"I have wept in the night for the shortness of sight
that to somebody's need made me blind; But I never
have yet felt a tinge of regret for being a little too kind."

owie

Thought the 'title' word would impress my mass comm/journalism/editor daughter. Unfortunately she is in mourning and will probably not notice its lack of eloquence. Nevertheless, this is how my heart feels right now. Owie. No one teaches you in relief socieity or home-ec how to deal with the broken hearts of your daughters. Kirsten has suffered 2 abrupt unforseen losses this year, the second being the tragic death of her reboyfriend/fairytale story of a man. The only maternal pain that matched this was watching Caitlin bravely place her newborn daughter with a family that promised a mortal and eternal life that Caitlin couldn't offer at the time. Caitlin's unthinkable loss frightened me then and Kirsten's consumes me now in that familiar helpless way. I love them all. My girls, their men their babies, and almost babies. My son, his sweetheart and boys. I look forward to describing all the blessings that have come to my life because of my children's experiences. I will endure because of them.

kirsi...why you say urch?

Quite a profound question from four year old Jack when his aunt Kirsten cried "urch" as she braked the car after accidentally passing by Dairy Queen. His pure uncluttered mind was eager for, and receptive to the answer. In our family the word "urch" means to slow down, possibly turn around, and hopefully be rewarded for our quick change of direction. Sometimes it simply means we've gone a little too far and need to stop.

I like that word. It's a shame I don't use it more. Once I venture out, I rarely refer to directions. I tend to ignore road signs warning of potential problems ahead and have grown accustomed to circling my destination a few times before actully arriving. I prefer to optimistically and ignorantly navigate on my own. If I find I'm hopelessly lost I can always flounder back to where I started from and start over. I'm tired of that though...it's a waste of time and I know better. Why, when I sense the first sign of trouble don't I hit the brakes, say urch and head back for ice cream?

uh.....oh

I ate half of a german chocolate cake the other day. It was a small cake but still...

Love and Faith

These words are sometimes overused and probably more often misused but lately they are all that's on my mind.
I have been blessed in my life to have a lot of love. I have a great relationship with parents that are still married as well as with all my siblings. I am close with my children both in and out of the house. The pride I feel for them exceeds anything I could have hoped for. I've been told I positively light up when asked to elaborate about my adult children. My grandchildren have evoked a new kind of love that only grandparents know about. My girls (my remaining daisies)at home continue to amaze me and for them I will dedicate myself to all that will help them succeed. This summer I was alarmed to learn thay my youngest little Emma could not swim. How could that be? I was a lifeguard and swim instructor when my oldest children were young. I refused to believe I had overlooked this important part of childhood for Em. It broke my heart to watch her act like she didn't care that she had to hang on to my tube on the lazy river. It hurt even more to see her finally gain some confidence and venture further and further away from me. My heart was full of that compassionate tender love that almost hurts.
Tonight my 3 youngest daughters and I are all home together. There is no school tomorrow so the atmosphere is casual. However, I am becoming increasingly tense. Maddie feels the need to dance/sing to every interaction/conversation she is involved in and some she is not. The demand for the computer and tv is high and they are both in the same room. Doug comes over to use the computer for a work emergency and my anxiety increases as his voice rises on the phone. Allie now has a boy over and they are oblivious to the fact that they are wrapped up around each other in my chair. My pain from the recent surgery is now at an 8 I am sure. My pain from the loss of my child is not worthy of a number. I tell myself these are the sounds of a family. There is love in this very room. My loss, my pain is bearable because of these people. I wait in line for the computer to see if I have an e-mail and possibly a new picture. There is one...a sweet one packed with an outpouring of love. There is my Faith. It reminds me why I did what I did. I see it, I know it but it still hurts. I love her.

