Our Normal

We have a new tradition in our house.

It's not necessarily about family in the broader sense like so many other people this time of year, but our family.  We live 800 miles away from the rest of our family and refuse to trek to Chicago for the week. It is ours, it is our girls.

It is a little bit maddening.

We've come to the realization that we need to do something, ANYTHING, to get us out house when the rest of America tucks away into itself. And so, we started a Christmas Eve trip tradition, and went to Hershey Park.  Bet you didn't know they were open in the middle of winter, huh? Let me tell you, they are and it is awesome.

Hershey's Christmas Candylane is a must on our holiday agenda now. At least until the girls out grow the type of ride that can function in the middle of winter.

But really, does anybody really outgrow Peanut Butter Cups?

Mr & Mrs

We are a two weeks away from a big moment. My brother is getting married.

I don't know why I haven't specifically written about it. It has been a significant part of our life for the last year. Our entire family is involved; Matt as best man, I as a bridesmaid and the girls as flower girls. It is the reason for our last two trips back to Chicago.

I want him to be happy. I want him to have a home and a family and beyond everything love.
But.
I don't know....

It's not  that I'm not happy for him, because I am.
I think I am being selfish.
I am mourning my loss of a single brother. Of someone who has 3 day weekends that are unattached and can be spent focused on.... me. On my family, my girls. That is going away now. To be honest, that didn't really happen all that often, but still.... he will be more of his own person now. Not just a brother, or uncle or son.

So much more, something bigger.
Husband.
And I assume in the near future,
Father.

And nothing trumps that.

My heart burst with happiness for him, but trickles with just enough sadness for me to compel writing this.

Cookies

The last two posts I've put up were kind of throw aways. Two weekends in Chicago, over 1200 miles in the air. It's exhausting.

But it's been making me think about family a lot.
All of the things we are missing. All of the memories that aren't being made for us and our girls.

During the first weekend, my mom was at the center of the trip. She had grand plans for Gracie. She wanted to make up for lost time with some of those memories. She wanted to bake.

Armed with three kinds of chocolate chips, they worked together, side by side, in a sweltering kitchen without pause.

I'll crack and you stir.
You pour and I'll stir.
Careful, only the eggs are supposed to go in the cookies, not the shells.
Let's taste. Does it need more chips?

There is something so back to basics about baking. I can't imagine a childhood without it; without those memories of stirring, pouring and kneading. Teaching your kids how to cook is like teaching them about soul. How to put love into something inanimate, that has the ability to animate.

And I'm glad that Grace was able to have that afternoon in the kitchen with my mom baking cookies.

Eggshells, salt pockets and all.

******************************

This post is inspired by Sarah McCoy's The Baker's Daughter. In a small Texan town, Reba discovers Elsie's German Bakery and falls in love with more than the pastries. Shes drawn to Elsie's life in Germany during the last year of WWII. Join From Left to Write on August 29  as we discuss The Baker's Daughter. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Christmas 2010

Christmas came and went in a flurry.

We hunted Christmas trees.

We decorated to the nines.

We talked about the true meaning of Christmas, although I will admit that most conversations ended with declarations that we needed to make a Happy Birthday cake for Jesus (that we would eat for him of course), but were deeply influenced by the promise of Santa and the bounty of his generosity.

We anticipated and prepared.

And the patience and deference to threats of lists with the names of naughty little girls was heeded, with a mighty pay off in the end.

And in the end, the magic of the holidays was spent with wonder, love and snuggles.

.

Planting Seeds

I know I am thankful - greatful - for all that I have most every day.

But if I have to choose one thing, my most Thankful thing, it is this:

The snuggles.

They are better than I ever imagined.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Versus

Once your kid comes, people seem to move onto a slightly new topic to thrust their opinions upon you. I know it is just idle chatter, but I still find myself biting my tongue because any correction on my part always falls upon deaf ears.

