Mother's Day

I’m not a big fan of Hallmark created holidays. My children tell me they love me everyday. Scott tells me everyday how amazing I am with our girls and how thankful he is that I am their mom. I would hope that after 36 years with me, my own mom would know how much I love and appreciate her. All the times she’s bailed me out, held me when I cried and pissed me off so much that I took action in moments of indecision (which Mom, if you are reading this, is a good thing as you know as well as I how very lazy and procrastinatey I can be) are remembered and treasured.

But this Mother’s Day is different.

This Mother’s Day is Sara’s first.

And I can only imagine how very hard this day will be for her.

Many years ago, Sara told me that she didn’t think she’d be a good mom. She didn’t know what to do with a kid. But she didn’t see herself as I did: A confident, strong woman who didn’t treat my children with disdain or look down at them no matter how silly or obnoxious they were. She treated my children, and the children she taught, like people, short people, to be sure, with limited experiences, but as people who deserved respect and courtesy. She answered questions honestly, played, discussed and taught without any outward sign of nervousness or doubt.

I knew back then as I do now that Sara is and will be an amazing mom.

On September 28, 2011, Sara’s daughter Lauren was born sleeping. For the last seven and a half months Sara has been a mother without a baby. Everyday, she wakes missing her daughter. And although some days she says are better than others, I know how much she grieves. Lauren is in her thoughts as she should be in her arms.

In an effort to understand what Sara has been going through and learn how to help, I continue to read numerous blogs, message boards and websites about stillbirth and miscarriage. Not feeling as though they can talk about their lost children is a major topic on each site I’ve been to. Stillbirths and miscarriages are swept under the carpet, locked away in closets and not talked about until only the mom and dad are left knowing, talking and loving their unknown baby.

Last month, on her blog Sara wrote that she isn’t talking about Lauren as much because she thinks that people don’t want to hear. Unfortunately, she’s right. Hearing Sara talk about Lauren makes me cry. Reading her blog breaks my heart. But I want her to talk about Lauren because I loved her too and Sara is the only one who knew her. I still have no words of comfort for her but I can listen. I can offer her all the support I have even though I know it will never be enough.

People are uncomfortable with talking about stillbirth because babies shouldn’t die. A woman should carry, love and nurture a baby for 40 weeks and have a baby to bring home.

But because people are uncomfortable is exactly why Sara and all parents who lost their babies should talk about it. Decades ago, people didn’t talk about homosexuality except in hushed voices. They didn’t talk about children born out of wedlock. Changes can’t happen until people are educated and aware! The stigma that is still attached to stillbirth makes it even harder for parents. Parents are told to get over it. Mothers are supposed to “get over” their baby? What kind of nonsense is that?

Neither of the doctors who delivered my children ever mentioned the possibility of miscarriage or stillbirth. With 1out of 160 pregnancies ending in a stillbirth it should be talked about. I was lucky. But I can guarantee you that with such a statistic you know someone who lost their child. It is uncomfortable, depressing even to talk about, but shouldn’t we know? Isn’t it better to know? Better to know what signs to be aware of?

On a few blogs, women have written how during their rainbow pregnancy, they don’t know how to respond to the question, “Is this your first?” They hesitate. Do they deny their lost child to make someone feel comfortable? Do they tell of their loss? I imagine that it is a personal choice. Personally, I hope that when Sara and Geordie try for another child, they proclaim loudly that it is their second, that the new baby had an older sister who is very much loved and remembered.

October 15^th is Stillbirth Awareness Day but Mother’s Day should also be a day of recognition. Sara carried Lauren for 38 weeks. She is a mom. A new mom.  A mom who dreamed about her daughter and all the experiences they would share. A mom who despite being nervous about being a mom, embraced the change and looked forward to the day she could hold her daughter in her arms. Just like all moms do. So why wouldn’t she be considered a mom today?

So on this Mother’s Day and for all the future ones, I wish to those who have carried a baby but didn’t bring a baby home, Happy Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother’s Day, Sara.

Friday Photos

As promised, I have compiled a few more photos I took at the Tolomato Cemetery. When I worked at Ripley's I walked by the cemetery every night and not once felt at all spooked or nervous. The cemetery has many ghost stories attached to it, but I have never seen anything there at all.

Best Sign I've Ever Seen

Pirates lay siege to my town quite frequently. Recently, when The Bounty was in town, I captured this sign at a local bar.

Monkey in the Tree

NOTE: I am prefacing this story with the following disclaimer: I do not believe in ghosts, spirits or apparitions. I never have. And despite this story, I still don't. Zombies, aliens and Bigfoot, however, I (mostly) completely believe in.

Kirsten leaned against the cool stone wall next to me. Cyra snuggled in her arms. The ghost tour had gone on longer than a two year old was capable of walking and between Kirsten, Mom and me we had taken turns holding the increasingly temperamental toddler.

