A while back, BK introduced me to Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit. I didn't listen to the entire Nashville Sound album right away. Then some major curve balls were thrown at me and my normal radio stations were not adding any kind of peace to my drives. I popped in the CD and started listening. Every song spoke to me for a different reason. I cried about Dan when listening to, "If We Were Vampires", I cried for my mom with, "Something to Love", but it was, "Hope the High Road" that I needed to hear and boy did I wear that song out.
Those curve balls ended up being blessings in disguise as my rollercoaster rolls on. New music gets played and life keeps rocking and rolling. On a run the other day, I had all of my millions of songs playing randomly when, "Molotov" started. It got me thinking about change, my change.
I smiled as his mellifluous voice sang:
Another life but I still remember
A county fair in steamy September
In the Year of the Tiger 19-something
I thought about The Girl that I used to be back in 19-something. I was fearless. I was loyal to a fault...an enormous fault. I was ride-or-die before ride-or-die was cool. I made some bad choices and dared the world to stop me.
At the start of the 20-something, I was The Girl behind the bar at Redeyes. I was opening cans, unscrewing little wines, slinging cheap drinks, smoking cheap stoags, and taking too many shots. I was the The Girl down for a good time, hell, I was the good time!
2008 I became The Girl married to Dan. I am smiling now as a memory of us at Woody's just crossed my mind, and that busted white mini-van.
After Dan, I was a different girl. I was The Girl who felt lost. I was The Girl who runs crying out of a grocery store, leaving her full cart because a man walked by that smelled like Dan's deodorant. I was The Girl filling out forms in doctor's offices and making a snotty-tear-filled specticle because my only options were, "single, married, or divorced"...I wasn't ANY of those things.
As the lyrics of the playing song continue, the next verse catches me up to real-time:
Time flies when you're making babies
Do you miss your little black Mercedes
Do you miss the girl you once had time to be?
I think about The Girl I am currently. Almost 40, happily married with 2 extremely high-energy kiddos. I never had a little black mercedes, but time does fly when you're making babies. I thought for a moment: Yes, I do miss The Girl I once had time to be. I would go back in a heartbeat, I would go back only long enough to look at myself in the mirror at each phase of my life and say, "The best is yet to come."
Jason sings, "I hope you still see fire inside of me."
There have been situations and circumstances that have definitely dimmed the flame, but I hope you still see fire inside of me.
Thursday, November 7, 2019
Monday, January 28, 2019
Mom is a Loaded Word
For a long time I really wasn't sure whether I wanted to be a mom. I remember bar-tending and couples with young kids would come in asking for virgin daiquiris and if we had a kids' menu. I was thinking the whole time, take your kids to Chik-Fil-A, we are a bar!!! Or the times I walked out of school on a rough week Friday evening and was SOOOOOOO happy I wouldn't have to see another kid for 48 hours. I was only responsible for me, and I didn't even do a very good job at that!
When J had Lilly, my feelings changed. There are no words for how much I loved that little girl. Even with all the love I had for her, I still took her into a liquor store on my hip with no shoes. I banged her sweet little head on the top of the car at least a dozen times trying to get her into that damn car seat, and probably gave her food that she wasn't supposed to have until certain milestones. I was the very loving, very good intention-ed, crazy aunt.
Now I have 2 of my own. More times than I should admit, I am driving and looking in my rear view mirror at 2 sets of striking blue eyes, thinking....they belong to me. I am their MOM. I am the one that is responsible for their happiness, safety, morals, manners, nutrition, boo-boos, O.M.G the list goes on! I think, I am not that old. I think, I am not that responsible. I think, Jesus take this wheel!
I honestly don't think I have 100% of that mom "gene". I have a track record to prove it. Lawson was 5 days old and we took her to her 1st pediatric appointment. It was snowing and we started the car probably an hour before we put her in it. We zipped her up in the bucket seat blanket, we made sure she was fed and dry. Then we proceeded to drive 10 miles an hour to the appointment. We checked in, Lawson was still asleep, and we were high-fiving each other at this awesome parenting we were doing. Then she pooped. No big deal, right? By then I had changed at least 100 diapers. Sure, but WE DIDN'T BRING A DIAPER BAG!!! We had to "borrow" supplies for the doctor's office all the while wishing we could take back all that confidence and crawl into a hole where we would pray that social services wouldn't be called on our novice parenting asses.
When Levi came around, I definitely felt more comfortable, but maybe I shouldn't have. I picked them up from Cheryl's one day and it was a torrential downpour. I raced Lawson to the car first under the umbrella and got her strapped in. I then ran back for Levi and clipped his bucket seat in, not a drop of water on either one of them. I went snail speed all the way home. I could barely see anything. My palms were sweating, I was praying the whole time. We made it home and I couldn't wait to get my babies in the house. When I set Levi's car seat down and went to grab him out, I was horrified. My heart sank, and I started to cry. I NEVER BUCKLED HIM!! He was sitting with the straps on, but not clasped. I couldn't even bring myself to tell Nick what I had done. I beat myself for DAYS over that one. (Still kind of am, if I'm being honest.)
Last summer we had a bunch of consecutive rainy days. I had cabin fever and really needed to get the kids out of the house. Even though at that point, I have had 2 years practice taking 2 kids out and about, it still gives me anxiety. I managed to brush my teeth and get my hair knots out of sight and in a bun, but there was never time to shower, let alone for makeup in the summer. I got to the indoor playground, and there was a line. I thought, ok, we can do this. I have snacks, water, juice, and my best mommy happy face, it's all good. Levi steals the gold fish from under the stroller in front of us and begins to eat them, and it starts to rain. 45 minutes in line and we are in. It's hot and crowded. Levi is crying because he sees the slide but can't just run to yet, neither of them understanding that mommy still needs to pay. Even though my upper lip is sweating, I am still pretty confident. I had been able to repay the goldfish, and I had remembered to pack socks! WINNING!
