I Did It. . .

Do you remember the feeling you had on December 31, 1999.  The world had been talking about it for months.  The new Millennium.  What was it that everyone was afraid of. . . Y2K?  Do you remember?  Apparently something with the computer/internet system was expected to go really wrong and apparently the world was going to end or something like that. 

I still remember standing outside at an event in a city near ours.  I remember shivering violently in the cold temperatures and burying myself into Chad as we watched nervously as the clock ticked down 5-4-3-2-1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!  And for a moment it seemed that the crowd stopped and looked around just to make sure. . . is everything okay?

Turns out it was. The transition happened uneventfully.

That is a little bit how things were yesterday.  For months I'd been anticipating the day that marks my 365th day without my Mom.  I wondered what it would be like.  I wondered if I would remember every moment of that day a year ago.  I wondered if I would hurt.  If I would be sad.  If I would be angry.

Turns out. . . I just was. 

I was given the gift of some time alone and I took a peak back.  I spent time reading my journal entries from that terrible week and looking through the pictures.  I required myself to look back.  To think about it.  To remember.

I remember how surreal if felt.  I remember how I had to shake my head at times and force myself to face that it was really happening. 

I remember wondering how I was going to do it.  I knew that life from that day forward would be different.  I knew all of us would be different. . . I knew our family would be different.  I just didn't know how.

We marched through the motions of that week overcome with grief and overwhelmed by love poured out from every direction.  We did all we knew how to
do. . .we put one foot in front of the other.

It's such a strange thing to be in a completely surreal moment.  Unable to be in that moment or any other moment, really.  I remember thinking that I wanted to quit life.  The only thing that presented any allure was hiding myself in my house and avoiding all aspects of life.  As far as I was concerned. . . "okay" was a state of the past.

One year later I can absolutely say I found "Okay" again. 

Hitting the year mark is like reaching the finish line of a marathon.  There have been moments of deep pain and moments of exhilarating joy and I have no doubt that many more are to come.  But on this day I stand side by side with my family and I feel proud knowing that we did it.  We survived. 

As I look over the year I am very aware that a different person has emerged out of the ashes of that day.  Somehow, losing my Mom made me less fearful.  It brought me to a place where I am more ready to risk. I've come to learn that I'm not as fragile and breakable as I thought I was.  It brought me face to face with the choice I had to just live life or to live with intention. 

I find myself wondering if these things would have happened without such a tragedy.  I find myself wishing she could see it.  Wishing she could see the woman I'm becoming. 

As I kiss this year good-bye, I do so knowing that life will continue to be different.  Every joyful moment will bring with it a slight shadow where her voice, her smile, her enthusiasm, and her love should have been.  Happy moments will produce bitter-sweet tears because her absence is blaring and it always will be. . . because we loved her that much. 

Today I'm raising my hands and declaring a big fat "I did it", because I did.  However, I did not take one step of it alone.  Oh, my heart is so thankful for the family and friends and new blogger friends who have reached out to me over this year.  I am filled with gratitude for the outpouring of love I've received from emails, texts, cards, Facebook and blog comments.  Thank you to all of you who continue to walk beside me and fill me with confidence that everything truly will be okay.

With all of you. . . I did it.

Today We Remember. . .

 "You can shed tears that she is gone,

or you can smile becasue she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back,

or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.

Your heart can be empty becasue you can't see her,

or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday.
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
you can remember her only that she is gone
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,

be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she'd want:

smile, open your eyes, love and go on."-David Harkins

Today we remember.  More thoughts later. . .

Because I know you've been wondering. . .

I did it.  I really did it.  After months and months of procrastination, I finally put action to my words. . . and got the job done.

In case you're wondering. . . I'm talking about my cookbooks.  If you're still not sure what I'm talking about, check this out. 

Oh, let me tell you. . . it felt so good.  Like I lost 35 pounds.  (Actually, it was probably more like 75 pounds). 

How did I do it?  Well, I literally closed my eyes, grabbed stack upon stack of cookbooks and cooking magazines and shoved them into trash bags. I removed all sentimental value from them and I. . .

let. them. go. 

I know you're on the edge of your seat waiting for the big reveal, aren't you?  Close your eyes.

Go ahead. . . close them, I'll wait.

No peeking.

Okay. . . open them. . .

There are no longer cook books stacked and breaking the shelving in the laundry room.

Ta-Da!! 

(I'm taking my bow.)  Thank you very much.

When it was done I did a few cartwheels and my best version of the moon walk. 

"Who's Bad?!"

Okay, that was really just a lame attempt to make you, dear reader, smile. 

Speaking of smiles.  A lot of things made me smile this weekend. 

My kids, sharing a seat, while Charlie chatted on the phone with Daddy.  The scene was cute enough by itself, but then I noticed this. . .

