The Restless Brain

Moving, Moving, Moving

2011-07-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

I am not a runner. In fact, I am not an athletic person at all. Growing up, the only sport I really participated in was swimming and really I only did that in the "I swim on the country club's summer swim team mostly so my parents can socialize" kind of way.

I didn't like balls coming at me, or balls that I had to chase (really? what's the point of that?) and so I just avoided most sports completely and willingly accepted myself as "non-athletic."

As a mother with children who are athletic (and of course now I'm also the wife of a soccer coach), I have learned to appreciate sports but still mostly in the "I'm just here to sit on the sidelines and socialize" kind of way.

And I was fine with all of this.

But earlier this summer, a friend who is helping to organize the Pekin to Peoria St. Jude Run (a satellite event to the Memphis to Peoria run) tried to convince me to sign up. At first, I just laughed but she insisted the event isn't about running, it's about raising money. And she insisted anyone - runner or not - would be able to participate. But still, I balked. Too many other things going on this summer. I didn't need one more thing to fill my schedule.

But then I had two friends who unexpectedly found themselves St. Jude parents. One of them was the friend working so hard to convince me to join the run. Another has a 4-year old diagnosed with a brain tumor. In the back of my head, I kept hearing a voice.

"Why are you resisting? So running is hard, so what? It's no harder than what these kids are doing. Don't turn your back from this opportunity. You have something to give, and you have something much larger here to receive. Do it."

So, I signed up. And in the roughly two weeks since I started "training" (boy, do I use that term loosely!) I have racked up about 16 miles. That is approximately twice as many miles as I have run in my entire lifetime prior to this point. (Probably not as exaggerated as you may think. :) )

And guess what? I like running. Or more specifically, I like the way I feel after a run. I like that I have discovered I CAN run, a lot further than I ever imagined - up to 3 miles at a time without stopping so far. I like the quiet time to myself, and I like the camraderie of running with friends.

I do run slowly though. Partly I think because I am such a terrible runner and partly because I have a lot of slower music on my iPhone. I like to pull up the playlist and hit "shuffle" and then get lost in the songs that show up and the meaning they have in my life.

There are a lot of songs on my phone right now that relate to my dad.

Earlier tonight, I was clipping right along in my run... just about to reach the 2-mile mark and only a few blocks from my stopping point. I was doing great, focusing on my breathing, enjoying the spirit lift that comes when you know a good workout is coming to an end.

And then the song on my phone changed and suddenly Josh Groban's "To Where You Are" began to play.

Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory, so clear

It's such a beautiful song, and it speaks right to my heart.

And right there, I stopped running and started sobbing. In the middle of the block, right there in the street, sweat pouring down my face amidst the tears. Gut-wrenching, ripping your heart out sobbing.

You see, just before I left for my run tonight, I got a text that my little sister is engaged.

This is GREAT, happy, WONDERFUL news! It's the kind of engagement that makes you say, "finally!" because you've known it was coming for many years now. My dad knew Ben, my dad loved Ben, my dad knew Ben and Tiffany would get married one day.

But now it's happening and my dad isn't here.

And I jump back on the grief roller coaster again.

I felt the same way last May when my other sister graduated from high school. There are certain life events that you just *expect* your parents to be present for. High school graduations, college graduations, and weddings are not out of this realm. Many people take them for granted.

I never did.

With each passing milestone in my life, I thanked God for the presence of my family. My dad started chemotherapy two weeks before my wedding and as he walked me down the aisle, he brushed away hair that was just starting to fall out from his eyes.

But he was there.

I don't have any pictures of myself with my dad at my college graduation (an unfortunate slip-up that still haunts me to this day) and only one of us together at our house before I left for my high school graduation.

But he was there.

And when my first three children were born and I was miscarrying my second baby in the emergency room of the local hospital, my dad was there. The hand holding mine in the photo just after Elisabeth was born (while I braced for a shot for stitches) was my dad's.

Again and again and again, my dad was there. Because he wanted to be.

And I know he'd want to be here for my sisters too. And sometimes, I just get so mad at the unfairness of it all. It's not fair to them, it's not fair to him. It's not fair to my children.

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away not far
To where you are

It's not fair.

Damnit.

And I feel guilty too. Guilty for the experiences I got to have that they won't. Guilty for wanting more. Guilty knowing some people don't ever have the kind of relationship we had with a parent, let alone get to have it for 34 years.

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me from up above

Just yesterday, I was emailing with a friend who lost her father a few weeks ago. As I explained the concept of "grief bursts," I thought about how long it had been since I'd experienced one. They're the sudden, unforseen things that suddenly set you off and they happen when you least expect it. I cried when I heard a stranger whistling at Wal-Mart, but did just fine when my 10-year old son made sure to include his Papa Tebben's birthday on his new planner. Sometimes, the happiest of events are the ones that evoke the strongest, aching longing deep in the soul.

That's how I'm feeling tonight.

Life is moving on. And of course I know my dad is watching and smiling. I know he's even smiling as he watches me, the emotional one, work through and process all of this with excitement, tears, and finally... writing.

I know he'll be there. I suspect he will even make his presence known.

And I know he's proud that we all keep moving. That we all face the challenges in our lives and keep moving, moving, moving, trying new things and not shying away from the things that seem hard.

We all just... keep... running.

Royally Entranced

2011-04-29T10:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, I’m going to blog about it.

Today was the big “Royal Wedding” between Prince William and Kate Middleton. Facebook has been jumping all morning long and there seem to be two extremes of people... those who got up early to watch the wedding and those who want everyone in the royal family to vanish from the face of the Earth.

Maybe not that extreme, but there seem to be very few people who truly feel ambivalent. Most either love or hate all the media attention and “hype” surrounding this historical event (and it IS history, regardless of your opinion of the attention paid to it.)

I’m not sure why, but I’ve felt a need to defend against the naysayers. I didn’t really “plan” to get up and watch the wedding when it began at 5am CST, but I woke up just as the big moment was starting and so I watched. (For the record, it’s beyond “extremely unusual” for me to wake up that early so I took it as a sign that deep down, I really wanted to watch. Sometimes watching things recorded isn’t enough, when I have a chance to watch history happen LIVE, I tend to gravitate toward it.) Even Edgar commented on how funny it was to see me awake when he got up for work, since I do tend to place a very high value on sleep.

Anyways, as I drove around this morning running errands, I kept thinking about all the negative comments people had thrown out there. My mind has been racing, so this is my attempt (as always) to quiet it down.

First off, when did we become so darned negative? A wedding is a CELEBRATION of LOVE and HAPPINESS. When two people love each other enough to stand before God and everyone they know (and maybe a couple billion they don’t) and profess their intention to love each other until death... why do we immediately turn to skepticism? Shouldn’t we be rejoicing? Shouldn’t we feel happy for them? Shouldn’t we take the opportunity to reflect on our own relationships and the milestones we have celebrated in our own lives?

Why instead do so many turn to negativity? Will these two stay married? Who knows? In reality, I figure every marriage has a 50/50 chance of lasting. Forget statistics, it’s simple math - either you stay together, or you don’t. Period. None of us starts out with better than 50/50 odds. But we all (or at least most of us) do start out with the intention to carry through with the promise we are making. Does that sometimes change? Sure. Does it mean the love wasn’t real at the time? I don’t think so. I have certainly loved more than one man in my lifetime (it’s ok, my husband knows this!) and I think I have even encountered more than one soulmate. It was not just love and connection that led me to marry the man I did, it was also about timing and circumstances. My parents loved each other, but they got divorced. My dad and stepmom loved each other, but they got divorced. It happens. And it doesn’t take away from what they felt on their wedding day. Rainbows don’t last either, but I believe they are real while we can see them.

Being a member of a “royal family” doesn’t ensure a “happily ever after.”

NONE of us are ever guaranteed that.

But I’ve found the subject of the royals also brings out other emotions in people. They are wealthy, and certainly have power most of us can’t begin to understand. What’s more is that they did nothing to earn either of those things other than happen to be born into the right family. It’s not “our” tradition, but the monarchy is a long-standing tradition in England and it seems to carry with it a number of old-fashioned values and belief systems. Members of the Royal family are still human, and of course they fall victim to the same sins any of us “mere mortals” do. (With the added disadvantage of it becoming world-wide news) So they’re not perfect of course, but they do seem to follow some basic etiquette and moral compass that a lot of us could probably learn from.

Discretion. Manners. Service. Charity.

So while on the one hand, we rebuke the “antiquated” system of a monarchy and the so-obvious-to-us unwarranted power and prestige it bestows upon unworthy subjects, on the other hand we talk about the need to return to more traditional, time-honored, old-fashioned values. We complain that kids don’t respect their elders or find self-motivation to help others. They’re rude and impertinent. They don’t know their “place.”

So which is it?

We complain about the amount of money spent on an extravaganza like today’s wedding and how that money could be put to better use helping the poor and underprivileged. When we don’t like how someone with more money than we have is spending their wealth, we are quick to criticize their actions.

But on the other hand, we all know that money doesn’t “buy happiness.” Money doesn’t make everything better.

So which is it?

We complain that the news is always doom and gloom and never has anything good or happy to report.

Then we complain that so much media attention is being focused on this wedding, when there is real suffering and pain and crises in our world.

So which is it?

Look, I’m not trying to defend the monarchy. I don’t even disagree with ANY of the above statements but I try hard to see things fairly without talking out of both sides of my mouth.

It’s their money, and I think they should spend it as they want to. Princess Diana was the same age I am now when she died, and yet she served on or chaired the boards of more than 100 different service organizations in her short life. Some may say I’m an “over-achiever” in the volunteering department, but even I can’t imagine matching that. Unless, maybe if I was a Princess who had access and resources available to me as a result of my status in life. Power CAN be used for good.

And I think that sometimes, a little old-fashioned etiquette and rules following is a good thing. Actually, I’m a BIG stickler for following “rules.” It’s probably a weakness, but I digress...

Sure, there are other more pressing "issues" happening in our world today. But depriving myself of enjoying this event isn't going to make them better. What WILL help is my attitude. I choose to be positive. Gas prices are crazy high. But it's just money. I still have my health and my family - and today's wedding reminds me of that. I hope and pray and pray and hope I will be around to see my own children's life milestones. I recognize there are no guarantees, no matter "who" you are.

But at the end of it all... here is what I saw today when I watched the wedding.

I saw a beautiful woman beaming with love and with incredible grace and poise - knowing the whole world was watching her but not showing the slightest sign of fear or trepidation.

I saw a man and his brother standing at the altar - and it literally took my breath away because we have watched this man grow up and it seems like he suddenly became an adult.

And, I saw a man who was getting married without his mother there to see it. I felt the absence of a mother who continues to miss milestones in her sons’ lives. My heart breaks for them all. I feel the pain.

My sister was 15 when my dad died, the same age William was when his mother died. Even at 36, I sometimes can’t believe how many things will happen in my lifetime that my dad will miss.

(Let me just say - as a spiritual person, I fully believe these people are still with us and watching over and enjoying these events. But please, let’s not pretend that it’s somehow the same as if they were actually here.)

My sister is graduating from high school in three weeks. High school. It’s her first major life milestone. Her FIRST. And he is gone. She isn’t alone of course, but we all know there will be far more students there with dads (and moms) in the stands than without.

I guess, at the crux of it all, is that I watched the wedding and I did not see a Prince and Princess. I saw a young man and woman who seem to be very much in love, taking a major step in their lives. The same step I took 12 years ago and have watched countless other couples take.

They may have money, but it comes with restrictions on freedom and certain expectations. “To whom much is given, much is expected,” no? They also still have loss and pain.

They really aren’t so unlike all of us, on the most basic, human level.

Today, they have love.

I think it’s worth celebrating.

A Day in the Life of Ainsley - age (almost) 16 months

2011-04-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

7:20am - Hey! What was that? Sounded like my big brother Aidan slamming the toilet lid! Thank goodness he did that or I might have slept in today and since everyone else is already up and leaving for wherever it is they go all day, I KNOW mommy wants me to get up too! Some days I don’t get up until after everyone else has already left and mommy always looks so lonely. I’d better start yelling so she knows to come and get me!

8:30am - Better start asking for some breakfast. Nursing was great but it’s time to sink my teeth into some toast too!

9:30am - Mommy is dozing on the couch. I don’t know why Sesame Street puts her to sleep, it’s one of the few shows I find really fascinating! Oh well, I will sit here in my little chair and watch... but just for a little bit.

10:00am - Got my exercise done for the day. I crawled all over mommy on the couch for about 20 minutes... phew, what a workout!

10:30am - I see mommy’s heading to the bathroom. I’d better go with her and be sure to shut the door behind us! I don’t want her to be lonely in there. But while I’m there, I’ll try reorganizing the garbage can to keep me busy.

11:00am - Mommy opened the refrigerator to make lunch. Oh boy the things I can get into in there! I found a bottle of strawberry syrup and drank some. Mommy just laughed and took my picture. Kind of feeling a little sugar rush now...

11:15am - Turns out, I like egg salad too! Who knew? I ate 2 little egg salad sandwiches... got to keep my energy up!

1:00pm - Mommy thought it was probably time for me to take a nap, and really I’m too tired to arrrggguuuee...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

3:45pm - I’m up! Looks like the “guys” are all back home from wherever it is they go every day too, and we’re off to Wal-Mart. Mommy says Elisabeth needs a birthday gift for a friend and we need a few things for dinner and some new socks for the boys. Boy, we sure spend a lot of time in this store! I’ve learned that mommy moves faster when I start standing up in my seat in the cart. And don’t think that strap thing is any use... I know just how to get out of it in no time flat! It makes the old ladies in the aisles nervous but I usually just smile and wave at them so they stop and talk to us anyway. Today we got all the way back out to the car with our stuff when mommy realized she hadn’t paid for something on the bottom of the cart. So, back in we went. Guess mommy got her exercise today too!

5:15pm - Time to drop Elisabeth off at soccer practice. Ethan is going to stay here too, but I’m going to stay with mommy. She said we have to go buy some stuff at Elisabeth’s dance studio, and then we are going home! I guess Elisabeth has a big dance event coming up... geez these brothers and sister of mine are busy! It’s a good thing my car seat is so comfortable because I spend a LOT of time in it! (Don't worry, this picture is a few weeks old and my mommy fixed that turned around strap protector thing!)

6:15pm - We’re home now and I’m trying really hard to help mommy. I noticed that earlier she messed up all the work I did decorating the family room and the kitchen with my toys, so I’m going to work on that. I think mommy is feeling a little lonely without me right by her too so I’m making sure to cry every time she walks out of my sight, even for just a minute. This girl who comes by a lot (I think her name is Jordan and mommy must be helping her get ready for some big competition or something?) came over for a few minutes tonight. She wasn’t here long, but I showed her how good I am at knocking things off of shelves while she was here. I also showed her how good I am at holding on to mommy’s legs and crying. Luckily, mommy took the cue pretty quickly and found something for me to play with right next to her. I guess she needed to get some paperwork done or something, so I finally let her do it.

7:00pm - Mommy gave me some green beans and cheese. Nobody else is eating yet but she must have realized I’m getting really hungry. I wonder how she knows? Eventually everybody got home and sat down to eat and she gave me some more beans and some fish. I ate all of that, plus a roll and some Pringles I sweet talked daddy into later.

8:00pm - These other kids sure are fun. They messed up my family room decorations too (mommy told them to) but they made up for it by playing hide ‘n seek with me. Daddy tickled me and made me laugh really loud - mommy said that was kind of a surprise because daddy is not usually a good tickler.

8:30pm - For some reason, everybody seems to laugh a lot when I make these faces. Ethan taught it to me. First, you tuck your chin way down in to your neck and then you look up at the person in front of you without smiling. Then you stick your chin and neck way out and make a “pa pa pa” sound with your lips, and then you start giggling. I don’t know why they like it so much but it sure is funny every time I do it! I also gave a bunch of kisses on the lips tonight, they love it when I do that too. I guess I’m pretty good entertainment sometimes.

9:00pm - Heading upstairs now. I sure love these warm, soft and fuzzy pink pajamas mommy put on me. I think she said Elisabeth used to wear them too? I don’t know, but they sure are comfy! Mommy and I sat in the recliner in her room and nursed for a few minutes. Now that I’m older, it’s harder and harder for me to sit still very long so I got a nice drink and then tried to get down and play. Mommy said it was time for bed though, so she laid me down with my blanket and my favorite toy “Violet” and turned out the lights. I guess I am pretty tired, because I didn’t even make a sound. Sometimes I fuss for a few minutes but never very long. I guess mommy doesn’t like that Ferber guy very much so she just waits until I’m good and tired and it usually works out ok. At least it’s fine when we’re at home but when we stay in a hotel I really try to switch things up on her.

You know, mommy seemed kind of tired today and I’m not sure why because I haven’t gotten her up at night for a couple of weeks now. Hmmm. I think that big wedding in England is happening tonight so maybe if I wake her up tonight she won’t even mind so much? Well, we’ll see what the night briiinngggsszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

-Ainsley

Packrats Anonymous

2011-04-27T21:54:00.000-07:00

I think I have always been a "packrat."

I consider it a side effect of my sincere, severe sentimentality. I hold on to things because of the memories they evoke and because so many times I've had those "I'm so glad I kept this" moments.

As a result, I've had some of my "stuff" scattered at various places around town. My old ten-speed bike and prom dresses were at my grandparents' house. My wedding gown and every newspaper story I wrote in the year I worked full-time for the Pekin Times were stowed away at my dad's house. My old dollhouse and speech trophies are still waiting for me to recover them from my dad's old house, where my former stepmom still lives.

But since losing my dad and my grandpa and having to pack up and clean out both of their homes, I think I might be turning over a new leaf. Fresh off of the two-week stint of emptying out and dividing up my dad's belongings, we rented a dumpster for our own house and have been steadily emptying and re-organizing our basement.

It is a project that has been five years in the making. The basement was literally the first place we started moving stuff to when our house was inhabitable, and much of what was down there really shouldn't have been, or shouldn't have been saved at all. But we didn't have time for proper weeding out when we moved so we just got it in and figured we'd do it later.

Later finally came. And not a moment too soon, because Edgar and I both were getting anxiety attacks any time we had to go in the basement for even the simplest of things. Not only were things not organized in what had become our dumping ground, but the chaos had been exacerbated by frequent floodings that had us scurrying to move stuff out of water and to dry ground, wherever that might be.

So we dug in and took our time and now we happily walk into the basement with a bounce in our step. Not only do I know where things are, I also now have a place to put things. Earlier today I noticed a stray winter decoration and a card table sitting in the guest room/office. No problem... I now know just where they can go in the basement! I was practically giddy as I put them away.

But even better than the organization we have created is the feeling of freedom from having let go of "stuff." We've thrown the broken and unsafe and unusable into the dumpster. We've created a section of basement dedicated to "garage sale" or "just plain donation" stuff. I even went through old boxes of mementos and got serious about what I really need to save. Maybe it's the image of my kids having to do what I have just done - twice in the past six months - but suddenly the corsages from high school dances in the ziploc bag seemed just well, silly. I threw away dozens of photographs - previously a big no-no in my mind, but they really are starting to overwhelm. Plus, I know there are duplicates (and sometimes triplicates) of them already sitting in boxes waiting to be organized "someday."

Don't get me wrong, I'm still sentimental. And it does sometimes pay off.

In a photo album, I found this - right where I knew it would be, although the album itself has been buried and somewhat MIA since we moved here.

(Ok, having trouble uploading a picture but keep reading and you'll get the idea!)

It is a letter written by my dad and given to me on my Confirmation Day in 1989.

It is three pages long, typed - and much of his prose is devoted to the subject of death and more specifically, life after death. Here is some of what he had to say:

"I KNOW that there is life after what we know as death. Life after death is a TRUTH. Consider this: What we come to know as TRUTHS in this life is largely a result of opposites... of converses. For instance: to really experience happiness, we must experience unhappiness. To know joy, we must know sadness.

And what of this thing we call death? Well, without LIFE, there could be no DEATH. That is a TRUTH. I am convinced that the converse is also a TRUTH... that without DEATH there can be no LIFE."

Anyone who heard my eulogy for my dad may remember I quoted C.S. Lewis from "The Shadowlands" about how the pain now is part of the joy then, that's "the deal." It was one of my dad's favorite movies and was actually introduced to him by me when I performed an excerpt of the play for Speech competitions in high school. Interestingly though, "Shadowlands" came to us years after he had written the letter.