15 minutes later, I am pitting out through my shirt. Levi went up the slide ramp and never came back down. As I am trying to play it cool, because where could he have gone- it's just up a slide, he has to come down- I have made eye contact with a former intern from decades ago who is handling the chaos of the place way better than I. She refers to me as Ms. Lilly and has that look on her face like, "I almost didn't recognize your old and sweaty ass" Then a fluorescent green shirt is walking toward me with a screaming Levi in her arms, saying, "Is this your mommy, honey? I found him at the top of the slide, crying"I smile very nicely and act as though I am completely Ok with this chain events, thinking - Thanks lady, I knew he was up there, if you weren't 500 kids over capacity, I might have heard him crying myself.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I then spy a person I went to high school with sipping coffee with a buddy looking so calm and collected and actually looking like she's having fun in this hell hole! After the hour of torture, I forced them to the exit. Moms are all kumbaya on mats they brought from home eating snacks and peanut free shit. I thought, you know what? I brought snacks, we can sit and have a snack too. I proceeded to hand out gold fish, teddy grams, gummies, and drinks. Then another (not sweating and fresh-makeup) mom came into the room and says to her brood, "lets sanitize before we eat anything." Shit! I didn't think about sanitizing, now my kids are going to have hand/foot/mouth because, again, I wasn't thinking like a, "mom".
Lawson recently turned 5 and we had a kid party at Totsville. I stressed over goody bags, food, decorations, balloons, wanting everything to be perfect....but forgot to bring forks!
Even though I might have been given a half-gene when it comes to mommying, I wouldn't trade this role for any other job in the world. When my Lawson tells me, "You're the best mommy in the world" and when Levi looks at me and says, "Lub you, Mommy", everything else melts away.
My household is far from perfect, but we laugh. We laugh and giggle and joke ALL THE TIME. My kids will most likely not remember that I sometimes made them brush their teeth in the car with sippy cups of water, (just swish its around and swallow it down guys) but they will remember that we danced (A LOT) and made our sides hurt with laughter.
When J had Lilly, my feelings changed. There are no words for how much I loved that little girl. Even with all the love I had for her, I still took her into a liquor store on my hip with no shoes. I banged her sweet little head on the top of the car at least a dozen times trying to get her into that damn car seat, and probably gave her food that she wasn't supposed to have until certain milestones. I was the very loving, very good intention-ed, crazy aunt.
Now I have 2 of my own. More times than I should admit, I am driving and looking in my rear view mirror at 2 sets of striking blue eyes, thinking....they belong to me. I am their MOM. I am the one that is responsible for their happiness, safety, morals, manners, nutrition, boo-boos, O.M.G the list goes on! I think, I am not that old. I think, I am not that responsible. I think, Jesus take this wheel!
I honestly don't think I have 100% of that mom "gene". I have a track record to prove it. Lawson was 5 days old and we took her to her 1st pediatric appointment. It was snowing and we started the car probably an hour before we put her in it. We zipped her up in the bucket seat blanket, we made sure she was fed and dry. Then we proceeded to drive 10 miles an hour to the appointment. We checked in, Lawson was still asleep, and we were high-fiving each other at this awesome parenting we were doing. Then she pooped. No big deal, right? By then I had changed at least 100 diapers. Sure, but WE DIDN'T BRING A DIAPER BAG!!! We had to "borrow" supplies for the doctor's office all the while wishing we could take back all that confidence and crawl into a hole where we would pray that social services wouldn't be called on our novice parenting asses.
When Levi came around, I definitely felt more comfortable, but maybe I shouldn't have. I picked them up from Cheryl's one day and it was a torrential downpour. I raced Lawson to the car first under the umbrella and got her strapped in. I then ran back for Levi and clipped his bucket seat in, not a drop of water on either one of them. I went snail speed all the way home. I could barely see anything. My palms were sweating, I was praying the whole time. We made it home and I couldn't wait to get my babies in the house. When I set Levi's car seat down and went to grab him out, I was horrified. My heart sank, and I started to cry. I NEVER BUCKLED HIM!! He was sitting with the straps on, but not clasped. I couldn't even bring myself to tell Nick what I had done. I beat myself for DAYS over that one. (Still kind of am, if I'm being honest.)
Last summer we had a bunch of consecutive rainy days. I had cabin fever and really needed to get the kids out of the house. Even though at that point, I have had 2 years practice taking 2 kids out and about, it still gives me anxiety. I managed to brush my teeth and get my hair knots out of sight and in a bun, but there was never time to shower, let alone for makeup in the summer. I got to the indoor playground, and there was a line. I thought, ok, we can do this. I have snacks, water, juice, and my best mommy happy face, it's all good. Levi steals the gold fish from under the stroller in front of us and begins to eat them, and it starts to rain. 45 minutes in line and we are in. It's hot and crowded. Levi is crying because he sees the slide but can't just run to yet, neither of them understanding that mommy still needs to pay. Even though my upper lip is sweating, I am still pretty confident. I had been able to repay the goldfish, and I had remembered to pack socks! WINNING!
15 minutes later, I am pitting out through my shirt. Levi went up the slide ramp and never came back down. As I am trying to play it cool, because where could he have gone- it's just up a slide, he has to come down- I have made eye contact with a former intern from decades ago who is handling the chaos of the place way better than I. She refers to me as Ms. Lilly and has that look on her face like, "I almost didn't recognize your old and sweaty ass" Then a fluorescent green shirt is walking toward me with a screaming Levi in her arms, saying, "Is this your mommy, honey? I found him at the top of the slide, crying"I smile very nicely and act as though I am completely Ok with this chain events, thinking - Thanks lady, I knew he was up there, if you weren't 500 kids over capacity, I might have heard him crying myself.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I then spy a person I went to high school with sipping coffee with a buddy looking so calm and collected and actually looking like she's having fun in this hell hole! After the hour of torture, I forced them to the exit. Moms are all kumbaya on mats they brought from home eating snacks and peanut free shit. I thought, you know what? I brought snacks, we can sit and have a snack too. I proceeded to hand out gold fish, teddy grams, gummies, and drinks. Then another (not sweating and fresh-makeup) mom came into the room and says to her brood, "lets sanitize before we eat anything." Shit! I didn't think about sanitizing, now my kids are going to have hand/foot/mouth because, again, I wasn't thinking like a, "mom".
