Right before my husband and I started dating he went to live with The Missionary’s of Charity in Denver Colorado at an AIDS hospice.  A sector of Mother Teresa’s Sisters, he volunteered with them for four months.  In the last two weeks he lived there, I used a paycheck from my job at Mr. C’s Pizza in Yakima Washington and bought a plane ticket to go visit him. I was a Senior in High School and told my parents after I purchased the ticket, and I still to this day cannot believe they let me go. But since I would be staying with a bunch of nuns and volunteering I think they assumed I wouldn’t get in trouble.  The point of sharing this is not to say that Grace could ever get away with this sort of thing, which she couldn’t…EVER, or that I must’ve been a dream child for my parents to let me go, which I wasn’t.  At that time I was considering becoming a nun, so visiting my future husband who was getting ready to enter the seminary to be a priest but who at the time was just a friend who I thought repeatedly about marrying was actually a really amazing gift and way to start off a relationship that has been going on for the past 15 years. How’s that for rambling with a run on sentence?!

The nuns were amazing and holy, and completely human. While there,  I heard them say repeatedly to each other, “Is it better to be right or to be holy?”  Sometimes it was a question, sometimes it was as a statement.  When they said it, it cut all extra away from what was happening in the moment and the air changed.  It is a phrase that I have thought a lot about the past month, and has really made me think about who I want to be.  Who I should strive to become?

Is it better to be right or be holy?

I first started thinking about it after two days of reading some blanketed insults on Facebook. These insults were said a month or two ago …and  as much as I love being able to reconnect with certain friends, and feeling like I’m a part of my siblings day-to-day lives, I’ve begun to see the reasons why Chris got rid of his account.  People feel this need to better themselves by putting other people down, whether it’s because of a stupid sports team preference or even family planning.  Sometimes its religion, or politics, and sometimes I think people just argue with anything anyone says just to argue.  It’s draining, and there have been many times when my first thought has been to show how right I am, say my piece…but really there’s no point.  I’m realizing more and more the value of not saying anything, because I think life gives us enough drama without playing into crap on the internet.  Because some people just are mean. It’s that simple.

But it’s not just on the internet, or Facebook, it’s at our kids sports games, and in the PTA meetings. It’s at family gatherings or any place where you get people together with differing opinions and usually where someone wants to validate something.  I’ve seen it a lot in the past couple years in my own family, people who I loved and respected have become mean, spiteful, gossipy people.  I’ve seen it in the passive aggressiveness that comes from jealousy.   This under current of “I’m afraid you are judging me, so I’ll judge you.” or ”Let me show you the level of my commitment to my choices and totally rip on yours, because I am better than you and you suck.”  And no this doesn’t happen all the time, and no not everyone is this way or extreme, but I’ve seen it enough since I’ve become a wife and mother to know that it happens, and to know that not everything that I’ve done is for everyone.  I also am the first to admit that I’ve made a million mistakes and had to learn from every one of them.

And I’ll admit it. I can be catty at times. I’ve gossiped about the Mom who laughed as her child was pushing my daughter down over and over and said in a sing song-y voice, “No, no, nooooo.” In fact my best friend Amy has the text messages to prove it.  I’ve also judged someone immediately after I met them when their first statement to me was, “Did I meet you at the club? It seems that’s where I see everyone.” And no they didn’t meet me at the “club” but they made sure I knew they belonged there. See? Me = Catty.

This is all even more apparent to me now that I have my Grace.

I’ve read countless articles about how we need to work with our girls helping them to avoid being “mean” adults, but if we are mean to each other what is the freaking point? It’s like when someone bullies someone else for a differing opinion and calls it “discussing.” Yeah, whatever, bullying is bullying…discussing is actually listening to someone else and then sharing your opinion.

If there is one thing I know these days is that nobody is perfect, and we could all do with a little more kindness and a lot less scrutiny.  I know I have some big opinions about certain things but sometimes it’s better to just be holy. And by holy, I mean…to shut it. Shush. Be quiet. Not say anything. Be silent.  And I’m not talking about if someone is in danger or is hurting themselves or someone else, or when God is truly calling us to speak up.

I know I’m not the wisest, or holiest, but I’ve been a woman my whole life, and a wife and a mother for a while now and I need to set an example in my own home first.

What do I want Grace to learn about being a woman?

That she can be feminine and strong.  That she can fight back when she’s being bullied.  That it’s never okay to make fun of someone else.  That you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not to have people like you. That being beautiful is not about what you wear, it’s about how you treat others, but mascara is a gift from God and mom-jeans don’t look good on anyone.  A “friend” or “boyfriend” who calls you names, makes fun of you, hurts you is not your friend or your boyfriend, they are losers. A gossip is a gossip is a gossip.  That Real Love is not selfish and jealous, or all-consuming. Real Love is staying true to yourself and growing with someone, not changing for them.   And that she is never ever alone…that we will fight for her when she’s depressed, we will fight for her when all the forces of this world threaten to make her feel less that who she really is…worthy of greatness. And we will be there when she needs us because we love her… she is a child of God who is going to be a woman of God.

Lessons for being a wife:

This is hard because I can’t imagine my Grace being anyone’s wife, she’s my baby…but this is off the top of my head. That romance is not overrated.  That you should be able to wear sweats or a dress and still feel beautiful. That you should always feel honored, and be honoring.   That you have to learn how to balance a budget and listen to each other, and that having a rich life  is not about money. That being healthy is a necessity to a healthy marriage. Laugh at yourself.  Marriage is hard.  Sometimes you have to disagree, and stick up for yourself, and sometimes you have to just have to let them wear the poop colored mechanic’s suit with the fur collar to the soccer game and just pretend you don’t know them.   And that it’s a partnership…Never take any moment for granted.  Ever.

So what kind of lesson do I want to teach my daughter about being a Mother?

Do not take having children for granted. It is a miracle and a gift.  And when you have kids…It does not make you less of a mother if you have an epidural(though when I was in labor with all my kids I went hiking up hill both ways while timing my contractions and shaving my legs…not really). It does not make you less of a mother if you end up having a c section(I have given birth vaginally and had a c section and thought the c section was just as amazing). It does not make you less of a mother if you cannot breastfeed, or have to give up breastfeeding early.  It does not make you less of a Mom if you adopt your children.  It doesn’t make you less of a Mother if you work or stay home, or if you have to put your kids in the gym daycare just to have a date with a treadmill.  It does not make you less of a Mom if you don’t home-school or send your kids to a private school.   Being a Mom is the hardest job you will ever have, there are times when you are covered in poop and puke.  There are times when they are crying, and you still can’t figure out how to help them on their math.  Their hearts will be broken and your heart will physically ache for them… but it is worth every second.

And Lessons for being Holy:

I’m still trying to figure that out.  I still have a hard time trusting God when I see bad things happen to amazing people, when I witness the people I love the most having to fight cancer, when I still battle my own weakness.  I still feel the pressure to be more beautiful, to have more possessions, to fit in…but really we all know that having all those things doesn’t mean life will be good or work.  But I know, I know that prayer works. I know that Faith helps.  And I know that God loves me.  My prayer is that all my kids will find comfort in a God that is always present, and that they can learn to forgive others and live a life that is good and holy.  I’m not praying for perfect, I’m praying for happiness for them, that they feel and know Love.

And to the Mean people in my life…to the teacher who told me before they found out I had a learning disability that I wasn’t College Material, I went to College and didn’t get anything under a B.  To the boy who told me he could never date me because my skin was whiter than paper…I will look young when I’m old and porcelain skin will be back in style someday.  To the girls who spit on me and pulled my hair at my private elementary school and said I was ugly…I am married to the handsomest man in the world, my children are beautiful, I could totally kick your a** today and I have great hair.

Yep, still working on that Holy thing. Pray for me would you?

I am not a contender. In fact I’m not even in the running.

I have a good Mother.  She wasn’t perfect, she didn’t speak in quiet whispers all the time.  But she was there. She taught me how to love even when it was tough, she shared her mistakes and held me when I cried.  She taught me to read, and now sits for hours with my kids fat crayons covering the table, coloring pictures with them while she bakes cookies in the oven. She taught me to love music, and let me sit next to her when I had my hair dyed bright pink and came to all the nights of my shows.  She told me when I hurt her feelings and was too blunt with my words – and slapped me across the face when I was cruel to her. And she forgave me, over and over again.  And has always been there. I don’t look back on my childhood and think or wish things had been different…I have a good mother and I had a good childhood. Things happened, and some of them were dark, but who doesn’t have stuff? I have a good Mother.

Because of that, and because of all the good mothers I know I was thinking of ways I can improve to become a better Mother. I’d like to be SuperMom.  Volunteer for everything, have it all together all the time…but even when I think I do, I’ll realize I’ve got a big stain on my pants the size of Texas and one of my boobs will pop out while helping kids check out library books at my kid’s school, giving them something else to check out.  I cook the same 20 meals over and over again, and my kids have Happy Meals during sports/music/dance seasons.  I read with them and shower them, but forgot to prune my roses this year, and cannot keep a vegetable garden alive.

