![]() For about a month and a half, I've attempted to make a conscious decision to eat better and exercise more. The last two weeks, I basically threw my progress out the window and indulged in every gluttonous whim I could've shoved down my throat. Terrible. I put off getting on the scale because I knew my vice would come taunting me in gained pounds. However, I started publicly posting my progress on FB for the specific purpose of holding myself accountable. The first few updates were great. "Hey! I lost a few pounds!" "Diet and exercise still working." That sorta stuff. However, I didn't want to post this one. I didn't want to post my failure, because that's what this was. A failure. Who wants to make that public? But I posted the results just the same because it's important for people to understand that the "reality" they see on social media sites isn't reality. The "I lost 10 lbs!" doesn't happen magically. It doesn't happen all at once. It happens with effort. REAL effort. And with real effort comes real temptation to quit. Real temptation to throw your hands up and rationalize why you don't need to exercise or why you can get away with eating that cookie. I know for a fact that some of my friends are influenced by what I post on my feed, especially things dealing with body image / self-esteem. As such, I feel a real responsibility to portray my struggles alongside the success so they don't think I'm this "lucky duck" version of reality. So I posted this: Being sick the last two weeks, I've totally derailed my diet and exercise routines. As a result, I gained back one of the pounds I lost. Worse, I let almost two weeks go by... two weeks I COULD have been losing 4 more pounds. I post this because changing your lifestyle isn't always "I lost X lbs! Yay me!" It's also recognizing where you've failed, holding yourself accountable for it, and making dang sure you don't make the same mistake. Sick or not, lazy is lazy. Sooooo, back on the bandwagon. Apparently it was a good move on my part. I got a private message from a friend who has really been struggling with her own weight loss. She was frustrated that it seemed "easy" for people like me to shed pounds. It made her feel like she was doing everything wrong (when obviously that was never my intention). So by pointing out that I fail just as easily as her, she felt less annoyance with me and even opened up to sharing her own struggles with weight loss. I'm posting this here because I think it's very, VERY important to share failures. All they are, in essence, are stepping stones to success. If you recognize them as errors and work to rectify them, you can use that knowledge in the future as a means to motivate yourself towards whatever goal it is that you have. So as I pointed out on Facebook, my new mantra is going to be "Recognize and Rectify." And that goes for all areas of my life - spiritual as well as physical. :)
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Pictures like this make it look like I'm great at making friends. They make me look like I'm the life of the party... a social butterfly... the center of all that is awesome and fun. Truth is, all of those things USED to describe me. I really was great at making friends. I was a TOTAL social butterfly and inserted myself into the center of everything. However, all of that changed when I became a mother. I slowly began to hang back from social situations. I'd devote all my time to Vincent and allow John to go to parties and social events on behalf of both of us. However, over the last year or so, I've realized that I missed having a social life. I've missed hanging out with my friends and doing things outside the realm of "Mommy." I've also realized that my reluctance to build a social life outside my comfort zone was detrimental to Vincent. After all, if I didn't have other "Mommy friends" who brought around their kids to play with, he was just as socially ostracized as I was. So when John and I signed him up for a special class for sensory children, I knew I was being given a special opportunity. There are currently 6 or 7 kids in the class, and they're all Vincent's age. The parents are my age, and they're all dealing with the same struggles John and I have endured in trying to diagnose and treat Vincent. They were PERFECT candidates for the Mommy-group I'd been looking for. After a few weeks of small talk, I gauged interest. I asked, "Would any of you like to start a Mommy-group with me? We could support each other, offer tips and tricks, and meet up for special play dates given the close age and special needs of our kids." All of them agreed. So the next day, I put together a basic website for us to use as a sort of forum to share things like DIY sensory toys, favorite sensory places, and articles on issues like Autism and ADD. I called the center to ask for contact information for those parents I hadn't spoke with. I wanted to let them know we were doing this and to invite them to join in. ![]() Their response made me sorta feel like St. Peter as he was "handed the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven." Not only was the director in full support of what I was doing, she offered me full run of their facility on Sundays. She'd even staff a therapist (free of charge!) to help run things as the kids used the various therapy centers. And then, she offered to host seminars on specific topics like Sensory Processing Disorder and even Dyslexia if we so desired it. HOW CRAZY AWESOME IS THAT?! Apparently they'd been looking to do this for a long time, but they didn't have anyone with the skill set to put a site together. Since I had already done it (and was already willing to run everything), they wanted to throw their support behind this little group to see it blossom. She asked if I'd be open to allowing other parents from their center to join in. I said "Yes" but asked if she'd be kind enough to wait a few months until I got things going with my original group. I want to get a feel for how things will run with a smaller number of people, and then when I feel comfortable adding members, I'll happily expand to include others. But can you imagine??? I was calling for an e-mail address and she gave me keys to the center. That's just... God is so good. So incredibly, awesomely good. And I guess that's the reward you can expect when you step outside your comfort zone to multiply the love, folks. For so long, I've been content to stay within my cocooned little shell of a life, but I knew I needed to change not only for myself, but for Vince, and look... what a blessing it turned out to be! So that's where I've been the last few days. I've been busily fleshing out a forum / website for this parent-group and trying to come up with a game plan for how everything is going to run. For those of you who have experience doing this sort of thing, PLEASE message me! Also, for those of you who have good online resources for things like DIY sensory things (toys, games, etc), I'm all ears! <3! ![]() I get this is a really ridiculous question to ask on a Catholic Mom blog, but I figure there's gotta be someone out there who has some suggestions. I'm 30 years old and I'm beginning to go gray. I'm not concerned with that so much as what it's doing to the cleanliness of my hair. This picture (taken a while ago) shows a part in my hair. This is typically where the problem is most noticeable. So you can understand why it's beginning to annoy me given how prominent that particular area is. A few weeks ago, I noticed that my hair feels like wax in certain areas. I hadn't changed shampoo or conditioner, and I hadn't done anything different with my hair. Why, all of the sudden, was my hair acting funny? I tried washing it several times, because I understand that every now and again gunk builds up and needs to be washed away with a good clarifying shampoo. However, nothing worked. So I Googled the issue, and sure enough, as hair goes gray, the roots get coarse and absorb conditioner and oils a lot more than they used to. As a result, some areas get waxy. I tried doing a combination of baking soda and apple cider vinegar (as some folks suggested). Aside from making my hair smell like a salad, the progress was minimal. I still had waxy hair. I tried Listerine. Truthfully, the Listerine did work much better, but it left my ends brittle (even WITH the conditioner). I get that my hair is changing on account of age. But there's gotta be a better way of cleaning my hair. Thoughts? I donate my hair in April, so please nothing drastic as I'd like my hair to be somewhat decent for the person who gets it next. Thanks! ![]() I was goofing off in this picture, but whatever. Let's pretend for a moment it's a legitimate moment of distraught frustration. Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. My sitter got a late start on account of snow and traffic which made me late for work. As I pulled into the parking lot, my tire hit a pothole and I got a flat. The biting cold nearly turned me into a popsicle, and then a UPS driver just about ran me over accidentally because he couldn't see me crossing the street (I had the light). Work, itself, was a symphony of insanity. Folks needed things ordered yesterday, two closets needed to be completely reconfigured so as not to pose a fire hazard, database changes from angry callers were pouring in, and to top it off, my second babysitter (for the 2-5 shift) got the dates wrong and just no-showed, causing me to fly home (with the flat tire, PRAYING the entire way home that I made it) way earlier than I should have had to relieve Chrissy. Uuuuuuuuugh. I haven't felt this frustrated and frazzled in a while. I was near tears on the way home because I just felt like everything - EVERYTHING - was out to get me. It was so frustrating. I kept getting annoyed at God. "Why are you doing this? What in the world did I do to you??? C'mon with the onslaught of tests, already." That sort of mindset. Things don't just fall apart like this. I started getting anxious that the day was going to get worse, and given that my husband was taking two planes, I was on edge. When I finally did get home, Vincent was in the mood to play, play, play, so there was no rest for the frazzled. I had almost forgotten my friend, Jay, was coming by until he messaged me to let me know he was on his way. Thank God for Jay! A big bright spot at the end of the symphony of dark. We went out to Chik-Fil-A together. Vince loves Jay, so he was all sorts of excited to have his best buddy to romp around with. However, after he ate, Vince found a friend whom he went off to play with, content to forget about Jay and I while we caught up. We hung out at Chik-Fil-A for about two hours, and in that time all the stress from the day seeped out of me. By the time Jay and I hugged goodbye, I was in a much, much happier place. And I realized while talking to Jay that I should've kept my cool all along. Things always happen for a reason. I know that. I've witnessed it. However, I couldn't see the forest for the trees today because my own short-sightedness. God had His Hand in everything. ![]() Firstly, had my sitter not been late, I would have been in work before my coworker had the chance to request I drive to Staples to pick up some supplies she hadn't realized she'd need. That means I would've been forced to walk around in the frigid air over several blocks twice over trying to lug the materials back from the closest Staples. Instead, I was able to pick everything up on my way into work. As for the frigid air, itself, that was the prime reason I'm not road kill. Usually my hood is wrapped up over my face and I can't hear anything. Just before I crossed in front of the truck, a huge gust of wind blew my hood off my head. I then heard the revving of his engine and ran out of the road, just in time to stare him down with my best "What in God's Name were you THINKING?!" face. God