Category Archives: grief

Right as Rain

It seems the days of digestive misery are behind me. Huzzah! Not a moment too soon, either; June’s looking busier by the day.

Where did we leave off? Ah, yes. Aunt Pixie’s visit. It was SO great! Chip was her little shadow; I’m sure that had he the physical and mental dexterity, he’d have snuck into her trunk and right back home to Utah with her. He basically adores her.

Playing with her TARDIS phone, obviously

One of the most fun things we did was rent a paddle boat at one of the parks downtown. Boise had a couple rainy weeks which meant that everything was green and yummy. The weather was perfect and the waterfowl were out in full force, y’all. Although he looks solemn here, Chip was off-his-rocker ecstatic to see all the ducklings and goslings, as were we! You can’t have a heart and NOT be; guys, they’re like, fluff balls that float and squeak.

My first spa experience was good. Toward the end of my facial I had a hard time staying on my back without feeling uncomfortable, but the massage took care of all that real nice. Mmmm. THANK YOU, sweet Pixie, for coming and spoiling us with your kindness and your awesome presence.

The following Monday (the 20th) was T-Bo’s 18th birthday, and sadly it ended up being just as draining and awful as I’d feared. I still have a lot of anger and toxicity clouding my mind when it comes to the circumstances surrounding his death, and I’ll admit that the symbolism of his would-be Emancipation Day (what I called my 18th birthday, the day I moved out) stirred a lot of that up. CK took the day off to be with me, which I appreciated more than I can say. I planned to spend the afternoon in the temple, but I forgot that it’s closed on Mondays. Disappointing, but ah well. We made it through, and time marches on, I guess.

The rest of the week was full of appointments and errands, including a trip to the dentist in which I very nearly passed out when my BP tanked in the middle of a procedure. The doc and assistant were a dream team, fawning over me and cooling my ridiculously pale, sweaty face with air from that little hand tool thing. It was a pregnancy first, for sure. Funny, the difference a few extra liters of blood can make! Suffice it to say I’ll be avoiding the supine position from here on out. Heh.

Per last post you already know that I was out of commission for most of the Memorial Day weekend, but I did manage to lure CK back to the park to ogle those goshdarned adorabibble widdle duckies. Couldn’t help myself. Blame hormones or something.

That week CK also bought himself a gorgeous new .45 caliber pistol, which among other things means that I have owned his butt ever since. Bwahaha. I play nice with my power, mostly. He’s as jazzed as a little kid at Christmas — I love him.

Now it’s officially June which means that as far as Fetus #2 goes, the end is in sight! I am so ready. I think with Chip there was a degree of nervousness about the unknown that kept me from complaining *too* much until the very last, but with Moose I’m like, been there, vaginally delivered that. The minute this kid is full term, I’m gonna start prepping the exit strategy, iykwim.

This weekend CK and I wrapped up a project that I have been excited about for a long time. One night while perusing Pinterest I fell desperately in love with the idea of building an abacus to hang as functional nursery decor. I found this tutorial and started slowly compiling the materials, and now it’s finally done! I really love how it turned out. Props to my fledgling carpenter for doing such a great job with the frame.

I hope it will make make a nice heirloom someday.

Here you can also see the mobile I made a while back out of paint chips and a disassembled embroidery hoop. It sure looks pretty when it twirls. The bright colors make me happy!

For Future Sav’s reference, in case of repairs (or for anyone who wants to make their own abacus, I suppose):

(2) 34.5″ 1×3 boards for horizontal backing
(2) 18.5″ 1×3 boards for vertical backing
(2) 34.5″ 1×2 boards for horizontal outer frame
(2) 22″ 1×2 boards for vertical outer frame
(2) 33″ 1×2 boards for horizontal inner frame
(2) 22″ 1×2 boards for vertical inner frame, with (10) 1/2″ holes drilled 2″ apart
(10) 7/16″ diameter dowels, cut approx 33″ long
1 1/4″ finishing nails, for frame construction
1 1/4″ screws, for final removable piece of frame
Valspar Ultra paint + primer, semi-gloss interior, low odor/zero VOC, in 391658 ultra white/base A
(100) 1 1/4″ round wooden beads with 1/2″ holes
Acrylic paint for beads, various colors
Spray gloss for beads
White or almond screw caps

The round beads were ordered from Woodworks Ltd., the dowels and acrylic paint came from various craft stores, the screw caps were at Home Depot, and everything else came from Lowe’s.

And now, the Chip photos you’ve come to expect and love/tolerate:

He will color Cookie Monster and only Cookie Monster.

We love to play in the rain.

Because, obviously.

He really, really likes Mormon scones.

My favorite little old man. I apologize for nothing.

Favorite words comin’ outta his mouth:

“Diet Coke, Daddy!” I taught him to offer this advice last night when CK was grumpy. It worked like magic.
“Oh, ‘scuse me, sorry.” Whenever he is in someone’s way. GAHHH
“Yes!” instead of “yeah”.
“Okie dokie artichokie!”
“Thanks, Daddy!” Now if I can only get him to say it to me …
“Hi! Morning!” Big and enthusiastic, first thing in the morning when I come get him.

