Turning "no" into a flight home

By Sunday, I was really ready to come home. There were things I wanted to do - an invitation to the Art Institute or a sightseeing cruise - but when it all came down, I just wanted to see my boys before they went to bed that night.

Unfortunately, my flight didn't get in until 10:00 PM. They would have been asleep for hours.

Having used up every ounce of fabricated extrovertedness I could muster anyhow, I packed my bags and headed to the airport. I took a taxi to the train station and the train to O'Hare. It cost me around $10, mainly because I ridiculously over tip cab drivers.

My first stop was the American Airlines self check in. "I would like to catch an earlier flight home. Can you help me?" I asked.

"No, but you can do that on the self serve kiosk behind you."

"No" number one.

I move to the kiosk and begin typing in all of my information. The kiosk informs me that there are no seats available for an earlier flight.

"No" number two.

There is an American employee standing beside the kiosk, so I smile and ask her if I there is another option to finding an earlier flight home. She shakes her head and told me that the people at the desk have the same information as the kiosk.

"No" number three.

At this point, I was checked in for my late flight home, and I still had four hours to kill. I went and stood in line at the main American counters.

When it was my turn, I stepped up to the man behind the counter and said very calmly, "I would really like to get home sooner, can you help me get on an earlier flight? I know the kiosk said there wasn't anything, but I was hoping you might be able to help me."

He said he would try and began plucking away at the keyboard of his computer. No weather delays. Lots of standby passengers already. There was nothing he could do.

"No" number four.

I asked him what gate the next flight to Raleigh would be using, and he told me. He said I could ask the gate agent, but there wouldn't be anything for them to tell me.

After I made it through a very slow security line, I found the gate with the plane leaving for Raleigh.

FINAL BOARDING CALL the sign blinked above the desk.

I stepped up and smiled at an incredibly tired looking attendant.

"Yes? Do you need something?" she asked.

Pulling out my calm smile once again, I told her that I had hoped that she could get me on this flight to go home. I really just want to go home.

Sigh. "I have too many standby passengers as it is. I'm not putting you on my standby list."

"No" number five.

I smiled and raised my eyebrows at her.

Sigh. "I guess you can wait there and see."

I replied, "I've got nothing but time. Thank you so much."

She went through her remaining list of standby passengers. One by one they boarded the plane. Finally, she turned to me and said, "I guess I can take you, but it will be $75."

"Wonderful," I said. "I could just hug you, although that would be inappropriate."

A quick scan of my card (justified by not spending the money on the cruise or a cab home later that night) and an even quicker text to Kevin to tell him I was on my way, and I boarded the plane with not one, but two seats to myself. Ninety minutes later, I was landing in Raleigh and hugging my boys.

Turns out, they even delivered my luggage to me the next day instead of making me come back to the airport and pick it up. I did a lot of smiling at that guy too.

There are so many times when I'm told "no," and I just give up. It doesn't seem worth arguing or fighting back. Of course, this time I didn't argue, and I didn't fight. I just kept smiling and asking the question in a different way to a different person.

And come to find out, "no no no no no" in American Airlines vocabulary? Actually means "yes."

BlogHer 2013

It's that time again. Time to pack a bag and head to BlogHer.

I actually have goals this year. Having the honor of producing Listen to Your Mother in Raleigh this year has breathed new life into my desire to write and create a professional presence online. A new website is coming, and this blog will be laid to rest.

I have been blogging here for over seven years - an anniversary that passed without notice or flair. This space will always be missing something now that Susan is gone, and I decided awhile ago that I didn't want to be here without her.

But I do want to write. I want to be a part of this community still. I want to tell you about my children, my dogs, my guppies, the chickens that are on their way to my backyard. I want to share what I'm making because after all, making things is what keeps me going. 

So if you meet me at BlogHer, and by chance, come here to see what I'm doing, the answer is, regrouping.

I'll be at BlogHer honing my writing skills. Gearing up for more posting and less silence. Getting help on moving into my new space. Finding advice on starting a local writers' group. Thanking BlogHer for creating a place to nurture the relationships we have here. Hanging with my friends. Meeting some new people. Enjoying all of the "me too" moments that happen when you share your stories. And probably eating Cheeseburgers while wearing silly hats. Because all work and no play and all that jazz.

