Don't Take the Repeats

Crickets

2012-01-31T21:21:00.000-05:00

Stella said the other day that all the internet was filled with crickets chirping.

It's true.

I know the world is holding their breath with news about Susan. I know that thousands of people care about her, her family, and her well being.

The thing is, this is a quiet time. There are going to be crickets.

Know that Susan is well loved. She is totally cared for. Surrounded by family. Everything she told you in her latest post.

But I can't share her with you anymore. I just can't. Not right now.

The world loves Susan. I'm grateful for the support and friendship and love everyone has shown her. So very grateful. Please forgive me for needing to hold her within my own heart right now. I have to hold on as tight as I possibly can.

Buffy

2012-01-24T12:00:00.000-05:00

Susan, 15. February 24, 1989

Do you see your name tag?

"Buffy"

You will always be the Buffy to my Muffy.

Do it

2012-01-23T19:39:00.002-05:00

It feels like the interwebs are telling you goodbye. I hate it. Selfishly, I hate all of the virtual hugs and kisses and last words of how amazing you are. It's making my heart explode with the hot air from the screaming I'm holding inside. The screams that I choke back every time my mouth opens.

STOP. I will not do it. I will not say goodbye. Not here. Not online. NOT NOW.

You made me promise you to never tell you that it was "alright to let go." At the time, I felt like that was unfair and one of the hardest things you could ask of me. To see you suffer, to see you in pain, to know that you are hurting so - to ask you to hold on, to demand that you try something else, to know that I was telling you the right thing to do was keep living.

It was almost too much.

But it wasn't. It isn't. And I get it now.

You will never stop living. No matter what pain you are in, you will continue to live. Until you don't.

There is no battle or fight. There is only life. Your life will in all likelihood be shorter than mine. I don't want it to be, but it is what it is. You are not losing though. You are not giving up. You are living, and I will never tell you to do anything but that.

I get it now.

So I tell you publicly what I have been telling you privately for five years now, "Keep living. As long as God gives you breath and life, keep living."

Dream

2012-01-20T19:12:00.003-05:00

Last night I dreamed that we went house hunting together. We had our four boys, but no K or C with us. I don't know where they were.

We found a split level home in the Chastain area of town. I think it was Chastain. Near the old Broadmoor Baptist church and the Northside Library.

You asked me this morning why there and not the beach or the mountains.

I've thought about that all day. I think it's because I just want to go back home with you.

I just want to go back 25 years and love you all over again from the beginning.

Pardon me, Haley Barbour

2012-01-10T20:36:00.000-05:00

par·don [pahr-dn] noun
1.kind indulgence, as in forgiveness of an offense or discourtesy or in tolerance of a distraction or inconvenience: I beg your pardon, but which way is Spruce Street?
2.Law .a.a release from the penalty of an offense; a remission of penalty, as by a governor.b.the document by which such remission is declared.
3.forgiveness of a serious offense or offender.

Haley Barbour is on his way out as governor of Mississippi, and in true Haley style, he is going out with a bang. The pardons started flying, and by this morning, my Facebook feed was rife with stories of wife murderers getting set free this past Sunday.

Pardon me, Haley, but did you know one of those men shot his wife in cold blood while she held their baby? Was that a "release from the penalty" pardon, or an actual "forgiveness of a serious offense"? Because I'm curious to know if you really are alright with what that man did.

Then just hours ago, it was announced that Haley was granting clemency to Karen Irby.

clem·en·cy noun
1. the quality of being clement; disposition to show forbearance, compassion, or forgiveness in judging or punishing; leniency; mercy.
2. an act or deed showing mercy or leniency.
3. (of the weather) mildness or temperateness.

In brief, Karen Irby killed two residents at University of Mississippi Medical Center in 2009. The victims, Drs. Lisa Dedousis and Daniel Pogue, were engaged to be married. They were driving their pickup truck when Karen crossed the center line in her Mercedes and hit them going 100 miles per hour, killing both. She was drunk. She was tried and sentenced to 18 years in prison.

More things I have heard are that her husband Stuart was beating her in the car while she was driving, causing her to crash. I have also heard that the victims families did not want Karen to serve jail time.

Karen Irby is the wife, now ex-wife, of Stuart Irby, son of Stuart and Bitsy Irby. Stuart (Sr.) and Bitsy Irby were two of the nicest people I knew in Jackson. I attended church with them from the day I was born. They are both gone. Have been for awhile. This is not the Irby family I knew when I lived there.

The thing about the Irbys, is that they have a lot of money. Since it is terribly rude to discuss money, I'll leave it at that.

All of this has me thinking about Karen's children.

I keep hearing from the Mississippi crowd that her babies need her. She has a daughter, nine years old, and a son, five years old. They have been split up and sent to live with their different biological fathers.

I agree. They do need her.

I'm undecided on what they need from her though.

Does her release teach them that they everyone makes mistakes? Does it teach them about grace and mercy, which I believe are two of the most important things in life?

Or does it teach them that there is no real accountability with their family name and status? Does it set them up to recklessly travel through their lives, making decisions based on the knowledge that someone will always cover for them?

Karen Irby could have been me or any huge number of people I knew in my earlier years. However. It wouldn't be me now, as I just passed two years without a drink. Being on the other side of the glass, I don't agree with calling drunk driving a mistake. Every drink you pour is a choice. Every sip requires a decision to lift that glass to your lips. Trust me. I know this.

I suspect that Karen Irby's sentence was meant to be a message to people who drink and drive. I suspect that the tragic nature of the victims, cut down in their prime, just starting promising medical careers and engaged to be married, I suspect that Karen might have gotten the same sentence if her last name had been Smith or Jones.

I also suspect though, that she wouldn't be getting that clemency.

Notice that the definition of pardon in terms of a criminal is simply release from a punishment. Clemency is leniency of punishment with forgiveness. She has been forgiven of her crime. At least by Haley Barbour.

At what price though? Where is the line between accountability and responsibility or grace and mercy? And is there a line at all?

Accountability can come with forgiveness. Consequences can exist while being shown mercy. I'm not sure that is what happened here.

Nothing good could ever have come from the situation. That is probably the only truth that is certain. Every family involved has suffered and will suffer. I don't know that any amount of jail time, no matter how much or how little, will ever help the suffering.

Choosing happiness

2011-12-21T07:46:00.000-05:00

Choosing happiness. That's what I'm giving myself for Christmas this year. There is so much I have and so many people I love.

My best friend has been given the gift of another Christmas with her family. My son goes to a wonderful preschool full of teachers who love him and immerse him in the arts. My husband works tirelessly to provide for us, and my stepdaughter is loving and kind and helpful.

I don't have to look far for things that make me happy. I just have to remember to do it.

Although it's not full-time, I do work. I teach piano and composition and I get to play with Bill Leslie in all of his live shows and record backing vocals on his albums. It's a great gig, and I couldn't play with nicer people. Christmas in Mitford is his new album, and it was number five on the world music charts for November. I'm proud to play with him.

Last weekend, we had a show in Holly Springs at their terrific auditorium. Bill lent part of the set to Linda and I to do one of my favorite Christmas carols. Performing with wonderful musicians? Makes me really happy.

Guppy love

2011-12-20T21:58:00.002-05:00

These are the boys' new guppies. They aren't just any guppies, though. They are guppies from their Aunt Susan.

Today, those guppies kept me company on the ride home from a whirlwind visit to see my dear friend. We had Christmas to celebrate, but pneumonia (her) and strep throat (me) had delayed and shortened my trip considerably.

Still, Kevin sent me on my way this past Sunday. He and one of our fabulous neighbors made sure that the boys were well cared for, and today, their favorite sitter came to play. When I walked in the door, having picked up Mallory on my way home, they were more excited to see her than they were me.

I'm happy they have so many people in their lives to love.

And now we've added some guppies. Guppy love.

I'm so happy I got to spend time with Susan and her family, and I'm so happy that I had my own family to come home to.

This being happy thing isn't so bad.

Nutcracker. Preschool style.

2011-12-15T13:11:00.004-05:00

Christopher goes to a fantastic preschool. It's a multi-arts school that I dreamed about sending my children to before I ever thought I would get to have children. He loves it there, loves his teachers, loves the activities, and I love seeing him thrive.

This morning, they put on a performance of the Nutcracker. Preschool style.

When the dance teacher came out to start the performance, she had Christopher by the hand and brought him with her. My first thought was, "Oh no. He isn't paying attention, refuses to participate, and is freaking out so he has to stay with Ms. Karen." However, she introduced him and said that he would be helping her run the music.

Sure enough, when the music started, he was the one pressing the button, and I could see him, standing by Ms. Karen, following her lead, giving the performers their cues. He was like the little mini stage director. I was really proud of him - putting that natural bossiness to good use.

About 20 minutes into the performance, Colin had had enough and was either going to join in or sit there and scream. So we left, walked around the outside of the building, delivered teacher gifts, and came back in just in time to see Christopher actually in costume and dancing with the rest of his class.

He was magnificent.

I know that I'm a mama now, because while other people probably would have seen a spastic three year old running circles on a dance floor while holding a candy cane pole above his head - I saw a tall, lean, beautiful child doing incredibly graceful stag leaps, one after another. Next stop, Carolina Ballet.

I was so proud of him. He played a special helping role in the beginning, but he still participated with his class. He has come so far since the beginning of the school year.

So today, I'm reminding myself that I'm so happy Christopher gets to go to Arts Together.

Coming out of the dark

2011-12-14T11:11:00.002-05:00

I haven't written much this year, and in a way, that tells you all you need to know. I've turned inward a little too much I suppose, but it's what I've needed to get through the day to day.

To be honest, I haven't had a whole lot of positive things weighing on me. I feel like the house is too dirty, the boys watch too much TV, we eat out too much - all of the things I'm supposed to be taking care of, I feel like I'm not good enough.

I'll have spurts of competence. There will be weeks when I'm really good at keeping up with a meal plan, finishing the laundry, and staying on top of all the bills. Then, I'll sort of drift off into some place where my family and friends can't find me. Some place where I try to heal myself.

The other day, when I was having my annual at the Birth Center, the nurse told me she really wanted me to add in some therapy to my Zoloft prescription. I told her that right now was not the time for talking. Right now was the time for getting through day to day. If I had to talk about it too? Well, forget it.

Sounds all doom and gloom, doesn't it? It's not. There is just a lot of sadness mixed in with the happy. I have a lot to be happy about, and you can consider that the understatement of the year.

So, my goal for the rest of 2012, is to write about some of those things. I know for a fact that I need to find my way out of my shell, and if I'm not going to talk my way out, then I can certainly start writing my way out.

I've got 17 days left and many more than 17 things I could list. This should be easy, right?

She'll be coming around the mountain

2011-11-16T19:58:00.003-05:00

Momma comes tomorrow. Ever since last Thursday, I've been going through my days thinking, "This time next week, Momma and I can do [this] together."

To say I'm excited is an understatement.

It will, however, be the first time I've been with just Momma.

There will be the freedom to do whatever we want to whenever we want to without having to worry about Daddy as a prisoner to Parkinson's.

There will be the emptiness of not getting to sit with him. Not getting to see Christopher snuggled up next to him. Not being able to introduce him to Colin as a full on toddler and the funniest member of the family.

To say I'm heartbroken is another understatement.

I want to see my daddy too. Ever since February, I've been here, just like always. I haven't lived in the same state as my parents for twelve years. It's not like I saw them all the time. So for me, it's been easy to just imagine that Momma and Daddy are carrying on like they always were, and that I would see them again soon.

Tomorrow, I will see Momma. Just Momma. I'm so happy she is coming. I'm so happy that we will get to spend just us time. It's going to be awesome. It's just that it's going to be sad too.

I wish she had gotten here two days earlier to enjoy the leaves. She loves the colors of fall. Tonight, it will rain, and most of the leaves will be gone.

Today, a cooler arrived UPS. It contained her chemo for the next 10 days. Kind of surreal.

Tonight, I'm admitting that I always did the obsessive house cleaning for my daddy. Momma will have clean sheets and clean floors, but beyond that, I promise nothing.

Christopher has been waiting for tomorrow for what seems like forever. There seriously hasn't been a day that has gone by since I told him Nana was coming that he hasn't asked when she would get here. He is so very very excited.

We all are.

Bonus: tomorrow is her birthday.

Colin hates everything

2011-11-13T17:09:00.003-05:00

This is Colin's class for Mother's Morning Out. You will find Colin in the bottom lefthand corner. In the red Beatles shirt, because I forgot it was picture day.

You can tell how much he enjoys being left by his mama. He's got his baby, or "Dadee," as he calls her. And if you look closely, you can see the total scowl on his face.

How could I not buy this picture? It cracks me up every time I see it.

P.S. Mississippi

2011-11-09T14:33:00.002-05:00

You did it. You pulled together enough people brave enough to think through Initiative 26 and defeat it. I'm so proud of you.

I know that you are still torn, Mississippi. A little less than half of you feel as though baby killing was stamped "approved" in yesterday's vote. A little more than half of you are, according to your new governor-elect, members in Satan's army.

It hard to be a Mississippian.

The rest of the country doesn't understand you much of the time. My own husband loves to poke fun at Mississippi because he knows how much it riles me. I can say what I will about your horrible pot hole pocked streets or your reputation for hospitality that never intersects with customer service, but if a Yankee speaks out against you? I've got your back.

To the members of Satan's army who voted NO on 26, I am in awe of you. I know that the majority of you were judged harshly. I know that the majority of you had to wrestle with values and beliefs that you hold very dear. I know that just because you voted no on 26, it doesn't mean that you aren't pro-life. I respect your ability to hold true to your values and think rationally about this vote at the same time.

To those of you who voted yes. I am so sorry that you feel so let down. I hate that this feels like a defeat to you. Most of all, I hate what Personhood USA did to Mississippi through all of this.

Divided.

You see, Mississippi, what Personhood never bothered to tell you was how they sabotaged the whole thing before it even started. Simplistically speaking, the vague wording was necessary to directly target Roe v. Wade. Since the Supreme Court ruled that no state could outlaw abortion, Personhood had to go for redefining the beginning of a person. Not the beginning of life, but of person.

However, no matter what the outcome was yesterday, until the Supreme Court changes their mind, Mississippi won't be allowed to outlaw abortion. Initiative 26 was primed to do nothing but keep the state in turmoil, cost it untold amounts of money, and keep the people divided.

What I hope you do next, Mississippi, is continue to surprise the rest of the country. I know you can do it. Why don't you tackle your infant mortality rate? How about raising the standard of living for the thousands of children you have living in poverty? You could even work on lowering your teen pregnancy rate, which would also help lower the numbers of abortions, don't you think?

You have plenty of ability, Mississippi. You showed that yesterday at the polls. And don't think that we don't know how hard it was for some of you to vote for governor-elect Bryant (the waiting Commander in Chief of Satan's Army), and then turn around and vote no on 26. We know you were conflicted. We are proud of you.

It's hard being a Mississippian.

You sure did a good job of it yesterday. Congratulations.

Dear Mississippi,

2011-11-07T21:44:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow, Mississippi, you will open your polls. Your people will have the opportunity to go to the polls and vote on Initiative 26. It states:

Be it Enacted by the People of the State of Mississippi: SECTION 1. Article III of the constitution of the state of Mississippi is hereby amended BY THE ADDITION OF A NEW SECTION TO READ: Section 33. Person defined. As used in this Article III of the state constitution, "The term 'person' or 'persons' shall include every human being from the moment of fertilization, cloning or the functional equivalent thereof." This initiative shall not require any additional revenue for implementation.

Y'all. Come on. You know better than this, Mississippi. I know you do.

Personhood USA is USING you, Mississippi. They believe that you are uneducated and prone to vote based solely on faith and emotion. They believe that you are dumb. That's right. They think you are the dumb ones in the country that will get this passed.

I know better. I grew up with you. I was educated in Mississippi. Sure. I didn't learn about the Civil Rights movement like I should have, but I was awarded some pretty fancy scholarships and have been told I'm a right smart young lady. I credit you with that, Mississippi.

I know that you love babies, and I know that you feel it is your calling in life to protect the unborn child. So be it. I don't scoff at you for that. Where many others point their fingers at your teen pregnancy rate, your infant mortality rate, and your child poverty rate, I say, "Mississippi is passionate about saving unborn babies."

So be it.

I have to tell you something though, Mississippi. I have to tell you that it isn't your business who, when, where, how, or why I have sex with someone. It isn't your business what kind of protection I use when I have sex with someone. It isn't your business what happens in my uterus. For any reason.

You can't have it all. You can't have reproductive rights that cherry pick. You can't save all the fertilized eggs that you want to call unborn babies and still have effective infertility treatments. You have to use your minds. Your logic. Your thinking caps.

I know you can do it.

Honestly, I don't want to argue with you about fertilized eggs being itty bitty persons. Let's just save that argument for someone who hasn't had multiple miscarriages. It's too personal. In fact, I don't want to argue at all. I just want you to see this for what it is.

It's another case of the rest of America thinking Mississippi is full of redneck dummies. It's not. I know it's not. I love you, Mississippi. I may have left you for a more northern Southern state, but I still love you.

Please. Don't be the pawn for Personhood USA. It's not what you think it is. It's not saving the babies. It's not saving the families. It's not saving anybody. It's just making you look stupid and backwards. The amendment is too vague and too misrepresented to do anybody any good.

You must stand up for yourself, Mississippi. Show the rest of the country that you are nobody's pansy, no matter how shiny-bright-fake-baby-saving they are.

Terrifying

2011-11-04T19:45:00.003-05:00

See these stairs? They are wooden. And slippery. And you shouldn't wear socks on them. And you shouldn't be 21 months old wearing socks and walking down them.

This afternoon, we could have lost Colin. I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but y'all. These are some seriously steep stairs, and a lot of them.

He fell from the top.

To the bottom.

I was standing a few feet from the bottom of the steps, cutting out some appliques in the next room. Kevin was standing at the top of the steps with Colin, just about to pick him up when he turned to shut the door.

That's when Colin fell.

He rolled down the steps, gaining more and more momentum. I came running and got there just in time to see him hit a step about four up from the bottom and bounce hard enough off of it that he just spun in the air three more times until he landed forehead first into the baseboard at the bottom. I couldn't catch him. I just barely missed him, but I did. I missed him.

I knew to run because I heard Kevin screaming.

I've never heard Kevin scream before.

Colin is fine. Bruised. Multiple knots. He will be fine.

But I never ever want to see my child falling like that again though. Out of control. Out of reach. It was terrifying.

I asked him later if he was scared, and he told me, "No ghost, Mama. No ghost." I guess that means he wasn't scared. He's a little hard to translate sometimes.

He did walk around the rest of the evening patting his head and saying, "Bump. Bump."

Tomorrow: gates. One on top, One on bottom.

Thank you, God, for cushioning that ride my baby took and keeping him safe. It really could have gone another way quite easily.

Tiny tyrant

2011-10-20T09:10:00.006-05:00

The screaming. Oh my God, the screaming. If it doesn't stop soon, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Seriously. Lose. My. Mind.

The moment Colin doesn't get his way, he starts to scream. I don't know if it's because he's still pretty non-verbal, or if he just wants to torture me in the worst possible way. Because the only noise I hate worse than the screaming is the sound of latex balloons against skin. Random, I know.

Last Friday, I took the boys to Christopher's preschool's fall picnic. Kevin had to work, so I was on my own. Fall picnic with tons of other kids and parents - one would think I would be just fine. Unfortunately, my children had something else in mind.

When we arrived, Colin was thrilled and wanted to run to every activity and try everything. On the completely opposite hand, Christopher was totally overwhelmed and wanted to stand by a

tree, shake, jump up and down, and scream at me. I would chase Colin down while Christopher yelled at me to please don't leave him.

By the time Christopher got comfortable enough to leave his tree, Colin was ready to leave the area with all the activities. Fine. We went on the nature trail. Well, Christopher and I went on the nature trail. Colin, never to be confined to trails and the suggested route, simply ran off into the woods.

Then came the screaming. He would run into the woods, I would chase him down, pick him up, and then he would scream. Add onto the screaming some pummeling of me in the face, and you have the world's most charming 21 month old.

