The In-Between Day

Yesterday was the anniversary of someone asking me to spend the rest of my life with him; to start a family and a new chapter in both of our lives; to commit to an unknown but potential wonderful journey together.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of a "happily ever after" getting cut short after a mere 10 1/2 years; of saying "see you later" to a man I dearly love and for whom I moved away from all I had ever previously known; with whom I embarked on several incredible journeys.

Today, well today is the in-between day.  It was very ordinary.  Quite truthfully, yesterday was ordinary.  And, while tomorrow will be flavored with a meld of emotions, both happy and sad and all involving some tears, it will be ordinary.  But today, this day in the middle of anniversaries of milestone moments, is just the 19th of December. 

I smile at my engagment ring and remember the proprosal during this time of year.  I recall waking up that night (several times) in the pitch black with my eyes still closed and holding my hand up to admire the ring that I could not see.  I remember calling my dad and brother, both of whom instantly asked if we'd set a date.  I remember the sweet, simple way he proposed during the VERY romantic move "3:10 to Yuma."  I remember the doubts and fears of his that dotted our every discussion in the days leading up to the proposal.

I wear the necklace of the wedding bands I had made after Nathan's passing more often during this time of year.  I smile at recalling our life together. I smile as I remember being a teenaged bride; at him giving me my family as a birthday present, all the big and little moments that comprised our marriage.  I cry at the thought of the last days.  I cry for the pain he felt; I cry for joy that he's free from that pain.  I cry at the loneliness I felt.  And I cry knowing how much he hated leaving me.  I cry from the unknown in those first moments, days, weeks, months.  I cry from the overwhelming love that was poured out on us both. 

And I look at the ring he bought me the day before he started to sleep. It's on my hand, along with the new engagement ring previously mentioned.  How two such amazing men could deem me worthy of their forever love is beyond me. But it's something I'll never take for granted.  And so, on this in-between day, I find myself blessed.  I have been loved unconditionally twice.  I have been promised forever twice.  I have had two men give me their hearts, their lives, and their names.  They are hearts I will never break or discard.  They are lives I am honored to walk through with them.  They are names I am proud to take as my own.  They are men I am privileged to love and serve and honor and cherish and respect. 

I hope I can be the woman they both saw in me.  I hope I live a life worthy of bearing their names.  Even on the ordinary, in-between days.

Reason for Silence and Cute Anecdotes

So, I've been pretty quiet lately (well, at least in the blogsphere.)  I know, very unusual!  In part, it was because I felt like my stories of my son might be fascinating to me, but would they be to others?  In part, dealing with being a full-time flying solo momma while hubs is living near Chicago.  (Jackson and I are planning to move there as soon as we can sell our house in Kansas City.  Anyone want to buy a house?  I'll give you a killer deal!)

Our fall has been very pleasant.  Jack and I have driven up a few times to visit Lino in Chicago.  I discovered I actually really enjoy driving and seem to do it well without fatigue.  I'm excited for the new transition and think Chicagoland will be a great fit for us.  We feel like, while this may be a difficult change to make in some ways, it's God's Hand leading us.  So it will be worth the challenges.  The hardest part for us all so far has just been the separation and missing the minute details of daily life.

We did get to spend a week together, along with my family, in The Smokies.  It was gorgeous scenery and fantastic company.  We had a wonderful time, including a long overdue date night.  (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)  Lino came home this past weekend for Thanksgiving.  It marks the first time he's been back in the KC area since he moved in the middle-endish of September.  That's a long time to be away from home!  He returned back to Chi-town on Sunday and work on Monday.

One of the primary reasons I decided to blog tonight is because my knucklehead cracked me up tonight!  We were hanging out in the den when he ran into the kitchen, decided something, and came running back to me.  "Cu Cu Cu," he kept saying.  I finally realized he was asking to color.  So I set out crayons and a sheet from a coloring book.  He thanked me politely and sat down to color.  A few minutes later I hear, "I DID IT!!!" and he came running full speed at me with paper in hand.  Yes, he had done an excellent job of scribbling all over the page.  But his pride and exuberance were so precious!  I told him he did a good job. 

