For Sammy...

I'm not ready to sleep. To close my eyes and open them on the day we lost you. I don't want to write that it's been a year. You've been gone a year. Every memory after today is including a time you weren't there.

I'm told I should be handling this better. My grief should be lessing. Some are losing patience with me. But, the truth is, some days it is better. And then a memory eases in and I'm a Hot Mess in zero to 60...

I miss you every day. Most days I breath. Some days I struggle with just that. Breathing.

If only saving you had been as simple as ensuring you were wearing proper safety equipment for whatever adventure we were embarking on when you were a year old...

But Life. And we failed you. I failed you. And we've lived a whole year without you. And I never got to say goodbye...

The one about the mantra...

I'm good. We're good. I'm good...

For the past year people have been asking how we're doing. For various reasons. Because it's been a shitty, trying year. They've asked how my sister's doing. How my husband is doing. How my daughter is doing.

We're good. They're ok. He's good. I'm good. I'm good...

In all of the moments I had to remind myself to breathe. I'm good. I'm good...

I haven't written about our sweet Sammy because it's still too raw. Too open. One day I will. But not now. So, when asked? I'm okay. I'm good...

Our baby girl's arthritis has flared up with such a vengeance her one medication is no longer keeping it under control. She was prescribed another, and it was useless. So now she's on another. The one we never wanted to see because we know it. We know the effects it has on her dad. The life it takes away. But it also shuts down the disease. Giving her back use of her wrists. Allowing my precious 9-year-old daughter to write, and scamper across the monkey bars. So our plan has been that she takes the medication on a Friday night. Time for her to sleep through the worse of the side effects, and a weekend to get over the rest. She's good. We're good. I'm good...

She's in therapy once a week...switching off between counseling and occupational. Head, sensory, and body. She's good...

Winter arrived in full force a few days ago. I was raised in the tropics. I'm miserable in the cold, and this morning we were at 0 degrees F. Old house. Old windows. Old heat system. All I want to do is drink hot tea and hibernate. But I remember a few years ago when that heat system broke. So even bundled up, knowing there is actually heat coming from the vents...I'm good.

It's been a year of talking myself into getting out of bed each morning. Checklists throughout the day, the week. Get outta bed. Check. Get the kids to school. Check. Make it to work--on time. Check. Get the girl from school. Check. Go over homework with the boy. Check. Get everyone to bed. Check. Sit. Breathe. Get myself to bed. Check.

And wake up knowing we made it through the day before. We'll make it through today. And we're good. We'll be okay.

The one about making beautiful things...

It's been a hard week. We had a bit of dust-up, election wise. Can't honestly say that anyone Won, really.  Our little city has managed to not-so-peacefully assemble and protest.   

I'm supposed to be on my way back from Turkey right now. Actually, I should have arrived home this morning. But our trip was canceled just over two weeks before departure. Because reasons. 

But, because of the change, when a friend asked if I could create a cake to celebrate her mom's 70th birthday, I was able to oblige. Her mother just so happens to be obsessed with all things British royalty

 

I'm a firm believer in Be The Change You Want To See. Today? I made art. Not that anyone will hang these up for admiration...sugar doesn't keep that well. But, my gift is in creating. And I'll continue to create beautiful things and sharing them with others. 

I can't recall the names of politicians and rulers throughout history. Or all whys and reasons for the countless wars. But I remember the names of artists. And I vividly recall their greatest, and not so greatest, works. Art has always had healing powers for me. Today was no exception. 

The one about being firmly planted in grace…

Life is messy. And Hard. And beautiful. And, most days, all at the same time.

This week was particularly messy. And hard. 

I sat in the room with the wee girl as she talked to her therapist for the first time. I sat. And I listened. I watched. I watched as she started to fidget. Started to pace. Started to do her silly faces and hand motions she does when the situation gets too Big. Too awkward. I watched. For the first time in nine years, I didn’t reach out and touch her, ground her. Calm her. I plant my feet, and watch. Because the councilor needed to see. Needed to witness. 

I’ve dealt with parents all week who believe that, somehow, their child’s feelings are not being taken seriously, validated. Their child is 2. Everything single feeling is Huge. I’ve had to reassure them that, yes, we listen. We engage. We keep her safe. And she is happy. And still, they sit there wanting me to do More. Be more. They are upset because I don’t answer work emails at home. Because they don’t have my phone number. I plant my feet, and I stand my ground. Because my time is sacred. My home is sacred. 

