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Thursday #181
And with his future prom date, Brookie!
This is a special crossover Thursday pic, since Brooke's mom and dad have also done a weekly photo since she was born, inspired by Max and mine!
Thursday #180
The One with All the Best Lines
Seventeen years ago today, Monica, Ross, Chandler, Joey, Rachel and Phoebe entered our lives and changed it forever.
It was the beginning of my senior year in high school, and F•R•I•E•N•D•S (I'll only write it out with the dots this once. Promise) premiered, captivating us for
a decade, inspiring hairstyles (Admit it. You totally had The Rachel at some point!) and bucket list items (I can't be the only one who has wanted to romp in that fountain!), resurrected the popularity of the name Emma, and I'm pretty sure they're responsible for the whole "furniture placed in random locations as photo prop" phenomenon.
Since it's been in syndication, I've seen most episodes a dozen times or more, but there is still the occasional one where I don't remember it or never saw it, and it's like finding one last caramel in the box of chocolates when you thought all that was left was nougat. (Blech)
FRIENDS is exactly half my age. I was 17 when it started, I'm 34 now. (Cue sentimental music) If it was a person, it would be graduating high school this year. Looking back now, watching them each turn 30, I can't believe I'm now older than they ever were... like Will & Grace, they'll always be "grown-ups" in my mind, even as I out-age and out-wrinkle their video-preserved selves.
I still use FRIENDS terminology on a daily basis...
So tell me... what are YOUR favorite FRIENDS moments?
It was the beginning of my senior year in high school, and F•R•I•E•N•D•S (I'll only write it out with the dots this once. Promise) premiered, captivating us for
a decade, inspiring hairstyles (Admit it. You totally had The Rachel at some point!) and bucket list items (I can't be the only one who has wanted to romp in that fountain!), resurrected the popularity of the name Emma, and I'm pretty sure they're responsible for the whole "furniture placed in random locations as photo prop" phenomenon.
Since it's been in syndication, I've seen most episodes a dozen times or more, but there is still the occasional one where I don't remember it or never saw it, and it's like finding one last caramel in the box of chocolates when you thought all that was left was nougat. (Blech)
FRIENDS is exactly half my age. I was 17 when it started, I'm 34 now. (Cue sentimental music) If it was a person, it would be graduating high school this year. Looking back now, watching them each turn 30, I can't believe I'm now older than they ever were... like Will & Grace, they'll always be "grown-ups" in my mind, even as I out-age and out-wrinkle their video-preserved selves.
I still use FRIENDS terminology on a daily basis...
- How YOU doin'?
- Could I BE any ________?
- You don't go commando in another man's pants (OK, I don't really use this one daily"
- I'm "sorry" with Joey's misplaced air quotes
- Smelly cat
- You're my lobster
- I'm just the oven, totally their bun
- We were on a break!
So tell me... what are YOUR favorite FRIENDS moments?
Where I'm From
I am from roller skates, from Pop Rocks and Madame Alexander dolls.
I am from the small town turned city, new roads and schools.
I am from the devil mountain, the oak trees and wildflowers.
I am from roast beef on Christmas and Rhode Island accents, from Moffats and Whalens and Parsons.
I am from the procrastinators and the list-makers.
From poof you're an egg and book, tree, sky, man, flower.
I am from baptism, confirmation, summer camps and community. From gathering together and singing hymns. And rock music. From accepting and loving all who search for a place to worship.
I’m from California and England, and Scotland and Ireland. From Grammy Faith's mustard sauce and perfectly flipped fried eggs.
From the Strawberry Festival where I ate frozen yogurt in the snow, from practicing how to work the clutch in the church parking lot with my dad.
I am from piles of albums, notes scribbled in the margins. From scrapbooks of stickers and handwritten stories. From boxes of well-intentioned, but poorly organized photos. Collage frames of snapshots, of all generations, and the countless new memories still to be made.
I am from having and not, from gaining and losing.
From happy and sad, from laughter and tears.
I am from yesterday, and looking to tomorrow.
I am from the small town turned city, new roads and schools.
I am from the devil mountain, the oak trees and wildflowers.
I am from roast beef on Christmas and Rhode Island accents, from Moffats and Whalens and Parsons.
I am from the procrastinators and the list-makers.
From poof you're an egg and book, tree, sky, man, flower.
I am from baptism, confirmation, summer camps and community. From gathering together and singing hymns. And rock music. From accepting and loving all who search for a place to worship.
I’m from California and England, and Scotland and Ireland. From Grammy Faith's mustard sauce and perfectly flipped fried eggs.
From the Strawberry Festival where I ate frozen yogurt in the snow, from practicing how to work the clutch in the church parking lot with my dad.
I am from piles of albums, notes scribbled in the margins. From scrapbooks of stickers and handwritten stories. From boxes of well-intentioned, but poorly organized photos. Collage frames of snapshots, of all generations, and the countless new memories still to be made.
I am from having and not, from gaining and losing.
From happy and sad, from laughter and tears.
I am from yesterday, and looking to tomorrow.
__________________
There are no words.
None.
Not enough to express the gratitude.
Because one year ago today, I was given the most amazing gift.
The gift of life. Again.
My brother-in-law, Tim, underwent a surgery he totally didn't need and gave me a kidney.
He gave me my life back.
Gave Jamie his wife back, and Max his mommy back.
