A moment to savor

Tee is the only on in our house dressed so far this morning. I am wearing a pair of fleece yoga pants and a purple t-shirt that has been washed too many times to be worn in public. Sweet Potato is still in her jammies, and my wonderful husband is still in bed. Tee, however, could not wait to get dressed into her favorite dress, a cotton knit sundress covered with large hibiscus flowers in orange, pink, and red. Due to frequent washings, it's just a little too short to be worn in public, at least with out leggings. And it's also a little to chilly for sleeveless attire this morning. But like almost every other morning for the past month, Tee has decided to wear that dress.

Only this morning she encountered a problem. The dress was on the hanger "brackards," or backwards for those who don't speak three-year-old. Actually, it had been hung up inside-out. Never mind, that it had been Tee who hung up the dress, she was quite confused about what had happened to her dress, and whether or not it could be fixed. But of course, thanks to some mommy magic, or just having more life experience than a three-year-old, the problem was immediately solved. And for my trick, I was rewarded with those precious words, "you are so cool."

I am so savoring those words. Granted at this time in our life, I am still her hero. She still thinks I'm beautiful, and wants to be just like me and do everything I do, at least most of the time. I know the days are coming however, and (from what my friends with older daughters say) sooner than I think, when she will not think any of those things. And if she tells me I'm cool, it will most likely be laced with sarcasm. It will be during those times that I will probably have to do something that does take a little mommy magic (or just more life experience) to solve more serious problems that could save her grades, or reputation, or at least her social standing. And my reward in those times will be remembering when I was cool for knowing how to turn a dress right-side out, and knowing that one day, she will appreciate or at least understand why I do all the things I do for her.

Pre-school Orientation

Today, more than ever, I felt like I needed my mom. Today, I took Tee to her pre-school orientation. What a crazy rush of emotions and nerves. For me. The three-year-old did fine. She is so ready for this experience. She is ready to take those steps toward independence, to make friends that are not my friends children, to explore and learn away from my supervision. Honestly, I'm not worried about her. But as I take this next step in letting go, just ever so slightly, I really wish I could turn to my mom for support and advice on how to do this with grace.

I'm sure I've said it before, but my mom was the quintessential stay-at-home mom. She served as PTA president and room mother and volunteer coordinator. She drove us to and from lessons of all types, and sports practices. She was there everyday after school, when we got home, with a snack to talk to us about our day, but since she spent so much time getting to know teachers, coaches, and other people in and around our lives, she probably already knew. (Although, that is more of an adult observation, she never acted like she'd already heard whatever we had to share.) So as I enter this next phase of motherhood, I can't help but wonder who I'm supposed to ask these random questions that pop up? And who am I supposed to share these silly fears with? And the small victories? And who is going to tell me when these thoughts are normal?

For example, not only was I concerned with what Tee was going to wear today, but I was panicked over what I should wear as well. This was first impression time. I needed to make sure that I was sending the right message to the teachers, as well as the other parents in the classroom, right? Or is this one of those times where I'm way off base? I wanted to make sure I appeared fun and casual, yet pulled together. Although, the fact that I'm even blogging about this, probably negates the fun and casual part. But I wanted them to know that I would be someone who can pitch in and help, who can be counted on to come through where ever and when ever help is needed.

And speaking of help, when they were passing around the volunteer sign-up sheet, I so wanted the counsel of my mother. Do I sign up for everything? There were only four slots under each request (these teachers by the way, very organized), what if they were all filled up by the time it got to me? I'm setting the life long patterns for communication with my childrens' educators. I need to have those opportunities to get to know them. And what better way to get to know them, than by working on a project/ event together.

But that fear, was quickly replaced by, "only four slots?!" I need to make sure that I give the other moms (who must be having these same fears, right?!) the chance to volunteer. These are the mother's of my daughter's future friends, and possibly my future friends as well. What's the right number? How do you establish yourself as an essential part of the parent team, without coming across as the mommy diva? Hey, I've heard some stories. I noticed that some of the other moms had signed up for two events, so I followed that pattern. Thank God I wasn't first, I would have held up the whole room by my mental angst.

For thirty-one years, I've been able to turn to my mom with these questions that are so insignificant, and yet the most significant at the same time. Now who do I turn to? Because this stuff can drive a girl crazy?

