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Higher Highs, Lower Lows

May 18th, 2012 | Posted by nance in Family - (1 Comments)


Yesterday Gryffin told me for the first time that he didn’t like me.  Ouch.  And I’ll admit that one of my first thoughts was charming, kid, reeeeal charming.  I’ve been up with you and your brother every night this week because you are both sick, you’ve been unbelievably cranky the last few days, and earlier today, you sneezed in my face and got some of your snot in. my. mouth.  This is just great.  But another part of me felt so bereft when I heard those words and I thought yeah, well, I don’t like myself very much right now either.  I had lost my temper several times over the course of the afternoon and felt at my absolute wits end with him.   It was not my best day.  Not by a long shot.

Jason and I continue to be amazed at the heights to which we soar with Gryffin & Isaiah, how good we feel around them, how much unabashed delight we feel in their presence, just watching them move about and do their thing, and yet in almost the same breath, the depths to which we can sink when things aren’t going well.  How quickly we feel frazzled, frustrated, and overwhelmed.  And it can happen in the span of about 2 minutes sometimes.    Seriously.  One minute we are absolutely swooning, as we watch Gryffin fall down and see Isaiah reach him first, bend over and put his hand on Gryffin’s back and say “hug?”   Oh, my heart.  Those moments.   Nothing makes us feel better than to see our fellas moving with ease in the world, being silly, showing kindness, learning new things, just generally being their inquisitive, goofy, transparent selves.   But just seconds after said exchange between the brothers, one of them is kicking the other, spitting on the floor, and thrashing about because I told him it was NOT ok to lick the butter straight from the butter dish.  Sigh.  And just like that we’ve gone from the highest to the lowest in the span of 1:32.

It’s hard not to let the negative parts of the day (and some days there are A LOT) outweigh the wonderful parts.  To be bogged down by all the cajoling, coercing, bargaining, time-outing & tantruming of toddlerhood.  But, I’ve said it before, and I’m saying it again – mainly to remind myself this week – that I am going to miss these years.   These are good, good years.  They really are.  My friend Stefanie reminded me once that the days are so long sometimes but the years are short.   These boys have changed us, Jason and me, so completely, so utterly, so unexpectedly.   We often find ourselves reflecting on our life before they were born and wondering what it was that we were doing.  How could we not have had them in our lives?   We can’t wait to watch their lives spread out before them.  And last week we were talking about what life will be like when they are grown and gone.   Jason, feeling forlorn, asked what I thought we would do with ourselves, our life together, once they are out of the house.  And I said “oh, I think we’ll have plenty to do.  The question is really whether or not we’ll enjoy it half as much once they aren’t with us anymore.”

I remember reading once (again, I can’t recall where… I need to work on this!) that having kids means that you will have higher highs and lower lows.  And it’s been absolutely true for us.   So we’ll take the low days, the difficult weeks, the trying times if we get to sail to such unbelievable, breathtaking, chest-swelling heights.

Some of the highs from the past few weeks…

The boys were sick on Sunday but they really rallied for a few hours in the morning,
making for a good Mother’s Day brunch

Jason making me, hands down, the best breakfast of my year

Jason’s mom was still in town so we got to celebrate Mother’s Day with her as well

A couple weeks ago down at Lincoln Park Beach

Gryffin sharing his drink with Isaiah at the park
(no, little brother does not need that bike helmet but he insists!)

Heading out for a walk with Aunt Rita & Uncle John,
who came up for a much-too-brief visit a couple weeks ago

Uncle John brought some photos of tractors and such just for Gryffin.  They really poured over it.

J and G in the doughnut at Volunteer Park

View from the doughnut

Every night Jason and I sneak quietly into the boys’ room before bed to kiss them one more time, pull their blankets up and just kind of marvel at them together.  Jason was out of town a couple weeks ago so I tiptoed in on my own.  This was how I found the G-man.  All his cars lined up just so.  His hands tucked under his chin in his signature sleep position of late.  All it takes after a discouraging, disheartening day is to behold him sleeping like this…
…and just like that, I’m flying high again.

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Right in Front of Me

April 24th, 2012 | Posted by nance in Family - (3 Comments)

I struggle with anxiety.  Always have, it seems.  As far back as fourth grade I remember battling anxiety.  It’s never been too intense.  I’ve never had a panic attack and it usually doesn’t affect my day-to-day life.  It mostly just hovers and hangs out below the surface and I’m usually able to cope with it pretty well.  Sometimes, though, it seems more intense.  Something will set it off, set it in motion and then it’s kind of like seasonal allergies (I have those too).  If you don’t get a handle on them soon enough, they just get worse and worse.   So too with anxiety, and if you hadn’t already guessed, I’m currently in a season of… over-anxious-ness.   I find myself struggling more than usual and it’s not terribly surprising, I guess, considering the various things going on in my life.  And I know this season will pass.  But still.  I wish that it wasn’t such a constant companion.

I like control.   I like to plan things, to know how things are going to play out.  And nothing has thwarted my sense of control more than being a mother.  I have so many hopes, desires, dreams, deep-in-my-marrow yearnings for my two boys.   And I have absolutely no idea how their lives are going to play out.  How our life as a family is going to play out.   I read a news article a few weeks ago about a father and his 3-year-old son here in Washington who went out for a canoe ride on the lake near their house and never came home.   It seems unfathomable to me but they both drowned.   I cannot even begin to imagine the pain with which this wife/mother is now confronted.    Or maybe that’s the problem.  I can imagine what she’s feeling.  I can imagine the depth of her sorrow.    And that’s what anxiety is, really.   It’s not fear.  Fear is being afraid of something that is happening.  Anxiety is being afraid of something that might happen.   And there’s the rub.  I spend a lot of energy worrying about things that might happen.   It keeps me up at night.  Pushes aside others joys and things that make me genuinely happy.