didn't want me to be squished, so He used the weather I hated to clear my ears. Fancy that! The cherry on top was my sitter no-showing. You'd think that'd be the worst of all given I was freaking out about leaving work and trying to get home with a flat tire with no notice at all. However, had my sitter shown up on time, I might not have gotten home at all. Why? Because when I ran back to my car, I remembered about the flat tire. I drove it to the nearest gas station to see if they could do anything about it so I could safely get home. They couldn't, but the customer behind me just happened to have Fix-a-Flat in his car that he put in for me. Had I not left the office on account of my sitter, I would have never bumped into this customer and I might still be waiting for AAA somewhere on the side of the road. So really, why was I angrily calling God out for leaving me high and dry? If anything, I should be thanking my lucky stars He lined everything up for me. Life happens. We live in an imperfect world. He, however, can make sure we've got things ready for those moments we unexpectedly need some Divine Intervention. And yes, I just considered Fix-a-Flat Divine Intervention. So next time Life has you wanting to stab things with sporks, look around. God's got you covered. ![]() I had given up hope of ever having "proof" of my pregnancy with Myla. Imagine my surprise, then, when I walked out of the doctor's office with it on Monday morning. Yeah. Let that sink in. Without getting into graphic detail, let's just say God gave me the proof I thought I'd been denied and allowed me to give John what he needed to accept the reality of Myla's existence. I spent the day in a state of semi-bliss. I was able to share the news with John over coffee Monday night. I wasn't even sure how to bring it up, so I gave him the prescription and evaluation slip from my OB. I explained to him what they meant, and he took my hand in his and said, "Now I feel terrible." I said, "I don't want you to feel terrible. It just gives you the proof you needed, and I'm really happy you know I'm not crazy." In truth, he shouldn't have needed the diagnosis from my OB to rationalize that. But hey... God knew he'd need it, so God made arrangements. We only spoke very briefly, and I designed the conversation that way. I knew he'd need some time to process things, and I didn't want him to feel overburdened with guilt for his lack of trust / support. So I brought out the note at the tail end of Vincent's hour-long therapy session. We tend to go to a coffee shop across the street as an impromptu 1-hour date. 10 minutes before we had to head back to pick Vince up, I pulled out the OB's note. It gave me just enough time to explain things, let the news sink in, and hear his initial reaction. He said he wasn't sure how he felt, because she still wasn't "real" to him. He believes now that she existed, but much like many other men, she was too early to be "real" to him. I understand that. I'm just not sure how I can support him because I don't know if he even needs support (now or ever). I don't know if he'll ever want to bring her up. I don't know if he will want to and won't know how. I don't know if he's struggling with guilt because he's secretly glad she passed away. I dunno. I'm just so incredibly thankful that God manifested His mercy in such an unexpected way. Prayers are never wasted, and every day brings a new miracle. Mommy loves you so much, Myla. I wonder if you made some sort of deal with God to arrange this for your Daddy. I can't wait to see you in Heaven one day, baby girl. What a moment that will be when I see you and wrap my arms around you. Kiss after kiss I will rain upon your face. My little flower. Words cannot express my appreciation for you. <3 In an effort to quell the wave of judgement I fear some folks might be inclined to reign down upon my husband after my last entry, he's a good guy. He just really, REALLY doesn't get Christianity, and that's not his fault. Remember, faith is a gift, and not everyone gets it right away. So, to balance out the whining I just did (and help me remember why I love him), a list of why he's awesome. ![]() He ALWAYS makes me laugh. Every day, there is some ridiculous thing he does or says or suggests that will solicit a giant, belly-quivering laugh out of me. He's not afraid to make a fool of himself to get a laugh. In fact, he takes great pride in the lengths that he will go to get a giggle. Laughter really is how our marriage thrives. ![]() He's adorable. Really. Look at him. He's tall, dark and handsome, looks just as good in a suit as he does in his PJs, and he isn't super vain or worried about trying to keep himself looking good. He just does it naturally. I just love the dimples. Vincent's got them, too! ![]() He's not afraid to try new things. Even horseback riding at my request. Through a jungle and into the ocean. The poor boy's butt hurt, but he did it and he enjoyed it. All because I thought it'd be fun. ![]() He's a good dad! It might've taken him some getting used to, but once he caught on to the whole "dad" thing, he went to town. He gets up early with Vince, plays dress up, takes him to the park to play basketball, teaches him the ins and outs of various sports, disciplines and soothes like a pro. He works hard to provide and always, always, always plans for Vincent's future. ![]() He has great friends. And yes, you really can learn a lot about a man by who he keeps company with. That was one of the first traits I loved about John - his friends and his undying loyalty to them. I'm so blessed to call these folks friends, too. Each one of them is amazing. <3 The list could seriously go on and on. John is a great man with amazing talents and drive. Sometimes we butt heads over the issue of religion and children, but he is my perfect match. I love him immensely and am appreciative of all the psychotic things he puts himself through for the good of our family.
Even if he sometimes thinks I'm out of my Christian-lovin' mind. :) ![]() Last night, I sorta-kinda-totally flew off into a seething fit of rage against my husband and his incessant need to confine my personal thoughts and feelings into a tiny, misshapen box labelled "Force-Fed Ideologies of Christianity: Brainwash Edition." I fully admit that I lost all semblance of sanity in the brief war of words (which wasn't a war so much as a massacre), but even whilst waging verbal warheads at his lackluster logic, I was able to cling to the truth of my Faith, and I think he'll reflect a little longer before attributing my personal opinions to the dusty religious textbooks of my childhood. How did this all start? Well, a quick refresher: John is an independent filmmaker who has sold two films and is working on two others. One of these latter projects we watched together for the purpose of draft-correction. This is a period in post-production where you watch a film thirty billion times to check for any sort of lighting errors, sound issues, continuity problems, music arrangement, etc. Seriously. It's like drafting and redrafting your novel to make the best possible product. However, since you can't use a red pen on DVDs, you sit in front of the TV with a notebook and take notes until your hands fall off. Then you use your feet. John is in the early stages of that, and he asked for my opinions. We watched the draft together a few nights ago, and I offered various comments on the different characters, story lines and technical issues I saw. He seemed to take them all in stride, and by the end of the movie, we were both ready for bed. It's an exhausting process. Last night he had a meeting with the director to go over his (and my) notes from the draft screening. The director is a good friend of my husband's and we both adore taking him and his wife out to dinner. They're good people whom I like and respect. When I asked John how the meeting went, he said it was fine. He explained how he presented our notes to the director, and the conversation sorta blew up from there. You see, I felt that there were too many "main characters" in the movie. I only ended up caring about two - three characters (instead of the 6 - 7 that were vying for attention). I said, "I wish the movie was only about Tom and Steve. I don't really care about anyone else." John took that to mean, "Gina only likes the 'wholesome' characters and doesn't like the ones with immoral lifestyle choices because she's Catholic." He accuses me of stuff like this all the time. I think last night was the last straw because he imparted this to the director and his wife which, in my mind, made me look like some sort of brainwashed space cadet who has no capacity to reason for herself. That drives me up a wall. ![]() I hate when my religion is blamed for things he doesn't agree with me on. She doesn't believe in divorce? Oh... must be all that Catholic guilt. Couldn't possibly be due to the fact that my wife loves me and believes that love can endure even the most difficult of burdens. She wants a big family. OBVIOUSLY that's because her Church tells her she can't use birth control and should shoot out all the babies she can possibly make. There's no WAY it could be an intense, natural longing that she's harbored and documented since she was a child. She doesn't believe in homosexual marriage? Pfft - her archaic old Church is homophobic so she must step in line or face excommunication. If she could, just for a second, think for herself (poor girl) she'd realize that children don't have the natural right to a mother and father. All those studies that have proven children of homosexual couples face higher rates of suicide, depression, social integration issues and gender confusion couldn't have had anything to do with that, right? Right?! She doesn't like characters in my movie. There's no way the characters are just poorly shaded out or make themselves sound pathetic or egotistical, especially in an early draft. No way! Can't possibly be anything wrong with how we've chosen to tell the story. Obviously her brainwashed Christian values are to blame, because Lord knows she can't formulate her own opinion. GAH. I hate being made out to be some brainless moron. My husband of all people should know better than that. So I flipped out. Majorly. And to my surprise, he did an about-face within minutes. He gave me a sincere apology and admitted he deserved the verbal backlash I'd unleashed. ![]() *Sigh* He doesn't understand why I accept Catholic teaching because it doesn't make sense to him. However, I don't understand how he thinks football is entertaining but I don't hold that as prime reason for him hating HGTV. Anyway, when I reiterated my reasoning WHY I didn't like (or was bored by) certain characters, he admitted his mistake and apologized for instantly blaming my dislike for them on some pointless connection to Christianity. It's just frustrating sometimes when he auto-jumps into thinking I consult with a Bible before I make every decision.
Thankfully things haven't gotten to that point yet, but sometimes it feels like he really does think I'm a mindless moron. He KNOWS I'm intelligent and he prides himself on marrying a woman with smarts, but when it comes to my conservative slant, he can't help himself when thinking it's based solely on my religion (because apparently conservatives can't be anything but Christian). Ah well. I felt better after he'd sincerely apologized, because I know he realized his mistake. But it just drives me up a wall that he could've painted a picture of me to friends as some sort of bumbling idiot with no opinion outside of a Catholic coloring book. Why is it that folks can't just accept that we are Catholic because we've looked at the world and wanted better? Expected better? Loved better? This is Vincent's very first picture. I felt it apropo given he looks to have felt the same way I currently do - MISERABLE.
