Thirsty

Today joy looks like rain falling from a grey sky.  All night long, as I tossed and turned, I could hear the rain gently falling on the roof, so calming and welcome after such a dry summer.  I rolled over and just listened, wide awake at 4:30 am for the third day in a row, willing myself to fall back asleep, knowing how much harder this makes the evenings. But my mind would not give in to the desires of my heart and flesh and I reluctantly got up and started the coffee. 

Joy looks like coffee every day.  And when the coffee runs out, it looks a lot like the pot of Earl Grey brewing on my counter.  I'm not sure why I can't sleep.  Its not because I'm not tired, because I am.  But I feel alive in a way that needs the day to begin.  Much like the rain is waking up our parched and dormant grass that has only needed mowing twice all summer, my mind is rousing.  I've been in a dry season all summer.  A season of exhaustion and excitement and entertainment galore that has unknowingly depleted me and left me thirsty. 

I didn't even realize how thirsty I was until I started reading this book by Micha Boyett called Found.  Ann Voskamp(my hero) recommended this book on her blog and without even thinking about it, without checking the budget, reading the reviews or even really looking at the subject, I bought it.  I just knew I had to have it.  It arrived last week shortly after J's birthday and I haven't been able to put it down.  I told Hubs last night that I can't wait to finish reading this book so I can start reading it again.  And he, of course, asked why it was so great?  To which I replied with silence and then, "it just is." 

I wasn't done with his question, just not able to put into words the quenching power of Micha's words for my soul.  Because I've been bone-dry for months, just trying to make it through the days but not really seeing.  Oh every now and again I remember to write down my gifts and really stop to SEE, but for the most part, I've just been along for the ride.  But when I started reading this book, I started reflecting a little more, started thinking a little deeper and questioning myself.  I've started to understand prayer and quiet time and how sacred each moment can be if only I allow it.  And I'm falling in love with life a little more this week.  I'm SEEing and hearing and feeling and it is all so vulnerable and beautiful and empowering.  Which is all still so vague and I'm sorry for that.  I'm going to read with a highlighter this second time through. 

My tea cup is empty and I can smell the tomato vines on my fingers as I hold it close to my lips, thinking.  Today joy looks like harvesting tomatoes in the rain and warm cookies from the oven.  The world seems new to me; there is a sheen I haven't noticed in a long time and I'm ready to drink it all in. 

Surviving

Some days surviving is easier than others.  It just is.  The routine is there.  I get up way too early.  Make the coffee.  Praise God for the coffee.  And everything else, too, of course.  Try to read the Bible before reading the email.  Try to get clothes on and teeth brushed before school drop off.  Play with Littles all day.  Really try to get dressed before school pick up.  Feed kids snacks and help with homework.  Cook dinner.  Thank God that yoga pants work as both pajamas and clothes so Hubs doesn't even realize I'm still not dressed yet when he gets home from work.  Put kids to bed, pretend for five seconds that I really am going to do those dishes tonight, transfer the laundry to the dryer and go to bed.  Wash.  Rinse.  Repeat. 

But then there are days, sometimes weeks, that surviving is hard work. Everything is just harder. Everything.  Breathing.  Smiling.  Remembering to put the snack in Little Man's backpack.  Remembering to eat.  Not crying.  Not imploding or withdrawing from the world completely.

It seems like it should be getting easier.  It's been almost four years now.  And I've said before that learning how to work around the gaping hole in my heart, the coping part, how that is getting easier.  But not always.  Not this week.

This week Little Lady jumped out of her stroller on the way to pick up to point out the two Jays that flew down on the branch right next to us.  And I had to sit down in the middle of the road because I couldn't stop sobbing.  That was on J's birthday.  And I cried the whole three block walk to the school, cried on the playground while other moms tried really hard to not notice.  Cried though the cake making and the dinner cooking.  Instead of singing Happy Birthday, Hubs and I cried through a cheers for Jameson and then, because we all just needed a freaking break from the tears, we watched Goonies.  It's been a big movie week.

