a medical journal perhaps, so I won't spell it out.  I will say that I was in immobilizing pain and discomfort and admittedly wearing the Kroger brand equivalent of Depends.  I was below 100 pounds (on a 5'4 frame) and could hardly eat without doubling over in pain.  14 years of damage and inflammation from my Crohn's disease had reached its peak. 

My mom had flown in from Jordan because of the dire situation.  The following is a timeline to sum up my week long stay at the University of Louisville Hospital.

Monday, July 1: Mom and I check into University Hospital's ER around 2pm.  It's a very diverse place, filled with all kinds of interesting people, particularly the man right outside of my curtained room who is handcuffed to his bed.  I try not to look directly into his eyes when my curtain is ajar.

I talk to the surgeons, telling them I want the last procedure undone and to bite the bullet by getting an ileostomy.  I'm sick of piddling around with my medications and want my symptoms treated surgically, even if it must be by the procedure I have feared most in my life.

It is decided that I will have a colonoscopy Wednesday to scope the situation and go from there.  (Get it? Scope?! I know, bad joke.)  I eat my last meal before the procedure.  Try to sleep through the screams of a grown man who is afraid of needles and getting his leg cut off.

Tuesday, July 2: Finally get a room in the hospital around 6pm.  Start colonoscopy prep around 7.  This is miserable.  4 horse pills, around every 15 minutes with 8 ounces of water each time.  You throw up from sheer volume of water consuming your stomach, in addition to the, er, cleansing on the other end.  On top of my pain, and not being allowed to eat, this is just a bad day.  Only prayer and watching the light-hearted show Keeping Up with the Kardashians gets me through (but mostly prayer, and my amazing mother).

Wednesday, July 3: More pills and cleansing, yay!  Still in pain and starving.  I get wheeled to my colonoscopy at 1pm.  When I come to afterwards, I find that my ileostomy is scheduled for Friday and I am still not allowed to eat until after that surgery.

Thursday, Independence Day.  All I see on my twitter feed is people either complaining about something trivial or posting pictures of their fourth of July feasts.  Tempted to throw my phone against the wall.  Nothing much about this day except a visit from an old coworker, my 60 year old, jive-talking friend named Alvin.  You really come to know who your true friends are by who visits you in the hospital.

Friday, July 5, SURGERY DAY: I get wheeled to pre-op around 7:30am.  Worrying that I will be one of those special cases who is aware under anesthesia.  Trying to remind myself that I practically demanded my surgeon that this had to be done and done immediately.

I don't remember much from this day except that I woke up and was told the surgery was successful.  They were able to perform it laparoscopically, a major blessing allowing for relatively quicker recovery.  I am allowed to eat and my first meal post-op is a chicken and mayonnaise sandwich that I have since been craving.

Saturday, July 6: This day is fuzzy as well.  I look down at my new stomach and cry, seeing a big meaty blob poking out (the stoma) and lament my once beautiful abdomen.  This is for the best, everyone tells me as I cry about how ugly it is, and how ugly I feel.  I spend the night throwing up my pain pills and questioning whether I did the right thing by getting the surgery.

Sunday, July 7:  The morning is about as rough as the night had been.  My clinical assistant asks me if I like gospel music.  I reply that, Yes, I absolutely LOVE gospel music.  A few minutes pass and I hear a chorus in the distance...a gospel chorus.  A group of about 12 or so mid-age black men in suits walk into my room singing.  This is basically a life dream of mine being realized.  They sing and my cup truly runneth over, so to speak.  There might as well have been a host of angels in my room.  A scripture is read, I'm prayed over, and they leave, still singing the heavenly gospel tunes.  I resolve that I belong to the wrong denomination and need to find a gospel church, quick.

The day from there on out is filled with joy and awe.  It concludes with a visit from Louisville's quarterback Teddy Bridgewater.  No need to expound because it was already written about.

Monday, July 8:  My surgeons say my stoma looks great and if I feel ready to go home, I can.  After a week in the hospital, I am mentally and emotionally ready to get the heck out of there.  Physically, I am still extremely frail, and while complete recovery will take more than a month, I am able to go home. 

Snuggling with my Honey Bunches of Baby at the hospital

That about sums up that week.  A special thanks to my aunts Anne and Brad for rescuing my mom from the hospital and giving her a break.  Also to my aunt Becky who endured the worst night of the stay with me.  Thanks to Dinny and the rest of Ian's family for taking so much care of my baby boy during that time.  Most of all thank you to my Momma, for all the love and care and sleeplessness and Ian, my wonderful boyfriend for taking care of JDK and me and sticking by my side.

This verse was read by one of the men from the gospel choir and seemed a good way to send me back out into the world:

He hath showed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?

