The Birth of Ryan Maguire

After I wrote Kennedy's birth story many months ago, I realized that I had never actually written Ryan's birth story anywhere. I did not keep a journal at the time when he was born, and it was long before my blogging days.  So I decided that I should write it, if only for myself and for him, and that I would post it on his next birthday.

Well today my little Ryan Maguire turned seven years old.  

This is the story of his birth, exactly seven years ago, December 7th, 2006.


My due date was November 25th, my 21st birthday.  That day came and went without a single sign of labor.  And then another week past.

My doctor agreed to schedule an induction of labor sometime between the 5th and 8th of December.  I immediately refused to schedule it for the 7th. Many years ago, before the birth of my oldest brother, my mother had given birth to a still-born baby girl on December 7th.  I remembered the date because she used to have a Christmas ornament with the date embroidered on it to remember her first baby.  I am normally not a superstitious person at all, but I simply did not like the idea of giving birth to my first baby on December 7th.  So we scheduled the induction for the 5th.

Jayne flew out to North Carolina from Arizona on Monday, the 4th. I was instructed to call the Army hospital at 6:00 AM on Tuesday to make sure there was a bed available. But when I called, there was not.  I was told to call back in three hours.  I called back every three hours for two entire days and was repeatedly told that they still had no beds.  After such a horrible pregnancy and then being two days late for my induction, I was beyond miserable.  So miserable that I locked myself in the bathroom on Wednesday night and cried for hours.

The phone rang around 6:00 AM the next morning. It was the hospital calling to tell me that I could finally come in. Of course, it was December 7th.  Andrew had already been at work since 5:00, so Jayne and I drove to the hospital and started the process of getting checked in.  I still had not had a single contraction, was not dilated at all, and was 0% effaced. The nurses warned me that I was most likely facing at least 12 hours before I would meet my baby boy.

My IV of high-dose Pitocin was started at 9:00 AM. Within thirty minutes I was having extremely painful contractions, so I called my doula, Doris Ann and asked her to come help me.  Andrew had arrived but was told by his "higher ups" that he could only stay for a few hours (gotta love the Army!), and since the midwife on call assured us the baby would not be arriving until later that night, we went with it - but I was pretty pissed.

I labored unmedicated with Doris Ann for two hours, and felt confident that I would be able to make it through a natural birth, despite the extreme contractions caused by the Pitocin. By noon I was dilated to 4 cm and was told it was time for the midwife to break my water.  The nurses asked me if I wanted an epidural first, but I felt I was handling the labor pretty well and was afraid an epidural would stall labor if given too early, so I told them I would wait.  So the midwife came in and broke my water...and then the very next contraction was so painful I thought I would pass out. It was a pain I had never known, so intense that there are not even words to describe it. I immediately screamed for the epidural.

While I waited for the epidural man to arrive, I labored as best I could, jumping off of the bed and squatting on the floor with each contraction, because for some reason it was the only thing my body wanted to do.  Doris Ann and Andrew would help me back into bed in between each contraction, and then I would jump back out only a few minutes later. My IV was still being pumped with high-dose Pitocin, which made the contractions long, hard and excruciating.  The epidural man arrived at some point, and it was hospital policy that only one person could be in the room with me while the epidural was administered, so I chose Doris Ann to stay with me while Andrew and Jayne waited down the hall.  They felt at ease knowing that by the time they returned, everything would be calm, the pain would be gone, and we could get through the rest of the labor in peace.

Unfortunately, that things did not go quite as expected.

I was unable to sit still long enough for the doctor to place the epidural. My contractions were so intense and close together that it was impossible for me to sit up straight for longer than a minute or two.  I remember him complaining, saying "you're only 4 cm, you should be able to hold still."  I wanted to punch him in the face.  He finally got impatient and told me that he was going to do the epidural for the woman next door and then he would come right back, giving me time to "practice holding still." But Ryan was born before he even finished the epidural next door.

Everything after he left is pretty hazy. I don't know the time frame of when everything happened or many details, but I do know it all happened very fast. I remember squatting on the floor, clenching Doris Ann's shoulders, screaming in pain.  I remember seeing blood all over the floor.  I remember begging Doris Ann to not leave me alone as she was adamantly trying to get someone in the room to check my cervix.  I know one nurse checked me incredibly fast and said I was only 8 cm. She left us alone without hesitation and could not have cared less about the fact that I was begging to push or that there was blood all over the floor. I did not know it at the time, but I later discovered that my placenta had most likely ruptured - yet there were no doctors, no nurses - it was just my doula and me alone on the floor.

I remember the moment when Doris Ann looked me in the eyes and asked, "do you feel like there is a baseball in your butt or a basketball?"  I answered basketball without hesitation. Then she looked at me and said "you are having this baby NOW."  She did not want to leave the room because she was afraid that Ryan would be born on the floor if she didn't get me in the bed as fast as possible. So she helped me up and started yelling for help. By that point I had lost so much blood that I was starting to go into shock. I vaguely remember a whole group of people rushing around me, telling me to push.  I was so confused and scared, because they had just told me not to push only minutes earlier.  I was terrified. I yelled for Andrew, but he was still in waiting room thinking I was getting an epidural

A nurse ran out to get him.

