The first time that I saw you, Lookin like you did We were young, we were restless, Just two clueless kids, If I knew then, what I know now, I’d fall in love.
Those are lyrics from a Lady Antebellum song. It’s a better verse than I could ever come up with.
In some ways it says everything I’ve been trying to write for hours. Days maybe.
Here’s the thing, if I knew then, what I know now? I’d still fall in love.
Today is my 11th anniversary. No matter what else is happening. Even though, I won’t make it to the 12th. We made it 11 years. We made it longer than most people who get married at 19 years old. We made a great little family, that doesn’t cease to exist, just because we aren’t together any more. Does that make me feel better today? Not really. But it doesn’t negate the fact that for the past 16 years, we’ve been mostly happy together. How many people can say that?
Today should be a celebration, but it’s not. I don’t want spend all day feeling the way I’ve felt for the past few days, but I find myself pretty much unable to stop it. I keep thinking about the last ten years of this day. I want to try and remember the good, try to remember the life that was great, instead of the end. Instead of what this day should be.
I’m going to at least try to not curl up in a ball and hide all day. I’ve already gotten up and showered, I’ve gotten coffee and a donut. I plan on buying some cake later, because cake makes everything better. Tonight? I’ll take my kids out for dinner and then come home and watch American Idol with my girls. It might not seem like much, but it’s enough. Today, it’s enough. Fake it, till you make it. Or something like that.
I’d still fall in love. If I was somehow able to go back in time, to see fourteen old me? I’d still ask him out. If I could go back and see eighteen year old me? I’d still ask him to marry me. I don’t regret my life, I don’t regret our life, but I can’t change what it is now either.
Happy 11th anniversary to me.
Cause love only comes once in awhile, Knocks on your door and throws you a smile, And takes every breath, Leaves every scar, Speaks to your soul, And sings through your heart, And if I knew then, what I know now, Whoaa if i knew then, what I know now, I’d fall in love.
In July, on the first night of BlogHer, I met someone I’d never “met” online. I met the lovely Renee, also known as But Why Mommy. After a bit, I found myself sitting across the table from her, at a not so great pizza joint in downtown Chicago. I felt a bit weird because it seemed like I was the only one at the table who didn’t know who she was. The thing that made me feel better, was I didn’t believe she knew who I was either. (Watch, I’ll be wrong about that.) We started talking about our kids. I told her how sad I’d been that morning to leave 10 month old Harrison and how Bailey had been really upset, until Logan had offered her donuts. Yes, my child traded me for a donut. Renee told me all about Bunny, her then three year old; about her love of dinosaurs, how smart she was, how amazing an artist she was at such a young age. When she talked about Bunny, her face lit up. I remember that, even now.
Then I asked her if Bunny was going to be an only child or if they’d have another one day. Renee then said, well we adopted Bunny from China and we’d like to say we’ll one day give her a sibling, but it seems unlikely right now. She told me that they were in the process of adopting a son from Ethiopia, but it seemed like it just might not happen. That the process didn’t seem to progressing at all. That she was unsure if they would continue to move forward or give up. She was sad about that and trying not to be. Trying not to show it. We barely knew each other and I wanted to hug her. I know that feeling, the wanting to expand your family and thinking it will never happen. But all I could say was, oh I really hope it all works out for you. I’d only known the girl for an hour.
That was eight months ago. Eight months is a long time, but also not such a long time. Long enough to make a great friend. Although truthfully, I felt like Renee was a great friend after four days.
Today though, eight months later, my amazing friend is very, very close to bringing her son Lion home. What I mean is, they could literally be going to get him in a few weeks. He is for sure their son. They got that news about ten days ago. Now they just wait for all the paperwork to come in. Then? They go bring their boy home, where he belongs. With Renee and her husband; with his big sister Bunny.