I'll keep writing here until the new space is up and running, but I hope you'll follow me on Twitter so that you can come say hello when I've moved. And if you are here because I met you at BlogHer, please leave me a link to make sure I come see you too.

I almost forgot - I'll be in my favorite place at BlogHer, the Serenity Suite, on Friday and Saturday from 1:00-2:00 PM. In the Sheraton, suite 1287. Please stop by this anxiety and alcohol free space and say hello. I'll share a Diet Coke with you, and if you know me, you know I don't share Diet Coke with just anybody. 

One more thing, that's one of my besties up there eating a cheeseburger with me. She's sitting this year out because she has a bundle of sweet goodness named Chase who needs her and her boobies at home with him. You should check out her food blog: A Little Nosh.

Guppy love

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.

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

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?

Anniversary

"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.

More birthdays

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

Common sense

It's amazing how very little time I have at the computer where I have two free hands. If I'm sitting down, I'm either nursing or holding a sleeping baby. If neither of those things are going on, then I'm on the run. And I cannot type with one hand. If my fingers can't keep up with my brain, I get very bored.

There has been plenty going on. Both boys have been to the emergency room, and Squeak was admitted and spent 3 days in the hospital. Both boys are fine now, and I've learned a great deal about being a parent in a worst case scenario driven health care system.

First, Bird was sent to the ER in the middle of the night by the call service nurse for our pediatrician. After days of fever from a fever virus that had finally climbed to 104.9 that morning, we found him crying in his crib with a temperature of 95 that night. Weird. So I called, and we were sent packing to the ER.

The short version, which is just as interesting but far less painful than the long version, is that Bird was just fine. In fact, by the time the doctor saw him, he was dancing around the exam room like Mick Jagger in his footie pajamas. We felt ridiculous for being there when what we should have done was gotten him up at home and observed him there for a little while before calling or going in. Lesson #1 learned.

Being the generous big brother that he is, Bird shared his virus with Squeak. Even though I know fever is serious in itty bitties, I wasn't that worried. His fever was 100.8 though, and I felt more comfortable taking him to the pediatrician. He looked good. He was eating, peeing, and pooping normally. So she ordered a blood culture and a urine sample and sent us home after consulting with some of her colleagues because of his age. I admit, I was nudging her along to the "go home" decision. I did not want to end up in the hospital with Squeak.

Beverly, our pediatrician, wanted to see him the next morning, just to be on the safe side, so we went back in and she declared him fever free and looking good. Big sighs were issued on a dodged bullet on this one, and we said our good byes.

Then, around 4:00 that afternoon, another doctor in the practice called and told us we had to get Squeak to the hospital NOW. As in, I was nursing him at the time and was supposed to stop and go to the ER. Weird, since he hadn't had a fever all day and seemed fine.

Again, the short version is far more interesting. He's fine. Not for a lack of invasive testing though. Bacteria in the blood is serious - if it's making you sick. However, there are instances where it's not making you sick, and there are even more instances of blood cultures being wrong due to contamination.

After three blood cultures (one out of each arm and the last out of his ankle), two catheters for urine cultures, one spinal tap, and a weekend of IV antibiotics, they decided that Squeak had a virus that he had kicked on his own.

Duh.

While I think we all did the right thing at the beginning, there was definitely a point when I should have stood up and argued more. Demanded that they start using common sense and stop following the doctor rule book. I understand that rules are there for a reason, but Squeak was so obviously NOT sick anymore - it was just ridiculous to keep torturing him with that IV and more blood culture draws.

I should have stood up for my baby and said no to the last round of tests. I know now.

The nurses we had were wonderful though. It was refreshing to be around nurses who assumed that as Squeak's mama, I had it under control. They treated us with common sense actually. I stayed with him, and he co-slept with me the whole time. They never questioned whether I was feeding him enough and never suggested that I didn't know what was best for him. Since he showed every sign of a healthy baby with faulty test results, they treated him that way. Instead of following the clock, they followed his cues and took his temp when he happened to be awake. They made the stay quite bearable, and I am very grateful.