"Is your wife in room --- ?!"
"Yes...?"
"You better get in there, you're having a baby!"
"No I'm not. She just getting the epidural."
"No she's not! Go now!"

He and Jayne later told me that they could hear me screaming the moment they ran through the doors of the mother-baby unit.  They ran into the room just as Ryan's heart rate started plummeting. They told me he was stuck in the birth canal because I wasn't pushing hard enough and that I had to get him out before his heart rate got any lower.  I remember sobbing as I begged them to just do a c-section.  An oxygen mask was put on me at some point, but I didn't even notice. There were blurry nurses everywhere I looked, Jayne was in the corner of the room looking terrified, Andrew was holding my hand, Doris Ann was holding my legs, and the midwife was yelling at me to push harder. But I was in shock - all I could feel was pain, and I could not figure out how to tell my body to work harder when I felt I was trying as hard as I could. I was given an episiotomy without my consent, and without any numbing medication. It wasn't until I heard the midwife ask one of the nurses for a pair of forceps that I snapped out of it and pushed with everything I had.

And then there he was.

Ryan Maguire was born at 1:49 PM, after less than five hours of labor and only an hour and 50 minutes after my water was broken. Apparently he was determined to make an entrance and wasted no time doing so.

He was taken to be weighed and cleaned off before I could hold him. It must have only been five or ten minutes, but it felt like the longest five or ten minutes of my entire life before I could hold him and look at him.  I sobbed as I listened to him cry and listened to the nurses calling out stats. Eight pounds, seven ounces, and mad as hell. But he was healthy, pink, plump, and perfect.

The moment my sweet little Ryan was finally placed in my arms was the most amazing moment I had ever experienced. It was as if I could literally feel my heart changing, like the rumblings of an earthquake in my chest.  I felt a relief that was indescribable, knowing that the hell of my pregnancy was finally over and that the grand prize was entirely worth every moment of misery.  I also felt strongly that my mother had sent Ryan down to me on December 7th for a reason - to give new, wonderful meaning to a date that had caused her so much pain.  I almost laughed as I cried my tears of joy, thinking about how it was all part of God's plan all along.

At some point both Andrew and Jayne had left to make phone calls. All the nurses had gone, and it was just my tiny boy and me alone in the room.  I held him and sang "Baby Mine," the lullaby from Dumbo that my mom used to sing to me.  Ryan now calls it "the baby song" and knows it is my special song just for him.  I also now have the words "Baby Mine" tattooed above his name on my shoulder blade.

After Ryan was born, I was not allowed out of bed for 24 hours due to how much blood I had lost.  I was never given an explanation of why.  It was only years later after discussing it with experienced medical professionals that I learned my blood loss was not normal and that the most likely explanation was a ruptured placenta.  I then experienced problems with my placenta during Kennedy's birth as well, so the explanation seems even more valid, but I will never really know exactly what happened.  My doula told me after the birth that she estimated I had progressed from five to ten centimeters in only about ten minutes, based on everything that had happened.  The incredibly rapid nature of Ryan's birth was frightening and traumatizing, and the recovery from such a fast brutal assault on my body plus the episiotomy was awful.  But he was so, so worth it.

It was not easy to bring my son into the world. I had an awful and complicated pregnancy. I miscarried his twin brother.  I had a traumatic and painful birth experience.  But every moment, every tear shed and every twinge of pain was all part of the greatest transformation I ever experienced.  My son's beautiful blue eyes melted away everything but pure love and joy.  And that is something I will never forget.

***

I love you, Ryan Maguire.

Thank you for changing my life.

My Amazing Ryan

Motherhood has good days and rough days. As every mother knows, there are some days when all you want to do is lock yourself in your bedroom - or lock the kids in theirs - just to escape the whining, crying, tantrums, attitudes and the non-stop "Mom, Mom...Mom...Mom, Mom...".

But then there are days when your kids make your heart melt, when you feel like the luckiest Mom around, when you are convinced you have the best/cutest/funniest/sweetest kid(s) in the world. Those are the best days. 

Today I took Ryan to a candy-buy-back event hosted by our dentist office. I was so proud of my little boy and his generous heart.  He very willingly gave up over five pounds of Halloween candy (he only kept 10 pieces) to be sent to our troops overseas, in exchange for only $5, a couple coupons for free stuff, and two raffle tickets for bigger prizes.  I didn't even have to talk him into it - all I did was tell him that he would get some money and that all his candy would be sent to the soldiers fighting in other countries, and he was all in.  He told me that he wanted to give the soldiers his candy so that they could put it in their pockets and always have something to eat when they are hungry if they have to go a long time without food.  *Heart melting.*

Ryan didn't win any of the bigger prizes, but it didn't matter.  He still drew a cute picture and wrote a note to send to the troops and then went about his day with a smile on his face.

After the event was over, we stopped into an accessory store so I could look at some earrings. Ryan started picking out all sorts of fancy, dangly, sparkly earrings and insisting that I buy them. I told him I didn't need fancy earrings. His response?  