It's five days later and I'm on my way to MOPS.  This is a new group and the first day.  Little Lady and I left early because it's outside our five-mile bubble and I am anxious.  We arrive early.  Like 20 minutes early.  I want to sit in the car and text.  Little Lady wants to go to church school.  We compromise and walk around the block.  Three houses from the entrance to the church, there's this house with a great front yard garden full of dinosaurs.  Dinosaurs everywhere.  And all I can think is how meant to be this all is.  How I'm supposed to be here this early and walk past this house and think about my boy.  And I'm trying so hard not to cry on this already impossibly hard week just made harder. I'm trying so hard not to walk into this church for the first time with a swollen face and say hi, nice to meet you, I'm the crazy crying lady.  God help me not be that crazy lady, at least not today.

I only cried a little and I hope nobody noticed. 

But the dam broke on the way home and I almost had to pull the car over and its been almost four years and I'm still needing to pull over on the sides of roads for the ugly crying.  And I don't know what I'm doing.  It NEVER feels easy, these days where I'm still here and Jameson is not. And all these people keep telling me how strong I am, how they don't know how I do it, like its the thing to be proud of or something.

I read the book Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand a little over a year ago and I remember wondering why he just didn't give up?  Why did he bother to keep living through the hell he was in?  But the thing is, you can't help it.  This whole living thing is worth the fight, even when it's hell.  And it feels all wrong to call it hell because how can I?  My life is beautiful.  But it is so heavy too.  And its exhausting to have it be both like this every day. 

I don't think it's ever gonna get easier.  Sometimes I think it is getting harder.  It's been so long since he was here.  So long since I've held my boy and kissed his forehead.  It's been more than four years since he's danced or laughed or cried my name.  And I still long to scoop him up and make it all better.  But he's gone and I can't make anything better.  I can't fix him or my broken heart. 

Seven

Happy Birthday Jameson

Your brother and sister picked out the biggest Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles balloons in the store and I bet you'd think they were pretty cool.  We are making you a s'mores cake, remembering just how much you loved chocolate and marshmallows.  I'm sure you are having a lovely time in Heaven.  Are birthdays as exciting as coming home days?  

There is so much I wish I could ask you. So many things about you I wish I could know.  If you were still here you would be seven now.  And going into second grade.  I imagine you would be learning to ride your bike and read and write.  You'd have so many friends because everyone has always loved you and that could never change.  I imagine you hair would still be red and you'd still have the best laugh and still be an amazing dancer.  

I miss you so much, my sweet Jameson.  We all miss you every day.  Do you look down and see us as we look at your pictures?  Do you watch your little sister kiss the brother she doesn't know?  Do you see your big brother climb to the top bunk, wishing with everything inside him that you were still just a few steps away?  Do you see me still sleep with your blankey once in a while, wishing you were still wrapped up in my arms?  Do you see us happy when we remember you?  You were such a bright light.  You will always be my boy, Jameson, my sweet baby J. 

I used to hope that when you grew up, you'd never want to leave home.  That you would move into an apartment above the garage and be hot tub buddies with your Dad.  That you would eat dinner with us and travel with us and we'd be the luckiest people in the whole world to never have to have an empty nest.  But it didn't work out that way, my boy.  You left us much too soon.

Today, on your seventh birthday, I want to tell you what I hope for now.  I hope for a long and happy life here.  The kind of life that makes you proud when you see your bright light shining on inside of me.  A life lived so full of passion, zest, grace, love, and joy that it can count for both of us.  I dream about the day when it's my turn to leave here.  What it will be like to see you and see HIM and be whole and full and to finally understand.  I can't wait to meet you in Heaven, my boy.  But I know that I must, and that's okay too.  

I'm sure you will have an amazing cake up there.  Who is the pastry chef anyway?  So many things I wish I could know.  Someday I look forward to getting the grand tour from you.  

But until then, I'm sending up all my love, my sweet boy, all my love and hugs and kisses.  

Happy Birthday, Jameson. 

The Hard Months

We are into the four months of hard.  We have had family in town and it started over a holiday weekend and then school started up and work started back up and family went home and we've been working on project after project on the house.  But the dates don't go unnoticed.  The heart remembers.  The scars crack and rub raw when the last day of August rolls around. 

We were at the coast.  It was cold.  And even though nothing but my toes went into the water, I was drowning all day long.  We had this amazingly beautiful day at my favorite location with my favorite people in the world and I was smiling and laughing and having so much fun.  Except that my heart was breaking wide open. 

