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....

The next step....

You have all followed me through this journey of losing my mom.  You have read my blog, my feelings, raw emotions typed while tears are streaming down my face.  Last year was the worst year of my life, no denying it.

But it has been 14 months now.  And even though I miss her desperately, the pain isn't as strong.  It doesn't take my breathe away, it just gives me a sick feeling in my stomach and a loneliness in my heart.  I am surrounded by people I love, but she was the one person I talked to daily, about everything and nothing, all at the same time.

So... where do we go from here?  Is the story over?

Now begins the next step- and I share this only because I think there are others who are as scared as I am and want to have this done- genetic testing.  My mother's breast cancer was swift and short and deadly.  She had what is called Inflammatory Breast Cancer.  It is basically the queen of all breast cancers.  It doesn't form a tumor, so the mammograms and self-checks my mom did were in vain.  This cancer spreads through the tissue.  Because of this, it is very hard to diagnose.  It is rarely found before it is stage 3, my mom's was stage 4.  She didn't have a clue that cancer was destroying her until it was already in her lymph-nodes.

So, it's the scariest breast cancer.  It makes me feel like there isn't anything I can do to prevent it.  I've given up artificial sweetener.  I've given up real sugar.  Trying to eat only real foods.  I have gotten back into the gym.  Trying to reduce every risk factor I have.

Thanks to a sweet friend who sent one of her friends my info, I am going to be taking it a step farther.  I have made an appointment for genetic counseling.  I am (hopefully) going to find out if I have the gene that causes breast cancer.

I am terrified.  Sick to my stomach, can't think about it without crying, terrified.

Why am I doing this?  Because my mother died at 49.  FORTY NINE!  That is only 16 years older than I am right now.  Drew would barely be 20 if I died that young.  The thought of leaving my babies.... I can't handle it.

And if it turn out I have the gene, there are steps I can take.  Steps that I will take to try to prevent this horrible disease from taking me from my family.  So I ask you to pray for me, to keep me calm until my appt (AUGUST, ugh!), and to pray for the results.

And I'll let you know.

It wasn't me this time...

Drew is potty trained.  He was absolutely the most difficult of my 3 kids to finally get trained, and it didn't happen until he was 3.  He still can't make it through the night.  I may never stop buying diapers/pull-ups.

Lately, he has started having accidents again.  Not just when he is sleeping, but throughout the day.  And sometimes, I find pee spots without finding wet clothes so I kinda feel like he is just dropping his pants and pissing every where at random.

I think he utilizes a tactic called "Revenge Pee".  I'm pretty sure it goes like this:  Drew is a little shit.  Drew gets in trouble.  Drew gets spanked/yelled at/sent to his room.  After screaming for 4,567 hours, he thinks, "I'll show them", walks over to the closet and just pees in the floor.  It's like having a puppy around the house all over again.

Speaking of puppies, the other night I didn't sleep well.  The dogs were restless and just kept waking me up.  They never whined or seemed to need to go outside, so I just kept telling them to shut up (not really effective) and trying to go back to sleep.

I guess the constant interruption in my sleep made me have a weird dream that I thought was real, and I woke up at 3:00 thinking I heard someone in my house.  Instead of waking up my husband, I decided, stupidly, to investigate on my own (Truthfully, if there was an intruder, I'd probably be dead before I got him awake and alert enough to understand what was going on).  I found nothing, so headed to the bathroom before I attempted sleep again.

So I am sitting in the dark, taking care of business, exhausted, with my head in my hands, when I look up and see a dark figure standing in the door way.   Holy mother of pearl it scared the crap out of me (luckily I am on a toilet.  ok, terrible joke),  My husband had been woken up by my adventure, and was innocently headed to the bathroom and for a split second, I thought I was dead.

Needless to say, I didn't really sleep well for the rest of the night.  The dogs settled down, but my heart just never recovered.  When it was time to get ready for work, I discovered a nice fresh puddle of pee in my closet!  As I am cleaning it up, I am cursing the dogs because I know it has to be one of them because of their restlessness the night before.

