Enjoy.  And thanks, Maria!

***

Heard of the Muppets?  Here’s a little-known-fact:  I’m actually like a quarter Muppet.  You can tell by the fact that I’m incapable of posing for a happy picture without opening my mouth like I’m going to eat the camera.  Also, I flail.  And bounce.  And I randomly burst into a guttural voice so often that my three-year-old already does the same thing.

Thanks to my Muppet lineage, I have a heightened ability to laugh at my life.  This helps when I’m dealing with situations like:

•    Having a doctor spontaneously teach an entire room full of medical students how to do a pelvic exam using my pelvis.
•    My son calling a huge man wearing a bandana “LOOK, A PIRATE!” at the grocery store.
•    Calling and freaking out to a host at a restaurant only find out 45 minutes later that the host was actually the owner and head chef.
•    My son pooping his pants at the playground twice in two weeks.

Or this one:

Last Friday my husband spontaneously asked me out on a dinner/dancing date. (Years ago, before we had kids, my husband and I went out dancing every Friday night.)  He asked me at quarter of seven, so I scrambled to find a babysitter, took a “shower” with a wet washcloth, and downed a bunch of caffeine to try to ward off the sort of headache you get when your three-year-old wakes up from his nap covered in pee and screaming about “DON’T LOOK AT ME I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU.”

We made it out the door just before 9 pm.  I had one drink at dinner, and another at the club upstairs.  Since he was driving, my husband only had one drink.  He’s 6’3” and isn’t really affected by one drink.  Me?  After a light lunch and a late dinner, I was buzzing all over one two drinks.

Which resulted in fascinating conversations at the fancy pants dance club where we were people watching.  And by fascinating I mean that I was driving my husband crazy.  (Though I think he half-deserved it for refusing to actually dance with me after getting me liquored up.)

Husband:  I hate Britney Spears.

Drunk!Yelling!Muppet!Wife: But think about it! Think about how much money motivates any of us!  What if you were just SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and someone offered you MILLIONS OF DOLLARS!  BRITNEY SPEARS IS A VICTIM! And she’s cute so shut up!  She’s trying to be a good mom but the media won’t leave her alone!  DIDN’T YOU WATCH THE DOCUMENTARY ON MTV?  Her boys are so cute. Don’t be heartless, I can’t imagine all that money—you’d just do whatever people told you to do.  And she’s a good dancer!  DUDE THIS VIDEO HAS A WHOLE CIRCUS THING AND SHE’S DANCING IN FRONT OF FIREWORKS.  AND SHE’S HOT.

Husband:  You’re right.  I love Britney Spears now.

Drunk!Wibbly!Muppet!Wife:  Why are you being mean to me?

Husband:

Drunk!Distracted!Muppet!Wife: Oh my God look at the ceiling, it’s like we’re in a giant whale.  Like on Finding Nemo!  I love it when Dori speaks whale.  Juuuuuuuassssssssstttttt leeeeeeeettttttttttt gggggggggggggggggggoooooooo—

Husband:  We’re going home.

She also has amazing taste, so who better to ask to write a Handmade Inspired post for me? I’m so lucky that she graciously agreed.

See for yourself how delightful she is.
* * *

Hi lovely people. Erin from It’s Your Movie here. When Beth very sweetly asked me to write a guest Handmade Inspired post for her my first reaction (apart from feeling very lovely inside and gracious) was pure excitement.  And a little panic.  But mostly excitement.  This is a subject I am both familiar with and love to talk about.  (Okay there are a lot of subjects I love to talk about.  I love to talk!)

I have been very into making and decorating things my entire life and very clearly remember the day I discovered etsy. We had just moved into a shabby little house that had nothing handmade OR inspired decorating its walls. I was feeling kind of gloomy and was googling something or other (this part is not important, just stick with me here) and then lo and behold! Fanfare played in the outskirts of my imagination as etsy.com loaded onto my computer screen for the very first time.  Art! Jewelry! Letterpress! Clothing! Toys!  I was in disbelief and felt pretty small when I started scrolling through and realized the sheer volume of brilliant people out there making art.

I have had many items saved in my favorites folder over the years and it is difficult to cull them down into just a few items, but if I could purchase things at will at this very moment, here are the things I would buy.

Fondue and Fondue Jr sell light switch plates, tissue boxes, and other small items that have been covered in super fun vintage wallpaper. I adore vintage wallpaper and often fantasize about doing a bathroom or closet in it.  Realistically I think it is so kitschy that it should be digested in small doses. These little accessories are just right.  I would definitely do the switches in my kitchen and in my daughter’s room if I had some spare cash.

Tollipop oh Tollipop! These watercolors are so youthful and sweet and they make me feel both spunky and a little wistful, like a child. I specifically love the Bundle Of Joy print. Looking at it conjures up that glowy feeling you get when your baby rests her head on your shoulder.

