Reclaiming

I have a room in my home that has experienced an identity crisis since the moment we built it.  It is a small loft at the top of our stairs that leads into our bedroom.  I'm bonded to this room because it is in many ways a reflection of my life at any given moment. It has been a place to work, to store unused items, even a home to the undesirable kitty litter box.  It has been a great many things, but now I've reclaimed it.

It is mine.

Reclaiming this room has been very therapeutic for me.  In the hours it took me to sort through all the items that were previously stored here (only to be compared to the amount of time it took me to collect all my craft supplies from the basement, closets, drawers, boxes, under my bed,) I had plenty of time to think.

Seven years ago, when I was a young (ha!) 38 years old, my husband and I sat in the room next to this one and decided that we would like to have another baby.  This was not a decision made on a whim.  It was one of those decisions that mixed incredible hope and excitement and an equal part of what-the-hell-are-we-thinking.  I can't describe it.  This is probably why I've never written about it.  There is no sense to it that any normal person could possibly understand.  It just is what it is.  (or was what it was)

It wasn't an easy proposition.  We knew there were many hurdles to overcome, the most obvious being the fact that we had made a permanent decision years ago to end future baby-making opportunities.  In the beginning, we thought we'd just try one procedure and then let it go at that. When that didn't work, we did it again.  And when that didn't work, we still didn't quit.  After three years, traveling to three states, a total of three surgeries, two hormone stimulations, and four procedures later. . .whew. . .we finally got a positive pregnancy test.

The road to that positive test was a practice in patience, determination, hard work, blind faith, and teamwork.  We held each other's hands and cheered each other on during some painful and difficult moments.  And holding that positive test in our hands and dancing around the bathroom, we could only say one thing.

We did it.

That was an incredible and very important moment in this story.  I will never forget how that moment felt.  None of the pain that followed could ever take that from me.  We won the lottery.  Sure, it was stolen from us a few months later, but we WON the lottery.  :-)

When we were told at our second ultrasound that our much wanted baby had died, we were devastated.  We decided to wait things out and have another ultrasound a week later just to be sure.  And then, believe it or not, we went to this ultrasound and saw a tiny baby with a heartbeat.  An identical, but much smaller twin was still hanging in there.  It had not been seen on the earlier ultrasounds because it was smaller and shared the same sac with the other twin. But it was there. And this baby had a beating heart.

That moment was equally incredible.  It was like life had been handed back to us.  When we walked to the car, we could not stop laughing.  I mean, who has a story like THAT?  We had hope and that was good.  As a nurse, I knew this baby had a slim chance at best.  But hey, we'd already beaten the odds, so maybe, just maybe. . .

We had another two weeks with this baby.  At that final ultrasound, we knew it was over for good.  It was very sad and difficult, but I also remember feeling incredibly grateful.  Every moment of that pregnancy was a gift to me.  And I may never fully understand why I was meant to have the experience I did, but I know there was a purpose to it.  I don't regret a single second of it.

Back to the room. . .

During our baby-making venture, one of my montras was, "There are many ways to give birth."  This is very true.  We give birth everyday we have an idea, try something new, learn something about ourselves, live our lives.  This desire to create can be expressed in many ways.  All I need is a fertile environment, and trust me, I'll give birth.  And it is usually just as messy.  (Sorry to put that image in your head, but I couldn't resist the connection.)

This room was painted green and yellow to match curtains I bought before I got pregnant.  They had green frogs on them.  This room would have been our baby's room.  I think that is why it has been so neglected.  To turn it into a useful space would be to admit that it would never be what I had dreamed it would be. But now, it is mine. 

A place to make things, to create.  A place to remember.  A place for jars from Caitlin's wedding.  Not a place for the kitty litter.  

A place for unfinished afghans and a very cool knitted purse that I haven't figured out how to finish.  A place for too much yarn.  You can blame my Mamaw for that.  She never saw a skein of yarn or a piece of fabric that wasn't worth buying.  I am my grandmother.  Her picture is on the wall.  Her sewing box is next to the rocking chair.  Her bears are on the dresser.  Her blue suitcase is under the window.  She is here with me. And so are my babies.

Here's to reclaiming unused space.  And making room for memories and that deserve their place on the shelf.

Have a great week!

Seagulls?

We decided to take advantage of a beautiful day today and drive up to the mountains.  I brought my camera thinking I would be taking pictures like this. . . .

And instead, stumbled upon this. 

Yes, those are seagulls.  This is a McDonalds in Sevierville, TN.  I'm guessing that the closest beach is Myrtle Beach, SC and that is 303 miles away.  As much as I would like you to believe I pulled that mileage out of my head, I didn't. 

