Ravenna

My Ravenna. Wow. She's this complex, wonderful, yet aggravating little girl. She's the cutest little thing you've ever seen. She's funny and quirky and insane. She's really bad though. She listens to no one & will do what ever she feels. She'll leave the room for two seconds and do something bad - then she'll come back in with her cute little self saying "I'm sorry Moggy" in that sweet little voice of hers. Really, you hear the word Moggy come out of her mouth and you're done for. She sings and sings. She's quite the dancer too.

She is a force to be reckoned with. I don't want to crush her independent spirit, but I would like her to listen to me - or at least pretend!

My little Ven is a broad. She's sweet as pie, and very girly. I paint her fingernails at least three times a week. She plays dress up all the time and loves her baby dolls. Make no mistake though, she will kick your butt if you try to mess with her. If Coen tries to take one of her babies, she'll whomp on him. Seriously - flying tackles and all.

I tell people all the time what a little hellcat she is, and that I'm glad I only have one like her. They think I'm kidding. Oh no, I'm not. I can barely handle her - I couldn't handle another one!

I don't want you to think I'm complaining about my daughter. I'm not. She is what she is - to the max. She's a free spirit, to say the least, and I love her and all of her Ravenna-ness.

She's going to be able to do whatever she sets her mind to do. I believe she can change the world someday.

Christmas Momminess...

I'm a mom. I knew I was a mom before Christmas, but now I'm REALLY a mom. Santa brought me a crock pot, cookie sheets and flannel jammie pants. All I'm missing is the bubble bath and the fuzzy slippers - the sad part is that I would have liked to add those to the pile. I loved everything Santa left under my tree! I've not only become a mom - I've become MY mom! Oh, Lord!

I had the giggles all Christmas morning watching my kids open all their gifts. They were really into it this year. Christmas is really starting to get fun at our house. I tend to be a Scrooge about the Christmas running, but after this year's Christmas morning - I'm looking forward to next year already. It was so much fun and filled my heart with such joy to watch my kids' every move Christmas morning.

Oh - and Christmas Eve service at church... Ven was a real pain, but I wouldn't change it for the world. Coen sang in the choir and then he was an angel in the children's nativity. His robe was too big and he kept tripping on it, but he really looked like a little angel with his tinsel halo draped around his head. The whole time there was Ven in the isle yelling - "There's my brother! Look he's an angel!" - you know, in 2-year-old language. She sang during all the songs. She had no idea what she was singing, but it didn't stop her. When we lit the candles she started singing Happy Birthday.

So this is Christmas.

The holiday changed for me that first year Coen was born, but now that the kids are getting into the holiday it's a whole new ballgame. We read The Night Before Christmas & I explained what a clatter and a sash were. Coen and Ven cut out cookies and piled loads (and loads) of sprinkles on top of them to pass out to all of our friends and neighbors.

It's just the beginning for our family. I can't wait until next year when Lil will be able to get excited about opening presents as much as her older brother and sister. I can't wait for all the Christmas mornings to come. Our livingroom looked like a tornado whipped through. It was great. I would say I feel like a kid again, but that's not it. It's better than that - I'm a mommy.

The constant worry... aka "Parent"

I love being a mom. I discovered with my first born child that every cliche you ever heard about being a parent was true. "You never thought you could love anyone so much." "It's the most amazing thing you'll ever experience." "You'll never look at anything the same again." They're all true. The other one that also got me was "You'll worry about them for the rest of your life."

You do. You worry about everything. I never used to me so neurotic, but I am now. I try to play it cool, but it's always in the back of my mind. What's worse is that I work in the media. I sit and read the AP news wire every night. I see things that you don't want to know about. What is wrong with people that they do such horrible things to kids? It just makes me a freak about my kids even more. I tone it down a bit for my husband, or he may have me committed. Seriously, what is wrong with these people? I would love to let my kids go out and play in the back yard while I'm putting lunch together, but I'm afraid to leave them in the yard unattended. Someone might come by and snatch them off of their swing.

What kind of world is this? Was it always like this? Has the media done this to us? Has the media made us all such neurotic freaks that our kids aren't allowed to walk to school anymore, or is the world going to hell in a hand basket? Perhaps it's a little of both, I don't know. All I know is that I've always dreamed of having children, and now I have three of the most beautiful babies I've ever laid eyes on, and I've never been so scared in my life. Sometimes my chest tightenes up and I find it hard to take a solid breath when I think about it.

I watch my children bounce around and play and use their little imaginations and I wonder, how could anyone hurt something like that? I can't imagine it gets easier as they get older, but I hope so. In the meantime, I'll just pray for them.

Hard Friends

Every one has that one friend. The friend that is really hard to be friends with, but you keep them around anyway. Our reasons may vary as to why they're hard to be friends with, and why we continue to keep them around. This doesn't make them bad friends, but it makes them hard friends.

I have one of these. I've known this person for almost 20 years. In those 20 years, their friendship was always a hard one, but also rewarding. Everyone would always ask me why I chose to spend so much time with this person, and my answer was always the same - because I like them & we have fun together. We could always share things we couldn't talk about with other people, be goofy and stupid the way we couldn't with other people, and cry in front of each other because neither of us would ever cry infront of other people. We really were the yin to each other's yang.