I wanted to do something for my friend. Something big, something amazing. Something to show her how much I love her and how thrilled I am for her. I wanted to throw her a baby shower. Maybe an adoption shower? However, this is the Internet. And? Renee and I live three states away from each other. We have amazing friends, but they are scattered all over the country. It doesn’t make for easy parties. I did the next best thing, I put together an Internet baby shower. There are no brownies, or little cakes, but it has something better than that, tons of friends and love. Which really is more important than little cakes. (Oh how I’d take a little cake right now.)
Anyway…Renee, welcome to your baby shower. **hands over silly hat and little cake** Make yourself comfy, you have a bunch of reading to do today.
I thought about what I could share with you, Renee. What could I possibly tell you that is helpful. I figure I can give you a few pointers on parenting boys. You know from my vast knowledge of the past nearly 17 months. Snort.
1. Boys pee. They pee upwards. This was new for me. Here is my helpful hint. Something I still do to this day. Take a wipe and throw it on the dang thing, the second you open the diaper. Just trust me on this one. Harrison hasn’t peed on me in months, but he still could. It’s something I fully believe to be true.
2. Boys are loud. Not screechy loud like little girls, but volume loud. Very, very loud. Invest in ear plugs.
3. Boys like things that move. Cars, balls, trains, toys that move. They don’t generally care much for toys that don’t do something. Unless it’s tupperware, 100 DVD boxes that can be thrown on the floor or you, when you are sitting. You are a jungle gym. I hope you knew that.
4. Boys are dirty. I have a daughter who is dirty too. Truly, we call her pig pen sometimes. But Harrison is very little and he’s always dirty. Always. I always wonder how he can get dirty playing with his train set in my basement. But he can.
5. Silver wear is a joke. Only give it to him, if you like things chucked at your head. Harrison will eat anything and everything. I do mean everything. But he’s not so big on forks and spoons. He prefers the whole hand as a shovel method.
6. Boys are sweet and cuddly and absolute joys. Parenting a boy, after girls gives me more joy than I could even put into words. I melt each time he gives me that little impish grin. He knows it too, little brat. Ha.
You are a great mom my friend. I have no doubt that Lion is one lucky, amazing little boy. I can’t wait to meet him.
Below is a Mr. Linky. Our friends who had the chance, will be linking posts for you throughout the day. We just wanted you too know that you are loved and that we all love your tiny boy, even though we haven’t met him yet.
ps. I sent you a box. A bit late, but yeah…I’m me. Stuff I said I’d send. Some gifts I bought and a little something for Bunny. Love you sweetie. I could not be more thrilled about you bringing Lion home.
When I was in first grade, each of us were given a Friday, that would be our day of show and share. Ours alone. It was frightening to me, since I didn’t really like to talk much back then, especially in front of people. I decided that the only way I could do it, was if I brought my prized possession to show. My mom went through a phase of making china dolls and I had a few which I loved. The one I wanted to bring in to share was the bride doll. It was the only one she ever made like that. She made it for me.
The day that it was my turn, I brought it in to share. I whispered in front of the class for 10 minutes. All about my doll, her name, her clothes and that my mommy had made her just for me. When I was done, I asked the teacher if she’d put it away where no one could see it or touch it until it was time for me to go home.
I didn’t want her to be ruined, or broken, which I knew was possible, so I had it put away and I stopped talking about it.
Last week, I opened up a tiny hidden closet inside of me and shared the contents with you all. I wanted to do it. I wanted to share, to get it out, maybe to help someone else. You all supported me in ways I can’t even begin to tell you. You helped fill me up with kindness, when I needed it most.
Now I need to re-shut the door.
I have tried for a week to answer the comments in those two posts I wrote last week. Your words, your kindness deserves that. You all deserve a response. I am the person who sends thank you cards and I have truly wanted to answer each email and comment I received last week. But I can’t seem too. I open and shut them, only to re-open and re-shut them. I get a little panicky if I try to respond. Or well, a lot panicky.
Each comment and email meant the world to me. Truly. More than I can say. I need to shut that door though. It’s just too much. I am a bit too fragile still to leave the closet door open right now. I need to shut it. I can’t respond like I had wanted and I need to stop trying, for my own mental health.
