Love Wins

This morning, I found myself thinking about love—what it really means, what it looks like when it’s lived out day after day, and how easily it can be misunderstood.

There’s a quiet kind of strength that doesn’t shout, doesn’t chase, and doesn’t beg to be chosen.

It’s the strength of someone who knows how deeply they can love—and chooses to love anyway.

Love, at its best, is not about keeping score or proving worth. It’s about showing up with kindness, with patience, with a willingness to grow. It’s about seeing someone clearly and still choosing them. And when that kind of love is given freely, it’s not something small. It’s not something replaceable.

But love also has dignity.

It doesn’t shrink itself to hold someone else’s attention. It doesn’t compete for affection. It doesn’t twist into something unrecognizable just to stay.

Real love stands tall. It says, “I am here. I am steady. I am capable of something real and lasting.” And it also says, “I deserve to be met here.”

There’s a misconception that strength in love means holding on no matter what. But sometimes, strength looks like standing still. Like refusing to chase someone who is walking away. Like trusting that what you bring to the table is valuable—even if someone else fails to see it.

Because the truth is, genuine love—loyal, patient, and kind—is not easy to find. And it’s not something that can be recreated once it’s been taken for granted.

So this is not a story about loss.

It’s a story about knowing your worth.

It’s about understanding that the kind of love you offer is rare, and it matters. And the right person won’t need to be convinced of that—they’ll recognize it, protect it, and return it.

Until then, strength isn’t found in changing who you are.

It’s found in remembering exactly who you’ve been all along.

The Fog

 Grief doesn’t always shatter you.

Sometimes… it slowly erases you.

It comes in so quietly you don’t even notice at first. You’re still getting up, still answering texts, still packing lunches and folding laundry and showing up where you’re supposed to be. From the outside, everything looks… fine.

But inside, something is slipping.

Your laughter feels thinner.
Your joy feels borrowed.
And the person you used to be feels like someone you once knew… but can’t quite reach anymore.

That’s where I’ve been.

Because life didn’t just hit—it layered.

My dad—my strong, steady, “everything is going to be okay” dad—fought cancer for two years before he passed in 2018. I watched strength look like weakness. I watched a man who carried everyone… slowly need to be carried.

And I didn’t know how to hold that.

I still don’t, some days.

Two years before that, my grandfather passed away. Another piece of my foundation gone before I was ready. And maybe we’re never ready—but knowing that doesn’t make the silence any less loud.

And when you’re an only child… there’s no one else standing in that exact space of memory with you. No one who remembers the same stories in the same way. No one who can look at you and say, “That was our childhood.”

So you carry it.
All of it.

The memories.
The grief.
The questions you never got to ask.

And while all of that was happening, I was raising three kids—beautiful, growing, needing kids. And I did what so many of us do…

I gave them everything.

Every ride.
Every practice.
Every moment of being needed, I showed up for. Because loving them felt like the one thing I could still do right when everything else felt out of my control.

But no one really tells you what that kind of pouring out does over time.

No one tells you that one day, you might look in the mirror and not recognize the person staring back.

Not because she’s gone…

But because she’s been set aside for so long.

Now my kids are 21, 19, and 16. They don’t need me in the same constant, all-consuming way. And I am so proud of them. Truly.

But there’s this quiet now.

And in the quiet, the questions get louder.

“Who am I?”
“What do I even enjoy?”
“Where did I go?”

And some days, if I’m being honest… that realization hurts more than I expected it to.

Because it feels like grief all over again.
Not of a person this time… but of myself.

But somewhere—gently, quietly—something has started to shift.

The fog isn’t gone.
But it’s thinning.

And one of the unexpected places that helped me start to see again… has been where I work.

There were days I walked in carrying more than I could explain. Days when I smiled because I had to, not because I felt it. Days when I wasn’t sure I had anything left to give.

And somehow… it became a light.

Through conversations.
Through small moments.
Through people who probably didn’t even realize what they were giving me.

It reminded me that I’m still here.
That I still matter.
That there’s still something in me worth showing up for.

And maybe that doesn’t sound dramatic—but when you’ve felt lost for so long, even the smallest light can feel overwhelming.

It can make you cry in your car.

(And yes… that has definitely happened.)

And in the middle of all of this… I’ve realized something else.

Somewhere along the way, my husband and I had slipped into survival mode. We were teammates, problem-solvers, schedulers of chaos—doing what needed to be done to raise a family and keep life moving.

But now, in this quieter season… we’re finding each other again.

Not just as parents.
But as friends.

We’re talking longer.
Laughing more.
Remembering who we were before life got so full—and slowly learning who we are now.

And it’s not perfect. It’s not some movie moment where everything suddenly clicks. It’s small, intentional, sometimes even awkward steps back toward each other.

But it’s real.

And honestly… it’s been one of the most unexpected and healing parts of this season.

So I’m starting small.

I took my bike to get fixed.
And I can’t even explain why that felt emotional—but it did. Like waking up a part of me that had been sitting still for far too long.

I signed up for a pottery class.
Which honestly could go either way. I might discover a hidden talent… or I might create something that looks like it melted halfway through. Either way, I think I’ll laugh. And right now, that feels important.

Because maybe finding yourself again isn’t one big, powerful moment.

Maybe it’s this.

Tiny steps.
Soft courage.
Trying again… without needing to be perfect.

Letting yourself feel the grief… without letting it define the rest of your story.

Every family carries something heavy. We’ve carried our share. And for a long time, I think I let that weight convince me I had to stay buried under it.

But I’m starting to believe something different now.

That I can carry it… and still move forward.

That I can miss them… and still find joy.

That I can be a mom… and still rediscover me.

So here I am.

A little broken.
A little healing.
A little unsure.
A little hopeful.

Learning how to breathe again in spaces that once felt heavy.

I’m not fully “found.” Not yet.

But for the first time in a long time…

I feel like I’m finally coming back.

And somehow… that feels both heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.

Year Three

When my dad passed away, I figured once I got through that first year (the birthdays, anniversaries, holidays) without him, I thought the next year would get easier. It didn't...it just made it more real. The more time that passed, the longer I went without seeing him or hearing his voice. 

Tomorrow is three years since he passed away. It's a day that is really tough on me. The only thing I want to do is be alone. I don't know if that's the best therapy or not, but it's what I need in that moment. 

I expected each year to get a little easier and I would start a steady climb upwards in the healing and grieving process. Some days are better than others, but everyday I think of him. I think of words never said, I think of those last moments. I think of moments and memories that never got to be made. I think of how alone my mom is. I think of the loss my grandmother feels every day. I think about how I can't make myself go to the cemetery to visit his grave. I want to...so badly, but I just can't face it. And guess what, that makes me feel bad. I should visit his grave. I should have said things in those last moments. I should have said things through the years I had with him. But I didn't and I don't.

There have been so many emotions since the day he passed (and even the days leading up to his passing). Shock, sadness, anger, guilt.... My mom texted me last night and asked the question, "How do I get over this?" My response, "you won't, you'll just learn to eventually get through it." The pain doesn't ever go away, we just learn how to accept it and move on without him. He was taken in such a cruel way, he suffered so much in his last moments, which just isn't fair. He was in pain. He was so very sad. He didn't want to leave. The last time I saw him will be forever etched in my mind, which isn't fair. It's an ugly picture, a picture of pain and so much sadness.

It's weird when I'm going about my day and something triggers a memory. A song. A picture. A moment, its usually a quick glimmer of a memory that stops me dead in my tracks and leaves me breathless. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and try to remember. Because that's all I have - memories. Sometimes tears roll down my face. Sometimes those tears turn into a few minutes of complete sobbing. That's when I wonder when it will get easier.  I wonder when "Let's breath" by Pearl Jam or seeing a corvette won't leave my heart aching. Because I've heard that it does get easier. I've heard that the heart ache will turn into just a dull ache. I've heard that it won't be so sad in a few years. I've heard it won't be so bad in a few years. It will get better...someday...

