All in the Details – For Layla Grace
My circle of friends on twitter is in pain today. For months we’ve all been watching, waiting and praying that a little girl with cancer would beat the odds. For about the last month, we knew she was going to lose her battle. Today, a sweet little girl, not much older than my Ava has flown away to be with angels.
I chose not to follow updates from her parents. Too fresh on the heels of Maddie’s passing and dealing with Ava’s own issues, I felt it was too much for me to handle. I come off as a real asshole a lot of the time, but since having a child, I’m a big old softie when it comes to kids. I still tear up thinking about Maddie. I don’t know if that will ever change.
Many of my friends do follow Layla Grace. Through their updates, I was seeing the down hill progression anyway. Some days I would close Twitter altogether, shut down Facebook and log off. Too much. Too much pain.
Today in the course of discussing our shared grief, my friend Becky asked this question:
I started thinking about that. Why did I have to excuse myself to the restroom and lay my head on the cool wall while I cried and sobbed after hearing Layla had passed away? Why did Maddie’s passing hit me so hard? It’s not just that as a mother, I can empathize with the fear and heartache. But with blogs and Twitter, we are afforded a glimpse into the daily lives of people in a way that we’ve never experienced before. We see the big things, jobs, houses, marriages, divorces, birth, and death. But we see all the little things in between. Things that normally we would only know about someone if we knew them in real life.
We hear about how a day is spent. We read about likes and dislikes of minute things. We learn about favorite colors, hated foods. What makes someone smile. The kind of music enjoyed. The details. The details that make us all unique. The details that, when all put together, form a picture of a person that allows us to be drawn in. The details that make us feel the person we are reading about is familiar. We begin to care. We even begin to love.
So truly, is it any wonder then, that as a community we grieve so hard for people we never actually laid eyes on, never touched, never spoken to. We don’t need those things to form a bond or develop emotions.
We will all remember and grieve in our own ways. For me, writing is what I do. I examine, I process, I think.
Today I am thinking about Layla Grace and her family. I wish for peace and comfort. I pray that this is the last time I have to wish for that.
Soar high and free, Layla. Your pain and suffering on this earth are at an end. May the sun always shine on your face and you feel nothing but love and joy in the next life.
Not Building Back The Wall
To be honest, I really don’t know how to start with this one. I do know that I am upset. I am hurt. Once again drama has reared its head. I swear to God, I don’t go consciously looking for it.
You would think after being burned so badly in the past, I’d be slower to take down my defenses. In a lot of cases, I am. However, every so often someone comes along and they just have a way of making you feel comfortable. So you share. You share intimate details of your life. You exchange histories. You talk about the deep dark thoughts you have. You talk about your fears, your hopes. You feel a kinship. The human experience only has so many variances and you discover that you share many of them.
And then. Something said in private becomes a public matter. Maybe not in an overt way, but to those who share the secret knowledge it’s clear.
From there on, you feel you must censor what you say, lest it be the next joke for someone to get a laugh. For a while you say nothing. Unsure of yourself, because now you are questioning your own judgment. You feel you are being asked to keep secrets from the people closest to you in this world, except for your spouse. You feel guilt. And then you realize that the situation you are in was not of your making. You didn’t make private matters public. You kept the confidences that were so generously gifted to you.
And yet the part that bothers you the most is how you felt as though you were being asked to choose. Choose between loyalty to a new friend and loyalty to the friends that have held your hand through your darkest hours. Friends that no matter if you went 2 hours or 2 days without speaking to, would still be your closest friends.
That’s where my line in the sand was drawn. To be honest, I had thought about a second chance. I mean, everybody makes mistakes and I am certainly no stranger to them. But asking me to lie to my best friends was a line I cannot and will not cross.
So I will put this in the “Lessons Learned About Online Friendships” file. I will be careful to whom I spill secrets in the future. I will be more aware that just because I have some things in common with someone, it does not mean that they will always behave the way I would, or would wish them to do.
My walls aren’t any taller. But at least one brick is going back in.
Dear Avacakes
Dear Avacakes,
Today isn’t your birthday, your half birthday or anything of the sort. However, I just felt the need to write you this letter today. You see, you are growing up and changing so fast it is hard to keep up with all that you do. I want to freeze time and I want every silly thing you do to be ingrained in my memory forever.
Last night I bought you a potty chair. It completely freaked me out. It is such a huge step forward in independence for you. I know in 15 years you will read this and your eyes will roll into the back of your head as you say “Mom!” But right now, you are still my sweet baby girl. The sweet girl who puckers her lips with a goofy half grin when asked for a kiss. You willingly come over and throw your arms around me when I ask you for a hug. Once in a great while you will do those things without prompting. And when you do? Oh, how you melt my heart.