I hope you’ll all accept this as a thank you. Truly, thank you.
Tonight I needed a break from reality. Luckily my mom is in town, so she recommended I take myself to a movie, while she stayed with the kids. I decided to go see Valentine’s Day. I figured either it’d be really dang funny or I’d come out of it depressed. But hey, that’s nothing new, so a movie wouldn’t really make it any worse. I could use a good laugh, was my thinking, so I decided to give it a shot.
I’ll be honest with you, I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. Shocker, no? Snort. I’ve never really been into it, it’s not just this year. It’s overly commercial, it is disappointing for most people and no matter what, you shouldn’t just show people you love them one day a year. The only thing I love about it, is buying cute shirts for my kids. Which possibly says more about my shopping addiction then my dis-like of this particular Hallmark holiday.
So I went and saw the movie. Have you seen the preview?
Oh I’m so smart, I can embed it. Maybe. Let me see here. Oh yay, it worked.
It was, not surprisingly, really freaking funny. It’s a romantic comedy. It’s a chick flick. It has the who’s who of Hollywood, all in one movie. Everyone from Shirley Maclaine to Taylor Swift. You’ve got McDreamy, McSteamy, Jennifer Garner, Bradley Cooper and Ashton Kutcher all in one movie. So many others, more than I could even begin to name.
It was a very random, very funny movie. It had one theme. Love. Of course, I mean it isn’t called Valentine’s Day for nothing, right? It’s a movie about love. Tons of small stories about love. Everything from elementary school love to 50 year marriage love to love gone wrong. Life, love, the silly things people do on Valentine’s Day, all in the name of love.
I liked it. I laughed. It was cute. It made me happy, in some strange way.
Then I came home. To my new life. I am not bitter about tomorrow. I’m just bitter in general. There is a difference, I promise you. I adore love. I truly do. I loved being in love, which is why it hurts as bad as it does, to find out that I was the only one in love for a long time. I still love, love. I don’t have what I thought I had. Not anymore.
Here’s what I know though: In my guest room, the first person I ever loved is asleep. My mother. I love her, no matter what. That is something that never, ever changes. She loves me, no matter what. No matter what stupid mistakes I’ve made, no matter how much I screw up my life, no matter what I say to her. She still loves me.
Sleeping in their beds tonight are two little girls and a tiny little boy, who have my entire heart. I have loved them, since I saw the little heartbeat on the monitor…maybe even before then. I will always love them. No matter what, forever, I will love them.
I may not have what I thought I had, but I have them. Life didn’t turn out how I thought it would. In some ways it turned out close. Life isn’t something you can choose. It just happens to you.
I still choose love. Always and forever, I will choose love.
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.
Nine months ago, I met my best friend on Twitter. Her name is Liz. Maybe you’ve heard me mention her? Once, twice, twenty-two times possibly?
Met is a strong word, considering it is Twitter. In that moment, I didn’t know she’d be my best friend within seconds. What? Okay fine, minutes maybe. Ha. Felt like seconds.
We went back and forth on Twitter for a few days. I felt a little bad when I realized she’d been following me for months and I’d never bothered to follow back. She’s quiet like that. I stopped feeling bad, when I realized she’d read my previous blog and NEVER EVER COMMENTED. Ahem. She swears she would have on this one, one day.
One night, I don’t remember what I wanted to ask her, but I didn’t think it should be out there for all of Twitter to see, so I DM’ed her. Which led to, I believe, two solid hours of DM’s back and forth, before one of us was smart enough to say, do you want to chat in Gmail? That first DM to her, is the best decision I’ve made all year.
The rest is history. We are twins. Twins from another mother. Seriously. Sometimes it’s frightening how much alike we are. Other times I wonder who this crazy woman is and why in the world she likes me. Maybe I think that often. Only because I’m really the crazy one, not her. She’d yell at me for that. Calling myself crazy. She yells often. It’s always the quiet ones, I swear.