My coworker had an odd e-mail come in today from one of our vendors. I recognized it as odd, so instead of having her open it with her work address, I offered my "junk account" as a testing ground. I opened the e-mail and sure enough, it was a virus. Some of you probably got proof of that (and I'm sorry again!). I didn't think too much damage had occurred because I'd opened it in my junk mail account. Unfortunately, because that account is connected to my actual account, EVERYTHING was infected. I didn't realize they could cross accounts like that, but apparently hackers have grown increasingly good at annoying the heck out of folks. *Sigh* So I spent the better part of the afternoon trying to clean up the mess that was made by that. SO frustrating, especially given the e-mail was sent to EVERY contact I've ever had in my address book. My address book was started while I was a freshman in college, so you can imagine how many contacts I've amassed over the last 14 years or so. Uuuugh. It's okay, though. I've been meaning to create a new e-mail account for a long time. My old one is my maiden name and first initial. Not very creative, but easily remembered. Given I haven't been a "Cline" in almost 7 years, I had wanted to update it to reflect my married name. I just never got around to it. I feel like this is God's way of pushing me to check that off my To-Do List. Mission complete, Lord. It's also a great way to weed out contacts I haven't used in the 14+ years of my account's existence. So I guess it's not all terrible. Now, though, I've gotta go through the trouble of recollecting data since all my e-mails have been deleted. I have to tell everyone to update their files, and go about changing my contact e-mail on all the sites that use my old one for correspondence. I guess there are worse things in life to be annoyed by. :) ![]() I created this picture in Paint the day after Christmas. I had been feeling intense pain in my back and knew it was a kidney stone trying to pass. I'd been feeling it for a while, but pushed off a doctor's visit because, really, it's pointless to see a doctor. They can't do anything but prescribe pain meds, and I typically refuse to take pain medication for this sorta stuff. Long story, but a friend of mine passed away from taking pain meds that masked her symptoms of kidney failure, so I'm super wary of taking anything. Anyway, I came to work this past Wednesday feeling super sore. A stabbing pain in my lower right abdomen was making me rethink my pain medicine position. I called my doctor to schedule a meeting, and I was booked for the next day. Twenty minutes later, they called back and told me to get to the ER because my symptoms were similar to those of appendicitis. Given that my entire body was shaking at that point, I guessed they were right. So I got a quick priestly blessing in case I needed surgery (God, thank you for letting me work with priests all day), and I drove myself (stupidly) across the bridge to Cooper Hospital. The wait was crazy, but triage was doing a really good job cycling folks through. When I was finally seen, I was told my appendix was inflamed, my kidney had ballooned to almost double its size, and I had two kidney stones blocking my ureter. Apparently one of those stones had been around since 2010. I didn't even know they should stay in there that long! Their scan revealed this when they compared them to my last scan (from Cooper) in 2010. They asked if I'd had stones since then, and I affirmed I had - I was treated at a hospital in Voorhees, though. You'd think someone would've caught that, though, right? They then pointed out I was severely dehydrated and started asking me questions about my eating habits. I knew what they were getting at. I don't have an eating disorder. I routinely show high levels of ketones in my urine tests because I don't drink very much. I never have. I can seriously go days without having anything to drink. I feel sick if I drink too much. I've always been like that. My husband thinks I'm a mutant, and my friend, Mary, swears I'm a camel with hidden water humps. I don't have an eating disorder (well, except maybe that I like to eat too much). Ah well. Once they were content that I wasn't bulemic, they hooked me up to IVs with pain meds and fluid. The medicine they gave me opened up my ureter enough to allow the one stone to pass, but the one from 2010 is still hanging out. They suggested I'll need surgery at some point this summer to remove it (oh goody!). My appendix was treated with antibiotics (which I'm still on) and will likely be just fine. The whole time I was there by myself because my phone wasn't working and I couldn't tell anyone where I was. Luckily, John came to my rescue around 11:30 with some food. I hadn't been able to eat on account of both nausea and the threat of surgery, but by the time he arrived, I was thrilled because the stone had likely passed and the pain meds made me forget any sort of nausea. He had to run back home to relieve the babysitter, but not before he snapped this photo of me with my morphine drip and nurse call button. Yup - that's me. Super happy because I was drugged up and satiated by a couple of McDonald cheeseburgers.
I didn't leave the ER for another few hours because they wanted to keep an eye on things, I guess. I was so happy when I was finally allowed to go. I spent the next day recouping on the couch with Vincent. I feel much, MUCH better, but my kidney area is still really sore from everything. The appendix area isn't hurting as much, but I still get the slight stabby pain now and again. It catches me off-guard when I'm turning a certain way. Not fun. Otherwise, I'm A-OK. I'm not looking forward to the surgery to remove the stone this summer, though. The idea of being trapped in the hospital away from Vince for more than a week bothers me. Ah well. Guess God wants me to make a new friend or two while I'm there. :) ![]() A couple weeks before Christmas, I was in Babies R Us shopping for three little girls. The first was Madison, my goddaughter. Born on my birthday, she was going to be 6 months at Christmas. The second was Molly. Molly was born a month before Maddy to our good friends, Hugh and Kim. Though they live in New York, I stalk their online pages regularly for updates about how they're all doing. Finally, there was Maggie. Short for Magnolia, Maggie was born to Leo and Jen a few days after my nephew, Isaac, and she, too, was a premature peanut. Anyway, I was excitedly filling up my shopping cart with adorable dresses, onesies and winter sets when a well-meaning woman nodded my way and said, "Awww, shopping for your baby girl, huh?" I sorta glanced at her, but before I could answer, she again nodded at my stomach area and asked, "When are you due?" *Sigh* Truth be told, it wasn't entirely her fault. I was wearing my coat and happened to have my gloves stuffed in the pockets. For comparison, here is what my winter coat looks like with and without gloves: It might not seem like a huge difference, but in person, I can totally understand why someone might suspect I'm pregnant if they don't realize I've got gloves stuffed in my pockets, ESPECIALLY if I've got a cart stuffed to the brim with nothing but baby girl items in the newborn - 6 month range.
Anyway, I wasn't sure what to say. Honestly, I didn't want her to feel embarrassed, so I didn't correct her regarding my lack of pregnancy. Secondly, I felt the familiar rush of grief because it was another reminder that I would've still been pregnant (and noticeably so) with Myla and I would've been filling my cart with girly things for her had I not miscarried. I chewed back tears. I physically chewed them back. I never understood that euphemism before, but stupidly standing in the middle of the store in front of a stranger who unknowingly stabbed a flaming sword through my heart, I physically had to clench my jaw repeatedly so I wouldn't lose it. I somehow forced what I hope was a smile at her and simply nodded back. I then pushed my cart up a different aisle, took my purse, and abandoned ship. I felt terrible that a store clerk would have to put back the cart-full of outfits I'd plucked for the girls, but I was beginning to feel suffocated. I couldn't have made myself stay even if someone had offered me a hundred dollars. I haven't actually been back since that happened. In lieu of clothing and accessories, I purchased Maddy, Molly and Maggie a keepsake book that Vincent got for his first Christmas. He STILL loves it, and I hope the girls and their parents get to build just as many happy memories with their books as Vince and I still create with his. I still feel kinda guilty, though, that I didn't put together the gifts like I'd originally wanted. This has been a lot harder than I thought it would be. I thought I'd gotten past a lot of the super-charged emotions. Sometimes I'm perfectly okay. Most of the time I'm okay. It's those unexpected moments that pull the rug out from under me. I hate that I can't always control my feelings on this. I hate that it can (and does) spring up without warning. But I guess that's just how love is. It's powerful that way, even when the love you share is with someone on the other side of the veil. Merry Christmas, Myla. I wonder how you spent your first celebration of Jesus' birthday. Did you see the candle Mommy lit for you? Love you, sweetie. Always. ![]() Again taking the cue from Mandi (and fulfilling the promise I made a few months ago), I am taking a moment to share the brief time I spent pregnant with Myla. I had my period in the middle of June. I conceived Myla over Independence Day weekend (a string of weddings has that effect, I guess). I noticed my breasts were super sore around July 8th. I was suspicious, especially when I realized that after coming home from work I'd instantly take a 2 hour nap. I love naps, but I never take them during the week. John lets me sleep late on the weekends (I love that man), but we don't have time to nap during the week. However, I remember waking up from those naps and giving John kisses on the head for letting me crash. I was confused by my sudden, inexplicable exhaustion. Again, I suspected pregnancy, but I didn't allow myself to believe it for fear of jinxing things. Finally, as the days progressed, I noticed all of the other symptoms I'd had with Vincent - intense thirst (for someone who never drinks, that's a huge deal), super sore chest (seriously, the girls were on fire), insatiable need for cereal (at midnight - always at midnight) and other bodily signs that I won't bother to discuss. Point is, by the 15th, there was no denying I was pregnant. I knew it, and I was so excited that I could barely contain myself. Seriously. I must've had the biggest, dumbest grin on my face 24/7. I began devising ways to tell the families. I began looking up "Big Brother" T-shirts for Vince. I even began devising ways to hide my ballooning belly long enough to do a "big reveal" around Christmas. I'd of course taken a few tests, but just as with Vincent, they came back negative. I didn't think too much of it because Vince's tests didn't show up positive until well after my missed period. My missed period wasn't for a few days yet, so I figured I'd have at least another week or two to wait for a positive. Finally, that Friday, July 19th, I visited my friend, Mary. At first, I tried to play off my excitement. But I couldn't. She asked me what the dopey smile was for, and I said I was 99.9% sure I was pregnant. Really, I was 1,000% sure, but again, I didn't want to jinx things. Fat lot of good my superstitions did me. ![]() Mary promptly asked how John would react. I honestly wasn't too worried. I knew he'd be freaked out, I knew I'd be hurt by his reaction, but I also knew he'd eventually be fine and my happiness could not be tainted - even with such a callous response to news of our baby. En route home, I also asked for prayers from two spiritual sisters I've grown to rely on. I shared with them my news and asked that they pray for a positive test so I could finally go forward with my "reveal" plans for the family. That night, when I got home, I made the decision to tell John. I honestly couldn't hold it in anymore. I wanted to tell EVERYONE. But I knew it would be a shock to John so I wanted to give him time to process things. You already know how well that went. But tell him I did and I was glad. Unfortunately, the next day, July 20th, found me spotting. Implantation bleeding? I was hoping, but given I would be on the later end of the timeframe for implantation, I doubted it. I still hoped, though. I ignored the cramping and nausea. I put in a call to my OB (who I was scheduled to meet with on the 25th) and she suggested I just relax and see what came of it. Sunday the 21st I knew for sure. All throughout the night I had been tossing and turning with terrible back pain. I was cramping and bleeding and fully understood what was happening. It's odd. The physical act of miscarriage was my nail in the coffin. That was my final physical sign confirming what I'd known for two weeks - I was pregnant, and I was losing her. In losing her, I fully gained her - and that might sound ridiculous, but it's the truth. I went downstairs and told John. We had our niece's birthday party that day, so he didn't ask many questions. I didn't feel like talking, so that worked for me. ![]() When we got to phase one of Alliya's birthday party (it was at a gymnastics place), I sat off by myself. I felt like crap and didn't want to be near anyone. I felt bad for seeming miserable, so I took a photo of my pink and sparkly flip flop to send to my friend, Theresa. She had given me these shoes for her wedding (she's the one obsessed with pink). I jokingly wrote that I was wearing something pink and sparkly knowing it'd generate a chuckle and quite possibly an eye roll from her. She didn't know about Myla yet. She didn't have to. I was just in need of some sort of friendly communication - something familiar to fall back on while I wrestled with the physical and emotional pain of what was happening. Everyone at the party was rightfully happy and excited to be celebrating Alliya. I felt terrible for not being able to feel the same. But I couldn't exactly go home without an explanation, and I wasn't ready to give that explanation. So I stayed, and I tried my very best to be social. However, when everyone was ready to go back to the house for the subsequent party