Over the years we've still managed to keep this friendship. It's still the same in some ways, but it has drastically changed in others. We can still share things with each other that we wouldn't necessarily share with anyone else. We can be goofy, but my friend is rarely in the mood to be goofy, or take a joke. She cries in front of me, but I rarely cry in front of her - it seems uncomfortable in a weird sort of way. She has changed, but hasn't at the same time.

She never has time for me unless she needs something, it seems. She has other friends that she goes off and acts goofy with. She spends her time with them and confides in them. She calls me when things aren't going right. I'm the person that gets all of her problems. Not everytime she calls, but most of the time.

Do I sound jealous? Well, I am. She was my friend, and now she has no time for me unless she needs me for something. I couldn't tell you the last time we went out together. I used to ask her to do stuff with me all the time, and then she would bail on me at the last minute. I still ask her to do stuff with me, but she's always got an excuse as to why she can't. The thing about it is that she calls me after ditching me to tell me about all the stuff she's done with all of these other people. She honestly doesn't think this hurts my feelings. She means no harm to me, but causes it all the same. I don't say anything to her about it, why add something to the list of woes crashing down upon her.

I bought my house almost two years ago and can count on one hand the number of times she's been in it. Even then it was with someone else, or for a birthday party. She practically drives by it every day.

She recently celebrated a birthday, or should I say didn't celebrate a birthday. She made plans with all her friends to go out together. She wanted to invite all her friends from work and everyone she was friends with outside of work too. I called that night to wish her Happy Birthday and found her at home by herself crying because everyone bailed on her. I was angry for a couple of reasons. First of all, how dare these people treat her like this. Secondly, why was I never invited? I even brought it up while she was sobbing on the other end of the phone. Normally I keep these things to myself, but I was so extremely hurt by this that I asked why I wasn't included. "Well, you have a family an I figured you were with them." Excuse me? Of course I'm with them - we all live together. Am I being punished for having a family? Is my family the reason why I've become the friend she doesn't actually want to spend time with, but is OK to come to when the chips are down? My husband doesn't keep me chained in the basement. I'm allowed to go out with my friends. Would I do it every weekend? No, but I would go out with my friend for her birthday. As a matter of fact, if this particular friend called and said I'll meet you in 5 minutes, can you be there? I would fly like the wind.

Then I sat and really thought about it. Why do I still chose to be friends with this person? The answer is because she needs me, and that's what friends are supposed to do - be there when they're needed. I'm not the person she wants to go out with and have fun with. Sure, she only calls me when her world is turning upside down. But that's why we were paired up. I'm her rock to lean on. I'm her consistency. I'm the person she feels safe to call when things are tough and I can listen without trying to fix everything. I can offer her my view on things to help sort things out. I can share with her, and we can still talk about things that we would never utter to anyone else.

I'm her glue, and her strength - and that's not a bad thing to be. Is it hard sometimes? Yes. Am I up to it? Yes. Friendships evolve, just as people do. Our friendship may not always be like this, but if it is, that's OK.

I still may get jealous, but I'll be fine. I've just come to accept that she needs me to be the pillar she leans on. I would be lying if I didn't say that I'm honored to be someone's pillar, but just every once in a great while it would nice just to be girlfriends going out to have a good time.

For the sake of Santa

My husband and I went out a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving and did our Christmas shopping in one day. Sure there were a handful of items here or there that needed to be picked up, but for the most part we were done - at least for our kids.

Then it happened.

After Thanksgiving at his cousins' house all we've heard about is the "Wii."

"Maybe we should get Daddy one of those for his birthday in the spring, do you think that would be good?"

"That's a really long time away, isn't it?"

"It's only a couple of months."

"Yeah, I think I'll ask Santa to bring it to our house and Daddy and I can share it - and we'll share it with you and Ravenna and Lily too!"

OH NO!!! Don't ask Santa for the IT toy that no one can get their hands on!! That's all we hear about night and day. "I'm going to ask Santa for a Wii! All I want Santa to bring is a Wii! I can't wait to get my W"ii!

Now, I realize we can sit him down and explain to him that maybe Santa can't get a Wii, but how do you tell this to a 4 year-old. I realize we can also explain to him that he's 4 and maybe should wait until he's older to ask Santa for a Wii. Here's the thing - my husband and I really want Santa to bring us a Wii too! However, knowing how hard they are to come by, we thought we would ask the Easter Bunny to leave one intsead.

OK - here's the deal I made with my husband. Find out who's going to get them in and exactly what I need to do get ahold of one. Toys R Us - no later than 5am on Sunday morning. Are you kidding me? I have to stand in line with all those video game losers and crazy people that camp out infront of stores all night? Then Coen runs through the room "When Santa brings me my Wii, I'll teach you how to bowl. OK, Mom?"

So there I am turning the alarm off at 4:15 am on Sunday morning. I stop at Sheets and get some very tasty French Vanilla Cappuccino. I pull into the parking lot thinking I could sit in the car a minute to enjoy my Cupp-o-joe, but there's already a pretty good size line going out there. The scoop we heard was that they were getting in between 20 and 30 games that morning. Well, I'm about the 25th person in line... they better be getting closer to 30, or I'm gonna be pissed.