Then he shocked me by showing me that he can read.  Yep, my two-year-old can read.  But only invisible writing.  You see, evidently, my forehead reads, "Sucka!" 

He started saying, "bye-bye!"  I said "bye" back to him and didn't think too much about it.  He often says "Bye" for absolutely no reason.  I guess he had a reason this time.  He came back with his coat in hand.  "Help," he said.  I tried explaining that we didn't need to go anywhere.  (Mind you, it's after 6 and freezing cold outside.)  "Help.  Bye," he insisted as he held out his coat.  I smiled and relented (See?  "Sucka!"  And he knew it!)  So I helped him on with his coat and told him to go get his shoes.  He returned with his Elmo house shoes.  "Eh, why not?" I decided.  I put on my coat and boots and we headed out.

I put the radio on the Christmas station and we drove around looking at Christmas lights.  After a couple of minutes, I asked him if we could go home yet.  "NO!" he enthusiastically exclaimed.  So we drove around a while longer.  After about 10 minutes, he started giggling with delight every time we saw lights.  We pulled back into our subdivision and I again asked if he was done and we could go home.  This time, he conceded.  We get out and he yells, "Bye-bye Car!"  This child cracks me up!  He asked to go to bed once we got home and was super-snuggly while reading a story.

Yes, my child can read me like a book and play me like a fiddle.  And someday, that may be a very, very bad thing.  But tonight, it was just what I needed.  I'm pretty sure I had as much as he did.  And I can't think of better company to have done it with (except, of course, to add his daddy to the outing.)  So next time he comes at me with a coat, I'll probably say yes again.  And I know I'll treasure those tiny, tender moments when my son wants to go out in public with his mommy.

Where it all began

For starters, big news in case you haven't heard.  We are moving from Kansas City to Chicago.  Not sure of an exact date for the little one and me, but hubby has to report to work pretty soon.  Kiddo and I will move once the house sells.

My cousin is in Kansas City right now for the Plaza Art Fair.  (Go see his stuff, he's amazing!  Thomas Spake.)  Anywho, we decided to go down to see his booth and have dinner as a family.  As I sat there in the restaurant of our either second or third date, I looked at my husband, looked down at my own attire, and had a funny realization.  We were both wearing the same shirts we wore on our first date, the first time we met face to face!  And we were on the Plaza, where we had that first date.  Only this time, we were with our sweet son.  And it was probably the last time we'd be there, at least as residents of this kind city.

We had an amazing time together as a family.  We walked around and enjoyed the beautiful art.  Our son got to pet and play with lots of dogs.  Then, we discovered the piece de resistance...live music!  Yep, as soon as the music started, our son wanted to bolt straight towards it.  I took him over and he went right towards the stage.  He was strumming his imaginary guitar, dancing, jumping, high fiving, and making general merriment for more than half an hour.  He was so sleepy by the time we got home that he plopped straight down onto his bed.  He refused to budge and kept saying "Night night," with a smile.  So I changed his clothes while he laid there.  Needless to say, he fell asleep rather quickly.

It was kind of nice to say good-bye to the city where we met in the place and even the clothes in which we met.  I am going to miss the incredible friends I've made, though I plan to keep them in my life.  But I'm looking forward to the new adventure that awaits our little family in the new city.

Intimidating New Adventure

My knucklehead is 2 years, 4 months old.  Lately, it's been pretty annoying with him in bed because he keeps waking up soaked.  I've changed his sheet three times in less than 24 hours.  He'll wake up crying and screaming "Ow, ow, ow!"  (Even though it doesn't actually cause him pain.)

All that to say, I began wondering if he kept soaking himself because he was holding it in so long that once he did urinate, it was too much too fast for a diaper to contain.  So...I decided to embark on the scariest mommy-adventure to date for me.  I'm going to attempt to potty train.