It's hard to argue with a doctor though. One of them asked me at one point if I actually had a scientific background. I guess I wasn't supposed to question so much? I told her that I did not, but that the definition of stupid was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Okay, so I didn't really say that, but I wanted to, and said some extremely nice version of it that went something like, "doing the same test over and over again until you get the result you want seems very unscientific to me."

It's hard to argue with a doctor when they have the scare card in their deck. "IF" is a very powerful word when it comes to your child's health.

There has to be a balance when it comes to listening to the parent and following the doctor rule book.

I wonder if they wrote common sense into the fancy new health care bill? The health care system could use a huge dose of common sense for sure.















Home again and happy about it.

Not for granted

More of the plague. Poor Little Bird woke up yesterday morning with a nasty ear infection. He had been crying through the night off and on, but he would quiet down as soon as I rocked him a little bit.

When I went to get him up for the morning, he was just laying on his back, eyes glassed over, and his bottom lip trembling. It was enough to squash my heart into a pulp. His fever was 101.4, the highest it has ever been.

At first I thought it was the flu, but then I realized that the night time crying and the cough that lingered from the cold he had last week pointed more to ear infection. So we went in to see the doctor who told us that Bird had a nasty ear infection.

You know though, one dose of antibiotics and he was noticeably on the mend. By the end of today, he didn't seem sick at all. I'm grateful for healing and my healthy child. It's not something I take for granted, and sometimes it deserves to be said out loud.

I'm grateful.

Thank you linky love

There are a few thank yous that I need to offer up, left over from the Type A Mom Conference. I'm not a review blogger, nor do I accept items for review for this blog. I was given these things as a conference attendee, and would simply like to extend my thanks.

Mabels Labels sent me a set of iron labels for Little Bird's clothes and some labels for his shoes and sippy cups (or whatever I want to put them on). The thing about the sippy cup labels is that I totally missed the fact that they are stickers, but they ARE DISHWASHER SAFE. How cool is that? I can't wait to put my Sharpie away and start labeling Bird's stuff in style.

They also sent some pink bag tags for me because mine at the conference were green, and that was the BOY color. It really didn't bother me at all - especially because the little icon was a pair of headphones - but they felt badly. And then did something about it. Which I think speaks volumes of a company. The whole package was just lovely, and you can bet I'll be ordering more from them and telling my friends (as in like right now).

Tiffany at Lattes and Life wasn't a conference sponsor, but she brought some of the giveaways from her blog right to the conference. It was the best giveaway ever. I didn't have to Tweet anything, leave a dozen comments, fan something on Facebook, or go to a website and find out when the company was created. I just had to find her and ask for it. "Hey Tiffany, can I have a Halo Sleep Sack?" And booyah, she handed me one. It was awesome.

I also met Drew, from Eden Fantasys. He's a super nice guy. He gets a link because he's that nice, but that's all I'm saying about that because my momma reads this blog.

Little Debbie was at the conference passing out their yummy new chocolate cupcakes. They had the cupcakes and then a coupon for more cupcakes when I got home. Nice. Happy pregnant woman.

Creative Memories gave me a copy of their software which I honestly haven't opened yet. I thought about giving it to a friend, but I think I'll keep it and eventually use it. You know, in my mountains of free time. I'm certainly not going to start scrapbooking, but maybe if it was digital I would do something. We'll see.

Chick-fil-a provided lunch and coupons, which was nice of them. So, thank you to them too.

There were other sponsors and freebies, but those are the ones that made an impression, and that deserved some linky love from me.

So there you have it. Not terribly interesting, but sincere. And seriously, go check out Mabels Labels. It's the coolest.

Welcome to the world, Rena Rose

I know I haven't posted in over a week. I was totally wrong about being over the plague last time. It was just some weird two hour break and then things got way worse. Aside from my sinuses still cleaning out and the persistent cough, I am well now, and there are pictures and stories to post. But not today.

Today belongs to Leanne, Daniel, Lydia, and Rena.

I have been reading Daniel's words since January 2007, and openly weeped at my computer this morning because I am so very happy for them.