For 365 days, I haven't had to spend my sleepless nights tethered to a machine to keep me alive.
For 52 weeks, I haven't had to keep track of high or low sodium, phosphorus or protein foods.
For 1 year, I have been back to normal*
*Definition of normal is open to interpretation
I've tried to explain the level of gratitude I feel to others, but am not sure that I can ever adequately express it. Perhaps an adoptive mom getting to thank a birth mother? How about hugging the hero who pulls you out of a burning building? The doctors who saved Max's life in the NICU came close, but even then, it's what they do, it's their calling. Tim is a FedEx guy. I'm pretty sure thay "general anesthesia, getting sliced open and your insides removed, followed by weeks of painful recovery" aren't in his usual job description.
My own mind can't grasp the gratitude I feel, so it's hard for me to explain it to others.
I try, and then I end up like this. Trying and failing. I can't even quantify the difference his gift has made. I know it's the same analogy I always use, but it's the best way to explain it. You know that Claratin commerical? It's all foggy and desaturated at the beginning, but you don't really notice it until they peel off the haze and the colors come back to normal.
What was my life on dialysis. I just got used to functioning at about 85%... even my best days, I'd feel fine, but fine still wasn't 100%. Now that I'm back, and able to take care of myself and my family to my fullest, my life is better, in every way.
So thank you, Tim, for giving so literally of yourself.
And Lori, Danielle and Marissa, for supporting your husband and daddy as he went through this for me.
There's a special place in heaven for people like you, and I love you always.
None.
Not enough to express the gratitude.
Because one year ago today, I was given the most amazing gift.
The gift of life. Again.
My brother-in-law, Tim, underwent a surgery he totally didn't need and gave me a kidney.
He gave me my life back.
Gave Jamie his wife back, and Max his mommy back.
For 365 days, I haven't had to spend my sleepless nights tethered to a machine to keep me alive.
For 52 weeks, I haven't had to keep track of high or low sodium, phosphorus or protein foods.
For 1 year, I have been back to normal*
*Definition of normal is open to interpretation
I've tried to explain the level of gratitude I feel to others, but am not sure that I can ever adequately express it. Perhaps an adoptive mom getting to thank a birth mother? How about hugging the hero who pulls you out of a burning building? The doctors who saved Max's life in the NICU came close, but even then, it's what they do, it's their calling. Tim is a FedEx guy. I'm pretty sure thay "general anesthesia, getting sliced open and your insides removed, followed by weeks of painful recovery" aren't in his usual job description.
My own mind can't grasp the gratitude I feel, so it's hard for me to explain it to others.
I try, and then I end up like this. Trying and failing. I can't even quantify the difference his gift has made. I know it's the same analogy I always use, but it's the best way to explain it. You know that Claratin commerical? It's all foggy and desaturated at the beginning, but you don't really notice it until they peel off the haze and the colors come back to normal.
What was my life on dialysis. I just got used to functioning at about 85%... even my best days, I'd feel fine, but fine still wasn't 100%. Now that I'm back, and able to take care of myself and my family to my fullest, my life is better, in every way.
So thank you, Tim, for giving so literally of yourself.
And Lori, Danielle and Marissa, for supporting your husband and daddy as he went through this for me.
There's a special place in heaven for people like you, and I love you always.
For Scot
I have this friend, Amy. I actually kind of hesitate to call her a friend, because we've only been Facebook friends for a couple of weeks, but we've been at the same parties for years now, and I totally bragged last year that my "Happy Birthday" serenade/jam session included a musical saw, and she was the one playing it!We finally got a chance to chat at a party last month, and we came around to the topic of organ donation. I don't remember how we got to it, but we did, and how we got there isn't what matters anyway.
Amy shared the story of her brother, Scot. He died unexpectedly a number of years ago, and her mom, Evelyn, had made the decision to donate his organs. As I thanked Amy for her family's gift, as I always do, she continued the story. Her mother had never gotten an update or thank you letter from any of the recipients. Any of them.
Today, on the eve of my own transplant anniversary, I'd like to write the thank you note that Evelyn never received, on behalf of the recipients. I don't doubt their thankfulness, and I'll continue to hope that the heartfelt notes sent to her were just lost in a filing cabinet somewhere, but in the meantime, this is all I can do. Evelyn is, unfortunately, no longer with us, but I at least want Amy to know just a bit of the gratitude that exists, thanks to this amazing gift.
Dear Evelyn,
From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
From the bottom of my kidney, thank you.
From my pancreas to my lungs, to my corneas to my liver, thank you.
I am so sorry that your beloved Scot was taken from you, but please know the lives you have saved in the process.
His first kidney has allowed me to no longer need dialysis; my blood pressure is stable, I have the energy someone in the prime of their life should have. I am able to enjoy the things I couldn't before, whether it's staying up late, traveling around the world, or having a baby. These are all things I would not have been able to do before my transplant. I live.
His other kidney, along with his pancreas, has also gotten me off dialysis, which I relied on to live. I woke up from surgery no longer insulin-dependent; after many years as a diabetic, with the daily injections and blood tests, I am no longer diabetic, and that is thanks to you and Scot.
His liver has restored my muscles to their healthy tone; before transplant, I could barely move without pain; the build-up of toxins in my muscles made every movement torture. Since Scot's gift, I am able to run and take spinning classes. I live.
