Almost two weeks gone

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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:

• Arcade Fire
• Abandon Kansas
• The Avett Brothers
• Band of Horses
• Dawes
• Greg Laswell

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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.