I sat in line and chatted with the elderly lady infront of me. Her grandkids really wanted one, so she was there with the rest of us on a cold, rainy Sunday morning. Thank goodness there was a roof over our heads, or this could have been even more miserable. There was another guy behind me getting one for his 13 year-old daughter. Their kids were old enough to get that, if we can't find one before Christmas we can always get one later on. My kid doesn't get that. The game plan was; I'll stand in line once. If I get one, great! If not, he's getting a $10 gift card from Toys R Us with a little note from Santa that the store was out, but we can go get one ourselves. I think he would be OK with that.

I was a little curious, so I asked the people around me if they would hold my spot for me for just a minute. They were very nice to do so, so I wandered up to the front of the line. Up front was this blonde woman with a scarf wrapped over her whole face like the invisible man. She had about three blankets on her and was lounged back pretty far in her chair. Her name was Laurie. She wasn't very talkative, and actually a little rude. She said she had been there since 12:30. I then decided she wasn't rude, but cold, tired and probably sick of people asking her what time she got there. The next person in line arrived at 3:30. So from 12:30 to 3:30 AM this little blonde woman was camped out infront of a store all by herself over by Chapel Hill! I'm not saying it's a bad area - it doesn't matter what area it is - that's just not safe! She's lucky someone didn't find her body behind Marcs that next day! But she was able to stay safe, and her kid will have a happy Christmas now.

I arrived at exactly 5 am and didn't sit in my car to drink my cappuccino, I drank it in line. I seemed to be getting colder and colder as we stood there. Time was moving so slow & I had the wrong car. It was so early I wasn't even thinking -"grab a blanket & a lawn chair!" I thought of it on my way there, but not before I left the house. There was a group towards the front of the line wearing their hunting gear and had a heater blasting on them that was attached to their car battery. Now that's preparation! I couldn't even find my hat!

Around 7:30 the doors opened. A guy came out and passed out flyers with sales tickets attached to them. As he moved down the line the woman in front of me and I thought the pile might make it to us. We held our breath and waited. YES!!!!!! YES YES YES!!!! I called my husband to find out exactly what else I was supposed to buy to go along with this thing. When I got off the phone I looked behind me. There were five people standing there. Whew! I'm glad I didn't sit in my car to drink my coffee! Santa will not disappoint - at least this year. The 30, or so people behind me that had been waiting for hours in the cold and rain all left. They'll probably be back later to buy a gift card.

I'm sorry to all of you who've stood in line for hours outside of a store before it opens. You're not all crazy nuts. Most of you are parents who love your kids. Most of you are all thinking, "I'm crazy to be doing this, but it's worth it." I'm now a part of the club. This was my first time, but I'm sure it won't be my last. I'll remember to get out the camping gear next time!

My Belated Thanksgiving.

I often feel like there's a lot of crap happening to me and my family. I don't mean crap, like stuff, but crap like someone somewhere is crapping on us - bad juju - you know? One thing I've learned is to sit back and evaluate what's good about the situation. I've always been self conscious about myself in every aspect. To help humor myself I would always say, well, there's always someone who'll look worse than me there! It started out as a joke, but I've started to adapt that to so many things in my life in a positive way. I tend to look at the glass as half full, but when I really stop to think, my cup runneth over. Even though Thanksgiving was last week, I would still like to share some of these things with you.

I'm Thankful for...

- a husband who loves me - even on my crazy, would-anyone-notice-if-my-wife-went-missing days

- the hands-on Dad Jason is

- three beautiful children

- my family - extended in both directions - we're so lucky to have such supportive, loving people around us

- our home - it's ours, we can paint it and do whatever we want with it - it's where our children will grow up and some day call "coming home"

- We recently found out that Lily has a weird bone abnormality in both of her hips. We're not sure what is in store for her future yet, but I'm still thankful. I sat there at Children's Hospital one afternoon watching really, really sick kids going by. I'll have my daughter - and my other two children- until my dying day.

- that even on the bad days, I love my job.

- that my dad was my best friend. He was close with all of us kids, but I was able to share time with him that my other siblings didn't.

- my brother has started coming to church with us - even if it is for his children's sake. I still pray that he will find the path The Lord wants him to take - he spends a lot of time off-road.

- my children get to spend so much time with our families.

- for the relationships I have now that I'm a adult, which were much different as a child.

- to belong to such a wonderful, supportive church, which will allow me to grow stronger in my faith through my own journeys

- for my friends, the good ones and the not-so-good-ones

- for all the hard-times I've fallen on. Because of them I'm strong, and I can appreciate what I have

- for being taught the honor in working hard, and doing it right

- for the morals and standards my parents instilled in me

I could go on and on, but I won't. Instead I'll let you take a moment to fill your glass - even if it's only to the half way mark.

Passing the Taters

When I came into work today, I did as I do most days and wandered down the hall to the "The Little Hole" aka Chuck's office. Chuck is one of those co-workers that you're lucky enough to call your friend. After being at home all day with three kids 4 and under (AAAAAAHHH!!!), it's one of the highlights of my day. It's my chance to sit and relax and have an adult conversation (meaning a conversation between two adults... not necessarily conversations on adult subjects). He's the person I share stories with, concerns, questions, thoughts and bad jokes. Not as a shrink, but as a friend, and I get the opportunity to return the favor. It works out quite well. As we were sharing stories today, we somehow got on the subject of a young man Chuck was recently in contact with who was having a smorgishborg with what he could get from his own beak. This kid was old enough to know better too - like 14. He just had that finger shoved right in there and when he took it out he licked it like a lollipop - over and over again going back for more. Maybe his boogers taste like cotton candy? Who knows?

