It aint home

Utah rain. It is not like the rain at home. Only a few drops at a time and never for longer than 10 minutes. If you stand in it you don't even get wet. Just takes all the fun out of rain.

It's like Utah food. Technically, it's food. But it's fundamentally so different from what food is at home. Here it's what you eat to keep you alive, to fill a nutritional need. Food at home is a way of life, something that fills your belly and nourishes your soul. Our meals are meant to be shared. Every recipe that is handed down carries with it a history.

My treasury of reciepes is an ever growing collection. I felt like an adult when my Gran started giving me some of hers. My Mawmaw's were harder to come by. You had to stand next to her and just watch. She cooked by feel and smell. Flour was not measured in cups or teaspoons, but by handfulls and pinches.

I can still smell her kitchen and see her warm smile. Cooking for a southern woman is an intimate experience to share with those you love. Eating together and sharing stories is what binds families. I love sitting around so full that I have to unbutton my pants and listening to my family's unwritten history.

Now I have put my in-laws recipes into my cherrished book. This makes them my family too. My mother in law has stood in my kitchen and taught me how to make spagehti sauce that could never come from a jar. I sit with my new family and learn their history, because it's now mine and my son's.

I wish we were closer to home. I would love to have all of my family, both old and new, sit together. But since we are too far for a weekly meal we enjoy every meals together when we are at home. Is it any surprise that I gain 10 lbs every time we visit? It would be impossible not to. I have to have dinner at everyone's house. I have to sit and play cards, while eating endless amounts of dip and laughing at stories I have heard over and over at almost every card game my family has ever had.

My grandmother hated going out to eat. We thought we would let her take it easy by taking her out to eat. We could never find a place that she liked. She always said why go out to eat when the foods better here at home? I thought she was crazy. Now I realize how perfectly sane she was. Why go out and eat something that's so-so when wonderful is right in front of you? It could be a bowl of hot vegetable soup on a chilly afternoon. But it wasn't just the soup, it was the company that gave it that extra something that will never be found in even the finest restaraunt.

When Mawmaw died we had to go through her things. What was the most treasured item? Not jewelry, not antiques. It was her worn out big pot. It was so saught after, that my Aunt and I had to agree to split custody. She has it now and if we ever move back I get it then. What is so great about this pot? It made hundreds of meals that we all enjoyed together as a family. Every Christmas it held her perfect cornbread dressing. At church when we had dinner on the grounds everyone knew that pot and made a bee line for it. It didn't matter what was in it, it was always the best. Mawmaw was simple in her genius. She knew that her cooking would draw us all in and weave us together in one of the toughest family tapestries. We are woven together. Now my thread is headed in a different direction but I can always follow it back to it's begining.

Confessions after 2 White Russians

My dirty little secret, I love the bulletins on myspace. I am a true voyuer and love a little peek into your life. I am also an exhibitionist, so I fill them out for you to read too.

Who was your first love, when was your first kiss, what's your favorite color? All crap that I really don't give a shit about but I am interested none the less. Myspace is made for nosey people. Snapshots of our lives posted in pictures and lists of our intrests. It is nice though, many of the occupants of my friends list I wouldn't have gotten back in touch with, much less know that they favor the color lime green and love the smell of Ivory soap, without myspace.

I know the internet is great. My family, all but my mom, missed the birth of my son. Thankfully, via the magic of digital cameras and a contact list, they all got to see a picture of my miracle just one short hour after his arrival. If it had been 10 or more years ago they would have had to wait for film to be developed and snail mail to get to them. Now if we have something to share, we snap a pic and it is 2000 miles away in the blink of an eye. Thank God. How would I live without sharing my boys?

Another great invention: the free incoming call plan on my cell phone. I really think that I might have shrivled up and ceased to be if I had to limit my time on the phone with my mom and dad. That would've been hard. I don't exist without talking to my sister.

Tabba is the more quiet of the two of us, maybe b/c there is so much going on in her head. I have never met an older or more wise soul born to such a beautiful girl. My days are better when I talk to her. I have so many fellings for her. I am proud of her always, I am way too protective, I admire her, and sometimes I want to kick her butt. When I grow up she is who I want to be.

Another praise for technology goes to my Sony Cybershot. Oh how I love you. You rechargeable magician. You capture what I want and I delete the less than desireable. My first time was with a HP but he didn't have the megapixels I needed. Brad, ever appreciative of my ability to document his once monthly grin, upgraded me to the 7.2 mp monster I have now.

