Go Away

Dear Autumn,

Go away. You are not welcome here.

You and I both know what you are up to. You intend to charm me with your cool weather and beautiful sunsets. You will follow those up with crisp leaves, full of gold, crimson, and orange.

I will start to warm up to you a bit when my daily wardrobe becomes jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, because, of course, I look much better in these than in shorts and a tank. But I won't be fooled for long.

Because you've tricked me before.

I am so on to you.

I know that you do not intend to simply blow soft breezes and paint beautiful sunsets for the heck of it.

No.

You're up to much more. You, autumn, will bring about winter.

You sick, sick season, you.

You take away the sun, the pool, the freedom of summer.

And now, this year, you have robbed me of half of a summer.

You make me sick and I hate you.

Go.
Away.

Perky Breasts

(Update: I would like to openly apologize to all the girls that I called bimbos...When we went to pick up Jonah last night, it was abundantly clear that these girls were not bimbos. Which is a good thing, because, again, he's my son, you see?)

My son is at a party.

A 'boy-girl' party.

And a swim party at that.

You know what that means, don't you? Well, I do.

It happens to mean that girls, pretty, blossoming girls are walking around half-naked.

Around my son.

My baby. My little five and a half pound runt.

Not that he's five and a half pounds now, but he's still my baby.

He's 14. That counts, doesn't it?

Beautiful little girls walking around, all proud because they now have perky breasts. Little bimbos.

Oops. Did I actually write that?

(Note to any parent whose child is actually at this party: I'm sure your daughter is not a bimbo. But, you see, it's my son and I'm at home squirming, okay? A little slack here. Please.)

Sigh.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Sigh.

Vomit from the Brain

It's almost Friday. This means that I have brain-swim and in order to sleep tonight, I must purge my brain's full contents.

No jokes here, please.

1) I enjoy brushing my teeth with hot water. I discovered this by accident because our upstairs bathroom sink only has hot water. It just makes me feel like my teeth are cleaner.

Important information to convey, yes, I know.

2) My bed? It's the greatest and every day I think about it many times. More times than necessary, I am sure.

I love the shoulder that I lie on and that my face is always more broken out on that side.

So worth it.

3) I hate the sound of a lawn mower hitting a rock. It's jarring and costly.

4) I also hate that I have never remembered to move or reposition said rock, and that I do not remember it's location until I hear sound #3 again.

And again.

5) I hate that the pool is closing when it's just getting smoking hot.

6) My new favorite food craving is couscous. With anything, but especially with zucchini, cranberries, and feta.

7) I love air conditioning.

And cold water.

8) I love blog hopping late at night. I love reading blogs and finding common thoughts with people that I did not know I had common thoughts with. (Did I just end that with a dangling preposition? I hate that.) I also love disagreeing with people and making out-loud comments while reading blogs. I just wish I had the guts to post a disagreement.

9) More than anything, I love my Friday nap. Love, love, love.

10) I love a full recycling bin. Makes me feel all earthy - until I see all the Pepsi containers and then I hide my face in shame.

11) Mosquite bites are evil and I hate them.

Whew.

Glad I purged my brain.

Thank you for listening to my brain vomit.

Little Moments of Clarity

So often I feel foggy, sort of in a haze.

Usually for about half of each year.

Darn depression.

I'm not talking about feeling down or blue. I'm talking about knock-you-off-of-your-feet depression. Keep you in bed depression. Unless you've been there, you cannot understand...depression.

Call it what you will. Rebuke it, ignore it, medicate it. Talk positive, pray more, exercise until it hurts.

It's still real.

Fortunately, I never felt much shame about it. Once we identified the problem about seven years ago, I felt such a sense of relief. I felt relieved that I really wasn't crazy, I wasn't developing Alzheimer's, and I wasn't permanently doomed to a life of confusion, forgetfulness, and numbness.

Medication?

No question, give it to me.

Now.

I felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

After a few days on medication, I was making breakfast for the boys. Life was a bit more hectic back then, so I didn't even have time to think while making breakfast. All of the sudden, Jonah said something and I laughed.

I laughed.

