A Little Pink in a World of Camo

Well Here's a Huge Update

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Thu, 02 Feb 2017 14:40:00 +0000

So what's it been? A hundred years? Five hundred? Something like that because I am certainly older (but no wiser) than the last time I thrust my words in your face. Well, here I am, again popping up out of nowhere. I figured I'd update anyone who's still hanging around. I also have a little request headed your way. Well, not a request per se but an opportunity.

Let's jump into it, shall we?

The first big news...
I'm engaged. I was going to start with I'm pregnant, but the engagement came first so we'll talk about that first. The short story is I started dating a pretty neat guy about two years ago and voila we decided we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. The longer story is we first met in third grade, our little sisters were best friends through elementary and middle school, and we reconnected many moons later and hit it off, then decided we wanted each other to stick around. The longer story - well, perhaps you'll have to wait for that one. I can't give it all away in one update post, can I? The main take home is he's really more than pretty neat, I love him a whole bunch, he's fantastic with A, he makes me laugh nonstop, and I'm a really lucky gal. And no, we haven't set a date for those wondering. It'll probably be a long engagement. And when I say long, I mean long.

Oh, so I mentioned I was pregnant. Yeah, that happened. So we got engaged in early September. At the end of September, he and I went to Harry Potter world in Universal (yes, I'm fully aware that's not the real name but I'll call it what I want). When we came home I started feeling a little weird (read: my boobs hurt like hell). October first I peed on a stick and there was that one single word. Pregnant. It wasn't a complete surprise. We weren't trying but also weren't not trying. We'd discussed it and thought it might be nice and I said if we were going to do it I wouldn't want to wait much longer because I didn't want to start trying after 30. I turned 30 in December. So that worked out. And now I am due with a little boy in June. Let's say this pregnancy has been a freakin' roller coaster. I'm beyond thankful the first trimester is over, but there are still so many emotions!

I also graduated grad school. I got my Master's y'all! In December, I not only turned 30, but I finished my Master's program. You can now call me Rachel Master-of-Writing Porto. I'm kidding... partially. But seriously, it was a huge accomplishment for me considering I'd had a hard time sticking to a program before I found the professional writing program and then I kinda fell in love with the program and didn't want to leave. My whole last semester I worked on a book proposal too, so that's a big new project that's going on in my life and something you guys could be really excited about if you happen to enjoy my writing... hint, hint.

Lastly, and here's where the opportunity comes in, especially for my fellow widowed ladies, I'm working on an awesome widow non profit called Widow Confidential. I met this really rad lady on the Idaho Military widow trip I went on in July. She has all these fantastic ideas and was designing this company to support widows and she graciously brought me on board. My job title is Content Program Director, so I basically handle all the word stuff - the website content, taking care of the writers, all that good stuff. It's a super opportunity and it's got me feeling all hashtag blessed.
I did mention a sort of request/opportunity and here's where I'll tell you a little about that. Being in charge of content and writers, it's also my job to find writers. We're still in the beginning stages, the website hasn't even completely launched yet. Before it does, I'd like to have a team ready. I'm looking for widows who are interested in writing. They could write a one time piece or be a recurring writer. Our goal is to have many perspectives. We don't want one widow (right now, me) writing the whole thing, we want the voices of everyone. We're looking for articles to fit these categories: work, play, home, sex/dating, self-care, as well as articles just for widows/by widows (like experience type essays) and widow/leadership feature pieces. Basically, how has widowhood affected those categories in your life? Learned a great way to cook for one? Have great travel tips for solo with children traveling? Want to share about a great or awful widowed spa trip? Those are the kinds of things we need. Every day things from widows' perspectives.
It's my hope that there is still a widow or two who checks my blog that might have a little inkling of interest, and if that's the case, please please email me at Rachel@widowconfidential.com and let's talk about getting started!

I think that's enough for you now. My plan is to be back more regularly. I miss you all <3 p="">

Wedding Etiquette: 7 Things to Remember When Your Friend Is a Widow

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sun, 13 Mar 2016 02:44:00 +0000

So, you've got a friend who's a widow and you want her to attend your wedding, but you're having difficulty navigating the etiquette behind asking this widow chick to come. Look no further, friends, as spring approaches and wedding season rolls in, I've got just what you need for smooth sailing with your widow friends.

1. Remember she was your friend before she was a widow.
Or even if she wasn't, her widow-ness shouldn't surpass your friendship. Look at her as a friend first and a widow later. Way later, if possible. Don't try to put yourself in her shoes. Chances are, you'll make an ass out of yourself. Instead, treat her like you always do.

2. Address her the way she chooses to be addressed.
I remember planning for my wedding and how stressful it was addressing envelopes. Miss, Mrs, Ms - why are there so many? Typically, modern etiquette rules for Ms. if you are unsure or if she is an older unmarried woman. Feminism was trying to replace the Miss/Mrs situation with the Ms, but instead folks just added it as another option and confused things more. It was a good idea (I mean seriously, why do dudes only have to deal with ONE but we've got THREE to choose from), but it can be hard to predict who prefers which title. If you're good friends with your widow, you probably know how to approach this. Here's a hint - if her Christmas card comes with a return address of "Mrs. So and So" you should probably address the wedding invitation in kind. I was really persnickety about this in my earlier days, to the point where most people know to put Mrs on anything being sent to me - I always said "I earned my R!" Not all widows feel the same. If you're unsure, it probably wouldn't offend her if you asked how she preferred to be addressed.

3. For goodness sakes, give her a plus one.
As you might have guessed, weddings can be tough for us young widows (which may be where the unsureness around inviting your widowed friend stemmed from in the first place). It's not that we're not happy our friends are finding love and getting married - we are! - it's that we also remember being happy with our spouse and how much we miss them. It's also that weddings are typically an event you would attend with a spouse, you would dance together, you would have fun together... you know. And now the spouse is gone and it's just another event to attend alone. Don't put your wedding in that category, friend. Seriously. Let her bring a plus one. Once, I was told "Only the married people get a plus one." It hurt. Okay, I am married - kinda. I didn't choose to be NOT married and neither did he. If all my friends are married and getting a plus one, and I am the only one who isn't, well that just sucks. Yes, I can't wait to be surrounded by happy couples so I can drown my grief in your open bar. Why don't you just give her a great big neon flashing hat that says "CAUTION: SAD LONELY WIDOW" while you're at it? Don't be cheap - pay for the extra plate and let your girl bring someone, whether it be a new romantic partner, a fellow widow to help her deal, or a girlfriend to keep her company during the slow dances - don't make her be the only adult woman without a date.

4. Speaking of guys, include her new guy.
If your widowed friend is dating again, don't exclude her new partner. Whether you think it's right for her to be dating or not, it's shitty of you to pretend her new partner doesn't exist. Plain and simple. Oh, they haven't been together that long? Well, see above. Give her the plus one and let her choose if he will be her date. You don't really like him? Well, I'm sure you don't like everyone attending your wedding either. Hell, you probably don't like a portion of the people IN your wedding. As the bride, chances are you won't even have to spend more than 5 minutes with him. And if you know his name, don't put "Guest" on the table card. If she RSVPs me and Joe are coming, the name card should read Friend and Joe, not Friend and guest. Don't be a douche.

5. Don't make it weird.
Sometimes people can be overly sensitive about widow stuff. Don't go out of your way to make it weird. Don't call her up and talk all cautiously. You know the voice, "Oh... heyyy.... sooooo... I'm getting married and..." Everybody knows her husband is dead. It is no secret she is a widow. Don't act like you're keeping something from her when you're trying to talk to her. Want to ask her how to be addressed or what her new beau's name is? Ask. "Hey, do you care what title you get on the envelope?" "Hey, is Joe your plus one or are you bringing someone else?" "Hey, what's your guy's name?" Are all better than "So, I don't want to be weird or anything but... since you're husband isn't here..." Be upfront, be real, don't be weird.

6. Let her take a breath if she needs to take a breath.
There have been multiple times I've had to step out of weddings. Like I said before, although I'm happy for my friends, weddings are tough. I love weddings, but they can be a real widow ass kicker. Sometimes, that song will come on and she can't get out of the dance hall fast enough before tears erupt. Sometimes she cries a little harder at the processional. Sometimes she needs to go for a walk during the oldest couple dancing tradition. Sometimes she needs an extra drink. I am thankful that the vast majority of the time I've experienced that "Need a moment" moment, people have been supportive. Don't be upset or offended if your widowed friend needs to take a breath or needs a second to pull herself together or if you happen to catch her looking kind of sad when you glance her direction. Let her handle herself her way and be respectful that even though she loves you, she might be hurting a bit, too.
The nicest thing that anyone ever did for me pre-wedding was ask what song to avoid playing. I am super attached to our wedding song and most everyone knows it. Especially right after Jonny's death, I couldn't hear our song without completely losing my shit. It was so very kind of a particular bride to ask me. No, I don't expect that treatment and no, I don't include that as an etiquette step, I was surprised and grateful when she asked and I assured her not to change any plans because of me because I would handle myself fine. But it was a very considerate thing for her to do and I will never forget that someone spared a thought during planning their special day on my feelings. Oh, and no, she wasn't weird about it, she was just like "Hey, what's your song again? I'm going to put it on the no play list because I know it's hard for you." And I was like, "You don't have to do that but our song is..." and she was like "No, it's fine, I just don't want it coming up randomly it's not part of anything for us so it doesn't need to be played at all." Very thoughtful.

7. If your friend is a military widow and your wedding is on Memorial Day, don't be pissed if she bails.
Seriously, this one should not even have to be stated, but as Memorial Day really is a beautiful long weekend perfect for weddings, I couldn't leave it out. If your wedding is on Memorial Day and your friend declines or bails out early, you have no right to be pissed. Chances are she is going to a cemetery (or urn, wherever it's located) to spend some time with her husband, or partaking in some other grief related ritual. This tip also applies for any special dates; her anniversary, her spouse's birthday, her spouse's angelversary... if it's a tough day for her, she has every right to grieve and deal with it her way. This doesn't mean don't invite her, of course. Maybe she'll like having something to celebrate and spending time with friends to keep herself occupied. Just don't be pissed if she declines or leaves early.

I hope this helps for brides who might have some concerns about inviting their widow friends. Widows, did I leave anything out? Drop me a comment to add your tip. Think one of mine is great or unfair? Let me know. Want to share your own experience? I'd love to hear about it!

Photo: Creative Commons Rebecca Shiraev

Consistency is Key

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Thu, 17 Sep 2015 05:34:00 +0000

... and mine are locked inside. Seriously, anyone got a number for a good locksmith?

Of all the times I say I'm not going to let this sit and I'll start writing here regularly again, poor Little Pink has fallen by the wayside in these chaotic times.

The truth is, between writing for school, writing at Many Kind Regards, and starting to write freelance (yup, I'm taking the plunge!), I'm pretty "write"d-out. But tonight, the call was strong and the urge was not to be ignored to hop over here to my own little space, even if just to ramble.

Things have been going, to say the least. Today was "a day," said in that tone that hints to more than just a day. It started out awesome, but then of course things started going down hill. I won't bore you with all of the details, but let's just say I'm glad to be sitting and doing nothing.

I feel like I'm approaching a crossroads, and maybe that's what motivated me coming here. So many things are happening, a lot of them good, but it has me facing a multitude of decisions. It's like there are so many paths I can choose to pursue but I kind of want them all and I kind of want none. Would it be completely ridiculous that maybe, possibly I am afraid of success? Does that even make sense? It is. It is completely ridiculous. Isn't success what we strive for? Isn't the reason for attempting anything to be successful? So what am I really scared of? Well... what if being successful, even a little bit, is too much? What if I end up completely overwhelmed? What if I can't keep up? What if I am putting my eggs in too many damn baskets because they are all just so pretty and sparkly and appealing? I suppose it inevitably comes down to... what if I fail? There it is. Success isn't the fear, it's the taste of success followed by the crush of failure.

Oh, dear anxiety, how I love you and the "what-if's" you bring to my brain. As if there aren't already too many thoughts whipping around in there, as if processing the things that are actually happening isn't enough, let's add some maybes, could be's, and what ifs to make a delicious stew of fear and apprehension. Yum.

In other less whiney news, my kid is in Kindergarten. And it's full day.

"Wait, stop the presses, what?!" those of you who've hung around all this time are saying, "Little A is in all day school already?" That's right, folks, little A ain't so little anymore. In fact, she refuses to hear anyone say they are baby sitting her - it is only Big Girl sitting these days.