Lawson recently turned 5 and we had a kid party at Totsville. I stressed over goody bags, food, decorations, balloons, wanting everything to be perfect....but forgot to bring forks!
Even though I might have been given a half-gene when it comes to mommying, I wouldn't trade this role for any other job in the world. When my Lawson tells me, "You're the best mommy in the world" and when Levi looks at me and says, "Lub you, Mommy", everything else melts away.
My household is far from perfect, but we laugh. We laugh and giggle and joke ALL THE TIME. My kids will most likely not remember that I sometimes made them brush their teeth in the car with sippy cups of water, (just swish its around and swallow it down guys) but they will remember that we danced (A LOT) and made our sides hurt with laughter.
Sunday, December 16, 2018
500 Miles
I have always had a love/hate relationship with running. Even back in elementary school, I wanted to win the mile run every field day, but I never really looked forward to the actual running part of it. I just wanted to beat Brooks Bernard. I don't think I ever beat Brooks, but I was always the winner for the girls. The summer before 6th grade I got a Walkman and a Walkman case as my "5th grade promotion" gift. I strapped that bad boy on, put in Appetite for Destruction and off I went. Even then, I knew I wasn't running for exercise. I didn't love the feeling of leg exhaustion, sweat in my eyes, or retracing the steps of the mile run through my now, "old" elementary school fields. I just wanted to RUN. I was always running away, even though I would end up back home every single time.
Fast forward to high school and it turned out, running was a sport! I joined the team of runners and again, it wasn't because I wanted to run. It was because I could stay after school and run away without having to leave my family. My past and current traumas were catching up to me in those high school years of mine. That is going to be my excuse for running most of my, "cross country" runs to the half way point, taking a lighter and a wet and bent smoke out of my sports bra, hot-boxing it, and continuing on back to the high school to end my run. Who does that?
I don't remember running in college. Could it have been that it wasn't safe where we lived....maybe, but I think, it had more to do with the fact that I didn't feel the need to run away then. My mom was safe and finally with the love of her life, my sister was a quick hour away in Easton, and I had the best friends living in that dilapidated house with me!
Dan got me back into running when we became a couple. He taught me how to regulate my breathing, he showed me how to keep going when I'd met my peak heart rate and thought I would die. With his coaching, I not only got that runners' high but I started to see a positive change in my physic as well. It would make me push even harder when he ran behind me and would say things like, "I see your KFC shaking!". I am laughing right now just thinking about it. We ran the trails with Gunner and sprinted up hills so steep, that it felt like mountain climbing at times. There was never a run in those years that I was, "escaping", ever. I was running toward love. I was running into a better Tiffin. I was running toward the life I didn't have much confidence I deserved.
By now, if you've followed this road, you know that Dan and I were in the process of training for our very first half marathon when he died on the treadmill. Running for me, changed again.
I still can't believe that I ran that half marathon in Nashville only 4 months after he died. I ran that race with no music. I ran that race crying the whole time. My sole purpose of running that race was to prove to myself that I was still alive. I was, and I am.
Lots of races, many half marathons later, highlights of my life, and more unimaginable tragedies, I am still running.
December has a way of reminding me that even the things we hold to be the most precious, can be taken in an instant. Of course I think about Dan, and December is also the month we had to say goodbye to Levi's twin. December is a month filled with family gatherings in which I can't see my mother's face. However, December is also the month that fill my children's faces with so much joy and magic, that my heart feels like it might explode at any moment.
This year, with the great idea of my very inspirational Jill, I have tracked my runs. And, this December, I will hit 500 miles. 500 miles of running away from temper tantrums, 500 miles of thinking about how I can be a better wife, 500 miles of praying for patience, 500 miles of praying that I don't *F-up my kids in an irreversible way, 500 miles of realizing I can't reach every kid, 500 miles of a pat on the back for the kids I did reach, 500 miles of being thankful for second chances and new beginnings, 500 miles of, "talking out loud", 500 miles of "I shouldn't have had that doughnut", and
500 miles of running toward, NOT away.
Yes, mortality is real and scary. Yes, December brings that forefront in my mind. But damned if I can't push that aside with each mile and be so happy for the moments that I (and all whom I love) are breathing in and out...
Fast forward to high school and it turned out, running was a sport! I joined the team of runners and again, it wasn't because I wanted to run. It was because I could stay after school and run away without having to leave my family. My past and current traumas were catching up to me in those high school years of mine. That is going to be my excuse for running most of my, "cross country" runs to the half way point, taking a lighter and a wet and bent smoke out of my sports bra, hot-boxing it, and continuing on back to the high school to end my run. Who does that?
I don't remember running in college. Could it have been that it wasn't safe where we lived....maybe, but I think, it had more to do with the fact that I didn't feel the need to run away then. My mom was safe and finally with the love of her life, my sister was a quick hour away in Easton, and I had the best friends living in that dilapidated house with me!
Dan got me back into running when we became a couple. He taught me how to regulate my breathing, he showed me how to keep going when I'd met my peak heart rate and thought I would die. With his coaching, I not only got that runners' high but I started to see a positive change in my physic as well. It would make me push even harder when he ran behind me and would say things like, "I see your KFC shaking!". I am laughing right now just thinking about it. We ran the trails with Gunner and sprinted up hills so steep, that it felt like mountain climbing at times. There was never a run in those years that I was, "escaping", ever. I was running toward love. I was running into a better Tiffin. I was running toward the life I didn't have much confidence I deserved.
