Baby #2

This little one is only a few weeks from making its arrival (assuming it doesn't come early) and I feel so very out of sorts and unprepared.  When I was pregnant with B, I was buying second-hand dressers, stocking them with newly-laundered, freshly folded baby clothes and cloth diapers, and reading all the pregnancy books I could get my hands on to know exactly what to do when she arrived.  Now, at 36 weeks, I've managed to set up a small alcove in our master bedroom where I've stocked some shelves with all the baby essentials...but I must admit, I've spent much more time knitting Xmas gifts than I have reading about birthing techniques or what vegetable the baby most resembles at this week of the pregnancy.  Things have changed, but I can't quite figure out why.

I'm nervous...but not because of the unknown, but because of the known.  I know what an undertaking having a newborn in the house is...the constant diaper changes, clothing changes, spitup cleanup, breastfeeding, breastfeeding, breastfeeding.  At least in Michigan I had a community of friends to keep me company during those lonely first few weeks and months of figuring things out.  I know hardly anyone here, and the idea of being homebound with a newborn with no social outlets is a thought I really don't want to have to visit.

This little one is so incredibly active, perhaps surpassing even the activity B expressed when she was in my belly (and she was one active baby).  This one has kicked me so hard in the ribs I've screamed, and has woken me from sleep from feelings that it is pushing down, trying to get out of me.  It's unreal sometimes, but I also really like it.  Knowing that this is my last pregnancy does make me try to enjoy it--even the crampy, painful aspects--as much as I can.

This baby, or perhaps my age, makes me far more fatigued than I remember being while pregnant with B.  I have a hard time keeping my eyes open for much of the day, and doing anything physical can be daunting at best.  When I was in the final weeks of pregnancy with B, I was still planting trees and shrubs in the yard and had just finished a job that had me walking through prairies for much of the day.  Now, 4 1/2 years later, I can find it hard to just get out of bed in the morning and go downstairs, much less exert any physical labor.

Having said all this, I am so very excited to hold on to this little baby a little while longer, and enjoy our special time together before it's born.  We don't know the baby's gender, and are still working on finalizing names, so s/he can stay in utero for good while longer as far as I'm concerned.  There will be plenty of love waiting for him/her here on the outside whenever it's time for its arrival.

That Girl

For many reasons, I've decided to try taking a break from my Facebook ranting and do it here instead, since this is my own "private" space.  Facebook has a way of making me even angrier about things than I originally was, and so I feel a need to put some distance between me and the social network for awhile.

My latest and most continuous rant is about the way that our society treats our young girls.  Having suffered through bouts of teenage anorexia, bulimia and body image issues myself, I know how the pressure to conform to a predetermined idealized standard can be overwhelming.  I feel a need to rage against this for my own daughter.

But, it's not easy.
When you go to the costume store at Halloween, and the "boy" section has superhero options as well as career options (fireman, doctor, soldier, SWAT team member), and the "girl" section has only princesses and fairies...
When you go to the shoe store and the boy shoes are in a variety of colors and interesting character choices, and the girl section only offers pink shoes with the Disney princesses on them...
When your daughter is in love with the "How To Train Your Dragon" movies, and asks only for Hiccup and Astrid for Christmas, but the toy company has decided to make action figures of only the male characters from the movie, despite the fact that Astrid has a central role...
When you go to the newest Disney princess film, that's been marketed as the anti-princess movie because the girl can "do it on her own without a guy," but she still has to end up falling for a guy at the end of the movie, drilling in the point that a girl needs a guy in her life to feel complete...
When you go out in public, and the only thing people can talk to your daughter about is her looks--her hair, her beauty--and she begins to think that is the only valuable aspect of herself...
When your daughter tells you it's more important to her to be beautiful than it is to be smart...
When your daughter is afraid of getting a haircut because she wants her hair long and flowing like the Disney princesses, and thinks that's what makes her special...