So in light of my imperfection and instead of all the negative mommy guilt that seems to plague me recently I’m going to look at the Winning and Losing Moments of the past month that have ensured that I’m not in the running for America’s Mom of the Year…

Jonah is an amazing, talented and great kid. He is so smart and wise beyond his years. He is a faithful friend and really gives us no trouble. He also is completely bilingual which is so fun, and I love having him translate things for me.  He just figured out how to play “Clocks” by Coldplay on the piano and he fills our house with music. And he is so grateful which I love!

Winning: Jonah has decided and brags to everyone that I am the Mom the “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” books based the Mom on. I overheard him telling a friend “My mom is so fun and crazy!” He still kisses me goodbye and tells me he loves me without me saying it first. I know this is fleeting…but I’ll take it.

Losing: I am “the ONLY mom” who has only allowed him to read the first Harry Potter. After talking to multiple teachers/librarians we decided to have him age with Harry so he’ll be starting the second book in the next couple months, since the content matures with Harry…I’m also the ONLY mom who won’t let him watch Star Wars 3.  And he can’t go to a public restroom alone, and has only had one sleepover.  Meanest Mom Everrr, I tell you.

Daniel is an amazing kid with so much passion. He is so talented at everything he does whether it’s soccer or breakdancing, and he makes everything his own.  He is a tease and is a girl magnet, and can be painfully shy but has a hilarious sense of humor.  He has wanted to be a priest for two years, and talks often about his vocation some day. By the Way he does not want to be called Father Dan, only Father Daniel. Or Father Brick Tonic if he’s still breakdancing.

Winning: Daniel loves spending time with us, whether it’s us watching him breakdance or us drawing with him. Recently he’s been displaying Lego creations all over the house, and a shell collection, and a coin collection.  I let him do this…because it’s a good mess, and I know it’s important to him.  Daniel also loves praying as a family so I make sure he is always involved in our prayers every night.

Losing: He has been in time out twice since I started this post. He is being sassy, and making Grace smell his feet. Daniel has a lot of passion and sometimes lacks reason. Right now he has had it with me being consistent and thinks “life isn’t fair” and someday he is going to be able to live his life…and he’s back in time out.

Micah is the reason people have lots of kids. He is such a special kid, oozing with goodness and humor, he is sweet and smart, and will take anybody down who hurts his siblings. He is all boy and loves girls, and his friends, and anything that is Star Wars and Police. He also really likes Paul Simon music which makes him maybe the coolest 4 year old that has ever lived.

Winning: I am trying to buy tickets for Micah and me to see Taylor Swift in September. He said he’s going to marry her and has called her his girlfriend for over 2 years.  He loves her.

Losing: I waited too long to buy tickets and am now desperately seeking reasonably priced seats to her concert…and I am fully prepared to enter contests so he can meet her. He also doesn’t understand why we can’t have pizza every night.

Grace could have gone either way…she could’ve been a complete tomboy or the ultimate girl.  What we got was the fanciest toughest funnest girl in the world. Grace is so fun, she is busy and passionate and laughs all the time.  She loves to dance and sings loudly to any song on the radio.  When she loves you, she lets you know and she is so proud of who she is. Her current attire consists of a swimsuit and a tutu which she pulls off beautifully.

Winning: As much as I still struggle with the inner voices that plague my own self worth, I have never conveyed any of those things to Grace. She is so proud to live in her skin. A perfect example of this is in the cry room at church when another older little girl said to her, “You’re cute!” and Grace replied, “I’m not cute, I’m beautiful.”  But I also love that she is tough and fearless, she can keep up and is not afraid to. And she’s not lying when she says she is beautiful, she looks just like my Mom.

Losing: On Sunday she fell from the top of our play structure which is over six feet tall onto her face. Her nose and right around her eyes are crusty with scabs and swelling and she will have at least one black eye at the wedding we are attending this weekend.  It was the ONE time I have ever left her out there, I walked in briefly and she fell.  The guilt has been as overwhelming as the relief that she is ok. Losing big time there.

When I was growing up I always wished I could be the center of things. In fact I’d try to gather attention and a lot of times I’d garner the wrong type of attention.  Now I find myself at these PTA type meetings trying to find one familiar face, being at Chris’ work functions desperate for our friends, I’ve become a little insecure that I’ll say the wrong thing – that I will reflect bad on my kids, on our life.  But it’s amazing how God works…I have met some of the most amazing Moms through the school, and our friends from the Department really are family. And I don’t have to be someone else, I can just be myself. I can use the word blessed and also pissy, and I don’t always have to wear mascara. And when it comes to my kids I don’t need to be the center, I just want to be a part of their lives.

And when I’m home or in the car, or dancing with my kids somehow all my imperfections seem to make me more real to them.  They know I’m not perfect, they’ve seen me yell and cry.  And someday they will hurt me, really hurt me, and I’ll forgive them. And they’ll forgive me for being not being Joan Cleaver  whose hair never moved, or the Virgin Mary the Mama who knew all about sacrifice.

There are some really doozy Mamas out there, but there are also some amazing Mamas out there.  The Mamas I know who can’t have children in their womb and have opened their hearts to adoption, The Mamas who have had babies after losing babies, the Mamas who have a special needs children, and all the Mamas I know and love who love their kids and give that love with such abundance that it makes your heart ache, and the Women I love who so want to be Mamas but aren’t yet –but will someday however God blesses them, be fabulous Mamas.  And my Mom, who taught me to be there and to love with that selfless love that only comes from being open to whatever life throws your way.

So I’m off  to find Grace who is hiding under a blanket right in front of me… Not Mother of the Year or anything, but I’m pretty sure I’m winning at something.

I’m 100% sure this post will be long and sometimes a bit random if this is the first time you’re reading my blog.

I’m still not getting posts out as much as I’d like.  2011 is not messing around.  As much as I love the seat warmers in my Suburban, the miles I put on driving kids to activities definitely takes away from writing time.(I just read that a homemaker is statistically the fifth least likely to get into an accident) Still querying and writing, and spending an equal amount of time avoiding writing.  And then there was Pneumonia-aggedon-February-March, along with Micah’s health scare, and things just keeping rolling down the year of woes.

Two of Officer YP friends died…One in a freak accident.  He used to be my Officer’s Sgt. In fact once when we were on a date night, he tapped on the window of our mini-van/mega-fun with his flashlight while we were “on a date.” We were just kissing, a lot, which is the truth…my hubby likes to embellish, we are married after all.  It was when we were first getting used to being parents with two kids. YP had taken the night off to have some time alone with me…And never heard the end of it.  We went to a sad sad funeral and five days later took a dinner to his wife and daughter.  I couldn’t even find my voice as I stood on her porch to tell her how very sorry I was.  So I stood there, looking stupid holding out my lame chicken enchiladas, my voice under the soles of my feet.

Then on April 22, his friend was shot and killed while on duty. It was Good Friday.  One moment I was sitting in breakdance watching Daniel, the next moment I got the phone call.  “Leave now, I need you.” Chris’s voice was strained.  Less than 20 minutes later I sat in a pizza place with my in-laws, other family, and my kids, my heart aching out of my chest from the phone call as Chris choked on his tears, weeping so hard I could barely make out his words. “He’s gone. He’s dead.” In my shock I told my kids right then that Daddy’s friend had died.  In a busy pizza place, where they couldn’t really understand.  Later the next night, they stood at the vigil, and they understood. Daddy’s friend who sat at our campsite with us, who had a dog who ate rocks. Daddy’s friend who let them fish on his property.  Daddy’s friend who had a wife and two daughters.  Daddy’s friend who was also a policeman.  Shot and killed. Daniel and Jonah sobbed through the vigil, Micah stood stoically, and  Grace who we thought would make a fuss so we’d have to leave early was completely silent for two hours.  The following week we spent an entire Friday honoring Officer Chris Kilcullen, it was the saddest most beautiful tribute I’ve ever seen. He was a good man.

Then there were all the in between and aftermath…I finished my second half marathon and shaved over 30 minutes off my time –but broke down at mile 11, the grief and fatigue hitting me. If it wasn’t for some incredible Betty’s: Koya, HC, and Tracie I wouldn’t have kept going. If it wasn’t for Officer YP at the end with Amy and the kids I wouldn’t have finished. I helped with a huge event for my kid’s school and it distracted us on the hardest days. The community rose up and supported the Kilcullen family and still is, and I saw the pro-police community rally around. Our police family is closer than it’s ever been. The support has been amazing, and yet so sobering because this is what it took for us to have it. Then our own fears that have surfaced, having to plan my own husband’s funeral in case the worst happens, tell him who I want to alert me if something does happen, sleepless nights thinking about the women still here; Kristie  and Tiffany…women who I pray throughout the  day for.  And dealing with the anxiety attacks that Jonah has started to have, along with growing pains of being the last picked during a sport and trying to swing when you’re dealing with a nine-year old pitcher in little league.  Daniel acting out and crying more. Micah crawling in with us again. And Grace being two, a tornado who just can’t stay away from trouble… who most recently got into a fight with a fence at a bbq and got a staph infection.