Our community group watched the movie Run, Lola, Run a couple weeks ago as part of our study of Ecclesiastes.   There is this scene in the movie where Lola screams.   If you’ve seen the movie, it’s pretty hard to miss.  Things are overwhelming and loud and noisy and she just screams.  She screams so loud that it shatters the glass in the room.  That’s how I feel when I read a news article about a father and son drowning.  Or hear about the mother of a 3-day-old in Texas shot dead in a doctor’s parking lot in order to kidnap her baby.  For just an instant I allow my mind to wander.   To Gryffin.  To Isaiah.   To Jason.  And the clenching grip of anxiety seizes me, squeezes me, and I just want to scream like Lola.  To scream so loud and long and high that it cancels out even the possibility of a 3-year-old drowning.

But that isn’t possible and I have to keep getting out of bed every morning in spite of it.   I’ve been reading through a book about anxiety and have found some of the suggestions incredibly helpful.  I try to do the deep abdominal breathing exercises at least once a day, exercise often, and various other things.   But it was a line from a blog post I read recently that has resonated quite a bit over the last few weeks.   I wish I could remember which blog it was so I can give credit.  But I think I found it via Facebook and I haven’t been able to find it again.  It was written by a woman with young kids and she was having a rough day.  She was fed up and tired and just wanted to throw in the towel.  They were incredibly late and it took much difficulty and toddler drama to get her kids buckled in the car and off to dinner and she said something to the effect of  ”As we raced off to dinner I sighed this huge sigh.  This huge sigh as though my wide open life was so oppressive.”    I really don’t remember anything else about that blog post.  But that one line has stuck with me because I find myself doing that a lot.  Sighing as though my wide open life is so oppressive.  My anxiety gives me a negative outlook and little things become big things.  Little frustrations become big ones and I feel like I just can’t catch a break.    But my life is wide open.  It really is.  And I want to see what is in front of me.  Not what might be in front of me someday.  I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow, what tragedies or troubles or joys or jubilation might come.  But I know what is happening today and I’m trying to focus on that.

Like this guy!   Who turned 2 last week.  

And our friends who came over to celebrate his life with us

And Jason, my husband of 11 years.  He’s pretty cool.


And having my folks up for a week.

Watching them walk in front of me at the arboretum.
These two who have been married for over 40 years strolling arm in arm.

And my G-man, taking a  ”little rest” on a park bench.



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The Call

March 23rd, 2012 | Posted by nance in Family - (2 Comments)

I got one of those calls last Thursday that everyone dreads.  Ever since I got one of those dreaded calls back in 2004 when my mom suffered a massive stroke, I’ve been anticipating with anxiety the day when I would get another such call.    And that day came last week when my parents called to tell me that my brother had a stroke.  My brother.    I don’t know about you but I don’t normally think of people in their 30s having strokes.  Everyone talked about how young my mom was (54) when she had her stroke.  So it was a double shock.

The kicker was that I got the call while I was attending a birth.   And I’m not normally able to take calls while I’m at a birth.  I just happened to be running down the stairs to let in the birth tub folks with the heater replacement when my mom called.  That was the first indication that all was not well.  My mom doesn’t call me.  I call her.  That’s how she rolls, post-stroke.   So my heart was already beating faster as I called back.  My dad answered and said that they had just heard from my brother’s wife, Lorri, that he’d had a stroke and been rushed to the hospital.  That was all they knew and they would call when they heard anything further.   We hung up.  I felt dizzy and my body was already responding to the terrible news.  My heart was racing and I felt like I couldn’t get a full breath.  I was scared.  How bad was it?  Was he going to die? Part of me wanted to jump in the car and race home, sit with Jason, cry, pray, pace, and wait for more news.  But I wasn’t at just any birth.  I was at my friends’ birth.  A couple who has been part of our community group for nearly five years, a couple we are tight with, you know?  So I had to think fast and make a decision.  I took a moment in the kitchen to compose myself and decided that if I went home, I would just be sitting around awaiting a phone call but that I could, essentially, do nothing but that.   If I stayed, I could still be of some use.   So I did.  I stayed and I’m so glad I was able to be there to bear witness at the birth of beautiful little Stella.   And soon after her arrival, I was able to race home, sit with Jason, cry, pray, pace, and wait for more news.

It was a hemorrhaging stroke in the center of his brain,  just like my mom’s.   2.5-3 centimeters in size (whatever that means).   Once he made it through that agonizing first night and the doctor’s were able to stabilize his blood pressure, my parents cautiously declared him “stable” and we all breathed a huge sigh of relief.  There is a lot that I don’t know because I’m not there.  But he can talk and although it will be a lot of hard rehabilitation, my parents tell me he will likely walk again and regain his mobility.  But there are a lot of unknowns and he’s got a long road ahead of him.

Part of me is still in a state of disbelief.  How could this happen to him?  He’s so young.  His daughter, my niece, is only 16.   It’s so painful to be far away and unable to do anything.  And I despise the thought of him being sad or in pain.   I don’t get to see him and his family nearly as often as I would like and it always grieves me but more so now than ever.   I long to be near him, to help him, to carry just a small bit of the sadness my sister-in-law and niece are now carrying.

I also ache for my parents.  That first night was really hard, hearing their pain, their fear, their grief.  Damn if it’s not awful to hear your parents cry.  There are a lot of phone calls a person doesn’t want to receive but that one?  One about your child?  If there’s a hierarchy of dreaded phone calls, that’s got to be at the top.    My mom has really had a terrible time the last few years.  She lost both her parents in the past year and a half.  And now her son, her firstborn, suffering so.    For some reason I keep thinking of her and this quote by Anne Lamott that I like so much.

When I held Sam alone for the first time… the night that he was born, I was nursing him and feeling really spiritual, thinking, Please, please God, help him be someone who feels compassion, who feels God’s presence loose in the world, who doesn’t give up on peace and justice and mercy for everyone. And then one second later I was begging, Okay, skip all that shit, forget it – just please, please let him outlive me.  