These are the reasons I rant.  It's easy (actually, I think a cop out) for people to say, "Ah, it's just a phase!" or "You're her mother!  Your influence is what matters, and she'll outgrow it!"  I don't buy any of that.  The outside world has amazing and sometimes irreversible effects on the psyche of our young people, and no amount of "Mama loves you for who you are" and "Your heart is what makes you beautiful!" is going to compensate for the Am-I-not-so-pretty? images of Disney princesses and other media propaganda that is thrown at my impressionable four-year old all the time.  It's insane.  And so I rant and rage and try to rail against the status quo.  I try to start the dialogue with people who might never have considered this issue before.  I talk to my daughter all the time about the many reasons--none physical--that she is special.  I try to be the anti-pop culture.

But I fear I am failing.  Tonight, my daughter came into the house upset, after having played with some of the neighborhood girls.  She announced that it made her sad that those girls were smarter than she is.  When I asked her why she thought those girls were smarter, she said, "Because they have light hair" (they're blonde).

Here we go again.

Long Time, No Post

I'm still here, guiltily checking my blog for signs that it has imploded from disuse.  Lots of thoughts on tap for some forthcoming posts, however, so stay tuned.

Little Earthquakes

There is nothing like the little quakes of life forming inside your womb to wake you up during the night, or to wake you up from the defeatist position you might take on things. 

This little one is so active...has been since 12 weeks, which most people (except my midwives) say is impossible, but I know what I've been feeling.  I thought B was an active fetus, but this one is persistent and demands attention.  I love it.

I've had a dreary take on things lately, from the futility of the job search to the loneliness both B and I have felt since moving here, and it's easy to get into the doldrums.  It's been particularly difficult lately, because I've seen wonderful things at my old job that I've missed out on--baby showers for the other three women there who are also pregnant now, and staff retreats to some of my favorite places in Michigan--and I feel lonely for my work and for my colleagues and friends.  It can be difficult to feel optimistic about what lies ahead when every effort I make seems fruitless.

But then I feel little earthquakes inside me.  As much as I know that this little one's arrival will make finding a job even harder, and will perhaps isolate me even further from social opportunities, I am excited.  We wanted this little one so very much, and have endured disappointment and heartbreak to finally welcome her/him.  I'm so excited.

The tremors abound.

WNY

Helicopters are flying over my house on their way to do surveillance over the Washington Navy Yards, where a gunman has shot at least 10 people, and possibly killed four.

My family was just at the park adjacent to the Navy Yards a couple weeks ago, having a great day of fun...so sad to think that that area has turned from innocence to tragedy in such a short time.

My family has many friends who work in the Navy Yards, and currently hunkered down, under lockdown in their office spaces right now, trying to stay safe from a violent shooter.  My heart goes out to them, and I wish them safety and strength.

My heart is sad, once more, today.

One Moment In Time

We went to visit a relative for dinner this evening.  During the course of the night, she decided to pull out old family photos to share with us.  The one that was the most captivating was that of her parents' wedding photo, circa 1946.  They were in their post-ceremony honeymoon clothes, hands clasped and both of them beautiful and radiant and full of hope.  However, our relative commented that in her childhood, she had never known her parents to have exchanged civil conversation, and they never slept in the same bedroom, much less the same bed.  Twenty-three years after their wedding, their contentious marriage ended in a bitter divorce.

Looking at that beautiful smiling couple, I felt a mix of emotions--bewilderment that such gorgeous, hopeful people could end up so utterly unhappy; sad that this had been the case; and grateful that my own marriage, despite its ups and downs, is still standing. 

I'm not even sure why I'm posting about this.  Lots of folks (many of whom have been relatives or good friends of mine) get divorced.  It's not unusual.  But I guess looking at that photograph, that snapshot in time of one couple's dreams for their future, was sobering upon knowing what happened to them. 

That's all.

Welcome to the world, Rosie Clementine!

You, sweet little one, have just been lucky enough to be born into one of the most adventuresome, awe-inspiring and loving families I know.  I can't wait to meet you one day and see your wonderful parents and siblings.  I love you already and welcome you with warm hugs to the world!