His lungs have given me breath once again. When I could not get out of bed without the aid of a nurse and an oxygen tank, I'm now able to talk my dog on walks. I've rediscovered the outdoors I've always loved, and spend as much time as I can, exploring them. I live.
His heart beats inside my chest. Speeds up when the love of my life walks in the room and squeezes my hand just so, beats slow and steady when I move into my favorite yoga poses, feeling life in every cell of my being. I know that in this heart resides the love he had for you, as well. I live.
So thank you, Evelyn, from all of us.
You have given us life, and the memory of Scot will live with us always.
Thank you.
I know that this isn't enough, truly. It's never enough. Oprah's and Bill Gates' and Rupert Murdoch's billions couldn't be enough. It's simply never enough.
So thank you.
I'd like to thank a few Twitter friends for helping me with this post;
Kidneys and Eyes
Rock Scar Love
Just Jules
I also heard about this awesome iPad app, which was created to mark National Donate Life Month (April) and shares daily stories of how organ donation has saved lives: The Daily Gift
- More than 100,000 men, women and children currently need life-saving organ transplants.
- Every 10 minutes another name is added to the national organ transplant waiting list.
- An average of 18 people die each day from the lack of available organs for transplant.
- In 2009, there were 8,021 deceased organ donors and 6,610 living organ donors resulting in 28,465 organ transplants.
- According to research, 98% of all adults have heard about organ donation and 86% have heard of tissue donation.
- 90% of Americans say they support donation, but only 30% know the essential steps to take to be a donor.
- As of March, 2011, there were 110,541 Patients Waiting, 1,785 Pediatric Patients
- 28,663 Organ Transplants Performed in 2010 with 14,502 Organ Donors in 2010
I was one of them.
Bounce House of Horror
It started out like a normal enough day... Labor Day weekend, and a barbecue birthday party for my nieces, who celebrate their birthdays only 2 weeks apart, with Josie turning 2 on Aug. 25, and Faith turning 5 on Sept. 12 (and Lydia being born on Aug. 25 as well!)
There were many children, and a kiddie pool, and a new climbing structure and cake...
The kiddos are all having an awesome time bouncing, and before too long, the choruses of "Auntie Lizz! Come bounce with us!" have started. (Even Max calls me that when he's with his cousins)
Even kids that I've just met that day can tell that I'm the fun one of the bunch, apparently.
Same way dogs can smell fear.
So anyway, I climb into the bounce house and we're all bouncing happily away. The kid find it hilarious that a grown up is in there (making an ass of herself) and I'll admit it, it's pretty fun.
As it so often seems to do, it ends up with me on my stomach and the kids piling on top of me. Yay! Super fun, right? All is fine when we're in the middle of the bounce house, this 9 or so kids and me.
I manage to get up and shed the short people holding on to my limbs.
Panting and tired (I'm too old for this!) I crawl over to a corner and lean against the inflateable column at the corner of the bounce house.
And they dogpile on me again.
And then it gets hairy.
So here I am, with all of these preschool/early elementary school aged kids piled on top of me in the corner of the bounce house. Each stick-kid represents 3 actual kids. I'm the one with the hair and the feet.
I didn't realize it, but I'd chosen the corner of the bounce house where the generator and fan resided; as the kids piled on, my butt managed to cover the vent for the fan that was keeping the bounce house upright.
Before I knew it, I was upside down, resting on the back of my head, feet in the air, kids piled on me, with no way to get up.
My view:
I had a thought: "I have no way to get these kids off me, and no way to help myself up. I am TOTALLY stuck like this! OMG, the bounce house is collapsing and we're TRAPPED inside!"
It's times like this where my cop brother-in-law and his paramedic buddy come in handy! They got the kids out (and off me!) and to safety.
I was now upside down and not sure how I was going to myself out. And then my handsome knight in shining armor appeared!
Jamie found a rescue hatch in the ceiling of the house, and was able to help me out!
Once I was up and off the fan, the bounce house reinflated in moments, but holy crap, it was a scary couple of moments there! LOL
There were many children, and a kiddie pool, and a new climbing structure and cake...
And a bounce house.
That became the bounce house of horror. *cue evil cackling*
Even kids that I've just met that day can tell that I'm the fun one of the bunch, apparently.
Same way dogs can smell fear.
So anyway, I climb into the bounce house and we're all bouncing happily away. The kid find it hilarious that a grown up is in there (making an ass of herself) and I'll admit it, it's pretty fun.
As it so often seems to do, it ends up with me on my stomach and the kids piling on top of me. Yay! Super fun, right? All is fine when we're in the middle of the bounce house, this 9 or so kids and me.
I manage to get up and shed the short people holding on to my limbs.
Panting and tired (I'm too old for this!) I crawl over to a corner and lean against the inflateable column at the corner of the bounce house.
And they dogpile on me again.
And then it gets hairy.
So here I am, with all of these preschool/early elementary school aged kids piled on top of me in the corner of the bounce house. Each stick-kid represents 3 actual kids. I'm the one with the hair and the feet.
Before I knew it, I was upside down, resting on the back of my head, feet in the air, kids piled on me, with no way to get up.
My view:
It's times like this where my cop brother-in-law and his paramedic buddy come in handy! They got the kids out (and off me!) and to safety.
I was now upside down and not sure how I was going to myself out. And then my handsome knight in shining armor appeared!