Congratulations to an amazing family.

Yard sale happiness

Momma and Susan have delicately pointed out that I'm a slacker blogger these days. Of course, that's not at all what they said, but that's how I'm going to think of it. It will help light a fire under me a little better.

I would love to get back up to a post a day, but I'm not promising anything. It's so much harder now that Little Bird is GOGOGOGOGOGOGO all the time. During nap time, there are so many other things I need to get done, and well, Twitter. I blame Twitter.

Today's news isn't horribly interesting, but looking through my archives, that never stopped me before, so here goes.

We loaded up Little Bird and went down to Glenwood South to an open air crafters market. Why is it that these markets are 90% jewelry these days? And not even very unique jewelry, although most of their names include the word "unique" somehow. Unique boutique. Beaded Uniquely. Unique Creations. If you can't come up with a more clever name than that, I'm thinking you aren't very creative anyway.

The only booth I found interesting was a quilter. I thought that I was totally uninterested in quilting when I started sewing. Then I started saving my fabric remnents. Then I joined a fabric co-op. Now, I'm thinking I had better learn to quilt or my home is going to become overrun with fabric.

On the way home, I spotted a yard sale with a faded Little Tykes car near the driveway. I asked Kevin if we could check it out. Bird loves the trucks with steering wheels at Marbles, so I had been thinking of getting him a car for outdoor play. This little car needs some tlc. It's faded and dirty and the steering wheel is loose, but it was only $5. For another $5, they convinced us to take home a tricycle.

The trike is missing the pushbar, so I looked it up just a minute ago to see if I could order just the pushbar. I can, and it's $18. Turns out the tricycle new is $180. Seriously. I had no idea. We came home with a Kettler trike for $5. I'm not believing it. Probably helped that it was almost noon. Everything out on their tables was priced really high, and I can imagine that several people were interested in the trike, but they were asking too much early in the morning.

Score for us. Bird lurves his new car so very much, and I'm going to order the pushbar this afternoon so we can take walks on his "new" trike.

It's a good day.

Thirteen going on fabulous

A teenager lives in our house now. She moved in last Wednesday and kicked out the little girl who used to be here. So far, she has been just as sweet and delicious as the little girl, and honestly, I don't expect that to change. I'm not scared of these teenage years.

Lovely is now thirteen. On her birthday, she came home to a yard full of flamingos wishing her a "Happy Birthday!" She had requested shepherd's pie for her birthday dinner and also wanted a homemade chocolate cake with chocolate icing. She got both. I even whipped up some peanut butter mousse to put between the four layers of the cake to surprise her. And, to her amazement, I managed to write legibly, even nicely, if I do say so myself, on the top of the cake. She almost didn't believe I had done it.

Her daddy wanted some pictures made for her birthday. "Thirteen is special," he proclaimed. I think that can be loosely translated, "I would like to have one last shot at my baby girl," but I could be wrong.

The young woman she is becoming is quite remarkable. She has been through a lot the past few years, yet she continues to love with an open heart. She is also able to stand firm in her beliefs, and that will really suit her well as she enters high school.

As an example: a couple of weeks ago, I asked Lovely how her piano lesson was the night before. (I had been helping her with her music because she had a lot to accomplish in a very little amount of time, and because,well, quite frankly, she just wasn't being taught.) She opened up and talked for almost an hour about how her teacher had been telling her to lie to her father and me. She was to "forget" her assignment book so that I couldn't ask questions and was told to not let us know that the teacher had failed to register Lovely for a festival she had been preparing for.

Lovely said, and I do quote because I will never forget it, "It's not right for a teacher to ask me to lie to my parents."

Right on, dearie. That is an incredibly mature realization. If I had been able to stand up for that when I was even 17, I would have had a much easier time of things. It was so brave of her to open up and let us know what was going on and that it made her really uncomfortable.

This girl, this young woman, balances loving her brother and me with the knowledge that her mother tells her that she shouldn't. She balances loving her father and her mother with the knowledge that they don't love each other. She must know how much we all love her, or I don't see how she could do it.