He’s speaking in complete (albeit short) sentences much of the time, which just melts me. He’s beginning to figure out plurals, too, as demonstrated anytime we walk through a parking lot. “One truck, two trucks!” He is also obsessed with every kind of music and asks me to play or sing “songs?!” all the time. He’s just got the sweetest, most clever little personality and I can’t wait to see how he interacts with his little brother.

Now that the weather’s getting warmer, what are all y’all up to?

Currently listening to: Watching You by Rodney Atkins

Grateful

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Normally I don’t give a moment’s thought to those copy-and-paste statuses on Facebook, but my heart is still tender from the events of last week in Connecticut, not to mention awash in some pretty fancy pregnancy hormones. So bear with me.

My friend just posted this:

The things you take for granted, someone else is praying for.

Folks, as I sit here in my sturdy, warm house, having recently eaten a full meal, with a loving husband at a great job despite a shaky economy and our healthy, beautiful son napping soundly in his crib, with both medical care and modern technology that much of the world could only dream of available at the push of a button, I think of how utterly minuscule my problems are compared to many, and I feel pretty darn humbled.

How can I spend so much time fussing about Christmas presents, when instead I should be falling on my knees in gratitude that I can afford to buy my boys a toy or two?

How can I complain about my nausea, when I have several friends struggling with infertility who would give ANYTHING to feel that sensation?

How can I roll my eyes at my toddler pitching a tantrum on the floor, when just the fact that he’s here is the most indescribable blessing?

I cannot even begin to fathom the pain and heartbreak of losing a child in such a horrifying, public way as did the parents in Newtown. The mere thought of such a possibility stops my heart and turns me completely feral. Instead, go read what Tori wrote. She says it better.

Last week I clutched Chip to my chest and cried over his sweet head until his hair was soaked, and days later my mind is still reeling. Tomorrow also marks the anniversary of my brother’s death. The date’s been looming like a black mountain on my calendar.

I don’t know why some parents lose their children, when others, like me, have them to hold onto for another day. I don’t think there is a reason sometimes – just the swerving, unending consequence of really bad choices. Or occasionally, just plain, stupid, spontaneous randomness. Sometimes God interferes. Other times, I believe, He weeps silently at the agency of His foolish children, which He promised never to deny them.

I do know that He always invites us to seek comfort in His words and Spirit, and lately I’ve been cashing in on that invitation with feverish frequency. It’s an ongoing process, this feeling better thing. I’m getting there.

One of my favorite quotes is the prayer attributed to Reinhold Niebuhr:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

I’m quite effective in a direct crisis. It’s my personality to seek out the things I can DO when the going gets rough. Helplessness is not an emotion I deal with gracefully, which is why times like the Sandy Hook massacre are especially trying for me. However, I’m trying to focus on the sentiment behind Niebuhr’s prayer, and have faith that through God’s grace and my own sincere efforts, good things can and will continue to happen for my little family. We can circle each other in our arms until we’re safe. We can climb that black mountain.

My greatest wish this holiday season is that I can paint my soul with gratitude for the abundance of goodness in my life. I hope that I can fan the small spark of hope within me to a flame. I hope that I can then share that warmth and light with others, if only just my husband and children. And I want to have courage. I wish the same for all of you.

lls

Have a beautiful Christmas! We’re going to be okay.

Currently listening to: Three Kings by Michael McLean

Recent Life in Photos

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Things continue to be well with my little clan.

I just spent the last four minutes thinking of a cleverer way than “clan” to refer to us, but got stuck when my brain started slaughtering Elton John lyrics (sing it with me … But they’re so spaced out, S-S-S-Savvy and the Jays!)

It’s probably better if I just let the pictures do the talking.

Sunday would have been T-Bo’s 17th birthday. I wasn’t sure what to expect, emotion-wise. My sweet husband did everything he could to make it a nice day – and it was. Naturally, there were some melancholy moments, but for the most part I felt peace. Then yesterday I stumbled upon this entry in a journal I kept in second grade. I was a weird kid who said things in weird ways, but I spoke the truth. That boy made a lot of people happy.

This was us all gussied up for Mother’s Day. Aren’t we charming? Ignore the ugly hair tie on my wrist. Ah crap, I just did that thing, didn’t I?

Here was my awesome present (just arrived today). In the past I got loads of flak from CK’s family for being a TOMS wearer. What do you have to say now, you die-hard Sanukians? I say that when it comes to footwear, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Unless it’s Crocs. Crocs are never acceptable.

We have a separate soaker tub in the master bathroom. It’s nice and all, but my favorite part is how it’s become a convenient place for Chip to play while I shower. I can keep an eye on him while he bangs around all his fancy, high-quality toys, like that package of swim diapers. Can’t say we don’t think out of the box around here.

The solar eclipse was best viewed from My Hometown, but we still got a good look up here. I snapped this picture when CK pointed out that the gaps in the leaves of our tree made pinholes, which subsequently created some pretty cool light projections. Look at all those tiny crescents!

