whoooa, we're halfway there

Gone are the days when I have time to edit my thoughts into coherent bits--and since I have only recently discovered that most everyone else in this world has an inner monologue that basically tells them what to say and do, word for word before it comes out of their mouths *, and they don't spend 95% of their typing time hitting backspace to translate the four different emoji conversations happening over the background song (at the moment it's "I Like Me Better When I'm With You" by Lauv)--anyone who happens to still be reading this is stuck trying to figure out what I'm trying to say, as I edit the feelings and images in my mind into English.

It's coming up on Valentine's Day. Jon and I have declared that a "dead" holiday for us (perhaps after 13 years, a blog reveal about H and two children later, we might now be able to talk about how we almost broke up on that first one...some other time). My actual best February 14 ** was going to IKEA with one of my bffs and Prom Date, highcon, who gathered us together this past weekend to say adios to Chicago (again) as he officially moves back to New York (again) to be with his love, K. 

I rode the train in with JZ, a friend of mine from elementary school, who also ended up being great friends with highcon in junior high/middle school. The districting around here is wacky so JZ and I were split in jr. high and everyone was reunited together in high school, where I met highcon. I'll skip to the TL;DR: We all go waaay back.

So JZ and I are at this fancy restaurant an entire hour early. I send this text to highcon: 

"T-53 minutes. Highcon, do you know where your wallet is?

And your phone.

And your keys.

And your man?

We are here and already drinking."

His response, 46 minutes (or T-14 minutes until the private party was set to begin):

"Omg.

I lost my phone!!!!!

It's in an Uber and he's meeting us at [fancy restaurant].

My work one.

Kill me!

So, you called it"

Highcon has a history of these shenanigans. It is mind-blowing that someone who cannot keep track of mundane things such as cellphones, keys and wallets has somehow risen through the ranks to become a bigshot at an international company, literally making billion-dollar decisions on the regular. I'm not usually one to drop annoying hints like this, but he and his equally successful sweetheart have a house on Martha's Vineyard and travel the world for fun. But at the end of the day, he's still the same silly guy who'd procrastinate with me on English papers and talk smack about classmates until the wee hours of the morning on the phone in high school. 

I had already been feeling extremely nostalgic recently. I don't know if it's because I'm starting to really feel the wear and tear of 41 years on my body, or that caring for small children while trying to maintain a house, a marriage and a very demanding job that requires me to not quite ever be "logged out" is making me wonder what would have happened if I had taken any of the other options when I got to forks in the road. I regret nothing, but when you watch cheesy teen movies like "To All the Boys I've Loved Before" and read books about young people coming into their own and discovering love and life, and you celebrate one of your besties taking a great leap into the semi-unknown (his mom asked K if he was "ready to have highcon full time"), realizing that you're halfway done with this life is kind of like a sharp kick to the stomach. With a lot of Monday-morning quarterbacking. 

During the warm and jovial dinner, several of us got a text that a classmate (and good friends of one of the other people) had suddenly died of cancer, leaving behind a wife and a 15-month old. This, on top of the unexpected death of Kobe Bryant, who was revered in our house by the devoted Laker fans, the one-year anniversary of Ri's brother-in-law-to-be dying of a heart attack a month before his wedding to her sister, and the pre-sad anguish anchor I drag around every moment of every day about the possibility of losing my brother was too much to bear. I broke down. Maybe it was the alcohol.

JZ had a clearer head and got me up and out of there so we could catch the train home. I had to be at work at 6am Sunday, for a work go live--which was not a fun experience, but I'll have to write another post about how the job is going. I was so thankful to have that evening. Sixteen people came together to talk about why we love highcon, sharing stories digging up exactly the kind of dirt you have on someone with whom you rode the bus or helped figure out how to put contact lenses in. 

The morning after the party, when I was broke-brain as hell, I got about 3/4 of the way to work and realized I had left my computer at home and got there at 6:20a instead of 20 min early. Then I couldn't locate my cellphone for about 5 hours. I literally walked from the car, into the office, up the steps and to the Command Center to check in. I couldn't have left it at home because the directions were telling me just how late I was going to be and I was listening to Sarah Silverman tell Conan O'Brien about how he thwarted her plans to make out with him many years ago by telling her he was recently engaged. After THREE car searches, I located my phone. I texted highcon and JZ: 

"Dude, thank you (and K) for the lovely party I had so much fun, and sorry if I was obnoxious--I haven't been drinking in a LONG time!