Little A becomes Little Rach more and more each day. Seriously, I see myself in that kid's mannerisms, behaviors, and thought processes every day. Thank God she has her father's eyes.
The funny thing is now that I've noticed how much she is like me, I can really pick out specifics. She likes to sing randomly and make weird noises. She's constantly talking to herself or her friends (that are visible only for her). There are several times after she's gone to bed when Jesse and I are hanging out and I'll say or do something and one of us will say "Holy shit, that was so Ariana." It's quite alarming at times. The really funny part is there are so many times where she'll say or do something and I'll ask where in the world did she pick that up from?! Days, hours, minutes later it will be pointed out to me that I'm doing what I was wondering about. Hello, this is Captain Obvious calling, is Rachel there? We can't forget of course, that she does have her individuality and she's quite assertive. That kid is, as cheesy as it sounds, the light of my life. Sure, she drives me nuts sometimes (makes sense, since I drive MYSELF nuts) but she is so funny and intelligent and caring and it is just so neat watching her grow that being her mom is my greatest gift.

So, yeah, things are pretty good. We're pretty happy. We have our down days, and we're not immune to our fair share of struggles (like today being "a DAY"), but when all's said and done, we're content, we're together, and we're frickin' rockstars. And that's all that matters.

My Abandoned Garden

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 02:58:00 +0000

When I was first widowed, I searched for advice to proceed along this new journey I had been so unfairly placed upon. I read widow self-help books, what to expect books, articles, and conducted numerous searches. I wanted to know if what I was feeling was “normal,” and if I was doing everything “the right way.” There was a lot of useful information and tips in these resources that helped guide me along: not making any big decisions in the first year, financial advice and cautions, information about grief stages and emotions, and general pick-me-up and keep living encouragements. As helpful as some of these resources were, though, I still found them lacking in grit. It’s as if some subjects were too taboo to be put into written form and distributed widely, and it was often those taboo subjects I found myself most confused about. Here are some things I’ve learned along my 5+ years of widowhood that “they” aren’t likely to tell you in those books. These may not only aid a newly widowed person in handling some of the confusion, but I have hopes that they might also shine some light on what a widowed person is feeling for those who are supporting her or him.

There have been many times over the years where I’ve been approached by the friends of a new widow asking, “What can I do?” or wondering not only how they can help but how they can better understand and empathize with their friend. Remember in reading these that grief is extremely individualized and what may help one person cope may be the exact opposite of what another needs or wants.

The Ticket That Ruined It - Writing Prompt Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Fri, 10 Apr 2015 00:18:00 +0000

Hey there, here we are again with another edition of writing prompt Wednesday (except it's on Thursday). Excuse the absence, it was spring break for my little one and therefore I was breaking from life as well.

Today's prompt reminds me of one we did in my creative writing class that I really enjoyed, where we took a family story that had been passed down and changed the perspective of the story teller. Moving your story into someone else is such a fun way to merge nonfiction with fiction, to blend what is real and what you imagine could be real for others. Without further ado...

Prompt: Choose an incident from your past - it could be an ordinary occurrence, such as a family dinner - or a significant event, such as an achievement or a mishap. Write about it from your perspective, then write about it from the perspective of someone else who experienced it with you.

It was sometime before fifth grade. I know that much because Rose moved away in the fifth grade, and she was with us, like she often was - up until fifth grade. She and I were in the back of my parents' car. Was it a van yet? My guess it was a minivan, but I could be wrong. In fact, I can't even remember if my little sister was born yet. I don't recall her being there, so I'm guessing I was probably around six years old. If memory serves, it was the light blue Dodge Caravan my mom had. It was her first minivan. We had gotten ice cream cones, as we often did in the muggy Maryland summers, and as per usual, Rose had painted her face chocolate. We stopped at a gas station. I believe it was one of the "Sunday Drives" that were a fun family outing for us when I was a kid. We would just hop in the car in drive. At each stop sign, someone would yell a direction and on we would go. There were no smart phones or portable GPS systems back in these days. There was a Rand McNally Atlas stored under the mat in the trunk space, but we never needed it. Someway, dad never got lost. I was sure he must have had maps of the whole world stored in his mind. As we drove, dad would tell ridiculous stories starring a character he'd created and named Formaldehyde and Rose and I would laugh and laugh until tears streaked the dirt and chocolate down our adolescent faces and we were doubled over in laughter cramps. We enjoyed our journeys to no where, mom pointing out her dream house along the way (a real fixer upper) and me pointing at horses. So, we stopped at a gas station. Most likely to refuel and stock up on napkins. Somehow, a lottery ticket got involved. Mom or dad bought a scratch off. I wanted it because scratch offs are so neat and so fun to do. I was told no. I was a bratty, spoiled six year old and I didn't like the word no. I threw a fit. Crossed arms over my chest, I pouted and said I was having the worst day ever. Rose tried to cheer me up, but I turned away from her. I was the world and the sun, at that moment, was the lottery ticket, without which I simply could not survive. Rose attempted to get dad to resume the Formaldehyde stories, but the magic of the moment was lost by my grumbling and grievances and the laughter was muted until we arrived back at home.

Told from Rose:
I always looked forward to time with Rachel and her family. Her dad was the funniest guy I knew and her mom was the most caring woman. Rachel was my best friend, and we always had a fun time together. They liked to go for drives in their van, along back roads and scenic routes, pointing out anything that interested them. I was just happy to be out and along with them, one of the gang, part of the family. You could always tell they liked you and considered them one of their own if they picked on you. I might have had a bit of a problem eating. In fact, it might have been a huge problem. My face just seemed to catch the food (especially chocolate ice cream) before my mouth could. We laughed and laughed at how bad I was at eating. Formaldehyde was the true star of the laughter with that family though. The adventures of Formaldehyde and her stinky misfortune were the funniest tales, I often stopped breathing mid-tale, my giggles taking precedence over airflow. While Rachel was my best friend, she could be somewhat of a... well, she had a temper. She really liked getting her way. She could also be bossy. And if things didn't go her way, well, you'd hear about it. After exhausting every napkin in the van (and trust me, there were several), we had to make a pit-stop to get gas and refill on things to catch my mess. Her parents had bought a scratch off ticket that Rachel insisted on being hers. I saw a look exchanged between the lady behind the counter and Rachel's parents. They weren't allowed to buy it for her. I guess Rachel didn't see it, because she continued to insist they give it to her. I bet they would have given it to her had she not asked in front of that lady. Something tells me someone could have gotten in trouble, at least, that's what it felt like. So we get back in the car and Rachel is in one of her moods. With a huff, Rachel plopped in the seat, arms tightly over her chest, crying and howling. It kind of hurt my ears. Even though we'd had a really fun day, Rachel forgot about all the stories and sights we had seen and declared this the "Worst day ever." I couldn't believe she had said that! "Come on, Rachie" I tried to coax her out of her bad mood, attempting to get her laughing again. "What happened next with Formaldehyde?" I asked. Her dad began the story but Rachel kept up with her sounds of disdain and the story was cut short. I ended up having to go home because Rachel couldn't get her act together, and her mom had warned her. I wasn't happy. I was supposed to spend the night that night (and I knew I'd just make it the whole night this time!) and I was having so much fun. That girl had quite a temper, I hate that she let it ruin our day.

Now I suppose it's time to go ask Rose how close I got it ;)

A New Project - Dear Snuggles

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Wed, 25 Mar 2015 04:57:00 +0000

Well, I've decided I've neglected my little corner of the internet for long enough. I miss being here and I miss putting my thoughts into words and I miss all of you (is anyone still out there?). So, in order to help myself keep up with writing and visit here much more often, I'm trying a new project.

Every Wednesday (possibly more, but let's just start with one day) I'm going to post a writing prompt and... well... write about it. I know, it's totally different than what you're used to seeing here at Little Pink, but I promise it will be interesting. I'm going to start with a relatively simple one, to ease myself into this new idea.

So without further ado, let's just jump into this, shall we?

PROMPT: Write a love letter to an inanimate object that explores why you appreciate what you're writing about, what its special qualities are.

Dear Snuggles,

My nearest and dearest, the fuzziest, snuggliest non-breathing friend, I write to you with the most sincere appreciation for your life long friendship. As my first toy, you had quite a lot to live up to. How long would you last? Would you end up in the garbage, at a yard sale, passed on to a new child, or quietly ruminating in an adult's bedroom? No one knew then that it would be the latter. No one realized that your soft brown fur and beady eyes would provide one girl comfort for an eternity. No one expected your Steiff tag to be a source of pride for an Army brat born in a cold country she no longer remembers. No one could have possibly known that your plush body would hold the scents of true home, the most comforting aroma to breathe in.

I expect when you arrived with me that you were actually larger than me. As a new babe, you might have been ginormous, unfortunately I can't remember our first meeting. I know with certainty, however, that I was never fearful of you, regardless of how much larger than me you might have been. I know that you accompanied me on a transatlantic flight and I wonder if you helped me feel safe.

As I grew, I could not sleep without you by my side. You traveled with me to many a sleepover parties and handled squealing girls like a champ. I accidentally dropped you in a mud puddle before Rose's birthday party. I really wanted to go, but there was no way I was staying over without you. Thankfully, my mom took you home and washed you and brought you back to me. I wonder if you would have appreciated that night off? Or did you feel as lost without me as I you when we were apart?

I needed surgery in second grade. Tonsils and adenoids, no big deal. I was allowed to bring one "comfort object" but at first the surgical team didn't want to let you come with me because of your glass eyes and metal tag. I assured them you were the only one I wanted, needed rather, by my side and somehow they waiver. Maybe mom took you before I went to surgery but I know you were next to me when I awoke and let out a scream. I bet you remember that scream. Like my mom, you probably wonder how in the world I could scream like that after having surgery on my throat.

I held you during awkward teen years, squeezed you during breakups, confided all my secrets in your ever-listening ears and knew all my fears, pain, anguish, and insanity were safe with you. You followed me to college, and it's probably best that no one else can hear your sweet whispers because oh, the stories you could tell. I'm sorry I subjected you to that.

You accompanied me when I moved and found a spot in our bedroom in North Carolina. You watched my belly swell as new life grew inside me and you probably wondered if you would befriend this new child, as well. You were clutched under my arm as I headed off to the hospital to meet our new friend. In anxious anticipation you watched her enter the world and I'm sure both our hearts grew exponentially.

You probably still wonder if I will someday pass you on to our little friend, but I've selfishly kept you for myself. Maybe one day I will find it within me to surrender you to my most prized person but for now I let her visit while I keep a close eye on your whereabouts.

And when I need you most, I hug you close and inhale deeply, flooded with scents, memories, and feelings of home and comfort.

Words cannot thank you enough, my dear Snuggles, for being the epitome of a "comfort object." You encompass all things a teddy bear should and you are not only an object to me, but my friend.

With much love and adoration,
Rachel

What I've Learned About Parenting in the Last 5 Years

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Thu, 15 Jan 2015 02:25:00 +0000

In a couple of hours, my little baby girl will be officially 5 years old. Every year, each number feels like such a big leap. Last year she was 4 and I was all like OMG MY BABY IS 4! Now she’s turning 5 and, well… it’s the oldest she’s ever been!

I look back at the photos and the memories of the last 5 years with this little stinker by my side and I am filled with so many feelings. Ones of the smiling kind, ones of the crying kind, and even ones of the steam coming out your ears kind.

So many lessons have been taught along the way. Lessons in how to clean a poop explosion from a high chair in hyper speed because we had a date in 10 minutes. Lessons about how to say “No,” and mean it. Lessons concerning feeding myself and someone else simultaneously. Lessons on the greatest love a human can have coupled with the greatest frustration.

In honor of her 5 years, I’m going with 5 of the biggest lessons I’ve learned over these years. Fasten your carseats.

5. How to clean and when to clean

Poop explosions are no joke. Neither is projectile vomit, glitter glue, or milk spilled under the seat that starts to sour. I’m naturally a messy person but the level of mess infused by a tiny permanent house guest quadruples any mess I could be capable of on my own. I’ve learned how to disinfect toys and sheets and that sometimes it’s okay to cry over spilled anything. I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s okay to say screw it. Sometimes, there will be dishes piled high and that’s okay. Never try to clean in the middle of a craft because you’ll just be doing double duty. And there’s always the “right before company comes” quick clean to save from looking like a total animal.

4. I’m still amazed by all of this tiny person

Everything she does and is amazes me. It amazes me how funny she can be and how loud she can scream. How smart she is and how stubborn. Every time she spells a new word or counts to a higher number, I am blown away. Her big brown eyes still amaze me how much they resemble her dad’s. The hair that reaches down to her butt amazes me considering she was such a bald baby. The things she says that remind her so much of me. I am in constant awe of this person and I doubt that will ever end.

3. Getting to re-do kid stuff is super fun

One of the biggest perks of parenting is getting to play again. Going to bounce houses, playing the games at Chuck E Cheese, seeing the animals at a petting zoo, riding rides at carnivals and theme parks. Not only do I get to do it all again (except for the stuff I’m too tall for and to that I say – LAME) I get to see her enjoyment in it. There is nothing more fun than seeing your kid have fun at something you used to have fun at and getting to have fun with them. Fun, fun, fun, fun!

