Monday, August 29, 2011

The Inevitable

I'm waiting for the inevitable.

I wish I wasn't.

I'm sort of partly in denial.

The inevitable in this case is that my good friend will pass away from cancer soon.  She's in her last days.  The doctor gave her two weeks.  Her body has already begun to shut down.

I keep praying and hoping for a miracle.

In the meantime, the inevitable looms before me.

I can barely process that fact.  Because of that, I can barely write about it.

My amazing, courageous, strong friend.  One of my best friends from the past when I lived in NYC.  One of the strongest women I know.

A friend who is like family to me, though I don't get to see her often.

Wish I could be there with her.

Instead I am here mired in the dailyness of my life, looking after my three young boys and dealing with household issues.

When I handle my cranky toddler, I think of her.  As important as it is for me to be with him, I feel like it's just as important for me to be with her and I silently detest the unfairness of it all.

These precious boys are the living but my friend is dying.  

 If we were closer, I could be there.

I honestly don't want to wait until the inevitable to be there because the Husband and I will be there -- celebrating her life, supporting and comforting her husband and 6 year old son...

Her husband reassured me that she knows (and he knows) that my husband and I are there with them in spirit.  That if we were closer, we would be there. 

But I want to be there before the inevitable happens.  To see her again.

I guess I am there in a way.  Through phonecalls and Facebook.

All my love, and support, and encouragment and prayers and comfort will get to her this way.

And that's just as good.

I have to remember that.

Update:  She passed away two days later on August 31st.  Such a strong, courageous woman who put up a good fight.  I leave tomorrow morning to go be with her family and celebrate her life.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

A Meeting...

Darkly handsome lab tech Nate meets heartbroken Jaya when he draws her blood. Captivated, he takes her home to Nashville where she heals.#blood

This piece was inspired by a prompt from Write on Edge that asks you to write your story as a tweet - 140 characters.

Thursday, August 18, 2011


We had to leave immediately.  That was my first thought when the blood poured out of me - chunks of red fell to the floor, splattering on the bathroom wall.

We had to go to the hospital.  

I was nine months pregnant but this wasn't just a typical bloody show.  This hadn't happened with my other two pregnancies.

That was 10 minutes ago.  I put down the cordless phone, still anxiously heaving even after my conversation with the doctor.

My baby.  Are you alright? Please be alright.  God, I can't lose this baby.  I just can't.  

We were going.

I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the bedroom.  I caught my husband carrying the sleepy older boy from the bedroom towards the front door.

"Rhys is already in the car," he said quietly, referring to our middle son and stepped out the front door.

Butterflies flew frantically in my stomach.  Worry sat like lead on my shoulders.

I cut off all the lights and rushed out into the night, closing the door behind me.


Driving through the darkness of Boulder towards the hospital, I could see the outline of the mountains.  My husband driving fast but not too fast.  A still quietness like a blanket draped the car.  The two boys in the back of the car were groggy.

"Mommy, where we going?" the almost 5 year old asked sleepily.

There was a knot in my throat.  I couldn't speak.  I just held my hand to my belly and prayed.

"We're going to the hospital," my husband said.  "We're going to check on the baby."

Baby, please move.  Just move.  The words moved through my head repeatedly, urgently after I finished my prayer, as I pressed my hand against my belly.

"We're almost there," he stated quietly to me, tension surrounding each word.

Yes, almost there.

 Hold on, baby.  Hold on. 


19  hours later, I stared at my newborn son sleeping quietly in the hospital crib, oblivious to the racket his two older brothers were making.    My husband stood up from the chair he sat in and looked at me, nodding.

He addressed the boys.  "Okay, you guys ready to go home?"

The 2 and 1/2 year old was still rolling around frenetically on the queen size hospital bed as the 5 year old jumped up and down on the end.  I laid on one side, bracing myself.


I shook my head, then looked back at my husband.

This was going to be our life now.  Everywhere we went.  This crazy.

And then we realized we were already home.