The moment I finally lost it was the exact moment that Colin took his little pumpkin with one eye and a half a mouth and smashed it into my mouth. My upper lip began to swell immediately, and I couldn't help but just let the tears come.

The day didn't end there, but that's quite enough to share. It sucked. The picnic sucked. The day sucked. I hated every minute of it and spent a good deal of time contemplating going back to work full time.

But here are the pictures I will post on Facebook. Here are the smiles and the cuteness that I captured with the camera before I had to put it back in the car because I couldn't hold it and defend myself against my horridly violent toddler at the same time.

What a lovely couple of children and a lovely day. Fine. I'm not going to argue with the pictures.

Penis

2011-10-08T16:43:00.004-05:00

Let's just call it what it is. It's a penis. Boys each have one. A girl has a vagina, or as Christopher calls it, a "vaginis." You know, almost rhymes with "penis."

We use the almost correct terms in this house.

What we haven't done enough of yet, which has become glaringly obvious this weekend, is teach which parts of our bodies are private.

The lessons I'm learning the hard way just keep piling up.

Friday night, I was on my own for bed and bath with the boys because Kevin and Mallory were at a football game. I put Christopher and Colin in the bathtub together, like always. After I turned off the water, I left them for a minute to go get their dirty clothes basket so I could gather a few days worth of their clothes.

When I walked back in, there was a brother's penis headed into the other brother's mouth.

Are you aware that this is NOT covered in any parenting books I've read so far? And are you aware that if you try Google for help on the subject, you come up with some pretty disturbing results, making you wish you had been FAR MORE SELECTIVE on what you Googled for advice?

Yeah. I wasn't either until Friday night.

So the conversation of private body parts began in full force that night. Putting other people's body parts in your mouth became something that is off limits. Just don't do it. Fingers, penises, toes, penises, elbows, penises, ears, penises, any of it. Just keep it out of your mouth. Also, penises are something that come out in the bathroom only. All other times, they are to be covered and kept to yourself.

I was secure in the way I handled it. The situation had freaked me out - don't get me wrong - but I felt as though a balance between "this is something you need to listen to and remember" and "I don't want to put too much emphasis on this behavior" was met.

And of course, as soon as I gain any sort of confidence in my parenting, I take my children out in public so that they might knock my off my pedestal in a most splendiforous way.

The day after the incident I don't care to speak of again, I took the boys up to the neighborhood fire station with our friends from down the street. The weather was perfect. We walked with our double strollers filled with our four perfect children through our almost perfect neighborhood up to meet the fireman and see the truck. It was as storybook as it sounds.

Perfectly storybook until Christopher says to one of the fireman, "I have a penis."

I was standing a few feet from him, and I thought I heard him say, "I have a penis." However, I was far enough away and was able to conjure enough immediate denial that I thought, "He didn't just say that."

That denial didn't last long. Almost before I could finish the thought, and certainly before I could imagine what he might have said instead of, "I have a penis," he dropped his pants. And his underwear. Right there in the firehouse.

As a friend said later, I guess he was just whipping out his own hose.

Seriously though, NOT FUNNY. I'm pretty sure the look of horror on my face will forever be burned into the memory of my three year old. Or at least until the next time he drops his pants in public. Which might be tomorrow. You just never know.

Later, I decided to casually inquire as to why he thought it was a good idea to show the fireman his penis. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hey Christopher, why did you try and show the fireman your penis?

Christopher: Because he will like it.

Me: Why do you think that he would like it?

Christopher: Because it is beautiful.

There's not a lot of arguing with that. The kid has good self image. I'm going to start complementing him a lot more on his hair and his smile though. Hopefully it will catch on, and he won't feel the need to show off what he obviously feels like is his best feature.

Boys. Nothing can quite prepare a mama for boys. I'm sure of that.

Mirror mirror

2011-10-06T19:22:00.004-05:00

It's humbling when you realize that your three year old is a pretty good mirror of your own behavior.

Tuesday morning, I was struggling to get the boys up and dressed and out the door on time. It was 8:00, and Kevin was still sleeping. I had not asked him to get up. I had not set an alarm for him. I had not told him that I needed help.

With both boys half dressed, squealing, running in different directions, and throwing off the half dressed that I had accomplished thus far - I almost snapped.

"Kevin! Would you PLEASE get up and help me?!?!? I canNOT do this on my own this morning!" was what I almost yelled at him.

Then, I realized that this was exactly one of the behaviors I was trying to help Christopher modify. When he needs help with something, he struggles alone until he explodes into a frustrated firestorm.

I stopped myself short. I leaned over, kissed him on the cheek, and asked in my nice voice if he could get up and help me with the hooligans.

I've been battling the behavior on the wrong end. While I've been doing better about reacting negatively - I've been helping him calm down, breathe deeply, and ask in a nice voice for what he needs - what I haven't been doing is teaching (and by teaching, I mean modeling) how not to jump straight to frustration in the first place.

With me, it's a personality trait that I've been working on for years. I take everything too personally. It's a form of being self-centered, and I don't like it about myself. If I'm not getting the help I need, it's obviously because that person isn't thinking enough of me and doesn't love me enough and why aren't they putting my needs first ever in their whole life?

See the crazy? It's clearly there. I'm beating it back as best I can.

In the meantime, I have good reason to keep trying to be a better person. It's the little person who keeps turning out like me.

Christopher and I, who work together on using our nice voices, will now be working together to ask for help when we need it. We will ask nicely. We will not jump straight to frustration. And we will be happier people with a happier family.

Humbling, I tell you.

Flapjack Jam for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation

2011-09-29T06:48:00.002-05:00

Alright local peeps, this Saturday, you have the chance to come to the Lakemont Club in our neighborhood, and attend the second annual Flapjack Jam for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.

Between walks and fundraisers like this one, our neighborhood, lovingly nicknamed, Super Dylan Nation, raises tens of thousands of dollars that go straight to research to end Cystic Fibrosis.

We have a personal reason for this. His name is Dylan, and he is the six year old fireball behind all of this. We do it because Dylan has Cystic Fibrosis, and we want a cure for him. For Dylan and the other 69,999 people in the world with this disease.

The pancakes will be scrumptious. The company will be divine. The silent auction will be amazing (you can check out the big ticket items in this catalog, and the little shirts I made are pictured below). The entertainment will be, well, entertaining.

Kevin and I will be taking the stage together for the first time. Yep. Married five years, and we had yet to start a band. Hush. We've been busy. Our good friend Walt Hensey will be joining us on bass, and we're borrowing a lovely drummer who I've yet to meet. But I'm certain that he's lovely, because he said "yes."

So. If you can, come by on Saturday. Come early for pancakes and the auction. Mule Kickers (Kevin named us. I kinda love it.) starts at 6:00. We really want you to be there.

All in a name

2011-09-23T19:59:00.000-05:00

Christopher.

Sunday, when I picked him up from extended stay at church, he was wearing a name tag that said, "Chris." It was distinctly in his very own handwriting.

I have proclaimed that he would always be called "Christopher" and not "Chris." Of course, I've learned a thing or two about motherly proclamations.

The thing was, he looked like a "Chris." He has gotten so much taller over the summer. He doesn't look at all like a toddler anymore because he isn't. People who meet him for the first time commonly mistake him for a five year old because of his height and his verbal skills.

He's a big boy now.

But he is still very much little. Wee very little. Especially emotionally and socially. He is still very much three years old.

He has had a hard time adjusting to his new preschool. He gets frustrated and angry. He doesn't know how to talk to the other kids. He has not wanted to listen to his teachers.

I was given this information last week. We immediately started trying to help him find his way. He and I are both working on using our nice voices more and our angry voices less. I am making mornings much more relaxed even if it makes us 10 minutes late. We are figuring out together how to help him be successful. Because he can be.

I digress.

Chris. I know I'll never call him that, but seeing it on his name tag, in his own writing, made it alright. He never would have fit "Christopher" on that little tag anyway.

Who knows? Maybe he'll end up being "Topher." That's what Colin is calling him.

How do you feel about other people nicknaming your kids? Shortening their names? Does it bother you?

Boot Camp

2011-09-22T18:47:00.003-05:00

I have a secret.

Since June, I have been going to boot camp. Inspired by none other than Miss Zoot herself, I decided that it was time for me to get back in shape.

Baby weight (also known as milkshakes while pregnant weight) hasn't come off after Colin like it did after Christopher. I'm older. I eat too much. Go figure.

The thing is, I didn't start working out in order to lose tons of weight and fit into a size 10 again. I'm fine with my padding and pudge. It was well earned, and I don't mind it usually.

I started working out because I want to be strong again.

Do you hear that, world? I want to be strong again.

I used to be strong. I used to be powerful and tenacious. Leaving the workforce was the right thing for me to do for my children, but it took away a lot of my gumption. That's what my granddaddy would have called it. My gumption.

I'm not ready to start working outside of the home again, but I am ready to start feeling like myself. Myself in this new version of me. Me 2.0.

So, boot camp. Easier than therapy.

I get up, try not to wake Colin (never works), throw on some clothes, and dash out the door to be there in time to start at 6:00. That's 6:00 AM. Except on Saturdays when it's 8:30.

It's hard. There is a lot of running at which I suck big monkey balls. I hate running. While I run, I can't shake the thoughts of, "If someone was chasing me, and I had to run from them, I would be dead."

There is a lot of strength training that I like alright. There is a lot of dragging weird things like tires and fire hoses about which I am ambivalent. There is a sense of accomplishment that I love.

If you see me, you probably won't notice a change. I haven't lost any weight. In fact, over the past month, I've gained a few pounds. I don't have the healthiest relationship with food. It comforts me. Rewards me like I'm a canine. And when I miss my Daddy the most, I really crave a donut.

I guess I still miss him a lot.

Regardless, I'm happier. I may not be fitting into any smaller clothes (yet), but I know I'm getting stronger. And that feels awesome.

I don't take having a healthy body for granted. It feels right to be taking care of it better. I owe myself and my family at least that.

Small victories

2011-09-07T13:10:00.004-05:00

My husband and I are a lot alike. We are a convincing argument against "opposites attract."

One thing we don't have in common though, is the ability to gauge first impressions or to quickly assess a situation. He nails it almost every time, and I am usually wrong.

I'm terrible at telling what kind of person someone is within the first five minutes of meeting them. And I'm even worse about reacting to a situation without giving thought to possible causes or scenarios - just my gut reaction - which is often wrong.

Yesterday, the boys and I were leaving the neighborhood when I had to stop suddenly for a woman who was jogging with her dog off leash down the middle of the road. Cars were parked on either side of the road, she was in the middle, and I was running late to preschool already.

Instinct: Yell. Honk. Glare. Gesture.

For some reason, I took a second look before my instincts kicked in, and I did something stupid.

The woman wasn't jogging. She probably had been jogging, but she was running. And she wasn't running with that dog off leash, she was running from the off leash dog.

I rolled down the window and yelled to her, "That isn't your dog, is it?"

She ran to the car and said, "NO! Can I get in your car, please?"

I grabbed my purse out of the passenger seat and unlocked the door. She jumped in, sat breathless for a moment, and I pulled over to the side of the road. I noticed that there was a lady standing in her yard, as though there was an invisible fence there, calling the dog - waving wildly at it.

Of course, an invisible fence was just what she needed, but for the dog, not for herself. Her Rottweiler (oh, did I forget to mention that part?) was just out, chasing this poor woman jogger, and it's owner is refusing to step foot out of her yard. Weird.

Everything worked out alright. The jogger thanked me and commented that she would be jogging with mace from now on. We made it to preschool just fine and only a few minutes late. Best of all, I was proud of myself for being more observant and less quick to snap.

Small victories, people. I'm living on small victories these days.

Baby G

2011-08-29T14:37:00.003-05:00

Last night, Kevin and I were working in the studio when in comes Colin. It was 9:30 at night. He had been asleep in his bed, but decided to get up, come downstairs, get a bag of bagels out of the cabinet, and help himself to a late night snack.

I swear, it's like my daddy come back to earth in that boy.

Looking at him from behind, he has the same neck. His head is shaped like Daddy's. His ears stick out like Daddy's.

From the front, he has some of the same expressions. A serious look with eyebrows furrowed. A completely irritated look with daggers shooting from his eyes.

He's stubborn. He has tantrums. He is quick to anger, but just as quick to laugh. Not unlike my daddy at all.

He is his own person. 100% Colin through and through.

It's just that sometimes, especially when he gets up in the middle of the night for a snack, furrowing his brow at me when I tell him, "you have to go back to bed," I can't help but wonder how on earth my daddy taught him so much in the short short time he had with him.

Laryngitis

2011-08-17T15:04:00.004-05:00

Avoidance. I grovel in it.

This space sits quietly. Ignored for shinier spaces where I can be shallow.

I pin pretty things.

I post pictures and videos without the conversation surrounding them.

I speak in abbreviated thoughts, never really saying anything.

Here is the place where I am raw. Vulnerable. I end up feeling too deeply. Thinking too long. I haven't been in the mood to share.

Milestones have come and gone without me breathing even the smallest detail about them. Kevin's birthday. First steps and first words. Summer camps and swimming lessons. A small vacation. Our fifth anniversary, and I didn't even post a song this year.

I've lost my voice.

Last Friday night, we had a gig. Bill's voice was almost gone, and he asked me to fill in for him on some of the songs he couldn't sing. We worked our way through the set that night, trading lead and harmonies, singing some in unison, and letting him just sit some out.

On the way home, I realized that I had lost my voice. Gone. I couldn't speak a word. The boys had shared some upper respiratory virus. Between the virus and taxing my voice at the gig, I was rendered silent for days.

I can't lie. I didn't mind much. It was comfortable to be silent in real life for a few days. I came out of it with so much to say, though. I have so much to say - all stored up somewhere inside me.

This year has left me feeling rather drained. Like a virus I just can't shake.

It's taken my voice.

I need to take it back.

Nut butter granola bars

2011-07-18T08:43:00.002-05:00

Last year, I posted a recipe that I got from my friend Kara. She brought me a batch of her Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Granola Bars after Colin was born. I blame this recipe entirely for not losing my baby weight. It's a delicious way to still be fat, by the way.

However, in the interest of wanting to fit back into my jeans before Colin turns *ahem* two years old, I have modified this recipe, gradually removing sugar from it without sacrificing the taste.

Now, I always take some of these to new mamas with the instructions to store them in the freezer, remove one before you start nursing, and then enjoy after you are done. Last week, I took a batch to Jessica (sans coconut), and I figure it's now time to post the new version of the recipe.

The changes from the original include cutting the brown sugar in half, using freshly ground almond butter instead of peanut butter with oil and sugar added to it, and using dark chocolate chips - a 1/2 cup instead of 3/4 cup. Sometimes I also use Earth's Balance sticks instead of real butter if I want to make them dairy free.

You can also include dried fruit, and I've got some candied ginger to try in my next batch. Something else I'm going to try is making it with freshly ground peanut butter made from honey roasted peanuts, then I'll cut the honey either completely out or in half. I'll never cut the molasses because I love the taste so much.

Without further ado, here is the modified version. Less sugar, still yummy.

Nut Butter Granola Bars

2/3 cup fresh ground nut butter

1 stick butter, softened

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup molasses

1/4 cup honey

2 teaspoons vanilla

3 cups uncooked oats

1/2 cup of dark chocolate chips

3/4 cup shredded coconut

1/3 cup wheat germ

1/4 cup ground flax seed

Heat oven to 350. Beat brown sugar, butter, and peanut butter till fluffy. Add honey, molasses, and vanilla- stir well. Stir in oats, chips, coconut, raisins, and wheat germ. Press into bottom of a 9x13 baking pan. Bake fifteen minutes. Put in the freezer to chill for 45 minutes or until firm. I then cut them into bars and store them in large Ziploc in the freezer.

A night out with winners

2011-07-08T21:49:00.003-05:00

Tonight, we took our children to Chik-fil-a, dressed as cows, in order to get free food. Why no, we have no pride, thank you for asking.

Christopher cried because he didn't want to dress up like a cow. We just told him he was Sheriff Woody instead.

Colin rather liked dressing up like a cow and was enjoying himself until he projectile vomited nuggets, fruit, and chocolate milk all over himself, the high chair, and the cup I formed out of my hands to try and contain some of the toxic spill.

I wheeled him into the bathroom, still in the high chair, caught some additional puke, and stripped him down. After trying to clean the high chair as best I could, we mooooooved on out of there as quickly as possible, letting the nice girl up front know that they had a contaminated high chair in the ladies room.

Parents of the year.

But hey, dinner was free, so I'm marking it in the "win" column.

Mama models

2011-07-07T19:00:00.000-05:00

Look at this. How she has made herself be on the level of the children. She is looking at what has captured their attention. She is explaining the how and why of the science.

I have more pictures from the visit. Pictures of train tracks, post office tents, and fish feeding. I stood back a lot and took pictures, watching and learning from my best friend.

She is the kind of mom I want to be. A mom who finds something to teach in every activity. A mom who cuddles when cuddles are needed, but who also goes to great lengths to learn how to empower her children.

Finding the balance between security and independence for our children is so very difficult.

I'm lucky to have such great mama models in my life. I'm lucky that this one is my best friend.

I am from

2011-07-06T18:40:00.004-05:00

I am from peanut butter, from Nilla Wafers and powdered milk.

I am from the southern part of the South, dripping with humidity and hypocrisy, balancing redemption and restitution, forever pushing people away all while calling them to come back home.

I am from the chaise lounge in the forked branches, the climbable magnolia.

I am from Sunday dinners and slow talking, from a line of Tom's and Henry's and Suttle's without being it at all.

I am from love felt deeply, loud laughter, fiery anger, long grudges, and stubborn pride.

I am from how you get to Hell and how you get to Heaven.

I am from Presbyterians, serious and regimented. I am from the Book of Order. I am from committees, liturgy, and sacraments. From preachers and elders. From Sunday School teachers. I am from tight knit youth groups where friendships remain even after time unraveled the rest.

I am from Mississippi. I am from buttermilk biscuits and pound cake. BBQ ribs and vegetables fresh from the garden that grew in town behind my grandparents' house. From the busy road, you could catch a glimpse of country in a part of the city that had been so very developed. I am from the country stuck within the city.

I am from boxes stuffed with photographs, unordered and smudged. From CD's I won't listen to anymore. From songs I won't sing again.

I am from five sets of china and antiques battling for space within my home. I am from a wedding dress boxed up and passed down, a wedding dress worn and then forgotten, and a wedding dress still new, hanging clean in the bag, overlooked for eloping. I am from dress gloves and costume jewelry that I will never wear, but yet never let go.

I am from a pipe that stills smells a little like my grandfather. I know this because I still pull it out of the drawer and expectantly smell it every now and then. I am from cardigan sweaters that used to warm my Daddy when he stayed so very cold all of the time.

I am from joy and pain. Pride and shame. I am from all of this and so much more.

******************************************************************

Jennifer at Playgroups Are No Place for Children was the first place I saw this. Then today, Maggie at Magpie Musings wrote one as well. They are both beautiful writers, and I hesitated to join in - but the template (from the Campbell Folk School in North Carolina) is lovely and the results all so different. Schmutzie has also done it and is making a link-up. Come join in.

Daddy

2011-06-18T13:21:00.005-05:00

I wasn't going to do it. I wasn't going to write the "Oh woe is me, it's Father's Day, and my daddy is dead" post.

Stiff upper lip. Everyone has loss in their life. I had my daddy for longer than I thought I would. I should be grateful. I am grateful.

But my heart aches. It folds on top of itself in my chest when I try to take a deep breath while remembering the way Daddy sat in his chair with Colin nestled in his lap the last time we visited.

My heart winces every time a picture of Daddy comes up on my digital picture frame. I didn't remember that I had so many pictures of him. I'm lucky to have so many pictures of him with Christopher.

My heart whimpers when I tag a thought or a tidbit in my mind as "something to tell Daddy."

My heart is so broken.

My mind forgets though. In the day to day, it really hasn't changed much. I didn't get to see him often anymore, and he didn't like talking on the phone very much.

