It is no secret (Obviously) that my eldest child, the great Master Graham was born a mere four days after a certain huge annual holiday. It involves baby Jesus, presents galore and big family gatherings consisting of a whole lot of food and possibly, a little bit of Beatles Rock Band. Having your birthday so close to the hugest event of the year can make your special day pale in comparison. As a January baby myself, I get this. I really, truly do. January is the dullest month of the year and if I could have my way I would get a petition signed to rename it “Meh.”
In the past few weeks we have encountered people in our travels. Graham would tell them that his birthday was next week/in a few days/TODAY and the response (to me) is pretty Universal.
It must be hard to have a birthday so close to Christmas.
As these are either strangers or acquaintances, I respond the way I normally do. I explain that we do a dinner party on his actual birthday with our family and close friends. Once school starts up again, we throw a party for his close friends. He’s lucky! He gets two parties!
What I don’t tell these people is that I had always said that I never wanted a December baby. My youngest brother was born December 22nd. My Step mom and my best friend share a December 27th birthday. I know for a fact that December birthdays suck. And blow. I had vowed to never have a baby in December. Or in January, for that matter. I can attest to the suckitude.
When Matthew and I first decided to start a family we made sure that we planned it so that we had many months of leeway in order to get pregnant and avoid having a December baby. We found out on Christmas Eve that we were pregnant. We shared the news with our families, friends and co-workers. We were beyond excited, apart from the fact that I felt like barfing all the live-long day.
If you haven’t figured out the math, Graham is not that baby. We lost it. Almost eight years later, I still cry when I stop to think about that baby (and dream) we lost. But then I wouldn’t have Graham and that makes me exponentially sadder, so.
After going through a D&C to remove a baby that had passed almost a month before, we were advised to wait for one regular cycle before attempting to get pregnant. I spent many an hour searching the Internet message boards in the hopes that we wouldn’t have to wait those torturous four weeks before trying again. Google confirmed what my doctor had said and so we waited.
As soon as it was deemed “safe” we tried again to get pregnant. It worked during that very first cycle. It was Graham, and he was due December 29th.
Do you know what?
I did not care that his due date was in December. I was pregnant with a baby. Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bones. So many people struggle just to fulfill that very same dream. Graham came right on his due date (after some suction/forceps help THANKS TO HIS HUGE HEAD) and I was just happy to have him. Be it in December, or January, or June. It really doesn’t matter.
We do our best to separate Christmas from his birthday. The decorations come down before the 29th. He gets two parties. He has a special day. Two, actually.
When he is old enough to understand it all (which will likely coincide with the time he realizes that a December birthday isn’t as great that he thinks it is right now), I will tell him the truth. That we never intended for a December baby. That we lost a baby that was due in August and that we were horribly heartbroken. That we tried as soon as we could to have another baby and that we got to have him. That I’m pretty sure God knew that his brother or sister would be better in Heaven from the beginning.
And that we all needed a little Graham in our lives.
Hey Graham,
You, my boy, are seven. Seven. SEVEN. I know that people tell you that the years fly by when you have kids, and I have said the same, but I honestly can’t seem to process the fact that you are seven.
This school year has been a tough one on me when it comes to you. Not in regards to your school work (You’re doing fantastic) or in regards to your friends (You have some great ones) but it regards to the fact that you are in the second grade. Starting school in Kindergarten was emotional for me as your Mom because it meant that you were entering a whole new stage of life. You would be spending a few days a week under the care of an adult that was not your Dad or I and you would be filling your days with activities that I would not be a part of, other than school newsletters and hand-made crafts that you brought home. Despite this, you still seemed so young. So little. So not-quite-grown-up.
The same held true for the first grade. You started attending school full-time but the bandage of being apart from me had been ripped off the year before. You were learning a lot, started reading (well) and discovered your creative side. Despite all of this, you still seemed like a kid and not a big boy.
This has all changed. There’s something about saying that you’re in second grade that makes you seem bigger. Older. All grown up. Throw in the fact that you are now seven and, well, I simply can’t believe it. But enough about me – let’s talk about you.
You are one really neat kid. That may seem like a statement that doesn’t say a lot, but in actuality it sums you up pretty perfectly.
People love you. I’m not just talking about family and close friends who love you because we are family. I’m talking about people who have had only minor encounters with you. You have this energy about you that is palpable. You love life, it shows, and it is contagious.
You’re a smart kid. Like, crazy smart. Not only that, you are so gifted creatively that I wonder where it bring you in your life. You like to make books. BOOKS. They come complete with a storyline and illustrations and, well, DUDE. I am so incredibly proud of your talent.
In the creative realm, you are also a Lego master. You will dig through the bucket and form these ridiculous masterpieces. I can only build a Lego structure if I follow instructions and even then it’s sketchy. You, however, will bring up something you made, tell me it’s, say, Bumblebee and lo! It looks like Bumblebee.
