The Christmas season is upon us and holiday traditions are in full swing. We are a relatively young family so we have essentially no traditions started yet, save one. Gamble Grove.
When Ben and I first starting co-habitating, we had a fairly small 2-bedroom apartment. Which, it turns out, held enough 'stuff' to fill a four-bedroom house. To say that we were limited on floor space was an understatement. So our first Christmas in this apartment brought a little 6' skinny Christmas tree, slightly fuller than the Charlie Brown version, but well along the same lines. That tree stayed with us for two years until we got married and moved into our current home. It's not a big place, but it does have 9' ceilings, which allowed us to get a slightly larger, no, taller tree to take it's place. By this time though we (I) were attached to the 6-footer so we opted to keep it and just add a 7' tree in the similar style to fill out a space a normal tree would. It was kind of cute, a his & her Christmas tree couple that represented our life at the time.
Fast forward two years from then and we were expecting our first child at Christmastime. If you ever expect a child to be born around Christmas, expect with that child about 20 'Baby's first Christmas' ornaments. So once again as our family grew, so did our tree collection , a bouncing 5' tree to put between the aging two taller trees. With green lights the little tree was decked out for baby's arrival and all her ensuing ornaments.
The decision was made the following year to go ahead and purchase 3 more trees, a 4' 3' & 2', to be set up and decked out for each child that we welcomed into the family. This year our grove grew to 5 trees. The three little ones are decked out in pink, purple and green lights and all the school glitter ornaments you could want. I love that each girl gets to take pride and ownership in her tree, proudly displaying her life to that point. Haze has started to grasp the individual tree concept, yelling at me that I keep stealing her ornaments. I was merely moving some to my tree as hers was overloaded... already... and she hasn't let me forget it.
One little tree still sits in a bin, waiting to be decorated. Although I feel this little tree would fit nicely with our family of fake firs, I don't think it will ever be decorated by its own set of little hands. Gamble Grove might have reached it's limit this year. This tradition we started is, and probably will always, be my favorite. May you and your family enjoy it's own quirky traditions as we enter this time of celebration. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. ;)
Friday, December 17, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Finding Life
I remember the first time I watched Finding Nemo. It was in the basement of my sister's house and literally cried from laughter for 10 minutes when Dory spoke whale. That was about 5 years ago. Just last year my Mom got that movie for my girls and I rediscovered what a delight it was. It's one of those movies that has adult stuff in it, but in a real life sort of way. (As opposed to, 'I really hope the kids don't start asking me questions about that tongue-in-cheek dialogue I'm snickering about'. I'm SO not ready to have that conversation.)
The first thing in that movie that resonated with me (besides the whale talking, you know, I should just bust that out on the kids one day and see just how crazy they think I am...) was when Dory, geniusly voiced by the very funny Ellen DeGeneres said, "When life gets you down, do you wanna know what you gotta do? Just keep on swimming, swimming, swimming." I believe at the time I was expecting or had a newborn and was trying to adjust to that new role, balancing life and work and marriage... basically feeling very out of control. I had no idea what I was doing or how I was going to juggle all these very important things in my life. And hearing that little blue fish just seemed to answer that conundrum I had been struggling with, just keep swimming. Simple. Just do it.
I used to think I was a little crazy for letting a little blue fish define my life motto, until I shared it with a friend I worked with. She had been going through a rough time and I told her that I hear Ellen DeGeneres singing in my head when I just feel like going in a corner and shriveling up. "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." She laughed and then slowly back away so she wouldn't catch my 'crazies'. Sheesh, my crazies aren't contagious, do your research. ANYWAY, much later she told me that after that conversation, she too heard Dory singing in her head... and it made her smile and feel better....SEE! Being a little out there is fun! And much cheaper than medication.
When watching Nemo for the 400th time with the girls, a scene previously innocuous suddenly had new meaning. It's when Marlin and Dory are stuck in the whale's mouth and the whale has told them to let go. Marlin says something like, "How do I know things are going to be alright?" and Dory replies, "I don't". Then there's something about 'letting go' and Dory falls into the unknown abyss, followed by a reluctant Marlin. This part of the movie really hit home for where I am in life right now. Even though I am 21 months post lay-off from my job, I still feel like I am desperately holding on to a whale's epiglottis trying to stay where I was instead of trusting that voice that says, "Let go" will take me to where I want to be.
I think we've got the swimming part down. Every day we get up and do our best to make this little family function. My house is a mess, I'm a mess and my kids haven't had a bath in 4 days, but I think we're doing it. My kids are happy, smart and thriving and I'm finding joy in staying at home. My days are not as long and baby Fin's first smile of the morning is something I wake up anticipating. Still, it's hard to feel like I'm 100% okay with letting go of who I was. Those pangs of hurt still, just slightly, sting. The need to feel wanted and useful and creative can be achieved in other ways, but I'm having a hard time completely letting go, not sure on how those needs are going to be met in a life at home.
I feel you Marlin. It seems no one gets that it's hard to let go just because someone told you to. It flies in the face of all reasoning. It's unknown, and we both know the unknown is something we're not comfortable with. But I guess you and I both need to trust that it will all be alright if we slide off that whale's tongue.
If only it were that easy...
The first thing in that movie that resonated with me (besides the whale talking, you know, I should just bust that out on the kids one day and see just how crazy they think I am...) was when Dory, geniusly voiced by the very funny Ellen DeGeneres said, "When life gets you down, do you wanna know what you gotta do? Just keep on swimming, swimming, swimming." I believe at the time I was expecting or had a newborn and was trying to adjust to that new role, balancing life and work and marriage... basically feeling very out of control. I had no idea what I was doing or how I was going to juggle all these very important things in my life. And hearing that little blue fish just seemed to answer that conundrum I had been struggling with, just keep swimming. Simple. Just do it.
I used to think I was a little crazy for letting a little blue fish define my life motto, until I shared it with a friend I worked with. She had been going through a rough time and I told her that I hear Ellen DeGeneres singing in my head when I just feel like going in a corner and shriveling up. "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." She laughed and then slowly back away so she wouldn't catch my 'crazies'. Sheesh, my crazies aren't contagious, do your research. ANYWAY, much later she told me that after that conversation, she too heard Dory singing in her head... and it made her smile and feel better....SEE! Being a little out there is fun! And much cheaper than medication.
When watching Nemo for the 400th time with the girls, a scene previously innocuous suddenly had new meaning. It's when Marlin and Dory are stuck in the whale's mouth and the whale has told them to let go. Marlin says something like, "How do I know things are going to be alright?" and Dory replies, "I don't". Then there's something about 'letting go' and Dory falls into the unknown abyss, followed by a reluctant Marlin. This part of the movie really hit home for where I am in life right now. Even though I am 21 months post lay-off from my job, I still feel like I am desperately holding on to a whale's epiglottis trying to stay where I was instead of trusting that voice that says, "Let go" will take me to where I want to be.
I think we've got the swimming part down. Every day we get up and do our best to make this little family function. My house is a mess, I'm a mess and my kids haven't had a bath in 4 days, but I think we're doing it. My kids are happy, smart and thriving and I'm finding joy in staying at home. My days are not as long and baby Fin's first smile of the morning is something I wake up anticipating. Still, it's hard to feel like I'm 100% okay with letting go of who I was. Those pangs of hurt still, just slightly, sting. The need to feel wanted and useful and creative can be achieved in other ways, but I'm having a hard time completely letting go, not sure on how those needs are going to be met in a life at home.
I feel you Marlin. It seems no one gets that it's hard to let go just because someone told you to. It flies in the face of all reasoning. It's unknown, and we both know the unknown is something we're not comfortable with. But I guess you and I both need to trust that it will all be alright if we slide off that whale's tongue.
If only it were that easy...
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Anxious
I'm the mom of three and wide awake at a very late hour. What's wrong with this picture? Did I mention three fast asleep children? No? Now you see how absolutely crazy it is! I got to be up in 5 hours and as my husband could attest, I'm in need of some serious beauty sleep.
Problem is, well, the darn anxiety dreams have started again. Anxiety has always been an issue with me and I feel like I've dealt with it really well in recent years. The issue comes when my conscious mind takes a backseat to the subconscious and the crazies kick in. Hence, whacked-out, heart-racing, have-me-wide-awake-and-still-not-calmed-down-an-hour-later type dreams.
People tell you that they are never sure about having a third child because you only have two arms. I take this seriously (note, I'm about to go into why my mind works the way it does, you might want to make sure you REALLY want to go there...) My mother, God love her, had a different way of parenting. She was a volunteer paramedic with the local squad. She thought it her duty to not shield us kids from anything, but instead throw us into any and all gory details and horrifying scenes of many of the worst accidents and incidents she ever encountered or heard of. Yes, she did well in the fact I ALWAYS wear my seatbelt/lifevest, know where the fire exits are, will never excessively speed, do hard core drugs and take the next 5 minutes for granted.
This could get her an Oprah award except for the fact that sometimes people (children!) are just not meant to always anticipate the worst happening. This hyper-sensitivity and still adjusting hormones, combined with a two year old who like to dart into traffic while I'm holding the four-year old's hands and carrying a heavy carseat (see, you DO only have TWO ARMS!) can send these sensibilities into over-drive causing me to wake up and panic at every creak while trying to figure out how to make a fire plan that a two year old can grasp and... have I mentioned that the neighbors tree is huge and if it fell it could land on our house... would land right in the girls' room? Oh, the crazies just start there. (Wow, did you catch the length of that run-on sentence? Seriously it's how the mind works)
Now everything you do is a matter of life or death. Like, crossing the street. Driving to school. Making dinner. If you don't have kids, you will understand it one day. If you do have kids, I hope you're nodding in understanding and not dialing the name of a psychiatrist to get me on the non-loco cocktail. It's just that in real life you have to know that life happens and you have to force yourself to do those scary things... like drive a car and take three kids to the grocery. But in sleep that darn subconscious takes over and likes to work me over.
