Archive for October, 2009

On this day, 10 years ago, I met my husband in Memphis Airport.  It was our first face to face meeting.  Two months later, I would move to Oregon and move in with him.  Five years later we would marry.  Eight years later we would be blessed with Avacakes.

Darin and I met online.  I purchased my first computer back in the late spring of 1999.  The internet was a new and scary place for me, but I was fascinated by it all the same.  The first few weeks I had my new pc I would stay up half the night surfing websites, playing games and exploring.

I don’t remember how I stumbled upon an email group for Emeril Lagasse.  I was a big fan of the show back then, so I joined it.  I think when it started it was E-groups.  Or Yahoo.  Can’t remember.  But I joined and found a really great and fun group of people.  They would be quite the lifeline for me as I dealt with some life issues, including a divorce.  Darin was one of the few with whom I connected. We had tons of conversations via e-mail and ICQ.  For the under 30 crowd, go look up ICQ.    At some point I realized I was having feelings for this person.  We had progressed to phone calls and spent hundreds each month on phone bills.  But how did I say I love you? Via chat on ICQ.  Yeah. I’m surprised he didn’t run the other direction, too.  But as it turns out, he felt the same way.  So we made plans to meet.

As the day of his arrival grew closer, he was nervous.  I for some odd reason was not.  I felt good about meeting him.  It felt right.  Still, being the shy person I am, I drug my mother to the airport with me to meet his plane.  This was back before 9/11 and you could still meet someone at their gate. His plane pulled up to the gate and people began filing through the door. I was straining my neck looking for him.  And suddenly I saw him.  And promptly hid behind a sign.  All of a sudden I had an attack of nerves.  ZOMG, what if he changes his mind after seeing me in person.  But I needn’t have worried.  He was delighted, and drew me in for a warm embrace.

We spent 3 wonderful days together.  It felt like I’d known him my whole life.  I’ve never before met somebody around whom I was instantly comfortable.  But with Darin I was at ease.  I could be myself.  I didn’t worry if there was a lull in conversation.  It didn’t feel uneasy.   The day he got back on the plane to leave was one of the worst of my life.  I knew then, there was no going back.  He had my heart.

Two months later I visited for Christmas.  And never left.  I will never forget the day I told him that I could stay permanently.  He picked me up off of the ground in a bear hug.  The grin on his face was bested only by the one he wore the day Ava was born.

We’ve had our ups and downs.  There have been years that seemed mostly down.  But I wouldn’t trade any of it, because it is part of our story, our history.  It is uniquely ours.  Everyday I look forward to seeing him at the end of the workday.  Every morning I still wake up happy knowing I have him in  my life.  He is my partner, in every sense of the word.  He is an amazing father.  He is my best friend, my true love.  He is home.

Happy 10 years, honey.  You’ve made them wonderful.  I cannot wait to see what the next 10 has in store for us.

For sixteen months, friends, family and even complete strangers have been telling me how much Ava looks like me.  I do see some resemblance; after all, she is my daughter. But I don’t see the “mini me” everyone keeps telling me they see.  There are times when she looks JUST like her father.  There are times I see a look on her face and I flash back to a photo of myself at that age.  But most of the time I think she’s a good blend of Darin and I both.

I put together a couple of collages of Ava and myself at approximately the same ages.  Around the eyes, I see a lot likeness.  The rest?  Not so much.  But here they are.  Tell me what you think.

Birth

10 Months

15 Months

Sorry, was channeling my inner Sally Field there.

The awesome, stupendous and amazing Ali over at My Life With Them gave me an award.  Needless to say I’m extremely flattered to be chosen.   It’s my very first blog award, like, evar!  And this one is meaningful because a friend deemed me worthy of it.

There are some rules that go along with it, so let’s get that part out of the way first:

1) Present this award to 7 others whose blogs you find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged you.
2) Tell those 7 people they’ve been awarded the HONEST SCRAP AWARD and inform them of these guidelines in receiving the award.
3) Share “10 Honest Things” about yourself.

My 10 Honest Things (or more appropriately titled- things that will make you stop reading this blog)

1.  I HATE talking on the telephone.  It’s right up there with fear of spiders and heights for me.  I will avoid it like the plague.

2.  I do not drink.  I have nothing against it, and truth be told, I may have one alcoholic beverage a year.  But my body simply does not like alcohol and I can get plastered from one glass of wine.

3.  I actually think I’m a terrible writer.  I am constantly amazed that anyone reads this thing.  I sit down to write and can never put into words exactly what I want to say.  Until hours later when I re-read the post and think of at least 3 paragraphs of stuff I should have said.