Every morning when you get up you come to me for a big sleepy hug. Throughout the day you will sing a little ditty you made up with the refrain, “I love my Momma” and my heart melts every. single. time. At the end of the day when we tuck you in and ask you what you are thankful for you say, “That you’re my Mom.” You smother me with love, kiddo, and make both laugh and tear up all day long.
You love babies. You have ever since you were a baby yourself. You were twenty months old when Nathan was born and you would call him “B”. That same love is bestowed upon your baby sister Emily. This love of babies extends beyond our immediate family to any baby we encounter in our travels. You talk to them, you play with them, you make them smile from ear to ear and usually, giggle.
You have this same effect on everyone, kiddo. I know that you’re mine and that you’ve got a unique place in my heart because you’re my firstborn, but you truly are something special. I know it, Daddy knows it, Nathan and Emily know it…everybody knows it. You are a treat to be around and one of the biggest blessings I have ever received.
I love you, dude. Happy Birthday.
Mommy.
Over at Work It! Mom: What’s your New Year’s Marriage resolution?
Comments Off You may or may not be aware of a certain holiday that was stretched over the past month or so, culminating in a couple days that were packed to the brim. I’d like to confirm to my American readers that we do, in fact, celebrate Christmas in Canada.
(I had someone ask me in an email if we celebrated Christmas up here in Canada. People. We’re in Canada, not Outer Space.)
We had three days that ranked high in the radness factor and I would be remiss if I did not document them to some extent. I cannot capture every single moment but I can most definitely mention the highlights. This post will likely have its fair share of photos, but the rest of them can be found in this Flickr set.
Christmas Eve goes down the same way almost every year. We inherited a tradition from Matthew’s family where we make a bunch of sugar cookies, fill bowls with colored icing sugar, sets containers of sprinkles out, and let everybody go to town.
I don’t think we’ll be opening a family bakery any time soon.
Christmas Eve, we head to an evening service which is one of my favorite ones of the entire year. I thought I’d snap a bunch of photos of the kids in their nice duds and managed to get some that I actually like. This one’s my favorite.
I think. Though this one cracks me up.
So does this one.
Monkeys.
Another Christmas Eve tradition that we have is that Matthew and I open or gifts to each other on Christmas Eve. We put the kids to bed, turn on some nice music, pour a glass of wine and exchange gifts. Christmas morning is so hectic and the kids’ excitement so abundant that we let it be (mostly) about them. It’s also kind of nice to just have a quiet evening together before the chaos of Christmas Day. I had no idea what he had bought me, as I hadn’t given him a list of any sort. He got me some socks and such, a Caboodle case for my rapidly growing makeup collection and a toque.
I haven’t owned one of these since I was a kid and I kind of love it.
I thought we were all done and then he handed me one more box. Inside was a scroll of paper, tied with a ribbon. I unraveled it, read what was inside and sat there blinking in shock. He had booked me a flight to see Kerri in Portland for the weekend of January 8th. I hadn’t expected this in any way whatsoever. I start work on January 5th and am already going on a solo long weekend trip and the end of January and asked why he had done this for me. It was so utterly unexpected and I’m already so, so spoiled. He said he thought I needed a treat for all the hard work I did in the fall and before I know it, I will be in the trenches of tax season. He had organized everything with my employer so that I could have a(nother) four-day weekend (I won’t really be busy until February). I’m still in shock, but ridiculously excited. He’s way too good to me, that husband of mine.
Christmas morning was the usual – homemade cinnamon buns for breakfast and presents. We start with stockings and then open the gifts from Santa. Santa bought the kids Lego Star Wars. We gave each of the boys a light saber to open and Emily was handed the disc. She had no idea what it was and was NOT IMPRESSED.
Then I explained what it was and she told the boys.
Ah, how quickly her mood changes. She comes by that honestly.
We took the money that the grandparents sent and bought the kids each a Canon Powershot camera. Nathan’s expression kind of sums up their excitement.
I haven’t downloaded any of the photos onto my laptop yet, but some of the ones they’ve taken have been pretty neat. Like, all artsy and stuff. Consider me proud.
We got the kids two presents each, in addition to their stocking stuffers. The boys got Lego, Hot Wheels, Bakugan. You know, boy stuff. Miss Emily has a Mom who knows her well and who might want her to have something she never had herself as a kid.
She’s been playing with it for hours a day. HOURS. We have a winner, folks.
I spent the rest of the day preparing Christmas dinner. My family arrived mid-afternoon and showered the kids with more gifts. My Step mom then had my brother bring in our gift. She had gotten us a wine cooler (The refrigerator, not the cheap 2L of Rockaberry, ala high school) to compliment our small fridge in our family room. She always has a knack for getting you presents that you didn’t even know you wanted, yet are perfect. But then. BUT THEN. She brought in another present for our family.