Speaking of wistfully beautiful illustrations, I am IN LOVE with Jen Corace’s illustrations (please click over and check out her gallery– “swoon” doesn’t even cover it) and this handmade planner from If’n Books features a Corace illustration on the outside and blank pages full of promise on the inside. Sometimes it’s nice to use our hands to write things down rather than just type type typing all the time right?

(Left to right, Fondue, Tollipop, If’n Books)

Gypsystudio and Gemma Factrix are just two of many lovely jewelry shops (are you listening husband?) that I peruse. They both incorporate feminine details and vintage beads mixed with hammered metal.  This combination of materials is as contradictory as any random day in my busy-mom life. I also love the feminine whimsical details at shops like Sea Unicorn.  Okay fine, I just love the bow.  I just. love. bows.

(Left to right, Gypsystudio, Sea Unicorn, Gemma Factrix)

And then there is the whole letterpress thing. I have a soft spot for letterpress and I’m not even entirely sure why. Things just look so much more official when pressed with a letterpress. I love the way pressed paper feels and looks and probably even smells.  (I haven’t checked to be sure, but in my imagination it smells wonderful.)
I wish I had my own letterpress in my garage right this second.  Letterpress and printing are happening in such a fun way right now.

So pretty. (Left to right, Sweetbeets, Kseniya, CindyTomczykArt)

And the messages!   I want to buy them all and tuck them into my bag or pocket and then whisk them out for friends whenever the occasion is appropriate.

So fun.  (Left to right, linocutboy, richiedesign, laladexpress)

Thank you Beth for asking me to come ramble on your blog. I hope I have left ya’ll feeling happy and inspired.

And in case you didn’t know…  (this is the part where I whisk the card out of my bag and surprise you with it) you are AMAZING!

When Amy was twenty weeks pregnant she went in for a routine ultrasound, she entered the room filled with excitement at the idea of finding out if her second child was going to be a boy or a girl, she left with the knowledge that her child had Anencephaly and would not survive.

She and her husband needed to decided whether to terminate the pregnancy or carry Lydia for as long as she possibly could.  After many tears and countless prayers, they decided to carry their beautiful miracle for as long as possible.

When Amy was close to thirty weeks pregnant, I was able to spend the day with her.  I am still in awe and will be forever, of her grace, her poise, her strength, her faith.

It has been one year today since Lydia Grace took her first…and last breath.  I asked Amy to guest post today about her beautiful daughter.  Grab a kleenex…and please, don’t hesitate to share your thoughts, your words of support, whatever you want with Amy in the comment section.

Thank you, Amy.

——————————-

Remembering You.

One Year Ago….

I was in a Labor and Delivery room awaiting your arrival. I was advised to get rest and tried to sleep, but my nerves were too great. I listened to songs like Amazing Grace and Somewhere Over the Rainbow and prayed for God to help me through the physical and emotional pain. I prayed for our time together, that it would be everything we needed it to be. I thought about Job who stayed loyal to God after losing everything he had—his wealth, his children and his health. He persevered through suffering and here I was trying to do the same. I held your daddy’s hand. We sat in the dark, yet the room was softly illuminated by the white lights of your Christmas tree.

Twenty six hours after I arrived at the hospital, I was actually able to doze a bit. I awoke after what felt like 10 minutes and I felt your head, right.there. I woke up daddy and called for help. Then, everything happened so fast. I was crying and shaking when the nurses and doctor encouraged me to push. I think I screamed that I wasn’t ready. I was so scared because I knew that finally saying hello to you also meant goodbye. And then…you were no longer inside of me. You were out of that safe place that carried you for 34 weeks. You were placed in my arms and I was stunned to see you. You didn’t make a sound. Daddy and I did though—we wept. You didn’t move either, but your little heart beat for 28 glorious minutes. What a bittersweet day, that of your birth and death. I remember it so vividly and I hope I always do. I was given a few hours to bathe, dress and cuddle you. To focus on your beauty—your hands, long fingers, big feet and precious lips. I kept you close. There was no reason for you to be anywhere else. I did all I could with you in our earthly time together and I am forever grateful to God for the special moments He gave us.

Today…

I look at the pictures and watch the video of you often, typically after everyone else is in bed. Your brother, Alex, likes to watch it, too. He’ll ask me if I’m sad and hug me tight. Sometimes he asks when you’re coming back from Heaven. When asked what he’s thankful for, Alex always says his baby sister. And he means it.

For the most part, I feel like I’ve been pretty numb this past year. But as December 3rd has been fast approaching, I’ve gotten more emotional. Thoughts and memories of you flood me. The Christmas decorations, music and holiday spirit put you on my heart. Will I feel this nostalgia and longing every Christmas?