On Turner's next visit with the pediatrician I need to ask if a flash can do damage to the cornia. I don't take picutres of him everyday, maybe 3 or 4 days a week. But, when I start I have 1GB to fill and know that the more I take, the better the chance for that perfect shot to pan out.

I cannot help myself, Turner is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. I used to take the super up close pics of flowers, snowflakes on the windshield, fall leaves or any other of God's creations. Now I am always after the perfect shot of his smile. When he was about 4 months old I took about 300 pics of his feet. I have never seen cuter feet. They are the only physical part of him that resembles me. He has Flois Bankston's toes. So do I, so does Tabba, so does my dad. His are just so tiny and cute. So I want it documented that he has some of me in him. Harder to capture is his sense of humor, but I will try get that on a memroy card too.

Other things that I have grown fond of are Mapquest, Google and Ebay. None of these are life changing for me, but boy are they convienent. The only thing I could ask for is if the myspace blog site was equiped with a damn spell check. I know I can't spell. I go back and read these before I post them and sometimes can't figure out what the hell I tried to say. But, it doesn't matter. It's out of my head, misspelled or not, so I can sleep, at least for a little while. And bed is where I'm off to. I have a snoring mamoth whose warmed up my side of the bed and waits to throw his massive arm around me and breathe into my ear. Yes it's my paradise on earth. Goodnight.

An Ode to Hormones

Where were you when I needed you, you angry pissy lot

For when I needed you most, about me you forgot

You showed up when life was simple, and complicated it became

For after you butted in nothing would ever be the same

I went from just a kid, to a girl that the boys noticed

Oh the trouble you could get in, as if the devil had wrote it

My teens passed by with out a mark, but the fun was just begining

For in my twenties a battle with my will and mostly you were winning

At first sight of Brad oh how you did surge, to signal that you did approve

I had no clue that my heart would agree and cross country we would move

One thing you got right was when with Brad we all mixed

Now Turner we have and a better son I couldn't have picked

Gone are my teens when you made me feel like I should be flirtin

Now I know you've shown up when my boobs go to hurtin

By the way, have I thanked you for every zit and pimple

I guess you thought decorations should be added to my body, my temple

So hear my plea and please balance out, I'm tired of being pissy and sweating

For when you are out of whack I'm a little nuts and I do way too much fretting

I have enough on my mind with out your chemicals a brewin

So get back to "good", before my mental state is forever ruined

Elmo Lives

So we were busy today. Is it true that idle hands are the devil's workshop? I think so. The more I make myself do, the better I feel. Or to be politically correct the more Becky makes me do the better I feel. We attepmted to ride our bikes with kids in tow up a moutain. BTW kids are heavy. Coasting back down was fun, guess I wouldn't have appreciated it if the way up hadn't been so tough. Do I smell a life lesson? Damn they creep in from every direction don't they?

Among other things I have been amused with in the past couple days is Turner's obsession with Elmo and Brisco Bear. He may not look like me but he does have some of me in him. I loved 2 bears for my entire childhood, and truth be told to this very day. Elmo and Bear have come to life. They eat when and what Turner eats. They must get dressed along with us in the mornings. They go where we go and might I say, they are both very well behaved. Elmo scares me a little. He is a sweet baby monster but something sinester lurks behind those bug eyes. He was a great gift from Turner's Aunt Tara. But something has happened to him. Did the combination of sneeze mist, sour juice and all dirt from every floor he's ever been drug across combine to the perfect potion to bring this inanimate doll to life? I am curious b/c after super Elmo stayed at the table, in his seat. Perhaps to let his food settle? Well, the rest of the family went about our nightly routine. Water the garden, swing a while, baths and getting ready for bed. As we hunted down and collected Bear and Elmo I noticed Elmo had pie crust in his mouth. Strange. Brad had a slice of coconut cream after supper, but ate it while sitting in his recliner. Elmo was at the table. I asked Brad if Elmo had had any of his pie. He looked at me like I was crazy and said no that neither Turner nor Elmo had pie. I think Elmo got up while we were outside and ate the left over piecrust! Sneaky little bastard. I draw the line at stealing food. And if he is alive then he needs to start helping out and doing some chores. There are no free rides in this house.