Drew wakes up and comes in the room.  He asks what I am doing and I explain that I am cleaning up pee.  He looks up and says, "But Mom!  It wasn't me this time!!".

1 year

Dear Mom,

As of tomorrow at 5:00 am, I will have lived a year without you.  365 days without my mother.  365 days without hearing your voice.  Without your guidance.  Without you.

It seems like yesterday and a million years ago at the same time.  I struggle to hear your voice.  If I concentrate really hard, I can hear the way you said, "Darlene" on your voicemail.  But that's it.  I can't hear anything else.

I haven't cried in awhile, until today.  I don't know why today makes it harder, it is really just another day.  But I keep thinking back.  Thinking of the constant vigil at your house.  Thinking of watching you.  Worrying.  Waiting.

I wish I had realized how bad it was when you told me you had cancer.  I wish I would have scooped you up and taken you away for a fabulous vacation.  Did you ever even have a great vacation?  Ever in your life?  I don't know.  Money was always so tight. There was so much I wanted to do for you when I was able.  So many places I wanted to take you.  Things I wanted to buy you.  All the things you didn't get to do or buy because you were busy providing for us.

I remember one year for my birthday, you redecorated my bedroom.  I came home from school and I had a new comforter, shelves, pictures, everything.  I don't know how you always had the money to give us the things you did.  But I will never forget all you did for us.

I miss you, so very much.  Yes, it has gotten easier.  I don't cry everyday anymore.  I don't often have that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the pain that takes my breath away.  But as time goes by, I miss you more than ever.  I wasn't ready to be a grown up without you.

Mother's Day is this weekend, and it will be the second time I haven't had a mother to shop for.  How I wish I had the problem of figuring out what to buy for you.  Or where we would go for dinner.  All I can do is say thank you.  Thank you for everything you did for us while you were here.  Thank you for it all.

Beautiful placenta....

Drew has been a little terror lately.  He is 4 now.  I really feel like my other two were little grown people by now.  And Drew is still a baby.  I know, this is partially (all?) our fault.  He is a little more spoiled than the others were.  It is hard with the 3rd.  By then you are so tired you just want them to leave you alone, so "yes" is a lot easier to say than "no"

There is one instance that comes to mind.  Luke was having a corndog.  Drew was throwing a fit for his corndog.  Now, when we only had 2 kids, we would have told the little one to cut the crap, you can't have your brother's corndog.  But now there are 3 of them.  And one of them is... difficult.  And he has been crying all day.  And he never sleeps.  And so, before you know it, you've said, "Luke, give Drew your corndog".  Or you've given Drew whatever he wants at a swim meet/basketball/soccer/baseball game, just so that you can make it through and maybe see your other child participate in the sporting event for more than 10 seconds.

You reap what you sow.

However, it may not all be our fault.  I came across another theory to his evilness awhile ago.  It was my best friends 30th birthday.  And in typical fashion, we were talking about things that made us realize how old we are.  Like babies, and mortgages, etc.  One of our friends is prego, so the word placenta came up more often than it should have.

And BAM!  It hit me!  When I had Drew, everyone in the hospital commented on how beautiful my placenta was. And the umbilical cord.  I am not lying.  They brought other nurses in to see them.  This had never happened with my other two, so it isn't like my placentas are naturally beautiful. Now, I've never actually seen a placenta.  Jimmy says it's the grossest thing about child birth (and he's seen me poop myself while having a baby, so he should know).  I am not sure how it can be beautiful, but they were in awe.

Anyway, I digress.  The point is this : THE PLACENTA STOLE ALL HIS GOODNESS!!  It is the only explanation.  He was robbed of all the sweetness he was supposed to have.  I should have blended that thing up and fed it to him in a bottle.

This child.

Dear older Drew:

If you are reading this and you are horrified at the things I say about you, just wait until you have kids.  You will understand.  But you will also understand that I love you so much anyway.  And uh... sorry about that whole #drewsreignofterror thing...

Wasn't it just yesterday...

I wrote this awhile ago and never posted it, I don't know why.  But thinking of my mom today because my timehop today was a picture of her and the boys.  I would give anything to be able to call her today.

