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.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
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.
"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.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
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.
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!"
--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 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.
Monday, February 11, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
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..
Saturday, January 5, 2013
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.
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.
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