Thankful

My favorite holiday is just one day away. Lovely Thanksgiving, with all its deliciousness and warmth and fun Turkey Trotting to start it off. When I was a working gal, outside the home, of course, I looked forward to this beautiful gift of a three-day-work-week. A bonus Friday off, to boot! A little sorbet of freedom to wash down the richness of the previous day's obligation-filled feast.

I don't, of course, love the nonsensical myth attached to Thanksgiving. Please, like the Pilgrims (pilgrims, thank you) could have afforded buckles, to start things off. Maybe somewhere in the genesis of the relationship between Native People and Europeans back in seventeenth-century/northeast current-day-USA was a benevolent, or even benignly indifferent sense of community. But I doubt Squanto and the Wampanoags really didn't bargain on the next few hundred years of genocide, disease and land snatching.

But I digress.

Our family life, as of late, has taken a sharp right turn and we've been stuck smack dab in the middle of Insanesville for almost three weeks. My whole self has been absolutely consumed with E, and to a lesser extent O, and their emotional and physical well being. Which is not to say I'm some sort of neglectful mother otherwise. But things have gotten INTENSE over here. Double ear infections for both boys, anti-biotics, no sleep, teething, newfound limit pushing, and did I mention no sleep?

I have been trying to surrender, or as C likes to say, let life lead in the dance. It is nearly working. I am walking a fine line between surrendering and feeling steamrolled.

There are certain things I am willing to overlook. Screaming for screaming's sake=mostly fine, as long as no one is napping. Kicking a little brother in the chest=not ever OK. It is difficult to sort these things out and maintain some sense of confidence, that somehow I am not warping these little minds and hearts.

The other afternoon, as I was driving the boys to have their pictures taken, a song came on that just knocked the wind out of me. It took me back to a time almost three years ago now. Then, E was ALMOST sleeping through the night, an older infant. I was starting marathon training in the frosty winter, looking forward to finishing and then trying to get pregnant again. My life, while at the time seemed overwhelming, was so simple and naive and easy. Every time I hear this song I can picture where exactly I was on my long run, slipping through the snowy streets, huffing and puffing and singing under my breath:



And so when, on the Thruway the other day, it came bouncing out of the speakers, I was taken back and I mourned my old self. I mourned my girl who hadn't yet been conceived but was so imagined and wished for. Part of the plan that unravelled before it could even be put into place.

When I was pregnant with Calla I remember wanting to run up until the Turkey Trot, which put me at about seven months pregnant. I smugly ran the 4.97 miles that Thanksgiving morning in 2009, thinking I was well on my way to a healthy delivery in a few months. Then January 2010 came and smacked me in the face, knocked me on my ass and screamed "HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCH?!"

I need things to settle down here, because the last thing I can think about is my sweet girl. I miss visiting her in my heart, having the luxury of a few minutes of peace to remember her dark curls, her sweet, silent face, her tiny fingers and toes, her perfect mouth.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, wherever you are.

Greetings From The Rock Under Which I've Been Living

***This is a post about my living children. I'm apologizing in advance if this makes you uncomfortable or  sad. I totally understand if you bolt right now. xo

Not really under a rock, but my life has been . . . omigod I don't even have the words for how insane things are over here. My big boy has some things going on that I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out. It started, well, I don't know the exact genesis of E's new behavior, but suffice it to say we haven't actually slept in a week. ONE WEEK.

I am not exaggerating. Every time we try to put him to bed for the night or a nap, homeboy SHRIEKS AND WAILS as though we've strapped him to the sun itself. Jumps out of bed. Runs out of his room. This is a child to whom it had never even occurred that he could get out of bed once he was in it. As in, when he was in a toddler bed 10 inches off the floor he wouldn't even reach down to get something that had fallen out. And now this. Even if we get him to sleep, he wakes up in the middle of the night and one of us has to sleep in his bed with him.

Also? I can't leave the room without him freaking out. Nor can he leave the room without being accompanied by me. I just. I don't get it.