Another arguement for Elmo's "realness" is that he is ten times dirtier than Bear. Yet they go every where together. Bear is lighter in color and his fur shows dirt easier than Elmo's deep red covering. He is busier than Bear, he must be to get dirtier. I bet he is digging in my garbage can and going outside, wallowing in dirt, when we're not looking

He is the noise I hear at night. He's tip toeing around eating sugary snacks, pulling out toys and watching HBO. It is the only thing I can think of. How else would the house be such a wreck? Surely one toddler can not make this much mess by himself, he must have help.

Turner noticed that I mopped the kitchen this afternoon. He ever so kindly crawled through the dog door and got my potted petunia and pushed it back through the dog door. Then proceded to dump it on my still wet formerly clean floor. I know My Child would never do something like this unprevoked. Elmo was wispering in his ear, I just know it. Perhaps Elmo and Lil Monster know each other. Maybe Elmo invited him over. Who knows?

Under Water

I am under water. Everything is taking so much more effort than it should. It makes me tired. Why can't I just be normal again? I need to quit moping and get back to my life. This is a much higher hurtle than I could ever imagine. I just need to hold my baby. Tell him I'm sorry and that not a single day of my life will pass when I don't think of him. I made that same vow when my grandfather died. I have kept it. I think of him everyday. Starnge how someone whose memory has faded is still in my thoughts and a part of my life.

I need to let off steam. I wish I ran. I wish I could run for 10 miles until my lungs filled wtih fire and I could let go of all this anger and guilt. Unfortunately I turn it inward. I think and think til it tears me up. I wish there were an off switch to my mind. I have tried to meditate before but I can not shut me off long enough to hear the silence.

I am so thankful to be able to write some of it down and rip it out of my head. I need to talk or get it out some how. This is easier than picking up the phone. No one has to read this but it is out of me. I don't want to burden anyone and I don't want sympathy. I just want to be back to myself, I just don't know if that's going to happen for a while.

I need a memory, I need to hold my baby and rock him. This is never going to happen, I know that, but I still feel the most real need to do these things. I need to quit feeling so guilty. I need to get my heart to understand that I did not cause this. I need to quit replaying the last two weeks over and over in my head.

I am trying to concentrate on how wonderful my life is. How blessed I am in every way. But all I can think is I want to be home. I want to lay in my mom and dad's bed and watch the tonight show and not think about anything. I want to lay on Tabba's couch and just be in the same room with her. I want to sit in Leann's back yard and talk about nothing for hours. I want out of my head.

I know I will be fine. I just deal with things this way. I feel like life is moving so fast right now. I just want everything to slow down. I don't ever want to forget the person who made us four, even if only for a couple weeks.

I am clear to start trying for another baby in a month. It scares me. I know they found out some of what went wrong and will try to prevent it from happening again. How do I open my heart again? How do I not feel as if I am betraying the baby we lost by replacing him, even when I'm not? All of these stupid thoughts that I can't shake. Pretending to be me is wearing me out. But after faking it for a while it's gets easier and easier til one day I am not faking it and I am back to me.

I have to get my butt in gear. I have eaten more white bread in the past week than I have eaten over the past 5 years. I know I have a right to be depressed and self induldgent, but I want it over with.

I love Brad but he is not one to talk to about this. To him there is nothing to talk about and no reason for me to be greiving. It doesn't make it any easier. I feel like I am sad enough for the both of us.

I will be fine. Life will go on at it's ever quickening pace and I will fall into it's rythm. But right now I feel like I am marching off beat with my shoes untied and I am stumbling trying to catch up.



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Lil Monster

Little monster. I have one. He lives in the room across the hall. He is fire breathing unless fed a diet of pure chocolate. Then the fire is put out only to be replaced by mud butt. Ah, the mud butt, a weapon in it's own right. Mud butt can make deposits on your kitchen floor, without making a sound. Then step in his poop and track it all over your carpet. Mud butt strikes when you least expect it. Like when you think your sweetheart is sleeping like an angel, mud butt is in his room digging in his pants and smearing poop all over his bed and your angel's face.

In my little monster's arsenal is the every-ready hissy fit. This weapon works best in public places like the grocery store. Lil monster can whip up a hissy fit in two seconds flat. Upon raging a hissy fit, my lil monster has been known to jump out of our shopping cart and hit the floor forming a puddle of screaming toddler. His ever growing vocabulary plays a big role in said hissy fit. "No Mama" and "Owwweeee" get the most attention so they are standard issue with all hissy fits.

Signs that lil monster is only seconds from appearing are subtle, but you can sense him. Turner first has to be told "No" not for any certain thing but just no. It could be a refusal of buying a desired toy. It could be no don't run in front of that speeding drunk driver. Or even no mommy cannot fly. But no is like a homing beacon that calls in lil monster.

