Moving thoughts

It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Packing up four lives and moving them over a thousand miles away will do that. 2 weeks ago, we were gearing up for our last week before we left, and a week ago we had just said goodbye to all our friends, and were about to leave Iowa. A week ago it was Andrew's 2nd birthday. We celebrated with a cake. From a box. No presents, that came when we got here. Good thing 2 year-olds don't really understand the concept yet. He was just excited there was cake.

This past Monday, we loaded the car with 2 cats, 2 small boys, some toys and books, snacks and PBJ, sleeping bags, and hopefully enough clothes to get us the 5 days or so until the truck with all our stuff arrived at our new home. The trip went well. We took our time, and the boys traveled really well. The cats...eventually stopped howling. Of course, we stopped several times, so when we finally got here, it took them a while to settle down and realize we weren't going to put them back in their carriers. (The cats, not the boys...)

Then we arrived. And I almost cried. The inside of the house seemed clean enough when we got here, but the outside left much to be desired. Someone is supposed to come and powerwash the outside, but we didn't know that at the time. The plants outside were overgrown, the house was dingy, and one of the address numbers was missing from the front of the house. The backyard was full of soggy leaves, and I was afraid to let the boys outside until I knew what was under them. So much for my fenced-in backyard. Our landlady had told us she'd had trouble scheduling the painter with the back-to-school rush, so we had expected that, but we hadn't expected the pink peace sign on the dining room wall. Then, after I put the boys to bed, I discovered the carpet was turning my feet black. Professional cleaners had come through, but I don't think the previous tenants owned a vacuum, so there was only so much they could do.

I knew these things were all fixable, so I tried not to let it get me down, but the next day, when I found out our stuff had been delayed, and that we weren't going to get it until at least Monday (Not Thursday or Friday like we'd been expecting) I finally broke down and bawled like a baby. With the exception of a saucepan, a cookie sheet, and a strainer, I had nothing to cook with, we were sleeping on the floor (the crusty floor) and with this extreme heat, I was beginning to worry that our stuff would show up warped and/or melted.

But you know, I've discovered this is not the end of the world. After some rest, and a breather, I stepped back and looked at things as positively as I could. We still have each other, and we made it here safely. While the boys miss their toys, they're having a lot of fun riding their birthday bikes around the empty living room. Our landlady came yesterday and shampooed the carpets, and her husband got rid of the leaves and trimmed the bushes. And at least I have some cooking implements. We're not going to starve.

I'm still a little worried about the condition of our things, but I'm sure it will be fine. Maybe a few melted crayons, but it's doubtful that the truck could get hot enough to melt the TV or warp the circuits in the computer. Especially since that last one is packed in several layers to protect it.

The Lord is still taking care of us. There are a lot worse things than having to camp on the floor a few extra days. Those few days won't make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. =) I have what's most important with me now. The rest is just stuff. =)

37 years of love

My parent's 37th anniversary is today. Not traditionally a very notable anniversary, and probably not one they have a lot planned for. (But then, whenever they do plan something big, life usually gets in the way.) It probably wouldn't have been that notable to me either, except that I happen to be digitizing their photos, and I just scanned the ones from their wedding. Last week I scanned some poetry my Dad wrote for my Mom, and an old column he wrote about her. (For those of you who don't remember columns, they were kind of a precursor to blogs, but you got paid for them. They put them in newspapers. You do remember those, right?)

Anyway, here's my favorite wedding photo:

To someone who's still seeing that look so many years later, it's doubly beautiful.

The poem made me cry. It was written a few years after they married, and is such a perfect picture of a young couple learning to be content in what the Lord has blessed them with. That's something they still counsel young couples today. Here it is:

"A Christmas Song of Joy"
Wally Metts, Christmas, 1976

I. A Prelude
Two People Cold and alone
No job,
Away from home,
No friends nearby....

Eating spaghetti,
And wondering why
They've come to start,
A quest for a vision
That fades, it seems
With daily needs
And common things.

II. A Prayer
"Lord," we say,
"Teach us to be thankful,
And to pray each day."

What one means
Is that we want steak
Instead of beans.

But the Father's plan
Brings greater joy
Than that of man.

III. Provision
He gives instead
The cold dark night
From which is born
Our soul's delight...
Not in the gifts
Which we may own
But in Himself
Upon the throne.

The morning comes
When we desire
Not the gifts,
Not the blessings;
But the holy fire
Consuming our hearts
With songs of praise
Adoring the beautiful
Ancient of Days
And seeking only
His wondrous face
And only then knowing
The scope of His grace.