it is what it is

Lately I've been in between moods of taking life on life's terms and feeling rather comfortable with it vs. a feeling of total helplessness and despair regarding the situation that is my life. Tomorrow I will turn 42. I find myself pregnant and alone. Of course I still have 4 of my 6 children at home but they are pretty much on their way in life. My heart aches for them for opportunities lost because of my inability to manage my own life better. I am torn about what to do with this new little life I am creating. Do I surrender it to a loving couple who can provide its every need or do I keep my little family intact? Naturally the girls are thrilled with the prospect of a new sibling but they aren't the ones responsible for its upbringing or eternal progress either. This is lose/lose. I have a job that I don't love. It is mundane and doesn't capitalize on my strengths. I can't sleep without being sedated and even that sleep is temporary.
I crave companianship from a kind male to no avail. There are men who are kind but so over zealous and not a correct fit for me. Actually my current marriage prohibits new prospects somewhat but neither of us seems to have the gumption to initiate the divorce proceedings. I still am raw over the whole marriage thing as well. I feel rejected on every level.
Then there are the kids. Lately I have felt badly about the perception my children have of their childhood. It seems they feel they were never afforded any of lifes finer things and culture was exempt from our life. Granted there were mullets and dirty farm houses but there were also name brand clothes, dance, sports and trips. Teaching them table manners and the beauty of good food was important in our family. It's discouraging to view it through their eyes. I am not suggesting they are inaccurate, just that I remember it differently.
I wonder when I can get out of this rut. I want to shed the past that haunts me. I know my potential and it frightens me. Tomorrow I will face the demons necessary to move forward. I will survive and thrive. I love the song by rascal flats titled "I'm movin on". I hope the baby's daddy listens to it.

Too Hard!!! (my sisters and girls will get this...remember Phoebe trying to crochet on Friends?)

I am convinced that humans were not designed to run. I don’t mean run errands or run amok but I mean run as in marathons. Recently my sister registered me to be her running partner in a 25K or 15.5 mile half marathon in beautiful Moab. I later learned that a true half marathon is only 13.1 miles but some crackpot felt the sadistic need to increase this particular run by nearly 2.5 miles. My feelings on running a marathon ranged from skepticism and dread to some sort of egotistical determination. While the latter prevailed, my body lost. Admittedly I should have trained for this event but I felt that since I used to exercise somewhat regularly I would do okay as long as I took it easy...I wasn't out to win any trophies or beat a prior time so what did I have to lose? I calculated a reasonable time to complete the course and was confident I could finish in that time without much trouble. I did finish the course but not without a price. Currently I have a gait that suggests I'm 9 months pregnant (I'm not). My right knee alternates between throbbing and sharp shooting pains and I'm losing both big toenails in a slow torturous fashion. I'll spare you the details of the fluids that continue to ooze from them. That being said...I don't regret it for a minute.