Other signs that he is near are the faint smell of poo and the denial of said poo in Turner's under-roo's. Turner hides the poo so lil monster will have something to play with when he gets here. Lil monster has been visiting at bath time lately. He despises clean of any kind, clean body, clean house, or clean nose-all sworn enemies of lil monster. Lil monster is apparently a nudist, as he hates all forms of clothing. Lil monster has been known to rip all of Turner's clothing off, in front of God, mommy, and terrified on-lookers.

In a pinch, lil monster will use food instead of poop as his weapon. This is when chicken noodle soup transforms from sustinence into an air to ground missle. Other favorites are any fruit vegtable or meat that are not in the lil monster's approved diet. This diet, as mentioned before, consists of chocolate and nothing else.

Lil monster is a master of desgise. He looks so much like my son that I often don't know it's him until the attack has begun. Lil monster gets his power from missed naps, sore gums, and the incredible hard-headedness that I myself passed down.

Lil monster is also capable of such charm, it can sometimes overpower even the the most steadfast. This charm is in the devilish smile that dances across the monster's face when caught in the act of monstering. It is used as a stall tactic or in the right moment and the right light it can completely incapacitate even the strongest mommy.

Mom's often tell you that thier child has cow licks in his or her hair. This isn't true, it's a cover story. It is where the hair is flipped up for lil monster's horns to come out. The worse the cow lick the more the horns are out, so be warned. I am not sure how long lil monster is able to posess a child or to what age this can occur. But, if it's any indication, I still have the worst cowlicks in my own hair.



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This Stranger by my side

I looked at Brad as we laid down in bed last night and wondered who this person was. How could someone I love so much be such a stranger to me? I know who I thought he was when we were dating, but he isn't that anymore. He has changed and so have I. Brad is a lesson in patience and silence. I miss him even when we are in the same room. Sometimes it is painful to be with someone who is so shut off from you.

He and I don't talk like I wish we could. It just isn't going to happen. I love how strong he is in every way. But, it's his emense strength that makes it so hard for him to feel. I don't think he'll ever know what my favorite color is. Don't think that he'll know what's on my mind, or in my heart. We won't be one of those sweet little old couples who are still sweethearts and holding hands at 80.

We have learned each other. Ours is not as passionate as it once was, but whose is? We are more comfortable. I know his habbits. I know our routine. I know every wrinkle on his brow but not always what causes them. I will always be in love with Brad because he will always be unatianable. I want what I can't have.

I have seen more emotion from him since we had Turner than I ever have. It has brought me great joy. He is as loving and wonderful of a father that there has ever been. He is just unable to outwardly and openly show love toward others who are not of him.

It has taken a few years to realize that he will not change. He has so many good points. He does love me, but it may never be outwardly apparent. He has never been one for flattery. I think the last heart-felt compliment he gave me was when Turner was 4 days old. It meant the world to me.

I wish I knew my husband better. Our only conversations consist of "Hi, how was your day?" I am not a quiet person, but I have spent many hours in complete silence since marrying my husband. Lots of time to think. Maybe I know myself better because of this. Maybe we balance each other out. I feel everything and can usually exspress it. He feels some but can't ever let any out.

I hope that over the next 20 or 30 years we'll have chances to get to know each other better. If not, I will still love this stranger by my side. Life with him is simple. I love him and he loves me. We don't have to say it, but it is something that i feel everyday.

I love waking up with him. In the early hours before dawn when he isn't fully aware of himself, he is vuernerable. He hasn't yet strapped the weight of the world onto his broad shoulders. It's then for just a moment that he sees me and I see who it was that I first fell in love with. This is when he doesn't hesitate to reach out and tell me he loves me. And it is not a perfunctory task. He says it and it comes from his soul.

He eyes are the only thing that betray him. They aren't part of his gruff exterior. Everything that his lips will never utter his eyes have told me a thousand times, and for me that is enough.



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Puzzles

Turner is into puzzles lately. We have taken apart and put his favorite back together at least 100 times today. I love how it is his nature to master something new. Everything is new and repetition is king. This is good for me because saying "Wuv Mama" is getting lots of practice. Can my heart melt anymore?

He shares with me. Not many others, but who cares right? As long as mom is his #1 who cares? While playing sword fight with Brad he stopped mid battle and realized that I wasn't playing because I didn't have a sword. He stopped and walked into his room and pulled out a tennis racket and brought it to me so I could play too. That was the sweetest thing to me.