Statistically Police related fatalities are up anywhere from 32-70% depending on different research.  But it doesn’t change the fact that this is our reality right now. This affects us 100%.  On November 19, 2009,  a friend of mine from middle school and high school, Trevor Nettleton, who was a police officer in Las Vegas was killed right after he got off duty.  As a wife beside the badge my heart broke for his family, and the nightmare they were encountering.  I had to compartmentalize a memory of him, so I could remember him as happy and vibrant as he was, because the anxiety was already starting to affect my own life.  It was the day he got his braces off, and he couldn’t stop smiling, he sat by me in English and we laughed and laughed about his big cheesy smile. Another good man, killed senselessly, tragically.

A month later; I don’t know what I would do if we didn’t have Faith. On the hardest days that has been the comfort that has gotten us through. Over 28% of Adults leave the religion they were raised with to go to another religion or none at all.  They give up.  Thank God that is not the case with us.  No matter how somber or stress-filled it was for Chris at work, no matter how harried the day was putting out fires at home ignoring my own fears at night we all met to pray. We make the time to go to Church.  It kept us sane. To me prayer is as natural as my love for Mascara.

Did you know that France is the most influential country for use of Mascara? Neither did I. Almost half of all French women ages 11-74 use Mascara weekly.  This time around I tried one of my birthday gifts from my friend Rose.  It was the brand 100% Pure, and was blackberry mini Mascara. It comes in this itty bitty silver tube. The actual Mascara is a deep shade of purple and it smells amazing.  My niece Mikaela complimented me on it, because in the sunlight it has a purplish shade.  I really like it.  The only times I won’t wear it is when I’m really tired, because it is a lighter Mascara so it can look like I’m not wearing any Mascara by the end of the day. It’s also definitely not waterproof. However from a scale of 1-10, I’d give it an 8. It’s different.  And it’s 100% Natural. That’s a great statistic.

Before I had kids I thought I knew what I was getting into. We decided  how we’d space them, how we’d discipline them…we were never ever prepared for the heart ache that comes from loving our children. From seeing them hurt, from having my child cry himself to sleep at night, from seeing them grow up and question things…I wasn’t prepared for what it would be like to not be able to raise one of them.  On Saturday we will buy flowers and visit our daughter Mary on her hill on the day I delivered her.  She would be almost 6, but is frozen as the memory of the baby I held in the hospital.  Almost 10-25% of pregnancies will end in miscarriage/loss, most of them early, however Mary Therese was not a statistic.  She is my oldest daughter and I’m still not over the loss of a child I will never see laugh or cry.  A voice I will never hear.  If we are looking at statistics of our own family, if Mary had lived, if Mary was sitting next to me right now twirling her hair I wouldn’t have my Micah.  I cannot imagine a world with out him.  So again there is no black and white here. I would never choose any of my children over each other. I would never wish I didn’t have my pregnancy with Mary, even with the end result. There is always room for grey.

If I weigh the risks maybe all of this is too dangerous.  I wouldn’t have risked so many things to be with Chris. I wouldn’t have decided not to pursue Theatre, and move to Eugene, Oregon.  I wouldn’t have gotten married. I wouldn’t have had my Jonah or my Daniel. I wouldn’t have let Chris turn our lives around by leaving appraising to be a police officer, where the divorce rate is around 75%.  I wouldn’t have tried for more children after losing our beautiful Mary.  I wouldn’t have my Micah or my Grace.  I wouldn’t have lost 87 pounds, and would’ve stayed scared of exercise, or fought back to truly changing our family dynamic. I wouldn’t love my siblings too much or be such a support to them, and my parents.  If this was too dangerous, I wouldn’t try to make new friends with my fears of being left out, keep writing,  let my kids get dirty or pee outside, or lend my husband to a city everyday knowing there is always a chance he may not make it home.

Because when I weigh the risks they are huge, but statistics only give you a number. I could find statistics to tell you that I am a fabulous wife, and statistics to tell you I am not winning mother of the year. Again. I could find statistics to say that someday my Officer will out grow me, and find a newer model who is ”perkier” and a better cook.  But they’re just that. They won’t rule my life. I’ll take chances, because my faith has taught me that I’m stronger than any circumstance.  I have to hold onto that.  My sister Erin calls me the ”Truth” because I say it how it is.  So here is it is…if tomorrow it’s all gone, it was worth it.  Chris was worth it.  The kids were worth it.

There is no black and white here, only color.   The risk is worth it. At least 99.9% of the time.

After the last very hard post, I need to take a moment, breathe, and be shallow. 

I think I’m having a slight crisis. I might not be in style.  I think this because I wore a sweatshirt a week ago to the grocery store that Stacey and Clinton on TLC’s “What Not to Wear,” secretly taped and verbally assaulted on one of their fashion-backward subjects. I saw the show the same night I wore the shirt. I don’t think it was a coincidence.  It was even the same color.

And now I’m questioning everything I wear. Does this fit right?  Is this bunching?  Are my legs even whiter wearing this skirt? 

And I admit it, most clothes I buy for myself are usually on sale and I wear them too often. I’ll also admit I went into a store last summer  to buy a shirt to wear to a Reunion  and ended up buying shirts for Chris and the boys, a dress for Grace, and a pair of clearance flip-flops for myself.  Why were they on clearance? They are bright pink and since Jonah almost wears the same size shoe as me my flip-flops keep disappearing. I’m hoping the pink factor will help.

But to be honest I’m not quite sure what to do. I don’t have the funds to change my style,  and I think most of the time I look at least presentable. I can’t see myself wearing a nice jacket and button up shirt in the car pool line. Why? Because that would ensure that I will spill coffee on it.  Or something. Or anything.  That’s what happens to me.  In fact one of the first times Chris and I hung out I was wearing a smiley sticker on my shirt to cover up the food smudge above my right boob.  Chris even suggested I name this blog: “Boogers on my Shirt,” because not too long ago he stopped me before I walked out the door because the back of my shoulders had the contents of someone elses nose.  Awe-some!

But maybe it’s like Mascara. Maybe I’ll test it out and suddenly be good at it.  Suddenly find the right fit.  By a reader’s suggestion I bought  Mary Kay’s Mascara.  It goes on very clean and does extend the lashes.  So I do like it. .  And maybe, just maybe different mascara’s work better for different people. Because I’d only give it a 7, tops.  I think my sister Kaitlin can wear any mascara and it looks good. My sister Hannah doesn’t need mascara her lashes are so dark.  I think my sister Melissa could care less about mascara and buys what’s on sale.  My current favorite is still Maybelline Falsie’s.  But I will add my friend Koya got it and it wouldn’t come off…she got plenty of compliments wearing it but after 4 days it was an issue. Maybe that’s why I like it, less work for me.

Back to clothes…If something has to be ironed, dry cleaned, and cannot just be hung up in my bathroom which is as fancy as I get…yeah not going to happen. And secretly I kind of want to be fancy, but I don’t know if it is exhaustion or laziness that keeps me from wearing things that are in style.  And just because something is my taste, it may not be someone else.  

I don’t really usually look at people and judge them…well I do if they wear shirts with wolves on them, and socks with sandals, or shirts that say inappropriate things and women who wear tight clothes just shouldn’t…What I’m trying to say is I may not be an expert on clothes but I do have common sense. 

 So  I spent the month really looking at people, and doing my best not to compare myself to them. Studying fashion and Me.

Some observations and insights from someone with just some fashion sense:

This past year I have led a meeting at U of O and now that our niece Mikaela is there I am on campus more often. The girls have two uniforms; pj pants or legging’s or as Kaitlin calls them, beloved stretchy pants.  To date I cannot pull off stretchy pants and while I’ve dreamed of showing up at my kid’s school in my robe and pajama pants I am holding out until they are in middle school. Our amazing babysitter Jessica who moved to New York, mostly wore sweats, and one of the reasons I miss her is she always told me if something didn’t look right. But she is a hip hop dancer, so unless I can start learning to pop and lock,  I don’t think I can pull off sweats in public.  But I want to give a shout out to my friend Stacey who hearts sweats as much as I do…mostly because we send each other texts that say, I heart sweats.

At the preschool, there are two uniforms; work out clothes or jeans and boots.  A lot of the moms there are the athletic moms you want to look at, and the rest in boots with warms jackets, most of them wear  a baby on their hips.  The preschool is a funny place, it kind of has an in crowd.  I would know, I’ve been there 8 years in a row and every year there are the it family’s. They hang out together, go to Pizza after school, and the mother’s are all beautiful.  One year, there were the tennis girls…they all played tennis and talked about tennis.  They all wore matching tennis skirts, and I knew I looked dowdy in my boot cut jeans and running shoes.  I have never been in the in crowd. I get invited to things once in a while, but usually I am the Mom on the outside looking in…I wonder if it’s because they are jealous of my mascara.