Contemplating

As anyone who still might read this blog from time to time might have noticed, it's been a long time since my last post.  In fact, long stretches of time lapse between most of my posts now.  There are lots of excuses--"I'm so busy!" "Is this interesting enough to people for me to actually write about?"--but I think the real reasons are that I'm lacking in inspiration, and so I don't really have the creative edge anymore to keep it up.

So, I've been thinking about ending the blog.  I don't want this to be just another Mommy blog, where all I post about is pregnancies, child-rearing and couponing.  There are plenty of those out in the etherworld, and despite the fact that my life has changed considerably since I started this blog, I never intended my thoughts here to center on the mundane.  After all, the title is "Travels With Charleys," not "Sitting at Home, Bitching and Complaining about Charleys"  (not that I would do that, but you get my point). 

I guess the adventure and thrills of life end--well, maybe change to other types of adventures and thrills--when you have kids.  After all, one of my favorite blogs is maintained by my good friend who's about to have her third kid, and never do her posts seem boring or mundane.  In fact, she's always out and about camping, hiking and traveling with her kids, and posting beautifully artistic photos of their family time together.  I guess I'm just a more boring soul than she, and can't quite seem to get the motivation to get out on the town with B, much less pack a nice SLR camera to take along.

But, alas, I've decided that I have more stories to tell and more editorials to write.  And perhaps this self-assessment of how slow and rote life has become is the wake-up call I need to add a little excitement into the mix.  Perhaps some spontaneous trips to the capitol?  Perhaps an impromptu hike along the many urban trails we pass in the car and wistfully wish we had time to try out?  Before long, life will become even more complicated with the addition of a newborn, the start of a new job (hopefully, one day), and full-time school for B.  These are the days to take advantage of and live.  So the house hasn't been swept of all the dog hair.  So the dishes need to be washed.  B's room is a pigsty and the bed linens need stripping and washing.  I'm trying to find a point of leaving that all behind so we can really live and enjoy these days together.  I want my own Polaroid picture album of awesome travels.

So, instead of scapegoating the blog, I'll work on the real problem: me.  And then I'll write all about it.

One, Two, Three...

It only took one year, two miscarriages and three positive tests (not to mention joyous text messages to family and friends), but I am finally (and it would seem, healthily) pregnant.  We are expecting a wee one sometime in January 2014.  Adam, B and I are beside ourselves with joy and gratitude.  Adam is hoping for a boy, but says he will be delighted to have another girl.  B says she doesn't know what she wants, and I am hoping for another girl so I can reuse all those clothes I've had stored, airtight, for the last four years.  But, like Adam, I don't really care, hoping at the end of it all that baby arrives safely and in good health.

We announced our news to the world with the following picture, with the caption:

"Caught her reading this tonight...she mentioned something about administering pop quizzes for Adam
and me over the next 6 months."

Our Own Worst Critics

You've probably read or heard the news that Angelina Jolie had a double mastectomy after discovering, through genetic testing, that she carries the gene that gives her an 87% chance of developing breast cancer.  For the most part, the collective response was, "Wow, how brave and conscientious of her to make that decision for her and her family, and how strong she is to have disclosed it to a world that propelled her to stardom based mainly on her physical beauty."

But, then there were other responses..."How could she have butchered herself like that?  She'll never be seen the same way by her fans!" and "Will she ever get another movie role?", and perhaps the most troubling to me, "Why did she publish this article in the NY Times and scare women since 99% of us do not carry the gene and therefore don't have to worry about this!  Just another celebrity using their misfortune to cause public hysteria!"

The majority of these comments were made...by women.

As women, we are accustomed to being treated like second-class citizens in a country in which we outnumber our male counterparts 51:49.  We earn 75 cents to every dollar that a man earns for the same work; we are judged on our physical beauty much more often than on our intellectual prowess, skills and talents; we are judged for being sexual creatures or for being too prude, for having a baby out of wedlock or for terminating a pregnancy, for drinking a glass of wine or being "of advanced maternal age" while pregnant, even though science shows that men contribute as much or even more to the health and well-being of an unborn child; mothers are damned if they do stay at home with their children and damned if they don't.

