Slowly

Slowly, I am learning to be enough, to be okay with me.

Slowly, I am able to smile as I watch my boys alternately fight and play, scream and laugh.

Slowly, I am find myself being okay with just watching them, knowing I am here for them if they need or want to run to me, instead of filling myself with anxiety at how much they fight and how bad of a Mom I am.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for drowning in postpartum depression after Jonnie was born.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for not being able to give Braelin the one on one attention he neeeded as he had to learn to adjust to the new baby that took his place.

I am recognizing that they already have forgiven me. They still run to me and hug me, smiling, after I come home from a day at work.

They still want to sit on my lap and read stories in the rocking chair, still want to walk with me to the park.

Slowly, I am able to see the love my older kids still have for me. They have traded in that tiny child relationship for a pre-adult relationship, and while they may not run to hug me when I come home from work... they still smile when I make them dinner.

Slowly, I am able to see that even though my relationship with them is not the picture I had painted in my head... it is a good relationship still. 

I am recognizing that my daughter will still ask for help with homework when she needs it, and still hugs me tightly each morning and night... even if I was a little hard on her that day.

My son still, occasionally, talks for 20 minutes straight about one subject, even though I can only get one or two word answers from him any other time.

He'll still connects, albeit on his own terms, and I am slowly becoming okay with that.

Slowly, I am allowing me to see myself as something besides a horrible mom.

Slowly, I am able to see that the things I see myself lacking in have actually broadened their abilities and independence.

Slowly, I am seeing that the important thing isn't for me to have already done it right -- but for me to keep doing my best.

Slowly, I am finding an acceptance for me.

I like it. I am enough.

Retreat

Retreat
Retreat

Retreat from it all
You're not throwing in the towel
Or leavin before

You're strong and courageous
You've weathered the storm
You're trying to hang on but
You've been here before

Retreat
Retreat

Give yourself room
You can't hold it inside
Those tears need to flow

You're more than the feelings
You've got locked inside
Look up and you'll make it
Give yourself room to cry

Retreat
Retreat

Take time to assess
A moment to breathe
A moment to rest

You're strong and courageous
You've weathered the storm
You're trying to hold on but
You've been here before

Retreat
Retreat


You don't have to be strong
It's okay to ask
For a moment alone

You're stronger for taking
A step back, to the side
Recharge and recover
Reflect and decide

Retreat

Perspective

Perspective

It changes your

View of the heartbreaks

The mirrors and pieces

And fragments, rearranges

The clouds in the sky

Filled with grey

Seem

So strange when you

Open your eyes and

The rain soaks the ground

And the crowds
Pass you by

'Cause your heart

Isn't weighed anymore

'Cause the rain

Washed the tears

From your face
When you 

Looked up

And saw the clouds

Race with the wind

And the storms
Out of place

When the trees never bend and

Perspective it changes

Your view
Of the tempest

The waves crashing 'round

Don't seem loud when the water

Surrounds

And the ocean of life

Catches you unawares with its

Beauty and grace

When the sun finds its place

With the waves

And the ocean, the breeze

And the trees

Turning gold as the

Sun starts to sink
And your pieces and
Fragments and heartbreak and storms

Turn to blue

Your perspective is fresh

And its clean and its new

And your eyes fill with tears

Of contentment and years

Seem to fade and to wash

With the love that was given

Perspective

It changes within.

Things I Can't Say...

Tears fall and I can't help it. My heart aches and it hurts to remember, to feel, and yet 

I can't stop feeling. 

I've tried over the years to not let this part of my heart hurt, or remember... 

but how could I ever expect it to forget?

And so, when it is three days after my own daughter's birthday...

five days after Ryan's...

the 20th of July, October 6th, each January, every August...

always when it is the week of Thanksgiving... 

and with every Cowboy Christmas Tree I see...

and again tonight, and so many nights, when I have just looked through pictures of her boys with their grins and girlfriends and new fiancee, and her daughters with their beautiful faces, beautiful hair and beautiful eyes...

I cry. 

I cry, I cry, and I cry.

You see...

many years ago I had a friend, a beautiful friend. She was good, and strong. She was determined, and worked hard to do what she felt was right. She was a good mommy and fiercely protective of her babies. She put up with me because I married her husband's best friend... and then as time went on, there came a time when she actually loved me for me, and was a friend as friends should be. 

And then, 

her heart broke.

How could it not? Her babies went to heaven and part of her heart went with them. 

But what she didn't know was that my heart was broken too. 