I missed him before he was ever gone.

But now he is gone, and I miss him even more. I didn't think that was going to happen. Naive, I suppose, but I didn't. I thought I had made peace with his passing as the Parkinson's stripped away slivers of him in between every phone call and every visit.

He was never completely gone before he died. It's a myth that loved ones with dementia are gone before their deaths. They aren't. They are still with you. You can still hold a hand, stroke a cheek, rest your head on their shoulder. They are still there for you to imagine that you just caught a glimmer of their former selves in their vacant eyes.

I waited for that glimmer for hours for the days he was in hospice.

This Father's Day, I'm not only heartbroken for myself, but for my children. Colin will not remember my daddy at all. Christopher will remember him barely. Mallory will remember him as always being sick. He loved the three of them so very much. I know that he did.

A couple of weeks ago, Christopher asked me to tell him a story about G-Daddy. I almost told him no because I didn't think my heart could stand it. However, I launched into the story of a military man turned defense attorney. A man who loved his family and his church. A man who loved bar-b-que and Mississippi State University. The man who was my daddy.

I don't suppose I will ever quit telling stories about you, Daddy. Stories to help my children know and remember you. Stories to help heal my broken heart.

Preschool Mall Chicken

2011-06-13T21:27:00.004-05:00

I have a funny kid.

Sometimes, strike that, most of the time, I shouldn't be laughing when I am, but I can't help myself.

Today, at the mall, Christopher had me and Mallory in stitches. He climbed on the surfboard in 77 Kids and then leaned over to hand paddle in the the big cardboard wave back drop. I don't even know when he has seen surfing before.

He also picked out a ridiculous Cars hat with a big flat brim from H&M. Mallory proceeded to put it on him sideways, and before we could laugh at that, he was striking poses. Yo. Baby. My hat.

The thing that made me laugh the most though, was the worst thing he did all day. As we were walking from store to store, he decided it would be fun to lean in a little and walk right at the people walking towards him. Then, as they were busy trying to figure out which way to go to dodge him, he would dart the other direction at the last second.

He was playing his own made up version of Preschool Mall Chicken.

I shouldn't have laughed, but I did. A lot. It was just too funny.

Some days I don't win any awards for my parenting, but I still have a good time with my kids.

Backyard Discovery = Happy happy children

2011-06-12T19:42:00.007-05:00

Two moderately skilled people. Twenty to twenty-four hours.

They weren't lying.

Kevin and I looked at dozens of swingsets, both assembled for you and assemble yourself. Being that our pennies are always pinched to the thinnest we can possibly pinch them, we quickly ended up only looking at build it yourself sets.

Last weekend, Kevin and I started building a swingset. Only it wasn't the swingset of my childhood: a metal a-frame with a metal slide that would give your bare thighs third degree burns in the coldest part of summer. Nope. This is a swingset on steroids. Big conifer steroids.

The most affordable option we found by far was on this website: http://swingsetsonline.com. I

thought surely something had to be off because their web address was so, well, generic. It wasn't

the name of the business, like Backyard Discovery, it was just swingsetsonline. For some reason,

even though I'm sure the search engines love it, and granted, I found them first through Google, I was just skeptical if they were a legitimate company or not.

Then, soon after we found a set on their website that we really liked, I stumbled upon a Tweet from Amy, otherwise known as Resourceful Mom. She was touting Backyard Discovery. She had one set at her old house and was getting ready for the delivery of a new set to her new house. As sparsely as I am on Twitter these days, I was pretty shocked that the exact information I needed just popped up in my stream.

A short Twitter conversation later, I was sold. She even had a coupon code for that month. Unfortunately, we didn't get to place our order before the code expired, but it was a nice thought (insert small amount of grumbling here).

Is this beginning to sound like a review? It's not. Just look at my About Me page to see how completely unmarketable I am. It's just what Kevin and I have been working towards the past couple of months. Literally 24 hours of work went into just the swingset, but holy cow, was it fun! It was like a giant set of Lincoln Logs with great instructions. We had the best time putting it together, together.

And now? We'll have the best time playing together, together outside. In our own backyard.

I am a happy happy mama. And Christopher finally doesn't have to ask every single morning when he wakes up, "Is my swingset ready yet?"

"Some Assembly Required" Hahahahahaha.

Laying out the plot plan. Lots and lots of labeled lumber.

That's where we were supposed to hang their sign. I figured this post is enough free advertising for them. We hung our own family name sign from Etsy.

Building the floor to the tunnel.

And the children play. Joy.

Thursday: The New Monday

2011-06-02T21:11:00.003-05:00

6:00 AM Awaken to sound of Christopher galloping down the hallway.

6:02 AM Try to shoo Christopher back down the hallway.

6:03 AM Curse Kevin for moving into Mallory's room to sleep last night.

6:04 AM Plot how to get to sleep in ever again.

6:05 AM Colin wakes up, kisses me. Everything's better.

6:06 AM Group potty time.

6:10 AM The first time Christopher asks to watch TV.

6:11 AM The second time Christopher asks to watch TV.

6:15 AM I turn on the TV and let the dogs out.

6:16 AM Christopher asks for milk.

6:16:30 AM Christopher asks for a vitamin.

6:17 AM Christopher asks for Skittles for pooping on the potty.

Christopher remembers that he didn't poop on the potty.

Christopher asks to go poop on the potty.

6:21 AM Christopher asks for Skittles.

6:30 AM I make coffee, take Zoloft, bring the dogs in and give them water.

6:32 AM Christopher asks for more milk and can he PLEASE have some Skittles.

6:35 AM Colin asks for breakfast by screaming and banging his head into the refrigerator.

6:36 AM I feed Colin to avoid further head injuries.

6:50 AM Christopher asks for Skittles.

6:59 AM Christopher gets blueberry waffles and apples.

7:00 AM Christopher asks for more milk, more TV, and Skittles.

7: 54 AM Kevin wakes up.

8:05 AM I offer to iron his shirt because I am the best wife in the entire world.

8:25 AM Kevin leaves for work and Colin cries.

9:00 AM Colin pretends he needs a nap, says night night, gets me to rock and nurse him upstairs and then proceeds to honk my nose and laugh.

9:03 AM Colin and I come back downstairs.

9:05 AM Colin asks to play Don't Break the Ice by screaming and pointing.

9:06 AM I set up Don't Break the Ice. Colin smashes it down.

9:07 AM I set up Don't Break the Ice. Colin smashes it down.

9:08 AM I set up Don't Break the Ice. Colin smashes it down.

9:09 AM I set up Don't Break the Ice. Colin smashes it down.

9:10 AM I set up Don't Break the Ice. Colin smashes it down.

9:11 AM I bail.

9:12 AM gDiaper surgery begins. New velcro for all.

9:13 AM Colin decides that Mama shant be sewing today. Not even gDiapers.

9:14 AM I set up Don't Break the Ice. Colin smashes it down.

9:15 AM CARS. CARS. CARS. Thank God for cars. Cars that make distracting noise.

9:16 AM I hide Don't Break the Ice.

9: 40 AM Christopher does three laps around the downstairs while yelling, "I have to pee pee!"

9:42 AM I ask if he washed his hands. No, he did not.

10:00 AM Snack.

10:10 AM Boys figure out that I'm snacking and demand to be fed as well.

10:16 AM I learn that Christopher has learned to use the remote control himself.

10:17 AM We all watch Sesame Street. It's educational. U was the letter of the day.

10:24 AM I get dressed. An actual dress. And some makeup. Go me.

11:00 AM We all head to Whole Foods to do our grocery shopping.

11:10 AM I accidentally buy $17 worth of bulk pine nuts because I didn't stop the pourer thing soon enough.

11:11 AM I think fondly of Uncle Dave and shudder at what $17 of bulk pine nuts would do to him.

11:45 AM Check out with groceries. Marvel at the amount of money spent.

11:50 AM Load up the Jeep with yummy food and hungry children.

11:51 AM Turn key. Stick face in AC. Put Jeep in reverse. Wonder why the engine is just revving. Sweat.

11:52 AM Turn Jeep off. Pretend that didn't just happen. Sit.

11:53 AM Turn key. Stick face in AC. Put Jeep in reverse. Curse loudly. Turn Jeep off.

11:54 AM Call and cancel piano tuner appointment for Noon.

11:55 AM Turn key. Stick face in AC. Put Jeep in reverse. Curse again. Turn Jeep off.

11:56 AM Retrieve buggy from buggy corral. Reload groceries. Reload hungry and hot boys.

11:57 AM Request that my buggy be rolled into a cooler somewhere.

11:58 AM High fived myself for having USAA Roadside Assistance programmed into my cell phone.

12:00 PM Bought juice and sat down in the cafe to start trying to get home.

12:10 PM Gain appropriate sympathy from USAA representative.

12:20 PM Begin cleaning up juice off the table and floor. Glare at mean old lady next to us. She has NO idea what kind of day I'm having. So shut up.

12:21 PM Begin chasing my barefoot, juice covered child through the cafe.

12:22 PM Drag screaming juice covered toddler back to table. Sit him next to mean old lady.

12:23 PM Consider having a drink. Decide against it.

12:30 PM Call Jeep dealer to let them know the car is coming.

12:33 PM Call Enterprise for a ride and a car.

12:50 PM Secure transportation and resume chasing juice covered children.

1:00 PM Potty break.

1:10 PM Tour of the Whole Foods grounds.

1:20 PM Cry with no tears because I have sweated them all out.

1:30 PM Return to cafe upon realizing that children have not eaten.

1:40 PM Sit down with $8.50 worth of yogurt and berries from the salad bar.

1:41 PM Enterprise shows up.

1:42 PM Still no lunch for the kiddos.

1:43 PM Stash children in the cargo part of the minivan rental and begin car seat removal.

1:45 PM Cursing abounds.

1:55 PM Car seats are removed.

1:56 PM Begin car seat installation into rental minivan.

1:57 PM More cursing.

2:15 PM Car seats installed, children strapped in.

2:16 PM Colin falls asleep.

2:19 PM Enterprise dude takes a left turn and Christopher's seat goes flying.

2:20 PM Most cursing all day takes place. Along with, "PULL OVER NOW" many times.

2:21 PM I discover that Enterprise dude had not attached the right hand side latch. I kick myself for not checking. Christopher is fine, but pissed.

2:22 PM Christopher says, "Man, you should not drive so fast, Man."

2:23 PM Christopher falls asleep.

2:30 PM Hurry up and wait at the Enterprise place.

2:50 PM We get gas. I get a ginormous Diet Coke and a Milky Way to counteract the million hours I just spent at Whole Foods.

3:00 PM Return to Whole Foods to leave key in Jeep (forgotten earlier) and to retrieve groceries from the cooler.

3:15 PM Load groceries (again). Leave Whole Foods (again). Head home.

3:16 PM Both boys wake up.

3:26 PM Home. Discover that Christopher wasn't kidding the last time he said he had to pee pee.

3:27 PM Begin trying to figure out how to take the cover off the car seat to wash it.

3:28 PM Cursing revisited.

3:30 PM Try to get the boys to eat something. Lose that battle.

3:40 PM Collapse on couch in a heap together. Watch TV. Lots of TV.

5:30 PM Get ready for soccer.

6:00 PM Soccer.

6:01 PM Chase Colin continuously for 45 minutes.

7:14 PM Peanut butter sandwiches, bananas, carrots, and yogurt for dinner.

7:50 PM Baths.

7:51 PM STOP TOUCHING EACH OTHER'S PENIS!!!

8:00 PM Jammies. Bed. Thank God.

8:05 PM Colin is crying.

8:06 PM I stroke his head and get him to lay back down only to discover that he's laying in a giant puddle of his own vomit.

8:07 PM Gag and dry heave.

8:10 PM Bath, take two.

8:30 PM Bed, take two.

8:34 PM Talk on the phone to a boot camp guy. Decide to try it out. Am insane.

9:00 PM Start dinner for the adults.

9:30 PM Eat dinner.

10:00 PM Colin cries.

10:03 PM Thankfully, no vomit.

10:20 PM Crawl in bed. Blog.

10:58 PM Finish blog. Sleep.

One more birthday post

2011-05-31T13:25:00.004-05:00

It's the last day of May, so it's the last day I'm celebrating my blog's fifth birthday. I say celebrating, but mostly I've just been slacking.

There is still a list of writers to whom I would like to send you, but I'm going to wrap it up tonight with just a few of them.

Janet, who blogs as Izzymom, is a long time favorite. She did the design for my blog (which we were working on updating until I dropped off the face of the internet in January), and she also took a chance on me for my first group blog experience. Back in the day, when review blogs were interesting, Janet started Props and Pans. It was fun while it lasted, and then she moved on to a bigger project: Green Mom Finds, which is now The Green

Mom Review. The Green Mom Review and Cool Mom Picks are the two review blogs I ever read. Occasionally. Okay, so I just don't really like review blogs very much. There. I said it. But Janet rocks. I credit her with making me feel like I belonged here in this land of bloggers. She gave me a shot, and I've always appreciated it.

Some women who I adore and who are also wonderful writers:

Chicken and Cheese: Amy gave me a look into motherhood through the most beautiful, honest, writing before I was even a mother. Also working through the death of her father, she helped me prepare for the death of mine - I knew, as I read her mourning, that I was losing mine. She helped me so much these past few months and doesn't even know it.

Slouching Past Forty: Sarah started out as Slouching Towards Forty. I love that. Her poetry is amazing, and the nonfiction pieces on her very complicated relationship with her mother and the time since losing her is worth an evening of yours. Really. Just go read her whole blog right now.

Magpie Musing: Maggie works in non-profit arts in NYC. She's smart, funny, and I wish some days that I had a job like hers.

Playgroups are No Place for Children: I just love Jennifer. She is someone I wish lived across the street from me like Cyndi does. There are just some bloggers who you know you would like to have playdates with as much as you like to read their writing. That's not as weird as it sounds. In case you haven't figured this out yet - liking someone doesn't mean that you will like their blog. Nor does liking their blog mean that you will like to hang out with them. Jennifer is generous in her writing, artful in her photography, and stinkin' hilarious and I have loved hanging out with her for the 15 minutes we got to.

Miss Zoot: Kim was another of the first few blogs I fell hard for. I found her because she had these awesome Blogger templates that you could use for free. I loaded up one of her templates, went back to read some of her blog, and I was hooked. I'm not even going to try and sum her up - you just have to read for yourself. I will tell you this, however. She made her wedding cake out of Krispy Kreme donuts. Rock on.

I'll wrap this up with an obvious one. Toddler Planet. Susan is the best friend you could ever wish for. Some days, I admit, it's a little tough to share her with so many many many people, but I will. Lucky for me, she has enough grace, love, and wisdom to go around. So I link to her once again tonight. Thanks, Susan, for encouraging me to start this crazy blogging habit. It's been a fun ride, and a great thing to share with you.

There you have it. A little summary. Happy birthday to me and my blog. I wish there was cake.

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This is part of my fifth blog birthday party. These are simply bloggers I have been reading for five years and have impacted me. They are being featured in no particular order.

Tanis, Daniel, and Jessica

2011-05-24T20:58:00.002-05:00

So, I'm still celebrating five years of this little blog. Why, I'm not sure, except that I have more links to share. Trust me, I don't actually think that five years of oversharing on the internet is actually something to get this excited about. Wow. My grammar sucks.

In December 2006, I had my first miscarriage. I was 12 weeks pregnant. It was two days after Christmas. I was in Tennessee visiting my family. It was my first baby. I had to have a D&C in a strange hospital with a doctor I didn't know.

It sucked.

I wrote about it. A lot. I was open and raw.

And then something I would almost call miraculous happened. People found me. Women who I didn't know started commenting. I followed links from comments around the internet and found a whole community of women who were dealing with their private pain in a very public way.

I spent hours in front of the computer, weeping for people I had never met. It was cathartic. It helped me with my own grief. It also helped form a community for me.

Tanis is best known as Redneck Mommy. Her blog has won too many awards to list here. She is a great storyteller and a really funny lady.

She had another blog before Attack of the Redneck Mommy though. I started reading Tanis when she was writing on Missing My Bug. She stopped posting there in 2007, but the archives are still there. If you have some time and a large box of Kleenex, it is so worth reading. Her words about being the mother of Shale, who was born with disabilities and died too soon.

If you don't have a lot of time, I would suggest you read this one post of hers. You only need a few minutes, but you'll still need the box of Kleenex.

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There are others with stories of grief. Some of the writing is so beautiful.

I just tried for a metaphor there. I tried like five times, and none of them worked. Some of the writing is so beautiful. That's enough.

Daniel is one of the few male bloggers I have followed almost religiously. I started reading his blog the night we got home from Tennessee after that miscarriage. Kevin tried to get me to stop, because the sobbing was a little disconcerting. But I couldn't stop. And the sobbing wasn't pity. It was sorrow for all the losses. Parents, spouses, children, everyone. Plus, Daniel is the most amazing writer. Sometimes I would just cry because his words were so beautifully woven.

He doesn't post often anymore, but I'm always so happy when he does. I think he feels as though he owes it to the internet to occasionally update. Of course he doesn't, but I'm not going to mention that - because selfishly, I hope he will start writing more again.

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If you have followed those links, then I owe you a funny one. Luckily, I've got one. Jessica at Oh, the Joys, was the first blogger who got me laughing again in early 2007. One morning in January, I sat and read her entire blog. I needed Kleenex for her writing, but the tears were from laughter.

She is not just funny though. She's a really great person too. Dig around a little bit, and you'll see that she works tirelessly for the gain of others. She's the kind of person you would be lucky to have on your side.

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This is part of my fifth blog birthday party. These are simply bloggers I have been reading for five years and have impacted me. They are being featured in no particular order.

Gail Anne Photography and A Little Nosh

2011-05-19T09:02:00.002-05:00

Two of the first bloggers I developed strong friendships with have both moved into a different type of blogging. I still enjoy reading their work, and I'm proud of them for their strong business sense and drive.

Gail is an artist. She is an artist whose medium of choice happens to be photography, but I'm not one to call her a photographer. She is far far more than that. She is a true artist.

She has combined her blog with her business now. I can't stop looking at her pictures, and as always, I love to read what she has to say. Gail Anne Photography

Then there is Amy. If I remember correctly, Amy didn't cook much when I first met her. Maybe I'm dreaming that up, but I think it's right. Regardless, she cooks now. And bakes. And writes about it. I love reading her food blog. She tries things that are out of her comfort zone, but she also will do posts on some tried and true meals.

She is getting serious about it, and recently made it into the Top 50 Mom Food Bloggers list that Babble put out. I'm so proud of her. A Little Nosh

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This is part of my fifth blog birthday party. These are simply bloggers I have been reading for five years and have impacted me. They are being featured in no particular order.

Bloggers I would invite to my birthday party

2011-05-18T13:07:00.005-05:00

In July 2006, I took a trip. I jumped on a plane and headed to Blogher in Chicago.

There were more than a few moments that I thought I might be crazy. I didn't really know anyone, except for interacting with them online.

Then the first session started, and sitting just a person over from me was Liz, who wrote Hilarities Ensue. She was on my dream list to meet in person, and there she was, sitting almost right beside me.

Since then, Liz has stopped blogging, but thanks to Facebook, we are still keeping up with each other.

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That same year, I met the trifecta of mommybloggers. Kristen, Julie, and Liz (Mom 101, not the previously mentioned Liz) had all met each other at BlogHer the year before. They then spent the next year taking over the internet. I'm only partially kidding.

Kristen, who was the first blogger I ever read, still posts regularly on her personal blog, Motherhood Uncensored. If you are from Mississippi (read, from, not "still living there and think it's the bee's knees"), then you should definitely check out her posts regarding our fair state. Start with this one about playing weddings there. Be sure you pee first.

If I tried to list all of the other places you can find Kristen now, I would surely leave some of them out. But I can mention her book, The Mominatrix's Guide to Sex, and the website that she runs with Liz, Cool Mom Picks.

