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Clara Lou Lou

October 4th, 2012

It’s a distinct memory for me, that moment when Clara was born, hearing her cry, seeing her face. I recall not just marveling at her beauty and health but the beauty and health of all of our four children. Like her birth was the one that officially formed their union of siblinghood. A strong circle, forever bonded, together, strong. It wasn’t so much about me as it was about having created four beautiful siblings for each other.

And then I saw her face. So beautiful, innocent, sweet …

Like any child, she’s had her rough moments, the crying spell, the time when all she needed and wanted was mommy or daddy to hold her. No matter what, she’s been such a beautiful light in our lives. Every single one of us. Last week, I packed Eli up to take him grocery shopping with me, we pulled out of the driveway, he cried “I want Clara Lou Lou to come to the store!” (Clara Lou Lou is her nickname in our house, Eli says it in such a way that you want him to say it at least 599 times a day.) They love each other so much. She watches him intently, he watches her play with his mom and Dad or his siblings and waits a few moments, smiling before he yells “Eli’s turn!“

I love, more than anything, that they’ll be together, always. Like Anna and Noah, they’ll never know life without the other. It’s so amazing to watch every single day. Even those moments when they’re snatching toys from each other. (okay, those aren’t so pretty but still, I’m so happy to have these children that even watching them fight, I feel so blessed.)

This Saturday we are celebrating Clara’s first year with us with family Nothing fancy. A lot of pink, tons of candy and a ridiculous amount of love.

I’m so thankful she is in my life. I’m so thankful I’m her Mama.

Time flies, my friends.

Time flies.

To + Fro

August 26th, 2012

I’m about to take you all on a journey of miscellaneous, k?

First, You Capture is going to be a bit late on Monday, in the afternoon, mayhaps? I’m quite behind and have physical therapy early in the morning so my day is going to pushed back a bit. In the meantime, if you haven’t participated before, now is a great time to grab your camera and take some photos. This week’s theme is “play.” Join in! It’s great fun.

Last Thursday, I was taught how to use one crutch. I was given the instructions to practice a few times a day in my hallway.

Well.

I really, really liked the freedom of HAVING A FREE HAND, so I’ve basically ditched the other crutch about 80% of the time. I’m not sure that’s okay, I’ll confess to my therapist tomorrow but I’m hoping she’s okay with it. I’ve been able to clean and carry water! It’s amazing.

(note: this is just with a boot on. Without a boot, I still can’t bear any weight on my foot without a boot or a crutch.)

Last week, Anna and Noah started school. They were both crazy excited to get started.

Can you believe how old they are? And speaking of old, next year, Eli will be starting preschool and in just over a month, Clara will be ONE. I can’t even believe it.

And here’s something fun for you. This is Anna and Noah in 2009. This comparison is great for two things. It shows how much they’ve grown but also, in 2009, I shot that photo with a Nikon D80 (a great DSLR) in automatic. The image on the right was shot in manual.

You guys, when you can control the settings, the results will amaze you!

I’m going to be teaching a shooting in manual workshop the weekend of September 15 and 16. It’s two days and about four hours per day. I’ve taught it once and had fantastic results. If you’re interested, send me an email! I’ll post more on my photography blog tomorrow. Only four participants per class due to the one-on-one nature of the class.

So, there’s that. And I just want to leave you guys with some wise works to start off your week.

Make it happen, friends.

(source)

Desperately Seek Leg

August 15th, 2012

Clara woke me up at 5:55 this morning. Sometimes this is okay, except really it’s not ever okay.

But today it was extra cruel because I can’t walk and Brian is in North Carolina for work and I was hoping she’d stay in bed until Anna woke up so she could help me take Clara down the stairs.

It’s 9:12 am and Anna is still sleeping.

I keep my hopes very high.

Not only did I struggle with “how in the hell will I get her down the stairs” but also, I need to brush my teeth and put my contacts in and also bras are handy to have on sometimes but leaving Clara on the bed while I perform these typically simple duties is dangerous since she’ll crawl right off the bed.

Have I mentioned she started crawling? It’s true. About five days after my injury she started crawling. Isn’t that spectacular? Know what is spectacular? Our babysitter’s last day was the very same day of my injury. hahahahahaha, oh life. You’re so crazy.

But, luckily, I have since hired a new babysitter who we love that will start next week. I can’t wait. Also, I CAN NOT WAIT.

Anyway, back to this morning. I was able to turn a Baby Einstein video on in our room, so Clara was pretty captivated. I was able to brush, contact lens and bra myself.

The task at hand was getting down the stairs with my crutches and this very large 10 month old. I’ve included a photo of her chubbiness. I’m not sure how this happened.

Anyway, we did it. (with baby monitor and iPhone tucked into my waistband) I slid down on my bottom,with Clara on my lap, sliding my crutches down as we descended.

I then proceeded to get my coffee, which sounds simple but with crutches, walking with coffee? IMPOSSIBLE.

Well, almost. I did that, too.

I found out yesterday that I won’t be walking without crutches for another two weeks. Also, no driving. These things madden me and make sad. But I realized I’m grateful for a few things.