For a few seconds, I laughed. And it wasn't fake.

It wasn't much, everything suddenly was not better, I wasn't a different person because of medication.

But it was a start.

The start of a long climb up out of a dark pit. The climb that is often one step up, four steps down. The climb that sometimes cannot be measured even by 'one step at a time'. Sometimes, when things are really dark, I have to measure time by 'one breath at a time'.

I don't know why I stayed up last night thinking about the darkness of depression.

I do know that being free from it, for how ever long it lasts, is a priceless gift. And spending the past two days going between the pool and the beach, throwing a beach ball non-stop, laughing with total abandon, has been a bittersweet reminder of how beautiful life can really be.

Without depression.

Money, Money, Money

I hate money.
I love money.

This love/hate relationship has long been brewing.

When I was young, I hashed out this grand scheme. I planned out this perfect, little Utopian society where everyone loved everyone.

And there was no money, no currency.

Everyone was equal because there was no money. Everyone could just 'have' clothes or eat out because nothing cost money. Every person could have a nice car and beautiful flowers because, of course, nothing cost money. Everyone could work and share their talents and gifts with others, free of charge because everyone would be in the same boat.

It was a grand and glorious plan where everyone smiled a lot.

I distinctly remember the day that I figured out that my plan would never work. The day that it finally occurred to me that although some people would still continue to work, some would not. Some would be lazy, some would then work too much to shoulder more than their fair share. And unless every person in the whole world agreed wholeheartedly to my plan, it could never work. I realized that money, no matter how you feel about it, it is a motivator.

It was a sad day for me.

I've come to a few conclusions though:

People who say that they don't care about money probably have money. Maybe they don't have stockpiles of it in the bank, but my guess is that they aren't hungry when they go to bed or sick with an abscessed tooth but can't afford to go to the dentist.

Everyone has their 'things' that they like to spend money on. Mine is eating out. If we have any extra money, I'm eating out. I just love that someone not only makes food for me, but they clean it up! Imagine that!

People who do not have money can be just as proud of not having money as people with money can be of having money. Where one feels proud of their nice car or clothes or boat, the other feels high and lofty because they are 'common purse' or not frivolous with their money.

My son had a birthday this week and we were waiting for payday. I mean, really waiting...I did plan ahead and list a bunch of stuff on ebay, but not one of them sold the last two rounds. So, what should we have done? Skip the birthday? Sorry, son, you'll have to wait for a birthday gift or dinner or party until my stuff sells. Oh yeah, and then wait for me to get paid...

Nope. We took him out and never said one word about the money. Sucked it up and made him feel like a king. We scraped the bottom of the barrel. We did not go crazy, but we bought him gifts and ate where he wanted.

Did we have bills that needed to be paid with that money? Yup. Important things, too.

Was it worth it? Absolutely, positively.

So my question today is, on what do you enjoy spending money? When things are tight and you know they are tight, what still tempts you? And when do you give in? What makes that thing/those things worth giving into? And are they worth it?

I Have So Much to Learn

The boys and I were alone last night, so instead of sitting at home, we decided to go to the marina. We walked on the loading docks and then began walking around the lake. Slowly we began to settle into a little groove under the dam, picking up rocks, looking at fossils, finding the smallest clam shell.

As I was rummaging through the rocks, I found the most perfect stone for skipping. It was flat and round and completely smooth, free of any imperfections. Immediately I held it up as a rare discovery and showed the boys my perfect stone-skipping find.

One of them piped up, asking for the stone. As I began to hand it to him, another of the boys asked for it. Since two boys asked for it, it forced me to pause a minute. During that pause, Jonah said, "Mom, you should do it. You should skip the stone."

I have gone with the boys to skip stones at least a dozen times.
I have watched Jon teach the boys, time and time again.
I have seen the boys perfect their technique and spend many hours with stones and lakes.

But never in my life have I skipped a stone.

I don't even know if I've really ever tried. And for some strange reason, at that moment, that thought really disturbed me. It caught me off guard. Me, mom of boys. Me, the 'fun' aunt. Me, the favorite babysitter. I had never even tried to skip a stone.