A text from my nephew earlier in the week, simply asking if he could leave his car at our house over the weekend, brought up all of the times his brother would text to ask if we were home and could he stop by. I’ve stopped expecting it to get easier. Better. I think I’m prepared for the pain, but I never am. Grief is messy. So very messy. It seeps into everything and anything. I love that he’s close, and comfortable with just dropping in. But I miss his brother. So much. And one reminds me of the other. But I’m not going to withdraw from the one just because it hurts and it’s messy. So I plant my feet, and I welcome him and I hold him. So tight. He knows I don’t want to let go. And he lets me hug him. 

Yesterday I came home from work Done. The girl came home from school weary. She wanted to bake. I wanted Rest. So she waited. And then she baked. But we all forgot we needed the oven for an early supper because the boy and I had a Thing. Fridays here aren’t celebrated by everyone. Because it’s also chemo day. Messy, ugly, painful chemo day. But he was still going to insure the boy and I had supper before we left. It ended up not being ready. The boy ate in the car. I ate when we got home—much later. And he was stressed, and frustrated, and in loads of pain. But he was doing his best to control the situation. And I was only making it worse. In my own frustration and messiness, I wasn’t able to get the right words out. The ones that told him how much I appreciated him trying to take care of us, and to fix this thing that didn’t need to be fixed. I needed to tell him I saw him. I see him. I see the things he does. All of what he does for this family. For me. I see him. But it was messy and it all came out wrong. And so I plant my feet, and I stand. I stand in his storm. His body and brain are hijacked by forces he cannot always control. It’s not an excuse. But the knowledge enables me to stand in that storm. And to walk out on the other side. 

Today, I sat down to work on a cake order. I have a couple of weeks, but there are components that need to be completed early so they can dry, be painted, and dry some more. I sat at the kitchen island, my own music softly playing, and I created. I let my hands do what they know to do. Delicate yellow roses sculpted out of sugar. And I let it all go. 

Because, sometimes? We need to create our own peace. 

The one about anxiety and a toy purge...

The girl child's current method of separating the Rational from the Irrational is to remove the physical source of her anxiety, if applicable.  For example...she brought one of her American Girl dolls (hand-me-down, not purchased) down to us late one night because it was scaring her. A few nights later, Curious George joined the doll. Huge steps from the screaming and hours of talking her down!

Tomorrow? We will be conducting a full purge of dolls, including Barbies.

But not the stuffed animals, because those only fart and snore.

I should probably sum up...

Almost an entire year of dead air...at least blog wise. Certainly not dead air in real life. Far from it!

It was a year filled with adventure, new things, old things, comfort stretching things, lovely things, and hard things.

Both kiddos finished up challenging school years on high notes. Summer shenanigans were well deserved!

The summer was spent teaching our children how to cook, how to work the washing machine...

The girl's room underwent a complete make-over. I only teared up for the first bit--painting over the mural I had previously painted...

There was a week spent between a massive water park and an even more massive amusement park. Both kiddos rode their first roller coasters! The boy hit the height limit on every single one--so he rode every single one. Multiple times. Never have I been more grateful for friends who love roller coasters so he never rode alone!

Comic Con came to our city once again...this time we attended as Time Lords and their TARDIS. I had an epic run-in (my face colliding with his chest epicness) with John Schneider. Twice. My inner 15-year-old was all a twitter.

I was able to accompany himself to the annual Scary Guy convention in Colorado Springs. I fell in love with the mountains. I didn't think I could love any mountain as much as my Kilimanjaro, but I did truly fall in love...

Quiet moments...

New ocean adventures...

Someone turned double digits...

Someone else blew out eight candles...

The boy was suspended for two days due to a knee-jerk reaction from school administrators. Once the whole, un-edited story was in, the suspension was overturned. But not without eggy faces and lost trust.  And a renewed knowledge that We are our children's greatest advocates.

Epic costumes were created. Lights on the helmet provided by our very own wiring expert...

Kiddos got to meet one of their favorite internet people.  And they baked her cookies...

The girl spent six months as the face of juvenile arthritis, rounding out her year as the National Arthritis Foundation's 2015 Jingle Bell Run's youth honoree...

Helix T. Bombdog retired. And is enjoying his brand new life as a family doggie.  As are we all!

17 years of weddedness was celebrated. Quietly, and not in the hospital! Because, for while there, it looked like we might be doing just that.

I soaked in our unseasonably warm Christmas. Ahhh....

44 years of my own life on this planet was celebrated by three generations watching The Force Awakens. And a gluten free brownie cake created by my mom and my daughter...

And, for the first time in 13 years, New Year's Eve with my love. At home, with our children, but still together.

