The Ship May Be Sinking, But At Least the Sky is Blue...

I've been away for too long yet again.  I woke up this morning knowing that I couldn't put it off anymore, that there is too much bottled up inside me and I have to write.  But the morning happened, as it often does, with snooze buttons, devotions, and kids and breakfasts and hurry-up-so-were-not-late-agains!  And then it's too late, once the day begins.  And nap-time just began and pick up is in 48 minutes, so I have this window, this short window to pour my soul out onto this screen. 

But how do I begin after a month?  A rocky month, too.  One full to anxiety over the big 3rd birthday.  And tantrums of epic proportions.  The kind that leave me crying on the bathroom floor and wanting to run away and never ever come back.  Ever.  I want to write that parenting is HARD.  But really, sometimes, just living is HARD.

It's been a tough month.  And I've been utterly exhausted and it all seems like so much more work right now when everything is hard.  And sometimes I wonder just what is the point in all this striving, when it feels like no matter how much I try, how hard I work, I'm still sinking.  Always sinking.

I read in a book that my children are refining me.  That I am changing and stretching and growing and all this angst will make me a better person on the other side.  Right now, in the thick of it, it feels more like getting hit over the head with a hammer over and over until I'm so broken I will shatter.  But even as I write this, I think about how beautiful my brokenness can be.  And, as Angie Smith wrote in her book, Mended, our cracks and gaps allow more of God's grace and light to leak out of us.  And who doesn't want to ooze God's love?  

I want to ooze the love of Jesus out of every crack in my being.  I want to pray for more cracks just to ooze more love, but I am also so afraid.  The breaking hurts.  And I'm so far from perfect, so far from good so much of the time.  I ooze fear and anger and selfishness more than I'd care to admit.

I fall so short.

It can all sound so hopeless, except it's not.

Wednesday night, the kids and I went to Mass late for the Ash Wednesday service.  This is one of my favorite Masses of the year.  I think of the ashes in my life.  The wreckage still smouldering in my wake.  And how God uses these ashes, these burned and broken parts of my life.  And He makes them beautiful.  We were so late to Mass that we missed getting the ashes.  Which seems about right for us.  But our priest was gracious and marked our foreheads with a black cross after the service was long over.  It reminded me that it's never to late to accept grace offered.  He offers grace enough to cover my faults with no expiration.

But even with grace, this whole living thing is HARD.  Most things worth having are.  This is where the JOY seeking comes in handy.  Because even on the hardest days, weeks, months, when the ship seems like it is sinking fast, there is always, always something good.  Always.  Deciding to choose JOY, practicing choosing JOY and seeking the good every day, this is how I fight back.  This is how I survive. 

I know the days are long.  I get that life is HARD.  But I also know that it is worth it. 

Letting In The Light

I blinked and a month flew by.  It went too fast and not fast enough, as time has a way of doing.  The times when we were sick and sad and slightly miserable seemed to crawl along.  The times when we were full of joy and happiness seemed like they were on fast-forward.  It hasn't been an easy month.  We marked Jameson's fourth Anniversary in Heaven.  I really wanted to go to the Grotto for a mass, but we were all too sick.  So we stayed home and lit his candle.  And cried. 

We rang in the new year painting trim and watching Tinkerbell DVD's.  A week-ish later I got older and greyer.  We had beet and pesto pizza and strawberry rhubarb pie. 

There have been a lot of nice little times sprinkled about over the past month but also some sad and worrisome things.  I've spent a lot of time reflecting and reading and watching...and feeling overwhelming inadequacy in everything.  Mommy guilt, that's the name a book I'm reading gives it.  It's the opposite of JOY seeking.  And it creeps in when I am tired and blue and kicks me when I'm falling down.  And there it threatens to steal all the good from my mind.  And I find myself seeing only where I've screwed up everything.  The downward spiral can happen so fast once mommy guilt kicks in.  And even though I can logically say I know this isn't true, it can be hard to get back up. 