For some reason, they prefer to wear just one sock.  I have no idea why. . . but they seem most comfortable this way.  Charlie has always done this. . . it seems that Chanelle is following suit.

This scene also made me smile. . .

Despite the 23 degree temps, Chanelle was insistent that she had to try on her new summer dress.  While I watched her examine herself in the mirror, I fast-forwarded to 25 years from now.  Chanelle in a beautiful white wedding dress. . . me watching from behind. 

(This smile is mixed with tears.  The bitter-sweet kind.)

Bath time brings smiles to all of our faces. . .

I don't know what it is about bath time, but even my son who usually is quite camera shy beams for the camera.  BEAMS.  He splashes, kicks, spits, and sprays the water and laughs from his belly the entire time.  I hope we are nowhere near the end of his thrill of bath time. 

This one. . . she loves bath time, too. . .

Lunch made me smile today, as well. The food was good. . . but the company was better.

I smiled before, during, and after lunch. . . because my Dad is that cool.  And I get that I'm a lucky girl to have a dad that will sit, talk, listen, and be present with his daughter for her incessant chattering.  I celebrate it and count each moment a blessing. . . because that's what it is.  A blessing.

Here was another smile producer. . .

I think this is week 4 of this scene in our living room.  The two of them have been working on this project endlessly and it's still not done.  I think today was 5 straight hours and I believe I heard Charlie say "I can't wait until it's done." no less than 27 times.  The two of them. . . they are learning patience.  (Thank you, Poppy, for this project.)

Yeah.  It made me smile. . . but I didn't let Chad see. . . he was too frustrated.

And if you can handle just one more.  I smiled as I watched my daughter become a mother to her stuffed dinosaur.

She so carefully dressed, cradled, rocked, and swaddled her little baby before gently swaddling "her" and putting her to bed. . .

. . . and shushing all of us so "she" can sleep.


There were more smiles. . . many more.  I will end for now and offer wishes for you to have eyes to see smile-producing scenes wherever you go today.

Running Chatter

At 5:45 this morning I followed my usual routine and made my way down the stairs to our basement.  I sat on the floor where I stretched my muscles and tied my shoes before climbing on my faithful treadmill. As I pushed the "Start" button of the treadmill, I simultaneously pressed the "Power" button on the television remote.  The television flickered on to the same news program I had been watching the previous morning.  For the next forty minutes, my eyes watched the screen fill with unending snippets of terribly depressing news stories.  With each passing mile I found myself sinking deeper into depression. By the time I was done, I was certain a call to my doctor requesting a prescription for an  anti-depressant was essential.

Japan, Libya, No-fly zones, border patrol, Obama, airport watch towers, semi-truck accidents, Elizabeth Taylor, National Debt, congressional budgets, gas prices, double-dip recessions, nuclear meltdowns. . . one by one stories paraded across the screen pointing to the dire state of affairs. 

I thought to myself. . . seriously, isn't there any good news out there?

So tonight. . . I'm keeping it light. . . Running Chatter. . .

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1.  Speaking of running. . .

I've been back at it for about four weeks now.  Recovery from my surgeries seems to be going well and I am taking it slow. . . literally one step at a time.  I did 5.5 miles this week. . . my longest run post-surgery.  I'm ashamed to admit that the old me would have spit in the face of 5 miles.  The old me would have turned my nose up insisting that such a distance was not worth my time.  The old me. . . needed a reality check.

The new me is different.  The new me whooped and hollered and sent an excited text message to Chad that said "5.5 miles.  WOO HOO!"

Oh yes.  I've been humbled.  My celebration meter has been re-calibrated. . . I'm all about celebrating the everything. . .

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2.  We're going to Florida. 

. . . and we are counting down the days.  Just a few weeks ago we planned the trip to see two of THE MOST awesome people on the planet. (a.k.a. my grandparents)  As soon as we told the kids they asked hourly. . . how many days until we go?  We made up this fancy little chart,  (by fancy I mean completely chaotic and unappealing to the eye) and the kids now only ask one time a day. 

Can you say pumped?  That's what we are.  We can't wait to bask in the glow of the Naples sun, feel the sand beneath our toes, and watch Charlie and Chanelle's eyes take up half of their faces as they take in a different kind of beauty than they see where we live.  Dude. . . we're pumped.

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3.  Parent-teacher Conferences.

Did you know they have conferences for preschoolers? We had a meeting with Charlie's teacher this week.  Seriously, it's as nerve wracking as it was when I knew my parents were going to talk to my teachers.  As Chad and I were led down the stairs to the office I felt my heart rate increasing with each step.  Thoughts like what's she going to say?  What if I'm doing something wrong?  What if he's behind?  It's funny the games my mind can play. 

