Incredible

Something crazy happened and I am compelled to share the story.

Last week, after the girls had woken up from their afternoon naps and I settled the big one in front of the tv with a snack, I took the baby out in the front yard for a leisurely walk to the mailbox. She loves looking around out there- we have lots of squirrels, birds, and bunnies, not to mention the plants and wind and trees.

I noticed a man with white hair tucked into a baseball cap in a bright blue shirt walking door to door across the street- not unusual, we get a lot of solicitors.

We grabbed the mail and were standing on the sidewalk, looking up at our huge oak tree, when I noticed the man had made it around to our house. I hoped he wouldn't keep me outside forever talking about which energy company or internet company I use or trying to sell me a new roof.

As he's walking up, he is pulling a paper out of his pocket and saying, "I got a permit from the City of Plano to be out here, to show that I'm legit, and here it is. They only give these out for a month at a time- they are really serious about lowering the amount of solicitors. Did you hear that story of a terrible rape down in Dallas a few years back? I don't want anyone to feel worried when they see me coming. I was looking for a no soliciting sign first before I left my card on your door. Do you live here?"

I recognized him. I knew this guy. I had just been thinking about him a couple of weeks ago.

He is a painter I worked with- one of my customers from the first paint store I ever managed. That store was so small, we only had a handful of regular customers- maybe two handfuls of customers, period. He's someone you don't forget because he is friendly and he will talk your ear off for at least 30 minutes at a time, longer if you let him.

Sometimes, if we were busy, I would get annoyed at how long he could talk, seemingly oblivious to the line of five other customers waiting for me to match their paint, or shake something up, or just ring them up for a paintbrush. Meanwhile, he's telling me about some customer of his who is really picky, or about his family who are all long gone.

If we weren't busy, and I had finished all my paperwork, I would listen to him talk as long as he wanted to. He would always take at least 2-3 of the free donuts we brought in on Fridays. He rarely bought much paint, maybe a gallon or two here or there. It seemed like he didn't have much work. I knew he lived in a detached garage on a friend's property and wasn't married- probably never had been. He is religious, and that peppers most of his conversations.

When I sliced open my thumb on some metal rack in the warehouse, he told me how once he sawed his arm open so badly he had to go to Parkland because he didn't have insurance and sat there in the ER for hours waiting for them to sew him up. He had to buy new clothes to go finish the paint job he was on the next day.

He also had the dirtiest pair of painter's whites I've ever seen. Layers upon layers upon layers of paint covered the thighs, like he never used rags and just wiped everything on his pants.

I got on a kick during my second year at the store where I asked all of my customers when their birthdays were and then made them cakes.

The mullet brothers- another regular set of customers- were happy and made a special trip to pick it up, but never told me if they liked the actual cake or not. (Did I mention I asked all the customers their favorite flavor? The mullet brothers preferred Butter Cake which I'd never made before and when I went to cook it it called for 2 sticks of butter which I didn't have so I substituted apple sauce....they might not have actually liked that cake! haha)

When I made David Lamb his birthday cake, he almost cried and said, "Thank you! Do you know I've never had a birthday cake in my whole life?" He was in is 60's.

I never forgot him because of the birthday cake, and how friendly he was, even if I forgot his name.

So when I saw him walk up and hand me his business card, I said, "I know you."

He seemed so confused and I reminded him that I worked at that store, and he still seemed a little confused but we talked through some details like about how I cut my thumb (I left out the birthday cake story); how I left when I had my kids, and how it was so awesome that we were getting to chat.

I offered him a drink from our drink fridge- this was the one time I wished we kept bottled water instead of the refillable ones for just our family- and he accepted a Dr. Pepper.

He followed me into my house and complimented the exterior paint, and asked questions about the age of the houses in the neighborhood- he wants to avoid working on houses built prior to 1978 because of the potential for lead paint. Suddenly I remembered when we got lead testing kits at the store and he was the only customer to buy them, use them, or even worry about being safe and using proper lead abatement procedures on his jobs.

He never made me feel weird for being so young and having such a fancy house. He commented on my wood kitchen and how he thinks stained wood will be coming back into style and how we should not paint over our cabinets.

I gave him the drink and we talked for a few more minutes while he cooled off. My favorite thing is when someone accepts a drink out of our drink fridge!

All in all, he was here for about 30 minutes, which is probably an average conversation with him. I felt so at peace with the encounter, almost to the point of elation. It felt like what I did at the paint store those 8 years mattered to someone somewhere.

When I felt beat down, overworked, unappreciated... when I worked on Christmas Eve with the flu and no heat in the store and only had one customer, when I almost lost Abby early in that pregnancy and had to go on a lifting restriction, all of the minuscule ways I was discriminated against for being a girl, for being small, for having eyelashes so the customers thought there's no way I could possibly know anything about complex problems or how to run a business.... for all the times I chose not to wear makeup so the customers wouldn't think I was pretty and would take me seriously. For all the times I surprised a customer with how much paint I could lift, and for the issues with my hips I still have today from carrying too much weight the wrong way, over and over and over for years...

I realize these problems are minor compared to what my friends with brown skin deal with every single day, and I'm not equipped to talk about that, but in my little world, I experienced a tiny sliver of discrimination for how I looked in that world, in the construction world.

When I left, I only took the satisfaction of the accomplishments I made on paper- the sales I made, the budgets I exceeded, the improvements in inventory that reflected so well on my P&L.

I never thought that I had an impact on my customers or that anyone would remember me.

I remember them: the yoga instructor who told me that downward dog should be comfortable and work your shoulders; the bubbly faux finisher whose husband got cancer but she gave me her fancy moving boxes for free and made me a decorated wine bottle for our new house; the friendly painter whose wife died of breast cancer and soon after he started dating a new woman and started talking about sex at my store; the jerk who finished painting a wall I was working on while I did some annoying tricks to tint his big batch paint a different color for free; the woman who bought hundreds of samples and painted her house a color she didn't test out; the painter who brought her cute daughter in with her all the time and we later found out her husband was extremely abusive but she stayed with him; the homeowner who was putting zebra carpet on her stairs and had a little book with the paint colors and finishes for every room in her new house.... I could go on and on.

I thought I was forgettable.

I wanted David Lamb to remember me for the birthday cake, but he remembered me for me. And I remembered him. And that's kind of incredible.

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Women's March on Washington

 

Saturday morning I received a text that said simply, "Good morning."

It included this photo and a video of the same group of people walking together toward downtown Houston. Instantly I knew it was the women's march, and it came from my Dad.

I had been feeling a little down because I wanted to participate in my local march but didn't want to mess with the baby's nap schedule. Of course I would bring her and big sister along but baby doesn't really sleep on the go anymore. So I watched some on tv and texted a friend- I mentioned to her that I wished I was marching and she said she did too.

She reassured me that taking care of my family is important work and that it doesn't make me a bad feminist- because it's up to me to give my girls the values that are important to me. It still didn't take away my disappointment in not being a part of such a huge moment in history.

Nothing compares to later getting the message that your own Dad went and marched. I felt so honored and cherished that he thought it was important enough for women, for me as his daughter, to have access to comprehensive health care and equal pay for equal work, that he took the time to get out and protest.

So I'm looking for ways to contribute. I donated to Planned Parenthood as a birthday gift to the friend I mentioned. I plan to call my senator and protest the Fetal Burial Rule (see my posts on Pregnancy #2 letters and Prenancy #3 letters). And after that, I will think of something else.

I've worked in a male dominated industry and fought to get where I did- but ultimately hit a glass ceiling due to pregnancy. It was a struggle to come to terms with not having a career but I'm so thankful for the opportunity to raise my girls. I truly believe that my life experiences shape my political views and I'm really more moderate than people think, but I'm extremely passionate about human rights and I studied journalism and political science so I look at all angles. 