2. No one can make me angrier

Having a little miniature version of myself (in personality if not in looks) can be exhausting. I’m a whole lot of person with a huge personality. My kid, like her momma, has a huge personality. She knows exactly which buttons to press and how to press them. She knows just what sets me off. I have a feeling this will only get worse as she gets older. Oh boy, what a ride we’re in for. Even when she’s making me mad though, sometimes it’s hard not to laugh. She was sitting on the floor eating cereal from the box not too long ago. I told her not to eat anymore, she was done. She holds up one piece of cereal. “It’s just one,” she declared. I knew it was just one and that really what could one more do BUT I had said no more and I reminded her that. She looked at me, looked at the cereal, and reminded me it was just one. No. Pop, in the cereal goes into her mouth. What a little turd! I couldn’t help but turn away laughing. She had won this one. Just a few nights ago she asked if she could spend the next night at grandma’s. I told her I wasn’t sure, that we’d have to see, but probably not. Not even ten minutes later her sentence began, “On our way to grandma’s tomorrow…” I said, “Wait, why are we going to grandma’s tomorrow?” “Because. I’m spending the night there.” Wait. What?! With a stubborn streak and a mind all her own, this child can be infuriating and entertaining all at once. This was another time I couldn’t help but laugh. For someone who knows how to get to me, I sure do love her a lot, which brings me to…

1. I never expected to love a person this much

I knew that motherhood would change me. The physical changes were immediate. I am still blaming “baby weight” even on the eve of her fifth birthday, she’s stretched my hoo a thousand times it’s size and made me forget about it, and there’s nothing like the tiger stripes to declare my motherhood, but the biggest changes were inside. I loved her father with all I was and all I had. Until she came along. The love a mother has for her child is indescribable. The pride, the joy, the fear all of it encapsulating this love for a person you literally created that just continues to grow. Feeling any injustice served to her times at least a hundred (WHY isn’t she getting the same attention in gymnastics class?! What do you mean that kid took your swing at the playground?!) while trying to reign it in to teach her to be a strong and independent person. Creeping in her room at night just to watch her sleep, a look of complete peace on her face, her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks. Constantly thinking of her, no matter what I'm doing. Hearing, “I just want to get super close to you. Because you’re my favorite,” and being able to only reply, “You’re my favorite, too,” while choking back a sob. I never expected any of this.

Happy birthday my precious girl. I hope I am enough mom for you, that you always know how much you mean to me and the love I have for you is endless and unconditional. May we learn many, many more lessons together and may you one day learn these beautiful lessons from your own children.

Five Whole Years

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Tue, 09 Dec 2014 07:54:00 +0000

What is it about the fives that really makes us think?
I mean, I know I don't miss an anniversary without thinking, but there's something about intervals of five that are so profound.

Five years.
Five ridiculously long, painful years.

I wanted to cling onto you that night. Well, let's back up. Let's start from the beginning. We knew it was going to happen from day one. But then the rumors got closer and closer. You were supposed to go in August, but that was to Iraq and for some reason someone didn't want the unit going to Iraq. I guess there wasn't enough action there? There were rumors for the reason, but we'll stay away from those now. So, it became the waiting game. You'd leave for training upon training and the deployment wouldn't come and at one point, dropping you off for training I said, "I kind of wish this was just the deployment. Not that I want you to go, but I want to get it over with."

All I wanted was to get it over with.

Anyway. We (the families) would be told things like, "24 Hour Standby," and "Leave at a Moment's Notice." It started to get more specific; "Don't expect your Marine to be here until Halloween."

Halloween came, you were a cowboy and I was a leopard. We went to a friend's house for a Halloween party and had so much fun. I was hormonal though, and we got in an argument that night. We made up because it was stupid. I'm sorry I was so damn emotional.

Then we heard, "Don't expect your Marine to be here for Thanksgiving." We went to Maryland because my mom had planned a surprise baby shower. It was such a great time. I think you were the most involved dad-to-be I'd ever seen at a baby shower. You handed me the gifts, smiled in the photos, and generally played along.

We had planned to spend Christmas in Florida with your family. At the rate things were going, of course you were going to be here for Christmas, they kept warning us with no consequence. It wasn't really going to happen, was it?

Things were changing in Afghanistan. The command over there were asking for more troops. The president was stalling on his decision. December 1st there was a press conference. He announced he would indeed be sending more troops (although not the number that was requested...) and we knew immediately you would be in that surge.

December 4th was a regular day. We went out to eat at Golden Corral. I was eating banana pudding, a delicious combination of banana flavored goo, Nilla wafers, and whipped cream. Your phone rang right as I was about to take a bite. I tried to listen. It was the sergeant from the armory. I heard a lot of "yes, sergeants," spoon hovering mid-bite. What was happening? You ended the call. You looked me in the eye and said, "I have PT Monday morning and then... Tuesday afternoon." I crinkled my brow... "Why are you PTing Tuesday afternoon?"
"No babe. I'm leaving Tuesday afternoon."

The spoon remained midair as the tears slid down my cheeks, salty paths of the composure I could no longer hold. There was only one place to which you'd be leaving. You were worried I wasn't okay. We had taken separate vehicles and you were so concerned about me driving home. I assured you I'd be fine and off we went to our little duplex in Richlands; you following, always watching to make sure I was alright.

We decided to blow up the air mattress that night, the nice king sized double stacked one we borrowed from my parents, and put it in the living room. We watched movies and cuddled so tight I briefly thought of crawling into your skin so I never had to be without you. How was I going to survive without you?

Four days. We had four days to prepare for the inevitable. You went through your packing lists and I double checked them behind you. "Where is your side arm holster?!" I looked for that damn thing for hours. It was missing one piece. And I knew without that one piece the world would fall apart. "Babe, I can rig it up and it'll be fine." I made you show me. It looked fine. I questioned your packing style, shouldn't you have the most necessary items at the top of your sea bag? You laughed it off and I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass. I just needed you to be ready. We joked about how you weren't allowed to go on convoys. About how you'd get there and dig a hole in the ground with a bubble over it and just wait out your 7 months. It was funny, but really I was terrified.

We went and picked out the final colors for the house we'd bought pre-construction. Blue with wine colored shutters. Countertops, the shape in the front door, carpet styles... we were so glad we got to do that together. We went to our plot, talking about all the things we would do in our brand new house when you got back.

We had a Christmas. We went out and bought a little tree and some bulbs, put it up and decorated it. We did presents. I had bought you new pajama pants, you loved pajama pants, and a new digital camera. My mom tried to get the camera to us in time before you left but it didn't, so I gave you my own. I wrapped a picture of the pajama pants (that I'd left in Maryland, thinking I had time) and a picture of the camera in cereal boxes. You drew me a card. Inside there was a picture of a blue house with red shutters, a woman, a Marine, and a little girl. You wrote, "My promise to you." You were gifting me our dreams, our life together.

You called your family and said you were leaving. Your mom and Emilie came up and we had a great visit. You got promoted that weekend. I was super proud. You let me pin you. I tried not to slap you too hard, but enough for you to feel it.

Decemeber 8th came. We loved and it was so ridiculously hard to walk out of that house, knowing I'd return without you. It was such a beautiful day, the sun was shining and it was relatively warm but my spirits couldn't match. Lady Gaga's Bad Romance came on the radio and we laughed and laughed about such a ridiculous song. We went to the 7 Day Store for some last minute items. An officer was there and he welcomed you home, you told him you were just leaving and he told you he'd see you soon then.
We had to go in early because you were an armorer and you had to hand out the weapons and all that other stuff. It was a special day so I got to go in. I talked out the window to the Marines in line and got a good scolding for that. Your sergeant told us it was stupid to think you'd never convoy, I let him know I was aware of that, it was just our joke.

We went to the staging area. I didn't want to let you go. People were taking pictures, many women looked so presentable with their makeup. I hadn't worn makeup that day because I knew I'd cry and it would run down my face.

There was a lot of standing around and socializing. We were just killing time. You spoke to your daughter. You told her how much you loved her, and told her to take care of mommy, you promised her you'd see her soon.

All of a sudden, you were called to FORM UP. I watched you walk away, a quick kiss but no real goodbye, and join the rest of the Marines. You were spoken to, then told to head to the bus. I watched you walk toward the bus. Everyone was walking away. Could I go? Could I follow? I would've folded up into your pocket if I could, just to stay by your side. A couple wives started walking that way and I did this skid/walk/run maneuver to get to you. I wanted to remain professional and composed and show you I was strong enough to handle this. I didn't want you to know I was falling apart inside.

I caught up to you. Our last kiss. Our last hug. Our last spoken I love yous where we could look in each others' eyes. I watched you walk up the steps. You took a window seat. You signed that you loved me, the way we would, and I watched the tears slip down your cheeks. You didn't want to go, I think you would've folded me into your pocket if you could. What was I without you? What were you without me? I Love You sign language, and tears, and then the buses rolled. I couldn't look away. I stood there, watching until there was nothing left to see. I wanted to fall apart but I wouldn't allow it. I tried to detach.

I numbly walked to the FRO's office where a few of my friends were. I returned the FRO's coat. She'd let me borrow it as the sun sank and I started to shiver. Your sister called you, I had your phone because it was against the rules to take it. Hearing your ringtone ripped another piece from my heart.

I went to a friend's house, as I wasn't ready to greet an empty house. They made me eat dinner. They reminded me I had someone else to think about, growing inside me, who needed nourishment.
I drove home to an empty duplex. The tiny house that had felt so cramped was now far too large, an echoing mansion mirroring the emptiness inside me. Baby furniture had arrived on the porch and I had to wiggle it inside without lifting it, my huge belly bumping it the whole way. It was my first task alone.

I paced the halls. I didn't want to be alone, but I didn't want to be with anyone else or in any other place. Our home was both a prison and a sanctuary.

As I lay on the couch, unable to lay in our bed without you that first night, drifting to sleep, I thought of when I'd see you next. In 7 months, you'd be back in my arms, and my loneliness would be relieved. I could make it. I'd be alright. You needed me to be strong and I would be what you needed.

That was the last time I saw you, soul present in body, on this earth. The last time I felt the warmth radiating from your skin, the last time I felt the tingle of your kiss, the last time I felt safe and whole.
I look to my right and there you sit. Your body in a small wooden box. I look to the Heavens and there you live. Your soul, watching down on me reminding me that I will be safe and whole once more.

Old Fogey

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Tue, 02 Dec 2014 04:34:00 +0000

There are so many times that it smacks me right in the face… I’m old.

Ok, maybe not old, old, but I’m certainly getting there.

I’m in grad school these days, so I have to go to a college campus twice a week. The first time I went there, to meet with my advisor, I looked around at all the college students and I just thought how small and young they looked. Did I look so young? I thought I was grown back then…

I had class tonight at 630. It was raining and around 50 degrees. I was wearing my awesome camo double lined hoodie, zipped up, head down, walking with purpose. I look up, and there is this college gal in a short sleeve shirt (with a fashionable scarf, of course), hugging herself and shivering as she hoofed it to the parking garage. And do you know what I thought?

I can’t believe you didn’t bring a coat.

Oh. My. Oldness.

When did I bring a coat in college? Especially when I looked cute. I immediately flashed back to New Years Eve, nearly 7 years ago. 2007 into 2008. My roommate and I had searched all day for a dress to wear to this party in the city. Yes, we were procrastinators, and yes our selection was limited, but we were going to look fancy regardless! I found this shiny black dress that I thought, even then, looked kind of like a trash bag, but it was shiny and black and short, and my options were limited. So of course this tiny trash bag ensemble became my New Years Eve attire. In Baltimore. In January. And hell no, I didn’t have a coat!

Finding a cab in Baltimore on New Years Eve is like finding all the matching socks for my 4 year old… impossible. Unless you’re lucky or you know someone. We waited somewhere around two hours before we finally broke down and called a friend's mom to scoop us up. And thankful we were, because we were those girls in the tiny dresses, outside in January, arms hugged tightly around ourselves shivering.

And tonight my first thought was that she should have a coat.

Man, I am such a mom. And I am officially getting old…

In other news, if you miss me tons and tons here at Little Pink, I have been doing some writing over with Highly Offensive Mom at ManyKind Regards (in fact, my newest post went up today). It’s such an awesome project that I am so excited to be a part of, so if you’ve got a minute, head on over there and check us out, leave some love, and be excited to see me writing more than a couple times a month ;)

The Winter Time Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sat, 22 Nov 2014 03:56:00 +0000

What is it about winter that seems to steal all my joy? There's tons of good stuff that happens in winter, all the good holidays are here (including my birthday) so I should be excited right?
There are a ton of hard dates that happen in winter, but I really feel like it's more than that.
I'm at a point where I have to literally drag my body out of bed in the morning. I can't focus, I'm always tired, I'm irritable. Damn you winter - you are draining and awful!