But, I've found that one thing that is rarely discussed in polite conversation (or even in public discourse) is the manner in which we women shortchange, stymie and set back other women.  It wasn't so long ago that Sheryl Sandberg was featured on the cover of Time magazine for the publication of her book "Lean In", a megaphonic callout to women that they need not sacrifice the upward progression of their careers simply because motherhood and family beckon; instead, there are ways (and there need to be more and better ways created) for women to achieve the professional success of men without giving up their important role of mother.  After all, women are earning advanced and graduate degrees at increasingly higher rates than men, and so it doesn't follow that they should be dropping out of the tenure process in academia, or off the corporate ladder right around the time that the maternal clock starts to ring. But, boy, oh boy did Sheryl Sandberg get a vicious backlash.  How dare she tell other women who are not of her social status how to balance career and homelife?  How dare she suggest that women abandon motherhood in favor of work (which she didn't actually suggest)?  How dare she strut her wealthy, successful self onto the cover of Time magazine and pretend she has the answers?  Gloria Steinem came out shortly thereafter in support of Sandberg, and said this to the critics: "Even its critics are making a deep if inadvertent point: Only in women is success viewed as a barrier to giving advice."

So why are we women thwarting other women?  

I wish I could offer an insightful and intelligent exploration into this, but I fear this post is strictly observation.    But I fear the downfall of women in this society might not be, as we popularly suggest, the oppression from males, but rather our own inadvertent self-flagellation.

Ships Passing...

I can't recall the number of wonderfully awesome people I've met in the last (gulp!) fifteen or more years, folks I could see as being close friends, life-changing relationships, etc., only to meet them when one of us was about to move.  Usually it's been me that's moving.  The first person that comes to mind is a gal named Lori, who I attended middle school and high school with.  Seven years of schooling together, each knowing who the other was, yet we never spoke more than two words to each other.  Then, just a few days after high school graduation, we were both at Rachel Diaz's grad party, sitting next to each other, and we struck up the best conversation.  It was unreal how much we had in common, how we saw the world the same way, how much we liked each other.  I even commented, "I can't believe we haven't gotten to know each other before now!  And now we're leaving high school!"  And I was moving to New York City for college...and that was that.  It was all so bittersweet.  Luckily, Facebook came along fifteen years later so I still get a chance to see what she's up to, and yes, we still have loads in common.  Cheers to you, once and future friend, Lori.

Sometimes these ships don't exactly pass in the night, but rather collide amidst a frenzy of chaos and fireworks, only to go on their merry ways some time later.  That's my relationship with Libby.  We were both new mothers at the birth center back in 2009.  I don't know what it was about her, but she was so motherly and earthy and warm (she says I was one of the few people who actively reached out to talk to her), I just wanted to know her.  We scheduled a few playdates here and there, and before I knew it we were friends.  And then I moved to Texas for eight months.  We were still pals but we kept in touch mostly through Facebook.  Then I moved back to Michigan and our friendship ramped up.  I got to know her husband and their friends and family, and started participating in a monthly movie night...*POW!* our ships had collided once more.  For some reason, it was just in the last six months that I lived in Michigan before moving to Virginia that we really became close.  Which, of course, meant that my move hurt both of us even more than it would have.  The GOOD thing, though, is that our explosive friendship last year has solidified our bond, to the point that even distance doesn't keep us from being close.  We text each other everyday, and we usually speak 1-2 times a week.   Not the same as a playdate or movie night, but close enough.