Time to give rest another shot. Here's to hoping about dreaming about puppy dogs and chocolate chip cookies...
Problem is, well, the darn anxiety dreams have started again. Anxiety has always been an issue with me and I feel like I've dealt with it really well in recent years. The issue comes when my conscious mind takes a backseat to the subconscious and the crazies kick in. Hence, whacked-out, heart-racing, have-me-wide-awake-and-still-not-calmed-down-an-hour-later type dreams.
People tell you that they are never sure about having a third child because you only have two arms. I take this seriously (note, I'm about to go into why my mind works the way it does, you might want to make sure you REALLY want to go there...) My mother, God love her, had a different way of parenting. She was a volunteer paramedic with the local squad. She thought it her duty to not shield us kids from anything, but instead throw us into any and all gory details and horrifying scenes of many of the worst accidents and incidents she ever encountered or heard of. Yes, she did well in the fact I ALWAYS wear my seatbelt/lifevest, know where the fire exits are, will never excessively speed, do hard core drugs and take the next 5 minutes for granted.
This could get her an Oprah award except for the fact that sometimes people (children!) are just not meant to always anticipate the worst happening. This hyper-sensitivity and still adjusting hormones, combined with a two year old who like to dart into traffic while I'm holding the four-year old's hands and carrying a heavy carseat (see, you DO only have TWO ARMS!) can send these sensibilities into over-drive causing me to wake up and panic at every creak while trying to figure out how to make a fire plan that a two year old can grasp and... have I mentioned that the neighbors tree is huge and if it fell it could land on our house... would land right in the girls' room? Oh, the crazies just start there. (Wow, did you catch the length of that run-on sentence? Seriously it's how the mind works)
Now everything you do is a matter of life or death. Like, crossing the street. Driving to school. Making dinner. If you don't have kids, you will understand it one day. If you do have kids, I hope you're nodding in understanding and not dialing the name of a psychiatrist to get me on the non-loco cocktail. It's just that in real life you have to know that life happens and you have to force yourself to do those scary things... like drive a car and take three kids to the grocery. But in sleep that darn subconscious takes over and likes to work me over.
Time to give rest another shot. Here's to hoping about dreaming about puppy dogs and chocolate chip cookies...
Monday, November 8, 2010
Feeling Human Again (kind of)
The other day I was walking in from the car with all the kids... and our crap. I was carrying my purse, the diaper bag, baby carrier (complete with baby) and a couple bags from store (I tend to fall in that category that I would rather load my arms up until the tendons are splitting than make a second trip.) While trying to juggle all of this and unlock the front door my one free finger, all I kept thinking was, "Why didn't anyone tell me that I would become nothing more than a glorified pack mule?"
Later I was nursing the baby, and if you've ever breast-fed a baby you know that although it is a beautiful thing and it's great for the baby and you and blah, blah, blah.... you still feel like a gigantic milking cow. Especially if you pump. I would secretly moo to myself when I used to pump at work. I would pretend to have an audience and would crack myself up in the bathroom. Hey, don't judge, it was REALLY, REALLY boring to sit in there in pump, plus bathrooms have killer acoustics for mooing.
The rest of the day I kept thinking then of other animals that mothers are like, for instance
Later I was nursing the baby, and if you've ever breast-fed a baby you know that although it is a beautiful thing and it's great for the baby and you and blah, blah, blah.... you still feel like a gigantic milking cow. Especially if you pump. I would secretly moo to myself when I used to pump at work. I would pretend to have an audience and would crack myself up in the bathroom. Hey, don't judge, it was REALLY, REALLY boring to sit in there in pump, plus bathrooms have killer acoustics for mooing.
The rest of the day I kept thinking then of other animals that mothers are like, for instance
- Momma Bear- I let my kids fight their own battles but sometimes when it's not fair, momma bear does get the claws out. That means you Mom. If the kids are running away screaming when you say "Let's whip your ducks" (grandma speak for 'comb your hair'), it's time to just let their hair be ratty. My nieces used to say, "Grandma, I don't want my ducks whipped." Thank God nobody has called the Humane Society.
- Horsie- Love my kids but can't wait until I can lay down on my stomach without someone jumping on my back and saying 'GIDDYUP HORSIE!'. I'll be lucky to make it the next 5 years with my spinal column intact.
- Roaring Lion (see also growling)- I'm not proud of this but have you ever picked up the same toys for the 15th time in one afternoon? And yet you still find that one little piece that can puncture the bottom of your foot. I can't tell if I sound more like an angry lion or King Kong. Either way it isn't becoming of a lady.
And Finally,
- Dog Tired- Speaking of, I just realized I'm tired and everyone else is in bed. Why am I still typing?
So I can say that now that the newborn vortex has spit us out and I'm back to feeling like a human again, it's somewhat of a bittersweet moment. I realize that to feel human is really just acting like a pack mule/milking cow/momma bear. You got to do what you can though to get through these rough early years. Long live mommy and her animal instincts.
Feel free to post your own :)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
At least I'm not depressed... yet.
Ok, yeah, it's been awhile. I can say this isn't the first post I've come up with though because technically I have about 15 more already written and titled in my head. Unfortunately that's where things have been getting stuck as my fingers have been pre-occupied changing diapers, taking meds and trying to catch up on a solid month of untouched housework. Envious huh?
Yes, on August 27th, after a mixer of 2ozs of castor oil & OJ, a few (maybe alot of) cuss words, a 3:45 am car ride listening to Lisa Loeb lullabies, a fabulous epidural & 12 minutes from 5cm to delivering... we have a wonderful new daughter. Finlay Evalyn came screaming into this world & our hearts. And as soon as I figure out how to post pics of her beautiful smile, I will. Just please don't hold your breath as it really might be a year before it happens... I'm just going by my track record. (What you can't see is Ben lecturing me on not sending out the finished birth announcements for Isla... born 2-1/2 years ago. So you see what I'm saying right?)
Finlay has been a dream child. And I can say that because Hazelle was a constantly screaming nightmare and Isla was probably about normal. I was due for a bit of a break, and I was really looking forward to this bonding time with my 3 girls at home when all hell started to break loose.
It started with the development of blood clots in my legs before I left the hospital and then a bout with post-partum preeclampsia. That was a short sentence, but it left me to be in 3 hospitals in as many days and on some serious meds. The first 2 weeks after my bundle of joy's arrival should have had me crying from lack of sleep from screaming children, but instead had my lack of sleep from nurses checking my blood pressure, drawing blood or checking my IV. It's over now, but I can honestly say it was probably one of the scariest things I've gone through in life so far.
Done. Over. Let's move on. Except in the midst of it Finlay has to go to Children's Hospital to have an ultrasound on her hip (should be just fine). Hazelle gets a staph infection in her ear (OMG, SO gross to watch what that doc pulled out of her ear. I could have made a small stinky candle) which requires 3 doctor's office visits in a week. And Isla, just over an ear infection herself comes down last night, hops in bed beside me and proceeds to vomit on both of us. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.
So, I have to honestly laugh a little. With each new doctor's visit I go to, there is the regurgitation of medical history that is to be filled out in triplicate for which I almost need to do shorthand to write in the complications. Then try to explain them to the poor nurse deciphering it almost makes me appear like a nut case. The amazing part to me though is through it all, next to the question"Postpartum Depression?", I can check an honest "NO". Because having the bejeesus scared out of me honestly made me appreciate the constant chaos being at home with 3 children 4 & under entails.
Bring it on life. I have a new abounding appreciation for you & my priorities. I just have one favor to ask. Could we hold off on getting barfed again on for awhile? One more bout of that and I just might have to check that 'Yes' box. Life is good. :)
Yes, on August 27th, after a mixer of 2ozs of castor oil & OJ, a few (maybe alot of) cuss words, a 3:45 am car ride listening to Lisa Loeb lullabies, a fabulous epidural & 12 minutes from 5cm to delivering... we have a wonderful new daughter. Finlay Evalyn came screaming into this world & our hearts. And as soon as I figure out how to post pics of her beautiful smile, I will. Just please don't hold your breath as it really might be a year before it happens... I'm just going by my track record. (What you can't see is Ben lecturing me on not sending out the finished birth announcements for Isla... born 2-1/2 years ago. So you see what I'm saying right?)
Finlay has been a dream child. And I can say that because Hazelle was a constantly screaming nightmare and Isla was probably about normal. I was due for a bit of a break, and I was really looking forward to this bonding time with my 3 girls at home when all hell started to break loose.
It started with the development of blood clots in my legs before I left the hospital and then a bout with post-partum preeclampsia. That was a short sentence, but it left me to be in 3 hospitals in as many days and on some serious meds. The first 2 weeks after my bundle of joy's arrival should have had me crying from lack of sleep from screaming children, but instead had my lack of sleep from nurses checking my blood pressure, drawing blood or checking my IV. It's over now, but I can honestly say it was probably one of the scariest things I've gone through in life so far.
Done. Over. Let's move on. Except in the midst of it Finlay has to go to Children's Hospital to have an ultrasound on her hip (should be just fine). Hazelle gets a staph infection in her ear (OMG, SO gross to watch what that doc pulled out of her ear. I could have made a small stinky candle) which requires 3 doctor's office visits in a week. And Isla, just over an ear infection herself comes down last night, hops in bed beside me and proceeds to vomit on both of us. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.
So, I have to honestly laugh a little. With each new doctor's visit I go to, there is the regurgitation of medical history that is to be filled out in triplicate for which I almost need to do shorthand to write in the complications. Then try to explain them to the poor nurse deciphering it almost makes me appear like a nut case. The amazing part to me though is through it all, next to the question"Postpartum Depression?", I can check an honest "NO". Because having the bejeesus scared out of me honestly made me appreciate the constant chaos being at home with 3 children 4 & under entails.