"I want to buy you fancy earrings so you will look pretty tonight." 

"What's happening tonight?"

"You and me can go out to dinner while Dad stays home with Kennedy. Just us. Cus I love you."

Well...how do you say no to that?  (I did say no to the earrings, especially because little Miss Kennedy started screaming her head off and we had to leave the store ASAP, but I couldn't say no to the date offer.)

So we got the super angry, tired baby into the car and started driving home.  At some point, the Bruno Mars song, "Just the Way You Are" starts playing on the radio.  About two-thirds of the way into the song, Ryan interrupts from the backseat:

"Mom, you wanna know what I think about whenever I hear this song?"

"What?"

"I think about how I want to tell you that you are amazing. Just the way you are. You don't need to be any more pretty or anything."

*fighting off tears, heart melting*

Seriously, how did I get lucky enough to be this kid's mom?  

I love my Ryan Bug. He has the ability to pierce my heart in ways that no one else is capable of. The past year and a half have been very challenging for him, as he has been forced to learn how to take care of a sick mom and then how to be a big brother.  It has not been easy for any of us, and I often feel like there is just not enough of me (or Pete) to give both of our kids every bit of attention they deserve. But Ryan still finds ways to remind me that it will all be okay.  

I am grateful for days like today. Because, let's face it, tomorrow could very easily be a different story... (especially if he keeps playing instead of cleaning his room...grrrrr!)

Love you Bug :)

"It's all just a bunch of Hocus Pocus..."

Oh, Halloween. How I love thee.

Pete and I threw a Halloween party on Saturday night; lovingly nicknamed Spooktacular! Spooktacular! (Moulin Rouge? Harold Zidler? Anyone?)

"It will be Spectacular! Spectacular!
No words of the vernacular
can describe this great event,
you'll be dumb with wonderment..."

I have been longing to throw a Halloween bash for many years. It just never happened due to the fact that we were always dead broke and never had enough friends or neighbors to show up. After we moved here last year, we were really looking forward to whatever neighborhood/church Halloween events might ensue, plus a neighborhood perfect for trick-or-treating. Then when Halloween time came, Pete and I were kind of disappointed.  There were no parties, the ward "trunk-or-treat" was only fun for little kids because there were absolutely no activities for adults and hardly anyone dressed up or decorated their trunks, and then we discovered that hardly anyone trick-or-treats in our neighborhood because no one wants to buy candy for both the "trunk-or-treat" and for home. We ended up driving to a town 20 minutes north just to take Ryan trick-or-treating in an awesome neighborhood full of decorated houses and festive people.

So sometime back in September, Pete and I started talking about how we finally have a neighborhood full of friends who are (in our twisted opinion) in desperate need of some Halloween festiveness. So we decided it was time to throw a party.

I spent about one week coming up with ideas and then two weeks planning, shopping and crafting. Then,in addition to the party, I decided to take on the task of transforming myself and two of my friends into the Sanderson sisters from the classic 90's Halloween movie Hocus Pocus, so I was doing a lot of late night sewing mixed in with everything as well. I haven't had any creative projects since Kennedy was born (except for minimal work on Pete's ComicCon costume), so taking on the Hocus Pocus witches was pretty fun.

Here's the inspiration and the finished products...

I was so busy that I kind of forgot about invitations until the last minute...but luckily they turned out pretty well:

Given that invitations went out only seven days before the party, I was terrified that hardly anyone would come. Plus, there is this weird epidemic constantly plaguing the good people of Utah which causes them to not RSVP for anything, so I really had no idea how many people to expect. 

As usual, I overbooked myself and took on too much, so on the day of the party I still had to do homework that was due that night, bake cupcakes, makes sugar glass candy for the cupcakes, make frosting for the cupcakes, make poisoned candy apples, make banners, pick up balloons, donuts and cookies from three different stores and do hair and makeup with my fellow witches before Pete got home from work and we could start decorating for the party (there was a reservation before us, so we only had an 90 minutes to set up).  Unfortunately I did not end up having enough time to do all those things, so some decorations never got put up (God bless my friends Julie and Joy for their help or else a lot more would have never made it up either), the banners never got made, there was a scary incident involving red food dye being spilled all over my kitchen counter, and I wasn't able to put my costume on or do my makeup until the first guests had already started arriving. EEK!

But after I finally got myself turned into Sarah Sanderson, I ran back to the party and was happily overwhelmed to find it filled to the brim with people in great costumes, so much food that it wouldn't all fit on the food table, and my fellow witch sisters looking AWESOME. 

Here we are...

"Come little children, we'll take thee away..."

So after fearing that no one would come to my little party, over 80 people showed up! It made my little Halloween-loving heart so happy. We did games for the kids, a costume contest, a photo booth (that hardly anyone used...I'll have to rethink that one next year) and played The Nightmare Before Christmas and Hotel Transylvania on a big TV in the corner. Although I was so busy running everything and wrangling children for the games that I wasn't able to really hang out with anyone or eat any of the food, I heard that everyone else had a great time.