I saw a few good points in President Trump's plan and I hope that they come to pass, without us losing out on the social progress we have made as a country. But I completely zoned out during his live speech to the CIA when he described the process of hiring one of his cabinet picks. He tends to ramble, which in my opinion is the best of his worst qualities. 

For now, I've got my short action plan and I'm ready to see where this ride leads. The one thing I can be sure of is that my girls will love everyone for their differences and will not judge them for their choices. That's the best legacy I could ask for.

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Embrace the Uncertainty

A week ago we got something huge in the mail, but it was only the size of an envelope. It was something to hold in our hands and to contemplate with our hearts, something to lead us down different paths, to consider the possibilities: an information packet from an adoption agency.

We've talked about adoption several times, but usually in passing. We talked about it before we got pregnant with Abigail, when it didn't happen in the first three cycles. We talked about it again after the first miscarriage when my body was taking forever to get back to normal. And this time, we started talking about it before I got my first cycle after my surgery.

But this time, it doesn't feel like a last-ditch effort, it feels like a real option for growing our family. When my cycle returned at a normal time, I still knew in the core of my being that the last thing I wanted was to be pregnant. Ever again. I pictured us adopting our next child, maybe from a different country, and then maybe getting pregnant with twins and it would work out this time. Bean pictured us adopting an infant domestically from the foster system. We thought we should find someone to talk to about this. The perfect scenario was someone who could talk through all of the different avenues, the pros and cons of each type, and help us sort it all out before we spent any money. We wanted to feel comfortable with the path.

I tried researching online, but nothing cleared up for me. It was a big web in my mind of different options, and each path led me to more questions, and then the questions would stop. So I would start down another path, and that would eventually fizzle out because I didn't have the answers to any of my questions. All I knew was that Bean was open to talking through options, I wanted to do it, and I have a friend from South Korea who would be willing to travel with us and translate if we got that far. I love South America too and would love to adopt from there, Bean prefers a domestic adoption, and I cry every time I think about holding our child in our arms that I did not give birth to.

None of our close family or friends has adopted, so we are forging our own path. I contacted the largest adoption agency in our area and asked them to send us an information packet. It was so scary even asking for the information.

Now that we have it, some of our questions are clarified. It is still so scary. I had been ambivalent about the monetary cost to this process, but something about seeing the number on paper had me both relieved and still ambivalent.

Until I started thinking literally about how it would feel on our bank account to be spending that much money in such a short amount of time- money that we don't have right now, and would have to figure out how to come up with. House projects would stop completely.

We could have 25 children at our birthing center or 46 D&C procedures for the cost of one domestic infant. If a birth mother chooses us. What if nobody chooses us on account of the idea that we might have another child biologically in the future- or at least we would try? I can understand a birth mother not choosing our family for that reason.

Another random thought train I went down with an infant is the possibility that I could breastfeed again. There are ways to do it, but it's complicated. And it freaks people out, so I would really be all alone with that process.

Or we could wait a few years, get more practice with this parenting thing, and go again for the foster adopt route, and an older kid. We still think Abby needs to be the oldest, but if she's 4, we could adopt a 2 year old, and she would understand more what's happening.

We are lost again.

We are retracing steps, trying to find what feels right to us.

Right now, it's being in the moment we are in. Enjoying a weekend in the woods with family. Seeing Abigail catch her first fish! Teaching her to throw rocks into a pond. Hearing her laugh with her cousins in the hot tub. Meeting our friends for an extended day to night date to catch up on everything in our lives. For Bean, having a boys weekend. For me, planning bridal and baby showers for my close girlfriends.

It's scary not knowing how our family will grow, or when. But we have to be ok with the uncertainty. When it feels right, we will do it- whatever 'it' is.

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Rain

At music class today, our teacher was taking to one of the other moms about taking the kids out in the rain and singing a specific song ("drip, drop, drip drip drop, oh, me, oh my, I long to be dry!"). She had done it with a class in the past and said it was awesome. 

That mom had many reasons playing in the rain would not work for her- her son would be wet in the car on the way home, if they were at home playing in the rain, she would have to be outside getting wet too, etc.

I'm looking at the bright side of all this rain: we are saving money on watering our new lawn! It's rained on and off for over a week and I've been able to leave our sprinkler system off. So awesome. 

These two things got me wondering if I really like being out in the rain or not. First instinct says, "no way, Jose!" Then I think about our jungle bridges walk in the pouring rain in Costa Rica. It was pretty cool. The rain added another sense of being connected to the earth.

When we were kids and the thunderstorms would roll through, we were so excited when the power went out. We would run through the house, putting candles in each room, then head outside to chat with the neighbors about it. Then run back inside and call our friends on the phone with the extremely long tangled cord in the kitchen.

"Do you guys have power? Neither do we!" (Duh, we all live in the same neighborhood and/or on the same street!)

Sometimes we would put on our bathing suits and ride bikes in the rain. That was a blast, and with the humidity, I don't even think it was cold. We got the idea from our neighbors who just showed up at our back door, on their bikes and in their suits, while we were begging our dad to let us go play outside. He finally relented.

One time, the water got so high it went over the curb and into the yard in the front, and the family of 5 brothers from up the street brought out their huge inner tubes and tried to ride the water down the middle of the street. It didn't work so well once you actually sat in it but it was fun to try!

My dad was always worried about us stepping on some dangerous metal in the high water and needing a tetanus shot.

And then there was that time in college.

I was walking to my second class of he day and it was raining steadily, I even had my umbrella out. I was wearing my first pair of real cowboy boots (they were black because I wanted them to match everything), dressy khaki pants and some equally 'stylish' top, and I was crossing a parking lot when I slipped and fell directly on one butt cheek, soaking my thin pants all the way through. I hoped nobody saw- how embarassing! 

I quickly jumped up, thought about it for a minute, and decided I didn't want to sit in a cold classroom with one leg up to my butt freezing cold and wet for an hour and a half, and decided to skip class and walk home.

And for some reason I decided to put away the umbrella.

I was already wet, and I knew I was going home anyway, so what was the big deal? Might as well remember the olden days and get completely soaked!

I slowly walked. I stomped in puddles.

I was laughing at how ridiculous it was.

I ardently wanted a car to drive by and splash me with the water on the side of the road because that would have been the most epic story. I had two chances but both drivers were polite and moved away so they would not splash me. I never wanted anything to happen to me so much as I wanted a car to splash me that day.

When I made it back to my apartment I was laughing so hysterically my roommate wondered what in the world was going on. I told her the story and she looked at me like I was crazy and went back to studying. 

I took a nice hot shower and put on some dry clothes, and it was all worth it. 

Walking in the rain is way more fun than dealing with sad or depressing situations in life, but eventually it ends up the same way- you have gone through the storm and you are warm and dry and thankful for the experience in the end. The past couple of years have been a very long and difficult walk in the rain, but I feel like I am finally dry and warm again. Secure.

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It's How We Learn

I'm still shaking my head at myself. What the F was I thinking?! What a weirdo.

I went to a gender reveal party for our cousins who are having their first child. It's a little awkward for me because we were so excited to hear that we were expecting about a month earlier than this couple- and we were so excited to get to try again and be pregnant with them and have our kids be exactly the same age. And then we lost the pregnancy, but thankfully theirs has continued with no issues, and today we found out they are having a little boy. The sonogram pictures were so sweet!

At this point, I'm feeling good about the whole situation and I'm so excited for them, although I am always a little worried for couples having their first kid because I've seen the other side of the coin and it wasn't easy for us at first. It's awesome now though, so I try to make sure they hear about that part.