By now, if you've followed this road, you know that Dan and I were in the process of training for our very first half marathon when he died on the treadmill. Running for me, changed again.
I still can't believe that I ran that half marathon in Nashville only 4 months after he died. I ran that race with no music. I ran that race crying the whole time. My sole purpose of running that race was to prove to myself that I was still alive. I was, and I am.
Lots of races, many half marathons later, highlights of my life, and more unimaginable tragedies, I am still running.
December has a way of reminding me that even the things we hold to be the most precious, can be taken in an instant. Of course I think about Dan, and December is also the month we had to say goodbye to Levi's twin. December is a month filled with family gatherings in which I can't see my mother's face. However, December is also the month that fill my children's faces with so much joy and magic, that my heart feels like it might explode at any moment.
This year, with the great idea of my very inspirational Jill, I have tracked my runs. And, this December, I will hit 500 miles. 500 miles of running away from temper tantrums, 500 miles of thinking about how I can be a better wife, 500 miles of praying for patience, 500 miles of praying that I don't *F-up my kids in an irreversible way, 500 miles of realizing I can't reach every kid, 500 miles of a pat on the back for the kids I did reach, 500 miles of being thankful for second chances and new beginnings, 500 miles of, "talking out loud", 500 miles of "I shouldn't have had that doughnut", and
500 miles of running toward, NOT away.
Yes, mortality is real and scary. Yes, December brings that forefront in my mind. But damned if I can't push that aside with each mile and be so happy for the moments that I (and all whom I love) are breathing in and out...
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
Always Winding
I could be a daily Blogger because I always have thoughts bouncing around about this wild and colorful life I've had (have). However, if I have the opportunity to be in front of a computer it's to respond to a parent, buy something from Teachers Pay Teachers, or I'm pulling up ABC Mouse for my kids while one (or both) of them are hanging on a leg. Today I had a derm appointment, and am now enjoying the beautiful weather and sharing some thoughts for those that choose to follow.
About 10 months ago, anxieties and fears never properly dealt with and one big health issue plagued our family. My last blog was about the other shoe, and it fell hard. It shook our marriage, it shook our world, and it just about capsized our boat. But it didn't.
God (and our family and friends) carried us through last summer. As Fall rolled through, another "new life's" path lay before us. Our family walked it, hand in hand. Winter brought a newness that was prettier than the first sticking flakes. Spring blew in, and with it, those same anxieties that always weighed me down. Anxieties that I perfected at hiding. But not this time. I had new tools and a renewed faith. Not that my faith in God ever wavered, but I needed a reminder that He is in control, not I. I needed a reminder that I can't control what others do, and living in fear isn't really living. Now I try my best to live a different FEAR everyday. Face Everything And Rise. Is it working perfectly? Of course not.
I have lost a husband, so the fact that I am kinda psycho if Nick goes radio silent on me, makes sense. I lost my mom, so when I walk into a Walgreens or CVS in May and can't stop crying, it makes sense. I lost an unborn child and almost lost Levi, so when I panic a little over a high fever, it makes sense. Someone who has lived through the trauma that I have, will always let that sneaky little, "what if" set off a heart palpitation or two. What makes the most sense, however, is that I know I am not driving. When I can really put my hands up and say, "Lord, just show me where to go", is when I have the most peace.
Instead of looking at the trials and tribulations of this past year or so as place of ruins, I see the shaking of our proverbial world as a force that cracked and tore down walls that needed to go worse than Berlin's. We were blessed with a new foundation to rebuild, and the tools we needed to do it. Brick by painful and joyful brick, we have been rebuilding and repaving our (always winding) road.
Tomorrow would be mine and Dan's TEN year wedding anniversary. If someone had told me before I walked down the aisle where I would be and what I would have to endure in the next 10 years, I might have kissed him one last time and gotten on a plane to BFE, never to be seen again.
"Celebrating" ten years at the cemetery is never in the, "plan". However, I will talk (out loud) to Dan about my life now and ALL the beauty that it holds. It might sound to some that I am not being humble when saying this, but I am really proud of myself. I've worked very hard to be my best self for me, and more so to be the best example for my children. I am not ashamed to say that I have put in MANY therapy hours to be here. And in light of learning about Kate Spade and all of those who suffer in silence, all of those who self medicate in unhealthy ways, please talk to someone.
Finally, I am going to give my husband an enormous internet hug in saying that the work he has put in for our family these past 10 months is unsurpassed. And since sports (oh, and us) are your life, I am going to say that we are the best team out there! WE CAN'T BE BEAT...wait, ALL CAPS are for something else, right? ;-)
Spread kindness not poison, everyone. XO
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
The Other Shoe
The saying, "Waiting for the other shoe to drop" stems from someone in an upper level apartment taking off their shoe and tossing it down to the ground. The noise startles everyone underneath as they hold their breath for the next loud noise to rattle the ceiling. It ultimately means that you are waiting for the next, almost certain bad event to occur.
A long time ago, I must have lived in a high rise apartment. I must have had lead feet, a size 15 shoe, and worked in steal-toed boots. I had no consideration for the people below me as I kicked of those boots and let them descend abruptly to the floor. I then rocked in my squeaky Lazy Boy and snored myself to sleep. Another scenario is that I was the one whom lived in the bottom floor apartment. I listened every night, and jumped with every thud. I made a deal with anyone listening that I would give anything for the noises to stop. They did. I was so elated that I threw my own shoes in the air like confetti, and smiled even though they never fell back down to earth....until the next life.
The first shoe fell when I lost my husband, The next dropped when my mother passed. Nick and I lost a child, Levi was hospitalized, and smaller and lighter shoes fell in between and so on.