I know it may sound like no big deal, but to me, standing there with the perfect stone in my hand, being urged by my oldest offspring, it was a big deal.

So I decided to give it a whirl. Jonah gave me the same quick lesson his dad has been giving him for years. Same technique, same mannerisms, same encouragement.

I drew my arm back to the side and without another moment's hesitation, I let it go. It flew out into the water and bounced once, twice, three, four, and then finally, five times.

And as the circles grew larger and larger until they began to disappear, I wondered why in the world I had waited so long to try.

I pondered what other gifts I had passed off to someone else simply because I was either too lazy, too intimidated, or too busy to try.

But most of all, I marveled at the fact that I had finally given this seemingly trivial, yet terribly rewarding task a try simply because
I was invited.

There's just something special about being invited, isn't there?

An Update

And the amazing matriarch of this family lives on!

Last Saturday night around 10pm, my grandma had a major heart attack. Her situation deteriorated to grave levels and I truly thought that there was a very real, even probable, chance that I would never have my grandma back again.

It was a very surreal experience to stand next to her while she was completely unconscious and had machines breathing for her. Blood test after blood test, every four hours, showed more and more damage being done.

But the tide turned.

Now I would love to tell you that I never doubted, that I knew all along that she would be fine, that I had such strong faith that I never waivered.

I cannot, however, tell you that.

I can tell you that she is breathing completely unassisted. I can tell you that her mind is perfect. I can tell you that she is making sure to have Uno and checkers on hand to play with the grandkids until she gets her strength back. I can tell you that she is speaking Spanish again and is working on her schoolwork while in rehab.

And I can tell you that your prayers, comments, and emails have meant the world and have made a tremendous difference.

Thank you,
thank you...

Long Time Coming

I can't tell you how many times I've composed this letter. And who knows if tonight will actually be the night that I actually give it wings and let it go.


We are blessed, so blessed, with three beautiful children. Children that we have the privilege of knowing, really knowing each and every day. Boys that yell and bleed and love and hug. Boys that will tear through the woods, bow and arrow in tow, limbs tearing through the trees with wild abandon. Children that will tell me their craziest fears, eyes pleading with me to reassure them that their fears will not destroy them, fingers fumbling, desperately trying to believe the things that their father and I believe for them, in them.


I get to be with them.

I get to be with them.

Here.

On earth.

Everyday.

I know their favorite cereal and which pants they want cleaned first. I can tell which one is coughing just by the sound, no matter how far away. I know where they hide their junk when they clean their room and I know the look in their eyes when they are tired.


On the other hand, I have also known the pain of loss. The pain of losing children.

Each one, we have held in our hands, their silent, fragile bodies cold and still.


It is never any easier to say that, nor is it ever any easier to remember. It sucks to relive those days of hoping and anticipation, nervous laughter and sickness, only to once again feel the pain of a body birthing a tiny baby whose life is already gone.


Two years ago, we were overwhelmed with support and love after a loss, upheld by a huge unseen force of friends throughout that time. It was then that we stumbled upon the realization that we were part of the club - the club of parents who had lost a child.

We were humbled, yet conflicted to be a part of this club. On one hand, we felt that we had no reason to be lonely and lost. After all, we had children. We weren't childless. We consoled ourselves with the knowledge that our arms weren't empty, that our homes weren't deathly silent.

That fact, however comforting it is, just does not take away the loss.

The loss.

I got stuck on the 'loss' factor and begin to feel my heart break with all the friends, acquaintances, even the stranger's story of loss. Sometimes the loss they faced wasn't a miscarriage.

Sometimes it was the isolation and waiting of infertility.
Sometimes it was the disappointment over a beloved child making horribly bad choices.

Sometimes it was the loss and shame of an abortion.
Sometimes it was the loss of a child to a tragic death.
Sometimes it was the loss of dreams for a child held captive by a mental illness.
Sometimes it was stillbirth or SIDS or a Trisomy.

Loss.

And as my mind began reeling from hearing everyone's story, processing everyone's loss, I began to feel a new kinship with these families. A kinship that we may never speak of, but it's there.