At the kid’s school, I don’t usually get out of the car, the rules of the carpool line are very stringent and something you don’t mess around with. Us Mom’s will yell at the occasional Grandma and the Dad who will break the rules. And of course there is the Mom in the PT Cruiser and the Dad who wears his blue tooth with pride: I’m calling you out. You break the rules! And yes I’m the crazy person yelling at you in the carpool line.  And guess what, when I yell at you I’m usually not wearing a bra. So there!

And there is this whole Sins of Fashion thing. At every photographed sacrament in the Catholic Church that I am a part of I seem to be having my most off fashion day.

Example one: Jonah’s Baptism.  Imagine me weighing 50 more pounds and deciding to save money and “color” my own hair.  Spun Wheat comes out Pippy Long Stocking Red, which wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t wake up with a huge pimple under my eye, that made my eye swell.  Matched up with a khaki skirt, and a shirt that tied up the front with a leather string…Oh yeah, A pirate with a black eye.  And to top it off half the people there asked if I had a black eye. Arrrrrrrr!

Example two: Daniel’s Baptism.Still 50 some pounds heavier I was so excited for Daniel’s baptism because I fit into some slacks that I loved. Only the black shirt I wore didn’t cover this perfectly accessible pouch of pillow in my front which was completely and totally accentuated.  And while I know I had just had a baby 3 months earlier, I was wearing the completely WRONG thing. And so I talked to every one at church and spent a long time talking to the Duck Quarterback Kellan Clemens and his fiancée, who I’m sure were thinking, “Is she really wearing that?” But the worst part is no one said anything, so I had to see the pictures afterwards, and they weren’t digital. 

I’m going to pause for a moment and say I looked good at Micah’s baptism.  I wore a simple dress, and it was black, and we took no pictures because it was very small.  It was strangely comforting.

Example 3: Grace’s Baptism. It wasn’t a train wreck or half as mortifying as the previous fiasco’s, however unless you are a cast member in the 80′s hit Miami Vice you should never ever wear a white jacket that looks like you stepped off the set.  Ever.

Example 4: My niece Madison’s First Communion.  I wore these really unflattering tan pants and decided to try some old semi-spanx to hold in all the stuff I was still working on after Grace was born…needless to say they rolled down during mass and stayed there. And I was afraid to move or adjust, but I knew they were rolled down and so did my loose skin breaking free at last. 

Example 4: My niece Mikaela’s confirmation.  My disclaimer on this is that I was running a fever that entire day, but we didn’t know it because it was 100 degree’s in the church in Medford. When we returned home my fever was 102 and I had my first round of strep throat.  On the way to the confirmation we stopped at Old Navy and I zipped in and bought a shirt off the clearance rack.  Speaking of racks, I was breastfeeding and barely could squeeze into it. The pants I wore were the same one’s I wore in the example before, clearly not learning anything, and I only brought one pair of sandals that had chunky heels and made the pants into high waters.  I didn’t have to see pictures later, I knew the whole time…

Example 5: Nathaniel’s Baptism.  This was less than a month ago.  And actually I still like my outfit. Super cute tights with high-heeled Mary Jane’s and a simple black dress. My hair looked good, the only thing was the dress was an empire waist…I want to believe it looked better than it turned out in the pictures.  Poor Amy had to delete pictures on her Facebook because of her insecure friend.  I looked pregnant, and I’m not.

With all these sins and crimes what’s a girl to do? First of all I received some gift cards for my birthday with the only disclaimer that I could not spend money on anyone else.  So I went and pretended I had Stacey and Clinton and all the stylish people I know with me. I bought things that I’d wear again, that I thought were flattering and that fit.  It was the first time I’d bought clothes in over a year, well clothes that weren’t running clothes.  And I like them.  And I was reminded that no matter what I wear, if I don’t feel good about myself and my own skin nothing will fit right.  And maybe all the people who I think look so much better, might feel the same way I do. 

If I’m not loving the skin I was born in, that is a much greater sin. And if all I can see when I look at a picture is focus on my faults, I am stealing joy from my life.  Recently a friend complimented my shirt that says, “My Husband Rocks,” as being perfect for me, because I’m cheesy.  You know that’s not such a bad thing, I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’m not afraid of looking cheesy.  So maybe I’m not fashionable, but at least I wear clothes. I have a long way to go…but I plan on wearing sweats anytime I can get away with it.

Part one of that is Exhaustion. All three of our boys have been diagnosed with pneumonia in the past month.  I wasn’t really surprised when Jonah was diagnosed, he was the 7th of 9 third graders to be diagnosed.  I wasn’t prepared for how long it would last, for the lethargic spirit that would steal his joy in little things like eating dinner with us, or even reading before bed.  Of course when it happened I was dealing with my own health issues, a stupid blood clot from a vein I’ve had my whole life.  Not life threatening, just an annoying nuisance.  But we powered through it, and as a week and then two passed by I thought we were in the clear. Then of course Micah started crying  inconsolably on a Saturday afternoon after being whacked in the face with a yoyo.  And don’t get me wrong, most 4 years olds would cry like 4 year olds when being hit right in the eye with anything, but not my Micah.  He’s tough as nails, and it was so uncharacteristic of him we started to watch him. By Monday his breathing was labored and he was diagnosed with pneumonia.  By Friday Daniel was diagnosed. I spent the past week in a fog of being up all night with the kids, checking temps, breathing.  Micah had to return to the doctor to change medications when his pneumonia worsened.  I visited the doctor’s office 7 times in 6 days.

Part two is this little spot on the upper thigh of Micah we found last Wednesday.  We saw it when he was getting out of the shower, neither Chris and I have ever seen anything like it. So we looked at the internet, and what it looked like was not good.  I took him in the next day.  The pediatrician wasn’t our normal doctor whose eyes I can read, who I trust to give Grace a catheter and who has seen me cry, so I didn’t have any way to know what his reaction meant.  He looked at it and said, I’m going to refer you right away to a specialist.  He used the word biopsy. He talked about as soon as possible, he even called the specialist and made the appointment for me.  He said a lot of things.  And in that moment all I thought about was how much I hated him, how I hated his stupid ponytail. 

Of course it had nothing to do with him, or his ponytail.  I hated him because he couldn’t give me answers that day, he told me it could be nothing or something…which isn’t his fault. Hate seemed an easier emotion than fear at that moment. 

For those of you who know me, you know that Micah is my Sugar.  He came after the darkest experience of my life, and has filled our lives with sweet laughter that coats your throat, and seeps into your heart. He is happy, and has always been a truly easy child.  My entire pregnancy with him I told him constantly how much I loved him, how excited I was to be his Mom.  I had never said those things to his sister, so I will never know if she knew how much I desired to be her Mom, to get to know her.  I wasn’t going to make that mistake with him.  My OB would let me listen to his heartbeat for minutes and we’d cry and say how it was the most beautiful sound.  As my pregnancy came to a close I began to be filled with an anxiety that something would be wrong.  So much so that my blood pressure began to rise and my doctor gave me the option to be induced. I accepted immediately, anything to see him sooner, I knew how fast things could go wrong. After losing a child, the anticipation is very very different; you don’t want to not be pregnant anymore or get it over with, you want your child to be ok.

I was induced on a Sunday morning.  My friend Emily gave the gift of spending her Anniversary sitting next to me. My Mom and Chris held my legs, all of us holding our breath.  Even being induced he arrived in less than 5 hours, and when my doctor told me his heart rate was dropping and I either pushed him out in three pushes or we did an emergency C section,I pushed him out in two pushes.  He came out face up and  the cord was wrapped around his neck, and all I could ask over and over was, “Is he ok? Is he alive?”  

Micah was fine, but I had complications, they couldn’t seem to stop the bleeding and my doctor told Chris I had to wait a couple of years before we tried again.  Chris wouldn’t say anything, but I could tell he was worried,  but for me, my situation seemed so little in comparison to how beautiful and healthy he was.  My doctor was able to stop the bleeding and with in an hour I was able to hold him.  He was so much darker than his brothers, and he would just stare back at me.  For the first six months of his life I never put him down.  I could rock him for hours and sing to him.  He was never fussy, he would laugh and laugh at his brothers.  When he was really little I had him in a cosleeper in the bed next to us. If he didn’t stir I would gently shake him to make sure he was still breathing until I eventually just had him sleep in the crook of my arm. 

I have enjoyed every moment with him.  He is one of those kids that everyone wants to be around.  He loves life. He went through a phase where he refused to wear clothes for almost a year. He has peed in every public place we’ve visited.  He loves women and has been saying that Taylor Swift is his girlfriend since he was barely three.  He loves Bon Jovi, and could listen to “It’s My Life” over and over.  I love his curly hair and huge blue-green eyes and the most beautiful long eyelashes.  I love that every morning he wakes me up by screaming in my ear, “IT’S A BRAND NEW DAY MOM!”  He loves preschool and loves to pick up his brother’s from school.  He is very protective of Grace and is not afraid of sticking up for himself. The way he greets his Dad and godfather is a nice punch right to the belly, and then he’ll give the best hug.