I'm sure it goes without saying what this letter means to me. I have a few letters my dad wrote me over the years, but this one has the most depth. I almost felt him reaching across the divide that currently separates us as I read this letter again.

Reminding me, teaching me, comforting me... helping to heal me.

He wrote, "God has given you many blessings, not the least of which is an excellent mind. You have wit, you have musical talent and appreciation. You are a caring and loving and giving person. You show a genuine concern for those around you and you possess a conviction to be of help... to make a difference. I have watched you grow in your maturity of faith, through instruction. I have watched you grow in maturity of judgment through experience. And I have come to realize that one of the many blessings God has bestowed upon me is a daughter named Shannon."

He says at the beginning that the letter will be "heavy stuff." And it definitely is. But in case this is just too emotional, here's something else he wrote:

"In a certain sense, confirmation is a rite of passage into adulthood. There will be others. Your first REAL love of another human being as a helpmate, a partner, a spouse. Your first full sexual experience. Your first hangover. (I assume these all to be future experiences, but it doesn't matter.)

This letter is one of my treasures, and tonight it's being moved from the photo album to a safer location.

Sometimes it really pays to be a packrat.

Another Lion King kind of Day...

2011-04-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

This past week has been a hard one for me.

The sale of my dad's house - after hitting a few minor bumps along the way - really looks like it will happen. My sister, who had been living there since he died, bought her own house and moved out last weekend. So over the past week I have finally been going through the task of cleaning out and cleaning up the home my dad created and enjoyed the last three years of his life.

I don't know how anyone ever does this soon after a death. I am eternally grateful that time has cushioned the blow, but of course it still stings.

Countless times over the past week, I have picked up something and thought, "wow... this is a (fill in the blank here.) I'll bet most women wouldn't know what it is. I'll bet my dad is proud to see that I was paying attention!"

Other times, I pick something up and think, "what the *&^%^&** is this?"

Or... "why did he need 34546765 of these?"

By far the most dangerous though is when I open a new drawer or peek into a different box and think, "why yes... it makes perfect sense to keep a box of 1000 sticks. I'll take them home, I'm sure I'll need them someday and now I'll have them!" (This is my story for about 80% of what I'm bringing in to my house and I'm not ashamed to say it!)

That last statement is proof positive of the old saying, "I am my father's daughter."

For some people, going through clothes and jewelry may be the hardest part of a job like this.

For me, it was going through my dad's workshop.

In every house I ever lived in or spent time in with my dad - growing up when my parents were still married, during my teen years when he was married to my stepmom, and then this last house where he moved just a few years ago - my dad had a workshop.

It was his retreat, his sanctuary. It was where he kept his tools and supplies neat and organized and ready at the call for action. Whatever it was that I needed fixing, he would take it to his shop and give it a go. 99% of the time he was successful in either a total repair, or enough of a repair to add some extra life. I never despaired over anything broken because just knowing my dad would try to fix it made it seem somehow fine.

As I grew older and moved out, his workshops became the place where he could help fix me. I would sit in the swivel bar chair while he tinkered around working on small projects or a model airplane or just organizing his stuff. While his hands were busy, his ears and mind were solely focused on me and the problem or issue at hand. If he could offer tangible help, he would. If all he could offer was a hug and support, he gave that too. Advice was doled out frequently in those workshops.

As a small child, I remember the incubators full of pheasant eggs in his workshop. As a young adult, I remember sitting with him in there and telling him that my boyfriend had stolen money from me and was cheating on me. Once, I sat in that chair thinking I might be pregnant and would take a test in the morning - but I didn't say anything to him just yet. And in that last shop, we talked about life and marriage and divorce and well, just stuff. Big stuff, small stuff, important stuff, trivial stuff.

Several months after my dad died, I stopped by his house one day to collect a few tools we needed from his workshop. Edgar wanted to go and buy them at Menard's instead. I resisted, and insisted it was silly to spend that money when there were some sitting there, available and ready. So I stepped inside the shop for the first time since he had died and instantly felt an overwhelming sense of loss. He was gone. Really, truly, gone.

On the workbenches that he had designed and built himself sat the tools he had been using to make our front door. Untouched since the day he had laid them down were tubes of caulking, a pair of pliers, and some notepad pages with his measurements scrawled across them. There was still sawdust on the floor and his "City of Pekin" hat hanging where he had left it. Fishing lures for his trips to Canada were sitting out - he always started going through them in the late fall to prepare for the next summer's trip. So many harsh visual reminders that he was gone.

That was one of the times I had what was probably best described as a hyperventilating, gut-wrenching, soul-aching meltdown. The empty place in my heart is something I have come to live with, but every now and then it makes its presence physically painfully known.

From that day on, I avoided his workshop when I could. My procrastinating self knew I had time to go through and clean things out, so I put it off. I knew it would be the hardest room to pack up, why rush?

So for the past week, the work has been stepped up. With a deadline (the closing) looming, I am finally motivated to get it done. Yesterday I spent the entire day working at the house and I noticed that subconsciously, I am only able to work in the shop for so long before I have to go find something else to focus on. But even in bits and pieces, the shop is now almost empty. All of the tools and extra odds and ends and "better save this just in case" items have been divvied up, given away, or in some cases even thrown away. Every single time I throw away something I say "sorry dad." I've kept what's important to me and a lot of things that were important to him but of course I just can't keep it all.

So what does ANY of this have to do with "The Lion King?"

I went back to work on the house this afternoon, but I have to admit my heart wasn't in it. We're nearing the finish line after Saturday's marathon day of cleaning and clearing out and I'm just exhausted. The finality is hard to bear and each hour I spend in his now mostly empty house is just another hour I'm reminded of the loss. It feels good to be doing something for him - it feels like I'm helping him out and fulfilling a responsibility as his daughter - but after this, there won't be any "projects" that will fill that void. The business is sold, both buildings he owned are now sold, and from here on out the work I will do "for" him is primarily financial in nature. I was going through the motions.

And then, my phone rang. It was the husband of a couple I had agreed to be a doula for and his wife was in labor. I could hear her in the background and I could hear a faint glimmer of need in his otherwise calm voice as he described for me what was happening. They wanted me to come to their house as soon as I could and help them navigate the next phase.

So I closed the garage door and locked up the house and drove to this couple's home, where I greeted them and focused on the scene before me.

Just a little over two hours later, I had the unbelievable honor of watching as this little baby girl came earthside into the joyous arms of her parents.

I watched from behind the camera lens as the mother handed the baby to the father, and I snapped away as he cuddled and kissed her. When his emotions took over, I cried along with him.

As I look now at the photos, I realize that I really focused in on the father during this birth. As a doula, I have been trained to focus on the mother but this time it's clear my eye was more on him.

Another father and daughter, just beginning their journey together.

When I close my eyes, I can see the days stretched out before them... working together in the garden, learning to ride a bike, him teaching her about tools and listening as she talks about boys. I hope that one day he will walk her down the aisle.

I hope he is able to fix things for her.

And yes, I hope that one day she will feel an emptiness in her soul when he is no longer earthside with her.

My dad loved the movie "The Lion King" and he talked a lot about the circle of life. He taught it to me through words and experience.

He continues to teach it to me today. For every end, there is a beginning. In every bulb, a flower. Unrevealed until its season... something God alone can see.

It was a good day.

Ainsley's Home Birth - Finding the Sun

2011-03-31T21:57:00.001-07:00

When we got married, I said I wanted to have four kids. I think Edgar thought I would change my mind. After 12 years of marriage, he now knows better - some may call it stubbornness but I prefer to think of it as stoic determination. :) Even after our first three children were born, I always felt like our family was missing someone. I was right. (Something else my husband has learned a thing or two about in the past 12 years. LOL!) Here is the story as I wrote it just before Ainsley's First Birthday this past January. Warning: there are some details that some might consider fairly graphic. If you've ever been at a birth at all, you should be just fine!

Dear Ainsley,

I have wanted to record the story of your birth since the very moment you entered our world. I wanted so badly to record every single thought and memory I had and I knew if I didn’t do it soon afterwards, many of those memories could be lost. So I wanted to do it soon, but it just didn’t work out that way.

Instead, it is almost 12:30am on April 2 and in just 4 days, you will be three months old. You’re sleeping on the floor and the house is quiet, so I thought I should take advantage of this opportunity to put it into writing.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, back when we found out you would be joining our family. It had only been about 5 months since my dad died, and I was really struggling to find my way in a world where he no longer existed. As you grow, I will teach you everything I can about your “Papa T” and so I am confident you will have a full understanding of the impact his death had on me. It is a loss I know I will never heal from, and those first few months after he died were especially hard for me. I struggled to be the mother and wife I wanted to be, and the daughter and “successor trustee” I wanted to be. I began to learn all kinds of legal things and waded my way through logistics and paperwork I never wanted to deal with. I got my insurance licenses so I could carry on with my dad’s business, but I never felt as though I was finding the right path.

Then, the Saturday night before Mother’s Day of that year, I posted on an internet board about some strange symptoms I was having. I even joked that if I were reading about someone else, I might suspect they were pregnant. A woman on that board named Nicole has become pretty well-known in our internet community for being able to see into the future, so when she suggested I get a pregnancy test I took her at her word. I got one and took it that night, and couldn’t believe it when I saw the result.

Instantly, I believed with all my heart that you had been sent here by my dad, to help me heal my pain and to help me find my way once again. One day just a few weeks later I felt a calmness come over me and I just knew in that moment that this pregnancy would be ok, that you would be ok, and that your birth would serve a great purpose in my life. I made the decision to sell my dad’s insurance agency, knowing he was trying to help me get back to the life I had before he died. I also felt strongly that you would be a girl, because my dad loved his little girls and he would know how desperately I wanted a second daughter.

Spiritually, the pregnancy with you was a life-changing and transforming positive event. Physically, I struggled through those first few months just as I had in the past. Through days at the pool, a trip to the ADPi Grand Convention in Orlando, and a week at Walt Disney World on a family vacation, I dealt with morning sickness. I tried everything imaginable to cope including ginger, homeopathic remedies, acupuncture, and finally a prescription medication. In the end, what helped the most was time and eventually it passed and I worked hard to enjoy the pregnancy.

In many ways, I think I was more conscious of enjoying that special time with you than I had been before. I expected this to be my last pregnancy, and it was a bit of a bonus one at that (not unplanned or unexpected - there is a difference!) and so I cherished each moment. I spent the second half of the pregnancy working to finalize the sale of the agency and hoping it would be wrapped up before you arrived. We almost made it, but not quite!

Early in the morning of January 5, I noticed I was starting to have contractions about 10 minutes apart. They were mild and reminded me somewhat of the latent labor I had experienced when Aidan was born. I couldn’t sleep and so I paced around the house and then finally sent a text message to Tammy at about 3:30am that I thought I might be in early labor. Because she is a teacher, I knew she needed plenty of notice in order to call in to work and drive down here in time. (Tammy lives in Lake in the Hills.) When your dad woke in the morning I told him I thought things were happening and we made the decision to keep Ethan and Elisabeth home from school. They had only just returned the day before after the Christmas break, and they were very excited that you were finally coming!

However, the contractions seemed to slow down after the business of the morning waking hours and by the time Tammy arrived around 9:30am, I thought it might all have been a “false alarm.” She decided to stay and see what happened, and we spent the day laying around just talking and resting. By that evening I was feeling restless to get out of the house, so Tammy and I went to Starbucks and then out to my grandma and grandpa Shanklin’s house.

Grandpa Shanklin was dying at home, having just been diagnosed on Jan. 1 with late-stage liver cancer. It was another transformational time in our family, and very spiritual to be waiting for your life and his death at the same time. He was still awake and alert that night, and he joked with me again about having not had the baby yet. While we were there, I noticed my contractions seemed to pick up again, and soon they were coming with some regularity.

We drove home (I drove, even though Tammy offered, but they weren’t that intense!) and at 8:55pm I realized it had only been 10 minutes since the last one. I watched the clock and sure enough, they started coming regularly every 10 minutes again. I could feel my adrenaline picking up and at some point we called the midwife to let her know what was happening. I labored in the family room for a while, and a little before 11pm decided to head upstairs and get in the bathtub.

The bathtub offered a lot of pain relief and helped me to relax, and I could tell the labor was intensifying. We called Brande again and asked her to come - no hurry but I wanted her to start making her way to the house. After I talked to her and knew she was on her way, it was like the floodgates opened and my body just barreled into the labor. I got out of the bathtub for a few minutes to use the toilet and quickly realized I was much better off in the water, so I got back in as soon as I could.

That was probably the moment I decided to birth you in the water, although it wasn’t a conscious decision on my part.

(coming back to write the rest many months later, now January 2, and unfortunately I doubt my memory is so clear. :( )

I began to feel very out of control during the contractions, and I wasn’t getting much of a chance to recover between them. They were coming fast and furious and I felt myself struggling more and more to stay on top of them. My friend (part doula, part photographer) Beth arrived and was able to perch herself over the bathtub and do the hip squeeze on me. It gave me so much relief but it was tricky to get into the right position with me in the tub, and I seem to recall that after a few contractions that way I didn’t feel it was helping as much. Brande and her assistant Penny arrived and there was a lot of activity out in the bedroom.

They were setting out the supplies for the birth - both those we had collected (plastic shower curtains, a crock pot for warm water, clean towels) and those that Brande brought with her. I remember thinking to myself that they were doing a lot of unnecessary prep work because I knew by then you were going to be born in the water, but I never said it out loud to anyone else. When the contractions came now, I felt an urge to push through them and so I did. After a few of them that way I told Beth that I was pushing and asked her to relay that to Brande... who of course had already heard me and knew what was happening. She came into the bathroom with these long plastic gloves that went up to her elbows and I knew we were getting close.

By now, I felt a sense of urgency to have you born and remembering a visualization/vocalization I had read in “Birthing from Within,” I started to moan in a low, loud, almost guttural voice “ooooouuuutttttt” during the contractions. It felt natural at the time, but as I look back now at the video of this I often cringe as it seems like I was angry and yelling at you to get out of my body. The reality is that in that moment, every primal instinct in my body was saying it was time for you to come out and the low, deep sound of my voice was a coping mechanism for those last few contractions. Finally, I felt you moving down and I pushed with everything I had - much harder than I remembered pushing for any of my births and on some level I kept wondering if I was even doing it right - when suddenly Brande said, “the head is out.”

I didn’t wait before giving another long, hard push and I felt your shoulders, then your arms, then your belly, knees, and finally your feet come rushing out of my body. I was on my hands and knees and Brande handed you to me back through my legs. I sat back on my thighs and looked up with you held tightly to my chest, saying “Thank you... thank you.” It was a prayer of gratitude to God that the labor and birth were over and that you were in my arms after so many years of waiting.

You were born at 12:50am on Wednesday, January 6, 2010.

Daddy was calling for the big kids to “come see” and there was general surprise and exhiliration in the air as everyone came to the realization that you were here, the baby was out. There was no rush to see if you were a boy or a girl, and it felt like minutes passed as I held you and just enjoyed the moment in its purity. Although it felt like a long time, the video shows it was just a short bit before I leaned you out away from my body and looked down to see if you were a boy or a girl. The umbilical cord was right between your legs and that combined with my deep-rooted desire for a girl made me unsure at first that I was even seeing it right, so I very tentatively announced, “it’s a girl!” to everyone there. When Brande came back in I asked her for confirmation but of course I knew. I had known all along, deep down I just knew and now holding you I couldn’t imagine that you could have ever been anything but. In that moment, I knew I had my little Ainsley girl that I had waited so long for.

After a few more minutes, I turned around to sit down in the tub and with that, the water suddenly turned a dark crimson red. I held you in the water and we put a towel over you and remarked at how perfect you were. We told everyone that your name was Ainsley, but we were still undecided about your middle names. The truth was we knew what they would be, we just hadn’t decided what order to put them in. Ironically, before she left Beth mentioned to me that the last song she remembered hearing on my iPod before you were born was the Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.” That song had become such an anthem for our family and where we were in the grief process that I found myself smiling at the irony and at the same time, not at all surprised to hear it. Beth suggested we name you “Sol” or some other variation of “Sun or Sunshine” for a middle name, and I just smiled because I knew it was already decided.

I was nervous about delivering the placenta but about ten minutes later I stood up to get out of of the tub and before I could step out, gave a little push and out it came. Brande caught it and put it in an ice cream bucket we had lined with saran wrap and then she and Penny helped me walk to the bed. Once we were settled, Elisabeth cut your umbilical cord. I guess this means your birth was also a partial lotus birth... where the cord is not cut until the placenta is delivered. (To this day, your placenta is in our deep freezer and I smile every time I open the door and see it there.)

You were rooting around right from the start, and took to nursing like a true natural. I think you had nursed from one side to the next before we even got a chance to weigh you! One of my favorite parts of the home birth was getting to weigh you using the “fish scale” Brande had brought, although I was surprised when you came in at 6lb. 7oz... making you the second smallest baby when all through the pregnancy I had been so sure you would be the largest! We continued to take video and pictures and laugh and enjoy the moments. Brande and Penny did all the “usual” assessments on you and of course, everything looked great.

By 3am, everyone had gone home, our room and bathroom were cleaned up and back to normal, and the only sign of what had happened just two hours before was the beautiful baby girl cuddled in my arms.

In the days that followed, we had many interruptions to our “baby moon.” You had dangerously high bilirubin levels due to an ABO blood incompatibility and had to be admitted to the NICU in an emergency situation when you were just 48 hours old. Within hours, they were performing a complete exchange transfusion while your dad and I sat a few feet away, feeling helpless and scared and vulnerable. I lived with you in the hospital for 3 days and we were so grateful when you rebounded so quickly. At the time, it felt like one of my worst fears being realized to have to be there but in retrospect, of course it really wasn’t. It wasn’t the start I had hoped for and envisioned for your life, but it was just a bump and we got through it. You were admitted on Friday afternoon and you came home on Monday night. We were so lucky.

Two days later, just one hour short of you turning one week old, your great-grandpa Fred died in his sleep at home. Because you were born at home and the bilirubin issues didn’t manifest right away, we were able to take you to visit with him while he was still conscious and lucid and you were just 12 hours old. I took your picture with him, and I will treasure it always. By the time your hospital ordeal had ended and I could go visit him again, he was unconscious and slipping away from this world. The last time he and I talked together, it was so I could introduce you to him. Your connection runs so deep, I am sure of it. Born and died within a week of each other, both at home. His death and your birth both had so many lessons to teach us all about the circle of life and the importance of respecting and honoring those passages by allowing them to happen as our bodies and nature have both intended. When we made the decision to birth at home, I knew we had made a very spiritual choice but I couldn’t fully understand the impact of that until it all played out in our lives.

I learned so many lessons from your birth. I learned again that birth is a powerful force that cannot be summed up as one experience... it is the transformation of woman into mother, man into father, and bump into living, breathing being. I learned that I am even stronger than I thought I was, and that birth is even more beautiful when you leave it be and let it be. I learned there is a difference between a “natural” hospital birth and a home birth. I learned that we can feel very alone in this world, even when we are surrounded by people who love us... but that there is also great power in that loneliness and rather than fear it, we should embrace it and welcome it.

And I learned again that God does answer prayers. For years I had prayed to be blessed with another child if that was God’s plan for us. I didn’t pray for it, but deep in my soul I wished and longed for another daughter. And to this day, it absolutely takes my breath away that you are here. That I carried you, birthed you, and have the amazing honor of being your mother on this Earth. You have completed our family, and you are sent from heaven... sent by my dad, who won’t ever know you on Earth but does know and love you nevertheless, and sent by God who had planned it this way all along.

In just a few short days, you will turn one year old. The memories of your birth and the days that followed have already started to fade with time. But the intensity of your place in our family is secure and strong and our love for you continues to grow. We love you Ainsley Rose Sunshine!

Wow, how time flies

2011-03-31T21:40:00.000-07:00

So, I'm blogging again.

There, I said it. I made it official and after I post this I'm going to let others know.

I'm making a commitment.

It's funny to see that it has been almost exactly two years since I last posted an entry. Ironically, it was Election Day that had inspired me that day and here I am, starting at another Election Day just around the corner. The first time we will elect a Mayor since my dad was re-elected four years ago.