Trying to teach him to walk or talk or jump have all been things that, for the most part it's easy to demonstrate.  But how do I teach him to understand the urges and physiology of the bladder and bowel?  How do I teach him to communicate, either through words or signs, his urges?  How do I convey that it's ok to stop playing or wake up at night to satisfy those urges?

We went to the store this morning to buy potties, training pants, and disinfecting wipes!  When checking out, the cashier asked, "How are you?"  "Terrified to my very core," I replied.  "And you?"  I'm trying to approach this with patience and without pushing too much.  The main advice I've continually received from other mommies is, "They'll do it when they're ready."  I think physically he's capable of holding it.  Now I just have to associate words with internal sensations and actions.

After getting home from a morning walk with friends, I sat Jackson on the potty and said, "go potty!"  Needless to say, he didn't.  I put him down for his nap and kept an extra close eye on the monitor in hopes that I could rush him to the potty as soon as he woke up.  He woke up wet.  Three additional attempts took place.  I tried it both in the little kiddie potty and the adapted seat on the toilet.  Every time, his attention span was about 30 seconds at best.  I had kind of resigned myself to "not ready yet; try again next week; at least he's been introduced to the terms and equipment."

I asked him if he wanted to go potty before I put him in the bath.  He said no.  I undressed him and noticed his diaper, put on almost two hours prior, was bone dry.  He played in the bath and afterwards, I offered again for him to try to the potty.  One last attempt before bedtime.  He didn't say no, so I asked him which he wanted to try.  He indicated the big one, so I put the seat on the toilet and set him up there, stark naked.  I told him to just relax.  So he grabbed the football magazine on the back of the stool and leaned back.  I laughed, but he was actually sitting quite patiently and relaxed.  After a few minutes, a small tinkling sound occurred, very briefly, then stopped almost as suddenly.  He looked at me, not sure if he'd done something right or wrong.  I burst into a grin, clapped, and told him, "Good job!" After that, he flashed me a toothy grin and giggled.  I think he stopped peeing as abruptly as he did from sheer shock.

But I am so proud that Day One, our very first attempt at potty training, ended on a high note and a success. I will definitely continue to try again tomorrow.  And I'm thrilled that he is now at least introduced to the sensation of intentional urination and peeing on a potty.  My baby's not a baby anymore!

Joy in the Mourning

Four years ago today was one of the worst days of my life.  And I know without a doubt that, no matter how long I live, no matter what other experiences I encounter, it will remain one of the worst days of my life. You see, four years ago, I was told my husband would die.  Soon.  That there was no hope, no cure, no saving him or extending his life or improving the quality of what time he had left.  Terminal.

Worst. Day. Ever.  Up to that point.  There were other excruciating days, weeks, and months that followed, obviously.   But the news we heard and the discussions we had, with doctors, extended family, and between the two of us were nothing short of heart-wrenching.

At a time like that, there is NOTHING anyone can say or do to "make it better."  Nothing can take away the pain.  Nothing can dull the senses enough.  Nothing can remove the fear, the nausea. And there aren't enough tissues to soak up the tears.  There aren't enough glasses to shatter in the rage and anger.  There's just not enough of anything.  Not enough time. Not enough technology.  Not enough surgery, modern medicine, or answers.

But there's enough God.  I do not say that lightly.  Tears stream down my face as I right this, recalling the absolute anguish of that day.  But God was enough.  He is bigger than any doubt, fear, hatred, anger, or question.  He wrapped Nathan and I both in His Fatherly arms.  He held us as a couple.  He held as individuals.  He understood, much more than even we could, that this was a strange journey.  It was a journey completely together and completely alone.  I could not imagine the uncertainty, physical pain, side effects, fear, peace, joy, and everything else that Nathan faced in knowing he had terminal cancer.  And he could not imagine (which he admitted) the fear of the unknown in caring for a spouse that is terminally ill, the agony of helplessness, the loneliness of the aftermath.

Yet God held us, walked with us, and gave us both inexplicable peace, strength, and joy in our journeys.  Not all the time.  Neither of us were happy with the cruel lot we were dealt.  But God never abandoned us.  He never allowed us to both be completely shattered in the same moment.  He always, ALWAYS gave to at least one of us, enough strength to get through the moment; to not surrender.  He surrounded us with loving people - family, friends, nurses, doctors, strangers who lifted us up.