Except I know how to fight back even when I'm down in the pit.  Everything seems worse and scarier in the dark, but if you can just let a little light in, the mind can get some clarity.  Light removes the darkness.  So one night when I was feeling especially vulnerable, instead of wallowing and allowing the mommy guilt to sink in, I spoke out in the darkness.  I curled into that safe space of our marriage, with his arms around me and I told him how afraid I was that I was screwing up the kids with my imperfect self.  And how every negative behavior they seem to have must come from me.  And how I haven't been enough for anyone.  And he listened and squeezed me and laughed a little at my insanity.  Because saying it aloud did sound a little crazy.  And together, we spread some light into that dark place and then it wasn't so dark anymore. 

And the next day I got up and got out my little green notebook and worked extra hard to count those gifts.  The sunrise.  The coffee.  The laughter spilling out from her belly and filling the whole house with joy.  The freckles on his nose.  The love he oozes from his soul.  The love and commitment he chooses to honor every single day.  The coffee.  The friend who drops off flowers for no reason.  The fridge that can fit three gallons of milk.  The dogs snoring all night long.  The waffle iron.  Fleece sheets.  A new warm coat.  Stretch leggings.  Whipped cream.  Red paint.  The moon shining bright on a blue sky.  A quiet morning alone.  A loud morning all together.  Cupcakes and red sprinkles.  Reading in bed all snuggled together.  Whispers of love in the darkness. 

The goal is to count a thousand gifts in a year, but there are so many more.  Every second of every day.  Every breath in and out.  Every heartbeat is a gift.  Oh to see it all that way, wouldn't that be amazing?  The vision to do it?  That is not a gift, that is a practice.  One that I often fail in.  But counting the gifts, seeking the good, it lets the light in.  It's worth the effort to try and try again and again and again.  Because I don't know much about what the future is going to look like, but I'm going to do my best to make it as bright as possible. 

Foiled, once again

It's Christmas Eve and things aren't going quite as planned.  I made this plan to keep busy and keep into eveything and try really hard to keep the 25th separate from the 26th.  And I bought this amazing Advent Book, but then forgot it when we went to visit Grandma and are now 11 days behind schedule.  And who can catch up from that on Christmas Eve? 

But here we are.  Christmas Eve.  And I had this plan.  Yesterday was wrapping and baking day.  Only, I got the wrapping done the night before in a crazy whirlwind mess.  Which turned out to be a great thing.  Except for the part where I put out all the gifts under the tree and then after Little Lady got up, I didn't mention how they weren't fair game yet.  And I went to brush my teeth and was greeted by a very excited lady holding her brand new Frozen Jammies.  And I looked at her with magic in her eyes and happiness in her heart and I yelled at her for opening gifts before Christmas.  And I didn't even stop there.  I yanked them out of her hands, put them back in a bag under the tree and in my most Grinch-like voice told her its not Christmas yet so don't even think about it.  She burst into tears and then five minutes later into flames. 

Not literally, but kind of.  We were making Nisu to hand out to the neighbors and she was helping me and then crying and then burning up.  Fevers and chills and refusing to eat or drink and doctors appts and temperature scans every.30.minutes.all.night.long was how the day panned out.  I was doling out the Motrin as often as posible and she was still burning at 104F for hours on end last night.  And it was, of course, the night Dr. Daddy had call and was gone.  He always seems to have call when we are most sick and in need of Dr. Daddy.  The universe has a sick sense of humor, I think. 

So, the upshot is that we get to eat three loaves of Nisu all by ourselves, because who wants to hand out baked goods to the neighbors that are possibly laced with influenza or whatever crazy virus we have?  Don't you worry.  Eating three giant braided loaves of bread in two days is not out of the question for us.  Carbs and I, we are best buddies.  In fact, we've already polished off 1.5 loaves.  No need to remind me that I'm in leggings mode because I can't zip my pants already, thank you very much. I'm well aware.  Yet still enjoying that Nisu and this pint.  Cheers. 