I love the nightly routine we have somehow fallen into. We get home from Gramma’s house and fix (or unwrap) dinner. We all sit at the table, you in your big girl booster seat. At least two dozen times during dinner I will have to stop and clean your hands. Which, ahem, would not get so dirty if you would consent to using a fork or spoon a bit more often. Also, not content to drink from your own cup, Daddy will have to share his cup of water with you, him holding while you take a few gulps, sometimes ending up with an ice cube to the face in your exuberance to tip the cup back. You also find the food on my plate far more interesting that what is on your own, even when it’s the same thing.
Eventually, though, we do get done with mealtime. If it’s bath night, generally speaking, you have already taken that bath while Mommy made dinner. I enjoy the sounds of laughter and splashing as I race around the kitchen. After dinner is jammy time. You head to Mommy and Daddy’s room, where you slip into warm, soft jammies. That task completed, it’s time for the final activity of the night; a cuddle on the bed with Mommy and Daddy, with your two best blankets, of course. We settle in and watch a few minutes of your current favorite show, Caillou. You rock back and forth to the theme song, flinging your arms out wide at the end, just like Caillou does. Then you settle back, cuddled against your parent of choice for the evening and watch one story. When it’s over, we turn the television off and you grasp your blankets tightly and head down the hall to your room. You know it is night- night time. One of us picks you and cradles you in our arms. We both kiss you, whisper softly to you, instructing you to have a good night and only pleasant dreams. Sometimes I sing “You Are My Sunshine”, depending on your readiness for your bed. We put you in your crib, turn down the light and say one last “I love you” as we close your door.
Most nights you fall asleep rather quickly. All we hear is a few rustles through the monitor as you get comfortable. Some nights we hear Ava-speak. Bababa. Dadada. Yeaaaaaaah. Hiiiiiiiiii! It doesn’t last long. Soon you are sound asleep; the only sounds to be heard are the soft breaths you take.
That is a typical evening with you, Avacakes. Of course I left out the tantrum you had because you didn’t get your hand cleaned quickly enough. I didn’t mention the meltdown that ensued because I wouldn’t let you empty the fridge door shelves. I never even think about how mad you get when I won’t turn on the Veevee (TV) until after dinner. And honestly? All those things are ok. They are all part of this journey you are on. I feel so blessed to be along for it. But please don’t grow up too fast. Your mommy needs so many more hugs and kisses.
Love,
Mommy
These Are the Moments
That I want to always remember. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh that hard.
Afraid of Happiness
I am afraid to be happy.
There. I’ve said it. I’ve written it. It’s true.
I have come to realize several things about myself in recent weeks. Some are small things. Some are not. I am not entirely sure what to do with these self revelations yet. Right now they are slowly unwinding, like thread from a spool. What I do know is that I seem to have an inability to relax. A need to constantly hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for some unknown, horrific event that will once again shatter my world. There have been a lot of them.
I spent most of my childhood waiting. Waiting for the next time I’d be yelled at for not living up to my parent’s expectations. Waiting for the next time I’d make a remark that would result in a spoon to the face. Waiting for the next time a classmate would shun me, because I was overweight, because we didn’t have money.
Once my dad passed away, I pieced a life together. I was definitely not the same, but eventually I stopped holding my breath. Then two years later my aunt died. The aunt who was more of a mother to me than my mother. The aunt I ran to when I couldn’t talk to my mother. The aunt I sought solace with when yet again, I was berated for not doing things “The right way.” Once again, I stood in the cold rain of the cemetery, the same one that we had buried my dad in a scant two years prior, and watched as someone I loved was eulogized and buried. One by one, I began a slow death march back to that cemetery, almost every year for five years. Great aunts, great uncles, my only “real” uncle. I began to look around me and wonder who would be next.
During that time, I met, through my significant other at the time, a darling woman. A good ten years older than me, a good 100 pounds lighter, born in a different country, but my twin in every other way. Her name was Beth. We became inseparable. At the time she and her husband were living in Chicago. We spoke on the phone daily. Then, one day, discovered she was pregnant after almost 10 years of trying. Deciding they wanted to raise their child in a more laid back environment, Beth and her husband decided to move to Mississippi. They bought a house not 30 minutes from my house. I was over the moon. We shopped together, decorated their new house together. Her husband watched us with great amusement, grateful he wasn’t the one being drug from furniture store to furniture store. I was there when her girls were born. All 3 of them. Triplets. After ten years of waiting, she had an instant family. I was godmother. I was part time nanny. I lived with them for three months helping out. I was there a scant 9 months later when her son was born. I was there for so much. We were there for each other. She helped me through marriage. Through a divorce. She never judged. She was open. Honest.