She hasn't been dealt a fair lot as a child. But instead of it ruining her childhood, it is already apparent that she is using what she has learned about life to become a beautiful, remarkable, strong, loving, and courageous young woman.

I am proud to know her, and I am so grateful that my son has Lovely for a big sister.

Hello, My Name Is Anger

I'm angry. I should have known. The shortness, the depression, the feeling of being overwhelmed. The impatience with everyone, including strangers.

When the happy salesman came to my door this week, he rang the doorbell and then did an enthusiastic drum cadence with his knuckles as well. The dogs began barking, and the baby monitor hissed out the sounds of a just then napping baby rustling in his crib. I bolted to the front door and opened it just enough to stick my head out and snap, "I've got a sleeping baby in here. I don't care what you are selling." He jumped all four steps down from my stoop with his apology left hanging in a speech bubble that dripped with shame.

He didn't deserve that from me.

Someone attacked a friend of mine yesterday on a blog. Granted, I am a fiercely loyal friend, but it made me far more angry than it should have. I ached for her and wished that I could take on that other woman face to face. The things that ran through my head to say to her were cruel and hurtful. Very hurtful. I didn't say them, but I dwelled on them.

I told Girl this morning that I was feeling mean. She suggested that what I was feeling was really anger. She is so right.

I don't handle anger well. I have pushed it so far down into the places I never reach that when I do feel it, I don't recognize it. Anger doesn't wear disguises; I just don't know it. It stands quietly in front of me, waiting on me to give it the right name tag. I hand it, "Hello, my name is MEAN," or "HURT" or "SAD," and it patiently places each new tag on top of the other one, but answers to none of those names.

When I think about expressing anger, it frightens me. If I say that I'm angry that my parents and my brother's family get to celebrate everyday together, be it Valentine's Day or a talent show, I'm scared I will be misunderstood. It worries me that by feeling a jealous anger, they will think I'm angry at them. Which I'm not. Right beside the jealous anger sits gratitude that they have that time together. They make odd bedfellows, but there they are.

I just wish that I had that time with them too. And stepping back, I don't know if that emotion is anger or not. That one may be sadness. It's hard to tell.

Plus, expressing anger opens up a vulnerability. Back in September when I shut my blog down for awhile, I kept hearing, "Don't let her know you are angry. Don't let her think she got to you." I get that. I get that for some people, knowing you've made another person angry is some sort of victory. But that's not my problem. Was I angry that someone used my blog to violate my husband and try to ruin our first night out since the baby was born? Of course I was. Anger was an appropriate response, but I didn't show it because for some reason I thought that would make me weak.

I don't think anger wants anything from me. I don't think it expects me to dance with it, write songs about it, or paint with it. I think it just wants me to give it the right name tag. I start today.

I'm angry that I lost two more babies. In a row.
I'm angry at loss.

I'm angry that the best my doctor had to offer was, "It happens."
I'm angry at helplessness.

I'm angry that my parents can't come to see us and that I can't get to see them often enough.
I'm angry at disease.

I'm angry at the adults in Lovely's life who don't see her as her own person. Who make decisions for her based on their own desires and bitterness.
I'm angry at selfishness.

I don't live in the anger, but I have been living around it. Skirting it. Giving it all the wrong names. In that, I have given it stayability. I don't want that. Giving it all the wrong names lets it seep out into my everyday life and stain the relationships I have worked so hard to polish.

I name you, Anger, and I give you notice. You are only a feeling. You will not rule my life.

Another Day

I still come here and sit quietly. I walk through the pages feeling the chill of a home that has been locked up tight with sheets over the furniture, curtains drawn, and the heat turned down low.

There are emails that sit unanswered. Questions of how I am, what I'm doing, how is the baby. I don't respond.

There are friends I haven't visited. Comments left untyped. My silence has extended from this space into your spaces as well.

I miss you.

I miss this space.

It has been over two months since I left here. I don't think it was a wrong decision. Contrary to my husband's and Cliff's opinions, I don't think it was a defeated decision. It was simply what I felt was right. To say that I was "defeated" means that I was in battle with someone, which is absolutely not the case.