and cake, I took a breather. I dropped John and Vince off there and claimed I needed to pick up swimsuits from Walmart. In truth, I didn't need to do that at all. I could've easily brought them from home, but I didn't because I knew I'd need an out. So I spent about 45 minutes collecting myself and working through the physical pain of miscarriage. By the time I'd arrived back, the party was in full swing. I got into the pool with Vince because I hoped the warm water would help me feel better. In truth, it did, but I was also having to catch Vince each time he'd jump into the pool. It was heavy lifting, and in truth, I was really angry with John who left to lie down because he "had a headache." If looks could kill... Anyway, after the rain started, we thought it best to go home. That evening, I sat down and typed out my feelings through a torrent of tears. That is where my "I Was Pregnant This Week" entry came from. I had just finished typing it when my Mom sent me a book entitled Cracks in the Sidewalk (great book, BTW, but a complete tear jerker). She sent it with a message along the lines of, "I'm not sending this to pressure you or John about children - although I wish he'd reconsider. I'm sending it because it's a good book and I think you'd like it." I read the first few pages and immediately realized what she meant. The entire first chapter deals with a woman only able to have one child and feeling guilty for being unable to provide more for her daughter. I wrote her back that it was okay. She was just acting in the name of Divine Providence. I then attached my blog entry because I could not bring myself to say the words out loud. In the coming days, I mostly felt numb. After the first day and a half of pain, I was fine. I just bled. I called my doctor and asked if I could just skip my visit on the 25th. She wanted me to come in so I could be checked, but I told her women miscarried without seeing their doctors all the time. Truthfully, I just didn't want to go in and be surrounded by a dozen other women with their full bellies and excited baby chatter. My heart wouldn't be able to take it. She understood and simply said to call her if I developed fevers, increase in blood flow / cramping / etc. Thankfully, I never had to call. I still haven't. Her office called me about a week later, but I never picked up and never returned the phone call. Terrible, I know, but I guess I just couldn't handle that. About a week later, I no longer had any pregnancy symptoms. They'd all dissipated with the passing of Myla's tiny body. The realization that nothing was left almost sent me into a state of panic. Again, though, God's grace abounded and cocooned me in mercy. Now here I am several months later. The emotional pain is still there. Sometimes my entire body rocks as I try to keep the waves of tears inside - especially at Mass when I know she's so close. Other times I feel elated and excited at the thought of having her up in Heaven to greet me one day. In all things, though, I know I am blessed to have held her within me. Even for how tiny she was... how fleeting her soul was hidden in my womb... I am blessed. ![]() Mandi over at Messy Wife, Blessed Life shared her personal miscarriage experience today. She, too, lost her child early on and as I read through her entry, I kept nodding my head in recollection of my own experience. After reading her piece, I sent it to John with the a letter that basically said, "I'm sharing this because her experience is similar to mine. I want you to see this through the eyes of another woman - someone you don't have preconceived notions about." I also was honest and said I was still hurt that he feels I tricked myself into believing my experience was real. And it does. On so many levels, that bothers me. It bothers me in ways I can't even express. A few hours after reading Mandi's experience, I came across this one by Sonja Essen. Vastly different from mine or Mandi's, Sonja's experience revolved around relief that the decision to keep her child was taken out of her hands. She miscarried early, too, just as Mandi and I. She, however, was grateful for the miscarriage because she felt unprepared to handle a new child. Try not to judge her. I admit I recoiled a bit upon first reading it, but I can understand where she is coming from regarding the fear of being unprepared. Truth is, though, no one is ever really "prepared." But that's another discussion for another day. Point is, her experience, I feel, somewhat mirrored John's. John was most certainly relieved that a child was no longer part of the equation. He, too, had fears and worries that stilled his desire to grow our family. For as much as I noted the similarities between Mandi's experience and mine, I noted parallel similarities between John and Sonja. I very rarely bring this topic up between John and I because I understand it to be a sore spot for both of us. I don't like making him feel uncomfortable and I don't like the instant thickening of irritation. However, I don't want to just pretend the issue doesn't exist. It does, and we need to deal with it, even if it's in little bits and pieces. I'm okay with that. These two articles today were beneficial in that regard. They both serve to broaden our scope of experience, even if that experience is gained through sympathy / empathy. So I'm sharing both with you as well since I promised to chronicle my own experience for others. It is helpful to share these experiences - you never know who may benefit. <3 ![]() When I showed up for the photo shoot, I was nervous and felt really, REALLY silly. I mean, who goes and gets pictures taken of herself all "glammed" up? Turns out I do. When I walked up to the counter, I didn't know what to expect. The two women inside were beauty people. Nice hair, flawless makeup and cute outfits. Read: intimidating. Really. That's intimidating to a person like me. You're lucky if you can find me in jeans anymore. I'm a pajama bottom girl. And cute tops? Please. Toss me one of John's old T-shirts and I'm good to go. Such is the glamours style of Gina. *Grin* Proof: And I'm not even wearing glasses in these. I try really hard not to get photographed in my glasses. I hate the way I look. Annnnd, proof of the glasses and general frumpiness:
So when I say I'm not glamorous, I really REALLY mean that. Even for my own wedding, I wore glasses, did nothing special with my hair, and had a whisper of makeup. Me and girly stuff just... I just don't know what to do with it. Imagine my wonder, then, when stylist, Ashley, effortlessly made me look glamorous. I instantly felt at ease with her. I could tell she'd dealt with my type before, because she sorta laughed off my fears that she might have a tough time getting my hair to do anything fun. After years of boring, my hair knows its place, and its place is in a crinkled bun-thing at the nape of my neck. Not with Ashley, though. She expertly maneuvered my locks around a curling iron. A CURLING IRON, people! Do you know how many stylists have complained about how healthy my hair is? No one could ever get curls to stick because my hair was too soft to hold shape. Ashley didn't even use hairspray. Which, BTW, I loved. She understood how much care I took with my hair because of donation, so she made sure not to put any sort of product into my hair. Everything you see in the photos was all her. I don't know how she managed it, but she did, and I loved it! Regarding the makeup, she used an airbrush machine. I've always been curious how they worked, and I was surprised at how quickly foundation went on. It felt like Vincent was blowing into my face after eating a popsicle. The air was cold and a bit soggy if you catch my drift. When I opened my eyes, I looked like a recent victim of Dracula; I was so pale! Ashley had given me fair warning, though, so I wasn't worried. She quickly layered blush and bronzer to give me color and brushed some eye shadow over my brow while suggesting I should stick with browns to complement my blue eyes. When she attempted to use eyeliner under my eye, she didn't judge my freakish fear of eyeballs and let me line, myself, under her direction. ![]() The entire make-up / hair session went by super fast. Ashley kept the conversation going and didn't think twice about the questions she genuinely seemed interested to know the answers to. Believe it or not, readers, she asked why John and I only had one child! I was really surprised, but pleasantly so. She reminded me a lot of myself. She can't wait to have children. She couldn't understand why John didn't want more, and I laughed as I tried to explain that society just doesn't value children as much as those of us who do. We view them as fun and rewarding. Society? Hurdles to personal pleasure. She was just so sweet. I even opened up a bit about Myla. Surprised the heck out of myself. I felt comfortable enough with her in such a short span of time that when she asked if John would accept things should I get pregnant, I told her he would because he did with the little girl I'd miscarried in July. To think I would have that tentative conversation with a stylist I'd just met. Wonder of wonders! That just goes to show you how amazing she was. Once the makeup was applied, she told me to get changed into the first outfit. I had brought two vests with me and she helped me pick out the best one to suit the dress I wore with it. How nice was that? She set me loose in the studio which is, itself, ingeniously designed to save on space and maximize efficiency. One studio had five different "hard" backdrops that you could move through quickly to match a certain style. The next studio had "soft" backdrops that could quickly be unfurled for a change in scenery. There were plenty of props tucked away into every corner that could be pulled and used if the photographer thought it would add to the shot. Over all, I was really impressed with the set up. Moreso, though, I was impressed by the professionalism and warmth that exuded from the staff. Everyone was genuinely sweet and helpful. They shower you with a thousand compliments because, frankly, they do good work. Each time I was told how beautiful I looked, I shot a nod towards Ashley whose fault it was I looked so flawless. The photos, themselves, were great. All of the things Ashley had me do ("drop your shoulder, drop your shoulder, always drop your shoulder!") looked natural. That, in itself, is a miracle, because I kept laughing at myself being placed in what felt like super unnatural poses. ![]() Put my arms up? Scoot my butt against the wall? Raise my chin? My favorite was when she said, "C'mon. Let's try a sexy pose." I actually laughed. Hard. Miss I-Wear-PJs-and-Old-Tees doesn't do "sexy." She said, "No, you can do it. It's all in the eyes." Within a few clicks of me staring up into her camera while trying to keep my hands placed exactly where she'd put them, she nodded to herself and said, "Yes. That's a good one." I remember thinking Oh, good. She caught me between blinks that time. Turns out she actually captured the most beautiful photo I'd ever - EVER - seen of myself. I wouldn't call it sexy, because again - I don't believe I can ever pull of "sexy." But I did look beautiful, and I gasped when I saw myself. When I saw this after the photo shoot was over, I was so taken aback I almost couldn't speak for a quick second. That's not me. She looks nothing like me. She's wearing my wedding rings, she has my blue eyes, and she's even wearing my clothes, but that woman is not me! And yet she is. She's the woman I sometimes forget I am at 3 in the afternoon as I'm trudging through payables. She's the woman who is hidden under the peanut butter kisses I'm given on the weekends. She's the woman I hope my husband still sees hiding under his favorite wrestling shirt. I never put much stock into what I look like. Looks aren't important to me. However, seeing this reminder of my femininity when I haven't thought about myself past "Mom" in so long... it was startling. Startling and refreshing. I really did gain a confidence boost, and I didn't even think I needed one. Ever since seeing myself through her lens, I've made a conscious effort to pay more attention to my feminine side. I haven't started donning makeup or curling my hair, mind you, but I have distanced myself somewhat from the harsher tones of "being one of the guys" and began embracing the soft and gentle ways indicative of women. So to all you fabulous ladies out there - I do think you owe yourselves this experience at least once in your lives. See yourself through the lens of another... someone who can expertly see who you are and capture it on film. At Glamour Shots, it seems like they've got the process down perfectly. I had so much fun, and this experience really did gently shift my vision of who I am and who I want to be. I appreciate so much more the gift of being a woman. Thanks, Ashley... and the whole Glamour Shots team. This is a franchise, so I'm assuming you guys can find Groupons near you! Do it, and then link back here to share with the rest of us! Random bits:
I was there for about three hours. Yes, their prices are expensive, but given the amount of work they put into it, I don't mind (especially since they put such great deals up on Groupon!). They do have a sales pitch at the end, but again, I went in fully expecting that. They weren't pushy, but they definitely know exactly how to make you want to walk out handing over your life savings. :) They do everything from maternity and family portraits to school and modeling shots. They also do boudoir (which is what my Groupon stated), but obviously you don't have to show up with lingerie to take advantage of their offer. (Yes, I just blushed while writing that.) Yes, I do plan to go back. I also purchased a Groupon for family portraits through them and can't wait to see how the family pictures turn out. They did such a great job with me, I can only imagine how they'll capture Vincent and John! If you have any other questions I missed, feel free to leave 'em below (or message me). :) So several of you knew I was going in for a photography session tonight. I was a bit nervous because I'd never done anything quite like this before. It was a photo shoot completely focused on me - head to toe. An artist sets you in a chair, sets out your clothes and accessories, does your hair and makeup, then turns you loose in a photo studio with a ridiculous amount of backgrounds.
