Adding the Sweetness Back In

Yesterday as I was preparing to make jam from a batch of peaches we got, I posted about it on Facebook when a friend mentioned Peach Pit Jelly.  Taking the skins and pits that would normally be discarded and brewing it into a juice to transform into jelly. I had never heard of it, and was ecstatic to find out that I could extend the fruit into something even more.

As I skinned the peaches and pulled the pits I noticed a lot of "bad" spots on the fruit.  Places where the softness and just turning color would normally ruin the look of the jam, but still completely edible (and extremely sweet!) The recipe I found mentioned that these spots were also good to throw into the pile for the jelly , as they'd add flavor and sweetness.  

The line from the movie "Sweet Home Alabama" kept going through my head while I was peeling and pruning away the impurities. As Melanie & her mother are prepping the fruit, her mother says "Some people might call them 'spoiled'... but I think that, um, these almost-ruined ones sometimes make the sweetest jam."  I love this line and it was made that much more poignant- both figuratively and literally- as I stood there in front of my divided peaches.

Sometimes life isn't pretty.  We're scarred. We have nicks and dings. Soft bruised spots, vulnerable of spoilage from life.  It's how we take the not so great and find our niche with it all. Simmer all of it into the pot, strain it out and then finally discard and let go of the bad, reminding ourselves that without all those imperfections we wouldn't be who we are, just as that jelly wouldn't be what it was.

The jelly turned out tasting delicious and looking absolutely beautiful in the jars. Just as my life- dents, dings and all.  I'm surrounded by the love of my family and friends with a home I love filled with the beauty of memories made and the promise of more to come.  It will never be perfect and I'm positive there will be more bad to come with the good. If I just remember to keep that bowl handy, to trim it away and save it aside, there will be a chance to strain it out and add the sweetness back in.

The Value of Something More

For Thomas' birthday this year we have decided to go way above the usual party celebrations and have gone with a circus/carnival "extravaganza".  It all started while debating what to do at all.  Hannah and I were perusing the Oriental Trading website for some ideas and it suddenly snowballed into this crazy themed party.  Being "greenies" and frugal, we decided that many of the things we wanted to do we would make here, re-purposing items around the house, which should have also save us money.  

Now this plan sounded great as we giddily clicked through the website, buying the minimum decorations and party supplies, but as I was hitting the "pay now" button I remembered why it was that I never do themed parties.  No matter how cheap you try to go, they always end up costing a lot more than they should.  What started off as some simple ideas has spawned into a much larger scale production than any of us had anticipated.  Yet, since the child with the steel trap memory knows the plans, it's impossible to backtrack now.   ;-)

So, we decided to just go with it & not look back.  It has been fun coordinating with Hannah, my creative director.  I love her artistic views and fantastic ideas.  It's become a family project, and with all of these ideas floating around, the pull to work together has made it that much more fun.

What's funny is, the things we thought we were going to save money on ended up costing the most.  For instance, we decided to make the bean bags for the various carnival style games.  Hannah and I went to the fabric store anticipating a couple dollars worth of fabric.  Yet silly me overestimated the amount of fabric we would need, forgot about the thread I already had on hand, and ended up spending more than what it cost to buy the exact same game, complete with board & bean bags plus our time in making it all. 

Yet, as we sat there, prepping the sewing machine for the bags, Hannah looking up templates for decorating the board, Andrew cutting the squares and getting the filler ready, something so quietly happened.  We spent about 2 hours just chatting.  Nothing in particular.  No magic secrets to the world revealed. No mushy moments of love.  Just... life. Being lived in that very moment, shared in our small dining room.  No epiphanies of how awesome I am afterwards from the kids. ;-)  In fact, I'm positively sure the kids didn't even bat an eye at it happening.  Thomas drifted in & out of the room, checking on the status of our work.  He brought me 2 pieces of ripped paper to "fix together" on the sewing machine. We chuckled, he cruised back outside to help finish the second coat of paint with Steve.  We continued on with our work.

I could have opted for pre-made, cheaper items, and we could have saved time and money that day. Yet the cost of losing that quiet family bonding time was so much more than the money. The value of those moments far surpassed that of dollars saved. My wallet may be a little lighter, but our hearts are fuller.  To me, that just makes a lot of cents...

Watch for Equestrians

When my cousin & I were growing up, my Grandpa devoted a large portion of his Sunday's to spending time with us. Sunday mornings were church, followed by lunch out.  We would come home & the grown ups would take an afternoon nap.  My cousin & I would try to be very quiet because we knew if we didn't wake him up early, he would take us out for the day. Some days were just walks around the block with the dog.  Though the walks were never short because we had our "resting" spots along the way where we would stop and talk.  One spot was a brick wall containing a portion of someone's side yard. We would hide small objects we'd found under a bush there near the wall.  Things like a rock, a snail shell, a bottle cap, and whatever other small things we found to complete our game.  Then, one person would choose an item to hide while the others closed their eyes. As we got older more pieces were added & small things like getting to shuffle the other items around to confuse the other person.  We could play this over and over again, and it never got boring. Most days we weren't done around the block, so we would ride our bikes up to the elementary school, or down to the high school, zipping up and down hills, across parking lots, through the deserted halls. We would play hide & seek or just play on the swings and playground equipment.  Other times we played "Zombie Tag" or, another favorite,   "Avoid the Noid" Our own version of tag based on a series of very annoying Domino's Pizza commercials.  One of us was the Noid and we would chase the other's, using crazy silly voices as we chased the others.

We also went to parks quite a bit too.  We'd load our bikes into the back of the truck and head out for a full day of bike riding, exploring, and just really enjoying the moment.  One of the parks we went to is the same park I take my kids to now.  Guajome Park has a lake, and upper pond, 2 playgrounds, and tons of trails. Along the trails, there were postings everywhere stating in big, bold, menacing letters, "WATCH FOR EQUESTRIANS"  So, of course, our Grandpa seized this opportunity to warn us of the ever looming equestrians.  He would "spot their tracks" and proclaim randomly "Ooh! Did you hear that?! I think it was an equestrian! Stay on the path, don't go off of it, and stay close to me!!"  So Justin and I would listen but never quite know if we'd heard anything, always thankful Grandpa could keep us from the (big? small? slinky? sharp toothed? hairy?) equestrians.  I honestly don't know how long this all went on for, but I do remember saying one day, when we'd gotten back to the house "What does an equestrian even LOOK like?!" He had that same mischievous look he always got, and I just knew I needed to look it up.

"Grandpa!! It's a person who rides a horse!!!"   I couldn't believe I'd been duped, and SO well too!  All this time we'd been seeing equestrians out in the open. Spoken to equestrians, admired their horses riding on the trails.

So, when Andrew & Hannah were old enough to start watching for equestrians, I pointed out the signs.. warning them.. And one day, much sooner than my own gullible self, they looked it up themselves and said the same thing I did.  Now we get another round of it with Thomas, and this time the older kids get to help me.  Yesterday at Guajome, Thomas and I were hot on the trail of an equestrian.  Little did he know, he waved hello to not just one, but three of them! My Grandpa used to get such a kick out of hearing Andrew & Hannah talk about their findings with him, and I just know that if he were here now, he'd be loving Thomas' face lighting up as he told him all the evidence of the almost spotted equestrian.

It's funny, I'm always saying that traditions are the small things we love doing, not just big dedicated moments.  All these years later, who would have thought "Watch for Equestrians" would be one?  I'm pretty certain that some day many, many many (hint hint kids..)  moons from now, my kids will be walking down a trail and see a sign, and point it out to their own children. In that moment, they'll be remembering, the same way I do, covering a big smile as they pretend to be concerned for the tracks and the sounds of the dreaded... equestrian!!