But He spent the whole day wooing me.  Reminding me of the promises that are for now and those that are for later. 

Four years ago my whole world began to shatter and crumble around me.  It left nothing untouched.  It took a third of a year and my whole life just.like.that. 

But the sun came up the next morning.  And the morning after that.  And it keeps rising and setting and the world keeps on turning and I'm spinning from all this back and forth, this never ending fight to stay present without losing the past.  Some days all I want to do is fall into the memories without ever coming up for air.  But I like to breathe.  I can't help it. 

Which is how I came to be at the coast, breathing in the salty air on the anniversary of my world falling to pieces and wondering how in the world my heart could be growing and bursting with love and happiness and shattering at the same time. 

This life is good.  My God, it is a damn beautiful life. 

But in one week, I'm going to be making a cake for a little boy who should be turning seven.  And I don't even know what kind of cake he would like anymore.  Because four years and two days ago he was diagnosed with a terminal disease. 

And it would be so easy to fall into the abyss right about now.  Except, it's not.  Because I close my eyes and I can see the pictures of my life all around.  There's this gorgeous red-head who never changes and never grows older and he's everywhere, plastered all over the walls of my home and heart.  But right along with him are more pictures.  There's this man-child who is turning more and more into his daddy every day and this girl with these blonde curls who has stolen my heart with her wild passion for this world and life.  And there's a tall drink of water who makes me thirsty just thinking about him, too.  And there are sunsets and mountain vistas and oceans.  Family and friends.   There is love and laughter and happiness and beauty.  So much beauty.

"Life is hard but so very beautiful" -Abraham Lincoln

Queen Of The Castle

Little Lady was given a hand-me-down crown on Monday.  She thought it was really cool, but after putting it on one time, she has decided it's much more fun to make Mama wear the crown.  So I've spent a fair amount of time this week in yoga pants and a tiara.  Which isn't so bad.  Once it's on, it feels just like a headband.  Which is why, if you've seen my in public this week at all, this is what I've looked like. 

It's always fun when you're in public and someone compliments you on your tiara and you realize you forgot to take it off. 

I'm kinda thinking I should wear this tiara more often, though.  Besides making other people smile a lot, and keeping my hair out of my face, it may actually be making my life more extravagant.  For instance, on Tuesday night, after wearing it most of the day, I got to take a hot bath and then go out by myself.  I went for a sunset drive down a beautiful tree lined road, with the windows down and the sunroof open, and the radio blasting good music.  I stopped off at one of my favorite stores and went shopping by myself.  My shopping spree was so successful that it actually took me two trips to get it all in the house.  And when I got home I was able to kiss my kids goodnight and watch a show on Netflix with Hubs and not do any housework at all.  Doesn't that sound so luxurious?  Yeah, this crown may be here to stay if this is what it brings. 

Maybe before you go shopping the Target princess aisle for your own crown, I should fill in a few details in my story.  I don't know, in my mind, it all went down just like I told you, but, for full disclosure, here's the long version. 

Little Lady refused to eat dinner again.  Perhaps it was because we decided to eat outside, perhaps it was because she all of a sudden doesn't like any of her favorite foods anymore, perhaps its because she's the most stubborn creature on the face of the earth and has decided this is not the week to eat.  Whatever it was, she didn't eat dinner and since she's not really great at the whole gaining weight thing, we went for the fallback, which is drinking carnation instant breakfast.  Thank God, there was just enough milk left in the gallon to fill her sippy cup all the way up.  I made her high calorie shake and then sat down to check email.  She came and sat on my lap and after about three sips, she somehow managed to unscrew the cap and spill the entire sippy cup of vanilla shake on my lap.  She's sobbing because she actually wants her milk now that she can't have it, we're both a sticky, cold, wet mess, so I suggest we take a shower together, something we've been doing since she was two weeks old.  But no, that idea is met with more screams and sobs.  So in the interest of getting out of my soggy, vanilla shorts quicker, I ask if she wants to take a bath.  Of course she does.  With me.  So we take a bath together.  Taking a bath with a two year old is not relaxing...unless your idea of relaxing includes having slippery toddlers trying to kill themselves by climbing on your head and dump bucket after bucket of water into your ears.  Right.  It was fun, though.  And she was so happy. And we both got clean.  So really, it was a win. 