In total karmic justice, this morning at 5am I forgot to put my laptop in the car and had to turn around halfway, and then couldn't find my damn phone for like five hours! It had slipped between the console and the passenger seat. I think this is payback for giving you crap yesterday."

His response:

"Bwahahahahah

See this is why we are friends

We are all functional hot messes"

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't know where all the time went. But talking about all that old stuff, which was SO IMPORTANT back then, and realizing that most of us can only even recall it in pieces so we have to be in the same space to argue and put it all together, makes me realize that this life is zooming. Just flying by. And I'm so thankful to have written some of it down. 

*subsequent posts on this dude's blog say that he has ADD, so there goes that theory (I am not officially diagnosed, but an ADD therapist said almost all the markers light up for me having ADHD or something of the sort).

** I pulled that post up on my phone to show K what a sweetheart highcon was for going to all the trouble of printing out a kids' coloring-book valentine to give me on the way to IKEA.

veteran's day

Thank you, servicemembers, for all that you have done and do today. Gratitude, also, to those you've left behind here to soldier on, missing you for the good of all of us.

it was a jolly holiday

I'm not sure how I feel about putting Ro's photo out there so blatantly anymore. However, I want to show you that I slapped together a damn fine Mary Poppins costume on the evening of October 30. Again, my brain only activated at about 6 p.m. when everything brewing in my head the weeks before finally clicked:

• She inherited a nice wool coat.
• I found a lovely light, thin maroon scarf at the $5 store.
• Madelyn got her some nice, shiny "ladyshoes."
• I found some paisley fabric ("carpet" fabric is hella expensive!)--this was my only purchase--and made a "carpet bag" from scratch. She still wanted to carry the Halloween candy bag she got at daycare instead. 
• I sewed a parrot head out of felt.
• I took her lightweight Cubs baseball bat and a small styrofoam ball, then cut off a leg from my RAGGEDY old scrub pants and fashioned a feather-light umbrella.
• My crafty sister-in law, M, had made us a bunch of paper flower prototypes before our wedding (FIVE years ago), which I had saved. I sewed them to a very Mary Poppins-shaped hat, courtesy of my mom's sister in India (the hat was part of a very India's-take-on-a-western-dress ensemble. It's glittery.).
• I made a clip-on bow to put on the neckline of her white onsie top. 
• I sewed her a long circle skirt, also in navy. 
• I braided her hair on top of her head.

She's holding the "umbrella."

If only that bag had unlimited treasures like the real one did. 

You'll have to imagine what it looked like with the coat and scarf, but I thought it was pretty cute and nearly everyone figured out who she was supposed to have been (save for one lady who said My Fair Lady?)

I have to figure out what I want her to be next year...unless she decides to have her own opinion. But for now, she's all about Mary: this kid demands "A Spoonful of Sugar," "Supercalifragilick," or "Jolly Holiday" (her favorite) at least 10 times a day. But heaven help you if you substitute Ro's name in the lyrics when you sing along. "NO! MARY!"

"Practically perfect, in every way."

five years, two months

Jon and I spent our five-year anniversary (September 17) working a mandatory two-day weekend (I think it was something like my 11th or 16th day in a row). Hey, at least we were together. That's what counts, right?

We weren't too down about it. We had originally toyed with the idea of taking some kind of trip. Instead we decided to take a chance on a lottery for Hamilton tickets when they went on sale for its Chicago run. We were disappointed. But then my dear husband tried one last time, and got them.

We like live theater. This show lives up to the hype. For me, it surpassed the hype (which hardly happens).

Also? The fact that the majority of lead characters are played by people of color was both refreshing and reassuring to me, after this stressful week.

Our seats were amazing--just far enough away we didn't get hit with any spit (live performances are so passionate!). 

After the show, we checked out the new ping-pong place where my good friend from college is in management. Great food and fun! Jon is considerably better at table tennis than I am. He was captain of his high school tennis team, too. But he graciously played me for our time. Later he said it was a better game for me (more exercise) because he made me go pick up the ball more than he had to. I halfheartedly insisted I was winning.