Women's Liberation Hasn't Really Freed Us Women

I have a beef with the newer generations of the women's liberation movement. I know this is wrong of me to say, since I myself am a woman, but I am angry.  I do not in any way disrespect the blood, sweat, and tears of those who came before us.  I don't think women are inferior, nor should we be resigned to living in a "man's world". In fact, I am very liberal in my thinking when it comes to our roles both within and outside of the home.  My issue is that, I, as a stay at home mom and housewife/domestic goddess, have the undeniable work of defending my position, as do many women like me.

It seems to be the assumption that once a child reaches school age, the work of the stay at home mom is done, allowing the obvious transition into working outside the home again. Those who do not accept this and comply are judged and basically reduced to bon-bon eating, soap watching women, who laze about in sweats all day.  

Why is it that in this day and age a woman can't decide for themselves what their role within the family is?  We "housewives" are given the guilt trip of slowing down the progress of women's lib.  Articles spit on us, and reality tv perpetuates biased views. We are accused of relying on our husbands to take care of us, and bowing down to their whims so that we can mani/pedi ourselves stupid.  I do not know a single stay at home mom like this. We are here because we love what we do and choose to be here. Oh-and if someone wants to mani/pedi themselves stupid, well then, that's their choice too.

The sad thing is, it's not just moms who receive the flack for our choices.  I was telling my friend these thoughts and she brought up a great point.  What about women who choose not to have kids?  Women judge women who don't procreate. They get questioned incessantly about why they don't want babies, and if they're "sure" about not having kids.  When did it become an issue to not choose children?  Why does it matter so much to those who do have them...and vice-versa?

It doesn't stop there though.. Women are a catty species. They'll judge other women who have too many or too few kids. Even if they have "just enough" someone will judge the age differences between the kids. The way women choose to educate (private/public/home schooling), nourish, reward, or punish their children. The way they treat their illnesses, clothe their family, or the way they enroll or don't in sports, music, or activities in general. Breastmilk or formula, vaccinations, birth plans, circumcisions.  The use or non use of electronics, the types of shows other women let their children watch..  Even the way someone plays with their children is up for "discussions" among others!!  No matter where we are during our waking hours, someone is judging us.

We as women have missed the mark on our fore-mother's hopes, dreams, and sacrifices towards liberation.  We wanted equality, yet we quibble over how it's done.  I tell my kids all the time that life and it's related fairness isn't about everything always exactly equal down to the smallest percentage.  Life sometimes gives one person more of one thing, and another person more of another.  Some have certain talents, while others do not. If everything is always exactly portioned  into perfect little slivers, our lives would be B-O-R-I-N-G.  We all bring something to this life, and at the end of it all, fair means only that we saw what we had and made the most of while using our talents and working on strengthening our weaknesses. Yet women see differences as wrong, and feel that theirs is clearly the only way.  How is this in line with equality and fairness? How does this better our position as women and why should anyone take us seriously? When did being liberated mean having to follow what "everyone else is doing"  The very definition of liberate (taken from Dictionary.com) is:   to free (a group or individual) from social or economic constraints or discrimination, especially arising from traditional role expectations or bias.  

What I choose to do is exactly that. It's a choice.  When Thomas is a full time student (and even after he graduates), I will still want to be at home, assuming our situation allows it.  I feel joy and satisfaction in being a housewife, and what I contribute here within the home.  If I choose to go back to work outside of the home, it will be because I want to, not because I feel obligated to it.  That is what liberation was supposed to be about.  Freeing ourselves from being slaves to the home and giving us equal rights to men. Slavery is a strong term and justifiably appropriate. There is no question that we were very limited in our options and had no way to change it without these women's fight for us.  Yet, in this day and age,  if I want to bake a quiche and mend some socks it does not make me any less of a productive member of society, and I resent having it insinuated our said outright.  

My wish for the new generation of women's liberation is to free us from the bondage's of judgement. Let's stop worrying about what other women do and how they do it, and start opening our minds to what being truly free to choose means.  Let us teach the new generations to be true to themselves and give themselves credit for who they are, rather than what they think someone else thinks they're not.

What Valentine's Day Means To This Mom

I was watching the news this week, and one of the stories covered was, of course, Valentine's Day.  According to the news source I was watching, it is estimated that men will spend an average of approximately $180 and women around $80.  When did economists push their way into this hearts & candies & flowers ritual?  To actually report on the financial side of what is supposed to be a special day?  Why does it matter what or when or how a person shows their devotion to those around them?

Now, I'm not saying this from a jaded perspective.  How could I see anything wrong with a day devoted to love.  Traditions where people all around the world stop what they're doing & show the ones they're fond of, through silliness & sweetness that they're thinking about them.  Where race, religion, or political affiliation plays no part.  This holiday, no matter the speculated origins of an actual St. Valentine, has been giving people the opportunity to exchange small tokens of love, wrapped in cards filled with sentiments for centuries.  Something that, unfortunately, has the potential for many to fall by the wayside, save for special occasions.  This part of it is great.

I, however, am not big on the commercialized version of Valentine's Day.  I don't need a pink stuffed teddy bear, or candies or jewelry. Dinner out is nice, but trying to combat the thrones of other couples to get a candlelit table just isn't my version of romantic.  Romance to me means so much more than waiting for that one time a year to pull out all the stops & force my significant other to feel the pressure of always being in tip top form, remembering the Valentine's Day pasts & matching or topping the years that have come before.

Yet, how is it that this anti-commercial, pessimistic side of me can get walk into any given store, see the pink & red decorations & get so giddy?  Well, it occurred to me yesterday evening. Sitting there, I saw the excited look in my two youngest kid's faces as they soaked in this day's probabilities.  Parties, funny little cards, and sweet treats...  Getting out a list of names & sitting at the table hand writing the to's and from's.

There is something so refreshing about watching a child on any given holiday.  Their expectations are so different from an adults.  My daughter isn't thinking about diamond necklaces or fancy dinners. She's excited to have picked out a set of cute cards & put funny little stickers on them for her friends.  My 2 year old isn't stressing himself out for his daycare crush.  He's just happy to put crayon to card and give her a Minnie Mouse picture.  Their excitement reminds me that, even on one of the most commercialized days, it can be so fun to enjoy the small things rather than focus on the things that society, economists, and the media have told us are par for the course.

So this Valentine's Day, without presents & fanfare, I will sit down with my little family to a nice meal & enjoy each other's presence.  Because I want the ones I love to know that I love them-just like yesterday, tomorrow and the rest of our lives.

Embracing Chaos

A while ago, while standing outside in the garage with Steve, I looked over at our neighbor.  He is an old man with no family to speak of, who is always working in his garage until dusk.  Then he goes in his house, and from his kitchen window, you can see him putter around.  If you look through his dining room window you see that at the same time every day he sits down to dinner, by himself, hunched down reading.  I have thought about him often. About what it must be like, to live very much of your life in total silence, unless you fill it with background noise.  .

I have been thinking these thoughts for so long now, that when my mom introduced me to a song I'd never heard before, tears streamed down my face.  Thomas was just a very small thing at the time, not more than a few weeks old, and the song hit on a nerve that runs deep in my veins.  Having children with such a wide age range, my experiences have really changed.  I remember, with Andrew, being so excited for each milestone that I completely forgot about one that we were going through.  I would look forward, in such eager anticipation.  I loved seeing him turn bigger & bigger with each step, and loved how excited he was to get there too, presumably to please me.  Then when Hannah was born, I saw how big Andrew looked next to her.  For the first time it occurred to me that I would never recover the time I'd so nonchalantly let pass by in the blink of an eye.

This is the song my mom introduced to me..