 I googled it.

I didn't google to find out WHY seagulls would be in Sevierville, TN.  I'm leaving that mystery to your imagination.  Yes, that's me in my car shooting the birds with my camera and Bill is driving slowly to get them to fly. 

Don't worry. We didn't squish any.

But they were beautiful. . .

And now I want to go visit my Dad in Panama City and see them in their more natural habitat.  Oh yea, and have a margarita on the beach.  And get a tan.

They still have the same instincts as a "sea" gull.  Throw out a cheez-it and they swarm like a scene from the movie, The Birds.  Great movie.  Tippi Hedron was in that movie.  She's Melanie Griffith's mom. 

Did you know that? Well, now you do.

This guy is mad that I ran out of cheez-itz. 

This is Jonathan.  (Livingston Seagull)  If you don't get that, you need to go to the library.

Yep.  It's time to go to Florida.



Morbid (not)

Talking about death doesn't have to be a morbid thing.  But we wouldn't know that because we never talk about it.  We are so quick to acknowledge life, the right to life, the value of life, the purpose of life.  But its counterpart is hardly addressed unless it is standing in the room with us poking its finger in our back and saying, "Heeeeyyy.  Remember me?"

Death is not currently poking me in my back as far as I know.  And yes, I did have this incredible urge to knock on wood three times when I typed that.  Or say something like, 'now that I said that.'  All the fear and anxiety that just allowing the thought to enter your head brings and its no wonder that death isn't a popular water cooler topic. 

But it should be.

I think that our society fails miserably in its practice of dealing with death.  I think we try to wrap it up into some ridiculous package of meaningless rituals all while forgetting the most important thing.  Death is a part of life.  And depending on your religious or spiritual views, death is a transformation.  But even that knowledge doesn't hit the nail on the head.  Because death means far more to the people who are living than it does to the one who died. 

To the people left behind, we try desperately to make sense of it.  Not because it is complicated - we live, we die.  But because we're never given the proper skills to process it.  If you have a strong sense of faith, then you probably have more skills than most.  But even then, the traditions of our society still dictate how, when, and what is an 'appropriate' or 'acceptable' way to express grief or recognize the life of the person who died.

It has been my experience that we can be our own worse enemy.  Death is not a fun subject and in our own discomfort we are too willing to brush others aside in order not to have to deal with it.  Its no wonder that people feel so alone when someone dies.  It's not just the loss of their loved one that causes the vacuum, its the loss of everyone else. 

I don't have any answers other than to say that I believe there is no wrong way to deal with it.  If you're dealing with a loss and you do something that makes you feel better, then that was the right thing to do.  And if you're trying to help someone dealing with a loss, be the person who sticks.  Be open to hear the pain.  And learn. . .because you'll be there one day, too.  We all will. 

Now, knock on wood three times, and have a great week! 

History

When I was small, we spent most of our vacations in East Tennessee.  I always loved it here, but I never fully appreciated its beauty until I lived in New Jersey.   :-)  Not that New Jersey doesn't have its own type of beauty (and it does, believe me), its just different.  There is a depth of beauty here that goes far beyond the mountains, rivers, and trees. 





Every place has a story.  A little old, a little new, but beautiful just the same.




This carving was made from a tree my husband cut down many years ago.  It is still held in place by the roots of the tree.



I can see my mamaw's eyes in the eyes of this bear, just like I hear her sing to me through bluegrass music.  

And if I look close, I can see my papaw standing on the creek picking up a round, flat stone and skipping it across the water.

 

The footprints of an earlier life that have not been completely washed away.  We are so lucky to touch that history and still feel the connection.  They are our history.









"This we know:  All things are connected like the blood that unites us.  We did not weave the web of live.  We are merely a strand in it.  Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves."

Have a great week!

Jump.

I wanted to write about something positive today.  But I realized I wasn't quite there.  I don't know if its because of all that blasted rain and the everyday stresses that seem to get me down.  But I just wasn't feeling it.  So, I decided to just sit and write and see what happens.

That's the way most things go, you know.  Need to get dinner but have no idea what you're hungry for?  Go to the grocery store and see what looks good. . .or what's on sale.  Then, before you know it, you're excited about dinner.  This is a process that speaks loudly to me.  I'll admit that it is nice when I'm feeling all organized and looking at lists to tell me what to do and when.  But I never get the same feeling of satisfaction that comes with pulling something out of thin air at the last minute and watching it soar.