Four years ago. How is that possible? For that matter, how have 2 years passed here?

Funny that I didn't seem to take my own advice. I know (and knew) that I needed to journal more. But doing it was just a commitment and let's be honest, I was in no place 2 years ago to commit to much. It's interesting to look back on those last few posts though and realize that although it seldom feels like it, I AM making progress on this crazy grief ride.

Oh, it's still a roller coaster. And this week has been full of some unexpected twists and turns. But I've felt my dad beside me through it all and when I doubted, he sent me little signs to remind me.

The major change in our life of course came in the form of sunshine... and the best kind of sunshine you could possibly get. Funny that I last posted about being so tired in the mornings... I didn't know it at the time, but of course there was a reason for that. Her name is Ainsley and she is my "rainbow" baby. (No offense intended to my friends who have lost babies as that term is generally reserved for them. In this case, I hope they'll understand my use of it.)

Had she been a boy, we had planned to name her Noah because she was the light after the storm. But the truth is, I always knew she was a girl. And it was a beautiful moment that cold January morning when she entered the world and proved me right. (More on Ainsley's birth to come in another post.)

In any case... here we are, back to another Election Day. Time moves on, whether we like it or not and whether we feel ready or not. I've been working on another person's campaign - someone I know my dad would support and feel very happy about. I find myself, these days, trying to maintain his legacy while foraging ahead with figuring out my own. Some days I find the balance. Others I don't. It's all ok.

I still miss my dad every single day. I am grateful for the people who have taken the time in the past few weeks - out of nowhere (and one of them was a stranger) to tell me they miss him too. They were worried about saying the words, didn't want to make me cry. Believe me, I'd rather shed a few tears and know I'm not alone. Some days, I still feel very alone.

I really am going to try to blog more. I've said it and committed to it, so there it is. I think I need it. And my life doesn't feel so stuck in grief anymore so I hope I can find interesting snippets to write about. We all have a "story" - and this is mine. Picked up from 2 years ago and moving forward. I think it's time.

Thanks for reading!

Shannon

Election Day

2009-04-07T09:28:00.000-07:00

Today is election day in our city.

It also happens to be the first election since my dad died.

I expected to be a bit more emotional as I stepped into the polling booth, but this turned out to be one of those moments that you expect to be hard, but really isn't in reality. I'm sure it would have been different if he had been on the ballot of course, but today's election only represents what was to have been the half-way point in his term.

Even so, my dad was so interested in this election and how it was going to change the face of our city council with three of the six seats up for election. He was so excited by the possibilities and some of the prospects of who he'd get to work with.

It's so hard to believe he isn't here to see it play out.

He did vote in the Presidential election last November. Interestingly, he decided to vote early one day after he got frustrated with a friend who was pushing him to vote for Obama. (He didn't, he went and voted for McCain.) At the time he told me, "you just never know... I might get busy and tied up with stuff on election day, at least this way I know I've voted."

His heart attack was Nov. 1, he was in the hospital on Election Day - but his vote counted.

It's hard to believe that it has been just a short two years since his own re-election as mayor. We worked so long and so hard on that campaign and for as long as I live, I will never forget the night he won. It didn't all end the way we had hoped, but I am eternally grateful that he was doing the job he loved when he died.

I will never look at a campaign sign or step into a voting booth again without thinking of my father.

But today, it felt really good to vote for the "next generation," so to speak... to vote for the people who are going to carry forward with the work my dad devoted so much of his life to.

It was a small step, but it was a step forward.

Waiting for the Sun

2009-04-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

Today is a better day.

The sun is shining and I slept until noon (with the kids right next to me playing the Wii on mute... LoL!) and now have a couple of windows open. It's amazing how fresh air can make you feel.

Sadly, the forecast for tomorrow does not look good for open windows... and so it goes again. Just when I start to feel like I'm getting somewhere, another setback.

It's as if the weather is a metaphor for grieving. Two steps forward, and then at least one and maybe three steps back.

This winter has been for me - both literally and figuratively, the longest winter of my life.

My father had his heart attack and went in to the hospital on what was literally the last nice day we had before winter hit. When it came, it struck with a vengeance - taking our breath away with its fierceness.

We teased my dad about the change in weather and its correspondence to his hospitalization, and how he wasn't going to believe the difference when he got out. He hated winter, and we figured that at least this way he was missing out on having to deal with the time of year he so dreaded. We were trying to be optimistic, and still so full of hope.

We had no idea how much colder and darker the days were going to get.

As my dad's hospitalization passed through Thanksgiving and into December and then took its sudden turn for the worse, the weather also continued to only get worse.

Appropriately enough, the sun was shining through a crisp, clear sky on the morning my dad passed away. We had waited through days of dreariness... told over and over again that we should "come right away" because the moment was near.

At least four times over the course of the 9 days he was in a medically-induced coma, we rushed to the hospital through the dreary clouds and wind.

But on the day the call was for real, the sun shone so brightly. It was so beautiful. And I thought to myself, "of course... I should have known. He was waiting for a day like today."

School was cancelled on the day of my dad's visitation a week later due to snow and ice, and things weren't much better by the funeral the next day. It made travel treacherous and even impossible for some.

It matched my mood perfectly.

Even in that though, there are two things that stand out to me, comments made during the visitation that wove together the weather and my dad.

The ice storm that had hit overnight before the visitation had left everything in the city covered in a thin sheet of ice. Tree branches dripped frozen icicles and as the sun shone down, everything looked like it was covered in brilliant diamonds.

I knew that at any other time, I would think it was beautiful.

I don't remember who, but at the visitation someone told me that the icicles everywhere seemed to him as though our whole city was shrouded in tears for my father.

Beautiful.

Someone else said they couldn't help but think that as beautiful as the city looked that day... my dad *always* saw Pekin that way. He always saw the beauty and the good and thought it an almost magical place.

He was right.

This winter has dragged on and sometimes I wonder if it's just my state of mind, but I know that even in a literal sense, it's been a bad one. A few weeks ago I took my kids to play in the sand at the lake near our house, last weekend six inches of snow were dumped on that sand.

My dad loved spring, and this year I can't help but feel it keeps eluding me. I need it, I need it more than I think I've ever needed it in my life. But a part of me is a little afraid too, because it will seem like such tangible proof that my dad is gone.

So I'm going to try to soak up the little teases I do get and continue to try to be patient waiting for the real spring to arrive and fervently hope it will bring with it some of the healing I am so desperate to feel.

2009-04-03T12:03:00.001-07:00

My best friend, who happens to know a thing or two about grieving, suggested to me this past weekend that I should be journaling more.

I know she's right. But the thing about grief is that sometimes it's so exhausting just getting through the necessary "to-do" items for the day that it's hard to even entertain the idea of doing anything "extra," much less doing it.

Right now, anything "extra" in my world is defined as something that neither me nor my children is dependent upon for breathing and staying alive. Yes, that means my husband is kind of on his own!

We are heading into the four-month mark and there's something about this particular milestone. I remember reading it after Natalee had died, and trying to give Tammy ample warning. For some reason, I kind of forgot about it for myself until just recently.

The four-month phenomenon goes something like this: Four months have now passed since the death of your loved one. In that time, it's likely you've even gotten through the first significant holiday or other event without them. Other people who are close to you, but were not necessarily as close to the loved one, have moved on into their normal lives and are, on a subconscious level, anxious for you to do so as well. Certain behaviors, actions, and feelings that were ok in the weeks following the death are suddenly starting to seem odd. After all, it's been FOUR months.

A few weeks ago, a man I do not know wrote a very nice letter to the editor about my dad. The next morning I tried to read it to my kids - to illustrate to them another part of their grandfather's legacy - but could not get through the words without crying.

My 6-year old daughter, usually very sensitive and intuitive, said to me, "Isn't it about time we get moving on from this?"

I was stunned. Sometimes, as a parent, it's like a double-whammy in the grieving process and I guess that's something I don't feel some of family or friends really understand. In that moment, I needed to teach her about grieving - while dealing with my own. So I tried to explain to her that grief has no timeline and that it's ok if she's feeling better and not so sad, but I'm just not yet. And it's all ok. She immediately wanted to just drop the discussion, and was obviously remorseful she'd said anything at all. Now that's acting just like an adult.

Last week I attended the memorial service for my aunt, my dad's sister. When will I be able to get off this ride? She died March 19th, just about 3 months after my dad, after a brave battle with cancer. Her memorial service was beautiful and touching, but I don't think I've ever felt so emotionally removed from a situation that I should have been in touch with.

As I watched the video of pictures of her life play, my heart broke at seeing pictures of my dad. And my grandpa. And my grandma. And now my aunt. All such had such a huge presence in my childhood, in shaping me, in creating the person I am today. And all of them are gone. And I need and want them all HERE still. I felt like I was standing outside a window looking in at a life that couldn't possibly be mine. How is it possible to have everything I wanted in my life and still be so miserable and lonely?

I'm not in a good place right now, but there's really no place for that in daily life. When people ask how I'm doing I try to be honest but the truth is noone has time to hear it all. And everyone has their own life problems and issues to deal with, including grief. I'm hoping that by recognizing the depths I'm sinking to, I'm taking the first step in climbing back out. I never expected it to be an easy or short road - and truly the loneliness is the only thing that has caught me by surprise.

When Natalee died, I was angry with people around me who were having babies and just assuming everything would be ok. It got so that I stopped seeking out friends who were pregnant, because I just felt so frustrated with them. Now I find those same feelings starting to surface again... toward friends and family who are just going on with their lives exactly as they've expected to. Nothing about my life is what I expected it to be six months ago and none of it has truly been by my choosing. And it continues on.

I've been giving some of my friends a hard time about upcoming vacations... it seems like 3/4 of everyone I know is headed somewhere sunny and warm for spring break. And the truth is, most of them need a vacation every bit as badly as I do - they also need a break from the strains and stresses of family illnesses and other stressful life events. In some ways, knowing that we all share those burdens is even more depressing. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being jealous, I would love nothing more than to escape this town for a few days and leave my worries behind - as much as one can anyway. But even that is not up to me, and a vacation right now is just not possible unless I feel up to doing it on my own with the kids. And THAT doesn't sound like much of a vacation, does it?

So here I am... trying to process all of this, struggling to get out of bed on the days I have nowhere to go and resentful of the days I have somewhere to go because I can't have time to myself and the life I used to know.

So there ya go Tammy, I journaled it.

Dreams

2009-01-21T06:39:00.000-08:00

I believe very strongly in symbolism. I believe that everything has meaning, and that if you are open and receptive, you'll see it.

I also believe that souls carry on, and I believe in eternal life and the connection between this world and the world that exists after death.

I happen to believe in Christianity too, and of course these two things are connected.

My dad believed all of these things too. My dad was never overly-zealous about his religious beliefs. Many people who knew him well did not even know how very deeply religious he was. And while his conviction was strong, he also did not pass judgment on those who didn't agree. He worried about friends and family who did not believe in the tenets of Christianity. Not because he was worried about their souls and where they were destined to spend eternity - because he knew there is a certain kind of comfort and peace that covers you like a shroud even during the darkest of times, if you do believe. He worried about how those who didn't believe in an everlasting life could possibly get through the difficult times of loss.

My father's death has not shaken my faith. In many ways, it has strengthened it. I talked to my dad a lot in his last few days (this was a one-sided conversation but I know he could hear me, on some level...) and I talked about how I would need him to see me through these times. I told him I would be watching for signs... things that would comfort me with the knowledge of his presence in my life, despite our physical separation. I didn't need them for proof, only for encouragement.

In the days immediately following his death, it became a standard joke in my house that I was "overlooking" the signs he was sending me. We frequently see deer where we live, but usually in groups and always only does. The night my dad died, I happened to look out our front window and saw a single buck standing in our front yard.

The following day as I was riding with my mom to the mall, we passed under a tunnel of sparrows - thousands and thousands of them that had filled the road and then lifted up like a large sheet as we passed beneath. It was something I had never seen before.

On Sunday, as I sat by the fireplace lamenting the lack of "signs" I had received from my father, a sympathy card fell from the mantle and hit me in the head. My husband joked, "there's your sign.." and then I remembered the deer, and the birds, and the bright sun that shone as my dad slipped away and the large moon that hung in the sky that night (the closest the moon will be to earth probably ever again in my lifetime was that night) and I laughed. Sometimes we don't see the forest for the trees, do we?

I felt content. I could almost hear my dad saying, "I sent you the deer, the birds... come on now I'm busy up here trying to meet people! I'm here. You KNOW I'm here."

A few days after my dad's funeral, I woke up in the middle of the night. I was awake, not dreaming, and I suddenly felt as though my dad was in the room. I felt him so strongly, and as the realization swept through me I heard his voice - clear as day - say, "Good-bye." Suddenly, I felt him leave.

The next morning, I felt angry about the experience.

I have not yet had one of those moments so many people describe where I momentarily forget he is gone and have the urge to call him or expect to see him coming through the door. Instead, I am painfully aware every moment of every day that he is gone.

So in frustration I asked, "why GOOD-BYE? Good-bye is painfully obvious to me right now, I GET that. Why couldn't you have used that amazing opportunity to say something, anything else?"

And then I realized that while I had the chance - many of them actually - to tell him good-bye, he had not. The part of his illness that took his life came on very fast and in the effort to treat him, he was medically sedated into a coma. There was no time when that happened to say good-bye. And even though there was nothing left unsaid between us and a deep level of understanding, I know he still would have wanted to say the words.

Last night, as I said my bedtime prayers, I again asked for guidance and direction from not only God, but from my dad as well. I drifted off to sleep and was startled awake just minutes later from a very real-feeling dream. I was sitting in my dad's office working at his desk and he came around the corner and said, "well... hi there!"

As I saw him, a feeling rushed over me... and I thought to myself, "there you are!" as if he had been lost. I felt such relief - not that his death had been a mistake or a misunderstanding, but that he was there to help me through.

There is comfort in these dreams and in these signs, but there is some distress as well. They make me aware of feelings and issues that lie far beneath the surface, beyond the abilities of consciousness. They force me to deal with those issues even when the more mundane tasks of everyday living need to be accomplished. They make me grieve at the most unexpected moments and remind me that I am only in control to the extent that the universe deems it.

I am wading my way through. Sometimes a day at a time, sometimes an hour at a time.

But I know that while he is gone, my dad is still very much with me.

The Bamboo

2009-01-06T15:47:00.000-08:00

A year and a half ago, my mom and I bought bamboo at the Pekin Marigold Festival.

Mine was two stalks actually, held together with twisty ties to make a sort of heart near the top.

The bamboo has sat in a little vase next to my kitchen sink ever since. A couple of times a week I refill the water - to just root level, per the directions. With no more attention or care from me, they have flourished.

Everything in my life has been total chaos since mid-October. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition came to town and my dad and I dove in, anxious to be a part of it all. Just about a week after the big "move that bus" day, our church had its annual Pancake and Sausage event. We met my dad, who joined us for pancakes after his shift making them was finished. We had a nice talk, good quality family time together.

On the way out, my dad put his hand on my shoulder to guide me first through the door, ahead of him. As he touched me, I felt a shock go through my body. Not an electrical shock, a shock of realization... in that moment, I was certain something was going to happen to my dad that day.

Around 3pm he called me and I missed the call. I decided to wait to call him back, but 15 min. later his neighbor called. My dad was in trouble, she had called an ambulance.

That was the beginning of a very long story that unfortunately, has no happy ending. For the next six weeks my life was consumed with traveling to the hospital, talking to doctors, and enduring the endless roller coaster of emotions. Things around the house started to change, or become amplified. Laundry was behind - way behind. There was more fast food and carryout for dinner than even before.

One of the bamboo stalks started to show signs of distress. I changed the water, made sure the level was right... did all the things I'd done before. As the weeks went by, the bamboo got worse. Only one though - the other continued to hold its own, still tied to the struggling bamboo and showing some signs of stress but largely doing ok.

Until early December, I truly believed my dad would recover. I truly believed he would be home for Christmas. But things took a bad turn and after all it had been through, his body could not stand up to a horrible infection.

After 8 days in a medically-induced coma and 10 days after our last actual conversation, my dad slipped away. As I type the words, I still cannot believe they are true. But I am painfully aware of this every moment - every second - of every day. He is gone.

The second stalk of the bamboo is gone too, browned and wilted and dry - it looks nothing like it did just a few months ago when it was growing strong and healthy.

But it is still tied to the stalk that is thriving. I took off the twisty ties and tried to separate them, but their roots are intertwined. They are still joined together, they are still a part of each other. The heart shape they formed is broken, so they aren't together like they were. And yet the thriving stalk is finding a way to go on.

Yesterday the kids returned to school, Edgar returned to work and for the first time since mid-October, I got a glimpse of our "normal" life. Normal is re-defined now, of course. Nothing here is the same.

Including the bamboo.

Edit: Today a friend pointed out to me that this was posted exactly one year before Ainsley's birth. I find that amazing, and the message is so clear.

Sadly, I no longer have the bamboo. Although the second piece continued to flourish for many more months, it did eventually die. Again, I don't think I ever cared for it any differently, but I think it is still symbolic - despite my efforts, fate intervened. Eventually, there are certain things that we have to let go of - including in some respects, the people we used to be. It was a hard day when I threw away that bamboo, but I recognized it as a positive step in my healing as well. It was ok to let it go. There was a baby on the way. Nothing is the same. I am not the same, he is not the same. But we are still connected.

In many ways, I've just had to start over. I've had to build a new relationship with my dad.

So this year maybe I'll buy another bamboo.

Oct. 15th: Remembering Our Babies

2008-10-14T20:13:00.001-07:00

In loving memory of my beautiful goddaughter Natalee...

and of my cousin Cole...

and the others who have touched my heart and my life in some way but were taken too soon (it's a sobering, long list...)

and those who lost babies they never got to know...

and especially in honor of their courageous and forever heartbroken parents.

Please light a candle on Wednesday, Oct. 15th in Remembrance and in recognition of this national day of reflection.

My best friend and hero Tammy sent this to me earlier and I wanted to pass it along:

Bereaved Parents Wish List:

1. I wish my child hadn't died. I wish I had him back.

2. I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was very important to me. I need to hear that he was important to you also.

3. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt me. My child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child, and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.

4. I wish you wouldn't "kill" my child again by removing his pictures, artwork, or other remembrances from your home.

5. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you now more than ever.

6. I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child, my favorite topic of the day.

7. I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child's death pains you too. I wish you would let me know those things through a phone call, a card or note, or a real big hug.

8. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day I die.

9. I am working very hard in my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my child, and I will always grieve that he is dead.

10. I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy." Neither will happen for a very long time, so don't frustrate yourself.

11. I don't want to have a "pity party," but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal.

12. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it's miserable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.

13. When I say "I'm doing okay," I wish you could understand that I don't "feel" okay and that I struggle daily.

14. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.

15. Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent advice. However, a day is too much and too fast for me right now. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle an hour at a time.

16. Please excuse me if I seem rude, certainly not my intent. Sometimes the world around me goes too fast and I need to get off. When I walk away, I wish you would let me find a quiet place to spend some time alone.

17. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my child died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my child died, and I will never be that person again.

18. I wish very much that you could understand: understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain.

BUT I pray daily that you will never understand.

Just an Update...

2008-10-14T20:11:00.001-07:00

Just a quick note that I had to have Kelsey put to sleep two weeks ago today, on Sept. 30th.

It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but it was done out of love and when the time was right. I am grateful for every moment I had with her.

Sophie, a kitten from my aunt's farm, has joined our family. Now that she's figuring out the litterbox, I think we'll let her stay. :)

My Life with Kelsey

2008-09-19T07:21:00.000-07:00

On the Friday before my college graduation, I moved into my first apartment. On the Monday after, I started my first job at the Daily Times and after that first day of work, I made a trip to one of our local animal shelters "just to see" if they had any kittens.

They did, and after playing with several of them, I picked a beautiful little black one and decided to adopt her. I took her straight to my dad's house, where my little sister helped me settle on the name "Kelsey." That same night she decided to try jumping off of my dad's top deck and I got my first glimpse of what motherhood would be about as I flew downstairs to get her, heart racing and not knowing what I would find. She was only about 8 weeks old but she made that leap unscathed, and we embarked on our long journey together.

