L(ing)OL

Ok.  I have to laugh.  Talk about being misunderstood!!

:P

My post yesterday was NOT supposed to come across as a pity party.  I wanted to reflect on the impact others have on us, and how we ourselves affect those we come into contact with. 

Quite a few tragedies occured over the weekend~
Two of my friends went through heartbreaking miscarriages this past weekend. 
The niece of another college friend died at the tender age of 3 months.
I lost my "aunt" (actually my dad's cousin) yesterday.... she was a sweet, open-hearted soul.

These all were tremendous losses.  And the fact that so many people were aching shows our vulnerability, the degree to which we became involved in the stories of their lives. It hurts.  A lot.  And there comes a tendency to want to block it all out, to decide NOT to become involved, to NOT put ourselves out there.

That post was meant to discourage such thoughts.
:P

So, thank you to all of the wonderful folks who left some very sweet comments.  I can always do with some affirmation therapy, I won't deny that!  But I am ashamed that I couldn't adequately get my point across.  Almost 6 years of blogging, and I can't convey a simple thought.

UGH.

On second thought, keep those sweet comments coming.  I'm  seriously doubting my writing abilities over here.

:P

A Heart Unguarded

I have a long history with heartaches.  From the moment I enetered grade school, I wore my heart on my sleeve.  I often opened myself up to people who would prove to be less than ideal friends. My parents endured many days and nights of tears... betrayals and meanness... it was always the same story.

I don't think I have changed that much.  I still wear my heart on my sleeve.  I go out of my way to befriend, and be friendly.  I've learned that not all will appreciate my friendship, that there will be moments of heartbreak, of disappointment.  I also know that I am broken, a fallen creature.  I will make mistakes, will unknowingly offend, will be a less than perfect companion.  And that makes me grateful for the friends that I do have, that have stuck it out with me, warts and all.

I've found, when embarking upon a new adventure, or a new friendship, I have a choice.  Do I guard my heart?  Do I lower my eyes and offer little... or do I meet the newcomer face-to-face and plunge right into the dialogue?  Do I put myself out there, my arms and heart open?

In my family, do I spend time with my aging grandparents... do I make the effort to conect and re-connect?  Do I spare myself the ache of separation, of sorrow at their passing and remain aloof?

Similarly, when that extra pink line appears... how do I react?  In fear and trepidation?  Or with joyous welcome, no matter what the cost?

So it goes for friendships.  Do I spare myself the pain of being misunderstood, misjudged and ignored... and simply fade into the background?  But then. Then I will miss out on the joy of being known, of being treasured and loved.  I will miss out on the opportunities to be generous and giving, to grow in ways unimaginable.

Besides, I've seen what happens when I put myself out there.  I've experienced some pretty amazing things.  I've met some awesome people, and heard some unbelievable stories.  And it has all become a part of me.  I'd like to think I've left a bit of myself behind, something for the other person to take with them, something inspiring, something good. 

Oh how I hope I've left them something good.

Important Discovery

Apparently, when Little Dude was processed through the parts department, specifically the ear wing, the angel on duty was sleeping on the job. 

His two little ears are totally different.
 
The left one sticks out hopelessly, while the right one is completely normal.
It's truly the cutest thing ever.

And yes, we are a little bit ashamed that it took us 3 months to notice. 

But, only a little.  Our excuse is valid.  We were totally enamored with his gargantuan blue eyes.
:)

MIA

That's me.  The completely uncommitted blogger.  Not that anyone's noticed, of course.  Oh, wait.  Lil Sis said something to me the other day about getting tired of opening my blog and seeing "Gemma These Days" all the time...  and I did get a lovely Facebook note from this wonderful gal.  (We met through blogging and she knows my younger sisters...hence the FB friendship)  So nice to know that someone misses me!

LOL

It's been a whirlwind of a time over here, folks.  I don't blame anyone for not noticing... in fact, I hardly have time to notice myself.  And judging by the way I look these days, it's high time someone took notice.  Good heavens.

;P

Ok, so on to updates.