Things have been going well, besides my opening this post with complaining. Grad school is amazing and I am happy there. I love how much writing I have been doing with it and I seriously wish I could be doing more. I'm sorry that it seems to have taken me from here. Work is going well, I got a new job within the same company and I'm really enjoying it. It's a tech writing job so it's finally kind of in my field. Woot. I'm also writing over at Many Kind Regards with Highly Offensive Mom (perfect for me, or what?!) So if you get a chance go check them out and leave me some love over there too.

A is doing well, she is such a diva and has so much personality. She's been talking a lot about her dad lately, which I love. In fact, a few weeks ago she asked me something about when he was coming back. I tried to gently break it to her that he wouldn't be, that that simply wasn't possible as much as we might want it to be. She said, "Well mommy, the people who die are always with you as long as they are in your heart." Schooled. Again. By a 4 year old. She's the best. Speaking of school, she's doing awesomely in her Pre K program. She can spell words now. SPELL. WORDS! It's pretty exciting. Maybe we have another little writer on our hands? She is certainly an observant person, which gets me in trouble sometimes, but for the most part she's my tiny best friend and that's how I like it.

I wish I had more thrilling things to report, but I've missed y'all and I've missed my little space on the interwebs so it's just a check in. I'm sure I'll have something more thrilling shortly ;)

What Are We Doing To Our Future?

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Fri, 10 Oct 2014 03:04:00 +0000

"I believe the children are our future..." Mm, sing it Whitney!

So. This past weekend, I took A to her bestest buddy's 5th birthday party. It was Frozen themed and super cute. There were crafts and food, and even an appearance by Elsa, (which we had to miss so don't ask A about it). I am good friends with her buddy's parents, so I was chatting with them a bit when I inquired into something I had noticed upon walking up. There were a lot more kids here than in years previous. I asked my friends about it, wondering if that was just part of kids growing older and going to school or what. They then told me that their daughter's teacher had told them they had to invite everyone in the class.

Here is where the record scratches and the party goes silent.

Umm. Come again?? Yup, they couldn't bring their invites to school (aka the easiest place to bring the invites for distribution since half the time you've never seen the kids' parents outside of school) unless the entire class of around 20 kids received one. They went on to say that it wasn't really a big deal because their daughter probably would have wanted everyone anyway, but it really got me thinking...

What in the world are we teaching our kids? Okay, I get it. You don't want to hurt any 5 year old's feelings because, let's face it, they can really make you feel bad when they cry. But seriously. I just can't get on board with the "Life is fair for everyone" crap. Yup, crap. Life isn't fair. It certainly sucks sometimes, but it's something we all have to face. I can remember a number of parties I would have wanted to attend but didn't get invited to growing up. Guess what? I was disappointed, sure. But I survived. All these fairness rules, in my humble opinion, are teaching our kids to be entitled little jerks.

Oh gosh, did I just say that our sweet angels could ever be jerks? Yup, I did. And I'm saying we are the cause of it if we keep this up. These sorts of things are teaching children that just because they want it, they can have it. Where is the lesson in that?! They are learning to be entitled, they're learning they don't have to work for things. They are not learning how to deal with disappointment, or hurt feelings, or being left out, or not getting what they want - all of which happens in real life.

Not only do we have to invite every kid to the party, no teams lose, everyone has to share...
Every team wins?! What the hell?? Nope. In life, there are winners and losers. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. It happens to all of us. I lost student council secretary in 5th grade. I was super disappointed. I lived. I tried again in high school. I lost that too. I have definitely learned how to lose. I've also won some stuff at some point, all of which are escaping me at the moment (see, the losing really does shape us!) Our kids need to learn how to lose AND how to win. They need to learn how to lose and cope and deal with their feelings, they need to learn how to win graciously.

Everyone has to share. Ok I get it. Sharing is caring and all that character counts jazz. But seriously, kids shouldn't have to share everything. Sometimes, kids need to learn it's okay to say no about a special item or something they aren't done using. And the kid who wants it needs to learn to respect no. That either that thing belongs to that person and he's not getting it, or he needs to patiently wait his turn. He's not entitled to what that other kid has. A has things that I don't make her share. I'm sorry parents, if you or your kid are offended by that, but there are things that are special to her (or to me) that I don't require her to share. It's not everything and sure, I intervene if she's not sharing at all, or if she's hoarding toys, or just being generally selfish, but I also respect her personal boundaries. She has learned the other way, too. If another kid doesn't want to share, well, she has to deal with it. It's called coping and it's important because life isn't fair. At all.

Let's just look at some of this from the perspective of adulthood. Winning and losing. Pretty obvious. If there were no winners or losers, we'd have no presidents, no scholarships, and the Superbowl would be really lame. Winners. Losers. Real life.
As far as sharing... well, if you have to share everything, then I would like to use your Lamborghini for the day good sir. New iPhone6? Don't mind if I do. I mean come on. Sure, it's cool to borrow things from friends or family, certain things, but there are limits. That's the point I'm making here.

I think as a society, we've gotten soft. Come on, now, I'm not that old. Things can't have changed that much... but they have! I love my little girl more than anything in the world. And I want to give her everything she wants in this world and keep her from all pain. But I know, unfortunately, that that is just not realistic. It is my responsibility as her parent to make sure she doesn't turn into an asshole. We aren't just raising kids, we are raising people. They are one day going to be adults, and what was ingrained in them in childhood is going to carry over into their adulthood. So let's teach them how to cope and deal with inevitable disappointment, how to respect others' space, how to work hard and earn things, how to be caring and curious and polite and generous but be just tough enough. I don't want to thicken her skin into rough calluses, I just want her to be just tough enough. It's a fine line to walk, I know, but right now, I think the general way it's being handled is teetering dangerously off that line and into a very bad place.

What say you? Let's have some open communication on this. I'm interested in what you have to say. Respect others' opinions while standing your ground and let's have a dialogue on preparing our children for the big, scary world out there and whether or not this is helping.

do you Believe in Heroes?

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Tue, 30 Sep 2014 02:12:00 +0000

It's super obvious how important the military community is to me. I mean, if I have to tell you that, you're probably a first time visitor, so hello and welcome. To the rest of you loyal folks - hey there, it's me again! Anyway, back to the topic at hand... The military community. So important. As the daughter of a Vietnam Veteran and the widow of an Operation Enduring Freedom Marine, I have seen first hand what war does to our loved ones. I have seen friends come home injured and I have met women who have lost their loved ones after sustaining injuries. War is real and it is brutal. That is why it is so incredibly important to support our military. Those who are serving, those who have served, those who remain after those who have fallen, and those who are injured.

Wounded Warrior Project is a pretty huge organization for America's Wounded Warriors. I doubt there's a person reading this that hasn't heard of WWP, even folks not affiliated with the military community on a personal level have most likely come across WWP at some point, if only at their local Walmarts. Like I said - HUGE organization in support of Wounded Warriors. That it was I was greatly honored when I was approached to be a part of the Believe in Heroes Campaign that raises funds for WWP.

Believe in Heroes is a national campaign that was started in 2010 to unite people doing every day thangs with the WWP. We all grocery shop, right? (Well... I do sometimes... when my kitchen is bare... but let's not go there) Wouldn't it be awesome to save money but raise funds for an awesome charity like Wounded Warrior Project at the same time? If you head over to this link, you can have access to great coupons that will aid in your shopping needs while also raising money for WWP. Awesome right?

Let me give you the low down on how you can get involved:

You can head here to download over $25 worth of coupons.
You can spread the word through social media. Tell all your friends about this awesome opportunity. Help them save money (they'll love you for that) and support a great cause (I'll love you for that)
You can purchase Believe in Heroes merchandise in stores or online

So let me ask you something... Do you Believe in Heroes? Then what are you waiting for?! Get clicking, get shopping, and get helping! The campaign runs through Veteran's Day - November 11th - and coupons are available until November 30th, so you've got plenty of time to get your shop 'n' save on!

Disclosure: I’m participating in the 2014 Believe in Heroes® blogger campaign and received compensation as part of the program.

My Friend, Like Me

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sat, 30 Aug 2014 00:48:00 +0000

I am sitting here and I honestly don't know where to start this post or really how to go about it. The words have been floating around in my head but I just can't organize them. Maybe it's because I still can't grasp the fact that my friend is like me. This young widows club I've belonged to for nearly 5 years has been extended, once again, to include one of my own. And honestly, I am totally and completely not okay with it. I guess I'll begin where logic makes sense, at the beginning.

On Thursday, August 14th at 0559, my phone was vibrating. This was unusual because I'd already silenced my alarm twice and that makes a really annoying ringing sound. The different sound roused me from my sleep and I checked the caller ID. It was my friend Katie. She was in Chicago. I quickly tried to calculate the time difference, "what is it there? 3... 4... in the morning... is she drunk? I guess I should see what's up." I answered and was floored. Right off the bat she told me that our mutual friend, her best friend, had lost her husband the night before. I was still asleep and rambled some questions, still not quite comprehending what she was telling me. As it slowly sunk in I could only think... Fuck. Fuck. Not waking up like this again. Fuck. I texted my dad to see if he was up. Maybe if I talked it out this would make some kind of sense. There was no way a friend of mine from "before" had become one of "us." No. Way. I told my dad what I'd heard and talked it out. This wasn't the first time I'd called him in the wee hours of the morning with terrible news. Things felt too familiar. This must have been one of my nightmares. I texted with Katie, still trying to grasp my bearings. She had said she'd spoken to Raechel so I knew she was up. I called Raechel. She was going to tell me this was some mistake, or I was going to wake up. There was no way this was real life. It was real life. "How did you do it?" She asked me. Fuck. I don't know how I did it. We talked about logistics. I realized if I stuck with business, I'd be okay. I called my then-boyfriend. Things were not okay. I called my boss. I'm going to be late, I need to get myself together. I texted a fellow widow in a similar situation for advice on how to proceed with the business side of things. Stick to business, stick to logistics, stay away from any emotion because the emotions would crush me.

Raechel, what can I say about Raechel. I start to cry as I write this, thinking of my beautiful, strong, graceful friend. Raechel was the girl who introduced me to the 1/6 family. When I was lost in North Carolina with no friends and wandered into the FRO's office, Raechel was there helping with the tour of Camp Lejeune. She was there when I said, "Hey, can I just come hang out with you guys every day?" She was there was I became a Family Readiness Assistant. Along with a couple others who were present that day, she was my first friend in Jonny's unit. Raechel came to the hospital when Ariana was born. She had just gotten back from a trip to Florida and had to drop some things off to a fellow 1/6 wife. She had the knowledge that that particular 1/6 wife talked with her husband over the internet regularly and could let Jonny know his baby girl was coming. She returned to the hospital and snuck me McDs french fries when I was so hungry after being there for hours. She asked what I wanted to listen to and had a Bob Marley song ready when I asked for it. She witnessed Ariana's birth and made Jonny's phone call to witness it possible. She was one of the first ones through the door when the CACO and the Chaplain told me Jonny had died the day before. She walked with me on the side of the road when all I wanted was a fight, keeping me toward the inside of the road in case I got any crazy ideas. She drove a group full of my friends from North Carolina to Delaware to be present when Jonny arrived home from Afghanistan. She came back to North Carolina when I got back with my friends and piled in my bed. She slept at the foot. We told "ghost" stories, and she witnessed Jonny's presence. She came down to Florida for Jonny's services even after finding out her husband had been injured. She stayed as long as she could. She introduced me to Katie. She always understood and never judged. She snuck into my house with me before I closed to check it out.... She's been there for ridiculous amounts of the most important moments in my life. And that's just how she has been present in MY life.

I went to work. I tried to work things out logically. I'd told my dad I wanted to get down there but wasn't sure when was the best time and I'd talk to my mom about it when she woke up. I thought I'd probably go down on the weekend. I tried to work, I only thought of Raechel. I called my best friend. Dammit, another one in our club. Not one of my own from before. I couldn't stay at work. I talked to mom and Mandy more. There was no way I could be here and her there. I told my bosses that and I headed south. There might have been nothing I could do but I had to be there. Maybe I wouldn't be the one pushing the chaplain out of the way, but there was no way I wouldn't be there for my friend.

She was surrounded by great people. Thank God for the great people in our lives who pull us through this shit. I did what I could. I never felt it was enough. Sometimes, I felt it was more for myself. Stay busy, stay logical. I needed to be there for her, but I couldn't let myself slip back 4 years and 5 months ago when I'd entered this. I never expected to be so close again. I did what I could to make things easier, to be there. I learned what my friends have known for years after being next to me during my step into the journey of grief - you have no idea what to do. You do what you can and you pray that what you do makes even a little bit of difference. You pray so hard you can take the pain away but you can't find a way, so you help in any way possible. I knew the pain. Maybe I could absorb it. I'd already done this for our group - wasn't that enough?! Let me take it, I already knew the pain. I didn't want anyone I loved to go through this. My aunt, so close to me, had just gone through this a few months prior and I couldn't do anything about it, please let me just take some of the pain from Raechel. Wasn't there any way to sponge away her pain?