Anyway, when I got there, I was greeting everyone, and talking to the mama to be and one of her friends who I remembered from the mama to be's bachelorette party. "You know Allison, she was at my bachelorette party!" and I agreed with her. "She had a baby!" she said.

"I've been pregnant 3 times now," I said. And then just let the words hang.

Why in the world did I think that was a normal response to that type of statement?! It's not!

I don't remember what I said next, because I just made it so weird and I realized it immediately. She doesn't care that I've been pregnant 3 times! I did have a baby, but she's 2 years old now. I guess I'm just so excited to be the opposite of pregnant right now that it's uncomfortable to think about being pregnant ever.

Maybe I was trying to short-hand say, "I have zero desire to do it again!"

It would have been funny if I had just said that! Instead I opened my mouth and shoved a huge foot in it. Geez.

I hope I didn't make the mama to be uncomfortable. Sometimes I think it's uncomfortable for people to be in the same room as me because they don't know how I feel about what's happened in my life in the past couple of years, or how I think it's been a blessing that has turned me into a much better person than I was before- but they do know the tragedies, and maybe they feel sad for it.

I'm going to forgive myself for it. It was such an awkward mistake, but now I won't forget to think about the audience. Someone I haven't seen in 3 years and barely know does not need to know my personal health history in the shortest sentence possible!

I want to switch to the flip side of this coin and tell you about the highlight of last week.

We are working on updating our pantry, so we pulled all the food out and sorted it (more on that later!), and I had a small box to donate. I thought it would be good to talk to Abs about it, so I planned a morning to go to a local food pantry and donate it. She was excited, I was excited, and we went.

When we pulled up, I immediately felt self-conscious because the place was bustling with customers shopping at the pantry, volunteers helping them load their food up, and people were everywhere. Here I come (and I had put on makeup and jewelry that day which is rare) with my kid in her cute outfit with a measly box of random food to donate.

I'm walking to where I think the entrance is, and a tall guy about my age stops and says to Abs, "Hi! What do you have there?" (she was clutching a Minnie Mouse figurine) "Minnie!" she says, and I explain she brought it because the place is called Minnie's Food Pantry. He asked what her name was, I told him. Then he asked if we had a donation. I said yes, and told him he could keep the container if he wanted. He asked if I needed a receipt. I told him no, since it was clearly such a small amount.

"How about a hug then?" he said.

"Sure," I replied, without thinking about it too much, and he gave me a solid, kind, strong hug. A good hug.

You know when you go to hug someone, and they limply toss their arms around you? Or they try not to get too close because they feel weird? Or they do the one armed side hug? Or the one armed front hug, which is really weird? What about the one where their hands are lightly tapping your shoulders?

This was the opposite of all of those. The kind of hug you give to someone to make them feel good. Or the kind you give someone you haven't seen in awhile.

He asked my name, then told me his name was RJ.

He seemed really glad we came in and brought in that tiny donation, and I drove out of there feeling like a million bucks. I wanted to volunteer! I wanted to learn how to extreme coupon so I could buy pallets of food and donate them to the pantry! I wanted to go to the grocery store immediately and buy a gift card to go back and donate!

In the end, what made it feel so good was not that we donated the food, it was how friendly he was, and how gracious he was in taking the food. He was genuinely glad we came that day. And that made me feel the same way.

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Quality Over Quanitity, Always

I've always kept an extended circle of friends- more like a complex venn diagram, really- one circle overlaps another and another and suddenly I have lots of friends through different people. In the past, I would bend over backwards to be the one who was easy to get along with, agreeing to plans even if I wasn't interested or going along with what the group wanted because I didn't want to make waves, plus I wanted everyone to like me. Don't we all?

With all the changes in my life recently, I've tried hard to listen to my gut. If an idea to hang out sounds unappealing, I listen to my gut and politely decline, or at least be honest about any reservations I have.

My first mom friend was in my post-natal yoga class, and her son is a month older than my girl. They were similar developmentally, hitting milestones around the same time for about the first year of their lives. When the kids were too mobile for us to stay in the yoga class, she suggested we try swimming at a heated indoor saltwater pool she knew about.

Swimming freaks me out. I'm not good at it. I don't know CPR. Getting in the water with a baby is frightening. I decided to not let fear win, so we started going swimming. It was really great at first- the kids would sit in these floaties and we would walk the length of the pool for at least an hour just chatting. Then the kids got bigger, and wanted out of the floaties, and then it was winter, and then other things started cropping up, so we stopped going.

Now it's almost summer again and she's ready to start going again. I told her again about my reservations, and she suggested we do our own version of swimming lessons, at a more relaxed pace. I'm still apprehensive, but I think we will try it at least once or twice. She inspires me to be honest about whether things work for me or not, because I know she is doing the same for me. If something doesn't work for her, she will just say no. It's my favorite thing about our relationship.

Lately, I also gravitate toward people who I can have a real connection with- not the shallow one based on our shared past. I started meeting up with various friends from growing up when I would go down to Houston. We would set a time and meet up for dinner or drinks.

I reconnected with a childhood friend, and it was great sharing a glass of wine and catching ourselves up on each other's lives since the last time we saw each other- probably high school. I found that a high school friend and I don't have much of anything in common and we can't relate to each other on where we are in our lives- I've dealt with so much death, I get bored with flighty conversation and gossip and those are her main topics. An old coworker and I had dinner once and while I want to try again to meet up with her, time gets away from me on these trips.

One of my favorite times was recently, I planned a dinner with an old friend who just got engaged, his fiancee, and another mutual friend. This old friend inspires me- he's hilarious and silly, and deep, and always up for a conversation, no matter which way it goes. I can really be myself and talk about things that scare other people around him and it's all good. The mutual friend and I were not on the same page for awhile- I wasn't sure what to talk about with him, so I would revert back to asking about his dating life, which he wasn't interested in talking about. We sorted that out over lunch prior to this dinner.

We all sat at an outdoor table (my favorite!) and shared smallish plates (another favorite), while splitting bottles of red wine. Four of us consumed five bottles of wine, and I don't even know how that is possible. We talked about everything: the engagement story, minimal wedding plans, apartment updates, my second miscarriage, adoption, feeling like society says you should be doing one thing, when you really want to do something else. We sat there for hours and my soul was lit up.

The beauty of reconnecting with old friends is that they have seen you at your awkward moments, and can appreciate how far you have come. They can see changes in you, and you are teaching them how to be around you. We always promise to text more, to call about important things, but so far we haven't. He texted me today just to say hi, and a new goal came to mind: to make an effort on this one. Text him if I see something funny, or just to say hi, instead of waiting for him to reach out.

If there's not a response right away, he's busy. No worries- it doesn't mean he doesn't want to be my friend anymore.

The important thing is to nurture connections with people who ignite that fire in you-  that make you want to do your best, and to try harder, who 'get' you and don't try to change you.

And then to put distance where you need it; when the friendship is not genuine or supportive, when it is critical or makes you feel bad about yourself, when you are giving more than you are receiving.

I have broken up with two friends in my post-high school life: one was a friend I met on the first day of Drawing I. We spent lots of time together, since we had most of our classes together. She had wild red curly hair and was into photography and movies. But by our Junior years, the only time she called me was to get her out of a jam- to pick her up when she was too drunk to drive, for instance. The last straw was when she called me, slurring her words, and asked me to drive over an hour to pick her up, then to take her back the next day to pick up her car. I told her I couldn't and didn't see her again.

The other was a work friend who I spent a tons of time with both in and outside of work. She had a way of viewing things in a negative light and Bean once mentioned to me that after I came home from visiting with her, I always had a negative mindset and was complaining a lot. I didn't want to be that way, so I let the friendship fade. I should have done it in a better way, but I wasn't strong enough then to tell her the truth.