IT WON'T BE LIKE THIS FOR LONG

DARIUS RUCKER

He didnt have to wake up
He'd been up all nite
Lay'n there in bed and listen'n
To his new born baby cry
He makes a pot of coffee
And splashes water on his face
His wife gives him a kiss and says
Its gonna be OK

It wont be like this for long
One day we'll look back laugh'n
At the week we brought her home
This phase is gonna fly by
So baby just hold on
It wont be like this for long

Four years later bout four thirty
She's crawling in there bed
And when he drops her off at preschool
She's clinging to his leg
The teacher peels her off of him
He says what can I do
She says now dont you worry
This will only last a week or two

It wont be like this for long
One day soon you'll drop her off
And she wont even know your gone
This phase is gonna fly by
If you can just hold on
It wont be like this for long

Some day soon she'll be a teenager
And at times he'll think she hates him
Then he'll walk her down the isle
And he'll raise her vale
But right now shes up and cry'n
And the truth is that he dont mind
As he kisses her good night
And she says her prayers
He lays down there beside her
Till her eyes are finally closed
And just watch'n her it breaks his heart
Cause he already knows
It wont be like this for long
One day soon that little girl is gonna be
All grown up and gone
Yeah this phase is gonna fly by
He's try'n to hold on
It wont be like this for long
It wont be like this for long

There are times when the world is going completely out of control around me. I sit there in the center of the storm, dreaming of a life that starts by sleeping until 9, lazily crawling out of my silk sheeted bed, drinking my coffee while slowly reading the paper, and proceeding to spend the day doing whatever I feel like.  Because the laundry is all finished, the dishes were done last night, and the bathroom won't have toothpaste around the entire thing.  I will probably only have to pick up items off the floor because I am moving furniture to vacuum..not because an entire family dropped everything and never looked back.  


I won't fight anyone to eat their veggies. I won't have an entire forest  recycled into the form of school papers as carpeting.  I will eat my lunch the way I like it, without having to scrub yogurt off of the table legs first.  I will make a small dinner and sit with my very quiet husband and we will talk about something other than the reasons why we don't discuss farts at the table.  I will have 2 plates and forks to rinse, and my dishwasher will take at least 3 days to fill up, instead of 3 times a day.  I will take a quiet shower at the timing I wish, not when the water comes back from cold.  I will get out to find my towel exactly where I left it-and not have to yell for someone to get me one.  I will leisurely brush my teeth, and quietly get ready without worrying about whether I forgot to sign something or another.  I will watch some late night talk show-because I will get to sleep until I feel rested-and then quietly slip into my nice satin sheets again.  


The problem with that is, when that day I dream about comes, I will be totally and utterly bored.  I won't have laughter ringing through the house.  I won't have hugs and kisses at my disposal.  I won't have teammates for a game of Guesstures, or anyone to tell stupid jokes to.  I will never again get the utter chaos that my life has been for the last 13 years.  I will have joy, and I will have laughter but it will never, ever be like this again. 

It's amazing what perspective can accomplish.  My life is good, sweet, and filled with blessings so numerous I can't begin to list them all.  I know that I am far from done with raising the kids, but as the days melt into weeks that somehow ooze into years I know that what I have is better than a clean house free from ear piercing toddler screams, or tween dramarama.  These are blessings I can't even begin to imagine replacing.  


When that day of boredom comes I will stalk my children.. I will be pushing the doctor aside as my grandbabies are born and I will pretend to not notice that my kids are hoping Grandma goes home soon...


Just kidding..sorta...!

The "C" Word

Disclosure: These are the true feelings of my current life situation.  Please, don't judge me, as I promise not to judge you.  What I say may not be used against me, given that I'm listening to heart cripplingly sad music, feeling a bit lonely while the house is so quiet.

When my Grandma died, we didn't know that it was going to happen.  One minute we knew she was sick, but that it was treatable, and the next she was gone.  I was so angry. Hurt beyond belief, and felt that there was this hole that could never be filled.  As time went on, of course, the hurt was no longer always present.  I can smile when I think about her, and know that she truly was the best Grandma I could have ever had in the world.  I'll admit though, that there are times I break down into a full blown sobbing mess, but I've learned to work through it & take my feelings to utilize them for personal growth.

I thought that, maybe if we had known, it would make it easier.  Get to say our goodbyes, hear her voice & soak it in.  Last goodbyes seem so vitally important when the they get ripped away from you.

Now though, I'm not so sure.  Getting more time to say goodbye still means you have to say goodbye.  Don't get me wrong, I'm really thankful that we get to know we can have closure.  It means we get to brace ourselves.  But who are we kidding when we think getting time will make it easier?  Especially since I truly live by the cliche "Live each day like it's your last."  Or my other life's cliche "No Regrets"  Because I remember how it felt to lose my Grandma so quickly.  Not that I had a single regret when she died.  We had a good relationship, and there were things I wish I had said but I know she knew them already.  I was terribly sad that she didn't get to see Hannah after she was born, and it tore my heart to pieces to see Andrew so forlorn when he lost his best friend.  She was such a figure of our lives, such an important piece to the family puzzle, losing her meant losing myself in a way.  After adapting to her being gone I was never who I was before.

Cancer changes everything you thought you knew about death & loss.  There's this horrific feeling of guilt, that knowing what his diagnosis is-knowing cancer will invade every last second of every last day until he succumbs to it's awful grasp-knowing all of this & having so much anger at it's painful grip on him..well what should you feel?  Knowing it's terminal, knowing it will physically & mentally hurt worse than anything he will ever feel again, what can you feel but the dreadful hope that he will go peacefully before it gets to that point?  Cancer is a hateful thing.  It leaves you with thoughts rattling through your head you never thought in a million years you'd have.  To hope for him to be at peace sooner, rather than later. To hope he can be walking into those heavenly gates before he's hurting so badly even the largest dose of medications cannot help.

Of course, there's always faith.  That the cancer will be gone, that a miracle happens in our midst.  But staying optimistic is ultimately more hurtful than being a pessimist.  I've seen the progression of this disease.. The tentacles of it's vileness reaching out.  Giving him side effects that make the current level of cancer seem secondary.  Soon though, I know deep in my heart, that this is his final time here, and whatever hope we're intended to have just can't pull it's own weight when the word "terminal" is used in the same sentence as "worst possible form of brain cancer."


What angers me most is, he was SO healthy.  They say "Oh, he was so full of life" and they may be right, but that saying should actually be coined as my Grandpa's own personal tagline.  He ran circles around us.  Not one, not two, but maybe three or four circles a day around us.  Not just mentally..physically he could probably actually run around us! Yet, there he is, after a lifetime of right choices, being told that he has something so randomly ironic.. Healthy life, worst brain cancer possible.  Go figure.

Of course, I've had to sort through all of these feelings while simultaneously trying to protect him from someone so despicable that she's not even worth more than one sentence in my blog.  (Ok two, because I ramble) To quote my Aunt: "I can't wait for the day when hearing her name means nothing at all"

My kids have been so strong through all of this.  They have so much love in their hearts, and so many good memories.  If there's one thing I hope they know deep down, is that they had one of the most rare types of relationship a person can have.  They have a whole vault full of memories of their Great Grandpa.  Not very many kids get that, and they were so blessed to have such a beautiful relationship with him.  He's given them so much.  And the gifts he give them will continue even when we have to say goodbye.  I don't know if they'll ever truly realize just how much they are who they are because of him.  But I hope they do, because knowing that is what still makes me smile, even now as I write this.

I think what I will take most from all of these reflections is this: As one who will eventually leave my current body & move on:  Live a robust life, and throw yourself into it daily.  You never know what might show up in the least likely of places. You never know who's lives you're going to touch.  And most certain of all, whatever your ultimate life's blueprints are, however it works out, don't wait till the end.  And if you do get a timeline, never just give up because you know it's ending soon.  Fight for every last ounce of life you have.  The people around you do need you, and they're soaking up this time for a reason.  Whether it be years from now, or tomorrow, even when you don't think it,  you're truly needed.

Why?

It's simple....

You.
ARE.
Loved!

I-Am-Pregnant

Ok, the title is really quite deceiving.  I am not, in fact pregnant.  However, I say this phrase probably once a day.  Or I say IAP, or My IAP girls.