After eleven years together, we've learned that the key to harmony is not keeping score.

i have seen the Wizard and he is wondrous

When I put in the order for Ro's birthday cake, and asked them to decorate it with a long view of The Emerald City, I was THIS CLOSE to having the inscription read:

"WE MADE IT, BITCHES."

Apologies to my cuss-sensitive readers, but I needed the emphasis. I went with "Happy 1st Birthday, Ro." The "we made it" sentiment will just have to roll down my face as I gaze upon her sitting in front of the cake in her grandma-made Dorothy costume with her plush Toto stuffed in a basket.

You know what we've been through, guys. This week will always be a bittersweet one. The first baby's due date was November 2, 2013. We laid her ashes to rest on October 29, 2013. And then we have our Rainbow Baby (this is an actual term for the one who lives after one who has been lost), Ro, who was born on her father's 37th birthday, a year ago tomorrow.

***

I took a week off of work to prep for this party, because this is MY PARTY, and I have come close to tears on multiple occasions, as is my RIGHT. Ro has no clue what's going on--she does refer to the dog as "Dodo," and will tolerate the ruby slipper slip-on shoecovers for a short time, but the cake, the balloons, the ridiculous mural painted on the side of an old refrigerator box; the pennant-style banner that I made with one-too-few letters and then had a mini freakout about? All that crap is for me. This is the pretend-Pinterest party that I had been thinking about all those months with her kicking inside of me, worrying that she may show up too early and not come home with us just like the first one.

No one else knows that terrifyingly disgusting feeling of water breaking too soon, the cerclage tied so tightly that what little walking I could do I did with a hobble, the horse-gauge needles stuck into my backside every seven days, and having to lie down and pray that the weekly ultrasound was going to say things were holding steady.

Medical people can conceptualize a pubic symphysis, but like my physical therapist, Kay, said (as she decided to treat me herself the first day she came to evaluate me and assign me to someone else) nobody can understand the agony of a separated pelvis like someone who's done it themselves (she did it running a marathon). Worse was the useless, helpless feeling you get when all you can do for your child is to sit in bed or a couch and desperately try to figure out nursing while your husband, mother-in-law and mom bring the baby to you and take her away to do all the diapering, bathing, walking around and other stuff you wish you could do. And it murders your hormonal heart when you go through all that to get the baby and she doesn't want much to do with you.

All that said, the scary pregnancy, the fiery hoops I had to somersault through, the horrible after-delivery recovery and post-partum rage (not officially diagnosed, but now that I'm far enough away from it, I'm pretty sure that's what I had)--ALL OF THAT was a cakewalk compared to how emotionally treacherous it was for me to go back to work and find I had to work twice as hard in two thirds of the time.

***

This is not to say that I think I had it any worse than any other parent. We all have our struggles. I have SO MUCH HELP, you guys. Seriously. My friends came to see me with food and love and support while I was on bedrest and when I was stuck at home. My mother-in-law came on the day after Ro was born and stayed to help for 12 days. My parents still come over every day. And my husband, he had to do much more than the average dad at the beginning. He does a lot more than the average guy today, too. Granted, he should be doing a lot for his own kid, but that doesn't mean it's not appreciated. I would never have dreamed to make it through nearly two years without all these people.

So we are having a party. I know I have bitten off more than I can chew. This week "off" was a lot harder than the usual working week. But I'm doing it for the 21-months-ago me, the 19-months-ago me, the 17-months-ago me, the 12-months-ago me, who didn't know if heartbreak was once again on the horizon, and especially the 3-6-months ago me, who didn't know if I could hold it together for another single minute, let alone months and years.

We made it, BITCHES.

fruit and flowers

Jon, this anniversary (lounging on a beautiful beach) is going to be really tough to top. But even if the ones to come are full of laundry and homework, it'll be nice just to be together. I love you.

Photo by SecondPrint Productions

This was the best day of nonstop crying I have ever had. 

happy day

I need more crafts in my life.

leather

photo by SecondPrint Productions

Happy third anniversary, Jon. That was the best day of my life...so far.