Bring it on life. I have a new abounding appreciation for you & my priorities. I just have one favor to ask. Could we hold off on getting barfed again on for awhile? One more bout of that and I just might have to check that 'Yes' box. Life is good. :)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
15 years
I apologize for not writing more. Believe me, I have written a lot in my head and even started a few posts, but none have made it to publishing. To say we've been busy is an understatement. House projects abound and both Ben and I are in full panic mode. We both just realized last Friday that I'm not just pregnant... we'll have an actual mouth to feed and butt to diaper in just a few short weeks. Don't ask me how we managed to forget this part of being pregnant (that it ends with a child that you are now responsible for). I guess denial was at it's best. We are giving ourselves until August 15th to get everything done. Hopefully we make it. August 15th happens to be another milestone, our 15 year high school class reunion.
The reason I wanted to write about this is because I was IM'ing a girl I hadn't talked to since high school via Facebook yesterday. The conversation was quick but I learned her little girl was 16 (I forgot she had a baby in high school), and she had a miscarriage last year. We bonded over that. What's funny is I really cared about what was going on in her life and of another girl she's best friends with, who I hadn't spoken with in 15 years as well.
Most people might find this a little weird. For those of you who graduated with 60 people like I did, you might relate better. We came from a very small pond, a very small 'everyone knows your business and gossips about it within 5 seconds' pond. This sort of environment makes most people want to get out of said pond and jump into a big lake where no one cares if you've put on 10 pounds and blew up your own mailbox (inside joke, just ask someone from DeGraff, I'm sure they'll be able to tell you about it).
After talking with my old classmate I asked her if she was going to the reunion. I got a 'probably not'. I've noticed this response with so many of my fellow classmates. And, I think I know why.
When you leave town at 18, there's always a lot of big dreams. You are going to be 'it', that person who makes it, the one who actually follows through with all the plans you made and bragged about when you were 18. The one good thing about being an 'old fart' now.... is that I know that 18 year-olds are stupid. Young, naive, arrogant, self-centered but most importantly... stupid.
I think we all view our fellow alumni as that same person they were when they were young and stupid. We forget that life has probably happened to them as it has happened to us. The thing is, no one wants to go back and say, "I have failed at so much". Because surely no one has failed as much as you have. Surely they will judge you for all your missteps you made in your 20's. Surely they will not have the wrinkle lines and stretch marks, the lost jobs, the little house, the broken marriage, no marriage, a disabled child, childless, whatever... whatever you have gone through, surely they will judge you for it.
Ok, fellow classmates. I am huge. Hugely ginormous pregnant, that and the fact I have put on roughly 75 pounds of sheer fat since you last saw me. It took me 7 years to graduate with a bachelor's degree. A degree in an industry which looks down upon the very professional I desired to be. Employed at jobs I loved, I was laid off from both places of employment within 5 years, which was devastating emotionally. I have lost 2 pregnancies, but have been blessed with nearly 3 great little girls. I have a good marriage, but definitely not without it's faults. I live in the ghetto and have very little shot of trying to sell this house we labored over without taking a loss. I have many regrets, made many stupid choices and routinely stick my foot in my mouth. But... I am going to be present, open and honest because I hope that you might see that I will not judge you, and hope that you will not judge me.
For any of you that are contemplating a class reunion, let go of the anxiety. Place hope in the fact that you might be able to relive some of the good times of your childhood and bond with those who have shared the same life losses as you. That is what makes us each unique and now, grown-up.
I will be there, oh class of 1995, large... and in charge.
The reason I wanted to write about this is because I was IM'ing a girl I hadn't talked to since high school via Facebook yesterday. The conversation was quick but I learned her little girl was 16 (I forgot she had a baby in high school), and she had a miscarriage last year. We bonded over that. What's funny is I really cared about what was going on in her life and of another girl she's best friends with, who I hadn't spoken with in 15 years as well.
Most people might find this a little weird. For those of you who graduated with 60 people like I did, you might relate better. We came from a very small pond, a very small 'everyone knows your business and gossips about it within 5 seconds' pond. This sort of environment makes most people want to get out of said pond and jump into a big lake where no one cares if you've put on 10 pounds and blew up your own mailbox (inside joke, just ask someone from DeGraff, I'm sure they'll be able to tell you about it).
After talking with my old classmate I asked her if she was going to the reunion. I got a 'probably not'. I've noticed this response with so many of my fellow classmates. And, I think I know why.
When you leave town at 18, there's always a lot of big dreams. You are going to be 'it', that person who makes it, the one who actually follows through with all the plans you made and bragged about when you were 18. The one good thing about being an 'old fart' now.... is that I know that 18 year-olds are stupid. Young, naive, arrogant, self-centered but most importantly... stupid.
I think we all view our fellow alumni as that same person they were when they were young and stupid. We forget that life has probably happened to them as it has happened to us. The thing is, no one wants to go back and say, "I have failed at so much". Because surely no one has failed as much as you have. Surely they will judge you for all your missteps you made in your 20's. Surely they will not have the wrinkle lines and stretch marks, the lost jobs, the little house, the broken marriage, no marriage, a disabled child, childless, whatever... whatever you have gone through, surely they will judge you for it.
Ok, fellow classmates. I am huge. Hugely ginormous pregnant, that and the fact I have put on roughly 75 pounds of sheer fat since you last saw me. It took me 7 years to graduate with a bachelor's degree. A degree in an industry which looks down upon the very professional I desired to be. Employed at jobs I loved, I was laid off from both places of employment within 5 years, which was devastating emotionally. I have lost 2 pregnancies, but have been blessed with nearly 3 great little girls. I have a good marriage, but definitely not without it's faults. I live in the ghetto and have very little shot of trying to sell this house we labored over without taking a loss. I have many regrets, made many stupid choices and routinely stick my foot in my mouth. But... I am going to be present, open and honest because I hope that you might see that I will not judge you, and hope that you will not judge me.
For any of you that are contemplating a class reunion, let go of the anxiety. Place hope in the fact that you might be able to relive some of the good times of your childhood and bond with those who have shared the same life losses as you. That is what makes us each unique and now, grown-up.
I will be there, oh class of 1995, large... and in charge.
Monday, June 28, 2010
The Bond
When I was pregnant with Hazelle, I was in amazement of the whole process. The most fascinating of it was her connection with her dad. In utero, I would poke and prod her to move to no avail. But the minute my husband's hand touched my stomach she would kick it. It was uncanny. When she was born, she was wailing and he leaned down and said, "Hi Hazelle". The baby stopped crying, opened her eyes and searched for him, like she recognized him. This child hadn't been an hour old. And he was the only one who could calm her in those harrowing first few months. It left me feeling left out and like an awful mom, until I had Isla.
She was just the opposite. All those things that Hazelle did for Ben, Isla did for me. I swear I could think about wanting her to move and she would. I felt so incredibly connected to her from the beginning. When she was born, it was like I had always known her and her being in this world filled a piece I didn't know had been missing. Not to sound like a cliche but it was the truth. And I know she felt the same about me. It's no surprise that Hazelle is a daddy's girl and Isla a momma's girl, but we all change up every once in awhile so no one feels left out. Life is good.
So now... number three is cooking and Ben and I have been stupified by her. She responds to neither one of us like the other two. We're left to guess about her intentions. We do know she is one ferocious kicker and does not like when I change positions for any reason. She's also plotting her escape route. I'm pretty sure she's already drawn a map and is waiting for all her provisions to be in place before executing her escape. She will rise to power quickly and be a mighty dictator, that is just my prediction.
Tonight though, some other things clicked for me. Hazelle hopped on my shrinking lap and put her hand on my belly. She said, "Momma, I want to feel the baby kick". And as if on cue, that little baby gave me a whopper on the other side of my stomach that Haze could feel 10" away. She smiled and said, "She kicked me!" Yes, yes she did Haze, just like you asked her to, without waiting. Then several other occurrences came to mind. Like last week when Hazelle laid her head on my stomach and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if the baby kicked me in the face?" And that little kid inside me walloped her right on the cheek hard enough for Haze's head to bounce. Hazelle thought that was the funniest thing ever. She said, "Heeeey, she just kicked me in the face!" and laughed hysterically. I could go on, but the gist is, when big sis shows an interest, the baby responds in full effect. Never to ever be outdone, Isla routinely sings her version of the 'ABC's' to the baby via built in microphone (a.k.a. my bellybutton, apparently that's the only way to officially communicate with the baby, just talking aloud will not do). And although G-3 does not retaliate like she does with Haze, I can feel the baby moving, like happy, like dancing. Seriously... I'm not on crack, I'm pregnant, and that would be frowned upon.
So... now I'm getting it. Big sisters are it. They are going to be 'it' for this child. I think that is just the coolest thing in the world right now. And that kind of bond is what makes it all worthwhile.
She was just the opposite. All those things that Hazelle did for Ben, Isla did for me. I swear I could think about wanting her to move and she would. I felt so incredibly connected to her from the beginning. When she was born, it was like I had always known her and her being in this world filled a piece I didn't know had been missing. Not to sound like a cliche but it was the truth. And I know she felt the same about me. It's no surprise that Hazelle is a daddy's girl and Isla a momma's girl, but we all change up every once in awhile so no one feels left out. Life is good.
So now... number three is cooking and Ben and I have been stupified by her. She responds to neither one of us like the other two. We're left to guess about her intentions. We do know she is one ferocious kicker and does not like when I change positions for any reason. She's also plotting her escape route. I'm pretty sure she's already drawn a map and is waiting for all her provisions to be in place before executing her escape. She will rise to power quickly and be a mighty dictator, that is just my prediction.