It is the comparisons. The versus of my children. Physical and emotional- looks, demeanor, appetite, sleep. I know it is go to talk of second children. I find myself talking about it constantly. So here it is, once and for all..... Gracie vs Clare.

~~~Grace @ 8 weeks old ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Clare @ 8 weeks old~~~

Face- MINE. I don't care what you people say. These girls look like me. Sure, they have Matt's mouth, but the major features (face, nose and eye shapes) are all mine. The picture of Clare isn't as dead on, but they have the same shaped face with a pointy little chin, same soon to be bushy eyebrows and same nose- despite my inutero claim that Clare was sporting Matt's profile. They do however both sport Matt's mouth- which is a blessing because I have always lamented my lack of upper lip. You will definitely know they are sisters.
This is where their similarities end though.

********

Eyes- Matt and I are both hazel. His are a 50/50 green/gold combination while mine are 80/20 green/brown (they also still change intensity of the green depending on my mood).

*Gracie's eyes have been a deep chocolate brown, with little flecks of green starting to show.

* Clare has bucked both of us and has my dad's blue/grey eyes dead on. They are eerily beautiful.

********

Hair-

*Grace was born a little cue ball. She always had just enough hair to let us know she would be Matt's shade of blonde, and this summer she is sporting the beautiful bleach blonde highlights of his Nordic heritage in its full glory.

*Clare this time opted for Matt's dad's shade of brunette (blonde based) as opposed to my dark (red based) shade.

********

Sleep- Polar opposites.

*Grace still only rarely sleeps through the night. She needs one of us, preferably Matt, to stay by her side while she falls asleep.

*Clare is out by 8:45 (at the latest) and can snooze, unassisted, for 11 hr stretches easy. Although to accomplish this, she eats for 3 hrs straight before going to bed.

********

Food-

*Grace was a battle to breastfeed. The first 6 weeks for such a challenge, but I was so dedicated to the idea of giving her breast milk. I have no idea why it didn't dawn on me to just pump and bottle feed her- chalk it up to inexperience. By the 3 month mark she was starting to get formula supplements and by 7 months she refused breast milk all together.

*Clare is a champ. Hours into this world and she was drinking in the easy, carefree manor I thought the process would be the first time around. At 3 months she has still never had formula. I wonder if I will be able to make it to the 1 yr mark with her...

********

Mmmmm .... my babies. So different and so alike at the same time. I keep holding my breath in anticipation for Clare to be able to play with her big sister. I wonder if it will be as beautiful of a sight as I imagine in my head.

Welcome

Friendships are funny. I’ve never been very good at them.

I’ve never really had more than a few at one time and something always seems to smash them apart. Especially girl-friends.

To those I call my friend I am fiercely loyal. I cower when personally challenged, but only a fool would dare to say a word against someone I love. To that end, their experiences become mine. Their joy and tribulation become part of my soul and life story too. Their love is my love. Someone I put soundly in this category spent the night in the hospital bringing new life into this world.

I sit here feeling a little life stir stir in my own belly, still needing her attachment to me, and I weep tears of joy for my friend and my unborn child’s new cohort. This morning, my heart beat anxiously to meet the little man whose anticipated presence in this world has been part of my daily life for the last 8 months. Holding him in my arms was like holding my own child.

Welcome to the world baby NES. You rushed into it with more love and family then you could ever want for, for you are forever part of my family and my heart.

Warm Heart

This past Christmas my Aunt Jean sent Gracie a gift in the mail.

I was overwhelmed by the kind gesture, but groaned at the dubious on the inside.

She sent a movie sized box of Raisinete’s and a gift card. The candy worked out well for me because Gracie lost interest in them after they got stuck in her teeth. Mmmm... well I like chocolate covered fruit. But gift cards are a pain in the ass to someplace where you can’t use the remaining $2.46 towards diapers.

So say hello to Gracie's Build-A-Bear gift card. Matt and I broke and took her to the mall last weekend.

And you know what? It was great. She loved it. LOVED IT. She painstakingly examined every. Single. Animal. And settled on the frog.

~She warmed a little plush heart to put in her creature between her palms and gently placed it in its chest.
~She thanked and hugged after the stuffing process was over.
~She took great pride in giving her newborn a ‘bath’ in the compressed air tub.
~She squealed in delight over the house box it was packaged into.
~She has slept with it every night since it became hers.

So what does all this mean?