Post bath, I had to run to the grocery store, since we were now out of milk and Carnation instant breakfast.  But Hubs was home and the kids were playing together, so I got to go BY MYSELF.  I rolled down those windows.  I opened that sunroof.  I cranked K-LOVE on the radio and I cruised to that Safeway with my wet hair blowing in the breeze.  I was feeling fine.  It may or may not have deflated my ego a bit when I remembered I was driving to the grocery store in a white mini-van, but let's not linger there.  After a half hour of leisurely going up and down the aisles at Safeway, never once having to say "no" or "put that back" or "sit down in the cart before you fall and crack your head open!" and not once having to abandon the full cart for potty break 15 of the hour, I checked out and was able to load the car up in like two minutes. It was amazing.  You better believe I cruised on home just as fabulously in White Lightening, which is what I named our gorgeous used van.  And just for the record, all you people who are too cool for vans...you are missing out.  Mini-vans rule.  I'm just saying. 

Right, so where were we?  Ah yes, home from the store.  I walk in with 5 bags(paper, since I always forget my own) and go back for 3 more plus two gallons of milk.  Little Lady's in the kitchen crying for mama as if she can't breathe the air unless I'm holding her.  Clingfest 2014 starts back up as we try slightly successfully to get her to drink another shake.  I have no idea what time it is because there are too many pots and pans blocking the oven clock and the microwave clock is flashing 13 seconds remaining because who ever presses cancel unless they have to?  But the sun was setting on my glorious drive home, so it's gotta be 9 by now.  She's so tired she goes right down after we've located all 12 pacifiers and the blankey we can't live without.  Little Man goes to bed super easy after we remind him 8 times that yes, he does have to brush his teeth.  All of them.  And finally, Hubs and I settle on the couch with a Netflix show to unwind.  After we both wake up on the couch and stumble off to brush teeth, we climb into bed exhausted.  I pull up on the covers and something crashes to the floor.  I say, "Oh crap what was that?" and Hubs replies, "Don't worry, it was only your tiara." 

And there it is folks.  I was laughing about it the next morning while clearing the forgotten dinner dishes off the patio table, the casual way Hubs called it my tiara.  As if an adult woman who doesn't even brush her hair naturally has a tiara and wears it.  And I decided that I should rock tiara more often. 

The Prize

There is a reason I will never become more than a home baker.  And that reason is because bakers have to get up early.  Mornings and I are not friends and never have been.  So its really no surprise to me that since I've been trying to get up earlier, I've been sleeping in later.  This morning my alarm went off for 20 minutes straight before I even heard it.  Which is amazing, considering how Little Lady only has to sneeze and I'm wide awake listening for her through two closed doors and down a hall. That whole Mama instinct thing is powerful. 

This week has been a bit of a doozy.  Little Lady keeps growing, sigh, so I was going through the closet and sorting out the too small things for Goodwill and looking through the hand-me-downs bin to see what we still have for her from her brothers.  The hand-me-down bin is getting really small.  And what is left in it are the things my Jameson was wearing before he got sick.  The snowman Christmas jammies.  The Irish Prince shirt.  The t-shirts and long sleeved T's that he wore on our last family vacation...the ones that have so much love and happiness wrapped into them that just holding them in my hands breaks my heart again.  And now she is going to be wearing some of them.  She is getting bigger than her big brother.  And soon she will be older then he ever got to be.  It is difficult to process all of these emotions...the happy and sad and glad and despairing that all roll together and tangle up until it's just one big mess of me and it seems right to be this constant jumbled mess of everything.

Life gets complicated.

Adding to the whole she's-growing-up-too-fast-and-outliving-her-brother-and-that's-a-very-good-thing-for-her-but-it-never-stops-sucking-so-freaking-much-that-he-is-dead moment, is the annual letter to the teacher explaining a bit of our family history so when Little Man inevitably brings up that his brother died, the teacher isn't caught off guard.  It wasn't as hard to write this time and that's because it's the fourth time I've had to write it.  Fourth.  I know that time keeps on moving and it's no surprise that every year is going to be another year farther away, but it still hits me over the head like a hammer when I think about it.