Oh, and in case you're wondering, Tee was just fine. When they took the kids out of the main room, and into their classroom, my girl was first in line. When I went downstair to pick her up, the teacher told me, Tee was definitely ready to start school (and yes, I know they tell that to every parent whose kid isn't crying in the corner or brutally attacking other children). Clearly, one of us will be fine. But one of us still has our mommy.

Looking back, looking forward

Yesterday marked nine years of marriage for my husband and me. In the week leading up to our anniversary, we kept coming back to the same question, "nine years ago, would you have predicted that this would be how our life would turn out?" And it's not the usual discussion that follows, you know the kind where you measure the success that you've had as a couple- is this the right career path? are you happy? should we have another baby? Instead, both of us are floored by what has occurred with our parents. If you would have asked us nine years ago who will live the longest, well it wouldn't have worked like this.

If you had asked us on our wedding day how our parents lives would play out, we would have predicted that both of our mothers would have lived well into their eighties, possibly their nineties. My dad would probably have died kind of young, maybe in his sixties, because of a pre-existing heart condition. My husband's dad would probably die first because he was a non-compliant diabetic who had already had a stroke and survived prostate cancer. But that's the thing about our inability to know the future.

My mom died this year at 53 due to a car wreck. My husband's mom died last year at 67 after a twenty month battle with brain cancer. And the year before that my dad died at 55 after a six year struggle with cancer. My father-in-law, he's alive and kickin' and the healthiest he's been in years. And I pray to God, he stays that way for at least another nine, and possibly nine more.

Purple Cow Pajamas

Because this is the first weekend that we are both at home and not sick since my mom's accident, we have been tackling a lot of projects. Probably more than anyone should take on in a weekend, but every time one gets completed...o-kay, half completed...o-kay, started, it triggers yet another project that must be tackled. And it must be tackled this weekend. O-kay, probably not. But the combination of having six weekends sucked out of your summer, a manic personality, and school being just around the corner means there is a lot of work to do at our house.

One of the many tasks, I've worked on is going through the girls clothes, boxing up what doesn't fit, donating items that my girls are done with, and getting down the clothes that were previously too big. Most of these items are things that Tee has outgrown, and I've saved for Sweet Potato. It wasn't always like this though, my mom often bought things at the end of a season to save for Tee to wear the next year. But when I started going through that basket, I realized we were down to only one thing, a pair of size 5 purple, flannel pajamas, covered with pictures of cows and milk cartons. Cute and a little ridiculous, but that pair of pajamas brought me to tears. Not just because it's the last thing my girls will wear that their Mammah picked out, but because those pajamas are a stark reminder of how my life is turning out so different from what I imagined.

My mom purchased those pajamas for Tee when she was barely three weeks old. We were on our first trip with Tee back to my home town. A college friend was being ordained near-by, and my mom was on a mission to find the perfect little puffy-sleeved, smocked newborn dress for the occasion. Oddly enough in the Spring of 2006, there was a shortage of that style. As we scoured the racks at the local Nordstrom, my mom came across those silly cow pajamas, on clearance. She insisted on buying them for her granddaughter, even though she wouldn't be able to wear them for at least four years. But she was sure that Tee would need them when she was a little older, and could spend a weekend on the farm with her other grand parents.

My husband grew up on a dairy farm. My mother-in-law was a former dairy princess way back in the fifties, and as an adult had served as president of the state dairy pageant board. My mom just knew that Tee's other grandma would get a kick out of seeing her granddaughter in dairy themed pajamas. And she would have. So I went along with my mom's plan. Little did we know that neither one of them would be around to see their granddaughter in the purple cow pajamas.

Mini-Celebration

Please celebrate with me. I have spent the afternoon successfully getting all late fees on my mom's bills reversed. Both my parents were always very careful with credit and paying things on time. I don't know if maybe once upon a time, when they were young and foolish they got in over their heads, or if they were just the type to take their credit score very seriously, but long before I was old enough to establish credit, I was being drilled with the importance of paying things on time. And since the late fees were all because she was dead and no one had access to her accounts (yet), it is really not surprising that the companies I spoke to were willing to reverse fees.