I've heard that one day, memories will make me smile instead of weep.

It's not fair that all these new and exciting events going on in my families life: a new house, the kids' accomplishments makes me feel a little sadness in my heart. Sadness because dad isn't here to see it. The bitterness I feel sometimes overwhelms and consumes me. People say to live your best life, because "your dad wouldn't want you to be sad, that is not what he would want." But it's so so hard.

When I lost my dad, it wasn't like when I lost my grandfather two years before. My grandfather lived a long a beautiful life. My dad was a bitter loss. An unfair loss. He was still young (69). It was a loss that left me doubting life, doubting things I could have, should have, done. I should have called him more. I should have visited him more. I should have helped more. These are cruel thoughts, constantly reeling through my brain like a hamster on a wheel. 

I try not to let these thoughts eat me up. But somedays it's hard. On his birthday or Father's day I spend the whole day wishing I could call him. I wish I would have called all those previous years. I spend the whole day thinking of him. They are hard days. And just another constant reminder that he isn't here.

So as tomorrow comes around (September 28), it will be a hard day. I plan to take off work, go for a bike ride and be alone. Perhaps I will visit his grave, or just sit on my sofa and cry. And I guess that's OK. I can cry. I can still grieve. I guess there's no time limit on grief. I can take this process for as long as I need to. Maybe I'll never get over it. I'm not crying everyday, but I'm still grieving in my own way. And that's OK. There may always be a part of my heart that is broken from loss. I hope I find something that repairs that broken piece.  Grieving doesn't make you weak. It makes you human.

I was watching a television show with my daughter last night (she loves it, I'm not a fan, but hey, spending quality time with her is the best) and in the episode it was talking about a parent's death. In the episode, the main character had his shadow keep following him because he was afraid to face his past...he never visited his mom's grave. He refused to acknowledge his mom was gone and said it was so much easier on him to not visit. I get it. I haven't visited my dad's grave since the funeral service. I can't. Even now just thinking about it makes my whole posture and outlook on the day change. After my grandfather passed, I visited his grave numerous times. Did it make me sad? Yes. But it also brought closure. I was able to talk to him and remember him. Why can't I do that with my dad? My mom has invited me to go along numerous times with her and I can constantly come up with an excuse as to why I can't. I carry on each day sometimes with just a fleeting thought of my dad, but he's always on the back of my mind. There's always something that reminds me of him or something he had said or something he had done...but I'm able to push it down and carry on...focus on work, focus on the kids, focus on the house. Anything to not think about him as gone.
I wonder to myself why I can't face this. September will be 2 years since my dad passed.

Year One

I feel like I've gone through the past year on autopilot. I can't believe it's been a year since my dad passed away. Many months I felt like I was stuck in a dream, feeling like this isn't really happening. I've filled my days being strong for my mom and my kids. Because confronting and accepting the pain that is there is so scary to me. Pushing the pain below the surface is exhausting but it makes every day for everyone else a little easier. When I do have an outburst of emotion I'm either in my car alone driving to or from work or sitting in my office listening to a song that reminds me of my dad. I took a lot of strength from my dad and to lose him was crushing. I've found myself idolizing my dad. Why? Maybe because he was my parent and I respected and loved him but also because I can't bear to criticize him in anyway because he isn't around to defend himself. But I read something the other day: "It's important to keep in mind not everyone is perfect, and it's OK to have negative memories as well as positive ones." Man, that's hard to do.
I've gone through the day my dad passed away (also the weeks and months leading up to his death) and I've thought about what I could have done differently. I left my parent's home that night around 10pm thinking I would go back first thing in the morning and spend the whole day with my mom helping her take care of dad. I received a call around 3am. I knew I had messed up, missed my chance to spend his last living moments with him. This absolutely kills me. I wasn't there for him, I wasn't there for my mom in the very last moments. That night before I left dad opened his eyes one last time and said, "Love ya kid." He wasn't awake all day, but he was able to whisper that as I touched his hand one last time. Why didn't I say, "Love you." Why didn't I hug him? I had to get out of the room after he said that and as far as I could tell he was sleeping again before I even stood up. When I got to my parents house around 3am the morning of September 28, my mom was lying beside dad. She looked up and me and said, "he's gone." I immediately jumped into strong mode. I led my mom out of the room while the hospice nurse took care of some things. I called the funeral home. I waited for them to arrive all the while standing in the corner of the kitchen not even looking at my mom. Not shedding a tear. I left them in the house, led them to the bedroom. My oldest son was comforting my mom. I sat in the corner of the kitchen while they wheeled my dad out. I put the garage door down. I turned the lights off. I put mom in her bed and gave her a drink. I went to bed. That's when the dream started. The dream that has lasted the last year. Turn on autopilot and go. I can't do anything to bring him back, so must move forward. I'm not going to lie. It's been a tough year. The next days after his death were filled with filling out papers, getting funeral arrangements taken care of. Trying to make mom move forward. It's been difficult to say the least, but we were busy. The cards poured in, the visits from family and friends kept coming. It's like you're sleepwalking. I can't remember who all came to visit. I can't remember what all was said, it's like a fog. But I know I was busy. Then came the viewing and the funeral. So many people came to pay tribute to my dad. Again, it was like a dream. I remember standing for hours, watching the line grow and grow till it was out the door and around the corner of the building. So many hugs. So many tears from people. But I couldn't cry. Again, it was like a dream. And in dreams it's hard to scream or cry. I delivered the eulogy. I didn't work hard on it, it came to me one day while sitting at work before my dad had even passed. I knew it was coming, but I had no idea that I wouldn't actually be ready for it.

Below is a copy of my eulogy:

"Dad is gone. I was wondering if it would be any less painful if dad died at a later age, after a very full and complete life? Maybe...I think part of the grief I feel is because dad was so vigorous and full of life before he got sick. His cancer robbed him of that vitality long before it took his life.

As I thought about the daunting task of paying appropriate tribute to my father, I was at times overwhelmed at where to begin. To chronicle and praise my father’s achievements would be impossible: he quite simply did a lot and excelled at it all. And he wouldn’t have liked that anyway, he would have viewed it as boastful. I also thought about my fondest memories of my dad, but knew immediately that I had no hope of getting through those without sobbing incomprehensibly.

I thought about what dad would have wanted me to do today, and it quickly became clear. Life, for my dad, was always about lessons - lessons taught and learned. He looked for the lesson in everything he did, and he relished the opportunity to share them. And while he certainly could make any setting feel like a business meeting it was always clear that he did it out of an intense curiosity, a joy for human interaction and a belief in constantly trying to make the world a better place through mutual understanding.

So today, it seems most appropriate that, on my dad’s behalf I share with you two essential lessons that he imparted to me over the last 40 years.

1. Family First:

Dad was there for us, opinionated, ready to help. His love for his family, although rarely said in words, came through loud and clear in his actions. His last thoughts were what he could do to make sure mom, JD and I and our kids were taken care of. Dad’s dedication to and love for my mom is the stuff of fairy tales. She was his inspiration and his rock, and he was hers. Dad worked tirelessly to provide for mom and me, and raise me to be strong, moral and self-sufficient. When his three grandchildren, Kemper, Joey and Emma came along, dad was a grandfather in the model of his father. And for those of you who knew my grandfather, you know there is no higher compliment. It was sometimes hard to know, because dad rarely spoke about his feelings, when he was proud of me or disappointed. But in the end, I don’t think it really matters. He loved me, whether I succeeded or failed in my endeavors.

His last instructions to me were that we love and take care of each other.