When I was pregnant with Thomas, as with both of my other kids, I was hungry for knowledge about my pregnancies.  There's nothing like being told that your baby is the size of a piece of rice, like when I 1st looked into my pregnancy online with Andrew.  Or a head of cauliflower, like I vividly remember Hannah.  So I wanted to read up on what food Thomas was at my week in pregnancy.  I typed into Google "I am pregnant"  which immediately popped up the website.  I browsed around for a little bit. Found my week's group and read some of the posts.

It wasn't until I was a little further along that I started posting stuff.  Then I became hooked.  Every day I would go on, check the updates, and refresh my page over & over & over again, since it didn't auto refresh.  As time went on, we all had things happening, and it seemed like they were happening around the same time for each of us.  Even down to the crazy pregnancy cravings.

One day a shock was felt through the forum, as one of our little babies was born way too early.  Our hearts broke for the family, and we all prayed for her to grow big & strong.  At any given time, there would be people checking in to see how she was.  Another mom was expecting twins and put on extreme bed rest, and others had other things they were needing advice, comfort, or a place to vent.  We became a close knit family, brought together by our love, hope, and understanding.  The little girl born extremely premature is now a healthy thriving toddler, and we all felt the relief and utter joy that she was okay.

The nature of the IAP forum was to be a positive one.  Although we could talk about anything we wanted, it was understood that we were to not judge, speak rudely, or insult anyone because of their beliefs,  Be it about parenting style, personal choices, or any other hot button topic it was to stay warm & friendly.  We didn't avoid discussions, but it was always so great to be able to understand each other without always necessarily agreeing exactly the same.  It was nice that, if one of us had a question, we could ask it without fear of being verbally lashed at.  Something that, let's admit, is hard for a large group of women to do ;-)  But it did.  There was only one incident.  The reason for it, I can't remember.  Somebody who wasn't from our week said something just awful about somebody else.  Oh, the way we were bound together that girl didn't have a fighting chance. Coming in and speaking about one of our loved ones like that!  Pretty much immediately she was kicked off of the site by the mediator, and it was like we now knew that we really were not just people passing through the internet's vast ocean.  We were our own little IAP clan.

As we were getting ready to deliver, all of us feeling the excitement of meeting our newest family member and relieved at the thought of being comfortable again, we realized also that there was a sadness there too.  The people who had come to mean so much to us were going to be saying goodbye, since we all weren't going to be pregnant anymore.  There is a post pregnancy site there, but the room was really quite small, and the idea of trying to maintain our friendships there wasn't as realistic as we all knew.  So girls started exchanging real names for Facebook.  I didn't have a Facebook at the time, or one that I actually used, so I didn't add anyone quite yet.  But then, as I saw that I really missed everyone, and seeing their babies we had spent so much time getting to know, well quite frankly, it bummed me out.

So, I dusted off the Facebook site, added my picture, and started inviting girls that I saw were friends of each other from there.. Slowly building up my friend's list.  I know I missed a lot of them, since even now there's an occasional girl I see who's mutual friends are from there, so I add them.  As time's gone on, I have begun to forget their IAP nickname.  I've also added, of course, other people to my Facebook.  Family, friends, coworkers, anyone willing to put up with my incessant posts.

And since then, of course, we have been able to resume our friendships in our original format.  Thanks to one of my good friends on Facebook, who set up the site so that we could all talk like the old days.  Only now we don't have to refresh the page.  We can get updates without always being on.  Although I do find myself lost in conversations for hours, when of course there are many things to be doing.

My IAP girls mean the world to me.  I never understood online friendships, or how close they could really become.  I never knew that talking to someone without ever hearing their voice doesn't change the fact that you hurt when they're hurting, feel joy when they're smiling, or completely understand the frustration that every other woman goes through, both parental and not.  We come from all over the world.  We have kids of all ages and stages.  Yet we are bound by this incredible journey we have taken together.

Some of the girls have begun adding new members to their family.  They have gone back to the I-Am-Pregnant website, excited at the chance to go through their pregnancy with girls their same week.  They have gone to their week, and they have tried to have topic discussions.  Each one have them have said the same thing-it's just not the same.  Since then girls have been added to the IAP site that weren't originally on, and they feel the same way we all have.  They love the group, love the friendships, and the support system is phenomenal.

Some day we all hope to meet.  It would be so hard, since we are all over the globe..but it would be a goal worth obtaining.  We've joked about playing the lottery, or contacting a talk show.  Somehow finding a way.  I know that if the opportunity ever presents itself, I will be the first one on that plane to meet some of the most incredible women I know!  I love my IAP's!!

Beauty in Simplicity

Ten years ago this December our lives were rocked by the abrupt passing away of my Grandma Linda.  Although I was raised by my mom, we were fortunate enough to have my grandparents take us in when we had nowhere else to go.  My mom was brave enough to forge a new path, instead of leaving us in an undesirable situation with my dad.  So for my entire life, from 5 months old on, I had the unique setup of having 3 people raise me.  Along with my younger cousin, Justin, who lived much of his life with us, we were an interesting family dynamic.

It's not that I felt like I had 2 mothers per se, but I do feel, in retrospect, that the 2 female roles were merged into this maternally intertwined duo.  My Grandma was very quiet, mild tempered, and oftentimes I feel she didn't understand her unbelievably amazing role in all of our lives.  As years progressed, certain traditions quietly emerged.  I don't think she was always trying to consciously create them, I think they just happened to fall into place as time went along.  Things like Blackberry Cobbler for dinner on Sundays.  I suppose she just liked to make it, since my Grandpa loved it so much.  There was Orange-Chocolate Fudge for my Grandpa on Valentines Day.  There was Emmy Lou Harris & many others playing on our record player as Christmas went on all around us.  There were chocolate cherries-a tradition Santa so generously took on after the passing of my Grandpa's mother--my Great Grandma.  There was Christmas dinner-with the same much anticipated food every year.  Traditions carved from the routines that brought joy & love into our home.

Every year it was my Grandpa's, Justin's, and my job to hunt for the tree.  We would stop at Campbell's Lot, near our house, and find the most Christmas worthy tree, look at the price tag, and my Grandpa would say "Hmm, maybe we should go somewhere else."  So every year we would trek to about 5 other places looking for another tree that measured up at a more appropriate price.  Hours later, we'd be limping back into the lot, hoping & praying that the tree wasn't taken by someone much smarter than us.  And every year Justin & I would feel this sheepishly guilty excitement that we'd talked Grandpa into the expensive but "Oh so perfect tree."  

We would go home, and there was the big box.  Decorations from the generations before us. A bird that only my Grandma was allowed to touch. "Filler" ornaments that somehow became memories in the process.  The ghosts of Christmas' past whispered through our hearts as we hung garland and tinsel, and wrapped the skirt and beads around the tree.

And yet, of all the traditions, all the memories, all the money spent through the years, there is only one tradition that will hold such a firm place in my heart, something I cannot tangibly pass down to my kids, nor can I really call it my own.  My memories involving the Christmas tree topper.

The story itself is so simple, yet the topper, oh my.  To the untrained eye, it is piece of heavy black construction paper wrapped in gold foil.  To me, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life-the beginnings of this star-where it came from-how far it's traveled.  It is so carefully guarded-this star.  So lovingly nestled in tissue and placed in a box.  Every year as the tree was concluding it's makeover my Grandma would pull out the box containing this star, delicately remove it from it's safekeeping, and hand it to my Grandpa.  There was this look. This moment that I would catch. A brief yet everlasting second where their eyes would crinkle at the sides, and they would look deep into each other's eyes, and all the years-all the memories would pass through each other in that look.  They would smile in a way that I can't even begin to describe.  He would take the star and proudly place it at the top of the tree, onto the designated light bulb.  The lights would come on, and the whole tree gleamed in pride.  The star on top shimmering in it's golden magnificence.