After a trip to the doctor on Tuesday we found out he has an ear infection in both ears, something that manifested itself only in his behavior--atrocious--but no fever or obvious pain. So we've been doing anitbiotics and ibuprofen, and lots of relaxing. Except. Now he's over-tired and wild and cranky.

I think, too, there's some separation anxiety going on. Ironically he's totally fine at school, the one place I'd expect separation anxiety to be the worst.

My point? I have absolutely no time to do anything. Which includes responding to so many amazing pieces of writing I have sitting in my reader. Also? NaNoWriMo is a no-go for me, I guess, this year.  If you've sent me an email or written something especially beautiful, know that I've read it, but haven't had a hand free to respond. (Well how the hell am I writing this you ask? Autopilot and coffee. No thinking required.)

So um, yeah. Any advice? I'm seriously on the edge here. I am stumped beyond stumped and have pulled out every trick in the book. Everyone tells me this will pass, but I'm dubious.

One Year

Happy Birthday to our baby boy. 366 days ago I still believed the gaping hole in my heart could never be repaired. Even as I listened to his heartbeat all night, the night before being induced. Even after a good-looking amniocentesis. I still couldn't believe he'd actually get here.

But he did.

One year ago today our youngest baby was born. Our second boy, our third child.  My sweet little soul, who loves his mama, who smiles whenever he sees a camera, who dances whenever he hears a tune or a beat. Not technically a miracle baby, he was my miracle. He helped repair a heart that seemed smashed wide open forever--it was a miracle, to me, that I could love someone so fearlessly and wholly again.

I am swamped right now by life. We lived through getting a new roof, are fighting a double ear infection (E), are coming down from Halloween and its spooky accoutrements. We're trying our darndest to get the house is reasonable order before the big birthday party this weekend. Last week was C's 40th bday and all its grand celebrations. E has decided that sleeping, and going to bed, and staying in bed, id for the birds and has taken to shrieking and wailing whenever any of those activities are suggested.

Mama is tired. And VERY behind on the projects I want to tackle, namely NaNoWriMo and watching everyone's video blogs. Le grand sigh.

But I can't NOT share some pics of my beautiful birthday boy. The love of my life. My happy dude.

Bundle Up

The frost has settled in here. It snuck in overnight, causing a scramble for coats and boots, hats and mittens this morning before school. We worked out the minute intricacies of how each new zipper and fastener works, looking for the secret jimmies and tricks to getting outside quickly. Car seat straps adjusted for extra bulk and seat backs covered for boot kicks.

It is a cold, sunny day in the East. The first thrilling glimpse of winter is here. Today is a day when a hat is not optional, a fleece jacket alone won't cut it. The first step along a long, cold path towards darkness, and heaviness, and snow-covered months. And while the solstice isn't technically until December, winter settles in much earlier than that around here.

Everything seems harder in the winter. More bundling. More time to get places. Less sunlight to cheer us on through the chill. Dirt and wet in every corner, trudged in on heavy boots, muddy paws and dripping mittens. But for now we're just at the beginning. We look at each other and make winter jokes about snow brushes and shovels, try on our coats from last year and search for matching gloves. The frost is novel, and the sunlight glinting on icy leaves is charming.  For now.

We have four birthdays to celebrate in our home this winter. C is turning 40 next week, in a few days actually. Then a week later O will be one. One whole year. Then my birthday, in February. Only E was born in the warmth and sunshine of summer.

Of course Calla's birthday is right in the middle of winter. At the beginning of January, when the calendar turns to another new year.  Forever I will associate the coldest depths of winter with her death and birth, that freezing night in January when I wanted to burn myself alive.

And so looking to winter, feeling our corner of the Earth turning away from the sunlight, makes my heart a little heavier. My soul is bundling up, fortifying its reserves for the long season ahead. There are some wonderful warm oases sprinkled throughout the upcoming months of our frigid desert winter, and during the dark days I will lumber, head down and hopefully, towards them.

Right now it is sunny and cold, but soon it will be gray and icy, and simply going outside will seem like too much of a bother. Right now the chilis and soups and breads and oven-baked dinners are satisfying. Right now winter seems survivable.