My biggest excuse for my lack of communication these days I can blame completely on the smallest member of the Nut House... Little Dude.  Just as he was starting to pull out of his unsleepy-neediness, he went and contracted RSV.  And then, just for kicks, decided to wake up Valentine's Day morning unable to breathe very well.  Nothing says I love you like a frantic trip to the ER with the man you pledged to spend the rest of your life with and sohelpmeifwegetintoanaccidentIwillkillyou... love and cherish forever.
Yes, it was scary.  No, Little Dude did not require any interventions once we got there, thank goodness.  By the time we saw the ER doc, he was smiling and cooing up a storm.  But DH and I?  We acquired a ton of gray hair.  And I don't think my complexion has returned to normal yet.

So, Little Dude and I have been getting to know the wonders of nasal spray, aspirators, and nebulizers.  3 months old seems a little young for this knowledge in my humble opinion, but with this blasted weather and the pollen count skyrocketing, it's necessary... Besides, I'm not up for any more romantic ER trips any time soon.

:P

On a completely different note... I've been gainfully re-employed to spin my tiny tales of fiction for a state testing website.  It's so much fun, but also pretty stressful, to try to make happy tales at the 11th grade level under 525 words and ask questions regarding hyperbole and theme.  No sarcasm allowed, no religion either.  So I'll have to use the blog as therapy.  (Who doesn't, I'd like to know?)


Little Boo started her insane soccer schedule this week.  3 evenings of practice, games on Sundays, soon to be Saturday's too.  I'm happy to report that she is like a brick wall on defense and totally made her mark at her very first game.  Since playing club soccer is much more competitive, I fully expected her to sit out at least part of the game, but no... her new coaches are just as appreciative of her skill at this level.  And I am hopelessly proud.  I couldn't go to her first game, so I shared my feeling of being tortured by texting DH every other second asking how she was doing.

ACTUAL TEXT:
Me: Is she still on?  And playing well?
DH: Yes and yes
Me: You are a plethora of information. Maybe you could do a play by play for me?
DH: Be still woman.  It's so sunny I can barely see my phone.

Aren't you glad you're not married to me?

So, we are plugging away over here.  Little Dude is on the mend.  My foray into the world of fiction has been a nice distraction, and I am unabashedly living vicariously through my 8 year old.  :)

What have y'all been up to?
:)

Gemma These Days

Gemma is our Little Dear. Only 10 years old, she sometimes has the disposition of a 13 year old... what with all the requests for music and clothes and such.  Although my good friend Lisa tells me that when she actually does get to that age, it will be nothing like it is now.

Hmmm.  Can't wait.

:P

My Gemma Dear has an artistic soul.  She has always been drawn to acute observation... and then she will proceed to talk talk talk about it.  She loves to create.  Painting, drawing, crafts, cooking, baking... she is adept at spinning things into beauty.  It is quite a hurdle for this craft-challenged Mama to keep her occupied.

Gemma also has a heart of gold.  She is a true friend.  Never one to disparage others, she is fiercely loyal.  And will always give her friends the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes to a fault.  She is just like her Mama in this way.  It hurts to see her hurting due to the thoughtlessness of others.  That these other girls do not fully understand the treasure that is her friendship, that her heart has been thrown to the side in the name of "popularity".  Yes, even among home schoolers there can be a pecking order.  She is young for her grade level, and the friends in her co-op are much wiser in the lingo of "growing up."  It's just a hard age, I'm afraid.

All of this comes down to my relationship with her.  How hard it can be for me sometimes to look past the fact that she has told me the same story everyday for the past week.  To see her excitement for crafts and special times together as an opportunity to bond, not another chore I must complete.  Her desire to be close to me, to bring me in as a confidant, is something I need to foster and encourage.  I'm working on it.  And the rewards of our relationship have become apparent.

This oldest daughter of mine is a gem, as her name implies. She is sweet and honest.  Open about her hopes and dreams, innocent in her loves and wishes.  Her questions are refreshingly innocent.  And her heart is pure.

It's a lovely thing to behold.

Lovely.  Just like her.


:)

I Dance

There are roses on my kitchen table... splayed out in hues of pink and red.  Put there haphazardly by my exuberant 8 year old, after my equally exuberant 6 year old plucked them from her Papa's hand with a grateful smile and twirled them in the living room. 
I think she thought they were for her.