Why am I telling you this, well it brought to mind a story of my own. About a month ago on a Saturday morning, I had some Mommy time. Jason was taking all three kids to the Y with him and leaving me home all by myself to get some cleaning done - something I'd been begging for time to do. The only thing was that I didn't feel like cleaning that day. Don't you just hate that? I just kept that little bit of info to myself though. We were all getting dressed in Mom and Dad's room in front of the cartoons. Everyone was on the bed - I was getting Ven dressed and Jason was making Lil pretty. I heard Jason say "Oh yuck, let me get a ..." before he could finish the sentence Coen jumps up and says "I'll get it, Dad." He then proceeds to take his finger and swipe up the snot runnung out of Lily's nose... and then eat it! OH MY GOSH! I thought Jason was going to blow chunks right there! (Chuck had a very similar reaction when I told him this story). He starts screaming at Coen and telling him how disgusting he is and just scaring the poor little thing to death. I chased Dad out of the room and we had a much calmer conversation about his nastiness. It's bad enough he eats his own boogers, but that was just beyond the normal realm of nasty we're used to.

We continued on with our morning and all was well. I hugged everyone goodbye and waved as they pulled out of the driveway. I then let out a huge sign of relief. MY FAMILY IS GONE AND I"M HERE ALL BY MYSELF!!! I should be ashamed, but I'm so NOT! I decided to scoot on around the corner to our church, where there was a craft show going on that day. It was so nice. It was just me. I took my time and looked at everything and spoke to everybody. It was church, I knew a ton of people there. My conversation wasn't interrupted by a whining child and my husband wasn't sitting outside in the van glaring at me to hurry up - he's just shy of beeping... he knows better than to beep. Anywho, it was nice. I got home and went upstairs to kick off my shoes. On the way I passed a huge mirror in the hallway. As I do just about every time I pass it, I looked in to check that all the pieces of me were still there. They were, but to my horror, pieces of a child were there too! Right there on the front of my plain turquoise T-shirt was a gigantic crusty booger stuck to my chest! It must have been passed along while I was Goodbying the kids! OH, MAN! And to think there I was stopping to chat away with everyone I saw at church. I felt so stupid and nasty. Boogers, my grandma used to call them Taters - I thought that was so funny. I miss Grandma.

Darth Vader Mom

I've decided to transfer some of my blogs from MySpace here since not everyone is on MySpace. Some of these blogs have been viewed already by some, but to others they'll be new.

MySpace posting from

June 6, 2007 - Wednesday

Darth Vader Mom

Just a goofy little story I thought I would share. For those of you who don't know, my beloved is a Star Wars geek. Yes, I knew this before I married him. In fact, I've noticed over the years that this geeky-ness tends to wear off on others...

So Coen and I are baking brownies for my brother to thank him for putting up our new ceiling fans yesterday. As I'm bent down in the oven trying to get the pans out, Coen keeps bumping into me. I told him that he was going to knock me in and I would get burnt, to please be careful. He then proceeds to tell me how if he knocked me into the oven then my head would catch on fire and my face would get all red and I would become a Darth Vader Mom.

I asked my husband about watching Episode III with him - he of course, denied it. Mom knows better though...

Small Victories

... originally posted on MySpace on

September 27, 2007 - Thursday

Sometimes it’s the small victories...

I am so excited with Coen being in school! He's learning how to write! I get so tickled to look in his little bookbag after school and see his worksheets with letters and numbers written on them! It's so stupid, but it just makes me giddy. He's getting so big! Of course, I don't just get giddy at his school work, but he's starting to make good decisions too - granted he still makes bad ones, but he's only 4 and still learning.

He has a little friend, Ben, at preschool. Ben's mom and I decided to get the kids together after school today and take them to McDonald's to play for lunch. It was raining today so there were a ton of kids there. It seems everytime you go to one of these places there's always that group of kids where you wonder if their parents are even there - or if they are if they're going to say something to their obnoxious kids. Those people were there today. There were about 4-5 kids around Coen's age running around, screaming, puching others kids and knocking them down. They were hitting and name calling - and I just wanted to beat these kids. I was so proud when Coen and Ben decided by themselves that they didn't want to play with those kids because they didn't play nice. They decided to stick together and go somewhere else if those kids were bothering them.

He's not perfect. He throws himself when told no - he pouts when he doesn't get instant gratification - he pushes his sister and doesn't listen to directions all the time. But then he makes a decision all on his own to be a better person and it makes it so much easier to handle the other stuff. He's 4. He's not perfect (nearly, but not completely), but apparently the values we're teaching him are sinking in somewhere. He chose not to be an asshole all on his own! It's the victories in life that excite me.

Autum Meanderings...

Another post transferred from MySpace...

October 2, 2007 - Tuesday

Autum meanderings...

I'm not sure what it is about Autum, but that's my thinking season. Even as a child I would ponder life as the leaves shifted from a lush green to rich shades of crimson and gold. I would think of the past and dream of my future. At 30 , I still find myself drifting off with the falling leaves. Each breeze a loved one from my past embracing me and each rain drop a tear I once shed. I don't know why Autum sends me here each year, but it does. It's something I look forward to. It helps put my life into perspective, and refreshes me. I remember who I am and remind myself of who I want to be. It's odd, I don't necessarily mourne, but reflect on the lives of those I've lost.

