On the 24th, we remembered Stacey on what would have been her 28th birthday.
Each year her family sends balloons into the air in her memory.
This is a photo of the 28 balloons released this year by Stacey's parents, two sisters and the niece she never met, but is said to be a "little piece of heaven" born on Stacey's birthday.
I remember. Raw 'Mr. Noodles' and 'Barbies' and you.XOXO
As a side note: Someone I met this summer lost a sister when she was young. This week, following the Colorado theatre tragedy, she made a point to say that we can't live our lives in fear of something happening to our family and especially to our children. She mentioned that although her parents grieved the loss of their daughter for a very long time, they also recognized that they had no regret for the time they spent with their child and the use they made of that time. I found this settling - Putting in perspective that although we cannot change life's dreaded fates, we can take the energy we use worrying about them and redirect it toward living in the present, cherishing our time and creating beautiful memories, knowing that the time we have together now is so special and that we feel happiness and love.
Gorgeous morning, love
Farmer's Market-fresh strawberries and date squares.
Your bare feet, cool toes and smooth soles.
On a bench, under a tree. Watching you, watching the world.
Another moment cherished, when nothing else in the world matters.
... To have nothing else to do in a day but cover your sweet face with a million kisses. 27.7.12
Dear Ryker, I hope you never lose your sense of wonder You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger May you never take one single breath for granted God forbid love ever leave you empty handed I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance I hope you dance I hope you dance I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance Never settle for the path of least resistance Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin' Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin' Don't let some Hellbent heart leave you bitter When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance I hope you dance I hope you dance (Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along) I hope you dance I hope you dance (Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder, where those years have gone?) I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance Dance (Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along) I hope you dance I hope you dance (Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder, where those years have gone?)
I had a different post to publish, but all else seems irrelevant following today's news.
Seventy-one people were shot, 12 of them were killed. We all know the story.
A witness at the premiere of the new Batman movie in Denver, Colorado last night was interviewed today saying that when he saw the gas he thought it was a special effect. Makes sense. Why the hell would it be a 24-year-old male wearing a gas mask, launching a gas canister into the sold-out theatre before opening fire into the butter-fingered, fountain pop-slurping oblivious audience.
When I first read the story this morning, my mind went blank in an effort to disbelieve. Even as I re-read this, it leaves me winded trying to block out any attempted comprehension of the fear those people felt in that moment and the aching loss felt by the families and friends of the victims.
The Globe and Mail reported that this is "one of the deadliest mass shootings in recent U.S. history". Media has resurfaced memories of the Columbine Massacre in 1999, where two students opened fire killing 12 classmates and a teacher. It is reported that Friday's attack was the worst mass shooting in the U.S. since an Army psychiatrist killed 13 soldiers and civilians at Fort Hood, Texas in 2009.
I read on today to learn that some of the injured were children, with the youngest a 4-month-old baby who has been released from treatment.
Seven weeks ago, a shooting in Toronto's Eaton Centre resulted in the death of a 25-year-old male and left six others injured. The Toronto Star reported that among the victims of this crime were a 13-year-old boy and a pregnant mother who was trampled among the chaos.
Recent headlines are taking parental worry to a level far beyond skipping class to smoke 'doobies', Prom party 'keg stands' and teen pregnancy.
It's hard on my heart to lose faith in our society. On this day, I don't feel trusting of my neighbours or my surroundings. What I feel is scared as hell for the people I love and for myself. I feel helpless. Are these scenarios ones we can assume we will become witness or victim to in our lifetime?
Could my child be a mall rat, Batman fan or gunman? 20.7.12
My Vision Board
Try it. The idea is that when you surround yourself with images of who you want to become, what you want to have, where you want to live, or where you want to vacation, your life changes to match those images and those desires.
Last night I was getting Ryker dressed for bed after his bath, already pushing bedtime too far. He was fussy and ready for his bottle.
His breaking point came when the pajamas I put on him didn't fit and I had to change them. He straightened his arm so that I couldn't get it into the sleeve and fussy turned into his first fit. I was shocked and admittedly a little disheartened.