This non-fiction piece was inspired by a prompt from The Red Dress Club  which asks to begin your story with the words “We had to leave immediately” and end it with “And then we realized we were already home.”

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Wrapped in Love

As you start in on another school heart is in my throat.

What will the year bring?

My special kid.  My sensitive boy.

You can bring tears to my eyes in both joy and frustration.

A thrill to be around for some.  A bit high maintenance for others.

Endearing to those who are patient.

Misunderstood by those who don't quite get you - at times, even by friends and family who are close to you.

But your sweetness still shines through.

That pureness of heart.

Your maturity is becoming evident, too.  It's a process.

Your love and loyalty knows no limits which is why your hurt, when rejected, runs deep.

Talkative.  Inquisitive.  Mischievious.  Dramatic.  Particular.

Needing that constant reassurance.  Needing to know that you are doing good.  That you are loved.

Here's wishing you:

A year of new discoveries, amazing knowledge,  sincere, connected friendships.

Positive reactions, positive vibes, the strength and maturity to handle the negative.

The integrity to do what is right and not follow the crowd.

As you walk through this year, know too, that you are not alone.

Your Dad and I are there with you every step of the way.  There's no need to really fear.

Because you are wrapped in our love.

And whatever else happens this year, that fact won't change.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Most of All...

An entry from my journal...

I realize as I sit here at 11:47 in the morning that what I want most of all, deep in my bones...that what I'm going to pray for - I mean, in a get-down-on-my-knees pray for - when it comes to my 6 year old is for him to find two best friends this year who like him for who he is and can understand and appreciate him for it.  Two friends who are sincere.

My other prayer is for the 6 year old to become mellow in his reactions (it may take coping mechanisms) and more outwardly focused in his thoughts.  And of course, to take a stand for himself on his own when needed.

It's funny.  This fast that I'm on in the moment - just to prep for bloodwork - is now beginning to clear my mind, now that I've gone past a few intense hunger moments.  3 more hours to go.

This afternoon, after I get my blood drawn, we're headed to a school "meet-and-greet" where the 6 year old will meet his new teacher and see his new classroom.  1st grade here we come.  What a milestone.

I'm still not ready.

Okay, now it's fifteen minutes later and I am emotional - a reaction towards my 6 year old son. We had an exchange.  But I learned something from him, about him.  He does better with short conversations.  No long lectures.  I remember getting advice about that regarding boys - too many words and they just zone out.

Okay.  We both agree.  He'll focus on a person when that person is talking to him and I'll keep my 'lessons' short.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Crying Over Spilled Milk

I know the phrase: "There's no use crying over spilled milk."  I get it but I can't help but cry over spilled milk (both literally and figuratively) when it happens at least 3 times a day.

Not little spills. Huge spills.  Spills the size of a small pond appear constantly on my hardwood floors, followed by an "Uh oh" face from either one of my three boys.

Near the kitchen table.   In the middle of the family room. By the bathroom.   Mostly around the kitchen table.  Massive.  Across the table, along the chair, and on the floor.

The spills take on the form of milk or water and the occasional lemonade.  That last one instantly drives me to tears (of frustration mainly) because then you have the added element of sticky floors.

I. Hate. Sticky. Floors.

That means extra time cleaning -- extra time I don't have normally.

The cleaning.  Since the spills are unexpected, they usually come in the middle of another task I'm doing - like paying a bill or sending an email or working on a website or making dinner or putting clothes away...

The upside: I have a 17 month old who loves to wipe up things.  He's become my little helper.  I could use any help I can get.  Now to get the 6 year old and the 4 year old on board without having to twist their arms (figuratively) to do it.

Maybe then I wouldn't cry so much.

I'm pouring my heart out at Shell's - Things I Can't Say.

Monday, August 8, 2011

California Dreamin'


It was where it was at this summer for our Big Vacation.

Lots of fun in Grandma's Backyard in Bakersfield...

A Baseball Game on the Fourth of July in LA... 