I had a friend cease contact with me too, and it hurt like a motherfucker. She was one of my closest friends in high school. We had all of our classes together, worked on every project together, were in band together, and I suspect that I'm the only person that ever went over to her house- that one time. There was a misunderstanding about Senior Prom- I had my venn diagram of friends and planned to go to dinner and split a limo with one group of friends that she was not in. My understanding is that she thought we were going to do a band group and stopped talking to me after I said again that I was going with the other group.

I don't know if she is someone I would want to be friends with today, and I did run into her at a baby shower for a mutual friend last year which was extremely awkward for both of us.

The journey of finding friends that inspire you is a fun one for me, especially with my journey of trying to find more local mom friends. I enjoy a little bit of small talk, and the getting to know you talk is always split up into several sessions when there are kids in the mix. I have no doubt that I will find new friends that are just as important as Bud and Donna were to me.

Bud inspires me to be sillier, friendlier, to make plans, to go to festivals, and to be myself. She was my soulmate, the one person in the world who was most like me, and I think about her constantly. When something feels calm to my soul, I know it's her reassuring me.

Donna inspires me to recycle every single thing (I recently upped my recycling game when I found out we can put plastics #1-7 in our bin, not just #1 and #2!!), to think about our planet and conservation, to be kind, and of course to laugh hysterically without reservation.

I miss them, I'm teaching my daughter about them, and I'm so lucky to have them watching my back as I continue finding other friends that inspire and uplift. Quality over quantity, always.

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I Hope You Live A Life You're Proud Of

I know I have the strength to start over, I've done it several times now. Finally this time, I am beginning to live a life I am proud of. There are so many things that play into this proud life but the crux of it is loving myself, treating myself with care and respect, and not allowing others to disrespect me. I'm on my way to being who I want to be.

I want to be kind and compassionate. I did find it hard to be a good friend when I was in the midst of dealing with Bud's death, then my miscarriages. It was hard to respond. But the friends who are true stuck with me and they know that I'm trying. Those closest to me know how far I've come in the last year, and I'm told they are proud. Those who are not close talk about me to other people.

Who I want to be is so complex, but at the heart of it: I want to be peaceful. The hardest part is stepping away from people and situations that are unhealthy. When something happens and I can feel the adrenaline in my body- coursing through every cell- that tells me to run away. Or fight. But fighting is not very peaceful, is it?

I want to continue to be someone who laughs hysterically, connects with people in a meaningful, real way, and someone who sets small goals that lead to the bigger goal- for a finished house, a great career, a respectful child.

Life is simple.

When the sun shines and the breeze blows and you are driving in the car listening to Macklemore.

When your daughter cups your cheek with her hand and squints her eyes at you.

When a huge check comes in the mail.

When you finally finish your taxes after almost five hours sitting at HR Block, and you walk out of there with two packets ready to be stamped and mailed, and you know you fixed your problems.

Every single day, there is a chance to appreciate how beautiful the world is, if you only look out for it. Realizing that everyone has a different journey and that you get to choose who is part of yours gives you freedom.

I'm learning that I'm only responsible for myself and how I respond to situations. If I know that the issue is not caused by me, but by a misunderstanding on someone else's part, it's not my responsibility to fix their viewpoint. Everything looks different through another lens.

If you interpret an exchange negatively, but never pause to listen to the other side of the coin, you will never be open to the possibility that you got it wrong to begin with and you will only stay bitter. There are always two sides to every story. My job is to handle my own side, to be honest about my feelings, and to know that I treat people with respect. I don't talk about people behind their backs.

I used to.

I spent most of my life gossiping about my friends, with my friends, because I thought that was the way to gain friends- by bonding over other people's mistakes. It's embarrassing to admit to myself that I would say things behind people's backs that I would never in a million years say to their faces.

Recently I admitted to a friend that I had done this to her- talked negatively about her behind her back during the months leading up to her wedding. It hurt to tell the truth. There is a chance she will never trust me again. There's also a chance she can see where I'm changing, and choose to take me as I am now.

An important part of changing is the ability to look at yourself and see where you can grow. Really look at the things that you wish you could change, and be kind to yourself as you work toward that goal.

It is really embarrassing to admit where you have done something to hurt someone, especially when they didn't even know you were doing it. It's much more worthwhile to work on yourself and choose not to behave in that way to begin with. For me, part of that journey has been admitting my mistakes.

Life is short. If you are lucky you get 100 years, but even then, most people that you love and grew up with are dead! You have to be happy with yourself and the life you are choosing to live. It doesn't matter what other people think, at the end of the day, you get to live with the benefits of your decisions- or consequences, as they may be. When you die, all you leave is the way you loved other people, the way you made them laugh, the way you made them feel. Conversely, you can be remembered for your poor choices, for the times you were catty, and for the times you were critical.

Making other people feel good is great, but put yourself first. Do what makes you happy. What makes you feel calm, happy, relaxed? Do that. For me it's a long yoga class, or reading a good book, or a deep conversation over a delicious dinner.

Just think about it for a minute. Are you happy? Do you feel calm more often than not? Do you look forward to laughing each day?

If not, are you willing to make changes- however small- until you get there?

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Good Place

I'm in a good place. I made a goal for myself to get out of the house one or two nights every week to visit with a friend over dinner, and I told Bean I didn't want to sit on the couch every night watching boring TV. So we had a game night once. And we turned the TV off and talked once. I have had dinner with a friend once or twice like I said. And this week we started P90X3, the short version of P90X- it's only 30 minutes a day. We are loving it.

The best part of working out is when you are done, and you take a shower, and you sit on the couch guilt free for the rest of the night with a glass of wine.

I finally got my period back. It started on day 57, with my surgery being day 1. I'm glad to have it, but also annoyed that it's interfering with my new workout schedule- it's not stopping me but it is distracting with all of the jumping around, planks, kicking, etc.

Let me rewind a little and tell you a funny story.

So we have two remotes for our TV. One that does the Directv stuff, and another that's for the smart TV connected to the internet. Mainly we use it for volume and the Netflix button so I (we) can watch documentaries about important things like the real Burt behind Burt's Bees. He does exist.

We lost the remote with the magical Netflix button at least 6 months ago. We figured Abigail carried it around and put it in a toy box or something, and never really tried hard to find it. Then it was Friday night and we had nothing on our DVR that looked interesting to either of us, and our P90X3 had not come in the mail, and I looked at Bean and said, "We have to find that remote."

He thought, and I agreed, that it must be inside one of the couches, where we couldn't reach it without cutting a hole in the bottom of the couch. So we tipped over each piece of furniture- the big couch, the loveseat, and the huge chair and didn't find anything. Until Bean tipped the big couch back and heard something clanging around inside. Eureeka!

He pulled out his pocket knife, and cut a small hole (maybe 3 inches long), not too big for when we decide to sell the couches in the future. We had to tilt the couch back and forth another time to get the thing- we knew it was our remote- where we could reach it through the tiny hole. We couldn't reach it still. I went for our tongs, but both sets were currently in the dishwasher being washed, so I grabbed Abby's small pair from her play kitchen. It still didn't work.

Can you feel the anticipation at this point? We are imagining ourselves watching some life changing documentary about the disgusting food we eat everyday, but first we need to get that remote out!

Finally, I got ahold of it, and very slowly maneuvered it until it was lined up exactly with our 3-inch opening, and slipped it out.

NOT OUR REMOTE.

I laughed. Bean got really mad. He was so ready for that life changing documentary!