I hate talking about Rob in past tense. It just doesn't feel right. Raechel found him. We all believe it was a bad medicine combination. He was a fucking warrior, how could he just slip away from us? You might know Rob Richards as the badass who was featured pissing on the Taliban. Oh man, how I wished I could have pissed on them, but thanks Rob, for doing it for all of us, including us widows who lost our loves to them. Rob was a sniper. He was injured during Jonny's deployment and made it through. He was hand selected to return. He did his job and he did it extremely well. He was medically retired following the little peeing incident and was well on his way to a new life. He was going to college to become an engineer and work with prosthetics or weapons. I remember the day he came home to Jacksonville from Bethesda. I hadn't been up to visit him, dealing with my own loss and emotions, but had the pleasure and honor of being there when he returned. Even with a cane, he still walked tall. His voice was gruff and rugged, fitting for a warrior but certainly different from the times I'd heard it before the deployment, before his Adam's Apple was replaced with a titanium piece because of the insurgents who pulled a string and detonated a bomb on him. They didn't get him. They didn't win. He thanked me for being there, I thanked him for a job well done and for fighting. He might not have known it, but I thanked him for returning home to my friend. Many others thanked him for returning their loved ones safely. Rob saved lives. He was a warrior and a hero. Over the years I stayed in Jacksonville, I saw him here and there. His fervor for the fight never ended. He wanted to finish what he started. I wasn't surprised to learn he was going back again. Again, he came home. Again, his badassery reigned. Not long after his final homecoming, we learned of the scandal and I will not deny, I was proud and a little jealous. How I wish I could have peed on those men who stole my love from me. Thanks, Rob. Just a little bit of karma! Of course it erupted into a huge ordeal but Raechel stayed strong. Damn, that girl was graceful. There were court hearings and media attentions and changes galore and still she held fast. There were rough times, but they wouldn't get her down. She was an inspiration. Someone to aspire to be like every day with the way she held herself, fought for what she believed in, and most importantly stood by the man she loved the most.

The funeral was held at Bay Pines in St. Pete. I suggested Anderson-McQueen funeral home, the folks that handled Jonny's, for their kind and considerate manner. I attempted to organize what I could and take away as much stress for Raechel as possible. It helped me feel like I was doing something, anything, to help her, and it kept me in the present. Rob was honored. His bike club, American Infidels, rode by his side on the way from Jacksonville to St. Pete. They stood guard while he rested in both cities. Friends far and wide journeyed to honor and remember him, and to lay him to rest. It still wasn't real. I stayed busy. We were surrounded by such amazing people. We found ways to laugh and celebrate a life lost too soon.

The services were beautiful. The services hit close to home. I made it. She made it. We made it. A few hours later, with a little help from alcohol and wondering thoughts, I lost my shit. Repeatedly. I cried over Jonny. I cried over Rob. I cried over all that had happened in the last 5 years. I cried over Raechel's addition to this stupid club. I cried over the absense of light. Raechel let me know it was okay. I apologized. I can't believe after all this, I'd let go and lost it and she was consoling me. Of course she would, because that's Raechel's way - strong, and graceful, and caring. But man... I lost it. I knew better. I knew better than to drink and I knew better than to let myself feel too much during this time, but still I unraveled. Wasn't I supposed to be an example? I assured her time and time again that she would be okay. That I was okay and that I knew she would be okay, and then I proved to her that the pain was still something that couldn't be muted when it wanted to present itself. I kick myself for that. And dammit, this wasn't about me! It was not my time to fall into the depths of my grief. It was my time to be a friend and to be strong for someone I loved. I know that she is fully aware that I hurt. I know she knows so many people hurt along side her. But dammit, couldn't I keep myself together for just another couple days to show her that after time you can make it through. Maybe it was good. Maybe she felt less alone knowing her pain was inexplainable and here was her long time friend with similar inexplainable pain. I hope to God I didn't make her pain worse. The last thing I wanted to do was to make anything harder for her. Pain and grief are sneaky. You think you're doing alright and it sneaks right up on you. I knew better and still I apologize. Some days I think I'm the example of everything not to do as a widow. Do not act a fool. Do not try to hide your pain. Do not be a crazy person... the list goes on and on.

I had to come home. I want to be next to her, even though I'm not sure at this point I could provide any comfort. But I want to. I know that she'll be okay. I know that I have my moments of weakness but I also know that overall I've been okay, even when I just knew I wouldn't be. I want to provide her some sort of guidance into this wretched world of young widowhood, but there's really nothing I can provide except someone who understands. Someone who will never say "I know how you feel" or "I know what you're going through," but who can say, "I understand the suck" and "You will be alright, even through the pain." Someone who can hold her hand and maybe share the pain. Someone who can cry along side her.

Please pray for my beautiful friend in her coming days. It's not going to get easier. One widow told me early on something along the lines of "It doesn't get easier, you get used to it." That is so true. Every day it's hard. It is so damn hard. Every day it hurts. But it becomes your norm and you learn how to deal with it. I hate that I can't take her pain and I know I am not the only one. I hate that she's "like me." A young widow. I hate that she has to embark on this journey. I am comforted in knowing that she is such a strong and graceful person that I know with my whole heart she'll be alright. I am comforted in knowing the widow community is a wonderful place that will embrace her and lift her up. I am comforted in knowing that Rob is in great company up there. I am comforted in knowing that she feels his presence.

You'll be alright, beautiful girl. You may fall apart at inopportune times years later (or that might just be me) but I know that you will be alright. Know I am always, always here for you, even if I'm a few hours away, or having a little meltdown - your stuck with this crazy gal. You are loved. Rob is loved. He will never be forgotten and you will not only survive but you will thrive.

As Raechel embarks on this journey, she will have so many things to deal with. Coping with her loss, navigating her grief, and finding her new norm are of utmost importance. One thing she shouldn't have to worry about is funds or keeping Rob's legacy alive. A Memorial Fund has been created to assist in both of these - to help with costs Raechel will now face in her time of loss and to donate in Rob's name to charities that were most important to him. Even during her own time of tragedy, Raechel is still thinking of others.
Please consider donating to the Rob Richards Memorial Foundation

Wars of the Worsts

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Wed, 16 Jul 2014 03:54:00 +0000

Holy Hell. Quick disclaimer: I am about to go off on quite a rant. Unfortunately, if you came for something uplifting, tonight is not the night. I've got a lot to say and I'm going to say it. Apologies in advance for any swear words.

I'd been wanting to touch again on mommy wars. I'd planned a post to talk about why moms must always feel the need to attack one another over parenting choices instead of bonding together as moms. My good Lord, that post was exponentially blown out of the water tonight.

The grief community is supposed to be one of unity, understanding, compassion, and comfort. Tonight, I saw the most disgusting opposite of that in a private facebook for grieving families. Not only is it a spot to honor loved ones who have fallen, but a place to seek understanding, to vent, and to let out emotion. Grieving people are emotional. No matter how far out in the process you are, it's emotional, so I will try to keep that in mind as I ease into this.

A widow posted a question on the site that could have been construed as offensive to grieving parents. I am not saying her question was right or wrong, although I really don't think she had ill intention behind it. It could have been worded better, yes, but I think she wanted some validation to something that was bothering her. She wanted to vent, to seek some understanding, and to be comforted about something that was bothering her. I do not know this widow personally, so all of this is just assumption, but after reading her question and following comments, that is the conclusion I came to.
At first, many grieving parents were upset, and I can see their side as why they could have been offended and an argument unfolded. The question is irrelevant and not something I'm going to get into here, as the post quickly spiraled away from the topic at hand and it is the ensuing shit storm to where this blog is heading.
It escalated from simple, "What you asked was wrong," to, "You can't possibly hurt as much as we do."

Wait. What??
Yes. Someone, or a few someones, started telling this widow that she could never know the pain of burying a child and that her pain was therefore inferior to theirs as parents.
What. The. Fuck.

I am not writing this to argue whose pain is greater. I know the widow world. I walk those shoes daily. It fucking hurts. It is the worst pain I have ever imagined. I know that not only do you lose a spouse, a partner, a love; but you lose your whole world. This was the person you pledged forever to. The person you had plans with. You were supposed to... (fill in the blank). And ya know what? I can not freaking imagine the pain of the parents burying their children. They lost the person they gave life to! The person they were supposed to see grow old, supposed to... (fill in the blank). No parent should ever have to bury a child, that's just not the natural order of things. Both. Ways. Suck. But to turn it into a competition? You have got to be kidding me. As one widow friend of mine elegantly pointed out in the comments, Your perception is your reality. Let that sink in for a moment. Losing Jonny was the single worst experience of my life. In my world, my bubble, my brain, there has been no greater pain than that. I believe it may be safe to assume, that losing Jonny was also the single worst experience of his mother's life. In her world, bubble, brain, there has been no worse pain. Losing my husband was my worst pain, losing a son was hers. Pain, is pain, is pain. It is never a fair assumption to say someone else's pain is not as bad as yours. Never. Hell, in other people's lives, getting a divorce is their greatest pain. I have never been through that. Therefore, it would be completely unfair of me to say Losing my husband in death was much more painful than you losing your husband to infidelity. How in the world can I know that when I have never lived in that person's brain?

I remember a time once when my mom-in-law said to me simply, "You had him for two years. I had him for 26." I hugged her and we cried and held on to each other, sharing in our pain. If one were to analyze the statement, one may wonder, was she assuming her pain is greater than mine, as she lost someone she's had for so many years? One may also assume, is she insinuating my pain is the worst, as I hardly got any time with him in comparison? There need not be an analysis. It is a statement of fact. She had him for 26 years. So long, yet so damn short. She knew him his whole life. He was her child. She raised him and was present for all of his milestones. She was not supposed to outlive him. I had him for 2 years. He was the love of my life, my husband. A wonderful 2 years full of a lifetime of love, but so short. So many things we missed out on together. So many experiences we would never share. It. All. Sucks. PAIN is PAIN is PAIN. The fact of the matter is we lost someone incredibly close to both of us, and in that, we can comfort each other, support each other, and sympathize with each other. No, we will never completely understand the others' pain, but we will know we are not alone in our grief and sadness and in missing him.

The thread was then heightened another notch when a grieving parent commented along the lines of "You can remarry. We can't have another child and replace him." Stop right there. Just. Fucking. Stop.

Let's just talk about this for a second. Just a second because it is really a topic that deserves it's own post (or several). Are you implying that by remarrying I am replacing my husband? I know several widows who are remarried, in serious relationships, moving forward with their lives. In no way, shape, or form does that mean their spouse has been replaced. Absolutely not. It's impossible. I mean, come on. There are a variety of people and a variety of ways to handle things. Some people continue to talk about their late spouses regularly even in new relationships, some choose to remember them quietly or on their own, and others choose to gently close that chapter. In none of those circumstances has that person been replaced.
Just because someone moves forward with their life, keeps living, does not, by any means, mean they have forgotten their past. Do you honestly believe that even those who may not speak of their late spouse often, or share much information about him, really do not think of him? No. You can't tell me that. All circumstances are varied but you can not make me believe that anyone just moves on and forgets and gets a replacement.
And on that note, if I can replace him so easily by remarrying, why can't you replace him just as well by having another child? Too old? Can't conceive? Adopt. Adopt another child. There ya have it, a replacement child. Oh, that doesn't work for you? It doesn't replace the son you lost? WELL HEEIIIDY HO! Maybe now you see where I'm coming from! Maybe now you realize YOU CAN'T JUST FUCKING REPLACE SOMEONE! And seriously, who says that? Who even has the mind to put together that sentence that you can just go ahead and remarry and that will fix everything?
And just for shits and giggles, even if it were desirable or at all possible - do you honestly think it's really that easy to just go and remarry?! Because yes, there is a gaggle of men just waiting to propose to our crazy, sobbing asses. Because no, dating widows isn't one of the toughest things many men may encounter (just ask my past boyfriends - it ain't a walk in the park). Because, of course, we just happened to have a fucking backup list of in case I need a replacement, let me go get a new one! This isn't freaking car shopping!!!! Maybe you total your car and you go buy a shiny new replacement and you don't even think of your old car. You had an eye on the car you wanted so you'll just go pick it up, easy peezy. That's because it is an object. You don't just replace a person!
You don't replace a spouse, you don't replace a child, you don't replace a sibling, a parent. If someone dies, it's not all fixed because there is another one. My husband was one of 10. I know for a fact his siblings miss him every day, and their pain is great and real. They don't feel less grief because they have other siblings. They haven't just replaced his absence by becoming closer to another sibling. You don't replace people you love! Hell, if you really think about it, you don't even replace people you don't love. They are people. They come in and out of your lives and you remember them and the ones you love you keep them in your heart. You live your life as best as you can, you move forward, and you hold sacred their memory in your heart forever. You never, ever replace.