Since the day he was born I have told him everyday how much he matters to me, how loved he is.  I didn’t do that with Jonah and Daniel until after I lost their sister.  Both were shy and struggled with their confidence, but Micah and Grace never have…I really believe it’s because they’ve never doubted.  They have known from the moment they could hear my muffled voice in the womb, they were wanted. They are loved.  When you don’t know how it is to grieve a child, you don’t appreciate your kids the same. You complain about their attitudes, you long for breaks, and for them to grow up.  When you never get to see your child laugh or blink…you view your other children differently…You see them. I know I mentioned this in the previous post,  That was the one gift my Mary gave to her siblings, I see them. 

Last summer I read the book “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert while we were at the family cabin in Montana.  In it there is a medicine man who is prophetic.  Most people who have read this book that I’ve talked to thought it was too slow, that the author was selfish. My sweet friend from Italy’s family thought she portrayed Italians as lazy.   But for where I was at I liked it, I just kept coming back to my own faith.  We were in the midst of trying to decide if Grace would have surgery for her Kidney condition and that was at the forefront of my mind. But while we were there I had the most intense and vivid dream I had had in recent years. The medicine man was there and I stood before him with Micah and Grace. I asked him if Grace would be ok, and he said Yes, she would have a long and happy life. But he said, “But you need to watch him(and pointed to Micah)he need’s you to always have his medicine with him. Watch him.”  I woke up and woke Chris up.  Micah has had chronic croup for years, and we travel with an oral steroid…but it shook both of us.  Without going into more detail, I’ve had dreams that have come true…and few of them have been positive. 

And then we found this spot.  A lot of people have said, “It’s probably nothing.” But what keeps plaguing me is, What if it’s not? I’ve heard, “It would be so rare.” But what if we are the rarity? Who I am to say that I’m above or it’s not going to happen to me.  My dear friend Kristy grieve’s her sister Amy. My dear friend Joan grieve’s her daughter Mary.  My bonus dad Papa John was the last person I would ever think would have salivary and  lung cancer he never smoked or chewed.  And really, normally I’m not the glass is half full person, but this month has broken me.  Between pneumonia, blood clots,  to the financially and emergency fund draining with water damage and having to replace our kitchen floor…yesterday. And now the not knowing. 

I am broken. 

It would be easy for me to lose faith right now.  In fact I’ve questioned my faith over and over, and in many ways I’m barely clinging.  But I’m clinging. Because I know that no matter what we are going to get through this, and we are going to pray and trust that God is going to be there.  And any of the lies I’ve heard that God hasn’t taken care of us, or that he abandoned us are just that…lies. 

My best friend Amy gave me a quote today:

”Without somehow destroying myself in the process, how could God somehow reveal himself in a way that would leave no room for doubt? If there were no room for doubt, there would be no room for me.” -Frederick Buechner

In a few hours I will sit with Micah as they take off the spot, I will hold him and comfort him.  And then we will wait while they biopsy it, and wait for a phone call.    I will hold my husband’s hand, and I will tell all of my kids how much I love them.  And I will cling, and wait for the result, and let God comfort me…because no matter what the results are, if they are nothing or something…No matter how broken I am, we will get through this.  Because regardless of this month, or what is to come I have no doubt I am blessed.  Broken? Yes, but definitely blessed.

My sister Melissa (Missy) is a brilliant writer and has written a book about something that is never talked about. Her amazing book is now being reviewed by an agent.  It is something that is so personal to both of us, and has changed our lives tremendously. While it is a fictional novel, it is about miscarriage.  Both of us have lost children. I remember the first time Melissa had a miscarriage, I was traveling with REACH the youth ministry team I was on. I was 19 and cried the entire night. Melissa is 5 years older than me, and was always the person I most aspired to be…In many ways I still do.  My heart broke to be in the bitter cold of South Dakota as I knew her heart ached in Western Washington.  And when she lost another child, it was far worse than anything I could have grasped. I am writing this as if it is an excerpt from the beginning or end of her book, because my sister writing this is one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen. And today I received an email from someone in my book club that said I was brave.  Reading Missy’s book was very hard for me, in fact I couldn’t read the first draft, just like I couldn’t work on that blog for months. But I read it and was so touched, I realized how something so hard can someday give us hope for others. How through our pain we hope that people can speak about it, and maybe someday I can stop apologizing for still being sad.  Today, here I am, being brave.

Remembering.

A few years ago my sister Melissa and I went to the concert of our lifelong favorite band Bon Jovi. I was pregnant with my son Micah and still suffering from nausea and dizziness,  and because of my condition we were moved to the handicapped section. We had fabulous views and danced and screamed. What neither of us talked about, but both of us thought about all night was the fact that at that moment Melissa was having a miscarriage.

I had always wanted to be like my sister growing up. Five years older she was everything I wanted to be. Smart, pretty, athletic.  We fought a lot during our childhood, mostly because I wanted to be her best friend and still tattle on her, but eventually we hit our stride and have been close ever since.  Almost six years ago she gave me one of my most precious gifts I’ve been given to date. She told me to hold my daughter.

In my sister’s book one of the losses is mirrored after the loss of our daughter Mary Therese. I don’t want to give away details that I gave her permission to share, and the care in which she put into honoring the day my daughter was born sleeping, but I will share some of the details, some until now I couldn’t share.  Most of that is because this is still too hard for me to put into words, but I’ll try.  It was a routine doctors appointment. I was two weeks away from my 20 week ultrasound and I remember I was wearing my favorite baby blue maternity shirt.  I had showered and wore makeup, which was a rarity because of how sick I had been my entire pregnancy. I had an ultrasound 4 weeks before and I had seen my little jumping bean, moving and shaking, making the months of nausea and sickness worth it.   I wore mascara and before I left my husband told me I looked beautiful. I remember that.  Flash forward one hour. I remember my doctor holding my head while I cried, letting me go out a door, and shielding me with her coat so I didn’t have to see other pregnant women.  I saw my doctor, my nurse, and the ultrasound tech cry. They kept saying how strong I was, and all I could see was the ultrasound image with no flashing heartbeat.  Just silence.  They made an appointment for me to be induced that night.  Suddenly my husband Chris was there, he hugged me gently as I cried.    It was too sunny when we drove home, and someone cut us off and Chris said something about how the world hadn’t stopped even though our world had.  On the way home we stopped at Starbucks, Chris had called my Mom and asked her to spread the word. My cell phone rang and I heard my sister’s voice. We had suffered through the same thing when she lost her daughter Kaileen around the same stage of her pregnancy that I was in now.  We cried so hard we couldn’t hear each other. She kept saying, “How could this have happened?” I just cried.  She asked me if I’d do something, she made me promise to hold Mary after she was born. I promised and we cried some more.

Later I played on the floor with my boys Jonah and Daniel pretending things weren’t different. My best friend Amy and I packaged up all my maternity clothes. I wanted no signs of any of the past months.  I couldn’t talk about it, and I couldn’t talk about anything else.  The next day is fragmented into images captured in my memory, the too quiet hospital, the section of the maternity ward for women like me who wouldn’t be up all night with a crying baby, where no one brings you balloons.

 I see the multi-colored bracelets of our nurse, and I hear her soothing voice.  I see the anxious face of our priest and dear friend as he and  Chris hold my hands on both sides of the bed. I see my best friend’s hair covering her furrowed brow as she brings me sweats to wear the next day, and holds me and tells me she’s sorry over and over again.  I see the night end as the sun comes up.

 We cry. I see my Mom arrive and pace the room. She’s been through this before with my sister, there are no words. She watched  as I delivered my first son, the traumatic birth but the joy of seeing him cry. Knowing we’d both be okay. She caught my second son as he seemed to fly out of me. There is no joy here. Only the sound of me and Chris crying. 

  I hear my husband make funeral arrangements.  My labor becomes intense, but there is no anticipation.

I see the on-call  OB-Gyn arrive, he checks me and tells me it’s time to push, and so I do. I push once. He is awkward as he hands me my silent daughter. I see her tiny little body, perfectly formed, wrapped in a blanket. She is dark like my husband, her toes curl just like my boys. If I close my eyes tight enough I can remember her smell.  Her eyes were blue and her nose was straight.  She was beautiful. 

And I do what my sister says. I hold her. Her skin is paper thin, but she is perfect.  I hold her as I cry, and as I admire her beautiful teeny but long fingers. I can’t stop smelling her. I can’t stop looking at her.  My Mom holds her. Our priest arrives and holds her, blesses her. Her Dad holds her and cry’s over her, his first daughter.  Our Mary Therese.