The tour guide was telling a story about a Spanish woman who was buried in the cemetery behind us. Ashleigh leaned against me half listening and my nephew fidgeted in the crowd. Cyra kicked her feet against the wall making her shoes light up. Earlier, the tour guide suggested that ghosts like to follow lights, like those in her shoes, home. She wiggled and Kirsten switched her to her other arm.

“Do you want me to take her?” I asked.

Kirsten shook her head. “She’s fine.”

Suddenly something caught Cyra’s eye and she stared intently into the live oak looming over our heads. Fascinated she watched the upper branches for a few minutes while the tour guide droned on about the funeral parade of the Spanish lady.

“Look Auntie,” Cyra squeed pointing into the tree.

Kirsten and I both looked where she point. Branches and leaves swayed softly in the night breeze, but we didn’t see anything interesting or unusual.

We nodded and played along. But she was not fooled.

“No! Auntie, look.” She insisted, “See the monkey?”

I chuckled. “A monkey?”

She nodded staring into the tree. Kirsten and I exchanged a look. Do you see anything, it said. No, nothing.

Cyra giggled and laughed. “Silly Monkey.”

A few other people on the tour looked over at us and we hushed Cyra.

“I don’t see anything, sweetie,” Kirsten said.

Cyra took Kirsten’s chin in her hands and turned her head to look into the branches. “Look Auntie, the monkey!”

Again, my sister and I studied the dark branches above our heads to no avail. Whatever it was that Cyra was seeing we couldn’t spot. Cyra continued to giggle softly at the monkey’s antics while we stood there. I didn’t mention, nor did my sister, who also knew, the story of Little James.

James died in 1877 at the age of 5 years and 10 days old. According to legend, he often climbed in the large live oak that sits just inside the Tolomato Cemetery. He would scoot out onto the branch that drooped over Cordova Street. One day, he slipped and fell to the street below. His family buried him in the shade of the tree he loved so much.

Over the years, most stories about James come from children who would see a little boy dressed in “funny clothes” playing in the tree and cemetery. Some ghost hunters claim to have heard a child giggling in the cemetery. Most often though he is seen scampering in the tree.

Kind of like a monkey…

The tour guide finished up her story and we moved down along the street. Cyra waved goodbye to the monkey in the tree. The rest of the tour was uneventful and when we got home Cyra giggled as I put her to bed.

“What are you laughing at sweet heart?” I asked.

“Silly monkey, Mommy,” she giggled and twisted on her changing tabled looking around the room.

“Well,” I said with a big pretend yawn. “Tell the silly monkey it is your bedtime and he needs to be quiet.”

She did so and I read her a quick story and tucked her into bed monkey almost, but not quite forgotten.

A few days later, just after Ashleigh had left for school, Cyra sat on the couch watching Arthur while I got ready for the day. I stepped into the bathroom and started doing my hair when I heard a loud shrill giggle.

“Mommy!” Cyra yelled.

I stuck my head around the corner. Cyra, still on the couch, pointed at the T.V. now off.

“Did you turn it off?” I asked coming back into the living room.

Cyra shook her head.

“Let me have the remote, Cyra.” I said holding out my hand.

Cyra pointed at the top of the entertainment center. The remote sat in the exact spot I had placed it a few minutes before. I gave Cyra a look. I didn’t think she could reach up there yet. I better push things back farther, I thought.

I turned the T.V. back on and returned to the bathroom. The second I stepped in, I heard the T.V. click off again, followed by another giggle. I went back into the living room. Cyra sat in the same spot kicking her feet. I looked at the entertainment center. The remote was still in its spot.

“Cyra stop playing with the buttons on the T.V.” I scolded slowly. She knew how to turn the T.V. on and off with the buttons on the base of the set. But I knew I didn’t hear her get up. And certainly, I thought, she didn’t have enough time to get to the T.V. and back without me seeing her.

I picked up the remote, turned the T.V. back on and walked back to the bathroom, remote still in hand. I hadn’t taken more then three steps when the T.V. turned off again. I stopped and turned around. Cyra smiled.

“I bet someone has a universal remote outside,” I said but I I didn’t really believe that. I walked to the apartment window anyway and looked downstairs. How creepy it would be if there was someone outside. The yard was empty.

The T.V. turned back on. Then off. Then on again. Cyra laughed and jumped off the couch.

“Monkey! Monkey! Silly Monkey!” she giggled.

The set went off again. I stood in the middle of the room, remote in hand. I turned around the whole room slowly.

“Alright.” I said to the room, “I get it. Now, please stop.”

I turned the T.V. back on and waited. After a few minutes passed, I went back to getting ready. The T.V. stayed on. Over the next few months the T.V. would occasionally turn itself off and on. When it happened, we made sure to acknowledge the little monkey Cyra claimed was doing it. And after a while it stopped happening altogether.