You see, the story behind this seemingly simple star is this:  The first years of marriage were far from easy for them.  They were so poor that they couldn't afford much of anything.  One year after they had moved from San Diego to Missouri, the movers had charged them more than they were supposed to have.  They didn't even have furniture in their home, and they had very little of anything.  They couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas tree topper.  So instead, my Grandpa made this star, and it has stayed with them ever since.  Fashioned out of common household items, yet more valuable than anything else in that box of decorations.  It began as a symbol for their Christian beliefs-of that light that shone for the path to the baby Jesus. All this time later it began to reflect something more. A path taken by two people who loved each other so much, even when life was handing them hardships even at their beginnings.  As the years passed, they moved back to California where my Grandpa built up his business.  He survived the the recession, and was able to make quite a living for them.   All that time later, I know they could have bought something more fancy to place on the tree.  They could have replaced it a dozen times over.  Yet there is absolutely nothing that could ever be more beautiful or perfectly suited for our tree.

I have tried to emulate that over the years.  To find something of equal value-to create that memory for our family.  I just can't seem to do it.  It's funny how years later, I could be so envious of a memory I can't possibly attain. And one that has it's roots in poverty, no less.  

I miss my Grandma often, and so poignantly during Christmas time.  She was so much to me, and I find solace in it all by carrying on her memories with the traditions I can do. I have also created my own traditions along the way, and feel that by doing so I can give my children a piece of what I feel every time I taste that first bite of Blackberry Cobbler, or hear my Grandma's voice singing along with me to Emmy Lou Harris.  Because this really is what the spirit of Christmas is about.  Not the commercial version, but the true spirit.  This, after all, is what our fondest memories are really sparked from. 

Things Aren't Always As They Seem

Today I got a lesson in something I try so very hard to teach my children.  Don't judge a person simply by the way they look. Don't assume, and above all else, don't decide not to like someone based on these things you think are a certain way for a reason.

Every day I get so frustrated & angry at the neighbor around the corner.  Older man, but by no means frail or disabled.  Practically every day he goes down to the grocery store & comes walking back up the street with a shopping cart, usually with only one small bag. In my mind I'm thinking "Gosh dang it, buy a little personal rolling cart" or "What the heck?! Why can't you just carry your stupid bag!"   Of course, as time has passed, every time I see him, even when he isn't pushing that shopping cart I want to roll my eyes as I pass.  Being brought up with manners, I roll them on the inside, but smile on the outside-that vague "I don't really know you, lemme plaster a fake smile on so I don't show how rude I really want to be right now" kind of look.  Some days he smiles back, but most he just stares blankly at me.  Which, in turn, makes my smile that much faker.

Even today I saw the shopping cart collector drive up to the usual spot, pick up his cart, and quickly leave. My very 1st thought was "Gee, wonder what that's costing ME, the consumer, every time they have to pay this guy to get that lazy bum's cart."

Fast forward 10 minutes.  I hear sirens coming up my street, and stop in front of my Grandpa's, which is next door to me.  Instantly my heart is racing-is Grandpa ok? I can't see the man laying on the ground because my view was blocked. So I go over quickly & see this man laying on the sidewalk.  My cousin tells me he saw our neighbor fall straight on the ground during a seizure.  He called 911 immediately, and thus begins my humble reminder that I don't get to judge any more than I want others to judge me.

As the EMT's are assessing this man, it turns out that he has Alzheimer's, Dementia, and high blood pressure.  He is rarely coherent of his surroundings in the 1st place, and now, this poor man is being asked to lay on a gurney, strapped down, and be taken away.  He begins to cry out in Spanish that he doesn't want to go, and I hear the police officer reassure him that he is not in Mexico, and that he is safe here in America. This reassures him for a second, and then he begins to cry out for his mother.

I was just about in tears at this point.  This poor man.  And his wife, standing there trying to comfort him but knowing that it does no good, as he isn't responsive to her as well.  Her aloofness signals to me that he probably slips into a place she isn't at, and there is a sadness in her eyes as she tells the police  his conditions, and what causes him to be so against the obvious care he needs.

As they strapped him down, she chose to go home and gather a few things to meet them at the hospital, she looked up and thanked Justin for calling.  I wished there was more to do to help her, but I know she has family in the area.

Then I walked away, and the only thing I could think, was how could I possibly have judged this man.  I didn't know his story. I always try to teach my kids to look at the other side of things.  Play the devil's advocate, and never make a choice based on assumptions.  Seek out facts, and when you don't know them, be kind respectful and caring to those around you.  Life is too short to go around deciding things when you don't even know what it is you're deciding on.  Now to absorb this into my daily life again.  I hate when an example is made from someone, but I view this as an eye opener to how easily judgments slip through those cracks in our minds.  It's easy to be open minded about the big topics-race, sex, orientation, ageism. It's those little things-like this guy & his cart, that find their way in & erode the heart.

The man seems like he's going to be okay, for now.  When I see him again, all I can hope is that he is pushing that cart up our street. Because that means he's having a good day.

A letter to my youngest

Dear Thomas,


I know that you are younger, and this letter is more of something for the future..of course not for the now.  But there is so much on my heart that I want to get out now, so that when you get older, you can understand a little better who you are, and where you come from.  

You are such a magnificent child.  You are so full of life.  You throw yourself into your emotions-quite literally.  If you are feeling lovey you come running up, grabbing us and squeezing so tight, your little arms wrapping around our necks and you hold on with a love I can feel so strongly, even though you are so tiny.  When you are angry, you fling the object of your disgruntled inn-affection so far we seriously think that one day you might just be a pro baseball player.  You have such a big personality for such a teeny guy.  You. Are. Loved.


You may hear, throughout the years, my term "Bonus Baby" used to describe you. Although I'm sure you are smart enough to figure this out, and why you would be called this, I want you to hear from me, your mother. This is my side of the story. Because years can muddle memories, and time wavers the thoughts, I choose now to write to you.  The story of how you became my bonus baby.


I'm sure, as time passes, that you will learn that Andrew & Hannah's dad is not your own dad.  Although I never  think of you as their half brother, the term is there because you do have a different dad.  In this house, however, there are no halves.  You are entirely their brother.  However, before you were born, I was married to their dad.  We got married when we were young, had Andrew & Hannah, and then decided that we would have no more children.  I was okay with that fact, but felt the tiniest smidgen incomplete. I always felt as though somebody were missing.  For a while I looked into adopting, but it was so expensive that I knew right away that I couldn't afford to adopt.  So I continued my life, as the mom of 2 kids for quite some time.


For whatever reason parents divorce, Andrew & Hannah were left in the middle of it.  We were divorced when they were still pretty young, but old enough to understand everything that was happening.  As terrible as their dad & I felt for this decision, we knew that it was the best choice.  It was tough, but as time went on, we found a way to resume normalcy.  I had the luck of getting to fall in love with your dad.  We dated for quite some time, debating on whether or not to have another baby.  Andrew & Hannah were older, and I was used to having older kids, so the thought of having a baby was exciting, but scary at the same time.


Your dad & I had a small wedding ceremony, just a couple close friends and family.  Andrew was Steve's Best Man, and Hannah was my Maid of Honor. Afterwards, as planned, decided to start trying to have you.  What a lucky thing to find out that I was pregnant shortly after our wedding! You were so ready to become part of our family!  But oh boy, was I scared to death at the same time,


You see, as a mom, it is scary to know that you will be responsible for this small child..this person will need everything from you. Food, clothing, shelter, love, and basically, that their parents don't totally mess them up.  I was really worried that I wouldn't be a good mom to you.  It's irrational, I know, but what can I say?!


So as time went on, my pregnancy became part of the ebb & flow of our family.  I was tired often, and I think secretly..ok, it wasn't really a secret, but the kids rather enjoyed when I would fall asleep before it was time to pick them up from school, because I had this agreement with them that if I was late because of you making me tired, they would get a Slurpee.  Oh, did they get their fill of that ice cold treat! I was so tired.  Yet, life resumed.  Life was busy.  Between your brother, sister, and dad, I was stretched thin, but I was so happy to get to have you there along for the ride.


