Spinning and Flaring my Princess Dress

DSCN1008“Can I give Ben a kiss?” asks Mazie.

“Where?” I ask, always the super vigilant momma.

She points to her forehead and I tell her only if Benjamin says it’s ok to kiss him. It isn’t nice to MAKE him get a kiss.

She runs down the stairs and outside. I hear huge squawking sounds…and Benjamin is very loud. I am not sure if she was successful.

I hear her feet on the stairs and she bursts into the room. Anyone who knows Mazie knows she always bursts into the room 🙂

“Can I marry Benjamin?” she asks.

“Not until you are much older, like Levi’s age.” I tell her.

She asks again, “can I marry Benjamin?”

“I guess, but he would have to say it is OK too,” I tell her.


I can remember years ago, my sister Debbie always was the bride and I was the groom. She would find long flowing dresses from our dress up box in the attic and I would be stuck with a painted on mustache and a vest. I guess I was a western type groom. She was always the one in charge of costumes. She would laugh and flit and be airheaded and enjoy spinning and watch the skirt flare. I would watch her…It mattered more to her than me, I just wanted to play.


And then my sister Heather came along, and she always wanted to marry the neighbor Danny. I kept telling them they couldn’t because they were too young and it was just silly…


I got to thinking how serious a person I have always been. I wanted to be the one with the funny stories, the charisma, the just relax and enjoy person…the one who dove head first into the dress-up box for the lacy dress…but something always held me back.


I felt from the beginning of my life, that life is very serious. I don’t know when I have ever felt differently. Maybe it was grown into me. My life almost ended before it began. My mom had placenta previa and hemorrhaged off and on for the last three or four months of pregnancy. She was bedridden, dependent on church ladies to come and feed her, change her clothes and put her on the bedpan. She had transfusions, multiple B12 shots and was given very strict orders to not move unless she absolutely had to. My sister Debbie had to go to another family, she would have been just around a year old. My mom went to the hospital once when it was at its worst and they tried to induce her when she was around 6 or 7months along, and I would not come. The doctor reached up and felt my feet and I hung on. Mom said she felt me clinging to her ribs. After that her amniotic sac had ruptured many more times during the last part of pregnancy and resealed. When I was born, the doctors were amazed that I was not severely impaired and showed mom the afterbirth and the sack’s marks from each time it had broken and resealed.

Some kind of internal knowing happened during that time, because;

I felt pressure inside that my life was a gift. I had to matter to God. He had a plan for me, a purpose for me to accomplish. But, the weight of being a survivor was and is heavy, but in the same sense it is an honor.  I do not have to wonder whether or not if I was a mistake. God protected me and wanted me from the very beginning.


When I was about four, my mom had my sister Heather. The stress on mom during that pregnancy was hard and then Heather was born with respiratory problems and spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital for her first year of life. She was in oxygen tents and mom would panic if she heard that sound that meant she needed to take her in. Mom would have me listen and report if something sounded off. I took that responsibility seriously since we shared a room.

I long ago have come to the conclusion, serious is me. It just is. I enjoy watching others have fun, but something always holds me back….because someone has to be the one on guard, the one on call .. and I must be about my Father’s business!!

But, I wish sometimes…I would be the one spinning and flaring out my princess dress and being airheaded…



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s