2. Do It Now

It is an understatement to say that dad’s life was tragically short in time. I find solace, however, in the fact that dad didn’t waste any of it. He devoured life. He always had a project or an idea. If there was something that interested him, he would study it and master it, seeking out the experts in the field to hone his understanding.And I used to marvel at both his capacity for learning information, and the confidence and ease with which he would strike up friendships with highly talented people he didn’t know at all. Even more extraordinary was his ability to tell these experts that they were wrong about something on which they were the expert. Getting sick didn’t change any of this. In the last 2 years he approached life the same way he always had - living every day to its fullest.My dad’s example always reminded me that each of us does not know when we will leave this earth, so if you want to do something, do it now.

Dad leaves behind memories - all of our memories - of a hard-working man who was always there for his family and friends. I will miss his laughter, his bright smile, his stories that poked gentle fun at people, how he never complained how unfair life can be, his strength of will, and his unconditional love.

Dad would want to thank many of his family and friends for their love and support over his lifetime, but particularly, since he became sick.

May his journey continue in peace and the knowledge that he is loved and deeply missed.

But now we are at the year anniversary (is that the right word? Anniversary seems like such a positive inspired word). People forget you are grieving. They get on with their lives and it hurts. This doesn't make me angry, they have their own losses they are dealing with.  Some of them just can't relate to the fact that on some days, the pain I feel is still as raw as September 28, 2018.

Sometimes I will be doing OK and managing, when something catches me off guard. And then suddenly a surge of powerful emotions hits me like a tidal wave. When I watch a movie where someone's dad dies, or when a song comes on the radio that reminds me of him. It hurts. But these moments even though they are hard, sometimes they are the perfect way to let go of some of the emotion I've tried so hard to keep from bursting.

If you're reading this, and feel so inclined. Say a little prayer today for all the people that are missing someone. A prayer for strength and a prayer for joy in the memories.

the small things

There are days when certain small things happen: A certain song plays on my Pandora station, someone says a phrase to you, a photo pops up on Facebook. These tiny things seem so small, but have such a large impact on the day.
This post is not bout me being morbid or is it about me feeling sorry for myself. Over the past six months since my dad died, I feel like I've made progress in the grieving process. But THEN, something tiny happens and it sends my day into a whirlwind. I've also come to realize that when someone you love dies, you don't don't just have to say goodbye to them at the time they pass, but also at every crossroad. I've discovered that there are endless firsts and tough moments to get through, not just obvious ones like holidays and big events, but many others that are equally challenging to struggle through under the blanket of grief.
Losing a parent has been the most difficult thing I've dealt with. It's strange that I have seen family and friends lose parents but haven't heard much from them about what it's been like. As I travel through the firsts and other moments in the midst of sadness and loss, I'm forced to let go, one finger at a time. Some milestones like my 40th birthday, Christmas and Easter have been super hard, but some of the most difficult ones to get past are one's I didn't see coming
When my grandfather died, I knew it was hard for my dad. He would talk about him and tell me childhood memories of him. But I never saw him cry or exhibit pain over the loss. I assumed that because my grandfather was elderly when he died, losing him was just a part of growing older and that people had it in them to deal with that.
I have had friends lose parents. They seemed very strong in dealing with it. I never head anything from them about the difficulties they faced dealing with the loss. Again, the impression I got was that it was a normal phase of life that we go through and we're built to deal with it.
Flashback moments have been hard. The first time someone else passed away after my dad had passed away was one of my friends' mothers. I was all dressed and ready to go to the funeral to support her, but couldn't get my feet to move. I stayed home and cried on the kitchen floor. When I hear about friend's losing their parents, I flash back to how I felt. Or when I see grandfather's holding their new grandchildren. I flashback to when dad was happily rocking my newborn son in the rocking chair at the hospital. The biggest smile on his face. He was so proud. There's the flashback of him singing songs and me realizing I will never hear him singing again except in my dreams. One of the toughest flashbacks is walking into my parent's home. Walking in there and knowing he's not there and never will be again. My mind is constantly pulled back to another time. Sometimes it is to a happy time, but more often it's to darker days that let me know I am still heavily in the midst of grieving.
I'm learning it's not as easy as people make it seem to be. It doesn't matter how old you are or your parents when they die, their passing is one of the most difficult things in the world to deal with. And it's crazy that people all around you tend to hold in their emotions while in front of others. People (I) seem to think that I need to be strong for others. I do this all the time. I don't want my kids to know I'm in pain over the loss of their grandfather, I don't think they've seen me cry over his loss. If they are around and my dad is brought up, I'll put on a strong face, and even a smile, and talk about him lovingly.
So has it gotten easier six months on? Nope. Not for me. I had a couple of good weeks where I felt the pain was easing. Most significantly, I stopped thinking of my dad as I saw him in the last hours of his life. Covered in blankets, skin sunken in, groaning in pain. That phase was the most difficult and unfortunately those images still enter my mind from time to time. About 2 months after his death I started getting more normal images of my dad when I thought of him. Smoking his pipe with me on his lap when I was a young child, my dad working in the yard (one of his passions), going arrowhead hunting and getting lost in corn fields with him. The sudden weeping hadn't stopped, but it became less frequent and less intense.
I experience stinging moments, the moments that rub salt into my wounds. The times when I am watching TV and the story line is one in which a character is dying or has cancer. When I close my eyes to go to sleep at night and all I can picture is the image of my dad's frailty at the end. The times when I'm searching for a contact on my phone and his name pops up. One saving grace for me has been bike rides. The first time I went for  ride after my dad died, I got about a mile from my house and the tears started. Being there on the road by myself, away from distractions and so aware of the empty space beside me, was tough. The first time we gathered for a family holiday, with one less. We can all feel dad's absence so strongly. The first time I did something that I knew he would be proud of and I had to feel his pride in my heart because I couldn't hear it in his voice or see it in his eyes. The time when I needed to ask him a question and he wasn't there to give the answer that only he knew.
But six months later it seems I'm going through another phase. It's the worst when I'm driving to work and alone and a certain song comes on or someone says something to me that reminds me of him (who am I kidding, I can mostly trace everything back to dad and relate it somehow). I've also been dreaming about dad a lot. In all my dreams, he's laying in his bed under blankets, sunken skin and groaning in pain. They are not pleasant dreams. Sometimes he wakes up and looks at me and says, "Love you kid." The last words he said to me when he was still cognizant.
I also experience stand-in moments: Moments when I have to do things my dad should've been here to do: Worry about my mom, tell his grandchildren he is proud of them, give my mom the advice she thinks he would be giving were he still here.
I wish people shared more things they go through when they experience happy and difficult times. Just to know that you are not alone, that other people have felt what you are feeling. So many things we go through are just a normal part of this journey and sharing those things and having people share them with you helps along the way.
Losing my dad at the ripe age of 39 was one of the most difficult things I've had to deal with. Being able to share with you all has made it just a tiny bit easier.

The Only

It's been a long time since I've posted...and it's been almost two months since my dad died. It's so hard to type those words...they seem surreal. I still wake up some mornings and think it's all a dream, but then I realize it's not. That it is so real. I won't talk to my dad again. Ever.
I thought it was hard losing my grandfather, I loved him dearly. But that was nothing compared to losing my dad. I haven't truly grieved, and I know that. I think as adults, we get busy in daily life and sometimes in order to function, we force our grieving or pretend it isn't there. Sometimes it just feels easier. Dealing with emotions of grief feels downright crippling and suffocating. I was back to work 2 days after they buried my dad, I dove into work. Diving...Running...Escaping. When I'm not working I am taking care of our three kids, explaining to them that their emotions are normal. All the while not letting my own emotions flow. My youngest asked me the other day, "Why does it seem everyone has forgotten I lost my pap-pap? Time is moving too fast." My heart broke, I understood exactly what she was talking about. Life is supposed to go on. And sometimes it moves on too fast. People forget, people get busy with their own lives. It happens. My oldest finds solace in helping. Trying to help me, trying to help my widowed mom. But it's too much for a 14 year old. Another thing I worry about...how is this affecting him? Has he truly grieved, or has he dived into helping like me?  My 12 year old is the sensitive one. He shows emotion. Usually. But not this time...why?
My dad was 69, passed away from an almost two year fight with Colon cancer that spread to his liver.
I'm an only child. There's no one to talk to about my memories of my dad. I can talk to my mom, but she doesn't have the same memories. She has the memories of a spouse, a high school sweetheart. Not a parent. Most days I feel like I'm floating in space somewhere. I know I'm not alone in life, I have a loving husband and three wonderful kids. But I feel alone. I feel alone in trying to grieve. In trying to keep my mom going. In trying to keep my family going.
My dad fought a good fight. And he made me promise him that I would take care of my mom. He knew she would be lost. They've been together since high school. I wish I had a brother or sister to call to say, "I need a break and just can't deal right now, can you?" And they would say, "Sure, you've done the past two days, let me do the next two." Hahaha...that's a perfect world, right? I'm sure not all siblings react that way. But it sure would be nice to recall memories with someone who went through them with me. But there's no one. So I dive into work, cleaning, being a mom, being a support for my grieving mom. What will it be like to fully grieve? I have my moments where I cry, but then I push it away for another day.  Maybe tomorrow.