Then we survived the 100 year storm...Jonas 2016!

So now, my lovelies...onwards.

Waiting. Breathing.

Kyleigh has a new favorite movie--Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium. We were watching it again tonight and there's a part in it where Mr. Magorium and Molly (his assistant) change all of the clocks in a clock shop to just before 12...

Mr. Magorium: 37 seconds.
Molly: Great. Well done. Now we wait.
Mr. Magorium: No. We breathe. We pulse. We regenerate. Our hearts beat. Our minds create. Our souls ingest. 37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime.

Decisions have been made. Forward steps put into motion. But now there's Waiting.  And what do we do in the Waiting? We can wait. Or we can breath. Pulse. Regenerate. Create. I'm choosing to breath.

Should haves...and plugging back in...

There's a video currently going around social media--a large black board set up in New York City asking people to write their Biggest Regrets. At the end of the video they focus on how so many regrets include "Not". The motivational conclusion being, don't let your passion/dreams not followed being your ending story. Cue moving, rising music.

But here's the thing. My regrets aren't my Nots. My regrets are my Should Haves. I should have been more Kind. I should have been more Particular. I should have thought that one through just a little more. I should have listened, and followed through when a friend needed a friend. But I remember those Should Haves. And I stand on them, grow from them. Become a Better Person because of them.

Our little family is facing Big Change. Change that is way ahead of schedule. I'm not prepared for this. I'm completely fine with change. I happen to thrive in the chaos. What I'm not fine with is the Unsettlement of the Unknown. Because I don't even know where to start with that.

I've recently started gathering with a very small, close group of amazing women. Coming together once a month to talk, to encourage, to build up, and to support. Earlier this week we were talking about the things we're Waiting for, and what do we do in the Waiting.

I have just enough British in my upbringing that has trained me to lace up my boots and Carry On. Because in the midst of the Waiting? Life continues. Children still need to get to school in the morning. I have an employer who still assumes I'll show up every day. Groceries still need to be purchased. Lunches made. Life carries on. Oddly enough.

Earlier in December, Himself was in the hospital for a week recovering from surgery. Before heading out to spend the morning with him, I found myself at the grocery store. I had to check to make sure the store was open that early--because I'd never had reason to be there at that time, and I didn't know. My mom called to check on me, asking if I was at the hospital. I told her I was wandering around the grocery store. Because we were out of milk. Because, somehow, in the midst of our chaos, life was Carrying On.

A sweet friend sat with me this weekend and just talked. We talked about her stuff. And we talked about my stuff. Most of our friendship has been based on the fact that our boys are besties. Sometimes we dig deeper. This was one of those times. She listened. Then she said that maybe this was my chance to do things I always wanted to do. Change jobs. Be More. She knows some of my past. Bits. But I explained that I was already doing exactly what I wanted to do. I was what I wanted to Be when I grew up. And she looked kind of shocked. How could I not want More?

From the outside, it may look like I'm just biding my time. Waiting until the kids are more independent. But I'm not. No, my one job isn't perfect. But I enjoy it. Sure, I have co-workers I avoid. I shut my classroom door to close off everyone else. But I love my kiddos. The thing about being a preschool teacher is, I can clock out. And I get to be home with my own children when they're home. And I have creativity and energy left for my other jobs where I get to Create and Do. I'm content. I'm right where I want to Be. And, more importantly, I'm right where I know I'm supposed to Be. This is who I am.

But it's getting all shaken up. And everything may stay the same, or nothing may stay the same. I have no idea and that is what's tying my insides up in knots.

I should have had a back up plan.

And also? I should have kept up with writing. But in the past year? Life carried on. I'm determined to do better with documenting it.

On paper...

Braved the ice, snow, and near zero temperature this morning for another MRI on the ol' cantankerous ankle. Filling out the personal information sheet before hand I checked the blocks for tattoos, body piercings, and worked around metalworks and metal shavings.

I gotta tell ya...on paper? I'm pretty badass.

And my sleep anywhere superpower kicked in and I had a nice little 20 minute cat nap.

We never seem to have trouble accepting the crappy stuff that comes along. We just simply deal with it and carry on.  There is the occasional questioning of what seems like universe distain aimed our way, but we don't blame ourselves or think we're being punished for something. (Except in the case of our childrens highly irreverent attitudes. Totally being punished for being the smart ass I was a child.)

A couple of years ago when our ancient sewer pipes needed to be replaced? We knew we'd get through it, the money would be there, and we'd be Fine. And we did, it was, and we were.