Once I was up and off the fan, the bounce house reinflated in moments, but holy crap, it was a scary couple of moments there! LOL
Never Forget
In memory.
I hadn't planned to write a post for this terrible anniversary, but I can't let it pass by unacknowledged either. Ten years since the world changed. My Max has never known different. While I don't still cringe every time a plane flies overhead at what feels like an odd angle, things that have forever changed.
We used to greet our loved ones right at the airplane's gate. Angry gunmen were misunderstood loners, not potential splinter cells. A "Terror Alert" was something on a haunted house, not the news.
Max has never seen a world where the US felt largely untouched by terror.
I didn't personally lose anyone on that horrible day, but in 2006, I took part in something called the 2,996 Project, which set out to have each and every victim memorialized online. I was assigned a young man named Mohammad Salman Hamdani, and I invite you to remember him for just a moment, and learn something about him in my original post, found here.
In the meantime, I keep the victims, their families, and all of us, in my prayers.
A prayer for understanding, a prayer for tolerance, a prayer for peace.
We used to greet our loved ones right at the airplane's gate. Angry gunmen were misunderstood loners, not potential splinter cells. A "Terror Alert" was something on a haunted house, not the news.
Max has never seen a world where the US felt largely untouched by terror.
I didn't personally lose anyone on that horrible day, but in 2006, I took part in something called the 2,996 Project, which set out to have each and every victim memorialized online. I was assigned a young man named Mohammad Salman Hamdani, and I invite you to remember him for just a moment, and learn something about him in my original post, found here.
In the meantime, I keep the victims, their families, and all of us, in my prayers.
A prayer for understanding, a prayer for tolerance, a prayer for peace.
Am I Blue?
You might think this is a simple enough question, but really, it's anything but.
Am I blue?
Well, my hair is. I joined my friend Cristi, from Motherhood Unadorned, in pledging to dye my hair blue for suicide prevention. Cristi is participating in a fundraising walk, and she said that if she reached her fundraising goal of $1500, she'd dye her hair blue. Well, it ended up being several of us offering to join her, and here I am, a member of the Blue Crew, the Band of Smurfs, #bluebloggers... whatever you want to call us.
I have *always* tried to put up a brave front. To "handle it," to do my best to take care of the people around me as a priority.
And I paid the price. It took until this summer for me to realize that what I was feeling and thinking wasn't "normal" and that I needed some help. Thankful for my health insurance, they had me talking to a psychologist within a week, and a psychiatrist soon after that.
If you had asked me six months ago, I would have said "I understand that there's a stigma around mental illness, but it isn't something I'd have to deal with. I love my friends and family regardless, and no diagnosis is going to change that."
And then I got prescribed medication to help me manage my depression, and I struggled.
I spent so much time thinking, writing and deleting, talking to friends. Should I or shouldn't I share this? I didn't want to drag my lighthearted lifestyle blog down into the heaviness of depression and suicidal thoughts. I didn't want to open this much of myself here.
And yet, here I am.
Already, there is a very real, completely palpable change in my daily mood. I thank the meds for bringing me back to center, for making this possible. And smaller things; I have the energy and motivation that was gone for so long... laundry goes (less ;-)) ignored. I've purged almost a dozen trash bags of junk from our home. I've lost ten of the thirty-ish pounds I've gained since transplant. It has had a positive impact on all aspects of my life.
So please. It's not OK to think about hurting yourself. Or others. Your family is NOT better off without you. There is an amazing world outside, and there are tools available to help if you aren't seeing it. Please. Ask for help. A doctor, a priest, a good friend, your spouse. These are people who are there for you, and who care about your well-being.
DO NOT suffer in silence. I did just that for too long, and am so grateful to those who encouraged me to step forward.
Some Resources:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK
Band Back Together
Am I blue?
Well, my hair is. I joined my friend Cristi, from Motherhood Unadorned, in pledging to dye my hair blue for suicide prevention. Cristi is participating in a fundraising walk, and she said that if she reached her fundraising goal of $1500, she'd dye her hair blue. Well, it ended up being several of us offering to join her, and here I am, a member of the Blue Crew, the Band of Smurfs, #bluebloggers... whatever you want to call us.
But that's not all.
I am the face of depression.
I have *always* tried to put up a brave front. To "handle it," to do my best to take care of the people around me as a priority.
And I paid the price. It took until this summer for me to realize that what I was feeling and thinking wasn't "normal" and that I needed some help. Thankful for my health insurance, they had me talking to a psychologist within a week, and a psychiatrist soon after that.
If you had asked me six months ago, I would have said "I understand that there's a stigma around mental illness, but it isn't something I'd have to deal with. I love my friends and family regardless, and no diagnosis is going to change that."
And then I got prescribed medication to help me manage my depression, and I struggled.
I spent so much time thinking, writing and deleting, talking to friends. Should I or shouldn't I share this? I didn't want to drag my lighthearted lifestyle blog down into the heaviness of depression and suicidal thoughts. I didn't want to open this much of myself here.
And yet, here I am.
Already, there is a very real, completely palpable change in my daily mood. I thank the meds for bringing me back to center, for making this possible. And smaller things; I have the energy and motivation that was gone for so long... laundry goes (less ;-)) ignored. I've purged almost a dozen trash bags of junk from our home. I've lost ten of the thirty-ish pounds I've gained since transplant. It has had a positive impact on all aspects of my life.