Rough day.

The week before my dad's diagnosis, he was fine; mowing the lawn, working everyday at his business, playing with the grandkids, day trips with my mom.
The journey began last October. Anticipatory grief they call it. It's a blessing and a curse. It gives us time to do and say and experience things we want to. But with this comes the thoughts of: This is the last Christmas, the last birthday, the last Easter with my dad. Will he make it to Father's Day?
I never loved him the way I do now, never fully appreciated him, never needed him as much as I do now. It infuriates me that I wasn't able to feel all that until now. It infuriates me that he had to get sick for me to realize everything he's done for my mom and me.
I'm overwhelmed. So many stories to talk about but so little energy to speak them. Maybe if I cling to the good, I'll forget all the bad?
I see the discomfort, the frustration, and his incredible ability to get up and try again. I feel guilty for going to my own home because I need to, instead of staying and helping my mom and dad.  They tell me they are fine. They are still protecting me.
I cannot imagine what it must feel like when you have to let go of life itself, knowing that people you love will have to live on.
Even when you know death is coming, it surprises you, and nothing will really prepare me for the day it happens. I'm sure I will have regrets of not telling him what I really wanted to say, not asking questions I really wanted to ask, and not saying goodbye while he is still here. These things, although we know are coming, are not appropriate to do when he is still full of life. Death will not wait for all the profound words that need said.
I hate even writing about it, because that somehow makes it all real. I'm really good at ignoring stuff and diving into work and home life and forgetting all that is going on around me. But some days it hits me so hard.
This is one time that being an only child truly sucks. I can't call my siblings and talk about memories of childhood. Blah...I'm having a rough day.

In Memory

I recently gave a eulogy at my grandfather's funeral.  Preparing for it and standing up in front of my loved ones made me think a lot about who I want to be as a mother and how I want my children to remember me.
When my grandfather passed away, it started a whole emotional chain reaction within me. By watching my grandfather pass and witnessing my family's responses made me consider my whole family's mortality. It's impossible to keep death off your mind when it's right in front of you.
Two days before my grandfather passed away, the hospital room was filled with family members, scattered across the floor and cuddled together on the one recliner chair in the hospital room. We haven't been a close family for a very long time and to see this intimate gathering was a shock in its own right. It was one man's hold on all of us that brought us together of the end of his life. As a parent, I want to inspire my kids to lean on one another that way. I want to teach and demonstrate the power of family.
Tradition goes a long way, I want my kids to be influenced by their grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. I want them to listen to older people's stories with patience. I want to remain a link to the past so that as they grow up, their great-grandfather's values remain part of their lives.
When I sat down at my computer and wrote my grandfather's eulogy, the idea of reading it at the service terrified me, but I knew if I didn't do it, I would regret that missed opportunity. The opportunity to let everyone see my grandfather through my eyes. It was tough, I won't lie, but as I stood at the podium and looked out at the faces before me, I was filled with pride. Pride that I was given the honor to be this man's grand-daughter. It was an honor and also a daunting task to do justice to a life that spanned 93 years.
Following is my eulogy. I'm proud of it, it shows what my grandfather was like as a person, and it will serve as a great reminder to me about special memories I had and my family shared over the years.

"It is an honor to be here before you. And it is a pleasure to share our families stories of this extraordinary man. But it is daunting to do justice to a life that spanned 93 years. Do I know enough about the whole of Pappy’s life? Probably not. I can’t tell you what he was like as a young man during the Depression. I don’t know what he faced while flying planes in World War II. I only know a  little about how he met Grandma and their wedding. And I can’t tell you what he was like as a young father or co-worker.

But I along with my cousin Brent, have had the greatest of luck to be his grandchildren. And we can tell you what it was like to know Louie Sailhamer as a grandfather. And really, is there any better title that can be bestowed upon a man than Pappy?

For us grandchildren that are now adults, it is almost impossible to think of Pappy without also thinking of grandma. The strength of their bond, both as a loving couple and as supportive grandparents, has steeped through the years to remind us that for our entire lives, pappy was with his better half for 66 years!

At family functions, Pappy was always the guy sitting in the basement turning the handle of the ice cream machine, getting it just perfect. Even into the years when he could no longer or should I say no longer wanted to brave the cold, the first question asked was usually, “Who made the ice cream?”

Pappy was generous and kind. When Brent and I were young, he would sneak us money and let us buy baseball cards or candy when our grandparents would take us on special day outings to go mini-golfing or go to Devils Den in Gettysburg and climb the rocks. I’m pretty sure he would always let us win at mini-golf, no one can hit the ball out of the green that many times without trying, right? And as grandma would stand nervously at the bottom of Devil’s Den in Gettysburg and watch us climb through and over the rocks, pappy would just laugh and tell us to have fun. "Squeeze through that tiny crack in the rocks...go explore, see what you can find." We would be hidden in the rocks for hours.

As my husband and I were sitting at lunch yesterday with our three children, pappy made his way into our conversation. I asked the kids what their favorite memory of pappy was. My oldest, Kemper said, “The way he did the victory dance after beating Joey in checkers. We all laughed, because he was happy when he would beat my 8 year old son in a game of checkers. Next Joey (the checker player) said, “My favorite memory was playing checkers with pappy. And the best game of checkers took place just two weeks ago while pappy was in the hospital. Joey said, “for the first half I was letting pappy win so he would feel better, but then pappy actually started to beat me, he was so happy!” My youngest, Emma said her favorite memory was “his hugs, because he would squeeze you till you couldn’t breath and then he would laugh while doing it”

Every one of us in this room has wonderful memories that we have treasured and shared this week. And it’s been through this sharing that I was surprised to discover how similar our perceptions of this great man really are. No matter if you saw him every day or lived far away and only saw him a few times a year, pappy had an uncanny ability to make you feel like you were the most important in his life.

One thing about pappy, he seemed to always know how each of us was doing. You may have been busy with school and work, or even focused on establishing your own little family, but pappy, well, he was up to date on all of it. And he was silently cheering you on to find happiness and success.

He made time to attend all the big events in our lives, but it was the smallest of moments that pappy truly made you feel special. I hope I never forget the way he said my name when he would see me walking up the path to his house. THere was a ring in his voice and a smile on his face that left no doubt in your mind, that at least for that moment, you were the center of his world.
How did he do it? How did he make that special connection with everyone?

His time in the service spanned only 4 years of his over 9 decades. Yet it was undoubtedly one of the most defining chapters of pappy’s life. I don’t know a lot of detail about what he experienced during those years, but surely there were days when he thought his life would end there  rather than quietly in bed 69 years later.