4.  I have panic attacks.  I’ve had them since I was a teenager.  They almost always happen at night, if I give my mind a chance to wander.  I’ve never admitted that to anyone except my husband and one friend.

5.  I am overweight.  Not, oh, I could stand to lose a few pounds.  Morbidly obese is what is in my doctor’s chart on me.  I am working on it.  I struggle every day and some days are better than others, but I want to set a better example for my daughter.

6.  I despise reality television.  I curse the day MTV put the Real World on the air and created the genre.

7.  I hate Halloween.  I cannot bear the thought of having to answer the door 5 million times after a long day at work.  Darin & I hide in our bedroom at the back of the house and watch movies & order pizza.

8.  I despise the taste of coffee.  I love the aroma, but the taste skeeves me out.

9.  Sometimes I let myself think ahead to when Ava will be grown up and leaves our house.  I don’t do it very often, because it breaks my heart, even though I know she deserves to have a life of her own.

10.  I really want another baby.  So badly I cannot stand it.  I am terrified it will not happen.  I’m closer to 40 than I am to 30 (a lot closer).

Next up:  Bloggers who I think deserve this award

Pardon me if you’ve already been tagged with this, but I’m late in the game on posting this:

Lu

Issa

Amanda

Ben

Liz

LoraLee

Victoria

Every morning I drive by our local Catholic church on my way to work.  They have a reader board out by the road, whose message changes weekly.  For the last week I have been greeted with “Catholics can come home” each day.  It started me thinking about how we will raise Ava with regard to religion and spirituality.

Neither Darin nor I are what you would call deeply religious people.  We don’t attend church; we don’t read the bible regularly, although we do own one.  But we are both spiritual people, believing in a sense of right and wrong.  We both firmly believe in the Karma bus.  If you treat someone badly, it will back up and run over you.

I was allowed to find my own way with regard to religion.  My mother was born and raised Catholic in her native Germany.  Once she moved to US she wasn’t as active in church.  My dad was raised Baptist.  Not just any Baptist.  Southern Baptist.  But he moved away, joined the Army and was no longer immersed in the culture.  Maybe because of that, that loosening of their own religious affiliations, they were open to me exploring things for myself.   Which I did.  I went to Baptist churches, Methodist churches, Episcopalian, Lutheran.  You name it, I tried it out.  I encountered preachers who shouted, sometimes into microphones.  I encountered gossip.  I encountered people acting as though they were the most pious on earth, even though I knew what kind of person they were the other six days of the week.  In short, what I discovered was that church wasn’t so much about religion as it was about being a social event.  One in which you were dissected, examined, discussed.  What you wore.  Where you sat.  Who you sat with.  Sounds a lot like high school, doesn’t it?  But I digress.  In short, I wasn’t finding a place that felt good to me.  My mother suggested I try the local Catholic church, which was fairly new to our area.  I was hesitant, considering my past experience.  But I figured I would give it one last shot before I gave up just started worshipping money like everyone else.   To my surprise, it was different.  Less….preachy.  More about treating your fellow man with respect.  I immediately felt at home.  So I stayed.  And I kept coming back.  That is the short story of my Catholic background.   It did change over the years.  Slowly the gossip crept in.  The social aspect.

After moving to Oregon, I didn’t continue going to church.  Lots of reasons.  Fear of the unknown.  Knowing the churches here were so much bigger than the one I was used to.   Plus, I was very busy being all giddy and in love.  You know that first year or so of a relationship?  Where you love someone so much you want to Velcro yourselves to them so you can be with them all the time.  Oh.  You never thought of that?  I guess that was just me.  I digress again.

Darin wasn’t a churchgoer either.  From what I gather, it wasn’t a regular part of his life growing up.  He holds strong beliefs on God, and has the same spiritual outlook that I do, for the most part. Neither one of us have set foot in a church, other than for a wedding or a funeral in 10 years.  To be honest, I have no desire to.  I no longer see a need to belong to organized religion.  I no longer see a need to be part of something that long ago became more about money and power than it did about spiritual growth.  I read a great quote many years ago.  I don’t remember who said it, but it always stuck with me.  “Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.”  I cannot agree with that more.

What all this has led up to is this:  I want to let Ava grow up and decide for herself if religion is right for her.  I hope to instill in her the same values that her father and I share.  I hope she believes there is something out there bigger than us.  I hope she treats people with respect, understanding and tolerance.  Not because someone is watching, but because it’s the right thing to do.  I will encourage her to explore and learn, if she chooses.  I will respect her right to not believe in any God, if that is her choice.  I want to give her the same freedoms my parents gave to me, so many years ago.