IV. Proof
...and after all,
Isn't the source of Christmas joy
His gift of Himself - a baby boy?
Born long ago, on a cold dark night
To give the world both peace and light.
Our Savior, Redeemer, Lord and Friend:
Giving and giving, till in the end
His love poured out, full and free,
And proved itself on Calvary's tree.

My parents have learned this lesson well. They strive almost daily to teach it to others. Their faith is as much a part of their love as their years together. It is what strengthens and sustains them. Well, that, and a good cup of tea. =) My Dad mentions this very thing, in one of my favorite recent blog posts.

In the old column I found, Dad said he was pretty sure my Mom only had two faults, although he used the word vices. In his blog this year on her birthday, he compared her to a fine wine, that she was wonderful and intoxicating. He often sings her praises, and I love to hear them.

My mom isn't the writer that dad is. She's a much more private person. But I know she loves my father just as much as he loves her. She looks to him for guidance as he looks to her. She has always told me of things that he helps her with, and what a good and godly man he is. She doesn't write about her love, but she shows it in so many little ways. The tea and conversations they have, the shirts she irons, the meals she cooks, the way she is constantly learning more about his health conditions so that she can keep him healthy. She is a source of inspiration to me in my own marriage.

This week, it's been a wonderful experience to see them as they were young, and just starting out, and compare it to how they are now. In many ways, they haven't changed. Yes, they are older, wiser, and more in love every day, but my Dad still looks at my Mom the with the same look he has in his wedding pictures: Like he can't believe how blessed he is to have her in his life. He still writes to her, and about her. It may not be poetry, at least not that I've seen, but it's beautiful nonethelesss. And my Mom? She's quietly there for him every day, in so many ways.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. Thank you for the blessings we've all gained from your love and years together. I love you.

All I want for Christmas... I mean Mother's Day

Last night I told my husband I wanted a sweater drying rack for Mother's Day. His pained expression reminded me of my father's when I opened kitchen towels in my stocking this past Christmas. - I was thrilled. Dad was apologetic. Last night, John's reaction was slightly outraged. "That's not a Mother's Day present!"

Maybe not, but it's what I want. Something that would make my like easier, but that I can't justify in the budget right now. (Plus it hangs over the shower rod, keeping it out of reach of both cats and small children.) And since he's going to spend money anyway.... My husband and my Father both like to give gifts that are wonderful and sweet, but not practical. They don't feel things like that belong as gifts.

My mother understands. We are both of a practical bent. There are a hundred little things more important to buy than sweater drying racks or kitchen towels - especially when a pillow and a bath towel will suffice, or the old kitchen towels still have SOME wear left in them (Although to be fair, many of them are now in the rag basket)

Now, there is a way that we could afford all those little things, and probably more (although with the cost of childcare these days, that's hard to judge), but we chose not to go that route. We made the choice to stay home with our kids. A small sacrifice worth all the kitchen towels and sweater racks in the world.

Growing up, I remember an aunt giving my Mom new bath towels. I was probably 10 or 12 at the time, so those bath towels, which I'm sure were wedding presents, were probably about 15 years old. Still usable, but getting pretty worn. Don't get me wrong, they weren't full of holes or anything, and they got us all dry, hence they just weren't really high on my Mom's list of priorities.

My mother has been drying sweaters on towels for years. She still does. Probably because, even with most of the kids out of the house, there are still other things to spend the budget on. My parents are extremely giving people, and I know that they are helping people out in ways that I can't even imagine. I only know what I see when I come home, and I am constantly impressed and inspired by the little things I see: The constant hosting of college students who come for a little taste of "home-away-from-home" and the sage advice; the gifts of Shaklee supplements to those who need it; not to mention all the things they do for their church family.

I'm not able to give much more than time for those outside my home right now, but I hope that when I grow up, I can take a page from my Mom's book, and be the gracious giver that she is - in so many ways. Although, I still may yearn for things like sweater drying racks. At least until I figure out a better way to keep the cats and kids off my wet sweaters... =)

Teaching times.

I love my kids. As a stay at home Mom, my life revolves largely around them, and I'm totally okay with that. There are sometimes though, that I wish I was better at being their Mom.

I'm largely a task-oriented person. I like to see measurable results. The problem with being task-oriented, is that I get these ideas for organization, or I just get bit with the cleaning bug, and I just want to go until the project's done. Not really possible with a 3 year-old and an 18 month-old.