Ahhh, his first expression of anger.
His face went red and with his eyes wide open he grabbed my hand and wildly forced it toward his mouth in an effort to utilize those two new chompers. Yes, he tried to bite me.
I completely understand, at only nine months old, he can't verbally communicate or comprehend my words, but this was not exactly the ideal form of communicating.
I simply said, "Ryker" in a calm, concerned, tone when on the inside his temper kind of freaked me out.
I fear I got a glimpse of what's to come.
Hard to believe that baby I put down to bed last night, was the same one standing up in his crib bouncing and rattling the rails, ecstatic to be greeted, rescued and start a new day!
With a smile like that, how can I possibly think he could ever be angry? 18.7.12
Last month, I found Ryker standing up in his crib for the first time.
We've raised our child to be independent, and now I desperately long for him to need me.
Last week I told my husband, I don't feel like Ryker loves me. He looked at me like I was crazy and sincerely said, "Oh my God Honey. He loves you so much." He told me Ryker's eyes follow me everywhere and he lights up when I'm around. Life lights him up. He was born curious, alert, intrigued and discovering.
What I want for him is to take up into other's arms, smile, experience, feel safe in all sorts of surroundings and comfortable in social situations I introduce him to. He's taken to that. Fantastic.
Now I'm heartbroken that he isn't the child that wants his mommy. I want him to put his arms out for only me, cry for me, need me to hold him.
This week at Baby/Mama Yoga while other moms were posing, stretching and holding their wee ones just a few months old close to them, I felt a pang of disconnect. Ryker was across the room chewing on someone's shoe (the ultimate victory because it's his latest, 'want what I can't have' battle). He was watching another mommy sing the 'rollie pollie' song.
I often wonder if I pushed him too early to move out of his bassinet that was next to our bed and into his crib, although we all slept better. I carry guilt for that, or better re-examined, I feel selfishly regretful that I didn't hang onto that.
Those times he was in his swing, he should have been in my arms.
Those times he was content in my arms, I should have felt it.
Now I wonder, have I not been present? When I'm with him, am I?
Am I showing him enough love and does he feel it?
I was so worried about having a too-dependent child, one that couldn't be happy to play alone or soothe himself to sleep, that I've just realized I totally missed the purpose of becoming a parent.
We welcome life into this world to not only love unconditionally, but to give ourselves and allow this being to be completely dependent on us.
Did I miss out?
That dependence gradually ceases, I suppose, as our children grow and change and utilize the skills we teach them to be self sufficient. Ryker is now in full force. He is crawling, climbing stairs and pulling himself up on everything. And like a baby constantly and quickly flows through the different stages of his life, so do mom and dad's reaction to them.
Last night, Ryker was asleep in his crib, and as an attempt to desperately turn back time and make up those very early days with him, I picked him up and brought him into bed with us. He woke up crying and couldn't settle. Wasn't he supposed to feel ultimate comfort and security in my arms? Why didn't he feel my love and warmth?
I put him back in his crib and he went soundly to sleep. He was in "big boy jammies" and I asked myself why I always dressed him in clothes that made him look like a little man, when now I just want him in sleepers.
When he was one-week-old, I said to his daddy, "I can't believe he has been with us for one week already." And when he was one-month-old, we couldn't believe how quickly it crept up on us. And on his half birthday, I cried all day because it was all I could do to bear the speed of time.
You see, I realize he has been in our world a mere nine months, and we were always told it would fly by... But it's going so fast it blows my mind and I'm fucking sick of people saying, "Enjoy every minute, because before you know it he'll be grown and gone."
I get it.
I couldn't resist. This commercial gets me every single time.
I found this written by my dad when I was snooping through his songbooks when I was a child.
It was written in 1985, when I was three years old).
If the days must run by so quickly, If the minutes of the time piece run free. I wish only for the having of your love, Because your life has bin the making of me.