Some find it funny when I say I met my best friend on Twitter. Some find it insane that I can say someone is my best friend, when she lives 4 states and 1237 miles away from me. I don’t know that I care what “they” say. What I know is this: nine months ago, I met the greatest friend I’ve ever had. The end.
I love saying that. The end. I *may* have stolen it from Liz. She says it to me all the time. As in: the end, I’m right, you are wrong, now go do what I said. The end. She may be bossy. And stubborn. And…oh um, I’ll stop now. I kind of need to make sure she comes and gets me from the airport this morning. See, I’m going to spend New Years at her house. I really need to make sure that she picks me up.
This had been a hard year for me. The last three months have been very, very hard. I don’t know that I could have made it without Liz. I’m not joking. She has been like a rock for me. Screw that, she has been my rock. She has been there every time I’m fallen, to pick me up and duct tape me back together again. When I tell Liz I’m sinking, she reminds me that duct tape doesn’t sink, it floats. She doesn’t flinch when I show her the worst parts of myself. She yells at me when I need yelling and reminds me to breath when I forget. She knows the absolute worst things about me, about my life and she still loves me. She loves me enough to never let me push her away, which I am really good at trying to do. It’s hard to let someone that close, to show them all of your inner scars and heartaches and not feel like you’ve shared too much. To not want to shove them away, so you don’t have to look at them the next day. But she never, ever lets me. For this? I am eternally grateful.
Today, I am, for the first time ever, looking forward to New Years. Because I am about to leave my house and fly to spend the next four days with my best friend and her awesome family. That makes today a great day. Today I get to hug my best friend a million times. Today I get to cry and be a spaz in person…okay maybe not. Am mostly joking about the spaz part. The crying…eh, I don’t know that I can help it. Or the spazziness really. Oh well.
I’ve done a lot this year. Met some amazing people. Made some amazing friends. Friends that I don’t think I can imagine not having in my life. Friends, who make me laugh, let me cry and vent and help me hold myself together. For the first year ever, I feel supported by amazing people. People who know the real me.
I’ve done some things I never thought I could do. Hai, I flew to Chicago to meet bloggers. Loads of them. In person. Alone. I talked in front of a room full of strangers and didn’t pee myself or faint away dead. Course I did have phone hand holding for oh an hour before I did that. Seriously. I flew to Vegas to meet Liz In September, not knowing for sure if she was an ax murderer wanting to kill me. LOL. I never believed that….although some people I know did.
I’ve dealt with some things that I thought would sink me forever.
I was able to do it all, because I knew I had someone holding my hand, reminding me that baby steps are okay; reminding me that it is progress to get to the next day. Someone who lets me hide sometimes and other times, does not let me hide at all; for knowing the difference and knowing which I needed most in the moment.
I have wanted this year to end for a long time. Next year may not be any easier. I know the first part of the year won’t be. I know that because last night, my husband and I decided that he needs to move out. Meaning, last night he packed some bags and left. It was not just his choice, but I wasn’t/am not prepared for the things I heard. For the reality that is my new life. I’d like to say he’s moving out for awhile, but from what I hear, it’s probably for good. There is a lot I could say, a lot that needs to be said. But right now, I just can’t yet. I am broken. My heart was shattered and I need a few days before I say anything more about it. It’s been hard enough to say it at all.
For me, today is a mixed day. I am wrecked after last night. I am numb. It hasn’t fully sunk in. I knew it was coming, had weeks to prepare for the actual conversation, but it didn’t make it any easier. It may have been one of the longer, harder nights of my life. I don’t know what my life holds when I get back. But today I get to go away from it.
Today is not a day for this. There will be tons of time for it later. Today is a day for happy stuff. I get a break from this for a few days. A break from my life. Today I get to go see my best friend. And that makes it all better. At least for the next four days.
I hope you all have a wonderful New Year. Hopefully 2010 will be a better year for us all.
My beautiful, smart, sweet, talented, smarty pants with a huge attitude girl. My big, eight year old. My Morgan. Today is your birthday. Today you are eight.
