Today is the day!

In 8 hours, the house I am currently sitting in will no longer be mine.  In 3 hours after that, we will own (hahaha, owe on) a new, roomier house that is better suited to our family.

I am excited.  I am nervous.  I am sad.

Is it weird to be sad?  We've lived in this house for almost 12 years.  I still remember the teddy bear border and pink walls in Chris's room, and the book border in our room (I am ashamed at how long it took us to take down that book border... but that's another story).
I remember the hideous, heavy green curtains in the living room.  And the nice collection of furniture we had, I liked to call it "70s garage sale chic".  We utilized tv trays quite often- end tables, printer stand. (wait... I'm using a tv tray for my laptop right now.  Are we still broke?  shit.)  Looking back at pictures from then, this tiny house looked so empty. And so very white.,

And now, it is bursting at the seams.  It is time to move on.

I think about all the memories in this house.

The excitement of owning our first home.
Raising our babies here... pacing the floors trying to get them to sleep.  I remember we had an old, ugly as sin futon in the living room, and I would sleep with the babies out here so that Jimmy could get a good night's sleep. (this is also where jimmy slept when my snoring was bad... oops)

All the family dinners we have hosted. All the holidays.  Memories of my mom in this house.  Her last time to come to a family dinner is forever etched in my mind.  All the love and pain and joy and sorrow has happened here, in this 1600 square foot house that I have loved and hated at different times throughout the years.

This house has been good to us, and I am so happy to be selling it to my brother and his family.  I am so happy that my nephews will be raised here, and that I can still come to visit.  I can't wait to see what they do with the house, how they update it, how they decorate it.  How they will grow in this house like we did.

I sit here, in the quiet early morning while everyone else is asleep.  Everything is packed.  The movers come tomorrow.  By Sunday, this house will be pretty much empty.  And I know I will cry as I leave the keys behind (which I will do, even though I told my brother I would keep one and sneak in the house while he is sleeping and stare at him like a creep), but I will also be so excited for new memories in a new house, because everything that really matters will be making the move with me.

I still miss you...

It's been awhile since I wrote about you.

It isn't because you aren't on my mind.  It isn't because I have forgotten you.

They say "time heals all wounds".  It's partly true.   I wouldn't call myself healed.  I'd call myself... mended.  I make it through the days.  I can think of you without that painful feeling that takes my breath.

It DOES get easier.   When something bad happens to you, that's what everyone tells you.  At the moment, it pisses you off.  Because you are immersed in the pain,  in the grief.  You can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.  You can't see the better days.  You can only feel the blinding pain, the bright, searing loss.

Eventually though, the pain settles into a dull ache in the back of your heart.  This is where I am now.  I can talk about  you.  I even tell stories about you, even about things that happened at the end of your life.  I can do these things without shedding a tear.  I just get a little knot in my stomach.  A little ball of pain that surfaces when I think about you.

I still have my moments. At a swim meet, I saw a mother and daughter interaction that made me cry.  I had to excuse myself and go cry in the bathroom.

There is also this video circulating on facebook called "the things we still ask our mother's" or something like that.  Yeah,  that made me cry thinking about how much I used to call you and how I depended on you for advice about... well... everything.

So, I am just writing to tell you I'm ok.  I survived losing you.  I miss you everyday, especially today when the rest of the family is coming over for Thanksgiving dinner.
But, I am not the emotional wreck I was a year ago.

But don't be surprised if I still have a few moments crying in the bathroom stall.

This old house...

We have lived in our current house for over eleven years.  We bought a house when we had no money.  It was perfect for the small family of three we were then.  We had a three month old and didn't know what we were doing, not in parenting, not in life.

I have loved it, I have hated it.  I have wished desperately to move, and I have dreamed of growing old here.

We have recently done some work to the house, and have decided that it is the time to try to move into something more suitable for a family of our size.  Our three kids and three dogs have completely outgrown the small space.

And while I am excited to think of something new, and have fallen in love with a few houses already, part of me is sad.

This house has seen three boys being raised.  It has seen sleepless nights with a newborn, with me pacing the floors and rocking and praying for sleep.

It has withstood the abuse we have put it through- rough boys running down the halls, playing baseball, football and nerf guns.  Tracking in dirt and grass and mud, even sand from the sandbox.

It has seen the worst parts of my marriage and the best parts.  The fights, the tears and the love.

It has seen girl's nights with wine on the porch and date nights with my husband.

It has seen family dinners when everyone comes over and we eat and enjoy each other's company.

It has hosted Thanksgiving and Christmas for the last several years, which are my favorite times of the year.

It has seen my greatest joys- my children being born, graduating college, getting better jobs, and my greatest heartaches- losing my grandmother and then my mom.

My favorite times have been in this house, surrounded by my family.  I have memories of my mother in this house.  

We bought this house and we had no idea what we were doing.  We grew in this house- me, jimmy and the boys.  This is where our family grew.  And no matter where we go from here,  this house will always have my heart.

Work? Family?

We've been through so much together.  We've lost parents together, and spouses and boyfriends and even one of our own.

We've had tragedies.  Someone was shot.  Someone we care about did something unthinkable.   We've lost homes to tornados and had cancer scares.