The one crappy part? Our camera must have been on some weird setting that I wasn't aware of, because all of our pictures are fuzzy and blurry. GRRRR. So if anyone has a pictures from the party that they would be willing to send me, please do.

We have such fantastic neighbors here - so many willing to not only show up, but show up in awesome and creative costumes, bring food, help out with games, hold our sleeping baby, and then several friends even stayed to help Pete and I clean up the giant mess when it was over. Seriously. You guys just keep making it harder and harder for us to entertain the plan of moving away next year.

So far Halloween has been a lot of fun, and it isn't even over yet! We still have our church trunk-or-treat on Wednesday, then taking the kids trick-or-treating on Thursday. Halloween season may all just be a bunch of hocus pocus, but what can I say? I love it.

Come with us and you will see, This our town of Halloween

I have been crazy busy over the past couple weeks planning and crafting and sewing and shopping for our fabulous Halloween party that went down last night (post on that coming up soon). With that plus grad school, I have been too busy to post anything, but I've had a couple posts waiting to be finished before the wonderful month of October is over.

First off, it's time to share our happy-creepy-Halloween home with you all...mostly just because I will miss all of the decorations come November, so I will need photos to reminisce :)

I have been waiting a long time to be able to go all out for Halloween, and it has been so much fun to finally live in a house that gives me that opportunity.  My awesome husband has been so supportive of my craziness, from party planning to decorating, and hasn't said a word about all the new stuff I bought this year. I will be sad when I have to take everything down next week...but then it's time to start planning for next year (after Halloween clearance sales!!!) - hehehehe.  And of course I can always think about all the amazing stuff I will do someday when we win the lottery (light shows synchronized to music, a full graveyard, fog machines, murder mystery parties...).  A girl can dream, right?

Happy Halloween Dear Readers :)

October, Netflix, Snow

So, what happened to September?  It flew by like a freight train and was gone before I knew it. It is now October, and as much as I am not happy about it, the first snow fell last night, meaning summer (and maybe even fall) is most definitely over, so I figured it was time to catch up.

October is my favorite month of the year. And this year, it has come with a much needed shift in the wind. After several months of suffering through postpartum depression, the past couple weeks have finally started feeling more balanced and normal.  I give credit to treatment, support, routines and the therapeutic value of spending days and days putting up Halloween decorations (it seriously makes me giddy).

The past five days in particular have brought more peace than I have felt in weeks, thanks to the fact that our little Kenny Rae is *finally* sleeping. Of course when I say "sleeping," I do not mean sleeping through the night (will that ever happen?), rather I mean sleeping longer than two hours at a time at night and actually taking regular naps again, which has not been happening for quite a while due to K's extreme gassiness, fussiness and weekly bouts of constipation. After eliminating dairy, caffeine, and carbonated beverages from my diet, strictly watching her diet of solids for connections between certain foods, introducing two different kinds of formula, and three weekly trips to the doctor's office, we still didn't see much progress (although eliminating caffeine did seem to help a little). Eventually a couple of my friends urged me to ask the doctor for an infant reflux medication, and *fingers crossed,* I think it is actually working! The medication combined with a daily dose of prunes seems to be making a difference, and she has been a much happier baby over the past few days, which makes for a much happier Momma. Hooray for small victories!

Grad school is going well, which is saying a lot considering I have managed to stay on top of my work in spite of the fact that Netflix has been sucking my life away over the past week with back to back episodes of Sons of Anarchy. I got sucked into a hole like this right after K was born with The West Wing, and it's not pretty. Wearing pajamas all day, looking forward to midnight nursing sessions so I can watch just 15 more minutes, dreams about characters...it's ridiculous. But my homework is still getting done, the house is clean, Halloween decorations are up and I've somehow lost 10 pounds...so I guess it's all good.

Other good things:  Ryan is thriving in first grade and just finished his first season of flag football, we bought Pete a new car a few weeks ago, Pete had an interview on Wednesday for a better paying position in his company, we get to go to General Conference for the first time on Sunday, and I'm planning my first Halloween party for later this month.

Not good things:  Snow. This morning. On top of my pumpkins. Not cool. Overall I really enjoy cold weather and all things that come with it (cozy sweatshirts, hot soups, cider and hot cocoa, gorgeous white mountains, gloomy days, boots) but when snow is covering the tombstones in my front yard, it has crossed the line.

Oh, and I miss dairy. A lot.

I am grateful that things are finally starting to feel normal again, or more specifically, that I am starting to feel normal again. I am looking forward to the next few months of holidays, birthdays, and cold weather, and considering how long it has been since I have looked forward to anything, that's pretty good progress. :)

A photo tour of all my Halloween giddyness is coming up shortly. Get excited.

"Here's to Hard Choices"

That quote is a line from an episode of Brothers and Sisters (one of my all-time favorite shows). And it kept ringing in my mind when thinking of a title for this post.

I began graduate school this week. I was accepted into an online program through my alma mater, Arizona State University, to get my Master of Education in Curriculum and Instruction specializing in Gifted Education. The decision to go back to school in itself was not really that hard of a choice, given that I always planned to do so at some point. But the fact that I am doing it now is part of a "bigger picture" choice that has been very hard for me: the choice to stay home with my kids.