So with this ranting out of the way and the stupidity of the comments analyzed, I must say, I pray for those folks. I really do, and not in the southern, "Bless your heart," sarcastic way. I pray for them because, like all of us in that group, they have lost someone so dear to them. They are hurting. They are in pain. And pain is pain is pain. Grief is a nasty bitch. It comes and goes as it pleases and it causes us to say and do things we might not have done with a clear un-grieving mind. Those moms said something I found to be incredibly stupid and hurtful, but they are hurting, too. They are women who love their sons and ache daily. They are probably not stupid or mean. Just because you say or do something perceived as stupid or mean does not mean you are stupid or mean. We aren't always our words or actions. We lash out, we get offended, we get defensive. Shit happens. I do think in groups like that, though, it is important to remember we are in this together. We walk very different paths in the same world. We each have a different grief story, but it is still grief. Like the moms who are attacking each other over parenting, the grieving communities need to band together and hold one another up. Humans need to band together and hold one another up. We need to support, comfort, and attempt to understand others. We need to stop comparing and competing and engaging in these "Wars of the Worsts," and learn to love, empathize, and forgive. Because really, it is humanity that makes us human and it certainly seems there is a dire lack of human in this world. Synonyms of humanity include compassion, brotherly love, fraternity, fellow feeling, kindness, understanding, and sympathy. Let's put the humanity back in human. Let's together learn to hold one another up. There's enough war in this world, in that group we are all victims of war in some form. Let's over power the war in our lives with love for one another.

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."
- Mother Theresa

* I use sons and he a lot, please don't think I discredit you if you've lost a daughter or a she. I use the word that applies to my story (and is simply easier than writing he/she each time) and encourage you to read in the way that suits your story.
** A huge shout out to the 3 widow friends of mine that I do know personally who helped spark this piece by their own comments on the thread. A lot of what you had to say was exactly what I was thinking. It's really crazy how we really can all be on the same page sometimes. W <3 p="">

From the Mouths of Babes

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Wed, 09 Jul 2014 03:33:00 +0000

Driving in the truck the other day:

Ariana: I miss my daddy. When is him coming back down to us?

Me: (thinking, crap, how do I answer this without upsetting her?) Well baby, he can't come back down.

Ariana: But he is in Heaven.

Me: Yes, that's right.

Ariana: Well, if you keep the people you love who went to Heaven in your heart, they will always come back to you.

And that my friends, is how I was schooled by my far-wiser than me 4 year old.

Thank God for children. Thank God for my beautiful little girl who can really put me in my place and remind me of what is important.

I fear that one day she'll keep waiting for him to come back down and realize that while he is in our hearts every single day, he can't physically come back down to us, and that will crush her. I just pray she always feels him with her, always has her own special relationship with him.

Father's Day was pretty difficult for her. We sent balloons to Heaven like we always do, and afterward she cried and said how much she missed her daddy. My only strategy was to remind her that her daddy loves her and is watching from Heaven and we will see him again some day and in the meantime to remember she has so many people here on Earth with her who love her, too.

Parenting is so hard and so rewarding. It is a constant lesson and a constant test. I never want to hurt her, but I also want to be real with her. I want her to understand things, even if those things are hard and unfair. I think, as I've said before, that she has a far better understanding than most adults I know.

Day is Done, Gone the Sun

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Wed, 28 May 2014 02:43:00 +0000

I remember when we used to sing Taps at the end of camping trips and other Girl Scout functions. I never really understood why my dad, a Vietnam veteran, seemed to cringe when we'd sing the tune, or why he'd mute the TV when it played on shows the news. I remember loving Memorial Day, being awesome as a day off school and a kick start to summer, and while I knew the reason behind it, I wasn't quite sure as to why some people seemed so solemn. Now, it's a race between dad and I to the remote for the mute button at the first note of Taps, and I'm a huge advocate for "reason for the season" type information on Memorial Day. Ignorance is bliss. When something hits close to home, you really understand things. You grasp what you've been missing for years. And you wish it weren't quite so personal.

I've gotta say, I am so, so proud of my facebook friends this weekend and yesterday. So many of you were sharing the true meaning of Memorial Day and enlightening those who may not have a personal relation to the "holiday." I saw post upon post about how Memorial Day and Veteran's Day are different, about how it's not just the beginning of summer or just a day for BBQing (although it is an ideal day to BBQ and I believe our guys in Heaven would appreciate a good BBQ!), and about the true meaning of Memorial Day and how "Happy Memorial Day" might not be exactly appropriate, (the post about would you say 'Happy Funeral Day' to someone really resonated with me, that was a good one). I don't know if knowing us personally drove some people to share their thoughts on the importance of the day or if they're just educated folks, but I just want to thank everyone for remembering and honoring. You guys were amazing and I was really pleased with my newsfeed yesterday. The only way to cure ignorance (and I do not mean that in a derogatory way but only a definition - lack of education - way) is to educate. I commend you, friends of mine on facebook, for educating, for honoring, and for remembering.

My Memorial Day was pretty low-key this year. I spent the early parts of the day working on the chicken coop here at LPF. We recently acquired 6 chickens and 2 ducks and I am beyond ready to move them out of my garage and into their own home. So we worked all day, I burned my skin, and we got a majority of the coop built (huge thanks to my amazing family for helping me in all my crazy farm endeavors, I love you and you are the best!) In the evening, I had a small "viewing party" with Ariana, my parents, and some of my closest friends to watch the Memorial Day special on HLN that Jonny, Ariana and I were featured in. It was nice having some of my closest homies with me to watch. A group of people who have been there, some "before" and some "after," and known me at various points in my journey. I can't thank them, and all of you, enough for your support during this crazy roller coaster of life. I am so grateful to have such an amazing support network and to be assured that Jonny's memory will live on. I am a lucky girl to be surrounded by such amazing people. I am also so grateful with the job HLN did on my story, as well as the two following stories. I was super moved by the story that followed mine, a fellow Gold Star wife who is also an active duty soldier, as well as the last story of the show, that of the journey of a West Point jacket making it back to it's owner's widow. I want to thank the folks over at HLN (Andres you rock and it was a pleasure working with all of you!!) for following along and reading, supporting us Gold Star families, and doing an amazing Memorial Day special. I am also really impressed with the written portion of my story, I think they did our story justice, highlighted some very important parts of our life together, and I believe Jonny would be proud. If you missed it and want to check it out, here's my portion, and the rest can be found on the HLN site, as well.

Also, how do you guys like the new set up? I want to thank the lovely Nicole at Broken Road Creative for providing me with the most beautiful blog designs since I started this thang. Nicole, you are the bees knees and I love you! If you are interested in getting your blog revamped at Broken Road, please feel free to use the code ALITTLEPINK until June 27, 2014, to get 25% off your pre-made or custom blog design with Nicole.

I hope you all enjoyed your long weekend, had a great time with friends and family, ate delicious foods, and had a drink or two for those who are watching from Heaven and guarding the pearly gates!

Semper Fi,
Mrs P

Rodeo Clown

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Mon, 19 May 2014 02:05:00 +0000

One thing I've always prided myself on is having the ability to laugh at myself. It's very rare that I take myself seriously. I'd rather be goofing off and making fun out of life, because I really want to enjoy my time here.

When I was a kid, I really disliked going to Sunday school. I was raised Catholic and thus we attended a Catholic church and Sunday school. It always seemed as if the kids there all knew each other and I was an outsider. I never really felt I fit in there. I was kind of a shy kid - believe it or not. I told my dad that I really didn't like going, that it wasn't fun and I didn't have friends there. I will never forget the lesson he taught me, as I've lived by it ever since (and it might help explain why I am usually ridiculous). He told me you can make fun out of anything, you just have to find a way how. He never said don't take your studies seriously, or don't learn, he just said find a way to enjoy even the things you don't really like to do. Because let's face it, as adults, hell as children even, we all have to do tons of things we don't like to do (I type this as I wait on laundry to finish so I can switch the wet load over before bed and not have a stinky load of clothes... which happens... a lot).

So I went forth with his advice. I became a bit of a goofball. I still take things seriously, I've always done well in school and I always try to do a good job at work, whatever work that may be at the time, but I find ways to enjoy it. I chat and make friends, I tell really, really corny jokes. I dress in silly outfits. Just things to make me, and sometimes even the people around me, smile and enjoy even the yucky tasks.

I really hate running. Like super hate it. But I've always been pretty intrigued by fun runs. (Yea, I know, makes no sense to me either). Maybe the obstacles and the getting dirty are the silly part of running that make me actually want to do the task I hate - run. So when I saw the ROC (Ridiculous Obstacle Challenge) Race was coming to Baltimore - I had to try it. I mean, who hasn't watched Wipe Out! and totally wanted to try those crazy stunts. So today a group of friends and I set out to conquer the blow up appartuses (apparati?) that were erected throughout Baltimore. Ok, so it definitely didn't help me enjoy running... in fact to be honest, I didn't even run much (nothing like something physically demanding to show you how wickedly out of shape you really are), but I had so much fun! Some people were there in silly outfits. Some were there looking relatively cute with makeup and stuff (hey no judgement here, I just don't get the point myself but I'm not pro!) not I! I got totally into the ridiculous theme. In fact, I looked like this:

The Hillbilly Hustlaz (another stroke of creative genius stolen from my dad), Thanks Guys!

Go ahead, laugh. I was. All the way to the finish line (even it took me a bajillion hours!) It was such a hilarious and fun filled day. I'm so thankful to have friends who get goofy with me, especially when I really need a pick me up.

People have asked me how I could still laugh in the times shortly after Jonny's death, or how I can laugh and say some of the inappropriate widow humor things I say (we're dark, dark people) and the truth is that I would much rather be laughing than crying. Life is hard. There is no doubt about that. And often, life isn't funny at all. But if we take a moment to find something even remotely amusing even in the hardest of times, if we can find our sense of humor even when everything looks bleak, than maybe we might have a little hope to keep smiling and laughing all the way to the finish line.

Overload

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sat, 10 May 2014 03:31:00 +0000

Do you ever feel that you have so many thoughts happening in your brain that if you add just one more the whole thing might just explode? Or so many things to write about you try and your fingers get cramped up before you're even a millimeter through what you need to get out? That's about where I'm at these days. The funny thing is, it looks to you as if I haven't been writing, but I have been, just not posting. I just can't make sense of so much that's going on upstairs.

A week ago was my five year wedding anniversary. FIVE years. Can you believe it? And he's been heaven bound over four... What is five years anyway? Wood?

I'm starting graduate school in the fall. I know I've mentioned it but I can't believe it at all. I'm excited and terrified at the same time. I may or may not have the nerves poops on my first day.

We lost my uncle to his battle with cancer last month. Cancer sucks. Death sucks. Many people try to comfort those experiencing a loss by reminding us they're in a better place. Which I don't doubt. But the selfish human parts of us just want them here with us. It's hard to believe nearly a month later that he's really gone. Someone who was so full of life and laughter and love and fun isn't on this earth anymore. It's harder to believe it was near a year after his diagnosis that God took him home. But then again, it's still hard to believe that someone as full of life as Jonny was is gone sometimes even four years later. People always say there's some kind of reason behind these things but until I know the reason I don't want to be reminded there is one because at this current time, it sucks.

I filmed a Memorial Day special with HLN that will be airing, of course, on Memorial Day. Sharing Jonny's story has been so important to me over these years, and I'm pretty excited for the piece. I'll be sharing more about that as it gets closer, but I wanted to thank the folks at HLN for reading and working with us and for most importantly honoring Jonny.

Sometimes I'm so selfish. I get wrapped up in my own crap that I forgot about others'. I don't like realizing this about myself. Every person is going through some sort of trouble and relationships are such two way streets. I hate thinking of myself as self absorbed but heck here I am writing about myself. I wish I knew the way to be a better person. Sometimes I look at all the ways I've changed over the years and I'm proud of what I've endured, then I see some changes that just make me want to hang my head in shame. I need to work on that.

We bought chickens. To add to our little mini farm that's not really a farm. Can't argue with having farm fresh eggs. It's really neat to watch Ariana watch these little chicks grow. I'm excited for her to see another place where food comes from. I think it's important to teach our kids about hard work and rewards, life in general, and the processes that take place to support life.

My kiddo knows more about death than most adults. Well maybe not knows, but it's not as taboo for her, she talks about it openly. I wonder if this will be a good thing or a bad thing down the road. I'm sad that she has experienced loss in such a way that it's stuck with her at such a young age, but I'm glad that she seems to be grasping these hard topics and not afraid to discuss them. It is, in fact, an inevitable part of life. Maybe she will be a grief counselor or a motivational speaker one day. Maybe she will be an artist or an architect, too though. Sometimes she'll songs about her uncle and her daddy who died. The other day she handed me a pretend phone. I thought she was going to chat with me but instead she said, "Hi it's daddy from Heaven." After a heart stopping second I replied, "Oh hello it's good to hear from you, how are you?" "I'm good, it's very nice up here." Thanks for the reassurance kiddo. Then she said Oh it's time to talk to Uncle Chris, and it went on like that for a little bit.