Then Columbine happened, and the school shooting in Springfield, OR. Beth was afraid to send her children through school in the US. She and her husband decided to move back to her native country, to England. So a few months before I made my move across country, I helped her pack for a new life, a life that would lead to a great distance between us. I hugged her tight the day she left. She held my face in her hands and said, “this is not goodbye”. It was the last time I ever saw her. Two years after moving, Beth and her husband were hit head on by another car on a small country road.
At some point after this the walls I built around me got even taller. More impenetrable. I stopped letting people in. Too afraid of getting hurt. Too afraid of those goodbyes. I watched my daughter fly through the air on a swing yesterday for the first time ever. Her hair fluttering in the breeze, an excited smile on her face. Part of me smiled and laughed. Part of me cringed inwardly. I wanted to relax and simply enjoy the day. But that part of me that keeps waiting for the bad to come will not let me. I am afraid that if I let my guard down and revel in the good times it will be an even bigger shock when the bad one comes. Like somehow, if I’m on guard, watching I can prevent it. If I see it coming it won’t hurt so much.
Which of course is silly. The logical part of my brain knows that bad things happen and I can neither prevent them nor ease their impact by being vigilant. The emotional part of my brain is stuck in that cold, wet cemetery.
Friday Rants
I have spent a large portion of this entire week irritated by one thing or another. Is it really too much to ask that the world gets a clue? Apparently so, and it doesn’t look as though it is going to happen anytime soon anyway. So what’s been chapping my ass this week, you ask? Ok, maybe you didn’t ask, but seeing as how this is my blog, I’m gonna tell you anyway.
- People who want to tell other people what to write on their blog. If you want specific content, perhaps you should write your own. If you don’t like what you see/read/hear at any given time, you have a choice. There’s a little X at the top right side of your screen. Use it.
Also? Please don’t visit blogs and suggest in the comments that the author should get counseling. Unless you actually KNOW this person and their life, you’re making an assumption based upon some words on a computer screen. An assumption that is highly likely to piss off the author. Most people don’t like being told what to do. Especially if they are ALREADY doing it. - Thinking you have the right to tell people what to Tweet and what not to Tweet. Yes, the Olympics are in full swing. No, I’m not watching them. When my stream fills up with Olympic chatter, I know it’s time for me to shut down and do something else. I have no desire to talk about it or read about it. However, that does not give me the right to ask or tell people to stop Tweeting about it. If you don’t like a person’s stream, either unfollow, get over it, or just shut the hell up.
- Fair weather friends. I’m actually not sure if this is the right term or not, but I’m not sure how else to classify these folks. The ones that act concerned for you, but then never bother to check up on you, see how you are doing. The ones that repeatedly tell you that they care, but don’t follow up those words with any sort of actions. Those people? Are on notice. I’m getting wise, and you’re about to go bye-bye.
- Facebook. I have a love/hate relationship with you, Facebook. I want to love you more, but you keep changing on me. I want to hear what my friends and family are up to. However, I really don’t need to know every time they friend someone, join a Mafia, find something on their farm or get a stupid heart. Things I actually want to read are getting lost amidst the clutter. Make.It.Stop.
- Product review pitches that start with “Dear Blogger”. I know this is old hat to many of you, but I got my first one this week. Nothing like a nice, impersonal email from someone who didn’t even take the time to read my blog. Here’s a hint for you PR folks out there: Get to know the person you’re trying lure in. Take the time to read their writing. I would have been much more likely to respond if my email had gone like this:
Dear Jenna,
What a wonderful blog you have here. Little Ava is simply adorable. We think the moms and ladies who read you blog would be interested in our latest product, and as a result, we’d like to send you some free samples to try and also for a give away.
However? What I got was:
Dear Blogger, (some things have been changed to protect the innocent)
Douche Bag Brands has come out with Stink Be Gone (new flavored mouth rinses for after brushing your teeth)!!! These are arriving here on March first.
There are four new kinds with flavors consisting of Spearmint, Orange & Vanilla.
We would love to send you two entire sets. One set is entirely for you to keep and the other for a giveaway on your blog.
If you are interested I will need your full address and the name of your blog site. (Really? You had to go to my blog to send me that email, I think you’d have my blog name)
Ain’t gonna happen, Douce Bag Brands. Sorry. I don’t do product reviews and even if I did? That is a bad way to go about it.
Anyway, that’s most of my ass chapping for this week. Stay tuned next week for a whole new chapter of “Jenna gets pissed off.”
Feel free to leave your rants for the week in the comment section. Just don’t tell me I need therapy ok?