And here’s proof of my acquaintance with the nearby city libraries. It’s been so delicious to curl up with a real non-textbook book for once. Ten points if you can spy the police thriller authored by a fictional character.

I’ve tried a few new recipes, each to great success. I didn’t take pictures because I was too busy shoving the subject of my photography down my gullet. Mmmm. Funny how cooking is easier now; I’ve settled into that comfortable stage where I know where all my stuff is, which stores sell harder-to-find ingredients, when the best times to shop are, and what I really need to set my oven timer to when the recipe calls for 30-35 minutes. For example, today I finally took C.’s recommendation and tried Janssen’s delish homemade ranch dressing, as well as Mel’s banana bread. Dinner was an old favorite of CK’s — Milly’s tried ‘n true chicken and chips recipe — because he was sick and I took pity. Nothing says “love” like foods smothered in cheese. Can I get an amen?

So that’s life. And it’s all right by me.

Currently listening to: Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen (Don’t tell him I told you, but this is totally CK’s jam right now, which is hilarious)

6059

Oh, There Goes Gravity!

Ach, du

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I’m being kind of gloomy and morbid right now. I’ve started like nineteen posts but I haven’t been able to finish them.

They were all depressing anyway.

I think instead of writing I will go do something else.

Currently listening to: The Golden Age by Beck

Life Lessons Learned through Follicles

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CK’s haircut looks awesome, considering that it took about 15 minutes and that it was free. This time things went much better. I was relaxed; in fact, I had entirely too much fun doing it! Even CK admitted that it wasn’t as traumatic as he thought it would be. It seems that I’ve got back whatever groove I lost when I was stressed out of my mind last winter. Lesson learned: Things tend to go better when you take a chillax-ative before jumping back on the horse.

Last night I found myself peering into the mirror, whereupon I discovered the strangest thing. It was a hair – half brown, half pure silver-white. After staring in shock for several moments, I plucked it out and showed it to CK.

“Are you seeing this? Look! I’m getting old!” The lamentations flew.
“Yeah, you’re almost twenty five,” he teased, clearly oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
“Twenty four,” I sniffed. “But thanks.”

CK laughed even harder when I insisted on taping the hair to my vanity mirror, but I had my reasons. In a way that hair reminded me with a jolt that life marches on. It is flying by and despite the fact that I should be accustomed to all that by now, I still manage to be surprised. For example. Every day I find myself settling deeper into a life that always seemed ages and ages away when I was in high school. But there’s no denying it; that life is here. I’ve got the bills. The degree. The husband. The kid. The work references and the (somewhat) meatier credit score. Look at me, playing adult! The days drag, but then I blink and an entire year has passed. I have to start paying better attention, or before I know it, I’ll have grown up even more, and suddenly I’ll have things like a mortgage. A PTA membership. A retirement plan. Laugh lines. Yearly mammograms. An entire forest of grays! Lesson learned: Make the most of those days and years while they’re still ahead of me.

I stroked my brother’s hair as he lay in his coffin. It was strange; it felt the same beneath my fingers as it did when he was alive (although it was styled neater than he normally wore it). People cried all around me, but I did not. It just hadn’t sunk in yet for me. It still hasn’t, not fully. Lesson learned: The hardest part of an unforeseen change is accepting that it has already happened, despite everything you did or wish that you could go back and do.

Chip likes to grab two chubby fistfuls of my frizzy, still shower-damp hair when I bend down to kiss him. He laughs and laughs to see my face contort each time he yanks. I get revenge by tickling his eyelids with my bangs. Hidden together behind our own miniature curtain of tangles, the entire world belongs to only us. It doesn’t matter that the laundry needs switching or that I didn’t find the cure for cancer today. We have this moment, and it is perfect. Lesson learned: True joy comes in tiny pieces.

Isn’t it strange, the things you can learn in the oddest of places?

Currently listening to: Westminster Bridge by Murray Gold

P.S. It’s Friday the 13th, and I have exactly 666 approved comments posted on this blog. Fitting, that.

Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time.

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2011 is a thing of the past. To me it seemed far fuller than a year, like many more than 365 days crammed into one little space. It was a wonderful, monstrous thing. It weighs on me, and I am tired. So very tired.

There was sunlight in this year. So many happy moments relished and shared. I accomplished life goals; I seasoned. I adored. I danced barefoot in the kitchen. My precious son came into the world, and in his wake he left bright, blazing streams of permanent joy.

There was also darkness. Fear. Betrayal. Abandonment. And loss … last week my brother T-Bo suffered a tragic accident that ultimately ended his life. He was sixteen years old. With this I became acquainted with a whole new kind of agony.

I hope with all my being that I am wiser because of the last year. I pray that I will continue to grow throughout this new one. I’m optimistic and cautious, but mostly I’m grateful. 2011, I thank you for your excruciatingly beautiful lessons. 2012, I already love you. I approach you timid and malleable, willing to learn.

Friends, family, and internet acquaintances, I care for each of you. Thank you for your interest in my silly little blog. Happy New Year! I hope that this next chunk of life treats you right.

Currently listening to: Set Fire to the Rain by Adele

The Capital L

Left pinky. Right ring. All together now.