In the 10 years I lived in Michigan, I had occasion to see and/or meet a couple who lived in the same neighborhood as many of my close friends. We ran in the same liberal, community activism circles, but for some reason, we never had a conversation, never got to know each other.  Despite that I know almost everyone in their neighborhood, I only knew them as John and Sarah.  Then she got pregnant and had a baby, and became part of the birth center community, but still we didn't cross paths. I'd see them at the weekly farmers' market, see them at local events, even hang out with them in a larger group, but we never really spoke.  Until about 3 weeks before I moved.  I always knew they'd be cool and I'd like them.  It's just that it wasn't until I actually got to know them that I realized how much I'd missed out on by not getting to know them years earlier.  So, John & Sarah, I'm sorry it took so long to just...say...hi.  You guys were so worth the effort.

Talking Points

Someone asked me recently if I still blog.  I felt the shame creeping up my face before realizing she hadn't actually read my blog recently, so it was but an innocent question, not an accusation.  I relaxed a bit.

"Well, not as much as I used to. Now it's just a couple times a month rather than several times a week.  I guess I decided I'd rather post about important stuff I really want people to read rather than just my ramblings and musings."

"I like your ramblings and musings!" my friend interjected.

"Well, so often I'll think of a topic that would be great for the blog, but I've already forgotten it an hour later, so by the time I'm in front of the computer, I'm without good material! In fact, the other night, I couldn't sleep because my mind was racing with potential blog topics.  I decided to type them up as a memo on my phone so I wouldn't forget."   I handed her the phone.

I don't know if she was confused by my middle-of-the-night drivel or just unimpressed, but she handed my phone back to me with a weird smile on her face.  But then, she's an author who's already completed several novels, so she's probably used to reading much better material than phone memos.

That being said, the next few posts are a sample of things I've been thinking about.  Trust me, there's more.  I've just forgotten the rest.

B Nearing The End Of 3

Just two months away from her 4th birthday, I realized I haven't spent much time lately reflecting on who she has grown to be.  I am perpetually astonished by how much she retains (her memory is much like her mother's!), understands, and imagines.  Daily conversations usually leave me laughing, hugging her, or stunned in amazement.  I am a lucky mother.

B loves:
-- all the DC Comics and Marvel Comics superheroes
--Thomas the Tank Engine (although he seems to have lost some ranking to the superheroes these days)
--"How to Train Your Dragon" and "Lilo and Stitch"
--the Disney princesses (as much as I have tried to keep them from her)
--Mac 'n' Cheese...she even tries to order it at Chinese and Thai restaurants!
--the dogs (mostly the younger black one, Au Sable, who she'll often call "my best friend")
--helping with chores and yard work
--insects, especially ants and beetles
--hot chocolate
--spending time with her dad
--going to the playground
--"Downton Abbey", "Family Ties", and "Phineas and Ferb"
--running, running, running
--spending time with her relatives
--playing with her Nabi (children's tablet computer)
--pretending to pick up dog poop
--peppermint tea and butter cookies with mama

B can't stand:
--having to finish her vegetables
--naptime
--the sun going down
--being woken up in the morning
--leaving the house to go out....or going home from a fun excursion
--having to wear winter clothes in the winter
--having things done for her when she wants "to do it all by myself, Mom!"

B misses:
--Michigan friends and teachers
--school and learning (even though she claims not to)
--having friends, in general, to play with

She is loved and hugged and kissed every single day.  I often wonder if my overly-abundant kisses will give her rashes or acne one day.  My favorite moments with her are sipping tea and chatting, watching our favorite movies together, going on excursions where she runs a live commentary of all the things we're seeing, and lying down with her at naptime and watching her fall asleep.  She is funny and smart and witty and kind and (usually) generous.  My heart is so full for this child.  I am so lucky.

The Older I Get...

...the more I realize how little I know.

...the more I feel comfortable with my body, despite its many flaws.

...the more I recognize my own worth, strength and importance.

...the more grateful I am to have been able to be a mother.

...the more regrets I have even while swearing to never have any regrets.

...the more things I want to add to my Bucket List.

...the more I dream.

...the more I see myself in others' mistakes and misfortunes.

...the more sleep I seem to need.

...the more I worry.

...the more I contemplate how much time is behind me versus how much time might be ahead.

...the more I sip and savor.

...the less young I am.