That apparently I know nothing about how my child will react in certain situations. I presumed chaos would ensue instead of delight. I was correct; however, about the remaining balance on the card. She wanted her frog sans clothing, so now we have $9.21 left of the card.

I guess it won’t be so bad to go back and pay the difference for a Build-A-Bear cohort sometime in the future though. Thank you Aunt Jean!

RIP

It is over. He ended today. Rest in Peace.

I hope Grandma smacks him across the face and then is able to forgive him.

If anyone can, it is her.

No Grey, Just Black and White

The saga continues…

He is dying. I’m still OK with it. My mom, on the other hand, is falling apart.

On an intellectual level, I understand. The death of a parent must be hard. My mom has a tendency to remember things the way she wishes they happened, so the last 14 years has been filled with wonderful times.

On an emotional level, I just don’t get it. He didn’t just abandon us, he abandoned YOU. His child. He choose a life that didn’t involve you unless you came to him, and then during those visits he still preferred the company of whatever biddy was at his side more than 48 hours with his daughter.

He is old. You got the phone call last week that he wasn’t doing well. You’re an accomplished nurse, you know how these things and the fragile human body work. When you get old, you shut down. When you are dying, sometimes things improve right before they go down hill again. Why are you shocked that a man who has smoked for 75 years is coughing up globs of blood after being told he has blood clots in his lungs?

So a funeral is imminent. Last night’s declaration was hours, maybe a week. You took a late night flight to sit vigil next to him.

Apparently, he has made funeral arrangements in Florida. He has pre-paid for everything and intends to be laid to rest next to the monster. This is his choice, though I doubt he has it spelled out in a will. You are not going to let him choose though, are you? Once he has lost his voice, you will impose your will once last time and have him buried in the cold Chicago air with Grandma.

You are wrong if you do that.

So my choice in the coming days: Do I attend? Do I attend the funeral for a man who died 14 years ago? Do I willingly walk into a room full of tears and mourners when I feel none of these things? Will I be able to hold my tongue if challenged on this lack of sorrow?

I do not know. On any of it.

Will I regret not seeing him again? No. Will I regret the amount of grief my absence will cause my mom? Yes. Will I bend to her wishes on this one last time? I don’t know.

Excuse Me Please, One More Drink....

My Grandpa is dying.

I think.

I’m not really sure. Either he’ll be dead soon or he will be as fine as some who is 87 years old and getting senile can be.

Honestly though, I really don’t care either way. I don’t talk about him much. I really don’t think about him much. This is why………

My Grandma died September 1995. I was 17 years old. She was my world; I know that is naive and perfection through the imperfect eyes of a child, but in my eyes she could do no wrong.

My brother and I spent almost everyday with her. Grandpa would drop her off at our house at 6am on his way to work and pick her up around 5pm on his way home. We spent at least one weekend a month at their house, often more. We went on many, many vacations with them. Even as a licensed teenager, I still choose to drive to their house and stay hours on end.

Grandma was the family matriarch. She held everything and everyone together. She arbitrated family fights, she gave the last word on right, wrong and priorities. I always saw my Grandpa as an accessory to her; the one who carried out the commands. Sure, I loved him and have plenty of good memories of him, but they all end after her death.

*******
I was informed of her death moments after he discovered her on the couch via the phone. I don’t blame him for this, I just still wish it had happened differently. He called our house looking for my mom, I answered the phone instead.

Shan, he cried, she’s dead. Grandma is dead. I don’t know what to do. What should I do? Grandma is cold and dead and I don’t know what to do....

Yeah I was 17, but had never really lost anyone close to me. How was I supposed to give him guidance? Really, I don’t blame him though. She was his whole world too and now she wasn’t there to tell him what to do….

*******
A few months after Grandma’s death, my mom booked him a trip to Florida to visit his sister. He never came back. His first week down there he met a lady. Less than 6 months after the death of the woman he was married to for over 35 years and had 7 children with, and without telling anyone what was happening, he married her in a civil ceremony.

He organized the sale of his/their home via the phone. His children and grandchildren found out about this, and the marriage, via the For Sale sign in the front yard and another phone call telling us we had one week to go through the house and take anything we wanted before cleaners came though to get it ready.

He never came back. He left all the family photos hanging on the walls and bookshelves. He left the pictures of me and Jerry in their frames. He declined offers from my mom to mail them to him, claiming it would make is new wife uncomfortable.