I never write these personal sob story because I think that the shoes that fall in my life are heavier than anyone else's. I write because it helps me pick them up and place them in their appropriate homes. Recently it seems as though a steady rain of ballet slippers is falling on my shoulders. Although they are lighter than the combat boots that have fallen before them, when they are thick and frequent like this, they feel as heavy as bowling balls.
For those of you that know and love me, you know that I sometimes write at a time when I feel most vulnerable. I write in hopes that my warriors of the Lord will not see this as a cry for attention but a cry for prayers, and gladly lift me up to Him. For the "judgy" few that are reading this, know that I am aware of my blessings. I have a home, a husband, a job with income, and two AMAZING children that make my heart feel as though it is going to spontaneously combust when they smile at me. Family- my own and my husband's who will (and have) give the shirt directly off their back for us. Friends- How do I even begin to express the gratitude and appreciation for my friends? I don't deserve them, I really don't. I get it, and I thank the Lord every day for these blessings.
BUT FOR TONIGHT- I write this in the dark (by choice, not because the electric has been shut off, that will be the next shoe), in the sweltering heat (NOT BY CHOICE, but because our AC unit took a dump yesterday), 2 Blue Moons in because I need a little help sleeping these days, and about a half a minute away from my second meltdown in 24 hours.
Allyson calls me by my new appointed name, "The Tested One", Jill says I am a Lion, The Friend calls me a Phoenix, Heidi says, "life shouldn't be this hard", J calls me "Sissy" and it doesn't get any better than that. Right now, I am calling on you to pray, and I am calling it a night.
Good night hard as shit life, but you better believe I will be thanking God for the opportunity to face another day tomorrow and another after that.
A long time ago, I must have lived in a high rise apartment. I must have had lead feet, a size 15 shoe, and worked in steal-toed boots. I had no consideration for the people below me as I kicked of those boots and let them descend abruptly to the floor. I then rocked in my squeaky Lazy Boy and snored myself to sleep. Another scenario is that I was the one whom lived in the bottom floor apartment. I listened every night, and jumped with every thud. I made a deal with anyone listening that I would give anything for the noises to stop. They did. I was so elated that I threw my own shoes in the air like confetti, and smiled even though they never fell back down to earth....until the next life.
The first shoe fell when I lost my husband, The next dropped when my mother passed. Nick and I lost a child, Levi was hospitalized, and smaller and lighter shoes fell in between and so on.
I never write these personal sob story because I think that the shoes that fall in my life are heavier than anyone else's. I write because it helps me pick them up and place them in their appropriate homes. Recently it seems as though a steady rain of ballet slippers is falling on my shoulders. Although they are lighter than the combat boots that have fallen before them, when they are thick and frequent like this, they feel as heavy as bowling balls.
For those of you that know and love me, you know that I sometimes write at a time when I feel most vulnerable. I write in hopes that my warriors of the Lord will not see this as a cry for attention but a cry for prayers, and gladly lift me up to Him. For the "judgy" few that are reading this, know that I am aware of my blessings. I have a home, a husband, a job with income, and two AMAZING children that make my heart feel as though it is going to spontaneously combust when they smile at me. Family- my own and my husband's who will (and have) give the shirt directly off their back for us. Friends- How do I even begin to express the gratitude and appreciation for my friends? I don't deserve them, I really don't. I get it, and I thank the Lord every day for these blessings.
BUT FOR TONIGHT- I write this in the dark (by choice, not because the electric has been shut off, that will be the next shoe), in the sweltering heat (NOT BY CHOICE, but because our AC unit took a dump yesterday), 2 Blue Moons in because I need a little help sleeping these days, and about a half a minute away from my second meltdown in 24 hours.
Allyson calls me by my new appointed name, "The Tested One", Jill says I am a Lion, The Friend calls me a Phoenix, Heidi says, "life shouldn't be this hard", J calls me "Sissy" and it doesn't get any better than that. Right now, I am calling on you to pray, and I am calling it a night.
Good night hard as shit life, but you better believe I will be thanking God for the opportunity to face another day tomorrow and another after that.
Thursday, September 1, 2016
Such A Thing
There is such a thing as a mother's intuition.
Levi was 26 days old. Lawson was at daycare, and I decided that I was going to venture out with my little dude. I showered for the first time in who knows how long, and put on clothing that was not all 100% spandex. While snuggling in his little neck, I realized that he could use a rinse down too. It started in the bath. I accidentally splashed some cold water on him, and he didn't really react. His eyes didn't get big like they normally do when something new happens. I told myself that my horrible anxiety was what was making my heart race and my ears throb. I told myself that my upped dose of Zoloft just wasn't kicking in yet and I had nothing to worry about. When we were finished with the bath and I was getting him dressed, I noticed his shorter than normal breaths. His eyes now looked cloudy to me and I was in complete panic mode. Nick was working in his office. As I breezed by him, carrying Levi I was able to get out the sentence, "I'm taking him to the ER" before shaking uncontrollably and swallowing vomit. Nick ran after me, wide eyed, but not questioning my reasons. He must have seen something in my eyes. I remember him following me out to the car as I snapped in the car seat. He was already dialing the hospital to tell them we were coming. I was at the end of the street when Nick called me and told me that they would be expecting me.
5 exits. I had to make it 5 exits, yet there was a DEAD STOP traffic jam. I started cry-praying. Lord, if you are truly all Mighty, lift my car from this road and float me to the hospital, Lord, if you were ever planning on "rolling a stone away" at some point in my life, make it now. I need traffic to move, I need to get the hospital......I need my baby to live. I started driving on the shoulder. Not just driving on the shoulder, but crazy lady driving on the shoulder. At this time I am praying, Lord, let me get pulled over, so I can have an escort through this traffic jam. Past honking cars, a blatant run of a red light, and a subsiquent middle finger wave, I made it. I parked directly in front of the entrance to the ER, not giving any fs if they towed me.
There is such a thing a divine coincidence.