My mother wrote a poem for me when I was moving out of the house for the first time.  I was angry at her for being so upset.  She didn't want me to go, and I desperately wanted my freedom.

This is what she wrote:

When they placed you in my arms,
What a precious baby girl.
I counted fingers and toes to see just how perfect you were.
I had never loved so much.

Wasn't it just yesterday
When your first step was your greatest accomplishment?
You are one of my greatest accomplishments.

Wasn't it just yesterday
When I could kiss all your pain away?
I held on to you when you were scared.
I guess I'm holding on now because I'm scared

Wasn't it just yesterday
You were walking slowly down that school hall?
I knew then how hard it would be to let you walk too far away from me.

Wasn't it just yesterday
You were crying on my shoulder?
"Mom, why does it hurt so bad?"
I could feel my heart break with each tear that fell

Wasn't it just yesterday
I kept you from playing in the street?
from climbing that big tree?
from scraping a knee?
Oh how I want to keep you safe now.

Wasn't it just yesterday
When your mommy was your world?
When I could do no wrong in those precious eyes of yours

Wasn't it just yesterday
When I dreamed of your future?
Graduation, wedding day and the day they place her in your arms.

Wasn't it just yesterday
when you held me so dear?
I was going to be the best mom ever
when you would cry if I wasn't near?
I was going to be your best friend
I was going to be it all for you

Wasn't it just yesterday
When you grabbed my hand and said, "Mommy, let's go!"
It WAS yesterday when you said, "Mom, let go!"
One day you will understand, why I still hold your hand.

What a beautiful baby you were,
What a beautiful lady you are becoming.
How proud I am of you, and all you are, and all you do.
How much longer will you be home with me, before your life will be without me

Hold my hand just a little longer!  Don't let go!

I love you,
Mom
aka mommy.

Vacationing with kids...

My husband and I had an argument the first time we took our kids on a vacation.  He said when you have kids with you, it's a "trip", not a "vacation" because you don't get a break from life, because you still have the kids.  I disagreed and said it was still a vacation because there is joy in seeing your kids experience things.

I'll never forget when he saw chris's joy at jumping  through the waves in the ocean.  My husband turned to me and said, "It's a vacation"

This week, I bravely took my three boys to Chattanooga for 4 days. (btw, it was one day too long).

Was it a trip?  or a vacation?

I'd have to say... a little bit of both.  There were plenty of times when I thought something along the lines of, "What in the name of sweet baby Jesus was I thinking bringing these little brats here, by myself,for 4 days?!?!?!"

And there were times that I saw the joy they were experiencing and I was so glad we came.  Times when they were so sweet to each other.  Times when they said "thank you for this trip".  Times when we giggled over what will surely be jokes for a long time. (like Drew mistakenly calling the gnomes at rock city zombies or ninjas)

These are the moments that will be remembered.  I will forget that Drew got 4 spankings today.  That he threw such a fit while I was on the phone, I had to hang up and make the call later.  That Chris picked on Luke, and Luke was dramatic about everything.  That Luke and Drew were tired of walking.  That Drew begged to go to the pool, and then immediately decided he didn't want to swim when we got there.

I'll just remember the fun, and the three of them giggling over some video game in the bed next to mine.  Now that I think of it, it sounds like a vacation after all.

Friends...

I've posted before about my girlfriends and how much they mean to me.  But I'm going to again because this is my blog and I do what I want.

When I started working at my first job 17 (!!!!) years ago, I didn't have girlfriends.  I mean, I had girls who were my friends, who I talked to and hung out with, but not true girlfriends.  I had guy friends.  Not. the. same.

About 15 years ago, I made friends with 3 of the best girls.   We became close very quickly, and if you had told me we would still be friends now, I would have
said, "duh".

But our friendships haven't always been solid.  I was the first to pull away. Unexpected pregnancy.  Unexpected marriage.  Instead of leaning on them, I pulled away.  I felt different, out of their circle.  They lived on the other end of town. I was tired.  We drifted.

But the beauty of it all is that when I showed up, crying on a doorstep years later, I was met with open arms.

Each of these girls have other sets of super close girlfriends.  I have other friends (some I would love to be closer to, but... life) but none like them.  They mean the world to me.