*******
I take that back, he came home for a weekend about 2 years later in 1997. My mom decided she wanted to take me and Jerry to the Mall of America for a spur of the moment weekend trip. She bought me everything a teenaged heart desired and took us to an Indian casino where I won something like $400 dollars playing a slot machine.

On the way to the airport she claimed to have a voicemail from an Uncle saying he was having a party that night and we should come. My mom strong armed us into attending playing the goodwill card from the weekend. If Jerry and I had known he would be there we wouldn’t have gone. Not only was he there, but he brought his wife too.

When we walked through the door, he smiled and said hello like nothing had changed and that he wanted to introduce us to our grandmother.

I ran out of the room in tears, while his wife proceeded to tell my brother how selfish we were to hurt him this way and that our grandfather is much happier with her than he ever was before.

I think he went back to Chicago a few times after that, but I never attended. The wife died sometime around 2001. After her death he claimed that she was a drunk and emotionally abusive. Good.

*******
Matt and I married in 2003. Under pressure from my mom, we invited him. I did hug him and stood next to him for 5 minutes to snap a few pictures. I can’t remember what words were spoken, but I do recall thinking about how old he looked now as opposed to the man in my memories. The man from my childhood was my Grandpa, this is just some look-a-like in much wrinklier skin.

Those pictures are the only ones from that day without a smile.

*******
Over the years my mom brings up that I should call him at least once a season. My reply is always the same. What is there to say? Nothing. My Grandpa died when Grandma did. I do not know the man living in Florida and I have nothing to say to him.

As a compromise, I usually send updated photos of Grace when I get them. That takes little effort on my part to address one more envelope. According to relatives, he has a little shrine on his piano of all the photos I’ve sent him of Grace, ones my mom has supplied of us, and the unsmiling picture from my wedding day. I still have nothing else to say.

******
Yesterday, as I browsed through the online clearance section of a store, I stopped short and thought of him. There in front of me was a pair of Santa Claus and Rainbow suspenders. Rainbow suspenders were always his signature piece. At $3.00 each, I thought about purchasing them and sending them anonymously. I didn’t.

When I got home yesterday, Matt said my mom left a message on the machine saying my Grandpa was in the hospital. Apparently he has several blood clots in his lungs. Testing today should determine if they can do anything, but it doesn’t look good. She once again pushed me to call him.

My answer is again, unchanged. I am sorry for the pain this is causing her. I am even sorry for the pain and confusion that he must be going though, but my Grandpa is gone.

My Grandpa is dying.

I think.

I really don’t care either way. I don’t talk about him much. I really don’t think about him much. And now you know why.

What Happened to the Cake?

I’ve never really worried about my work performance as it relates to pregnancy before.

I work in a low-key environment where one colleague regularly shows up wearing flannel pajama bottoms and more than a few long time employees take BOTH November and December off every year.

What’s the big deal if I have to take 2-3 months off to pop out some new offspring, right? Nobody, besides the one guy I work with regularly, will even really miss me, right?

I dunno …. I’m nervous this time around.

A few weeks ago I was called into an office a few notches above my own and was offered a detail position, with a good possibility of it becoming permanent. I was beyond excited. There was a glitch though. I was being offered the opportunity because the current holder is pregnant and may not be coming back.

In the spirit of full disclosure I had to tell them I too was pregnant, but that I was 100% sure of my return. The response was nothing but positive and congratulatory, and was told some things needed to be discussed but I would hear something soon.

Maybe I’m impatient. I know I’m impatient. In my opinion though, soon has come and gone.

I think their ignoring me while trying to find a candidate that won’t be lactating in the next 6 months. I know I’ll never know the truth. They can’t tell me the truth if that is the problem. We can't sit down and have a frank discussion to solve scheduling problems if that is the problem. If I never move to that office though I know, deep down, it will be their loss. It is something I would be excellent at.

On Friday, I left work an hour early. My sense of smell is kicked up into bloodhound mode lately, and the smells of the office were getting to me. The Sharpie 2 cubes down, the striper-scent Bath and Body works next to me, 3 Xerox machines running at the same time. I couldn’t take it so I left.