I desperately want Gryffin and Isaiah to outlive me and I guess I’m just so, so glad that my brother gets another chance to do just that, to outlive his mom, and to be here with us for, hopefully, a long time yet.

John & Lorri back in the day, ’97 maybe

John with Raven, probably around 2001 or so.
I have more recent photos but I found these on Raven’s Facebook page and I liked them.
Get well soon, Croc.  I love you so very much.

Ash Wednesday & an Ode to Walt

February 23rd, 2012 | Posted by nance in Family - (1 Comments)

Today is Ash Wednesday.  We skipped the service this morning at church.   We couldn’t really envision what this serious service would look like with two toddlers in their jammies eager for breakfast (or maybe we could) so we opted out this year.   But I’ve been thinking about it all day.  It’s one of my favorite services on the church calendar.  It’s so solemn and serious.  I like having the ashes spread on my forehead in the shape of a cross by someone from my faith community, as they say “Remember, o woman, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  I like being reminded of this.  And it seems such a fitting way to start the Lenten season.

This evening, as I was ironing I looked up and glimpsed my grandpa’s hat in the closet.  I have it set up so I can see it whenever I open the closet.  I walked over and held the hat for a minute.  Smelled it (it still smells just like him – amazing).   And I was reminded of what I was doing around this time last year.  Last February I was in Lodi to help bury him.   Well, to “spread” him, actually.   We didn’t bury him.  We spread his ashes.  Up at my parent’s cabin, where we had spread my grandmother’s ashes just five months earlier.  And I helped.  I reached into the bag and grabbed hold of some of him and tossed him into the wind.  It was meaningful and painful both.  Thinking about it there as I pushed my iron back and forth and cried a little, I realized that tossing his ashes that morning was the most real Ash Wednesday service I could ever attend.    As it turns out, we really do return to dust.

We called him Walt.   His name was Roy but he was always Walt to me (well, I also called him Stanley.  He called me Ollie 1 and my sister Ollie 2.  From Laurel & Hardy.  But that was just between the 3 of us).  I have so many fond memories of him from my childhood. He practiced throwing grounders with me in his backyard when I joined the softball team in 4th grade.  He taught me (and my sister) how to drive when we were fifteen (“gettin’ on the freeway… ppssshhh, it’s a can of corn.  no problem, you can do this”).   He talked sports with me.   Told me endless stories about his beloved dog, Shortie, and I always kind of fancied myself as his favorite grandchild.  I have absolutely no proof of this and I know my siblings and cousins would beg to differ!  But I always just felt like he got me.  And I him.

Most of the family agreed that it was “a good time” for him to go.  That he had been so sad.  That he was finally pain-free.  That he was with Ed.  And it’s all true.  But I still feel sad.  I still miss his presence.   We were in Lodi for Thanksgiving a couple months after my grandma died and I was looking forward to spending a significant amount of my time there with Walt.  I just wanted to sit with him.  Talk about Ed, maybe.   See the little apartment he lived in.  Visit the dining area with him.   But I came down with the stomach flu just before we left for Lodi and I just couldn’t seem to kick it.  So I spent Thanksgiving Day on the couch, staying as far away from him and everyone else as possible.  I remember that Jason gave a toast to Ed at the meal and even in my feverish haze from the couch, I still remember the look on Walt’s face as he leaned in close to hear Jason’s words.   And then a few days later, still sick, my dad had to drive me to Urgent Care (IV fluids and antibiotics).  On the way, we dropped my mom off at Walt’s, just around the corner.  And I was too weak to even sit up in the back seat.  Walt gave me a sympathetic look from his doorway, waved at me with a smile, and called out ‘hee!” (his signature greeting & farewell).  That was the last time I ever saw him.

So this Ash Wednesday, I’m thinking about Walt.  Missing him.  Remembering him.   Celebrating him.  And remembering that I, too, will return to dust someday.

Walt (in his hat) & Gryffin, May 2009

This Ol’ House

January 16th, 2012 | Posted by nance in Uncategorized - (7 Comments)

I realize that the title of this post might conjure up thoughts of some majestic old farmhouse out in the country.  You know, the kind that are shaped like a barn and look rustic but are really suped up inside with granite and shining hardwoods, sweeping lofts and the like?  That’s not what this is about.  This is about our house, which is soon to be someone else’s.   It’s not a fancy house.  It doesn’t have cool reading nooks or meditation rooms or even a fireplace.   And it’s admittedly been a bit cramped from time to time (ie Christmas of 2010 or community group every Tuesday night).  But it’s been ours for the last 4.5 years and a lot of life has transpired in those few short years.

In two weeks we are going to move into an amazing house.  So amazing that we still can’t believe it’s ours.  Can’t believe that we’re going to have more than one bathroom for the first time in our married life.  That we’ll have a legit guest bedroom in which to host people. It’s so far beyond what we’ve ever imagined.   And we are so, so, so excited about it.

Seriously, check out the view.  This is the view from our bedroom, from our living and dining rooms, from our home office.

More importantly, look at my new bathtub.  I sat inside the tub for a good ten minutes during the home inspection (don’t get nervous, I kept my clothes on), you know, just to get a feel for it.  It’s going to be awesome.   Did I mention that it also looks out over the lake?   Ok, man-made pond.  Semantics, Shemantics.  