This is the last week of my forty-fifth year here on planet earth.  I don't feel forty-five.  But then again, how exactly is forty-five supposed to feel?  I wouldn't know.  I think it is funny how we judge our age by looking at other people.  I see more evidence of the passage of time by looking at my children than by looking at myself.  They are the road markers in my life. .I was 20 when Caitlin was born, 23 for Jenny, 30 for Colton.  I was 27 when I said goodbye to Madison.  Every single one of those days impacted the course of my life.  And every 24 hour period prior to each of those days was for me, standing on the cusp of something wonderful. 

One thing I have learned as I've gotten 'older' ::gag cough:: is that it appears to the untrained eye that there aren't as many of 'those' days.  I am slowly learning that they are still there.  You just have to look for them.  And sometimes you have to pull them out of thin air.  Maybe we don't give those days as much credit because they seem to come from within.  They are days that aren't necessarily celebrated and remembered every 12 months, but when you look back, they always stand out as days to remember.  Days where you were forced to grow and change in a dramatic way.  Days where you surprised yourself with what you could do.  Days where you stood on the cusp and then pressed forward through the fear and doubt to accomplish something you never knew you were capable of.  

This week I am celebrating my birthday, but I am also celebrating all those days that brought me to where I am today..  And I'm also remembering those days of standing on the cusp, wondering if I had the strength, wondering if I was brave enough, worrying that I would fail. . .and then doing it anyway.   

I want to tell the lady in the painting to jump.  I want to tell her that I know there could be rocks in the water, and yes, she may hit them.  But the water looks GOOD and the moment while she is flying in the air will be amazing.  And if she doesn't jump, she'll never know how great it could have been. 

So, what are you waiting for? 

Jump.

Cake.

"I don't want beck-skus.  I want CAKE!"  nephew Anthony, 2 years old

This quote is quite famous in my family and it happened one morning before I had children while we were visiting family.  My nephew was having a battle with his mom over whether he should have beck-skus (breakfast) or cake.  I don't remember who won.  But I remember thinking, of course he wants cake!  We all want cake!  Why can't we just have cake?!?

Anthony was awesome and probably taught me more about being a mom than any other child.  He was smart.  (He took his training wheels off his bike before his 5th birthday and rode it like he'd been doing it all his life.)  And he had his own opinions and he let them be known.  So what if everybody thought he looked cute in his Osh Kosh overalls?  He didn't want to wear them so he sat on the stairs until they were taken off.  His mom, who had the patience of Job, would properly challenge him to do whatever she needed to do.  Sometimes she won.  Sometimes she didn't.  But watching their exchanges, you got a glimpse into the inner workings of the United Nations.  Challenge.  Discussion. Compromise.  Three words that best describe the job of being a parent.  (or challenge, discussion, challenge, challenge, cave, challenge, discussion, discussion, compromise, compromise, challenge, discussion, and so on. . .you get the picture)

When I had children, I had developed my own ideas of parenting.  I have to stop here and acknowledge that very few of those ideas made the final cut.  Shall we list a few just for fun? 

No kids in bed with mom and dad.  (spectacular fail)  This one ended with my very first at three days of age when I accidentally fell asleep with her while nursing in bed and felt like a human being when I woke up. 

Sleep training.  (total fail)  That poor first child. . .they have to suffer through all those pathetic attempts at doing something you 'thought' was a good idea because you read it in a book.  I tried it once, but when I went to check why she was so quiet, I could see her tear-streaked face and she was doing that post-cry hiccup in her sleep.  I picked her up and rocked her while she slept and apologized. 

Obedient children in public.  (uh, yeah, right)  How do you even create this?  My first child, yea that one, liked to pretend babies laying on the floor were ponies for her to ride.  Moms would pick up their babies off the floor when we would walk in.  Smart moms.  Once when I had both girls, I was with a group of moms at a restaurant and one of them looked at me and said, "You are amazing.  You are such a patient mom."  (Translation: your kids are brats and I don't know how you stand it.) 

No sugar or preservatives.  Obviously parents who are successful at this have live-in chefs, never turn on a TV, never eat out, and don't have relatives who think its cute to give a baby ice cream.  I humbly salute you.

One of the things I realized later was that every rule I broke brought me closer to the mom I wanted to be.  Every challenge I made to myself, to others, to the books, helped me to clarify what was most important to me.  It helped me to look at my children and celebrate who they were meant to be. Instead of judging value by what others say, I developed my own values.  And I agreed with Anthony.  I didn't want beck-skus.  I wanted cake.