The short book answer is to just blame the choice on external circumstances. The car accident in March 2012 prevented me from taking the AZ teacher certification exams in enough time to get certified by both Arizona and then Utah before all the jobs for the 2012-13 school year were filled. I then failed one of the Utah certification exams by one single point and was not left with enough time to retake it before the 2013-14 school year began this month. So yes, it has technically been impossible for me to even apply for a full-time teaching position at a public school since I received my Bachelor's degree almost sixteen months ago. But....but. I could have applied at private and charter schools that do not require state certification. I could have applied to be a substitute teacher and maybe work three or four (or maybe even five?) days a week. I could have looked for jobs working as a teacher assistant or working at the district office. And then of course I could have decided to pursue some kind of employment outside of the field of education altogether.  But I didn't.

Instead I chose to conceive a baby two week after I graduated, completely aware that meant I would be staying home throughout the entire pregnancy (thanks to Hyperemesis).  And then after I failed the World History Praxis (don't even get me started on the hell that is that test) I chose not to pursue any other jobs until I pass the damn test (God willing) and can apply for teaching jobs next year. And the reason is simple: I want to stay home with my baby. But that choice has been very hard for me.  So hard, even, that I have not even been able to write about it here until now.

It has been hard because I gave up almost all of my son's precious baby-hood many years ago to go to school full time and work part time so that I could someday give him the life he deserved. I worked my butt off for five very long years to get my degree so that I could help support my family. And half of me argues that now is the time for the bill to come due, for me to go out there and earn a salary and contribute. That now is the time to make good on those promises I made to myself late at night when I would hold my baby boy in my arms and cry because I was so exhausted and so stressed and feeling so guilty for missing all the wonderfully cute things he did that day.

But then the other half of me reminds me that money was not the only reason I did it. I did it because I love to learn and I love to teach. I love to use my brain. I love to feel like I'm making myself better and may somehow make the world better if I try. I did it because I wanted to show my son that he can do the very same things, that he can make hard choices and make his life what he wants it to be no matter what obstacles are in front of him. And you know what? I did that. I instilled in him a love of learning, a dedication to hard work and an intense desire to go to college by the time he was only five years old.

But what about the job part? What about showing him the importance of using his education? What about showing him the importance of choosing a career that makes a difference in the world and that he cares about even if it pays very little?  And what about the fact that Pete and I have already had to start teaching Ryan the importance of not wasting the talents he is blessed with (if you know Ryan you probably know what this is referring to), yet here I am sitting on a Bachelor's degree that my own husband would kill to have and I have yet to work a single day outside of my home since it was handed to me?

Sigh.

And then it all comes back full circle to those memories of holding my baby boy in my arms and crying. Because I missed him. I missed so much of the precious time when he was little. To this day I have very few memories of his first two years of life other than urgent care waiting rooms and being up all night with a sick or teething baby.  And I don't want to do it again. I don't want to miss my baby again. Back then I always knew I was doing the right thing, because six years ago I had no other choice. I was single, I was 21 years old, I had no place to call home, I was fighting to give my baby the life I wanted for him.  And now?  He has that life. He has a mother and father who love each other and love him. He has a nice home in a great neighborhood. He goes to a good school, he plays sports. He wears cute clothes and has so many toys he doesn't even know what to do with them. And most importantly, he is smart, he knows how to pray, he values the importance of doing his homework and he loves to read. While Pete and I still strive to give him even more (maybe a dog...or a college fund...), the fact of the matter is that I did come through on the sacrifices I made, even if I have yet to get a real job.  And now it is time to give my daughter the one thing that I could not do back then, which is to simply be here. Because this time around, I do have a choice.  And that is something I should be incredibly grateful for.

So I made the choice to stay home for one more year.  And then I made the choice to pursue a Master's degree online in the meantime...because I still love to learn and love to teach. I still love to use my brain. I still like to feel like I'm making myself better and may somehow make the word better someday. And I still want to teach my children that they can do the same things. And of course there's the fact that I am advancing my career, improving my teaching skills and expanding my job opportunities for whenever the time comes that I do go to work...so that's good too.

But the choice has still been hard. I have struggled with feeling like I'm not using my talents and that I'm not doing "enough" by staying home (albeit temporarily) with my kids. And then I read this awesome article that a friend posted on facebook...and my entire perspective changed.  (Go read it. Now.)  I realized that I am working. I am making a difference in the world, because I am making a difference in my children's lives.  Even if I never make it to my own classroom (highly unlikely, because I really cannot wait to begin teaching, but I guess you never know), my children will still become smarter, better educated, more cultured and diverse leaders of the next generation because of the efforts I have made in my own education.  Thankfully, that belief makes this choice just a little bit easier.

So here's to hard choices, grad school, and one more year (or maybe more?) of baby memories.

And naps. Let's not forget that part.

Just One Moment

Last night I spent several hours at a friend's house, talking into the wee hours of the morning. Around 2:00 AM, one of us said something about how we should be sleeping.

Then I said, "I wouldn't be sleeping anyway."

"Why?"

"Because it is August 17th."

"Huh?"

