sueeeus

These eyes have a mischievous twinkle, yes

He’s come a long way in nearly two years. I like how his newborn hat turned out. I still have leftover fabric so I made him a new hat and scarf. I don’t know what happened to the baby hat, and I didn’t remember how I made it. The mittens were a bit of a flop, as well. There is a bit of fabric left, so I may try another pair of mittens, or a better hat. Or perhaps a pillow to match his little blanket and quilt. So many choices.

He is just so darned adorable! And so much fun. He runs and dances and plays and is generally an exhuberant toddler. He gets into absolutely everything!  My little love.

Now, to keep those gifts wrapped until Christmas.  We shall see.

Isn’t the heavenly bamboo heavenly I think it’s so pretty, and now that it’s peeking out from a snow drift, even more so.

It snowed a little the other night, and it was just the right amount. The roads were clear and the snow was nicely decorative. Today is another story. The heavens have opened up and dumped their contents on the suburbs. Driving is treacherous. Mr. Gadget took the Boo Boy to daycare, which is only 3 miles away, and it took him 3 hours, with 4-wheel drive AND chains. I opted to work from home today. It’s nice to have the option. Now that MG has made it home, we’re thinking we should have just kept Boo home. And today is supposed to be my first prenatal appointment. I’m not sure if the doctor is even in.

The snow capped tree outside our front door is festive, but the ornaments are hardly visible under their coat of snow. I love the way the night time colors turned out in the picture of the ornaments. By day, they look entirely different. The multicolored lights and a little photo processing made it so gorgeous!

These are the best pictures, though! My little guy loves to wear my shoes! He is so proud of himself when he puts them on and stomps about. He’s learning to put his coat on as well, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. In this picture, he is just about to jump. He loves to jump! He has such great balance and dexterity. He jumps and shrieks with glee. There’s nothing like the boisterous unbridled joy of a child. It’s contagious. The best!

This is classic. I love it. A little boy with crayons scattered everywhere, intent upon his art. He switches between left and right hands, but seems to prefer his right. He is very serious about his colors, he is.

For the second day in a row, I’ve awakened at 3:30 a.m., and haven’t been able to return to the land of slumber. Sigh. There is a piper, and he must be paid. But not right now.
The Black Friday ads are tantalizing, almost to the point of hyperventilation. Should I go stand in line amidst the mob of other hopeful shoppers and try to score some early bird specials I don’t need anything. But there are 1000 thread count sheet sets out there for $79.99. One. THOUSAND. Thread. Count. !!! Yes, I hyperventilate over linens. No, I probably won’t buy them. They’re sateen, and Mr. Gadget has already expressed his dislike of slippery sheets. (The luscious 500 thread count dark chocolate brown sheets I treated myself to a few months ago are sateen –and GORGEOUS! –alas, not to MG’s liking.)

I could just go and wander, to see if I encounter any hot deals that would make appropriate holiday gifts for MG’s family. I used to shop for my family, but sort of stopped in the last few years. It occurred to me that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to hold my family together, and making sure they all had gifts was one of my feeble attempts. Only, it’s just stuff. They don’t need stuff. I don’t need stuff. I’m so tired of stuff. We’re all grown up now. It’s no longer us as a unit trying to survive, to get through childhood and early life. We’re there. We’re on our own. We’re making our way. Whatever ways they may be, they are our own. We don’t have gift-giving obligations. Who wants it if it’s an obligation anyway Obligation completely ruins the spirit of giving. So. I don’t send things out to my family. And they don’t send things to me.

Most importantly, I have my own family now, and I can turn my focus to making life magical for the child(ren) I’m raising. That is where my joy is now. This is where my strength goes now. I don’t want them (speaking with the assumption that Little One, the size of a pea inside me, will survive and fluorish and join us soon) to grow up in survival mode, us against them, like I did. I want to give them a beautiful life.

The other day, in the kitchen, I hugged Mr. Gadget. He probably helped clean up, which isn’t the norm, although he would contest that. It was a nice moment, but the very best part was stepping away from him and seeing my little boy smiling up at us, radiating the most beautiful pure love from every ounce of his giant little being. It was an impression I’d like to etch in my memory forever. It represents love at its finest. Unconditional. Untainted. Unjaded. Unscarred. He’s so young and innocent, and it filled him with joy to see his mommy and daddy embrace in a loving moment.

I need to remember this. To try to see love through the eyes of a child, rather than through the hardened skin of a weary and worn adult. Because, it’s true, I can be critical. I have great expectations that I impose upon myself, and by association, I impose them upon my man. Because we’re a unit; we’re a reflection of each other, in some ways, and I do believe there are some fundamental things that we should agree on. Like-mindedness. How I yearn for that. It sometimes seems that there is very little that we agree on, other than that we love each other and that we love our child with a great big gigantic love. Expression of expectations is not always conducive to a harmonious environment. I need to remember that he’s not me, and I need to embrace that and rejoice in the diversity he brings to our union. I need to appreciate him, simply for being him. And, perhaps, he just might do the same for me. Then, there will be more loving embraces, and there will be more shining happy faces smiling up at me.