On the other hand, it's hard to resist a small face begging me to read a book, or someone needing a snuggle. This is such a crucial time to be with them and teach them. Timothy will be starting school all too soon, and Andrew's already growing up so fast! We took the side off of his crib this week, and he's learning to stay in it. I can almost see the wheels turning though: "What's the point of being able to get in and out of my bed if I'm supposed to stay there?" Oh well, it's getting better each night. Maybe soon we'll even find him asleep in the bed and not on the floor.

I keep reminding myself that Timothy is learning too. He knows his letters, he's very independent with building, and he loves to show how big he's getting. ...If only he'd potty train. I was looking back at my journal from last year, and realized it's been almost a year, off and on, that we've been working on this. At first he just wasn't ready, then we stopped because Mommy was loosing patience too easily. I have better hopes for this try, but he's still pretty resistant. It's hard for me not to get frustrated. But I guess this is a learning experience to me too. Certain things take longer for some people than others. I'm reminded all the time that this is one project that is not on my timetable, and it's going to take a lot more work than I'd prefer. But it does have measurable results. And, as my brothers can attest, it took me a long time to learn some things too (They had to eat my cooking while I learned.) One day both Timothy and I will reach our goal. He with potty training, and me with knowing how to best teach them. I'm pretty sure he'll reach his first. =)

Of books and tastes

I am an avid reader. Okay, that's a gross understatement. I prefer the term bibliophile. It seems slightly more appropriate, if still somewhat inadequate. My Dad says he only knows one other person who reads as much as I do. I can think of a few, but still, I tend to stand out in my obsession. At least I did. Now that there are two small children and all their stuff to haul around, the only time I find my obsession showing in public is when we're walking out of the library -- and there's one tote bag for the boy's books, and one for mine. (Yesterday there were a few of my books in their bag too.) I don't ever intend to walk out with that many books, but they were unusually cooperative when I went to get a couple, so... I kept browsing.

My sons, happily, display the same love that I have, especially Timothy. He got a headlamp for Christmas, and is quite content to stay in bed now, as long as he has a nice pile of books and his headlamp. Andrew even said something yesterday that sounded suspiciously like "read a book." He'll bring you a book and just plop on your lap until you read it, then he'll toddle off to get another one, sometimes before the first one is done. =)

My husband, on the other hand, never read much before we got married. He found it completely bizarre that I could be perfectly happy wandering the local bookstore for hours, and consider it an outing (Hey, we were broke newlyweds, I was a cheap date!), and still, he loved me so much that he would take me anyway.

He has since discovered a love of reading, that while it doesn't match mine, is probably more to the norm, and we're both quite happy with. My only problem is finding him books. Our library trips are while he's at work, and while he enjoys books, wandering around the library when he gets off work isn't exactly high on his list of priorities. So, it falls to me to find him something he'd love. It's taken me a while, but I think I do pretty well. Sadly, most of the time I ask myself: "Would I like this? No? Then it's perfect for John." I love Fantasy/Sci-fi for brain candy. He won't touch the stuff. Unless it's zombie related, but he doesn't really consider that in the same genre.

He recently devoured The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. And I mean devoured. He's never read a book that fast. I can't stand the book. It's too depressing. Although, I did tell him I thought higher of it than Lord of the Flies. Which, of course, he loves. But then, I read Lord of the Flies in 6th of 7th grade, he read it in 11th. Maybe it's a matter of maturity.

I tried to read War and Peace when I was 13. I could understand the content, but I got bogged down in all the language. At 17 I made it through Anna Karenina, but my opinion of Tolstoy wasn't that much improved, but since then, I've come to realized much of Russian Literature at that time was very similar. Now I know I have to be in a certain mood to read that stuff. Maybe it's that way with Sinclair and Golding. Perhaps if I read them again, I'd appreciate them more. Maybe, but I'm not in the mood to try. If I'm going for informative, there are a lot less depressing books out there.

Treasures here.

It's been a quiet week, a "getting back into the swing of things" week. John went to work, the boys and I went out a few times. We stayed home more because of the insanely cold weather than anything else.

The boys are doing well, John is doing well, and surprisingly so am I. I'm still grieving, but I can talk about it without crying. Sunday night I was up until 3am crying for the baby I don't get to hold, for my empty arms. But Monday night I read and article that really helped me.