We mourned together that day.  We mourned individually that day.  And we mourned together for the next almost four months.  But we took care of Business.  Nathan finished the race set before him.  We made sure nothing was left unsaid or undone.  And we made sure we still found joy, happiness, and laughter when we could.

I know the Bible says, "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." (Ps 30:5b)  I'm here to tell you, Joy also comes in the Mourning.

Practice Makes, Well, Better!

Ok, so practice doesn't always make perfect.  That's ok.  Perfection is rarely required in life.  Yet I think so often as adults, if we don't master something the first time we attempt it, we throw up our hands and exclaim, "I don't know why I don't get this!"

I don't know about other parents out there, but my son did not successfully walk his first attempt.  I didn't tell him he was a failure or not to bother trying again.  Rather, I encouraged him.  I held his hand and walked along side him.  I showed him how to do it.  And every time he fell, I told him to try again.   And when he took a step or two, I cheered for him.

Why then do we adults not assume that some things that we were raised to do would come without effort?  Without practice?  Some people make friends easily.  Some people don't.  Some people have a Pollyanna-ish disposition and see sunshine and rainbows and happiness everywhere.  Some people don't.  The point is not to get frustrated and say, "why am I not happy?"  Rather, LEARN to be happy.  Love is a choice.  Happiness is a choice.  You may look around and see many positive things in your life, yet still feel unhappy.  I don't know why.  I don't have a magical answer.

But maybe, just maybe, you were not TAUGHT how to be happy.  Maybe it wasn't encouraged.  Maybe life just sucked so much that happiness was not even on the radar.  But if you can learn a skill, a job, to ride a bike, to have discipline, to be kind, to have a mouth filter; why can't happiness and joy also be learned?

Practice joy.  CHOOSE to find one thing each day to be happy about.  Write it down.  I've heard it takes 21 days to make a habit.  Commit to doing it for a month.  If you aren't more content, more joyful, happier, more at peace, what have you really lost?  Nothing.  But possibly, you'll find a little more silver and a little less gray in the clouds of life.  And maybe, just maybe, you'll see that joy and strength and peace come from the Ultimate Dad, who's trying to give you good things.  Who's trying to make you happy.  Who's trying desperately to put things in your path so you'll notice Him.

Can Anyone Please Explain?

Can anyone please explain why my two-year-old son has suddenly forgotten how to fall asleep?  Three times (so far!) in the past week, he has laid in his bed tossing and turning for one-to-two hours!  He doesn't whine.  He doesn't call out.  He doesn't cry.  He doesn't get out of bed.  He just lays there, rolling back and forth, switching positions.  He'll pull the covers up, then kick them off.  He lays at the head of the bed, then the foot.  He sits up, then flops back over in half and starts rolling again.  I've tried rocking him, but he tries to stretch out and there's just not enough room.  I've tried sitting next to him on the floor patting his back. I've tried both while humming his favorite lullabies and in complete silence.  I watch on the video monitor as, even when he's relatively still, his feet continue moving, thus indicating he's still not sleeping.

He has NEVER had this problem before.  I mean, this is the kid who slept through the night at 5 weeks!  It used to be that twenty minutes was a long time for him to stay awake.  I know he's tired.  And I know he's frustrated with not sleeping.  When I carry him upstairs, he'll drop his head onto my shoulder and rub his eyes.  I don't have the foggiest idea what's going on in his brain, since he can't tell me.  And I don't know how to fix it!

And while you're at it, can you please explain why, when he woke up from his nap today, he cried continuously and inexplicably for 15 minutes?  I offered him milk.  He cried.  I offered him a graham cracker.  He cried.  I tried to hold and comfort him.  He kicked me, pushed me away, and cried.  After leaving him alone, he decided he was done crying, came up to me all smiles, and was pleasant the rest of the day.  ARGH!