It was a remote that his brother had probably lost years ago, and unbeknownst to him was gifted to us when he gave us the couches. As annoying as this ordeal was, we doggedly tried the loveseat, found some hair clips, and tried the chair (found nothing). I suggested we try the identical but older remote that we had in the game room to get to Netflix somehow. Bean was apprehensive, but it worked!

It doesn't have a Netflix button, but he figured out what we need to push to get to our documentaries. He's a genius.

That Friday, we watched Blackfish, about a killer whale at Seaworld who killed a trainer. We will not be spending money at Seaworld ever now. (I will even go so far as to say I'm ashamed at having been there two or three times in my life!)

Then I watched Bound By Flesh, about conjoined twins who were famous back in the early 1900's in showbiz but ended up dying in the hallway of the home given to them by the church where they lived their last few years. Bean fell asleep.

Saturday, we watched Burt's Buzz (you know him, it's Burt!); then Tiny: A Story About Living Small, about tiny houses; then No Woman, No Cry, about women who die from childbirth or being pregnant- that was a good one. Later, I tried to watch Advanced Style about older women with great style in NYC but I fell asleep. When I woke up I put on Monica & David, about a couple who both have Downs Syndrome who get married. I'd seen it before. Bean was sleeping this whole time.

Sunday, our luck changed. I watched "The Dark Matter of Love" about a family who has one daughter, and then adopts 3 kids from Russia, a girl and twin boys. The gist of the story is that there were questions about whether these kids could form attachments to their new parents or not since they were much older than 2 years old and still in orphanages. They did.

I had never seen adoption so frankly portrayed. There were therapists watching video of the family interactions and giving each person feedback on how to better communicate with each other. I thought the family was crazy to adopt 3 kids at once! They didn't even speak Russian! Why did they adopt 3 kids at once?

And then the Dad realized that one of the boys was scared of the lawnmower, so he helped him work through his fears, and soon enough, the Son was riding with the Dad on the lawnmower with earplugs in, enjoying the ride, while I enjoyed the tears rolling down my face.

Next I watched Stuck, about the International adoption process. I always wondered if parents could truly see their adopted children as their own, especially if they were from another country. How naive of me and ridiculous to admit.

Then there was an interview with a teen adopted from China when she was 4. She talked about being glad her parents took her, and then her blonde mom came out. The way they interacted said it all. The mom told her daughter she was proud of her, and that she was so beautiful. Then she turned to the camera and said, "I think we look alike, don't you?" And her daughter was the first to laugh. I could feel the connection- it was the same one I have with my daughter- and I could feel the tears on my cheeks again.

Bean and I had talked about adoption when we were trying to get pregnant for the first time. When it didn't happen after 3 cycles, I started researching.

Then I got pregnant with Abigail.

And then my life got really crazy (as you've read about here) with the death of Bud, leaving my career, moving to a new house, a surprise pregnancy and natural miscarriage, then a planned pregnancy which turned out to be twins like I hoped, and then the surgery to remove that failed pregnancy. And here we are now. 57 + days later and we can try again if we want.

If we want.

I don't want to. I have zero desire to be pregnant and I just found out a friend is losing her baby. It's the worst feeling I can imagine. I said I didn't want anyone I know to go through this and it's happening anyway. She's being very strong, but I was too, the day I found out about Baby B. I realize now that it was shock for me. I buried my true feelings because it was too hard and too scary to acknowledge that I loved that life inside me before it was rational. I wanted my two losses to be the ones that my whole group would carry- I would do all the miscarriages so my friends didn't have to.

I would adopt my kids and maybe have another miscarriage so that my friends wouldn't have to.

Shows how much I know. I don't get to choose.

So here I am. I'm in a really good place in my life, ready to focus on these crazy workouts and fixing our muddy backyard, and convincing Bean that we should adopt a kid now instead of later; and meanwhile my friend is just starting her journey of losing her baby. What a terrible conundrum.

I should end it there.

I dislike being pregnant. I would be happy if it happened again and I would try to stay positive- we have our game plan ready in case it happens.

I would prefer to explore the option of adoption. My heart is telling me that we have a child out there who belongs to us that I won't give birth to. I still have a heart for twins. Bean says we should adopt twins and I say, "ok!" And he just smiles and shakes his head.

This is a gut instinct, the way it felt when we bought our forever home, the way it felt when I knew I wanted to marry Bean even though I was only 23 and I planned to wait until I was at least 28. It feels the same way I felt when I saw that Abs was a girl and I wasn't surprised. I would love to give birth again. I would also love to meet my child for the first time with both of us being fully clothed.

Now I just need to wait until Bean feels it in his heart for sure too.

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Evolution

We had a really great day today.

The morning was spent reading books, then we went to Barnes and Noble for some new books. Lunch out at Pei Wei and a 2-hour nap where I was able to clean out the fridges and relax a little myself. Then a nice walk to the park with good friends where I got to flex my mom muscles by telling a kid not to throw sand at my daughter's face, and he listened. Then a great ceviche and wine dinner at a local seafood shack suggested by Bean and an impromptu family dance party to Macklemore when we got home. Zero TV! Except for us parents, who cried through the series finale of Parenthood. I can't even pick a highlight because we did so many of my favorite things.

But...

It's always there, even when I'm not thinking about it. Which usually, I'm not.

The searing pain. The shame and embarrassment that my body is somehow inferior. I don't feel inferior but I must be, and why didn't I figure it out sooner? I never thought I would be a good mom, and certainly I'm not that great because I don't deserve to have more. I must have done something to have so many of the most important people taken away from me.

I'm not handling it the way people think I should. I let people down, and I hurt them. I'm clinging to things that make this horrendous situation easier for me to handle because nobody in my life has been through this and so they can't possibly understand. And I don't want them to. As much as I'd like to have someone that I love be able to relate to my story, that means that they would have to go through this and I would never wish this on anyone. I was afraid when we saw Granny in her final days, I was extremely sad when Donna died, I broke into pieces when Bud died, and a part of me died when Baby B did. And then this stupid body of mine decided to try to make twins and it didn't work. I don't know what to do now, so I'm spending $77 to have a bathing suit altered to fit for our trip to Costa Rica because somehow that makes it a tiny smidge better. At least I'll look fashionable at the pool. (Please tell me the sarcasm is evident!)

One of the final scenes in Parenthood was the parents looking at their four children, plus spouses and grandkids, and one great-grandchild, and saying to each other, "We did good, didn't we?"

I wonder if I'll ever have that. I want it more than anything. The hectic life filled with things to resolve, fights to break up, terrible dance moves, unlimited crazy stories... I have this ridiculously huge house ready to be filled.

And then I wonder, "what's the rush? Abigail isn't even 2". Because all along I planned to be at some stage of pregnancy by now, to get through this part- the having babies and newborn stage- to try and get to the next part, the one I really wanted. I know that it's not up to me. I know that I don't get to choose. But I see my friends trying and succeeding at this, and one of them is now growing baby #4, and I wonder if I need to change my view. I don't need this dream house of ours if we only have one child, it's obnoxious if it's not filled with a rambunctious family.

The last two paragraphs went down the rabbit hole, the one I know is not productive. My friends and family think I'm crazy, that I've gone off the deep end. I keep getting calls and texts saying "I'm worried about you". Those people are not doing anything to help though. Who will pay for me to go to counseling? Who will come watch Abby for 2 hours and clean my house and cook dinner while I go and talk? Who will just ask questions that are scary and listen to the answers without trying to solve it? None of the above. And what if I just want several hours alone anyway? Not going to happen. Although I am keeping up with my house now, and I'm not avoiding my feelings like I did with Bud and Baby B, so I think I am doing okay.

In all honesty, I'm sensitive, and things that I don't show are still there. There are things that were said to me as far back as elementary school that I remember, including who said it and where we were. I remember how it made me feel at the time. I choose to let those feelings go if they can't be resolved, and I'm constantly working on myself. 