And here are a few more shots…


So all said, we’re pretty pumped about the move.  But as we’ve really started to pack up our stuff and take pictures off the wall, and get the house ready for the renters, I’ve been overwhelmed by feelings of nostalgia.   And then I read this in Unaccustomed Earth.   It’s a collection of short stories and this particular one follows the relationship between a man and his adult daughter.   The father was reflecting on his earlier life with his wife and young kids…

“The bedroom in which Romi and Ruma had both been conceived was dreary, morning light never penetrating, and yet he considered it, still, the most sacred of spaces.  He recalled his children running through the rooms, the pitch of their young voices.  It was a part of their lives only he and his wife carried with them.  His children would only remember the large house he’d bought in the suburbs with willow trees in in the backyard,…”

I read that and for a moment felt like I almost couldn’t breathe.  How can we leave this house?  The first house we bought together, when it was just us and Toby the Dog.  The house where we were ridiculously excited to be able to paint the walls for the first time in our life together (and of course had to repaint them all when we didn’t like the colors).   The house that introduced us to home ownership and leaking roofs and broken water pipes (ok, those parts weren’t so fun).  The house that we brought our boys home to as wee babes.  The house where we paced the hall with them night after night and where I nursed them for hours and hours and hours and hours.  The house where they both took their first teetering steps and said their first words.   Where we planted trees in the yard to commemorate their births and built a sandbox and use the driveway as a sled run in the snow (which they are doing right now as I type). How can we walk away from all the life lived here?  All the memories?

We’ve reflected on it before and I imagine we’ll continue to do so as these years roll by but it’s just so strange to think that the boys won’t remember this house.    I suppose Gryffin might have some fleeting memories of it.   But Isaiah surely won’t.   As incredible as the new house promises to be (and believe me, it’s going to be rad), I’m going to miss this house and I know that Jason and I, at least, will always look back on it with fondness.

 

Running

November 29th, 2011 | Posted by nance in fitness - (5 Comments)

I ran in my first race a couple days ago.  My first ever. And even though it was only the Seattle Turkey Trot and there were dogs and ginormous strollers (ours included) and people wearing pilgrim costumes, banana outfits, 70s garb and random turkey plumage, it was kind of a big deal for me. I’m 32 and have never been able to complete a mile run before this past summer. Nobody believes me when I tell them that. But it’s true. I would always get a response along these lines…

“But you were a gymnast!”

“Oh, whatever, you’re totally athletic.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could if you wanted to.”

No, people, I really couldn’t.  I actually have quite the sordid history with running, have always loathed it.  Let’s review.  I was a gymnast for about 13 years and even reached level 9 (there are 10).  But gymnastics is all about anaerobic fitness.  A floor routine is extremely hard work, let me tell you, and it certainly would have helped if I was in better cardiovascular shape, but I wasn’t.  A floor routine is only a minute and a half, after all.   Our team did a mile run every Saturday morning and you would not believe the excuses and trouble I went to in order to miss that run every week.  I would conveniently forget my shoes, spend too long in the bathroom, convince my brother to drop me off half way.  It was totally ridiculous.  I think I actually ran (ok, walked) the mile about 5 times in my last five years of practice.  I could think of almost nothing I hated more than running.

My sister took up running in high school and I considered doing it with her.  She was going to ease into it slowly.  A minute out and a minute back the first day.  Two minutes out and two back the second day.  How hard could it be?  I was the athletic sister after all.  Turns out it was kind of hard.  I ended up riding my bike alongside her all summer (being supportive) while she, with her characteristic determination and stick-to-it-ness, actually learned how to run.

In college my first year, I cheated on the mile run.  How bad is that?  During my Fitness for Life course, Coach thought I had run 4 laps (he knew I was a gymnast!  Score!) and so I stopped, unbearably winded, after 3 laps and a long break to “tie my shoe,” took the faster time and only felt mildly guilty.   But not guilty enough to run that last lap.

A few years later, I thought I’d give it another go with some girlfriends.  We decided to run on some of the hilly roads around our campus one Saturday morning and I thought I’d be able to do it.  It’d be good for me.  I needed to get in shape and it seemed like a short enough run.   Wrong.  Fast forward to me, completely humiliated, walking alone in the rain “because my knee was really hurting” (in my defense, it totally was) while my girlfriends reached campus at least 30 minutes before me.

And finally, let’s look at my last attempt at running back in 2004.  Jason and I had been married a few years and had just gotten a golden retriever.   I thought he would be the perfect running companion.  I was just going to run a slow 2 miles.  And Toby would run with me.  How very Santa Barbara of me! Things were actually going ok.  About a mile in and I hadn’t stopped.  I was huffing pretty hard and worried about passing out but I was still on my feet.  Still rockin’ it.  But then we had to slow for a car to pull in to their driveway.    The nice family in their minivan stopped to let me pass in front of them before they pulled in.  After hesitating for just a moment, my weary legs betrayed me and the slight lurch of Toby on the leash ended in a face plant right in their driveway.   All the embarrassing things ensued.  The husband getting out to see if I was ok.  Me assuring them that I was fine, just fine, with a hearty self-deprecating laugh while I tried to hold back tears.  Me limping home with Toby to tend to my skinned knees and bruised pride, swearing I would never, ever, run again.

And so ended my running career, if you can call it that.

Seven years later I found myself standing in the crowded start area for the 2011 Seattle Turkey Trot.  It did not look even remotely the way I imagined.  I’ve been to Jason’s races and everyone looks pretty hardcore there.  Very serious and official.  They have numbers pinned on, little timer chips, water stations, checkpoints, and all sorts of family and friends with signs and horns and cheering.  This was NOTHING like that.  No numbers.  Nobody lined up to cheer you on.  Nobody even timing you.   I seriously ran behind this woman and her dog with her (full) poop bag flinging back and forth as she jogged.   There were people in all kinds of ridiculous costumes.  A couple teenage guys in jeans.  One guy running in his flip flops.   All these people gabbing and having this jolly old time as they ran along in their costumes to Golden Gardens.  They mocked me and all my “training” for a run which was so clearly an easy feat for most “runners.”

See me, all serious with my headphones and playlist prepping.  See the dogs?

 

See the costumes?

