Books.

I just finished the book, What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty.  While it falls under the category of 'light read', it is longer and more thoughtful/thought provoking than many of my 'chic lit' reads.  It is basically a story of a woman who hits her head and gets amnesia.  She wakes up remembering nothing from the last 10 years of her life.  She was 29, newly married and had no kids.  Now she is 39 with three kids and the brink of a divorce.

I was a nice story and managed to enliven some brainwaves and spur introspective thought, as LP and I read at 3am a few days ago.  What would my 20 something self think, if she woke up in my life today?  I came to the conclusion that my 10 year old self would think my 20 year old self was pretty cool.  But this past decade...no lying, it has been one you'd have to live through to understand.  (and even then, thinking about it would keep up at night...or, maybe that was LP.)

Next up is Jodi Picoult's latest novel:  Sing You Home.

Second Ring

During the first two pregnancies, when my wedding ring no longer fit, I just stopped wearing a ring.  This third time, I ended up taking it off fairly early in the pregnancy. (my fingers started out a bit larger than they had been...)

One day BB, EG and I were browsing through a local department store when we passed the costume jewelry section.  I stopped to try on one of the rings...just for fun.  BB took one look at all the shiny goodness before him and he hatched a plan to make one of them his--well, sort of his.  BB decided he would pick out a ring for me to wear since I "wasn't wearing Daddy's."

There were three trays full of "gem"stone rings.  Many were made to look like traditional wedding/engagement sets, others were pure fiction.  Still others were basic cocktail style rings.  He had me try on each and every ring.  With each one he would take my hand and move it closer to his face.  He'd inspect the ring.  Look back at the tray and contemplate which would be best. (All the while EG was trying to take a ride up the escalator by herself.  She had no interest in this process.)

He has pretty gaudy taste.  (in my opinion.)  In the end, I narrowed down the field to three rings and let him choose.

This is the ring I wore for a few months during my pregnancy.  I have to admit it is a pretty fun ring to wear.

Now, five weeks after giving birth, the ring is too large. (plus the mammoth 'diamond' is a bit dangerous around a baby)  But sadly, my real engagement ring and wedding band remains too tight for me to comfortably wear.  (along with my pants, shirts and a whole lotta my shoes.)

When I was first given the real ring, twelve years ago, I remember standing out on the end of my parents' property and staring in wonder at my new gift.  I had just said 'yes' to my husband's marriage proposal. Then I promptly began to jump around and shake my hand to see how easily the ring might come off.  It stayed put. (but with lots of room for movement.  sigh)

And, I look forward to the day I put it back on...

Keeping it Calmer in 2012--election that is.

I think it is a sign that I really need to enter a 5 K race or some other (appropriate) competitive event in order to full fill a life long need to 'be first.'  (or rather have tangible proof that I am 'right', 'ok', 'complete', 'good'...pick one.)  There is nothing like a good election cycle to get me hopped up and jazzed.  But over time I've realized very few people share my zeal for this rite of American culture.  (and, where I live I have very few comrades.)  Plus, I am getting older...my heart may not make it around this go.

So, I can't promise that I will fulfill any of these 13 goals--but they seems like a good thing to at least consider.

From the website of Rachel Held Evans:
While I can’t avoid 2012, I figure I can keep it from making me crazy by deciding on 13 things I won’t do this election season: 

1. Threaten to move to Canada if my candidate doesn’t win. 

2. Engage in lengthy political arguments on Facebook with people I don’t even know that well. 

3. Scarf down an entire bag of animal crackers while nervously watching a debate…(not that this has ever happened before).

4. Donate to a campaign.

5. Allow polls to dictate my mood. 

6. Write five blog posts a week about how the Republican Party has co-opted the evangelical culture to the point that the two are indistinguishable….(not that this has ever happened before). 

7. Rely exclusively on cable news for my information. 

8. Rely exclusively on John Stewart for my information. 

9. Avoid my conservative friends.  

10. Get so preoccupied with the power struggles of an earthly kingdom that I forget my first allegiance is to a heavenly kingdom that expands through patience, love, mercy, and grace. 

11. Assume that God is on my side or that a single vote can represent my "Christian values" to the world. 

12. Let anyone convince me that I should be afraid.

13. Check Facebook on election night.

He's a What?!