One: crutches.

Two: having kids 8 and 9 years ago (they’re such good helpers)

Three: things with hooks (things can hang so nicely from the bars where my hands go.)(but then when things are hanging there, my hands can’t go there. It’s quite a predicament.)

Four: people who help (so so thankful for this)

Five: a machine that ices me four times a day

Six: healing

Oh, it’s 9:35 and Anna’s is STILL sleeping. I’m so glad I made it down the stairs a long, long, LONG time ago. Now it’s time to head back up for Clara’s morning nap.

Listen

May 13th, 2012

“We must build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear.”

-Martin Luther Kind, Jr.

There are always big things to do in life. Things we hate, but we do them anyway. Things we love, so it’s easier to tackle. And even though we love? It doesn’t always remove trepidation, it just that something bigger than you (your heart? God? the universe?) helps you move your feet in the right direction.

And then there are things we fear, we tread softly, anxiously.

Listen to Your Mother was this past Thursday. I feared speaking in front of this audience of 350 people like nothing I’ve ever feared before. There were tears and sweat (OMGTHESWEAT) and anxiety. At some point, a few weeks and, okay, DAYS before LTYM, I would ask myself “what did you do, Beth? Why did you feel it necessary to audition?”

Friends. I panicked.

It was until the day of the show could I answer my own question “because I want to share my story.” It was a want. A need. A desire. A love. An excitement.

My nervousness turned into excitement, like a switch, I beautiful switch.

And so, Stephanie, my graceful friend and the (amazing) director, approached the stage and welcomed the crowd.

And then she introduced me. I was first.

I began to read, I felt the audience listening and I enjoyed every single moment I was on stage, sharing my story.

It went by quickly. I sat back down and I was able to relax and take in the amazing stories about mothering that continued to grace the stage. As a guest, I know, the night was amazing. As a member of the cast? It was something I will treasure for the rest of my life.

I am so glad I followed my heart. I am so happy I faced fear.

It was a magical night.

(the video will be online this summer, I promise to share with you as soon as it’s available.)

Happy Mother’s Day.

What it’s like

April 25th, 2012

I’ve had a lot of people inquire as to why this year is the last year for Team James and Jake. (I don’t think I’ve announced that on this blog, have I? Well, this is the fifth and final year for Team James and Jake.)

After last year’s walk, or maybe even on the drive to the actual walk, I told Brian what I was thinking “just one more year.” I told him that I’d see how I felt during the year and make my decision once the fundraising push for 2012 began.

2012 rolled around and I knew my decision. It was simple.

This was it.

Things are so busy right now. Four kids, a full-time (totally dreamy) business, a husband who works in a different city entirely and who goes to grad school. It’s obvious that time is an issue. Time should be an issue.

What’s not obvious is how hard it is to handle people forgetting.

I get it. It happens. I’ve forgotten about others, I mean, I remember, on many occasions, the raw heartbreak that I once read about, I remember clutching my chest and tears streaming down my face as I read about someone’s loss, someone other than mine.

And then

it happened

to me.

And there’s no way to properly describe what it feels like. Aside from the pain, the heartbreak, the learning how to take each day and RE-learn how to live having lost something you so desperately loved, there’s another aspect you probably don’t think about.

It’s how others feel.

There’s always an initial outpouring and it’s necessary and beautiful and the best thing for a grieving person, no matter how much they try to deny people (*raises hand*)

And then there’s the people, the people who feel completely vested in you. Whether it’s your mother or your sister or a blog reader, whether they’ve met or not, they are there, holding your hand, whether it’s in person or virtual. It’s there and it’s felt and it’s … again … necessary. (and so, so beautiful.)

And life … moves on … and things being to

trickle.

And that’s how it is. That’s how it’s supposed to be, that’s what helps us become stronger and move on.

I like it that way. I like that my deepest moments of despair are reserved for just me or are intimately shared with someone close to me. It doesn’t have to be tears, it can be a look, a simple nod, but it’s there. And it helps.

After losing James and Jake, I shared something with my sister, I said “I can’t bear the thought of them being forgotten.”

And I couldn’t and I still can’t. But I’m trying to reframe that thought. We, as a family, will never, ever forget. But others, they’ve moved on, they’ve shared their piece of their heart with me and it was so beautiful and some of you still do. Some of you donate or walk or share with me when you saw two birds and it made you think of our sweet babies. And some of you, have picked up your loving hearts and shared them with others who needed it. And I … love that.

And so maybe that’s where I’m at. Maybe I know you haven’t forgotten, I mean, maybe I feel at peace with this decision of this being the final year of Team James and Jake because I BELIEVE that you, as a loving human being have given me all that you could give ME and you’re ready to give to someone else who needs you as much as I did.

And Oh my God, that is completely okay with me.

***

And so, if you feel it, donate. If you can and want to, walk with me. But if not? That’s okay with me. Knowing your heart is doing something good for anyone is the best tribute I could possibly ask for when it comes to James and Jake.

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