Julie was Mothergoose Mouse when I started reading her, rebranded as The Mom Slant, but now simply blogs at Julie Marsh. Comments are closed, and she doesn't track stats. She stopped drinking six months ago, about nine months after I did. I'm very proud of her and love the way she has been able to talk about it. She is also a VP at Cool Mom Picks, and does a bunch of other cool stuff.

What keeps me coming back to Kristen and Julie though is not their internet domination. It's their writing. The stories they tell, and the way they tell them. They are another couple of bloggers who keep me blogging.

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This is part of my fifth blog birthday party. These are simply bloggers I have been reading for five years and have impacted me. They are being featured in no particular order.

Bloggers I would invite to my birthday party

2011-05-16T16:37:00.005-05:00

Today is Kevin's birthday. Let's get that out of the way so we can talk about something far more important. (Kidding, of course. Happy birthday to the love of my life.)

Today this blog is five years old. Usually blog milestones fly right past me because, you know, who really cares? However, since a lot of my favorite bloggers started up all around the same time, I've been noticing five year anniversaries a lot lately.

Instead of talking about me, which is of course, what usually happens around here (What? It's a personal blog. What do you expect?), I have decided to celebrate my five year blogging anniversary by sharing it with the bloggers who have impacted me. The women in my blog reader who make me want to keep reading and keep writing.

The bloggers I love tell stories. They are deeply personal. They are brilliant writers. They are funny. They are smart. They aren't trying to sell me anything. They are authentic. They long to be heard - really heard. They are women who I consider friends - in a 21st century kind of way.

Because one of my favorite things about blogging is the community, I've decided to celebrate five years of blogging by sharing some of those bloggers with you. You can thank me later.

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Crib Chronicles

I'm starting with Bon because she has the most beautiful post up today about her grandfather. Her last living grandparent who died last week.

Her words sit right down on the couch with me. I know that relationship. I know that love between grandfather and granddaughter. I cry with her because my heart hurts for her, but also because she took me right back to my own losses.

It is what powerful writing does. It involves you.

Go. Read. Get involved.

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This is part of my fifth blog birthday party. These are simply bloggers I have been reading for five years and have impacted me. They are being featured in no particular order.

I love Abandon Kansas loves me

2011-05-16T07:17:00.004-05:00

Kevin and I had a date last night. We went to see a band. The last time we did that, it was 2008, we went to see Liam Finn, I posted about it before we went, someone read that info, showed up at the show, harassed us, and we had to go get a restraining order.

Good times, good times.

Last night's date was no less weird, but far more pleasant. And look! I'm not telling you about it until AFTER the fact. I'm so smart.

There is this band that I love. Really love. They are called Abandon Kansas.

These days, it's hard for me to find new music that reaches my heart. That's a cheesy way to put it, but it's true. There are a lot of bands and musicians that I hear and like, but very few that draw up the intense desire to listen and absorb the music.

I'm talking about a feeling I got a lot in college and right afterwards - a time when I woke, ate, slept, dreamed, breathed, lived music. I was majoring in music. I was working in a CD store. I was playing in a band. I was the pianist at a church. It was nothing but music, and I was constantly finding music that resonated so deeply with me that it became part of how I would identify myself.

Anyway, back to present day. I found this band, Abandon Kansas, on Amazon when they released a free mp3 of "O Come All Ye Faithful." It is the most beautiful arrangement I've ever heard. I barely breathed through the entire first listening.

I immediately searched for more of their music and found an EP which was also stinking amazing. Flat out fabulous.

Soon after that, they released a new full length CD. I went over to their tour page to see if they were playing anywhere near us, and to my complete surprise, they were opening their tour - wait for it - - - in a church.

WHA?

If I hadn't rambled on so long already, I would enter into a diatribe about the disdain I hold for Christian music and the industry that drives it. I could go on a bit about the fact that the word Christian isn't a very good adjective, and how there are plenty of musicians who are Christians, but who make good music that doesn't isolate itself by using bone tired imagery of being on your knees and writing lyrics that make it sound like Jesus is your boyfriend. Not to mention the times I've been told my music wasn't "Christian enough."

Oh, sorry. Did I just make that personal? Hmph.

Here's the funny thing though. It's not the first time that a band or artist has hooked me with their music before I realized they were "Christian artists." Buddy and Julie Miller. Sixpence None the Richer. Just to name a couple.

When the only date in North Carolina on Abandon Kansas' tour was at a Baptist church in Pittsboro, I was skeptical. I have to admit, I was worried there would be a love offering and an alter call. Hand raising, swaying, and lots of people pretending to look at the ceiling but whose eyes were really closed.

The whole idea made me shudder.

But we went anyway. That's how amazing this band is.

And we were not disappointed.

There were four bands playing in a tiny sanctuary complete with lights, a really really crappy PA, and a fog machine. The first band, a local group, moshed about, did that growly scream thing that is supposed to be metal, and generally played too damn loud. The second band was in the middle of the most annoyingly long sound check I have ever endured, so we left and went to get a bite to eat. Third band was actually pretty good. They claimed to be from Tupelo, MS, but I think they are actually from Booneville, not that it matters.

FINALLY, Abandon Kansas went on, and the entire experience became worth all of the weirdness. Even playing through a PA that was shot early on in the evening, they sounded amazing. They were tight. Really tight. And they played in sync with their own videos, which were being shown on monitors behind them during the show. If you aren't a musician, you might not know how hard that is - but let me tell you - it's really damn hard. And the result is very cool.

In the midst of all of that, we got to hang out with the bass player a good bit. He is adorable and was great fun to talk to.

So, yeah. Weird. Hanging out in a small Baptist church with about 20 teenagers to hear a great band.

Not your typical date, but can I just say how much I love my husband for putting up with my bizarre plans and outings? Because I do.

One nation united

2011-05-02T07:46:00.000-05:00

"I believe that as people of God, we must answer evil. Sometimes that answer is prayer, sometimes that answer is force. Is killing ever justified? Possibly as an appropriate response to unfathomable evil." ~Karen Wells

Osama Bin Laden is dead.

It is good for our country. It was the right thing for our military to do. Hopefully, it is a giant step to the end of this long war.

But our military is still there. Men and women are still separated from their families. Innocent lives will continue to be lost. It's not over yet, and I'm left wondering what exactly comes next. It's not something that makes me feel like breaking out the bubbly.

Sobering is the word of the day.

I do find it incredibly sad that one the day after the most significant event in this war, that our country isn't standing together. That people are actually infusing inflammatory politics into what should be a battle won together.

Will nothing ever give us pause to just be Americans for one day? To just be united for even 24 hours?

If that is the case, then Bin Laden is still winning from his watery grave.

Mary

2011-04-22T21:06:00.000-05:00

It's Good Friday. We didn't go to church last night, and that always makes me feel off for starting Easter weekend. However, for the second year in a row, we have sick boys on Easter, so we are stuck at home.

To be precise, I'm currently stuck in bed with Christopher, waiting for his fever to start coming down from 103.8. He's miserable, poor thing. Mallory isn't too thrilled with it either since she sits next to him at dinner, and tonight he threw up all over the table. Nothing like vomit as a side dish.

Anyway, Easter. It's the one holiday that Kevin and I have really different memories of from our childhood. He remembers big family get togethers and presents for all the kids. I remember church and a very modest Easter basket, but mainly church.

We are compromising now. The Easter baskets for the kids have a small present in them and some candy, but that's it. And we would certainly go to church if our children could remain well on the date. I'm doubting that is going to happen this year, and I'm really really sad about it.

I think a lot about Mary around Easter now. I guess it has to do with being a mama. I don't think I could have stood by and watched my son take the path that hers did. Before I had my own boys, I didn't really ever consider Mary, and now? I can't seem to stop.

So tonight, I give you one of my favorite Patty Griffin songs. Forgive the misspelling of her name on the video. I put an "i" where there should have been a "y," and seeing as how I've battled that with my own name forever, I'm greatly annoyed. Not annoyed enough to go back and fix it, mind you, but annoyed.

Hope your Easter is filled with renewal, hope, and fulfilled promises of life to come.

A better fit

2011-04-19T21:05:00.000-05:00

One morning last week, as Christopher was walking into preschool, he dropped some of his Easter eggs. I had his backpack in one hand and Colin on my hip, and was slow in helping him. Another mother stooped down to pick up an egg for him. She was chatting 90 miles an hour with a mother who looked exactly like her and didn't even look at Christopher. She just held out the egg and kept talking.

She noticed the egg, but didn't notice the little boy.

It's a good school. It's where we go to church. It would be alright if he stayed there.

But he isn't going to stay.

In the two years he has been there, we have had exactly one playdate with another child at the preschool. That means that not only has he not been invited anywhere, but also that I have not invited anyone anywhere either.

They just aren't our people, and neither are we theirs. It's not a matter of liking or disliking. It's just a matter of fitting.

I know that feeling. I spent my entire high school career not really fitting in, but not really being that upset by it. In Jackson though, my parents believed that there weren't a lot of choices, and I did get an excellent education.

However, this isn't Jackson, and I don't have to defer to what seems like the path I should take just because of history. This is Raleigh. This is my turn to be the parent. This is my responsibility to find somewhere that my children can thrive in all aspects of life.

So I've pulled him from his preschool and enrolled him in an arts immersion preschool. I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. At the same time, I'm so nervous I can hardly think about the switch.

The "supposed to's" are so ingrained. I rail against them, and I fall into them for security. I use them as a crutch, getting by for awhile and not realizing that they don't really fit until they start to blister.

"Now, Marty, tell me how you ended up at White? Because you just don't seem like a White kind of person."

This is what the mom at the one playdate said to me. It wasn't an insult, so please don't read it like that. It was just a curious question of how we ended up at that preschool. It's easy to stand out when everyone else looks pretty much the same (and DAMN if I know how all of those mama's of preschoolers are all a stinking size zero).

That was the moment I knew.

It was when I knew I wanted to make a change. I wanted to keep stretching my comfort zone to be the kind of parent that my boys need me to be. It was the same kind of light bulb moment when I decided to leave my OB's office and move to the Birth Center.

Scary, but oh so right.

If you grew up in the deep south, you probably get this. It's hard to be someone you aren't, but it's even harder to figure out how to be who you really are if you don't fit the common mold.

I'm breaking that cycle now. Starting this fall, I'm giving Christopher the kind of education that will allow him all of his drama, his eccentricities, and foster his love of music and art. It's the least I can do for him - allow him to figure out who he wants to be.

Random much?

2011-04-12T15:58:00.001-05:00

Oh, hello. Yes, this is still a blog. No, I haven't forgotten about it. Thanks for asking.

Baby Colin started walking. He also dropped his morning nap. I also gave up Diet Coke (which I'm not even lying is harder than stopping smoking and also harder than not drinking). Point being, I frequently go to sleep before 9:00 now.

I'm freaking exhausted.

It is apparent that I need to quit calling Colin, "Baby Colin," as though Colin is his middle name and Baby his given. He is walking, communicating, eating anything and everything now. He is a full blown toddler.

Which is why this past Tuesday morning, when he did need a bit of a morning nap, instead of putting him down for a nap, I sat on the couch with him. He nursed himself to sleep in my arms, and I held him for the hour, watching him sleep, looking for the little baby he was just a little while ago.

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And that - that part up there? Was written a week ago. Clearly blogging is not a priority for me right now. It's funny, because not only have I not been writing, but I haven't been reading either. This morning, I opened up my Google Reader to catch up with everyone, thinking that I would have a million posts to read. Turns out though, most of my bloggy besties have been quiet themselves lately too.

Good for us. Living life in the real world.

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The reality of the decision that Kevin and I made to have two children is hitting me hard. I was alright with it. Then I wasn't. Then I was. And wasn't again.

Now, today, I am alright with it. I like our family of five. I like how Colin fits in as the youngest. I like how Christopher gets to be both a little brother and a big brother. I like that soon, we'll be able to take the boys to Mallory's events. I like that soon, they will be old enough to leave for a bit, and I can have some one on one time with Kevin.

Last night though, I took dinner to a new mama in the neighborhood, and I saw the most beautiful, most delicious baby boy ever. I left wondering if he really was THAT perfectly perfect and gorgeous, or if it was just the baby bug getting me. I'm pretty sure he was really just that beautiful. I ached a little, thinking about the "never again."

I just have to keep reminding myself that it's nine months of pregnancy, a few hours of labor and delivery, and then it's a lifetime.

I think that I have enough children to keep my lifetime occupied. It's just hard thinking about being done.

That makes no sense. I'm well aware. I'm afraid you'll have to look for logic elsewhere today.

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Happy 5th blogoversary to Bon at Crib Chronicles. Hers was one of the first blogs I started reading when I got started five years ago. Her writing is beautiful. Stunning really. You should go by for a visit.

Daredevil

2011-03-24T07:13:00.000-05:00

No need to wonder why my anxiety induced eczema is flaring like crazy lately. Just take a peek at my little daredevil.

He'll be 14 months old on Sunday and he is already climbing up and down the stairs; on and off of tables, chairs, sofas, and beds; in and out of the tub; and anywhere else he can find.

His favorite thing to do though, is to fly down the driveway as fast as possible on this little red riding car.

My next trip to Target will include:

1. Band Aids
2. Polysporin
3. Hair color to hide the greys
4. Helmet for Mr. Melon Head

It's a darn good thing I don't drink anymore. This kiddo would have me pouring some mommy juice with my second cup of coffee in the morning.

Pimento cheese for people who hate pimentos

2011-03-22T07:00:00.002-05:00

I love pimento cheese.

I hate pimentos.

This has presented a problem for me most of my life. A problem, that is, until I came up with this genius solution.

No-Pimento Pimento Cheese

16 oz. shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
6 oz. softened cream cheese
1/2 C mayonnaise
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1 can of chopped green chilies

Blend in food processor until creamy.

Voila. And, you're welcome. I recommend a big fat sandwich on wheat bread with slices of avocado.

Monday, Monday

2011-03-21T12:04:00.000-05:00

Apparently, I have needed a hiatus. I didn't know I needed a hiatus, but it's been a little over two weeks since I wrote anything, and I haven't opened my Google Reader in over a month.

I'm just a little stabby.

Random things get to me. Things that don't have anything to do with me, and yet I find myself ticked off at them. A friend warned me that it would happen. Life goes on around you, and all of the sudden, you find yourself mad because none of their crap matters. Oh, your car broke? Fine. My daddy died. Oh, your house won't sell? Fine. My daddy died. Oh, your cat has cancer? Fine. So does my mother and my best friend AND MY DAD DIED. So shut up.

See? Totally ridiculous. And yet, I find it bubbling up randomly.

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Colin still isn't walking. He can, he just doesn't. It's fine by me. He'll do it when he is ready. In the meantime, he is busying himself by climbing up and down the stairs faster than Christopher does.

He also climbs up onto their little Ikea table. Giving him a place to stand, raise his imaginary stick and ROAR at the bad guys on Scooby Doo.

And into chairs. Enabling him to reach anything and everything that I have moved out of a less monkey like 14 month old.

And onto riding toys. Flinging himself down the driveway as fast as he possibly can, with a wild eyed grin on his face - one that stares back into my terrified gaze and says, "Get out of the way, Mom."

Colin still isn't talking either. He can, he just doesn't. He likes to point and scream. He also likes to mimic whatever you say so distinctively, it's creepy. Like whole sentences back to you. I've never heard a baby do that before, and it's kind of bizarre.

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Barney has infiltrated our home. It's my own fault. And the fault of Netflix. I regret it already.

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If you are local, I would love for you to come see Bill Leslie and Lorica in concert this Saturday night. We'll be at the Performing Arts Center at Johnston County Community College. Tickets are $17 in advance and $20 at the door. You can find out more about it here: Bill Leslie and Lorica concert information.

Grumpy

2011-03-01T21:40:00.000-05:00

I'm just grumpy. No fun to be around. Grumpy.

Stupid spring. Stupid trees budding and making my allergies try and kill me. Making me grumpy.

My mind jumps around so quickly that I can't even remember what I was going to write about by the time I open the page. It's frustrating.

Know what annoys me? When you have a friend request out to someone on Facebook, and their privacy settings are such that you can see when they become friends with someone else. But they just leave your friend request outstanding. Dude. Grow a pair and hit "ignore." Whatever. I just click over and rescind the request. It's not a big deal. Just annoying.

Know what else annoyed me? The really stupid flower delivery person who walked into the hospice room next door to my daddy's with a basketball shaped balloon that said on it, "Bounce Back Soon." I was standing in the hallway with Daddy's hospice case worked and tried to get her to stop the delivery person, but she didn't even get why. Um, really? "Bounce Back Soon?" Granted, it turned out that she was just carrying more than one delivery and that particular balloon wasn't for the hospice patient, but still. Couldn't make two trips? Really?

Know what else annoys me? Bras. My belly. My skin.

Also annoying? City of Raleigh home inspectors. Plumbing inspector #1 comes and wants some of the interior pipes changed. Plumber changes pipes. For the re-inspection, plumbing inspector #2 comes and wants the connection under the house changed. Really? You couldn't give us a freaking complete list of what needed to be changed the first time? No. You couldn't. Because Raleigh home inspection is based on the opinion of whatever redneck they happen to send out that day.

See? Grumpy. Snarky.

I could use a donut. But we are trying to give up refined sugar. That. Is also. Annoying.

Know a good joke? I could use a chuckle.

Almost two weeks gone

2011-02-23T21:25:00.000-05:00

I miss him. I didn't expect to miss him, but I do.

There are things that I would have told him if he were still here. Things that aren't important, but that I could have told him.

I chose my words carefully the last few years. One of Daddy's Parkinson's symptoms was anxiety. I never wanted to add to that anxiety, so I chose my words very carefully.

We talked about the weather. A lot.

I guess that aside from death being such an unforgiving separation, the timing of it was particularly harsh. We buried Daddy on February 12, the day before my parents were engaged. Two days before Valentine's Day. Six days before Momma and Daddy's 44th anniversary (yes, their engagement was a whopping five days long). Twelve days before my birthday.

This will be the first year I don't get a card from my daddy.

Last year, he sent me a card. I got my feelings hurt because Momma didn't sign it or send one herself. That seems particularly stupid of me now. But last year, I got this card. It was a super sweet "Happy Birthday, Daughter" card that he picked out at the store.

Daddy wrote on the front of the card. He did it all by himself. I couldn't read what he wrote except for the part where he loved me.

I always got the message that he loved me.

I've been looking for that card all day long. I know I didn't throw it away, but I can't find it.

Tomorrow is going to be a very lonely day if I can't find a birthday card from my daddy.

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I've been going through old pictures. The wedding album from my first marriage has some of my favorite pictures of me and Daddy.

I was so young.

He was so healthy.

We were having such a good time.

Dr. Sclater played the same arrangement of "Amazing Grace" at my wedding that he did at Daddy's memorial service.

It was 14 years ago. Only six years before Daddy's diagnosis.

It doesn't seem like that long ago.

In his passing

2011-02-14T22:03:00.000-05:00

We are home. My boys are sleeping in their own beds for the first time in two weeks. Two of the four of us have a stomach bug. The dogs are somewhat happy to see us, but not altogether glad to be sharing the leather sofa again. I've opened the mail, thanked the neighbor who cared for the pups, and made a list of the appointments I need to reschedule.

Life is back to normal.

Except that this past Saturday, we buried my daddy.

Daddy died sometime within a half hour of me writing the post, "It's Time." In fact, if I hadn't written it and had gone on to the hospital, I would have been there when he passed.

I don't think he wanted that though. He took his last breath while my momma had closed her eyes for a much needed cat nap. She slept for about 20 minutes and woke up to find that he had stopped breathing.

Thank God.

My daddy has been healed. He no longer suffers from Parkinson's Disease. His mind is no longer tortured with dementia.

At least, that is the attitude I try to take.

**********************

I haven't cried much. The day of his service was a day I spent being proud of him. His casket was draped in the American flag, and Taps was to be played at the end of the graveside service. Granted, the soldier didn't check his horn before he got there, and it didn't work, leaving us all sitting in extended awkward silence, but I was still proud. Proud of my daddy, the Vietnam veteran.