When I met the man I would eventually marry, he was allergic to cats. Just coming into my apartment was enough to get his eyes and nose running like faucets. But I knew he really liked me because he kept coming over and occasionally I would even catch him petting Kelsey. When we made the decision for me to move to California to live with him, I was torn about what to do with Kelsey. He said to me, "You are moving across the country and leaving all of your friends and family behind. Please, bring your cat." Not that I had ever doubted it, but I knew for sure then that he really loved me.

We drove across the country together with Kelsey in the backseat (she even got to see the Grand Canyon!) and settled into life in Monterey. Kelsey liked to sneak out the kitchen window and made fast friends with the next-door neighbor, Mr. Q. When we moved to our second apartment she and the landlord had a hate-hate relationship because she liked to leave little footprints on his precious car. He was a hateful man, I'm glad she did it.

While in Monterey we added Taylor to our kitty family, and Kelsey suddenly became the older, calmer cat. Kelsey learned to share my attention, although I don't think she's ever liked it.

Eventually of course, we would move back to Pekin and see other cats come and go into our family. And our people family expanded as well - Kelsey curiously checked out all three of the babies we brought home to her. Once those babies got a little older and gentler in their touch, she even warmed up to them.

So many memories, so many years - and yet in the end, so little time.

A few weeks ago I noticed Kelsey had lost a significant amount of weight and suddenly seemed to withdraw from the family. I took her to the vet, who decided to keep her for some emergency treatment. Five days later we brought her home and while her personality had rebounded, her body just hasn't followed suit. She still rubs against my hand and purrs when I pet her, but she can no longer jump up on the couch to get to me and has trouble walking without wobbly legs. While she continues to eat and drink, she has lost half of her body weight since May.

All of this happened the same week our third cat and most recent family addition disappeared from our home. He came to us as a stray kitten in May and added so much life and vitality to the house - every bit the playful, ornery kitten who was always getting into something and making a mess somewhere.

That's why all of this feels like a double loss - we lost the youth and vitality Oreo had brought into the house and have now a cat we are trying to provide love and comfort to in her last days.

I don't know how much longer Kelsey will be with me. I can't imagine my life without her. She has been a part of my entire adult life and suddenly it doesn't seem I've done enough for her.

I always knew, of course, that this day would come. And I always expected that taking her to the vet to have her put to sleep (I hate that term btw, but can't think of a better one right now anyway...) would be difficult. But it's not the "how" that is so hard, it's the "when." I don't want to miss out on any time with her, but I don't want to wait so long that she is in pain. And by now, I realize that we are not prolonging life so much as we are prolonging death.

In the midst of my own grief, I'm also trying to help my children through this. While we do have one other cat, she is not friendly to *anyone* so my kids have essentially lost both of their cats - both of their pets - this month. We're getting a good lesson in growing old and in dying, but I'm struggling a bit to explain it all and to know how to help them best. Better to let them say good-bye or not? I'm leaning toward yes of course, but it depends on the timing. Better to get a new kitten sooner or later? I've already explained euthanasia to my oldest, but what do I say to the two youngest? Mostly I'm just sticking with the honesty policy, and we've talked very openly about how our time with Kelsey is so limited and what is going to happen soon. The only thing that hurts worse than my own heartbreak is watching my daughter's.

So, my heart is so heavy today and my burden feels so consuming. I'm watching her closely and praying for guidance so that I can do what's best for her.

It is, in every sense of the phrase, the very least I can do.

I'm really going to miss her.

Thanks, Salty Sam

2008-08-28T08:14:00.000-07:00

Recently there's been some media attention here over a story that tugs at the heartstrings of many central Illinois residents who grew up in the 1960's and 1970's.

It has to do with the Captain Jinks and Salty Sam Show. It has come to light that one of the stars, George Baseleon, is buried in Peoria in an unmarked grave. His family was unable to buy one, and now a fund-raiser is being planned to help funnel the outpouring of public support that has rallied since the story "broke."

I do remember watching the show as a child, but as I've read the memories and history over the past few weeks, I've realized that I really struggle to remember anything *about* the show. I was very young when it was on the air, so for me the memories are really mostly about feelings. But it does go a little further than that too.

For my fourth birthday, my parents took me and a group of my friends to see the Captain Jinks and Salty Sam show at the TV station. This was a very big deal to me, because I hadn't realized that something so glamorous as a TV station was actually within driving distance of our house. (As it turns out, it was only about 10 minutes down the road but I wouldn't figure that out until much later!) It felt so incredibly special to me to be in TV studio. A strange mix of power, performance, and excitement. We were on the air. I didn't know the difference between live and taped TV, and while it was most likely still live even then (would have been 1978) I wouldn't have known the difference, really. I remember sitting in a group of chairs on risers to the side of the "stage." I don't remember any other details, except for the feeling of electricity in the air around me. It was a TV station. WOW.

This was my first TV appearance and my first experience with the world of broadcasting. Years later, I would find I still had that wow feeling when I walked into a TV station. In fact, I still have it today - that sense of walking into a sacred place where special things happen. I worked in television news for just a little short of 5 years, with about half of it on the air. Sure, I was a bit disillusioned by some aspects of the job - but who isn't with any job? Despite that, I never lost that thrill when I saw the red "on air" light turn on. The rush of adrenaline and the anticipation of knowing I was looking at one camera, but communicating with hundreds of thousands of people. And that it was a privilege to be doing so.

For me, that is the legacy of the Captain Jinks and Salty Sam Show. None of us realized it that day we traveled to the station to watch it, but a seed was being planted. In the summer of 1995 I had an internship at the station in the news department. Every morning I would walk to the back of the building, down a long hall, to get to an answering machine that we used for an audience feedback segment. From 1999-2001 I was a full-time reporter there and often walked down that same hallway for other various reasons.

In that hallway was a picture of Captain Jinks and Salty Sam. Every time I saw it, I smiled - and said a little "thank you."

Wrong Number!

2008-08-23T12:09:00.000-07:00

We have been getting a lot of phone calls again lately for Cherise Timmerman and Shawn Rogers.

At least 2-3 a week, on average.

As a general rule, these calls are only a minor annoyance and generally go something like this:

Caller: Can I speak to Cherise Timmerman/Shawn Rogers please?

Me: (sighing inside) I'm sorry but that person is not at this number.

Caller: Do you know where they can be reached?

Me: No, let me explain. I do not know this person. I do, however, know the name because I get phone calls several times a week from people looking for them. Apparently they had this number before we did but I do not know who they are.

Caller: (This part varies from extremely rude "We won't call again" and hanging up to a much nicer, "I'm sorry for bothering you, I'll make a note on the account.")

The note part never seems to really work though, because it's the same companies calling over and over. And sure enough, a day or two later and they'll call again.

Even better than this though, are the recorded messages we get asking us to call back.

???

Who thinks this is a good idea? Does anyone who actually owes someone money really call these companies back?

One in particular is really bad. They show up on the Caller ID as RMI MCSI with a phone number of 708-455-4047. The message does identify them as trying to collect a debt, although other messages from them have alluded to a "municipal issue" they're trying to resolve.

When I call back, the person answers with a "How can I help you?"

Huh? Um, you called me... I'm just returning the call.

So I tell them this and then they ask me to wait a moment (while my number shows up somewhere I guess?) and then inevitably they say they are looking for Cherise Timmerman or Shawn Rogers.

Two days ago I told the guy this was at least the fifth time they have called recently and while I realize he was probably not the one responsible, he needed to get it figured out for me. And I pointed out that each return call I make is long distance.

I just googled this company and I am apparently not alone. I reported my calls and will look into it more later.

This isn't all though, another one of these "please return this call" messages landed me on the phone with a hotel clerk in Costa Rica a few weeks ago. Needless to say, I hung up very quickly but I should look into that more too.

We've also been getting daily phone calls for satellite service (we have it) and healthcare insurance (got that too - pretty good insurance, actually.)

All of this - and we have an unlisted phone number. That, I might add, we changed several years ago because of the weekly phone calls from creditors we were getting for someone else who had our number before us.

Ironic, huh?

Before you ask, no we haven't registered for the do not call list. We haven't really needed to before because the unlisted number seemed to afford us the protection we needed. But I guess the time has come.

And if you know Cherise Timmerman or Shawn Rogers, I'd love to have their current contact information... it's either that, or change the number again!

A New Blog to Read

2008-08-13T11:43:00.000-07:00

I've been light on posting lately, but I do faithfully read a number of blogs and this - Matt, Liz, and Madeline, is a beautiful one.

Warning: you need to start at the beginning (there's a handy link on the right side) and it is sad. But it's poetic and moving and inspirational too, in a sometimes-life-sucks kind of way.

Coincidentally, a good friend of mine just returned from a weekend at "The Farm" where she got to meet Ina May Gaskin - celebrated midwife and revolutionary. She told my friend that the numbers of maternal deaths in childbirth have doubled since 1980 - something way worth researching more.

Don't you... forget about JCPenney

2008-07-31T11:35:00.000-07:00

Has anyone else seen the new JCPenney back to school commercial?

It's a homage to "The Breakfast Club" and it makes me smile every time I see it. (I'd look for it on YouTube and post it here but I haven't been having any luck with that lately...)

I can't help but wonder as I watch it though, where is the cutoff? I mean, obviously my son has no idea that's it's a spoof of a classic movie... so at what age do they make the connection? Have today's college students seen "The Breakfast Club?" What about today's high school students?

Is everyone who knows this movie out of school or has it held on to a younger generation in some way?

Ultimately, I guess it's probably aimed at parents like me anyway. Just like the resurgence of all the toys we loved as kids.

Which makes me feel really, really old.

The Birds

2008-07-18T12:11:00.000-07:00

Last week we had to go back to the pediatrician's office, and I happened to have my camera.

I'm pretty proud of this shot... these are the baby robins, safe in their nest with their mother.

My wise, experienced 7-year old

2008-07-18T11:58:00.000-07:00

Lately my kids have been making me laugh a lot.

In many ways, this summer has flown by - but in others it's gone nice and slowly. I'd like to think it's at least due in part to my conscious decision to just say no to activities this summer. Except for swim lessons, we've taken a well-deserved break from the runaround and it's been great.

Of course, it's about to come to a crashing end... as I was reminded just a few days ago while getting some stuff at Wal-Mart. The school supplies are out and I couldn't get over how crowded that aisle was- already. We picked up a few things I know the kids will need but I didn't pull out the list. I'm just not ready to fully commit - yet.

My daughter will be going to Kindergarten this fall and she saw a lunchbox she really liked, so we got it too. It makes me smile because it's very old school, metal with the latch. It reminds me of the first lunchboxes I had, until plastic became the new material of choice. I'm not sure, but I *think* I had a metal Muppets lunchbox. Elisabeth's is "High School Musical" and every day she looks at it longingly and talks about the day she'll finally get to take it to school.

Of course, she pointed out... she won't be taking it the first few days of school. And Ethan (the experienced soon-to-be second grader) corroborated this.

"First they'll teach you how to go through the lunchroom," he said. "They'll show her how to get her card and then go down in line and then hold it up..."

I'm a little fuzzy on all the details, but this is sounding like a fairly complicated system! In any case, I won't worry because after all, as Ethan said next -

"Don't worry Elisabeth... you'll get used to it. I've been doing it for TWO YEARS already."

Maybe it was the tone of his voice, but it really made me chuckle. And somewhere inside, I also breathed a little easier knowing that this time as I send a kindergartener off to school, I've got someone on the inside looking out for her.

Natalee Ann - July 6, 2006

2008-07-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

This is Natalee Ann, my beautiful goddaughter who was born and died two years ago today.

I'd like to write something meaningful and profound today, but words like those are not coming. At least not right now.

Today should have been a celebration of a second birthday. For my best friend, there will be cake and there will be a celebration - there is just not a two-year old to share in it.

Please keep Natalee's mother, father, two sisters, and all of their family and friends in your thoughts today.

A New Little Miracle

2008-06-30T18:36:00.000-07:00

I am apparently getting older than I like to think.

Two nights ago I stayed up all night - for a total of 39 hours awake - to be a doula at a birth, along with a friend of mine.

This particular couple had researched, studied, and learned a lot and were prepared to give everything they had to a natural, unmedicated birth experience. It was 17 hours of active labor, but they did it - and they have a beautiful baby boy. In the end, it was lucky they had two doulas, because I think we were better able to keep up the energy for hip squeezes, back rubs, creative thinking, etc! 17 hours is an extraordinary amount of time to labor and I am awed by what this couple did. And I say couple because the father was absolutely unwavering in his support, and unlike many fathers he was present both physically and mentally. It was beautiful to watch.

I am still recovering from the lack of sleep (hence the feeling old) but I just feel so blessed to have had the privilege to be present at this birth. It's one of the most beautiful, awe-inspiring events in a person's life and I was there.

Even more notable - this was the first birth I have been at as a doula since Natalee died.

For reasons both emotional and practical, the opportunity just hasn't presented itself. I was with Tammy when Emmalee was born last August but I wasn't necessarily there to "doula" at that birth like I had her first two. Not in the same way, anyway. The truth is that with small children and no childcare, it's just hard to commit to someone for their entire labor. And I'm sure that emotionally and subconsciously, I just didn't want to do it.

And then this couple came along. And the request was very appealing. A mother due in the summer (when I have easy access to baby-sitting) and I was just to be the back-up for the one week my friend would be on vacation. Easy enough. Still, I went to meet the couple with my friend very begrudgingly, for reasons I'm still not really sure of. Instantly upon meeting them, those feelings disappeared. I felt a connection immediately and really enjoyed getting to know them. By the end of the evening, I was asking if I could come to their birth even if my friend was available. I just felt like I wanted to be there so badly.

As it turned out, my friend returned from her trip Saturday afternoon and this woman went into labor Saturday night. I can't explain the excitement and adrenaline I felt as I got ready to go to her house.

I just knew this was going to be a beautiful, amazing birth. I just knew this woman was going to be amazed by her own strength. I knew she and her husband would be even more bonded than before. And I just knew the labor was going to go fast.

I was right about all except the last. LOL!

In my bag, I packed a guardian angel pin and my bracelet that says "Natalee" with her birthstones. I just felt like I needed them with me to get through the experience. Several times during the labor, things happened that reminded me of Natalee. Some of them had to do with the actual labor itself, others were just little reminders. The couple had an iPod with a birthing music playlist, and at one point I noticed the Lord's Prayer was playing. The same prayer I had repeated so desperately as they worked to save Natalee. And yet, I felt no fear - ever - that this baby would be lost to us. There was one time when I stood above the mother and father as they sat together in the labor tub. I looked down and noticed the light coming in from the window next to them was projecting a small rainbow on the floor of the tub, right next to their legs. Beautiful, and I was reminded of God's love - felt so tenderly in the room.

The mother is a pastor and her faith shines through in all she does. For reasons I am still trying to process, is just seems so right to me that she was the one in my path at this time.

A couple of months ago, our new kitten crawled into a tree and pulled a baby robin out of its nest, newly-hatched. I watched it happen and stood by, horrified, as this kitten I loved did something so brutal - snatching this helpless little being away from its safe haven and its mother. I tried everything I could to distract the kitten, to convince him not to do it - but he did it anyway, and ran off away from me with the robin.

A few moments later, my kids told me the kitten had deposited the robin on the ground by their playset. I walked over, and saw that it was hurt, but still alive. Every few seconds its little beak moved, looking around for food. I felt it was looking for help, and I couldn't bear to watch this little baby die.

I made some frantic phone calls but the day was almost over and I couldn't reach anyone for help. I turned to the internet and based on what I read, placed the baby robin into a shoebox with a blanket and tried to feed it some mushy cat food. It continued to hold on, and I continued to think that maybe - just maybe - I could save it. I kept it in the car as we ran errands, and I finally got the phone number of a wildlife rehabilitator in our area who said she would help. I took my daughter inside to her dance lesson and when I came back out, the baby bird had died.

We buried the bird beneath the tree that had provided its shelter, and said a little prayer to God. I thanked him for letting us know this little bird, and helping us try to save it. And I thanked God for reminding us that no life - no matter how small or how short - goes unnoticed. That all life is important. And I cried as I said the words, not for the bird - but for Natalee. At the time, I thought that was the end of my real life parable.

But now I realize there is more.

Our kitten didn't meant to hurt the robin, and he didn't mean to hurt us when he took it from the nest. And I still love the kitten, even if I can't fully understand the instinct or reasons why he did it. I want to believe that baby robin was meant to be with its mother, but that just wasn't its destiny. And if it had been safe in the nest, I wouldn't have had the chance to know it and try to save it. And I can't explain how many times my children and I have talked about that robin and the cycle of life.

Today, I had to take my children to the pediatrician for their annual physicals. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I looked up and noticed a nest on top of a bush, just a few feet from the car. In the nest was a robin, and then I saw a baby robin stick its scrawny little head and beak up out of the nest. It looked newly-hatched too, exactly like the robin we tried to save.

It was comforting to me to see this mother robin and her nest, undisturbed and living life exactly as they expected to. I couldn't save the robin in our backyard, but I still feel such peace and hope when I see another baby robin in this world, being taken care of by its mother. I'll never look at robins eggs and newly-hatched birds the same way.

Such a beautiful lesson in life.

The Blessing of Loss

2008-06-16T23:50:00.000-07:00

This photo is my hand with Natalee's

It is almost 3am and I am still awake because I have just finished reading a blog - from beginning to end.

I found it through Abby's mom's blog and like a good, heartbreaking book... I just couldn't "put it down" once I started reading.

The mother who writes the blog is named Angie Smith and she lost her baby girl this past April due to an undiagnosed medical situation that was discovered during her 20th week of pregnancy. Audrey was born by c-section a few months later and lived for about two hours. There are a lot of thoughts running around in my brain right now and I don't know how to get them all out, so I'm just going to try to focus in on the ones I think are most pressing right now.

God is good. And even when I don't devote myself to him the way I should, He reaches out to find me and give me a gentle reminder that He is still here, very present in my life.

In one of her entries, Angie writes about the peace she felt as Audrey was born, and how blessed she has felt by the *entire* experience - that where most would be able to see only tragedy, she sees a miracle.

I don't know if I can fully explain how much those words spoke to me. The night Natalee died, I talked to my husband as I drove back home. I had been awake for more than 24 hours to help my best friend labor and then - stunningly - grieve. I don't remember any of my conversation with my husband as I drove, but he later told me, "I could just tell from your voice that you were changed forever."

And I told him he was right, and that I wished he had experienced it as well because I wished he could understand how beautiful that change really was. How powerful. How wonderful. The doctors couldn't make Natalee live, but I witnessed a true miracle that night.

Often, I find myself wanting to talk about Natalee. Sometimes it comes up naturally in conversations, other times it's kind of forced but I bring her up anyway. And I'll go ahead and admit this here - sometimes I push the issue even when I know it will make others uncomfortable. Some people probably think it's my way of working through the grief, or trying to get attention.

It's not.

It's my way of trying to minister. I just don't think I really realized it until now.

The night Natalee died was the closest I have ever felt to God. Amidst all the pain and grief and pure shock was a beautiful peace. As the doctors worked to revive her and the air in the room grew thick and tense, I turned to prayer. In my heart, I knew I couldn't ask God to let her live. I wanted to, but I knew I couldn't. I didn't know what words to pray, so I turned to the Lord's Prayer and repeated it silently in my head with my eyes closed and my head bowed while I stood next to my friend, who still lay in the bed where she had labored so many hours.

I didn't want to be out of the room when they stopped trying to save Natalee, but I felt a strong pull to ask others to pray too. When I felt it was ok to do so, I stepped into the hallway and broke down. A nurse led me to a private room and told me I had to be strong for my friend, that she was going to really need me. I called my husband and my dad. I asked my dad to pray, but confessed to him that I was struggling because I didn't know what to pray for. He encouraged me to pray for whatever God intended - NOT the suggestion I wanted at that time. In fact, I was purposefully avoiding the Serenity Prayer for that very reason. I was pretty sure God intended to take Natalee and I was kind of ticked at Him for that right then, so I certainly didn't want to encourage him. But in my heart, I knew it was his plan. I prayed that he would help me to be strong and to know how to help my friend.