Spoken Word Blog Round Up

OK, here she is. I am so excited to see everyone else's videos that I can ALMOST get over the seasickness of watching mine. Also, I find it strange that my eyes look brown, when in real life they are blue.

Thank you so much to Angie for putting this together, and once again encouraging me to do something I'd never attempt on my own. Not only attempt, but persevere when my techno-literacy is at an all-time low.

A word of caution: there are a few f-bombs scattered in throughout. Gentle Reader, if you are sensitive, you may want to sit this one out. You won't cry, but you might cringe. Maybe this says something about my personality: I did not choose a beautiful thing, I chose an ugly thing. Ooh, subversive.

In the spirit of backpedaling . . .

I'm not, really, backpedaling. I've just been thinking about what I wrote yesterday, and I feel like I was being a brat and taking cheap shots.

You know I absolutely adore you babyloss parents, right? You know I think you are amazing and wonderful and have quite literally saved me so many times . . . and I wasn't dissing the actual Remembrance Day, yes? I hope you do. Because I love you and would rather melt my face off than hurt your feelings.

And anyone who might be reading this who isn't a babyloss parent . . . you know I love you also, right? Even if you feel awkward around me or feel like you don't know what to say, or are just reading this to find out if I've imploded yet. Or if you do ask and do care, I carry your thoughts like good luck charms in my pocket.

It all comes back to the damn Eff Beez, doesn't it? The root of all of society's collective ills. Or, my ills I guess. I just miss my girl and sometimes that comes out as grumpiness. Sorry, friends.

Remembering Whether You Like It Or Not

I am now officially the worst blog poster in all the land. Or, maybe just the laziest. Or something. Time just slips away and there I am at the end of the day, a blog post fully composed in my head and completely trapped, unable to get HERE.

This past weekend was the Remembrance Day; its official title escapes me but you know the day of which I write. We lit our candle. We thought about all the babies so  many of us are missing. I posted some words on the Livre du Visage, and well, if just felt a little hollow. My friend Sally wrote about this a bit, and I'd been mulling it over in the meantime, too. I have a lot of friends who are truly excellent babyloss friends. They remember Calla and are not afraid to talk about her, to ask me how I'm doing, to let me know they're thinking of her. That's not to say friends who don't ask or talk about it are NOT excellent--you know what I mean, right?

**OK, clearly my writing skills are diminishing. Twice I've asked you if you know what I mean without actually writing what I mean. Again, worst poster in the land.**

So when I was posting these little snippets, 140 characters or less of babyloss wisdom and wishes, it felt a bit like, oh I don't know, I was RAMMING it down everyone's throat. HEY WORLD! Look at me! I'm STILL SAD! And HERE'S WHY! And by Saturday night when I was lamenting blowing out her little candle . . . it felt like I'd pushed the limit a bit too far.

But hey! Everyone else gets to write about their kids there, why can't I, right?! I mean, just because my only daughter is DEAD doesn't mean she doesn't matter. I have to read about everyone else's kids' soccer games and first words and first days of school; the least I can get (and I do mean the least) is one day to remember that my child was alive once, and mattered and was loved. Is loved. Does matter.

I don't want a stupid candle or balloons or ribbons or anything else but her. My challenge is to not call the candles stupid out loud, to not roll my eyes and feel like I'm being thrown a bone by one lousy day. Because it's a beautiful thing. It's a day for parents like me, us, to make something collectively wonderful out of the collective awfulness. It is, apparently, too much to ask that she could have lived.

If my tone seems a little brutal, it's only because I am so missing that girl these days. You know, the whole stages of grief thing. It's funny, you don't experience those stages in a linear way--it should be called the Mobius strip of grief. Just when you think you might have found a way out, you're right back where you started--angry, sad, confused, or maybe still in denial.

And I'm not just pissed off for myself. Mt pissed-offedness extends to all the babyloss parents who are right here with me. It sucks and isn't fair and I don't give a SHIT that life's not fair, it's still not fair.