So the Lady is sick.  But better, maybe?  Still cranky as all hell, yet playful enough to sing about poop.  At least she's eating grapes, because yesterday she ate like 15 calories all day long.  And I'm barely exaggerating, which is amazing for me. 

But the plan, it went on.  The plan was for baking and handing out goodies yesterday.  Got the bread done, but can't gift anyone.  So we are eating bread.  And not going to even make the cookies that I planned on and bought all the ingredients for.  Right.  I have 9 pounds of butter in my fridge.  Ha. 

Today was going to be family day.  Hubs got home from work around 8 am and needs to sleep.  Little Lady totally needs sleep today.  Talk about cranky and tired.  And Little Man, he's hanging by a thread, but I'm not sure he gets it.  So right now, it's family naptime.  Only I'm not napping, as Little Man pointed out before I made him head to bed and he told me I was mean for not playing a game with him. I guess I am mean.  And also hyped up on Starbucks.  And exhausted.  And feeling frustrated that the plan isn't working.  And missing Jameson.  And hating the holidays. 

We were planning on going to Mass tonight.  I LOVE midnight mass. It's my favorite mass of the year.  We were going to take the kids caroling and then head to mass.  But it can't happen with a sick girl.  And tomorrow we were going to have some friends over, but I've canceled it in case we are contagious or sick.  It's the same group of friends we bailed on at Thanksgiving thanks to a stomach bug.  I feel like such a flake. 

So here is what it comes down to, the essence of what I'm really trying to say.  I wanted to have a nice Christmas.  To rise above the pain and sadness of this week we feel so deeply.  To make it nice and spend it with friends and people we love.  To give out gifts and be happy and ooze Christmas spirit.  And the reality of it all is that life happened.  We are here and she is sick and J is still dead, with the 4th anniversary approaching in two days time.  And we will be alone, just the four of us on Christmas day.  And Hubs and I will be reliving that Christmas four years ago with every breath we can barely take as we try so hard to smile and be present for the kids still here.  And if there is to be any distraction, it will be that of sickness that isn't anything worth complaining about even though I do.  Me, who knows what a really sick baby is like and yet I still complain about a measly virus here and there. 

Life happened.  And it screwed up the plan.  The plan that included the magic of Santa and Jesus and daily advent and friends and love.  And I don't know why it is screwed up, but it is.  And it bugs me.  And I feel like I'm yelling with my fist in the sky, wondering why can't He let us just have this one day, this one time the way it seems nice to us?  Why must everything always be off-kilter?  Haven't we proven we trust?  Haven't we already sacrificed everything?  But here we are.  Can't go to church.  Can't be with friends.  Can't even hand out goodies to the neighbors.

And I hate the holidays.  I hate that I have tried so hard this year.  With Thanksgiving.  I made plans for me and the kids even though Hubs had to work a 24 hour shift.  I bought gifts for the people we were going to see.  I baked and cooked.  And then it all went to hell with a stupid stomach bug.  And now here we are again.  Christmas.  Merry freaking Christmas.  Again sick.  Can't give gifts.  Can't give hospitality.  Can't even go to Church. 

And I know I sound whiny and ungrateful for the awesomeness that I do have in my life.  And I know that my sadness and heavy heart get old for most of you.  And I know that Christmas is about way more than me feeling good and being happy.  But I just tried so hard this year.  And it all fell flat.  And I'm here, with the rug getting pulled out from under me once again. 

Because HIS birth and his death will always be tied together for me.  And the link seems more of a tangled mess than a beautiful bow to me.  And I don't know how to make it work.  Not ever.  This loving God and missing Jameson.  This circle of life where HIS birth makes his death okay.  How can that be?  This miracle.  God gave me his son and I gave him mine and this week it is all tied together in sadness and hope and darkness and waiting and love. 