Heat goes out? We bundle up, roll out the space heaters, and are grateful for the foresight of a home warranty purchase.

The Cherokee (our one and only vehicle) has had a long string of Things Going Wrong. And it's been fixed, up and running, only to have something else Go Wrong. Radiator replaced. Then the heads crack. O2 sensor fails. Thermostat needs replaced. Ad nauseum.  But each Thing gets taken care of.

Until recently. The poor Cherokee has pretty much been parked since the beginning of December.  We've had spare vehicles due to the generosity of my parents loaning us one of theirs while they've been gone. However, they come back for good in a few days. Pretty sure they're going to want their vehicles back.

So we made the decision to put all of our house projects on hold and buy another vehicle. With the kiddos getting older, it's been more and more difficult to juggle the schedules with one family vehicle.

Lots of research. Lots of discussion. Breaking the 9 year old's heart because we told him no on the Ferrari. And the Delorean. And the Batmobile. (Okay, fine. The last one was my own heartbreak.) All of that in hand, we went shopping. As a family. That's a new kind of torture, right there! We were all, however, rather well behaved.

Ended up with a car that was nowhere on our research radar. Hadn't even looked at them because we knew they were way over our budget. But this one wasn't. It's pretty much what I would have asked for if I would have asked. And I spent a great deal of time last night second guessing our purchase. Why? Because it seemed too good to be true.

So here's my question...why is it so easy to accept the bad stuff that happens, but not the good? I know we prayed about this decision. I know God has been faithful in our lives through every single lousy thing we've had to deal with. So why do I have such a hard time accepting that this was a gift?

Slogging through...

Tonight, there are multiple tabs open on the laptop. All waiting for me to click on and read through the daunting information contained.  Medical journals, blogs, research, help. Some are referrals, some I managed to find on my own.  Right now it feels like I'm gasping for air. And these are my oxygen mask.

Increasingly, it's become obvious that our daughter's anxiety is far greater than "Oh, she's just shy," or "She's such a little worrier." And it's become equally obvious that we are unequipped to deal with it on our own.

This week has been one of the more trying ones on the books so far.  Morning, afternoon, and night time meltdowns. Then, we finally figure out that there have been bathroom accidents while at school and she hasn't told anyone. Not full wetting of clothes, but enough to cause discomfort and further her anxiety throughout the day.

Classmates mocking her for the gap caused by her missing two top teeth. Something she was so joyful over. Now her 1st grade yearbook picture has her with a half smile so the gap won't show.

She was, just this week, notified she was identified for the gifted program due to her high aptitude in math.  She's crazy smart! The middle of the week, she came home in tears.

They were making fun of me because I'm smart. They said it was stupid to like math.

Oh, sweet girl. I didn't realize it was possible for the mean kids to continue breaking my heart this far out of elementary school.

A few months ago the tears were because she wore her beloved Spiderman shirt.

They kept saying girls can't like Spiderman.

That one, at least, had a happy outcome. She's made the best of friends with another girl in her class who loves Batman.

She no longer wears her favorite winter hat because there are children who knock it off of her on the playground.

I know we cannot be the only family left teaching kindness.  But there are days when it certainly feels like it.

I don't want to go to school! What if I have another bad day?

But what if you have an amazing day?

It doesn't go that way for me.

Last night when she was adamant about not going to her dance class, I felt myself slowly accepting that her anxiety levels are above the normal for a wee 7 year old girl. Even a high spirited, crazy brilliant one.

Some of her stories, once we talked them over with her teacher, end up being built up in her anxious mind to more than they are in reality. Others? Her's is the true account. The first, however, gives us a clearer picture of the power of her anxiety. And her own powerlessness to not let it control her.

So, I find myself reaching out to experts and other knowledgeable sources. Sorting through my own anxiety issues, I'm poorly equipped to help her. Even now, however, I'm hesitant to talk to anyone about my own fears for my daughter. Fearful of the lack of concern. Fearful of the eyerolls and lack of support.

She'll grow out of it. Stop hovering. Every child goes through stuff. 

But she's not every child. She's my child.

Carrying on...

A dear friend, one who has been around to see a fairly large chunk of this journey we're on unfold, stopped by yesterday. We stay in decent contact, but we actually hadn't seen each other in several months. Schedules. Lives. It is what it is.

She was ever so sweet not to mention how very tired I looked. Though I could read it in her eyes. She asked how we were.

We're all right.

All things considered?

Yeah. All things considered.