I wasn’t planning on it, but I lost it in church on Sunday. We had placed some pink and white flowers on the altar in memory of you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire service, which was about Hope. Then, at the very end, during the last song, Mighty to Save, I was blind-sided by a baptism of a beautiful six month old baby girl. I found myself watching, crying, feeling, wishing…for what might have been. What a special and amazing ritual a baptism represents and I’m ashamed to admit I was envious that I was not the one holding my baby at the front of the church. The more I reflect on it though, I am confident that you know Him, you are with Him, you are happy and whole because of Him and I find comfort in that. I don’t have the jealous feelings and “why me” mentality on a daily basis, thankfully. I rarely think, “Oh, Lydia should be with us here right now” or that you’re missing from a family picture. Because I know you were only ours to keep for a short while. Instead, I sometimes think about how we will be reunited in Heaven. I know your body will be healed and perfect but, when that day arrives, will you still be an infant or grown into a young woman? I don’t know how that works, but I have no doubt I will know you.

Thanks to you, I truly know the meaning of unconditional love. God gave me grace when he gave me you, Lydia Grace. You were..you are…the greatest unmerited favor I could ever imagine. I didn’t deserve you and all you taught me, but God gave you to me anyway. Why? I suppose I’ll know when I’m finally with you again. Until then, I’m just incredibly humbled and grateful to Him for loaning you to me. For choosing me to be your mother. I am blessed.

I hope I always think of today, December 3rd, not as the day I lost you, but as the day of your birth. I want to celebrate you. Happy Birthday, sweet girl. You’ll always be my daughter. I love you so much.

Wow.  I am truly overwhelmed by the responses to my
story!  I want to thank each and every one of you for writing and sending your
well-wishes and prayers our way.  I have to tell you that the more people I have
to pray for my soldier the more secure I feel! He called in the wee hours last
night and things are going well so far.  He should be sending me an address soon
and to those of you who asked for it to send him a care package, I will be happy
to pass it on.  This has truly been a remarkable experience for me and I
appreciate all of your support and kindness.  What a wonderful group of women I
had the privilege to hear from!  Again, thank you, thank you, and thank you from
the bottom of my heart!

I have a very special guest writer today.  Her name is Teresa.  She is my sister-in-law, her husband, my brother, Dan, left for Iraq two days ago.  I asked her to write for this blog, her thoughts and emotions as a way to share with all of us, just exactly what it’s like to watch your spouse be deployed into a war zone.  Not one time, not two, but three times.  She sent this to me in the wee hours of the morning this morning and today, I opened up my laptop, at Panera and began to read, and I cried.  This is one of the most amazing, emotional, heart breaking things I have ever read.  I ask that you please show your support for both Teresa and Dan in the comments, they both check my blog regular and Dan is due to guest post sometime soon.  Thank you, Teresa.

I have survived day one and almost day two now without my soldier.  I say survived because that’s exactly what it is.  Emotions are a heavy thing. The hard ones can eat you up if you let them. The night before he left I was actually patting myself on the back pretty much all day because I had kept it together. I even thought this time might be a little easier since I seemed to be getting through the day with smiles and no tears. The whole family went out together: Dada, Nommy, Ga, Ehtu and T-Monkey. (those are the names my 23 month old has given all of us in the house- and yes, she is the monkey!) Anyway, we all got through dinner with laughter and TONS of food and even a few happy pictures.  The last time he deployed none of us could eat or be in the same room together without crying. So, I thought this was great- piece of cake, right? 

Everything was going great until it was time to put the kids to bed. Since Dan had to be in at 4 in the morning for his weapons draw and itinerary check, we thought it would be best to let the kids stay up a little late and then stay in bed and sleep while I took him to the unit. We have this routine with T-monkey where we put on her music, give her a ba-ba while we rock her and then put her in the crib.  She’s our last baby so give me a break about the bottle thing, ok?  Anyway, Dan took this shift since it would be the last time he would see and hold her for a good 8 months. And that’s when it hit me.  Like a freakin’ freight train. I lost it.  All control over tears and emotions just flew out of my Colorado windows.  All I could think about was how much he loves that little girl and lets her get away with anything and everything because she is his baby girl. 

I remember when I got pregnant with her- 9 years after my middle child- and he hoped and
wished that it would be a girl because we had two boys already and that she would look just like me.  Well, he got exactly that – it’s like he special ordered her from God!  And since then, she has been in control of his heart and I love it.  I kept thinking about how hard it’s going to be for him to not wake up to her bright, curly-headed smiling face and her ‘hi, dada’ in the morning.  How she won’t really understand why she doesn’t see dada when she gets out of bed in the morning and why he hasn’t appeared for dinner. How she won’t understand that when she asks for dada he can’t come to her and pick her up and save the day.  My heart is breaking and the tears are here again.

