January 24, 2019

Hi, Steve,

Five years.  Whoa.  This definitely falls into the category of what I have always known and what has never made sense in my head. It's one of those things that make you realize life truly does go on.  Our entire world changed that day, but just ours.  Grief is funny that way.

You see, for most of my time with Casey, you haven't been around, but you are such an important force in our life that I still can't wrap my head around the idea that you won't ever be here.  It's been five years, and I think it is more unfair today than that day five years ago.

Tonight, we headed to Greenbriar to feel a little closer to you, to honor you.  That place is always comforting and safe to me.  The first day I met you we ended the day by having dinner there after a Hawkeye football game, my first, but not last, time at the round table in the corner.  And since you've passed, we have still celebrated every one of your birthdays there.

I asked Casey his favorite memory with you at Greenbriar.  I half knew the answer as he has talked many times of the days you two would stop on the way home from a meeting in Cedar Rapids.  He said it pretty much a given.  There is still such peace and true happiness in his eyes when he shares about those moments.  (I also learned today that you may have Indian leg wrestled BJ in the middle of the restaurant.  And won.)

I know I don't have to tell you this, but you would be so proud of Casey.  After you died, Rexco was never the same for him.  I could tell he was lost.  He gave it a valiant effort, especially after his sabbatical in 2014.  But the passion he had for the job never returned.  I want that for him.  I want a career in which he feels confident, competent, and successful. 

Since leaving, it hasn't been easy on him.  Or us.  But I still believe, with every fiber of my being, that it was the right choice.  I know he desperately wants your advice on all of the jobs, interviews, and opportunties he has faced in the last two years.  We chat frequently about what you would think of his decisions, what advice you would have.  While I can't guide him much professionally (teaching is an entirely different ballgame), I can guide him in knowing that you would one hundred precent support him. 

And, your sweet granddaughter Mila. Man, do I wish I could see you two together.  We take comfort in knowing you are watching over us, guiding us. 

Love,
Your favorite daughter-in-law

2019: Let's Do This

After much reflection and too much thought, I am not setting New Year's resolutions.  This is a big deal for me.  I can't remember a time at the beginning of a new year or the beginning of a school year where I didn't have new resolutions.

Now, this is not to be confused with goals. Of course I have goals.  Goals imply ambition.  Goals reveal hope.  Goals highlight a future.  Resolutions suggest there is something wrong with me I need to change.

Two big realizations help me to resign myself to not committing to resolutions:

1. I'm already a pretty decent version of myself, and I've worked hard to get to where I am -- personally and professionally.  I am still a work-in-progress who is constantly changing and growing, and that's okay.  At yoga just before New Year's Eve, someone said her goal was to keep being herself.  Why can't that be all of our resolutions?  What is wrong with that? 
2. The "resolutions" I want are ones I have no control over in life: Casey finding a rewarding and fulfilling career and getting pregnant.  And this has been a great lesson in what I can control -- and an important realization for someone who likes and thrives in control. 

So instead, this year, we are letting the three year old take the lead in life.  For the last month or so, Mila responds to even the smallest of tasks with "Yeah! Let's do this!

          "Mila, it's time to put your shoes on so we can go to the store."

          "Yeah! Let's do this!"

          "Should we go down stairs to have some breakfast, Mila?" 

          "Yeah! Let's do this!"

          "Mila, go throw your garbage in the trash."

          "Yeah! Let's do this!"

The excitement and energy in her voice for such a menial task catches me off guard.  She's right.  There is an adventure and amazement in every day.  

We are embracing the three year old's motivation.  This has become our motto for 2019, instead of a resolution.  And honestly, it hasn't been easy for even the first 19 days of the year.  But, thankfully, I married someone who is just as foolishly optimistic as I am.  

And sometimes, when life tries to knock us back down, we add a "damn it" at the end.  

          

Reasons I Don't Write

Writing is always on my mind--I mean, I am an English teacher for crying out loud.  I am constantly observing life, making mental notes, analyzing other writing, and capturing images to draft about later.  But, rarely do any of these moments come to fruition.  But, why?

No Accountability
No due date.  No assignment.  No pressure.  No motivation.  I need to learn to set goals.

Too Much to Say
Once I do get writing, I am afraid I won't know when or how to stop.  The ideas and feelings will pour out of me.  There are so many things I want to write about.  Seriously.  I have lists of ideas.  But, I get too wrapped up in starting that I never actually start.

Nothing Unique to Write
My experiences and life--as a teacher, mom, wife, daughter--are not unique.  Everyone deals with these same struggles and celebrations.  I wonder what I have to offer to the conversation that has not been written before.  

Lack of Time
Or is it discipline?  I have not carved out space to make writing a priority.  It seems with each new life stage, I have to reimagine what this means.  While I try to get up before everyone else in the house to have some quite time, I'm not sure it's enough time.  Between reading, writing, exercising, and working, it is sometime easier to play a game on my iPad.

Easier to Read (or play a game on my iPad, or dink around on my phone)
Sometimes, I just want to escape from my life, not write about it.  On a positive note, I've read more this year than I have ever read before.

Can't Multitask When I Write
Writing requires my full attention.  For a girl who is a master multitasker, this is a hard sell.  When I watch a show, I can also be reading, working, coloring, or playing a game.  With writing, I have to give it my complete focus.