The front parking lot of the church was almost full when we arrived for the memorial service. There were friends there from my high school days. There was a life long friend who drove in from Nashville and surprised me. There were people who helped raise me in that church. There were more people than I could have imagined - who all came to honor the man I was lucky enough to claim as my daddy.

The music was beyond perfect. New Orleans style jazz arranged by my professor - rather, my dear friend. He and his wife provided all the music for the service. The solo was the jazz arrangement of Amazing Grace that my daddy loved. We marched out of the sanctuary to the most fabulous arrangement of When the Saints Go Marching In that you will ever hear. That Daddy didn't get to hear.

I keep expecting to have a break down. Be angry. Be devastated. Be inconsolable.

It hasn't happened yet.

*********************************************************

Sitting in the room with my dead father was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, I think. I wanted to run. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be anywhere but there, but at the same time, I wouldn't have been anywhere but right there with my family.

His eyes were clear and focused for the first time since I saw him in hospice. I couldn't stop staring at them, wondering what it was that he saw as he took his last breath.

It came time to leave him, and I hadn't touched him or spoken to him. He was dead. I didn't see much point. But something kept me from leaving without telling him good bye one last time.

I walked back to the bed and leaned over to kiss his head. His skin was cool. I let my tears fall, and I didn't wipe them from his face.

It's time

2011-02-07T15:59:00.000-05:00

Have you ever watched someone die? I don't mean necessarily the "last breath," but more the "last days."

I thought I had. There was my Uncle Dadie, who I watched have a rapid decline during my third semester of college. He died days before my final exams. I remember the exaggerated bone structure of his face and how it looked like his skin was so stretched over those bones that he couldn't close his mouth.

I remember my grandmother and how it seemed as though you could see both bones in her forearms and every detail in her shoulders. I remember how shallow her breathing became.

I remember my granddaddy. My granddaddy could still speak the last time I saw him. He grabbed my hand and begged me not to go. He was scared, he said, and he wanted me to stay with him.

Truth be told, I couldn't have taken it if my daddy had done that to me, and I think that is probably the deeper reason that I didn't come right away.

I don't have to worry about that though. My daddy can no longer speak.

He can't eat.

He can't drink.

He can't even blink.

They can't get his blood pressure to register.

There is absolutely no logical reason that he should be alive, and yet he still instinctively fights. I am both proud of him and slightly exasperated at the same time.

It is exhausting to watch someone you love die. You have to still live while doing it. Momma still has to communicate with the seemingly millions of people who want to know about Daddy.

She still has to eat and drink.

She still has to take her chemo everyday.

She still feels like she has to be the momma, when in reality, her husband is dying.

She is losing her soul mate. The absolute love of her life. Her very best friend.

As much as I'm going to miss my daddy, the hardest part of this is watching my momma hurt and not be able to help her. She loves him so much, and it didn't matter what state he was in - she just wanted him to be with her.

We are all tired. I know Daddy is the most tired of all.

He looks like a skeleton with skin. His unblinking eyes are so deep in their sockets. It's time.

It's time, Daddy.

Change of mind, not heart

2011-02-03T00:10:00.000-05:00

I changed my mind.

Probably not a surprise, but I packed up the boys on Sunday and headed to Tennessee. It wasn't my heart that changed. I still feel as though every time I've said good bye to Daddy in the past few years, that I've been saying good bye for good. In a way, I have been because each time I see him, more of him has been gone.

However, the longer he has held on, the harder it became to not be here, so here I am. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, but present.

There is so much to say, but nothing I'm quite ready to share. Just holding these moments close to my heart for now.

From 2007, here is a little something to get to know my daddy better.

************************************************

My daddy has been on my mind. The transition he and Momma have recently made from California to Tennessee has not been easy on either of them. But Daddy is happier now. He sleeps better. He eats better. The anxiety doesn't overtake him everyday. Saying "better than in California" is hardly saying much, but it's the only comparison to make.

Still though, his life is defined by how well his medications work that day. Forgetting to take something means that it will be a bad day. Waking up at 3:00 AM and thinking it is 6:00 AM, thereby eating breakfast and taking your 7:00 AM medications at 4:00 AM means, that it will be a bad day.

A bad day: A day in which anxiety and nervousness overtake Daddy's ability to function. Eating is out of the question. Dressing himself is out of the question. Sitting down or getting up by himself is out of the question. Sleeping that night will most likely be out of the question.

While in California, my momma consistently told me that I didn't understand what he was really like because I wasn't there from day to day. "You've just caught him on a bad day," she would say when I would call him on the phone and he wouldn't know who I was.

Now that he is in Tennessee, both my mother and my brother give me reports on him. My momma's reports are tempered in hope, or possibly stubbornness. A bad day can possibly be followed by a good day. A bad day can possibly be fixed or prevented with medication. A bad day is just that - a bad day. In my momma's voice you can hear her defiance against the Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. You can hear her missing her husband above all else.

My brother's reports are more to the point. How much weight Dad has lost. How many times Dad got lost in the house. How little Dad is sleeping. How I need to be coming to see Dad soon before too much more of him slips away. In my brother's voice you can hear frustration. I think that I hear resolve some days for being the chosen one to have to deal with it. I know I hear strength.

But me. My firsthand information only comes from too short visits and phone calls. Daddy perks up on the phone with me. I know he is trying to put on his best. I have done the same for him all of my life. Even on a bad day, he will get on the phone with me and tell me that he is making it. His voice cracking and shaking with the Parkinson's induced anxiety, "I'm getting by, Sweetheart. Don't worry about your Daddy," he'll tell me.

Today, Guy and I went to see a lawyer about drafting our wills and other legal documents. As we went through the questionnaire with her about our assets, insurance, and such, we came to the section about "what if we both meet an untimely death or are incapacitated simultaneously?"

Who would we want managing our finances while we laid in the hospital in our comas? In a shared room of course, with mourners, secret twins, and a dramatic soap opera soundtrack in the background.

I opened my mouth to say, "My daddy."

When all that came out was an audible squeak, I looked at Guy, and he said, "Schmoopie, you're crying."

And I was. Right there in the lawyer's office. I started to cry and I had a hard time stopping.

All of the things I used to rely on my Daddy to be, he can't be now, and all of a sudden, I missed him desperately. I wanted his advice on selling my house. I wanted his advice on buying a new car. I want his advice at least once a week, and it is not available anymore. And I saw my mother and how much she misses him in a whole new light.

Asking for his opinion or for help causes his anxiety to go through the roof. There is also the factor that whatever answer he might give you to your question was valid most likely 30 years ago. Or it is to an entirely different question. The main problem though is that it brings on the anxiety that is so bad for him. So I do not ask.

The last time I was with my daddy was in December. We were visiting for Christmas and I lost the baby while we were there. I didn't want my parents to come up to the hospital because I knew that would send Daddy right over the top. The next day though, I wanted him. I wanted him to comfort me, to hug me, and to be my daddy. So I requested a snack. Our snack. Peanut butter and Nilla wafers. He fixed me three little sandwiches and brought them back to the bedroom. He sat clumsily on the edge of the bed and put his stiff bony arm around my shoulders and patted. He patted and said, "I love you, Babe."

Parkinson's and Alzheimer's will never touch Daddy's heart.

Little monster in the closet

2011-01-31T06:00:00.001-05:00

I thought I had outgrown the need to look under my bed and check the closet before getting into bed.

Apparently not.

Kevin was working from home, and both boys were taking an unusual morning nap. We decided to take a break from what we were each working on and head upstairs.

*insert Barry White music here*

We knew that time was not on our side, so we both began discarding clothing before we even got the door closed. It was broad daylight, and we felt a little naughty for sneaking in a quickie before noon.

Being a conscientious eco-minded kind of a gal, I flipped off the light in the closet as I headed into the bedroom, wondering why I had left it on in the first place. It's not something I typically forget.

In a moment, I realized that I hadn't forgotten.

A slight thud in the closet caused me to open the doors and catch little Mr. Kickypants sitting on the floor, looking up at me with his great big blue-grey eyes. He looked a slightly worried and more than a little confused.

Kevin and I grabbed our clothes and redressed even faster than we undressed.

Needless to say, there was no quickie.

There was, however, poop in Christopher's pants. Because what else would he be doing in our closet when we thought he was in bed taking a nap?

Just add "doing a room sweep before nookie" to the ever growing list of things I didn't know I would have to do as a parent.

Open letter to the hospice floor

2011-01-27T06:00:00.000-05:00

Dear 9th Floor,

Later today, my daddy will be joining you. You don't know him, and unfortunately, you never will; he has been gone a long time.

He was a Southern lawyer. A good one, too. His office was downtown on the sixth floor and overlooked the atrium with a fountain and huge plants. I loved to visit him there. He kept candy on his desk to entice people to stop in for a hello when they walked past his door.

Always looking out for someone in need, Daddy was a mentor to countless lawyers who joined the firm after him, going as far as to invite the ones with no family to spend Christmas morning with us. Our table never had an empty chair for holidays or Sunday dinner.

Daddy is a Presbyterian Elder. He loved the structure and organization of the Presbyterian church. He was a staunch supporter of what he felt was God's will in the life of the church, and there wasn't a member there who didn't look up to him. As moderator of the session more than once, he held the utmost respect of the congregation.

But just when you thought he was satisfied being a leader and polity maker, he starts teaching Sunday School. In the two-year-old classroom. Those children loved Mr. Tom like nobody else could.

Daddy was always full of surprises.

Daddy pitched for the law firm's softball team. He played the alto sax. He was in charge of breakfast at our house. He loved English Mastiffs. He wished my momma would cut the biscuits bigger. He liked going to New Orleans. He really liked playing his John Phillip Sousa marches as loud as Momma would let him.

We used to go to the Jackson Mets games. I love baseball because of Daddy. When I was in the fifth grade, I was determined to play Little League. He signed me up. I was one of two girls in the league, and he never flinched. He helped me practice pitching, and he supported me the entire season. He might have even been a little disappointed when I didn't sign up again, but he didn't let me know it.

You might just hear Daddy ask you for a cookie while he is on your ward. The man loves sugar like nobody's business. Donuts, cookies, ice cream, Momma's pound cake - he would live on nothing but sugar and carbs if he could. He frequently got up during the night just to have a snack (little powdered donuts from the grocery store). There wasn't a Snickers bar that was safe within 100 feet of him, and he could find a Dairy Queen with his eyes closed in a town he had never been to before.

That is just a glimpse at the man you are caring for now. That is just a tiny bit of what I know about Daddy.

What I don't know about Daddy is how much he is aware of right now. I don't know if he hurts, if he is scared, if he knows that you are the hospice floor. I don't know if he knows that he will die soon.

You have to understand. That is what scares me. Not the passing of my daddy, because he has been so sick for so very long - I have prayed that God would make him whole again, even if the only way to do that was to take him. But I'm scared that he is scared and can't tell us.

So I'm counting on you, his nurses, his doctors. I'm counting on you not to call him "dead weight" when you have to move him, because he might still hear you and understand you. I'm counting on you to help him eat the few bites he can get down because he used to love food so much. I'm counting on you to keep him safe and take care of him just a little while longer.

He's somebody's husband. He's somebody's father. He's a father-in-law, a PawPaw, a G-Daddy, and a dear friend.

He's not just a man with Parkinson's. Please remember that while you are caring for him. You are caring for a man who has cared for so many others. You are caring for my daddy.

Sincerely,
His daughter

Happy third birthday, Little Bird

2011-01-26T23:15:00.000-05:00

My sweet Little Bird. Today you are three. I can't believe what a little person you have become. The conversations we have, the stories you tell, the songs you sing - all of these things amaze me more and more each day.

We haven't had an easy year, you and me. We've done a lot of yelling at each other and a lot of crying with each other. I don't think you were very happy to be sharing your mama with another baby. I hope you know that I still love you. More than ever.

You have your G-Daddy's sweet tooth. If it's made of sugar, you want to eat it. I spent the first 15 or more months of your life making sure that you had a perfectly perfect diet. I nursed you until, well, until today. I held out on candy until some time this past summer - and BAM! It just took that one time. You were hooked.

In September, you started preschool. I'm not sure that it's the absolute best fit for you, but you do like to go. I like that you like it and are making friends. I don't like that I don't know what you do there and that the teacher made a passive aggressive remark about your temper. You will be happy to know, however, that I kept my temper when she did it. You come by that temper honestly, and I promise you - I am trying so hard to model a more peaceful temperament for you.

This year, you started watching TV. Way too much TV, actually. It's been so helpful when Colin naps, and for some reason, it seems like one of you is sick ALL THE TIME, so TV has been introduced as your second vice. After sugar. You love Toy Story. You love it so much that we took you to the movie theater to see Toy Story 3 this past summer. I thought it might be too much for you, but you sat mesmerized the entire time. This weekend, we will have your Toy Story inspired birthday party - mainly Woody, but Buzz will make appearances too, I'm sure.

You definitely have it harder around here. Being my first, I still expect you to do things on a certain time table or a certain way. I realize I do this, but I'm not quite sure how to change it. I have a hard time just leaving you alone to let you develop at your own pace and in your own way. I only know this because I see how I deal with your little brother. I know that because you have been successful in something, that I can quit stressing about it - I need to stop stressing for you. I know I do. I see how it fosters the frustration and anxiousness in you. I promise you that in this, your fourth year as my son, I will work even harder to stop hovering.

This morning, you patted me on the back. I rolled over, and you whispered, "Mama? I need some nuh-nuh." I flipped down my nursing tank and nursed you for the last time. You are three years old. It may be hard to understand, but it is time for us to be done nursing. I still love you, and you will always be my baby, but Mama is tired, and the nuh-nuh's are freaking exhausted. Feel free to instill guilt by continuing to reach up and pat them, while saying, "I love your nuh-nuh's, Mama."

I feel like you are getting the shaft a little on this letter. Your G-Daddy is very sick, and I'm a little distracted tonight. I should have started this a lot sooner, but I just don't write like that. Open, type, publish. That's me. Your spontaneous Mama.

I hope that you are a happy three year old. I promise to play more this year. I promise to listen better. I promise to love you. I promise to try harder all the time to be a better mama for you.

Happy birthday, Christopher. You are my favorite three year old.

Love,
Your Mama

I don't have a penis

2011-01-25T10:25:00.000-05:00

One day over Christmas break, Christopher woke up and declared that he wanted to wear "big boy pants." We had been talking the potty talk for almost a year now, but other than watching Elmo's Potty Time, he has shown little to no interest.

Until he did.

We put him in some "Mater pants" and haven't looked back.

The peeing is going better than the pooping, but from what I hear, that's normal. I honestly think he just doesn't want to sit still long enough to do the big deed - because if he is there to pee and happens to get more than he bargained for, he's totally excited about it. Just doesn't want to initiate that part yet.

What has surprised me is that Christopher learning to use the potty has not been all that dissimilar to Colin learning to use the potty. As long as I kept him on a schedule and took him to the potty in reasonable intervals throughout the day, he never peed in his pants. And in just a couple of weeks, he has learned to tell me ahead of time when he needs to go.

Makes me wish I had done EC with Christopher as well. Of course, I say that about a lot of things with Christopher, but this isn't about me, so I'll spare the list of woes.

Three mornings now, Christopher has woken up with a dry diaper and announced that he has to pee pee first thing. I'm so stinking proud of him. First thing in the morning, Colin always sits on the potty too, so now, we have this bizarre little potty party where the three of us all sit on our potties together in the bathroom and toast the morning sunshine.

There is also usually a conversation about who has a penis and who doesn't. I'm pretty sure that Christopher feels very sorry for me and my penislessness.

I suppose the final step is to move him out of a diaper at night. He has been asking to wear his big boy pants while he sleeps, and he does fine at naptime in them. It's totally selfish on my part.

I've been ending up in the bed with Christopher and Colin in the middle of the night, and quite honestly? I don't want to get peed on. Nor do I want to change sheets in the middle of the night.

So, since we are cloth diapering, I figure it's not too much different to just wear a diaper at night. At least, that's what I'm going with.

I think that 2011 will be the end of diapers around here. That would be awesome.

Unless of course, someone else comes along that might need them . . .

Happy first birthday, little man

2011-01-24T21:35:00.000-05:00

Dear Colin,

Today you are one. You were born at 5:23 in the morning and by noon, we were headed home with you. It was altogether the hardest and easiest experience of my life. Definitely the most amazing.

You and I are joined at the hip, as they say. I haven't left you often, and when I have, you have let us all know how much you wanted me back. There are days that I can't even walk out of the room without you screaming. It's flattering, but it's also time for you to realize that I am always coming back for you.

Just over the past month, you have really started to express yourself - that is, beyond the screaming when I leave the room. You have learned games to play (Colin's got a silly hat on his head), started using everything as a "phone," and learned to walk wherever you wanted to go by holding on to the back of your Pooh train.

The dogs love you, and you love the dogs. It's frustrating to cook for you only to have you toss it down to your buddies. You think it's hilarious though, and it's no surprise that your first consistent word (other than Mama and Dada) is "woof."

You are a terrific eater (when you are sharing with the dogs). It doesn't matter what it is, you will try it. You love peas, bananas, yogurt, mac & cheese, broccoli, and a multitude of other things. Basically, anything we have, you reach for and won't stop until we share.

I love the way you have started singing along to songs in the car. The best is when you call out "duh duh duh, ahhhhhhhh" during the "speck of dust" verse from the violin song by They Might Be Giants. It's adorable.

You can't keep your hands off of a drum, guitar, or any other musical instruments. The Boomwhackers have become little baby didgeridoos, and you have been a rock star on the kazoo for months now.

The wrestling matches you have with your brother make me incredibly nervous. The two of you will tumble around on the bed, diving on one another; I'm predicting many bumps, bruises, scrapes, and possible trips to the ER. I hope you will prove me wrong.

These are just a few of the things I want to remember about you right now, on your first birthday. I'm sorry about your baby book, or lack thereof. I vowed not to slack on that, but somehow didn't follow through.

And now? I have to go check on you. You still cry for me a few times a night, and tonight especially, you need me due to the major pukefest we had at bedtime. Nothing says "happy birthday" like throwing up your cupcakes.

I love you, little man.

Your Mama

Absolutely

2011-01-18T20:59:00.000-05:00

Oh, Daddy.

I have long said that your sweet tooth would be the death of you. Midnight powdered donuts. Pecan Sandies right before dinner. The inability to pass a Dairy Queen without stopping for a malt.

Really. You didn't have to take me so seriously. You didn't have to be so literal.

**************************************
My parents' health issues prompted me to start blogging. There was always a trauma. Always a certain amount of time left for them. Always a last goodbye.

And yet, they are both still here. I know that I'm lucky.

A little over a week ago, Daddy fell onto the driveway after spilling an ice cream sundae in his lap in the car. Dairy Queen, how I hate you.

He hit his head quite hard. So hard that it was how Momma realized he had fallen. She heard his head hit like a melon from the other side of the car.

What got him though, was his hip. He broke his hip.

We saw that coming a mile away. He's frail. He's shaky. He's stubborn.

He has had surgery to repair the break, and we are told that it went well. What didn't go well were the 20-30 mini strokes he had sometime after the surgery.

He didn't wake up for days.

Now, I'm told he is unresponsive. Or sometimes I hear that he is a little responsive. He can't talk. He can talk a little bit. He can't get up. He's sitting on the edge of the bed.

I'm slightly confused.

It's hard to know what is going on when you aren't there to see it yourself.

There is talk of hospice. Feeding tubes. No feeding tubes. The Parkinson's will keep him from recovering fully from the strokes. I think. As I understand it.

I'm getting new tires for the Jeep so that I can go if I need to. But I'm not going until Momma says she needs me, or until Daddy is gone.

Daddy and I are good. I don't need to see him that one last time. I need to remember him from his visit in November.

**********************************
Last night's episode of How I Met Your Mother was a little hard for me to watch. Marshall's father died suddenly. The episode centered around his father's last words to everyone.

Marshall's dad's last words to him were "Rent Crocodile Dundee III." Which, if you know my daddy, is really funny, because his favorite movie is, in fact, Crocodile Dundee.