Then, it was the boys turn. They had kept it together really well for the past couple of days.  They are 14 and 11 and handsome and wonderful boys. They mow the lawn for me and do the dishes after dinner and crawl in bed with me for 30 minutes at night before they climb in their own beds just to hang out.  They are my saving grace.  We took them bowling, and Dan took them to the movies – just the guys- the day before. Dad even made their favorite ribs on the grill a couple nights before even though he really didn’t have time. But that would be the last set of ribs to be made for about 8 months.  Lord knows I don’t know how to make those things or even have the patience to mess with consistent heat on the grill!  It was time for lights out for them as well and I don’t know if any of you know this but as a mother of little men, the hardest thing to see is your not- so -little boys trying to be brave and not cry for dad. In the end they couldn’t hold it in.  They are veterans of this deployment thing. They have been through this 3 times before, really remembering at least 2 of them. This man of mine is their one and only hero.  They look up to him and think he is the best thing since sliced bread. They can’t get enough of him. And now they are left with just me- to be the Dad and the Mom. To throw the football and play Wii with. (I have to admit I actually love the Wii!)

And I have to be strong and tough so they don’t worry about me too.  They have enough to worry about.  I just pray that my lines of communication are open enough to them so that they can talk to me about anything, even embarrassing boy stuff that only Dad can hear about.  They only cried for a little while since they were so tired from staying up late.  My plan worked, a little.  I couldn’t turn the water works off- I tried to go in my bathroom and look myself in the mirror and say "stop it, now. He needs you to be strong and happy.  You don’t want him to think of you like this.. puffy eyed, red nosed, and absolutely hideous from all these tears. They can wait until tomorrow."  But I just couldn’t do it.  It was my strong, handsome husband who found me and was strong for me. Holding me and telling me he’d be home before I knew it. That everything would be ok, just let it out and don’t hold it in on his account. Superman, I tell ya.

We packed for the rest of the night trying to make sure he had everything he needed to get by at least until I could send him more. We had this whole romantic night planned but it just didn’t happen.  I won’t think about that though because originally he was supposed to have left on our anniversary and then his flight was pushed back.  That was really our night.  It was perfect and I felt so blessed that we were able to have one more anniversary together. That’s the memory of us that I want to hold on to.

It was finally 3:30 in the morning and time to load the van and make that 25 minute trip to the Fort. It was silent. We held hands, tightly. Those damn tears just wouldn’t stop. We promised each other no regrets. He kept insisting that everything was going to be just fine. If only I could tap into some of that incredible strength of his. 

When we get there it’s sooo dark and sooo reminiscent of the first time he left when the war was just starting.  Back then he was a company commander and all of his 100 soldiers and their families were bustling about, getting their gear loaded, tons of pictures being taken.  All the guys were upbeat and ready to go and do what they had been training for ever since they first signed up. He was busy checking all the blocks on the list making sure he was ready to lead these men to the best of his ability.  It something right out of a movie.  This time, there would be only one other family there. A woman with her two small daughters dressed in jammies and wrapped in princess blankets. Her soldier, returning yet again just like mine.  Her soldier with the signs of war on his face, just like mine. Her situation just like mine, a single mom again. The signs of another deployment on her face, just like mine. We  understood each other without even having to say a word. I love the Army wife bond.  It’s an incredible thing.

He has always made me laugh and this morning was no different- he was still being funny and putting a smile on my face. They drew their weapons and it was time to load the van. I had Dan walk me to the car cause the thought of seeing him get in the Army van and drive away was just more than I could handle. I missed him already and he was holding me in his arms.  I kissed his beautiful face and promised him I would take care of his babies. He promised me he would be safe and would be home soon. I pray for that.

I cried for the first 10 minutes on the trip home. I called my sister, and she comforted me enough that the tears subsided. I was doing ok, tired but ok until I pulled into our driveway by myself. Entered our home, by myself. Crawled into our bed, by myself. The loneliness punched me in the gut. I cried some more until I fell asleep. 

It’s been 48 hours now since he left. He’s already called to tell us that he’s safely in Kuwait and is waiting for the next flight to Baghdad. I’ve been trying to clean the house and stay busy because the minutes are dragging by. I’m pretty stoked about the 2 days being behind us already. I’ve already sent him a picture of his baby girl of his two favorite things- her hair right after a bath and her playing in her Elmo t-shirt. I might be ready to walk out the front door tomorrow. I usually lay low for the first few days in fear of showing emotion in public especially in front of new neighbors. No promises. I did take the kids out in the back yard tonight to play so I feelthat’s a good start. I don;t want anyone to feel sorry for us. We’ll make it through this- just like we have in the past. Just well wishes and prayers will do.

And just a little side note, if you ever have the opportunity to support the U.S.O. please do so. While in Dallas, they showed our soldiers kindness, gave them free food and drinks and let them use cell phones while they waited for their flight.  It’s a terrific organization. Oh, and if you ever see a soldier in uniform, don’t be afraid to walk right up to them and shake their hand and thank them for their service.  It means more than you could ever know.

So, fortunately, I have friendly friends who will help a sister out, my friend Sarah from Milk & Honey is guest posting today.  Sarah is a friend of mine in real life, if I had to describe her in one word, I would use the word hilarious.  She’s a comic with great timing, she says things like "I like my fair share of gangster rap" and I laugh and laugh and laugh and then I see that she’s serious, which makes her even funnier.  And?  She so cute and looks like Sarah McLachlan.  Here’s her guest post for today.  Show her the love and make her feel welcome, k?