Sometimes I feel lost, like I don't know which direction is up and which way I want to head anymore. Sometimes I feel like I'm steady treading water but I can't quite reach the shore to have a rest. I should quit smoking so I don't get so winded while treading...

I want to be a better person. I really, really do. I've been in a funky mood lately. I still feel the happiness and stuff but I've just been in a really weird place. Maybe it's just all that seems to be going on at once.

I need to put Ariana's bike together. I am really hoping to be able to enjoy bike rides throughout the summer. Did you know kids bikes come in a frickin box that you have to assemble?! Adult bikes you push to the register, kids' bikes, you hunt for a wrench...

This was an incredibly disjointed entry... to post or not the post... that is the question.
Here goes nothin'.

Always with the Roller Coaster Analogies

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sat, 12 Apr 2014 03:05:00 +0000

I think man created roller coasters as a simulation of real life. Of emotion and events of a person's lifecours. I know, I know, it is so cliche to say Oh life is such a roller coaster, but I mean it is so accurate - the ups and downs, the turns, the loops. Roller coasters were made to be fun, are the ups and downs what make lief fun as well? If you think of the other cliche quote, Without the rain you wouldn't appreciate the sunshine, this makes a little sense, we appreciate the happy days more because we have to experience the sad ones, too. The ups and the downs. If it was all ups, it would be predictable and we wouldn't appreciate them nearly as much. Maybe?

So I could start off by saying things have been a rollercoaster around these parts, but that's to be expected because hey - it's life! A close family member of mine is experiencing some extreme hardships. Due to their privacy, I'm not going to really get into what's going on, but I would like if you would send some prayers and happy thoughts to my family, we could really use some uplifting during these tough times.

While my thoughts have been mostly preoccupied by my family situation, I was pleased to have a couple of the "ups" of life's roller coaster this week as well. I found out a few days ago that I was selected to be kept on as a permanent employee at my job. I was hired as a temp, but a few spots opened up and I was one of those chosen to be kept. I was pretty stoked to hear that, because I was just preparing for the transition of going back to not working. Phew. Then yesterday, I got some exciting news that I have been waiting for and can't keep to myself any longer - I applied for graduate school and got accepted! Starting in the fall, I will be on the journey towards a Master's Degree in Professional Writing. I waso so excited to receive that letter yesterday and then reality came crashing into me when I thought - CRAP how in the world am I going to swing this. Thanks to my awesome mom, I'm pretty sure I will make it work. I'm a lucky gal with a great support team. I want to show my daughter that it is okay to strive to be better in life and that anything is possible. Hopefully when she is older she will think of me as a hard worker who followed her dreams and I will inspire her to do the same.

I didn't think much could take me down from the high of opening that letter yesterday, but life through me through a loop, yet again. After dinner at my mom's, my mom brought over the wishbone they had drying out to A and I. She told A she needed to make a wish and then we'd break the wishbone and whomever ended up with the larger piece would get their wish granted. I made my wish in my head, and then encouraged A to do the same. She, being a 4 year old, spoke her wish outloud. "I wish... I wish.... I wish for my daddy to come back to us," she proudly announced. Insert instant heartbreak. I guess it wasn't fair of us to insuate that her wishes actually could come true. I really thought she'd wish for a swing set or new toy or vacation. That's what I get for thinking. I choked back tears as we both pulled the wishbone together. And you know what happened? No one won. The wishbone snapped, the top piece flew off and she and I were left holding equal sized pieces. Balance. The laws of the Universe. It wouldn't have been fair to tell her flat out no, but of course there was no way she could win, so in the end what needed to happen happened. How it happened, I will never know. Coincidence? Fate? Universe balancing? Who knows.

It certainly put me in a funk for a bit. She's been talking about him more. After we broke the wishbone, she told me, I really miss my daddy. My little girl misses the dad she never got to meet and it breaks my heart. She tells me often how she wants a daddy. Sometimes she'll say things out of the blue like I don't have a daddy. I remind her that she does, he's just in Heaven, but he is always, ALWAYS with her. It's hard to make a 4 year old comprehend this when she just wants her daddy. Sigh. I wish I could take the ache of his loss away from her. No, actually I don't. Our pain makes us who we are, and missing him reminds us that he was here and that we are so loved. I do wish, though, that she could have had the life we were planning on, that she could have grown up with her daddy. Since that is yet another wish that can't be granted, my practical wish is that I can do my best for her. That she will always know that she is loved. Maybe, that I can find an earthly dad for her since her dad has to be in Heaven. Those are my practical, possible wishes.

After that, she and I enjoyed the rest of our evening. It went really well actually, another "up" so to speak. I can't stop thinking about her dad and her though. I can't stop thinking of the realities of life's fragility. And above all else, I can't stop trying.

Work and What To Expect

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sat, 08 Feb 2014 01:38:00 +0000

Hello people of blog land! How goes it after all this passed time? Life in the land of Mrs P has been quite thrilling as of late. The biggest news I have to share is that for the first time ever in my life, I have a full time job. I work 40 hours a week, 8 to 430, Monday through Friday. I often wondered if I would ever see the day! I'm still very new at the working mom experience, and so far, if I had to sum it up in one word it would be hectic. In the mornings, I rush to get myself ready and suitable for work and A ready enough to travel from my house to my parent's. I am super lucky having my parents so close and so willing to help me out while I try out this whole working full time thing. My job is pretty interesting and I am pretty excited to see how it will go. Not really going to get into all of the specifics so let's just leave it at it's a pretty neat experience. Once we're out the ready(ish) and out the door, I drop A off with her favorite people and I head to work for the day. So far, I've met some really neat people which always makes new situations easier. I am, and always will be, the weird kid, and I am finally at a point in my life where I'm totally okay with it, in fact I embrace it. I think I make people laugh for the most part. I probably annoy them a little, too. I'm trying not to, sometimes I have a pretty big personality - ha. After work, I pick A up and head home to have some dinner. Some mornings I feel extra ambitious and make crock pot meals that are ready when we arrive home and other evenings I just cook when I get home. I have cooked every night that I've worked except one, though, and I feel super accomplished when I realize that I am somehow doing "it all." After dinner it's some playing/chilling out time, then bed time. Rinse and repeat for 5 consecutive days. Add in dance class for A on Friday nights. That's the jist of my life these days.

The transition from stay at home most the time mom to working full time hasn't been the easiest. Getting up super early (AKA before my kiddo) is definitely not my favorite thing to do. I often feel rushed and overwhelmed. But along with that comes this awesome feeling of pride and accomplishment. Somehow I am finding a balance and handling this. I do tend to get a little grouchy in the evenings, and that is definitely on my agenda to work on. I think as I adjust to the changes in sleep and the tiredness from working and using my brain again (not that I didn't use my brain with my kiddo, but you know, different brain usage).

Before working full time, I kind of envied working parents. Not that I am not crazy in love with my little princess, but sometimes hanging out with a four year old nearly 24/7 can be a little exhausting. She is an amazing little kid, she entertains me, I learn from her, we have a great time. But sometimes it's nice to feel like a grownup. To have a little bit of something that's for me. It's also good to feel... productive. Not that raising a tiny human being is productive... I can't really articulate but anyway, I just thought it was a little cool and maybe, I hate to admit... easier. Now, I know that isn't the case. It's tough! It's a huge balancing act. BUT stay at home parenting isn't easy either! I always kind of feel SAHMs and working moms are kind of at war. Who's job is harder. Which way is the "right" way. Newsflash: They're BOTH freaking hard. Some in similar ways, and some in their own way. Heck - PARENTING is hard! What I think, is as long as you're doing what's best for you and what's best for your family keep on keepin on. Want to give something a shot? Want to try working? Try it. Want to try SAHMing? Try it. Ok, it's not that easy for everyone to just try something new. Like I said, I'm lucky. I have an awesome support system, my parents are A's best friends and she loves spending every day with them and they love having every day with her. Sooo... here I am, testing out being a working mom... wish me luck.

In other mom news, I have something very exciting to share. I was approached by the folks over at WhatToExpect.com, yes like the book and movie, What to Expect When You're Expecting, to guest post on their blog. The blog went live today and I'm pretty stoked for this opportunity. So if you have a second and want to hear more of my mumbo jumbo, head on over and check out my piece, and feel free (AKA please do) leave a comment for me over there!

Birthday Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Tue, 14 Jan 2014 17:05:00 +0000

Birthdays kick my ass. Apart from the angelversary, birthdays are the toughest mile stones for me since Jonny's death. There's something about celebrating our lives continuing on with him gone that just really, really blows. Obviously. Every birthday since he's died I've, at the very least, cried, and at the most had a complete widow break down.

Last year, I turned 26. I talked about how difficult that was for me, officially "outliving" my husband. I went to Golden Corral with my family, an old family tradition, and I started crying at the table. How pathetic. Right? I was 26, outliving my husband, getting older, sitting in crappy Golden Corral, not unlike the Golden Corral we were at when we found out he was deploying... it was bad and silent tears slipped down my face as the realities of my life hit me. It wasn't that bad though. A bit of moping the week leading up to and the week following and my birthday was over. For 27 this year, I was with my best friend in the world in Chicago. I had a really fun birthday. We went out for dinner and drinks, there was great conversation and a ton of laughing. We got back to my friend's house and I laid in her lap and cried until I passed out. Sobbed. Getting older sucks.

The baby's birthday is even harder. In fact, I'm pretty sure that every one of her birthdays has lead to a sobfest post festivities. Her dad should be here, watching her grow. I distract myself with throwing a grand party, making sure she has the best day possible, going all out with invitations and decorations. But as I've learned along this grief journey, there's only so long you can hide, only so long until the distractions are over before it's time to face the overwhelming sadness and pain that we have celebrated every single one of her birthdays without him.

Four years ago today I was told by my OB at my 38 week check up that I would probably be having a baby today. She told me to go home and eat because they won't feed me once I'm checked in to L&D and then head to the hospital in an hour or so. I was 4cm and 100% effaced and Ariana was banging on the doors to get out. Three hours and a Mario marathon later, my mom was practically dragging me out of the house telling me it's been far longer than one hour. We checked in to the hospital and began the wait for her arrival. A lot of strolls through the halls, forcibly broken water, stolen McDonalds fries, and several hours later Ariana Ralyn graced the world with her presence at 1:44 in the morning on January 15. Jonny was on the phone, present for her delivery. He was beyond happy for her arrival. He was the proudest dad I had ever encountered. He just couldn't wait to be a dad and it was finally his time, all he had to do was get home and meet her.

Fast forward four years. It's the third party I'm throwing without him. The third cake we'll be eating without him. She'll blow out the candles surrounded by our family and friends, she'll be happy and excited and the party will be awesome. And a little piece of me will break away, as it does every year, every birthday without him. It's just not fair. And it sucks.

I keep myself with the thought that even though we miss out on him, he's not missing out on us. He'll be watching and he'll still be the proud dad he was. He'll know how hard I tried to give her the most awesome birthday possible. He'll be proud of how I've done, even when I feel I'm barely treading water. He'll be routing me on and I must focus on that fact, to keep from drowning in the sorrow of his absence.

Now, I will focus on the party prep. I'll go above and beyond, more than you probably "should" for a four year old's birthday party, but it will keep me focused, and moving, and partially happy. Not grief or sadness free, but if I have a purpose and can make it good for her, it can be mostly good for me. I'll celebrate as hard as I can, and I'll probably cry, too. It doesn't get easier. Grief just doesn't go away. It gets different, it gets "normal" but I wouldn't say it gets easier. But each year, we deal, we move forward, and we do the best we can.

Today, I'm reliving the day I went into labor. I'm missing Stink and I'm missing my tiny little girl. I'm also reminded of how far we've come since this day four years ago and I am proud. Proud of my own achievements, proud of the awesome little girl I have, and proud that through the pain we continue to live.

Blizzard Conditions

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sun, 08 Dec 2013 21:28:00 +0000

Holy cow has it really been over two months since I've posted?! And the award for worst blogger goes to.... RJP for Inconsistency!!

Well a lot has happened since October, but I really don't feel like recapping everything. It's crazy that I find myself on here on a blustery blizzardy Maryland day that marks 4 years since I last saw Mr. P in the flesh. I thought today would be pretty rough but I think the combination of pretty snow, snuggles in the Love Sac, and delicious chocolate have kept me pretty mellow.

As 2013 comes to a close and I approach a new year of my own life (my birthday is in 4 days!) I have been doing quite a bit of mental recapping as of late. Things in life are pretty hectic right now and for a minute I thought the stress was going to crush me. Somehow I've managed to continue to see the silver lining and keep on truckin' though. Thank God for optimism and a pretty stellar support system.

On Friday I had a little birthday party for myself. It turned out to be a lot of fun with some really great people. My bf made it more wonderful than I was anticipating and I'm certainly so thankful to have him in my life. I think everyone had fun and for once I executed an event where nothing super crazy happened! Hooray.