The experience was simply incredible - on multiple levels. As promised, I'll be following up with a complete review, an explanation of why I did this in the first place, and, of course, a few more photos. You ladies (and gentlemen) have GOT to hear all about it! I'd write it now if it weren't for the fact that I hear Vincent moving around in bed. :) To be continued soon! ![]() I was privileged to witness my little Madison Rose become a princess of the Church on Sunday. Yay! I got to her mom’s house early enough to catch her still asleep. I snapped a few pre-bath photos because she’s so darn adorable and I simply couldn’t resist. When she woke up, I got to watch her while mom, Theresa, and dad, John, got ready. I was only too happy to have her all to myself. We played a fun game of peek-a-boo on the floor with her fuzzy blanket, we practiced rolling around both in the crib and on the aforementioned fuzzy blanket, I let her chomp on various fingers because the poor thing is teething something fierce, and finally, I showed her the small figurines of Mary and Jesus I had given to her parents for their wedding. ![]() Then she showed me her Winnie the Pooh light, her swing, and her underwater themed night light that played some really awesome music. Next, she decided she wanted to chomp on my fingers some more. I happily obliged. :) Pretty soon, though, it was time to get her gussied up for her big day! Theresa and I decided to keep her only half-dressed for the ride to the church. After all, her gown was super long, so trying to buckle her into the seat safely would’ve been a problem. We put her in her special onesie (the same design Mary got for Vince 4 years ago!) and a warm pair of pink leggings. We also decided to put the bonnet on instead of the headband because the bonnet was so cute! ![]() When we got to the church, I quickly slipped the gown over her head while Theresa tied it in the back. I got the honor of carrying her into the church, but before we went in, a bunch of photos were taken by mommy and babci (babci means “grandmother” in Polish). Once inside, I discovered that the cry room is next to the sanctuary. THE SANCTUARY. How cool is that? Normally the room opposite the sacristy is used for storage of choir stuff. They decked theirs out as a cry room complete with children’s books, pews, and a bathroom. VERY family-friendly! The partition that separated the sanctuary from the cry room was made up of windows. Most of the windows were closed, but two were open (and I think that’s due to their condition… they might’ve been broken). I didn’t mind, but I wondered if the crying children distracted the priests (which was later confirmed by my friend, Frank, who works at the parish). Ah well. I still love the idea of the children being so close to the Mass. They can see EVERYTHING up close and personal. Besides, I think Jesus would approve of having the kids so close to Him, too. Madison was great throughout Mass. She barely cried, and when she did, her parents or babci soothed her with a few bounces and all the pretty stained glass. After Mass, it was time for her baptism! She cried a bit given the fuss of all the guests chattering loudly around her. I was surprised to see how many people were there for the baptisms - four in total. Guests took up the front half of the church. Fr. Ferrier, my Latin teacher from high school, was the presiding minister. The baptism, itself, was great. Fr. Ferrier explained the different symbols and the importance of Catholic identity. He said the prayers and offered photo opportunities for the families after each individual baptism. I caught a few shots of the chrism blessings which was nice. I also snapped a photo of Tim, Madison's godfather, holding the lit Baptismal candle. It's a bit grainy, given I was using my iPhone for all these shots. However, I thought that was an important part of her sacrament. We need to remember that we are supposed to act as bearers of Christ's light for her. To be a godparent isn't to feel warm and fuzzy because we've been given a special title since we're such good friends of Mom and Dad. To be a godparent is to be a bearer of Christ's light - a protector of that light for Madison. So I snapped this shot after asking Tim to hold it for us. I hope to have some more pictures from her Mom soon. I'll likely share some of those, too (assuming Theresa gives me the ok... you'll give me the OK, right?).
:) So if you guys could shoot a prayer of thanks or two up to Heaven for giving us a brand new little sister in Christ, I'd appreciate it. I'm so proud of this little peanut. She's a sweetie and I can't wait to enjoy this journey alongside her. May the Lord forever bless and keep this little Reese. <3 <3 <3 ![]() Go figure. For someone who hates math as much as I do, my favorite artist is a mathematical genius. Truthfully, his symmetry and creative outlook on the impossible are what originally drew me to him. Also, he has an uncanny way of making the impossible seem true... of causing two diametrically opposed objects to work together as if they were always intrinsically the same. So when I think about the dichotomy of secrets, I think of an MC Escher piece. Why? Because secrets contain a built-in paradox. Half the horses in your mind want nothing more than to keep that secret private. They're content in their stalls, munching on their hay and reflecting on what amounts to be a very personal, intimate matter. Those other horses, however... they're chomping at the bit and pawing at the stall doors to escape and spread the secret to anyone and everyone who will listen. My secret? Myla Therese. Today, Remembrance Day, made me keenly aware of this inner dichotomy. Myla's existence is still mostly unknown. My mother, my SD, you folks and a tiny handful of friends (6 or 7 maybe?) are even aware of what happened. No one else on either side of the family knows, and I don't bring her up to anyone but the closest to me. It's those pesky horses... the half that wants to keep her private and mine - all mine - they're content to sit in their stalls and keep her memory there. Those other horses, though... sometimes they get creative and find ways of slipping out. A few days ago, I commented on a Facebook thread that was far away from anything my group of friends would ever stumble across. It was a bunch of Catholic moms talking about babies. My friends and family would steer so far away from "Catholic" "mom" and "baby" that they'd be happily on their ways to China so as not to accidentally find themselves in a spot that combined them. However, what I wasn't aware of was the fact that Facebook doesn't care about that. Facebook took a personal comment on a wall of a group that is "no man's land" to my friends and put it in the newsfeed. In the NEWSFEED. Everyone then had the chance to see my comment of comfort. It was originally meant to reach out to another mother who had lost her child an felt secluded in her grief. I wanted her to know she wasn't alone, so I said something along the lines of, "I'm the mother of a baby in Heaven, too. Our little saints are playing together on the lap of Our Lady, I bet!" Several minutes later, I got a private message from a friend of mine. She asked me about the comment and I immediately felt like someone had walked in on me in the shower. My mind began racing...
If she saw it, who else saw it? Is John going to get these questions from our friends? Is John going to be MAD that I posted this on Facebook? Oh God... did anyone of his family see it? Will anyone else send me questions? What am I supposed to say to this one? And why does Facebook have to notify her that I'd already read the dang question?! Before bothering to respond to her e-mail, I called John. I explained the situation and asked how he wanted me to handle it. After all, this was a mutual friend. What I said to her had the capacity to reverberate through our friends and back to him. He might not be able to push the situation out of his mind so easily. His response surprised me. He said, "Answer her however you want to. Whatever makes you feel better because you're the one handling it. I really don't care how you respond." Now try not to bristle at "I don't care how you respond." I don't think he meant that in a harsh or demeaning way. I repeated that his family might find out... his Mom. I didn't think she would from that basic exchange, but it was a possibility, and if he still said that he didn't care what I did after thinking about it in those terms (moms tend to paint a black and white picture for us better than most things), I could trust he really meant it. Apparently he did, because he still gave his stamp of approval even then. I went back to my computer. How do I respond to her? I didn't know. On the one hand, I wanted so much to tell someone else about Myla's existence, but on the other, I didn't want to share something so personal. I honestly didn't know what to do, so instead of answering her, I went through my newsfeed to clear out any possible reference to miscarriage I could find. Finally, I went back to her message. I was back in control of my feelings, so I could respond logically. I trusted this particular friend, so I explained in very simple terms that yes, John and I had been expecting in July and I had miscarried around the 5th or 6th week. I also explained that we weren't really making that information public, but I thanked her for sending me the message. It really did mean a lot. She quickly responded with love and support. I felt better that another person was pulled into the circle that knew Myla existed. She was such a blessing, and I sometimes ache that more people aren't aware of her. However, I do fear what knowledge of her existence would bring. Questions. Questions that I'm ill-equipped to handle. Questions that would make me cry. Questions that would tear me apart and leave me pounding my fists into the floor. Disbelief. Disbelief that she was real. At 5 or 6 weeks, she's nothing, after all, right? Society tells us she's nothing. Society assures us that my sweet little baby is completely inconsequential. Pity. Anger. Hopelessness. Grief. And the list drags on. So for today, I reposted a few things and commented on a few others, but I kept my tone ambiguous. Instead of posting Myla's story, I posted things "in solidarity with" or "together with" others who have shouldered this cross. Folks seeing my posts could easily think they were akin to wearing pink in support of breast cancer awareness though I never had it myself. It was my safe way of publicly spreading awareness without opening the door to something I'm not ready to handle. Again, I know this might come as a surprise to you readers who see my most personal thoughts on a routine basis, but I am just not this forthcoming with many people. Behind the safety of my monitor, I can vent with the knowledge that none of you will ever be able to treat me differently or judge me harshly because of what you read here. Truth be told, in real life, I'm scared. Very, very scared. I like being in control... in charge... even-keeled. Being upfront about things so sensitive and emotional for me... it's just not something I'm good at. And for as much as those horses want to call out Myla's name from the rooftops and share my experience with other women who might be going through (or will go through) miscarriage, I am not strong enough to handle it at this point. I feel selfish and weak for admitting that, but it's the truth. I do hope to one day be able to tell other people about Myla. She is a blessing, and I want to share her with others - especially family and friends. I just don't know when (or if) I'll ever be ready to do so. For those of you who have endured miscarriage, did you ever tell family/friends? If you did, when and how did you go about doing it? I spent a pretty good portion of this weekend caught between two worlds. The first was created entirely by you fine folks. My inbox was full of pictures, poems and stories. The depth of love you each testify to cannot be understated. I was so touched and humbled by the images you chose to share. I sorta felt like Frank Warren from Postsecret (or what I assumed he'd feel like). Each item shared was like a tiny peek into the heart and soul of the person who sent it in. My heart was greatly moved by each and every one of you. I only chose to show names along with the photos. I figure that if you'd like to share your personal stories, you may do so in the comments. I left out last names and birthdays as well (given that many of these children were born into Heaven before ever being born upon earth). Bless each and every one of you. No doubt these little saints hear our prayers and feel our love. May we constantly feel their pull on our soul as they gently lead us after Christ to our forever home. Quick heads up...