I got pretty sick towards the end of my pregnancy.  It was too early for them to deliver you, but you were old enough that it was a worry for you to stay in there if it got bad.  So I was in the hospital for quite a few days while the doctors helped me get better.  It was my 1st time I got to sit & really quietly enjoy you.  At the beginning of my hospital stay you were very inactive in there, because the amniotic fluid was low. But with each day that I got healthier, you got more & more spunky again.  At the end, I got another ultrasound picture, and you were so active she could barely get a clear shot of you! She wanted to get a picture of your face for me, and it was the toughest picture she said she'd taken in a while!


After I got better, our hectic life swarmed all around us.  


Yet, the day you were born, the world stopped for you.  It wasn't exactly an eventful labor & delivery.  You came pretty quickly once it was time.  I was in pretty easy labor for about 12 hourse, and  I pushed for a total of 8 minutes, and there you were-all 8 lbs, 3 ounces of you.  Screaming and angry that you'd been taken out of your cozy world.  


Your dad, for as much as he'd been happy to be Andrew & Hannah's step dad, had his flesh & blood lying there in his arms.  He couldn't stop being a proud papa. He was glowing, gleaming.  Fatherhood suits him well.


Andrew & Hannah were in the room that day also.  They got to see your firsts.  First gulp of air, first cry, first squirms and grimaces.  They got to hold you and they were so unabashedly in love with you.  Hannah was grinning from ear to ear, talking a mile a minute, taking pictures of you like you were a rock star she couldn't stop filming. Andrew held you close, and all he could say, over and over, was how happy he was, and how beautiful you were. Tears were streaming down his face, and I am literally sitting here crying as I write this, because it was singlehandedly, the most beautiful way you could have come into this world.


Even your name holds huge significance.  Thomas is the name of your great grandfather-your dad's grandpa.  Your Great Grandpa Tom was a huge part of his life.  Many of the reasons your dad is who he is today is because of the lessons of life his Grandpa Tom gave him.  So that is special for you. But also, the name Nash, as you have probably learned by now has great meaning too.

NASH:
Nancy

Andrew

Steve

Hannah

I wish I could take credit for this idea..but I can't.  Although your dad had said he wanted to give you the initials TNA-Total Nonstop Action.. So we went through droves of names starting with an N. Nothing seemed to fit.  Then, one day your Aunt Diana called & left a message on my machine "NASH! She said..it couldn't work better!" So your dad & I mulled it over, and the day you were born, it was most definitely decided..Thomas Nash Amaral. You had been the melding of two worlds.

You see, in my previous life-the one where you weren't there, life would have gone on.  I knew I loved Andrew & Hannah, and life was good as their mother.  Then, unexpectedly, I got this extra chance at motherhood.  You were the bonus to this mother's wonderful life. 




I love you, Thomas Nash Amaral, never ever forget that.


Love,
Mom

A letter to my eldest son

Dear Andrew,

Oh, Andrew, my 1st born, what can I say.  You are such a wonderful boy.  Generous, thoughtful, always putting others before yourself.  When you were just a little bitty guy, I used to always say that it was like you were an "old soul."  We would be out, and you would see another little kid crying, and you would try and comfort them.  You had this soft, gentleness about you.  So rare for boys, but you had it.  Even adults have always enjoyed you in their presence.  You seemed to click with adults when other kids weren't even halfway interested in the grown ups around them.  I have enjoyed watching you grow up, and love cheering you on as you accomplish so much by working so hard.

You are a perfectionist.  Such a common trait for a 1st born.  As a mom, I gotta say, it makes my job very easy.  I don't need to poke, prod, or force you to do anything, you just pretty much do it, without argument.  You are honest, kind, and loyal to this family & to your friends.  So it is also natural for me to worry boatloads about the outcome of this boy who is so easy to do what is asked of him.  He doesn't like to hurt people's feelings, and although that can be great, as a mom it has it's moments of scary :)  

Andrew, I want you to know that you are an amazing kid.  Don't ever let peer pressure dictate otherwise.  Sometimes it can be hard to not do what the others are doing.  To say certain things, do things that are questionable.  In a world where disrespect runs rampant, you are one of the few who still stands for your beliefs, but at a cost it seems.  I know you feel like the world is judging you, that to be good means getting labeled, and being edgy is cool right now.  I know that.. I remember those days vividly.  It's so much easier to just do whatever it is people are all doing, because you'll stay under the radar that way.  To stand out for being the "good kid" is sort of like throwing on some nerd glasses & yelling out "Hey everybody, I'm a mama's boy!!"

Don't cave..don't feel like you have to impress others.  Don't feel like you need to be anything other than yourself.  If your friends can't like you for who you are, then they aren't your friends anyway.  It's true.  True friends really do like you for who you are.

Treat others with respect, even if it's not what the cool kids are doing.  Be kind to others, and be remembered for being the kid who was nice, even when the others weren't.  Always remember that there is a flip side to every story.  Like the boy we see with his mom every day, remember that everyone has a story.  Or like the boy who was mean to you & poked you as you were walking.  We just don't know.  We really don't know who is in our midst, and what they are going through.

Treat girls with total and absolute respect.  It is a hard life for girls.  I don't know truly what you, as a boy, go through, but as your mom I can tell you with absolute certainty that girls have it rough.  Treat them well, never say mean things to them.  Respect them as a person, for their mind, their heart, and their souls, but also respect their body.  Don't be the boy that girl remembers as being the jerk.  Be the one they remember with a smile, even when they're all grown up.  Compliment them for the mere fact that you want to be nice to them-not because you want to convince them of something for your own selfish reasons. Never disrespect, make fun of, or treat a girl poorly- girlfriend or not.  Always...always give them total and complete respect.

But also treat yourself with respect as well.  Respect your body.  Remember that you only get one 1st.  1st girlfriend, 1st love, 1st kiss.  These things don't come back.  Make them memorable, and never settle just to squelch curiosity.  Make it count, and above all else, never go further than is respectful to you or the girl. Go for the girl who is good for you, not for your reputation.  Love who you love with all of your heart, and don't feel like there's some sort of masculine quota that needs to be met.  You'll understand this more & more as life goes on.  Just remember, if you're mom approves, she approves for a reason..not that you have to always seek the counsel of your mom, but I can tell you now that I'm truly looking out for your best interest, not mine, in your life, but I'll always understand if you don't always want my advice.

Surround yourself with people who care about you, and wish you well.  Keep your honor intact.  Never falter in your faith & values.  Keep your morals close, and examine them often.  If you mess up, confront it, look at it closely for what it was, learn from it, and move on to become a stronger person from it.

I know you so well, even if you don't always know you.  I am so proud to me your mom, and so thankful that God gave you to me.  I am the luckiest mom alive to have Andrew Austin Baird as my son, and I take that job seriously.  I want you to know that I loved you from the very moment I found out that you were just a little teeny thing, the size of a piece of rice.  I really went around telling everyone that! People gave me some strange looks.  But I did it all the same, because you were my little piece of rice.

I love you, Andrewski, and I always will.

Love,
Mom

A letter to my daughter

Dear Hannah,

My love, my beautiful precious daughter.  You are a light to the world.  Your graciousness & kindness shine out, and people always take notice of the wonderful girl willing to lend a hand, a hug, or a laugh.  Creative, witty, and charming.  Just a few of the words that can describe an indescribable girl.  

As you get older, you're going to learn so many things in life.  School, groups, friends..all of them will mold you & turn you into a productive member of society.  How to add, spell, and dissect a frog.  How to say the Girl Scout Pledge, tie a knot, and donate your time & resources to charity.  How to be have awesome slumber parties & make your mom crazy with the phone bill..