Tonight after we read his story Brad kissed him goodnight and walked out of his room. I stole a few minutes and laid down beside him. I told him I would lay there by him if he was still and quiet. These are two of the hardest things for Turner to be. But he laid still and quiet. After afew minutes I picked my head up. He reached out from under the covers and gently pushed my head back to the pillow and wispered "No Mama, down". I laid my head back beside his and he wrapped his arm around my neck. And still and quiet we both were.

My son is magic. His smile is the key to happiness, mine at least. The many gifts that he gives renew my soul. The chance to lay with my arm wrapped around an angel is a blessing. I miss being able to hold him like I did for so many hours when he was a baby. I relish the chance to snuggle with him.

I love to watch every new accomplishment. His latest is climbing up and down the ladder to his top bunk. My breath is in my throat the whole journey, but up and down he goes by himself. Parenthood is a double edged sword. On one side is my pride and amazement at what he can do. The other is the fear of what he can do, and will he get hurt doing it? I love everyday with my little daredevil.



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Getting Older

I feel numb. This is the least like my birthday that August has ever felt. Those who know me know that the world truely revolves around me, at least one month of the year. I don't like getting older, but I like my life so much more every year that it is a winning trade. Usually I am happy and trying to think of where I would like to go out to eat for my birthday. This year my birthday wish is not for a tangible gift. I am wishing to find how to make life my life again. Not getting my way is a hard pill to swallow. I have been the most fourtuante person. I have a good husband, he loves me and our son so much. I have great parents, who have always been there for me and each other. My sister was sent from heaven as my personal best friend. She has always been mine. My friends are not just friends, they are a part of my family. They are mine, as close to my heart as one can get. I am territorial over people I care about. All of them are mine. God has given them all to me for a reason.

Maybe He needed more time to make Turner a perfect best friend. Tabitha took 4 years to get just right. It took 28 for some of my friends to be just right to come into my life. Some have been here since the third grade and we have grown together. Not grown up together but literally grown together, our hearts feel the same things.

Maybe I'm getting patience for my birthday this year. I've never had any. I am quick tempered. I open Chirstmas presents early if they're left unattended. I want to know how the movie ends when I have only seen 10 minutes of it. I never asked God for patience. I know that is a hard and painful lesson to learn, and it would take too long. Maybe He knows I will need patience to raise a little boy. I think this lesson started when I had to wait 9 months to meet Turner. I had to wait 12 months for him to say my name, and only after mastering saying Papa. I have to wait to see my mom and dad for months at a time. I can no longer drive around the corner to sit with Tabba. I am begining to get good at waiting. This doesn't mean I like it mind you, but I am learning.

Of course I want to know now how much longer I have to wait to meet the one who'll make us complete. It's a question that is unanswerable except by God, and I think it would go against the lesson he's teaching me to let me know. I am by no means at peace. I am not ready to not be mad. A child can be mad at their parents but still love them. This is how I feel. I am mad, but I still love God and I know that He still loves me. I know that when I look back on this part of my journey that there will only be one set of foot prints in the sand because I am being carried.

I can't breathe

I can't breathe
I guess my feelings of trepidation were right. I had a miscarriage. I am mad and hurt and sad beyond comprehension. Don't want sympathy, don't want to be told it's for the best and that we'll get pregnant again in no time. It wasn't just being pregnant, it was my baby. My heart will always have a hole in it. I am not a grown up over things like this. My head understands that things like this happen for no reason. I have read and understood that it is probably "for the best". I don't care. Don't give a damn about what anyone says, it was my baby. I am crushed, I am selfish and want the whole world to go away. I may feel differently in a few days or longer but right now that's just how I feel. My heart is having a really hard time with this. I don't know what else to say. I'm sad and sorry if I am a bit on edge to talk to. Sorry if I don't answer my phone. Sorry that I can't bring myself to call the people I am supposed to call. I know that there are grandparents and Aunts and Uncles who were excited. I know once it sinks in that I will be not quite so bitchy and I appologize now, but I feel like I can't breathe.

No one but me will understand how much I could love someone that only exsisted as a blue line on a pregnancy test. But in that blue line I saw my future. I saw Turner as the best little big brother. I saw the look on Brad's face that I have only seen once, when Turner was born. I had already given part of my heart to the person who was inside me. I can't just buck up and say oh well maybe next time. It is not that easy. I know it will get easier. But right now it doesn't feel like it.



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