But it took me six months of training to get there and I was determined to run the whole way, even if I had to do it with poop lady running in front of me.   After having two kids in two years I had found myself in pretty sorry shape.  Debilitating back pain, unbelievably weak abs, and no more cardiovascularly fit than a decade earlier, I decided it was time to take action.  I couldn’t bear the idea of waking up in so much pain every day for the rest of my life.  Something had to give.   So we joined the Y (ok, the free childcare while you work out was extremely appealing!) and I started down the agonizing road of getting in shape.   I took it slow.   Went to physical therapy, massage therapy and slowly, v e r y slowly, got myself in a position where I could give running the ol’ college try once more.  I started last June with a “Couch to 5K” running plan, and finally, finally found myself able to run (without stopping!) for 30 minutes. This still kind of stuns me. And hey,  I finished that silly Turkey Trot. Jason ran with me* and pushed the boys in the stroller. And he ran ahead at the end so he and Gryffin and Isaiah could cheer when I finished. I took Gryffin and we ran across the finish together.  And then we all ran across again as a family (see here one of the benefits of a casual race – want to run across the finish line again? And again one more time? Go right ahead.  Nobody is watching and nobody cares!).

I remember back in high school watching the movie “Chariots of Fire” about two runners in the 1924 Olympic Games.  One of them, Eric Liddell, talking about running, said “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast.  And when I run, I feel God’s pleasure.”  I always remembered that line.    So inspiring.  I can’t claim that line as my own though.  I am definitely not there.  Not yet anyway.  When I run, I don’t feel God’s pleasure.  I feel pain.  Lots of pain, still.    But it’s getting better.  And when I get the rare chance to run outdoors, instead of on the treadmill at the Y, I think I might actually be starting to like it.

Jason, of course, pounded out a half-marathon three days later.  Just ten miles more than me.
Without training at all.
But who’s counting!?
*After the race:
Me: “Dude, did you see that person trip me near the end?  I almost fell on my face!”
Jason: “Oh, yeah, that was me.  Sorry ’bout that.”

Life

November 15th, 2011 | Posted by nance in Family - (2 Comments)

Life is funny sometimes.  Last weekend I was out of town and away from my boys for the first time and I pined away for them and lamented missing out on a weekend with my little fam.  But this weekend, when I was home, it was kind of the pits.   Although Friday and Saturday night were both very much enjoyable, Jason and I spent most of Saturday arguing (or, rather, festering away over an early-morning argument) and I got my first-ever migraine on Sunday, which completely floored me (literally – more on that later).  But that’s the way it goes sometimes, right?  We just keep on rolling with it.  And hopefully next weekend will find us with our chins up.

So… back to last weekend.  I flew into Burbank last Saturday morning so that I could celebrate my grandmother’s 92nd birthday.  I got to spend some uninterrupted time with my nieces, which was really great.  Since having my own kids, I haven’t had much alone, focus-all-my-attention-on-you kind of time with my sister’s girls and I wanted to live it up.  Be fully present and engaged with them.  And maybe spoil them a little.   I was able to talk with each of them in turn about school, their teachers, their friends, their hardships.  And of course, engage in all manner of silliness with them.

Hannah, 9, trying on hats with me

Emily (7), Mary (5) and Hannah at Build-a-Bear.
It poured rain all day  Sunday so we had to find an indoor activity.
This was a hit.  Whoever came up with the idea of this store was a genius.
It’s ridiculous.  But the girls thought it was the best thing ever.

On Sunday afternoon, my dad’s entire side of the family (save a few) descended on my grandmother’s house to celebrate her birthday.  I’m guessing this was the last time I will see her.  I suppose it’s never easy to watch someone you love age and grow into someone that seems less them somehow.   While my grandmother’s mind seems to still be relatively in tact and alert, she did not say much.  Very little, in fact.  She seemed to just be watching all of us move around her.   It grieved me to see her that way.    It felt both good and sad to be in her house again with all my cousins, aunts and uncles.  New and old family members.  My cousin, Katie and her husband, Dave, who are my grandmother’s live-in caregivers.  My cousin, James, who taught me how to swear (“what the hell, damn it!) when we were kids and his new wife, Laurel.    My brother and his daughter, who I seldom see and miss very much.  So many people I love all in one place.   We talked about old times and caught up on current happenings.   It was much too brief.  And I couldn’t help but think of the next time we will likely all be together again and it made me heartsick.

The only photo I managed to get of the day.  That’s my grandmother at the head of the table, nearest the window.
There were so many more people there but this is the only shot that came out.

As good as it was to be there with my family, I missed my boys and was very eager to get home come Sunday night.  A couple weeks ago when I asked our friend, Brian, about how he and his three boys were handling a week with his wife, Gail, out of town, I remember he answered, “Oh, we’re doing fine.  But Gail is a lot of fun and we miss having her around.”   That’s how I felt while I was gone.  My fellas, all three of them, are a lot of fun to be around and I missed them.  I knew that all sorts of antics, like the ones below were going on without me and I couldn’t wait to get back.

The usual before-bed shenanigans

Isaiah standing in my double boiler.

I peeked in on Isaiah and Gryffin as soon as I got home.  Smelled them.  Just took a big deep breath of them sleeping away in their beds.

The following week we were back to our usual routine.    Morning outings, afternoons at the Y, community group on Tuesday night, a birth on Thursday.  Friday night we went to the Seattle symphony and out to dinner with friends and it seemed like the perfect start to the weekend.  But Saturday morning Jason and I had a fight and it was just one of those that lasted all day and brought both of us down with it.  No good.  We did manage to go out for family haircuts, though, and our guys look pretty snazzy.

Isaiah took it all in stride.  Seriously, does this guy have a neck?

Gryffin was very nervous, as per usual, when it was his turn,
abut the promise of a treat from the candy basket kept him stoic and determined.