And maybe every time I try to separate the two, maybe I'm running away.  And maybe this forced quiet, this unplanned time to just be instead of do, maybe this is HIS gift to me.  To see the bow where I only see a ruined knot.  Maybe He is saying stop and SEE and FEEL.  And maybe the pain and the hollowness and darkness are a reminder of what He felt when He gave His son to me, for me, because He loves me.

Christmas Cheer

I've been sitting here with a white page and blinking cursor for a long time.  It's not flowing like it sometimes does.  Maybe I'm backlogged; its been a crazy few weeks.  Maybe I've been putting it off because numb can get me through some of the rough patches sometimes.  Only not really. 

But I'm here now.  It's dark and quiet.  My tea is cold and almost gone.  The Littles are sleeping.  The Hubs is working late.  The dogs are snoring away on the couch.  I've already closed off the heating vent in the kitchen to help keep the bedrooms warmer, so I'm getting chilled.  And tired, but that's never new.  

And it's December and I'm reluctantly unpacking the Christmas Cheer.  My kitchen table is sporting my late Grandmother's tablecloth with red poinsettias and candles all around the border.  The advent candles are hanging with a Santa and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper set in the middle of the table.  From my perch I can see into the living room and see the Santa pillow my mom made me the first year we were married.  And the stocking are hanging above the fireplace, all twelve of them, because who doesn't double up?  Maybe that's a story for another day, though.  All five copies of The Night Before Christmas are stacked on the hearth, right next to the cardboard box boat, complete with two steering wheels and a larger than life Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles balloon acting as sail. 

It's amazing how something so buoyant can weigh a lady down.  That balloon is still from Jameson's birthday.  It's been floating in our living room since September 14th and I can't believe it's still here.  Part of me wants to pop it.  I want to take scissors to ever mylar balloon in the world, because balloons are part of the hospital.  Winter, holidays, balloons, snow, Christmas music.  It's all ruined. 

I used to be the girl that had to have a tree the day after Thanksgiving.  And it would stay up until mid-January.  I used to decorate the whole house.  Santa cookie jars, garland hanging from the ceiling, tinsel, millions of twinkle lights.  I'd start playing my Christmas CD's in October and wear jingle bell necklaces and Santa hats to work with my suit and heels.  I really did make a different cookie every single day for two weeks leading up to Christmas.  Because who doesn't love Christmas? 

But what happens when it's not the most wonderful time of the year?  What happens when it's a season of loss and pain and emptiness instead? 

And I don't want to be a Scrooge.  And I don't want my kids to have sad memories and miss out on the magic, because I wish I still had it too. 

But how do I decorate my living room with that damn balloon still center stage? 

I do do it though.  I have the radio on the Christmas channel -and it's a really good one, because they never play that awful shoe song-  and I sing along.  And I light the Advent candles on Sundays and we will decorate all week long until it's done and the kids are happy and excited.  And the cookies will begin once I stock back up on butter (I'm down to a mere 4 pounds now).  It'll be magical for them. 

As for me, well, I'm settling into the idea that it is okay to be broken.  It's okay to bring a broken Hallelujah. 

Preschool

I toured a preschool for Little Lady this morning.  How are we already here?  It goes so fast, these years.  Which is amazing considering how long the days last.  She is exhausting.  She takes more of me than I thought was humanly possible to give and still stay alive.  She is a force so strong and passionate and wondrous that I sometimes can't even process it without getting exhausted.  I've never experienced anything like this child, this sweet, lovely girl who calls me Mama.  This girl, who is my tide, who levels me and drives me insane and makes me want to drink sometimes, this girl who I can't be away from for more than two hours without me getting the separation anxiety, this girl who is my daughter, she is breathtaking. And she's going to preschool already. 

I'm not one to feel sad when my kids grow up; on the contrary, I relish each new phase, each new season, knowing what a gift it is to get to see my kids grow up.  I love watching them come into their own, seeing it all come together as they learn who they are and who they want to be.  I love watching them experience life.  The challenges, the failures, the triumphs, the passion and knowledge that grows within and strengthens them, it is beautiful to watch it all unfold. 