The woman checking me in asked my baby's name. I told her Levi James Smith. Her chubby little fingers couldn't type fast enough. I just kept thinking, hurry up, if something happens to my baby because he didn't get properly checked in...etc. The lady looked at me and said, "That's my son's name: Levi James." I couldn't really care about that at this point, even though the rarity wasn't lost on me. She asked his birthday. May 20th, her son was born April 20th. We had children one month apart with the same name. For a moment I could read on her face that she was relieved somewhat that she wasn't in my shoes. But after that fleeting thought left her face, she didn't waste a second in making sure we got seen right away.
There is such a thing as being alone in a crowded room.
My tiny son lay on an adult sized hospital bed. Lathargic, pale, small, helpless. The doctor is talking to me and I have to ask her to repeat herself because my ears are throbbing so loudly. I feel faint and they make me sit at some point. Four different nurses were called in to try and get an IV in his tiny little arm. They poked him so many times and finally had to do an artery prick to get some blood. The doctor explained everything they were going to do next to try and figure out the source of his temperature. I am alone. Nick is with Lawson. I thought they were going to turn me away and tell me I was a crazy worrying mom. I thought that I'd be home right now laughing and telling my friends what a spaz I am. Now they are telling me they are going to admit him. I am still alone. I am so alone. They give him a catheter, they swab his eyes, nose, arm pit, they stick that same swab in his little hiney and yet, he never opened his eyes. They start explaining the spinal tap he'll receive after we go get chest xrays. I am drowning, where am I, what is happening right now?
I am ashamed to write this, but the darkness of this moment can only be told with honesty. Lord, you have to let my baby live. You have taken a husband from me. You have taken my mother from me. You called Levi's sister home to You before her daddy and I even got to meet her. If You take him too, You do not exist. If you take my son, I believe no more.
There is such a thing as ESP with your sister. (especially in our case, but that's a whole other blog)
I heard the heels before anyone else did. I know that walk like I know the sound of my own breathing. I was slowly being brought back up to the surface by every one of those steps. She was making sure I wasn't going to drown and she wasn't even in the room yet. I remember hearing the words said like a question from one of the nurses to the doctor "His Auntie?" but before anyone could have told her that she wasn't allowed back to where we were, she was already there. I looked up and realized I hadn't lifted my head from the position of 3 inches from Levi's face, holding his little hand for hours. We locked eyes, and I was able to let go. I sobbed. I needed my sister, and she was there. She rubbed my back as tears rolled down her face too. But in her eyes was the determination that I needed. Nothing was going to happen to my baby. I wasn't alone.
There is such a thing as judging a book by it's cover.
They wouldn't let us stay for the spinal tap, we had to leave the room. A nurse that I hadn't seen before entered the room and didn't look at me. She was rough looking. She didn't look kind, she looked like she had been doing this job for a long time and it didn't bring her joy anymore. I coudln't believe this was going to be the woman that held my son down for a spinal tap, but what choice did I have? I tried making eye contact with her. I wanted her to read in my eyes, "Please take care of my tiny little son, please be gentle and loving with his sweet little innocent body". She never held my gaze. J and I were led out of the room and I could feel my whole body shaking, my teeth were chattering.
After the spinal tap, we came back and there was this "rough" lady, holding my son as tightly as I would have. She was singing quietly to him and rocking him like her own. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. She still didn't look at me, she got up, pulled out the seat for me and moved aside so I could take over holding my baby. She moved and stood by the door staring at the floor again. J and I shared a glance, and then looked at her one more time. I said, "thank you" in my sincere voice. She finally made eye contact with me and said, "I am sorry that I can't look at you. I am so sorry that you are going through this. If I look at your face anymore I am going to break down too, I am just so sorry." I wanted to hug her, I wanted to punch myself for judging her so harshly. I realized God was with me too. Ok, Lord, I hear you. But, don't forsake me and I won't forsake You.
There is such a thing as the perfect team.
Nick and I are. That night, after Allyson got to our house (again, another whole blog about a selfless person who has been there for me EVERY time I needed her) to watch Lawson, Nick was able to come the hospital. After hours of no food, and being away from her own family, Jaim was able to leave. Levi was asleep in the hospital bassinet. The beeping of machines and hum of fluorescent lights were the only other company in the room. We just looked at each other with tired pained looks, and then embraced. We held each other so tight as if we were holding each other up, I guess at that moment (and for that whole subsequent week) we were.
There is such a thing as being overwhelmingly humbled by the kindness of others.
Jaim came every day after work, because wild horses couldn't have kept her away. Allyson and Michelle did Lawson shifts. Jill was ready for a hug every time I got out of my car to pick Lawson up from Daycare. Cheryl gave Lawson all the extra love and attention that she needed. The prayers. Oh my gosh the amount of prayers! The phone calls, the text messages, the outpouring of support that our family needed.
And then there is Sputty! This mother of 3, busy as shit mom, showed up at my door with at least $200 worth of groceries. She came in, put them away, hugged me tight, and left like she did that sort of thing all the time. How can I repay kindness like that? How do we deserve these amazing people in our lives? Again, I hear you Lord. I see You.
There is such a thing as faith.
Faith is believing in something that you can't see. The Ultimate plan is my biggest mystery. I try so hard to figure out how all the jagged, smooth, curved, and sharp edges of my puzzle will fit together on the page of life. It is a fruitless quest. What I do need to spend more time focused on is being thankful for what I have and who I have to share it with. I am blessed, I am loved, I am thankful. Although I don't know how this blog would have gone had Levi not come home with us at the end of this ordeal, he did, and that is that. As I stare now into his monitor at his chubby cheeks and at Lawson's monitor with her all snuggled up in that Paw Patrol blanket, I could cry. Lord, may Your plan be that I never outlive my children. Amen.