...the better I get.

The Loss of Nameless Things

(Note: I borrowed this title from the 2004 bio-documentary film by Bill Rose)

In the last two weeks, several people in my life have been pulled to the brink.  Some have lost parents unexpectedly, others have lost a child, a sibling, a grandparent.  With every new conversation came the news that someone else I knew was suffering.  And my heart ached for them.  Loss is so hard.

And then, in the course of this same period, I found out I was pregnant, and my heart was full.  Then, just a week later, in a matter of minutes, I wasn't pregnant anymore.  And my heart ached...for me..  Loss is so hard.

I didn't expect that I would grieve very much if I had a miscarriage.  I had separated my feelings out of the equation, realizing that the loss of the pregnancy was a very real and possible situation.  Just like four years ago, when I was pregnant with B, I didn't allow myself to get too attached to this pregnancy, speaking about it as an abstract thing, just in case it didn't work out.  I chose to tell many close friends and family, figuring that if I lost the pregnancy, it wouldn't hurt too much to have to tell people that, too...since I wasn't that attached to the pregnancy to begin with.

And then, just eleven days after discovering the pregnancy, it was gone.  Pangs that didn't feel quite right had started to pull in my groin and lower abdomen the night before, and by morning, I was bleeding.  Not spotting, but full-fledged, can't-deny-this-is-a-miscarriage bleeding.  I remember hoarsely calling out, "Oh nooooo...." while Bryony played next to me.  Trying to stay calm for her sake, as well as a reminder that I wasn't emotionally invested in the pregnancy yet, I patted her head and made a makeshift maxipad out of toilet paper.  At some point later, I called Adam.  "Looks like the little sesame seed is gone," I told him, referring to an article he'd read earlier that the embryo was the size of a sesame seed at that stage of the pregnancy.  He didn't get it, so I had to (painfully) repeat myself.  Then he understood, and there was silence, and we were both sad. 

People don't talk about this, but miscarriages aren't just painful for the soul...they hurt like hell for your body, too.  The cramping, the pulling and stretching of muscles and ligaments, the waves of nausea, the bleeding, the passage of tissues and globs of other stuff that is unrecognizable.  No one talks about what to expect when you're not expecting a miscarriage.  The scientist in me caught some of the unrecognizable stuff in my hand and examined it, wondering what it functioned as when I was still pregnant, and whether the little sesame seed was buried in it somewhere.  The other part of me--the mother who wants to be a mother again--was just sad.  I was sad to lose the pregnancy I wasn't all that attached to yet.

I was lucky to have been visiting Michigan when this happened.  I was surrounded by my best girlfriends who took such good care of me...getting me out of the house so I didn't wallow, wrapping me in warm rice socks, propping me up on pillows, bringing me hot tea, not asking many questions but letting me talk when I wanted to...all while I was essentially bleeding the living daylights in my pants while sitting on their couches.  One friend laughed (nervously at first, then for real) when I told her it was like Slaughterhouse 5 whenever I went to the bathroom.

In the few days that have passed since I lost the pregnancy, I've been thinking about why I'm sad.  After all, there have been people in my life who've lost parents, children, siblings...all of whom had a real life and had made an impact on the world.  How could I mourn for the loss of a sesame seed no one had met yet?  Now, I'm realizing that I'm mourning the loss of a nameless thing...parenthood? sibling for B? complete family unit?  I'm sad for what that sesame seed would have become, and would have meant for our lives.  The loss is hard because after a year of trying, we thought we'd succeeded, and now we have to contemplate the long, frustrating process of waiting, waiting, waiting.  I'm no spring chicken.