Last week I took a chance.  I decided to post about my struggles.  My feelings of failure, anxiety.  Of being overburdened.  I was afraid you’d all roll your eyes and think “another whiner.”  But you didn’t.  You reached out to me.  You offered hugs.  You offered advice.  You offered support.  You let me know I’m not alone.  You made me think about what I could do to make things better.  You gave me hope.  You checked in on me.  You were my friends.  At a time when I wasn’t sure I had friends, there was you.   Thank you.

My follow Friday this week is someone whose friendship I cherish greatly.  I met Issa on Twitter and over the last few months have come to see what a wonderful, strong, supportive and empathetic person she is.  No matter how hard things are for her, she keeps on plugging along, and yet always has time to check in on friends and lend support.  Many times over she’s reminded me I am not alone in my frustrations or sorrow.  I look forward to her emails and comments and most of all her blog posts.  She writes with such breathtaking honesty and emotion that the reader cannot help but be pulled into her stories.  She’s a kind, sweet soul who I am proud to call my friend.

Head on over to Issa’s Crazy World and find out for yourself how awesome she truly is.

At 16 months, Ava is still not talking much.  She says a few words, mainly “dadda” “mama” “stinky” (her version of it which sounds more like “inky”) and “hi”.  Oh, and there was that time she called me a dirt bag, but in her defense I was running the garbage disposal at the time, so it’s entirely possible I misunderstood.

What my darling daughter has done is created her own set of sign languages in order to get her point across.

To be let up on to a sofa, chair or bed, she pats the object with both hands.  And then whines until she gets her way.

To indicate she would like a bite of something you are eating or a box of cookies that she has pulled out of the pantry, she makes chewing motions and a sound that can only be described as “mmmmm..mmmm”.  And then whines until she gets her way.

To advise us that the ceiling fan should be turned on, she looks up and moves her hand in a round and round motion.  And then whines until she gets her way.

In order to let us know she is thirsty and would like a drink of water, she says “aaaahhh”.  And then whines until she gets her way.

See a pattern forming here?

She also lets us know when she goes potty, either by grabbing her crotch to indicate that she’s peed, or by rubbing her butt to let us know that pooping has occurred.

I know it’s more important at this age that she understands what is being said to her than actually speaking.  I do worry that we aren’t encouraging her to talk enough by recognizing her crazy sign language and acting on it.   However I know that in her own time she’ll “get it” and start talking more.  It’s the whining I have such a hard time with.  My mother in law tells me there will come a time when I will want to pay my daughter to be quiet because she will be talking too much.  Honestly, I would rather hear her talk for hours non stop than listen to 10 more minutes of the whining.  It makes me want to shove ice picks into my eardrums.  I would rather be tied naked to a tree, covered in honey, and…..wait, where was I going with this again?  Oh yeah, the whining.

If the government really wants Al-Qaeda captives to start talking and give up their homies, all they really need to do is put them in a room with a dozen whiny toddlers.  We’d have Osama bin Laden in the clink by sundown.

Need cooperation from an unruly teenager?  Just threaten him with replacing all his iPod music with 12 hours worth of those screechy tones.

I know eventually she’ll grow out of the whining.  I just hope I stay sane long enough to see it.

I woke up this morning with a knot in my stomach.  In the flurry of getting ready for work and trying to get Miss Ava ready too, I didn’t have time to give it much thought.  Then I got to my office and opened up my Facebook page.  It is filled with blog posts.  Almost all titled “Six Months”.  I realize.  Six Months.  Six months since Heather’s beautiful, sweet, amazing Maddie was taken too soon.

I cannot imagine how painful these “anniversary” dates are for Heather and Mike. I watch Ava play and wish that Maddie were still here, doing the same thing.   I see a purple balloon, a purple flower, or I pull out my purple tennis shoes and I think of her.  I drive home with Ava in the backseat and I catch a glimpse of her grin in the rearview mirror and for a second my mind flashes to Maddie’s huge elf-like grin.

I have never met Heather and Mike.  I only knew them through their blogs and from following on Twitter.  But from their words, their pictures, Maddie Alice Spohr was as real and dear to many people as their own children.  She was special.  It is something that is hard to put into words.  Her eyes, her smile, her curls.  The gleam in her eyes.  You could see her personality shine through in each photograph, each video.

Six months, and my own heart still aches.  Please go show Heather and Mike some love today.  And if you can, please go support Friends of Maddie, the foundation they created in her honor.

Heather & Mike,  I am thinking of you both today.  I am weeping for you, still.