In spite of all the information I've received about how unresponsive my daddy is, today, I talked to him on the phone. I have no freaking idea what that is all about, and I'm not sure I even believe it myself.

I was talking to my momma when I heard a very mumbled, "Who is that?" to which Momma replied, "It's Marty. Do you want to talk to her?"

The next thing I know, I'm TALKING ON THE PHONE to my daddy who we just were talking about going into hospice. WHAT? I know.

I didn't understand much of what he said. It has been difficult to understand him on the phone for quite some time, but today was different. It was stroke talk on top of Parkinson's talk. Just garbled. What I did get was this:

Me: I hear you fell out of the car because of an ice cream sundae.
Daddy: Someone is pulling your leg.

The man made a joke.

Daddy: How are . . . (he couldn't find the names)
Me: My boys?
Daddy: Yes, and Mallory?
Me: They are doing just fine. The boys have birthdays coming up, you know.

More garbledness.

Daddy: I have to go now.
Me: I know. Thank you for talking to me.
Daddy: You bet.
Me: I love you.
Daddy: . . .
Me: Do you still love me, Daddy?
Daddy: Absolutely.

And in case I didn't understand the first one:

Daddy: Ab.So.LUTE.Ly.

*************************************
I don't know what to think. If those are his last words to me, then I'm a lucky daughter.

The Suttles are known for rallying and beating the odds though. Maybe he's going to pull through this after all.

I sure wouldn't be surprised.

But I have to say, I'm okay if it's his time to go. He shouldn't have to work so hard to recover just to still be so sick with Parkinson's. I'm alright to let go of him if he needs me to. We're good.

Absolutely.

Let's all be copycats. Raising money for Cricket's Answer.

2011-01-10T23:07:00.001-05:00

A few months ago, there was this emotional disaster. It was my hair that served as the proverbial straw.

Here's the thing. I didn't admit because it is tres embarrassing. You see, there was a picture of a haircut that I took when I chopped my locks. It wasn't Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts.

It was Kristen Chase.

(pausing to die of embarrassment)

I'll be the first one to tell you that I adore her. I've stated many times that hers was the first blog I ever read. But I can also say that I don't want to BE her. Not like creepy stalker BE.

I just liked her haircut.

Of course, on me, it looked like a mullet, but that's water under the bridge.

There is something FAR MORE PRODUCTIVE that I am going to copy from Kristen now. And that is a donation to Cricket's Answer for Cancer.

While we wait for answers, action, movement - wait to be lifted from limbo - I'll collect your comments. For every comment you leave, I'll donate $1 to Cricket's Answer up to $100. I'm pretty sure I can scrape that together in these tight times. It might require me to hit up Craigslist for some random selling of stuff, but I'll brave it.

It's a great cause. Cricket's Answer is teaming up with LympheDIVAs to provide medically necessary, yet not covered by insurance, compression sleeves for the lymphedema that so many breast cancer survivors experience post mastectomy.

$100 will require all five of my readers to make up different accounts and each comment 20 times. It will also provide just one sleeve, but one sleeve that someone didn't have before.

So. You can leave me a comment and send a dollar. Then, you can click over to Kristen and leave a comment and send another dollar. THEN, you could decide to write a post in this same vein and donate your own dollars. You know. If you wanna.

I'll leave comments open on this post until I wake up Thursday morning. I would say something fancy and professional like Kristen, and close them at 12 EST Wednesday, but I think we've established that I'm no Kristen Chase.

Oh, and GO TEAM WHYMOMMY!!!

Lymphedema sleeves for every survivor

2011-01-07T21:20:00.000-05:00

After my mom's mastectomy, there were lasting repercussions.The scar that marked where her breast used to be could be hidden by clothing and an expensive prosthesis. The prosthesis wasn't medically necessary, but her insurance covered both the prosthesis and the special bras that she needed to use it.

Lymphedema is localized swelling and fluid retention due to removal of the lymph nodes during a mastectomy. For most breast cancer survivors, this means that her arm swells tremendously throughout the day and that she has to be extremely careful not to burn, cut, bruise, or get a bite on that arm. For the rest of her life.

The arm is the visual marker for my mom. And I guess because it's such a public part of your body, people feel no obligation to not stare or ask invasive questions about why it might be swollen in the first place. My mom's arm couldn't be hidden and kept her from doing things she used to do in the past, like playing tennis.

Sometimes, Momma would wear a dark tan compression sleeve during the day to keep the swelling down. It was ugly, hot, and uncomfortable though. She didn't have the option of LympheDIVA, and I don't know that she would go for it now. But I can totally see her rocking this:

Here's the thing. Even though Lymphedema is a real and debilitating after effect of breast cancer treatment, insurance doesn't cover the compression sleeves.

I know, right?

My friend Susan has helped joined forces to make sure that women who can't afford them, will have the compression sleeves and gauntlets that they need.

Enter Cricket's Answer to Cancer. Crickett's Answer for Cancer (CAC) is a registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization providing free wigs, mastectomy products, and pampering services to women with breast cancer across the US. Now, they will be helping make it possible for every woman who needs a compression sleeve get a compression sleeve.

You can help too. You can donate directly, or you can simply help spread the word. We have done so much for breast cancer through social media. Please join us in this new project that will mean so much to so many women and their families.

Always

2011-01-04T22:52:00.000-05:00

I don't usually know what to say,
But I always will know how to listen.

I don't know the answers to your questions,
But I will search for you and validate your need to ask.

I won't blow anymore sunshine.
I won't hold back anymore tears.

Because you need to know these things:

   I know the time will come.
   I trust your strength.
   I believe in your family.

And this is also true:

   I ache with you.
   We support each other, and we both hurt.
   We are both angry.
   We are both scared.

   Neither of us needs to apologize for it.

Do you know that it is so hard to give to someone like you?
   I want to give everything I can to you, but you - you are always
   Arms outstretched
   Searching the crowd
   Ready to teach, to give, to share.

It's hard to catch you without your arms open to give. It's hard not to take from you all the time.

That, by the way, was a compliment.

I am the woman who will play it straight with you.
   No more sugar coating from me, I promise.
I am the girl with whom you always played straight.
   There will never be pompous bags of sand with lit candles in front of my home. In your honor.

You are my favorite one.
The one who restored my faith in lasting friendships, time and time again.

I will stand as strong as I can for you. Following your example of what a friend really is.

We will be always friends. Always.

2010 and 2011

2011-01-02T22:13:00.000-05:00

There is a New Year's meme that has been around for a few years, but I've never done it. Jennifer reminded me of it this year, and I've decided to jump aboard. Even if I am a couple of days late.

1. What did you do in 2010 that you've never done before?

I had an unmedicated water birth. Last January, Colin was born at the Woman's Birth and Wellness Center in Chapel Hill, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

2. Did you keep your resolutions, and will you make more for this year?

I wouldn't really call it a resolution, but I did give up something significant in 2010. I quit drinking. Not counting my pregnancy, I'm coming up on a year anniversary of being dry and sober. I'm pretty proud of myself for that.

Other than that, I didn't make resolutions. I've never been a much of a resolution maker, although I tend to make changes in January. For instance, I didn't declare it a resolution, but six years ago, I stopped smoking in January. I think we are just in a mindset to make life changes at the beginning of the year, whether we call them resolutions or not.

This year, I'm calling them goals.

Oh to be cliche. My first goal is to lose the weight I've gained since Kevin and I got married. I would call it baby weight, but since the babies really didn't need all of those milkshakes, I've got to take the blame myself. I'm hoping for about 20 pounds, which is more than I've ever needed to lose in my life. On the one hand, it's a little daunting, but on the other hand, I'm kind of thinking, "It's only 20 pounds." We'll see.
Find a way to reinstate my yoga practice. Even if it's just once a week, I would really like to have Anasura yoga be part of my routine again.
Set up the office. Organize finances. Use the filing cabinet.
Have a play date set up for the boys once a week. Or at least, once every two weeks. This seems like it should be easy, but it's not. It requires planning and such, and I tend to suck at planning ahead right now.
Start practicing and writing again. Music, that is. My chops are so rusty I creak when I sit down at the piano.
Get involved in a Sunday School class.
Take the train to D.C. at least three times to visit Susan.
Bring my music collection into the 2000's.
Write a children's book with Mallory.
Sew more.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

That would be me. Also, Kara welcomed Merin. We love baby Merin.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No. A former classmate committed suicide, but I had lost touch with him years ago. Still, I wish I had the chance to tell him what a beautiful voice he had and that I was sorry that he was so unhappy.

5. What countries did you visit?

None. Kevin and Mallory went to Greece in December. He was speaking at a genetics conference, and then the two of them did some sightseeing in Athens together. The boys and I were going to go until we realized that the money tree we planted in the backyard had withered and died sometime in 2009.

6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?

More time with Kevin.

7. What dates from 2010 will be etched upon your memory, and why?

January 24, the birth of Colin.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

I think it's a toss up between the water birth and the whole no drinking thing. Just because I'm pretty sure I can't answer "birth" for all the questions because that will get annoying.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Letting my depression get the best of me and not seeking out help when I needed it. My physical well being suffered. My creativity suffered. My family suffered. I'm not going to let that happen again this year.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Oh my stars. When Colin was just two weeks old, I got shingles. It was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced. Of course, Dr. Google had told me that I probably had lymphoma, so I was actually really relieved to hear it was just shingles.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

I might change my mind if I gave it more thought, but what comes to mind right now is the Beatles Rockband game I got for Mallory when she graduated from middle school. It's something that we all enjoy doing as a family, and Christopher is learning all the words to Beatles tunes, which is a necessary part of his education.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

That would be Mallory, hands down. She is the most amazing teenager I've ever met. She is also the best big sister any kiddo could ever ask for. She's helpful, grateful, funny, creative, talented, smart, and changes diapers too.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

We had some serious issues with a contractor that some of our closest friends recommended. Aside from the contractor's behavior being appalling and downright frightening, when our friends stood up for him, I was crushed. I've tried not to let it be a friendship killer, but it's definitely wounded it. That breaks my heart.

14. Where did most of your money go?

What money? Kidding. We still have a roof over our heads and food on the table, so I'm grateful. Most of our money went to the kids. And the house. The never ending house projects.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Breastfeeding, natural childbirth, midwives. And, embarrassingly enough, Gymboree. I have a serious problem with needing to dress my boys in matching ensembles. It's ridiculous, but their sales really draw me in.

16. What song will always remind you of 2010?

"Tomorrow's Now Today" from the Music Together drum collection. It is what I sing while Colin is going to sleep, and it is now what Christopher requests as well for "bedtime music."

17. Compared to this time last year are you a) happier or sadder b) thinner or fatter c) richer or poorer?

I'm happier because my children multiply my happiness. I'm thinner, but only because I'm not 9 months pregnant. And I'm richer because I'm more satisfied with what I have.

18. What do you wish you had done more of?

Composing.

19. What do you wish you had done less of?

Yelling.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

At home with my boys. Mallory was with her mother until 5:00 this year, so it was just me and the boys. We got up to find what Santa brought and look in our stockings. Then we had French toast for breakfast, and Colin took a nap. The rest of the day was spent opening a present and then playing with that present for awhile. It was completely relaxing and wonderful.

That evening, Mallory, Papa, and a man who works with Kevin came over. We had our traditional Polish meal and the rest of the present opening. Both boys were over the top excited, and I couldn't have had a more full heart watching them.

21. Did you fall in love in 2010?

Head over heels with baby Colin.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

Current TV program favorite was Sons of Anarchy, hands down. Kevin and I also watched The Wire finally though, and it was A.Mazing.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

I don't like that word. I don't hate anyone. There are people that I wish were not in my life or that I hadn't met, but I don't hate them. To me, that implies that I wish ill will on them, and there is no one that I know who I would want harm to come to.

24. What was the best book you read?

The Help, by Kathryn Stockett

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

There are a few here. I discovered that Amazon has mp3 downloads and always has some free stuff. Usually, the free stuff is something indie or new - something I haven't heard before. Working my way through the Amazon downloads, I found Arcade Fire, who I know isn't a new band, but they are new to me. Which is ridiculous. I used to read Paste from cover to cover and know everything that was coming out. Now, not so much.

However, I'm pleased that I do have a few new musicians that I'm listening to this year. New to me in 2010 were:

Another musical discovery was Jack's Big Music Show. Children's TV at it's best. We love this show so very much in our house. And Andrew Bird as "Dr. Strings"? Freaking genius.

26. What did you want and get?

Control of my birth experience. A supportive and peaceful environment in which to give birth. A beautiful and healthy son in that birth experience.

27. What did you want and not get?

This is really pushing it, because overall, I'm completely and totally grateful and satisfied, but I guess I could say a minivan. A minivan really would make parts of my life much much easier. And would also seal my fate as the woman who will never ever ever be a rock star again.

28. What was your favorite film of 2010?

Babies. I love this documentary. I could watch it over and over again. I think it's fascinating.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 37, and I celebrated by realizing that I had thought all last year that I was 37, so it didn't feel like I aged at all. Go, me! I also celebrated by having shingles. Which was a crappy way to celebrate.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

If I had stayed on top of my PPD and gotten help before things got bad instead of waiting. But hindsight truly is 20/20, and I'm not sure I knew I needed help before I got to where I got. That was a horrendous sentence. Me don't write so good sometimes.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept of 2010?

Lacking. Seriously lacking. Although I was never so happy to see a trend come back in as I was when leggings hit the scene. Mock me if you will. My legs are the only skinny thing left on me right now. And leggings with BOOTS? Fashion heaven for me.

32. What kept you sane?

Zoloft.

33. What political issue stirred you the most?

The Wake County school board had me pretty ruffled. They are driving our school district backwards instead of forwards, and I'm nervous about the consequences that will hold.

34. Who did you miss?

My momma. My daddy. My brother and his family. Susan. My grandparents. My NMD friends. My Chelsea pup.

Myself.

35. Who was the best new person you met?

I met a lot of cool people this year, and I don't think I can choose just one. I've been meeting more people in my neighborhood who I really like.

The boys' new music teacher is really talented, and I'm glad I met her.

I've met some really nice local bloggers who I enjoy hanging out with even though I usually skip the evening meetings due to Colin only wanting MAMA when he wakes up a bazillion times in the evening.

There are a bunch of great people I met this year. I hope that is a trend that continues in 2011.

36. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.

I don't know that I learned this lesson in 2010, but I feel like I finally applied it.

Friends come and go like seasons. Just because a season passes doesn't mean that it wasn't important, that it didn't help you grow, and that you can't remember it fondly.

And along the same lines, friendships change. If you can't change with them, then you will continue losing friends instead of keeping people who you love in your life. I have really tried to put this into practice this year.

With one friend in particular - she is very dear to me, and we used to see each other every day, then every week, then every month, but we still talked on the phone almost daily. This year, we went months without speaking. Nothing was wrong (that I know of), but we are in different stages of life. So be it. I still love her, and I'm just considering this a phase of the friendship rather than the end of it.

Coming from the master of bridge burning, this has been huge for me.

37. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

I gotta skip this one. I've been singing way too much "Here come the ABC's" this year to have any quotable lyrics for you. Maybe next year I can quote something that was written for grownups in the year 2011. Maybe.

********************************
So happy 2011 to you and yours. I'm looking forward to a wonderful year.

Echoing love

2010-12-31T22:25:00.000-05:00

The big news in our house is that Colin has moved into the boys' room and is sleeping in the crib. For the most part. He has been napping in his crib and spending the first part of the night there. But I have to admit, when he woke up at whatever time in the middle of the night last night, I just brought him back to bed.

I'm too spoiled now to sit in the rocking chair half asleep and try to get him back down.

Tonight, both boys were way wound up before bedtime. We had a very exciting day with a New Year's Eve party where we counted down to noon instead of midnight. And then we played Xbox and Wii together - it was a fun day that they obviously didn't want to end.

Christopher was in his bed, being pretty quiet, but not still. I was rocking and nursing Colin, but he kept biting me. Hard. He just didn't want to go to sleep and was having no part in my soothing songs and nuh-nuhs.

After a particularly painful chomp down and refusal to let go, I had to put him down and get up to take a break. I placed him in his crib and went to lay down next to Christopher.

Now, Christopher repeats a lot of what I say, and most of the time, I'm not proud of it. Lately, he's been saying, "Stop talking to me. I'm mad." Which, I don't mind the telling me that he is mad. It's the harshness of the "Stop talking to me," that bothers me - because I hate that I must sound like that to him.

But tonight, when I climbed into bed with him, he reached over and touched my face.

He said, "Don't be mad, Mama. He's just a baby. He didn't mean to hurt you."

Then, if he hadn't squeezed my heart hard enough, he says, "It's okay, sweetheart," and leans over to kiss my cheek.

And in that moment, I heard myself again, but in a much different light. I heard him echoing the love.

In a year that I have often felt like a failure as a mama - having little to no patience - yelling when I should be listening - jumping to anger when I should be looking for a way to teach - in the very end of this year -

My son echoed the love I show him.

Suddenly, I have high hopes for 2011.

Anniversary

2010-12-29T21:49:00.001-05:00

"The depth of your grief is a measure of the love you have for your child. If there was no love, there would be nothing to grieve."
~Louis Gamino on miscarriage

No one noticed what yesterday was. An anniversary for which there are no cards. A day that isn't for celebrating.

Four years ago, I lost my first baby. Suffered (and I mean suffered in the true sense of the word) a miscarriage.

And I survived. I survived that one and then two more before Colin was born.

I didn't know what kind of mama I would be back then. If you had asked me, I probably would have assumed that I would always keep working, my baby would sleep in his crib where he belonged, and cloth diapers would only be good for burp cloths. I would never have guessed that tonight, just a few weeks shy of his first birthday, would be Colin's very first night of sleeping in his own crib.

I didn't know I would be so attached.

Tonight, I sit thinking about that emptiness from four years ago. And I know that I'm blessed with two beautiful sons to whom I am very attached indeed.

Tonight, my heart aches not for the loss, but in the memory of how broken I felt. How devastating the loss was. How no one knew what to say to me or what to do for me. How I didn't know what to do for myself, except to pour my sorrow out here, on this blog.

In the ache though, I finally feel gratitude. Gratitude to my first baby who made me stronger. Taught me how to love blindly and completely. Helped my mama wings to sprout.

"The depth of your grief is a measure of the love you have for your child. If there was no love, there would be nothing to grieve."

One in four. That's an awful lot of us, you know. It's time it became alright to talk freely about it.

Songs from Christmas present

2010-12-26T23:13:00.000-05:00

Somebody in our house was always making music this holiday season. It wasn't me or Kevin.

It was Christopher. And it was beautiful.

Songs from Christmas past

2010-12-20T10:57:00.000-05:00

I'm not going to lie. 2010 has been a tough year.

Not enough time. Not enough money. Not enough head out of the fog for me.

Kevin and I should have had a Christmas tune or eight to share with you. Our plan has always been to record together at night after the kids go to sleep.

It will happen. 2011 will be the year that it finally happens.

Until then, I'll link you to some posts from 2007. Old Christmas recordings from days gone by. Be forewarned, they are autostarting if you are using Chrome, and maybe other browsers. They didn't use to do that, but I'm not really in the mood to go back and figure out what has changed in the html code. If you don't want to hear, just don't clicky on the linky.

It's December, isn't it? There should be pictures of my trees up. I should be posting recipes. There should have been so much more going on here. Instead, I'm just funky. Just in a funk. So not like me for Christmas. It's the year we usually go see my family in Tennessee, and we aren't doing that (see above: not enough blah blah blah). I'm bummed.

But it will all be alright. Christmas is coming whether I'm in the mood for it or not. And it will be wonderful. Christopher has enough Christmas spirit for the entire city of Raleigh. I'm sure some of it will be rubbing off on me soon.

For now, I'll listen back to the days before children, when I had time to sit around and record Christmas songs just for fun. And put eight million vocals lines on them. Nothing like a big choir of me. Mwahahaha.

We Three Kings
What Child Is This

I love you, but I hate your dog

2010-12-15T10:34:00.000-05:00

All in all, we are pretty fortunate. We have some fabulous neighbors.