My boss was getting ready to leave for the day when I went to sign out myself and I told him I was leaving early. When he asked why, I told him. The Sharpie, the lotion, the ozone - that’s why.

His response? He laughed and said I had nobody to blame for that but myself, as he signed my leave slip.

I know this man is not sensitive. He doesn’t have any children. I know he didn’t mean to be rude. But I also know he absolutely meant what he said.

I kept thinking about this all weekend. Thinking about things I should have said instead of opening and closing my mouth like a guppy. Thinking about whether there is some sort of ‘mommy glass ceiling’ that I never realized existed here before. I would choose the same path a million times over. I would rather have children and a family than promotions. I would choose going home to be with them hands down to working 12 hour days.

I just …. thought I could have both …. and am dismayed by the revelation of my naivety.

New Beginnings

Today, my brother signed the paperwork to purchase his first home.

Tonight, Gracie and I have been invited to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with friends.

I love the idea of mid-year new beginnings. Sweet beginnings. Fall is always a breath of fresh air to me, as the best things in my life have always come this time of year.

So to all my friends and family, may today bring you wonderful new beginnings.

All American

In the past, we have always planned grand events for our 4th of July's in Maryland.

We've watched fireworks from the top of the Hotel Washington and the shores of the Annapolis Naval Academy. We've sat close enough to see the players sweat during Nationals ball games. We've drank wine and nibbled cheese aboard the USS Constellation in Baltimore while watching the sparks of the city above and below.

This year though, with a lot less planning we got as All American as you can get. Berry picking, boat rides, water and sun.

Saturday morning we went to a pick your own farm minutes away from our house. Raspberries and their infamous sweet cherries were ripe and ready for collection. We let Gracie roam from raspberry bush to raspberry bush eating her hearts desire, while Matt tried to instill the idea of 'cooked' berries to her.

After Gracie's face was stained a significant shade of purple we went back home for part two of our day, swimming. Nothing says the 4th of July like beer and a belly flop into the water.

On Sunday, we wrapped up Jerry's visit and the weekend with a quick trip to Annapolis for brunch and a boat tour. The city, as always, was gorgeous and charming. Brunch was way to expensive, but delicious.

******* And Gracie, well, Gracie was a toddler with way to much energy and not enough sleep. The initial breeze of the boat pushing off the docks calmed her slightly and cracking her forehead on the metal bench of the boat after running around in manic circles for 15 minutes helped a lot too.

In all, this 4th of July was one for the books.

101 Ways...

In the early moments of sheer newborn bliss you study every inch of your baby. You count fingers and toes over and over again. You touch velvety newborn skin and silken newborn hair. You dream more concretely, in those minutes, hours, days of what you baby will be. Who she will be.

The more Gracie grows, the more she grows into herself, her personality is defining. Sure I still admire the genetics, my nose and Matt’s hair, but the idiosyncrasies are what keep my attention more today. The 101 ways she is just like me. 101 more reasons that I am ABSOLUTELY positive we brought the right pink little bundle home from the hospital.

I am sure this list will in fact grow to 101 over the years, but like the list of words, I’m starting now to watch it expand and blossom as Gracie does.

1. Her face 5.18.09
I’m starting with the most obvious. I’ve never considered myself beautiful, but I always wanted a girl with my face and Matt’s coloring or a boy with Matt’s face and my coloring/freckles. That’s what we got too, with the other best touches of Matt thrown in too. And she is unbelievably beautiful.

2. She bites her nails 5.18.09
I hate this habit, but despite all the money spent of bitter polish and fake nails, I’ve never been able to stop. Except when I was about to get married and pregnant with Grace. Go figure. It was never conscientious; I just didn’t bit for two 9 month periods in my life. I assume Grace is learning this awful habit by watching me, but I don’t even realize when I’m doing it anymore which makes it hard to stop. So Grace will be destined to live a life of stubby nails too.

3. Pickles 6.13.09
I go hot and cold with them, but given the opportunity I can sit and eat an entire jar of picked in one sitting. Hamburger dills are even better. They MUST be dills, not sweet. The other night, Grace refused to eat the hamburger and corn placed in front of her. Her eyes were fixated on the pickle jar. She ate 5 of them. Guess I’m going to have to start stocking up.

4. Stage fright 6.13.09
I have a long history of hyperventilating in front of a crowd. School plays, dance recitals, class projects, you name it and there was a frozen girl and tears at some point. My mom and high school teachers were all shocked when I picked Speech Communication/PR/Public Speaking as a major for college. Typically, I love to lead – when I’m comfortable.