In reality. . . it was a wonderful experience.  Oh, my little guy. . .

. . . makes this Mama proud.  He is right where he should be academically.  I mean, really, he's in preschool.  But statements such as, "Charlie is a good friend to all his classmates." and "He accepts everyone." and "Charlie is a peaceful influence in the classroom.". . . fill me with confidence that somehow, he gets it.  Somehow he is understanding that people matter.  Being kind matters.  Being a friend. . . that matters.

Only thirteen more years to go. . .

(Cue sad music)

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4.  Speaking of children's books. . .

Okay, I wasn't really talking about children's books. . . but I didn't have a transition.  Have you read this one?  It's called Love You Forever by Robert Munsch.  I believe last year was the first year I was able to get through it without tears.  Tonight, I had a slip up. . . a few tears were shed. . . but it was a far cry from the sobs the story used to produce.  I call that progress.

I completely relate to the mom in that picture.  Sneaking into her baby's room at night.  Taking one more look, one more touch, one more moment in the silence of the night.  Yep. . . I get that mom.

Seriously, if you are a parent of young kids and don't have this book. . . you must get it.  You can purchase it, here.

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5.  New Year.

As I've written in the space over the last nine months I've often referred to "this" year.  Even after December 31, 2010 I continued to relate to events as "this" year as opposed to "last" year.  I've been anxiously awaiting the arrival of March 29th, 2011. . . the one year anniversary of my Mom's death.  For me. . . that will mark a "new" year.  The day is quickly approaching and my feelings are mixed. It's just a day, I know. . . but for me. . . it's was the day that altered my heart forever.

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6.  Lady Gaga

If you can hear the song that is playing right now. . . it's hers.  Ms. Gaga knows how to write music.  The words to this song are beautiful.  I bet she's been through some stuff.  Sometimes, if we allow it, stuff makes us better.  Her message. . . it's a good one.

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7.  Friday

Happy Friday to my blogger friends.  May your weekend be filled with memory making, laughter, joy,  celebrating the simple things, and a nap or two. 

As always, I continue to be deeply thankful for the love and support I have received in this space. 

Chatter. . . Out. . . .

Normal Day

'Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are.  Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart.  Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.  Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.  One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return."  ~Mary Jean Iron

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You felt something when you read those words, didn't you?  If you didn't. . . don't let yourself off so easily.  I urge you to go back and read it again.
Read it S-L-O-W-L-Y. . .

Powerful stuff, isn't it?. 

This is precisely why I love words.  Words pieced together in such a beautiful sequence somehow draw me in and shake the innermost parts of my spirit.  They have this strange power to draw me inward and outward at the same time. . . challenging me to live more intentionally, more fully, more authentically.  The invitation in these words dare me. . . no they double-dog dare me. . . to look at the ordinary parts of my life and see them for what they really are. 

Today, it all started with a strawberry. . .

A big, plump, juicy strawberry.  When does a strawberry cease to be just a strawberry? 

Give up?  When it's placed in the hands of a three year old.

Placed in the small hands of my little girl, the tiny piece of fruit becomes an experience.  It began with excited jumping up and down as the strawberry was pulled from the grocery bag.  Once washed and in her hands, she studied it.  She turned it slowly and intentionally around and over in her hands before bringing it to her mouth.  With each morsel she exclaimed of its goodness and continued her studies between bites. Strawberries may seem normal, but this morning, they were anything but.

The strawberry got me thinking.  What if?  What if all of us could live each day as if it were a treasure?  Or, what if one of us could live each day as a treasure?  Or even, what if one of us could live one day as if it were a treasure?

Would the world look different? 

We baked a spaghetti squash today.  Usually a task that I do quickly between games of hide and seek or cleaning the kitchen and vacuuming the living room.  Today, the squash became a means of discovery. 

We sifted and sorted out seeds and goop before she stripped away at the strands of spaghetti.  She carefully watched as the strands released themselves from their outer shell and exclaimed of their awesomeness.  She wondered "is this where spaghetti comes from?" and insisted that "I can do it by myself." 

I won't soon forget this squash.

If anyone were to ask me. . . did you do anything special today?. . . I might get strange looks if I answered with an enthusiastic, Yes! and talked about big bites of strawberry's and squash.  People might walk away and whisper about my weirdness without understanding that I truly am trying to see the beauty that is right now.  In fact, I would want them to hear more. . . know more.  I would want to be sure they knew about the hour we spent outside before we met our lunch dates.

I would want to explain the way she smiled her quirky smile as she played her harmonica on her big wheel.  I would tell about the go-stop-go-stop routine she likes to do in the driveway in order to get my attention.  I would talk about the way she exclaimed, "Oh Mommy, look! Take a picture!" when she saw a creature effortlessly floating in the sky.