Tonight though, some other things clicked for me. Hazelle hopped on my shrinking lap and put her hand on my belly. She said, "Momma, I want to feel the baby kick". And as if on cue, that little baby gave me a whopper on the other side of my stomach that Haze could feel 10" away. She smiled and said, "She kicked me!" Yes, yes she did Haze, just like you asked her to, without waiting. Then several other occurrences came to mind. Like last week when Hazelle laid her head on my stomach and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if the baby kicked me in the face?" And that little kid inside me walloped her right on the cheek hard enough for Haze's head to bounce. Hazelle thought that was the funniest thing ever. She said, "Heeeey, she just kicked me in the face!" and laughed hysterically. I could go on, but the gist is, when big sis shows an interest, the baby responds in full effect. Never to ever be outdone, Isla routinely sings her version of the 'ABC's' to the baby via built in microphone (a.k.a. my bellybutton, apparently that's the only way to officially communicate with the baby, just talking aloud will not do). And although G-3 does not retaliate like she does with Haze, I can feel the baby moving, like happy, like dancing. Seriously... I'm not on crack, I'm pregnant, and that would be frowned upon.
So... now I'm getting it. Big sisters are it. They are going to be 'it' for this child. I think that is just the coolest thing in the world right now. And that kind of bond is what makes it all worthwhile.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
A Hot Mess
Today is June 24. June 21st, last Monday, was of course the first day of summer (my ass!). I actually heard we were headed for a cool-down on today. It will be a measley 89 degrees outside. Geez, and they call that summer! Please....
Keep in mind I'm queen cranky-pants at this moment. Ben has been put on notice that at least one of us has to be on speaking terms with the world, and I have a 'no pants fit me anymore' excuse as to why I will not be that person. I knew this would be rough, after all I am a seasoned mom of two and have been through final trimesters before.... just not in the dead heat of summer..
I remember a few months back I was talking with a mom whose daughter was born right around my due date in 2009. I looked to her for guidance on how she made it through. She said with a brightly lit smile, "Oh, it was actually a really cool summer, it was so nice and pleasant." And then I punched her in the face. No, no I didn't, really. I thought about it... but then I realized I might have to do an outside work detail for probation and decided I liked the air conditioning inside better than anyone smiling about giving birth in August.
I promise you 4 readers that at some point I will try to be cheery between now and November. I say November because if you've ever had a newborn you don't even count the first 8 weeks they are around. There's a strange vortex there that you get sucked into and one day (when they start sleeping longer than 3 hours at a time) it spits you out, back to the real world with days and nights. I call it "The Awful 3 Months: The Last Month of Pregnancy and First Two with a Newborn". It doesn't sound like much, but I plan on writing a book about it someday. Except now I'm going to add an asterisk next to the title and put in small letters at the bottom. *Please extend this to 6 months if you plan on having an 'end of summer' baby. And good luck with that. And don' t punch anyone in the face who said it wasn't bad, they must have forgotten already.
Keep in mind I'm queen cranky-pants at this moment. Ben has been put on notice that at least one of us has to be on speaking terms with the world, and I have a 'no pants fit me anymore' excuse as to why I will not be that person. I knew this would be rough, after all I am a seasoned mom of two and have been through final trimesters before.... just not in the dead heat of summer..
I remember a few months back I was talking with a mom whose daughter was born right around my due date in 2009. I looked to her for guidance on how she made it through. She said with a brightly lit smile, "Oh, it was actually a really cool summer, it was so nice and pleasant." And then I punched her in the face. No, no I didn't, really. I thought about it... but then I realized I might have to do an outside work detail for probation and decided I liked the air conditioning inside better than anyone smiling about giving birth in August.
I promise you 4 readers that at some point I will try to be cheery between now and November. I say November because if you've ever had a newborn you don't even count the first 8 weeks they are around. There's a strange vortex there that you get sucked into and one day (when they start sleeping longer than 3 hours at a time) it spits you out, back to the real world with days and nights. I call it "The Awful 3 Months: The Last Month of Pregnancy and First Two with a Newborn". It doesn't sound like much, but I plan on writing a book about it someday. Except now I'm going to add an asterisk next to the title and put in small letters at the bottom. *Please extend this to 6 months if you plan on having an 'end of summer' baby. And good luck with that. And don' t punch anyone in the face who said it wasn't bad, they must have forgotten already.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
June 1: Time for Summer
Seriously. June 1st. Wow.
Well, nothing new to report except where the heck did the last 5 months go? I'm still stuck back in December for some reason. It's strange though because I feel a sense that we are moving on, starting anew. The last few months have been focused on getting the house ready to sell, having it on the market, Hazelle in school, getting through this pregnancy, etc. Now it seems like those phases are ending and it's time for summer! (don't take the exclamation point as an indication that I'm all that excited about it, air conditioning is my BFF).
Today was the last day for our house on the market. We set this deadline for ourselves and said 'whatever will be, will be'. 'It be' that it didn't sell. And you know what? That's alright. It really was quite a learning experience. We'll know so much more for the next time. Plus it gave us so much hope & confidence that we could actually do it with two small tornadoes in the house. I think next time we'll be able to do it with three. Maybe. We had an eleventh hour showing yesterday and are waiting on feedback*. We don't expect anything to happen, but in either case, this phase will be over. Amen to not having to clean like that again for awhile!
Hazelle finished up her first year of preschool. I think it was as much of a learning experience for me as it was for her. It doesn't seem like it would make that much of an impact, but it did. We both grew up a little. It helped me settle into the role of a stay-at-home mom this past year and confirmed that trying to do this while working would have put me in a bad, bad place. At least I feel now I'm making an earnest effort to be a mom and be involved in her life. It's different than I thought and am growing more accustomed to it every day. The coolest thing is watching her open her eyes to the world. She truly is her own person. I sometimes look at her and wonder where she came from, forgetting the four years of child-rearing, it sometimes seems like we're meeting her for the first time. So goes one of the many new things you learn from your kids.
And finally, last Friday marked week number 27 in this pregnancy, which also means the beginning of the final trimester. Or better known as the beginning of the end. I received my first canisters of free formula in the mail today and find myself grunting to get up. Yes, we have reached the time when we focus on preparing for this new little girl (for those of you who didn't know, we are indeed having our third girl). She makes her presence known and I fear will be quite the dictator. She kicks to her sister's voices and makes it known when I have moved in a position she does not favor. I have a feeling she will hold her own... and probably drive me to drink.
All in all, June 1 is signaling not only the start of what is sure to be a very uncomfortably warm summer, but also one of new beginnings. For the first time in a very long time I can use the words 'optimistic', 'happy' and 'hopeful'. It feels good to let go of (most of) the anxiety and feelings of self-doubt that goes along with selling a house, being a stay-at-home mom & expecting another child. The last year has kind of proved that we, as a family, can do it... 'It' being life. I'm truly hoping some of these good feelings are permeating your life as well. I think we all could use a little sunshine.
*Feedback was good, we are#3 on their short list and delighted us by saying the words 'beautiful' & 'great space'. Also used the term 'surprised that they actually liked it'. It's still off, but who knows... maybe a meteor will hit the other two houses for sale and they will come back to ours :) Although, we're not holding our breath.
Well, nothing new to report except where the heck did the last 5 months go? I'm still stuck back in December for some reason. It's strange though because I feel a sense that we are moving on, starting anew. The last few months have been focused on getting the house ready to sell, having it on the market, Hazelle in school, getting through this pregnancy, etc. Now it seems like those phases are ending and it's time for summer! (don't take the exclamation point as an indication that I'm all that excited about it, air conditioning is my BFF).
Today was the last day for our house on the market. We set this deadline for ourselves and said 'whatever will be, will be'. 'It be' that it didn't sell. And you know what? That's alright. It really was quite a learning experience. We'll know so much more for the next time. Plus it gave us so much hope & confidence that we could actually do it with two small tornadoes in the house. I think next time we'll be able to do it with three. Maybe. We had an eleventh hour showing yesterday and are waiting on feedback*. We don't expect anything to happen, but in either case, this phase will be over. Amen to not having to clean like that again for awhile!
Hazelle finished up her first year of preschool. I think it was as much of a learning experience for me as it was for her. It doesn't seem like it would make that much of an impact, but it did. We both grew up a little. It helped me settle into the role of a stay-at-home mom this past year and confirmed that trying to do this while working would have put me in a bad, bad place. At least I feel now I'm making an earnest effort to be a mom and be involved in her life. It's different than I thought and am growing more accustomed to it every day. The coolest thing is watching her open her eyes to the world. She truly is her own person. I sometimes look at her and wonder where she came from, forgetting the four years of child-rearing, it sometimes seems like we're meeting her for the first time. So goes one of the many new things you learn from your kids.
And finally, last Friday marked week number 27 in this pregnancy, which also means the beginning of the final trimester. Or better known as the beginning of the end. I received my first canisters of free formula in the mail today and find myself grunting to get up. Yes, we have reached the time when we focus on preparing for this new little girl (for those of you who didn't know, we are indeed having our third girl). She makes her presence known and I fear will be quite the dictator. She kicks to her sister's voices and makes it known when I have moved in a position she does not favor. I have a feeling she will hold her own... and probably drive me to drink.
All in all, June 1 is signaling not only the start of what is sure to be a very uncomfortably warm summer, but also one of new beginnings. For the first time in a very long time I can use the words 'optimistic', 'happy' and 'hopeful'. It feels good to let go of (most of) the anxiety and feelings of self-doubt that goes along with selling a house, being a stay-at-home mom & expecting another child. The last year has kind of proved that we, as a family, can do it... 'It' being life. I'm truly hoping some of these good feelings are permeating your life as well. I think we all could use a little sunshine.
*Feedback was good, we are#3 on their short list and delighted us by saying the words 'beautiful' & 'great space'. Also used the term 'surprised that they actually liked it'. It's still off, but who knows... maybe a meteor will hit the other two houses for sale and they will come back to ours :) Although, we're not holding our breath.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Grace...not.
Last Friday as I filed out the front door to get my water bottle from a car parked on the street, I was waved to by a very nice Rumpke man getting our recycling and from my neighbor across the street. I looked up, smiled, shot my hand up to wave back at both of them and then promptly fell down the front steps. The poor Rumpke man looked in horror and yelled from his truck, "Are you okay?" I shouted back, "Yes, but apparently I can't walk and wave at the same time."