The morning of the run we arrived at the buses, bagels in hand ready to join forces with our energetic healthy mates. All the necessary requirements for a good race were in place: cooperative weather, good shoes, music, Advil, extra socks, gum, camera and my sister. The first few miles were great. We trotted along grinning and talking. I realized I was foolish for doubting my abilities. This was going to be easy! At approximately 3 miles we arrived at the first water stand (which I mistakenly planned to be my first rest stop) positively glowing, confident and thirsty. After overcoming some dismay at the absence of folding chairs, umbrellas and Diet Coke (okay, I knew they weren’t providing Diet Coke) we carried on cheerfully. Before I go any further I need to clarify that my sister Jennifer is a little more marathon savvy than I and evidently knew there were no rest stops. However betrayed I feel by this lack of disclosure I owe her a medal for being a good sport and sticking by me to the end. The next few miles we coined the phrase wog…which means a walk jog. Notice that it isn’t jalk…jog walk. I decided not to run too fast because I wanted to save my energy for a grand finish. Visions played in my head of me stealthily striding across the finish line 20 lbs lighter to crowds of cheering people! I could do this. I would do this. This leg of the journey proved to be a bit more tiring however, and we started doubting the wisdom of carrying music, cameras, sweatshirts and the like. There was a state trooper that taxied back and forth between the front and back of the line who was insightful enough to ask various runners if he could take any extra sweatshirts from them. I can only imagine his amusement as we unloaded our arsenal of belongings in his car while still trying to run. He was probably further amused when we stopped running and asked him to photograph us before we relinquished the camera. Remembering that makes me cringe but oh well. Now we were prepared to aggressively tackle this race. I for one felt buoyant and was amazed at how much easier it was to run without all our gear. It occurred to us how trivial material possessions are. While our “things” sometimes make the journey much more pleasant, in the end it is just you and the road ahead. At the next fueling station we were encouraged to try a carbohydrate gel booster. Yikes…it was a stretch for us to drink Gatorade but why not? When in Rome. It tasted like a mean joke. It reminded me of something you would find on top of school lunch Jell-O. However, we were determined to do whatever it took to finish so we choked it down. Spirits still high we forged ahead (still with no rest excepting the short photo shoot and a bathroom stop). The next several miles went pretty much the same…the beauty of our surroundings was inspirational and energizing. Never having been to Moab I was sometimes distracted by the surroundings and weaved a bit. Although not fatigued, I was starting to notice that my toes were sore and other body parts were feeling worn. By mile 10 alarm was setting in but I still believed. Jen stayed with me even though she could have been at least a mile or so ahead of me. By now I was almost pleading with her to go on because I knew I wasn’t going to have the grand finish I had fantasized about and feared I was keeping her from hers. She insisted she didn’t care about time and stayed loyally by my side. By the time we reached mile 11 I was all but shuffling. I felt like my 90 year old grandfather and finally understood bad hips and knees. At this point there was a LOT less running than walking. This is also about the time that it occurred to me how unnecessary it was to be suffering like this. I possessed all the tools to make this a much easier, safer trek. I had a gym membership, people available to train me and good health. I chose not to utilize those tools and consequently had to suffer. While still possible to attain my goal, I had to go through severe conditions in order to do so. Kind of like life, we decided…how often do we become complacent and make poor choices only to have to undo damage or suffer needlessly? However difficult though and at the risk of sounding arrogant I am proud to say that we kept our senses of humor throughout the run. I doubt there were many runners that laughed as much as we did. During one of my bathroom breaks on the side of the road, in my attempt to hurry, I realized I had positioned myself in some sort of cactus bush. Stickers were stuck in places they should never be and it made for some very awkward running. Not to worry though, as the pain from my blistering feet pretty much kept my mind off such minor discomforts as pokie things all over my bottom. By now it was evident that we were going to be among the last to finish but surprisingly we were still in line with beating our estimated finish time so we were not too discouraged. We were just enjoying the experience. One of the things that sustained me throughout the race was the thought of how proud my daughters and my mom would be when we called to tell them we made it. Another was dinner. Another was Jennifer. Finally, we arrived at the 13.1 mile mark. Fun as it was, I was done. Jennifer offered to drive back and get me if I wanted to wait. I envied her mobility. I envied her shoes. I took my shoes off thinking I would do better in socks. Bad move. Nothing helped. Thinking it cruel to make her finish alone I decided to keep going. I had made it this far and desperately wanted to finish. As we rounded the course that led us to the freeway a relief car came by to offer runners rides if they wanted. Oooh, my desire must have been palpable but the look on Jennifer’s face prevented me from accepting. As our rescuers drove off tears streamed down my face which I believe caused Jen to weep as well. She said “this is kind of what temptation is like. Sometimes temptation is just the easier way…not necessarily wrong but could still prevent you from completing the journey.” Something to that effect anyway. It was really profound when she said it! Now the end is in sight…I can’t quit crying I am so moved/delirious. We were further motivated when passers by honked, waived and shouted cheers of encouragement. Clearly we were not in the lead. These complete strangers could see that but they rooted for us anyway. Most people truly want to see others do well. I like to think that's what our heavenly angels are like. I don't picture stop watches and score cards, no one pounding fists and saying you're not going fast enough...you took the wrong road. Rather gentle, loving supporters waiting to be witness to our pure joy when we make it. The very last stretch required us to cross the freeway to reach the finish line. There was no easy way to do this in traffic so we had to sprint to avoid being hit by a semi truck. Being hit by a truck would have been less painful. As we feebly moved toward the finish it wasn’t the excitement we had anticipated…our victory was somewhat private. Most of the volunteers had left and ALL our co-runners had gone. Even our state trooper buddy was absent...our belongings in a neat pile by a picnic table. We came in dead last! I hurt from “stem to stern” as my grandma would say. I was too tired even to cry any more. I silently wondered if it was possible for Jen to “jeep” from the parking lot to me so I didn’t have to walk to the car but I didn’t dare ask. Fortunately Jen and I don't always have to use words to communicate. We were far too tired to exert unecessary energy but our pride and relief was exquisite. Was it worth it? Of course. I learned some valuable life lessons. Would I do this again? Not until my knees heal, but yes, I would.