Two nights ago I was looking at pictures on the digital picture slideshow with Little Lady and we have a lot of our favorites up there.  It is very Jameson heavy, but also full of vacation pictures and recent shots.  She knows who Jameson is and is getting pretty good at saying his name and saying that he is her brother.  And while looking at these pictures, she asked me where he is.  And she's sitting on my lap almost nose to nose with me, waiting for my answer with these huge, serious eyes, and I have no idea how to explain to a two year old where her brother is.  So I looked at her and said that Jameson got really sick and he died and when you die you have to leave here and now Jameson lives in Heaven with Jesus.  And she looked right at me like she understood everything and she gasped and smiled and said "Yay!" and clapped her hands together and then she said, "He's not dead anymore Mama!  He lives in Heaven!"  And she said it like we should all think it.  Like it's the prize and he got it.  And that is truth right out of her mouth and it bowled me over.  And I'm sitting here reliving that moment with tears streaming down my cheeks and it's hard to breath and it's so true it hurts.  And Jesus' words ring in my ears, "And he said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." -Matthew 18:3

He's gone from here.  And that emptiness, the void screams out to me so much.  I work so hard to seek out Joy from this life, to find the gifts along the way and yet, so often I fail to see the greatest gift right in front of my face.  Jameson's already got the prize.   

Vacation

My alarm was supposed to get me up an hour ago to write.  But I hit snooze.  Five times.  And now here I sit at the end of a table, covered with worn red vinyl and stickiness, coffee in hand and so much inside my head that its all kinda stuck.  But I need to write.  I've noticed that as my writing decreases, my stress and crankiness increase. And so here I am, at the table sipping coffee and wondering where to begin after such a long time.  It isn't easy.  Especially since it's a Monday.  And Mondays are always colossally harder than anything else.  Especially this Monday, because it's the first Monday back into our schedules after a week of vacation. 

Vacations are funny things when you have Littles in tow.  And since we know how to always make things as difficult as possible, we went camping in a tent for six nights on the banks of giant lakes and raging, deep rivers with waterfalls and rapids downstream, with a toddler.  A toddler who loves water.  And who, after being explained why she can't swim in the water for the umpteenth time, grabs my face in her hands, gets nose to nose with me and says "It'll be okay Mom," before taking off for the water like a bat outta hell.  She's fast, spirited, and full of wildness that amazes and terrifies me all at once. 

Vacation was not restful, really.  Keeping her out of harms way on the rivers and the hiking trails and the woods was not an easy task.  And when camping, there are still meals to cook and dishes to wash and it's even harder than at home without electricity, running water, and convenience at our disposal.  Sleeping with everyone all in the same tent on one little air mattress that has a hole is not relaxing.  And yet, I love it(maybe not the deflating bed part).  I love the chance to get out into the wild and live a different kind of adventure for a short time.  And I love the simplicity of it.  The lack of choices and stuff makes things infinitely more difficult and better all at once. 

We had no cell signal for most of our trip.  We didn't bring computers along for the ride.  Other than washing the one pot and four plates for dinner, there were really no chores to do.  No distractions, only attractions.  I had all the time in the world to listen to my kids and play with them and just be in the moment.  The only problem with this is that I didn't miraculously get all of the patience in the world to go along with all of this time.  If only vacations came with extra doses of virtues when they run thin.

But overall, it wasn't overly stressful and frustrating.  We were all together.  Team Us.  And we had so much fun.  The beauty and the magic we experienced was overwhelming at times. And even just a few days later, I can already feel the rough edges smoothing on the memories.  And all of a sudden, it's funny that the potty training toddler pooped in her only swim suit on day one and had to wear Wonder Woman underpants swimming for the rest of the trip.  And the number of fishing lures that Little Man lost on rocks and trees is entirely eclipsed by the two trout he caught in the mighty Rogue.  And the aches and fatigue from not sleeping well on the ground with two kids melt away after a night or two back on our own beds, but the memories of giggles and snuggles glow brighter. 

I'll be back soon. I can only hit snooze so many days in a row before this starts working!