Her name is Bernice. She’s my great aunt. My mom’s aunt. She is (or well, was) my grandfather’s older sister. She’s 92 years old.

She was the seventh child in a family of ten children. She watched her parents try to save her oldest sister from brain cancer and lived with the way that changed them after, when they weren’t able to save her. They grew up very poor on a farm in Texas. She watched helplessly as her youngest sister died as a young teenager from Typhoid Fever. She helped her mother, nurse my grandpa back to health from the same thing.

She was always the solid one. The girl who would help anyone.

When she was right out of high school, she married and quickly had two daughters. When the younger one was maybe four months old, her husband left her. All alone in a state with no family. She found a job and took care of her girls. Four years later she remarried. That one left after three years. Beat her, drained their savings, left her in debt and with two more kids to feed. A single mom with four kids to feed. She moved to be closer to her parents, eventually taking care of them as well.

She started working for the electric company, as some form of a secretary. She went to work for them, because she knew, they’d always be able to pay her. She eventually got out of debt and bought a house.

She’s a survivor.

She survived loosing her youngest son. He was in some kind of a boating accident at nineteen years old. When asked, she says this was the one that would have knocked her over for good, if she’d let it. Says it came close. Nothing before it or after it can ever compare she once told me. Of course now, thirty something years later, she says she only cries every third time he is brought up in conversation.

She’s outlived her parents and all but one sibling. (The remaining sister, four years younger than her is slowly loosing her battle with Alzheimer’s.) She’s done the unthinkable, she’s buried a child. She always says, you aren’t supposed to have to bury your children. That she has some choice words to say to god one day about that.

I don’t doubt that she will.

She’s volunteered in children’s wards of hospitals for my entire life. She reads to kids at the library. She does math in her great-grand-children’s classrooms. She teaches Sunday School and cooks at soup kitchens.

When she retired, she started going on trips. She’s seen the world, one trip at a time. Sometimes with friends. Sometimes with children or grandchildren. Sometimes alone. Picture if you will, a 92 year old woman, who still decides on the spur of the moment to go to Arizona for the weekend. Or Florida. Or Minnesota. Because there is an exhibit she heard is going to be in some gallery there that she’d like to see. Or because she got tired of the heat where she lives. She calls one of her family members and says, hey, I’m going to come visit you this weekend. I’ll be there in three hours. This is when my plane gets in. I can take a taxi, if you are busy.

She does this often.

She’s ornery like that. That’s what her oldest daughter calls her. Of course that’s because Aunt Bernice only calls her daughter and tells her where she’s going, after she’s already there. Ha.

92 years old and she still does what she wants, when she wants. She gave up her house about five years ago and moved into a little apartment in a retirement community, mostly to make her daughters shut up, not because she felt like she needed too. She really does like it though. She’s a mean pinnacle player. She calls all the other people there, the little old people. She loves to say, I may be old, but I’ll never be little.

When she gets bored, she takes a trip. She has three children, 12 grandchildren and numerous nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews who will always welcome her into their home. She’s helpful. She’s funny. She tells great stories. She bakes. When Morgan was a baby she came to our house for a week. I had to check her suit case when she left to make sure my baby wasn’t in it. She never put the girl down the entire week she was visiting.

In December she had a pacemaker put in. She’d had a few “episodes” and her doctor told her this would help. She said it like it was nothing. In fact, she told everyone about in her Christmas letter. One sentence was, oh my grand-daughter is pregnant with twins and I’m so thrilled and the next sentence was, oh and I’ll be having a pacemaker put in after Christmas…but no one get all worried, because I am only doing this so I can live to see 115.

She was back on her feet in days. 115 years old is her goal. 115 years old. Can you imagine?

Last week, she found a lump in her breast. Unfortunately cancer runs heavily in that side of the family, so we’ll see. It could, obviously be nothing. She has told everyone, no worries. If it’s cancerous, I’ll deal with it. She already told her doctor and kids, she’ll do whatever they think she needs to do. But she also told her doctor in no uncertain terms that she’s planning on going on a cruise in spring 2012 with her grand-daughter and family, so please to be remembering she must be healed by then.

I can’t plan next week and she’s planning spring 2012.

A woman born in 1917. A 92 year old woman. One of the strongest, most amazing ladies you could ever hope to meet. My great aunt Bernice. I just hope one day, I can even be half as strong as she is.

In this moment, I am a little tired of talking. A little tired of thinking. Basically? I am just freaking tired. Physically, emotionally and mentally. I thought I’d try for a lighter post. Not because I don’t have a million things to say, mostly because I’m just not in the mood. We’ll see how well I do at this.