I wonder if pappy had any idea how his future would play out after he returned home from war. Did he imagine a beautiful young woman with a bright smile that would soon become his wife? Did he have any idea that he would become a respected leader of his community and church. Did he image that he would get to spend time with the first 3 of his great grandchildren? That in the last years of his life, one of his greatest joys would be to sit in his kitchen, a half smile on his face, concentrating hard on  a game of checkers?

I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, but I would venture a guess that the reality of his life is much sweeter than anything pappy could have imagined so long ago.

He was a family man in the best possible sense of the word. From day one he has been teaching us what it means to be family - and you have no further to look than his relationship he had with his wife of 66 years. It was his family that kept him going, a wonderful perfect sized loving family. A family that reaches out to help its own and many others; a family that loves being together because it never fails to be a good time, a family that is so often recognized by others as something pretty special.

This kind of thing doesn't happen  by accident. I starts  at the top. It started with pappy.
This family is the best possible testament to the character of pappy.

I know this week has been hard. There has been sadness and tears and we are all feeling the emptiness of a home that will no longer see pappy eating dinner at his table or churning ice cream in the basement.
But you only have to look around you right now. Look at what pappy has given us all. It is this family. This beautiful family is his legacy and you are all part of it. How did we all get so lucky?

And should you find yourself missing pappy today, well, I won’t name names, but there are a few apples of this family that didn’t fall very far from the tree. Go sit by them. I promise you will feel better.

Pappy, we love you. Rest peacefully."

"Sit back, relax and enjoy the flight"

What the?!?! Are you serious, "enjoy the flight!" Sitting at 34,000+ feet above the minuscul ground is not my favorite place to be. It has taken me months - scratch that, years - for me to get the courage to even walk into an airport. The next 48 hours will be filled with tremendous anxiety and a need to see/hug/talk to everyone I've ever known. I'm trying to keep myself busy, packing/cleaning/laundry/pedicures, because only that kind of Tazmanian-devil type action can take my mind of the "F" word. *whisper* - FLYING.
 I love to travel, if I could just drive, it would be sooooo much better! I have everyone saying a prayer at 3:46 on Thursday for the plane. I will pet the plane before I board it and tell it I love it and not to hurt my family. I will possibly give a quick peek into the cockpit to make sure the pilots look busy, fit and sober. Then again, maybe I won't, maybe I will just walk blindfolded. Which is better?
I will find my seat, immediately pop some Xanax, rub my essential oils *THANKS LAURA* all over my body, plug my iPod into my ears and close my eyes. Hopefully even with all these things I will still be in control, just in case they need me to help fly the plane.
Then the dreaded words of "Sit back, relax and enjoy the flight" will come over the loudspeaker. I will laugh *or cry* Just get me to Disney in one piece. Last flight we took to Disney I sat in the chair crying silently, paralyzed with fear, with a death grip on the armrest and my poor 5 year old child. I didn't want my kids to see me like this again, so Xanax will become my new best friend.
For the next two hours and 10 minutes I will silently keep praying - I will also once in awhile take a peek at the flight attendants' faces to judge if I should be scared or not.
The next thing I will listen for is when the pilot says we've hit our half-way mark. Yay! We are home-free...the pilots are all on their game and they know how to fly the plane! I will hopefully start to relax. I might even take a peek out the window. By now the Xanax is at full steam.
I know this is an irrational fear. Flying is much safer then driving...yeah, yeah, I've heard that a hundred times in the past 2 weeks. So please if you see me before I leave don't say, "Safe Travels" Why would you say that if flying is safer then driving?!?! Just say, "See ya later!" or possibly give me more Xanax.

My baby is 5...

The third child, my baby, turns 5 today.  I couldn't sleep last night and I started to reminisce about the past 5 years and how fast they have flown by...

FIRST BABY
With your first baby, you are the center of the universe. It's like no one has ever had a baby before. I was able to rest and take a little nap almost everyday (even at work). I walked around with my hand on my belly and a permanent smile on my face. I felt calm. I watched everything that I ate and drank. I took my vitamins each day (at the same time).
People would give me books and share all kinds of information about their birth stories. I had a baby shower, tons of people showed up. Everyone was happy. My mom would come to our house on weekends and help me clean, so I didn't have to strain myself. Other moms would gladly donate clothes and toys that they no longer needed...they kept telling me this is the best thing that will ever happen to you...I believed them :)
JD and I spent months decorating the nursery (Dr. Seuss theme). This was before the big "Cat in the Hat" movie came out, so Dr. Seuss stuff was not easy to find. We spent hours deciding how to paint the room, searching out the perfect rocking chair, finding the perfect paintings to hang on the walls. After the nursery was done, it was time to baby proof the rest of the house, baby proof cabinet locks were installed, plugs into the empty power sockets, the whole shabang.
Clothes were all washed in baby detergent, folded and put into the nursery dresser. They might have well been color coded.
We woke up one beautiful Sunday morning, my water broke. I was calm, I took a shower, I packed the perfect outfit to bring Kemp home in. It was a glorious exciting ride to the hospital. We took our time checking in. I changed into my new pajamas I bought just for the occasion. Kemper was born 2 hours after checking into the hospital room.

SECOND BABY
Kemp, the toddler, was the center of the universe, not me. I am unable to nap during the day, because Kemp gave up napping at 2 years old. I look like I'm 7 months pregnant by the end of the first trimester. I yell at Kemp a lot. I have no patience. I eat whatever is left on Kemp's plate at the end of the meal, I still abstain from alcohol, but I only remember my vitamins about once every three days. I feel like this pregnancy will never end.
People start telling me horror stories about young toddlers locking their baby siblings in cabinets or outside and not letting them in. My mom comes over sometimes, but just to spend time with Kemp...no longer does she help to clean so I don't have to strain myself. Other moms ignore me now...I have hand-me downs of my own.
JD and I move Kemp to a toddler bed and and give all the left-over Dr. Seuss stuff to the new nursery for Joey. We don't paint...it's too much work. We got rid of the rocking chair months ago, we put a bean bag chair in the nursery for me to sit on. Most of the paintings are broken or have toddler drawings on them, we hang them anyway.
The few new clothes we do get, we wash with the rest of our clothes...we can't afford the high priced baby detergent. Clothes are lucky if they make it to the nursery, most are thrown on top of the dryer in the laundry room...(hey, they are clean).
3:30 am comes quickly when you have contractions  every 5 minutes. It takes forever and a day for my mom to get to our house to watch Kemp so we can rush to the hospital. When she finally does arrive, I'm doubled over in the hallway, screaming obscenities. Contractions are 2 minutes apart. No time for a shower, no time to grab a bag, we are on our way to the hospital. 110mph on I-81, me screaming obscenities the whole way. Worst pain, I've ever felt. Nurse helps me out of the car, wheels me to my room, no time to change into any kind of different clothing. No time to call a doctor, Joey is delivered by the nurse on duty.

THIRD CHILD
Kemp the pre-schooler and Joey the toddler both claim they are the center of the universe. I don't even realize I'm pregnant until I figure out why I've gained 10 pounds in 2 weeks. I look like the living dead and have by now learned to sleep with my eyes open. I look like I'm 7 months pregnant by the end of the first week. I now yell all the time, only stopping when I'm sleeping and then I'm snoring.
I eat my main meal at 4:30am and snack on what ends up on the floor the rest of the day. I'm lucky if I remember to take my vitamins once a month. This pregnancy takes forever, but I am able to redefine "eternity" based on the endless questioning from Kemp about whether "Emma will be come today?"
People don't talk to me about having a baby anymore, they just keep telling me I need to get more sleep, I don't look so good. People do talk about middle children though, and tell me how middle children are always ignored and end up being the 30 year old living in your basement.
People on the street ask if this is my first baby, when I say it's my third, they laugh hysterically and walk away.
The nursery now has bare walls and stained carpets. We close the door and move on. Emma will only be in there to sleep anyway. I try to toilet train Joey in 2 weeks, before the baby comes. It doesn't work. Clothes are somewhere in a trash bag in the storage closet, guess I better find them soon.
I make an appointment to get induced...there's no way this baby is surprising us like the last one.