Last
week, my husband and I closed on the sale our house. After three months on the
market, we accepted a good offer so that we could move on to the next chapter
of our lives. Minor detail: we did this without knowing what that next chapter
is. We’re staying with his parents until we figure that out. We’re in good
company, because also staying with the in-laws is my husband’s brother and his lovely
wife and family, while they wait to see where their next chapter leads.

It’s
been fun living in close quarters with these eight other people of varying
ages; four of them are under six, and two of them are in their sixties. I’ve
never had this much constant interaction with small children before, and it’s
made me realize a couple things: peanut butter is a food group in and of
itself, and also, kids listen, really listen to what you say. They take
it in, dissect it to make sense of it, and share their interpretation with
others. They live by your words, no matter how ridiculous they may be.

Naturally
this scares the shit out of me, since I’m ten-ish weeks away from having my own
small, impressionable person. I’ve been thinking about the words my mom used
when I was a kid, and their effectiveness. Hoo boy, were they effective. And,
little did I know then, hilarious. I’m looking forward to busting out some of
these gems as soon as I get an opportunity. Until then, I share them with you,
eager reader, to use as you see fit. 

"You’d
better leave him alone, one day he’s going to be bigger than you!" This should be said
when a younger, yet taller, sibling habitually makes an older child’s life
hell. Usually a dual-purpose statement to both warn the young’n and give hope
to the older child, who, for the record, probably won’t ever be bigger, but
will become freakishly strong as he hits young adulthood. Seriously. Did I ever
show you my broken finger.

"Don’t
make me shout like a fishwife!" A front-porch favorite for calling the
kids in for dinner. "Josh! Sarah! Dinner! Come on home, don’t make me
shout like a fishwife!" What makes this most effective is the unexpected
element of embarrassment. Oh, they’ll come running alright, just so the
shouting will stop. Straight from the source of all things mom, this one is
most often attributed to grandmas.

"Your
room looks like a whore’s nightmare." Another grandma-ism. Something about
the word whore coming from a sweet grandmother’s snarled lips makes the chore
of bedroom cleaning more satisfying. And dirty. And maybe a little horrifying.

"Pretty
is, as pretty does." Just as effectual as saying pretty girls don’t burp or
fart. Or pustie. Because that’s the only time moms use this one, really. It’s a
thinly-veiled threat disguised as a lesson.

"What
goes over the dog’s back comes under his belly." This is most often
used when a daughter’s (or son’s) best friend steals her boyfriend (or
girlfriend). Moms love this one because it’s a non-violent expression of
impending, unavoidable revenge… "Oh sure, she got away with it this time,
but that hussy’ll get hers, just you wait."

"Don’t
ever put anything in writing that you don’t want to come back to you." One of the best
lessons a mom can share. Especially when a daughter (or son) might be
considering writing a nasty letter to above mentioned former best friend. Face
to face confrontation, or confession, is always ideal, except in cases where
legal documentation may be necessary. Ahem.

Knowing
what to say, and when to say it, carries so much more pressure than I ever
considered. I’m not just talking about the easy stuff, like knowing that
‘yibidies’ means boobs, ‘putsie’ means fart, ‘tinkle’ means pee and a
‘ding-dong’ is a… uh… ding-dong. How do you console with the right words?
Encourage? Threaten and scare the snot out of? (Only when necessary, of
course.) Maybe embarrass on occasion? What’s your favorite nugget of mom-ism
(or dad-ism) gold?

I am not
sure if Beth even knows this, but the day I found out I was pregnant with my
fourth baby, before I told anyone, I called her. I let it ring and ring
and then I’d hang up when there was no answer. I did that a few times. I don’t
know why. I couldn’t tell you the last time we had seen each other or even
emailed. Something in me wanted so desperately to share this moment with her
and say Guess what? I’m pregnant, too!

We would
be expecting at the same time, but I never got to see her pregnant with James
and Jake. I only know the before & after Beth. From reading her posts, of
course, I knew the “during” Beth in a certain way, I guess. The excitement and
the life- lives - which filled her body. And then before I could truly
cherish in this time with her, her belly and arms were empty. I never saw in
person what carried her eyes from full of fun and mischief to the eyes where
tears and hurt and immense loss had now made their home. 

The night
we finally arranged a girl’s night out, when Beth probably wasn’t quite ready
yet, my soul attached itself to her in a way I can not explain. But the girls
that were there know what I experienced. They felt it, too. Our very beings
united and have yet to separate. I’ve never seen Beth more beautiful and
radiant. There, sitting next to me full of heartbreak and grief. Me, with a
baby kicking inside when she should have two kicking inside her, too.
From then on I’d do anything for Beth. I ate a cheeseburger for her that night.