I was told I was singing off key once (I was enjoying singing loud and proud), and it made me stop singing in public and in the shower. I'm in music class with Abby now and the teacher stopped class recently and told me she could hear me- approvingly- and that she wondered if others had noticed how much I'd grown musically, because she had. Apparently I was singing on key, loud and proud.

I think it's important to try and be a good person and have authentic connections with people and do the best you can in the situation you are in. I've also been a people pleaser most of my life. When Bud died, I decided I should try to change that. She thought I was too hard on myself (and I was/am), and usually encouraged me to be less harsh with other people. The things I usually contemplated saying to others were much nicer versions of things that were always going through my own head, directed at myself. It sure did make my work life easy- no matter what my boss said about my work, I judged myself much more harshly in advance. I was always surprised that they thought I was doing such a good job.

Here I am. Alternately happy with my life and sad about it too. I'm in a little glass box for people to look at and discuss, but they never just open the box and talk to me!

Earlier last summer, I thought things were going ok. I was still wondering what was happening with my body and when the spotting would stop and a regular period would happen, but generally feeling hopeful about our future prospects... kind of how I feel now, 2 weeks after my surgery.

And then my friend Jess came to stay for a night. We had a few minutes where her husband was still upstairs sleeping, and Bean took Abby up into the game room to play. We were sitting in couches across from each other and we both wanted to talk- really talk- about what was going on with me but hadn't had a chance. I knew we wouldn't get into anything because time was limited, she was leaving soon, and it just wasn't a good time. 

"So how are you, how are things?" she asked. "I'm ok," I responded.

The way she looked at me when she said, "You don't look ok" was a turning point. I burst into tears and said, "I'm trying, so hard, and it's just not getting any better." Here's one of my closest friends, who I could talk to for hours and never feel bored, who I can always be honest with, who now lives out of town, and who I haven't seen in months- looking me in the face and she knows I'm hurting. It was equal parts embarrassing- am I walking around daily looking like crap?!- and exactly what I needed.

Certainly I don't expect everyone in my life to know me this well, or handle things superbly like a select few that I have, and perhaps this is part of the process I have to learn how to endure: others are uncomfortable with things that hurt and that they haven't experienced and therefore don't understand, so they either clam up and don't say anything, avoid the situation, give unsolicited advice, and/or get hurt if I don't act the same way I did before.

Before what?

Before my miscarriages, or before Bud died? Before I decided to stop people pleasing or before I realized I should put my needs first?

I don't have the answers,and I don't have a good way to end this post. It's been a really great day, and finding the words for some of my feelings has been the icing on the cake. Or the lemon juice in the ceviche. Or truthfully, the Evolution wine (that I first tried with Jess) in my now- empty glass.

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November 10th

One thing I learned in Journalism classes is how to write concisely, to write clearly so that anyone can understand the words and the meaning and to say it in as few words as possible. It really helps out when I want to post on Facebook but don't want to pour it all out. One reason I enjoy blogging is because I can just let it flow, I don't have to edit every word to make sentences shorter or clearer. What I posted on Facebook today really did say it all:

"Today would have been my Granny's 95th birthday, and it was the due date of our Baby B. I love that they share a day and I miss them both dearly. How lucky I am to have had them!"

Then I included this quote from C. JoyBell C. that was the one that always resonates with me since I found it the very day we found out we were losing Baby B.

The part that gets me is "But what's yours is yours". Plain as day.

Nobody can take it away from me. Not the good or the bad. 

The shock of that little pink line- we were not expecting that! 

The joy of a sibling for Abby and all the hopes we had for this little one. Who would they be? Would we be able to agree on a name again? 

The anticipation of decorating a big girl room for Abby, and the relief of knowing we had a nursery ready to go. 

The physical pain. And then the relief.

The confusion and grief, the hatred for my body that I once thought was so amazing.

And now, the gratitude. Being a mother has changed me so profoundly. In the beginning, I thought it was for the worse, but now I know it was just a mess of grief over losing Bud, plus learning how to nurse and take care of a helpless thing around the clock, mixed with quitting my career and moving to a new house. I was grasping at straws for something that would solve it all, but nothing worked.

Once the shock wore off, I thought Baby B would solve it all- finally I had a chance to enjoy a pregnancy, to focus on the positive sides, and to be a better mom from the start, without beating myself up for every little thing. Of course having another child won't solve any problem, but I think Baby B really did do that for me. 

I finally feel like myself again, and for some reason it took me experiencing something so terrible- birthing on my own, in the middle of the night, knowing it was not going to earn me anything tangible- to realize that I needed that experience somehow. The most frightening part was not knowing how long it would last. I'm more understanding, sensitive, and less judgmental now. Mainly toward myself, but it flows over into other people too. I'm learning to be honest about my feelings and what I need- and what I can't handle. Having a miscarriage didn't make me stronger. It made me believe in the strength I already had. 

It would be best to end this post right there, but I just want to get on my soapbox for a minute. I really don't like how we try to protect other people's feelings by silencing our own. That's the only reason I posted on Facebook about today. Today is a meaningful day for me. I'm not going to spend it wallowing, but it deserves to be acknowledged because it happened. It's mine. 

I admit to being someone who didn't know what to say to someone when they talked about their miscarriage. In fact, when we were taking Abby's 1-year pictures, the ones where we had her in a shirt that announced the 2nd pregnancy to everyone, our photographer told us that she had a miscarriage at about the same timing after her first child. Deep down I had a feeling it would happen to me too, but I ignored it and felt weird that she brought it up. But that's her story and she deserves to share it. She was matter-of-fact about it, the way I am when I talk about Baby B. 

And she was the first person I thought of when I found out. One of the very few people I felt would be open in talking with me about something like this. And then people came out of the woodwork and I got to connect with so many others who have gone through something similar. It really opened my eyes to a multitude of experiences that people have that nobody knows about. So I'm proud of my announcements and honesty because I love having the chance to connect with people and hear their stories. I'm so grateful for this life that I get to lead. 

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Grief...the wave that either carries you or knocks you down

I've been grieving for more than two years straight now, but for different things. Lately, I've been thinking quite a lot about Evan Louis, Bud's perfect son, whose body I saw cradled in her arms in her casket. The sweet boy that she wanted more than anything, who never knew anything but love, and who never had to be apart from his mama. From the moment he was conceived, he was loved every second, and he still is. With his mama every second.

And then I think about our own Baby B. Sometimes I think he was a boy. And he should still be with me, kicking me and making my body ache, this very day. I should be so pregnant right now that there should be the question in my mind, and in my midwife's mind as to whether I can travel safely to my brother's wedding in Houston this weekend. The bridesmaid dress I will wear was selected to allow for the unknown hugeness that I should be right now. (Is hugeness a word? I don't think so.)

Grief is such a weird thing and it's constantly changing. I thought I was pretty good at it, with the loss of several of my family members and Donna. But I was so wrong. You never know how it will affect you.

I feel like I can relate to the Robin Williams story because I can understand his pain. I've never once thought about taking it as far as he did, but I completely understand how it is to feel completely and utterly alone in this world, alone in every sense of the word, and to also have the pressure of everyone you know thinking they are so 'close' to you, or they 'know' you, and they don't know how you could ever feel alone. Or in his case, they were surprised that he made the decision to end his life.

For some reason, the news of his passing set me back a couple of steps. I imagined him: alone in his room, with the rope and the closet door, and his tears, and his need to feel the release from the pain. I understand all of that. And it's scary to admit that, but it's the truth. I understand wanting to be free from the pain, but I don't understand taking actual steps to end your own life. I could never do that.