Jason and I managed to resolve our argument before I headed over to Kelly’s for a ladies night (I’m not telling what we did!  It’s too embarrassing!) and a night in with the guys for J.  Bad day behind us, we were eager to enjoy the rest of our weekend.  But around 1pm  Sunday afternoon, after a good lunch time with the boys, I had this strange thing start happening with my eyes.  My left eye in particular.     I had this fuzzy blind spot appear.  And while most people would probably just shake it off and assume it was just something random that would go away, I felt pretty anxious.  I lost all of my central vision for 6 weeks when I was 17 and this is how it started.  With a fuzzy spot.  I tried to ignore it.   I could tell that Jason was a little worried, too.  We both wanted to grab a quick nap, though, while the boys were asleep so we laid down on the couch and hoped it would be gone when we got up.  But about 15 minutes after shutting my eyes, I started to feel this strange pounding sensation above my right eye.   The pain got so severe so quickly, I could barely walk to the kitchen for some ibuprofen.   I spent the next 3 hours in agony.   On the floor in the bathroom in case I threw up from the pain and nausea and then in my bed in the dark.   And then, all of a sudden, it was over.  Just like that.   About 430pm I just walked out of our bedroom and it was done with.  I felt fine.  A little wiped, but fine.  What. On. Earth???  We googled for a bit and determined that I had likely had a migraine with aura.   Had virtually every symptom.  What?  Really?  I always thought a migraine was just a super bad headache.  But, uhhhmmmm, yeah, it’s much more than that.  I had no idea.  And now I feel scared.  Am I going to get these all the time?  Will this be affecting my life on a regular basis?  My work?   Do I need to see a doctor?  It’s neurological, according my vast googling yesterday.  What does that mean?   My mom used to get bad headaches and she had a massive stroke a few years ago.  Am I at increased risk for a stroke?  I think I’m getting ahead of myself a little.  I’ve only had one.  But still.   It was bad enough that I hope I never have another.  TIme will tell,  I guess.

I got this card from my uncle in the mail a few days ago.  I think it’s the first time he’s ever written me a letter.  It was kind of cool.  Receiving it in the mail.  You don’t get many letters like that any more.  This is an uncle I hold in pretty high regard.  A recovering alcoholic, he raised his two incredible kids alone, built his house with his own two hands, is kind and compassionate and just a generally nice guy.  He’s certainly been through a lot in his life and I don’t even know the half of it but I know that he is a good man.  And his opinion of me matters to me.  He told me that he had read some of the entries of my blog (a shocking turn of events, considering he lives alone in the woods with no internet!)  and that he thought I was a lot like his mom, my grandmother.   A compliment that continues to choke me up.  And he talked about this post and reminisced a little about his own kids, my cousins, both grown and out of the house.  And then he who is only recently an “empty-nester” and lost both of his parents this past year closed his letter with this line.  ”Hooray, hooray for the continuity of life.”  So I’m trying to sit with that today.    Big sadness and small troubles might swirl about me but I got to bear witness at the birth of another baby last week.   I’m privileged to watch my kids grow and change and delight me every day.  Hooray, indeed.  Hooray, indeed.

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Boo

November 2nd, 2011 | Posted by nance in Family - (0 Comments)

Apparently all holidays, milestones and special events make me a little sad. It’s not just birthdays. Last night was the first time we took the boys trick or treating. Jason and I took such delight in the whole affair. After the “trunk or treat” on Saturday, Gryffin had a vague sense of what we’d be doing, mainly that he would be getting some more “treats” to add to his bag and was SO excited. We took pictures in the front yard and then set off about the neighborhood.

Gryffin knocked on the first door and shouted “hey! hey! We want to come in!” He didn’t quite understand the concept. We reminded him to say “trick or treat” and had to pull him out of our neighbors’ entryway before he made himself at home. We explained again and again that we weren’t going inside. Just going to stand on the doorstep. He finally got the hang of it and just generally thought the whole thing was incredible. After each house, he’d cheerfully say “ok! just a couple more houses!”

Isaiah was mostly just happy to come along for the ride. He rode in his little red car and held tight to his candy bag, dragging it along the ground until it was threadbare.

We finally got cold and headed for home where we dumped out the boys’ bags to examine their loot. We had only decided on Saturday that we’d go trick or treating and it all seemed kind of last minute and no big deal. But Jason and I had such an unexpectedly happy time, watching the joy in Gryffin’s little face, the excitement so evident in his whole body. Watching folks delight in Isaiah’s astronaut get up and Gryffin’s exuberance and having the rare chance to interact more with our neighbors.

And when the boys were both in bed, after indulging in one of their treats of course, we both sighed and felt just a little sad. Again. We’ll never have THIS halloween again. Never see the boys at this exact stage on halloween again. Gryffin won’t be quite so transparent and vulnerable next year. Isaiah won’t be so content just to roll along the street next time around.  And so we talked and talked and talked about it last night over dinner, recalling each little detail and delightful interchange.  Can’t wait to see what next Halloween brings.

Isaiah was a NASA astronaut, thanks to the jumpsuit from Jack and La Verne
(technically given to Gryffin but he was too scared to “go to the moon”)
Gryffin was Spock from Star Trek
(chosen solely because he won’t wear anything that is even
ever-so-slightly different from his normal get up and we wanted something space-themed)
Jason was the sun (not sure about the hard hat).  I was a martian (sort of). 


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What Gives?

October 27th, 2011 | Posted by nance in Family - (2 Comments)

Remember my vacation post?  Our grand trip to Portland a few weeks ago?  We had nearly everything on our must-have vacay list.  The boys slept well.  Good food.  Great house.  Incredible views.  Friends to share it with.  I think we got big headed after that trip.  Thought we had it all together.  Knew how to take a trip with our kids and really rock it.   But then… then we just had to get all full of ourselves.  Just had to take a last-minute trip to Santa Barbara.  Jason was going down again for work and I decided to tag along with the boys.    This was going to be great.  Totally fantastic.  Jason would be working so I’d be on my own with the boys every day.  But I had friends to catch up with, bathing suits packed and the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf right near our rental house.  And hey, even if it was a little rough with the boys, nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than last year’s work trip to Santa Barbara.  Right?  Right???