I
previously had thoughts of hiding my belly. Doing everything I could to help
her forget that I was pregnant like she should be. How can I be a good friend
in this time when I might just be a hurtful reminder? But, if you know Beth,
you know she is honest and raw and with her, there is never an elephant in the
room. It is the very thing she is against. And if one happens to show up, she
is the first to acknowledge it and call his fat butt out and make everyone
laugh about it.

I was
just with Beth the other night and saw a whole new light and dark within her
eyes. She’s not just the after Beth anymore. I’m really not sure who she’s
becoming right now, to be honest, but the deepness that is her heart and core
is none like I’ve ever seen before. I’ve almost felt guilty that I’ve learned
more from her during these past several months than I’ve been able to give
back. It is never my desire to be the taker. But she draws you to her and
reveals a spirit- a crystal clear window to look in and see her broken heart,
observe it, poke it with a stick, and tell you how much it sucks.

And because there are no elephants allowed, I never feel like I have to caress her
hair, feed her bible verses, and say it’s all going to be ok. Because to her
it’s not ok. Yes, everything will eventually seem better… someday.
Someday she might even be pregnant again and head down a whole new road and
life expanding her family in the way she dreams. And I trust those
dreams will come true. I also believe that James & Jake will always be a
part of those dreams, too.

No matter how long or short their time was with us, they will continue to
sparkle behind Beth’s eyes- sometimes with laughter and many times with tears.
They are breathed within her words on these pages. I feel their presence. And I
know that James & Jake, whether we speak it out loud or not, will forever
connect our magical sisterhood without end.

And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave…

When
our National Anthem is sung, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed with such strong
emotions and then of course tears. As an adult with more love and understanding
for my freedom, I can’t hear this beautiful tune without it bringing me to
tears. The words and music are powerful and heart tugging.  It’s a
reminder of our country’s veterans and the brave men and women in the service
today that are proudly protecting our land and our freedom. These great souls
each give so much from their lives and their own families so that we as
civilians can live our lives as uninterrupted as possible. It’s simply amazing
and I am forever grateful.

As
a proud sister of her twin Army brothers (yes we
have all seen the FABULOUS photos and demand a calendar), Beth herself knows
first hand the demands on our military and family. She has watched the news and
read the papers each day knowing her brothers were fighting for our country. I
can’t speak for her, but I can only imagine how difficult this was for her
entire folding laundry family.

On
this Independence day my family and I are celebrating the safe homecoming of my
cousin Sgt. Nater Tater. Although it’s only for a few short weeks before he
heads back to Iraq, this holiday weekend means so much more to all of us. Just
the joy and pure, honest happiness we all felt when we picked him up at the
airport. Simply amazing. The moment his mom wrapped her arms around him and
smiled, finally holding her only child will for ever be engraved in my memory.

For
months we’ve started our days praying for his safety, along with the
other men and women in the armed forces. So this fourth of July it’s just
a blessing to have him safe on American soil (even if it’s 2
weeks) and have him home…Home in his bed, driving his Chevy pickup,
playing with his son, just being(consuming beer). The perfect holiday for
our soldier.

So
as we all go wave our flags, sit and cheer through the town parades and light
fireworks, stop and think about those who have served and those
currently serving for our country. Love it. Enjoy it. But please, don’t forget
to be proud that we all have the freedom to just be. Please be safe and enjoy
your Independence day. I know my family will be…Happy Fourth of July
everyone!

Dedicated to my sweet friend Beth and her
family, as a blessing on their beautiful new home, June 2008.

When Beth emailed me from the midst of her moving chaos to ask me to guest post
here at her beautiful and enviably cleverly-named blog, I got to thinking about
my own past moves, and bittersweet departures from my former domiciles, and the
things about each of them that have made them each a home. As a housewarming
gift for Beth and the rest of the FoldingLaundry family, I thought it’d be fun
to wax nostalgic for a bit on my own, and then step aside and do something I
know Beth loves to do – invite YOU to share your own thoughts – this time,
about what makes your home HOME.

I first set up housekeeping on my own in a little red brick duplex in downtown
Greenville, South Carolina, in the shady, sleepy little valley of the Reedy
River. To be so close to what’s become a diminutive but thriving mecca for
locals, with plentiful nightlife, restaurants and a vast array of cultural
offerings, the tiny, 50-year-old cottage nestled into a cloister of hardwoods
offered a quiet, peaceful haven for young woman fresh from her parents’ nest.
Even now when I close my eyes and remember, I can see my tiny orange tabby
kitten, Popper, perched atop a chair, peeking out the front window, watching for
my return from work in the late afternoon, his ears too-big triangles, flitting
this way and that on his soft, furry head as he listened for the familiar sound
of my car’s engine. I remember gentle evening breezes though the open bedroom
window, ripe with the sweet, wild fragrances of honeysuckle and damp, mossy
creek bed.