So please. It's not OK to think about hurting yourself. Or others. Your family is NOT better off without you. There is an amazing world outside, and there are tools available to help if you aren't seeing it. Please. Ask for help. A doctor, a priest, a good friend, your spouse. These are people who are there for you, and who care about your well-being.
DO NOT suffer in silence. I did just that for too long, and am so grateful to those who encouraged me to step forward.
Some Resources:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK
Band Back Together
Coming to terms
I'm coming to terms with a part of myself, and I think it's time to share with you and ask you for support as I work through this difficult time.
You see, I fear I have an inner hipster.
I'm not sure how this happened, exactly, but I woke up recently and realized with shock that I enjoy and/or have encouraged some very hipster-like behavior in my daily life.
Exhibit A: I actually really think the hot pink Wayfarer-style sunglasses I got from Shutterfly are cute. (Blogher swag) They're fun in a kitschy sort of way, and isn't that what hipster-ocity is all about?
Exhibit B: If I was planning my wedding today, I'd totally have a photo booth complete with handlebar mustaches on sticks.
Exhibit C: My husband has a home-built single speed bike (which I happen to LOVE riding) and it can easily be converted to a fixie. Adding to that, when he was buying a new chain for it, I totally approved of the red and black one he chose to match the frame.
Exhibit D: Florence and the Machine.
Exhibit E: When we're camping, we drink cheap beer in cans. Specifically, the beer of choice is PBR. At home, it's microbrews and Guinness, but camping is PBR (And Natural Ice, to switch it up)
Exhibit F: When my hair is in need of a trim, it starts to get that overly-complex-hipster-haircut-with-random-varying-lengths look, and I'm OK enough with it that it buys me another week or so before I call my stylist.
Exhibit G: If I was going to take up a new musical instrument, it would totally be either the banjo or the theramin. Banjo for its ironic unhipness, theramin because it's so cool you've probably never heard of it.
Exhibit H: I don't have an exhibit H, except that hipster starts with it.
So. Is there hope for me, or am I destined to start wearing Delta Burke inspired shoulder pads and old-school Keds? Do you have some anti-hispter remedy I can try? I'm a desperate woman!
I'm joining Elaine over at The Miss Elaine-ous Life for her Miss Elaine-ous Monday! Click here to see more random posts people have linked up!
You see, I fear I have an inner hipster.
I'm not sure how this happened, exactly, but I woke up recently and realized with shock that I enjoy and/or have encouraged some very hipster-like behavior in my daily life.
Exhibit A: I actually really think the hot pink Wayfarer-style sunglasses I got from Shutterfly are cute. (Blogher swag) They're fun in a kitschy sort of way, and isn't that what hipster-ocity is all about?
Exhibit B: If I was planning my wedding today, I'd totally have a photo booth complete with handlebar mustaches on sticks.
 | |
| Sunglasses, 'stache, complicated haircut |
Exhibit D: Florence and the Machine.
Exhibit E: When we're camping, we drink cheap beer in cans. Specifically, the beer of choice is PBR. At home, it's microbrews and Guinness, but camping is PBR (And Natural Ice, to switch it up)
Exhibit F: When my hair is in need of a trim, it starts to get that overly-complex-hipster-haircut-with-random-varying-lengths look, and I'm OK enough with it that it buys me another week or so before I call my stylist.
Exhibit G: If I was going to take up a new musical instrument, it would totally be either the banjo or the theramin. Banjo for its ironic unhipness, theramin because it's so cool you've probably never heard of it.
Exhibit H: I don't have an exhibit H, except that hipster starts with it.
So. Is there hope for me, or am I destined to start wearing Delta Burke inspired shoulder pads and old-school Keds? Do you have some anti-hispter remedy I can try? I'm a desperate woman!
I'm joining Elaine over at The Miss Elaine-ous Life for her Miss Elaine-ous Monday! Click here to see more random posts people have linked up!
Coming around to Happy
When my oldest niece, Faith, was born in 2006, there was nothing but joy. I was present for the labor and delivery, and was enthralled the moment she made her entrance into this world.
Up until that point, loving her was the closest I'd come to knowing how much a mother can love someone they've just met. My only sister's baby girl, related to me by blood.
I visited a couple of days a week for those early weeks, giving my sister a much-needed break, just admiring her as she grew. Smothered her with hugs and kisses as much as I could, and just loved her as best as I could.
And then Max was born, and I really did learn what it's like to love as a mother. To love so much it hurts sometimes.
Christmas, 2008, before Max's first birthday, Katie excitedly announced she was pregnant again! Due just weeks before Faith's third birthday, I was happy but also struggled with jealousy. Katie was growing the family she had always wanted, and I was still coming to terms that I'd never get another chance to have a baby.
I'd like to think I kept a strong facade during her second pregnancy, but I'm not entirely sure I did... watching her belly grow, taking photos of her at about 35 weeks, almost 2 months past the furthest I'd gotten. I struggled constantly, but tried not to let it show.
When Katie invited me to be present at the birth again, I was happy. At first. I'd be part of an entourage of doula, photographer, future godmother, Katie and Jason AND medical staff. I could deal, right?
I couldn't have been more wrong. Sitting in that delivery room, just doors down from where I'd been monitored before Max's birth, it took every ounce of my willpower not to run screaming from the room. I found myself crumpled to the floor, concentrating on my breathing, while my second niece, Josie, was born.