Let’s quickly revisit last year’s week in Santa Barbara.  I had been looking forward to the trip for months.  We hadn’t been back for a visit in 4 years.  We were going to stay with a good friend and her family, every day was lined up for seeing all our various friends and eating out at all our old haunts, several of my college friends were in town for a wedding so we’d be able to catch up, and hellllloooo sunshine!   But then… then my grandmother died.   Down in Northern California for the funeral, I was due to fly home to Seattle the day before our Santa Barbara flight.  And about 10 minutes before leaving for the airport, I stubbed my toe (hard) on my dad’s desk, breaking my toe and tearing some ligaments.  My dad found my old crutches from high school in the garage so I still flew home, spent 4 hours in the ER upon arrival, and we headed out to Santa Barbara the next morning with me on crutches.  For some reason, I was still completely optimistic.  I hadn’t thought through the implications of my injury.  Didn’t realize that not being able to walk was the very least of my problems.  I couldn’t pick up the boys.  I couldn’t drive a car.  I couldn’t carry Isaiah in the Moby while pushing Gryffin in a stroller, which was my plan for getting around as we strolled along the beach-front soaking up all that sun.  So with Jason working every day, I was housebound for the week.    Unable to go out.  Unable to get meals pulled together for Gryffin, unable to get Isaiah out of his bed, and unable to remain terribly cheerful because I was grieving for my grandmother.  Pretty rough way to spend your vacation.

Wait, though!  Wait for it.  There’s more.  On our second-to-last day there, I convinced Jason that I would be able to drive and informed him that I was going out to visit a friend.  Freedom!  I made it to my friend’s house and was there for about 15 minutes when I slipped and fell.  Trying to protect my broken toe, I clocked my other foot on the coffee table, breaking the EXACT SAME TOE in the EXACT SAME PLACE on my way down.   Unbelievable, right?  What are the odds?   I couldn’t even call Jason.  It was just too bizarre.  I texted him instead.  He had to come get me.  Carry me out of the house and we went home the next day with me in a wheelchair.  Nice.   Real nice.   And looking back, that trip, starting with my grandmother’s funeral really, kicked off what ended up being a very difficult and sad season of my life, culminating in the death of my grandfather about 5 months later.

So this year felt like it would be a do-over.  Vindication, if you will.  NOTHING could be as bad as last year.   And this year’s trip would kick off a season of joy.   It all just seemed so fitting.  But then… then I got the flu the day before we left.   Again, though, I still felt optimistic.  At least I could walk, right?   I’d be better in no time.   The flight was easy-peasy.  The boys were brilliant.  Everything was looking good.  But by evening, Isaiah had a fever and things just went downhill from there.   The boys slept dreadfully.  We were up multiple times each night with them.   We were sick as dogs all week.  Couldn’t see my friends because even if I’d been able to Day-Quil my symptoms to oblivion, I couldn’t take my sick kids near their little ones.  My friends were troopers – meeting me so we could walk with our kids in their strollers, and tried to carry on conversations with me despite the fact that I’d lost my voice entirely.   But there were so many difficulties, so much angst.  We were just generally miserable all week.**

What gives?

Seriously.  What are the odds?  That’s what everyone said last year when I came home with my two identical broken toes.  Who does that?   And now I’ve returned from my second botched Santa Barbara vacation and everyone is saying it again.  What are the odds?  How could this year be so dreadful as last year?   Who has a bad vacation two years in a row?  To the same destination?   It’s weird.  As my friend, Kel, said, “you just can’t catch a break, Nance.”

Z, in a happier moment

Kid really liked to roll about and wallow in the sand

Gryffin playing chase @ the Courthouse Sunken Gardens

So what’s the take away?  What did I learn?  Where is the glorious insight to wrap up this post?  I really don’t know.  It was discouraging and disheartening on so many levels.   Jason has this remarkable… uhhh, gift?… to conveniently forget the hard stuff from a vacation like this one and to be able to sum it up afterwards with a eh, it wasn’t so bad.  Me?  Not so much.  Here are a few things that I remember from the trip that were life-giving for me, blessed few though they were.

  • My friends, Sarah & Stacy.  Even though our times together are so different with 5 kids between us now (and another little guy on the way!), and very little time for actual talking and connecting, what with all the diapers and time outs and lunches and refereeing and what not, it was still great to catch up and spend time with them.  It really felt like old times, in some ways.  I miss those two!
  • Seeing my college roommate, Kristy, one evening.   It was so good to catch up a little and hear more about her life now.  I always feel like Maj and I are able to pick up right where we left off.  I miss being part of her day-to-day life, that’s for sure.
  • Taking the boys over to swim with our friends, Kelly & Ruth.  They are both so instantly charming with our kids and such kindred spirits to J and me.  Kelly even let Gryffin sit on her Vespa and pretend to drive it.  That was a highlight for sure!
  • Visiting Westmont where Jason and  I went to school ten years ago.  I also got to visit with my friend, Deanne, who is working there this year.  It was wonderful to stroll around and see how much the campus has changed since I was a student and to catch up with Dee.
In Deanne’s office – I was exhausted that morning, can you tell?
We managed to make it to the pumpkin patch with Stacy, Jane & Wesley on Wednesday morning.
Gryffin’s most favorite part was, of course, the water well.
  • Breakfast @ Tupelo Junction.  We didn’t go much when we lived there but that breakfast was epic.  The best meal of the week, hands down.
  • On our last afternoon, we had about 5 hours to kill between check-out and heading to the airport.  We were pretty beat and just wanted to relax somewhere and hopefully get the boys to nap.   So we headed over to our friends, Greg & Kim’s house, and spent the afternoon there.  Kim was gone for the day but Greg was home with their three girls.  The boys napped so well there and I felt so at peace sitting in their house, enjoying their incredible yard with all of Greg’s projects, from beehives and woodworking to rope swings and chicken coops.  I remember the exact same feeling from our trip last year.   Sitting in their living room with my two sad toes propped up.  Something just feels…good at their house.  Jason and I were trying to pinpoint the feeling when we got home.  We both feel completely at our ease there, totally relaxed and able to let our guard down.   I guess that’s pretty rare.  And it got me thinking.  I hope that is what folks feel when they come to our house.  That they would feel that same sense of ease and peacefulness surrounding them.   That the love in our family would somehow permeate the actual house, like it seems to at Greg & Kim’s.   So there you go.  Maybe that’s the take away from our Santa Barbara trips, both past and present.  Still, though.  I think I could have figured that one out without a complete trash heap of a week.  Just sayin’.
J bouncing Stella, Greg & Kim’s youngest