The cake of being a mom. . .that's easy.  Appreciating where you are.  Seeing your children as the unique, facinating, exasperating human beings they are and being okay with that.  Keeping an open mind.  Reading your heart more than you read a book.  Listening at least as much as you talk.  Patting yourself on the back for the hard work you do.  Knowing that your were meant to parent the children you have.  (I totally believe this.  My mom swears by it in the you'llhaveonejustlikeyou sorf of way, but I think there is a bigger purpose, too.)

One unexpected surprise that I received once I let myself off the Good Mother hook was that I realized that I love kids with a little spice.  I was blessed with three.  Standing toe-to-toe with a four year old who refuses to wear anything other than pink sandles with flowers on a day when its 22 degrees outside can be frustrating, but inside you have to cheer this kid on!  Good for YOU!  Fight for those sandles, baby!  Know what you want!  (but please not today when Mommy is in a hurry. . .)

I can't believe I'm actually saying this out loud, but I respect my children when they challenge me.  They are supposed to.   I don't believe children learn to be truly independent by being told, "when you get older, you get to have a say."  They need to exercise those muscles and trust in their abilities to have an opinion, support it, and deal with the outcome.  This doesn't mean they get their way.  But it does mean they get their 'say.'

As your children grow, these things still stick.  You still celebrate those moments when your children forge their own paths that will no doubt look very different than yours.  Yea, blue hair!  Good for you!  Tattoo. . .yeagoodforyou. Those moments that looked like pig-headed stubbornness when they were little magically transform into unstoppable determination.  The moment when my first child looked at me and said, "I'm moving away to finish college," I knew it was a done deal.  She got her degree just as easily as she got to wear pink sandles (with the compromise of socks) in 22 degree weather.

And those moments when they happen to do something that mirrors your values, they are even sweeter.  Because you KNOW they questioned and challenged and decided your way wasn't so bad afterall.  But you will find that you will cheer just as much for the times when they are not on your team as you do when they are.  They may not be on your team, but you will forever be on theirs. 

Go team.  Eat cake.

Sidetracked

I'm supposed to be cleaning.  At least, that was my plan for today.  But I got sidetracked when I came across my old middle school annuals sitting (dusty) on my shelf.  Since I never miss an opportunity to be distracted from cleaning, I started thumbing through them.

I went to Jonesboro Junior High in Jonesboro, GA.  I went there because I had recently moved from the house I grew up in to a new town.  It was an interesting time in my life because on one side things were good (bigger house, cheerleading. . . important things to a 12 year-old,) but on the other side things were falling apart (my parent's marriage.)  Aside from the obvious awkward puberty experience, I was discovering new things about myself, that I was more than just the girl with skinny legs and uncontrollable frizzy hair.  I had opinions.  And if my parents had bothered to ask me, I could have told them my thoughts on what was happening to our family.  Not that it would have made anything different, but I realized I had a unique point of view.  But, I had not yet found my full voice.  That would come later. 

What I had found was a group of friends who knew how to have fun.  And I mean F.U.N.  For the first time, I actually got in trouble at school for pretending to swim on the sinks in the girls' bathroom.  I made my first D.  I smoked a cigarette, well, at least I pretended to.  And I got caught stealing perfume on a dare from the local Eckerd Drug Store.  None of these things resulted in a call to my parents.  (I was, however, banned from entering that drug store on Jonesboro Rd. and I do believe I kept that promise.)  My friends spent our weekends collecting toilet paper from our houses and decorating the neighborhood with it.  Then cleaning it up the next day when the neighbors came knocking at the door.  It may sound like I was a hoodlum, but our activities were fairly benign.  And I never did pick up smoking even though I tried.

I only had two years at this school before my mom moved us to Tennessee, her hometown.  But it was a very important time for me.  I learned that I could take care of myself.  And I learned that even when things may look like they are falling apart around you, that you still have you.  And you can choose whether to sink into it or rise above it.  Aside from my moment of thievery, I think I did a pretty good job.

As my daughters have gotten older, they have shared stories about the things they did when they were about the same age.  I have to admit, they surprised me.  (I still can't believe you guys snuck out the window and I didn't know it. . .)  I guess we see what we want to see.  I preferred to think my girls were safe in bed.  I'm sure my mother prefers to think that I didn't steal that perfume - after I told her the story when I was like, 38.  LOL 

I think we all get sidetracked from time to time.  But even those moments are important because you feel it.  It's like sleeping on the wrong side of the bed.  No matter how hard you try to stay, you always end up on the other side.  You find your way back to your space, and you're better for it.

I guess that means I have to go back and clean now.  :-)  Have a great week!