The gift my sister gave me that day was allowing me to remember the only time I ever got to see Mary’s face.  As hard as it was, it was the only way I survived the next months and beyond.  The days that passed as I became angry at every pregnant woman who would complain.   The months that I couldn’t look at another mother at the preschool as she held her all pink baby carrier. The jealousy was so thick of her pink bundle that I would turn away from her when she’d turn to me.  The bitter metallic taste in my throat I swallowed when a few months later a friend asked, “So are you guys going to start trying again? For your girl?” Even two years later after I’d had our son Micah, those moments with my Mary got me through an experience when I brought dinner to a family with a new baby.  They had named their new daughter Mary.  When I arrived the father brought her out to the car. I held my breath as I looked at him look at their beautiful daughter as he repeated over and over, “Our Mary. Our Mary.”  I made it a block away before I pulled over and swung my feet out of my door, putting my head between my legs. I cried so hard my shirt was drenched and I  began to dry heave.  And then I came home to my bewildered husband and laid on our bed as I pressed my face into her blanket that I took out of the box full of condolences.  It didn’t smell like her anymore, but it was enough for me to see her again.

Today Mary would be 5 1/2 and I think of her every day.  I wish I could see how she’d react to her three brothers and younger sister Grace.  It doesn’t hurt all the time, and I am so thankful that because of her I will never take any moment with my other kids for granted.  Their lives are a constant celebration.  She is always in our hearts, and in my thoughts.  We visit her grave on holidays and honor the memory of her. We think of her every time we find pennies’ and see pink roses. 

And I am grateful that my sister wrote this as a tribute to all of the women who have lost children, no matter what stage, because even if no one else remembers or if you think you have to be over it, You don’t. They will always be yours.  I am grateful that my sister loved me enough to let my story be in her book, and put the pain she has suffered with her multiple losses into words and hope. And I can never thank her enough because she asked me to hold my daughter. Today I’m still holding on to her.

-Kristin White

Today I was brave.  As I wrote this, I thought about all the brave people I know.  My brother-in-law in the military and my friend’s husbands that are deployed, I thought of my husband and all of his friends who protect our city, I thought of my firefighter friends.  I thought of my best friend who celebrated 9 years of sobriety and friends dealing with a family members addiction. I thought of my bonus’ Dads battle with lung cancer and my Dads battle with heart disease. I thought of my brave friend who has had to help heal her children after they were hurt in the worst way. I thought of all those I love grieving their spouses or parents. I thought of my other sister who suffered the abuse of her boyfriend for years and walked away. I thought of my friends who battle hatred because of their sexual orientation. I thought of those I love that struggle with depression that threatened to swallow them, and that fought back.  I thought of my beautiful pregnant friends…And I prayed for all of these brave people.

 And then I thought of you… my friends who have lost or haven’t been able to have a child…I thought about how because of you, I am brave today. Because of Melissa, Erin, Colleen, Lindsey, Christa, Amy, Rachel, Jocelyn, Teresa, Shannon, Denise, Joan, Alicia, Kara, Jodi, Kym, Missy, Jessica, Larkie, Alyssa, Heather, Katie, Robin, Kristin, Marie,Erika, Hannah, Jackie, Angi, Kelsey, Janice, Christine, Renee, Eileen, L, Heidi, Deanna…and many many more. I thought of you. And I remember.

Another year…and wiser? I don’t know about that. I do know that I’ve accomplished a lot in the past year. And I haven’t done a lot of things I wanted to do.  I should have already wrote the second post to the previous blog but in reality when I start writing it’s usually right after our kids are in bed, and Chris will sit by me and then ask what I’m doing…and then we end up talking about it and then I’m too tired to finish, or we argue about who is going to look for Grace’s baby, and then he turns on a show that I’m not even interested in about fresh water flesh-eating serpents or people who collect junk and I end up entranced.  I’ll write it soon…unless it’s Shark Week and even though I can’t stand it, I’ll watch it.

In the past year I’ve realized I still LOVE mascara and my new favorite is “Falsies” by Maybelline.  Kaitlin my sister recommended it and I’ve been getting compliments on my lashes when I wear it.  I’d give it a 9, which is almost the best! It’s got a curved wand and isn’t clumpy at all. For my birthday my friend Rose just sent me an all natural, fruit mascara…I’m trying that next. 

Here are some other things I’ve learned, and some of them the hard way I have to add.

I’ve relearned and still think the best parenting book/method  is “Parenting with Love and Logic” by Foster W. Cline M.D. and Jim Fay. Why? Because its effective. Because consistent parenting is the only thing that works long-term. And because there is nothing worse that hearing someone consistently asking their child to stop, and giggle about how funny they are, as they cut off your child’s hair…or  something like that.  And eventually it’s not cute, eventually they are the kinds of kids that are sassy and disruptive.  And sometimes mean, and their parents still laugh at them and think they are cute. Because that’s their kid, but nobody else does.

I’ve learned that sometimes I’m not as supportive of other parenting styles. Refer to the last paragraph.

I’ve learned that though I like my pediatrician going there 5 times in one week is a bit much. Especially when every time I’m there someone is diagnosed with something different.  Grace is the big medal winner, with a double ear infection(her first ear infection), another kidney infection, and two appointments in one day. 

I’ve learned that I can wear skinny jeans with my boots, but I’m still pretty sure they don’t look that great on me. I also still have a long way to go on how I view myself and am realizing that I may always have a poofy belly. But everyone should have my kids, because they each tell me at least once a day I’m pretty.

I’ve learned that you can come back from a pretty serious injury and stretching is so important. So very important.  And I finished my first half marathon and am running another in May and September. Also I fell in love with my running buddies the Betty’s especially Legs, HC, The Gazelle, The Machine, and no-back-fat-Angi …and I LOVE running with my friend Koya. On Thanksgiving I ran with my new friend who I am so grateful for, Christina, it was freezing and so worth it. I am blessed with people who don’t think I’m too slow, laugh at my witty side, and don’t mind that I talk the entire time. Other running inspirations worth mentioning: Mandy D, Mandy K and Amber B, Hannah, Kaitlin, Missy, and Liz.

I’ve learned that we need outlets. I did a cake class with my friend Renee and I’m pretty sure did not learn a thing. I’ve joined a book club which I love. I got a job teaching aerobics so that I can work out for free.  I’ve learned that I have to make my needs known otherwise I get resentful.

I’ve learned that I LOVE FRUIT!

I’ve learned that one of the hardest things I will ever go through is watch my bonus Dad suffer from cancer, and have two very dear people to me suffer from very serious depression and mental issues.  There were some heart wrenching months and it was a very helpless feeling…I have never prayed so much.

I’ve learned that good health care is amazing and that preventative care and medicine can save someone’s life.  I am so grateful for that!

I’ve learned that as hard as it is to be away from family, which it is still very hard…I have family here. I don’t know what we’d do without our amazing friends! I hope that I am half the friend they are to me. And our niece Mikaela is here now at U of O!

I’ve learned that I still have really strong opinions on cheating. Cheaters are cowards. And don’t get me started on people who come onto married people at parties…

I’ve learned that I can get a headache from a movie. It was “Inception.” Good movie, equally good headache.

I’ve learned that sometimes it’s really hard to tell someone the truth when you love them and don’t want to hurt them, but if you pray enough you can do it the right way.

I’ve learned that sometimes you can hit a breaking point. And we did financially and starting doing – The Dave Ramsey Method. And it has changed our lives.  I’m not kidding, it’s that amazing. We already have our first emergency fund saved and are building AND have paid off two debts.

I’ve learned that by cutting back I can get used to only going to Winco. Because where else can I see someone shopping in a leopard print snuggy and ALSO save money?  Hello? Awesome!

I’ve learned that I am still very much addicted to coffee.

I’ve relearned that God’s Grace is sufficient for me and the power of prayer is really phenomenal.

I’ve learned that while I have my Momzilla moments I am so incredibly blessed by my family. And I’ve also learned not to find my self-worth in my kids, but to be myself and just love them.  They are all so unique and still completely mine.

I’ve learned to say sorry a lot this year. I’d say this was one of the most blessed but hardest years of our marriage.  I’ve had to work a lot at becoming a better wife, a better friend to my best friend Chris. I learn everyday how incredibly blessed I am to have someone who loves me so much.  Imperfect me!

I’ve learned that I’m still not okay with not being published. I’ve submitted a lot and heard nada back, except for my columns in ”The Troubadour.” I go over my writing. I’m not cheesy. I write what I know. And I wonder maybe if it’s not meant to be. I think that a lot lately.  My sister, who is an amazing writer and published though she says she’s not, says I need to write every day in a blog to get noticed. I guess I can try though I know I won’t succeed, because I always forget to read blogs I love, let alone write in my own. But as much as I wonder if I should stop writing, I don’t want to. I have funny kids and until I’m standing in my yard, waving a cane I’ll write for the 10 people who read this…or however many read this. 