Pause. Sigh. 

"It is the day my mom died. It will be twelve years today."

The conversation continued, and then my friend asked, "Do you do anything [on this specific day]?"

"....Well...I write. I write a blog post. Back before I had a blog, I wrote in my journal. I guess it has become a tradition. Other than that, no, I don't do anything out of the ordinary. My brother usually calls me, and simply asks if I'm okay. I say yes. Then I ask if he's okay. He says yes. And I'm pretty sure we both know we're lying. But that's about it."

While the phone conversation was actually a bit different this year, I still felt the need to write. So I decided to use some quiet time while the boys were at the store and the baby was asleep to read through some pages in the journal I kept twelve years ago, hoping I would find something that would spark the right words for this year. As expected, most of the pages made me cry. But there was one page that did not.

I wrote it on June 10th, 2001, as I was sitting in the ICU at Good Samaritan Hospital next to my mother's bed. She had just come out of her final surgery that had successfully removed the remaining tumors in her body. I had been told that she was expected to make a full recovery (although I have no idea how truthful that information really was), so that night I wrote about peace.

"After two years of hell, right now, sitting here in a a dark hospital room, I feel completely at peace. I'm not crying about anything. Instead I am feeling so thankful to God right now. He has finally blessed me with peace. And even though it may not last, I will always be thankful for this one moment of happiness. Thank you, Lord."

One moment. It was just one moment. But I still remember how incredibly grateful I was for it. Then on August 17th, there was another moment. A moment burned in my memory. A moment that still haunts me to this day. That one moment that changed my entire life.

Twelve years later, as I look back on both of those moments, I find my heart hurting just as much as ever. It stings in ways I cannot even describe when I remember that entire summer - the pain my family was feeling after my grandmother's death and then my mother's within just months of each other, the immense stress that my brothers and I were under, the emptiness of our house, the sterile hospital rooms, the goldfish crackers that I lived off of because my body was too weak for real food, the freezer full of lasagnas that no one wanted to eat. Yes...that hurt still hurts.  But today, when I read those words that I wrote as a fifteen year old girl in a dark hospital room, the hurt went away for a minute. I was struck by how God blesses us with tender mercies - feelings of joy, love, and peace - even in the midst of our absolute darkest days.  He knew that the peace I felt that night was going to be short lived. He knew I was about to face an uphill battle that would continue every day for the rest of my life. But He gave me that "one moment of happiness" to remind me that there was still hope. To remind me that there is still light somewhere on the other end of the darkness. To remind me that peace is always possible.

I needed that reminder today. I need it on many days. Because sometimes, the pain of this life is just too real. The struggles get too hard.  But there are moments. Moments when I laugh so much my stomach hurts, moments when I see something incredibly beautiful, moments when I hear my kids giggle, moments when I feel overwhelmed by blessings, moments that take my breath away.  Those moments are what make life liveable again.

Sometimes all you need is just one moment of peace. And on days like today, when I miss my mother so very much, when I think of all the things I wish I could say to her, when I feel jealous of every other woman I know, when I think about how many more long lonely years I have to face before I can see her again...that one moment of peace is something to be grateful for.

I love you and miss you always, Momma.

"...But then again, I know what it would do, 

leave me wishing still for one more day with you."

Raelene Metcalf

11/1/49-8/17/01

August 17th, 2012

August 17th, 2011

August 17th, 2010

Kennedy: Halfway Gone

My baby girl is six months old today.

*Sigh.*

Her babyhood is halfway gone.

I seriously want to cry. But instead it is time to write about the awesomeness that is Kennedy Rae at half-a-year old.

This is Kennedy right now, at this very moment, playing in her jumperoo. She is going back and forth from being as happy as can be to extremely angry whenever she gets frustrated because she can't figure out how to get the toys in her mouth. You can't see it, but she's wearing a Metallica onesie. Of course.

This girl loves to be loud.  Even when she's not crying, her happy "baby talk" babbling is more similar to opera singing than anything else. And when she's mad? Well...it's intense. I have had several different people comment on how incredibly loud and high pitched her cry is, and how she's destined to be a talented soprano. With the first stages of teething going on right now, there have been days where her crying has literally caused me to get migraines. I'll jokingly remind her of that fact every day when she's performing at the Met someday.

Within the past week she has just about outgrown all of her 0-3 sized clothes, meaning she is still a full size smaller than her age. Everyone keeps saying how little she is, yet Pete and I can only see how much bigger she is getting every single day. Compared to the tiny newborn we had just a few months ago, she has filled out tremendously.  She has chubby squirrel cheeks, adorable thunder thighs, and Tootsie Roll arms. I miss the tinyness of her, but the chunkiness is just so dang cute.

The growth from five to six months has been the greatest by far.  In just the past few weeks she has learned to sit by herself, pick up and play with toys, grab for my shirt when she's hungry and push all the way up on her arms when she's laying on her stomach (which she still hates vehemently).  She still has yet to start rolling over...a fact we are a bit worried the pediatrician is going to be concerned about at her checkup on Wednesday...but we're hoping that her incredible strength when it comes to sitting makes up for it.  I wouldn't be surprised if she becomes one of those kids who skip crawling altogether and just start walking, because she has no desire to be horizontal unless she's sleeping.  We gave her brown rice cereal for the first time two days ago, and she was so excited about it. She still hasn't quite figured out how to actually eat it, but she was happy about it nonetheless.