In the past this is where a well meaning acquaintance would opine that in the Grand Scheme Big Picture of Things, we were really quite well off.  Attempt to show me a little perspective.  The thing is, I have a rather healthy perspective. Yes, there are families sorting through far worse circumstances than us. There are also families sailing right along...no disease, no disabilities, no anything that robs them of their sleep.

A Wise Person once wrote that telling someone they shouldn't be discouraged because there are people in far worse circumstances is like telling someone they can't be joyful because there are people far more happy than they. This is our Hard. This is the path we are walking, living, breathing. Yes, someone else is dealing with something far worse but that their Hard, their path.

But the truth is, no matter how healthy my perspective, the bags under the eyes remain.

The highlight reel...

Celebrating this amazing boy's 9th birthday in the same home on the shores of Lake Victoria where I celebrated mine...

A journey through the Serengeti...all the many times I've made that same journey and this one time I saw the most animals ever.  

A massive herd of elephants and the babies. 

Baby elephant!

After a whole day searching, the largest lion pride I'd ever seen...

just hanging out in the sun...

A walk through the Olduvai Gorge with my children...

A hike through the rainforest on Mt. Kilimanjaro...

a glacier melt waterfall as our reward...

My first Comic Con! 

A Q&A with Adam Freakin' West (who turned out to be kind of a dirty old man) 

and Burt Ward (who was just delightful)...

A photo op with this lot! Members of the 501st Legion...proving that I am, indeed a lot short for a Stormtrooper.  Honestly? This made my whole year. 

Celebrating this amazing girl child's 7th birthday...where have these years gone?!

Rounding out my year with the thing I did just for me. A weekend spent with three amazing and wonderful friends...no children, no husbands.  Just us.  

The ocean is healing, even in the December cold. 

We determined it to be an annual Thing. Our families all agreed. 

2014. Summed up. 

Just older...

A couple of weeks ago I turned another year older. The number doesn't bother me...not really. I'm far healthier in mind and body than I was a decade ago. Happier. Content-er. But on one of the health blogs I read there was a questionnaire..."Could you be in perimenopause?" I figured, being Officially half way to the American female life expectancy, what the hell?

Turns out, I'm not. But what I am is a 43 year old woman raising two high-spirited, high-achieving children, married to a doctor's note carrying batcrap crazy husband, and working three jobs (well, one part time and two free lance, done from home but still with obligations and people paying me jobs). The symptoms kind of overlapped. Like when, a few years ago, my doctor was convinced I had mono but the tests all came back negative, and I reminded him I had two young children.  Apparently he wasn't the first doctor to mistake Mommy Fatigue for mono.

For so long now I've been functioning in Survival Mode. Making sure everyone around me is taken care of, ignoring my own needs. I'm slowly taking steps (with the support of this amazing little family and equally amazing friends) to fix that. Baby steps. But still Steps. Because I shouldn't allow myself to be exhausted to the point of mimicking chronic diseases or major hormonal changes.

Not a resolution...

But it IS a promise to myself to do right by this here blog. I'm not ready to let it die and there are Things I still need to write about...bits rattling about in my head. Little by little, I need to write them down and give them wings.

Welcome to 2015. And I still don't have my flying car. Pretty pissed about that.

20 years ago I met this Boy. And he took my breath away. I knew then that'd I'd be with him for Forever.

19 years ago we went on our first "date". It was my squadron's annual Christmas party. One by one, our friends deserted us and we ended up alone and talking (Yes, talking...our children will read this one day!) way past dawn.

16 years ago we stood together in the courtyard of the Cathedral of Seville and vowed to love and cherish each other for Forever.

Gosh, I do love an adventure! I'm in for another 20 years. Because he is the Han to my Leia, the 10 to my Rose, the Link to my Zelda, the Mal to my Inara. My Always. 

Always.

Just a dream...

My sister asked me for one stand out, amazing moment from our trip. I couldn't do it. I couldn't name just one.

And now? It's like it was just a dream.

Sitting out in the backyard tonight, a warm summer breeze blowing, city lights outshining the stars...it was hard to imagine that just a week and a half ago I was standing out in the middle of the Serengeti, wrapped in a blanket, looking up at the Southern Cross and gasping with delight at the falling stars.

So far...

My children have learned that jetlag is a fickle beastie...

Bougainvillea is abundant and colorful...

Only the natives are capable of scaling the coconut tree...

The Indian Ocean is unlike their known Atlantic is so, so many ways...

But also, similar.

Mommy's feet, however, are happiest covered in Indian Ocean sand.

A large crocodile carved out of ebony will not fit in our return luggage...

But, so it was argued, multiple pairs of earrings would.

And, somewhere inside of them, the African drum beats true.