So I was pretty excited to check out a preschool this morning and sign up.  And it really was fun.  Little Lady got to jump right in and play and make a craft and explore something new.  The teachers were very nice, the philosophy works for me.  I like everything about it.  And yet, something was holding me back from signing on right then and there.  There is this nagging feeling in my soul that I have learned must not be stifled.  So we said goodbye and packed up in the stroller for the walk home. 

As we walked, watching the golden leaves fall from the trees, I was thinking about my reservation and trying to put my finger on it.  And I started thinking about when I signed up the boys for preschool four and a half years ago.  Little Man was going to be in the 4's class and Jameson was going to be in the 3's class.  I had to wait until a month before school started because we didn't know where we were going to be living.  But the preschool just up the road from our house had a very short wait list and by the time school started they were both enrolled.  Only Jameson never made it.  But Little Man loved his preschool and so did I. 

The teachers were amazing.  Organized and energetic and loving and disciplined.  The place was marvelous and it was a blessing for Little Man to have some type of stability in his life during those four months of agonizing upheaval when Jameson was in the PICU.  It was maybe the only place in his life that wasn't sad during that time when we were always gone or so exhausted that eating was a chore or so scared and sad that my eyes were always swollen from crying.  And his teachers always gave me extra smiles and said they were praying for us when I would pick up Little Man, still wearing my hospital badge and red eyes.  And when Jameson died, Little Man's teachers came to the funeral because they wanted to support him.  I never really understood how much presence could mean until that time in our lives. 

It occurred to me on our walk home, with the golden leaves falling all around us, that maybe this nagging feeling is just one more way that I'm missing my boy, missing the places and time when he was still here.  Sometimes I feel like I'm doing so well and then it seems like the world just sucker punches me right in the heart.  And I marvel at the way grief can crawl into the most unlikely times and places and settle in.  Sigh. 

But this is where I need to give myself some grace.  This is a hard season.  Even if Hubs weren't working such long hours.  Even if we were close to family.  Next week is the anniversary of my due date for the baby we lost three years ago and next month marks four years since my boy went Home. 

I don't always know what grace is supposed to look like.  I think, a lot of the time, it's my two kids still here.  It's making hand turkeys and reading epic adventures on the couch until much too late on school nights.  Its homemade bread and watching golden leaves fall from the trees.  I think it's family movie nights and telling jokes and eating cake for breakfast.  Sometimes it's letting myself have a good cry or abandoning the laundry mountain to write instead.   And some days it's all of the above, with maybe a little stolen halloween chocolate on the side.   And today, right now, I think it's coffee with whipped cream, which preschool paperwork filed away for another day. 

Loved

Today was my day to sleep in.  We have no extra kids at the house, no school, no plans until it's time to don the costumes and set out with high hopes for gobs and gobs of chocolate and sugar.  It's a free day.  Yet it's not quite 6 am and I've been up for almost two hours thinking about soup. 

It's pouring outside.  I'm sitting here at the computer with a prayer book and a hot cup of coffee, hoping Hubs made it to work before the rain really picked up.  I love the rain so much until I think think about him riding his bike up the dark hills to go to work while I'm at home with a cup of hot coffee and dry roof over my head.

I made a giant pot of soup for dinner last night.  Full of kale and onions and tomatoes and beans and bacon and Parmesan and noodles and love.  I suppose you could call it a minestrone, but since I'm terrible at following recipes, I think of it more as a clean out the fridge kinda soup.  A really delicious way to clean out the fridge and have lunch for the whole weekend since it's such a big pot, kind of soup.  But then 4:15 am rolled around and my eyes flashed open.  Because I forgot to put the soup in the fridge. 

Hubs alarm went off a little while later and I got up, knowing that if I didn't do it now, that pot of soup would be sitting in the compost bin all week long since the trash pick up comes so early.  I sat on the edge of the bed watching him brush his teeth, calculating how much money I was about to go dump in the trash, listening to the gentle patter of the rain of the roof.  