I feel like I’m a little kid again waiting for my birthday.  I’m really excited for another…I’m excited to be 32. This is the Life I want to Live.

A lot can happen in Ten Years.

You can get married on a beautiful day, in beautiful weather, surrounded by beautiful people at the most beautiful ceremony and think that this is the highlight of your life….

You can go on a honeymoon to San Fransisco and stay at the seediest hotel there, and last one night(after you realize a woman is running a business in the next room).  Then you can stay at a nice place until you stay at the Ritz Carlton which is still nicer than any house you’ve ever been in. You see a very famous comedian, at a show, insult women and get very drunk. You get your first cell phone, which is bigger than your hand. You can almost get beat up by some bikers. And You can run out of money, and have to stay at a hotel on the way home where you are so scared you have to sleep with all the furniture propped against the door.

A lot can happen in Ten Years.

You can get a job as an aerobic’s instructor. You can shop for dogs until your landlord says you can’t have them, and then start looking for a new place.  You can drink wine and make gourmet cheeseburgers. You can notice your jeans don’t fit.  You can fight. A lot. You can watch the longest election result show…s…in history.  You move into a new place, plan to get a dog who weighs more than you, even though your pants don’t fit. You start college again, the house burns down.  You save your husband’s life, do 27 loads of laundry in a laundry mat, lose your couches and so many other things…and have to lie about your income to move into a dingy apartment.  Oh, and you’re pregnant, and there still is no president.

The day after you find out you’re pregnant, you find out you’re actually already 2 months along and then start getting sick instantly. You throw up right after eating chinese food in a parking lot. 3 times. And  even though he holds your hair for you, your husband is pale.

You only eat Pokemon mac n’ cheese for 2 months. You fall asleep right after dinner and have a new job working in the schools. You hold hands, but are so scared about the future. This apartment isn’t safe for a baby. Some people donate couches to you.  You have no money.  So you start looking at houses. You find a house even though you don’t have money, and somehow they give it to you for nothing down and then rent it from you as they build a house. You’ve fallen in love again, with a house.  And a heartbeat, you hear for the first time.  You are only 4 months pregnant and have gained 30 lbs.

You celebrate by getting ice cream.  You declare everything a celebration.  And you find out you are having a boy.  You buy little blue booties’, and keep tums next to your bed. And end up spending your First Anniversary with your in-laws and they treat you to hot chocolate.

A lot can happen in 10 years.

You can get a call in September and the world will turn upside down. You can watch every news channel and see the same image, live the same nightmare.  You are scared.  You put an American Flag in your window.  Your husband says he doesn’t want to be an appraiser anymore.  He wants to do something more. You can’t see your feet, and you’ve never been more afraid for your child.

You have gained 70 pounds.  He is born in less than 8 hours, sunny side up and only weighs 8lbs 5oz. You think most of it is in his head. You have complications and don’t get to hold him for over an hour, your husband names him Jonah Michael, after your Mother in Law Joan, and your Dad.  It is only the third time you’ve seen your husband cry, and he cries as he holds him and you lie there lights over you, in so much pain, hearing a surgeon, berate your less than perfect doctor.   You mom throws her back out watching your labor.  But your Jonah… He is perfect, even if it takes a week to figure out how to nurse. And a month to figure out he eats every hour and a half.  Your husband only gets one day off work.

Baby’s change fast, and so does your life.

Your husband decides he wants to be a police officer.  Your baby smiles for the first time. You get him baptized and everyone agree’s he is perfect.  You love your house and life, and friends.  You find yourself loving being a parent. You have no money, have only lost 30 lbs, and your son rolls over. Your husband hates his job and stops shaving before going to work. He start applying other places, and you become obsessed with the show American Idol. Your husband goes to work during the day, and at nights and weekends works as a reserve police officer.

Your second Anniversary is spent going to dinner. You leave the baby for the first time.  You are going for less than two hours and he kisses his reflection in the TV screen most of that time.

A lot can happen in 10 years.

Your husband gets a job where you went to college.  Your house sells before you list it.  It takes a lot longer to find a house.  You go to your best friend’s one year sobriety and find the house the next day. You don’t love it, but move anyway.  A week after you move, your Dad gives you a Dog.  You fire the air conditioning guy.  Your son’s first word is Amy. And you find out you’re pregnant. And this time you were trying.

You husband graduates from the Academy, and it’s very hard. It’s a hard job, and he works nights.  You watch a lot of reality TV, and eat a lot of ginger snaps.  You get lonely a lot.  And go to Starbucks once a week. You find out your OB is a lesbian, and your husband thinks her name sounds like she’s a pirate. She tells you… you’re overweight. You want to tell her, tell me something I don’t know. But you just nod,  and eat a whole pumpkin pie after the appt…because you can.

You find out you’re having a boy. You tell your other son, he pats your belly, and he names him Danny.  You spend your  third Anniversary with your little family, and then Amy comes over so you can go to a fancy dinner. You dress up in a maternity dress that makes you look like a tent, but when you wear your sunglasses on your head you feel young. You journal that night that you wonder if your husband is still attracted to you.

A lot can happen in 10 years. Your next son is born on his Dad’s birthday in a couple of hours. The doctor on call is amazing, beautiful, and you decide you’ll never see the other doctor again.  And  being a mom again…It is such an easy transition, though you forget what sleep is like.  You find out your friends are getting married. You are doing weight watchers with your best friend and losing weight. Your toddler throws great temper tantrums.  Your husband has a hard supervisor, it is hard. The baby smiles all the time, so easy. Around six months, you stop returning calls. You began to want to scream all the time, but when you open your month everything is silent. It is a very dark couple months.  Your husband calls the doctor and you find out you have post-partum depression. A friends moves in and see’s that you are a monster to live with, but does pilates with you every night. And Med’s make all the difference, and none of your alienated friends bail.  You go to four weddings, and are in one.  And you’ve lost 80 lbs.

You go to dinner on your fourth Anniversary in Yakima Washington. It’s free babysitting, ala parents, and you go to Red Robin.  If you can survive Post Partum by this point you believe you can survive anything!

A lot can happen in 10 years.

Daniel is the happiest kid you’ve ever met.  He loves to climb and laugh. He loves to put underwear on his head and run in circles. He inspires you…So, you run your first 5K and then second.  Your brother in law has been in Iraq for well over a year, so you’ve seen your sister a lot and she is getting ready to welcome him home and move to Kentucky. Jonah is in preschool and you feel like being a mom is the best greatest adventure of your life. So you decide to try again.

This pregnancy is different. You spend days on the couch making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the couch for your two children. You can barely stand half the time.  Jonah and Daniel both watch over 7 hours a TV a day. Emily and Amy come and clean your house. You watch church on TV. You faint on the day Pope John Paul 2 dies, and have to be taken to the hospital.  And the worst day of your life is on May 27, followed by an even worse day on May 28.  And you never get over it. The silence of not hearing her heartbeat gives you nightmares for months.

On your fifth Anniversary you go to Scandinavian festival for Amy’s birthday.  You all go back to her house afterwards, and she has a cake for you.  You head away for one night to Portland and go to dinner and spend the night at the Super 8, while the kids stay with Emily and Christina. You are gone 16 hours.

You have seen the best and the absolute worst.  Your husband pats your hair as you cry the whole way home.  He tells you he loves you no matter what, and you’ll get through this.  For the first time in months, you find hope. Because a lot can happen in 10 years.

Last year on Facebook, most of the people I knew did this random 25 facts…I didn’t do it.  I think life is always better with a few surprises and I couldn’t think of 25 random things. So here is my own kinda sorta  version of it.  But first here is a brief re-cap of the great mascara search so far…

The top 3 mascara’s I’ve tried are: Maybelline Lash Stilleto, Maybelline Collossal Lash, and Blinc.  I think I’m allergic to Rimmel. And Covergirl really hasn’t been much of a lash blast. 

What has surprised me most about this trial is how much I’ve enjoyed testing and writing about them. Also my love of Mascara has only grown, if that’s possible.   It’s not even over yet, but it’s close.  What should I test next?  I was thinking of everything from shampoo’s, razors, and even bra’s and panties.(all of which I can rationalize buying)

I bet it won’t surprise anyone that I am a natural blonde.(I get a little help these days) Every 12 weeks to be exact.

What might surprise you is that I always kind of wished I was a brunette like my Mom.

It won’t surprise you that I am insanely overprotective of my kids. I can count on one hand the people I trust to be alone with them.  I’ve fired a babysitter for lying to me, and now do background checks on anyone who watches them. 

What might surprise you that I found our babysitter on Craig’s List. She’s been watching the kids since Grace was 3 months old, and when she graduates, moves on, and gets a career job, we are going to miss her horribly. She spent Easter and Mother’s Day with us this year.  I know right? Craig’s List.

What won’t surprise you is that when I lost all the weight, my family went on a huge re-haul of eating too. And now if I don’t eat well, I get a stomach ache for days. In fact my kids have never had Soda Pop until this year, and now Jonah will only drink HI-C…they all think soda is disgusting.