Brother. It is a little ironic that the one celebration that you could/wanted to spend with us on your actual birthday in a very, very long time didn't end up happening because I got scared and went to the hospital. I feel bad that you were hanging around near the restaurant for hours was while I was hooked up to monitors trying to figure out if those contractions were real and if I was leaking amniotic fluid (not really and no, everything turned out to be fine; it just took a really long time to confirm).

As much as you would never admit it, I know it's going to be different when this baby comes. Your wants and needs have been first priority for so much of the past three decades--how could they not? I don't resent you for it; I worry about you as much as mom and dad do. I know you have been wiggling out from under the parental blanket of concern for a long time, and you've done an exceptional job proving that you are your own man who can handle your own business. We don't need to worry, but it's not something we can turn off.

It has been tremendously hard for me the past few months to be the person that isn't allowed to help, can't even get up from a chair without extreme difficulty and is basically at the mercy of everyone else. The biggest lesson I've learned during the last few years is that apparently I can't control everything, which was clear to you since you were just a baby. It's probably just as hard for you to now be the one worrying, waiting for a call that everything is ok...or not. We've both done a lot of growing up in the last few years.

Happy Birthday.

5-22-13

The death of your baby is certainly not something to celebrate. But it was the day of her birth, too. And it doesn't seem fitting to just go about life like she never happened. So I came home with a cinnamon cake.

***

Now that the newest bump is too big to hide, I've had many well wishers ask if this is my first baby. Is it? I don't think so, but I'm not entirely sure what to say. I mean, I went through the entire delivery process (I wasn't going to get to keep the kid, so I went for the epidural), even if I never got to hear her cry. Does the second child--who was gone from a chromosome defect pretty much right after we realized there was even someone in there--count? Those are the things that go through my mind when I'm silently nodding, Yes, it's my first child. These people are sharing their good wishes; it'd be cruel to bring them down.

***

I hadn't heard that John Legend song "All of Me," until I was pregnant. I don't know if it's the hormones or what, but I cry every time I hear it.

***

My brother has had a tougher past year than we have, if you can believe that. Everything that could go wrong, pretty much did. I try my very best to be supportive, but one time when he got really, really down, I yelled at him instead. There are so many kids out there born with a heart defect that don't make it. And he has had to fight every second of every day, but he got to be a grown man. For him to just roll over after all that would be a slap in the face to all those other kids who never got the opportunity to live.

***

Jon's sisters gave me a necklace to remember Baby with a footprint charm, an emerald pendant and a gold piece stamped "5-22-13." I haven't taken it off since the day I got it.

***

My mother remembered that I had been so sad when my dad let the siding-replacement people cut down the beautiful clematis plant that had grown nearly all the way to the roof on an airplane-cable trellis. She got me the same kind--and made sure we could take it with us if we ever move.

***

 
I shouldn't be pregnant right now. Hell, I shouldn't have been pregnant three times in one calendar year. Instead, I should be sleep deprived, changing my daughter's diapers and watching her roll over. I am terrified that something is going to happen to this baby, too. But at the same time, I'm beyond excited. I can't wait to be sleep deprived. I am dying to watch my child blink, smile or roll over. But I won't forget. I am pretty sure that when the son or daughter growing inside me today (and any future children) even think about giving up, I will remind them how lucky they are to be alive. Their sister never got the chance.

***

Thank you all, for your continued love and support.

google-y eyed

The last few years I have become obsessed with podcasts*. I decided to go back to the first episode of This American Life and listen to them all, in order (I'm currently up to November 2009).

So it was nice to see the interactive Google Doodle today play "love themed" new and old audio clips from This American Life. I even recognized some.

Apparently Ira Glass approached the Google Doodle people with ten clips and they also set up this cute little interactive box-of-chocolate page with longer stories--including an awesome one about Starlee Kine trying to get over a breakup by writing a love song with the help of Phil Collins. That's a TAL top-five story for sure.




Click on the Image to check that out.

Happy Valentine's Day!  We are celebrating by ordering pizza and watching "The Way, Way Back." [really good movie] With my brother.






*I also LOVE Snap Judgement (a little more "urban"?), 60 Minutes (holds up surprisingly well as audio-only) and Under the Influence (marketing is CRAZY). I listen to them when I am trying to fall asleep, taking a walk, cooking/doing dishes, and of course in the car when I don't feel like singing at the top of my lungs or talking on the phone.