Closing down gave me the distance needed to figure out why I do this in the first place and consider if it is important enough to me to allow access to everyone.

Even people who need restraining orders taken out against them to learn some boundaries.

The answer, obviously, is yes. Yes, it is that important to me. I miss you, and I miss this space. When I visit your blogs now, I feel like the guest that shows up at your house and never a cake or a bottle of wine.

You've missed so much. I've missed recording so much. There is dancing and cruising across furniture. There are five teeth and first words. There is so much joy.

I'm sorry to have vanished like I did.

For all of those who said goodbye, and I am so grateful for all of the comments - I had no idea there were so many of you out there reading - for all of the goodbyes, I hope that you don't mind saying hello again.

I guess that made my previous post an interrupted cadence. A V-vi if you will.

Of course, this is what you've really missed - some pictures of the big guy.

Living within the lines

There are fine lines between optimism, realism, and pessimism. I wrestle with which lines I will live within all the time.

I am aiming for optimism with a few toes over the line in realism.

It works most of the time. Sometimes it lets me down. Like when Kevin and I were first looking at houses. I was insistent that we needed a guest bed and bath on the first floor for when my parents came to visit us. I didn't want them climbing stairs all the time during their visits.

They aren't coming to visit anymore. They cannot.

My dancing around in optimism land had made me not realize that. It didn't dawn on me that their visit in June was their last visit here.

Now that Momma has started chemo again, I find myself trying so desperately hard to remain optimistic. One thing that has helped that is that I know that the better I am at handling it, the easier it is on her. I didn't understand that until I was a mother. But I understand now that one of the hardest parts of her illness is knowing how much her children hurt for her, and for ourselves.

So I keep my foot, at least one at all times, across the line of optimism. It is all I can do some days to plant it there, but I want to be hopeful.

Hopeful for one more birthday.

One more Christmas.

One more New Year.

Little Bird's first birthday.

And as we pass each milestone, I'll dig my heels in a little more to hope for another.

Because like Andrea, the late Punk Rock Mommy said, "I am not “dying”. I am living with a terminal illness that eventually I will die from." Momma knows this statement well.

Momma is still living. I know it is hard, or rather I can only imagine how hard, to take the chemo again and again. But I'm so grateful for every extra day it gives us with you.

And I am hopeful that we are talking about many many many extra days.

I am so grateful for our trip to BlogHer this year, and for pictures like this.
Little Bird and his Nana.

Restoration

Being my own therapist for now, I'm focusing on the positive today. The people who have put a little bandaid on a wound, held a hand, passed over a tissue, or have just given me a little time.

I started thinking about this while I was marathon rocking Christopher yesterday. There are so many more people who have made me feel good about myself this past week than who haven't. I wonder why I'm focusing on the the negative?

Because I let myself.

Lunch at Bach's house. Christopher and I had a wonderful lunch with Bach who has "graduated" from piano lessons. We get to just be friends now, and I'm looking forward to Christopher getting to know his Aunt Bach.

Meeting Susie at the Museum of Life and Science. A real life blogger! Right here near me! I was so excited to get to spend the morning with her and Logan. It was so comfortable. I finally got to see the butterfly house, and Christopher was fascinated with them as they flew by. We braved the heat and humidity to go see the bears and the wolves. The boys took a break to nurse by the wolves, and then we headed inside for some good ole air conditioning. It was like spending the morning with an old friend, only we had just met. I'm hoping to see them again soon.

Another lunch date with Boo. I missed her birthday, like I do every year, but a belated lunch is better than no lunch at all I suppose. Christopher sat in his highchair like a big boy and behaved in a swanky little bistro that I was surprised had a high chair in the first place.

A phone call with Girl. There are some people who can just heal your soul just by having a normal everyday conversation. Girl is one of those people. It doesn't matter if we are deep in my thick emotional baggage or just talking about Joann's, it's another patch in the quilt of friendship that I can curl up with when I'm feeling badly.

Papa stopping by. He has been a frequent visitor the past couple of weeks, and I really like it. I don't usually know he's coming, and in the past, that would have unnerved me a little. But now? I like the company, and I love how much Christopher loves to see him. Grandparents are so important. I'm lucky that he has a Papa so close by.