It was just sprinkling when I opened the front door and saw our enormous and slightly scary spider friend in his web, hoping I was prey for a moment.  He's really kinda creepy, but I like him too.  It's such a simple thing, remembering to put a pot in the fridge before bed.  It's the second time this week that I've had to throw away a substantial amount of food and all my failures as a wife, mother, human being seem to be simmering in that empty pot in the ever overflowing sink. 

It is so easy to remember the failures. 

The list grows and grows in my mind about all the ways I just don't measure up.  How I waste food and yell at my kids and my house is always a disaster and I never remember to write down my thankful list and I snapped at Hubs and I forgot to give the dogs their pills yesterday morning and on and on and on. 

But this time, I'm fighting back.  Because perfect isn't something I ever want to be.  And I remember that when I am in the throes of the days and things are going south fast, that is when I cling to the hem of Jesus most fiercely.  And why would I want to be anywhere else? 

As I dump the soup in the compost and the rain drips slowly down my back, I ask Him, where are you in this?  Where is the grace?  Where is the good?  I've learned by now that I will find what I seek.  And I'm done looking for ways I'm a failure.  Not that I can gloss over life, not that I cannot learn from my mistakes, but in the sense that I refuse to let the failings of my days chip away at my soul and my self worth.  Because I am not loved more when my house is clean,  when my clothes are folded, when the dinner is perfect, when happiness reigns in the household. 

The beauty of this whole thing is that I am loved regardless. 

But I know that I will find what I seek.  Which is why, no matter what the truth is, I need to choose to see the good.  And so I pray with St. Patrick this morning,

"Christ beside me, Christ before me;
Christ behind me, Christ within me;
Christ beneath me, Christ above me;
Christ to the right of me, Christ to the left of me;
Christ in my lying, my sitting, my rising;
Christ in the heart of all who know me,
Christ on the tongue of all who meet me,
Christ in eye of all who see me,
Christ in the ear of all who hear me."

He says he loves me no matter what.  That each morning is new.  And I know no matter what happened yesterday, what happens today and what may happen tomorrow, I am loved wholly, by the One who knows every thought, every action, every choice.  And if I can just stay there, clinging to the hem of his robe, there I will find the grace and the good. 

Walk in the Woods

We had a free day this past weekend with Hubs home and beautiful weather, so we drove out to the Gorge for a fall hike.  We picked another new trail; the possibilities seem endless in this beautiful state we call home.  It started out near the road and went under the ramp to get on the Interstate and then went up a dirt road.  And then trail turns into the woods and we waked under giant maple trees, showering us with their golden leaves.  The kids picked them up and twirled them and threw them and laughed as leaves came down on their heads.  As we walked, the noises of the cars and trucks and traffic faded away and I could feel the tension in my body do the same.

A walk in the woods can do much for my soul.  We walked slow, looking for spiders to kiss and slugs to poke with sticks and beetles to hold in our hands.  Little Lady loves bugs.  We laughed and talked and threw rocks at dead trees to hear the different thumping sounds they make.  We enjoyed the cool air and overcast skies while hiking up, up, up.  And then we sat at the base of a waterfall flowing into a deep pool which overflowed into a rocky creek bed.  We threw more rocks into the water and got a little wet.  The trees were still mostly green.  But there were a few sirens, with their deep reds and bright oranges calling me, inviting me back next week with promises of color and beauty that I don't want to resist. 

Too soon, it was time to go, so we started back down the trail covered in a blanket of golden leaves.  The sound of the waterfall faded and birds sang for us.  The lady fell asleep in her Daddy's arms, a rare gift.  Before long, the sounds of civilization crowded in, and we welcomed them as we were tired and hungry and happy.

"Keep close to Nature's heart...and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods.  Wash your spirit clean."  -John Muir