Often I will meet someone and immediately see something in their eyes, a missing piece, a place of loneliness. And I wonder if they know that it's okay to feel loss, to feel sadness, to feel lonely. To feel conflicted by the gratitude that we encounter in everyday life coupled against the pain of seeing three children play in a yard and realize that I am again, counting, knowing that others are missing.

So, if you are a member of the club, in whatever form, I am so sorry for your loss.
I am sorry for your pain.
Know that it is okay to give your loss a name and a place. To acknowledge that, yes, indeed, this loss is important. It matters. To me, to God. For some, it is quite freeing and healing.

And if you are a member of the club, if you ever want to talk, I am a card-carrying member and would be honored to listen.

Enough Already!

Is there an invisible switch that has been triggered in my home? You know the switch, the one that signals every appliance that it's time is up, and the one that makes each lightbulb burn out.

Or maybe it's more of a switch that triggers the bottom to fall out.

In the past few weeks:

-My tooth broke, causing excruciating pain, night and day. A root canal was needed. $2000, please.
-Our washing maching broke beyond repair. Now, last year we did without a dryer for almost a year, but a washer is a little harder to do without.
-The dvd/vcr player broke. Not a big deal, I'll grant you, but by this time we were getting a little suspicious.
-The front door handle fell off. Jon saved it many times, but eventually it just fell off everytime we touched it. I'm sorry, but a family needs to be able to go in and out. Did you know that a front door handle (that fits our door) costs around $150???

By this time, I was in a corner, cowering, both hands over my head, begging 'it' to stop.

I thought a hot shower might make me feel better.

Wait, no, that won't work. The shower head exploded, yes exploded while Jonah showered. I'll just go to the other shower. No, I can't do that. Both the handles have fallen off...

Okay.
Stop.
Enough!

I think Gable summed it up perfectly. As we sat reeling from the past weeks, Gable sat down and wistfully said, "Dad, I wish money trees really were real."

Me too, little buddy.
Me too.

The Journey

Last Sunday, around 4:00, Jon and I headed out of town on a little getaway. The trip came up totally unexpectedly and we grabbed the opportunity and held on with all of our might.

Jon was in the Navy for most of our dating life and after we got married, we were both working and I was in college doing coursework and clinical rotations. While I was still in college, we had our first baby. Our time together, without children, was practically non-existent. Oh sure, we had a honeymoon, but quite frankly, we just didn't like each other back then. I hated the things that Jon loved and we said horrible things to each other. Our entire honeymoon was spent trying to get time alone, away from each other.

Even now it hurts to openly admit that.

But this trip, this spontaneous getaway, this second chance at a honeymoon, was a gift. It was a gift from my friend's parents, who at the last minute discovered that they were unable to use their timeshare which was about to expire. It was a gift from my friends, who all pitched in to watch three crazy boys so we could go alone. It was a gift of time for us. Four days of uninterrupted, uncluttered time.

We had never had that much time together, just the two of us.

There's just something about the sight of my husband's wedding ring on his hand that makes my heart go pitter patter. Put it together with strumming and oh my, my, my...

Yeah, we did lots of this. Nice. Very nice.
Those would be the I-so-freakin-adore-you-eyes. And no, that is not Saddam Hussein on his shirt, as commonly thought. It is the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.
It snowed about an inch or so. The whole city shut down. I think the snow memory is my favorite, so I will share it. We were heading back up the mountain to our resort. All of the restaurants and stores had long since closed. When we got to the bottom of the mountain, there was a long line of cars stopped. Off to our left was another line of cars stopped and those people were all standing outside their cars. At first we thought that someone was stuck or that we were waiting for the snow plow to make it up the mountain, but eventually we learned that everyone had given up and was now floundering for ideas on how to make it to their rooms. Two men standing by Jon's window took one look at us (yeah, so we were in a minivan, so what?) and sneered to Jon, "You ain't goin' nowhere so you might as well just sit tight." I didn't even need to look at Jon to see what he would do, I already knew it. Oh yeah, we went and oh yeah, we made it. Is it wrong to want to go all the way back down the mountain just to see that face with the egg all over it??
Um, I seem to have not quite grasped the concept of crisp pictures yet on this camera, but that is not the point. The point of this picture is that this is us on January 19, which just happens to have been the day we met 18 years ago. We had buffalo wings on that first day and we had wings again this year. It was during the Gulf War and Jon was on leave. Great timing, eh?