You said those words to me this weekend. The, I’m halfway to sixteen line. Sixteen is big to you. Yes my love, you are; today you are halfway to sixteen.
Can I tell you something though? I am not ready for you to be sixteen. Heck darling, I am not ready for you to be eight yet. I wish I could explain it to you. To the eight year old you. Not the you who will one day receive these letters. There unfortunately is no way I can explain to you how it feels to have an eight year old. Not until you are in my shoes. I can’t make you understand how being eight may seem young to you, but it seems so old too me.
I tried to explain to you how amazing this last year has been with you. How amazing and talented you are. How helpful and kind you are to your siblings. (Mostly. Ha.) How you are one of my three favorite people in this world. How grown up you’ve become.
You laughed at me. Silly mommy you said, being seven took forever. Being eight is better.
You’ve changed a ton this year, my love. You’ve grown. Not just taller, but wiser and more mature. Seven was a phenomenal year for you. For us. This year, we’ve grown much closer than before. In a way, we’ve become sort of friends. It’s been great. You are being mostly challenged in school for the first year ever, which you love. You are being forced to be more responsible at home; something you wanted and needed, but it took me a while to realize. I’m sorry baby, but I may always have to learn through you. You are the first after all.
In one year you have changed from only wanting to discuss Disney tween characters lives, to always wanting to talk about what is going on in the world; what is happening in our family. In one year, you have learned so much. You love to learn. You are constantly telling me something else you need to learn about, something new you want to learn how to do.In one year you changed from a little girl to a big girl. I’m not sure how I let it happen. It sounds silly I know, but this is the age I’d bottle you at, if I could. Most of the time, people say that about babies and toddlers. I do about your sister; nineteen to maybe twenty-three months was amazing with her. But you? I’d bottle you up at this age.
In some ways, I want to hang onto seven. Seven and I got along great. Then again, I said that about six too. Six was such a change from five for us. Seven made our relationship even better. It’s not about the year or the age though, it’s about you. It’s about you getting to a place where you understand life. You like the world more, the more you understand. It makes you happier to not be treated like a baby. You always tell me, mommy, tell me the truth. I do. Sometimes it hurts to tell you the truth, sometimes I’d rather not tell you the truth. But it’s important for you, so I do it as often as possible.
You are a natural born leader. You have dozens of friends. Trust me on this. You literally wanted to invite 32 people to your birthday party next week. You and Mackenzie** are, yet again, have a joint party. Cosmic bowling. Your auntie and I keep wondering how long that will last, the joint parties. Personally, I think it will continue forever, just because then between the two of you, can get away with inviting EVERYONE you know.
We have had a lot of talks about friends lately. About how easy it is for you. How easy it is for Kenzie as well. How it may not be so easy for others. How you and Mackenzie need to be friendly with everyone, even if you aren’t their friends. I know by the time you read this, it won’t matter anymore. By then you will be an adult and you will have found your own way through life. I also know I can only make sure you know right from wrong. At some point I have to trust that you know the difference.
Your favorite show right now is, Jonas. The Jonas Brothers. How I wish they’d go away. Really, when you are over loving these little boys, I am going to forever remind you of how lame they were. Sorry sweetie, but they are horrible. They can’t sing or act. Yet, they seem to be EVERYWHERE. I keep my mouth shut now….okay mostly I keep my mouth shut. Dude, they wear skinny jeans. Boys who can’t sing or act, wearing skinny jeans. Enough said.
You love Playing Majong, probably as much as I love playing Bejeweled. Let’s just call it what it is, an obsession. We are obsessed. We sit on the couch sometimes, side by side, me on my laptop and you on your daddies laptop, playing computer games. Tonight you will open the gift that you have said you wanted all year, an iPod Touch. I wnet back and forth on it, but I know you are ready for it. You are responsible enough and frankly, you’ve earned it this year.
Mario Kart, after an entire year, is still your favorite Wii game. You beg me every day to let you read the Twilight books. I’m not going to give in yet. Maybe when you are nine. Just because you can read and understand it, doesn’t mean you are old enough.