Levi was 26 days old. Lawson was at daycare, and I decided that I was going to venture out with my little dude. I showered for the first time in who knows how long, and put on clothing that was not all 100% spandex. While snuggling in his little neck, I realized that he could use a rinse down too. It started in the bath. I accidentally splashed some cold water on him, and he didn't really react. His eyes didn't get big like they normally do when something new happens. I told myself that my horrible anxiety was what was making my heart race and my ears throb. I told myself that my upped dose of Zoloft just wasn't kicking in yet and I had nothing to worry about. When we were finished with the bath and I was getting him dressed, I noticed his shorter than normal breaths. His eyes now looked cloudy to me and I was in complete panic mode. Nick was working in his office. As I breezed by him, carrying Levi I was able to get out the sentence, "I'm taking him to the ER" before shaking uncontrollably and swallowing vomit. Nick ran after me, wide eyed, but not questioning my reasons. He must have seen something in my eyes. I remember him following me out to the car as I snapped in the car seat. He was already dialing the hospital to tell them we were coming. I was at the end of the street when Nick called me and told me that they would be expecting me.
5 exits. I had to make it 5 exits, yet there was a DEAD STOP traffic jam. I started cry-praying. Lord, if you are truly all Mighty, lift my car from this road and float me to the hospital, Lord, if you were ever planning on "rolling a stone away" at some point in my life, make it now. I need traffic to move, I need to get the hospital......I need my baby to live. I started driving on the shoulder. Not just driving on the shoulder, but crazy lady driving on the shoulder. At this time I am praying, Lord, let me get pulled over, so I can have an escort through this traffic jam. Past honking cars, a blatant run of a red light, and a subsiquent middle finger wave, I made it. I parked directly in front of the entrance to the ER, not giving any fs if they towed me.
There is such a thing a divine coincidence.
The woman checking me in asked my baby's name. I told her Levi James Smith. Her chubby little fingers couldn't type fast enough. I just kept thinking, hurry up, if something happens to my baby because he didn't get properly checked in...etc. The lady looked at me and said, "That's my son's name: Levi James." I couldn't really care about that at this point, even though the rarity wasn't lost on me. She asked his birthday. May 20th, her son was born April 20th. We had children one month apart with the same name. For a moment I could read on her face that she was relieved somewhat that she wasn't in my shoes. But after that fleeting thought left her face, she didn't waste a second in making sure we got seen right away.
There is such a thing as being alone in a crowded room.
My tiny son lay on an adult sized hospital bed. Lathargic, pale, small, helpless. The doctor is talking to me and I have to ask her to repeat herself because my ears are throbbing so loudly. I feel faint and they make me sit at some point. Four different nurses were called in to try and get an IV in his tiny little arm. They poked him so many times and finally had to do an artery prick to get some blood. The doctor explained everything they were going to do next to try and figure out the source of his temperature. I am alone. Nick is with Lawson. I thought they were going to turn me away and tell me I was a crazy worrying mom. I thought that I'd be home right now laughing and telling my friends what a spaz I am. Now they are telling me they are going to admit him. I am still alone. I am so alone. They give him a catheter, they swab his eyes, nose, arm pit, they stick that same swab in his little hiney and yet, he never opened his eyes. They start explaining the spinal tap he'll receive after we go get chest xrays. I am drowning, where am I, what is happening right now?
I am ashamed to write this, but the darkness of this moment can only be told with honesty. Lord, you have to let my baby live. You have taken a husband from me. You have taken my mother from me. You called Levi's sister home to You before her daddy and I even got to meet her. If You take him too, You do not exist. If you take my son, I believe no more.
There is such a thing as ESP with your sister. (especially in our case, but that's a whole other blog)
I heard the heels before anyone else did. I know that walk like I know the sound of my own breathing. I was slowly being brought back up to the surface by every one of those steps. She was making sure I wasn't going to drown and she wasn't even in the room yet. I remember hearing the words said like a question from one of the nurses to the doctor "His Auntie?" but before anyone could have told her that she wasn't allowed back to where we were, she was already there. I looked up and realized I hadn't lifted my head from the position of 3 inches from Levi's face, holding his little hand for hours. We locked eyes, and I was able to let go. I sobbed. I needed my sister, and she was there. She rubbed my back as tears rolled down her face too. But in her eyes was the determination that I needed. Nothing was going to happen to my baby. I wasn't alone.
There is such a thing as judging a book by it's cover.
They wouldn't let us stay for the spinal tap, we had to leave the room. A nurse that I hadn't seen before entered the room and didn't look at me. She was rough looking. She didn't look kind, she looked like she had been doing this job for a long time and it didn't bring her joy anymore. I coudln't believe this was going to be the woman that held my son down for a spinal tap, but what choice did I have? I tried making eye contact with her. I wanted her to read in my eyes, "Please take care of my tiny little son, please be gentle and loving with his sweet little innocent body". She never held my gaze. J and I were led out of the room and I could feel my whole body shaking, my teeth were chattering.
After the spinal tap, we came back and there was this "rough" lady, holding my son as tightly as I would have. She was singing quietly to him and rocking him like her own. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. She still didn't look at me, she got up, pulled out the seat for me and moved aside so I could take over holding my baby. She moved and stood by the door staring at the floor again. J and I shared a glance, and then looked at her one more time. I said, "thank you" in my sincere voice. She finally made eye contact with me and said, "I am sorry that I can't look at you. I am so sorry that you are going through this. If I look at your face anymore I am going to break down too, I am just so sorry." I wanted to hug her, I wanted to punch myself for judging her so harshly. I realized God was with me too. Ok, Lord, I hear you. But, don't forsake me and I won't forsake You.
There is such a thing as the perfect team.
Nick and I are. That night, after Allyson got to our house (again, another whole blog about a selfless person who has been there for me EVERY time I needed her) to watch Lawson, Nick was able to come the hospital. After hours of no food, and being away from her own family, Jaim was able to leave. Levi was asleep in the hospital bassinet. The beeping of machines and hum of fluorescent lights were the only other company in the room. We just looked at each other with tired pained looks, and then embraced. We held each other so tight as if we were holding each other up, I guess at that moment (and for that whole subsequent week) we were.
