Sleeping with crunch berries?

We switched rooms....again! Over the weekend we switched the rooms of our oldest and youngest boys. The oldest is dying (literally he tells me) to have his own room again and the baby, well, he just doesn't play in his room anymore. He plays in the living room now.

We decided to avoid all the teenage drama of my oldest son we would move the almost 2-year old back into our room and give the oldest the baby's room. (Bye bye mommy and daddy time).

We kicked him out of the house to go play while we did this, it was a surprise, and when he came in and saw it he nearly fell to his knees with his hands in the air whispering "thank you, thank you". I was waiting for him to burst out in song.

The baby wasn't so big on it however. He thought it pretty cool to see brother's stuff in his room, until he realized it wasn't his room anymore. Uh oh! Oh but it doesn't stop there. Bedtime came, and went, and midnight came...and went. And oh yeah, 4:30 in the morning came and ... well you know.

I decided then that it was time to bring him out to his high chair with some scooby snacks and his favorite movie, Finding Nemo. I snagged my blanket and pillow and took up residence on the couch. Finally, FINALLY there was peace. He fell asleep and slept in his high chair for a few hours before demanding I get him out and let him run around. Apparently he found renewed strength from eating crunch berries. Go figure.

Oh the joys of parenting! *yawn*

Cinderella

My heart just breaks for Steven Curtis Chapman and his family at the loss of little Maria. I heard the news last week and I remember thinking, wow, how tragically sad. I thought about it for a few minutes then went on with my day.

In looking for a new song for one of my many pages, I decided to go to his site and put one of his songs on in honor of his little one. That's when I heard Cinderella for the first time. I sat here at the keyboard just soaked in tears at what this family has been through this week. The thought of how when he wrote this song, he had no idea how prophetic it would turn out to be.

I am so glad that he took the time to cherish those moments because now, for one of his precious daughters, they are gone. Its time to slow down and play with your kids. Hug them, hold them, tell them how much you love them. I know I plan to tell mine today how cherished they are and how glad I am that they are in my life no matter how chaotic it gets at times.
I can guarantee, if this happened to us, we'd be praying for the chaos to return. We will definitely be praying for this family.

Here is a video of his song "Cinderella" that he performed live at the Des Moines, Iowa concert October 4th, 2007.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfxL0S-7yVo

A Christmas Passed

My beautiful grandmother died Tuesday as my cousin held her hand and sang Amazing Grace to her. She smiled then took her last breath with the majority of her family present.

I have found myself lost, wandering, these last few days. Sort of in a whirlwind. I am not sure what I am doing, I wander from room to room and find I am repeating myself or not making much sense when I speak. I have lost the only ally I have in this world besides my wonderful husband. I feel very alone and purposeless even though I have wonderful children and a great marriage. I know it is because my grandma, Nanny, was also my best friend and mother. I didn't really think of her like that until the last few days. She raised me so she was more my mother than my grandmother. But we had great times, she was a friend, a counselor (even when unsolicited) and just...always there for me and my kids. She was a light in the face of darkness and injustice. I am lost without her.

This Monday we will celebrate Christmas, her favorite season, mine too. We were able to get the Christmas tree up before she died so at least she got to see it. The kids are just broken over her loss...my 5 year old daughter asked, "Why doesn't she wake up when I talk to her?" when she was in the hospital bed. Having to explain life and death in the rawness of this Christmas season is difficult, to say the least. I must be there for my kids, and yet I too am directionless. I know we will find our way through this, but until then...what, what do we do without this woman who taught me every good thing I know about life, and who made sure I knew about eternal life? This Christmas will pass and a new year will come, and my Nanny will not be here. I feel as if I have reverted to being a little girl who doesn't know what to do, only this time Nanny is not here to guide me. I have to step up now and find the strength to guide my kids, that is what she would tell me if she were here. Maybe she is guiding me after all.

An unending day

It is amazing she has held on this long. Each day family and friends filter in from far away places. She knows they haven't all gotten here yet. Is she holding on for them? Is there some unfinished business, or does she simply want a chance to say goodbye? With all the drama that my family creates, it is enough to put any healthy person six feet under. But not her, not my grandmother. She is a pillar of strength in her tiny, frail body. She is amazing, she is my hero.

Today we called the rest of the family and told them to make plans to come if they are going to. We wait to see if one in particular will come to squash the beef or to carry it to his grave as well.

Death is not lovely, it is not beautiful. It is not peaceful or any other poetic word. It is terrible, ugly, frightening, and disturbing. I sit next to her holding her hand. She feels me, I know, she tries to squeeze my hand some, but the meds make her too sleepy, too weak. I pray to my God to take her now, peacefully if he is going to take her. End her suffering. I bargain with him, knowing it makes me a hypocrite, but I don't care. She would have done the same for me. She has given me her life already by raising me. She had raised her children, it was her time. She was done, then because my mother was so young and unable, my grandmother took on another life as her own. She cared for me everyday no matter how much of a brat I was. We had some great times together. But in these end times for her, it has changed. I miss her before she is even gone. The grandmother I know and love so dearly has evolved into an entirely different person. I love her no less, she is just not the same.

My regrets...not doing for her as much as she has done for me. Not getting my life in order in time for her to see all the good stuff on the way. Her not being able to see the kids grow up, and get to know the baby. He would have loved her. I know I do.

God, give her mercy...whatever that may mean.

Tis the season...for life!

She looks like a gray rag doll. Lying there in the intensive care unit, she looks...unreal. Almost fake. Her skin ashen and hair course and still. This cannot be the woman who raised me, who loved me like her own daughter. Once so full of life and now deciding rather to hold on to the pain of life or giving in to the serenity of the unknown.

As others deck their halls, my children walk this long corridor saying how wrong it is that this is happening right before Christmas. They shed their tears and say their goodbyes and sit sullenly in the waiting room. So young they are to make this decision, stay to be with her as she goes or say goodbye now and cling to the innocence of childhood. My brave little soldiers hold their vigil to be with their great-grandmother whom they love so dearly, who is much to young in her 6th decade to see the heavens.

She writes a note about the tube, she asks when it comes out. We tell her, it's up to you. It can come out anytime you want. She mouths the words, "will I die?" as she looks at my mother with questioning eyes. "Yes", she replies. My grandmother closes her eyes as if to comprehend, to contemplate. She lets us know, we have to let her go.

She lets us know she is ready, "OUT!" is what she writes about her ventilator. We get ready to see what is to come. They pull it out and suddenly she has color, she can talk, she is...alive. This woman, this amazing mother/grandmother of mine, has defeated death...again.

We all stand with mouths agape and are astounded at the sheer stubborness of her. For the moment, we have her. For having the chance to speak with her, to hug her and hold her hand, to tell her I love her, one more time...I am eternally thankful. I will forever thank my God for having the chance to say...welcome back, for now.

Shades of a Mother

I often am taken at the differences between my mother and I. How two people from the same blood are so vastly different astounds me. When I search her soul through her eyes, I am often saddened by what I see. There is not the love for me that I have for mine. I do not doubt she has her own way, as elusive as that may be, but I do not see. Is it that she doesn't want to appear weak by becoming vulnerable to me? Or is it more that she does not see me as her own but as her past staring back at her? Perhaps I look like her past sins that she cannot banish. Maybe when she looks into my eyes she sees her lost youth. Does she blame me? Or is she simply too blind to see? When I look into the soul of mine, I am flooded with the river of love they are to me. I cannot fathom a life without them, they are part of me; without them, I am nothing, I have nothing, I will be nothing.

What am I to her?