Baby girl, your birth made me the person I am today. You made me a mother. You challenge me every day to be a better one. I could not be more proud of you if I tried. I know eight will be an amazing year for you. Know that whatever happens in life for the next year, you will always have me.
Enjoy being eight, okay? Enjoy each day. One day, I promise you, I’ll let you turn sixteen.
Happy birthday Morgan,
Love mama
**Mackenzie is Morgan’s best friend…since oh say in utero. I call her my niece often, because her parents and I have been friends since we were four years old. Kenzie’s birthday is December 27th.
A troll told me that yesterday. Along with the random troll comments: blah, blah and blah. I deleted it immediately, but I found that first line to be kind of funny. I over use the words I love you.
Maybe I do. Maybe to an outside person, that could be seen as true. I’ll tell you something though, I never say it if I don’t mean it. They are not just random words to me. I may say them all the time to people, but only people who I love. I promise, you will never see me telling a bank teller that I love them.
I was a few months shy of nineteen when my friend Andrew took his own life. One thing, one small thing that comforted me, was that the night before, I’d spoken with him on the phone and I’d said, I love you, before I hung up. He’d said it back. Every time I got angry at the world or him for what he’d done, I remembered that. Small yes, but it helped me to heal. He knew I loved him and that in the end, is what matters.
When I was twenty-one, I was in a bad car accident. I called Logan, but he didn’t pick up the phone. I tried to call my mom, before I remembered that she was out of the country. Then I called my dad. I cried and cried. I was in pain. I was scared. I knew the car was totaled. He told me it would be okay. That Morgan wasn’t in the car. That I was okay. A ruined car didn’t matter, as long as I was okay. As he hung up, he told me he loved me. Twenty-one years old and that was the first time he said it to me first. He’d say, he loved me too, if I said it first. But he never just said it. My own dad never just told me he loved me. I have always known he loves me. I think. Mostly?
I was lucky though. I have an amazing mother. A mother who always told us she loved us. All dam day. Maybe she didn’t hear it enough as a child. I don’t know. As a teenager, if we’d fight before she’d drop me off at school, she’d scream it out the window. It was soooo embarrassing. I always knew though. I never questioned her love for me and my brothers.
I am like my mom. I tell my kids and my husband that I love them all the time. I end emails with it. I text it to my friends. I say it in comments and on Twitter. Sometimes multiple times a day. I never want there to be a question. I always want people to know that I love them.
There are no guarantees in life. We are not promised tomorrow, just today. On this holiday week, I plan on over using the words, I love you. They never get old. I never tire of saying it, nor hearing it.
My most overused words…well that’s okay with me.
I hope you all have a wonderful and safe holiday. Enjoy your family. Make sure they know you love them. Sometimes even if you think they know, it’s still nice to hear it. Trust me on this one. We’re leaving bright and early tomorrow morning. Driving 12 hours in a car. With three children. For 12 hours. Hold me.
There are lots of things I could write about today. My kids have done/said some funny things this week, which I want to document and share at some point. The fact that it seems like my house is going to be the party house at Christmas. Seriously, we keep telling more people they can stay. Where, I don’t know, but I’ll find them all floor space. I could tell you about my fear of today, my fears about marriage counseling, my fear that it is worse than I said, worse than I even know.
However, I can’t stop thinking about Anissa long enough, to tell any of that to you. Which may be a good thing. I went to bed last night thinking about Anissa and I woke up this morning just praying for some good news. It took a few hours, but there has been an update. Each time there is an update, my heart speeds up for a minute or two. My stomach drops. It is scary to click over and see what it is, but I can’t seem to do it fast enough. Anyway, you probably all know this already.
I am not sure how exactly I found Anissa’s blog. I actually found her blog before I friended her on Twitter. I’m sure it was through AMomTwoBoys or Mamaspohr somehow. It doesn’t really matter. I know I’m been reading over there (first at her old blog and then the new one) for about a year. I *may* have read a ton of her archives, before I ever even bothered to say hi. What? Stalkers can be cool right? Right? It was on Twitter where we started talking. I am a smart ass, she is a funnier smart ass. The woman cracks me up. Almost every single tweet she writes is funny. No joke.