There is such a thing as being overwhelmingly humbled by the kindness of others.
Jaim came every day after work, because wild horses couldn't have kept her away. Allyson and Michelle did Lawson shifts. Jill was ready for a hug every time I got out of my car to pick Lawson up from Daycare. Cheryl gave Lawson all the extra love and attention that she needed. The prayers. Oh my gosh the amount of prayers! The phone calls, the text messages, the outpouring of support that our family needed.
And then there is Sputty! This mother of 3, busy as shit mom, showed up at my door with at least $200 worth of groceries. She came in, put them away, hugged me tight, and left like she did that sort of thing all the time. How can I repay kindness like that? How do we deserve these amazing people in our lives? Again, I hear you Lord. I see You.
There is such a thing as faith.
Faith is believing in something that you can't see. The Ultimate plan is my biggest mystery. I try so hard to figure out how all the jagged, smooth, curved, and sharp edges of my puzzle will fit together on the page of life. It is a fruitless quest. What I do need to spend more time focused on is being thankful for what I have and who I have to share it with. I am blessed, I am loved, I am thankful. Although I don't know how this blog would have gone had Levi not come home with us at the end of this ordeal, he did, and that is that. As I stare now into his monitor at his chubby cheeks and at Lawson's monitor with her all snuggled up in that Paw Patrol blanket, I could cry. Lord, may Your plan be that I never outlive my children. Amen.
Friday, May 6, 2016
Tomorrow
Tomorrow. Not the futuristic tomorrow of infinite possibilities, but the actual tomorrow....May 7th.
It weighs on my heart the moment the calendar turns to May. For me, it's more like April showers bring May sours. May 7th is the day our mother, who loved to live, took her last breath. Her last moments are burned in my mind. I remember needing to leave hospice as fast as I could. She was gone, and I needed to go too. I had no place to go but home, but I needed to get there with urgency. I needed to scream into my pillow and crawl into my turtle shell.
I was alone when I got home and I remember going out back with the dogs and sitting at the patio table. I opened a beer and had scrounged up a stale Marlboro Light that needed smoking at that moment. I will never forget thinking, It is such a beautiful day, and my mom just died. My mom is gone forever. Then as I took another drag, I pictured her looking down on me from the clouds. I imagined just how incredibly disappointed she'd be to see me smoking a cigarette, so I put it out. (The beer, I continued to drink). The tears, they continued as well. The tears haven't stopped yet.
Mom,
Tomorrow is your angel date. I know you are the angel with the biggest smile in Heaven, because your smile lit up earth when you were here. I feel you with me the most at night when I am reading, giggling, and snuggling with Lawson. You should hear her laugh, it is impossible not to smile. She asked the other night, looking at your picture on her wall, "Mommy who's that?" I said, Lawson that is my mommy, that is your GIGI. She said, "yah, mommy." That is all she said, but all I could think was that somehow, someway, she knows you. Does she know you because I am half of you? Does she know you because you visit her in her dreams? I don't know, but I have to believe that. As the date draws near for our son to be born, I have to believe you know him too. I picture you with his twin sister, bouncing her on your knee, holding her to your neck, wrapping her in your wings. I wish I could see you both. I wish you both were here. Nothing about tomorrow is easy for the ones that miss you here on earth. My comfort is that easy is all you have for all of eternity. As always, thank you for teaching me how to be a mommy. Thank you for all of your sacrifices, and thank you for endless love you showered upon us. I use your words as I lay Lawson down every night. She now says them along with me. "You are my gift, my joy, and my treasure, and I love you."
I miss you, I love you, and I will see you in all things beautiful and true.
Love,
Your bayba
It weighs on my heart the moment the calendar turns to May. For me, it's more like April showers bring May sours. May 7th is the day our mother, who loved to live, took her last breath. Her last moments are burned in my mind. I remember needing to leave hospice as fast as I could. She was gone, and I needed to go too. I had no place to go but home, but I needed to get there with urgency. I needed to scream into my pillow and crawl into my turtle shell.
I was alone when I got home and I remember going out back with the dogs and sitting at the patio table. I opened a beer and had scrounged up a stale Marlboro Light that needed smoking at that moment. I will never forget thinking, It is such a beautiful day, and my mom just died. My mom is gone forever. Then as I took another drag, I pictured her looking down on me from the clouds. I imagined just how incredibly disappointed she'd be to see me smoking a cigarette, so I put it out. (The beer, I continued to drink). The tears, they continued as well. The tears haven't stopped yet.
Mom,
Tomorrow is your angel date. I know you are the angel with the biggest smile in Heaven, because your smile lit up earth when you were here. I feel you with me the most at night when I am reading, giggling, and snuggling with Lawson. You should hear her laugh, it is impossible not to smile. She asked the other night, looking at your picture on her wall, "Mommy who's that?" I said, Lawson that is my mommy, that is your GIGI. She said, "yah, mommy." That is all she said, but all I could think was that somehow, someway, she knows you. Does she know you because I am half of you? Does she know you because you visit her in her dreams? I don't know, but I have to believe that. As the date draws near for our son to be born, I have to believe you know him too. I picture you with his twin sister, bouncing her on your knee, holding her to your neck, wrapping her in your wings. I wish I could see you both. I wish you both were here. Nothing about tomorrow is easy for the ones that miss you here on earth. My comfort is that easy is all you have for all of eternity. As always, thank you for teaching me how to be a mommy. Thank you for all of your sacrifices, and thank you for endless love you showered upon us. I use your words as I lay Lawson down every night. She now says them along with me. "You are my gift, my joy, and my treasure, and I love you."
I miss you, I love you, and I will see you in all things beautiful and true.
Love,
Your bayba
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