I used to tell my grandparents that I wanted to be either an artist or a poet when I grew up. I suppose I'm both of these things, but could never make a living by them. I remember bounding across my grandparent's kitchen to stir the chicken soup with my grandpa hot on my heels. We used to have chicken soup, ritz crackers and cheese for lunch over there. Me, Grandma and Grandpa would sit around the card table and play war and Uno all afternoon. Later on we would have a coffee cup of milk and oreo cookies out of the "grandma" cookie jar. My grandmother gave me that cookie jar later in her life. I smile at that little gray haired lady in my kitchen everyday.

On the other side of my kitchen, hanging on the wall, is an article from the Mr. Thrifty. It's about my dad's bakery. There's a picture of him decorating a cake while me, my mom and my brothers watch close by (my sister was off being a cool teenager that day, I'm sure). We used to get up in the middle of the night and go into work with my parents on Saturday mornings. My brother, Jeff, and I would bring our blankets with us and curl up on the big hundred pound sacks of flour and sugar in the back. They were like no other kid's bunk beds. My friends would beg to come to the bakery with me and help bake. We would fill cream sticks, count out rolls for the Triple Crown or Byler's orders. We got to decorate the gingerbread men with little icing buttons, and help guide school tours. This was my childhood. It was like no other child's I know. It was wonderful while it lasted. There was this big oven that took up the whole wall with shelves that rotated inside. Everday I would run up to my dad and he would pick me up to look in there. It was the highlight of my day when he picked me up. It was a ritual. Somewhere when I was about 6 or 7 years old my dad told me he couldn't pick me up anymore because I was getting so big that it just hurt him too much. Now, I realize I was young, but it didn't make sense to me that my dad, this big hulking muscular man couldn't pick me up. I wasn't a fatty - I probably weighed 45 pounds at the time - if that. Soon there were more and more days that Dad would stay home from the bakery until eventually it was just Mom running it alone. My parents sold our bakery when I was in 5th grade. My dad had rheumatoid arthritis and had just suffered his third heart attack. From that day on it was me and dad. We did everything together. I took care of him and he took care of me. A few years later - I think I was in junior high - Dad had a stroke the night before Thanksgiving. That was the year we spent the whole winter visiting him in the hospital. Santa delivered everyone's gifts in trash bags that could be thrown in the car and taken to the hospital to be opened with Dad. After the new year he was finally transferred to Edwin Shaw and eventually made it home for my birthday in March. Yeah, me and Dad were inseperable. I could tell him anything and he always had great advice. I found my friends coming to him searching for direction just as much as I did. All of our friends really, mine, Jay's, Jeff's and even Linda's. All the while was my mom in the background busting her ass to keep us afloat. She worked so hard, and found time to be a mom too. I know she was tired, but I think tired, or not she looked forward to doing things with us. We went to every concert and ballet in the park there was. We were at every county fair, and every parade you could think of. Mom is still like this. She busts her ass to keep her head above water, but I've never seen anyone enjoy life as much as her- hardships and all. I have always loved my mom, but she's the kind of woman you don't really fully appreciate until later in life. As a kid I didn't fully recognize her sacrifice, but as an adult I thank her everyday. I'm glad that she is here to enjoy her grandchildren and do all the fun stuff she did with us as kids.

I can't help but wish my dad could have enjoyed all his grandchildren, but if he were still alive I'm fearful it wouldn't be the case. I miss Dad terribly and everyday my heart breaks all over again that he's not here, but I know God was holding him in the palm of His hand for some time before taking him home. I'm selfish to wish he were still here. He was in pain constantly, and if he were still here today, what kind of quality of life would he have? Not good, I can tell you that. I was mad at God for years before coming to peace with Him. I spent my 17th birthday in a funeral home looking at the lifeless body of my father. I kept thinking I had done something to make God take him away from me. Perhaps if I had done something different I would still have my dad. It was the cruelest thing I had ever experienced. I was a kid. My dad never got to see me graduate, or get married. He never had a conversation with my husband, or at least gave him a good ribbing. He has never held my children, smelled their freshly washed hair or pretended to eat the plactic food they prepared just for him. My oldest nephew, Shane, was just about 1 when Dad passed away. He met one of his grandchildren, an honor my sister knows as her's alone and cherishes. Between all of us kids, my parents have 10 grandchildren! My mom sits and cries when we're all together and her house is full of spastic children running in every direction. We all wilt a little at the thought of Dad missing it. We know he's watching, and hasn't really missed any of it, but it's just not the same as having him here with us.

I often ask myself if Dad would be proud of the woman I've become. Have I made choices in my life that reflect the kind of person he had dreamed of me becoming, just as I dream of my own children? I will never know for sure, but I like to think that he would be proud of me. I'm not perfect - far from it, actually, but I'm proud of the choices I've made - even the hard ones.
It's taken many autums to find this peace I have with my life. It's taken many autums to forgive God for taking my father at such a young age, and ask for forgiveness in return for my anger.

Here we are again, in my season of thought. The season of my past, and the season where I dream of my future. I dream of what the future holds in store for me, my husband and most of all our children. I will spend many quiet moments lost in my thoughts in these months to come, and I can't wait!