It’s so worth it.

I love the look of glee on a child’s face during that thrilling ride down a slide.  Especially when it’s my child.  I’m biased that way.  Just a bit.  Weeeeeeeeeee!   

He looks so grown up!  He is constantly trying to nab our phones.  I recently upgraded my phone (it was free, with an extension to my contract, that is) so this little boy is pleased as can be to have his very own phone.  He was chattering away, and fell asleep midstream.  He has so many faces of cuteness, but I can barely get a non-blurry picture in.  Daylight savings time has thrown him off a bit.  He’s falling asleep a bit earlier.  That’s a good thing, but the waking up a bit earlier I could do without.

Music is a powerful thing. The soft hint of a melody awakens emotions, bringing them to the forefront of my heart and mind, so that I am transported to that place and time, as though it were here and now, and the experience is new.

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

I see a little girl, four years old, microphone in hand, swaying to the music. I hear the sweet sound of her little voice, off key, singing her heart out. I see her mother, her belly in full bloom, round with my nephew, due any day. She is flanked by my nieces, teenage girls with basketballs stuffed under their shirts. The trio has taken the stage and are singing their song. I see my niece again, this time in her daddy’s arms, out on the lake in a boat, waving the orange flag. Swimmers in the water!

Happy memories of happy times.

And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days
‘Cause I don’t need boxes wrapped in strings
And desire and love and empty things
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days

So take these words
And sing out loud
‘Cause everyone is forgiven now
‘Cause tonight’s the night the world begins again

I see my brother’s lifeless body, cold and hard, laid out on a gurney at the mortuary. I’ve signed a waiver to release the mortuary of any responsibility for emotional damages or trauma I might experience. We all have. They are not comfortable that we are there. They have cleaned him well and put him back together nicely. He looks peaceful. His hair is soft. We look at him. We speak to him. We hold his hand. We whisper to him. We hug each other. We cry. We look at the bullet hole in his temple. We ask him why. We tell him that we love him, that we have always loved him. We cry. We cry more. The mortuary staff are pacing and restless. They have an appointment and want us to leave. We don’t want to go. But we have to. We look at him one more time. We tell him goodbye. We mourn. We grieve.

Too late, my time has come
Sends shivers down my spine
Body’s aching all the time
Goodbye everybody, I’ve got to go
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, oooh ohhoo oooh (any way the wind blows)
I don’t want to die
I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all

A year ago today, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Grief has sent us spinning, spiralling through so many thoughts, questions, and emotions. Much is written about the stages of grief, be there five, six, or a dozen. It doesn’t matter. There’s no easy way to come through it. There are no answers.

I recently read The Five People You Meet in Heaven. If Heaven were like that, I wonder if I’d meet my brother. If he would show me the ripples I started that had an impact on him. Good or bad.

I’ve read that Guilt is one of the stages, and I find that it best describes where I am and have been. It’s the unanswered question, “Why ” Why did this happen Could I have stopped it Did I do something, somehow, that contributed to this

I don’t know how to get past these questions.

We were close, as children. He was my buddy. I was his refuge. He trusted me. I was there for him. I was his strength. There were times that I let him down. Not many, but Guilt, Guilt brings these moments into full focus and distracts my attention from everything else, from the many many good times in which we were buddies and we laughed and smiled and enjoyed being who we were –siblings, friends. It is Guilt that reminds me of my own selfishness, that tells me that I should have been paying attention to more of my surroundings. It is Guilt that shatters my confidence in any earlier understanding that all was well, that I had been forgiven for the ripples that I had caused in our youth. It is Guilt that shouts at me, “COWARD.” Coward for not wanting to face him as adults, to see him, to speak to him. Coward for not understanding him, who he was, the person he had become. Coward for being afraid to reach out. It is Guilt that yells at me, “ACCUSER.” Accuser for thinking that he might be involved with drugs. It is Guilt that screams at me, “TRAITOR.” Traitor for wanting but not being able to trust him or believe him. Traitor for not giving him the help he asked for, when I thought it was counter-productive to his health and safety. Traitor for not believing him. For not giving him the benefit of the doubt. It is Guilt that sneers at me, “WEAKLING.” Weakling, for not wanting him to be angry with me. Weakling for not being his strength when he needed strength. “COWARD!” Coward for not going to him, for not helping him. Coward. For being afraid for him. Coward. For being afraid of him.

Guilt is a demon.

There were so many dynamics in the past few years. So many things going on. So many tangles. I can’t make heads or tails of it all. I did what I could, within the confines of the weakness of being who I am. Of being human.

I am no stranger to depression, yet the inability to understand how one can reach that place where the only solution is out, and having to face the fact that that was where he was, wrenches the very fibres of my being and sends me spinning all over again.
He knew I loved him, and that I have always loved him. I think that he always loved me too, and I hope that he has forgiven me for anything and everything that needed forgiving. Today I spread dried petals from year old roses around the box that holds his remains. Today I am home alone, to honor his memory, to work through my grief, to mourn. I am so sorry. And I miss him.