Lost in the chaos after her birth, I left without even holding her, saving my tears for the sanctuary of my car in the parking lot. Looking back through my blog archives, I never even shared her birth on here... that's the kind of headspace I was in.
And then Jan. 2, 2011. Our family is celebrating Christmas together, and I give Katie a bottle of wine as a gift. "Oh, great!" she says. "This will come in handy IN SEPTEMBER!" Stunned looks around the room, and she confirms moments later. She's pregnant again, due right around Josie's 2nd birthday in August.
A few weeks later, I sent her an email letting her know where I was emotionally; about the difficulties I'd had being at Josie's birth, and that I needed some time to come to terms with her having another baby. I promised that I'd "come around to happy," but that in the meantime, I needed space.
I then proceeded to spend the remainder of her pregnancy, about 34 weeks, avoiding her. Avoiding contact as much as I could. Seeing her belly grow, all the talk of baby names and Team Green, I wasn't ready for those conversations. So I stayed away.
And then a phone call.
Katie thought maybe she was in labor, and did I want to be present at the birth? I said yes, and that I'd bring my camera. Because I'd been present at the other two, I didn't want the new baby (called OMeGa in utero) to feel less important if his/hers was the only one I missed. I figured that, worst case, I could hide behind my camera and focus on taking great pictures, instead of paying attention to what was actually happening in front of me.
And you know what? I did it. I was there, I was present in the moment, and I cried. But in a good way.
Up until that point, loving her was the closest I'd come to knowing how much a mother can love someone they've just met. My only sister's baby girl, related to me by blood.
 | |
| Faith, just moments old. Sept. 06 |
And then Max was born, and I really did learn what it's like to love as a mother. To love so much it hurts sometimes.
Christmas, 2008, before Max's first birthday, Katie excitedly announced she was pregnant again! Due just weeks before Faith's third birthday, I was happy but also struggled with jealousy. Katie was growing the family she had always wanted, and I was still coming to terms that I'd never get another chance to have a baby.
I'd like to think I kept a strong facade during her second pregnancy, but I'm not entirely sure I did... watching her belly grow, taking photos of her at about 35 weeks, almost 2 months past the furthest I'd gotten. I struggled constantly, but tried not to let it show.
When Katie invited me to be present at the birth again, I was happy. At first. I'd be part of an entourage of doula, photographer, future godmother, Katie and Jason AND medical staff. I could deal, right?
I couldn't have been more wrong. Sitting in that delivery room, just doors down from where I'd been monitored before Max's birth, it took every ounce of my willpower not to run screaming from the room. I found myself crumpled to the floor, concentrating on my breathing, while my second niece, Josie, was born.
Lost in the chaos after her birth, I left without even holding her, saving my tears for the sanctuary of my car in the parking lot. Looking back through my blog archives, I never even shared her birth on here... that's the kind of headspace I was in.
And then Jan. 2, 2011. Our family is celebrating Christmas together, and I give Katie a bottle of wine as a gift. "Oh, great!" she says. "This will come in handy IN SEPTEMBER!" Stunned looks around the room, and she confirms moments later. She's pregnant again, due right around Josie's 2nd birthday in August.
A few weeks later, I sent her an email letting her know where I was emotionally; about the difficulties I'd had being at Josie's birth, and that I needed some time to come to terms with her having another baby. I promised that I'd "come around to happy," but that in the meantime, I needed space.
I then proceeded to spend the remainder of her pregnancy, about 34 weeks, avoiding her. Avoiding contact as much as I could. Seeing her belly grow, all the talk of baby names and Team Green, I wasn't ready for those conversations. So I stayed away.
And then a phone call.
Katie thought maybe she was in labor, and did I want to be present at the birth? I said yes, and that I'd bring my camera. Because I'd been present at the other two, I didn't want the new baby (called OMeGa in utero) to feel less important if his/hers was the only one I missed. I figured that, worst case, I could hide behind my camera and focus on taking great pictures, instead of paying attention to what was actually happening in front of me.
And you know what? I did it. I was there, I was present in the moment, and I cried. But in a good way.
 |
| Lydia May, born Aug. 25, 2011 |
It's All About the Shoes
Thank you to Crocs for sponsoring this blog post. Please click here to learn more about Crocs’ new Back to School line. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions expressed here are my own.I'm a shoe addict.
It's true.
I love them.
Athletic and fancy, heels and flats, slip on and lace-up. Shoes make me happy.
When I was a kid, and my mom took me back to school shopping, I always had the strongest opinion on my shoes, and as long as my picks were within her guidelines, she generally allowed me free reign. Her guidelines were simple: Closed toe, closed/covered heel, a rubber sole for PE. Looking back, I'm sure these were as much the school's rules as her own, but if it works, right?
Three specific sets of school shoes stand out in my memory.
In fifth grade, which was the 88-89 school year, I even got TWO pair! Converse high tops in hot pink and turquoise. In true late-eighties fashion, I rocked one of each color, along with two pairs of socks, layered and scrunched *just so* to get a truly multi colored, pseudo-eclectic, Punky Brewster inspired look.
My sophomore year in high school, I was deep in my alternative slash hippie phase, and got my parents to spring for a pair of black mary jane style Doc Martens. They went perfectly with my favorite empire waisted, plaid flannel dress and numerous earrings, and I adored them. (Confession: I wish I still had them.)