The things we have been through.  Pregnancy.  Marriage.  Divorce.  Breakups.  Health scares.  Deaths. Things I can't even mention here.

And they show up. They drive for hours to help each other move.  They bring food and wine.  They plant gardens and come to funerals.  They listen.  and read (texts).  They agonize over decisions, and support
even when they disagree.

I think of all the things we still have to go through, and I am blessed to know I have them. I am just as excited to grow old with them as I am to grow old with my husband. I may not speak to them daily  or even weekly, but they are only a doorstep away.


*Update: I went back a read my last post about my friends.  almost exactly the same.  oh well, I love my bitches.

There are days...

when I feel all I have accomplished is matching 5000 pairs of socks. (yes, I matched socks.  write this one down for the record books).

when the 11 year old is crying because he can't figure out his math homework, and I am a terrible teacher and can't seem to explain it to him.

when the 3 year old is cry because he needs "yapstick" because his lips are burning because he refuses to stop licking them.  and I can't find the damn chapstick even though I know it's in my purse somewhere and I dump everything out and look over and over before I realize it's in my pocket.

when the house is a mess, the bathroom smells like pee, and my day off is almost over so there is no time to clean.

when work stress creeps into my home life and I lie awake at night thinking of things I didn't do, I need to do or I should have done.

when "mom" is the only sound I hear. over. and over. and over.

when the sound of my children fighting (again) makes me want to scream 

when I am tired.  and stressed.  and easily angered.  and on the verge of tears.  

These are the days I miss mom the most.  The days when I need to hear her voice.  For her to say I am good enough, that I am a good mom.  That it's normal that I want to quit my job and run away.  That everything will be ok, tomorrow will be better.

 

Goodbye 2014

I ended the year in quite fittingly.  Sick and in bed.  Like 2014 just had to remind me, (like I had forgotten) what a bitch she was.  (Why did I have to make it a female??  I don't know, but in my experience, girls that are mean are way, way meaner than any a-hole guy).

I was asleep at 5:00.  Then back awake and reading, then back asleep by 9:00.  Let's be honest, I would have slept the entire time if my house didn't sound like someone was being murdered in here.  (I really turned my fan off to try and pinpoint the sound, which seemed to me like the screams of a woman being stabbed. It was the toy dinosaur Drew got for Christmas)

And right on cue, I woke up at 4:30 am.  I complain about Drew's internal timer but he gets it from me!

As I sat in the dark, willing my body to go back to sleep, I couldn't help but think about 2014.  Trying to think of something nice to say about her, cause like momma said, if you don't have anything nice to say...

January started off filled with hope.  I had lost some weight in 2013, was getting in shape at the gym.  Then I started having some back pain, and backed off the exercise, started seeing a chiropractor.

February is when my mother received her cancer diagnosis.  I will spare you the details of  Feb-May, because you have all read it, over and over, on this blog.  But she died on May 7th and changed my life forever.

The rest of the year is a blur.  A whirlwind of grief and day-by-day surviving. My sweet nephew was born in July.   Went to the beach later in July to spread her ashes.   A wine tasting trip with my best friends for my 33 birthday in September.

November brought a job offer for Jimmy.

December brought Christmas, my favorite time of year.  It was hard though.  As it got closer and closer to Christmas, the more it hurt.  Frequent crying jags were common, mostly on my way to work when there wasn't anyone in the car to distract me.

But I survived.  I made it though 7 months without my mom.  And now I have another year to go through without her

There were some bright spots, Emmett's birth, Jimmy's new job.  I saw my friends more.  I had so, so many people supporting me and my family.  I have never felt alone in all of this.  I always felt like there was someone to turn to.  I am so blessed.

2015?  I have some resolutions.  They are all your typical ones- lose weight, pay off debt, etc.  I just want to be the best version of my self that I can be.  I want to be healthy for my children and my future.  I want to focus less on the things that don't matter- the material things that I worry about, the things I feel like we don't "measure up" to.  I compare the things we have to the things others have and I often feel like we come up short.

But none of that matters, because I look back on my childhood with fondness, and we have far, far less than my children have.