I debated about whether to tell B what had happened.  We had decided against telling her about the pregnancy, "in case something happens."  Now that "something happened" I didn't know if I should just keep it all from her innocent mind.  She had seen me red-eyed and sniffling enough times to know that something was wrong...and I finally got to the realization that my 3-year old, in all her youthful bliss, was also hardy enough to know the truth.  So, without gore or details, I told her the truth:  there was a teeny, tiny baby in my belly, but it was sick and had to go away.  Like the trooper my gut told me she'd be, she wrapped her arms around me and consoled my spirit.  She patted my back and said, "It's okay, Mom.  I didn't want the baby to go away, either."  Then, she pulled back and fumbling, formed her little fingers into the hand sign for "I love you."  It was amazing and timely and exactly what I needed in that moment.  Incredulous, I asked her where she learned to do that, and she said one of my girlfriends had taught her; I was so grateful.

And, in the end, that is what stays with me...gratitude.  Gratitude for the family I have, gratitude for the friends who love me and took care of me at one of my lowest times, gratitude for the ability to create a sesame seed even if it wasn't meant to stay with me.  Gratitude for my life.  My life is good.  It is full of wondrous and awesome people, and amazing experiences, and tremendous opportunities.  It is full...of nameless things.

Smart & Mobile

This is my first post written completely on a mobile device (in this case, Adam's smart phone). It's proving to be more painful than exciting, unfortunately. However, seeing as how I am in a very warm, very germy hotel room with a sick husband and cranky-but-now-thankfully-napping 3-year old, I'll take what I can get.    Wow, this thing wont even let me start a new paragraph...novelty has definitely worn off. I've spent the better part of this afternoon reading obituaries (does this girl know how to ride out a weekend or what?!). I've been catching up on all the newspapers and magazines I haven't found time to read in the last couple weeks, so now I'm tackling the 'end of 2012' stuff. The Washington Post magazine devoted its entire copy to notable DC Metro residents who died last year. none of them were famous, but they certainly had lives well-lived. It'a gotten me to thinking...maybe I'm going about things all wrong. Instead of waiting for a job to come my way (because it feels like I'm going to be waiting a long time), maybe it's time I create my own destiny. I don't know what that means yet(or,for that matter,how to do it), but I'm getting tired and frustrated by rhe lack of opportukity rifht now. I think I need to make my own. I guess I dont want my obit to read 'She hoped really hard but never fulfilled her dreams or potential.' How sad. I also hope they don't use a bad picture of me. That's almost sadder.  It's like, do a girl a solid at the very end, and at least make me look good, ok? It's not everyday a gal gets into the newspaper. So...to be continued..perhaps I might just shock the pants off us all and do something great..

Hail and Farewell

It is customary in the military to have a "hail and farewell" event to welcome in new members to the unit, and to bid adieu to those who are leaving.  The military is all about its customs, at which I usually inwardly smirk.  But sometimes customs and tradition aren't so bad, I suppose.

So, I welcome 2013 with open arms, a sense of purpose and determination, and with preliminary thanks for the learning experiences that are sure to come.  My previous self would have said, "Bring it!" with an eye for daring, danger and thrills that might be lurking in the future months.  My current motherly self, instead, flinches unconsciously as I contemplate all the many bad things that this new year could bring to our family.  I try hard to focus on the positives, but the reality of the world can be so negative that it's hard not to live with some fear from time to time.

And...Farewell, my friend Ruth.  I learned yesterday that a dear friend, Ruth Affleck, died after a long and difficult battle with pancreatic cancer.  She was a beautiful woman, a real lady's lady, with long, thick white hair that she always had done up in barrettes.  She owned an alpaca farm and spun the wool into yarn.  She was an amazing knitter and had such a great accent, being that she was from New Zealand and Australia...yup, a little bit of both.  Ruth had returned to school at a later age and received her degree in bookkeeping, and had decided to plug on for another degree right before being diagnosed with cancer.  She was not just the average "special person" people talk about when someone has died.  Ruth was rugged, soft, funny, serious, talented and average.  She was exactly the friend you'd want to have in the room during a winter's night spent knitting over tea.  And she loved her cats.  That was her, too.  I see and hear her so vividly in my mind right now; that gives me comfort that she'll never be far from memory.  We'll miss you, Ruth. 

Time to start up with my winter knitting again.  Sometimes customs aren't so bad, I suppose.