There is the couple across the street who take care of our dogs when we go out of town. They save us hundreds of dollars and allow us to visit family when we might not be able to afford it otherwise.

There is the family across the street who ushered us into the social circle of young families in the neighborhood. They have been supportive and fun, sharing birthdays and holidays and lots of laughs with us.

Then there is the family next door to us. We love them too. The wife is from the Ukraine and the husband is from Mexico. They met in an English as a second language class, which I think is really cool. They have a beautiful teenage daughter whose best friend is their German Shepherd, Dutch.

When we moved in, there was a little chatter about Dutch and what an annoyance he was. But we are dog people, and appreciate a little understanding when our dogs are annoying, so we afforded the same tolerance towards Dutch.

He barks when someone walks past.

He barks when you pull in the driveway.

He barks when the mailman comes.

He barks when our dogs go outside.

He barks when a leaf falls off the tree.

Occasionally it has bothered me. In years past, it was just a "HEY! Look at me! I'm a dog! HEY HEY HEY!" bark. I can totally tune that out unless I'm doing something in the driveway, in which case, after about a half hour, it's really annoying, and I'll yell at him until someone comes to bring him inside.

Lately though, the barking has been more of a, "HEY! I hate you and your children! I'm going to take your fingers off if you stick them through that fence! HEY HEY HEY!" bark.

I don't like it at all.

Worse than the aggression though, is the timing of the barking.

Ever since we moved Christopher into his new room down the hall from us, he has been waking up around 5:00 in the morning. It's killing us. He used to sleep until about 8:00, and losing three hours of sleep seems to have turned him into Mr. Crankypants from hell.

He needs more sleep.

We've tried longer naps. We've tried putting him down earlier. It's not working.

Unfortunately, what we need is for Dutch to not be in our neighbor's backyard BARKING INCESSANTLY AT 5:00 FREAKING A.M.

I really like our neighbors. I do. But the dog is turning my child into a sleepless monster.

The neighbor behind us just calls the police to report the dog as a nuisance. I think that's a little over the top and incredibly passive aggressive. However, I'm not relishing the idea of having to go talk to them about it. I know they are sensitive to the issue (having had the cops called and all), and we've tried to be very understanding of it.

Maybe I should just start sending Christopher over to their house at 5:00 A.M. when Dutch starts in. Or better yet, I could send him at 8:00 when he turns into the most evil, sleepy two year old on the planet.

What would you do?

Co-sleeping in a too small bed

2010-12-13T22:21:00.000-05:00

Our bed is getting smaller.

Colin takes up almost an equal third of our queen size bed, leaving Kevin retreating down the hall to sleep with Christopher or in Mallory's room when she is at her mom's house.

That's not my idea of a family bed. Not how I want co-sleeping to be.

However, we won't be buying a bigger bed. Soon, it will be Colin moving down the hall to sleep in Christopher's room. The crib has been moved, and Christopher is anxiously awaiting his new roommate.

But my heart. I go to bed and lay down next to my baby. He looks up at me through sleep glazed eyes and smiles. A little baby arm is tossed up onto my breast, and he closes his eyes again while sighing back to sleep.

I'm having a hard time letting go of that.

Fighting and living. Elizabeth Edwards

2010-12-07T22:59:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Elizabeth Edwards announced that she would not be treating her cancer any longer. I thought that she had reached a point of quality versus quantity, and while I was sad, I was hopeful that she would have a comfortable, albeit probably last, Christmas with her children.

Then, today, she died.

I know why the news in all seriousness took my breath away when I read it.

I personalized it way more than it should have been.

It was hard not to.

It is hard not to when you know that the days are coming when people you love are going to choose quality over quantity. When talk of not being here "when" works itself easily into a conversation, it's just hard not to be hit in the gut by what felt like a sudden passing of Elizabeth Edwards.

She fought for six years.

What I hate is that it seems like just yesterday that she received her diagnosis. I hate that.

She lived for six years.

When you say she "fought," it sounds like a long time. But when you say she "lived," it sounds like just a moment.

There is never enough time. It's always too soon.

My heart goes out to her children.

Day 30 - A letter to yourself - tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself - 30 days of truth

2010-11-30T22:11:00.000-05:00

I can't possibly explain how much I don't want to do this. I'm distracted. The season finale of Sons of Anarchy is on. I'm going to see my best friend soon. There's laundry, cleaning, and I've had popcorn for dinner.

It's just not the day to write this letter.

Things that I love about myself are few and far between lately. I don't say that fishing for reinforcement. I just mean - if I'm finishing the 30 Days of Truth? It ought to be truthful.

So I wait. I'll write the letter. Just not now. Let me get back to it.

In the meantime, I leave you with quite possibly the funniest thing you might read all day with apologies to my relatives who at this point should just put their fingers in their ears and start singing, "La la la la la."

I broke my nose last night. Moving from one compromising position to another. Awesome. Nothing like some wailing and a bloody nose to kill the mood. As Kevin likes to say, I am nothing if not a dainty, petite flower.

Happy NaPoBloMe month. I'm all done. If I don't post again for weeks, don't worry about me. I'm just catching up on all of the dang laundry I haven't done this month. Aw, who am I kidding? I've got Christmas trees to talk about, y'all!

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 29 - Something you hope to change about yourself and why - 30 days of truth

2010-11-29T22:10:00.001-05:00

Oh boy, I almost missed this one. It's 11:35, and I'm just now thinking about it. I spent all of my computer time today trying to stretch our incredibly short dollars as thin as I could to put some presents under the tree for my family. Cyber Monday wasn't actually that great this year, but I managed to find a few things for a little cheaper than in the stores.

There are a lot of things I hope to change about myself, but the main one would be my ability to focus. I think it's rather obvious why I would want to change that.

I tend to wander, and I would get so much more done if I could concentrate on one task from beginning to end. It drives Kevin crazy, I know. Because the result is that I unload and load the dishwasher, but I forget to run it. Or I bring in the dogs' bowls, but I forget to feed them. Or I transfer money into our account, but forget to click the oh so important CONFIRM button. He really hates that one.

If I could manage to put my yoga practice back into my life, I think that would help tremendously. Or maybe if I just had a schedule of things. Some kind of order - maybe then I could remember stuff and focus.

Maybe then I could possibly
This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 28 - What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? - 30 days of truth

2010-11-28T22:06:00.000-05:00

Something that annoys me about myself is my need to state things in absolutes. Like a few months ago, I blogged about how Kevin and I were totally done having children. Our reasons are quite compelling, and I for one, am still pretty convinced that our decision will stick.

However.

And don't get your hopes up, Liz.

The other day, Kevin started a sentence with the words, "If we had another one . . ." and I swear I have no idea what he said after that because the "If we had another one" was too busy ringing in my ears.

So what if I was pregnant?

It would be alright. We love our children. Kevin is an awesome father. Mallory is an amazing big sister. I love being a mama.

So, maybe.

Besides, sleep is over rated, and Kevin loves working. Which is good because IF we had another one, neither of us would sleep ever again, and he would have to work until he was 104.

But one more might not be a bad idea . . .

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 27 - What's the best thing you have going for you right now? - 30 days of truth

2010-11-27T20:19:00.000-05:00

Let's be honest. I'm really not interesting enough to be doing 30 Days of Truth. I think four or five days of truth would have been sufficient. However, seeing as how we're so close to the end, I guess I'll power through.

Of course the answer to this is the same answer as my reason for living. My family. However, since we already know that, I'll give another answer.

I think the best thing I've got going for me are the new friends I've made since becoming a mama. Learning that friends come and go has been a hard thing for me. When the going doesn't coincide with the coming, it's even harder.

I've had a couple of friends go this year that were really difficult. There were no falling outs or fights, just fading. I don't like it. This time though, there were other friends that I had made who were right there. It made it so much easier to move on.

So you know who you are, I hope. The ones of you who have learned to put up with me. A couple of you live on my street, so I'm relieved that I'm not THAT neighbor. That you seem to like me alright. Then there's you who doesn't live as close, but dang if you aren't right near the coolest museum in the Triangle. And you, who want to move out of Raleigh for reasons that I completely understand, but I secretly hope that you'll not only not leave Raleigh, but move further in - as in on our street (see above mention of lovely people who would be your neighbors).

I'm thinking that new friends are what I have going for me right about now. New ones, and then old ones too. Like ones on the other end of a train ride. Ones I can't wait to see again.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 26 - Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? - 30 days of truth

2010-11-26T18:44:00.001-05:00

I can't say honestly that I have. I have considered running out on life. Abandoning my responsibilities and hitting the road, but we know now that those thoughts come hand in hand with an urgent need to adjust the dosage of my SSRI.

I'll never forget one time when I was in high school, my dad and I were fighting, as we were so quick to do, and I said, "I wish I was dead." He replied with, "I'll get you a bottle of pills."

Makes him sound like a monster, and quite frankly, some days he was. He fought with me like a peer instead of a parent, and as quick as he was to anger - we fought a lot.

He's not a monster though. What he said wasn't appropriate, and it didn't result in the expected jolt to reality that he probably intended. It just made me feel like he wished I was dead too.

It was a terrible feeling.

It didn't last though, and Daddy didn't stay that way. The sad part is that shortly after he mellowed and changed was when he started getting sick. It's truly not fair.

What about you? I'm curious. What would it take to make you give up? Is there anything?

I don't think there is for me. Especially not now.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 25 - The reason you believe you are still alive today - 30 days of truth

2010-11-25T18:43:00.001-05:00

Also appropriate for Thanksgiving Day.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 24 - Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs - 30 days of truth

2010-11-24T10:39:00.000-05:00

I so don't have time to be doing this. I've been mulling it over all month now, and I wanted to make a detailed list and then actually compile it and give it to Mallory.

That hasn't happened. It's just too busy around here.

So, what I have instead are a list of the albums featuring female artists that I want her to listen to with me at some point. And no letter. Because really? Why would I write this in letter form? I'm not feeling that.

Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes and Under the Pink
Jonatha Brooke: Plumb, 10 Cent Wings, and Steady Pull
Julie Miller: Broken Things
Amy Grant: Lead Me On
Sundays: Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic
Sixpence None the Richer: This Beautiful Mess
Liz Phair: Exile in Guyville
The Cardigans: First Band on the Moon
Indigo Girls: Indigo Girls
Emmylou Harris: Wrecking Ball and Red Dirt Girl
Joni Mitchell: Court & Spark and Blue
Bjork: Debut
Sugarcubes: Stick Around for Joy
Sarah McLachlan: Touch, Solace, and Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
The Breeders: Last Splash
Juliana Hatfield: Hey Babe
The Story: Grace In Gravity and Angel in the House
Kathleen Edwards: Back to Me

Okay. I've got a table to set and some sleep to catch. That's all I got off the top of my head. I think that's a great start though.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 23 - Something you wish you had done in your life - 30 days of truth

2010-11-23T06:00:00.001-05:00

I wish I had been braver.

I wish that I had not assumed that because a couple of girls in my class were mercilessly mean to me, that everyone hated me. I wish that I had trusted my old friends. I wish that I had been more open minded. I wish that I hadn't been so stoic. I wish that I hadn't been so defensive.

There is a large chunk of my life where I was friends with people I am no longer friends with. I think in one regard, that's normal. However, so many old friends have been reintroduced into my life - I can't help but feel a little regret that I veered from those friendships in the first place. I certainly wasn't moving on to greener pastures. That's for sure.

This isn't a great prompt for me. Someone who is trying to focus on living in the now.

The more I thought about this one, the more I wanted to just type, "I wish I sucked less," but that's a little harsh, even for me. There is a little truth to it though. I do wish that I had been more successful for a longer period of time - at anything. There are things I did well, but I don't seem to have any staying power. I burn out. Move on.

Maybe I wish I had been more gentle on myself along the way. Cut myself a break more often.

Maybe that just what I wish for the future.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 22 - Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life - 30 days of truth

2010-11-22T06:00:00.001-05:00

So I'm copping out a little here. Just because I'm so tired of talking about ME this month, I could puke. So no soul bearing wishes here. Just an honest one.

I wish I hadn't played the flute. I hated the flute. I wanted to play the French horn. Or the cello. Or even the marimba.

But I wish I hadn't played the flute.

It's not a life shattering regret, mind you, but it fits the bill.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 21 - (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? - 30 days of truth

2010-11-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

First, I pray.

Then, I go.

I've never had a hard time apologizing when I need to. I would apologize. And I would pray that she heard me and would be around to tell me what a jackhole I was the next day.

This was a weird prompt for me. I'm not really in the mood to pontificate over something fictional happening to my best friend. Call me grumpy.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 20 - Your views on drugs and alcohol - 30 days of truth

2010-11-20T06:00:00.001-05:00

My stars. How I love a lovely pepper tinged cocoa laced glass of Zinfindel. Or two. Or three. Or for crying out loud, who are we kidding, I was really more of a let's not waste a bottle of good wine by letting it sit on the counter kind of a gal.

So I don't do it. Drink, that is.

The truth is - and isn't that the point of this whole meme - that I think alcohol is - well - I guess I don't know. Because I've typed out five different endings to that sentence and deleted them all.

I think it's not for me. I'll just leave it at that.

And drugs? Holy cow. Not even going there.

I can honestly say that I'm a much better person clean, sober, and only medicated as directed by a doctor.

Ahem. SSRI. God bless 'em. Ahem.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 19 - What do you think of religion? Or what do you think about politics? - 30 days of truth

2010-11-19T06:00:00.001-05:00

Many years ago, I was highly opinionated and quick to spout off my opinions whether you wanted to hear them or not. If I remember correctly, I was given the dubious honor of Best Lobbyist two years in a row at Youth Legislature. I was passionate about my causes and liked backing my almost manipulative persuasion up with hard cold facts.

It worked for awhile.

Somewhere along the way though, I got damaged. I don't know when or how exactly. There are a few events that stand out, but nothing that says, "POW. This is when your backbone broke."

Granted, I like the less abrasive, kindler, gentler me. I am far more likable now than I was 20 years ago, and I think that I'm far more reasonable as well.

So what do I think about religion? I think it's swell. I won't tell you that unless you ask. And even if you ask, I probably won't expand much.

I could easily just type out the Apostles Creed here to tell you what I believe, but I won't. I believe all of the things I learned in my church growing up except for one.

The one big thing that changed in my beliefs? The fact that I don't believe you are wrong if you believe something different from me. My vision of religion and faith is far bigger than it used to be, and most likely, it includes you, no matter what.

Politics? I think politics suck. I don't like 'em.

And that's that.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Between all the blogging, life still goes on

2010-11-18T22:20:00.000-05:00

I love how Colin is giving turn signals in the cart.

While blogging my way through the 30 Days of Truth, I find myself having little time left to write about my actual life. My love life. My life loves.

Colin has teeth. Lots of teeth. He likes to bite me and laugh when I wince. It's not one of his more endearing qualities, except that when he laughs, the sky opens up and jellybeans fall down while choirs of bunnies sing scat songs. In other words, his laugh is awesome. Wicked funny, and a little bit weird. Kind of throaty. Heh heh like.

He's moving. Crawling. Trying his best to pull up, but the girth on that boy has him firmly rooted to the ground. I can't say that I'm all that sorry about that. He's already making straight shots to whatever he shouldn't have. Electrical cords. Dog bowls. Trash cans. Toilet brushes. Shoes. And all of it, everything he touches, goes right into the mouth. Nasty.

That boy loves his family. For a little bit, it was just, "that boy loves his mama." Now? He claps when Kevin walks in the door. He crawls around after Christopher like a little puppy. And Mallory is the only other person beside Mama and Daddy that Colin ever reaches out for. He started this special head bobbing thing just for her at the dinner table. She smiles at him, and then he cocks his head over to the side and "heh heh's" at her while looking so stinking adorable that you want to sell him on Etsy.

Christopher is about to grow again. Rather, is growing already. His pants are getting shorter and I'm letting the adjustable waists out weekly. He finally out grew his sneakers. We bought new ones three months ago because I was sure he was about to out grow his, but he didn't. He just plateaued right where he was for awhile. Now it's game on. Boyfriend is going to sprout, I'm afraid. Just please don't out grow your winter clothes, Bird. I can't afford to buy you new ones, and I like the ones you have already.

The main battle with Christopher right now is the dinner table. He just won't eat what I cook for dinner. I feel like I've tried everything, and what I really want to settle into is that it's not a battle. Just let go, Mama. But some nights I get so frustrated that he isn't going to eat anything again, and I know he will wake up in the morning and eat a huge breakfast, and I lose it. I mean what kid doesn't like sweet potatoes? He used to love them. He used to love lots of things. Which makes me think that it's not about taste at all. That it's either about power or it's about texture. I'm leaning more towards power. Whatever it is, I know it's a phase. Deep breath, and this too will pass.

The big news is that we got a new fence across the front of the backyard today. It's not pretty, but at least the dogs won't get out now. I swear that Setter wants a new family something awful. Our leather sofa just isn't good enough for her anymore. I can't say that I blame her really. I shave her myself now instead of letting her show coat grow out and get groomed. It is so beneath her.

There is more. A baptism has finally happened. My parents have been here. My brother even. But that is a post for another day. I'm still savoring the visit for myself.

Day 18 - Your views on gay marriage - 30 days of truth

2010-11-18T06:00:00.001-05:00

My momma is a Presbyterian minister. She went to a seminary where they believe that women shouldn't be ministers. Can you imagine that? This day and age, there are still people who believe that women shouldn't be ministers or leaders in the church.

I find that so strange.

It is so easy for me to see that these people have misinterpreted the Bible, or their translation of it, to warp women into subservient roles in religion.

My views on homosexuality are the same.

And even if it had nothing to do with religion, I have to say that the whole idea that we can tell certain members of our society that they can't get married just because they are the same gender? Baffles me.

Granted, this is not an invitation to explain it to me. I'm quite sure I've heard your arguments before. I'm just saying they sound like this to me, "Blah blah blah, different, blah, blah, blah, scared, blah, blah."

No disrespect meant. I mean that.

Day 17 - A book you’ve read that changed your views on something - 30 days of truth

2010-11-17T06:00:00.001-05:00

If only I had read this one a little sooner. Christopher's birth story could have been so very different.

I had never considered midwives, birth centers, home births, or intervention free birth. I didn't know these things existed in real life. I thought in theory that they were good ideas, but I wasn't sure they really happened.

Then I read Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. It totally changed my perspective, just not in time for me to make the leap for my first birth. It's inspirational, encouraging, and is a great read for any expecting mama. It changed the way I thought about birth and the possibilities of labor and delivery.

Also, Knuffle Bunny Too. I totally thought it was pronounced "nuffle," and it rocked my world when Trixie pronounced it "KUH-nuffle."

Deep.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

More birthdays

2010-11-17T00:01:00.001-05:00

The number of times Momma and I have bemoaned the fact that she wouldn't make it to 70 when her mother made it to 97 is now quite laughable.

I'm telling your age, Reverend Mother. Happy 70th Birthday. Thanks for sticking it out with us.

More birthdays

Day 16 - Someone or something you definitely could live without - 30 days of truth

2010-11-16T06:00:00.001-05:00

Leg hair

Torn cuticles

Picardy thirds

Yanni

Pickled herring

Angelina Jolie

Plugged ducts

Anything in a size 2

Reality TV (save the Amazing Race)

Cramps

Bad gas mileage

Zack Wilde

Victoria's Secret

and

Paying for shipping

The End.

Day 15 - Something or someone you couldn't live without because you've tried to live without it - 30 days of truth

2010-11-15T06:00:00.002-05:00

I could easily site this blog as the thing I just can't quit. I've tried a few times to quit, but I always come back. I've made lots of changes and implemented my own new policies along the way, but I always come back. Blogging is a learn as you go thing. At least for me it is. Regardless, I'm not quitting anytime soon.

Really though, what I REALLY can't live without - what I know I can't live without because I've tried so many many many times to quit - is Diet Coke.

How pathetic is that?

Here you go. From the now defunct Deep South Moms Blog, from back in April 2009, is my letter to Diet Coke. I think it was my first syndicated post. Meh. Who cares? It makes me chuckle a little.