I remember the feel of crisp cotton hand-me-down sheets, washed with the only
cheap laundry detergent I could afford on my non-profit salary and dried
on the clothes line just outside that window – sometimes with the yellow of the
South’s inescapable pollen still lingering in creases, other times with the
surprise of a maple’s helicopter seed whirling and winking through a ray of
bright morning sun as I carefully smoothed down a colorful quilt both my
grandmothers made by hand. And I remember the dappled, filtered sunlight, the
arched doorways and wood floors, and the quaint, charming lines of that home.
These warm details etched themselves indelibly into me, and I’ll always cherish
and look for them in subsequent homes.

In Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin, a little village just north of Milwaukee where I
started my career in the financial services industry, I glimpse the streets
around my townhouse, this lazy grid of an old, established neighborhood,
graceful with tudors and stone cottages, the shade of a thousand elms
stretching branch to branch in a living arch, turning the North-South avenue
into a white, green or many-colored tunnel. I remember lush, sweet smelling
lilac hedges on green velvet lawns wreathed in tufts of cheerful daffodils that
bobbed in the spring winds. Shoulder-high snowdrifts lined sidewalks in winter,
and neighbors walked blocks with nothing to see to the left or right but dirty,
blackened walls of ice.

The picture window in my cozy living room showcased a vast swath of sky, blue
or grey or white with promise, and framed that same orange tabby as he blinked
regally out at the world, older and wiser but still full of youthful curiosity.
I remember cold, quiet Saturdays spent sewing curtains of bright floral prints
– the brighter the better to combat the long, slow, pale winter, and happy
golden autumn Sundays of beer, chili and Packer football on a tiny television
with long rabbit ears in the corner.

I bought my first home in the Atlanta suburbs in 2001, a two-story, white-sided
testament to my independence. The vaulted ceilings in the master bedroom
crowned me with all the glory I craved, a new homeowner, proud of her castle,
sleeping in a room fit for a queen. The back windows overlooked a small pond
beyond which lay a rolling pasture for three the horses I came to think of as
my own.

I married from that house, and my handsome groom came home with me. Two months
shy of our first anniversary we carried our tiny baby girl over that threshold
and tucked her into her crib in a room filled with memories gathered from the
homes of our families. We watch videos now of that baby, that tiny toddler, and
as she becomes herself, I see the low-slung windowsills in the living area
where she first pulled herself to her feet, the steps she tottered up time
after time as my heart sat pounding in my throat, the watermelon pink bathroom
I painted for her when I was round as a melon myself, but full of determination
to give my unborn daughter the world in brilliant color. The day we before left
that home for good, my mother bathed her youngest grandbaby in the kitchen sink
- both of them laughing and splashing, oblivious to the monumental memory they
created in this daughter’s and mother’s heart.

Home’s a place, yet surely
more a feeling that
transcends the simplicity of four walls or three steps up. A house becomes what
happens inside it and around it, memories paint colors as brilliantly as any
brush can, and a family’s love shines as radiantly as sunlight through windows,
be they old or new.

Beth, I wish for your new home, as you tuck your family inside it for the first
time, the sweet, fragrant breezes of hope and joy, the brilliant rays of
laughter and fun, and the warm, comforting quilt of love and contentment. May
this new house of yours be a place alive with all of the comforts of home for all of you, now and
forever.

Now it’s your turn to share what makes your home home to you.

Megan makes her bloggy home at FriedOkra.
Please stop by for a visit sometime soon.

During
a recent conversation Beth and I had about our children, she asked me what my
connection was like with my boys.  She wondered what it felt like to be a
mom of autism, and how the disorder affected the bond between a mother and
child.  I had to take pause and think about this question, because in all
my many, many conversations about my kids, this question had never before been
asked of me.  How does autism affect our bond?  Do we even have a
bond?

I
know that we do have a bond, even if sometimes it’s hard to describe, or even
for me to feel.  My boys need me, at the primal level that a baby needs
its mother, but also at an emotional and spiritual level.  They need the
security, the love, the faith that I give them.  Their need makes me feel
loved, even if they hardly ever show me.  I know that when they are having
a hard day they need me to understand, and when they calm down due to my
understanding, their peace shows me their love.  The angst leaving their
face is my reward for another day of persevering.

In
some ways I feel blessed that my first born has autism, as do his brothers,
because I don’t really, truly know what I’m missing out on.  When I say
that my son and I are bonded, it’s because once we had a moment where he had
peace, looked me in the eye and told me he loved me.  But that only
happened once, and while I’d love it to be every day, once is still enough.

I
have heard that other mothers experience hugs and smiles and amazing conversations,
but I do not.  I do see the world through their eyes, and even though that
world is mysterious and sometimes finite, it makes me notice the wind more than
most moms.  Or the ant, and his mission from the grass to the ant hill.
Or the floating leaf, and its path down the street, over the house and
around the corner, watching it long after it has disappeared from sight.
These things may have gone unnoticed if they were "typical", in
their place a talk about the kids’ day at school or for a round of Go Fish or
bedtime stories, but most of the time I prefer the wind, or the ant, or the
leaf.  Those things touch me and remind me of life and its perfect
creation and place in this world.