Today, my baby turns 5, she makes me realize how much love the human heart is capable of. I look at Kemp and Joey with new eyes and I realize how hard it is to be away from them for any extended amount of time. My life is hectic and crazy, full of yelling, frustration, but mostly LOVE. The daily experiences of three children are filled with breathtaking moments.

No, I did not kill someone, that is just red sharpie running down my chin.

No, I did not just kill someone....that is just red sharpie running down my chin. (I chewed a little too hard on my pen this morning) Arghhh! 

It seems like I have weeks that I am just down on my luck...it seems like all that could go wrong will inevitably go wrong. My week so far has consisted of trying to find childcare on a last minute basis, losing a file I worked 2 weeks on, falling in the shower and scraping my leg, losing a baby turtle somewhere in the house (that's gonna stink some day), finding out I have to coach soccer (even though I thought I had this year free), forgetting to respond to an important email and getting chewed out about not responding, having my mom have to go to the hospital (still not sure what that was about), cleaning up dog crap in the basement, going to bed every night past midnight, having children that don't want to adhear to a schedule of going to bed at a decent hour and having a husband that is frustrated with his job.

As I got ready for work today, I was told, "You will have a blessed day." My first thought, "Pfffttt....yeah right, you have no idea how my week is going so far AND it's only Wednesday." Why must we dwell on the bad stuff happening in our lives and not the good things (even if they are few and far between some weeks). As I sit here and retype my file I've worked 2 weeks on, the cloud is starting to lift from over my head. The sunshine is beginning to shine again for me.

It worked out well that I had to find childcare at the last minute. My kids got to go to various friends houses and spend some time with family members they don't usually get to see to often. It's good (well, maybe not good), but it's ok that I lost that file I've been working so hard on, because you know what? The new file I created is even better. I'm trying to see the good in falling in the shower and scraping my leg...I guess that was good, because I decided to sit down and relax and take a bath instead... It was Ok that we lost the baby turtle, it forced me to clean the kids' room and find stuff they haven't seen in months. And perhaps that baby turtle is having the time of his life somewhere...Finding out I have to coach soccer isn't THAT bad, my son is super excited and that is what counts! Forgetting to respond to the email is good because it forced me to talk to someone in person that I normally wouldn't stop to talk to face to face. It's good that my mom went to the hospital (whatever it was for). It's good that the doctors were able to find out what was wrong before it became something too serious. Cleaning up dog crap in the basement was good because now the house doesn't have a foul odor when you walk in. Going to bed every night past midnight isn't all that terrible, I've gotten a lot of work done. Having children that don't want to get back to a schedule is fine...they are kids, I have to remember that. They are having a fun summer and don't want it to end (there's nothing wrong with that). Having a husband that's frustrated with his job is good, because once you become frustrated with your job, it helps you realize all the good things you do have in your life. Jobs are part of your day, not who you truly are. 

The people and situations you come in contact with each day play an important role in what makes you, YOU. If only I could remember this day in and day out, without getting frustrated.

I always have a blessed day, it's just somedays those blessings like to play hide-n-seek.

The summer of "Hurry Up"

Ok, I've totally been lacking at blog writing...and I've needed it, yet I've ignored it.
My excuse...I've been busy.

This has been a summer of exciting new adventures for me. I've been hired as a communications director at a local church, I'm the director of my home church's VBS, I'm still working an advertising/freelance job at a local office, I'm trying to spend quality summer time/fun time with the kiddos (who are getting too big, too fast), I'm trying to keep the house in a somewhat decent, non-stinky condition (hard with 3 kids, a dog and a husband who can never find his belt), and I'm trying to find time to ride my bike (the one thing I do all for myself).

Lately I've noticed that this is becoming the summer of "Hurry Up" for me...I think I end or begin every sentence with "hurry up."
"hurry up and get dressed before the babysitter gets here."
"Emma, please hurry up, we're going to be late."
"hurry up and pee before we have to go."
"Joey, we'll tie your shoes in the car, just hurry up."
"hurry up and get ready for bed Kemp, we've got to get up early tomorrow."
"If you want to go to the pool, hurry up! We don't have much time."
"hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry."
Ugh! I sound like a broken record.

Luckily I noticed about a week ago, that these words are coming out of my mouth way to often.
I'm a laid back person...I take things in stride. NORMALLY. But not this summer.

I feel like the whole summer has passed before my very eyes and I've stood in the background watching it pass...Not really a part of it, just watching it. And that makes me sad.

A few days ago, I had about 40 more hours of work to fit into 4 hours, but when I got home from 1 job and saw that the kids were curled up on the couch looking like they were bored out of their minds I decided today was the day that my attitude was changing. The kids come first...where/when did they get pushed to second and third behind work and housework. I packed them up and we went to the park. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, it wasn't took hot. I laid in the grass and watched them be kids for more than 3 hours. They ran, climbed, swam, went down slides, played on the seesaws...it was great!

This might have started out being the summer of "hurry up" but it's going to end by being a relaxing fun summer. Yeah, we might not go away on vacation, but we have discovered geocaching! It's free and it's fun!  The last few weekends of the summer are going to be spent with family and friends, not a computer screen.

Biking, biking....and rain!

I am not graceful, I don't have dimples and I don't have a beauty mark... I am clumsy, and hey...I can admit that and laugh about it. Thank goodness I can, because if I couldn't I would be a sad sad person.
The supreme awkwardness began in junior high (elementary school no one cares if you're clumsy or not) First day of junior high I fell UP the stairs, yes UP the stairs in front of the whole school while we were waiting to be led to homeroom....from that point on I knew I either had to choose to laugh or cry. BUT the one thing I could do was bike...I used to ride my bike everywhere. I loved riding my bike. Sure, I had some tumbles (the usual running into a mailbox, car, falling off the sidewalk), but what kid hasn't had those mishaps? I was actually pretty good at riding my bike, I could even do the no hands, feet on the handlebars trick...(I impressed many with that one)
My dad used to go on long bikerides and one day he wanted me to accompany him. Keep in mind this is before I had a bike with gears...he just kept going farther and farther away from home...I didn't think we were ever going to turn around. I was exhausted. Finally I saw a big hill in the distance...thank goodness! This should be fun! I had good speed going and dad was like a hundred miles in front of me when I saw that tree. I say "that tree" because about 5 seconds later, I ran into the tree.  I'm just lying there on the ground with my bike on top of me watching my dad ride off into the distance. When he finally realized I wasn't behind him, he turned to see me just sitting there hanging out with my bike...I thought I got tired and just stopped to take a break. After he "took a break" also we continued pedaling on...but I wasn't happy.
As I grew older, my bike and I became strangers...It just wasn't cool to ride your bike everywhere and I had much more important things to do...Softball, basketball, tennis... Needless to say I was still clumsy, but that's OK, clumsiness was becoming second nature and something everyone expected from me...The time I fell off the stage during a play, the time I fell with my bass drum and went rolling down a hill, the numerous times I fell down the steps at school, the time I fell through the bleachers...the list goes on.
Now as I embark on "Young adulthood" (OK, maybe it's not young adulthood), I have taken to riding my bike again. I try to ride at least every other day, rain or shine...today was rain (remind me not to wear white shirts on "biking in the rain days") Another embarrassing thing to happen is the dreaded "Freshman Stripe"- a very embarrassing phenomenon that occurs when your bike tires splatter your back with muddy water. Once I arrived at work I proceeded to change out of my wet clothes and into clothes suitable for work. I looked like I was tanning at the beach for two weeks. It amazed me how much road grit and mud was on my face, arms and legs. But boy, did I enjoy the ride today! I felt like a kid, having fun in the rain and mud. So unleash the child within! Enjoy the small things while riding! And enjoy riding through the deep puddles and watching the spray go everywhere!