The medical staff were leaving the room as I stepped back in, and someone was handing Natalee to Tammy. There was such sorrow, and such love in the room. In the hours that followed, I found strength to do things I could never have imagined. As I try to describe those things to other people, I know it sounds horrific to them. Stepping outside of myself and those moments, I can see why. But it wasn't. It was the only time I had with Natalee, they are my memories of her. It was a blessing. It was a gift. It was a miracle.

Tammy's pastor came to the hospital and baptized Natalee. Tammy held her in the bed, and those of us present formed a circle around them to share in the ceremony and to pray. A baptism is usually about asking for God's presence and guidance in a child's life as they grow. This child was already returning to be in God's presence as we stood there, hand in hand, and prayed.

I wish noone would ever have to endure the pain of losing a child. I wish noone would ever have to struggle for the right words or actions to ease the burden for a loved one who is enduring it. But I do wish everyone could know the love and the power I witnessed that night. Death does not win. Love does. God does.

We are approaching the two-year anniversary of Natalee's death, and she is on my mind and heart a lot these days. As Tammy says, it feels like entering "dead baby land" again. The draw to read blogs like Angie's is very strong. Those "moments" are happening more often. It's been a long time since I broke down crying, but I am tonight.

The need to feel the pain is intense.

Because I know what's on the other side of that pain.

It's love. Pure, joyful, inexplainable love.

And it's beautiful.

My rant about customer service

2008-06-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

Two years ago now we moved into our newly-built house... excited to be here and settling in, but without any money for landscaping. (The landscaping allowance went to things like kitchen cabinets and our really cool but highly controversial kitchen sink...) By fall we had enough money to seed the yard and start growing some grass, and I designed flower beds and lined them with bricks.

But said flower beds have largely remained empty because this is one project I want to get right - really right - the first time.

Back in March as the weather started to get a little warmer and our grass started to green up, I called a local landscaping company. For the time being, I'll leave their name out of this - I want to reserve writing them a letter in the near future. Let's just say though that it is a very well-known, well-established, and well-respected company. It seemed everywhere we turned, people were recommending them because they are reliable, do really good work, and are at least 1/2 the price of many other well-known companies in our area.

The man I talked to was very friendly and explained how they generally do these kinds of jobs, and that they had a waiting list but they would call me by the end of April to set up a time to come out and see firsthand what we needed, work up a design, get an estimate, etc...

The end of April came and went. Then, the end of May. Still no call. Today, nearly half-way through June, I called back.

The woman who answered the phone was nice enough and said that yes, she did indeed see my name on the list, but something about not having enough people and the bottom line... she didn't forsee that they would be able to help me.

Huh?

Apparently I need to get in the landscaping business, because I'd like to work in a field that is turning away business right now, considering the state of our economy. It seems like every day another business closes its doors in our town because their parent company is downsizing or filing for bankruptcy... and here is a business that apparently doesn't really need business.

All of this wouldn't be so bad if they had just taken the time to call me and tell me "sorry." Now, it's the middle of June and by all rights, we should be majorly SOL. I'm sure there isn't a landscaping company around that isn't booked until winter. She did give me a few names and phone numbers for other businesses, but even admitted she wasn't sure if any of them actually did landscape design, or just cut grass. And then she said that maybe if those places couldn't help me, they would know of someone who could.

Another huh? Excuse the phrase, but who do I have to sleep with to get some plants in my flower beds? I mean, is this really that hard? I'm ready to drop a couple thousand dollars on plants but first I have to go on a scavenger hunt to find someone willing and able to do the work?

Luckily, we happen to "know someone" who does landscaping on the side. I think there is a silver lining here - she's doing it because she loves it and I think she'll take more time with me to do something that won't just look like every other house on our block. Plus, it's the freakin' middle of June - which means PLANT SALE at the local nursery!

See, I'm trying to look at this optimistically. The seed is half-sprouted, shall we say.

But as Edgar and I talked about this today, we're wondering if we aren't just a bit cursed in the customer service department? Three weeks ago we called an exterminator about the wasp nest on our roof. He hasn't called back yet. Two years ago I did call a different landscaper, one our neighbors used. He never returned the message.

Every two weeks when the Schwan's man comes, he doesn't knock or ring my door bell. He just walks up and automatically puts his "sorry I missed you" sticker on my door. If I don't happen to see him and open the door, *we* miss *him.* I talked to my neighbor - he knocks on her door every time - and she says she typically orders less than I do.

And don't get me started on DirecTV. Three different technicians, three different answers to what our problem is - six months later and still no actual solution. I don't even want to call for another service call, but paying for satellite in 2 rooms and getting it in one is getting pretty silly. (Ah, but no sillier than the set-up the last guy gave us, which requires us to go *outside* and unplug/plug in wires to switch to cable. Problem is, if the satellite is out and we *need* the cable, it's likely because there's a tornado brewing outside. Thanks genius.)

I just don't understand. Edgar and I have both worked in service-related jobs and fields.We both waited tables, worked in fast food, heck even working in TV is like the ultimate of the service industry some days. We get it, we really do. And I think we are bend-over-backwards nice to people. What are we doing wrong? Where's the karma?

Of course, I suck at confrontation... so I'll never actually ask the Schwan's man what's up and we'll probably just try to call another exterminator. Heck, the fact that I called that landscaping company today at all is a minor miracle. But my methods are much more passive-aggressive. I like to talk, and of course, to blog.

And I hope that karma will catch up.

Remembering Abby

2008-06-09T15:07:00.000-07:00

The Internet can make this a small, small world indeed.

Not long after my friend Tammy lost her baby girl at birth, a friend of mine from an online message board sent me an e-mail.

This particular friend also happens to run a website known as "Shape of a Mother" (I have it linked in my sidebar) and had received a story she knew would touch my heart.

It was from a mother in Canada who had lost her own baby girl just about a month before Natalee died. In addition to posting on SOAM, she also had her own blog where she was actively journaling her journey through the grief.

Tammy and I both became avid readers and she and Tammy have exchanged many messages of support and even gifts. Last year, just about two months apart, they both gave birth again to two more beautiful baby girls.

So I don't actually know this woman, but I do know her story and - as intimately as I can without having lost a baby myself at birth - I know her pain.

Today is the anniversary of her beloved Abby's birth. Tomorrow she will remember the day of her death. Two days, countless memories and tears shed and "if only" wishes felt in the heart.

So today, I am thinking of Abby and of her mother and of the heartache from burying a baby and carrying that pain still two years later. I'm lighting a candle and praying God will bring them peace and comfort, and thanking Him that I too know the story of Abby's brief but beautiful life.

Laptop Lust

2008-06-03T17:10:00.000-07:00

About a year ago, Edgar and I walked into an Apple store so we could see firsthand the new "iPhone" that was all over TV and radio.

We were "PC" people but I had worked with a mac in my newspaper job and I had a college roommate who'd had one - we considered it a foreign object at the time.

It just so happened though that on that day we walked into the Apple store, we had also just learned that our HP desktop computer - only 2 years old - needed some expensive repairs and was crashing a slow death. So while we didn't go in looking for a computer, the need for a new one was definitely on our minds that night.

After checking out the iPhone, we wandered over to look at the computers. And an employee approached us and started talking with us and by the time we left an hour later, we were hooked. (Incidentally, Apple store employees do not work on commission but if this guy could have he'd be doing great!) It just made sense, the computer actually worked intuitively. We went back to his parents' house and did a little research, then went back the next morning and bought it. A bit impulsive, yes. We've never looked back though, even when my dad teases me about how he failed me as a father. :)

It was only a few weeks later that my laptop (also an HP, just sayin') died. To this day, nothing will coax it to turn on. We were pretty tapped out but managed to find a good deal on an old iBook on Ebay. It doesn't have internet capabilities and lately the battery won't hold a charge, but it gets me through most note-taking I need to do for stories. At least it does still turn on! It was a year or two older than my old laptop, but miles ahead in terms of usability and general coolness.

So this past weekend we went into the Apple store again. This time we were showing my father-in-law why the Mac is so superior (!) and I got to check out the new laptop, the Mac Air.

Wow.

It is so far beyond cool. And so amazing that it can do all of the things my desktop can do, and more. It will be a while before I can justify spending the money and by then it will probably be replaced with something even cooler, I just can't wait to see what! I am a full convert. Even my iPod just makes more sense with the Mac. I can make cool movies, my e-mail is great, the only restarts we've ever had to do have been isp-related (ahem... Comcast...) and not computer-related. In short, I love my Mac. And Steve Jobs rocks.

I've been trying to post some of my favorite Apple ads from YouTube, but it hasn't been working. Still, if like 10 of them suddenly show up on my blog, you'll know why.

The frustration of Toaster Strudel

2008-05-20T06:44:00.000-07:00

Recently, my 7-year old son discovered Toaster Strudels. You know, those freezer-to-toaster pastries that are probably chock-full of horrible preservatives, sugar, etc... Well, he loves them and since I know he's generally a very healthy eater, I've been buying them for him and making one (or sometimes two) for his breakfast every morning.

Today, as I was mentally preparing for the inevitable fight with the icing packet and feeling of frustration that was sure to result, I took a step back and made a realization: I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself every morning to get the icing just right. Not that anyone but me even notices - my son scarfs it down too fast for that - but I notice. The toaster strudels on the box and in the commercials always look so perfect, but every time I try to put the icing on it ends up being a big blobby mess.

It's become a bit like a game for me every morning - how good can I get the icing to look today?

And then, this morning I realized how ridiculous this all is.

I don't think it's that unusual though - as mothers and I feel often especially as stay at home mothers, we tend to place some unrealistic or unfair expectations on ourselves. The house should always be clean, laundry fresh-smelling and in its rightful place, a hot meal on the table and kids with flushed faces happy from all the well, happiness around them.

Lately, my home has been falling WAY short of this utopia. There is clean laundry in my room that has been crumpled in baskets for so long I'm probably better off just washing it again and trying to start over. I finally unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher last night, with dishes that dated back to last Thursday. That wasn't as bad as it sounds though, considering we've eaten out almost every meal since then (the meals that didn't include toaster strudels, that is) so while they'd been there for a while, the actual quantity of dirty dishes was still low.

I'm not sure what to attribute this recent funk too. Burn-out, I think - I'm ready for a break in our routine and anxious for summer. I can't wait for my kids to be home all the time and to stop the endless merry-go-round of schools, lessons, classes, etc...

The pool opens in FOUR days, and the coundown is ON at this house...

But I think I've also lowered my expectations of myself a bit in the last few weeks. I feel like I've done a better job of focusing on the things that really do matter. I didn't get laundry put away last night, but I did spend an hour in the pool teaching my son to swim and cheering him on as he completed an entire length of the pool. I'm about to go cuddle with my 3-year old on the couch. Dishes didn't get done over the weekend, but I spent lots of time helping my daughter get ready for her dance recital.

I know I'm not alone in this - every mother I know struggles with this balance every day, trying to maintain the symbiotic relationship between happy children, happy parents, and efficient household.

It does help every now and then to remind myself I'm not alone. When I was searching for an image for this post, I found more things about toaster strudel on the Internet than I ever could have imagined - including a letter posted on Planet Feedback asking the company to please do something about the messy, horribly-designed icing packets. The letter writer complained that they don't work as intended and usually rip open in places other than the intended opening, making it hard to use.

Oh, I can relate.

Natalee

2008-05-13T11:09:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe, but nearly two years have now passed since the unexpected death of my goddaughter Natalee Ann.

For those who do not know, Natalee was born full-term after a normal pregnancy and delivery, but failed to take a breath at birth. I was there with my best friend Tammy and watched as the medical team spent 45 unsuccessful minutes trying to revive her.

She would have been two years old this July 6.

At the time, we had no answers but we were hopeful and even somewhat confident that we would soon. Babies don't just die like that, there had to be some kind of answer, right? We were sure that within a month or six weeks, we would know.

Here we are, two years later, and still searching for answers. The autopsy findings were inconsistent with medical records and with what I know to be true from having been in the room observing. We do know more than we did, but still have no conclusive cause of death. With what we know, Natalee should have been a sick baby. She should not be a dead one.

I realize it's not a story that is easy to hear. Some days it's not so easy to tell. Most days now it feels like it happened to someone else, not my best friend.

But it did, and as time goes on I'm realizing the ways Natalee's birth and death have forever changed me.

Some of those changes are obvious, but others are not. I realized this over the weekend when myself and a group of friends went to visit another friend whose son is in the NICU. While he's had some complications, he is healthy and fine and will likely be going home soon. On the surface, there was nothing about this visit that should have triggered thoughts of Natalee.

But while I waited in the hallway, I started looking at these pictures on the walls. Just outside the NICU, the walls are covered with framed, scrapbooked pages of babies whose lives depended on the NICU. Their parents have documented their stories - when they were born, complications they had, how long they spent in the NICU - and of course, included photos of them at one or two years old, having literally survived their ordeals and gone on to live healthy, normal lives. Many have included words of encouragement and inspiration - "Don't give up, miracles do happen," etc...

I kept thinking to myself, "how is it that these babies who were born weighing barely more than a pound are still alive and beautiful, sweet Natalee - who was 7 pounds and healthy - is not?"

And then I found myself looking for the stories that didn't have the storybook endings. I wanted to read about the parents who knew the kind of heartache my friend knows, the ones whose closest friends know how I feel. Those are the stories I can relate to, I can understand.

I didn't find any and it really didn't occur to me until several days later that - duh - those are probably not the kind of stories you will find outside of the NICU, where anxious parents are spending countless hours in worry and fear.

Maybe, maybe somewhere else in the hospital there is a place for those stories. I rather doubt it though - who wants to hear about the babies who didn't find divine intervention from the men in white coats? Who wants to hear about the parents whose birth stories ended in the cemetery?

As I've learned again and again over the past two years, very few people want to hear those stories. I know it's hard, because knowing it happened to someone - anyone - means it could happen to you. And we want to believe that every time a woman announces she is pregnant, it means that she'll be holding a beautiful, living, breathing baby in a matter of months.

I no longer have the luxury of believing that. My friend no longer has the luxury of believing that. It's one of the many things about my life that has changed because of Natalee.

It's a Lonely (Meat-Free) World

2008-05-05T11:52:00.000-07:00

My friend Dione - ever ready with a new book and a new diet plan - recently lent me the book Skinny Bitch.

The premise is pretty simple: Want to lose weight, feel great, and be healthy?

Simple: Cut out the crap.

The trick, of course, is learning to recognize the crap. Turns out, it comes in forms you may not realize - specifically, anything that has been processed (duh) or comes from an animal.

Woah!

It's actually a very compelling argument, and I have to admit - the part of me that has half a brain can't dispute the argument that animal products are, as a general rule, not good for us.

I've already talked about this in my post about dairy... so it really isn't a big step for me to move to meat either.

Basically, the authors argue that if we were able to chase down, kill with our bare hands, and then eat (raw) our kill - maybe then biologically it should be considered a good choice. But since we can't do those things (or want to, as a general rule..) AND we can't actually *digest* the meat we do eat (kind of an important part of the whole "fuel your body with nutritious foods" process) then we really shouldn't be eating it. Period. And by the way, you'll feel better (and poop better) and lose weight if you stop.

They back up their argument with some stories about animal treatment in slaughterhouses that kind of seals the deal. Just in case you could still stomach the thought of eating that pork chop... remembering some of the scenes they describe is enough to ruin any appetite.

BUT WAIT - you say. The GOVERNMENT says I need all that stuff! Remember a little thing called the FOOD PYRAMID? That's how you eat healthy!

Not so, according to the authors. In fact, they present some very compelling food for thought regarding just *who* is authoring those government recommendations and what special interests they may be looking out for. (Here's a hint: it's NOT you. Well, your pocketbook - yes, your health - not so much.)

The protein thing? Pretty much a myth, they say. Meaning, you can get all the protein you need with very little effort from other food sources. I think it's kind of like the calcium argument I always hear about milk. What most people don't realize is that milk DOES have a lot of calcium. It just doesn't happen to be in a form that is easily absorbed by our bodies. Funny how they leave that second part out all.the.time. Doesn't make for good marketing, I guess. In fact, studies show that countries where cow's milk is not a staple food have considerably *lower* rates of osteoperosis than we do.

So what does all this mean? Well, I haven't gone vegan if that's what you're thinking. But I do think it makes sense that if you eat more fruits and veggies (organic when possible) and try to stick to simpler, unprocessed foods, you're going to feel better. I can't make the jump fully, (can't go "cold turkey" - how many more food puns can I get in?) but I am down to eating meat once or twice a week. And my cheese intake is way down too, although that's hard to do when you're trying to adjust to a vegetarian diet from the typical, American just-shoot-it-directly-to-my-thighs cuisine we're used to.

I do feel better. I do. And I am finding all kinds of new foods to eat and better appreciating the tastes of wholesome, natural fruits and vegetables.

But the response I get when I say I'm not eating meat is always interesting. Some have asked me why - are my reasons political, ethical, or health-based? Some, like my husband, assume it's a passing thing. (Admittedly, there is good precedent for him to think that...) Others, like my mom, just kind of roll their eyes and ask if we can try the all-meat buffet for lunch today.

But I'm going to keep trudging along. It's summer, it's the perfect time to try new fruits and veggies and combinations of them. I'm not denying myself - if I truly can't find an alternative (you can only eat so many fruit 'n yogurt (still animal-derived, yikes!) parfaits while your kids hit the Playland after all) I'll just try to find something with meat that's on the healthier side and move on.

The problem is, I haven't actually lost any weight yet. And I do miss certain foods. So I'm still waiting for the "skinny" part but I think I've got the other part down.

Will it EVER end?

2008-05-05T11:44:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I was glued to the 24-hour news networks and the seemingly endless coverage of the Democratic Presidential Primaries.

It was interesting then. It's not anymore. Seriously.

Well, that's not totally true. What's happened as a result of this stalemate and dragged-out preliminary has led to some interesting stuff.

Rush Limbaugh's campaign to make it go even longer, for one thing. Not saying I agree, but it certainly has meant this year's election isn't just more of the "same old same old."

It does make me wonder about the potential for long-term damage to the party. And the need for more condensed primaries.

Even as a self-professed political junkie and news junkie... really, I've had enough. Here's hoping *something* actually comes out of tomorrow's election in Indiana.

Hail to the Orange

2008-04-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

Last week I made a rare, weekday trip to Champaign-Urbana for the Greek Oscars.

I was personally invited, which the sorority women I advise took to mean I was a finalist for an award. It meant a lot to me that they had nominated me, so I went.

It turns out, I won... first place for "Outstanding Advisor."

As they say, it's nice just to be nominated... (but the winning is pretty darn cool too...)

Alpha Delta Pi won and was a finalist for several other awards as well - as usual, making me very, very proud.

The ceremony itself was held in Foellinger Auditorium, which just happens to be where I had my very first college class (Classical Civilization 115 with Professor Scanlon) and where my College of Communications Commencement Ceremony was held. So my college career began and ended in that building.

And yet... here I am, 12 years later, and it continues to have a presence in my life. The University of Illinois and of course, Alpha Delta Pi, continue to have a presence in my life.

I am so very blessed.

As I walked away from Foellinger last Monday night, I had a sudden flashback to my graduation day and the overwhelming feeling of sadness I had as I walked down the sidewalk to leave. If someone had told me then that I wasn't *really* leaving - that I would be back one day in the not so distant future and that the campus, the quad, that building would all still be something I could be a part of - I'm not sure I would have believed them.

College is way more than an education and if you're very lucky, it can extend past graduation - I'm thankful for all the lessons I've learned and continue to learn at the U of I. I'm still a part of it - and more importantly - it's a part of me.

Gettin' my on-air Buzz

2008-04-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

Jen Christensen from WHOI-TV called me this afternoon and asked if I could come do a live interview on their 6pm show to talk about some initiatives currently being undertaken by the Central Illinois Breastfeeding Task Force.

Today.

I was about to come up with some excuse why I couldn't possibly be there in three hours for this, but then she said, "I know it's last-minute but I knew you'd understand having worked in TV."

Awww... geez. She got me.

I actually had showered this morning, but it was after working in the garden and before leaving for preschool and I decided my hair was good enough as is. So I had to get cleaned up. And find something to wear. Um, my TV wardrobe is LONG gone... as I discovered this afternoon. Well, except for those suits hanging in the back of my closet that are supposed to be inspiration for losing weight. (Yeah, ok...) I finally remembered - dark, solid colors are best. I grabbed a red sweater and the trusty black pants. Good to go.