So for 2015, I am going to continue to improve myself.  I am going to be thankful for the things I have.  I am going to continue missing my mom, this year and every year to come.

Happy New Year!

"The best Christmas ever"

Christmas is just a week away.  Time to finish up all the shopping, wrap all the gifts, plan the meal that I will cook for my family.

I can't help but think of my mom and the traditions we had.

I remember all the Christmases as a child.  We loved to go driving around together as a family, looking at Christmas lights. I remember my mom cussing while putting up the Christmas tree, the one we had was such a pain and she'd get frustrated, but once she got it up, we'd enjoy decorating it.

We had Christmas Eve dinner at Maw Maw's house.  Oh the food was amazing, so much better than what I cook now.  Maybe it's because I didn't have to cook it.  Laura and I would finish before everyone else, and head to the tree to start sorting presents.  We would sort them out and stack them for each person, and then wait impatiently to open them.

We never really believed in Santa, so a lot of times we'd convince Mom that we should open our gifts at home on Christmas Eve too.  Looking back, I wonder how mom and Maw Maw managed to give so much.  I think of what they must have sacrificed in order to give us such a good Christmas.

When I got married, we changed the traditions a little.  We spend Christmas Eve with Jimmy's family.  After we finish there, we head home so we can all open our new pajamas.  The boys head to bed, and it's time for me and Jimmy to play Santa.  My mom didn't think kids should believe in Santa, but I like the magic of Santa and the idea of believing in something you can't see.  It is important to me, and so we stay up late, putting together gifts and eating cookies.

The boys get up early.  I mean EARLY.  Last year I think it was around 4:00.  We get up, see the Santa gifts and open stockings.  Then I get breakfast ready while we wait for my mom and sister to come over.  They come over in their pj's.  We open all of our gifts to each other, and then we have breakfast.

This will be the hard part this year.  The part that will hurt, the part I cry about when I think of it.  Last year, mom seemed more tired than usual.  Makes sense now, the cancer was already doing it's damage, although we didn't know it yet.

Laura and mom leave after breakfast,  Mom has to work on the ham, I have to start cooking.  We have dinner around 5:00, and the rest of the family comes over.  After we eat, open gifts and play for awhile, I say the phrase I have said for years and years.  In fact, last year I almost forgot and mom said, "Aren't you going to say it?"

"This was the best Christmas ever".

And that will be the last time I say it.  Not that we won't have a wonderful Christmas.  Not that I won't enjoy seeing my family and giving them gifts and showing our love for each other.  But it can never be the best Christmas ever.  Not anymore.

I ask that you say a prayer for my family.  For all the families I know that have had a loss this year.  Who are celebrating Christmas without a parent or a child or a friend.  I hope you all have a blessed holiday. Merry Christmas!

Not my proudest moment...

Today did not start out well.

Well, it was good when the kids were still asleep.  I got up, had my coffee, made it to the gym.  Feeling good.

I get home and Drew is a nightmare.  Just in a horrible mood.  Crying over everything. Screaming at his brothers.  Making everything so much more difficult.  When he is like this, the older boys get on my nerves more.  The normal noise that they make is amplified by 1000.  I asked them several times to be quiet.  I asked Chris to stop picking on Luke.  I asked Luke to stop blowing on the horn.  (a funnel that Drew got from somewhere and they have used it as a "horn" ever since).

And still, we get in the car, and Drew is crying.  And Chris is being obnoxious.  And Luke is making noise with that damn funnel.  And then Drew starts yelling at them to be quiet and the car is filled with so much noise that I'm sure it registered on the Richter scale.

So this is the part of the store where I wish I could tell you that I calmly stopped the car (in the driveway, we hadn't even made it to the street yet), and gently but firmly asked them all to refrain from waking the freaking dead with their ridiculous noise.  And that they promptly and politely complied.


....


That is not what happened, I'm afraid.  Something inside of me snapped.  And I yelled, at the top of my lungs, "STTTTOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP IIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!  STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!".  For a solid 20 seconds I yelled at the top of my lungs.  The older boys laughed at first and then just stared in amazement.  And Drew immediately burst into tears.  Terrified, horrified, I'm three years old and my mom has lost her marbles tears.