By the time my junior year rolled around, I was working part-time and had the money to buy what I wanted, closed toe be darned. I'd gone more hippie than alternative (Plus: They were pretty trendy) and I got a pair of Birkenstocks. They were the most expensive shoes I'd owned up to that point, and about three days after I got them, I left them out in front of our house, to be (theoretically) stolen by the neighbor boy. Sigh.
So my Birks were gone, but my love of super-comfy shoes was not! That's why the new Crocs Back to School line is so exciting to me, since I now live vicariously through Max's shoe buying! I understand the rules of School Shoes now, but to have them available with Crocs famous comfort, hidden in a super-adorable upper? That, my friends, is School Shoe BLISS!
This cute little video, shown below, will show you more of the styles. It's also interactive, so click on any of the Crocs you see, and you'll be taken straight to the Crocs site to learn more about them! (As an added bonus, Max has asked me half a dozen times now to watch this video! It really is that cute!) Once you've done that, click here and be entered to win a family vacation to San Diego, with no purchase necessary!
And last, but SO not least, there's a hidden Easter Egg in the video... click on it and see what happens!
Need a clue? Here's one:
Thanks so much to Crocs for letting me take a look at these adorable new additions to the Crocs family! I definitely see some in
A New Eraser
I've always been a lover of words, of writing. Story books in elementary school, creative fiction in junior high. My favorite part of back to school shopping wasn't the clothes or the backpack.
It was the supplies.
Still true to this day.
Especially, erasers.
A beautiful new eraser, especially a Pink Pearl.
No mistakes made.
No corners darkened with pencil smudges.
Everything even and beautiful.
What wonderful stories would I refine, thanks to that eraser?
What words would I misspell and fix, never to forget?
(For the record, my word is awry)
What doodles would decorate the margins of a quiz, quickly scrubbed away before the bell?
New erasers make me happy.
My oldest niece, Faith, starts kindergarten tomorrow. I remember her birth like it was yesterday, and she was the closest thing I'd known to how much a mother loves, until Max was born. She is and always will be special to me.
Wandering the aisles at Target this morning, I wanted to get her a little something. A card and a little gift to send her off on this exciting new adventure. I examined the school supply aisle, reviewing Dora and Hello Kitty and Disney Princess and Barbie. Binders and coloring books and backpacks and pencils.
About to give up, I spotted them. A three-pack of Pink Pearls.
I taped one to the outside of an envelope, and in it I put a card. I meant to make a copy of the note so I could post it, but forgot, so this is paraphrased:
I actually think I might make this an annual back-to-school tradition for all 3 nieces and Max. Just a little note to let them know how much I love them as we send them onward and upward in the world. A bit of advice for the coming year.
Do you have any back to school traditions for the kiddos in your life? I'd love to hear all about them!
It was the supplies.
Still true to this day.
Especially, erasers.
A beautiful new eraser, especially a Pink Pearl.
No mistakes made.
No corners darkened with pencil smudges.
Everything even and beautiful.
What wonderful stories would I refine, thanks to that eraser?What words would I misspell and fix, never to forget?
(For the record, my word is awry)
What doodles would decorate the margins of a quiz, quickly scrubbed away before the bell?
New erasers make me happy.
My oldest niece, Faith, starts kindergarten tomorrow. I remember her birth like it was yesterday, and she was the closest thing I'd known to how much a mother loves, until Max was born. She is and always will be special to me.
Wandering the aisles at Target this morning, I wanted to get her a little something. A card and a little gift to send her off on this exciting new adventure. I examined the school supply aisle, reviewing Dora and Hello Kitty and Disney Princess and Barbie. Binders and coloring books and backpacks and pencils.
About to give up, I spotted them. A three-pack of Pink Pearls.
I taped one to the outside of an envelope, and in it I put a card. I meant to make a copy of the note so I could post it, but forgot, so this is paraphrased:
Dear Faith,
Have a great first day at kindergarten! I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you.
I'm giving you an eraser because new erasers were one of my favorite things when I was in school.
It's important in school, not to be afraid to make mistakes, because that's what learning is all about.
This eraser will help you learn by letting you try again if you're wrong the first time.
Sometimes, being wrong the first time is the most important part.
So have a wonderful day, Faithie! I can't wait to hear all about it!
Always and forever,
Auntie Lizz
PS: Uncle Jamie and Max love you lots too! :)
I actually think I might make this an annual back-to-school tradition for all 3 nieces and Max. Just a little note to let them know how much I love them as we send them onward and upward in the world. A bit of advice for the coming year.
Do you have any back to school traditions for the kiddos in your life? I'd love to hear all about them!
The Tower
The prompt: This week’s assignment will require the fewest number of words ever: we want you to write a story – your choice of topic – as a tweet. (140 characters total)
She came around the corner and into the sunlight.
It stood before her, finally, in all its splendor.
Gasping, she let the tears fall freely.
She came around the corner and into the sunlight.
It stood before her, finally, in all its splendor.
Gasping, she let the tears fall freely.
Bacon. And more bacon.
Top Ten Reasons Bacon is Awesome
1. It's delicious, duh. Crispy and salty and dissolve in your mouth-y. And loaded with lots of delicious fat and nitrates! The best part of the pig!