The Big "C"

posted on MySpace on

October 9, 2007 - Tuesday

The Big "C"

I told myself over and over again " Don't worry about anything until I know there's something to worry about". As we all know from personal experience it's easier to dish out this advice than take it. The fact is, yes, you're going to worry about it because... well because you're human. It never matters what "it" is, but "it" is always there in the back of your head. The trick is not to let "it" run your life, or ruin it. "It" is just there.

Let me recap my past week. On Wednesday I went in for a biopsy on a "suspicious mass" found in my right breast. I was fine going into the procedure. Sure, the word "cancer" had crept into my head, but I paid no attention to it. By the end of the day Thursday I was so tired of having breast cancer shoved in my face that I was just getting numb to the idea that I may have it. It's October. Orange is no longer the color of the month, pink is. It's Breast Cancer Awareness Month - you know, in case you weren't aware. It's EVERYWHERE - every commercial break on TV, every billboard on the side of the road, on the food products at the grocery store, on the radio, on the back of everyone's car - EVERYWHERE! Quite frankly, it was pissing me off. I was trying to stay positive while waiting for my biopsy results! During all of this, I somehow pinched a nerve in my neck. I could hardly move my right shoulder or neck - I was in a lot of pain, and a little stressed out, so needless to say, I wasn't sleeping well (despite the vicodins and muscle relaxers I was downing). My mom came and took the kids Friday so I could lay down and get some sleep. It was about when my head hit the pillow that thedrug-induced "what ifs" crawled inside of my head. Do you remember that old Shel Silverstien poem about the What Ifs having the party in your head at night while you're trying to fall asleep? Well, those little shits were having a kegger in there. I started planning how I would tell my husband and my family that I had cancer - IF I had cancer. I sat and tried to figure out if I should leave the kids video messages for their birthdays since I won't be here for them, or if I should write letters. I
decided on letters, by the way - I was always better at that. I had planned to read aloud all my favorite books of every level and record it on CD for the kids so they wouldn't forget my voice. I thought if they could drift off to sleep hearing my voice then they wouldn't forget me. I was going to write down every memory I had of my time with them so they would remember too. I thought about how Lily wouldn't remember me at all and would have to hear stories from Coen. I thought about how hard it would be for Jason going at it alone. Sure he would have my blessing remarrying, but knowing Jason the way I do , he wouldn't do it until later in life. I prayed. I prayed a lot. Then I started thinking that maybe I prayed for this.

I was constantly praying to grow closer to God and asked Him to help lead me in the path that would strengthen my faith. I thought cancer was the way he was answering my prayer, and I'll be quite honest, I told him that was really messed up. Then I told God that whatever He had planned for me was His will and I would accept it, but to please let me raise my children first. If I was going to get cancer than please, no matter what, help me survive it. I wasn't done raising my children. I want my children to know God and grow into good christians. I feared that if I were to die, Jason would turn his back on a God that would take a young mother and wife and my children would never know God. I feared for not only them, but Jason as well. If I had cancer, fine, but don't let me die of it. I can do good things for You better here on earth than from above. It may only be four souls, but they were my four souls to care for.

By Monday I was scared to death still, but had found some sort of peace as well. What was going to happen was going to happen and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. Yes, I would fight it, but I wasn't even positive I had cancer. This afternoon my doctor called and said I had someone looking out for me. I don't have breast cancer - yet. I have a pre-cancerous calcification. This means it's the kind of calcification that has certain cells that can develop into cancer over time. That time could be a year from now, ten years from now, or maybe they'll just stay in remission. However you put it, I don't have cancer - yet.

To say that the world was lifted off of my shoulders is putting it mildly. God had answered my prayers. I can see a miracle when it happens. The only reason I ever even went to see a breast specialist was because my right armpit kept swelling up on me. It was very large and painful. I was about five months pregnant with Lil at the time. I thought it was a weird pregnancy thing at the time, but when I mentioned it to my OB I was sent to a specialist that same day. Turns out swelling of the armpit - or the lymph nodes in your armpit- can be a symptom of breast cancer. I was instructed to keep an eye on it and come back after I was recovered from having the baby for a mammogram. Swelly armpits and a family history of breast cancer weren't sitting well with the boob doctor. As it turns out my lymph nodes were hanging on to a weird infection for some reason. It could have been caused by a hang-nail on my finger that got some bacteria in it and travelled to my armpit. Something so weird that led me to this woman.
I'll have to take a pill everyday for two years (kind of like a low-dose chemo) to kill these pre-cancerous cells before they give me trouble, and be subject to more mammograms than I would care for, but I'm ok with that. So, I don't have cancer - yet - and thanks to this miracle I'll be around to raise my children.

I know it's everywhere because of breast cancer awareness month, but do take it seriously. If you have a family history make sure you do monthly self exams, and get a yearly professional exam. If you're at least 40 you should be getting routine mammograms. They're not that bad. Yes they squish your boobs, but no more than your children do! It doesn't hurt and can save your life. If you have a family history of breast cancer you should start your mammograms ten years sooner than whatever age the person who had the cancer was when she found out. And dont think because you're young you won't get cancer. Statistics prove that the younger you are when you get breast cancer, the more likely you are to die from it. The cancer tends to be more aggressive in younger women and less likely to respond to treatment. I don't want to scare anyone, but we need to take care of ourselves. Know your body. If there's something suspicious, get a prefessional opinion - don't sit on it. If I hadn't been pregnant I wouldn't have seen a doctor about my armpit. I would have just put up with it because that's what I do. I don't go to the doctor unless I think I'm on my death bed. I don't need to spend the money...
I feel so blessed today. I just wanted to share this with all of you. Take care of yourselves, girls!