As
my boys progress slowly, day by day, I continue to get a tiny glimpse of who
they are, and that they’ve been inside themselves all along.  And I see
that their love for me, too, was waiting inside their hearts the whole time.
So for now, the fleeting eye contact continues to give me butterflies in
my belly, because seeing their eyes, their souls, is such a rarity for me.
But I know they see me, feel me and know my love deeper than I realize.
And that is a bond that exists whether I feel it or not, and so I sit and
wait.  And try today, to catch their eye once more.

***

Arianne
also blogs at her personal blog To
Think Is To Create, and you can subscribe to her
blog here.   

I was honored beyond words when Beth asked me to guest-host for her while she is
very, very busy cooking all of her meals ahead of time, wrapping individual and
group servings, and then placing them lovingly into the freezer… for, you
know, when she and her family move into their new home and need nourishing
feasts.  I mean, I have to do my own cooking and freezing too… but for Beth, I
will put that off for now.  Or, for eternity.

But seriously (yes, man can
live by pizza alone)… Beth said that I could blog about anything, anything
that I want, so I choose Beth. 

I met Beth at an extraordinarily
happy time.   Happiness radiated through each syllable of her every word.  She
had her beautiful family… but there was something of the miraculous going on. 
She was expecting twins.  Identical twin boys.  Little boys who were loved
beyond measure and anticipated beyond bounds.   There is a saying for happy
people… "The better part of happiness is to wish to be what you are."   

Well, Beth was what she wished to be, and she glowed.

I will
leave you with this perfect picture for a moment… and I will take you to an
assignment that I used to give my seniors when I taught high school English.  I
had them draw the "river" of their lives… the source, the banks, the
tributaries, the topography, the geography.  The rapids or whitewater or
waterfalls.  The bends, reaches and flow.  Were there dams, levees or canals? 
What did the river sound like?

Of course, I was always given a
very hard time with this assignment.  "Come on… that is impossible (substitute
stupid, sick, psycho)."  But at my gentle insistence (translation:  the threat
of a big fat "O"),  the artistic rivers formed.  And what was always interesting
were the waterfalls.  My students generally explained the waterfalls of their
lives as free-falls… changes that could not be avoided.  Changes that, well,
changed everything.  And using the logarithmic scale to classify the fall, most
were the most powerful… a 10.

A 10.  A fall like Niagara’s.

And
as Beth’s perfect river carried her in the glorious sunshine, she couldn’t have
seen the waterfall that changed everything.  The geography that didn’t look the
same.  The rapids that carried her so far and so fast from her happiness that
words cannot describe the pressure, the power, the turbulence.  Beth’s two baby
boys, James & Jake, had been lost. 

Her extraordinary joy became
lament.  Her tears became her river. 

Moments turned into hours.  Hours
turned into days.  Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months.  And
through this time, Beth has kept each and all of us who love her in her "boat"
on her river.  She has let us feel the rain.  We have seen the sun.  We have
cried. We have laughed.   It takes remarkable generosity to keep people "in"…
because people are often too timid to ask to be included in the processes that
we call grief and healing.  Beth does this for us.  Nearly every day. 

Beth is one of those brilliant women, who with her words, touches our
hearts and souls.  I have always said that only a brilliant writer can make
someone cry… and make someone laugh.  I have laughed out loud with Beth.  I
have cried her river. 

And now I will share the most pure act of love
and friendship that any woman could share with another.  Two weeks ago, my
dearest friend lost her first little granddaughter, Caroline, at birth. 
Caroline was born a baby angel.  With unthinkable grief, I turned to Beth.  At
first I hesitated because I did not want to burden Beth was such tragic news. 
But I found myself emailing her late one night, tears streaming from my eyes. 
Beth was there in an instant.  Beth’s divine reason and perfect nature and true
beneficence carried me through my darkest moments.  And I kept thinking over and
over… and my friend said to me… how can this woman who has experienced the
most unbearable pain imaginable have the solidity and strength of heart to
console in such a life-giving way?

I don’t know.  I just know she can. 

This is the Beth I know.

This is my friend. 

I love her
more deeply than I can express… and I am never at a loss for words (just ask
my kids)!

And you know the most fascinating thing of all?  I have never
met Beth face-to-face.  I don’t know the color of her eyes or how the sun may
make her hair shine.  I don’t know how tall she is or how long her arms are in
an embrace.

I know Beth through our blogs.  Through her words.  Her
honest, funny, deep, expressive, powerful, beautiful words. 

Beth, who
knows that the softest breeze, the littlest flower, the most unique traffic
sign, the greasiest hamburger or the coldest Miller Lite make happiness. 

Beth, whose great river has so many, many tributaries.  These
tributaries are all of us.

I love you, Beth!  Happy moving!