Never the less, and just the same, after spending most of my pre-motherhood career in private banking and wealth management, I was dreading this task. Which is odd, because that also means I knew exactly what information I would need to provide and, when necessary what documentation to provide. I think it was because I knew this task could be time consuming, and I had memories of the couple of times where some customer service was having a nasty day or there was a surprise in the estate documents. (By the way, best thing you can do for your loved one, have your estate planning done, regardless of your income level.) Add to that the sheer exhaustion from grief, and I was almost paralyzed at what to do next. But I did it. And now, I can relax. Until tomorrow.

I realized that if I tackle one major task a day, I don't get so overwhelmed. Which means I can get this done. And that is worth celebrating.

Blowin' in the wind

So a strange thing has happened this week. I've actually thought about moving back to my home town. I probably won't. My husband works in the kind of high-tech field found only in major metropolitan areas. And the town I grew up in, while not small, is certainly not a major metropolitan area. But for the first time since, well, ever, I found myself thinking how nice it would be to buy a house and raise our family here.

A few years ago, when my dad told me he possibly had two years left to live, my husband and I talked about moving closer. But closer meant a big city, only an hour away. After his death we continued to talk about this possibility, especially because my mom would be so much closer the the girls. But never once did I consider moving back.

It could be trying to cling to my roots-my history. Once we sell mom's house, will there be any sign that we lived in this town? It could be the reconnecting with friends from high school and younger. There are a fair amount that still live here, and reconnecting (and yes, a lot of it has been done through Facebook) has reminded me how many great people live down here. But what really pushed me over the edge was the wind.

Every evening, but especially in the summer, a strong wind comes up off the river and blows through the town. My parents house is at least two miles inland, and the breeze still gust strongly across the back deck. Like clockwork, the wind signals that the day is over bringing both the cool and dark of night.

As I was taking out the trash the other night, that wind caught me, blowing my hair behind me, and suddenly I felt sixteen again. Not that I would never go back to being sixteen again. But for a moment, I remembered that hopeful optimism. That feeling of always being ready for what was going to happen next, and the dreams for when I finally got out of this place. And then I thought about how my life has turned out, different and better than what the sixteen-year-old me could ever have dreamed. Would the sixteen-year-old me be surprised at how much my priorities and values have changed in as many years? And if she knew what I know now, would she have been so anxious to escape. Because as it turns out, this is a really great place after all.

Teeter-totter or Tightrope

I think I've definately turned some type of corner in this grieving process, but I'm not exactly sure what it is. There are three feelings that seem to create my existance.

The first is a very practical and matter of fact, the is the part of me that sees the projects in front of me, and is ready to get to work. And there is so much work to be done. My parents have/ had a big, beautiful home that we have to get ready to sell. Any home, no matter how well it was kept, can quickly fall into disarray if regular maintenance isn't kept up. And that doesn't even account for the life time accumulation of two peoples things, that now has to be sorted, some to be kept, some to be sold or donated, and some will be thrown away. Bills still have to be paid. And this is all on my parents home, none of it accounts for the responsibilities in my own life. I can usually get two or three things done on this list, until one of the other two emotions takes over.

The second is anger. For the first three weeks after her death, no matter how angry I wanted to be, I couldn't get there. Oh, sure there was an occasional angry outburst, mostly brought on by feeling helpless. (Helpless is an emotion I don't do well. ) I think the shock was still too great. It covered everything, and kept me relatively numb. But last week, the shock started to lift, and I began to be very angry. Not all the time, but often. Basically, I have no patience. I am swearing a lot. And I'm not very careful about who is around. I'm pretty sure I've offended a few strangers, and I know I will pay for it when I need to explain just because mommy said something doesn't make it o-kay. Thankfully, these spells seem to be short-lived, and I in my more rational moments, I am praying for patience and compassion, because I do not want to be come bitter. And although it would be the worst tribute to my parents, I can see how easy that would be.

Especially since the rest of my time, I am in a state of sheer exhaustion. Never in my life have I been this tired. Not when my babies were waking up every two hours, not with the deaths of my dad or my mother-in-law, and not even right after the accident occured. In a clear moment, I know that this is probably partly because it is the third death in such a short time frame. And (my siblings and I) have a lot more work this time. And I do have two small children, one of them who is no longer sleeping through the night. Oh, and I myself am not sleeping through the night. The exhaustion probably contributes to the anger as well.

I want so much to be able to stay in the practical, productive place, but now I think I need a nap.