The Jeans

I'm going to tell you a story. It's a story you may be familiar with, whether it be yours, your friend's, your sister's, your wife's or whomever. It's the story of "My Fat Butt In Jeans." "Oh," you say, "I DO know this story."

I have three children, hence I have the body of someone who has spit out three kids in the course of 4 years. It could be worse. I still think I look OK - until I see a photo of myself. But that's not really what the story is about... enter The Jeans. See, I have every intention of losing weight so I refuse to spend a lot of money on clothes. I don't plan on staying this size so what I do own has come from A) a clearance rack B) a thrift store C) Gabriel Brothers or D) Wal Mart. If you're overweight, then I'm sure we have similar wardrobes. There are a few things that fit just right, but if it's not perfect that's ok, because you don't plan on wearing it a year from now anyway. Am I right on this one? Now, don't get me wrong. I don't look like a mismatched fool when leaving the house, I look pretty good - especially when I wear my skinny jeans. Ah! The Skinny Jeans; The Sexy Jeans; The Hot Jeans; The Good Butt Jeans! Call them what you will, but no matter what size you are, you have that one pair of jeans that you feel thin in. You wear these jeans almost every day. Unfortunately with all the wearing of "said jeans" there comes a time when these jeans die.

I had a great pair of jeans. They were tight, but comfy. The waist was high enough to go over "the pooch," but not too high that it went half way up your back (i.e. Mom Jeans). The pockets hit perfect, and the length worked with sneakers or boots. I loved these jeans! Recently they started to wear and the fabric finally gave way, exposing a section of inner thigh that was a little too close to the goods - if you know what I mean. Now they're no longer appropriate to wear anywhere other than around the house and in the yard (because you WILL wear these jeans until the day they fall off of your body).

When this happens, you must start the new Skinny Jean search. Now, because you have kids you're not actually going to try too many pairs of jeans on because that's just a hassle. As a result, you gain a few pairs of Oh Well, They'll Work Jeans. I do need to caution you though. While shopping for a new pair of Skinny Jeans, try to resist the temptation to strangle the Hot Mom with what's left of your old Skinny Jeans. You know, the woman with the perfect figure and five kids - one still in an infant carrier - with her perfect hair and carefully applied makeup. Just pick that crusty God-knows-what off of your shirt and ignore her. Just stay focused on the mission - besides, that will be YOU soon..... once you hit your goal.

I have recently been in pursuit of the new Skinny Jean. I left several stores empty handed - refusing to settle with jeans that did not compliment my curves. I finally put my foot down. It's a small victory, I know, but I've decided that I have too many pairs of Oh Well, They'll Work Jeans. I just don't need another pair. The problem is that I still want to shop in the junior's section for the cute styles, but find the larger sizes are far and few between.

I have been doing my pilates and going to the gym and have been feeling pretty good about myself lately, so I really wanted to buy a good pair of jeans on the cheap - not a used pair. However the search ended up at the thrift store. Size 7, size 5, xs, xxs, 10, 5, s, s, m... nothing is working.... but wait! Am I reading the tag on this cute pair of jeans right??? They're right on the border. They might be too small, but maybe I've lost enough weight to get them over my hughmungo thighs! Darn, no fitting rooms! Well, they're Aeropostale (a store I've never even seen the inside of) and they're $4. I guess I'll give them a try. If anything, I'll lose enough weight eventually to fit into them... I hope.

I get the cute little jeans home and start to wonder if the tag is marked wrong. Maybe they're Gabriel Brothers rejects with the wrong tag that ended up at the thrift store after letting some other poor woman in search of Skinny Jeans down! Oh no! I try them on anyway- they cost $4 & that's a lot at the thrift store! It was a tight squeeze over the hips and I began to think I was on the losing end of this venture, but then it happened. You know the sound that pops into your head when the Heavens open and the angels sing? There was a glorious moment when the jeans slid past my hips, the button and the button hole met without too much sucking in, and voila! It was like a beautifully denim wrapped sausage! I have just found my new Skinny Jeans! I now have a pair of jeans to wear to family gatherings at the holidays when my husband's family all comes to town! I won't look like a thrown together mommy, but a hot-ish mommy! Merry Christmas to me!!!

Good Luck on your pursuit. May you find the same comfort, happiness and confidence that I have. And I'll be rooting that you find it for $4 too!

When push comes to shove.

I have three beautiful children. My son is 4, and my daughters are 2 and 4 months. I, like most parents, have no idea what I'm doing, but hope I'm doing it right. I want my children to grow up as responsible, confident adults. My husband and I only hope that we are giving them the tools to become successful in life. We want our children to be better than we are, just as our parents wanted for us.

I was talking with a friend about a problem she was having with her son. He's in 5th grade and is a good kid. He's a pretty big kid, but don't let his build fool you. He's an extremely gentle boy. He's kind, and nurturing. The problem is this - other kids at school are picking on him. My friend is going through the same dilemma that I am. How do you teach your child to turn the other cheek, but also to stand up for themselves?

We want violence to be the very last resort for our children. We teach them that they're the bigger person for not fighting, and it is not worth stooping to the level of the bully. Hopefully the bully will go away when they discover that they're not going to get a rise out of picking on your kid, but what if they don't?