As I got up, I noticed a bloodied knee on one side and a throbbing foot on the other. This wouldn't be so bad if I weren't pregnant and hadn't severely fallen down the steps INSIDE my home back in January, injuring my tailbone. So now I have sciatic pain from the baby, an inch thick scab preventing my right knee from bending, pulled ligaments in my left foot and a tailbone injury that pops up at the least opportune times rendering me to beg for assistance. To say I look like a weeble wobble who had been partially run over by a mini-van would be an understatement. Yes, people. Me and stairs have an issue.
These incidents unfortunately weren't the first. I thought about all the times I had fallen down steps during the last 15 years. I'm remembering these in no certain order... well maybe in terms of pain it caused.
As I got up, I noticed a bloodied knee on one side and a throbbing foot on the other. This wouldn't be so bad if I weren't pregnant and hadn't severely fallen down the steps INSIDE my home back in January, injuring my tailbone. So now I have sciatic pain from the baby, an inch thick scab preventing my right knee from bending, pulled ligaments in my left foot and a tailbone injury that pops up at the least opportune times rendering me to beg for assistance. To say I look like a weeble wobble who had been partially run over by a mini-van would be an understatement. Yes, people. Me and stairs have an issue.
These incidents unfortunately weren't the first. I thought about all the times I had fallen down steps during the last 15 years. I'm remembering these in no certain order... well maybe in terms of pain it caused.
- There was the time I was carrying Christmas presents when I was a college student on Ravine Street and destroyed half the presents I had just meticulously wrapped.
- The first day of classes at UC I walked out of Dubois bookstore and fell down the one step on to sidewalk, saved by my face, but not saving face.
- There was that time on Christmas Eve as we were secretly placing gifts under the tree and I slipped on the wood steps at my in-laws and literally shook the whole house when I landed, waking up my neice and nephew and destroying their visions of sugar plums and Santa Claus.
- I once slid down the steps while holding my newborn daughter, stopping just short of the wall and scaring the bejeesus out of both of us.
- And finally (the only one I was fully intoxicated for) at OU when my roommate, our guy friend and I stumbled home from the bar to the concrete steps in front of our dorm and we fell BACKWARD... from the top. We woke up with a black eye, a gash on our head and most likely a concussion, although I don't remember who had what injury. Hmm, I must have had the concussion.
Aaah, good times.
My husband has been present for most of these elegant displays, or at least in the general vicinity. We are blaming one of two things. 1. I grew up in a ranch house. Steps were never part of my physical space and therefore I never developed the 'coordination' for navigating them. 2. The good Lord blessed me with loose hip ligaments, a slight pigeon toe and gigantic boobs. Walking on an even surface is fine, but you throw those elements in with something that involves balance and coordination and you have the perfect scenerio for an 'America's Funniest Home Video'. If only one had been present last Friday I might be on my way to $10,000 and the source of America's laughter. If only I had been so lucky! Here's to lack of grace. May it one day be followed by a video camera, huge payday and no more injuries!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Debbie Downer
Well, it's May 11th now. We officially put our house on the market 9 weeks ago today. Our original listing was up yesterday but we extended it through the end of the month. Big whoop huh? People have their houses on the market for years sometimes before selling. Well, me... well I hoping for a miracle. In fact, I was pretty sure a miracle was going to happen, especially when that beautiful tudor came on the market a week after ours. I knew it was meant to be. That beautiful house stood on the market for a solid 5 weeks or so. That alone was a miracle considering half of Westwood wanted to buy it, but everyone else was in the same boat, they needed to sell their house first. Of course it went pending to some lucky so-and-so. Today though my heart was officially broken when our backup favorite house went pending as well. So now, if we did by some chance get an offer, there's no place we're interested in moving to (in our price range that is).
Don't get me wrong, we're fine, we'll get by here with 3 kids just fine for awhile. In fact it will take a little stress off not to have to spend my last trimester moving... cause that would be a barrel of fun for sure. It's just I can't help feeling like a big fat failure (no pun intended for the 'big fat' part, even though I'm there for sure). I feel like I could be another line in Alanis Morrisette's "Isn't it Ironic" hit (Don't laugh! That CD changed my life... Ben was so much 'best friend with benefits'... good times in 1995) The point is isn't it ironic that a so called interior designer can't lure someone into buying her home? You know, that sanctuary created with 7 long, drawn-out years of design schooling and years of professional experience. Every other designer I know has had their place sold within 2 months or so, at a decent price. Some in as little as 3 days. Yet here we are, no hope in sight and we're looking at another year and a half before we can give it a go again.
Call it a pity party, please. And pass the Pringles potato chips. Just try not to spit on me as you repeat that phrase 5 times fast.
Honestly though I don't know which part has me in the dumps more. The fact I am an designer who can't sell one of her 'creations' or a mom stuck in a small house with no yard for her kids to play in. I just feel like a total failure. (Oh, haven't I warned you before of wildly shifting hormonal mood swings? Consider this one.) So if anyone wants to send me a nudge of encouragement, big hug or 'get over yourself you big fat crybaby' please do. I'm going to go encourage Isla to play with her poop some more now, you all need something of more substance to read about next time.
If you want a laugh after this Debbie Downer drivel, please view the following link. I wet myself partly because I'm pregnant and partly because it had me laughing in hysterics.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-N3F1FhW4
It made me feel not so bad about blaring 'Jagged Little Pill' in my fly Chrysler Town & Country.
Don't get me wrong, we're fine, we'll get by here with 3 kids just fine for awhile. In fact it will take a little stress off not to have to spend my last trimester moving... cause that would be a barrel of fun for sure. It's just I can't help feeling like a big fat failure (no pun intended for the 'big fat' part, even though I'm there for sure). I feel like I could be another line in Alanis Morrisette's "Isn't it Ironic" hit (Don't laugh! That CD changed my life... Ben was so much 'best friend with benefits'... good times in 1995) The point is isn't it ironic that a so called interior designer can't lure someone into buying her home? You know, that sanctuary created with 7 long, drawn-out years of design schooling and years of professional experience. Every other designer I know has had their place sold within 2 months or so, at a decent price. Some in as little as 3 days. Yet here we are, no hope in sight and we're looking at another year and a half before we can give it a go again.
Call it a pity party, please. And pass the Pringles potato chips. Just try not to spit on me as you repeat that phrase 5 times fast.
Honestly though I don't know which part has me in the dumps more. The fact I am an designer who can't sell one of her 'creations' or a mom stuck in a small house with no yard for her kids to play in. I just feel like a total failure. (Oh, haven't I warned you before of wildly shifting hormonal mood swings? Consider this one.) So if anyone wants to send me a nudge of encouragement, big hug or 'get over yourself you big fat crybaby' please do. I'm going to go encourage Isla to play with her poop some more now, you all need something of more substance to read about next time.
If you want a laugh after this Debbie Downer drivel, please view the following link. I wet myself partly because I'm pregnant and partly because it had me laughing in hysterics.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-N3F1FhW4
It made me feel not so bad about blaring 'Jagged Little Pill' in my fly Chrysler Town & Country.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Queen of Turdland
Tomorrow is May 4th.... in my home that means it's Isla's birthday! Or the day she decided to finally fall out of me without anyone being in the hospital room. Thank God I found that call button and was able to eek out 'Umm, I think I need some help please'. Anyway. This is the momentous SECOND birthday. Yes, my sweet angel face has now officially entered the terrible two's. But most experienced parents know this starts much sooner and lasts much, much longer than a year. Today it's like she KNOWS it's her day to officially enter that right of passage where you can be a total turd and people will just chalk it up to being two.
All of a sudden she shrieks like a cat getting stepped on, won't eat anything but constantly tells me she's hungry, ignores what we tell her and thinks it's hilarious to run parking lots with moving vehicles. Oh, and thinks any kind of shopping cart is a boat to which she must abandon ship. Turd, turd, turd.
This might be especially hard because I've been at home with her and we've had a special bond since she was in my womb. Ben lovingly (not really, more like sarcastically) refers to her as my 'third boob'. "Boober's world is going to implode when you have that baby". Thanks hon... let's just add GUILT to that growing list of hormonal emotions. Anyway, it's frustrating to say the least as well as a little sad. No, really it's just frustrating I guess because I'm getting huge and she's trying to take a flying leap from a Target shopping cart into the path of a moving vehicle while screaming, 'FOOD! HUNGRY!' *sigh* Only 2 more years before she becomes manageable...
Speaking of the baby, a few of you have asked for updates and I can give some GOOD NEWS! We had our level 2 ultrasound last Wednesday and everything the last ultrasound tech was worried about turned out to be fine. The little one (now weighing in at 1lb 4ozs) is coming along great and likes to move and shake it's booty. We're getting excited but a bit freaked out now because in just a few short weeks we'll be in the third trimester... otherwise known as 'when Stef gets huge as a house and grumpy as an ogre'. Not so much the celebrated thing, but we all got to pay our dues huh?
Oh crap, gotta go... I just heard Hazelle say, "Isla, do you want me to jump over your head?" Isla said 'Uh huh!' Sugar and spice my ass.
(Note: when I got off here I discovered Isla in the bathroom without her diaper on. She said, "Poop" and pointed to the toliet where a turd was. I was about ready to fall over with disbelief and awe until I noticed that she had actually pooped in her diaper, took it off and picked her poop out and deposited it in the toliet. This was noticed after a saw poop on her hands and on the floor beside a turd which had gotten left behind. She was at the sink bare-butted trying to wash her hands. I can't make this stuff up. I'm going to throw up now.)
And you might wonder why I don't blog more...
All of a sudden she shrieks like a cat getting stepped on, won't eat anything but constantly tells me she's hungry, ignores what we tell her and thinks it's hilarious to run parking lots with moving vehicles. Oh, and thinks any kind of shopping cart is a boat to which she must abandon ship. Turd, turd, turd.