Reasons my children cry...

In a house with three children...scratch that, a house with any amount of children, you will often hear wailing...hysterical loud-pitched, crying.
Most of the time our children are pleasant...happy...laughing...having fun, but there are many times when that ear-bleeding sound will pierce the quiet happy laughter AND here are the top 10 reasons my children cry:

10. They are not allowed to play in the dryer or the oven..."NO!, you are not allowed to hide in the oven for hide and seek just this once!" NO, NO, NO! (insert piercing sound of crying)

9. His/Her brother/sister looked at him/her...It's a terrible thing when you live in a house and you have to look at the other people living there....can you imagine the audacity it takes for one sibling to look at another... (insert piercing sound of crying)

8. His/Her brother/sister DIDN'T look at him/her...Can you believe that after being yelled at for looking at their sibling, next time they're in the room, they don't look at their sibling... (insert crying)

7. The inside of his/her nose stinks....why can't we as parents FIX everything?? Including the awful smell that has somehow embedded itself into your child's nostrils? (insert ear piercing crying)

6. A balloon they got 1 year ago is MISSING! Missing I say...where could it have possibly gone?!?! (insert screaming & crying)

5. The dog is in his/her way...who got this dog anyway? Oh, that's right the kids wanted a dog...and they loooooovvvveee her! Except when she's in their way. (insert crying and screaming at dog)

4. His/her tongue is itchy....(insert crying)

3. There's a stinkbug in the near vicinity. ANYWHERE in the house is a reason to cry...watch out stinkbugs we are out to get you.

2. You kill the stinkbug that is causing so much trauma...."Don't kill it!! It's a bug...it's a living thing!! DON'T KILL IT" I'm torn...should I kill it or not???!?!

1. It's bedtime...no explanation needed!

Tough Questions

My oldest son asked me this question on the way home from church yesterday, "When was God born?" I mumbled something, something inaudible so he couldn't hear it hoping that he would give up and move on to the next question.
Unfortunately this question grabbed the attention of the 6 year old and 3 year old also occupying the back seat. My oldest continued on, "I asked this in Sunday School today and there was a long discussion. They told me God wasn't born, he just was...and was always there."
I take a peak in the rear view mirror....3 sets of eyes are staring back at me...I feel the sweat start to form on my forehead, I turn the A/C on...I open the sun roof...ahhh, that's better...I turn up the radio. I take another peak, they're still staring at me.
"Ummm, can you repeat the question please?" I manage to say.
He repeats it...darn! I heard him right the first time.
"Well," I say..."it's sort of like the idea of eternal life...when you die and go to heaven, your life there will never end...just like there was never a beginning of God, he was just always there."
I couldn't have confused myself more, let alone them more....

Where do these life questions come from and why isn't there a manual with all the answers? Many days I feel inadequate. Like I should be a better mother, wife, daughter, somehow....but how? Another tough question. I can just wake up each day and be the best I can be...do what I feel is right and honest and kind....

Thank goodness when my husband got home yesterday we headed to the family cabin...to just be together and spend some family time together.
I love having campfires and being able to invite tons of people and hang out and talk about nothing in particular, but just laugh and have fun as friends and family. So back to the question about God and heaven....I told my oldest that heaven has to be a lot like campfires...that feeling you get when you are surrounded by good friends and good times...where there seems to be no worries that can reach you. That's what heaven has to be like.

It's been a long time, but I've got 3 good excuses....Kemp, Joey & Emma.
Our family has been hit very hard this winter with sickness....I believe it was just a few short weeks ago that I said, "Wow! It's been a great winter, we haven't had one sick kid yet." BOOM!!! I shouldn't have said it out loud, I should have kept quiet. We have gone through the stomach bug, the weird fever bug and strep throat, all within 3 weeks. I've become really good friends with the doctor and the school nurse. I talk to them more than I talk to members of my own family. BUT as I look ahead to the rest of this week, I think we are all on the mend. Of course I say that after I wake up with a really sore throat. (I stole some antibiotic from the kids...so hopefully that will catch it) shhhhh!!! Don't tell anybody.
ANYWAY, the reason for this blog entry is the:

TOP 10 WEIRD THINGS MY KIDS DID IN THE LAST 3 WEEKS WHILE THEY WERE OFF SCHOOL SICK.

1. Joey made up a game using a Rubik's cube. He would mess it all up and than ask me what pattern he was making (meaning, I had to guess what all 9 colors were on the side he was looking at) This took a good hour because you know there are about 50 gazillion combos of colors that could be on that one side of a Rubik's cube....To make it even a little more confusing, if I guessed green, white, red, orange, red, black, white, green, yellow he would tell me which ones were right by saying green if they were right and red if they were wrong....I was so confused.....It was NOT fun.

2. Kemp & Emma decided one day it would be a good idea to talk in alien-chicken voices all day. I can't even explain the pain felt during this one.

3. NEVER EVER leave a Sharpie anywhere close to where your 3 year old can get ahold of it....you could end up with your own personal KISS member in the household.

4. NEVER EVER leave red food coloring anywhere close to where ANY child can reach it...they like to put it on their hands and come screaming to you that they cut themselves. In the process dripping red food coloring all over the floor.

5. Kemp decided to make brownies for the family one day he was off. As he was putting the brownies into the oven he sneezed... ALL.OVER.THE.BROWNIES.

6. FYI - the curtain rod in the family room will not hold a 30 pound child.

7. All 3 children somehow obtained the ability to stand 2 feet away from me while looking right in my eyes and still not hear a word I said.

8. Joey and Emma decided to play a game of "Eagle versus Puppy" Joey was the eagle and would swoop around the house screaming Caaaaaaaawwwwwww Caaaawwwwwwwww while flapping his arms madly. Emma would crawl around on all four's barking like a dog trying to get away from the evil eagle that was trying to snatch her up with his talons.

9. The bathtub became a swimming pool unknown to me...Unknown until the water started seeping into the hallway

10. As my husband and I were putting the boys to bed last night, Kemp gives us a very sheepish look and says, "Here mommy" And he hands me a pound of hamburger he took out of the freezer to thaw behind his bed.... *There's not even any kind of explanation I have for this one.*

Nightmares

Last night after I got the kids to bed, I headed downstairs to relax and read a little of my book, "The Devil in Pew Number Seven" (it's a great book, so far). It's about a preacher and his wife and their family. They move to a small town in North Carolina and the congregation loves them except for one person, Mr. Watts, whom always sits in pew number seven. He terrorizes them, threatens them and tries his hardest to drive them out of town. Anyway, it's a pretty intense book and I didn't realize it was making such an impact on my life....
I read a few chapters and decided I just couldn't read anymore. I know it's time to lay down the book when my body becomes so tense I have to remind myself to relax. So I drifted off to dreamland on the couch downstairs in front of the wood stove. It was so warm and I was so comfortable. I fell into the deepest sleep I have had in a long time. I started dreaming...I dreamt the family was in Disney World (these are my most favorite dreams) We were having a blast and then for some unknown reason, I let the kids go off on their own....they all wanted to ride different rides and do different things so I figured what the heck, it's Disney World, they'll be safe, right? I took notice to the clothes they were all wearing...Kemp had on a bright orange shirt and he headed for some Dumbo looking ride, Joey had on a yellow and green tie-dye shirt and headed towards a spinning ride of some sort and little Emma has on a black dress and she headed for Cinderella's castle. I kept an eye on them for some time until they were all to far apart to watch. JD and I headed for the Tower of Terror. When we returned to the Magic Kingdom, we found the orange shirt of Kemp right away and over there, there was little Emma running around with Cinderella, but where was Joey's tie-dye shirt. I looked everywhere, it was no where to be seen. I tried not to worry, he had to be fine. Then nighttime rolled around, still no sign of Joey's shirt. We headed to the hotel...some how we were magically transported (this happens in dreams). Joey wasn't there either. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach....
I was still searching for Joey when I heard, "MOMMY.....mommy......MOMMY!" I awoke with such a start I thought I was going to have a heart attack! It was Kemp, "Mommy, my legs hurt so bad, I don't know what to do." I got up and helped him back to bed and headed back downstairs to the warmness of the wood stove....