How long does your child let the situation go on before "telling"? Do they tell? Does that make it worse? Does it then just make your child the "tattle tale?"

My brother and sister-in-law are the best parents I've ever seen. Their kids are 11, 9 and almost 7. My husband and I truly admire them. They are good people. My sister-in-law has a cousin who's bad news. This woman has three kids and was heavily involved in drugs and all things bad. The state was going to take her children from her so she called my brother and sister-in-law to help. Out of the kindness of their hearts they took in her three kids so she could go into rehab and get her life turned around. After about a year the woman called up and wanted the kids back. The oldest boy, 12, didn't want to go. He had never been able to be a "kid." He had friends, was in school, was clean and cared for. His mother agreed to let him stay. Almost another year went by. Just before Thanksgiving it came to light that this boy had been beating up and emotionally abusing their youngest child who was 5 at the time. Their children knew the terrible situation this kid had been in and were just trying to do the christian thing to help him- so they kept their mouths shut. The older two girls just tried to defend their little brother. This had been going on for some time.

My brother and his wife weren't sure what was wrong, but knew their son wasn't right. It finally came out what was happening after having a family meeting while the older boy was out of the house. You can imagine how devistated they were as parents to find out that this was happening to their child, in their home, right under their noses. My sister-in-law blamed herself. She thinks that by teaching her children to be such "do-gooders," she taught them to be victims.

It's a fine line. Where do you draw it? Where is the line between turning the other cheek and just being a sissy? Where is the line between standing up for yourself and answering to every bully?

This parenting thing is some tough business. You only get one shot at it, and if you screw it up you may have just handicapped your child for the rest of their life - and maybe even for generations to come. You only hope you're doing the right thing, and if you're not, you hope you raised your child to be smart enough to see where you made your mistakes and not repeat them with their own children. I have no answers for my friend, my sister-in-law or even myself. We can only do our best and pray that it is the right thing.

Beautiful Heartache

As we get older, there comes a moment that catches you off guard when you realize that your parents have gotten older as well. We aren't stupid. We know they're getting older, but when exactly did they get old? I remember watching my mom play with my son in her backyard one day. I noticed how bent her body was. She can't stand up straight - her legs are bent and her back won't go upright. When did this happen? I wouldn't dare say a thing to her, because my mom is very fun and active. She's a rock n roll grandma! My mom is only 63 - not really that old in the larger picture. As far a mom goes, I consider myself lucky, and so does she. She is enjoying life. She gets to see her grandkids and play with them. She can hold them when they cry and read stories to them. They come over and bake in her kitchen, and play in her backyard. This is what getting older should be for parents.

My husband's mother just turned 57 this summer. She's been in a nursing home for 10 years now. She has advanced MS. She can't walk. You can hardly understand her when she speaks, and when you do figure out what she's saying it makes no sense. She can't tell you what day of the week it is. What month even. She has no concept of time at all. What she terms as yesterday could have been two months ago, and vise versa. She gets very confused, and can hardly feed herself the food that has to run through a food processor first. She forgets the names of our children, and often how many we have. She knows that she has a grand-daughter that was born on her birthday - the highlight of her life - but couldn't tell you what her name is most days, or how old she is. She's can't hold our kids, can't play with them, has a hard time hugging them even. She can't tell them stories and gets confused by their stories. She's afraid of them most of the time. I'm not sure what she thinks they're going to do to her, but it makes her very nervous if they're too close to her.
Despite all of this, she is in there. Inside that mind of hers she knows exactly what she wants to say but by the time it works itself through the channels it's all miscombobulated. There's this heart-wrenching mix of sadness and joy when she looks at our children. It's as though she loves to watch them play, knowing full well that these are the grandchildren she had dreamed of when she thought of her baby boy growing up. There's this warmness to her eyes and her face softens while she looks at them. At the turn of a hat it all goes away. Her eyes glaze over and her face goes expressionless. It's as though she realizes her surroundings- her situation. Every once in a while there's this moment of clarity. She knows everything - the good and the bad. I remember one day we were sitting in her room with her and she looked over at my husband and said, "Jason, I'm without."
Thinking it was an incomplete sentence, as they often are, he asked, "Without what?"
"I'm of no use. I can't even play with my grandkids. I have no reason to be."
There was not one word mumbled. Not one studder. Not one pause.
"We love you, and our kids love you. That's reason enough."
There wasn't much said the rest of that visit.

Pam was still walking when I first met her. She told jokes and
loved to watch movies. Sure, she was a little wacky, but she was
fun. Jason still recognized her then, but not much now. From the
stories he's told me she was a very sharp tack years ago. She was
an administrator for an insurance company. She was the glue that
held the place together. I would have loved to have known that Pam.

The exchange on this visit was very bittersweet. Just when you think she's completely lost her mind, there's this moment of clarity. You're relieved to witness this moment, but then - just like Pam as she watches the kids play - the reality of the situation comes to mind. I'm happy that she was able to have this complex thought, but almost wish she had completely lost her mind. You almost wish she could forget how she used to be so she wouldn't be so depressed about how she's become. Then she would be protected from the moments of clarity that sting so bad. It stings her, and us too. After visits like this we drive home in a very quiet car.
I don't even know what to say to my husband. We're both thinking the same thing, but are afraid to say it. It's a double edged sword.