I would have missed it, had she not brought it to my attention.  As I was looking at my watch and calculating the time we should leave. . . she was only in that moment.  And I'm so glad she was.  Once again drawing my attention to that which is marvelous in the mundane. 

I guess that it may not be viewed as "cool" to be moved by the normal.  Why get excited by strawberries, squash, or a bird?  Why waste your time and energy to enjoy it?  Or even more. . . to write about?  In this case, I laugh in the face of cool.  If it's nerdy to be amazed by the everyday. . . I'll be the first in line for my "NERD" badge.

You see, I truly believe that this could change the world.  I believe that if today could be embraced with a great big "Thank You". . .life would be different.  And if you don't believe me. . . ask someone who is living with cancer. 

I sat with my children and my FIL and swayed from games of tic tac toe to conversations about all aspects of life.  I wonder what others think as they watch us linger while others rush in and out during their lunch break.  I find myself filled  with understanding that this moment is nothing short of spectacular.  I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that while this may look normal. . . it is far from it. 

And maybe I'm over simplifying.  Maybe I just don't get that life happens, tragedy happens, and despair is real.  Maybe I have yet to have been hit hard enough to realize that there really is a place where light doesn't shine.  Perhaps it really is more than choice. . . more than perspective.  The truth is, until I get
there. . . I won't know.  For now, I'm doing my best to find the treasure in the everyday. . . even in the rainy days.

How about you?  Can you find the treasure in your normal? 

I double-dog dare you. . .

I became a baseball coach

Anyone who really knows me, will likely be confused by that statement. 

Baseball coach?  Really? 

Sports have never been my thing.  Unfortunately, I have virtually no interest in them.  I've tried my best to feign interest for my very sports minded husband, but it's hopeless.  My attention span connected to any sport lasts about 13.5 seconds. In my 32 years of life I have yet to take the time to fully understand what a first down means in football.  When I hear about March Madness I assume that the mattress store is having a huge sale and I sit in wonder why so many intensely watch these bracket things that seem to have the power to make or break the course of their days.  A few years ago my husband asked me to fill out a bracket and since I am the kind of wife that wants to make her husband happy--I obliged.  I chose my teams by which name sounded the prettiest.

Needless to say, my bracket didn't do very well and he has not asked me to do once since.  I think I embarrassed him. 

Oh, and baseball. . . that's the toughest sport of them all.  For me, it's an invitation to read a book or take a nap.  I've never watched a game that lulls to me sleep like the slow moving sport of baseball.  It has greater power to put me to sleep than a bath and a cup of warm milk before bed.  If I'm having trouble falling to sleep, there is no need to mess with Ambien. . . just put me in front of a baseball game.

That is, however, until the one holding the bat is my little guy.  At that point, it becomes something completely different.

It happened just the other day when we were given another glimpse into the gifts spring had to offer.  We made the official transition from shoes to flip flops and from morning until evening I became coach and he became player. 

Baseball is nothing new to our outside endeavors.  We've played it since he was at least a year old.  It went something like toss-swing-miss-chase-try again.  Even last year there were fewer misses as he hit the ball into our neighbors yard and waited for me to chase it down before tossing another pitch. 

When we went out the other day I expected the same routine, but something had changed.  He wanted to understand the game.  He wanted to know the rules, run the bases, and do it the "right" way.  And so. . . I became coach Mom teaching him the basics of the game.  Explaining what the bases are and how he should run them, but not run if he thought I might beat him to the base.  I found myself explaining words like "foul" and "ball" and "walk" as he listened with the kind of intensity that matched my own during a conversation about running.

My usual disinterest in baseball disappeared as I watched the joy and enthusiasm of my little guy grow with each pitch.  He squealed with delight as he raced for the bases, chased after fly balls, and his sister yelled from the sidelines, "Go Charlie! Go Charlie!". 

As I watched the utter glee of his face transition to intense seriousness as he listened and processed all he was learning. . . I decided that baseball really isn't that bad after all.  Something that produced so much excitement for him is certainly worth my effort and energy, isn't it?

Baseball was just another reminder to us that spring is in the air.  That we are slowly dipping out toe into the season of new life, growth, and change.  A glimpse of a rare warm March afternoon pointed toward hope that there is more of this to come.  More finding joy in the simple things of life.  Basking in moments of togetherness that include sidewalk chalk, jaunts up and down the street, and big wheel races that begin with "On your marks. . . get set. . . go!" 

They ran from one activity to the next as if the clock on spring was ticking and they had to get it all in before the buzzer.  I reminded them that we have many months of the beauty of the outdoors before we are forced in by the harsh winter again.  I encouraged them to slow down, enjoy it, and drink it all in.

I certainly did.