The Scar From When We Were Shiny

I've been sitting here watching the cursor blink for a long time. Blink.  Blink. Blink.  The past two weeks have been overwhelming with newness and busyness and excitement and people.  All the time.  Match Day.  St. Patrick's Day.  Spring Break for Little Man.  Grandparents in town.  Hubs home for a full month before graduation.  It is all awesome and fun and wonderful, but people give me writer's block big time.  Virginia Woolf wasn't kidding when she said you need a room with a lock. 

But here I am.  Finally.  Little Man is at school.  Little Lady is sleeping.  And I just kicked Hubs out for an hour in the hopes that this dam of stuff up on my brain can start to trickle down to the page before it blows.

But here I am.  Finally alone.  And there is so much up there and out there and in here.  And I'm lost with where to start yet again. 

It is finally starting to warm up in Minnesota.  The sun is shining today.  The birds are singing.  The snow is melting.  Thank God the snow is finally melting. 

I was warm enough to hang out barefoot for a while this morning.  Loved it.  I got out of the world's longest and hottest shower and waited a full hour before strapping on the wool socks that have been saving me since October hit. 

I sat on the bed talking to Hubs about upcoming plans, enjoying the freedom to wiggle the toes and not actually be shivering.  I looked down at my feet and smiled.  I have freakishly long toes and I love them.  And on my right foot, I have this little scar right on the top in the middle of that hard bone.  I love this scar. 

I was cooking dinner.  In Florida.  It was August and Little Man was one.  He had his own cabinet full of old camping cookware and random tupperware with missing tops and bottoms.  I was seven months pregnant.  Fat and happy.  And cooking dinner for my little family, thinking on how it was getting bigger in such a short time.  I was so happy.  Everything was still so bright and shiny. 

I remember being in front of the sink washing vegetables.  And I stepped on something.  Which happens all the time with dogs and kids and moms whose priorities don't include vacuuming every single time a crumb lands on the floor.  I was barefoot.  Without even thinking, I picked up my left foot and rubbed it across the top of my right foot to brush off the crumbs.  Only instead of being a crumb, it was a piece of enamel from one of the old camping mugs.  It sliced deep and the red ran.  It took a long time to heal and left a nice little white crescent on my foot. 

Sometimes the memories are vivid and you don't know why.  I have not idea why I've held this picture so clearly through the years while so many others have slipped away.  But it is there and like yesterday in my mind.  I see the scar and I can feel the day.  I can feel the happiness and anticipation and the ignorant bliss of the happily ever after that was our life.  I can feel the round stomach, full with my Jameson.  He was a part of me.  Growing within me.  He was real.  And here. 

It has nothing and everything to do with him, this little silly scar on my foot. 

Go Green

I bought new socks.  I couldn't help myself.  They were there.  I was all alone.  I glanced to the right while walking from the baby formula aisle to the frozen vegetables aisle.  And they spoke to me.  They said, "Meghan!  Buy us!  Wear us!  Be proud of your inner-Irish!"  And I looked at those socks and their price tag and I said, "Yes, yes, I will buy you.  And I will proudly wear you Saturday." 

I've got the hats and the socks and the beads and the buttons and the Roo's all set to go for the parade on Saturday.  If you have to ask what is going on this Saturday, you need to check you calendar.  It is March, people.  Mid-March.  And the Madness in this house extends well beyond basketball. 

St. Patrick's Day is on Sunday, but the celebrations and parade are Saturday.   That means we get to celebrate twice!  How does life get better? That is maybe where the new socks come in.  Who doesn't love new, fun socks?  Seriously. 

So.  Here we are again, with St. Patrick's Day fast approaching. This is the annual reminder to GO GREEN! 

Jameson was my Irish baby to the max.  With all that red hair.  And all that fiery laughter and love spilling out of him all.of.the.time.  Every time I hear the song "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" I think of my boy and his joy.  My Irish Prince.  

We're having our annual trek to the Cathedral for a full Celtic Mass put on by the Hibernians.  Then we'll head to our favorite brunch place with the entire extended family, where we may or may not drink Irish coffee.  With extra whipped cream.  And then we will head to the parade.  And it will be cold.  And crowded.  And LOUD.  And it will be awesome.

And we will think of him.  All day. 

Which is pretty normal, actually.  But we will smile and laugh and wear our crazy green and orange and fake mustaches and blinking hats, and lime green sneakers that haven't fit since before babies.  We will stop and smell the shamrocks.  There can be so much sadness in the memories and emptiness.  But there is so much joy.  Always joy.  This day is one more way of seeing and celebrating the memory and joy of our Jameson.

Slainte!

Meeting Her

Last weekend I had a chance to go to the Set Apart Conference.  It was an amazing day and I'm still trying to process it all.  I went with a Bestie, which made the day that much more special.  We started off the day in the auditorium singing.  I had just finished taking inventory of the registration bag and made a comment to my friend about the tissues they included and how I won't need them because I have such tough skin.  She raised her eyebrows in disbelief and smirked at me.  She thinks I'm an emotional creature.  Humph.  As a matter of fact, she calls me The Mascara Wrecker.  I still haven't figured out if it's a compliment, but I'm going to roll with it anyway.  But I digress.  I may wreck other people's mascara, but please.  I'm not going to cry at a women's conference. 

Yes, I seriously did think this, people. 

So we're singing.  People are getting into it.  I've got the beat in my legs, people have their hands in the air, the girls on stage sound awesome; it's good worship.  And then.  There's always a then.  Then they start playing the song Revelation.  Amazing song.  But about half-way through, the chick on the piano starts talking while she's playing, about how when we sing to God, everyone is Heaven joins in with us.  And here is where it starts my friends.  A deluge.  I'm standing there, picturing Jameson rocking out in Heaven with me and wring my hands and doing yoga breaths so I don't sob so loudly people start looking.  This is where you get to laugh at and or with me.  Whew.  It was a moment and then some.  The Bestie gave me a hug and laughed a little when I commented on how that didn't take long! 

The rest of the day was a little like this experience over and over.  I listened to so many amazing people, was wow-ed and humbled and inspired and then some.  All day long.  

The absolute highlight of my day was getting to hear her speak and then meet her. 

Notice my eyes.  I'd say notice her eyes, because I made her cry, too, but she obviously has better makeup than I do.

This beautiful lady embracing me is Ann Voskamp.  I've talked up her book, One Thousand Gifts, many times on the blog.  If you haven't read it yet, go get it!  Right now!  I read her book right after J died and she changed the way I was thinking, grieving, seeing the world.  It was a lifeline at the time.  And it was an honor to get to share with her how her writing impacted my life. 

I have more to share, but I need time.  Time to think and time to write.  I'll be back soon!