 

** Unlike the rest of the us, Jason had a great week.  He worked, had lunch with friends every day, outings for beer in the evenings, and capped the week off with a sunrise mountain biking adventure.  I tried hard not to be bitter about his good fortune all week, while I was in the depths.  

Birthdays Make Me Sad

September 25th, 2011 | Posted by nance in Family - (1 Comments)

Not my own.  Bring it ON for my birthday.  But the boys’ birthdays?  Those seem to be marked with a touch of melancholy for both Jason and me, amidst all the celebrating and excitement that birthdays inevitably bring.   We felt it keenly last April when Isaiah turned one.  We grieved a little at his growing up and revisited the conversation (again) of “are we done having kids?”  because we couldn’t believe that the year of babyhood had so quickly come to an end.  And we’re feeling it now.  As our first-born turns 3 this Wednesday.  I think their birthdays make us ever-more aware of how quickly time is passing.

Yesterday we threw Gryffin his first official birthday party.  We tried to keep it small.  Just our community group and a couple families with kids that live near by.  It’s the first year that Gryffin has (sort of) understood the concept of a birthday (meaning he knew there would be cake) and it was a lot of fun for me to plan.   The 4 older kids played well in the sandbox, the 2 babies were happy to be held by one and all, and the adults had margaritas.   We had enough food, good weather, and lots of merriment.  Before bed last night, Jason and I agreed happily that it was a success and looked forward to many more years of birthdays for our boys.

But now.  Now I’m sitting in my reading chair, watching the rain fall while all three of my fellas nap, the house incredibly silent, and I’m feeling blue.  I can’t believe my boy is three.   I think there is one moment from yesterday’s party that will be etched in my mind for all time.  Gryffin sitting in his little bear chair (finally he sits in it!) waiting for me to bring out the cupcakes so we could sing him happy birthday.  He looked at me over his little shoulder, so eager, so excited, so vulnerable and unsure, all at once.  I’m not entirely sure why it struck me so.  Maybe because it had been such a busy day of preparing food, cleaning and decorating and I kept thinking throughout the day that I wanted to be sure to remember why we were doing all this prep.  Why we were having a party.  Why we were doing this in the first place.  We did it to celebrate Gryffin’s life.  To give thanks to God for being faithful to the next generation.   To ask God’s face to shine on him as he grows.  And to do this with our community.  The community that is surrounding him and helping us bring him up.  And that moment, with him peering up at me from that silly chair, brought all of those reasons to the forefront of my mind.  And I wanted to stop the clock.  To hold on to that nano-second for just a little bit longer.  To really drink it in.  Our boy surrounded by all these people who love him.  Shane, whose name was the first besides “Mama” and “Papa” to pass his lips over a year ago (‘Haaaane’).   Jordan, who brings him goat cheese because he knows Gryffin likes it so much.  Belinda, who washes dishes with him and plays with him tirelessly, discussing things and answering all of his questions with patience and humor.  Amy, who comes over every week and cares for him with such kindness and understanding.  Kelly, who is always keeping tabs on his likes and dislikes.  It just took my breath away.

Hard hats and stickers for the kids

I’m sorta proud of my cupcake toppers

Adrienne magically caught “the moment” on camera

Gryffin spent a significant amount of the party watering “teacher” Amy’s car

Jonas & Gryff collaborating in the sandbox

This is where Isaiah spent most of the party – in the stroller, just in case someone wanted to take him for a walk.

And, of course, one shot of the after-party.

I read once (on a blog, maybe?) that the first 6 years of your child’s life is yours, the parents’.  That their story is essentially your story those first years.  And then between the ages of 6-8, it starts to shift into their story and they take ownership of it, so to speak.  The metaphor isn’t perfect but it makes sense.  It’s so strange to think that Gryffin and Isaiah will have virtually no memory of this, –of these crazy, sweet, exhausting, wonderful years.  Strange to realize that they really do belong to Jason and me, that we are the witness-bearers, the memory-keepers.   Gryffin won’t remember his 3rd birthday party but I will.  Jason will.   Maybe some of our friends will.  So I hope that we will live these years well.   That we would remember the feel of Isaiah’s legs, so squishy and smooth, and the sweet-sour smell of Gryffin when he first wakes up (sounds strange but it’s totally his signature scent!).  That we would really soak in those incredible moments with their heads resting on our shoulders, doing “hold you on the couch” time and “bomp, bomp boogies” because they are ours as much, if not more, than theirs.  And I hope that although they won’t remember these years, these birthdays and milestones, these years that Jason and I will undoubtedly look back on and say “those were some of the best,” that they will know how deeply they are loved, by us and by so many others, and that that love would undergird them so that when the day comes, they can step forward and take hold of their story with confidence, knowing that the first chapters were written well.

Fall 2008

Fall 2009

Fall 2010

Fall 2011

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