In between all of this, I started picking fights with my husband- about anything. Everything. He shut down and wouldn't talk to me. That made it even worse. And then we had a breakthrough. Or a breakdown. Either way, it turned out to be for the best.

I finally- FINALLY- got my 2nd period since the miscarriage, and it was after a long cycle- 42 days- which is also the longest cycle I've ever had since I started charting, and the last time I had one was the cycle before I got pregnant with Abigail. I was feeling relieved because I was going to Austin for my birthday weekend (alone, a big deal!) and I didn't want to find out I was pregnant by surprise on my birthday. We have not been trying. I've been doing acupuncture, and focusing on relaxing and being present in the moment, and especially on enjoying Abby being in school two days a week.

And I got a phone call from a close friend that I've known since I was 4. She said, "So, I took 2 pregnancy tests this morning, and they both have a faint line, but I'm just not sure." My response was: If there's a line, even if it's faint, it sounds like you are pregnant! And pretended to be happy. Then we discussed how she would make it special to announce the news to her husband. I even explained that 'when I got pregnant the 2nd time, it came back negative, and then a week later, the line was there, so if there's a line now, that means you are'. She asked if Abby was 13 months old when I got pregnant, like her son was, and I let her know that Abby was 11.5 months old.

She called back later that day to go over the details of how she announced the news to her husband. I did tell her to let me know how it went, expecting a text with a picture of her son wearing the onesie she was planning to buy. That night, Bean went to bed early, and I got drunk. I had wine with dinner, and then I was having so much fun watching Project Runway and texting a friend, that I opened a bottle of cheap champagne. And poured it into my fancy old-school champagne flutes lined in gold, splashing it on myself a little bit, and just "loving life". I got up at one point to go pee and threw up.

I stumbled into the bedroom, and was apparently being so loud that I woke my husband. I told him I threw up, and he asked if I was sick. I told him I had some champagne. And he got freaked out. I don't drink to the point of throwing up, and I don't drink alone. Just personal rules, I guess. We ended up staying up at least 2 hours talking about everything- my thoughts on the miscarriage, my friend's pregnancy (I had some mean thoughts here), wondering why she deserved a pregnancy and not me, and he said I asked what he thought about it all. And I cried. Really hard. I remember that part. Bottom line is I felt like I finally let him in on all of the things that I'd been feeling, and he supported me. I always knew he would, but I didn't let him have the chance.

After I got back from Austin, the newly pregnant friend called again to chat on her way home from work. What stands out to me about this conversation is that I had the intense need to get off the phone, but couldn't figure out how to make it happen. And then she said, "I just hate this first part, where you are waiting to go to the first appointment, and all you want is to make sure there's a baby in there, a viable thing with a heartbeat".

I just mumbled something like "yeah, I know". I had completely different thoughts.

"What I really hate is when you go to the first appointment and everything is fine. And then you have some weird thoughts, but you push them out of the way, and you announce your pregnancy to everyone you know, and you show up for your second appointment, hopeful that your fears will be gone. And then you are told that your baby doesn't have a heart beat, and you spend 4 hours in labor- alone- completely alone- and give birth to your baby's....whatever- body parts or something... on your toilet and you are so freaked out that you flush it. And then everyone expects you to be completely normal. That's what I really hate" And then I would have hung up and she would have felt terrible.

I'm glad I didn't say that, but I am glad that I was able to talk with Bean about it and he was given another opportunity to support me. And conversations have come up since then where I've offered my support for him, if he's willing to take it.

The combination of this difficult situation, plus imagining how huge I would be right now for my brother's wedding, and adding in the fact that my husband and I are more connected now, has put me in a much better place emotionally. Not to mention that Abby now gets excited and smiles going into school, which gives me a nice sigh of relief. I need to take care of myself, and I need to be alone in my house to relax, and I'm finally getting that chance now.

When I think about Bud, I feel happy. I miss her, but it's still abstract. Maybe it's because she's already in me, in my soul, like she always was, and the only thing I have trouble with is not hearing her voice, or getting to have sleepovers and talk into the night with her.

When I think about Evan Louis, I do feel a little sad. But mostly I'm happy for Bud that her son never knew anything but love and that she never had to be apart from him.

When I think about Baby B, I miss him. I wish he were here with me, and that I would get to hold him next month. I think he's somewhere (hopefully with Bud, Evan, and Donna) looking out for me, or maybe he's waiting to come back to me in a different body. I don't want to say that we are trying for another baby, but we are not preventing anything from happening that's supposed to at this point.

I know that being pregnant will not make me happy. In fact, Bean had some very quotable moments last night when I asked him about this topic. He said I was normal when I found out about the pregnancy with Abigail, and then everything changed when the nausea, aches, heartburn, etc. settled in. But I know that for me there is a comfort in knowing, and feeling that my body is back to normal, and that there is a chance I could get pregnant again.

Also, I found out that my great grandmother was a twin. I have always loved the idea of having fraternal twins (one girl and one boy), because you get two for the pregnancy of one (haha). Bean doesn't even want to entertain the idea! And it's not under my control anyway. For now, I am just going to enjoy the ride, and see what life has to offer.

My cute girl wore boots to the pumpkin patch last week and took it upon herself to strike a pose on a large umbrella straddling a pole. It was hilarious, so how could I possibly let this grief thing get in the way of laughing about that?

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Last Day of Work

I didn't know today would be my last day at Sherwin Williams when I went in a year ago. It was a regular day, not too crazy, but I did have lots of random issues that I was working on. I was looking forward to coming in the next day to tie up all of the loose ends.

Mid-morning, something funny happened. First of all, I was wearing my last clean manager shirt. This sounds gross, but managers know to save at least one shirt for the day when their boss visits so that you don't have to worry about a paint-stained or wrinkly shirt, you can just pull the new clean one out and go. I don't know why I decided to wear it that day, other than I realized I was getting close to the end of my pregnancy and I might as well break it in before I wasn't wearing it anymore. 

Then this happened. I have never before stamped a whole gallon can lid to any part of my body, let alone my pregnant belly! It was so funny to me that I shot out a text to the girls at 8:38am with this picture.

Mainly I wondered what funny comment Liz would have to say about it- oddly enough, I also knew I wouldn't hear from her that day. We had planned a phone date sometime later in the week to review every detail of our showers together. I finished out the work day and headed home around 3pm. I was contemplating a quick stop off at the grocery store to pick up something for dinner when Bean called, asking where I was. I told him my predicament and he said I should go home and he would meet me there. Something in the tone of his voice was off. 

I got home and started worrying that something was wrong with one of his family members and that we might need to go to a hospital or something. I kept myself busy by cleaning up the kitchen while I waited for him to get there- and gave myself a pep talk on how to be supportive when he told me why his voice sounded so weird.

When he got there, I was standing in the living room, and I asked what was wrong. He said, "If Liz were going to the hospital, which one would it be?" I got kind of excited because it was entirely possible that she had gone into labor and was headed to the hospital. I told him it would be where my mom worked.

We decided that I should call and see if mom had seen Liz there. It took awhile to get her on the phone (she was on the other line) and she sounded kinda weird too. She asked if Bean was there, and then asked to talk to him. I heard him say, "No, not yet", and then my mom talked and he had a weird look on his face. I asked what was going on and he said, "There's something wrong with Liz and Evan... they died".

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. I repeated it over and over and started pacing the room. What are you talking about? That can't be true. It's just not possible. He told me how Connie had run into Liz's parents leaving their house very quickly (she was on a walk) and Ms. Eva shouted out the window that Liz and Evan had died as they drove off. NO. I don't believe it. She must be wrong. I'm going on a walk!