Last night the kids were eating tacos as I cut up peaches for dessert.
BB:  Mom, what's a veterinarian?
Before I could answer, thinking to myself that he knew the answer, EG jumps in.
EG:  It's a doctor that takes care of animals.
BB: (realizing he got it wrong, laughs and curiously says)  No, no...one of my friends in class is one.
Me:  A vegetarian?
BB:  Yeah, yeah...that.  (pauses and then very serious) What's that?
Me: A vegetarian is someone who doesn't eat meat.
EG: (to herself mostly, totally deadpan as she pops a grape in her mouth.)  Well, yeah...he shouldn't need to be in Kindergarten if he's a veterinarian.

Making Grapes

The memories come to me at seemingly odd moments.  Often, oddest of all, they have often come to me in a grocery store.  Perhaps, because I am alone while shopping.  Or it may be that she made even grocery shopping special.  While I lived with her, we shopped at a memorable grocery store.  Carpeted and hardwood aisles.  Wealth, along with 'fancy' people roamed with us, pushing their carts or holding their green baskets over a crooked arm.  Imported cheeses.  Fancy olives.  An in store pastry chef and dietitian. Organic before organic was something you had to have.  Any ingredient a home chef would search for.  All of this made our grocery list laughable.

We were there for prepacked frozen dinner items, bags of snack foods, anything deemed 'low fat' and diet coke.

(I have no earthly idea how I survived the summers that I lived with them.)

But the shopping trips were events.  Much like shoe shopping, my godfather and I would banter back and forth as she vacillated between being in charge of the trip and being confused as to why we were there in the first place.  She'd have a diet coke can in her hand...usually one she grabbed from the grab and go beverage cooler at the front of the store.  She'd finish it early in our trip and then just hold on to the can until she handed it to the cashier at check out--"Ring this one up, too, please."

I have memories of my godfather trying to move the trip along, and her insisting we take our time and consider the offerings of each and every aisle.  Looking back on it, I'd bet money on the fact their trips went faster when I wasn't along.  Now, as I consider our relationship, the fact I was with them was precious to her as well.  She might have known her 20-something god-daughter would not always find time to grocery shop on a Friday night or Saturday afternoon.  It was also time to listen to my idle chatter and together, my godfather and I provided more attention and humor for her.

So these days, as I grocery shop, these moments come back to me.  I pass diet coke.  I see chocolate milk.  In the frozen food aisle I hear her proclaiming her microwaved cuisine "delicious" as she replayed her day to us over dinner. I see her strolling the prepared food aisle and delighting in the processed and ready to eat salads, sandwiches and reheat-able meals.

I toss a few raisins on my salad and think of making dinner together.  The bowls lined up around the kitchen island.  The various (and gross) low calorie dressings she'd offer.  The yummy croutons that were arranged on each salad.  I pass kielbasa sausage and fresh packaged pasta and the list of stand-by "cooked" meals comes back to me.

Recently, as I took grapes off of the stems and tossed them in a bowl so that they would be ready for my family to grab and eat...I found myself smiling through tears.  I was the "grape maker" in the household with my godparents.

As dinner assignments were being handed out one night decades ago, I must have said, "I'll make the grapes."  and it made people laugh.  It made her laugh.  From then on, she would ask me to "make" grapes whenever they were brought home.

***

As it goes, the grief is less palpable this year.  My emotions bubble up in other ways.  Anger here.  Frustration there.  A quiet tear.  Everything is masked by a postpartum lens.  But I know missing her is real.  While eased by time and space and survived days, grief remains-ever at the surface.

She's with me in spirit and, to those who knew her, in the oddest place of all, grocery shopping.

But they Have TV?!

The quote, "99.6% (of people considered poor in the US census) have tvs." made me think about the comments I had to endure while I worked with HFHI in West Virginia.  I wrote about my experience in West Virginia, here, as well.

Most of the people I led were high school or college students at the affiliate for their spring breaks.  Well meaning people.  Hopeful.  Often, this was their first encounter with poverty.  For many of the high school youth the basic bunk beds, communal bathroom and lack of cable TV, combined for their first taste at "roughing it."  All ages often came thinking they were really doing "something."  And they were, I don't mean to minimize their efforts.  Their money and time could have been directed towards many other spring break options.  Their time, talent, prayers and sweat made a difference in the lives of many...and often times changed their own lives forever.

Mixed with this beneficial effort, was a sense of self importance.  Their sense of "I'm really making a sacrifice" led many to make pretty harsh comments on the lives of the community members.  It was as if their sacrifice gave them the permission to teach others how to sacrifice.

The comment I heard most often was on how many satellite dishes people saw on the homes we drove by.