This might be especially hard because I've been at home with her and we've had a special bond since she was in my womb. Ben lovingly (not really, more like sarcastically) refers to her as my 'third boob'. "Boober's world is going to implode when you have that baby". Thanks hon... let's just add GUILT to that growing list of hormonal emotions. Anyway, it's frustrating to say the least as well as a little sad. No, really it's just frustrating I guess because I'm getting huge and she's trying to take a flying leap from a Target shopping cart into the path of a moving vehicle while screaming, 'FOOD! HUNGRY!' *sigh* Only 2 more years before she becomes manageable...
Speaking of the baby, a few of you have asked for updates and I can give some GOOD NEWS! We had our level 2 ultrasound last Wednesday and everything the last ultrasound tech was worried about turned out to be fine. The little one (now weighing in at 1lb 4ozs) is coming along great and likes to move and shake it's booty. We're getting excited but a bit freaked out now because in just a few short weeks we'll be in the third trimester... otherwise known as 'when Stef gets huge as a house and grumpy as an ogre'. Not so much the celebrated thing, but we all got to pay our dues huh?
Oh crap, gotta go... I just heard Hazelle say, "Isla, do you want me to jump over your head?" Isla said 'Uh huh!' Sugar and spice my ass.
(Note: when I got off here I discovered Isla in the bathroom without her diaper on. She said, "Poop" and pointed to the toliet where a turd was. I was about ready to fall over with disbelief and awe until I noticed that she had actually pooped in her diaper, took it off and picked her poop out and deposited it in the toliet. This was noticed after a saw poop on her hands and on the floor beside a turd which had gotten left behind. She was at the sink bare-butted trying to wash her hands. I can't make this stuff up. I'm going to throw up now.)
And you might wonder why I don't blog more...
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Jeopardy: The Game of Answers & More Questions
Well, I got answers from the previous post. As expected, it was just... well... okay. The anticipation is off and I'm left to ponder. I hate pondering, I was never very good at that considering I'm borderline ADD.
First off, feedback from last Saturday was alright. 'House showed well', 'Had great potential for the couple'... BUT 'Too many rental and apt. buildings nearby'. We considered that a victory. We can't control our surroundings, but we can control the inside, and that they liked. Slight victory? Check. Do they even want to consider our house? Well, no. Defeat? Check, Check.
Then the showing yesterday couldn't have deflated me more. The people pulled up to the outside AND WITHOUT GETTING OUT OF THE CAR, sent the realtor to the door to say they weren't interested. Wouldn't have been as bad had I not just had a rough morning and only gotten 3 hours sleep and could see the people looking at me from the car. It was like sending a note to the cute boy only to have him rip up in front of you without looking at it. Hey bud, it could've been A MILLION DOLLAR CHECK! But you'll never know because you DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT IT! But realistically, he and I both knew it was just note that said, 'Will you go with me? Check yes or no.' And we were pretty much on the same page he was probably going to say no. No loss, no foul right?
The kicker was our ultrasound though, which details keep going through my mind. If you are dying to find out what the baby is, let me squelch that one for you now. We weren't going to tell. But it didn't matter because our little one was breech and had it's legs in such a knot the ultrasound tech really didn't bother. But, the thing was, that didn't even matter to her... other things did. Which now concerns us too much more than if we need to buy any boy clothes.
Ultrasounds for us have run the gamut. I won't go into detail, but we've been devastated at the loss of our last pregnancy so unexpected, frustrated but entertained at watching Isla turn somersaults while we were trying to figure out her sex, in awe the first time we saw Hazelle's profile. We also know how the tech's act. And ours was all business yesterday, barely saying a word.
Basically, we noticed she was getting extra pictures of the heart and brain. She told us what she was looking for, but never said what she feared. Legally she can't. The baby was moving, measuring dead on my due date, and looked really good to me. When I met with the doctor she said I needed a level 2 ultrasound in a few weeks. The baby had some fluid around it's heart and they want to see if it gets resolved on it's own. She said probably not a means to be concerned, but they need to follow up to make sure things develop normally or if this could turn into something more. What she didn't mention was there was also a dilation in the back of the baby's brain.
I didn't put two and two together until I got home and googled a search term in my order and remembered asking the tech what part of the brain she kept measuring. I sent an email to my sister, who is enjoying a much needed vacation in Hawaii and asked her what this meant. Her response was quick and not as non-chalant as I would have hoped. Her first question was "How did your doctor act about it?" Well, honestly I don't know. I put a call in this morning and am waiting on hearing back.* My guess is she knows I've been a bundle of nerves and didn't want to make it worse, we'll know more in a few weeks.
*I talked to the doctor and she said everything was in normal range, but since we were having a level 2 ultrasound anyway, she was going to get a second pair of eyes on it, just to be safe. We feel better.
Anyway, so yesterday resolved many questions, but raised many more. So I'm just going to sit back, keep my house clean and enjoy the little kicks the baby has finally gotten big enough to deliver. And say a prayer in between that the important things turn out alright. You are more than welcome to say one too :)
First off, feedback from last Saturday was alright. 'House showed well', 'Had great potential for the couple'... BUT 'Too many rental and apt. buildings nearby'. We considered that a victory. We can't control our surroundings, but we can control the inside, and that they liked. Slight victory? Check. Do they even want to consider our house? Well, no. Defeat? Check, Check.
Then the showing yesterday couldn't have deflated me more. The people pulled up to the outside AND WITHOUT GETTING OUT OF THE CAR, sent the realtor to the door to say they weren't interested. Wouldn't have been as bad had I not just had a rough morning and only gotten 3 hours sleep and could see the people looking at me from the car. It was like sending a note to the cute boy only to have him rip up in front of you without looking at it. Hey bud, it could've been A MILLION DOLLAR CHECK! But you'll never know because you DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT IT! But realistically, he and I both knew it was just note that said, 'Will you go with me? Check yes or no.' And we were pretty much on the same page he was probably going to say no. No loss, no foul right?
The kicker was our ultrasound though, which details keep going through my mind. If you are dying to find out what the baby is, let me squelch that one for you now. We weren't going to tell. But it didn't matter because our little one was breech and had it's legs in such a knot the ultrasound tech really didn't bother. But, the thing was, that didn't even matter to her... other things did. Which now concerns us too much more than if we need to buy any boy clothes.
Ultrasounds for us have run the gamut. I won't go into detail, but we've been devastated at the loss of our last pregnancy so unexpected, frustrated but entertained at watching Isla turn somersaults while we were trying to figure out her sex, in awe the first time we saw Hazelle's profile. We also know how the tech's act. And ours was all business yesterday, barely saying a word.
Basically, we noticed she was getting extra pictures of the heart and brain. She told us what she was looking for, but never said what she feared. Legally she can't. The baby was moving, measuring dead on my due date, and looked really good to me. When I met with the doctor she said I needed a level 2 ultrasound in a few weeks. The baby had some fluid around it's heart and they want to see if it gets resolved on it's own. She said probably not a means to be concerned, but they need to follow up to make sure things develop normally or if this could turn into something more. What she didn't mention was there was also a dilation in the back of the baby's brain.
I didn't put two and two together until I got home and googled a search term in my order and remembered asking the tech what part of the brain she kept measuring. I sent an email to my sister, who is enjoying a much needed vacation in Hawaii and asked her what this meant. Her response was quick and not as non-chalant as I would have hoped. Her first question was "How did your doctor act about it?" Well, honestly I don't know. I put a call in this morning and am waiting on hearing back.* My guess is she knows I've been a bundle of nerves and didn't want to make it worse, we'll know more in a few weeks.
*I talked to the doctor and she said everything was in normal range, but since we were having a level 2 ultrasound anyway, she was going to get a second pair of eyes on it, just to be safe. We feel better.
Anyway, so yesterday resolved many questions, but raised many more. So I'm just going to sit back, keep my house clean and enjoy the little kicks the baby has finally gotten big enough to deliver. And say a prayer in between that the important things turn out alright. You are more than welcome to say one too :)
Monday, April 5, 2010
Roller Coasters
I used to like roller coasters, until one day. One day, I woke up and thought to myself, "Why all the drama? I like the ground, a flat even ground for which I know I will not fall farther than my height." And that was it. Not that I'm scared or despise them, I just prefer my feet... on the ground. I somewhat consider that the day I became a boring adult.
Hence this week. It's nothing really but I feel like I've been strapped to the front of a roller coaster again and I'm anticipating that ride. But the thing is, I'm not sure if I'm going to like it. My mind is going a million miles an hour thinking of all the possibilities, just to make sure I'm not blindsided by one that I hadn't considered. What if it has loops? What if it suddenly goes backwards? What if it stops in the middle and I can't get down?
Yes, I really did go there. But anyway, of course I'm not talking about a REAL roller coaster. We have our all-important ultrasound on Wednesday morning and are patiently waiting on feedback from our one and only house showing on Saturday. And we have another showing tomorrow morning. I'm incredibly nervous and anxious about both, any and all, to the point I'm almost in tears with anticipation. What if something is wrong with the baby? What if the people looked at our house and thought, "This place is a dump! They're asking WHAT for it?!? They're never going to sell..." What if we don't sell... ever? What if if I give birth to a two headed alien? I don't know. It's just all negative. Like that big black rain seen above any cartoon character's head. I have officially turned into Charlie Brown. Good grief.
Hence this week. It's nothing really but I feel like I've been strapped to the front of a roller coaster again and I'm anticipating that ride. But the thing is, I'm not sure if I'm going to like it. My mind is going a million miles an hour thinking of all the possibilities, just to make sure I'm not blindsided by one that I hadn't considered. What if it has loops? What if it suddenly goes backwards? What if it stops in the middle and I can't get down?
Yes, I really did go there. But anyway, of course I'm not talking about a REAL roller coaster. We have our all-important ultrasound on Wednesday morning and are patiently waiting on feedback from our one and only house showing on Saturday. And we have another showing tomorrow morning. I'm incredibly nervous and anxious about both, any and all, to the point I'm almost in tears with anticipation. What if something is wrong with the baby? What if the people looked at our house and thought, "This place is a dump! They're asking WHAT for it?!? They're never going to sell..." What if we don't sell... ever? What if if I give birth to a two headed alien? I don't know. It's just all negative. Like that big black rain seen above any cartoon character's head. I have officially turned into Charlie Brown. Good grief.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Forget-Me-Nots
I kind of got blind sided last week.