The blog community CatholicSistas has a Remembrance Day linkup. Check it out and participate there! ![]() I attended the baby shower of a friend of mine today. He became a dad several weeks early. He and my sister were gunning for preemie bragging rights, I think, because his daughter was born in similar circumstances as Maria's son. Thankfully, both of them are fighters and are well on their way to fattening up enough to come home. God is good! Today was my friend's shower. He and his wife came with photos of their daughter in the NICU. Of course she's beautiful! :) Please keep them in your prayers. We'll all be very relieved when they're ALL home safe and sound. As for the shower, it was a surprising experience for me. The entire way there, I was nervous. I was afraid of facing a baby shower for a little girl. I didn't know if I was "there" yet. I was super happy for Jen and Leo, but I can admit that I am painfully aware that Myla never had a shower and will never have family and friends gathered to celebrate her. Before you chide me for my selfishness, I already get it. I felt guilty enough for even allowing myself to go down that road. I'm being honest, though. I was nervous because I wasn't sure if seeing all the pink balloons, baby clothes and baby things would overload me. I was one of the very first people there. The place was adorably decked out in pink and purple balloons. "It's a Girl" posters were everywhere, and the tables had cute little bookmarks made with their daughter's birthday and stats. Immediately I realized none of my friends had yet made their entrance. I sent out a text. Dear God, let them be two seconds away! I can't do this by myself! To my horror, none of my friends were actually attending. They sent me messages back with varying degrees of "I have other plans." GAH. My heart actually sank and I contemplated turning around and leaving right then and there. I couldn't face this all by myself - not without a friend or two to talk about anything and everything to keep me from the pity-party brewing in my heart. But no. I quietly took a seat at an empty table. Especially knowing that our other friends weren't coming, I couldn't leave Leo to think that none of us was there to celebrate with him. So I sucked it up as best I could and braced for impact. I begged God to take away my selfish grief and replace it with a magnification of the true joy I had for Leo, Jen and their little Maggie. I stayed in my secluded little spot for about 10 minutes as other people trickled in. God was kind, because He sent my cousin's girlfriend as one of the attendees. She and I aren't close (mostly because we never see one another), so she was the perfect person to snap me into "Happy Gina" mode. Since I'm not comfortable enough to share personal details, my "auto-wall" went up and I slid into my "Everything is great, how are you?" game. She's an actress, so my guess is that happens frequently with her, too. Regardless, it was exactly the situation I needed to survive that moment. Pretty soon, most guests had arrived. My originally silent table had grown to encompass all of Jen's friends. My cousin's girlfriend knew many of them from theater, so by the time Jen and Leo finally arrived, the table was so full that I was able to quietly excuse myself and sit with Leo, his best friend, Adam, and Adam's girlfriend. Adam is an old friend of mine through my husband, so again God afforded me a great person to focus on so I didn't have time to dwell on any vestige of a pity party. I really enjoyed spending the next two hours catching up with Adam and getting to know his girlfriend a bit better. When it was time to leave, I was able to go with with a sense of gratefulness and pride. Grateful, of course, that I'd been able to stay to celebrate with Leo and Jen. Grateful, also, that God had sent me two key people to help me cope with what could have been a really difficult experience. Pride, finally, that I'd made the decision to stick it out. I really am proud that I was somehow able to make it through that shower intact and truly happy. I felt no bitterness or envy, no jealousy or anger regarding the gift of their child. On the contrary, God gave me what I requested - a magnified joy and a deep appreciation since I knew that Maggie wasn't just a gift for them... she was a gift for the world. <3 ![]() This handsome dude is my brother. He's about 2 years older than me, and growing up, I wanted to be just like him. Maybe a little taller. ;) I thought he was cool, funny, and smart (in a witty sort of way). I thought he had cool friends, listened to cool music, and was all around awesome. I think many of my own developed personality traits are shadows of what I perceived his to be. I would always try to mimic the qualities in him that I liked so I could have them, myself. Funny thing is, he absolutely loathed me - likely because I was the annoying little sister who wouldn't leave him to himself. He would torture me to no end, and I happily took it in stride. I'd dish it back to him now and again, but I mostly just accepted that he treated me like a jerk because of how much I tried to hang around him. I was a sophomore in high school when he went off to college. He still lived at home, but at that point, I'd found my own groove with my own set of friends and didn't feel the need to siphon off his personality anymore. I'd come into my own, figured out who I was and wanted to be, so Ray no longer had to peel me off himself like some sort of diseased leper. In fact, I, myself, was rarely home anymore. That, coupled with my personal family dynamic, allowed me to grow radically distant from my siblings (with the exception of my younger sister, Maria, with whom I always fostered a good relationship). ![]() Fast forward about 8-9 years. I was out of college and getting ready for marriage to John. I'd reconnected with a friend of my brother's who began confiding in me and building a relationship outside of Ray. As a result of our new relationship, I began hanging out with my brother when the two of them would see one another at bars and such. Given the terrible relationship my brother and I shared due to the 8-9 years of strained communication, it was interesting to "meet him" all over again with friends - absent of our immaturity and familial dynamic. As a result, the change to our relationship was instantaneous. We no longer felt the need to retreat from dialogue. He didn't see me as an annoying, snotty twit, and I didn't see him as a pompous jerk who treated me unfairly. It was refreshing, and I relished this change. I once again had my big brother back and we could share laughs over childhood experiences and talk about actual issues we both routinely faced (whether work-related, family-related or otherwise). I guess the fact that I brought John to the table didn't hurt. My husband (then boyfriend) clicked with him almost instantly. Anyway, again fast forward a few more years. I'm pregnant with Vince and I get to share news that he's an Uncle. The amount of sports clothing and toys that he excitedly got for Vincent is ridiculous. He's a big Flyers fan, so Vince had the PJs, the jackets, the shirts - even pants with the logo on it. He supported Vince (and therefore, me) when the in-fighting broke out over how our sister was treating Vincent. It felt good to be defended in that way. To have him protect Vincent, myself and John in that manner was such a change given how easily I'd been thrown under the bus by my family in the past. To them I was the "bad child." Frankly, I was the same to Ray for a really long time because no one ever tried to learn if the gossip they spread amongst themselves was even true or not. However, now that Ray was in the mix and had allowed himself to get to know me and see for himself who I was as a person, he brought that common sense back to the family. As a result, folks weren't so easily able to just write me off as being a terrible individual worthy of constant disdain and disrespect. ![]() That was such a transitional time for my family and I, and much of it has to do with him. A lot also sprang from my mother and I reaching common ground once I'd moved out upon marrying John, but I do attribute the new dynamics of the family moreso to my brother who acted as gate-keeper to folks seeing me not as the terrible person they assumed I was, but as the person I ACTUALLY was. Doubtful he even realizes that. For example, before things with Ray developed, I was routinely neglected from family events. I can't even tell you how many times I found out about baptisms and birthday parties AFTER they'd already happened. It was so frustrating. Excuses I'd get ranged from, "Oh, we just thought you'd be busy that day" to "Well, so-and-so thought you might embarrass them." *Sigh* It's funny now, because as I sat in the hospital room with my brother and sister as we kept her company waiting for Isaac, the two of them reminisced about things as if I already knew about them. I had to keep reminding them over and over again that I didn't actually remember any of it because I was ostracized from the group. I missed out on several years of relationships, anecdotes and shared experiences, but given how good our relationships are now, they tend to forget that. In a lot of ways, I guess that's a good thing because it just shows how much things have changed for the better. ![]() And in that hospital room, as I watched how he looked after Maria and took care of her and kept her entertained and busy so she didn't worry so much about Isaac, I was reminded again just how lucky I am to have him in my life. Obviously I feel that way about a bunch of people, but reminders like this are always welcome so I can say a quick prayer of thanks for the folks in my life who really count. It made me appreciate the unthinkable changes that have gone on in my life in such a short span of time. And these changes... they really were at one time unthinkable for me. But God is good. These changes have been wonderful and joyous and appreciated. When I mused this aloud to a friend of mine who has seen (and felt) this transition with me first hand, she actually said, "Geez - it makes me wonder why you are so insistent that Vince have siblings." I laughed, because I understand her point. But I also understand that my experience is not normal - by ANY stretch of the imagination. Only recently have things evened out to a level of normal that I never knew. And again, seeing how well Maria was looked after by myself, my brother, and our other two sisters (there are five of us), I sorta hurt a little for Vincent because should he ever be in that situation, he won't have those siblings to give him the support that we gave (together with our mother, obviously) to Maria. That makes me sad, and I again wonder about how this will effect him later in life. ![]() But that's another issue for another day. This entry gets dedicated to my brother for being awesome. He's still the funny, cool and smart guy I knew he was way back when. He's still someone I can admire and appreciate, rely on and love. So take a moment today to be thankful for the folks in your life who are awesome. Say a prayer of thanks for them, because each has been a blessing to you... a little kiss from God to remind you that He loves you enough to make sure these gems are in your life. ![]() Please shoot a prayer (or 10) up to Heaven for a very special intention. My younger sister is pregnant with her 2nd child, a little boy. She's about 28 weeks pregnant right now, but her little one is only weighing about 2lbs. She's been admitted to L&D, and the doctors are doing all they can to both stave off labor while building up the baby's lungs through various shots. My mom is currently with her. I wish I was there, too. Please offer prayers for her and her baby boy. We want him to stay put - no labor! We also want him to start gaining weight - and fast! This is a really scary situation for all involved. God help us. I don't want to see Maria suffer a miscarriage. I want to meet my nephew. I want to see Arianna grow up with her little brother. I want to see Vincent teach him basketball. I want to spend Christmas and Halloween and Easter together. So please - pray for a happy resolution. All is in the Hands of God. May He bless us with a healthy, happy baby. My thanks. Our Lady of Perpetual Help, pray for us. ![]() Here is a photo of the offending slippers. I was looking for dainty little slippers for my goddaughter's upcoming baptism. I've already got the outfit picked out. I've got her little headband, and her little onesie set is ready to go. I just need her slippers. So I was looking through little slippers for her when I came across these. They're adorable, fuzzy, soft, pink and have tiny rosebud flowers. They're girly and cute. If they had rhinestones, her mother would likely be willing to kill a man to have them for herself (if you're reading this, don't even bother denying it - ha!). Anyway, when I saw them, I felt like I'd been smacked square in the chest. I immediately thought of Myla. I wondered if she'd've been super girly. Lord knows if she was, I wouldn't have known what to do with her. I probably would've tried to dress her in all the cute dainty things