Then there was the matter of not sounding like an idiot. My involvement with the CIBTF has been minimal... I admit I just haven't jumped in with the zeal I would like to, but I've been trying to stay afloat and re-kindle my passion for breastfeeding awareness. The particular project Jen wanted me to talk about isn't one I have been intimately involved with, so I made some hurried, flustered calls to make sure I had enough background.

In the end, it was fine. We only had time for 2 questions and they were pretty easy. I knew I was talking fast, but I wanted to get a lot out there! My dad and kids (and then husband too, actually) all came along and watched from the lobby.

My 3-year old son told me I had "talked in a different voice" on TV. But apparently he and my daughter recognized it enough to kiss the TV while I was on it. (Um, cute but kind of gross!)

My dad said it was obvious that I struggled to remember my "role" as the interviewee and to keep looking at Jen, not the camera. Funny how inate that was for me... I was sitting at an anchor desk and there was a camera with a red light... signal to brain... look at that and talk!

In all, it was really, really fun. I LOVE being on live television, always have. I was nervous as heck and pretty sweaty, but it was AWESOME and several hours later, I'm still feeling a bit of the adrenaline rush.

I think you lose this "newness" when you actually work in broadcasting... kind of like dating when the shine wears off the relationship. So yes, I definitely miss my old career... but I know it's not really like this all the time anyway.

But it was fun for tonight!

And more on music...

2008-04-28T19:46:00.000-07:00

A while back I started to compile a list of songs that reminded me of people or events in my life. The songs that link me to those memories like a hyperlink on the internet... you know, inevitably the song comes on and your mind automatically "clicks" back to that connection.

I didn't get very far in my list at the time, but it didn't take long to realize a lot of the songs had to do with men. Or rather, boys. This is not really surprising. I'm very sentimental, a hopeless romantic, and I get attached to people pretty easily. This is not an especially good combination for a teen-aged girl and as a consequence, I ended up with more than my share of heartbreak. The trend continued even into college, when the romantic in me spent a fair amount of time expecting "the one" to show up at any time.

But a lot of songs in my head are also attached to specific events or other memories - vacations, funny nights out, sorority stuff. It's gotten so that if I'm listening to a station that plays "older" music, it doesn't take long before the strains of some song make me smile in remembrance.

So, for the sake of some fun, I'm going to try to compile some of those songs and memories here. Excluding some names, of course... if they're actually reading this blog, they'll know who they are.

1. "Truly, Madly, Deeply" by Savage Garden

- Came out when Edgar was moving to CA and to this day, my only regret is we didn't dance to it at our wedding. It really is "our song."

2. "Think" by Information Society - a boyfriend in high school wrote out the words to this song and gave it to me as a gift. I, of course, considered this the most romantic gesture ever. (geesh)

3. "Escape" by Rupert Holmes (The "Pina Colada Song") - throwing back shots of tequila after snorkeling while on spring break in Cancun with my sorority sisters

4. "Something to Talk About" by Bonnie Raitt - my best friend in college suggested this as a funny song for us since our friendship created a lot of speculation. Oh... did I mention he was a male? LOL! Our friendship ended badly and I'm still pretty ticked at him about it all these years later. Coincidentally, this song is played like EVERY single Friday afternoon on the local lite rock station, so I hear it while I'm cleaning. And I love me some angry vacuuming... very therapeutic!

5. "Young" by Kenny Chesney - same best friend from college, happier memories.

6. "Need You Tonight" by INXS - a college boyfriend serenaded me with this song very early in our relationship. To this day, one of my best memories. (And I'm not just saying that because I think he reads the blog!)

7. "Nobody Knows it But Me" by the Tony Rich Project - was popular on the radio at the time of a break-up in college, couldn't get this song out of my mind for a week. Every time I hear it, it brings back that dumped, alone feeling.

8. "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge - what sorority girl DOESN'T have this in her memories? LOL! "We are family... I've got all my sisters with me..."

9. "December 1963 (What a Night") by The Four Seasons - "You know we're glad to see you back again, once you're here you'll never be the same, what a house we're A-Dee-Pi." Enough said.

10. "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey - every time I hear this song, I am a college girl on Christmas break waitressing at Yesterday's all over again. It's useless to resist.

11. "Cowboy Take Me Away" by the Dixie Chicks - heard this when I was out with a friend after I knew for certain my grandmother was dying. The lyrics, "fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue... set me free oh I pray... closer to heaven above and closer to you..." hit me hard. My grandmother did die a few months later.

12. "How Forever Feels" by Kenny Chesney - driving into work with the top down in Monterey, CA... specifically, coming down the hill from the Presidio into downtown Monterey.

13. "Wide Open Spaces" by the Dixie Chicks - leaving my family and moving to California

14. "Angel" by Sarah MacLachlan - staring at the back of my best friend's head and the butterfly banner on the wall at the funeral of my goddaughter Natalee, who had died unexpectedly at birth four days earlier. Two years later, I still tear up every time this song comes on the radio.

15. "I Hope you Dance" by Lee Ann Womack - the birth of my first child. I heard this song a lot after he was born, and even framed the lyrics for the nursery.

So that's 15. And yes, there was a lot of googling involved to be sure I didn't mess up song names or artists. Because as noted in the previous post, my musical prowess is seriously lacking. Somewhere I think I should start keeping a more comprehensive list, I know this is just the tip of the iceberg...

The Power of Music

2008-04-28T19:33:00.000-07:00

My 7-year old son is really into music lately, in all kinds of ways.

He is learning to play the violin through Suzuki, and it's been amazing to watch as his critical thinking and math skills have skyrocketed along with his playing ability. The more songs he learns to play, the more timed math tests he passes. I can't count the number of "lightbulb" moments I've witnessed during violin practices... from understanding how to read music to how to transpose it to a different set of strings.

It's truly amazing.

At the same time, he's in love with his iPod. (Yes, he has an iPod. It's just a shuffle and he got it for Easter. I spoil my kids - so what?) As his mother, I see it as my job to help him be cooler - musically speaking anyway - than I ever was. Together, we've loaded his iPod with some great music. Of course there's the soundtrack from High School Musical 2, some Jonas Brothers, Hannah Montana, etc... But I've also introduced him to U2, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a host of other good music I can't think of right now. All clean songs, of course.

Tonight he asked me to play "Gavotte" on my flute for him. It's the last song in his Suzuki book and he thinks it's pretty cool that I know how to play it. Never mind it was the song I played for solo/ensemble contest in the 7th grade and he's going to be playing it on the violin sometime in the second grade... it's nice to be admired for a bit!

But his musical skills (and his math skills) are going to pass me up in about... oh... another week or so.

Hiatus

2008-04-17T23:09:00.000-07:00

I guess I've been on a blogging hiatus.

My husband says this is what happens when life gets in the way.

It's not that I haven't had a lot to blog about, I've just been too busy for it. We traveled to San Diego for a weekend, I've been busy planning stuff for the Marigold Festival and writing a few stories for the paper, not to mention the endless shuttling and shuffling of schedules between Edgar's soccer, Ethan's soccer, Ethan's violin, and Elisabeth's dance classes. And then there's Ethan's school, Elisabeth's school, and keeping a 3-year old happy. And of course, my very rewarding and lately very challenging work as an advisor to 170 college women.

But other than that, I'm not up to much! :)

One day, I'll try to catch up on the things I've been wanting to say but haven't had the time for!

I'm lovin' it - the sweet tea, that is

2008-03-12T15:26:00.003-07:00

I want to send a thank-you to McDonald's.

After 30 years, I've managed to grow disgusted with pretty much everything on their menu. While my kids can hardly wait to scarf down their chicken nuggets and fries (something I've done a good job of turning into a "treat" rather than a "routine,") I personally cannot stomach most anything on the menu anymore.

I'm not sure how it happened... "Supersize Me" only kept me away for a few months. But somehow, somewhere along the line, I've finally maxed out the McDonald's I can handle. Apparently I've hit my quota.

Well, other than when it's McRib time.

And now, the sweet tea.

I've always liked sugar in my iced tea, but I've also always been equally happy to drink it without. But I got sucked in by advertising and while visiting one of our local golden arches establishments a few weeks ago, decided to give the sweet tea (which I know to be a southern staple) a try.

oh.my.sweet.sugary.goodness

So, now I'm hooked. Trying to dissuade myself, I looked up the nutritional information today. It appears the sweetener used is actual sugar. (Check: if it had been anything artificial, my sweet tea days would be over.) And there are 230 calories in one large sweet tea. (Check: Ok, that's a lot... but it's still almost 1/3 of some sodas and less than a lot of my favorite Starbucks drinks, so I'm technically still ahead of the game.) I haven't compared the actual sugar content of the sweet tea to that of soda or my favorite latte.

And then of course there's the cost - $1 for a sweet tea or $4 for a Starbucks nonfat vanilla latte. Hmmmmm....

Interestingly, I also learned that the McDonald's sweet tea has been available in other parts of the country for up to at least a year now. For some reason, I hadn't even thought about that possibility. When we lived in California, McDonald's introduced the fruit and yogurt parfait and "Eddie" commercials to go along with it. A full year later when we were back in central Illinois, they debuted it here. I remember feeling so worldly - I'd been able to buy them for so long already. Ha!

Why is that, I wonder? After all, we're supposed to be considered a magical "test market." Our area got the first crack at clear pepsi and those disposable bibs... why are we getting the shaft from Mickey-D's?

But there must be something going on... two weeks ago the husband and I had lunch at a new deli in Peoria that features sweet tea on their menu. And I noticed a local cafe here in Pekin is advertising it now too.

I find it interesting that in this health-conscious environment we live in, we're all happy to pour about a cup of sugar into our tea and drink it.

Oh well... it's here now, and I'm hooked. Figures. But I guess it could be something worse!

My Life Before Kids

2008-03-12T15:26:00.001-07:00

Don't think the irony of this story being about a time capsule is lost on me...

But since I've finally figured out how to post videos to the blog, here it is...

The Business of Being Born

2008-03-05T07:53:00.002-08:00

Natural birth - for those who choose it - is a "cause" I hold very close to my heart.

I had a chance to watch the new documentary from Ricki Lake called, "The Business of Being Born."

Forget those 1970's lamaze videos - this should be required watching for anyone who's pregnant.

Especially if it's their first baby, but even if it's not.

Of course, it should be noted this is a documentary. And like all documentaries, it has an agenda... a slant, if you will. But we're so bombarded with "mainstream" images and ideas of the medical side of birth that this video presents a nice counter-balance and should give any viewer something to think about. It does a good job of showing how the "go along to get along" mentality that often naturally occurs in hospitals can be detrimental to the birthing wishes of a laboring woman.

And like they say in the movie, a woman's birth experience is a memory that will stay with her until the day she dies. Some women have great births and great memories. Some are indifferent. But far too many are forever scarred by the things that are taken out of their control. Our society likes to focus on the outcome - and often argues that a healthy baby is the only thing that matters in the end.

I've been present when a "perfect" (medically speaking) labor and delivery resulted in the unexpected death of a newborn. I do know exactly what it's like when things go wrong. But I still say, focusing on the "but you have a healthy baby" is degrading to women and discounts the very valid feelings of disappointment they may have in their birth experience. We don't do enough to protect that experience today, and we can and should be doing more.

In the end, I was left wanting a bit more from this movie. When it was over I said, "I feel like Ricki Lake is just where I was seven years ago." Meaning - I feel like she is going through what I went through after the birth of my first child, she just has the means to turn it into a documentary. I didn't see or hear anything that I haven't known since I started researching natural birth after Ethan was born. So while it's not really "new" information, I know it will be to many people. And many will consider it "revolutionary." Personally, I'm just glad it's out there in a more "mainstream" format.

If you were happy with your birth experience, I encourage you to watch this movie.

If you weren't happy with your birth experience, this movie might be therapeutic and help you work through those feelings.

If you're pregnant, get yourself a Netflix subscription and get it in your queue asap.

The WIOWA!

2008-03-05T07:53:00.001-08:00

Since I'm sharing videos... this is a classic for any TV news junkie. I really need to buy this episode for my kids... the other songs on it are even better!

World News Polka

2008-03-05T07:40:00.001-08:00

The World News Now Polka

2008-03-05T07:07:00.000-08:00

Ten years ago (gulp!) Edgar and I were living and working in Monterey, California.

We worked the "nightside" shift together for some time - which meant we went to work at about 2:30pm and got home around midnight, after the 11pm newscast.

This was actually the perfect schedule for my night-owl ways, and we would usually stay up for several hours watching taped television shows and otherwise unwinding. It wasn't unusual for us to still be up around 2:30-3:00am, when a wonderful little program called "World News Now" came on ABC.

You'd think we would have had enough news by then, but this show was kind of wacky and off-beat. It was situated like most network news programs, but with a twist. They played funky music at the breaks, took a lot of time for light-hearted (and not forced) banter between the anchors, and frequently ran some kooky stories.

At the end of the show at the end of the week, they'd play the "World News Now Polka." It was awesome. (I'm going to post it for your viewing pleasure...)

It was also where I developed a crush for this unknown but very personable, charming, and just downright cool anchor named Anderson Cooper. Now I really feel old.

Anyways, when we moved back to central Illinois, WNN wasn't on the air here. I was kind of bummed, but my new work hours wouldn't have made it practical to watch anyway. (It would have been nice for those late nights I put in with three newborns though!)

So I don't know when it made it's way here (despite being a night owl I do try not to be up at 3am) but last night I found it because well, I was still awake at 3am. There were two female anchors who seemed to have a pretty good rapport, but I wasn't able to watch enough to see if the show still has it's same zaniness. If you happen to be up at that time, I highly suggest you check it out.

It was nice to see it on the air though, and for a minute - just a minute - I felt 10 years younger again!

Wacky Wednesday

2008-03-04T20:54:00.001-08:00

In honor of Dr. Seuss's birthday, my son's school has a series of fun days and events this week.

Tomorrow is "Wacky Wednesday" - and the idea is to dress pretty wacky. Mismatched clothes, patterns, colors, etc...

So I asked my husband to help him pick out his clothes...

... and just pretend it was any other day.

I don't think he appreciated my humor at first, but he eventually conceded I was right - he's not exactly known for his ability to dress our children in coordinated (or even matching) outfits.

So basically, Ethan will go to school tomorrow looking just like he would if mommy wasn't home! :)

Bad Sports

2008-02-28T09:26:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week my dad and I attended the last home game of the regular season at Bradley University.

There were a lot of emotions running rampant at Carver Arena that night. Bradley was playing rival SIU in what was sure to be a tight game, while missing its star senior player Daniel Ruffin, who was sitting on the bench suspended from the team after a Domestic Battery arrest over the weekend. Ruffin was allowed to take part in the senior ceremonies and there was an almost tangible electricity in the air as Bradley fans rallied in their support for him.

But my dad and I were there because of a different emotion. Another one of the seniors being celebrated that night, Jeremy Crouch, is from our hometown, and he's the first person from our town to play basketball at Bradley for four years of college. Not only that, he was poised to set two new school records that night for three-point shooting, and we were there to show off our hometown pride. Unfortunately, I think all of that was lost amongst the dark cloud of Ruffin's experience - and continues to be even today as blog debates over Ruffin's guilt or innocence rage on.

It didn't take long for Jeremy to get the first record early in the game and so my dad and I settled in to watch the game.

That's when Mr. Obnoxious SIU Fan showed up.

There's always one, right? I don't know why, but I am really bothered by the way these high-tier obnoxious fans act at ball games and it truly takes away from my enjoyment of the event. I become so fixated on what they're saying and doing and how completely out of line it is that I have trouble just watching the game.

This guy showed up with what I presume to be his wife or girlfriend, another woman and two small children who were probably about 4 and 2 years of age. We were sitting about as high up in the stands as you could get and since we got our tickets pretty late, there were a fair amount of other SIU fans sprinkled in there.

But this Mr. Obnoxious SIU Fan quickly proved himself a standout.

Dancing, jeering, laughing at Bradley point misses, he started off fairly mild.

But it wasn't long before he was yelling at the refs (who no doubt could hear him from the rafters of the nosebleed section?) and screaming for fouls that weren't called on Bradley and about ones that were on SIU.

More than once he dropped the F-bomb, with not only his own children sitting next to him, but several other children in close proximity. He was not bashful about using it.

According to an already almost 10-year old article from Boston University, fan behavior at sporting events in a sociological phenomenon that brings out the worst in some.

Leonard Zaichkowsky, an SED Professor of Development Studies and Counseling, was quoted in the article saying that fan behavior at both professional and college sporting events is crazy and getting crazier.

"The trouble at men's events occurs when fans forget that sporting arenas are public places where ordinary rules for social conduct apply," Zaichkowsky said.

While the article is old, the problem is apparently still very current.

Ultimately, I was grateful my own children weren't with me. I'm not good at confronting people under the best of circumstances, and I think I'm smart enough not to confront someone in a situation like that.

But I couldn't help but start imagining what this guy must be like as a person. I started watching him for cues, and also watching his children and significant other. She was clearly embarrassed by his behavior, but never said a word to him or tried to calm him down. He continued to throw his fists in the air and act like a bully. It wasn't long before I was picturing him as an abusive, mean person.

That's probably not fair, and I'm sure it sounds like I was rushing to judgment. He did show a soft side in the way he handled his children, but I couldn't help but wonder what kinds of words and actions he must use at home, if these are ones he's willing to use in public with strangers all around.

And above all, it clouded my impression of SIU fans. I know it's not fair, but it's human nature - and in the end this guy probably did a lot more harm to the school and team he was so passionate about than good.

And as for the lesson he's teaching his children... how sad.

Sharing the Love

2008-02-19T19:36:00.001-08:00

Growing up, I always loved weddings.

I loved to go to them, I loved to pretend them. I loved to sneak into the guest bedroom closet and try on my mother's veil to play in. (This was a big no-no for some reason though...)

When I did get married almost 9 years ago, my best friend and maid of honor quipped that it was the day I had been practicing for my whole life.

So it should come as no surprise that my almost 5-year old daughter seems to have inherited this fascination. She hasn't been to a wedding that she would remember yet, but she has recently discovered our wedding album. And since she also has a love for princesses and fairy tales, it seems the pictures from our big day are the perfect merging of worlds for her.

So tonight I decided to really blow her away... I told her we had an actual "movie" of our wedding day and promised to get it out after dinner and baths. This turned into a HUGE event here in our house, and I'm only sorry my husband was gone tonight and missed it.

From the beginning, I could sense the effect that watching the video would have on me. Right away I saw loved ones who are no longer with us (four in all by my count as I watched, a grandmother, an uncle, a young cousin, and an old family friend) and of course the countless "little" cousins who have grown so much. I was choked up from the beginning and wasn't sure I would be able to watch - or that I even wanted to, to be honest. I loved our wedding, watching the video brings back such beautiful memories. But it's so bittersweet too. It's amazing how much life changes in such a short time. Seeing loved ones who have since died - on video- is so hard - I swear, I could actually smell my grandmother in the room with me while I watched.

I didn't have long to focus on my own feelings, however. As the music swelled to a crescendo and began the trumpeting sounds of "Here Comes the Bride," my three children took in a collective gasp and my daughter said, "This is my FAVORITE part! Mommy, you are SO BEAUTEEFUL!" The three-year old quickly agreed, while my 7-year old yelled, "There's PAPA!"

"Mommy, someday daddy will walk me down the island like that," my daughter piped in.

"How many people were there, like 30?" asked my oldest son. When I told him the number was more like 400 he just kept saying, "I... can't... believe... you know 400 people!" (I didn't bother to explain to him that having all those guests doesn't mean we knew them all!)

Even they seemed a little taken aback when I pointed out that my little sister, who was our flower girl, was actually about a year younger at our wedding than Ethan is today. Yikes.

At some point near the end, there's a fairly decent shot of my mother and it's easy to see she is crying. Ethan said, "GG is crying because you've gotten wed so fast."

And so it went. Watching the event that marked the beginning of this beautiful family through the eyes of the children we could have only dreamed and hoped for on that warm September day.

They wanted to watch everything, but quickly realized there was a lot of adult talking going on and agreed to let me fast forward to the "part where you get married."

Ethan was a little disappointed at the camera angle for the kiss, but laughed hysterically when he saw me shake my bouquet in the air after we were announced as husband and wife. "You held that up like it was a football!" he said.