We walked out the door and walked FAST up and down the sidewalks of our neighborhood with no real direction. He thought I should sit down, but I needed to get that energy out. I thought there was no way it was true, and that I would wait to hear from my mom before believing it. If they had been at the hospital, mom and Liz's brother would have known about it- mom is a nurse and her brother is a doctor and they work in Labor and Delivery together.

A little while later after I had calmed down a bit, we went home and I sat there in shock. I called Jess. She had just been on the phone with Connie. I wasn't sure if she knew what had happened, but I asked if she wanted to come over and she did. Turns out she knew what had happened, and we just wanted to make sure it was true before spreading the word. We got on the phone with Mom again and she told me that she had seen Liz's brother running through the parking lot to his car. She had his personal cell phone number, so she called it and he answered. He was at Liz's house and it was true.

That night, the lights were half out in the house and it gradually got darker. I sat in the living room on the couch thinking about everything, not believing it and wondering exactly what happened to her. At one point, I was sitting alone in silence and I could hear Jess in the kitchen breaking the news to Brittney and crying. Bean was outside talking to my midwife to find out what we needed to do and if we could get an appointment sooner than the one we had scheduled on Thursday since we would be leaving town- and also making sure it was ok for us to go since I was 36 weeks- just at the point where you should stay close to home. He was crying too but I didn't know that until my midwife told me later.

Calling the girls was the worst part, mainly because it was so shocking and unexpected, and to break horrible news like that out of the blue just plain sucks. I was also fielding texts from friends in Houston asking me if it was true. A couple of friends decided to go over to the house and just be there- this was before I'd heard back from my mom. One friend called and said they were carrying her body out. Hearing him say that made me want to vomit. Or Ralph as Liz used to say.

I canceled my chiropractor appointment and called my assistant and told him I wasn't coming in the next day and why. I apologized for leaving him in a pickle and tried to explain all the random junk that was going on. Thursday I had a midwife appointment and she took one look at me and said, "You're not going back to work". She wrote me a note basically putting me on bedrest until further notice.

So that's what I did. I somehow made it through the funeral and proudly spoke at the viewing on Friday right after her cousins which made me feel very special, then I came home and laid on the couch. I don't even know how many days passed, but I just laid on that couch with the TV on and I didn't watch it. I had my eyes closed but I didn't sleep. I felt so sad but I couldn't cry. It was like the whole house was in a fog.

When I went to work one year ago today, I had no idea it would be my last day. Nor did I think it would be the day my life changed forever. I just thought it was the funny day when I stamped paint on my belly in it's last clean manager shirt. 

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Shadowdale

While in Houston for the holidays, my entire family decided to take a walk through the neighborhood. The goal was the mansion on the last street in the back that goes overboard on their holiday decorations. It was a nice time to reflect on some things and I brought my camera along because every step down these streets brings up a flood of memories.

                                      

It's hard to try and describe what I see when I look at these pictures, but maybe I can try. To you, they are just houses, streets, and grass but to me, they are the fabric of my life. How do you even begin with all of the memories? 

When I look at our house, I see the two trees that used to be there. I remember running away with a blanket and some books and climbing up into one of them. Then getting uncomfortable from sitting on branches that I decided to go back inside. 

I sold lemonade at a garage sale in the driveway. My brother and I ran through the sprinklers and begged our dad to watch us. We would grab the sprinkler and aim it at each other, then complain when the other did it back.

One time, some friends and I thought we would be cool by posing all together on a blanket in the front of the house. 

When I was in Kindergarten, I walked out to check the mail and looked down the street.

 I saw my friend Liz from class at her house checking the mail or getting out of a car or something. I screamed her name and ran all the way there- so excited to discover we lived on the same street.

For all the years after that, we were in carpools together (her mom always instinctively turned left toward her house instead of right to bring me home), girl scouts together, and when my Granny was in town, we rode the bus to school together. We used to all line up in the middle of the street to wait for the bus. I'm not sure if they did that when we weren't there or not.

*I know there is a picture of this somewhere and when I find it, I'll edit this post and put it here.*

Once we got to middle school, I would go down to her house sometimes and we would sit in the kitchen and watch Gumby or XUXA while she finished eating breakfast. We could watch at the window and run out just as the bus was pulling up without missing it. Our friend Donna lived in the neighborhood too- she was also in our class. But she and Liz were in soccer together and were already good friends when I came along.

Around the same time we memorized the Gumby theme song, they poured some concrete out at the bus stop. We got there a little late, but we were still able to carve our names.

The 'L' and part of the 'i' in her name is now broken off. It's a little ironic that we carved our names thinking they would always be there and so would we. You can read my name plain as day, but finding her is so much harder- the same way it is for me now.

Once the boy across the street from her started chasing her. He was really fast and she tripped over some bags of leaves and hurt her knee. I was so mad, screaming for him to stop- he never did. I think it's a friend's job to hold grudges like that and it's funny because I still do.

There's a ditch in the neighborhood that has all kinds of funny stories. Like the time me and some friends loaded up all of my troll dolls and took them to the ditch and rolled the wagon-full down. Then had to pick them all back up again and go home.

My brother and his friends made bike jumps- he fell off and scraped his whole cheek off. I shot a bb gun there and threw it to the ground when I hit the Dr Pepper can. My dad and brother were brave enough to ride their bikes down into the ditch and back up the other side. I was a wimp so I let my bike roll down in there and then just walked it back up.

Once my dad grabbed some re-bar that was sticking out of the ground and cut his hand pretty bad.

One time I pretended that one of those bushes was my house. It was kinda boring though.

The field near the end of the ditch leads to the other neighborhood, where we went to sell Girl Scout cookies once. I wasn't sure if we were allowed, but we did.

We were allowed to play at the ditch whenever we wanted. It led straight to the street where Donna lived so we would take our bikes or walk. I guess it was safer than being on the roads with the cars. At her street there is a bridge that goes across to that other neighborhood. Liz loved telling the story about her and Donna going to Pick N Peck- which was through the other neighborhood and down a busy street! I went there too, just not with them. I bought candy cigarettes.

At our street, the fence has a gap so you can get back in. Not all streets have it. When you get back out, it ends up closer to her house. The grass used to grow pretty tall and there was a narrow dirt path where we could ride our bikes. Remarkably, other than that, the ditch looks the same.

When I see her parent's house, it's like looking at my own house. We filmed most of our video there- inside, out on the driveway, parked in my car in the street, in the backyard. I can picture the rooms as they were when we were young: the stickers all over her mirror and door, the toy room right next door. The bedroom at the end of the hall was never used until Liz was older and moved back home. Then when we were getting ready for her wedding, every time I stayed over, we slept in that room.

In the driveway, I see all of us girls ready for Senior Prom and the limo parked out front. I loved her hair the most, she loved my dress the most.

That red car was hers in high school. She was so afraid to drive, never went on the highways. But she got carsick, so it was best for her to drive instead of riding. I'd say about 80% of the time we went anywhere, she drove.

I've always felt comfortable on this street, in this neighborhood. We went trick or treating alone (well, the three of us, or me with my brother) ever since I can remember. I have all of the bumps in the road memorized. Looking at these pictures I feel a sense of familiarity, calm, and rest. It looks like a nice place to land.

For most of the past year I've felt alone and half empty when I think about Liz and Donna and myself in relation to them. Liz and I were generally part of a friend threesome at any given point in our lives. The third person was different depending on what year(s) you are talking about. And of course we each had other friends, some that we called our best friends from time to time, but I don't think it's possible for us to not be best friends anymore. Even now.

She is as much a part of me now as she was then. And I'm happy. She wants that for me, and I'm glad to know that she is too.

To quote Mitch Albom in Tuesdays with Morrie, "Death ends a life, not a relationship."

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