Since you entered my life with your beauty, You came along like the words of my song. May the time just continue so smoothly And let the days be where they belong. 17.7.12
Every night before Daddy and I go to bed, we sneak into your bedroom across the hall, dodging the creaks in the old wood floor (we've learned the exact locations from months of creeping in and out of there throughout the night) to have a peak at you - Our son, the most beautiful, seemingly impossible creation we have ever seen. Subconsciously (or consciously because maybe we're not as stealth as we think) you must know we're there, watching over you, feeling me rest my hand on your stomach still occasionally performing the reassuring "breath test". When you stir, we freeze and if we get a chance, hide. Because if you spot us, it's playtime. We hold our breath until you put your head back down. Like you know we're there, you look up into the dark through squinted, pried-open tired eyes and see nothing. Daddy and I hold in our laughter, giddy like little kids playing hide-and-seek and when you rest your head again we kiss you goodnight. Last night when we came in around 10:30, you stirred a few times, bobbing your head up and then tucking into a new position. Last night you kept stirring and we panicked. Without being able to escape before you would know we were there, daddy dropped to the floor peaking up through the rails of your crib and I slipped to the side, frozen out of view. You popped right up to sitting and looked directly at both of us, your enormous grin spread across your face. Busted. Almost like you were playing along with us the whole time. We all laughed. And daddy scooped you up and brought you to bed with us. Sometimes we can't resist the urge to do that, because you've already been in bed for hours by the time we go and we miss you. Of course, you had no interest in going back to sleep, trying to crawl all over daddy, doing this new almost scream/squeal to kick off a bit of gab and working on your latest - Climbing the headboard to hang off of the curtains. It was fun while it lasted, but we had to get you back into your bed and after a few short minutes, you went back to sleep.
•••
This reminds me of a night when you were less than two months old, because you were sleeping in your bassinet in our bedroom, and you were having trouble falling asleep. Daddy thought he would rig up this bright star that lights up and plays music into the top of your bassinet. The room was dark and he switched it on. In seconds we both burst out laughing. Your warm and cozy little bed lit up like a Friday night rave! I'll never forget that. A good laugh to ease the tension between tired parents.
•••
I always get so sad to think you will grow up, but with every stage you are equally fascinating and lovable. I used to stare at you sleeping as a newborn in your bassinet or in your swing under the window in the afternoons, which although only 9 months ago seems like forever. You were so still, breathing gently, content, home. I wanted to hang on to that forever. Now, the feeling is the same, just different. When I go into your room to check on you and watch you sleep you are always in a completely different place and position than I left you - Awake and standing up hanging onto the crib rails or folded in the corner cuddled with your blankie or, the best, face down with your knees tucked under you and that big cushy diaper holding that cute little bum stuck up in the air.
We slept in... Well, the babe was awake at six, but we coaxed him back down with a buh-buh. Daddy went to work and we got up at 8:30 packing everything under the sun, as goes when you plan a beach day with the baby.
Heidi and I with our little men, Heath and Ryker strapped in their car seats loaded up the vehicle and headed out to Mike Weir Park to meet my sister-in-law Jozlin and her girls, Asia and Farrah - Also known as Ryker's crazy cousins.
The sun was shining. It was already hard-to-breathe humid. We parked and unloaded, set up and got the babies feet wet in the lake. The thunder that had been whispering in the distance started to speak up.
It will blow over.
The sky was dark in the distance and the thunder rolled on.
Fellow beachgoers started dispersing. But us, we love a good life experience.
Besides, it will blow over.
A breeze cut through the stale heat and we, just as a precaution, filled The Shade Cave with all of our stuff to keep it from blowing away.
Good thing because the wind picked up. Farrah wrapped in her towel that blew behind her like a cape and Jozlin shaking out the big beach blanket, rippling like a flag. Asia was on the shore cupping sand in her hands and letting it run through her fingers.
Lightning strikes out on the lake. A sea gull hollered.
The boys were chilling out on a beach blanket, chewing on beach toys and watching the storm that's going to pass us by, build up.
Maybe we felt a raindrop?... Might not even pour.
But maybe we'll scoop up the kids anyway.
Heavy beads of rain pelted down in sheets, beating down on us. We're OK. Tucked behind The Shade Cave and under the beach umbrella Jozlin hung onto for dear life.