Micah 6:8 NKJV 

Little Momma Writes to the Repeat Offender

A month or so ago, my car was vandalized along with 12 other cars in LaGrange.  Nice, quiet Lagrange.  A new windshield was installed, and, figuring the odds of it happening again astronomically low (insert World According to Garp reference here), I kept parking on the street.

Fast forward a couple weeks, and what would you know, it happens AGAIN!  This time I am the lone victim.  Same shoe prints, newly shattered windshield.  My mom begrudgingly told me about the incident and my temper quickly went to boiling over.  So, to get this off my chest I have penned a letter to whomever is adding to what was already the most trying time of my life:

Dear Repeat Offender,

             I hope this finds you in good health. Actually, I don't know about that.  I am in an extremely bad way myself and if you could empathize maybe you would not keep ruining my days and emptying my pockets by vandalizing my car.

             Does your mother know what you're doing in the middle of the night?  Did she raise you to be so inconsiderate and stupid? Because seriously, I might understand if you were doing this to exact revenge on someone but I have done nothing to you and this is the second time you've done this to me.  Which is just stupid.  And infuriating.  I hope for your future that you are just an idiotic drunk teenage boy who will eventually grow out of this destructive phase and learn better.

            If I had more might in me and I knew who you were I would smack you silly.  You deserve a beating.  I have bills to pay, an infant to rear, and crippling health and I don't need an undriveable car on top of it all.  And speaking of my baby, if you decide to take it a step further and break into the house where my boy is sleeping, you will not be leaving of your own accord.  I have an uncle with a gun and he is not afraid to use it.

           While I am incapable of finding you and making sure you get yours, I am holding this verse as a promise that you will find your demise:

He does not let the wicked live but gives justice to the afflicted.

Job 36:6

           So watch out because the karma bus is gonna get YOU, asshole.

Sincerely,

Your Victim

 

           

Little Momma is Handed Lemons

Ah, the great cliche, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade".   I've always hated this saying, but lately I have found that it really is what you have to do.  I've been handed about 6 lemons within the last month, half of those within a few days of each other!  And sometimes it just doesn't seem fair. Here are some of them.

Lemon 1: Bills.  Two months ago I had no idea how expensive hospital stays are, or how valuable 5 minutes of a pediatrician's time is.  Well, now I know all too well.  And even after making a spreadsheet to try to make the bills seem manageable, the number they add up to is still very daunting.  That number and these bills have consumed my thoughts.  I have dreams about having to pay off a hefty bill and not having the means.  I think every day, when will I be out of this debt? 

Lemon 2: Crohn's.  Taking care of someone can sap your energy and sleep, even if they are sleeping 8 hours in the night.  Compounded with the stress of the bills, my Crohn's is honestly doing pretty poorly, although if someone inquires about my health I'll give a brief "just fine" and move on.  I'm having to be tested to see if I have developed an immunity to the very medicine that has helped me most over the past 6 or so years.  Before those results are in, I think about every worst case scenario- what if my greatest fear of having to get a bag connected to my intestines comes true?  What if I have to do infusions at the hospital every week?  How will I pay for that?  When will I ever just feel good?

Lemon 3: Mastitis.  If you were once a nursing mother you might have been inflicted with this.  It's by far not the worst thing, but it's quite a nuisance. Between having to pump even after nursing, hot compresses, chills, and a sore throat I am just annoyed that I am on my second bout of it.  Oh well, what can you do?  (Hint: These help.)

Lemon 4: Car troubles.  Thankfully, I have almost learned how to laugh at car problems.  I have the worst car luck in the world.  I think I might be cursed, actually.  I have been hit while in my parked car, I have had 6 tires go flat on me; my parked car was hit once while I was having surgery, I've hit ice and spun into a ditch totaling my car, and finally this past Sunday my new car was vandalized.  Someone thought they were cool and took a bat to 12 cars in La Grange and mine was amongst them.  Why do people do that? I can maybe understand doing that to take revenge on someone, but these people did it needlessly.  When I went outside to see my car, all I could do was scream at the top of my lungs in frustration. Hey, at least they didn't take my "Baby On Board" sticker, right?

For all my complaining I just did, I have some pretty amazing lemonade out of it all, and I didn't even make it myself. 

As far as bills go, I am still very much in debt, but not nearly as much as I could be.  One day, Ian and I called the hospital to begin a payment plan for a $5,000 bill of John's that we were to pay completely out of pocket.  Somehow, insurance covered all but $120.83.  I'm chalking it up to a miracle.

In regards to my car troubles, insurance won't replace your windshield when you have minimum coverage, which is a bummer.  But God provides and I had a generous donation given to me to help pay for my new glass, from a very godly man, which has greatly lifted that burden off of my shoulders. 

I could still worry about my Crohn's and other health issues and how the rest of the bills will get paid, and I catch myself getting worked about every now and then (or more often than that).  But I just read this verse which I am going to try to employ throughout the day every day:

Letting the Spirit control your mind leads to life and peace.

Romans 8:6