I absolutely HATE having dreams where my kids are hurt or lost. I'm sure if you are a parent, you've had these dreams...they are the WORST! You continue to have a terrible feeling in your stomach the whole next day.  I gave extra hugs today...kids are such a blessing! Even though some days I complain and some days the last thing I want to do is look at one more drawing of an Angry Bird, I have been so blessed with 3 beautiful, caring children.

I had a miscarriage before Kemp. It was the most devastating feeling I've ever experienced. JD and I had been trying to get pregnant for a little over a year or two ( I don't remember the specifics) Finally we found out I was pregnant. We were so happy! We took my parents out to Hoss's to tell them. They were ecstatic! We were all so happy.

At my next doctors appointment we would get to hear the heartbeat, a moment we had been waiting weeks for. Everything was going great! We were coming up with names, deciding how to decorate the nursery, just having fun getting ready for baby.

I will never forget that doctors appointment. JD and I headed back to the examining room, hand and hand, giddy with excitement to hear the heartbeat for the first time. The exam went great, all things were looking "just right" Now it was time to get the heartbeat hearing machine out...The nurse went over and over my stomach trying to find the heartbeat...there was no sound...it was the worst silence I have ever heard. She looked at us, she could see the worry on our faces, "Don't worry, maybe we are just off on the date, maybe we can't hear the heartbeat yet, let me go get another nurse and we'll get the ultrasound machine so we can see the heartbeat." She headed out of the room, JD and I sat in silence...waiting. When the 2 nurses came back in, they were rolling an ultrasound machine with them. The gelled up my belly and started searching for the little flicker of the heartbeat....they searched for so long...it seemed like an eternity. They looked at each other and in silence left the room. JD and I didn't know what to do. The doctor came in a few minutes later... "We are going to send you down to the high-tech ultra sound room (I forget what he called it) But it was a mega-ultrasound machine...one that could see little little flickers. We headed downstairs and waited. Waiting, waiting, waiting. I don't think JD and I talked at all, we just started off into the distance and held hands. I knew it was bad news...I could feel it in my heart. I started crying. People were staring. I still cried.

The doctor called us back and performed the examination. He left the room. He came back in about 20 minutes later. No smile, no good news.

"Mr. & Mrs. Dyson, we CAN NOT find your baby's heartbeat."

I had had a miscarriage.

I couldn't think of a thing to say other then, "OK"

I just wanted to leave. I didn't want the doctors staring at me, I didn't want them see me crying. I held it in. JD and I walked in silence to the car, hand-in-hand. I stared straight ahead. I had to be strong. I stared at the farmland rolling by as we drove home. I didn't dare look at JD...I could hear the heavy breathing and the sniffling beside me.

He called my mom, he took care of telling everyone. I headed to the living room and started cleaning. I needed to be alone. My mom came over to our house. She tried to comfort me. How can you be comforted during this time?

Life went on, but I will never forget the little baby that had a February 5th due date.

TODAY, I have three beautiful, healthy children to love, and I couldn't be happier. Love your kids! Love your life! LIFE IS GOOD!

Overwhelmed?!?!

I'm feeling overwhelmed. I can tell I'm feeling overwhelmed from the dreams I've been having.
The other night I dreamed I had an extra finger tied to the back of my hand and I thought everybody had that extra finger until upon closer inspection of the kids on my soccer team I realized no one had that extra finger. I proceeded to find a doctor and he removed it, but after he removed it I felt lost, like I was missing something very important. Last night I had a dream I acquired a brand new red Jeep Wrangler with a soft top. I was trying to get to the top of a mountain, but Emma kept wanting to sit on my lap, so I eventually moved to the back of the Jeep, held Emma and waited for the Jeep to take me to the top by itself (it was voice controlled of course). The mountain was very steep and as we neared the top, Emma and I had to lay flat in the back because the G-forces were just to great to sit up straight. We never made it to the top...I woke up :( ANYWAY I can usually tell I'm overwhelmed or stressed out by my dreams...somehow in real life I never realize it, I have to dream it first.
So why am I overwhelmed? I'm not real sure, I can't pinpoint the reason. I know I say yes too much, but I enjoy all the things I do, so I really don't want to say no, but sometimes I probably need too.
So how do you figure out how much is too much?
Being a mom/dad can be a very overwhelming, yet very rewarding job.
Somedays when I walk into my home and it's a messy house, and there's laundry to do, and there are groceries to buy, rooms to clean, dishes in the sink, dog to be fed, stuffed animals to find, and the to-do list is longer then one side of a piece of 11x14 paper, I must say I feel overwhelmed. I don't know where to start. All I want to do is sit in the corner, put my head under a pillow and have a good old-fashioned cry.
BUT then, there's my three year old yelling "MOMMIE!!!" and my six year old trying to get his own glass of milk, but in the process spills half the container on the kitchen floor, and then the eight year old that wants me to build a LEGO house with him and somewhere in that time I'm supposed to make dinner, but unfortunately I can't find the counter...
It's at this moment that I have to remember
I AM NOT ALONE.
Everyone has stress and feelings of being overwhelmed...and luckily this moment of being overwhelmed doesn't define me. I always move out of this feeling.

Other days I go home and I still can't find the counter, there are still dishes in the sink, the house is still a mess and of course laundry still needs done, but for some reason it doesn't bother me...


Hug the kids, have a belly laugh, that's what they will remember.... (hopefully they won't remember the milk on the floor or the dog hair on their clothes)

I'm on my way to find an AWESOME day!

I'm going faster than you....

Going to the gym some mornings is a struggle. I try everything to get motivated to get there.
I get my earphones, Muppet water bottle, comfy sneakers, drop off the kids at school and I'm on my way. I coach myself silently in the car on my way there. You can do this, I know you're tired, but YOU CAN DO this!!
I pull in the parking lot and take my time getting my stuff out of the car...then I see someone I know, darn it, they saw me too, now I have to go in. I can't just come to the gym and park in the parking lot....

I drag myself inside, fill my water bottle, drop off my extra belongings in the ladies changing room and head out into the gym...ahhhh which machine should I torture myself with today? The "Helliptical?, perhaps the "Deer in Headlights" Arc machine... I head for the Helliptical, maybe if I get it over with the rest of the workout won't be so bad. I'm sweating buckets after just 10 minutes, I'm ready to throw in the towel and head to work so I can sit down. Oh darn, there's someone else I know...I better stay a little longer, 10 minutes at the gym is not going to do anything...I head to the bike...pedal, pedal, pedal...that's when it happens, I look to my right, just a quick glance at the girl next to me...she's going 13.1 mph....I look at my speed... 16.8...oh yeah, the competition mode begins. I glance to my left, another girl (she's at least 15 years younger then me) her speed is 14.7, I'm beating her too!!! Before I know it, 10 minutes has blown by and I blew by all my competition... (or at least the 2 main competitors beside me...I head to the "Deer in Headlights"Arc machine, my least favorite. I get my 10 minutes in on that horrible machine and look for my next competition. There on the treadmill is a pretty buff guy, looks like he has the incline on about 50 gazillion....THAT is my next competition. I step on the treadmill 2 down from him, don't want him to think I'm stalking him or anything...I put my incline on 10, speed up as far as I can go before I'm in an all out run....I keep up for a few minutes...in fact I'm feeling pretty good about beating this guy....
I compete with him for about 7 minutes and before I die, I wipe the sweat from my forehead, catch my breath and head out of the gym.

That was a good gym trip...
Thank you complete strangers for letting me compete against you and thank you for motivating me.

My day has just become AWESOME!!