I loved her babies, I loved her children. I loved her, and didn't know how to help her, didn't know how to take away her pain. How could I? How could anyone? 

Nobody can understand the pain a mother feels who has lost a child until one of their own returns home to heaven's arms. And nobody could understand my friend's pain, for she lost three. 

And so, as much as I tried, I didn't help her. I couldn't help her. And the more I tried, the more I hurt her. The more I reminded her that her babies were gone, and mine were still here. The more I reminded her that she was hurt, and that there was no way I could know, could understand, or could ever be enough of a friend.

She had been there for me through some of my own tough times, and now she needed a friend and 

I wasn't enough. I couldn't be.

In fact by trying, I pushed her farther and farther away. 

Her memories are different than mine. She remembers I put my baby down in front of her, hurting her more, twisting the knife that was already slicing through her heart, searing her with pain. 

I remember I left my baby home, even arguing with my husband because I refused to bring the baby with us. He didn't think it would matter, but I knew it would. 

I didn't want to hurt her, and so I wouldn't bring the baby. 

But in her memory, my baby was there anyway. 

She remembers that I left dishes in the sink, laundry on the floor, and folded the towels wrong. 

I remember that I cleaned the kitchen counters, folded the baskets of clothes, and cleaned up after 

her baby was born.

She remembers that I upset her kids, ruined her mop, and was tempted to leave my marriage, my love.

I remember that I babysat so she could have a break. I held her little boy while he whimpered in pain with a tube in his belly, praying for Jesus to help him know how much he was loved and to ease the pain. I remember that I worked hard to mop the floors and have her house clean when she came home, so that she could rest some more before their family came over to barbecue.

I remember that I didn't leave, that I learned to love more, and that 

I never once gave her reason to be ashamed.

I can't change her mind. She never thought to ask what I remembered, why, or what I was thinking. 

It doesn't matter.

But it does hurt. Still. 

How can I change her memory?

How can I take away that pain?

How can I take heal those hurts? They are bigger than me.

I tried. Believe me I tried. I tried everything from talking to her, to not talking to her, to reaching out to her, to staying out of her way, and everything I could think of in between. 

And that seemed to work the best. To stay away. To just stop coming around. To say hi from a distance, if we happened to meet. To stay away from her memories, away from her pain. To leave her to her hurts, her healing, and her new friends. 

And she has healed. She is still healing. 

She still loves, she still aches, but she is happy.

She enjoys life. 

She enjoys her kids.

She is still a good mommy.

And still fiercely protective. 

She is healthy, and beautiful, and loved.

Jesus brought her peace. He rocks her babies, and holds her heart in His hands when it feels like shattering. At least, that's what I believe.

She still doesn't understand me, and still doesn't believe that I didn't bring my baby to the viewing. 

In her memory, I still taunt. 

I still represent pain. 

I would suppose seeing me brings back waves of emotion, but I know better. 

She is past me. Past my friendship, however weak and meager it may have been. 

But there is one thing I cherish. A card she gave me with a floral wreath 

made into the shape of a heart, before her babies went to live in Heaven. 

Before I caused her so much pain.

Inside, it simply says, "Just because I love you. Thanks for being my best friend."

And if there is one thing I could say to her still, it would be this...

"I love you too. 

Thanks for teaching me so much.

I am glad you are happy. I am glad you found peace, and smiles, and joy. 

 I miss you."

With love,

Your Friend

The ones who skedaddled to Texas...

Cousins and Grandma

A Princess Party

It's been a long month without Ry being home... and we sure are missing him.  He was sad he had to miss this birthday. Daisy was excited that his gift arrived in the mail right before the party started.  

We enjoyed having her friends helped her celebrate her birthday -- princess style. 

PS... A big Thank You to Cinderella for making her party awesome!

 

The roses were made from sticks of bubble gum. The beads were Strawberry Whoppers. 

I could possibly be okay with this

Warning -- this is a bit long, and possibly boring. But -- it's my new reality. Just don't say I didn't forewarn you...

So you may or may not know that I have severe wheat and egg allergies. Kinda sucks. As in the "I-have-been-super-angry-about-this-for-months" kind of way. You see, I haven't always had these allergies. There are few things I like better than homemade bread straight out of the oven, slathered with butter. The crisp crust is delicious and the soft middle is heavenly. I love going to the grocery store right as they pull the french bread out of the oven. Just inhaling the aroma is a little bit of a high for me. I would get a loaf of it and eat the whole thing by myself. I love bread so much, I would pass up a platter of brownies just to enjoy a loaf of chewy sourdough bread, no jam or butter needed.