Guilt remains. Guilt reigns. Beyond the guilt, there is solace in knowing that he is free, and that he is at peace.

I pray for my family. That they might be comforted from their grief and find peace in their hearts. That they find healthy ways to address their sorrows. That they be free from the demons of guilt and torment.  That they forgive each other for their own ripples.  That their hearts be bathed in love.  I pray these things for myself, as well.

In my mind and in my heart I know that Guilt can be banished with the sword of Forgiveness. I just can’t seem to garner the strength to wield that sword. But that is what faith is for, after all. I don’t have to do this alone.

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

I’ve had five days off.  Five!  Sadly, I feel as though I need many many more.  The first was necessarily spent cleaning in a sanity-restoring fervor.  Errands, preparations for a wedding, a road trip, a wedding, and a return trip consumed the next three.  The last day I wasted, mainly on the computer, although I did run some errands.  In retrospect, I should have relaxed and regrouped.  But I didn’t, and today, it’s back to the grind.  I managed well for most of the day, but the anxiety wormed its way back in, temporarily.  Luckily, it didn’t take hold.  I’ve kept it at bay, but am distraught that it could so swiftly rear its ugly head.  I wonder if I’m on the verge of a mid-life crisis, or in the midst of one, or if I’m simply tumbling on the waves of hormones gone awry.  Perhaps I’m just full up.  Tired.  I need to find more restorative things to do.  A schedule.  A plan.  Order.  I feel better when there is order in my universe.

On a more positive note, what a beautiful wedding!  The bride arrived by horse drawn carriage.

  The ever-faithful ring bearer stole the show. 

Solemn vows were made.  The bride was a vision in cream fairy tale silk.  The groom emanated love for his bride.

A dapper young man was mostly well-behaved.  For a one and three quarter year old on a beautiful fall day.

There was dancing     and champagne.

A fabulous time was had by all.  My youngest sister.  Married.  It’s a beautiful thing.

My little man is growing up so quickly.  My, how much he has changed.  He’s no longer a snuggly baby, but once in a while he’ll indulge me.  That is, as long as he hasn’t got more important things to do. 

My little man has a new friend.  He gets so excited when he sees the moon.  Driving at night, we play a game.  Where’s the moon   There’s the moon!  He finds it, and he waves.  Where’s the moon   Did you eat it   Is it in your pocket   Where did it go   There it is!  I see it!  Do you see it ! 

Normally he falls asleep when we’re out that late, but not when he sees the moon!  He gazes out the window with rapt attention, looking for his friend.  When he finds it, he chatters jubilantly and waves hello.  Hello moon!  I hear the air move, his little arm is waving with such enthusiasm.  He fights to stay awake, so he can look for his friend the moon.  My heart fills with joy and I can’t help but smile all over.

Note to self.  To avoid astigmatic images de la luna, consider getting a monopod.  And using it.

• A certain somebody is nearly 19 months old, which marks the transition from the infant daycare price to the toddler rate.
• Has his mother filled his baby book with any of the important milestones along the way   Sadly, no.  She is remiss.
• Because his vocabulary is significantly less than the dozen words that ‘typical’ toddlers have mastered by this age, his pediatrician suggests he see a speech therapist.  His mother is not convinced.
• It’s not that she has anything against seeing a speech therapist.  It’s just that she has observed that her child is cautious in nature (at times, and in general).  His hearing and comprehension are excellent.  He babbles with exuberance.  He hesitates when asked to repeat words, but his expression shows that he is thinking about it.
• It doesn’t help that the new insurance plan, under which referrals are no longer necessary, doesn’t appear to have any speech therapists on the approved provider list.

I noticed today that WordPress strongly recommended an upgrade, for security reasons.  As I’ve been plagued with spam, I decided to upgrade.  The thing is, my server has this fancy helpful interactive ftp doohickey for transferring files, but it’s not well suited to efficient updates of multitudes of files.  It’s more of a one by one thing.  So.  I had to find another way, which meant learning whether an old fashioned ftp thingymajiggy like we used back when unix was the only thing available, and which worked great, by the way…  That sentence ran on way too long for me to even attempt to figure out what I was trying to say… Anyway, I did find something called SmartFTP, and woohoo, it’s free!  It works like A DREAM!  Almost no learning curve necessary, and voila.  My bazillion little files that make this fabulous WordPress blog run, are now updated with the latest and greatest.

We shall see if the spammers are inhibited.  I’ve turned the comments feature back on.

Did I mention that during my upgrade, my very helpful sidekick, who loves buttons of any sort, pressed the power button on my computer   Oh.  Well.  Slight interruption in the otherwise efficient process.  And where was Mr. Gadget during this   After all, I had told him that I needed to install an upgrade this evening.  Did I need to spell out the translation that it would be nice if he could actually watch Mr. Busy Body for a few minutes.

Husbands.  Sigh.  It’s not as though I work full time myself.  Or change thirty diapers to his one.  Or prepare all the meals.  Or do all the laundry.  Or put it all away.  Or anything like that.   I’m a woman.  These are my jobs.

Duh.