**********************************************

Dear Diet Coke,

I don't know what it is about you. I have quit smoking without the aid of gums or patches. I have quit drinking cold turkey when we think there might be a second line appearing on a pregnancy test. I can stick to a diet when I need to drop a few pounds. It wouldn't be unfathomable to call me a woman with self control.

But you, sweet elixir of life, I just can't quit you.

Sixteen weeks into this pregnancy and I still can't seem pass up on a giant, ice cold, frothy fountain Diet Coke. Even though I stopped buying cases of you to keep in my fridge at home, I find myself looking for excuses to get out of the house and hit the nearest drive thru.

Nothing else can take your place. Your inbred cousin, Diet Coke with Splenda, just doesn't cut it. I took him out for a tango when I was pregnant with my first child. I just wasn't satisfied. A real Coke is so full of sugar that my teeth feel like they are wearing sweaters after the third sip. A cup of coffee will curb the desire for caffeine, but it doesn't bring me that effervescent joy that you do.

I have long proclaimed that there is something more addictive about you than in any other soft drink. I knew long before I evern dreamed of being pregnant that you were my one vice. Every thing else could come and go, but you never would loosen your grip on me.

Damn you, Diet Coke. I blame you and your spurious sweetness that bubbles up, taunting me from the McDonald's down the street. You are so bad for me, and yet oh so good.

Sincerely,
An unabashed addict

Day 14 - A hero that has let you down - 30 days of truth

2010-11-14T22:33:00.000-05:00

I almost forgot. That would have been frustrating.

But I've had this sitting in "edit" mode for days now, trying to think of someone that I considered a hero in the first place.

In order to have a hero who has let you down, you must first have had a hero. I can't think of one.

There are people I admire greatly. Momma. Susan. Liz. Gail. Kara. Cyndi. Abby. Amy. Too many many many to list. But I wouldn't hold them to the status of hero because it's not fair. They are, after all, human just like me.

Not exactly the soul searching post you might have been expecting, I know. I probably let you down. Hope I wasn't your hero.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire listhere.

Day 13 - A band or artist who has gotten you through some tough ass days - 30 days of truth

2010-11-13T06:00:00.001-05:00

Really? Do I have to? This is going to be so very embarrassing.

Dear Tori,

If there hadn't been 50 other people standing behind Her Magesty's Theatre, and if it hadn't been just the first of dozens of shows you would do for Under the Pink, and if I could have garnered enough strength to say anything other than a shallow, high-pitched, "thank you," you might remember me as the girl with the star paper letter that I pressed into your hand across the rope, behind the theater in London.

Or maybe you wouldn't. It doesn't matter really.

What matters is that even though it was a life time ago, I still think of you when I think of an artist who changed my life and got me through some tough ass days.

I listened to your songs over and over and over. Your words felt like they had burst from my own heart. Your piano taught me new ways to play. New ways to write. New ways to listen.

A couple of years after that, I worked a show you played in Mississippi. Your chef had me running all over the place looking for Ben and Jerry's ice cream, which Mississippi didn't have yet. I know. Hard to believe. You came in and ate a plate of food by yourself. I didn't want to bother you, so I just sat across the room from you sending you subliminal messages of, "I love you." Because I was a little crazy then. And now, but that's no matter.

I admit, I haven't followed you the way I thought I would. I drifted from you somewhere around Strange Little Girls. That doesn't mean that you don't still mean the world to me.

And in the mist
There she rides
And castles are burning in my heart
And as I twist I hold tight
And I ride to work every morning
Wondering why
"Sit in the chair and be good now"
And become all that they told you
The white coats enter her room
And I'm callin' my baby
Callin' my baby
Callin' my baby
Callin' everybody else's girl
Maybe one day she'll be her own.

I'm closer to 40 than 30 and certainly far away from 20 now. But I'm pleased to tell you that I'm finally my own.

Sincerely,
me

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 12 - Something you never get compliments on - 30 days of truth

2010-11-12T06:00:00.002-05:00

My small, perky breasts.

Heh. Actually, I'm assuming it's supposed to be something that is true about me that no one ever compliments.

No one ever compliments me on my ability to sing a quarter tone off with any tune. Wait, that's not true. Uncle Dave does.

No one ever compliments me on my smile.

It's crooked, and I have the proverbial gap between my front two teeth. Lusty, if you believe Canterbury Tales. My teeth are discolored from years of Diet Coke abuse, and if I smile too widely, you will see the splatters of silver fillings that dot several of my molars.

I'm afraid though, that it's not the physical appearance of my smile that prevents people from complimenting me on it. I'm afraid that it's because they don't see it often enough.

As I watch Christopher in a crowd or when someone approaches him to chat - I see myself. He becomes stoic. His lips close, his eyes open wide, and he begins assessing the situation by withdrawing from it to become an observer. He isn't unhappy, but he definitely isn't smiling.

I know I model that for him. It's probably part nature, part nurture, but I would like to model more smiling. I would like for him to hear me get compliments on my smile. I would like to teach him that a smile can truly light up a room. Especially his smile. It is beautiful, and I would like for us both to use our smiles more often.

Day 11 - Something people compliment you the most on - 30 days of truth

2010-11-11T06:00:00.000-05:00

Praise is a huge motivator for me. I consider that one of my flaws. I wish that I could do things just to do them and not worry that someone will later praise me for it. So far, no success there. I still want to hear that I rock. And staying at home? You don't hear that much.

A wise woman and blogger who I respect a ton told me that she had found that volunteering at her son's school had given back some of the affirmation and appreciation that she used to get from the workplace. I need to do something like this - get plugged back in.

Here and there I get compliments on my biscuits, my pound cake (both straight from my momma's kitchen), and my red velvet cake (thank you, Aunt May). I used to get complimented on my hair and my legs. Not the hair on my legs, mind you. And every once in awhile, I'll get a compliment on my writing. Those are nice.

I guess what I consistently get complimented the most on though is my voice. Which is kind of funny because I spent 18 years of my life in piano lessons, but just open my mouth and sing. Au natural, heh.

My favorite vocal compliment? Came from a review. Called the backing vocals I added to a CD "angelic." Also worth noting, it's the only time anyone has dared referred to me as such.

If I really dig deep, what I would like to be able to claim I'm most complimented on, it would be that I'm a good mama. I want to be known for my patience and guidance. I want people to notice that I'm in tune with my boys and teach them through example. I want for someone to be able to pay me the compliment of, "Your boys are such kind people."

That's my goal.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 10 - Someone you need to let go or wish you didn't know - 30 days of truth

2010-11-10T06:00:00.002-05:00

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times on this blog.

I'm an excellent bridge burner. I tend to cut and run.

What I do though, is dwell. I sometimes wonder what the person on the other side of the cliffs is up to - where their life has gone since we parted ways.

With the internet, it can be easy to search for them. Recently I wrote about blocking a list of people on Facebook. That was my way of letting go. Blocking those people was my way of letting them go.

I have a few more to block.

A former work colleague with whom I share mutual friends. She isn't an honest person, and I find myself getting worked up when I come across more of her nonsense online.

That high school teacher.

The boyfriend who dumped me via my brother.

You get the point.

I think a lot of these posts are going to intersect. Because the person I should let go of the most is the one I'm not ready to forgive. And until I can forgive her, I won't be able to let her go.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 9 - Someone you didn't want to let go but just drifted - 30 days of truth

2010-11-09T06:00:00.002-05:00

My momma is a wise woman. She taught me that sometime friendships are just for a season. They come and then they go, and that's alright. I've seen that happen, and I've been learning how to let it happen gracefully if I need to.

I miss an old friend. She doesn't live far from me. We've been bridesmaids for each other. I've been with her while she was in labor. We've been through a lot together. I'm not sure where life is taking us, but I don't hear from her anymore. It makes me sad.

Other old friends who drifted have come back into my life through Facebook. It's cool really. I've found my best college roommates, one of my few junior high friends, and even a friend from elementary school who lives in Chapel Hill now.

Relationships are hard work. Duh, right? As I get older, I feel like I'm less willing to put in all of that work if it's going to be one sided. The more I adopt Kevin's philosophy of fewer, better friends, the more fulfilling the work put into the relationship is.

I have a feeling there will be more drifting to come. I hope I'm ready for it.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 8 - Someone who has made your life hell, or treated you like shit - 30 days of truth

2010-11-08T20:38:00.000-05:00

Oh boy. I could open up a can of worms here if I wanted to, but that's probably not for the best. Besides, even if I were to talk about the stalking, name calling, and eventual restraining order, in the end, I can't claim that she's made my life hell, because in order for that to be true, she has to matter to me, and that just isn't true.

I could also talk about Day 4 again, but I think I made my point then.

It's sad when you have so many options to choose from here.

Really though, I'm having a hard time choosing because I'm at a point in my life that when I think about these people, I'm just sort of, well, meh. It doesn't matter anymore.

However, I'll tell some just for the sake of telling.

There was a woman on a mom's board who liked to play the "I've had more miscarriages than you" game. She was looney and inconsequential, but when you're bleeding out what you hoped was going to be your second child, it sucks to be treated like that.

There were a couple of girls in my seventh grade carpool who were so mean to me that they shaped the rest of my junior high career. They helped me develop my caustic wit and thick armor, keeping out any prospects of friends, save a few brave souls.

There was the boyfriend who went off to college and told my brother to let me know he was breaking up with me. Harsh.

There was the boss who fired me 30 minutes before I had to go to the funeral of one of my students.

There was the high school teacher who - well, let's just not go into that one. It's just yuck.

The bottom line I guess, is that I finally have a strong partner and a circle of friends who support me and help me feel safe. I have friends who take me to dinner when I need to talk. I have friends who bring their families to celebrate a baptism with me. I have friends who I trust to take care of my children.

I have a partner who will back me up, defend me, and love me.

Once, a former bandmate wrote my ex-husband a letter. We had been in North Carolina a few months, and this douche wrote a letter to my husband telling him that he was sorry they couldn't be friends anymore since he had married me, and went on to pontificate about what a horrible person I was. Or something like that. It doesn't matter what he said. What matters is that I felt like my ex should have stood up for me. I felt like he should have defended me, and he didn't.

I had never felt more alone than I did that day. Less because of the letter and more because I wasn't worth defending.

Things have changed. So go ahead, treat me like shit. I've got people now. People who have my back.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 7 - Someone who has made your life worth living - 30 days of truth

2010-11-07T21:52:00.001-05:00

Easy.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 6 - Something you hope you never have to do - 30 days of truth

2010-11-06T19:44:00.000-05:00

I spent a great deal of time trying to think of something else to write about for this one. Something that doesn't send me into a panic attack just thinking about it, but I can't.

The single thing I hope I never have to do is bury one of my children. Just typing those words makes my heart race.

There are mamas whose blogs I read who have lost their babies, and I can't fathom the depth of their pain or the strength that they must have to put one foot in front of the other daily. They amaze me and terrify me all at the same time - because it could happen to any of us.

Several years ago, my youngest piano student at the time was killed in a car accident. Her father was driving. He didn't see a stop sign, ran it, and a pick up truck hit them. The little girl died at the scene.

She was six.

At the visitation, I was close to the end of the line to speak to the parents. It took about three hours to make it to them. I watched and studied how people addressed them, how the parents reacted. Could I cry with them? Should I be strong and not cry? Do I hug them? Do I say that I'm sorry?

I was terrified.

The week before, this little girl had played in her very first piano recital. She was so excited and so proud of herself. Her father plays, and both of her older sisters had played, but this was her turn. It was finally her turn to be up there and perform. She wore a navy blue dress and ankle socks. Her hair was pulled back in a headband.

She performed perfectly.

The next week she was gone.

When I approached her parents, her father collapsed onto me. I held him up while he sobbed for what seemed like hours. I didn't know them especially well, but I think that the importance of music in their family coupled with the recent recital made my presence rip the very tentative bandage off of the wound.

I just stood there and held him. I thanked them both for letting me have the chance to teach their daughter and told them that I would miss her very much. I told them about how she told me she was named for a pop singer (she was not, but they shared the name). I told them that getting to spend just 45 minutes a week with her had been a blessing, and that I was so sorry for their loss.

This was years before I had children. I didn't have any reference point to the pain they felt.

Then, last week, Christopher ran across the street without me. He didn't look; he didn't pause. He was fine. But the thought of losing him in an accident - so violent and sudden - so physically painful - I couldn't stomach it. I cried when I caught up to him. I grabbed his arms a little too hard when I pulled him to me. I held him longer than usual when we hugged our "I'm sorry's".

So that is it. I hope I never have to live a day without my children in my world. I don't know how I would cope.

Do you Tumblr?

2010-11-05T08:46:00.000-05:00

While the ole blog has the 30 Days of Truth going on for the month of November, I've been enjoying using my Tumblr page more.

There are pictures of the kids, my favorite Etsy finds, conversations, and short thoughts that I might normally blog over here. Feel free to join me there for less than blogging, more than Twitter.

Because you NEED another social media site to worry about.

What about you? Do you Tumblr? Can you leave me a link so I can follow you?

Have a great weekend. Smooches.

Day 5 - Something you hope to do in your life - 30 days of truth

2010-11-05T06:00:00.001-05:00

There are two little boys sitting with me right now, enjoying Jack's Big Music Show. They are what I hoped most to do in my life.

Short of that, I would like to find my place in the world as a mama.

When they go to school, what will I do with my days? Will I be able to re-enter the work force? Will I want to? Will I be able to find a job that I enjoy?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must got do the cookoo dance with Jack and my oldest son. It is definitely something I've always wanted to do in my life.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here. Also, you can check out my Life List for more things I hope to do in my life. If you're bored and all.

Day 4 - Something you have to forgive someone for - 30 days of truth

2010-11-04T06:00:00.002-05:00

I was a departure from your lifestyle.

A friend who didn't look like your other friends

Who didn't act like your other friends

Who didn't worship like your other friends

Who didn't judge like your other friends

Who didn't expect perfection of you like your other friends

Our parents lived around the corner from each other, yet we had to travel to London to get to know each other.

Maybe if we had stayed across the ocean, we would have stayed friends.

You got married.

I got married.

You got divorced.

You got remarried.

I got divorced.

I got remarried.

See? We are the same I might think, but we are totally not.

I stood fiercely by you during your divorce

Standing up for you in grocery stores

Standing up for you at church

Standing up for you to newspaper reporters

Standing up for you to anyone who would listen

You were so blatantly wronged

Hurt and humiliated

The pity people felt for you was more judgment for your lack thereof.

But me? The wrong against me was more subtle.

I was married to such a nice guy.

I was married to the guy who helped everyone out.

Everyone but me.

He didn't leave me for a priest

He didn't leave me for someone twice his age

He didn't emotionally abuse me

But he didn't love me

He didn't support me

He didn't listen to me

He didn't respect me

He didn't honor or protect me

Like my momma said, he left our marriage way before I kicked him out.

You couldn't see any of that though

You didn't want to see any of that

You refused to listen openly to my heart and my hurt.

I had disrupted your life

I had made it uncomfortable for you

I had created a division in your circle of friends

I had neglected to think about how my divorce would affect you.

Silly me.

What really got me though was when I moved on too quickly for your liking

You judged me

You condemned me

A year later, you dismissed me, telling me,

"You aren't sad enough."

Then I knew. I knew why we had been friends in the first place.

One of my gifts is the ability to make others feel good about themselves.

It fits into the peace-keeping, people-pleasing side of me.

I had always made you feel better about yourself,

but not for the reasons I thought.

I made you feel better because you thought you were better.

You were thinner.

You made more money.

You read more.

You knitted.

You painted.

You were better than me

and worse than me at the same time.

You were miserable, but I was always worse off

Your life was hard, but I was always in more debt

You deserved pity, but I was always there to be in a hole a little bit deeper than yours.

Next to me, you felt like a raging success

And then I had to go and get happy

Through a trial that would have broken most people

I come through it blissfully happy.

You were a terrible friend.

I hold you up as the standard now when I evaluate friendships.

I think about the time I spent with you and how I felt afterwards

In order to avoid those feelings

In order to avoid those people

In order to remain blissfully happy.

I should forgive you

I must forgive you

I will forgive you

Just not yet.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 3 - Something you have to forgive yourself for - 30 days of truth

2010-11-03T06:00:00.005-05:00

In order to write about something I have to forgive myself for, I have to first admit what it was that I did wrong. That isn't easy for me, because I want you all to think that I'm perfect. Isn't that the goal? To have people think as highly of you as possible?

I could cop out and say that I needed to forgive myself for forgetting to take a snack to share at the neighborhood Halloween parade yesterday. Oh the horrors! I forgot to take a snack! I am such a horrible mother and wife!

Let's get real though. There are skeletons. There are things that I have no need to unearth and share publicly. Things that I have already forgiven myself for, so I don't need to display them here. But there is something that I can begin to let go of right now. Something for the truth.

I need to forgive myself for my first marriage. I need to let go of that guilt.

I never should have gotten married. It wasn't the right choice, and I knew it. At the time, I couldn't see far enough into the future to think there was another choice though. We had been dating for several years, and the night he said to me that he either wanted to get married or move on - I should have said, "Bye."

Divorce was never something I wanted in my history. I was ashamed to tell my parents. Waited three weeks after my ex had moved out before I even called them to tell them.

More than that though, I cheated myself out of some very real dreams. I wanted to go to law school. More specifically, I wanted to go to UNC Chapel Hill for law school. That was never going to happen once I got married, and deep down, I knew that. I knew that I would be too busy trying to work and pay bills to go back to school.

I also need to forgive myself for hurting my ex. It wasn't his idea to get divorced, and I know it hurt him. If I dig down even further though, I need to forgive myself for ever marrying him in the first place. I wasted eight years of his life when he could have been chasing some dreams I know he had too. Because there was no way in hell I was ever going to move to California.

So that's it. I'm going to keep trying to let go of that huge mistake in my life. Try to forgive myself. Because one day, my boys are going to find those wedding pictures and start asking questions. And I want to be ready to answer them from a healthy and whole perspective.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 2 - Something I love about myself - 30 days of truth

2010-11-02T06:00:00.001-05:00

My momma says that I'm "loyal to a fault." It's true.

If you are my friend, I've got your back. I will go to the mat for you. I will leave snarky comments on blogs or Facebook posts when you need them even though I would never do it for myself. I will bake, cook, sew, watch your children, or do your laundry. If someone wrongs you and you are deeply hurt by them, I will likely cut them out of my life too, just so you won't have to question where I stand.

Granted, I get the "to a fault" part. I know that I've burned some bridges that might not needed to have been burned. I've left some comments that were completely not nice. I've even called a newspaper reporter once and let them have it for doing a lifestyle piece on how fabulous someone was with no regard to some very public pain they had caused my friend.

Um, a little overboard, I know.

But it is something that I love about myself. I'm not wishy washy when it comes to my friends. If I love you, you know it. In fact, I've had to work really hard at just having acquaintances. It doesn't come easily for me, but it's a skill that I think is important in life. It certainly would have made high school easier for me.

Of course, loyalty is something I love most in a friend too - and with my ridiculously high standards for it, it's hard to find. Luckily, I have found it in more than a few people in my lifetime. For that, I'm extremely grateful. You know who you are.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 1 - Something I hate about myself - 30 Days of Truth

2010-11-01T06:00:00.001-05:00

The challenge here is to keep "something" singular. I could go on a rampage with things I hate about myself lately. Some of the issues I would have chosen as top billing here are things that I have really been working on lately though, so I'm not going with them. As in, my ability to take EVERYTHING personally. Whoa. That's a great one to let go, let me tell you.

What I hate about myself right now, something that I can't seem to stop doing, is living in the worry of the future. I don't seem to know how to live in the now. Right now. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Not next month. Not next year. Not when Christopher starts kindergarten. Not when the house will finally be finished. Not when the chemo stops working.

I hate that I waste so much of today by worrying about tomorrow.

I want to learn to live in the now.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Halloween costumes 2010

2010-10-31T21:37:00.000-05:00

If you are so inclined, pop on over to my craft blog, Specraftular, and take a peek at the making of Super Why and Baby Caesar. Cuteness awaits you.