What might surprise you is that I love McDonald’s.  I love their $1 Yogurt parfait’s, Apple Dippers, and the $1 Diet Cokes, and their Large Iced Coffee with Sugar-Free Vanilla Syrup.

What won’t surprise you is that I have a really really hard time asking for help.

What might surprise you is that when I was pregnant with Grace I hired someone to come and clean my bathrooms and kitchen twice a month. And I really think of her as an antidepressant now…She’ll be working for us for 2 years in July.

What won’t surprise you(if you’ve read previous blogs or know me) is that I struggle with tardiness.

What might surprise you is that I turned over a leaf last May and have only been late a handful of times since then.  What is excluded from this list is preschool…Micah is always late.  And much of that is my choice, I don’t like dealing with the parking. But for some reason people always make jokes about me being late…still. I may be in denial.

What won’t surprise you is that I think my husband is the most handsome man in the entire world.  I am so proud to be married to him.

What might surprise you is that once in a while I wake up and worry that he’s going to change his mind about us.  Which I KNOW is ridiculous, but none the less something I’ve thought about.

What won’t surprise you is that I love to read. Can’t fall asleep without reading and will read my favorite books over and over again. It’s why I long to write for a living, what a gift.

What may surprise you is that recently I read all of the “Ramona” books by Beverly Cleary again, and loved them as much as when I was a little girl. Brilliant writing is timeless!

What won’t surprise you is that I love the seat warmers in my suburban “Fancy” and sometimes have the air conditioning on too…because I can.

What may surprise you is that I miss our Mini-Van “Vanna White” everyday and I cried when we sold her.

What won’t surprise you is that I’m not afraid to yell at people in the car pool/ pick up line at school.

What may surprise you is how irritated I can get in the car pool/ pick up line at the school.

Which leads me to my next thing: You are probably not surprised that I am not the most patient person, except my kids keep teaching me patience. 

But what may surprise you is that I don’t like all small children or big children. In fact I think some are down right rotten.  And I feel guilty for admitting it, and for saying I think if parents are consistent–they usually don’t have that problem.

What won’t surprise you is that I am not Mother of the Year, but am very consistent.

What may surprise you that I “H” word the saying, “Boys will be Boys…” or “She’s just sassy” as an excuse for not parenting.

What won’t surprise you that I hate being left out, struggle with jealousy, may be the queen of stretch marks and am completely flawed.

What may surprise you is that sometimes I pretend I am none of the above.

What won’t surprise you is that I hate when people text when they drive.  I know I’ve mentioned it before on here.

What may surprise you is that I think people look ridiculous when they are outside of their cars and are wearing their bluetooth…I have said on a few occasions, “Live long and prosper!” to someone wearing one. And I think it’s hilarious.

What won’t surprise you is that I am surprised by many of the things that have happened in my life. Like the fact that I’ve lived in Eugene Oregon the past 7 years, or that when Jonah talks to me in spanish I have no idea what he’s saying.

What may surprise you is that I hate movies, tv shows, or books with big surprises. I get anxiety from them.  I also don’t watch scary or sad movies.

What won’t surprise you is that I think I have the best friends and family in the world…and I think the dysfunctional bits are what make us functional.

What may surprise you is this year I realized that it took me 31 years to be okay with not liking someone. And so I don’t.

What won’t surprise you is that I know I am blessed and think God is good, and when I say I’m praying for you…I am.

What may surprise you is that I wonder when things are going to get rocky again, and am (secretly) afraid that the people I love the most don’t believe in me.

There you go…It may have surprised you that I didn’t test a mascara this time around, but isn’t life nicer with surprises?  It’s like the perfect parking spot on a rainy day, or the forbidden hug goodbye before school that you weren’t expecting.

The best surprise I’ve had recently was last Friday when Amy had her baby Nathaniel. It was the same day as my sister Erin’s oldest daughter, my niece and god-daughter Maya was born 10 years ago, now a doubly blessed day for me.  I was there as the labor got intense but had to leave(no childcare) when she was dilated to 7. I felt my heart beating out of my chest as I came home to take care of my little ones as she progressed and started to push.  I was so envious to be missing out, supporting her, as I fed the kids, gave baths, cleaned the kitchen, put them to bed. As Chris drove in the driveway at 10pm  I received the text that he had been born…And I headed to the hospital.

There is much more to this story but it is not my own, so I’m going to skip that part…but three hours later I was able to be with my beautiful, strong, amazing friend and help her nurse her son for the first time.  I had felt so sad that I had missed out on his arrival, but I got to see them bond for the first time. I was able to see a child I’d been praying for his entire life latch on to the person who carried him and protected him. I was surprised at how emotional I became, watching my friends Amy and Steve stare at their son together, bask in a love that would surprise them…and take them places they never knew they were capable of. Nate is their miracle.

I came home and kissed some of my own miracles sleeping in their beds. All three boys were curled around each other in Daniels’ double bunk, covered in books.  Grace sleeping with her tush up in the air in her crib, pink baby in her arms. I crawled in next to Chris, suddenly exhausted, still wearing my jeans, and he immediately put his arms around me. I melted into him. I thought about Amy, Steve, and Nate.  I thought about Erin and Maya.  I thought about the pink roses blooming outside my windows who have bloomed the last 5 years since I gave birth to Mary.  When I closed my eyes tight enough I could hear every child breath, and could hear Maggie the dog snoring in the next room. Chris wrapped his arms around me tighter, and I swallowed the bittersweet sob in my throat. I felt a rush of so many things. Relief. Happiness. Grief.  Love. Hope.

 And suddenly I was overwhelmed by how blessed I was. Am. Surprised even.

It’s not like I’ve never dealt with rejection. I was a Theatre Major…I heard “You’re crap” on a regular basis. And while it stung, I could always tweak it.  And I guess I always knew I’d never be the best or go far with acting.  I loved it, but not like I love writing. Maybe that’s why it stings more with these rejections…I love writing. I want to keep writing, but maybe this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing.  Maybe this dream is just going to flourish in a blog and I’ll never get a book published or see my name in a thick glossy magazine and that really, really hurts. Not that I don’t like to blog and test mascara…but you know.

On top of it all truthfully I’m kind of in a slump.  Just a life slump.  I think it happened when I hurt my knee a while ago. I had to take a few weeks off from running, and it was really hard. I felt like my body was rejecting me.  And then our life got really busy again. I’m constantly running kids to something, not sleeping enough.  Our schedule was rejecting me, from even thinking. Our checkbook always rejects me.  And Grace is still dealing with a lot of health issues, and I can’t help her and that terrifies me. And I keep thinking I may look old or look like Kate Gosselin.  And to top it all off I’ve been feeling pretty rejected by some people I love a lot.  I feel like all I do is give, and every effort is one that I make. No one ever visits us, and it can get pretty lonely here. So…. Pack your baggy jeans, and fill your pockets with kleenex because we’re going on a woe-is-me-rejected trip. 

While you’re packing you might want to grab some mascara.  Because what is life, without a little maintenance?  So I’ll grab my latest test: Covergirl Lash Blast. Recommended by my sisters.  It comes in a fatty orange tube. I got the color black. Since it came recommended I was really hoping it would live up to what they said.  But like all the Cover girl mascara’s so far I was pretty indifferent. Not amazed, or too impressed. It went on okay, but it wasn’t really a blast for my lashes.  And they didn’t look long or lovely.  They just looked normal.  I think I may have been spoiled with the last few tests, because Lash Blast didn’t have much of a chance…and sadly my eyelashes looked nothing like Drew Barrymore’s in the ads.  Nothing.   So maybe me and Covergirl just aren’t a good pair.

Maybe that’s the moral of the story for my life the past few weeks.  Maybe all this rejection has very little to do with me, maybe I’m just not a good fit with some lives or a good fit for a publication.  And I’m just going to have to roll with it.  And I know I’m loved…I have kids that think I am funny and original, people I love who love me, whether I run with them or have coffee with them, or just catch up with them briefly on the phone.  And I have so many things to look forward to, to help me get out of this slump…Baby Hannah, Baby Nate, Baby Gianna…and I got to hold Baby Muller last week and I’m in love.  Holding a baby is the best kind of antidepressant.  And I get to look forward to big events and small events whether its Daniel dancing or Jonah getting his first communion. And I know that this slump is all me…

Because I have been pretty slack in my praying and trusting…and that makes all the rejection sting even more…because for some reason it makes me lose hope.  And that is so sad.  I’m sorry this post is not my usual uplifting self, but it is what it is. Like my Micah says to me every morning, “It’s a brand new day Mom,” that is something right now I have to cling to.  That tomorrow will be a better day, and today was just one of those days. I’m not going to even unpack my bag, because I don’t plan on staying here very long.

Covergirl Lash Blast final score: 6…sorry it’s not you, it’s me. 

Next stop, A brand new day.