Being Erika part two

Medicated bliss is a beautiful thing. God bless Johnson and Johnson for their lovely assortment of antihistamine creams, gels, and pills. After bleaching, pumicing, and drowning in alcohol, orange cleaner, and baking soda, I felt discouraged and on the verge of tears because my body's largest organ was revolting against me; my chemical-soaked and stained hands were breathing fire and nothing could extinguish the flames. After googling, asking.com, and reading every forum on the subject (via telephone) with my father, I put in a call to Thaus who was heading home from work. My very attentive helpmate immediately changed directions and headed towards Albertsons to discuss my dilemma with a pharmacist. After waiting for what felt like an eternity, he came home with a white bag full of Benadryl products. I imbibed, spray gelled, and hand creamed, all the while praying the blaze would subside (and it did thanks to double doses of each product). My skin is now returning to its natural olive color and is no longer seeking a new host. The only side effects are that my tongue is a little thick, my eyes refuse to fully open, and I can't seem to walk on the right side of the hallway, but I was planning on imitating an English drunk today anyway. Got to keep life interesting at work, right? Better check my speech...I detect a hint of an Oxford accent.

In my intoxicated state of euphoria last night, I had to summon a cluster of brain cells which would enable me to function as Mom. I really wanted to function as Sleeping Beauty, but apparently, that role has already been filled, and Hollywood isn't looking for a new understudy. Darn it. If only I could have a little more practice.

Cameron, my newest addition to the fifth grade at Canyon, had a rough first day of school, and I have a feeling I will be compelled to bake brownies laced with uppers for his dedicated and saintly teacher. Now on to the disciplinary measures. As a parent, I define life as black and white. Rules are good, structure is good, and defiance against these antichaotic measures is bad. Simple mathematics, right? Or is it? After nineteen months of daily rule review, Cameron goes to school and acts like a chimpanzee in heat. I haven't ever really met a chimpanzee in heat, but I imagine she would resemble Cameron in that way.

Thaus and I cannot seem to break our cycle with this child. We get so emotionally invested in trying to help him succeed, yet the fact of the matter is that he is perfectly comfortable with subpar performances. We sacrifice our time as a couple and as a family, our talents, and our energies, in order to teach him principles of moral living. Is it possible that some individuals cannot detach themselves from their genetic predispositions? As a behavioral scientist, I would not agree with such jibberish, but the longer this child resides in my home, the more I see him transforming into an exact replica of his egg donor. Nature versus nurture...the saga continues.

Honestly, I don't believe any one of us would say our lives are turning out the way we planned. We hope for things, we prepare for things, and then the Lord points us in directions which would never occur to us. I am the type of person who weighs risk against return; I am not comfortable doing extraordinary things because the sacrifice might be too demanding or great. Am I being noble in my efforts? Not really. I believe I do what I have to do because, in my limited vision, I cannot see any other option(s). However, the thought occurs to me, amidst all the chaos, confusion, and heartbreak, that it is possible the Lord isn't trying to help me change Cameron. Maybe, after all is said and done, he is trying to change me...make me more pliable, smoother, and softer to the touch. Without exception, I believe that for each individual, the refiner's fire is felt in varying levels of intensity. Sometimes, I do not notice it. Other times, I am stopped in my tracks and encouraged to change directions. And there are times when the heat from the flames leaves me no escape but to fall upon my knees. As I was staring helplessly at my burning hands, hopeless and full of despair, I was reminded of this power. I may get bruised and sustain an injury or two, but in the end, I will be more beautiful and more worthy of the calling that He has so graciously bestowed upon me in confidence and trust.