2. It's versatile! Can you say Baconaisse? (Tried it, didn't love it. Just so you know.) Or Bacon Salt? (Currently resides in my spice cabinet) How about Bacon Jam? (I actually saw this at Costco recently) Bacon vodka? (See photo below)
3. It's structurally sound! Assuming it's been fried to the proper crispy consistency, the strips of goodness are perfect to create a breakfast dam to prevent your pancake/waffle/french toast's maple syrupy sweetness from contaminating your savory and delicious scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese melted on top. They're the perfect tool, because the maple syrup only enhances the amazingness of the bacon itself.
4. It's an entree and side dish in one! I once tweeted the following: "Making BLTs for dinner. What side dish to go with?" and got no less than SEVEN replies of "More bacon!" Can you think of another food where this applies? Hmmm... we're having burgers for dinner... what should we have on the side? I know! Another burger! It just. Doesn't. Happen.
5. Adding bacon to things makes them funnier. Much like bare butts and "That's what she said," bacon makes things funny. Exhibit A: Sex, Lies and Bacon If it were just called "Sex and Lies" it could be a super-depressing expose about a lonely woman who discovered her beloved husband's infidelities with his secretary/office manager/golf partner. By adding the word Bacon, Mely makes her blog into something entirely different, and most importantly, really freaking funny.
6. It's a decorative design element and textile pattern.
7. It's a counterculture movement. All I have to say is this: Bacon Camp 2011 (Gawd, I love San Francisco!)
8. Even its waste products are delicious! Bacon grease has been used since approximately March of 28 BC to flavor food. Someone on Twitter suggested using it to make popcorn the other night! POPCORN, people! How amazing does that sound? I think I'm going to ask Jamie to make me some bacon right this minute so we can make popcorn with the drippings. I knew I'd been holding on to my old kettle popcorn popper for a special occasion!
9. Its smell wields incredible power. It can lure a teenager out of bed early on a weekend, lead people across vast deserts in search of the source, noses raised daintily in the air. And incredibly, it still smells delicious in the house after a whole day! If you make curry or fish or onions, it smells good while cooking, but once dinner's over, you just want the stink to go away, right? With bacon, you have it for breakfast and when you get home from your day's activities, you walk in, breathe in deep and sigh, "Mmmm.... it smells like bacon in here! Now I want bacon!" It's kind of an endless loop, really.
10. It can convert vegetarians. We have a friend, who shall remain nameless, who has been veggie for a good number of years. Until it comes to bacon. He'll eat a pound of it in a sitting, and then he'll fry up some bread in the grease, to make some bacon-infused toast (or something)
It's got some serious powers, that bacon. And now, I have to go eat some.
1. It's delicious, duh. Crispy and salty and dissolve in your mouth-y. And loaded with lots of delicious fat and nitrates! The best part of the pig!
2. It's versatile! Can you say Baconaisse? (Tried it, didn't love it. Just so you know.) Or Bacon Salt? (Currently resides in my spice cabinet) How about Bacon Jam? (I actually saw this at Costco recently) Bacon vodka? (See photo below)
3. It's structurally sound! Assuming it's been fried to the proper crispy consistency, the strips of goodness are perfect to create a breakfast dam to prevent your pancake/waffle/french toast's maple syrupy sweetness from contaminating your savory and delicious scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese melted on top. They're the perfect tool, because the maple syrup only enhances the amazingness of the bacon itself.
4. It's an entree and side dish in one! I once tweeted the following: "Making BLTs for dinner. What side dish to go with?" and got no less than SEVEN replies of "More bacon!" Can you think of another food where this applies? Hmmm... we're having burgers for dinner... what should we have on the side? I know! Another burger! It just. Doesn't. Happen.
5. Adding bacon to things makes them funnier. Much like bare butts and "That's what she said," bacon makes things funny. Exhibit A: Sex, Lies and Bacon If it were just called "Sex and Lies" it could be a super-depressing expose about a lonely woman who discovered her beloved husband's infidelities with his secretary/office manager/golf partner. By adding the word Bacon, Mely makes her blog into something entirely different, and most importantly, really freaking funny.
6. It's a decorative design element and textile pattern.
7. It's a counterculture movement. All I have to say is this: Bacon Camp 2011 (Gawd, I love San Francisco!)
8. Even its waste products are delicious! Bacon grease has been used since approximately March of 28 BC to flavor food. Someone on Twitter suggested using it to make popcorn the other night! POPCORN, people! How amazing does that sound? I think I'm going to ask Jamie to make me some bacon right this minute so we can make popcorn with the drippings. I knew I'd been holding on to my old kettle popcorn popper for a special occasion!
9. Its smell wields incredible power. It can lure a teenager out of bed early on a weekend, lead people across vast deserts in search of the source, noses raised daintily in the air. And incredibly, it still smells delicious in the house after a whole day! If you make curry or fish or onions, it smells good while cooking, but once dinner's over, you just want the stink to go away, right? With bacon, you have it for breakfast and when you get home from your day's activities, you walk in, breathe in deep and sigh, "Mmmm.... it smells like bacon in here! Now I want bacon!" It's kind of an endless loop, really.
10. It can convert vegetarians. We have a friend, who shall remain nameless, who has been veggie for a good number of years. Until it comes to bacon. He'll eat a pound of it in a sitting, and then he'll fry up some bread in the grease, to make some bacon-infused toast (or something)
It's got some serious powers, that bacon. And now, I have to go eat some.
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