they have for girls, but I was suddenly caught by how little I knew about her personality. She was taken away before I'd ever unwrapped that piece of her. I was instantly angry, then. Again, I silently screamed up to Heaven, "Why Myla? Why did you have to take her away? I want her. I will always want her. So many other parents don't want theirs and force them to endure painful abortions. Why not whisk one of those little souls away to Heaven before they meet such cruel ends? Why take Myla?" Then I get upset with myself for thinking that way. Those children who are aborted are loved just as much as Myla - they're wanted just as much - by God. True, He wants to see all children born to a life of love, but it is not His fault this cannot be. Knowing this doesn't make it any less frustrating. Knowing that Myla's in Heaven and working hard to get us up there with her doesn't lessen my sadness and hurt. I hate this. I hate having a Pandora's Box in my heart that can be opened without warning. Pink slippers. How they gained the point of a knife, I will never understand. Mommy loves you, Myla. I miss you every day. I'm sorry Vincent, Daddy and I have to wait so long to meet you. {hugs and kisses} ![]() After a great day developing a partnership with Vince's teacher and principal, a call today threw me for a complete loop. Vince had eaten something that didn't agree with him, and as a result, he had an accident. I got a phone call asking me to come for him immediately. Apparently they do not help children wipe themselves, adjust their clothing, and they certainly will not change a child's clothing after an accident. I was beyond floored. I began to argue, but realized I wouldn't get my point across and didn't want Vince being forced to wait any longer than he had to for help. Sitting by himself in soiled clothing is not only unhygienic, it's embarrassing and upsetting. I told the teacher I'd speak to her and the principal later as I wanted to contact my husband (who was much closer) so he could come for Vince. After calling John and making him aware of the situation, I got onto the computer and sent the following letter: Dear Mrs. X and Principal X, Obviously I'm contacting you regarding your wiping policy. Given I'd written to you this morning about the issue, I'm not altogether surprised it reared its head in this manner after lunch. However, I'd like to make very clear that I am incredibly disheartened by this policy. As an educator who has been in this situation and changed children ranging from Pre-K through 3rd grade, I am surprised that you don't have some sort of plan in place in the event of an accident- even if that plan is the school nurse, a trusted health care professional. I understand the basis for your policy. You're worried about legal repercussions should a child claim inappropriate behavior. However, fear should never be a substantial reason to allow a child to suffer an embarrassing, harmful health situation - and that's exactly what this amounts to. His bowel movement was an abnormal occurrence precipitated by something that didn't agree with his belly. As such, even if Mrs. X was unable to dedicate time to handle the situation because she had to attend to the class, there was an aid present. If the aid was also wrangling the class (given girls and boys use separate rooms), the nurse can surely be sent for. But to leave a child for an indefinite amount of time in a soiled state because you're afraid of being sued, especially after I've made every effort to let you know that I do not view you as enemies, but as partners in my son's development, I'm just floored. I've been in your situations. Both of you. I've been the teacher juggling 20 kids while trying to clean up the one who had an accident, and I've been the principal trying to protect her teacher from any sort of legal worry for being in close proximity to a child's genital area. I understand FULLY where both of you are coming from. Now please understand where I am coming from. I know full well that a child's fine motor skills (necessary for properly wiping himself) are not fully functional until they are between 4 and 5 years old. Vincent is not yet four. If you need me to, I can get a letter from his pediatrician. That being said, I expect that should he ever be sick and have an accident like this in the future (which should rarely happen, if it ever happens again at all), he be sent to the nurse's office with his change of clothes. After all, why else would you request them unless you expected to use them in cases like this? I am doing everything in my power to make this transition to school possible for Vincent. I am his willing advocate and I will gladly do everything in my power to fall in line with requests you make of me. This, however, has me baffled. You are effectively asking something of my son that is simply physically impossible for him at this point. He's able to use the bathroom and has some ability to wipe himself, but should he have an accident, there is no preschooler that can handle cleaning him or herself up without the help of an adult. So as I mentioned above, if you need a letter from his pediatrician, I'd be more than happy to comply. I received an e-mail from his teacher about an hour or so later, and just as I responded to her, I got a call from the principal. I was spot on with my analysis regarding why they wouldn't touch him, but given the points I made and the obvious willingness I've shown in working together in establishing a partnership with them, the principal agreed to allow the nurse to help Vincent should this problem ever arise again. However, it was clear that she still expected Vincent to be farther ahead regarding his bathroom capabilities. I'm still surprised by that given all of my experience with children Vince's age (and even older) has set my expectation that kids that age are going to have accidents and will sometimes need help wiping. Have my experiences just been wildly different from everyone else's? What age were your children able to properly wipe themselves? Button their pants? Tuck in their shirts? I dunno. I'm glad that his teacher agreed to help him when necessary, and I'm glad the principal agreed to have the nurse could help with this situation in the future, too. I felt like it was finally something I did right for my son. I'm all for challenging him, but setting an expectation so high that he has no chance of touching it seems excessive. It's all due to these ridiculous laws put in place to "protect" children. All of this fear of pedophiles... we are our own undoing. The sins that we left fester have given us this as our legacy... stupid policies that end up hurting more than they help. Ugh. We're able to teach kids to masturbate and use condoms, but we can't help them with basic hygiene. What kind of world are we living in anymore? God help us. I love his teacher and his principal. I really do. They are beyond what I could have ever expected for Vince. Observing them only made me love and appreciate them more. They're in my prayers double-time for all the wonderful things they're doing for Vince and all the frustration they're putting up with on account of his difficulty transitioning. But this was just unacceptable to me, and I'm glad it was addressed sooner rather than later. Really, I'm just glad I finally feel like I did something right for my kid. Seems I've been doing a bang up job of screwing things up lately. It's nice to have a victory every once in a while for him. School Daze, Consequences, Parental Guilt and Marital Love - Just Another Day in the Life of Mom9/11/2013 ![]() It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this much of a failure as a parent. I got a call from Vincent’s principal this morning. My soon-to-be-four year old son was sent to the principal on his 3rd day of school. Regardless of the situation, how can any parent say “Not my fault.” On some level, it’s my fault. I did or didn’t do something right that caused him to act out in a negative way. Friday afternoon, I was stopped by Vincent’s teacher and warned about his behavior. He was acting out by swatting at children and screaming at his teacher. He refused to follow directions and insisted on going off by himself over and over again. When she said that, my heart practically tore itself in half. “Going off by himself over and over again.” Immediately images of him playing by himself in a room full of children as I picked him up from daycare flooded my mind. You guys have heard me talk about this before. I can’t help but feel responsible for my son’s social immaturity. Aside from the fact that he was hearing-impaired his first two years (which stunted his speech and comprehension), he didn’t have much interaction with children his age outside of daycare. Why? Because he was never given a sibling. I feel so angry and so guilty for this. When I heard the teacher cite the same exact symptom I was so keenly aware of every time I’d pick Vince up from daycare, I knew in my heart just how disadvantaged Vincent was made by the situation between my husband and I. I immediately became livid. After putting Vince into the car, my blood pressure must’ve soared as I had visions of tearing into John for his selfishness… his thoughtlessness. How could he not see the damage he was doing to Vincent? All I wanted to do was scream and yell at him, myself. I wanted to punch and kick him. I wanted to do everything that Vincent had done as if John feeling it would somehow make him realize how incredibly wrong he was. I quickly realized I needed to cool down. I almost felt like I wasn’t in my right mind. On a logical level, I fully understood that my rage was simply masking the root of my emotional maelstrom. I felt guilty and depressed; sad and hopeless. All of visions I had in my head of creating the perfect family environment for my children was taken away from me and I’d let it happen. I never provided Vincent the sibling I wanted him to have. Little Myla, the sister he has in Heaven, slipped away under my watch. All of the anger and rage that I was directing at John was simply a bait and switch. If I was able to focus on him, I didn’t have to realize how much of the blame I shouldered for his deficiencies. ![]() Logically, I fully understood all of that. Emotionally, however, I didn’t give a hoot. I wanted to call him and tell him that if he was home, he should leave. Maybe find a friend to spend the night with ‘cause I didn’t want him home with me. I wanted so much to lash out in the most spiteful, angry way I could to make him feel just a fraction of the hurt I carried. Thank God my logical side fought back, because my emotional side was gunning for separation. It really, truly was. That is not, however, the Christian way of handling problems, and I really have tried so hard to grow myself into a better example of what it means to be truly loving in my actions, especially with John. Plus, in my heart, I know that’s not the answer. It’s not fair to John who is not entirely to blame. So I forced myself to calm down. I forced myself to refrain from spewing lava the moment he walked into the house. However, he could quickly tell I was upset. I said we’d talk after Vincent went to bed, and he backed off. Somehow, by the grace of God, he actually backed off. Normally he will push until his curiosity is satiated, but in this instance, he did not. That gave me enough time to collect myself and slowly vent, alone, until I was ready to discuss things in a manner that was fair to both of us. So after Vince went to bed, he asked. At first I didn’t know how to delve into it. I was really worried I wouldn’t be able to restrain my tongue. I wanted to be fair, but I was still emotionally raw. I have no doubt I didn’t handle myself perfectly, but I can say I made the right decision. I’m glad that I waited until Vince went to bed, and I’m glad that I resolved to talk things through with John rather than remain dedicated to heaping blame and anger on him without his knowledge. I explained what the teacher said. I explained my experiences picking Vince up from daycare. I then explained that I truly believed Vince wouldn’t be as socially behind if he had a sibling. I felt guilty for not providing him one, and I was angry that John couldn’t see how damaging that was to him. I explained why I didn’t say anything earlier, and I also explained how incredibly angry I was on the way home. However, I also explained that I understood anger is my self-defense mechanism, so it’s the emotion that crops up most strongly when I feel sad or guilty. In fact, it’s pretty safe to say that the angrier I am about a given situation, the more upset I am about it. Anger, to me, is a controlled force. I feel empowered and in-control when I am angry. I’m able to speak eloquently and my mind is razor sharp. However, the second I allow the sadness, guilt or despair creep in, my eloquence goes out the window, I feel as if I’ve lost control and I am left weak and vulnerable. Doesn’t that seem strange? But it’s true. Angry Gina is like a brilliant lawyer poised to tear into a guilty convict. Upset Gina is the babbling convict who wants to cry in the corner. Very, very seldom does Upset Gina come out to play. So through