Worried about Oversharing
I am an open book.  I am honest to a fault.  However, I come from a family of introverts, so I am very aware of the desire for privacy.  What right do I have to take that privacy from those I write about?  Will my family/friends be embarrassed by what I share?  Where is the line?  What is the difference between their story and my story?

High Expectations
Self-inflicted, of course.  I think it is worse when I know I can do something and do it well.  Then I beat myself up over not doing it.

Out of Practice
My writing stamina is not what it used to be.  And yes, I know there is only one way to fix it.

Afraid of Vulnerability
This is the big one.  Writing makes me vulnerable.  It makes me breakdown my life and deal with the feelings.   Sometimes, especially during hard times, I just have to be strong to make it through the day.  And that means not recognizing how I feel.

Wordless Wednesday

Haunted by Emptiness

Mila moved to a new room and a new bed this weekend.  It was needed.  I felt so guilty every time I'd check on her, and she was hanging half off her bed.

I had been avoiding this move.  I thought it was because I didn't want my little baby to be in a big girl bed.  I thought it was because I didn't think I had time to make this switch.  I thought it was because I wanted new bedding, new furniture, and new paint in her new room.  I thought I it was because I wanted to make it perfect like her current room.

I slowly told myself these were unrealistic expectations.  Mila's nursery was a work in progress that took six months to complete.  I reassured myself that, in time, her new room would be just as perfect.

When she was half off her bed on Friday night, I knew it had to be this weekend.  I bought a super cute quilt.  I put Doug to work putting shelving in her closet.  We rearranged the bedroom to make sure the bed was against two walls.  We started clearing boxes we hadn't looked in since we had moved in four and a half years ago.  It was time.  I was as ready as I would ever be for Mila to be a new room.

Or so I thought.

I started searching for a new dresser for Mila's room.  I toyed with the idea of going to Homemakers and getting her a bedroom set.  I know it wasn't necessary.  I didn't have a bedroom set until I was married.  And we definitely can't afford the added expense now.  I clearly was trying to avoid something.

And then it hit me.  She didn't need a new dresser because no one else would be using the one in the nursery.  I realized this move didn't really have anything to do with Mila growing up.  It was about the empty nursery.

I am sick of being reminded that I am not pregnant.  Now, this one is a big gapping empty whole in my house constantly taunting me.

Office Oasis turned Playroom Paradise

One of the selling points for our house was the office with French doors.  Between that and the open layout of the first floor, I knew this had to be my home.

I envisioned an office oasis where I would write my first book.  I pictured myself there with the windows open hearing kids running around outside.  I would have a comfy reading nook in the corner to curl up in.  And I was slowing creating this:  A beautiful desk from Pottery Barn.  Two bookshelves.  A sitting chair, though not super comfortable.  But, if I'm honest with myself, most of my writing happens in the living room.  I rarely sit in the office as planned, so the room is not getting the use it could.

And, that is not the stage of life I am in.  I am a mom in the stage who desperate wants her house back from the invasion of toys.

Since Christmas, the inundation of toys creates anxiety and tripping hazards.  After a few days of mulling it over, we turned my beautiful office into a playroom paradise.  We rearranged the house moving desks, bookshelves, beds, and toys. By simply purchasing a rug and a wall decal of letters and numbers, Mila has a room that makes me jealous.

And she helped decorate.

The Hardships of Conceiving

I had a dream right before I woke up that it was negative.

When my alarm went off, I hit snooze.  Not because I needed more sleep, but because I knew what was coming.

By the time I got my feet on the floor, I was in the middle of a panic attack at five am.

My chest tighten.

My breath shortened.

My entire body tensed.

I knew the only way to start to ease this was to take the test.  I have to accept the result either way.  The only relief would come when I knew and could move on from there.  But I already knew.  My dream told me.

We've been trying to get pregnant since January.  It's a little hard to use the second person pronoun here.  Yes, my husband is one hundred precent in this with me, but the strain and stress is wearing on me differently.

This really has never been an easy process for us.  Before I got pregnant with Mila, I had three miscarriages.  By the time I did finally get pregnant with her, I had been pregnant four times in twelve months.  Most women never have that many pregnancies in a lifetime.

As we try for the fifth pregnancy for a second child, I am constantly haunted by the same feelings every month.  I am reminded of what I went through for the twelve month period in trying to conceive Mila.  I guess I thought it would be different with the second child.  I thought I would be used to this by now.  I thought I knew what to expect.  But these feelings still overwhelm me every month.

The feeling of failure:  Yes, I know intellectually, that is nowhere near accurate, but emotionally, it is absolutely correct.  Each month, I fail to get pregnant. I fail to be a mom of two kids.  I fail to do what I need to make my body ready.

The feeling of grief: I mourn the child I was going to have that month.  I had subconsciously planned the arrival of this sweet miracle.  I grieve the life I had dreamed would be.

The feeling of loneliness:  Multiple times a day, I think about being pregnant.  I ruminate on the idea.  When I wake up.  When I see a woman who is pregnant.  When I put Mila down at night.  When I fall asleep.  When I dream.  And all of this reminds me that I am not.

Right now, I can take deep breaths.  I can hug my sweet girl a little tighter.  I can remember to have faith.