First off, do you see my beautiful new site? MommyGeekology designed it for me and I’m absolutely in love with it. It’s so pretty and shiny and new. It needs me to do a little work to it, but it’s fully functional. MommyGeek is awesome to work with and answered EVERY SINGLE STUPID ASS QUESTION that I asked her. Even when I asked her the same thing three times. If you are looking at redesigning your site, I highly recommend her. You can check out her personal blog or her Rent a Geek site. She does all kinds of stuff, that I couldn’t even begin to explain to you.

Second, I really did have a great trip last week. I can not even begin to tell you how wonderful it was. To escape for a few days, to spend time with friends. Re-remember how to laugh and joke around. I think it had been weeks since I’d laughed much at all. I had dinner with Kirsten. Her and Liz and I talked for hours, until I almost fell asleep at the table and they made me leave. (Sleeping hasn’t been my strong suit lately. As in, I pretty much haven’t slept in weeks.) Emmie and her boys drove from far away, just to come have lunch with us (or in my head, so I could give her a hug), which was so sweet of her. Truly, it was funny to see the four kids chasing after each other. I could have missed seeing Caroline drink ketchup, but besides that, it was a great lunch. (Actually being around Caroline was pretty much like seeing Bailey at two years old again.)

I played with Liz and Ben’s amazing kids. (I promise you all, Thomas really is that smart and Caroline really is a little wild child. They are sweet and funny and wonderful.) I met Liz’s family and friends. I got to joke around with Ben in person. The man is funny, sweet, kind and a great friend…oh and um tall with lots of hair on his head.   (I also feel like now is the time to thank him publicly for sharing his wife with me for five days.) I saw some random movies…we don’t need to discuss Liz making me cry by watching Grosse Point Blank. Okay, that wasn’t her fault. All me. Completely. Liz and I went to some of mine and her favorite places on my last day there, which was better that six months of therapy. Oh and I ate PRINCESS CAKE!!!!

I had a great trip. No, I had a fabulous trip.

Lastly, I want to thank you all for your kind words the last few weeks. My goal is to answer my emails and respond to comments in the next day or two. But I want you to know that it means the world to me that you all have been so kind and supportive.

That’s all folk’s. That’s the extent of my positiveness. Done. Ha.

A little bit ago, in the middle of a funny conversation on Twitter, I started a new list called WOWUBNA. It stands for, We Once Were Unpopular, But Not Anymore. I said I had a quiz for anyone who wanted on it. It was, it is, a joke. I will add my entire follower list, if everyone wants on it. It was something funny to do, on a long day. It made me think though.

I was not popular. I had friends, so I guess I wasn’t considered super unpopular. However, some of my friends were considered popular. Maybe I was, by association? Nah. I just knew them forever. I was friends with them, because I met them at four years old. I wasn’t ever talked to by the popular friends of theirs, just by them.

That doesn’t make me popular, that makes me boring. We are like siblings. I talk to them often, but see them almost never. It’s okay, because we will always be friends. But it’s been lonely for a few years since I moved here. Since the friend who moved at the same time and I have gone our separate ways. She is the chick who gets invited to play dates, out for coffee, on child free adventures with other moms. I am not.  It’s lonely, I’ve been lonely. Might be why I started blogging again.

Where does being popular matter? Does it get you into a better school? No. Will it get you a better job? No. It gets you a lot of friends, I guess. But how many of them can you really count on in a crisis?

If you are popular, you can get the world to come to your party. You had the entire school sign your yearbook. Everyone is looking you up on Facebook; hoping beyond hope that your name hasn’t changed. That maybe, just maybe you will friend them back.

How many of them know your middle name though? Or which movies make you cry, no matter how often you see it? That you know the entire dialog to Ocean’s Eleven? How many will come bail you out of jail? Stop you in the middle of a conversation to tell you that you are being stupid? Will they all keep your kids for a day when you have the flu? Will they send a CD they made or a gift card for a Starbucks to you, because you are having a shitty day? Text you: good morning, I hope you have a great day, when they first get up? Call you and leave you a worried sounding message, when you’ve ignored three of their texts in one evening?

Maybe they do. Maybe some of them would. Then again, maybe they won’t. Being popular is a tricky thing. I know this, because I was friends with a few popular girls. My brother was extremely popular. Anything he did in high school, he had an entourage. He had more people at his graduation party than Ashton Kutcher has Twitter Followers. Okay, maybe not, but it seemed that way. However, when his finance left him last year, he couldn’t get but one friend to help him move. A friend he has gotten much closer to in the past year, since realizing what a true friend is. A friend who he invited to my house for Christmas. (Along with his girlfriend and the friends brother. Another story. Sheesh.) My brother with 200 contacts in his phone, could only get one friend to help him move, even though he’s helped a ton of them move before.