Last Monday was the beginning of spring break for Hazelle. As she and Isla cuddled in bed with me to watch "Martha Speaks" I whispered, "Hazelle, do you know what today is? Today is the first day of SPRING BREAK! We don't have to rush to get you ready for school! We can just lay here and lounge around this morning!" I was really excited about this... seriously, no fights! I wasn't sure what type of response I was going to get from her. You never really know with a 4-year old. Either she could have started jumping for joy or bawling because she wouldn't see her friends for a week. On this particular morning she looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Yay! Does that mean the new baby is coming out this week?"
It threw me off for a second before it dawned on me. The day before I found out our last pregnancy hadn't survived, I had a feeling of confidence. I was 12 weeks and really sick and Hazelle asked me why I had to go to the doctor's the next day (for my routine 12-week visit and ultrasound). I smiled at her and told her that she was going to have a new brother or sister and the doctor just needed to make sure everything was alright. "Now?" she asked. "No honey, when you go on spring break, that will be when the new baby will come out".
And there it was. A conversation I had on September 10th and then just neglected to explain more to an excited 3 year old as I grieved for the baby we lost. I can't believe she freaking remembered that ONE ever-so-brief conversation we had after school one day. She never asked about that baby. It took my husband and I a long time to tell her about this one. Most people said it wasn't worth explaining, that she would never know. But now she had remembered something I had forgot, that upcoming week, today actually, was my due date.
In all the hurriedness with trying to get the house ready to show, this had slipped past us. I felt... well, mostly guilty. It should have dawned on me, what kind of mother forgets this?
As we walked out to the van that afternoon, Hazelle ran to the yellow daffodils that were starting to bloom. Walking around to get her something caught my eye. Last fall, I planted what I referred to as my 'memorial garden'. It had the little birdbath I purchased after my first miscarriage, in between 2 beautiful plants, Lenten Roses, which I had planted late last fall. It was my little homage to the little souls who would never see this world. This day I looked at those dead plants and saw new green leaves, and 3 beautiful pink flowers on each.
Now I could look at this two different ways. 1. They are called 'Lenten Roses'... and this is well, Lent. It could reasonably be expected that these flowers bloom during this season. or 2. This was a little reminder, a forget-me-not wink from heaven that on this particular day a sad remembrance turned into a little beautiful moment with the bloom of those flowers. To see something dead or dormant come alive has been a full-circle moment for which they were planted. Call it what you want but it made me feel a little warm and fuzzy, a little less sad and a lot more healed.
Last Monday was the beginning of spring break for Hazelle. As she and Isla cuddled in bed with me to watch "Martha Speaks" I whispered, "Hazelle, do you know what today is? Today is the first day of SPRING BREAK! We don't have to rush to get you ready for school! We can just lay here and lounge around this morning!" I was really excited about this... seriously, no fights! I wasn't sure what type of response I was going to get from her. You never really know with a 4-year old. Either she could have started jumping for joy or bawling because she wouldn't see her friends for a week. On this particular morning she looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Yay! Does that mean the new baby is coming out this week?"
It threw me off for a second before it dawned on me. The day before I found out our last pregnancy hadn't survived, I had a feeling of confidence. I was 12 weeks and really sick and Hazelle asked me why I had to go to the doctor's the next day (for my routine 12-week visit and ultrasound). I smiled at her and told her that she was going to have a new brother or sister and the doctor just needed to make sure everything was alright. "Now?" she asked. "No honey, when you go on spring break, that will be when the new baby will come out".
And there it was. A conversation I had on September 10th and then just neglected to explain more to an excited 3 year old as I grieved for the baby we lost. I can't believe she freaking remembered that ONE ever-so-brief conversation we had after school one day. She never asked about that baby. It took my husband and I a long time to tell her about this one. Most people said it wasn't worth explaining, that she would never know. But now she had remembered something I had forgot, that upcoming week, today actually, was my due date.
In all the hurriedness with trying to get the house ready to show, this had slipped past us. I felt... well, mostly guilty. It should have dawned on me, what kind of mother forgets this?
As we walked out to the van that afternoon, Hazelle ran to the yellow daffodils that were starting to bloom. Walking around to get her something caught my eye. Last fall, I planted what I referred to as my 'memorial garden'. It had the little birdbath I purchased after my first miscarriage, in between 2 beautiful plants, Lenten Roses, which I had planted late last fall. It was my little homage to the little souls who would never see this world. This day I looked at those dead plants and saw new green leaves, and 3 beautiful pink flowers on each.
Now I could look at this two different ways. 1. They are called 'Lenten Roses'... and this is well, Lent. It could reasonably be expected that these flowers bloom during this season. or 2. This was a little reminder, a forget-me-not wink from heaven that on this particular day a sad remembrance turned into a little beautiful moment with the bloom of those flowers. To see something dead or dormant come alive has been a full-circle moment for which they were planted. Call it what you want but it made me feel a little warm and fuzzy, a little less sad and a lot more healed.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Super Sunday Bikini Contest
Last December while talking to a friend of mine, she mentioned that existing home owners could get $6500 if they sold an existing and bought a new home. That little chunk of money dangled like a carrot in front of my husband and I. Shortly before I found out I was pregnant again, we decided to go for it and put it on the market. VERY loving family has been helping us ever since to get this thing ready to show. No small feat, just ask my mom who has been telling me how much our house has needed cleaned for the last 6 years.
After 3 months, 3 snowstorms, 3 trips to donate crap (including 3 contractor grade garbage bags of my clothes from 10 years ago) and a very uneventful first trimester we did it! I have never been to therapy, but I think achieving this has been damn near an epiphany.
On Facebook I described selling our house as feeling like you're "standing outside in a bathing suit." Now this might seem a little strange, but you have no idea how much anxiety it gives me to put on a bathing suit, let alone go out in public. In fact, I took my kids swimming last year at the YMCA twice. A near miracle considering I hadn't been in a bathing suit since spring break 1997. Seriously. 1997... and that was a good 65 lbs ago. And I tried to stay drunk the whole time so I didn't have to be aware of the fact that I was actually in a bathing suit.
And so really, that's how I feel about selling this house. It's me. It's all my decisions for the last 6.5 years put in 18 pictures and a brief description. You wonder what people think, but really don't want to know. You know you don't look as good as a lot of other people, but you hope some odd person some how looks past the dimpled ass and varicose veins and thinks, "whoa dude, she's hot. I want to make an offer." (And please let that offer be about within $5,000 of our asking price.)
Last Sunday was "Super Sunday", a superbowl for realtors trying to convince those who don't own homes they should do so NOW. Over 3,000 homes for sale in Cincinnati were open for public viewings, hoping to catch a piece of that tax credit pie. Ours was one of those.
I put on that "Open House" bathing suit and tried to flaunt my ass off (new air freshners, fresh flowers and the cleanest this house has ever been!). But... much prettier girls were shaking their booty and no one wanted the fat chick (and by no one, I mean no one showed up for 2 hours). Oh well, at least I put on the suit. And if you know of anyone who wants the most space efficient 4 bed, 2 bath house this side of 75, please send them my way. It's getting really cold standing out here.
After 3 months, 3 snowstorms, 3 trips to donate crap (including 3 contractor grade garbage bags of my clothes from 10 years ago) and a very uneventful first trimester we did it! I have never been to therapy, but I think achieving this has been damn near an epiphany.
On Facebook I described selling our house as feeling like you're "standing outside in a bathing suit." Now this might seem a little strange, but you have no idea how much anxiety it gives me to put on a bathing suit, let alone go out in public. In fact, I took my kids swimming last year at the YMCA twice. A near miracle considering I hadn't been in a bathing suit since spring break 1997. Seriously. 1997... and that was a good 65 lbs ago. And I tried to stay drunk the whole time so I didn't have to be aware of the fact that I was actually in a bathing suit.
And so really, that's how I feel about selling this house. It's me. It's all my decisions for the last 6.5 years put in 18 pictures and a brief description. You wonder what people think, but really don't want to know. You know you don't look as good as a lot of other people, but you hope some odd person some how looks past the dimpled ass and varicose veins and thinks, "whoa dude, she's hot. I want to make an offer." (And please let that offer be about within $5,000 of our asking price.)
Last Sunday was "Super Sunday", a superbowl for realtors trying to convince those who don't own homes they should do so NOW. Over 3,000 homes for sale in Cincinnati were open for public viewings, hoping to catch a piece of that tax credit pie. Ours was one of those.
I put on that "Open House" bathing suit and tried to flaunt my ass off (new air freshners, fresh flowers and the cleanest this house has ever been!). But... much prettier girls were shaking their booty and no one wanted the fat chick (and by no one, I mean no one showed up for 2 hours). Oh well, at least I put on the suit. And if you know of anyone who wants the most space efficient 4 bed, 2 bath house this side of 75, please send them my way. It's getting really cold standing out here.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I'm Coming Out.
Yes, you read correctly. I am coming out of the closet. This has taken me a long time to write, but I think it's about time. I owe it to my husband and children, all those close to me who already know and have been keeping it a secret (or not so much, like my mom). Ok, here goes...
I am pregnant.
K to the N to the O-C-K-E-D up... again. Yes, for the 5th time in as many years. I am pregnant again. 15 weeks today. So if you look back at my previous posts it might make a little sense while I raged in one and contemplated life and loss in another. So goes the wonderful roller coaster that is gestation.
And why the dramatics? Well, for those of you who do not have children, but plan to one day, take this piece of advice. Enjoy every second of telling people about your first pregnancy. You will get hugs, tears, laughing, eye winks, presents, cards and flowers. People will carry your groceries, open doors for you and ask how you are feeling. Every old woman within a block of you will get a twinkle in her eye, feel your belly and tell you to relish every second because it goes so fast, she should know, her baby is now 60.