He smiles at me over the din and my weary eyes thank him. 

It's been a day.  And he knows it.

Hence the flowers.

And they dance on the kitchen table... brightening my heart.

:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The boy whose southern heritage is borrowed by place of birth is being formally instructed in the ways of south.
It has come to this.   
Yes ma'am doesn't roll off his tongue very easily...  and my northern ears cringe to hear it.  But his Canadian Papa has insisted.  A form of respect.  Respect that is wanting.  And the perfect way to capture exactly the tone that is needed.  27 days to form a habit?  We'll see. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Papa is at work tonight, in the cold.  I urged him to stop somewhere and buy insulated work gloves... fretting over his cold fingers in a dim warehouse.  This extra job he took.  How sad I am that he has to work it.  That he cannot be home with light and warmth and chicken soup.  How determined I am that he come home to that, and much more.  To cleanliness and peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


How inspiring it is to read these words.  And these.  And most especially these. 

Pausing to take stock.  Stilling the despair, and straining to hear the music. The music of the now...

There is an urge to purge and embrace Ordinary Time once again.  To establish our routine again.  To tuck our new baby into our lives and move on.  Because, after all, he is a little one... and can simply fold into us and be a part of us... another facet so small.

But then the reality of such a little one and all he entails hits hard.  He is beautiful, he is loved.  And he is loud.

3 months postpartum, and I have spent more nights sleeping upright than I have in any other position.  Teething comes early to my poor little ones, and oh how painful it is for them! 

Yes, I am tired.  Yes, our house is as haphazard as the flowers dancing on my kitchen table. And yes, some days the tears come easily.  But I would not change it for anything in the entire world.

The reality of what I am trying to do is comforting.  It may seem crazy to some, this hidden life.  But the reason hangs on every wall of my home.  I pass by this crucified love on display as I walk.... 

I hold our love close and I pace and I bounce and I hum. 

I dance.

Beth These Days

Beth (Elizabeth) is our Little Boo. And what a Little Boo she is.

She is the source of most of the hilarity around here, both good and bad.  She will mercilessly tease all of her siblings... yes, even the 13 year old, and then turn around and do something totally precious like, make Little Love some lunch, or change the baby's diaper.  She is so fickle that way.

Not to mention the gems that issue forth from her mouth.  When she learned of my Grandma's passing, she turned to mom and asked; "Is she the lady who lost her marbles?"
My Grandmother had alzheimers.
Nothing like a little humor to lighten the moment. 

:P

At the tender age of 8, Beth really is an old soul.  She has decided, all on her own, to keep her room neat.  So, when visiting my parents, she took it upon herself to clean the kids' room every morning.  She picked up the clothes and toys and made all the beds.  My mother was thrilled that at least one grandchild had inherited her gene of cleanliness and order!

Beth also has undertaken the task of acquiring a love of reading.  She sees her siblings with a book going every day.  She is determined to do the same.  And so there is a stack by her bedside, from which she reads incessantly, and keeps me apprised of her accomplishments. 

My Bethie Boo is becoming quite the soccer player.  She has been asked to play select in the spring. My little spitfire, the captain of her team, is now in the big leagues.  Well, sort of.  When bringing her to her first practice, she asked me if this was a "Spanish" team.  Indeed, she is the only caucasian on the team!  This only bothers her, she told me, when the girls speak Spanish to each other.  So, she says, she just needs to learn Spanish.  Simple, huh?

This girl has taught me so much about the overwhelming ferocity of love and determination.  She works with such concentration and will.  Her spirit is alive and infectious.  I am so happy to report that despite my lack of parenting skills, she thrives.  And how she thrives!

What a privilege it is to be her mom.

And how I look forward to witnessing all God has in store for this little girl.

:)

Who Will Lift You Up?

A year and a half ago, I wrote an entire series of my trip home to NY for the funeral of  my Grandfather.

Here.
Here.
Here.

And the one I want to focus on is here.

The one where I remember (so vividly, still!) the picture I have stored in my mind of my ten male cousins, bearing my Grandfather to his final resting place. Their faces, so stern... their backs, so proud.  The casket, laden with the American flag.  It was a scene of pride and sorrow.  I will never forget it.