Playing in the sand and chasing waves on the beaches of Santa Barbara...

And snoozing too, on the beach in Daddy's arms...

Not to mention, Visiting Time at the Mouse House 
(the boys' first time at Disneyland ever!)

Summer Fun. 


Linking up with Shell at Things I Can't Say at her Summer Fun Show Off.  Join in and possibly win some cool prizes, not to mention checking out some other blogs and other fun photos of summer. 

Friday, August 5, 2011

I'm a Mechanical Toy

Me, to my almost 6 and 1/2 year old: "Put your shorts on."

Five minutes later, "Put your shorts on."

Two minutes after that, "Put your shorts on."

Two more minutes after that, "Dude [Yes, I call my son "Dude"], really? Put those on.  What did I say? Are you listening?"



Me, to my newly 4 year old: "Go potty"

Five minutes later, "Did you go potty?  No?  Go potty."

Two minutes after that, "Now.  You need to go potty.  Now. Todaaay. [There's the impatient New Yorker in me coming out]"

A minute later...



Me, to the 16 month old: "No, no.  No, touch."

A minute later: "No, no, no.  No, touch.  Come over here and play with the school bus."

Two minutes later, a sigh from me: "Baby.  No, touch, I said.  No, no....okay, okay, okay... [because he's screaming and crying in protest at this point, so I'm rocking him] would you like a ball.  Look, ball!"

Five minutes later:  "Oh, baby.  No, touch!  I think it's time for nap."  It definitely is for Mommy. 

And the above is everyday, throughout the day, several times a day times three. 

I'm not complaining.  

I'm just a mechanical toy. 

Automatic.  In a constant state of verbal repetition.  That's me.  I feel like you just need to push that button located on my back and off I go.  Uh huh. 

Out come the same words, several times in one cycle, in a matter of several minutes.

Like now, as I type - me, to the almost 6 and 1/2 year old: "Sssh, not so loud.  The baby's sleeping."

Hmmm... Uh, here it comes again: "Sssh...Dude...the baby's sleeping."


Moms and Dads out there, do you ever feel like this?  Please share.  I'm hoping I'm not the only one...Uh oh, if I am...

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Two Friends: The Meme & The Writing Prompt

Ah...the meme.

Double Ah...the writing prompt.

I love both the meme and the writing prompt.

These two activities I participate in when it comes to blogging that has been a big part of my blog growth over this past year that I've been around.

It's been pivotal to my blogging.

If it were not for such memes as Pour Your Heart Out or writing prompts as Red Writing Hood or MamaKat's Pretty World Famous Writing Workshop  I would not be writing as much as I have been or having the constant interaction with other bloggers.  This has led to blog growth. 

These memes and writing prompts come in all shapes and sizes and have different purposes. The fun has been in being able to choose and share in a single interest with other bloggers who hold the same interest.

The fun also has been in being able to read and meet new bloggers who I otherwise may not have found in the blogosphere because there are so many of us bloggers out there.

Whenever I find myself at a loss of where to begin blogging, I participate in a meme or writing prompt.  Once I link my post in, I just start at the top of the linky list or if I choose to, the middle of the pack or with the person who has linked up before or after me.  Visiting these blogs has helped me to maintain the fresh blog relationships I've formed as well as help me start friendships with new bloggers.

The meme and writing prompt get me reading as well as writing.  It gets me connected with other bloggers.   Now I don't have masses of people coming over to visit but what I do have is consistent new visitors to my blog who end up following me or at least leave a comment when they stop by. And though in moments, I desire to get a whole slew of visitors and followers all the time, what I get instead are quality comments from thoughtful, supportive bloggers.


In this case quality trumps quantity.  

So hat's off to the meme and writing, both being the impetus of my blog growth this year.  You better believe I'm sticking to them,

This post is in conjunction with the Summer Blog Social being hosted by Jessica at Four Plus an Angel and Liz at Belle, Bean and a Chicago Dog.  Go visit and join in!