When the daycare teachers announced Grace would be doing a solo during their Spring Program, I knew. She will be fine in the future, as I am 99.9% of the time now, but I knew that first time go up in flames.

5. Her walk 6.19.09
As we walked into daycare today, we were like ducks. Gracie led, I was in the middle, and her teacher was bringing up the rear. All waddling along in a semi-straight line. I heard chuckles and turned around. She said, Look at Grace’s walk! It is exactly like yours! I smiled, said thank you (I think, because is it really a good thing to walk like a 20 month old?), and started creating this list in my head.

6. Ichies 6.22.09
I am a sucker for head and back scratches. As my dad is. As Gracie now is too. The sure way to calm her down is a scalp massage and back rub. To lull her to sleep, Matt runs his fingers from her hairline, down her nose to her chin. Over and over again.

7. Tomatoes 7.20.09
Growing up, we always had a garden. I clearly remember one summer that there were so many tomatoes I would plant myself in the middle of the plants with a salt shaker and devour until I couldn't eat anymore, hardly leaving a dent. There were so many I started to realize that there was no such thing as waste, so I would bite open the fruit, suck out the tomatoes seed snot and flight the the body of the tomato to the dog. That was the summer I broke out in an allergic reaction to tomatoes because I ate way to many. Gracie seems to be following directly in my footsteps. With the daily picks coming into the house this summer she has begun to suck out the snot and discards the skins down to the dog. That's my girl.

8. Pillows 7.22.09
I cannot fall asleep without a cocoon of pillows. Two minimum. Right now, I have 5 on my side of the bed. Gracie seems to be following my footsteps with this too. She loves to pull all the throw pillows off the couch, 11 if she gathers all in the house, to make a nest and flop. She falls asleep best while laying on a king sized down pillow and is rocked. Now, she has her very first pillow in her crib and she is sleeping like a rock for the first time in ages.

If you have reasons, similarities you see between Grace and Matt or I, please leave them in the comments!

Breathe

My parent’s were here this past weekend. They stayed with us for 72 hours.

Maybe the problem is me and Matt.

We get so used to doing things our own way. We get so used to the freedom one gets from living 700 miles away from family. We get so used to be able to breathe, and while I love my parents, when they come it feels like I can’t breathe.

There is never a break when they stay at our house.

There is never a plan, unless we create it. If you give them options, they say ‘Oh, I don’t know / I don’t care, you choose.’

The problem with that is WE live here. IF we wanted to do these things we do them without the ordeal. Then everyday mundane things that I need to / want to / would be doing if they weren’t here also become an ordeal.

I start to get snippy. I start to shut down.

My mom, on her own, I can handle. I can go about my daily activities, with her in tow, much more easily.

My dad on the other hand, is a challenge.

We like to think of my dad as a cat. You know, the whole 9 lives thing. He has been given more chances at life that most people could ever dream of.

My dad is a Type 1 diabetic also. I will cut him some slack under the notion that he was 6 years old when diagnosed – 1957 – and the technology looks like something the Flintstones would have used compared to today. To add to it, from the stories I’ve heard (second hand), he and his condition, with blamed for a lot of what was wrong in his mother’s life.

I get that things were hard. I get that he was treated horribly. I do. I have sympathy.

What I don’t get is why he is in his current state. So much of it is preventable with a little bit of responsibility and proactivity. Neither of which he has ever attempted.

That is where my patience wears thin.

Your bored because you had to take early retirement? Get a hobby. Read the newspaper. DO something besides watching TV 12 hours a day and sleeping the other 12.

Physical activity is still hard for you? Go for a short walk. Go to the gym. Ride the recumbent bicycle that is 2 feet away from where you are watching TV. Pick up aroudn the house. The surgery and all it’s complications was over 3 years ago. So something besides sit there and complain.

You feel ill because your sugars fluctuate so much? Check your blood sugar! 10 times a day if you have too. Take responsibility for what your are putting in your body. Learn the effect that CARBS have on you. Learn the names and doses of the medicines that your take everyday, 3 times a day!

My mom made a comment to me that she hasn’t seen my dad so happy in a long time. That Gracie was having a wonderful effect on him. He also got visibly emotional when saying goodbye to her.

My gut response to this? Anger.