You know you're a coffee snob when the french press, spring water, and Roger's fresh-roasted coffee beans accompany you on a vacation.
Do you know what I spent a lot of time doing on vacation? Doing my hair, putting on makeup, taking baths. Do you know why? Because I am a girl, that's why. I made Jon wait a long time (well, okay, not long, but longer than usual) when we were going on a date. Do you know what else? He didn't mind. In fact, he loved waiting on me.

Why are we taking pictures of ourselves in Wal-Mart? I do not know, but it was fun. Wal-Mart on vacation is more fun than Wal-Mart in Lawrenceburg. Go figure.

The time together, the beautiful chunk of time together, was an amazing gift. I can't wait to do it again.

Toilet Paper and Other Staples

I love the gifts my in-laws bring. Things like new dish towels and huge packages of toilet paper. A bag of nuts, and a box of staple items getting old sitting in their pantry. I love these gifts - I look forward to them all year.


These are not our official 'Christmas gifts', but just some glad to see you gifts. Our Christmas gifts are under the tree. Well, our big gift is the big black hole in our living room, otherwise known as our new television. But there is also a gift under the tree from the in-laws.

Mine just happened to have a little hole in the wrapping paper.


Now maybe it was from traveling across the country or maybe it was from the cats and dogs crawling over it. Whatever the reason, the temptation proved to be too much and I opened it.


Don't judge, I re-wrapped it of course...


In all honesty, even if the gift wasn't torn a bit, I may have unwrapped it anyway. It's something I've just always done.


I peek at gifts.


There. It's out.

Some People Deserve a Little Special Attention

Continuing with my emotionally, weepy theme...

As previously mentioned, my in-laws are in town now. We weren't exactly sure when they would arrive or even exactly when they would get out the door and on the road. The drive from Colorado is 22-hours if driving with my husband, but much longer if driving with his parents. Apparently, they do things like stop to eat and stop to sleep in a hotel. Or two. And stop to pee instead of using...oh never mind, we won't go there.

Saturday night, they called and said they had just passed St. Louis and they would be to Jon's sister's late that night and planned to be at church on Sunday morning. I didn't want to tell everyone that Grandma and Grandpa were almost here just in case they stopped at a hotel or were too tired to come to church. I figured no one would be disappointed if they didn't make it to church because we didn't plan on seeing them until late Sunday night or Monday. I did, however, tell Gable and Gable and I decided to keep it a secret.

It was our little secret.

Gable got up early and headed to church with Jon. While the other boys and I were headed to church around 10, Gable called me on my cell.

This is when I got weepy.

He said that he had told Steve Nixon the secret, but not to worry because Steve was going to keep it a secret AND Steve was helping him out. Helping him out? I asked him what exactly that meant. He said that meant that Steve was helping him look for Grandma and Grandpa.

Seriously?

How special is it that my 10-year old son can share his special secret with one of the guys from church? That my son can hang out early in the morning with his dad and be surrounded by such great guys that he learns to trust them and let them in on his secret mission.

When I got to church, sure enough, Gable and Steve were on the lookout for my in-laws. And a minute later, Gable exploded, THEY'RE HERE!!

Not only did Gable take off running for the frigid parking lot, but oh dear, here's where I get weepy again...

He grabbed Steve to run out there with him.

And Steve went.

He went as if it was the most important thing in the world to him.

In the parking lot, amongst grandparents excited to see their grandchildren for the first time in six months, among all the kissing and hugging and exclamations, Steve was there.

Thank you, Steve. Thank you for being a friend not only to me, but to Jon and to my boys. Thank you for 'losing the game' 10,000 times, for being beaten by little boys, and for choosing to accept Gable's 'big secret' like it was the greatest mission on the face of the earth.

For him, at that moment, it was.

Thank you.