The author shared how, when she was pregnant with her 3rd, and trying to corral the other two while watering her lawn, she was approached by an elderly neighbor who told her "this is the best time of your life." As a frustrated young mother, she couldn't fathom what the woman was talking about. She felt like she spent every waking moment cleaning something: clothes, house, children... But then she was put on bedrest, and before too long was missing all that she normally dreaded. She sadly lost her baby anyway, and was sitting on the porch during her recovery, when she thought about what her neighbor had said. She realized that while this may not be the "best" time of her life, it was still important. Her children would grow quickly, and she needed to focus on this time now, and not get caught up in the details. She ended the article with a few memories of her kids, both frustrating ones, and sweet.

I really needed that article. This woman grieved, I'm sure, but she didn't dwell on that. She chose to focus on the children whom she did have here on earth. She took the time to appreciate them, and it made all the difference. To her at least. I've spent my time this week trying to keep that article in mind. I've tried to make more time for snuggles. I've tried to take more pictures (Which I WILL post on my other blog soon, I promise!), and I've focused on my boys here. I don't know that that the time I've spent with them has increased that much, there are still chores to be done and food to be cooked, but I've tried to treasure the time more dearly. Funny how hard times do that to you. The memories become dearer.

Facing people.

Went to church today. I didn't really want to, I was scared. But it turned out okay. There were a few moments, but not the kind that I expected. The hardest was facing people who knew I was pregnant, but not that I'd lost him. I had a friend come up to me who had been helping in Timothy's Sunday School class. She'd had her baby with her, and talking to him, had said "You're Mommy's gonna have a baby too, right?" He apparently said "No, Mommy went to the Doctor and they said no." She didn't want to believe it, and came to find me. After confirming, and giving me a hug, she told me what a smart boy he is. This I knew. I hadn't realized he'd actually grasped what we'd tried to tell him this week, but I'm glad he did. I wonder how it will affect him in the next weeks and months. I hope I can be aware enough to make sure he can talk things out.

Another unexpected moment came during the service. A soloist sang "More Holiness Give Me," and the tears came for both of us. I don't know exactly what set us off, maybe the line "more strength to o'er come." Whatever it was, I'm glad the boys were playing quietly so that John and I were free to hold each other for a moment.

John says he's eager to get back into the swing of things. I'm not, but the boys need to get out, to do the things we always do: Library storytime, Playgroup, grocery shopping... and a Mommy who is able to take them to these things. I don't feel like I'm moving on, but I do need to keep moving. I am needed.

Beginings of closure

Went into the hospital today. Spent way too much time there, but that's how I usually feel about hospital stays. They wanted to make sure I could walk, eat, and all that good stuff without passing out or going into shock, or whatever. All good things, but it took time.

They told us that the procedure went almost better than expected. I responded well, and according to John was kind of loopy coming out of anesthesia. I don't really remember. I remember the operating room was freezing, but the heated blankets were nice. There was a last minute ultrasound, and then I guess I went under. The next thing I knew, they were bringing me back to my room to recover.

The doctor, and my attending nurse were great. The nurse knew just what to say. The doctor, apparently specializes in things like this. Whew. What a calling. I can't imagine a harder job. She was very gentle in all her explanations, and took the time to help us get as much information as she could.

She said that it looked like the baby passed away 2-3 weeks ago, but she was able to discern that it was a little boy. She was also kind enough to get us some hand and footprints to take home, so that we could have a few memories of our son. She had offered that ahead of time, but what I hadn't expected was the little wrist band they made for us as well. I almost lost it then.

It's nice to have something tangible to hold. Someday, when they're old enough to understand, I can show my boys. For now, it only seems to confuse the issue. I showed the footprints to Timothy, and spent the next 15 minutes answering "But where's the baby? The baby in your belly." Over and over. I don't think he's ready. Someday....

The hospital is also doing some testing, so see if they can determine what went wrong. They may or may not get an answer, but either way, it will take a few weeks. But if we don't get an answer, I can live with that.

It's much more real now, and still hard, but somehow, I feel at peace. We had a name we'd been tossing around before this all happened, and I think we'll save that one for him. We're going to put the little things from this week, along with what we've written, and save it somewhere. I used to think that might be a little morbid, but now, I see why it's done. This is our child too, and he will always hold a place in our hearts. And while they're not mine, I know he's in good hands.

Body taking over

I've slept a lot today. Most of the morning in fact. John was great to keep the boys distracted, and I didn't even hear them for well over an hour. That's pretty deep sleep for me. I'm usually much more aware of my kids even in my sleep. But I guess I needed it. I haven't slept much in the last few days. I'm still tired this afternoon, but I'm much more able to function.