This is an area of our country that would shock most everyone in my day to day small city/suburban life.  It resembles third world poverty.  People living in boxes.  Homes without windows.  Twenty year old trailer homes with walls of cardboard or sheets of plastic and duct tape.  Outhouses and water pumps.  Dilapidation and refuge.

So, yes, the satellite dish on the roof was worth a mention.  It was an odd juxtaposition in a place that seemed to transport its visitors to an America most of us never knew existed.  But there was no cable TV in the area and the mountain terrain made basic TV reception nearly impossible.  The volunteer center staff had made a conscience decision not to have access to TV in the volunteer center but the affiliate Executive Director had a dish.

After a few months of the volunteers commentary, I wanted to yell..."They have no education, no job, no hope of a job, no medical care, no teeth, barely enough food, plastic walls, and it has been this way for a generation or two...so they don't really know how to change it, but you are most concerned over the fact they have a satellite dish so they can watch the news or tune out by watching a sitcom?

I got it.  Part of me wondered, too.  Wouldn't the money used towards the satellite dish be better used towards food?  (especially when, as many would say, the greater community/government is paying for your food.)

But not many people who visit my life ask me why I grab a coffee at Starbucks or lunch at Panera when that money could be better saved towards my kid's college fund or saved so we would need less of a home loan.  Even my Christian brothers and sisters rarely push me to give more of my money to those with plastic walls.  While people may think snarky or judgmental thoughts (myself included), no where in my middle class life are we free to actually comment on people's spending habits as if it were our born right to butt in.

So yeah, they have satellite dishes.  And yes, they even have refrigerators.  My real concern is that, too many think, this is the problem.

Then he Hugged me

BB started Kindergarten this week.  

The photo above is from his first day of preschool two years ago.  

He took the same backpack...it just fits a bit better this year.

From these photos, the physical growth is apparent.  And, I have a touch of sadness over the passing of time.  There weren't any tears over this transition.  At least BB and I didn't shed any as we toured the classroom or said good bye the first day.  I didn't break down in the car or hide in the bathroom once I was safely home.  I didn't feel sad.  I'm proud of him.  I am also pleased when we step forward into greater independence.  I am excited to hear the stories he brings home.

That was the paragraph I knew I would write.  The big-tough-Mama paragraph.

Then he had his first full day of school.  He was obviously tired, and spent, from processing way more than he could ever articulate to me in the car ride home.  Even knowing this, I still peppered him with questions.  I gleaned a few tidbits as we covered the mile or two back to our house.

Then we pulled into the garage.  EG was fussing, LP had to be brought in from the car.  Bags and bags of stuff had to be shlepped in.  How the four of us can create such chaos I'll never understand, but entering the house is quite a crazy event.  After some time passed I realized I hadn't really hugged or acknowledged BB's arrival home after 8 hours away.

I sat down in a chair and called him over.  He crawled up into my lap, his legs wrapping around the back of the chair.  Long legs dangled down behind me.  He threw his arms around me and I wrapped myself around his solid back.  I let him stay for as long as he wanted and when I realized he was staying put...tears began to fall.  Both of us acknowledging that something important had happened.  This little baby--the one who first made me a mom--was moving further away from me.  I may appreciate the growth and the forward movement, but he missed his mom.  And, it was important to let him know that she missed him.  

More than she ever realized she would.

My real gifts...

Yesterday's weather was as close to perfect as it can come.  Perfect day to sit around and hold hands.

On to the 40th Year...

 

Today is my birthday...

...phone calls

...cards to open

...delivered coffee, bagels and scones

...coffee gift cards

...hugs from friends
...the joy of FB greetings

...one friend offered to have the older kids over for a play date (leaving me and LP to hang out and blog this morning)

...yesterday, I picked out my own gifts--thanks to the generosity of various family members.  One gift is in the photo above.  My husband joked that he has a vision of me clutching it like a prayer bead...

I am so immensely grateful for this life! 
Thank you, thank you.

July 21-August 15

Recap:
I was in the hospital.  I came home.  LP was starving and screaming.  Finally, the kid got some food and I started up the ole pumping machine.  He returned to his calm, sweet and sleepy self.

My parents came.  The help, company and built in entertainment was priceless.  They left.

A friend took my two oldest kids away each morning to VBS.  Another friend came, she brought crafts and attention for my kids.

Many friends brought us food.  It was very appreciated.

We've ran some errands, met up with friends and in general are finding our rhythm.