Online popularity is interesting. It’s fickle, it’s a bit weird, it’s possibly not what all of us think. I always find it uncool when people hate on the “popular” people online. It’s as if this is High School. The truth is though, the big name bloggers, have no way of keeping up. They have no way of seeing everything sent their way. I have trouble keeping up and I average 12 comments a post. It’s not always personal, in fact I doubt if it ever is. It’s just what it is. There are too many bloggers and not enough time in the day.

I will tell you quite truthfully, I “knew” some of them before. I started my first blog at the same time as some of them. The big name bloggers so many are afraid of. Some who find themsleves hated, the subject of much ridicule. Mostly, they are nice freaking people. A couple even followed me back on twitter. I don’t take it personal that the others didn’t. If I like you, I read your blog. When I have time, I comment. I can go weeks without though. Like I said, it’s all about time.

Some people, after BlogHer, said oh I saw this person, but I was afraid to say hi to them. They wouldn’t give me the time of day. COME ON NOW. We are bloggers. We talk about our personal life on the computer. We tweet about what we had for lunch, or what our baby’s fever is.

There is a person, a blogger, an amazing blogger who told me she didn’t say hi to me at BlogHer. That she sat behind me in a session and couldn’t make herself say hi. I told her then that I wished she had, because she was on my list of people I wanted to meet. It’s okay. I get being afraid, or uncomfortable. But being popular in some way, doesn’t make someone scary.

Maybe their is an unpopular person in each of us? Even the ones who are considered popular now.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, popular. I never got picked for teams. I don’t get picked for anything now. (Save for the community keynote at BlogHer, which was Anymommy’s doing.) I don’t write for any site except this one. I don’t get paid to blog. I don’t have thousands of followers on Twitter. I’ll tell you honestly that I think maybe 45 people read this site. Maybe 60 on a good day. It’s okay, I am thrilled that 45-60 of you find me entertaining enough to read at all.

I went over on my text messaging for the first time ever this month. I never needed unlimited texting, until the past month. I’ll be honest with you. It’s because my best friend got a phone a month or so ago that can text. She is the reason for this. It is all her fault. HA. I love that I now have a reason to have an unlimited texting plan. I love that I met her because of Twitter. I love that for the first time in years, I have a best friend.

I love the community I’ve made. I loved the community I was a part of before, with my previous blog. Mostly though, the people I talk to now, are different people. I’m okay with that.

What makes us popular doesn’t matter. What matters is why we do what we do. It makes my heart swell when I get emails from my friends. Texts from friends. I feel like, I finally have people who would notice if I disappeared. I feel like I have finally found my tribe, so to speak. My community of friends is amazing.

I’m not popular. I’m okay with not being popular. But it’s nice to feel like I have friends again.

Months ago, I asked Liz if she’d write a guest post for me. She said no. She may have even said, hell no. Brat. She had her reasons and as her friend I had to not bug her about it again. Okay, maybe I did a few times. Like once, twice…okay maybe every few weeks. I told her that she could have the keys anytime she wanted. My place is her place. I wasn’t going to hold my breath though.

It’s a mark of a true friend when you wake up one day, on one of the crappier weeks of your life, to find a guest post sitting in your inbox. One that you didn’t even think to ask for. One that makes you cry, because somehow it was exactly what you needed. I am a wreck this week, people. It’s not something I am ready to discuss yet. I will in time, I’ve seen too that. However, now is not the time. I’m not going anywhere and I’m sure I’ll post something on Friday for Harrison’s first birthday. Just give me some time okay?

Today, for me, please read what my best friend sent me this morning….late last night. One of those. Be kind to her. I’d really like to encourage her to start writing again on her own blog.

Mommy Myths-

So, nearly 5 years ago, I became ‘Mama’ when my first child was born.  A boy.  Cuter than all the rest–no really!!  You should have seen him.  5 weeks early.  I was woefully unprepared in SO very many ways.  For one thing?  My hospital bag wasn’t even packed yet…  But aside from the logistical preparations, I was also behind the game in the more emotional aspects.  And, looking back on it, I’m pretty sure that nothing could have changed that.  It seems like aside from actually stepping through the experience myself, there wasn’t a way around it.  So, here is a list.  A list of things I wish I had known, but wouldn’t have believed even if you told me.  Take it or leave it.