She does not sleep very well at night anymore, but she loves to take naps during the day as long as I lie down with her. We've tried putting a shirt of mine in her crib, using white noise, swaddling, unswaddling, etc., but nothing seems to work except putting her in bed with me. Not quite sure what we're going to do about that, but I'm reading a book about it, so at least there's that.

Baby Bean still hates being in the car, which made for an awful road trip to Arizona last month and nixed our plans to go to Disneyland this summer and Illinois this fall. She loves watching Baby Einstein, which is the only way we mange can manage to to take her shopping or to Nathan and Angela's house. And we survive church every week only thanks to the fact that so many wonderful friends fight over whose turn it is to hold her. Such a little princess.

Ryan makes Kennedy laugh more than anyone else. All he has to do is laugh himself and she just cracks up. She is so in love with him. She watches him play like she's a scientist observing a research subject and she turns her head to him the minute she hears his voice in a room. He loves the fact that he can somewhat play with her now by handing her toys and picking them back up after she throws them, and he loves to read to her. A couple days ago I was upstairs doing something while they were both downstairs (she was laying on her play mat) when she started crying. I head Ryan try to give her some toys, and when she continued crying, I heard him say "Please don't be sad, Baby, I love you!"  It melted my heart.

I would do anything if I could just hit the pause button on life, or at least slow it down a little bit. My baby girl is growing too fast and the time flies too quickly.  We are halfway to one year old already - when it seems like just yesterday I was holding her tiny body on top of my chest in the hospital. Where did it all go?  I think this feeling is why women choose to keep having more babies. I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. Shhh, don't tell Pete.

Six months gone. Six months left before we have a toddler on our hands. Stop, time. Just stop. I'm not ready.

January 29, 2013

July 29, 2013

Cruel Summer

It is time to write. Something. Anything.

It has been hard for me to write over the past few weeks. Postpartum depression can be a real bitch.

I used to love to write when I was dealing with depression and hard things in life. I don’t anymore. I’m pretty sure it is due to the intense desire that I have been feeling to just escape…and if I were to sit down and write about the hard things going on right now – like the difficulties of depression, how difficult Ryan has been since the baby was born, the problems Pete and I are facing as a couple, the sudden negative and isolating changes in my friendships or the unpleasant return of my anxiety – I wouldn’t be able to use my precious and rare alone time to escape all that by watching back to back episodes of The Big Bang Theory, now would I?

But I need to write anyway. So here I am.  

I have been in a bit of a fog yesterday and today, as my hometown of Prescott is mourning the tragic loss of nineteen firefighters. I knew three of them from high school, one of them since elementary school. I knew the older sister of one of them and performed with her in choir for two years. I knew a girl who is married to the cousin of another one.  And I knew one of the grieving widows very well when I was a young teenager. She and her family were in my ward, and she and I spent a lot of time together in Young Women and Seminary activities. The part that is stabbing at me today is that I was always a little jealous of her - she was beautiful, popular, the boys liked her, and she was incredibly kind - and I envied her. Then this morning...I watched her try to hold it together on national television while being interviewed on the Today Show, talking about her fallen husband and her four very small children...and all I could do was cry for her. My heart hurt for her. And it hurt even more when I remembered my stupid and juvenile jealousy. I found myself wishing so badly that I was back home so that I could find a way to help her, to help her babies, or to help any of the other eighteen widows. I cannot help but think of how grateful I am for my husband and for the fact that he comes home to me every night.  He wanted to become a firefighter once (actually I think he's still technically on the ridiculous waiting list for the FD academy in Chicago), but instead he works in front of a computer screen and comes home to me every night. I know how it feels to worry. I was an Army wife many years ago. My brother served two tours in Iraq. And when I was a teenager I suffered from horrible nightmares about him being killed while he was working in law enforcement.  I remember the worry.  Which makes me even more humbled and grateful for the fact that my husband and my brothers are all safe tonight while nineteen other men never made it home. The whole thing is surreal and hard to swallow...because the truth is that you never know when your entire life could change. And that's a hard thing to be reminded of.

We spent seven days in Phoenix last month, and I was very strongly reminded of how right our decision to move to Utah was, and continues to be. Despite how far we are from Ryan's grandparents (the only thing we actually miss about AZ), every minute I spent in that metropolis-of-death-heat reminded me of how miserable we were there and all of the reasons we did not want Ryan to grow up there. I encountered a lot of memories while I was there - some good, most bad - and I don't think they served my current emotional battles very well.  But the silver lining was how amazing it felt to come home. With pretty much every vacation I have ever taken, I always dreaded going home at the end, and once I was home, I was usually pretty unhappy about it.  But when we made it back from our 12 day trip (we spent time in Prescott and Vegas after we left Phoenix), I was so happy to be here. When I walked through the front door, I actually felt like I was home, and that has been a hard thing for me to feel for almost a decade. Now we just gotta work on making a butt load of money so that we can fly Ryan back and forth to Grandma and Grandpa's house whenever he wants...but that might be harder to accomplish.