John wrote about our week on FB today, and Dad wrote on his blog a few days ago. Both were very good for me to read. Much more coherent than my ramblings of the last few days. But I have been writing at 1am, so that might have something to do with it. =)

My boys have been great. Andrew's seemed even happier than usual for some reason. And he's picked this week to consistently say "Mommy" and "Daddy," especially when we walk into the room. It's really warmed our hearts. Timothy's been helpful and his usual loving self. He seems to sense when we need a hug or a laugh. .

I'm not sure I'm ready for tomorrow, but I'll cross that bridge then. Today is quiet, and that's good.

Most important

Through all of this, I'm struck by the peace I'm feeling. Or at least the calm. I'm sure the stormy moments will come, and I know this grieving process is far from over. I've heard the heartache never really goes away. But I don't think I want it to. I want to be able to function and move on, but this baby was a part of our lives, a part of our family. It will always hold a place in my heart.

In spite of the hurt and the heartache, I know that we're going to be okay. All of us. Throughout the day, I've really felt the love and prayers of those who love us, and wish they could be here for us. And I felt the peace and grace that the Lord is providing. I know that his arms are around us all. He won't leave us alone. The Lord won't ask something of us unless he provides a way to get through it. This promise I cling to. We may not ever have answers, but we know we'll be okay.

Random bits.

I'm doing better today. Things aren't as raw. We had a good, quiet day. Time to make peace.

We called the Doctor today to schedule my "Procedure". Still not sure exactly what to call it. Like I said before, "Delivery" and "Removal" both work, but neither seems to fit. But then, a lot of words don't seem adequate for this week. Funny how language can strike you as odd. A part of my brain comments on this, but remotely. It seems I'm noticing a lot of things in a disconnected way this week.

I've also thought today about this culture's tendency to answer almost every situation with food. Birth? They bring dinner. Death? They bring dinner. Illness? Dinner. Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate it. It's a wonderful blessing, especially since it's one of the last things you want to think about, but you do have to eat. It's people's way of serving you, and doing what they can to show support. I've done it too. Like I said, it's not a bad thing, just something I've considered in a whole new way this week.

My body is another strange thing. Already, my waist seems shrunken. I know it's not really, not yet. I'm still wearing the same jeans I wore last week. Perhaps it's a combination of feeling the loss, and actually accepting that I wasn't as big as I should have been. Halfway through, most people aren't still cinching the drawstrings on their maternity skirts, and it's a bit more obvious that you're actually expecting at that point. At least it was for me before.

Like I said, odd things pass through your head. But I don't think that's a bad thing. Just mind's way of organizing things. Maybe making room to grieve. Or maybe just my mind and the crazy paths it takes.

John thought I was crazy for doing laundry and de-boning a chicken tonight. But those things needed to be done. Life goes on. Order must be wrought from chaos. And there seems to be a lot of everyday chaos here. Two small children will do that to a house. And I need that normalcy right now. Keeps me going....

Numb

I lost my baby today. We were supposed to find out the gender, so we could start thinking of names, but at the ultrasound, there was no heartbeat. Words were tossed around that I can't really remember (I wasn't processing things very well at that point), but I think the baby was still somewhat unformed. The spine was fused, and they couldn't make out a nose or something. And of course, it was measuring about 17 weeks instead of 20.

None of this was said to us directly. They put it much more delicately ("I'm very sorry, there's no heartbeat."), and assured us there was nothing we could have done. These things just happen. And apparently they do.

Everyone was very kind, although for the first ten minutes, I was convinced that the tech was wrong, that this was some kind of cruel mistake. Until the doctor came in, and showed us very definitively. They gave us plenty of space and time to cry. We talked to lots of different people about our options. We had a friend who was an OB resident come by, which was very good for John especially.

Unfortunately, I just wanted to go home. I wasn't ready to make the decision about how to remove the baby. Remove. That seems such harsh word for something like this. Deliver isn't much better. It implies that we get to take something home. Something more than an ultrasound picture, and maybe a footprint. (Although those will be appreciated). We finally did get to go home, and spent the rest of the day holding each other, and the boys.

I am surprised by how well I seem to be doing. I've cried a lot, but I would have thought I'd feel a lot more despondent. Okay, maybe I'm not really feeling yet. Maybe that takes time too. This wasn't supposed to happen. We were so excited. Miscarriage is something you usually worry about in the first 12 weeks, not the rest of the time. Miscarriage. That's another word that seems inadequate right now. But most words do today.

Today, I'm concentrating on finding joy in the two blessings we have with us: Our sons, Timothy and Andrew. Life is hard, but it has it's blessings. They help a lot.