And then your second pregnancy? Well, it's alright. You get people saying 'Congratulations', 'Good luck!', 'It's twice the work'. You even get the occasional 'STOP NOW WHILE YOU CAN!' (I thank my sister, who has 4 children, for that little number)
Thus brings us to pregnancy number three. You are lucky to get a, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for." All this while apologizing profusely and dragging along a screaming toddler and grumpy preschooler who both want a new pony and a sippy cup o' juice.
I've only had a few people close enough to me make the daring announcement to family and friends they are expecting a FOURTH, the audacity! One of those being my sister who announced she was expecting her last child, while holding a crying 10 month-old as her 5 year-old 2-1/2 year-old ran around the table terrorizing any relative who looked at them cross-eyed (which was all of them of course). From how it was recalled by my mother, the entire table fell silent, mouths fell open, forks fell onto their plates and everyone held their breath. Until my uncle started laughing, which started everyone else laughing, because, they all thought she was telling a really bad joke.... which she wasn't. Needless to say I don't think it was the reaction my sister and her husband were going for.
So 4 people, I'm outed. Still a little worried here and there but guess it's time to strart spreading the news. The due date is August 28th. Dead heat of the summer (yay!). Feel free, go ahead and say it, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for."
I am pregnant.
K to the N to the O-C-K-E-D up... again. Yes, for the 5th time in as many years. I am pregnant again. 15 weeks today. So if you look back at my previous posts it might make a little sense while I raged in one and contemplated life and loss in another. So goes the wonderful roller coaster that is gestation.
And why the dramatics? Well, for those of you who do not have children, but plan to one day, take this piece of advice. Enjoy every second of telling people about your first pregnancy. You will get hugs, tears, laughing, eye winks, presents, cards and flowers. People will carry your groceries, open doors for you and ask how you are feeling. Every old woman within a block of you will get a twinkle in her eye, feel your belly and tell you to relish every second because it goes so fast, she should know, her baby is now 60.
And then your second pregnancy? Well, it's alright. You get people saying 'Congratulations', 'Good luck!', 'It's twice the work'. You even get the occasional 'STOP NOW WHILE YOU CAN!' (I thank my sister, who has 4 children, for that little number)
Thus brings us to pregnancy number three. You are lucky to get a, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for." All this while apologizing profusely and dragging along a screaming toddler and grumpy preschooler who both want a new pony and a sippy cup o' juice.
I've only had a few people close enough to me make the daring announcement to family and friends they are expecting a FOURTH, the audacity! One of those being my sister who announced she was expecting her last child, while holding a crying 10 month-old as her 5 year-old 2-1/2 year-old ran around the table terrorizing any relative who looked at them cross-eyed (which was all of them of course). From how it was recalled by my mother, the entire table fell silent, mouths fell open, forks fell onto their plates and everyone held their breath. Until my uncle started laughing, which started everyone else laughing, because, they all thought she was telling a really bad joke.... which she wasn't. Needless to say I don't think it was the reaction my sister and her husband were going for.
So 4 people, I'm outed. Still a little worried here and there but guess it's time to strart spreading the news. The due date is August 28th. Dead heat of the summer (yay!). Feel free, go ahead and say it, "Hey lady, you knew what you were signing up for."
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Perspective
Ever sail along in life so engrossed in what you are doing that you fail to see things in order of importance? Life has been hectic the last few months, to say the least, looking ahead to things to come this year. I had some time yesterday though to reflect on the day's events while riding along a desolate country road, staring out into flat solid snow covered fields with a fog so thick you couldn't tell where the ground ended and the sky began. We estimated the visibility to be about 1/8 mile. We drove a steady 35 miles an hour, following the line of cars in front of us with same 'FUNERAL' flag waiving from the driver's side window. Every car coming the opposite way pulled over in respect for the large caravan, something you don't typically see in the city. Somber, ethereal, somewhat like time was standing still for this grieving family.
The words the preacher had said during his sermon repeated in my mind as we drove. He said, "Three years ago, absolutely no one would have thought we would be gathered here today." He was referring to the celebration of life for a 43 year-old wife and mother of three kids (ages 8, 6 & 5) who bravely fought and finally succumbed to the horrid disease that is pancreatic cancer. Sadly the same rare cancer her widower's, my husband's first cousin, father had died of 6 years ago. Both families were so unfortunately familiar with how things could go, but hope still abounded through treatments & surgeries. Bright spots shone before the darkness reared it ugly head and the doctors sent her home after Thanksgiving to spend her remaining time with her family.
Just 2 years ago she had her life planned out. Watching her kids grow up, growing old with her husband. But one phone call from a surgeon with a diagnosis jolted those plans to a screeching halt. It reminded me of what I saw outside. Every other time I had been on that same stretch of road, I could see the path ahead me, clear and unimpeded. Numb to the fact of where I was, just focused on where I was going. Today though, the reality is that the path could only be seen where we were, very little ahead. What existed beyond that fog, although I knew once to be an engraved tangible landscape, is now hazy and unfamiliar.
Ironically his foggy haze put things in a clearer perspective for me. Patti had her road map, how her life was to unfold yet no one saw this end. This was a subtle reminder to, of course, know the road I'm on, but more importantly enjoy the scenery where I'm at. As we experienced through some one else's pain, you never know what lays beyond the fog.
And so ends my existential, Debbie-Downer thought of the day.
P.S. Hug your kids tonight :)
The words the preacher had said during his sermon repeated in my mind as we drove. He said, "Three years ago, absolutely no one would have thought we would be gathered here today." He was referring to the celebration of life for a 43 year-old wife and mother of three kids (ages 8, 6 & 5) who bravely fought and finally succumbed to the horrid disease that is pancreatic cancer. Sadly the same rare cancer her widower's, my husband's first cousin, father had died of 6 years ago. Both families were so unfortunately familiar with how things could go, but hope still abounded through treatments & surgeries. Bright spots shone before the darkness reared it ugly head and the doctors sent her home after Thanksgiving to spend her remaining time with her family.
Just 2 years ago she had her life planned out. Watching her kids grow up, growing old with her husband. But one phone call from a surgeon with a diagnosis jolted those plans to a screeching halt. It reminded me of what I saw outside. Every other time I had been on that same stretch of road, I could see the path ahead me, clear and unimpeded. Numb to the fact of where I was, just focused on where I was going. Today though, the reality is that the path could only be seen where we were, very little ahead. What existed beyond that fog, although I knew once to be an engraved tangible landscape, is now hazy and unfamiliar.
Ironically his foggy haze put things in a clearer perspective for me. Patti had her road map, how her life was to unfold yet no one saw this end. This was a subtle reminder to, of course, know the road I'm on, but more importantly enjoy the scenery where I'm at. As we experienced through some one else's pain, you never know what lays beyond the fog.
And so ends my existential, Debbie-Downer thought of the day.
P.S. Hug your kids tonight :)
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I. Hate. Winter.
Hello 4 people who added me to the reading list. It's been nearly 3 months since my last post. I'm sure you missed me. If you didn't, I'm still going to pretend you did because I need the self esteem right now. (insert deep cleansing breath here)
Holy crap. Yes, I'm having a day, a moment, a month, a season, just a BAD TIME OF YEAR! Which really is disheartening because I used to love the winter months. Probably because I was inexplicably lazy. During winter, I had an excuse as to why I didn't to go outside. There were new TV shows every night. It stays dark longer and I could stay in bed all day, or lounge on the couch on the weekends. Nothing got done, but nothing got messy. I used to just exist from January until March. And I loved it.
I don't even have to tell you now why these beloved hibernation days are over. They are 1 and 4 and blond and evil. Well, today they are evil. I'm hiding on the computer as they climb the walls and destroy the little bit of housecleaning I was able to get done today. Seriously, I just looked at the living room and I'm pretty sure the girl from the Exorcist popped out of the toy chest and threw up primary color bits to every corner of the house.
I feel dangerously close to Clark Griswold's rant after he found out he wasn't getting a Christmas bonus on Christmas Vacation. I can't repeat it word for word, but I know there's a lot of bad words followed by a shot of eggnog. Too bad I hate eggnog cause I think it made him feel better.
Now I've successfully escaped for a few minutes I feel tick in my eye starting to ease. Love my kids, hate the cold inescapable winter that turns them into gremlins. Gremlins who like apples and poop every 5 minutes.
My husband just arrived home.
"Hallelujah. Holy S**t. Where's the Tylenol?"
Holy crap. Yes, I'm having a day, a moment, a month, a season, just a BAD TIME OF YEAR! Which really is disheartening because I used to love the winter months. Probably because I was inexplicably lazy. During winter, I had an excuse as to why I didn't to go outside. There were new TV shows every night. It stays dark longer and I could stay in bed all day, or lounge on the couch on the weekends. Nothing got done, but nothing got messy. I used to just exist from January until March. And I loved it.
I don't even have to tell you now why these beloved hibernation days are over. They are 1 and 4 and blond and evil. Well, today they are evil. I'm hiding on the computer as they climb the walls and destroy the little bit of housecleaning I was able to get done today. Seriously, I just looked at the living room and I'm pretty sure the girl from the Exorcist popped out of the toy chest and threw up primary color bits to every corner of the house.
I feel dangerously close to Clark Griswold's rant after he found out he wasn't getting a Christmas bonus on Christmas Vacation. I can't repeat it word for word, but I know there's a lot of bad words followed by a shot of eggnog. Too bad I hate eggnog cause I think it made him feel better.
Now I've successfully escaped for a few minutes I feel tick in my eye starting to ease. Love my kids, hate the cold inescapable winter that turns them into gremlins. Gremlins who like apples and poop every 5 minutes.
My husband just arrived home.
"Hallelujah. Holy S**t. Where's the Tylenol?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