It is July already. Never in my life has time gone by so fast as it has over the past six months.  After spending so many miserable summers in Phoenix where it was too hot to do anything, and then spending my first Utah summer battling HG (puking my guts out and not being able to do anything fun), I was really looking forward to this summer with Ryan.  I had images of backyard BBQ's, sidewalk chalk, swimming, playing in the sprinklers, hanging out with friends, outdoor movies and swinging on our new backyard swing after dark...but somehow between traveling, postpartum depression, and a child who is either consistently grounded or spending all his time at his best friend's house across the street, we've done hardly any of those things and the summer is already halfway over.  I feel like time is just slipping between my fingers and I don't even have a chance to make all the memories I want to make with my babies before they're grown. Maybe that's just the hormones talking and everything will be easier next summer? I hope so. And I hope I can figure out a way to make the most of the remaining weeks we have before the harsh winter hits us again.

I will wrap this up with a couple photos that makes my heart smile, because, well, I need it. 

I love my babies. I love my hottie husband. And I'm looking forward to better days.

The Motherless Facebook Post

The title of this blog is "My Mother's Daughter." So I feel it would be a bit lacking if I did not write a post on Mother's Day. But I have been struggling all day to think of what to write.

So I will just be honest.

At least twenty or so of my friends on Facebook have posted photos of themselves and their mothers today. Along with the photos most of them have written a sentence or two about how great their mom is and how much they love her.  This is perfectly okay, as I'm sure it brings joy to the mothers to see something nice written about them and probably refreshing for them to see a picture posted of themselves at a much younger age. I would love to see my son post something similar if he were old enough to even know what Facebook is. So, it is fine.

But I cannot escape the fact that reading these posts makes my heart ache.

My mom is not on Facebook (and trust me, she wouldn't have a clue how to use it). But she is somewhere up above, watching over me, so maybe I should write my own version of the "Mother's Day" Facebook post.  But I will write it here instead - because it is sad. It is raw. It is long. It is personal. And it involves several different women. So here goes.

Happy Mother's Day to the greatest mother I could have asked for. The mother that was taken away from me far too soon.  Raelene, I miss your your laugh. I miss your pot roast. I miss your out-of-style shoulder pads that you didn't ever need because we have genetically large upper bodies yet you wore them proudly anyway. I miss the way you called me "Sissy" even though it sounded weird to other people and the fact that you called Grandpa "Daddy" all the way through your adult life. I miss your smile. And oh how I miss your voice. I would have given anything to hear you sing in church today. Sometimes I think about how much my children are missing out because they have never heard you sing, but then I remember you must have sang to them before they came here.  So maybe they miss your voice just as much as I do.

I wish you could be here today. Pete is making homemade lasagna and banana cake that I'm sure you would love. You could smell my gardenias and talk about how you can't keep plants alive. Plus, Kennedy is cranky today. I think she needs her grandma to hold her.

But you are not here. And it hurts.

Lois and Willie, if it is possible for a grown woman to also need her grandma to hold her, I am that woman. And I need both of you. Plus both of you probably could keep my gardenias alive. But neither of you are here either.  And that hurts too.

But there are other mothers who have greatly impacted my life, and I always think of them on Mother's Day. Mary Jo, Delany, Sue F., Jennifer B., Jayne...you are all celebrating today with your own children. But I hope you know how much I love each of you. I am a better woman because you each chose to mother me at some point along the way. And that does not hurt. That makes me smile. So thank you.

I love being a mother. I hate being motherless. But it is who I am. And that is okay.

My husband will hug me, my brothers will cry with me, my children will laugh, and tomorrow my Facebook feed will be back to normal and it will be a little bit easier for me to breathe for another year. And for these things I am grateful.

Any excuse to eat cake...

Do I really need an excuse to eat cake?  Well, no.  But today I have one!

It is Mr. Clooney's 52nd birthday. 

No matter how old I get, how old he gets (seriously, gray hair and all), or how much I love my husband, George still just makes me plain giddy.

So I took a moment today to remember all the ridiculous memories I have over the past 15 years that revolve around this man, including, but not limited to:

* Almost getting run over by a car after seeing him in person

* An unforgettable road trip to LA to witness the Oceans 11 World Premier

* "Fanatic" video entries

* George birthday cakes

* Making my friend Rebekah write an essay about him (we were 13, give me a break)

* Kentucky boxer briefs

* Dragging my poor friends to every movie release whether they wanted to go or not.

* An obnoxious tour through the E.R. set at Warner Bros.

* My brother stealing a six-foot cardboard Out of Sight display

* A George light switch cover. Seriously.

* And more. So much more. I had a hell of a lot of fun. :)

Oh to be young and crazy again....

But since I'm a grown up now and all the fan-crazed memories are behind me, I will settle for baking some cupcakes and watching The Ides of March tonight with my hubby.  Happy Birthday, Georgey-poo. <3

And now some eye candy for the ladies...