It was getting late, so I promised they could watch the reception tomorrow and we turned the TV off. I'm going to have to remember to take notes when we watch the next part - they are most looking forward to the "part where you and daddy feed each other." Stay tuned!

Got Milk?

2008-02-19T07:28:00.000-08:00

From time to time, the subject of cow's milk comes up with me. It came up again this weekend, which is prompting me to post this.

In our house, cow's milk is equated to soda. I buy it occasionally and drink it from time to time, but I do so knowing that it has little nutritional value for me and I'm better off with something else. I don't give it to my children. My husband has never liked it. I used to think he was missing out on something of great nutritional value. I now think he's probably just listening to his body.

But wait... you say. Milk? But milk is one of nature's most perfect, wholesome foods!

Ah... but not so. When I first started having babies, I also started attending a breastfeeding support group and it was there I first started to understand that cow's milk does not always do well in human bodies. Time and again, breastfeeding problems were directly tied to dairy products. I can not say this clearly enough: a LOT of breastfeeding problems are directly tied to too much dairy in the mother's diet, and if you cut back or eliminate the dairy, the problems go away. This makes me sad because I think too many women are encouraged to switch to formula before they are asked about dairy, and it's just such a simple thing. Not to mention, if a baby is reacting to the amount of dairy it gets through breastmilk, how are they going to do on a product that is made from dairy by-products given to them directly? (Ever wonder why so many babies get put on soy formula?)

I've done a lot of research over the years on this subject, but I want to keep this post short.

In any case... one of the better resources I know regarding cow's milk and why it may not do a body good is this letter. Here is another, and a bit shorter. Both are from doctors and both present well-reasoned thoughts. Take a few minutes and read them, I think you'll find it interesting.

They will literally turn everything you think you know about milk upside down.

Ten Random Things

2008-02-19T07:10:00.000-08:00

So, another friend "tagged" me with this internet chain thing that says you have to blog 10 random things about yourself and then ask 10 other people to do the same. I'll skip the second part, but I always find these interesting from other people and fun to do, so I'll play:

1. I love the smell of clean laundry, air from humidifiers, and tires.

2. I think I'm addicted to caffeine. No, really.

3. I would love to go back to school, but I don't know what for. I miss classes though.

4. I can play the flute and I'm learning the violin with my son.

5. I sneeze every time I tweeze my eyebrows.

6. My first job was at Burger King.

7. I have lived in 4 different cities, but 13 different homes in just one of them.

8. I am constantly re-arranging my house. If not physically, then in my head.

9. I have to have a TV on to fall asleep quickly.

10. The state of my house (cleanliness) is directly proportional to my sanity.

ADPi for the weekend

2008-02-18T09:57:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I traveled to Michigan with the women I advise from Alpha Delta Pi at the University of Illinois and the women of several other chapters to attend our District Leadership Conference.

It was a lot of fun to be with these women and getting to know them better. The conference was good too, very informative and I feel like I'm really settling into my advisor role. (After six years! LOL!) For people who aren't so involved with a sorority, it may be hard to understand... but there are so many rules and procedures that learning it all is really overwhelming. This was evidenced this weekend by how many times I heard "higher-ups" giving conflicting information about these very procedures. And it doesn't help when the international organization keeps changing things from time to time either. Luckily, I believe that most sorority women have a positive experience and know about none of this, which is of course our ultimate goal.

A couple of funny things about the weekend...

* There were approximately 300 sorority women at that hotel over the weekend. As it so happened, the mens' basketball team from Ohio State University was also staying there. My husband believes there is a direct correlation between that and the fact that OSU had a startling loss in their game against Michigan. He believes the men from OSU may have been "ADPi-ed." :)

* At the age of 33, I can still pull an all-nighter. By 3:30am on Sunday, it seemed pointless to go off to bed for the 2 or so hours I would be able to sleep. So my advisor friend from ISU and I stayed up, wandering around the hotel for things to do. We "broke" into the pool (ok, the door wasn't actually *locked* but since the pool was technically closed and I am a rule follower, I consider this "breaking" in) and soaked our feet in the hottub. We got on the Internet in the lobby. We talked and talked and talked. Turns out, she also has a restless brain - so we talked about that for a while. It was great fun, but I paid for it the next morning with that horrible nodding off experience during a couple of meetings.

* Drunk men in town for an Eastern Michigan baseball reunion spent some time conversing with myself and two advisor friends (one was the same mentioned above). There's no way I could explain the full ridiculousness of that conversation but here's a tip to drunk out of town men everywhere: women with wedding rings are generally not interested in your "Michigan prick." And they're definitely not interested in your racist views. Enough said.

* There is a "good-old girls'" club in sorority life. And no, I'm not part of it.

And on a more serious note:

The chapter from Northern Illinois University is in our province and traveled with us on the bus. They are beautiful, strong women who had a lot on their hearts and minds as they attended this conference/workshop this weekend. While none of our members were hurt in the attack on their campus last week, members of the Greek community - and people they knew - were. They continue to be in my prayers.

Obama Song

2008-02-12T20:29:00.000-08:00

Check it out if you haven't seen it...

great production value, even if you're not an Obama fan.

Obama Song

Breastmilk and Stem Cells

2008-02-12T20:01:00.000-08:00

Someone alerted me to this article on the Science Alert website in Australia. The bold-ing is mine.

Breast milk contains stem cells

Monday, 11 February 2008

by Catherine Madden

The Perth scientist who made the world-first discovery that human breast milk contains stem cells is confident that within five year scientists will be harvesting them to research treatment for conditions as far-reaching as spinal injuries, diabetes, and Parkinson's disease.

But what Dr. Mark Cregan is excited about right now is the promise that his discovery could be the start of many more exciting revelations about the potency of breast milk.

He believes that it not only meets all the nutritional needs of a growing infant but contains key markers that guide his or her development into adulthood.

"We already know how breast milk provides for the baby's nutritional needs, but we are just beginning to understand that it probably performs many other functions, " says Dr. Cregan, a molecular biologist at The University of Western Australia.

He says that, in essence, a new mother's mammary glands take over from the placenta to provide the development guidance to ensure a baby's genetic destiny is fulfilled.

"It is setting the baby up for the perfect development," he says. "We already know that babies who are breast fed have an IQ advantage and that there's a raft of other health benefits. Researchers also believe that the protective effects of being breast fed continue into adult life."

"The point is that many mothers see milks as identical - formula milk and breast milk look the same so they must be the same. But we know now that they are quite different and a lot of the effects of breast milk versus formula don't become apparent for decades. Formula companies have focused on matching breast milk's nutritional qualities but formula can never provide the developmental guidance."

It was Dr. Cregan's interest in infant health that led him to investigate the complex cellular components of human milk. "I was looking at this vast complexity of cells and I thought, "no one knows anything about them.'"

His hunch was that if breast milk contains all these cells, surely it has their precursors, too?

His team cultured cells from human breast milk and found a population that tested positive for the stem cell marker, nestin. Further analysis showed that a side population of the stem cells were of multiple lineages with the potential to differentiate into multiple cell types. This mans the cells could potentially be "reprogrammed" to form many types of human tissue.

He presented his research at the end of January to 200 of the world's leading experts in the field at the International Conference of the Society for Research on Human Milk and Lactation in Perth.

"We have shown these cells have all the physical characteristics of stem cells. What we will do next is to see if they behave like stem cells," he says.

If so, they promise to provide researchers with an entirely ethical means of harvesting stem cells for research without the debate that has dogged the harvesting of cells from embryos.

Further research on immune cells, which have also been found in breast milk and have already been shown to survive the baby's digestive process, could provide a pathway to developing targets to beat certain viruses or bacteria.

Soulmates

2008-02-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a bit today about soulmates. In my mind, there are different kinds of soulmates and luckily, Wikipedia backs me up on this:

Spiritual and religious - concepts of reincarnation and karma. Soulmates have spent many previous lifetimes together.

Karmic soulmate- someone who has a special mission or influence on one's life.

Companion soulmate - people with whom one has made a connection.

Twin soulmates - very close friends with whom one has strong bonds

Twin flame soulmate - a popular romantic belief that there is only one true soulmate

I feel as though I have and have had a few soulmates in my life, covering many of these different categories. One of them is my husband - and marrying one's romantic soulmate is not something I think happens to everyone, so it's not something I take for granted. I'm not sure anyone understands - or tolerates - me the way he does.

One of them was my best friend in college. By the definitions listed above, he was either karmic or a companion soulmate. He was not a romantic soulmate, though I suppose under different circumstances and timing in our lives, it might have been possible. But in the life we did live, it was never a thought beyond "what-if." Our friendship ended rather abruptly six years ago and I didn't get a chance to say good-bye the way I wanted to.

The truth is I didn't want the friendship to end at all, and it's been an open wound in my heart ever since. I vacillate between missing that friend and being angry at him, and I often wish we could have just one more conversation to forgive each other.

Elizabeth Gilbert describes a similar longing in her book, Eat, Love, Pray (which I am still reading, yes still.) Her emotional journey was sparked by her divorce and during her time studying spirituality at an Indian Ashram, she was struggling with the letting go.

"So what I asked of God that night on the Ashram roof was - given the reality that I would probably never speak to my ex-husband again - might there be some level upon which we could communicate? Some level on which we could forgive?" she writes.

She goes on to explain that she dropped into meditation and soon found herself inviting her husband to join her on the roof.

"I asked him if he would be kind enough to meet me up here for this farewell event. Then I waited until I felt him arrive. And he did arrive."

And then, she describes the vision she saw.

"...they were just two cool blue souls who already understood everything. Unbound by their bodies, unbound by the complex history of their past relationship, they came together above this roof (above me, even) in infinite wisdom. Still in meditation, I watched these two cool blue souls circle each other, merge, divide again and regard each other's perfection and similarity. They knew everything. They knew everything long ago and they will always know everything. They didn't need to forgive each other; they were born forgiving each other."

I read a few more chapters, but this one was still resonating in my head when I went to bed. As I laid there with my eyes closed slipping into that state of mind between awake and asleep, I suddenly saw this flash of cool, blue light and heard a voice telling me that I too, could let go. I could call that friend to me in the same way, and finally be free. But it was so overwhelming and such a shock to my system that before I knew it, my body involuntarily snapped to attention and this thought crossed my mind: "I'm not ready."

Which was strange, because I thought I was.

It was very intense, and kept me awake for a while longer. I tried to relax myself enough to see if it would happen again, but instead my mind kept flipping through other images, like a movie suddenly in fast forward. It was crazy... the restless brain at its best, I guess, and I finally fell asleep before I could find the "stop" button.

Finding my Voice

2008-02-12T10:22:00.000-08:00

Back when I started my first on-air full-time reporting job, I was really struggling.

I didn't like the way my stories were sounding, and I often did 5 or 6 takes - per paragraph I was reading - to get one I could live with. Tracking my stories took forever and left me frustrated. I wasn't even sure I should have made the on-air leap at all.

My boss (the greatest TV boss ever) said, "You're just finding your voice. It will be ok."

That may have been some of the best advice I've ever gotten. I'm not a patient person, and I like knowing how to do things, I'm not so great at the learning process. But again and again I've had to learn to take the time to let it come. To find my voice.

I did eventually get better at tracking stories. I wasn't great, but I would have gotten even better if I hadn't sidelined my career a year and a half later and taken on full-time motherhood instead. A different voice, and it took some time to get used to.

When I started advising my sorority I was so overwhelmed by how much I didn't know or couldn't figure out, I didn't think I could keep it up for long. But I found my voice and now 6 years later I'm still going strong and involved at a higher level than I ever thought I'd be.

And so it goes, on and on.

About a year and a half ago, I started blogging sporadically on my MySpace page. Some of the posts were pretty good, I thought - but they mostly evolved around highly emotional issues like the neonatal death of my goddaughter. The lighter posts, not so great. My husband encouraged me to start a different blog but I didn't feel I was up to it. I'm sure every blog writer has some of that "why does anyone want to read what I have to say?" feeling.

Eventually I took the plunge, of course... and that is what I have here now. But I definitely feel as if I'm struggling to find my voice.

It will come, I know. I just have to keep learning and working at it and I'll figure it out. I don't know if I want to create something that is entertaining and interesting for my friends and family to read, or if this is primarily a personal endeavor. I think it can be both.

But I'll find my voice. It will be ok.

Generation Y... Why?

2008-02-09T23:03:00.000-08:00

I am, by every definition I have been able to find today, a "Generation X-er."

According to my oh-so-exhaustive interent research today, it's pretty hard to define most of Generation X. We grew up with the birth of modern-day technology, the increasing normalcy of divorce and latch-key kids, and some sense of independence and adaptability. The overriding characteristic seems to be a desire to rebel against narcissism. We've been instilled with reaching out to others and philanthropy as not only admirable qualities, but also part of leading a fulfilling life.

"Generation X grew up in the 'me generation' of the 1980's and now they are able to see that it's not all it's cracked up to be," said Jackie Shelton, an advertising executive from Reno.

But Generation "Y" is very different.

According to USA Today, "unlike the generations that have gone before them, Gen Y has been pampered, nurtured and programmed with a slew of activities since they were toddlers, meaning they are both high-performance and high-maintenance."

There are also studies that show a 30-percent increase in "elevated narcissism" in college students from 1982 to 2006. Some say this generation doesn't even comprehend the concept of "working your way up" - let alone think it applies to them, and also results in an inability to form relationships or loyalty.

There is a good side to this. Inventive, open to new ideas, creative, and flexible are also words frequently used to describe Generation Y. Free-thinking and forward-thinking, Gen Y-er's are more optimistic about the future of technology, environmental causes, and their own personal abilities.

I first became acquainted with this basic generational gap about five years ago when I started advising at one of my sorority's chapters. I found myself saying and thinking over and over again, "This isn't how it was when I was in college. Things have really changed."

At first, it was easy of course to chalk that up to my own personal aging - ahem, maturing. After all, I had been out of college for about 6 years by then and naturally, things really had changed. But the more I began to dig and the more I began to listen closely to other advisors of other chapters, the more I began to understand that my short six years represented a huge chasm... because I represented the end of one generation, and today's college students represent the next.

More and more, the new mantra seemed to be, "what's in it for me?" I was baffled to hear of would-be college students visiting campuses and demanding to know why *they* should choose that school. There's been a shock wave in the Greek system too, where "Rush" is now (more appropriately) called Recuritment and the focus is on convincing potential members to choose *your house* - instead of potential members trying to get "into" a house.

As I continue with my advising work, I am finding this to be an increasing struggle. It's a struggle in my personal life too, as I work to understand the motives and actions - let alone thoughts and priorities - of my two much younger sisters.

At the sorority, I am responsible for the sorority involvement of roughly 180 women, and all that entails. But as the Greek system struggles to evolve and remain relevant to today's generation, I sometimes feel as though we are constantly missing the mark because we do not fully understand this generation. We do not always understand that the differences between us are not the normal, natural progression of things, but often something much bigger.

The Greek system has forever relied on networking as one of its fundamental advantages. It's a great way to meet people on a college campus, a way to find a niche, a sense of belonging, and maybe it might even help you land a job one day.

Today's generation has MySpace, Facebook, and a long list of other resources available to them that provide all of those things and then some. And the digital age has completely transformed interpersonal communication. Some say it's unfortunate that we hide behind the "send" button instead of picking up the phone, but I don't think that speaks to the real detriment of electronic communication. What I see happening more and more is that people are willing to say things on a computer screen that they would never have the cajones to say in person. Add in anonymity, and you'll easily see libelous and slanderous remarks that surely cut to the quick and leave lasting scars. I've seen teens fight with each other through MySpace and on blogs - out in cyberspace for all to see.

In the Greek system, loyalty is valued. It's loyalty for the sake of being loyal, because you love the institution you are loyal to and are grateful for what it adds to your life. Loyalty adds to the sisterhood experience. You rely on loyalty for ritual, and you need it to make that deep connection. Sorority membership is lifelong and meant to transcend, while accentuating, your college experience.

Today's generation doesn't grasp the full meaning of loyalty. How could they? Noone stays at one company for an entire career anymore (most people don't even have that choice), political and religious leaders let us down, heck - even 50% of couples who promise to stay married to each other don't. I'm not bashing society, just saying we can't expect a generation that hasn't been shown loyalty to understand it. They don't understand it, and they don't feel it, and I realize that when I talk to the women about the importance of legacy and ritual, they are listening with ears incapable of comprehending.

At the risk of sounding too "back in my day...," I do feel like college students today are not as mature as they used to be. (And believe me, I am not forgetting the long list of immature things I did in college. It hasn't been *that* long ago.) Maybe it's that they're not capitalizing on the opportunities for growth and maturation while they're on campus. Or are those opportunities not there in the same way? I don't know the answer. If 40 is the new 50, I feel like college might be the new high school. Don't believe me? Check out a website called juicycampus.com. I'm sure many more like it exist, I'm just not cool (read: young) enough to know. Or care, truth be told.

So, I know this post is even more rambling than usual for me, but it's really an issue I'm struggling to sort out. I feel like maybe this is one of those "connection" moments for me. It's a subject I'm intrigued with, and I'm in a position in my life where it is relevant. With knowledge comes understanding, and hopefully the ability to better myself and the women I advise.

House Hunters

2008-02-07T23:19:00.000-08:00

I love shows about real estate on channels like HGTV and TLC. I love the shows where they flip houses, or try to make them more marketable, whatever.

I especially love "House Hunters" where would-be homebuyers tour three different homes and then decide which one to buy. It's the reason I'm up late many nights - like tonight - because I have to see the whole show or else what's the point? And of course, trying to guess which one they'll go for is just part of the fun.

Some parts of it crack me up though. Last night a couple was looking for a new home in somewhere-I've-never-heard-of Florida and the woman was clearly not impressed with the decor of the homes they were seeing. She kept making pretty strong comments like, "This is so ugly" and "I hate this color (of paint)."

That's all well and fine, but I kept thinking about the poor people who were trying to sell the house. I mean, they had to have signed off on something allowing these people to bring cameras into their home, right? Chances are they're going to see the show. And sure, maybe the decor needed some updating but it wasn't all bad - different strokes and all, folks.

The clincher though was when the couple chose the house the woman had complained the most about. (Or maybe that was just some creative editing, who knows?) From the way it had been put together, you would have thought there was nothing she liked about that house. But any good real estate agent will tell you to look beyond things like paint and carpet... apparently someone reminded her of that - off camera.

I also love when they go to international locations - very interesting to see what is considered "standard" in a home in another country. Or maybe I should say what *isn't* considered standard.

The other interesting thing about these shows is seeing the real effect cost of living has. I love when people are "working with a budget of $500,000" and end up with something roughly the size of my bedroom. Sure, living here has its drawbacks, but it has its benefits too and affordability is no small matter.

Struggling to understand... the Democrats

2008-02-07T12:15:00.000-08:00

Ok, I'm just going to start by saying this: I have never voted for a Democratic Presidential candidate in my life. (Incidentally, that also meant that for the first two Presidential elections I voted in, my guy lost.)

This year, barring some unforseen circumstance, I will vote Democratic.

Actually, let me clarify... if Barack Obama is the candidate, I'll definitely vote Democratic. If it's Hillary Clinton, I might be like a child kicking and screaming as I go in to vote... but I'll likely still do it. That is, if the election were tomorrow, this is how I'd vote. There's still a lot of time until November and I have a lot more learning to do before then. John McCain could still convince me. Maybe.

One of the things I am learning more about is the Democratic nominating process. I guess I haven't paid much attention to it before. I just wasn't interested because the only other Democrat who even piqued my interest was John Edwards and he's never made it far enough in the primaries to follow that closely. I also live in Illinois, where the primary used to be much later and virtually useless in the political scheme of things. Plus, we do not have an open primary and many years I've found it easier to skip voting as my own form of protest than to actually go in and pick a side. (For the record, I struggled with that this year too, but in the end decided the stakes were too high not to participate somehow. Our system forced me to choose who I thought needed my vote the most, not just who I wanted to vote for. Messed Up.)

But I am digressing, as usual. Here is my point: I am completely dumbfounded to learn about these so-called "Super Delegates" and the prominent role they will play in determining this year's Democratic nominee.