my conversation with John, I felt a tug of war going on between these two sides of myself. I knew that in order for John to understand that I didn’t hate him or fully blame him for everything, I had to be honest about my feelings of failure and guilt. However, in order to get my thoughts across in a clear manner, my words were edged with anger – not to reprimand John, but to help me keep my composure. To my surprise, John did not defend himself or try to make me understand that my view of siblings was wrong. Instead, he apologized. He said that he understood I was in a terrible situation. He sympathized that I felt guilty for having failed Vincent in this manner. He did point out that there were other ways of giving Vincent the experience of other children his age, but he didn’t counter me when I said the experience of siblings is without equal. He just apologized and said he wished he could change his mind on the matter. I waved him off, not because I didn’t appreciate it, but because I was still caught between Anger and Upset. ![]() The upset side of me wanted to reassure him that I didn’t hate him for how he felt. That side of me fully understood where he was coming from and wanted to let him know that he didn’t need to “wish” he could change his mind. The angry side of me realized it was about to lose its edge and decided bypassing that statement altogether would be a safer course of action than responding, because how can anger respond to love? That is, after all, how John answered me. He listened to me, really heard me, tried to understand my point of view, and sympathized. He didn't agree, and he didn't have to. You don't have to agree with someone's perspective in order to sympathize. THAT is the response I've been waiting for. I never wanted to force John to change his mind. I'd like him to, sure, but that was never the crux of my frustration. It was always his stubborn refusal to even give my point of view air time. I was wrong, and that was that. This is the very first time I felt as though he'd not only heard me out... he'd allowed himself to accept that my point of view wasn't entirely off-base. That doesn't mean he agrees with it, and that's okay. However, it does mean that I'm not the outright manipulator that I think he felt I was regarding children. Thus, the conversation petered off. John apologizing for his part in my sadness, me accepting that I was stuck trying to figure out a way around this for myself and my family. As a mother, I have to figure out a way to help Vincent grow into a more socially adept little boy. I accept his current difficulties on account of his verbal / comprehension deficits, but I do not accept that these are permanent limitations. They are certainly not excuses for bad behavior. So today I vowed to work with both the teacher and the principal on getting Vince better transitioned into his new environment. I’ve enlisted the help of his previous teachers, and I’ll be talking to my mom (a kindergarten teacher) later this afternoon. Obviously I also talked to John and we both agree that we’re giving this at least two weeks before throwing in the towel. Maybe we find out that Vince really is just too young to begin. I, for one, will not make that decision without giving it a real try. Two days is not enough to judge a child’s ability to meet the expectations of an entirely new environment. The principal agreed with me, and we’re going to see what the next two weeks bring us. Keep us in your prayers, folks. It’d be much appreciated. This entire experience has been so much more challenging than I’d ever imagined. UPDATE: Since I was asked - Vincent was practically deaf for the first two years of his life. Given that therapy only got him so far, he's still behind his peers when it comes to communicating his fear or frustration. As a result, he relies on physical outbursts sometimes. Physical outbursts include swatting at others or stamping his feet. Both are negative behaviors that could potentially hurt someone, so they are serious. However, he's not maliciously threatening anyone and is reacting, in my mind, as a child of his cognative level would respond. Our job, as parents, is to teach him new coping skills and help him develop beyond physical response. We also need to work more on his willingness to share the attention of adults with other children (again, something a sibling would've helped with). He consistently demands the attention of the teacher, and if he doesn't get it, he simply shouts louder and louder until she's forced to give him attention (even though it's negative attention). My background is education. I fully understand the dynamics of what is going on and why my son is acting out in the manner in which he's acting out. It makes sense, but my difficulty is how I can help re-teach him better behavior. Anyone have any tricks or tips? ![]() John had a special event this past weekend. He set up a dodgeball tournament and I surprised him by both attending and taking photos (I was supposed to be with Vince in Ocean City). Anyway, I took the photos and of course everyone wanted them posted right away. So, since I had to go through my memory card anyway, I finally uploaded a bunch of other albums that've been hanging out on my camera. Plus, I really want to have a fresh memory card for our trip, so this "spring cleaning" was a must. As I was going through the photos, I was struck by how wonderful of a summer this really was. I was blessed with a lot of good memories to temper some of the more frustrating / difficult parts. So I want to share some of those photos with you fine folks. Many are from my iPhone, so forgive the graininess. Gram (known as "GG" to Vince) celebrated another birthday with us. We're so blessed to still have her in our lives. She's a wonderful, beautiful woman. Vince and I on a nature walk at the park and feeding the geese. We had a surprise pool party for our friend, Jay. Here are some shots of the group (and me on the ground getting said shots of the group). Some Old Tyme Photos of Vince - we do these once a year at the end of the summer as tradition. This year he was a cowboy. Very Mal Reynolds for you Firefly fans out there. Then just a bunch of randoms for the last two weeks. <3
Thanks for letting me share some fun. I appreciate all of you coming along for the ride. ![]() I was talking to my best friend, Mary, yesterday. She wanted to check in and see how I was doing since we hadn't really been able to touch base since everything happened. I explained the situation and, as usual, she gave sound logical support. Good thing I fell in with the chick who grew up to be a trained psychologist, huh? ;) Anyway, in speaking with Mary, I found myself coming to a very clear understanding of how I was handling my husband in this situation. Some folks have suggested I lay off bringing up my emotions to John given the precarious situation we find ourselves in. My mother wondered if I might be pushing too much... some of you wonderful readers suggested via e-mail / commentary that I might want to reign back my expressiveness... even Mary thought it might be a good idea to "get myself sorted out" before attempting to wrangle the Elephant in the Room between John and I. However, let me assure folks that I haven't really been pressing the issue with John. I've brought it up in tiny bits and pieces. We've spoken about Myla three times. Once when I told him I was sure I was pregnant. Once, a few days later when I told him I was sure I had miscarried. Finally, I spoke of her when I told him I'd named her. The longest of these conversations was the first. That lasted about 10-15 minutes and it consisted of me explaining the changes in my body that assured me I was pregnant, him going off about a vasectomy and how another baby would be the implosion of his world, me countering with all the wonderful things a baby would bring, and finally his acceptance that he'd be a good father to this one just as he is to Vince. The second conversation was less than half that time. After a day of the cramping and nausea, I realized what was happening and told him. He said, "I don't want to say I'm happy, because I know you're upset, but I'm honestly relieved." Even though it hurt to hear him say that, I understood his point of view and didn't hold it against him. However, I couldn't really say much more to him on the subject given how incredibly emotional I was. He left me to my tears and I left him to his video games. Finally, the night I spoke to him of her name was the shortest of all. Two, maybe three minutes. Each of these conversations was difficult for me to start, difficult for me to have, and difficult for me to walk away from. But I realize in my conversation with Mary that I did it both for myself, and for John. For John? How, you ask? ![]() Remember that 3 Part Series I did involving my mother-in-law? Secrets Aren't Secrets Forever was the title I went with. Brief synopsis, John had ignored his mother's prodding for more grandchildren for YEARS. Finally, she took matters into her own hands and asked me directly. I then handled the conversation John couldn't and eventually explained to John the importance of NOT ignoring situations in the hopes they go away. The best way of handling problems is to work THROUGH them. Well, what you readers don't realize is that not even one week later, he did it again. We were out with one of his clients and his client asked us when we'd be having more children. John PROMPTLY walked away from the table we were at, knowingly leaving me in an emotionally vulnerable position. However, I took that opportunity to model proper behavior for him. I called out to him, "John, wait a minute." He stopped, hung back, and listened to me respond. After we left the client's presence, I explained that it felt terrible for him to leave me stranded in such a way, ESPECIALLY after we had just had a conversation about how to handle these questions since they're so hurtful to me. He acknowledged I was right and resolved to use my response as a guide for next time. "Next time" occurred about two weeks ago. He proudly came home and said, "Another client asked about me having more kids and I actually answered him. I handled it!" Then he proceeded to tell me the conversation which, to me, proved he COULD learn if someone was willing to patiently teach him a strategy outside of "IGNORE." So as I was talking to Mary, I pointed that out to her. She felt he might've been too stuck in his ways to get past his "Ignore" defense. However, as his wife, I feel it's my job to help him develop beyond such a juvenile response. So I've brought it up in tiny snippets so that if he ever feels ready, the door is open for him to look at this situation from a different perspective - one that isn't drenched in the culture of death. As I was thinking more on my conversation with Mary, magazine covers kept popping into my head. They looked a little something like this: Notice that every single one of them has a headline about sex?
We've all seen these magazines. Cosmo isn't the only one guilty of it. However, this particular screen shot served my purposes. Women are CONSTANTLY bombarded with how to express themselves sexually by getting men hot and bothered, by feeling sexy, themselves, and by being vocal about what she likes and doesn't like in the bedroom so that both partners come away feeling "satisfied." Barring the stupidity of most Cosmo-type trash, they do have one thing right - women need to express themselves (and their likes and dislikes) if they're going to have a fulfilling sexual relationship with their spouse. However, if we need to be upfront about our sexual desires, how much more upfront must we be about our emotional and spiritual ones? Or do those not count? I say they count just as much (and more) than sexual desires. So if society is telling women they need to coach their men into being better lovers, it should be telling women they need to help men be better listeners, supporters and friends. In fact, that's what a marriage is. It is a husband and a wife consciously helping one another develop into more mature, loving human beings. It is our JOB to coach one another through times of confusion, discord and strife, even if we're not entirely sure of the way ourselves. So I'll keep on keepin' on with John, just as I'm sure he'll keep on keepin' on with me. I'll keep chugging along trying to teach him coping mechanisms that exist beyond ignoring issues, and he'll coach me into being a more financially sound adult. Thus, even in the midst of my own struggle with grief, I find it necessary to push him just far enough to see past his own "comfortable" perspective. I don't push him enough to have him run for the hills, but I push him enough to widen, even a smidgen, his own comfort zone. In doing so, it widens my own comfort zone because I'm forced to confront my own dislike for emotional confrontation. I am forced to make myself vulnerable to him, and even though he's not the most delicate with me right now, I can see that he's making a good effort. And again, I love him for trying. At the end of the day, that's all I can really ask - that he loves me enough to try. |
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