A new CD. The Dude has a new CD coming out, and he brought by a burned copy of the finished product. He does most all of his own recording using some really nice computer equipment, but I get to do backing vocals. I love doing backing vocals. It's my favorite place to be onstage - singing behind someone, making harmony. I love it. Anyway, the new CD is really good, and it makes me feel really good that he uses my voice when he could easily just record his own backing vocals.

A visit to Winston-Salem. An old friend is living there for a few years while her husband does some post doc work. We have gotten to see each other a few times, always with her doing most of the driving. So Monday, Christopher and I packed up and drove over to Winston to have lunch at her house. There is nothing like being at home with an old friend. The Gail Pittman pottery, the familiar blue and yellow, the beautiful antiques, and the lunch that she was inspired to make because of the baby shower her mother had thrown that weekend back home. There is nothing like poppyseed chicken to make you feel like you are back in Jackson. It was so good to see her, meet her dogs, and just spend some time together.

So there are things. And people. And events. There are reasons for me to feel good.

I just need to remember and acknowledge them.

Wondertime

I have a new favorite magazine. I like it so much that I sent it to two of my friends after I got my first copy in the mail.

Maybe you already know about it. It's called Wondertime. The tag line is "celebrate your child's love of learning."

I'll save the review of the magazine for Props and Pans (where it's been sitting in my drafts folder for entirely too long. Sorry, Emily!), but for now, I would like to give something back to y'all. The people that read these words.

The people who have helped me through some tough times. The people who overlooked my lack of grace and my sometimes plain stupidity.

So here it is. My first giveaway.

I would like to give away a subscription of Wondertime to one of you fabulous readers.

And because I know that a give away tends to lure in more comments than usual, I'll up the anty.

If we can get 25 different commenters, then I'll give away 2 subscriptions.

If there are 40 different commenters, then I'll give away 3 subscriptions.

So leave me a comment and then spread the word. You have until midnight Friday night to leave a comment and I'll announce winners sometime over the weekend.

My family. I love saying that.

I love them so much that just looking at this picture makes me burst into tears while simultaneously feeling like the corners of my mouth are going to split wide open up to my ears from smiling so much.

It should be noted that about an hour after this picture was taken, Bird had the biggest diaper blow out to date all over his daddy's good shirt and pants. Of course.

Had to change the title of this one

This summer, we will head to the beach with Whymommy and her family. For a celebration. Not a goodbye. I cannot put into words how thankful I am for that.

Susan has always been my "see it from a different perspective" friend. The friend who makes me think outside of my box.

In high school, my box was very very tiny, so that wasn't a hard thing. One foot in either direction had me reeling outside of my box. She was very patient with my tiny little private school mind.

Over the years, we have talked, traveled, cried (but not much because we are oh so strong women who really need to get more comfortable with a tissue), laughed, and learned together. She lasted in the learning part far past I did. I bored easily with school, and she tackled it with a vengeance.

She was on the same trip to Mexico which generated the most embarrassing story of my entire life. And she still loves me. I don't know why.

She read my angst filled, totally rhyming poetry in high school. And she still loves me.

She listened to my angst filled, I'll never be Debbie Gibson or Amy Grant, songs in high school. Even sang the harmony. And she still loves me.

She stood up for me at my first wedding even when she knew it was a mistake. Even when her grandmother had just passed away. Even when the dress I made her wear was distinctively pink. And flowy.

She told me the truth about those first weeks of motherhood. She called to check on me, not just the baby. She coaxed me through the darkest days with wisdom and compassion. And she still loves me.

Blogging is funny sometimes. I sat down to write an entirely different post. A post about getting Bird prepared to go to the beach with little hats and swim trunks. And yet, when I let my fingers go, freely typing without thinking (which gets me into trouble more times than not), this is what appeared.

After almost a year of holding my breath and praying for a miracle, here we are planning to meet up at the beach. To celebrate.

It's clear to me that she is worth celebrating. It's clear that I'm lucky to have her as my friend.

It needs to be said that I am so thankful for her treatment and results.

So very very thankful.