We've celebrated birthdays, new babies, weddings, graduations and new jobs.  We've said goodbye to some who were a part of us as they've gone on to bigger and better things.

It's unusual, I think, the family I've found in my employees/co-workers.  The support, the love, the weird butt slaps and inside jokes (she need trainin') that somehow are all ok because we get each other.

The flowers I received on the first anniversary of my mother's death, letting me know they knew it would be a hard day.

The notes I've received from several employees that have lifted my spirits and made me believe that maybe I make a difference, even though I'm "just a restaurant manager"

The dinners, the drinks, football and wings, dressing up for Halloween, homemade christmas gifts and our christmas party.  All of these things I think about when I count my blessings for having such a great workplace.

I get sad when I think if those who will leave me, and how one day, things won't be the same.  There will be new faces and although I will grow to love them, there is something about this bunch that just clicks.  That just makes work feel like home.

I don't know what brought this to mind except that we are going through something hard once again.  And my phone goes off as I chat with them about this, as we try to make sense of things. Our hearts have been broken together and healed again so many times.  There is nothing like my blue plate family.

I didn't sleep well last night...

It's 12:30 pm and I'm on my third cup of coffee (for those of you who read something on facebook about giving up caffeine, please move on).  I didn't sleep well last night. I'm tired, but for once I don't really mind.

I worked a lot last week.  A lot.  I wasn't home any night except for Monday. I didn't see my kids.  My husband was exhausted.  I spent the entire day yesterday trying to think of a way to take the kids away for the day/night so he could get a break, and I could spend some time with them.

I finally settled on staying in a local hotel with an indoor pool.  This gets us away for the night, and it gave Drew a chance to practice his new swimming skills.

I was a little nervous.  Drew and I haven't been seeing eye to eye lately.  He has been testing me on everything.  Throwing fits.  Screaming.

But, we had a great day.  All three boys were extra good and we just enjoyed each other's company without any sort of agenda or to do list, which seems rare lately.  It seems silly, staying in a hotel room in your own city, but we really had the best time.  Drew asked if we could go on this trip again tomorrow!

My favorite part was bedtime.  The older boys had a bed, and Drew and I had the other.  We have slept together plenty of times.  It is never super pleasant and usually involves me begging him to settle down and then turning my back to him, hoping ignoring him will make him go to sleep.

Last night, when it was time to go to bed, he said, "Mom, can we snuggle up together?"  And when I crawled into bed with him, he wiggled into my side and put his sweet little arm around me the best he could.  I watched him fall asleep.  And even after he was asleep, I stayed awake, thinking about that little arm.

I actually felt my eyes fill with tears as I thought about how my "snuggling up" days with him would be ending sooner than I liked.  Pretty soon, he'll be Luke's age, where I have to demand my snuggles, sneak my snuggles.

Then he'll be Chris's age, and those little arms will be muscular and growing by the minute.  And he'll be asking for a cell phone and hanging out with friends.  Those arms will be used to constantly "whip and nae nae" and generally be annoying as much as possible (or whatever horrible dance move is invented by then).

Then he'll be hugging girls with that arm, and one day a wife with that arm.  And hopefully one day, he will have a sweet baby who wants to snuggle up with him.

His entire life flashed before my eyes and I felt all the stress from the past few weeks with him melt away.  I just held him, trying to soak in enough for the rest of my life.

And the results are in...

After many, many weeks of waiting (and having to get my blood re-drawn because the first lab wanted my first born child in payment for the testing), I finally got the phone call with the results of my genetic testing.


And.... I do not have any mutations that increase the risk of breast cancer!


I cried.  This is a huge relief for me.

I really have nothing else to say except I am so happy I did this!


(Thanks Carol!)

And now we wait

Well, I had my appointment with the genetic counselor yesterday.

If I had to sum it up in one word it would be "overwhelming".


Basically I had one small tube of blood drawn, and this tube will tell me if I have the normal, 12% chance of developing breast cancer, or up to an 80% chance.   Umm... terrifying.

She discussed some of the options I would have, depending on which mutations they found.  If they find one of the big guys, the BRAC1 or BRAC2 mutated genes, we have to get serious.  This could involve removal of ovaries and breasts. (did I mention scary?)

If they find one of the more moderate risk mutated genes, we could just take the stronger surveillance route and start mammograms earlier and perhaps alternate those with a breast MRI.

My mother did not get treatment for her breast cancer at CCI.  The only time I had ever been there before was several years ago when my mom was tested for bone cancer.  She did not have bone cancer, and I remember the relief and the immediate tears at the news that the tests were negative.  I never thought that she would die a few years later from a different cancer.

I felt very emotional sitting there, waiting to be called back, and then again in the room,waiting for the counselor to come in.  A weird mixture of grief, and fear, and hope.  The room I was in was just like the room we were in when my mom had the testing for bone cancer.  It made me miss her, and made me afraid for my boys.  I want to be around for them for a long, long time.

The dr said that because my mom had the disease and died so young, that could be an indicator of mutated genes.  But that most people that get tested get negative results.  So I have no idea what to think or how to feel.

I have 3-5 weeks to wait.  If only test results came back as fast in real life as they do on Grey's Anatomy....