And now, with the passing of my Grandmother, less than two weeks ago, the story behind the picture has been revealed.

Apparently, the director of the funeral home was in a bit of tizzy regarding the number of pallbearers.  He "had words" with my older cousin, fussing over the enormous amount of young men who would be carrying the casket.  My older cousin looked him in the eye and told him to "deal with it."  In other words, buddy, we all will be sharing this honor.  No one will be left out.  You have ten pallbearers.  Just deal.

And again, when my Grandmother was laid to rest... these same ten young men would carry her, ever-so-gently, to her place beside my Grandfather. Not having been there, I can only imagine the care and love with which they did their duty.  Yet once again, the funeral director was forced to stretch his resources in accommodating such a large number of pallbearers.  And from what I heard, he wasn't too pleased.  He normally doesn't have this many... it isn't the normal protocol....

Which got me thinking.

How many old people, Grandmothers and Grandfathers, die alone?  How many are carried to the graveside by strangers?  How does this happen?  Is it the person's fault?  Is it indicative of the lives they have led?  Or more indicative of those who were supposed to love them to the end?

And what a witness, to the type of people my Grandparents were.  The funeral home was packed at all the viewings, likewise the church for the funeral mass.  Their love for each other gave life to a whopping 26 grandchildren... 10 of whom were strapping boys.  Boys who grew up to be strong young men.  Strong enough to lift the burden of love to it's final rest.

It is something for all of us to think about.... to ponder.  When it comes down to it, when it comes to the final end...

When love is all that is left...

Who will lift you up?

Mae These Days

Mae is our Little Love.  Named after my grandmother*, Mae reminds me so much of her. She is funny and charming.  A bit of a spitfire, but with a heart of gold.  She is my first girl to collapse into tears, just really sob, when someone teases her. I am learning to guard her heart fiercely... while trying to teach her not to take herself so seriously.(or... sewiouswy... as she would say)

:P

At the age of 6, Mae-love (see where she gets her blog name?) is oscillating between wanting to be my baby girl and wanting to do all that the older girls are allowed to do.  She gets frustrated by the razor's edge she must continually walk.  And I sometimes wonder if I am not protecting her just a little too much. Maybe she should be able to do more and explore the world around her a little more freely.  But the thought of unseen dangers keeps her close to home.

Maisy Daisy (another nickname... cute, huh?) is such a smarty. And I'll be the first to admit that any one of my children is not very bright.  But this girl picks things up quickly, and remembers them.  She blurts out letter sounds and math facts and placement of States before her big sister can even start to open her mouth. But this awareness has it's downfalls.  Super sensitive, she will bristle and howl when there is even of hint of teasing or ridicule in a sibling's tone.  She picks up on the slightest bit of sarcasm and reacts strongly.  It gets a little trying for this Mama, dealing with all of her battle wounds.

Mae has stepped into the role of big sister with pride.  She hauls Brynach around like a pro, and has become quite territorial.  Between her and Little Boo, I feel like I need to make a sign up sheet and assign hours of the day for their baby care turns.

:P

My Maisy will always have that special place in my heart.  The place that is reserved for "The Baby Girl of the Family."  I never knew such a spot would exist, until this littlest girl came along.  But there is something super special about that last girl.  I can't quite put my finger on it, but every Mama knows.

She's just my Mae.  The sunshine of our family.

:)



*My grandmother passed just last week, on Dec. 27th. May she rest in eternal peace and love.

P.S.

Brynach These Days is a big fat fuss.

Poor Little Dude will be going to the doctor today, for a possible ear infection.  Or maybe it's teething.  Or maybe he just really likes to nurse all. night. long. for the sheer thrill of it? I dunno.  These little peeps don't come with instructions or light up buttons.  Maybe we should have just settled for an iPhone instead.  And get the "new baby" app?  Surely they must have that by now.

:P

After a 12 hour drive home from my parents yesterday, it's all I can do to gulp down my coffee and be minor-ly civil to my family.

The series of ruminations on my other darlings will continue at a later date.


Happy New Year.


:)


ETA: It's a double ear infection. Poor Little Dude. :(