1)  Babies are TINY and scary. I had done my share of babysitting.  In fact, in high school and college my summer job was working at a child care center.  So, when it came to taking care of a baby, I figured I could handle it.  Baths?  Feeding?  Diapers?  No problem.  The truth?  The truth is that I found myself TERRIFIED.  Totally and completely.  In fact, when we got home from the hospital, we had to move the bassinet over to my husband’s side of the bed.  I was too afraid to have it on my side.  I could not stop checking to see if he was still breathing.  I could not stop worrying about how much milk he was getting and was it enough and when was his last diaper and was that within the normal range?  My husband likes to say that babies are like animals.  They can see in the dark and smell your fear.  It sure felt like it…

2)  Breastfeeding is not all rainbows and kittens. I don’t have much to say about this.  I’m not here to tell you what to do.  I just want to say that I did it.  It was the right choice for me.  For us.  For our family.  And I didn’t love it.  It was hard.  And painful.  And exhausting.  Did I enjoy it?  Sometimes.  Was it amazing and a “real bonding experience”?  Sometimes.  Did I frequently wish I wasn’t doing it?  Yep.  And did I feel guilty for being so happy when I weaned both kids at about 8 months?  YES.  I guess what I really want to say is that parenting is about trying and making the right choices for you.  And having the support from family and friends to keep from second guessing yourself too much.  I don’t like the nagging feeling of “coulda, shoulda, woulda”.  Make the best choice for you and have faith in yourself.  It’s all about confidence–something I generally lack.

3)  You can’t do it ALL. Serious.  Serious, SERIOUS.  This one I am still struggling with in a big way.  Not humanly possible.  At least, not for THIS human.  When my daughter was born two years ago, it took a FULL six months before “I just might be able to do this eventually” entered my head.  Yeah, it took six months before I even thought that in passing.  Not “Yeah!  I’ve got this mastered!!”  Not “Two kids is hard but doable.”  The simple, I *might* be able to do this SOME day.  I don’t want to hear how you have X number of kids and your dishes are washed every night and the clean clothing is always folded and put away where it belongs.  That hasn’t been my reality.  Our house is generally a mess.  My brain is pulled a million directions every day.  I have a running “to-do” list in my head that seem infinite.  And I look around at the showered, manicured people driving spotless cars and wonder why does it feel so hard for ME?  I have a full time job.  My husband has a full time job.  The kids are still young.  We are juggling a lot.  I’m learning to adjust my expectation of ‘realistic’.  At the end of the day, the kids are loved, and fed.  And most of the time bathed.  Some of the time at least.    And the dishes?  They can wait for another day.  Really

Only in the past few weeks have I started looking at his picture in the hallway. It’s right outside of the hallway/girls bathroom and hard to miss. His big smile looking back at me, hasn’t been something I’ve been willing to look at until just recently. Before then, when it happened to catch my eye, he never failed to make me cry. There was just something about that picture. It was too real. Maybe I was still grieving too much. I don’t really know. Now I look at it and grin. Not because it hurts any less today, just because I  miss looking at him.

He had a great smile, my Grandpa did. A smile that could light up a room. He didn’t smile often, he was a serious man. However, when he did, his smile was infectious. The picture on my family wall, is of him and my Grandma, taken when I was about 14 years old. I’m not sure why I have that one up. No, I take that back, I do know why. It’s that smile. He didn’t always smile like that in pictures, in fact he normally didn’t. Grandma once told me that the man taking their photo that day, had told Grandpa a joke.

We talked about him a lot this past weekend, my mom and I. As much as I miss him, she misses him a million times more. He was her father after all. This coming Saturday it will be a year. On Saturday, the man who I adored, the man who I saw as the strongest man in my life, will have been dead an entire year.

My first real memories of my childhood are from a trip when I was three years old. I remember my brothers being born and visiting them in the hospital and I was only two then. But my real solid memories are of this trip. My dad and Grandpa helped move my Aunt and Cousins to Texas from California. My dad drove the moving truck, my Aunt her car and my grandpa drove his car with my Grandma, my mom, my brothers and I. I sat on the hump. Can you imagine letting your three year old sit in the front seat, much less the hump in between the drivers and passengers seats? Me neither. It did have a seat belt though.

I sat on the hump and sang with Grandpa for 1300 miles. Truly, I did. Until the day he stopped talking, which was about a year before he died, he told me this story ever time I saw him. From then on, he and I had a great relationship.

I miss him. I miss him more than I can even tell you. He was a major player in my life. He had more influence than my dad ever did, on my life. It hurts to think about him most days. It still doesn’t seem real. He’s been gone, a few weeks longer that Harrison has been alive. He never met Harrison. As sick as he was, as bad off as he was in that last year, I’m not even sure it registered that there was going to be a Harrison. That makes me sad. Grandpa loved all the babies. He loved kids. Heck, he had six of them. He adored his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren. He’d of adored Harrison. In a lot of ways, Harrison is a lot like him. Very serious little dude, he is.

I nearly named Harrison after him. I would have if he’d been born a few months later. At the time, I just couldn’t see saying Grandpa’s name every single day. Plus, H’s name really fits him.

A year has passed. Now he’s gone. But he’s not forgotten. He and my Grandma’s death, left a hole in this family. Our grief is still huge. My girls still tell me on a regular basis, I’m sad because I miss my great grandma and great grandpa. Me too, my babies, me too.

To you Grandpa, loved and never forgotten. Love, me