James' headstone. I will feature other photos from the Tolomato Cemetery on Friday.

Mail Box Hazards

So, I had a letter to pop in the mail box today. No problems. Looks like I forgot to check the mail yesterday. No problems.

Then this happens. Two feet from my head. Thank goodness I have an awesome DEX score and made my Perception check!

Why yes! That is a 20+ foot long branch from a mass murdering pine tree!

Apparently it no longer wished to be committed to the tree.

I couldn't quite get my hands around it.

I am never checking the mail again. Plus now I need to add pine trees to my ever growing list of fears!

Blogging A to Z Reflection

Is there a format that I need to follow? If so, well…oh well.

This was my first year participating in the Blogging A to Z challenge and although there were a few days I struggled with my posts, overall I enjoyed the challenge.

When I learned about it way back in February, I was convinced that I would be able to prewrite all my posts and have them scheduled to go so that I could concentrate on reading other blogs and commenting.

Oh that younger idealistic me! So adorable!

While I was able, for the most part, to prewrite my posts, it was typically only by a day…maybe two…before the scheduled letter. My theme lent itself to easy writing – My Favorite Memories. How easy can that be? No research involved. Just me and my memory. Yup. The problems happened on cool letter days like B and…umm…C? I had a lot of ideas and it was hard to narrow the choices down.

Early on I developed a system to look at the other challenge participants: numerically. I started with one and ended around 1200 and something (I’m not working right now, so yeah, I had time to spend looking at all these blogs). So while I didn’t look at all the blogs I looked at most. But despite looking at all the blogs I did look at, I was really picky about them and often after just a quick glance, I clicked to the next.

If a blog had me “click here” to read more, unless I loved the first paragraph or so, I didn’t continue. If the blog was crowded with lots of ads, buttons or doo-dads, I tended to move on quickly. I like plain, clean layouts, anything else bugs my eyes right out of my head. If there was an overwhelmingly religious tone to the blog, I didn’t stick around. Now before people wig out on me here, there are a number of blogs I follow that the writers are clearly religious and post about their beliefs but for the most part, for my own personal reasons, the blogs where the theme was specifically religion, I didn’t linger.

About the commenting…The thing is and I feel sort of bad saying this but I didn’t comment all that much. Here’s the thing and I know a lot of people do this: if I don’t have anything good to say, I’m not going to comment just for the sake of commenting. There were a few where I put a simple, “Awesome” or “great post,” but unless I had something to say, I kept my fingers shut.  And, if the blog had captcha turned on, while it didn’t prevent me from posting my comment, I was less likely to return to the blog. Also, I don’t understand what disqus is but I hate it! Almost as much as I hate commenting on wordpress blogs.

Man this reflection makes me sound completely stuck up and a blog-snob. I’m not. Really! I’m just…picky…fussy…controlling…sigh.

I did end up following a lot of blogs…almost a crazy amount that makes it nearly impossible to read everything. Just looking at my daily reading pane makes me break out in a sweat and I get heart palpitations. But as a major side benefit I gained a bunch of new followers (hi guys! Thanks for following!!).

So it all comes down to this…would I recommend Blogging A to Z to friends next year? Yes! Just like I’d recommend NaNoWriMo. It is a fun challenge that introduces you to new people, new ideas, new everything! It forces you to make a commitment to your blog. And quite honestly, it helped me get back into writing everyday mode…which I had been sorely lacking since January.

Would I do this again next year? At first, when the challenge had just ended, my original thought was “No Way!! This is way to freaking stressful! How am I supposed to come up with another theme? More ideas? Argh! I can’t do it!”

Don’t judge.

But, now that I have my rosy glasses and a week between me and the challenge, I’m thinking, “Yeah…What can I say? I’m a sucker for stress!”

Next up? Try to cover a few more blogs on the A to Z list that I didn’t get to and see if I can gather more minions followers.

Kentucky Derby 2012

Derby Day 2012. A bittersweet day. I was hoping to spend the day with Sara. But she is still up north with her husband's family. And, despite my best efforts, the fixings for the Hot Browns, Corn Pudding, Mint Juleps and the Run for the Roses pie was just not in the grocery budget this week. Oh well. Leftovers are fine, too. 

The girls and I have picked out horses. Ashleigh is placing her money (if she had money) on Daddy Long Legs and Take Charge Indy. Cyra is going for Sabercat and Daddy Nose Best.

Once again and for the record - not that it matters since it's not like I'm betting on the race or anything - my pick for the win is Creative Cause. As I've mentioned, here and here and here, I pick my horses based on color and name. I favor grey horses, possibly because there is usually only one running in the Derby and they are easy to spot in the crowd. Or maybe I just think they are pretty. Which they are.

This year a white horse, Hansen, is running too. Although I don't like the name, I'd bet (if I did bet) that Hansen will place.

We'll see.