When I was thinking about who I wanted to meet at BlogHer, Anissa was high on that list. She is friendly, funny and super freaking cool. The kind of girl you hope will say hi to you. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance too, seeing how I knew how many people wanted to meet her. I also knew she was doing more extra things than anyone could have possibly had time for.
I got lucky. The first person I saw when I got to the hotel was her. Heck, I hadn’t even made it in the door of the lobby when I saw her. I was showing up and she was about to leave on some adventure. I knew she’d have no idea who I was if I didn’t say something, so I did. I went and introduced myself and got the biggest bewb hug in return for it. She has no idea of any of this, but in that moment, as I had ridden to the hotel I thought I’d made a huge mistake in going. I wanted to turn around and go home. Hugging Anissa and having her tell me she was thrilled to meet me, made me think, dam I can do this. I will be okay here, I CAN do this. I saw her a few more times, but we only talked for a few minutes here and there. Each time her voice sounded scratchier and hoarser. By the end of the weekend, I told her she sounded like the smoker sisters on The Simpsons.
Every time I log into Gmail, I see her name. On the sidebar, it shows who is online to chat. I don’t think Anissa had logged out, because her name has been there for the last two days. Anissa Mayhew it says. Underneath her name it says, jumping the shark. It shows a orange dot, which is generally the I am not here, but am logged in, color dot. Yesterday it made me sad. I had the fight the urge to click on it and say hi all day. Today it’s comforting. She is there, in my Gmail. Her name is there. She may not be there now, she may not be there for a long time. But she’s there in my heart. That is a sign, at least to me.
Anissa, I miss seeing your tweets. I’d give anything to have you show up, so I can make stupid jokes about it being Eat Moar Kittehs Friday tomorrow. Keep fighting sweetie. We’re all here pulling for you. Praying for you. Loving you.
Today is a celebration, although not the one we’d all like to be having. Today should be a day of cake and ice cream, of toys that make noise and make parents want to chuck it at the gift giver. (Or re-gift for that person’s birthday the next month. Oh yes, I have.) Today should be a day of hyper toddler squeals and maybe even a sugar induced meltdown or two. Today should be the day a beautiful little girl, named Maddie, turns two. Unfortunately, that day will never come.
Maddie only had one birthday here on earth. Today however a ton of us are giving her the only birthday we can. We are remembering her. On this day, we will remember her. Remind the world of the amazing girl who helped bring a huge community together.
When I was seven years old, I told my Grandpa that I wished I could have met his mother, my great-grandma Annie, my namesake. She passed a year before I was born. He told me, you can meet her, one day. Until then, you remember her, you just keep remembering her by looking at pictures and telling people the stories I’ve told you about her. It’s how we keep people alive. We remember.
I never had the chance to meet Maddie, although I wish I had. I wish I’d gotten to hear that infectious laugh and seen that beautiful grin, in person. I’d of charmed her, no doubt in my mind. Babies love me. It may be the M&M’s I keep in my pocket at all time, but that could just be a rumor.
No matter, really. I will never forget her. I will always remember this amazing little girl, who lit up the world.
I love this picture. Adore it, is more likely. It’s a funny shot. Babies and cake, gotta love it. But more than that, it reminds me of the amazing faces Maddie always had in photos. Special thank you to Heather for letting me steal it.
Today is for Maddie Moo. Happy 2nd birthday angel baby. We all love you and miss you.
Tons of love and hugs to Heather and Mike today. You two have my whole heart, today and every day. For Maddie’s birthday, I’m going to donate money for another Support Pack. If you can, will you please join me in this. It really is for a great cause and it helps new NICU parents.
Much love to Meghan at AMomTwoBoys for putting this linky love party. If you did a post about Maddie, please go over and add a link to Meghan’s post. Also, if you want to comment and let me know, I’ll come take a look at it.
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