The party that is still crying foul over the 2000 "stolen" election in which Al Gore won the popular vote but lost in the electoral college now gives us a system that is even more backwards and open to corruption. This year, roughly 800 super delegates will likely have the deciding vote. But wait, this is the Democratic party... champion of the poor and underserved... party of the people. So these super delegates must be ordinary folk, representing you and me, right?

No! They are big name Democrats like... Clinton (ugh) and other former Presidents, Vice-Presidents, and congressmen. People who have undoubtedly donated large sums of money over the years and are being rewarded with these super powers to pick the next President. (Which is another argument, I realize... but at this point I think the good money is on the Democrats to win this election, even if they nominate Bozo the Clown.)

I am finding this pretty hypocritical. How is this system any different or better than the electoral college anyway? It seems to me that it's even worse. I've skipped voting in the primary before, but this is the first time I've actually voted and felt like my vote didn't really matter.

It is entirely possible that Barack Obama will win the popular vote through the primaries, but still lose the nomination. Sound familiar? Where is Al Gore now? What does he think about that?

I'm also noticing how many high-profile wealthy people are Democrats. Did you see that last debate in Los Angeles? It was like the Oscars, not a debate. Which is fine. But it seems I hear so much whining about the Republicans only looking out for their rich friends. Newsflash: Jason Alexander and Steven Spielberg aren't exactly in *my* tax bracket. Somehow I doubt they've had to cut their monthly grocery budget to buy gas for their car or leave the A/C off all summer to make up for the winter's outrageous heating bills. Just a guess. I just think it's unfair that the Republicans are the only ones to get painted with that brush, that's all.

I'm not all doom and gloom on the Democrats. I think we have reached a very exciting time in the history of our country's politics, and I credit a lot of that to what is happening in the Democratic party right now. It's the first time in my lifetime that I've felt enthused and inspired by a Presidential candidate, and optimistic about the future. I don't feel things are the "same old, same old" except of course, for who's deciding who we get to vote for. But once those wealthy, powerful people decide who's going to run it's all up to you and me.

Power to the people, man.

She is... an American Girl

2008-02-07T12:03:00.001-08:00

Last weekend I took my daughter to the American Girl store in Chicago as an early celebration of her 5th birthday. We were lucky enough to be accompanied by my mom and several of our friends (both her age and mine!) for a fun outing.

Since this is a special occasion and all, we splurged for lunch at the American Girl Cafe, and I have to say I think we were all pretty pleasantly surprised. The food was plentiful and very good (possibly the best quiche I've ever had!) and all things considered, very reasonably priced. The service was superb. I don't know where else we could have eaten like that in the city with the added bonus of a child-friendly atmosphere. Well worth it, I think.

We took the opportunity to outfit one of Elisabeth's newest dolls, Julie (pictured with us at lunch!). Julie grew up in the 1970's, a girl after my own heart! I think she felt loved here already, but she is feeling very much at home now with an entire outfitted bedroom and wardrobe. (I'm still hoping my wonderful loving husband will not have a heart attack when he sees the credit card bill!)

No doubt, a day at the American Girl store is an extravagance. It's not for the faint of heart. My mom and I added it up on the way home and realized our little group alone spent probably close to $1200-$1500 there that day, eating lunch with little plastic people and buying them clothes and... accessories.

But you know, my daughter will always remember the birthday we spent with her friends at the American Girl store. We'll go again, I'm sure... but this will always be a special memory for her, and for me.

My daughter, The Thinker

2008-01-31T06:51:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about my childrens' different personalities, and wondering how many of the characteristics they possess now will be carried into their adulthood. I think about the influence we as parents may have on that - and wonder how to strike the balance between shaping and molding the people we would like our children to be and nurturing and incubating the people they already are and are destined to be.

When my oldest son was born, I would look into his eyes and say, "it just seems like he's been here before." He was so observant and quiet, always happy to sit and watch - constantly taking it all in. I was surprised to learn I wasn't just a crazy mother, but there is actually a phrase for this - "old soul." Now he's 7 years old and in many ways, he still has a very "old soul." Incidentally, it looks as if my 5-month old goddaughter does as well. If you've ever made eye contact with one of these children, you know exactly what I mean.

My youngest son is the comedian. Only 3 years old, he loves to make people laugh and loves to perform. He loves to sing. He is a ball of energy that can barely contain itself. He is more follower than leader, but the "leaders" always gravitate to him. Everyone loves him. If he were 16 we'd be having talks about living up to his potential in school and "applying" himself. He would be the kid with the high ACT scores and low grades, and I think he'd be very popular as the entertainer.

But this post is titled "my daughter, the thinker" because I had another conversation with her yesterday that blew my mind. This is the 4-year old who wants to be a doctor one day "so I can help people." This is the girl who once asked me to please stop talking to her because, "I am trying to think about how I'm going to help the world."

My daughter leans toward the dramatic. No, really. She often becomes so animated when she talks that she extends her arms out, palms up, and moves them up and down to help accentuate her point. Things most people would consider minor can quickly escalate to major in her world. She's not the kind of dramatic that drains you of energy, but it's easy to see the toll she takes on herself.

I love this about her. I love this passion and if nurture has any clout at all in the nature vs. nurture argument, I hope I can help her keep this fire.

Yesterday she got into a fight with our youngest, the 3-year old. This is not that unusual, but sometimes these fights heat up - both sides too stubborn to back down - and the results are sometimes bad. So I intervened quickly and called them down to me. She was the only one who came, but I quickly got so caught up in our conversation I forgot to insist that the younger one come down too.

She started off explaining to me that she and Aidan were playing, but he decided to go into his room to play alone and he did not want her to follow him. Ever determined, she tested him and did it anyway and that was where the screaming match started.

But before I could really get into the, "he needs a little space sometimes, you wouldn't like it if you wanted to be alone in your room and he came in... blah blah blah" speech, she launched into this:

"Mommy, it's just that I'm not even 5 years old yet and I still have so many things to learn. I just am not learning very much. There are so many things I need to know."

(This is the preschooler who brought home a colored and hand-labeled map of the continents, plus an addition math worksheet this week. But she isn't learning very much!)

She continued, "For example, I just don't know how in the world all people have parents. And I don't understand how in the world people do the things they do. There are so many things I don't know the answers to."

Already, I was blown away. I was getting so caught up listening to her that I wasn't finding the words to try to help her. I pulled her close to me and tried to go over the list of things she is learning - not just at school, but the little things every day here at home. Trying new foods, picking out clothes, brushing her own hair...

I also tried to explain that some questions just do not have answers, and even when she grows up and has had more time to learn more things, she may still not have all the answers she wants. It's part of life.

And then, she went on:

"I have already used up my three wishes." (Tears welling up for the loss of future opportunity...)

I tried to interject that in life, she will get more than three wishes, but she went on:

"For my first wish, I wished to be a Princess. And for my second wish, I wished to travel around the world so I could see lots of new things. I guess I do still have my third wish."

Briefly, I thought about telling her that she will likely never be a "real" princess, but of course she'll always be a princess to me. But then I thought again - how do I know that? How do I even know what the probability is? This is a child who, at just shy of 5 years old, talks eagerly about her heart's desire to travel the world and help people. For all I know, she's going to strike out when she's older and find for herself a bona fide Prince.

In fact, I think the odds are increasingly in her favor.

As I was sharing this conversation with my husband later, I came to the conclusion that my daughter must just have thoughts and feelings that are beyond her physical development. I just don't think she yet has the skills to verbalize all the things she is thinking. Another restless brain in the making? Maybe.

I just hope and pray the fires stay lit long enough for her words to catch up - I can't wait to hear what she's going to have to say.

There she is...

2008-01-28T14:33:00.000-08:00

Saturday night was a big night for me. It was my own personal Super Bowl night - otherwise known as the Miss America pageant.

(I know what you're thinking. But the Miss America program is the largest single source of scholarship money available to women in this country and I will defend it to my dying day!)

Growing up, I can remember that watching the Miss America pageant was a BIG DEAL. The women were so glamorous and just seemed so elusive and exclusive to me.. the absolute smartest and prettiest women I could imagine all gathered in one place. I'm sure it helped that I was also in love with the local Miss Marigold pageant (we went every year because my dad sponsored contestants) and the Miss America pageant was the natural progression of that. It was at pageants like Miss Marigold that future Miss America's got their start.

So I guess I've just always been fascinated by pageants in general. I get why critics don't like them, but I've just always seen them differently. I see them as a way to celebrate all aspects of womanhood - intelligence, talent, and yes - beauty.

Not that all pageant contestants possess those qualities. And Lord knows there are plenty of pageants that put an emphasis on beauty while completely ignoring talent and scholarship. The distinction is important and exists not just for teen-aged and young adult women, but for little girls as well.

So let me be clear when I say I love the Miss America pageant system. The mall pageants, not so much.

Over the past few years the ratings for the Miss America pageant have struggled and it seems show producers have sunk to new levels in an effort to bring them up. Maybe it's because we have so many television viewing choices now, but every new gimmick just seemed to sink the ratings further. The networks dropped it in 2004, and it has moved from its long-time Atlantic City, NJ location to Las Vegas. The date - traditionally two weeks after Labor Day - has also changed now to late January.

It's actually aired on CMT the last two years.

As a casual observer, I think the pageant has really been struggling and unfortunately making the wrong decisions in these areas. Luckily, I think, TLC stepped in the picture this year and a re-working of the pageant was set into place. They developed a 4-week reality show called "Miss America Reality Check" where they helped the contestants - many of whom were obviously well-versed in "pageant" - get more real. Oh sure, the show wasn't like watching the History Channel or reading a good novel, but I thought it was well done and definitely helped stir up interest in the grand finale. That was the point after all, right?

It's well and good to talk about Miss America as a role model, but it's harder to put into practice when she seems like this overly-choreographed, overly made-up woman. I think they did a good job of infusing some modernism into the pageant without being hokey (anyone else remember the "Survivor" style question and answer session on Miss USA a few years back?).

I'm still not sure how I feel about announcing the "eliminated" contestants but it did add a bit of suspense and made things more interesting.

They also apparently eliminated all previous scores once the top 16 were announced and I'm not really sure how I feel about that either. That means they completely disregarded the interview and talent portions from earlier in the week and instead started eliminating contestants based solely on their performance in the live broadcast.

I personally still think the longer interviews conducted earlier in the week should have some bearing - they're typically the most important part of any pageant. (Really, they are - it's all about first impressions!)

In any case, kudos to the Miss America organization for getting on the ball... here's hoping they can continue on this path. (And kudos to my husband for taking the kids out of the house so I could watch the pageant in peace!)

I thought college was over... like 12 years ago!

2008-01-28T14:22:00.000-08:00

I just finished writing a story for the paper.

It ended up being about 7 pages long (which translates into a LOT of newspaper inches, the editors are going to lovvvveee me...).

Seven pages... that's about the average length of the papers I wrote in college.

For the record, most stories I write are about 1 page in Word, so that gives you some perspective.

This particular story has to do with election coverage so of course it's important and really does require more time and space.

But man, I hope somebody (other than the candidates) reads it! :)

Remembering

2008-01-25T12:29:00.000-08:00

One time several months ago, I visited my goddaughter's grave with her mother, my best friend Tammy. For anyone who does not know, my goddaughter Natalee died unexpectedly - and to this day for reasons we really don't know - at birth.

It was a sunny, warm day and after we visited Natalee's grave we took some time to walk around and study the other gravesites in that cemetery. It's a nature preserve too and a beautiful place, and we were struck again and again by the sad stories that seemed to surround us. There are a number of young children buried near Natalee and many of their gravesites were decorated with various items.

We were both struck by the universality of grief. While we were ourselves struggling still, it was a stark reminder that we are not alone and that ultimately, grief is one of the few things we humans have in common.

I've been struggling with how to write this entry all day, but I'm reminded of that day in the cemetery again today as I watch tribute after tribute for a man who died last night. He was a husband, father, son, friend, and co-worker. Many knew him as a funny newscaster in Chicago.

I once knew him as family and I think he is probably the reason I chose to go into television.

His name is Randy Salerno and when I was in high school, he married my then-stepmother's sister. Never one to get hung up on "step" family, I considered him an uncle. He was larger than life - both literally with his 6'5" height, but also figuratively with his Italian charm and gregarious personality.

I think I was enthralled with him from the first time I met him, and watching him in his career (first here in Peoria at a station I would later work for) and then as he and his wife found new jobs, first in Albany, NY and then in Chicago - inspired me. I realized that there was a profession for someone like me. Someone who loved to talk, (especially in front of people) who was inquisitive, who couldn't ever imagine a job that was the exact same day after day. The kind of job that might make me light up a room when I walked in the way Randy could.

I don't remember when exactly, but not long after they landed jobs in Chicago, Randy and Diane divorced. And you know, the funny thing about divorce is that you often forget about the "small-part players" who are affected - like the step-niece. In a little twist of fate, my husband was able to meet him covering a story in Decatur shortly after we married and then talked to him one other time as well.

I'm not the kind of person who can just cut people out of their lives and pretend they were never a part of it, and I don't think Randy was either. So I know he was genuinely interested when he asked about our family. And I was always interested in learning more about the family he has now. But exactly how does that e-mail start, anyway?

Sadly, I'm finally learning more - through video clips and newscasts that are being devoted to him today. But it's so strange as I watch to realize how little I knew of this man who really had such a profound effect on my life. I just knew him differently, I guess... at a different time.

Even so, I am sharing in the deep sense of sadness and loss others who did know him well are expressing. I also have some regrets and the stark realization there's nothing I can do about them now - no chance to send him that e-mail to say hi and let him know how he influenced my life and how much *I* missed him after the divorce.

I've watched a lot of those newspeople in Chicago tell stories about him today, and they're all great and speak very highly of the person I remember. But the first story that came to my mind happened one day when I was in high school.

Diane and Randy were visiting from Albany in the middle of winter. We lived on a lake and when I got home from school, I found that Randy had cleared a big square of snow off the lake with a snow shovel so that my stepmom and her sister could go ice-skating. It had taken him more than 2 hours of hard work, but when they finally got out there to skate it was so cold they only stayed out for five minutes! I felt so bad for him I went and skated myself for a while (and tried really hard to last more than 5 minutes!) I remember thinking how most people would have been frustrated that so much hard work had been for nothing, but he just seemed to laugh and take it in stride. If he was frustrated, he didn't show it.

You really never know whose life you may touch, and when you may be creating a memory for someone. And I'd have to be a fool not to see the lesson in all of this - I won't insult your intelligence by writing the obvious.

The other lesson though, the one that isn't so obvious, is that sometimes people can be a small part of our lives for a very small time and years later we'll still feel a huge void when they're gone.

My thoughts and prayers to Randy and all his family and friends..........

2008-01-24T06:41:00.001-08:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!!!

Irony

2008-01-24T06:32:00.000-08:00

So how ironic is this?

The morning after I start a new blog about slowing down in my life, my son almost misses the bus for the first time ever!

Of course, I want to point out that we were following our normal morning schedule. The bus driver (who kept us waiting outside in the cold when she was almost 10 minutes late just two days ago) actually got here about a minute before we normally head outside. And for some reason, my son had left his coat and hat in his room upstairs - something he normally does not do.

So the bus driver waited and then impatiently honked the horn, while my 7-year old struggled out the door and through the snow still trying to get his coat on and get it all together.

I'm not sure he was even fully awake yet.

Ah yes - he's getting to be more and more like an adult every day!

My new Blog

2008-01-23T20:56:00.000-08:00

I do not have a quiet mind.

I've known this for a long time, but I only recently found the words to express it in a book I'm reading called "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.

It's a fantastic book about a woman's voyage through self-discovery after reaching a crisis point in her life. On the surface, I don't appear to have much in common with this woman. Her marriage fell apart, she has no children, she is much better paid as a professional writer than I will ever be.

But the more of her book I read, the more I realize we do have in common. Maybe it's part of being human, maybe it's part of being a woman. Whatever it is, I find that I'm in no hurry to keep reading her book. Either the truth hits too close to home, or I'm afraid no other author has tapped into "me" like she has and when I'm done reading her book, I'll be alone again.

In any case, one of the things that most resonated with me is her description of her busy, restless mind. A mind that just doesn't ever stop, well, going.

I know just what she means.

I remember going to a concert back in college with one of my roommates. It was either Nine Inch Nails or Depeche Mode - an unimportant detail, I guess. What I do remember is that it was at the Assembly Hall in Champaign and the whole concert, I was mesmerized. Not by the music or the group, but by my surroundings. A large black curtain was stretched across the width of Assembly Hall and I couldn't help but ponder the logistics. How do they sew such a large piece of material? How many pieces was it originally? Where are the seams? How do they lift it up to the rafters? Where do they store something like that and do they actually fold it up?

And then there are the lights. How do they change lightbulbs in large arenas and theaters anyway, and how often? I've never been to the Peoria Civic Center without contemplating the catwalks that are suspended high above the floor near the ceiling, and I spent hours during lectures in Foellinger Auditorium staring at chandeliers and ornate architectural details wondering how it gets cleaned, painted, etc...

Once while studying with a friend in the old U of I Library, I asked him if he ever thought about how many books were around us that hadn't been touched in YEARS - just left to sit on the shelves gathering dust. It boggled my mind to think about it. It was a thought that would have never occurred to him.

I think this all must have started sometime in high school, because that's when I started falling asleep at night with the TV on. I needed it, and now almost 20 years later, I still do. My iPod will do in a pinch if I'm traveling or without a TV by the bed, but really I rely on the dialogue to distract my brain enough to allow it to *pause* and let the sleep creep in.

In college, I thought this restless brain thing was a blessing and helped me to multi-task. After all, my highest GPA came in the semester I had the most classes and extra-curriculars. I literally scheduled my time by the hour that whole semester, and learned I do best under pressure and with strict deadlines.

But as I get older, the restless brain seems to be working against me. I suddenly feel like an adult with ADHD as I struggle to get through a day and complete just one thing I've started. Of course, it doesn't help that I have three little helpers undoing a lot of what I get done in a day and I know part of this is related to motherhood. But seriously, I don't know how many times I've returned to the laundry room to find the washer full of water but the lid still open, or piled up dirty dishes in the sink only to realize later the dishwasher was empty all along. Many days, the simple task of getting dressed seems like a noteworthy accomplishment when I manage to fit it in.

In her book, Gilbert goes on a spiritual journey to get in touch with her inner-self, and she struggles with meditation. I can relate, I struggle with the idea of even trying to meditate. There are so many obstacles in my way I feel overwhelmed and just give up before I even try to start. A better disciplined me would set the alarm clock and get up early for a little quiet time, but anyone who knows me knows I value every last second before the alarm goes off.

But more than that - I worry about how I would possibly quiet my brain for meditation. Gilbert traveled all the way to an Ashram in India and struggled with this... how can I possibly get it done in my central Illinois bedroom? I can just imagine myself sitting there calm, relaxed, and posed and trying to meditate while my brain takes a joyride. Inevitably, I would start thinking about all the things I need to do (i.e. laundry, clean, feed kids, get dressed, answer e-mails, write stories, etc...) And when I finished that list, I'd move to the "want to" list - i.e. rent a dumpster and clear out the basement and garage, start a successful Ebay venture to justify my Gymboree addiction, find part-time work that lets me keep my stay-at-home mom status, plant some flowers around the house, etc...

The real downside to having a restless brain of course is that you're so often preoccupied with random thoughts that you lose sight of what's right in front of you. My friend and I call this the "what's next" syndrome and I know a lot of people - restless brain or not - who have this. I can't even make lunch without thinking about what we'll have for dinner and I sometimes miss out on fun things with my kids because my brain has hit fast-forward and moved on to bedtime, tomorrow, or their wedding day.

So my resolution for this year (although I hesitate to use that word because I do not actually believe in resolutions) is to slow down. Not to smell the roses, but to appreciate my life. Slow down my schedule, slow down my brain, slow down my life. I can't slow down the passage of time of course, and I can't make myself or my children or my parents stop growing older. But I can absorb more of it.

Maybe that means I try some meditation. I guess I look at journaling as a form of meditation, so I'll start with that. And that brings me back to why I'm starting this blog. Not to add one more thing to my day, but to give me a place to more regularly journal my thoughts. To record the little things that make me take pause, and the thoughts and feelings I want to hold onto. To chronicle this life of mine that seems to be speeding by. If you enjoy reading it too, that will be a bonus.