Yet, for all of these lessons, there will be one you'll take all on your own.  Who you are.  Not what you can do, but who you, Hannah Linda Baird.....are.  Friends, boys, parents, siblings, teachers, coaches, random strangers on the street.  TV stars, musicians, magazine ads, commercials, they are all squeezing, pressing, turning, shifting & molding you mentally.  They will tell you, both out loud and through subtleness what you should be, what you need to do to be you.

Our whole world is designed in a way that makes it so hard, as a girl, to thrive.  There are so many rules, so many things you're supposed to do to go with the flow.  You will feel judgement when you didn't even know you were supposed to be judged.  

Hannah, I want you to know that you are truly and completely loved for you.  Not for what I want you to be, but for who you already are.  Unconditional love is rare, but a mother is one of the lucky few who is blessed with it.  

Don't ever forget who you are.  Examine your core.  Keep it close to your heart.  Never settle.  Choose friends who share your morals and goals.  Friends who are not only there for you when you stumble, but cheer you on, even if they wanted whatever it is you've gotten.  Never let a boy dictate who you are.  Don't change for them.  Don't share yourself with any boy that doesn't totally and completely respect you.  Be picky.  Choose the ones who love who you are..who want to date you because they like you for you, not for something they think you are.

Respect your body.  It's yours, not theirs.  Keep yourself sacred, and don't cave to the peer pressures surrounding.  I promise you, not everyone's doing it.  Many are, that's true, but not all.  Some say they are, but they're not. Some really are, and they're hurting inside.  You'll be curious..you'll want to know, but you'll find out soon enough.  You only get one 1st.  One 1st boyfriend, one 1st hand holding.. and one 1st kiss.  Only 1.  Make sure, deep in your heart, that he is the one you want to remember these 1sts with.  Because, you will.  For the rest of your life, you will remember these things.  You'll want to look back on them with true beautiful sentiment.  

Never take yourself too seriously.  This life is fleeting.  There will be moments in life that you will want to take back.  You will want to hide in your closet & pretend like it never happened.  Don't.  Hold your head up high, and walk in the light.  I promise, whatever that bad thing was, it will pass.  People will forget, and you will go on with your life.  But learn from it.  Take it, examine it, and choose how you would do things differently.

Love your life, your friends, your family, and your beliefs.  Hold your morals above all else.  I've told you before, but I always want you to remember.. You are an honorable person.  You have your honor, hold it close to you, don't ever let it go.  Once you've broken that bond of trust, it's not easy to glue it back together.  It will take work. Lots of it.  Some people won't want to go through all the work, but you need to.  If you mess up, and you do break that trust, don't just throw in the towel..work for it! People are forgiving by nature, and if they aren't willing to forgive you, then it was for the best.

But, above all else, don't let the world mold you.  You mold the world.  Take it in your hands, shape it, twist it, turn in upside down, and be someone who, at the end of her life, is remembered for all the amazing & courageous things she did.  Give to this life all that you can to make it better for all those around  you.

Hannah Linda Baird, you were loved before you were born, and you will always...always be loved.  I love you, my little chickadee, and don't let anything let you ever think otherwise.

Love,

Mom

Just some thoughts, random but blogged, nonetheless.

It is the 1st day without Roxy here, and it is a strange, strange feeling. Of course, there's those momentary blips of forgetting. Like when the other dogs are taking a drink, and I have to double check to make sure it's not Roxy-she had a bad problem throwing up water after drinking too much, so we had to regulate her.

Or when I went to feed the dogs this morning, that "ugh" part of me sighed as I thought about fighting Roxy in her Bailey Chair...then realizing there was nothing to fight.

Then I remember what a life she had, and how much she really enjoyed this family. How, no matter what, I'm glad for the fact that she was ours and we were hers.  We used to go tell her to "go lay down with your boy" or "go lay down with your girl" when it was nighttime, and she would go in there every night & pick a room to sleep in.

It's a hard thing, losing someone, no matter how big or small they were, how much they talked or didn't, or how behaved or misbehaved they were..

Andrew's taking the day off to recuperate, and Hannah hasn't really dealt with it yet-I'm guessing it will take her own time, but I am praying that she doesn't manifest it into something odd, since her only request afterwards was to "go on the computer" after being told that she couldn't "go see it" referring to Roxy..not her, it.  :(

Steve took a piece of wood & carved Roxy's name, a heart, and a dog bone into it.  We'll be placing it on her grave tonight, as we were waiting for the paint to dry today.  It meant so much to me that he did that, and I think it was therapeutic for Andrew & him.  Hannah wanted to help but I don't think in the same way as a way of healing, though I'm sure it did help even if she didn't realize it.

I feel a shadow of guilt as I look forward to cleaning my carpets & not having to stress about dog puke all over it.  I'm also feeling bad that I'm looking forward in investing in some nicer floor mats, since Roxy had such a bad habit of always throwing up on them.  Guilt mixed with relief, really.

There's peace in knowing she went peacefully.  That those last moments were with her loved ones, in a state of euphoria as she passed away. It makes things easier than dying here because of starvation.  I know that, but gotta get my heart & my mind in sync for this one.  Guess that'll take some time.

So many thanks for all the support in this time.  It was such a help to know that I had good people surrounding us with their thoughts & prayers.

Roxy, Roxy, Roxy..

Andrew & Roxy. "The" Camping Trip
November 2009

Hannah & Roxy 2006

Thomas & Roxy 2010

What can I say about the "dumb dog" as we so often called her.  She really was.  Dumb as a box of rocks, but so in tune with other's emotions that it was easy to forgive her 5 minutes later when she was curled up in the kids bed, giving me that "I'm sorry, Mom" look.  Ohhh, the puppy dog eyes.. She had them down pat.

Roxy came into our lives a little shy of 7 years ago.  She was already 9 months old when we picked her up from the Humane Society.  She actually wasn't the dog I wanted.  I had been scouring http://www.petfinder.com to find that perfect pet, when I came across a feisty black lab that looked like she would be the most fun for the kids, and a great addition to the family.  The only concern for this dog was that she was a fence jumper & that's why the previous owners had to finally send her away.  However, this dog hit a spot in my heart that I just knew I wanted her.  So we all went to the Humane Society that day in the hopes of getting ourselves the perfect black lab.  Yet when we got there, the dog was already gone.  We were given the option of walking through the kennels, so we did just that.  All the dogs looked so sad but none of them seemed right.  Then, for the first time on the trip, the kid's dad was walking towards a kennel. "This is the one" he said.  So we took her to the little play yard, and we threw the ball with her.  She was sweet & kind, and the volunteer told us that she had just gotten there the evening before, and was probably a little shell shocked, but that by being there such a short time her disposition would have been only slightly altered, as opposed to a dog who had been there longer & sort of lost their spirit in such a sad, confined place.  So the matter was settled.  This dog, who's previous name was "Tiva Bear" (yes, please laugh..it's a horrible name) was now going to be ours.  The only thing was, we had to wait until "Tiva Bear" was spayed & brought up to date on all of her shots, so it would be 2 days before we could pick her up from the vet.

Excited with the new addition to the family, we went to Petco & picked out her collar, leash, and all the toys/food/supplies we would need for our newest family member..  The kids & I couldn't stop talking about her, and we all agreed that the name "Tiva Bear" was absolutely out of the question.  We knew very little about the dog, except that she'd been one of many dogs in the previous home, but that she was the only one brought in that day, due to the owner's "inability to provide good care to her."  We also knew that she had passed all of her "tests" with flying colors. She was great with other animals, great with kids..but one little thing-she did really poorly with the little baby test..where they stick one of those simulator babies in front of them & see how she reacts.  She apparently flipped out on that one.  But that was it..all we knew.  Nothing more. So we waited & contemplated name after name after name.  Finally deciding on Roxy Aloha..since I'd liked both names & our collar was Hawaiian inspired, and I have a fondness for yelling out first & middle names so often...Roxy Aloha was it.