The problems started after baby #6.  Every time I ate something with whole wheat flour, my throat and belly would hurt, as though I had swallowed shards of glass, and it would become slightly swollen, as though I had a sore throat. The more whole wheat was involved, the worse the reaction, and as time went on, the reaction went from a sore throat to my throat closing off completely. Umm, scary! Until I figured out what was causing it, I just carried liquid Benadryl with me everywhere I went.

For a very long time, I could get away with white flour. White bread didn't bother my throat, but I soon found the next day my joints would ache and be very inflamed. I soon eliminated bread altogether and rarely ate baked goods, but you know me, I love to bake -- plus I was still in denial of how bad off the reaction really was. I would bake something up, have one little piece, and give the rest away to neighbors or friends so that it wouldn't be tempting me around the house. After a while, even that little bit was bothering me. I could take just one bite and feel my lips, tongue, and throat swelling immediately.  Once, Amanda ground some wheat in preparation to make some homemade wheat bread. I walked out in the kitchen and immediately my throat began to close off simply from the flour in the air. By the time I got back into my bedroom, I was laboring so hard to get enough air in that I couldn't even talk. Benadryl to the rescue.

If I had eggs, the reaction was also severe, which is sad since Eggs Benedict on toasted English Muffins with fresh tomatoes from the garden and creamy Hollandaise sauce is possibly one of my favorite meals ever.  For a long time I was still able to eat eggs in baked goods. The makeup of the protein in the eggs changes when heated, plus it was a small amount compared to eating a fried egg. Whether it's the flour or the eggs now, I don't know... but the combination of them both in baked goods is now deadly.

It is to the point that as tempting as that brownie looks, I cannot eat a single bite. My throat closes immediately, my lungs seize up, I get very light headed and dizzy. I am afraid the next time I eat something I will go into anaphylactic shock. Bad idea without an epi-pen handy.


Some have suggested I have celiac disease -- and I may. Typically, celiac disease will not produce such an immediate life threatening reaction. There is a big difference between the auto-immune response of celiac disease (a gluten intolerance) and the immunogloben iEg response from an actual allergy. Both are dangerous, both will wreck your life, but celiac disease doesn't usually swell your throat and tongue or give you itchy hives immediately. I'd like to know for sure what it is -- but that is going to have to wait til I have money to throw at blood tests and skin prick tests.  Especially because there are still a few other things I am suspecting as allergens as well. (Whey, for example.)

Either way - I have one answer. Don't eat it. Don't breathe it. Don't get it on your skin, and if you do - wash it off in a hurry.

Take a look at any of your baking recipes, or pantry staple ingredients. Remove the ones with flour and eggs. What do you get?  A whole lot of rice and beans.

Can you see why I am NOT excited about baking or cooking lately?

Well... there is hope. For the first time EVER I am excited about baking a wheat free, egg free cake.

 (Pause and shout for joy with me!!!)

I was in the health food store yesterday picking up some Alfalfa tablets, and noticed some incredible wheat free-egg free-soy free-everything free coconut macaroons and fudge truffle cake.  It looked so silky and smooth and delicious! One problem, - they wanted $7.49 for one tiny piece of cake!  (Prices are apparently lower if you buy direct from  www.rawmelissa.com)

But it got the wheels in my brain turning.  I have slowly been letting go of the anger about what I can't eat, and trying to accept the things I can eat. I've read blogs and I know there are alternative flours to use, and egg replacers. Eliza was even kind enough to go buy some egg replacer... but there was a major mental block that said "This is hard! This is unfair! I hate this! I am not okay with this!"

Besides, something about making french bread with rice flour just seems so wrong.  And how am I supposed to get a perfectly moist, perfectly flavored Homemade Hostess Cupcake without flour or eggs?  Moist layered cakes with amazing flavor combinations are one of my favorite things to make!

Well... get ready for a whole new revolution of what a layered cake looks like. I looked at the ingredients for Raw Melissa's truffle cake, and remembered the "raw cake" a friend makes using almonds and cocoa. I looked online for some other recipes, and the more I look... the more excited I get.

Watch out world, because I have some baking to do.

Take a look at this...

Blueberry Cake Balls  (You'll have to scroll past the pink poodle part.)

Peppermint Chocolate Cake 

And this Raspberry Chocolate Mousse Cake.



The party's just started people. This is going to be fun :)

 - Rachel