For Renee & Lion
My dear friend Issa’s friend Renee today got the news they’ve been waiting for forever.
Renee and her husband have been trying to adopt a little boy from Ethiopia, little Lion. He’s spent 365+days of his life away from them. Days that had to be hard for all. But that’s all over with now. Today they got the news that they passed all the criteria to make that little boy their own. Soon they will fly to pick him up and bring him home where he belongs.
For any mommy, being away from your baby is hard. I’m glad for Renee the wait is soon to be over.
So…HAPPY ADOPTION DAY!! Issa had this awesome idea to hold a virtual baby shower since we are all scattered around this big old country. So here we are, celebrating and cheering.
Renee, I don’t have any advice on little boys, other than make sure to point the woo-hoo south. I don’t have advice on siblings, or any of that. I just wanted to say congratulations. Am truly very happy that Lion will soon be with his family.
Weekend Roundup
Disclaimer: This is a cop-out post. The one that is going in place of anything deep and meaningful because I don’t have the energy. I am coming to terms with some things that I had hoped weren’t true, but in the end I can’t deny reality. It’s sad and it hurts, but I’m facing it at last. I just can’t write about it yet.
So, because I know every single one of you got up this morning with the same burning question on your mind “What did Jenna do this weekend?” I am here to answer that question.
Things that happened this weekend:
I scoured the clearance racks of clothing looking for overalls for Miss Avacakes. She has hit the “I’m stripping all of my clothes off and running around naked” stage of toddler hood. The two things she can’t strip out of are footy pajamas and overalls. So guess what she’s wearing today? 
I got my oil changed and car washed. The car washing was long over due, seeing as how I couldn’t remember what actual color my car was anymore. I’m also pretty sure there are cheerio plants sprouting in the backseat, too. What? Cheerios don’t grow on trees? Dammit!
I discovered Ava likes meatloaf. Not my, yummy, bacon and cheese filled meatloaf. Oh no. The meatloaf that comes from the grocery store, shrink wrapped and microwave ready. Yeah. Stab me in the heart, kid..it’d be less painful.
Things that didn’t happen this weekend:
I still didn’t make it over to Sears to pick up the prints of the Christmas photos we ordered. In November. Yeah.
We didn’t take the Christmas lights down from the ledge in our living room. Hey – at least they’re not on the outside of the house. Only we are aware of our redneck-ness.
Me relaxing. I guess one weekend a year is good for that, right?
Spending enough time playing with Avacakes. There never seems to be enough time for that. Each weekend is filled with laundry, trips to the grocery store, cooking and napping (her, not me) that I always end up feeling like we just didn’t spend enough time just being.
So now that I’ve filled you in on my fun filled weekend – What did you do (or not do) this weekend?
How Long Before She Demands Perrier Water With a Twist?
I discussed a while back my challenges with getting Ava to eat. We went through about three weeks with her eating very little at all. I know all toddlers hit that “Hell no I don’t want to eat, I have better things to do” stage. However, Ava was losing weight. That became a concern.
I turned, as usual, to my Twitter gals, who plied me with ideas for us to try. After discovering that my little non eater was nursing a stomach virus (that she passed to me, thankyouverymuch) we worked on getting her over that and then tried to tempt her with new, exciting and previously forbidden foods. Anything in an attempt to get her eat. Chocolate chip waffles. Fish sticks. Macaroni & cheese. Chicken nuggets. Most of it was still turned away, except for the waffles, which turned out to be a big hit.
And then? Once day she must have decided she was hungry, because she just started eating again. Huh. Okaaaay, then.
What I find odd about this kid is the choices she will make. Last night she wanted nothing to do with the Mac & cheese (which I have gotten her to eat on a few occasions) and instead gobbled up a plate full of smoked salmon and pear slices.
Let me repeat: She chose SMOKED SALMON over Mac & cheese. What 20 month old do you know that does that?? She has also professed a love of blue cheese, salad, lemons (yes, you read that right) and beans of any kind, shape or form.
Things she won’t touch: Hot dogs, bologna, chicken nuggets, fruit juice, burgers, fish sticks. Pretty much if it’s a typical “kid’s food” she won’t touch it.
Also, after months of her pushing away any homemade food that was placed in front of her, we finally found victory with my beef stew. She picked around the meat, but loved the carrots, potatoes and celery. She liked the broth enough to turn the bowl up and slurp the last of it. Success!
We put Ava on the scales and she has gained back all the weight she lost, plus another pound. Which is awesome to say the least.
My only concern, considering her current eating habits, is how long before she demands only lox & bagels for breakfast, insists on eating on the fine china and turns her nose up at “domestic water”. It seems I’ve bred a little food snob here. But as long as she’s eating, that is just fine with me.