The weekend passed sooooo slowly, and then it was time.  I went to the vet alone, since I knew she'd be scared & would want some quiet time to orient herself to us.  We got home, and the poor dog was throwing up the pain meds, so we decided to quit giving them to her.  Once she was off of the medicine, she became the sweeeeetest little dog ever.  To the kids.  To Garett & I, she was ornery & didn't listen.. She'd sneak Hannah's (and only Hannah's) little dress shoes out of her room (Hannah was 3 back then..imagine the cute shoes).  She'd gnaw on them until we'd see her and then the second our backs were turned she'd be in there again.  Oh, and that food we bought?  We'd bought the big big bag that the Humane Society had used.  The expensive stuff..yeah, well she was apparently allergic & got a big rash all over, itching & scratching.  So, to recap..1st week home, bad rash & throwing up.  This would be the story of our lives for the next 7 years..

She'd sneak into the trash-even knew how to open the cupboard for it.  She'd eat anything....anything.  We'd find random Nerf bullets, tennis ball fuzz, bits of Barbie doll clothes in our daily poop patrols.  I once found a box of chocolate pudding ripped up in the back yard that she'd gotten from the pantry, unbeknownst to me.  And how could I know..The laundry door had been closed & the pantry as well.  She'd pushed the door open, pawed the pantry open, gotten it, and found a little corner of the side yard to go to town on it.

She's wasn't potty trained in the least, and she'd get bouts of diarrhea during our food experimentation days in which she'd apparently freak out and start running around Hannah's room, and I mean ALL over..while we were sitting in the very room she'd be going outside to go..after we'd JUST tried to get her out.  She also had this obsessive licking problem.  I mean, obsessive compulsive licking.  She wouldn't stop..couldn't stop.  We'd be sitting on the couch and she'd walk by and just SLURP her way across us all, except sometimes she'd focus on one person, and no matter how many times you'd try & get her to stop, she'd compulsively schluuuuuurp that one extra slurp.  We called it "walk by lickings" I'd catch the kids letting her lick them.  They would never tell her to stop, so sometimes as much as 5 minutes would pass where she'd just lick & lick & lick.  UGH!!  It wasn't until I showed them documented grossness online that they FINALLY gave up on liking it, and stopped deterring my getting her to stop.  She also was a jumper, a rush out the door and two blocks away runner, a leash puller and heavy pawed, to name a few.  Oh, there were so many behaviors wrong with this dog.

Many of these things were worked on, many she was just to dumb to figure out.  Although I will never know for sure if it was ornery or dumb, really.  I know there was so much more I should have been doing with her.  So many training techniques that I never got down, but at the same time she just wasn't one to retain information anyway, and I was going through so much stress.  The second & final separation from the kid's dad, coupled with the fact that I was working odd hours as a waitress while also trying to maintain the feeling of a stay at home mom for my kids.  Trying to get it all done & never really having enough time for any of it. Plus, just sheer lack of commitment to such things from me.  I was bitter & angry.  This was my ex's dog honestly.  He'd picked her out & he'd wanted her. Now that he'd left he left me with the expensive food she required and the horrible behaviors, along with singlehandedly raising 2 young kids, maintaining a job & taking the kids to music, sports, school, helping with homework.  The entire thing.  So I sort of looked at her as a problem, and not much more, for a long time.

Luckily Steve was great with her.  Eventually getting her to stop bolting out the door or jumping on guests.  He knew what to do and although I didn't always agree with his methods, the outcome couldn't be denied-she was a much better dog, and I was able to enjoy her a little more.

However, many of the bad habits persisted.  One of them being a food thief.  If you left  food out, even for a few minutes, she would find a way to get it.  If you left the trash can cupboard door opened even a sliver, she'd get in there and rip up all of the food wrappers, eating every last bit of nasty disgusting food.  One time last year I had gone in to talk to Steve about something in the garage.  I couldn't have been in there for more than 5 minutes, really. When I came back to clean up dinner-there was the evidence.  There had been 2 boxes of pizza-one had 1 or 2 slices in the box still, and the other-an entire large pizza.  Both boxes were ripped from the table and all of the pizza eaten in under 5 minutes! Ugh I was so mad!!!

Then at night, as she lay with the kids, snoring I would see.  She was just a kid, like them.  Always had that mentality, never grew out of it.

There are so many stories..like the time we went camping last year.  Steve had lost his job, but we'd been saving for this camping trip, and we decided, since we had enough emergency backup money set aside, that we were still going to go on this trip to sort of mentally be relieved from all the stresses of closing down the business.  We also decided to bring both the dogs, despite the fact that we had a 5 month old.  I tell you, that dog was the only thing to go wrong the whole entire trip!  She chewed through the leash we had her tethered to (on an at least 20 foot runner!). She refused to go to the bathroom at camp or walking around on the leash, but there was no way we were going to let her off to go, since the one time we tried she took 20 minutes to explore, never going & almost getting us caught by rangers.  She wouldn't listen on walks, yanked my arm around, killed my shoulder. Every time we'd put her on her "gentle leader" collar she'd just gnaw on the leash or stop randomly, tripping me with the baby, so that she could try & pull it off with her paw.

On our way to the 2nd campsite, we had to leave her in the trailer as we drove.  It wasn't the ideal place, but it was all we could do for her, and she didn't seem to mind it, since we stopped often to check on the dogs. (Note, I said stopped often, stretched & tried to get them to go potty)  Well, when we stopped one of the times, apparently that 3 days worth of not going had taken it's toll on Roxy, and she went.  All. Over. The. Trailer.  It was so much pent up pee &  poo that it soaked through the carpet & got into the wood.  Steve ended up having to pull out that carpet, and we spent the rest of the trip cold with no floor insulation in November, and nauseous due to the smell.

Shortly after that, on one of our excursions, she ran so far away in a field and down a big hill that there was that brief second of "Should we leave her" followed by the direct thought "No, Hannah would kill us."  haha.. So we waited and called her and she finally came back, and from that point forward we had a hard time not resenting every little thing she did on that trip.

So as much as this dog has been great for the kids, as much love as she gives & how unconditionally amazing she is to all 3 of them, she has been a huge burden on me.  From the expensive food, to sneaking into everything, never telling us she has to go to the bathroom and just GOING right in front of us (I do, of course, take her out regularly, but sometimes she still of course has to go).  Between the stresses of divorce, a new baby, Steve losing his job, and the never ending whirlwind of activities around here, I felt guilty that a small wave of relief washes over me now.  It's awful.  I didn't even get sad until I made that 1st appointment. It all just felt so mechanical & I was overthinking the process.  But after that phone call to discuss options I sat there & cried, sobbed.  But now, now that we'd cancelled & the reinstated a time to euthanize her, I'm feeling frustrated at the level of absolute pain in the butt this dog put me through.

From the very beginning she has been an absolute chore to doggy parent.  She's stressed me out, made me want to beat her (and I'm not a beater, I tell you). Made me think it was time to let her go, then gave us false hope. Made me go back & forth with how much to take care of her & how much to just let go & put her down..made me have to decide that, even as she wags her tail, she's skin & bones and dying slowly from the inside out, with a cheery look on her face.  Forcing us to end her life way too prematurely, because of something that might or might not have been her own doing with all the bad behaviors over the years.

I know, I know I'll miss her.  I will.  As time goes on, all those memories of her will become whimsy & lighthearted.  The camping trip won't seem like it was such a big deal, and the way she drove me crazy will be romanticized into something resembling a liking for it.

I love her dearly, I do. I love the way she was a part of my kid's life, of mine. She helped them deal with the loss of their dad here every night-to cope with the divorce. She taught them discipline by caring for another being, gave them unconditional love, and opened up avenues that otherwise wouldn't be there for them now. She's been such an amazing dog for Thomas, too. Even though she didn't pass those tests at the Humane Society for little babies, it never showed up when we brought him home.  She was kind & gentle & has always been good around him.  I am thankful in so many ways for what she brought this family, and I don't doubt she was meant to be ours, but oh my, what a ride it has been.