Reflecting on the journey I've made in the last few years has been interesting. I'd say one of the biggest changes in myself would be the ability to live and let go. I am learning in my adulthood that people come in and out of our lives and we can't always hang on to them. There was a time not too long ago that I struggled to hold on to each and every person in my life. If I felt a friendship was failing or distance growing, I would exert all effort and a lot of heartache to find the whys and figure out how to fix it. Fortunately for my sanity, I've come to terms with the ebbs and flows of relationships in one's lifetime. Sometimes, it's just time to let go. There's no use in wasting time and tears on people that are no longer supposed to be in your life. Maybe that's a harsh truth. I'm sure not everyone will agree with this assessment but in my eyes, it is what it is. Sure, try to fortify and grow relationships that are important to you, but when it comes the time that the relationships are just constant fights and neither party is benefitting from the relationship itself, what's the point anymore? I think that's where I've seen my biggest change and growth - the ability to learn when enough is enough, wish the other person well and move onward. And that's the part that counts the most - wish the other person well. Just because our relationship isn't what it once was doesn't mean I wish ill upon you, it just means separating is best for all those involved and I hope your life and mine are more productive and fuller without the added stressor of maintaining a crumbling resemblance of friendship. I have also learned which types of friendships are made to last and which are more of the superficial variety, best friends versus acquaintances, I suppose.

Speaking of best friends, can I just brag that I will be spending my birthday this year with my best friend? I can not wait. Although I am pretty nervous about the Chicago weather conditions considering we're experiencing a pretty fierce winter weather day here, I imagine it's tenfold in the midwest. That whole thing has me up in arms but besides that I am anxiously awaiting the reunion with my one and only bestie and one week of much needed bestie ridiculousness! On top of that fabulousness, said bestie's sister is getting married so not only will what should be a national holiday AKA the day of my birth be getting celebrated, but another should be national holiday, the union of these two fine folks, will be celebrated as well. Can you say week of epic proportions?!

I must say I am also pretty excited to be taking a break from my house. Literally, my house. Anyone else experience constant home ownership struggles?! Sometimes I really think buying a house was the worst decision I made in my adult life. I mean seriously, when I rented and things went wrong, I called the realtor or rental company and they figured out a solution and took care of it. Boom, done. When you own, there's no one above you - you're it. So guess what, bud? YOU have to figure out the solution. So gross. For a house that isn't even 10 years old, I'm certainly experiencing my fair share of homeowner's nightmares. Luckily I've got a great network (and a super awesome dad) and it appears we will be able to get these issues fixed up. I just have to keep my woosah going until everything is finished. And then maybe I can take a breath (but not too big of one or something else might go awry!)

What is it about winter weather that puts people in a Christmas mood? I guess it's because Christmas happens in the winter (a-duuuuh), so it's easier to "feel" the season? All I know is now with all this silly snow I'm getting pretty excited about finishing up the decorating (although is this weather continues decorating outside will not be happening) and preparing for Santa's visit. I'm getting super excited for all of our holiday traditions and for sharing them with my daughter who at nearly four is much more excited about things this year and my sweetie. Speaking of my sweetie, bet ya wanna hear more about him? Let's just say he's pretty fantastic and our relationship has been a long time coming and after knowing each other for years it's so wonderful to finally be together. That's all you're gonna get for now - don't be greedy :-P

Well folks, I hope you stay warm and I am wishing everyone the happiest of holiday wishes!

Semper Fi,
Mrs P

The Journey

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Tue, 08 Oct 2013 04:30:00 +0000

Here's the funny thing about life. It is a constant, unending journey. Sure, it appears there's a beginning, middle, and end; much like a story. But is it really that simple? No, I don't think so.

If you pay attention, in life you are constantly changing. I can't imagine any human that's ever truly stagnant, even a recluse locked up with his or her own thoughts. And I'm no recluse, so the opportunities for change are constant.

The hard part is, just when you think you've finally figured things out, that you've finally got a handle on this crazy life journey, you are often reminded that you don't. A new challenge is thrown your way. A new revelation or discover. A new person to shake things up. It's completely naive to believe that you are the same person today that you were yesterday.

The best thing we can do with this journey is try to learn from it. Learn from our mistakes and attempt to continue to grow. Sometimes, that's so much easier said than done. Sometimes, you learn things about yourself that you wish you never knew. So you strive to fix them but in the process are you fixing anything or are you just circling back and making the same mistakes again?

It's hard to face your flaws. It's also necessary. In order to develop and grow, you have to face your shortcomings and overtake them. And that is no easy feat. You think you're doing well and then you realize how much farther you still have to go.

Through this journey I've learned so much about myself and I've had to face some pretty harsh realizations and seriously man up about some of my own short comings. Each day I feel I work a little harder to mold myself into the person that I want to be and then BAM I'm forty steps back and I feel like I am starting all over, conquering the same obstacles again and again.

What holds me back most often? Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of love, fear of happiness, fear of life. I know I've felt like I've conquered it before but then these setbacks come and they really get to me. I was recently told that I can't live life being afraid of life, and that is so true. I get so scared that I put up these stupid walls, I continuously push people away - most often the people I actually care the most about, I try to hide behind my grief and my loss so that I don't have to feel anymore. Because if you don't feel, you don't hurt. What I forget is that I end up hurting even more in the end. All because I try to hide and pretend and block. Always because I am scared. And even though I can realize this, typically when it's too late, I still end up right back at this spot. Grasping to survive because my fear has held me back once again. With people, with opportunities, with life lessons.

I realize that I get inside my own head and I displace assumptions. "I can't finish that..." "This person won't like this..." "No one can handle that..." When really, it's me inside my own head, scaring myself. In a crappy attempt at protecting myself, I am destroying myself.

When will I be willing to give up the fear? When will I let myself just live, the way I know deep in my heart I deserve to. So why am I so scared to?? Am I afraid that I will forget? Or leave him behind? Or am I just afraid that another loss will completely wreck me?

Some days, I just want to feel normal and not so damn complicated!
Please let tomorrow be sunny.

It's Because You're Home

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Tue, 24 Sep 2013 05:31:00 +0000

Summer 2013 has ended and I must say it was quite more than I had anticipated it would be. This year opened a little strained. It seemed a lot was going wrong and I was pretty sure that unlucky 13 would strike the whole year into a constant crap show. I was pleasantly surprised to see how wrong my assumption had been, particularly about the summer. While there were some rough moments, especially with my uncle's illness and some other crazy things that kept happening, the summer ended up wrapping up beautifully. My uncle is seemingly doing much better, my family seems to be in a good place, and I have had a lot of fun. I say seemingly, as not to jinx anything, but I'd like to think that the good things will continue on.

Last weekend, I went to the Jason Aldean concert to celebrate my sorority big sister's birthday. I had such a great time, as I had been having quite often with those girls much of this summer. In a state of happiness I voiced a truth that had been surfacing throughout July and August... "This is one of the best summers I've had since Jonny died!" Without skipping a beat, my friend Shannon replied, "That's because you're home." Her comment shocked me. I tried to deny it. For some reason, I always deny that this is home. That this place I've returned to, that I've grown up, is in all actuality, my home. I can't explain why, really. I never thought I'd come back, to be truthful. It's not that there were loads of bad times here; in fact, I have such great memories here. It's not that it's filled with crappy people; many of my closest friends were found right here. I don't know what it is, but I always denied being happy here. I thought on her comment for a moment. Finally, I gave in. "You just might be right," was all I'd give her after trying to deny it. She just might have been right.

There really is something about the place you grew up, being around the people you've known for what seems like forever. I know these towns and these streets, I have history here, roots here. I met my love here and our story begin here. It's quite possible (and highly likely) that Ariana was conceived here... It all comes back to here. She juuuuust might be right.

As much as I deny and I try to escape, I've made a home and a life here and maybe that's what's good about this summer. I'm finally settling in. Don't get me wrong, I still love to travel and escape, and this sentiment of home could change at the drop of a hat, but for now this is it. I might live somewhere else and feel fully at home there in months, years, decades down the road but right now I'm here, surrounded by people that love me and that know me - better than I'd care to admit sometimes.

Not only am I settling into a place, though, I'm settling into myself. I'm finding a home within myself. I'm finally enjoying the person that I am. Although I am extremely flawed, I'm kind of starting to like me. And that, my friends, is pretty rad and super liberating.

It seems much of the last few years I've been wanting to be happy again. I was so happy with Jonny that I sought out a relationship in which to find joy and happiness. If only I could be with someone who made me happy, maybe I'd be able to feel some of the happiness I once had before I lost it all. Much to my therapist's delight, this summer I gave up on that quest and reached within myself. I realized that I did not need to be with another individual for happiness. That my happiness I had when I was with Jonny wasn't only because of him (not that he wasn't amazing) but also who I was when I was with him. I'd lost so much of myself through all this that I've been trying to find it in another person without even glancing at myself. And this summer I totally said "Fuck it."

I got tired of dating and relationships and games and boys and.... all of that. I quit. And I enjoyed myself. And I enjoyed my daughter. And I enjoyed my family. And I enjoyed my friends. I am surrounded by awesome people and I realized there was no need to keep searching for more when I had what I needed for this given moment. It hasn't been the right moment for me to be "out there" (if only I'd taken the advice I have heard myself give more than once to friends...) it was the right moment for me to work on me. Truly work on myself and appreciate myself and my own strengths and qualities without having to find balance with another person.

Here in this state, it appears I've found a bit of myself again. Maybe not my whole self, I mean who really knows exactly who they are and has their entire self together? But a big portion of myself has been reclaimed. With the help of friends, family, and country music, of course!

So cheers! To being home, not only physically but emotionally. May the rest of 2013 bring joy and peace and fun and self discovery. Whether it be "alone" or with another if and when the time is right, may I always appreciate what I have and find happiness within myself, and may you, my friends, do the same.

"I Don't Have a Daddy"

noreply@blogger.com (Mrs P) — Sat, 03 Aug 2013 03:22:00 +0000

My daughter is 3 and a half years old. She turns 4 in January. And I thought I still had so much time before we had to broach this subject. Certainly, I knew it would be coming and I knew it wasn't going to be easy no matter when it happened but I didn't plan on it being so soon. No matter how soon it came though, would I ever have been really ready? Are we ever ready to explain death to our kids and why her father who loves her so very, very much had to leave her so soon and so permanently? Probably not.

We went out for ice cream tonight at Rita's. When we were done I was strapping her into her car seat and a truck pulled up next to us. A man, a woman, and a teenage girl got out. The teenager walked ahead and then the man and woman stopped and said something to one another, took hands, spoke a little more and then walked on. I wasn't really paying much attention except for being aware that they were there until Ariana asked why they stopped. I looked up and saw them take each other's hand and talk and I answered her they stopped to hold hands. She wanted to know why and I answered well because they love each other - still not sure where this was going or why she was so curious. They live together? she then asked me and I felt something more was coming as this question hit me. Yeah, probably I answered, bracing myself. And then she said it. "I don't have a daddy." Ouch. Enter the striking pain of an arrow in my heart. "Yes you do baby girl, he's in Heaven you know that." She sounded a little defeated when she answered "Yeah. With Georgie (my dad's dog)." I asked if she was alright and she said she was and I asked if she was sad and she said she was again answering then that she misses her grandma and papa (who she just spent the night with last night - silly girl) and just like that subject was over and we were talking about grandma and papa and seeing them tomorrow.

As parents, we strive to give our kids all they need and most of what they want. We know there are some things we aren't going to give our kids, like endless supplies of chocolate ice cream or a herd of pink ponies, but within reason we want to give to our kids. So when it comes to something that you want so badly to give to your kid that you just can't... well that frankly sucks. It really freakin' sucks. I wish I could give Ariana her daddy back so badly. Even though she doesn't express it often, I know that time is coming and I just wish she didn't have to face this. It's not fair, in the slightest.

The next hard part in addition to her statements or questions is maintaining my own collected demeanor. I can't just fall to pieces just because she asks about her dad. I am totally okay with my daughter witnessing emotion and her knowing it's okay to have them, however if I fall to pieces whenever her dad is brought up, what does that teach her? That she shouldn't ask about him because she doesn't want to upset mom. That he is a "taboo" subject. No way, I've got to keep it together so that she can express herself and so that she is comfortable talking about him. I don't ever want to take that part away from her, because it's really all she has of him now, discussions, memories, photos... I wonder if her grieving process will really begin later when she can understand. Or if it will just be every day to her since that's all she's known. Oh I am not prepared...

I feel like tonight's conversation was just a small precursor to what is to come. One day the statements and questions are going to get harder. The "I don't have a daddy" statement is going to be less statement of fact and more sadness or confusion, maybe even anger. And then what am I going to do? All I can do - assure her she does have a daddy. And that he does love her very much. And that it is none of our faults that he had to leave. And that he didn't want to leave. And until then, I just have to make sure she knows all of that in her heart. Tell her about her dad, like I do and make sure she knows all of it, deep within. But it still sucks. Oi...