And so, I stopped the car.  And I got out, and I walked back to Drew, and I hugged him.  And I apologized and explained that he felt bad because I yelled, just like I feel bad when he yells.  I wiped his tears away.  Told the older boys I was sorry.  Told them all I loved them.  (Drew refused to say it back).  Got in the car and had a quiet ride to school.

All is well, Drew has forgiven me and loves me again.  The older boys are fine as usual.  I feel a little guilty, I normally don't lose it like that.  But I know it happens to all of us.  When we reach that point, and the stress is so high and the noise gets louder and no one is listening.  And we explode.  I don't like that I behaved that way, but at least my children know that I am human and make mistakes just like them.  At least they know that it's what you do AFTER you make a mistake that matters.  And how you learn from it.  And next time, I will just stop the car, get out, and scream into my jacket.

Blessings

It's Thanksgiving today.  As I sit here, watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with Drew (hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog!), I can't help but think of all the blessings that I have in my life.

We received an incredible extra blessing yesterday.  After 2 years of my husband working for me as a server, he has finally gotten a job.  A good job.  A job with lots of growth potential.  It is a huge relief for us.

When he called me at work to give me the news, I immediately started crying.  I was squatting down on the floor, phone in hand, crying in the middle of the restaurant.  Thank you Lord for this.  Thank you for giving us good news at the end of a horrible, terrible year!

I went into the office to cry alone for a few minutes (I have done that A LOT this year).  And I picked up the phone to share the news- the first number I called was my mom's.  Shit.  How I wish I could hear her voice when I told her.  How I wish I could have talked to her about it.

So I called my sister and told her.  And she cried.  It's been a long road for us and everyone knows it.

Tonight, when I pray before I go to sleep, I will say an extra prayer of thanks for all the things God has blessed us with.  This year has been hard, the hardest of my life.  But I have so many people in my life that love me.  I wouldn't have survived without them.  My husband, my sister, my best friends.  My family that offered help and support during so many hard times.

I will thank God for my dad that actually wants to see the boys and goes out of his way to spend time with them.  

I will thank God for my sweet nephew Emmett.  I love him so much and am so happy that he is here, not only for the relationship I have with him but for making my relationship with my brother stronger.

 I will thank God for my Blue Plate family, and the job I have that has supported my family while Jimmy went back to school and looked for job.  For a job that allowed me to care for my mother during her final weeks.

I will thank God for 32 years with my mother.  For all the memories I have of her.  For letting me still hear her voice if I close my eyes and concentrate.  For all the things she taught me, for all the ways she made me stronger.

Happy Thanksgiving, I hope everyone has as many things to be thankful for.

My unhealthy relationship

I'm not talking about a relationship with a person.  I'm talking about my relationship with food.

I'm not sure how I developed this relationship.  Maybe it comes from being southern.  We have a tendency to throw food at any problem, event, celebration, etc.  And it's always good (bad?) food.  

For example, when my mother was ill and we were caring for her, we had more food, pies, cakes than we could handle.  (I've never seen so much potato salad in my life).  I gained twenty pounds in those months.

Even when we were responsible for our on meals, we chose badly.  We needed comfort.  We needed fried and crunchy and cheesy and sweet.  We need chips and candy and snacks.  We "deserved" it.  Our mom was dying.

But why do we think that good makes us feel better?  Why do we turn to food for comfort?  Or reward?  Or celebration?

Does food make you feel better in the long run, or is it a temporary feeling?  Would a new pair of shoes satisfy you longer than an expensive, unhealthy dinner out?  Probably.  But we still reach for food in these circumstances.

I am currently trying to undo the damage of those few months.  Prior to her diagnosis, I had lost weight, built muscle and felt so much better.  It took me a long time to get back in the habit of going to the gym. But now I go daily with little trouble.

Food I still struggle with.  I am trying hard to retrain myself.  To look at food as fuel for my body.  To have a better balanced diet, where I am able to have an occasional treat without either extreme guilt or without a full on binge.

Wish me luck!