They are always welcome to come visit, but I am tired of feeling like I’ve been kicked after every visit. I cannot make their lives better. Grace cannot make them feel more fulfilled. More importantly, we shouldn't have to feel like that is on our shoulders. Shouldn’t that come from taking care themselves? I am tired of feeling like I have to fill some sort of unfulfilled void in their lives, especially in my dad’s case.

He has opportunity. He has gotten and keeps getting so many second, third, fourth … chances. He does nothing with them though. I don’t understand the point of wanting all the things that he wants, and then doing nothing with it when he gets it.

----- Stop ranting. Just breathe. Keep breathing. -----

That was my weekend. We did nothing. We went nowhere. We talked about nothing.

It should have been nice, huh? Normally I am lamenting that I don’t get to do those three things.

The Waiting

December is such a full month.

It is feeling so hectic and we are only on day 5 of 31. That makes me crazy.

This December is so full of the unknown too. That is making me insane. I am a control freak.

Matt’s dad (PaPa) is sick. Really sick. In the ICU on a ventilator kind of sick. Currenlty critical but stable kind of sick. And of course, there is nothing we can do.

It is a case of flu, turned pneumonia and then (according to the Doc's) ignored for quite awhile. The illness had completely encompassed his left lung and was starting to work on the right. Yeah, pneumonia is easily curable, but the resulting side effects aren’t always so easy.

Again though, there is nothing we can do but trust the doctors and let the medicine do its job.

And wait. And worry. And visit. And worry and wait some more.

The modern convenience of the internet and Dr. Google is exceptionally helpful … until it starts getting into the worst case scenarios of illness. Then it sucks.

Matt is flying out to Green Bay tomorrow to camp out at the hospital for a few days. Then we are both on our own to worry. It will be the worry of the disease and the worry of what is happening 800 miles away.

Is Matt eating?
Is Gracie sleeping well?
Is Matt sleeping at all?
Is Shan overwhelmed on her own?
How long will Matt be in Wisconsin?
How much money is Shan spending at the mall? :)

In 2004 my dad had a double organ transplant. I was back in Chicago for 2 months. While the situations aren’t quite the same, I know what Matt and his family is going through with this. It is scary.

It’s a lot of doctor’s telling you they are hopeful, but let’s wait and see. Just give the medicine some time to work.

You however, are sitting there in a tiny little anti-septic smelling room, listening to the pump of the ventilator and the beep of the heart monitors, waiting for the next doctor to come into your cube, watching nurses scurry around and minutes tick down on the clock.

I must relearn patience with this though. Squash the anxieties. Find the calm.

After all, PaPa is the patriarch of a very stubborn family.

From Babyhood to Toddlerdom

The Milestone has come and gone. One year. One year of life on Earth. One year of being a parent. One year of keeping her safe. One year of poopy diapers and sleepless nights.

And I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

How do we mark this milestone transition of Babyhood to Toddlerdom?

With cake of course!

It was a splendid party, teeming with family, friends that might as well be family and indispensable neighbors. The circles blended seamlessly together, but is it hard not to with a yard full of children whacking each other with Lightsabers and pool noodles.

In fact, if any of you actually took photos of the backyard shenanigans, please pass them along!

Presents were opened with a gusto only brought to the table by four children under the age of 4, all helping to tear away the fantastically crunchy paper and tissue of lovingly wrapped treasures.

Cake was shared, eaten and smashed (not necessarily in that order) by all. There is nothing quite so gratifying as hearing the unintentionally uttered yums, while your of a labor of love is devoured.
After the party was over, family stayed to exemplify the word. Under my sister-in-law Jeanine's instruction, project Let's Assemble Toys was implemented. Oh, and was I grateful. The box of 45 cardboard stacking bricks sure weren't going to configure themselves, and now 30 minutes of family togetherness did what would have taken me hours.

With all the controlled chaos of family and party events though, I forgot to be sad. I forgot to lament the fact that my baby is no longer a baby.

And that is a great thing.

My baby will always be my baby. The passage of time will never change that.

The Trip

Matt and I both repeatedly say, "We are from Chicago, but Maryland is our home." We mean it. Our family is often incredulous when we say it, like it is some kind of blasphemy. It is the truth though.

THE TRIP REPORT

The flight out:
It was actually fine. We arrived at the airport 1 hour 45 minutes early for the flight. We were past security exactly 15 minutes after arrival.

Hmm… now what? McDonald's of course. A Sausage McMuffin for me and a Fruit & Yogurt Parfait (sans strawberries) for Grace. On the flight she never really cried, and fell asleep 1 hour into it and woke just before landing. My ride was actually waiting for me at the airport. All was well in my world.