When the umbrella started blowing inside out, the looks we exchanged showed consensus to head for the hill. The rain slowed once we took cover under the pavilion.
It cleared and we dressed the kids in dry clothes, had a snack and packed up.
"Okay, I'm over this. Ugh, I'm cold and I'm wet.... Oh God, and I'm chewing on sand," complained my tired four-year-old niece... OK... That was me.
Sometimes your day doesn't live up to your expectation, it surpasses it.
A good day, a lot of laughs and a great memory created for the kids... and us.
All it took was taking the plunge into the great white page.
I was up into the wee hours of
the night again last night, not because of The Teething Beast, who slept
soundly like his sweet self, but because since I landed in 'Blog World' only
yesterday I've been struck by motivation and inspiration.
I had crept to bed early with the
intention of catching up on some sleep after the long weekend, but couldn't
resist bringing the laptop along to browse the written genius of my fellow
bloggers.
My husband, and incredible father
to our nearly nine-month-old-son, came to bed a few hours later, where we
kick-started the ongoing argument of him not being able to sleep with the lamp
on.
"You've been up here for
hours already," he says. "It's time to sleep." I retaliate with
yet the same rebuttal as always: That he will be snoring in two minutes like
any other night.
There are some issues we just
can't seem to get past, or perhaps that our stubborn selves aren't willing to
back down from. Either way...
Often after an argument where we
go to bed angry [Yeah, yeah. I know], I lay awake for hours brewing up
something that's not, carrying it to an obscure level and wondering if, you
know what, maybe we should just call it quits.
Over yonder on the other side of
the bed, while my world is crashing down, without a stir or a sigh he has sunk
into the deepest sleep. Peacefully snoring away without a care in the world -
Waking only throughout the night to the lamp sporadically flicking on so I can
jot down some new insight that will otherwise be forgotten by morning.
My point: I swear he can
sleep with the lamp on.
His point: Not taken.
The point: Papa might not be as amused as I, that
Mama got her groove back.
Prune-induced
diaper explosions, tired whines and nursery rhymes, mouthful-of-sweet potato sneezes and warm beach day breezes. Oh, right, and that horrid beast repeatedly snorting, "Write, Write, Write, Write..." through stale smoke clouds billowing from his deep black nostrils in this reoccurring nightmare.
This initial entry is a reflection of the blurred line between career and motherhood, as I work to find balance on the scale that weighed drastically on career and then shifted in the same extreme the moment our son came into this world.
The beast meeting me in my sleep had no form of entry this sleepless night. While in the company of a different
monster: The Teething Infant, I overcame the resistance to stare at this discouraging blank white page and surpassed the panic to go ahead and fill it with words. Here goes...
I’m
exactly two months away from the end of my maternity leave as the Editor and Reporter of a small-town news publication and I wonder, Is it normal for
“baby brain” to extend its lifespan eight months post birth with no intention
of evicting its scattered self from my head anytime in the near future?
For me, personally, to say I will stay home to be a full-time mother and wife is a cop out. I knew I would need to be fulfilled career wise. I just didn’t realize I would be terrified to jump back into the ring. Returning to the professional world of writing; which feels I’ve been on vacation from for decades, is coming at me about as lightly as a massive blow to the head.
To find it in myself to write outside the lines of newsprint as well is not far from the same fear I carry of returning to work. Babies drain you of your creativity, so I’ve heard and am starting to strongly believe.
The best writing always came at the inopportune time of approximately 3 a.m. in
moments when life wasn’t going as “planned”. I could swiftly dig into the dark
side of my right brain and put into print the words that rose from life’s
shattered expectations, sadness, struggles and disappointment.
So, when you’re blessed with perfection and feelings of pure love,
happiness and graciousness, what the hell do you write about?
Today, it is learning that the first step is learning how to balance on the tightrope of family and career. And then realizing that creativity is something that no longer comes with natural ease, but that has to be exercised.
Right
here and now, I kill the blame on "baby brain" for my cooped up creativity, motivation and inspiration and I work for its return.
This
is mama’s attempt at getting her groove back.