The triathlon:
The precursor to the tri was a trip to Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder. Not traditional Chicago fare by any means, but still our favorite.

Matt's mom, whom we haven't heard from since May, attended the event. (The lack of communication was due to her announcement that she would not be attending Grace's Baptism because she sprained her wrist 4 months earlier and it still hurt, therefore she could not endure the air travel.)

The highlight of the lunch was Matt's mom church voice singing and pantomiming the lyrics to the Chicago Bears fight song in the middle of the crowed restaurant, after her announcement that she would like Matt to take her to a game someday. Matt is a stoic individual who was able to maintain a straight face, but I did see at least one case of wine-being-shot-out-the-nose-because-of-stifled-laughter.

Matt finished the triathlon with a time of 3 hours 11 minutes and Jeanine did 3 hours 44 minutes. Matt was upset with his time, Jeanine was happy. I on the other hand, walked about 6 miles with a baby who refused to nap and a woman with a bad knee and glass in her heal. Matt says he is unhappy with how the event was run and will not participate again. I am glad.


Wisconsin:
We drove 8 hours- 4 up and 4 back- listening to Chipmunks CD's. Matt was playing the songs off You Tube tonight. We can't get them out of our heads & Grace baby dances to the most annoying one now.

To all the folks who say global warming is a government conspiracy, I might begin to believe you now. It was 40 degrees every morning up there and never got up past 82. Sure, it's north of Green Bay, but still, it's August!

We drank a lot and never really slept.

Matt is a very light sleeper, so he automatically went to the couch every night. While that means he didn't wake up with every squawk from Grace, even with Ambien he woke several times a night. I am a heavy sleeper and I don't think I ever slept more than 3 hours at a time. I often could only get Grace to sleep by draping her on my chest, with her feet kicking me in crotch and her head against my windpipe. It was lovely.

Despite those complaints, it was great to watch Gracie play with her cousins, Jack & Abby. It is always in those quite childhood moments that I am sad they don't get to spend more time together.


Lemont:
My parent's house is always the same. There is no plan. It drives me nuts.

Friday my mom watched Grace so we could go see The Dark Knight. I was thrilled.

On the way home I called to ask if she needed anything from the store for dinner that night before relatives arrived. She said no.

Five minutes after arriving at the house she announced that her plan was to go up the grocery store to buy bread AFTER company arrived so it would be fresh. I freaked and sent my brother to go
buy the buns and more beer.

Seeing my cousins was great though. My cousin Meg has kids
that are 1 & 2 years old. My cousins Gina & Kat are 17 & 15 years
old. It is always so surreal to see the changes in people when you are apart for extended periods of time.


Flight home:
I realized the night before flying home that I had no ID. Gracie's passport had been sent back with Matt in the car and my driver's license was (and still is) MIA. I had a mini meltdown and called the airline. They said it was OK, that I would just have to go through extra screening, so I should arrive early.

We got to the airport at 6:45 for a 9:25 am flight. (Making my brother 1/2 hour late for work.) Despite the extra screening, we were through security in the same 15 minutes as coming out.

Great.

2 1/2 hours with a kid at the airport. At least Midway is entertaining. We ate, we shopped, we listed to the guy with the thick Chicago accent (a la Blues Brothers) make announcements.

"The Cath-o-lick mass will we held in the Mezz-a-teen la-vel a-tree-um at 9 a.m. The mass la-asts one half of an hour. Thank You."

Then we got an the plane, where Gracie immediately fell asleep and woke to the sound of her daddy's voice greeting us at the baggage claim.

Ahh. We are home.

The Countdown

I am at the point where I am so tired that it is hard to think.

I was at this point on Tuesday. It is now Saturday. (I just had to stop for a few minutes to figure out what day it was.) I AM READY TO GO HOME.

Instead of writing in complete sentences I am going to just throw out numbers.

Here is the countdown:

10 - Number of bottles of wine consumed over the trip.
9- Number of mosquito bites on my legs. So itchy.
8 - Number of hours we listed to a freaking Chipmunks CD in the car. Damn songs are still in my head
7 - Number of times I became so irritated with conversations / circumstance that I left the room.
6 - Number of White Castles I consumed.
5 - Number of times I've checked my work email in the last 24 hours.
4 - Number of serious discussion I had with Matt about changing flights to come home early.
3 - Number of nights Grace slept on my chest like I'm a giant air mattress.
2 - Number of days I lost my flip flops, only to have them found under my luggage. (See #1 & 3)
1 - Number of nights out of 8 that I slept though the night.

More to come.