I had no idea how many Beatles songs I actually know. We spent a good five hours playing it that night alone. Next up, get the disc for the regular Rockband so that we can expand our repertoire. There is video evidence of me on vocals, Matthew on guitar and my sister Courtney on drums. I contemplated sharing it, but Matthew said no. After all he’s done for me, I should honor that request. It’s too bad, because it’s pretty dang awesome.
I’ll stop here because the rest of our time has been more of the same. Time spent with family, friends, and a whole lot of good food. I hope you all had as great of a week as we did.
I was planning on wishing you all a Merry Christmas (Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, May The Force Be With You, etc.) by sharing the nativity scene, as interpreted by my children.
It’s a classic.
Then, on Tuesday night, my kids kicked it up a notch.
We were heading the house of our friends for one of those lovely evenings where the adults eat a nice dinner upstairs while the children play downstairs. Before we left, I served my kids a gourmet dinner of chicken nuggets and fries, popped in the mixed Christmas CD that Kerri Anne had sent me and…asked them to take it from the top so that I could record the show.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Dancing In Between The Tears
Date: Monday December 21, 2009Posted in: Dad, Emily, Family, Graham, Nathan
I need to take a moment (or two) to thank you guys for the love you have showered upon me these past few days. Comments, emails, phone calls, Skype dates. I have teared up (and laughed) more times than I can count and owe you all big, fat (platonic) smooches and hugs. I saw all of the words coming in and just let them wash over me. My Dad reads my site (Hi, Dad!) and called to tell me how much my words (and yours) meant to him. You guys really have no idea how thankful I am. If I could logistically throw a big party for each and every one of you, I would.
I hesitated a little bit about putting this all out there. I worried that maybe I wouldn’t voice it the right way, that I wouldn’t do it justice somehow, that people my think I am being a little too dramatic. But this isn’t a production; it is real life happening here and it forms part of my story. A good friend told me that I needed to write through it and that’s what I plan to do. I just want to do it as honestly as possible.
I’m doing…OK. As of today my Dad is pretty much the same as he has always been. At least, that’s what he tells me. He lives four hours away and as such, we haven’t seen him since finding out. We’d like him to come up for Christmas, but with all that they have going on it sounds more like it will happen in January. So, right now I am picturing my Dad as healthy and robust as he was when I last saw him a few months ago.
The part where I start to be not so OK is when I ponder the future. Thinking of the path that he is now traveling on which will take him to a place where his lives in a state of discomfort makes my heart constrict and my breathing accelerate. His body will continue to deteriorate to the point where he won’t be able to walk, to talk, to breathe.
That sucks big, fat, hairy donkey balls.
The silver lining in all of this is that us kids (there are nine of us) are making plans to physically gather around my Dad somehow, some way, soon. The last time we were all in the same place at the same time was two Thanksgivings ago and the time before that was seventeen years prior. The back story (and some big ’90’s bangs) can be found here. We are an eclectic bunch but that’s part of what makes us awesome.
Apart from wrestling with how to process this, life as we know it in my house has carried on. As it should. Sitting in a corner and closing out my own life is no way to honor my Dad. He is one to live life to the fullest and I am my father’s daughter. To quote my Step mom, “We’re dancing in between the tears.”
The kids had Christmas concerts on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday. At the beginning of the week I was grumbling about our packed schedule. After sitting through the first one while grinning from ear to ear at the sheer adorableness of it all I realized that it would do everyone a bit of good to sit through at least one kids’ concert in their lives. Your heart can’t help but smile.
Graham got to be frosty the snowman.
He is such a neat kid. I’m so happy that we were the parents picked out for him.
Nathan’s school production was the next night and he served up even more of the sweetness.
Seriously. How did I get so lucky?
Our church put on a Christmas musical and the kids were part of the final number. Miss Emily pulled the “shy” card, per usual, and refused to go on the stage. I have proof that she actually wore the sheep costume, so there’s that.
She’s my most favorite girl on the entire planet.
Speaking of the musical, it was phenomenal. We laughed. A lot.
I’m so proud of everyone involved, including my brother Lance (on the left), Amanda (in the middle) and Tianna (on the right). I am surrounded by some fantastically talented (and ridiculously hilarious) people.
On Saturday, Matthew kicked me out of the house. In love. He told me to have some alone time away from home and the computer and everything else. He told me that I should stay away all day, but after five hours of walking alone throughout the many quaint shops (including a huge used book store) I was ready to come home. Click on the photo below to read about why I loved Saturday.
One of the books I picked up was Tuesdays With Morrie, which is the story of a beloved professor who falls victim to ALS and asks a former student to embark on the “project” of documenting his final weeks. I plowed through it in record time. I’ve always been a fast reader…
The truths spoken in the book made me smile, nod and tuck them deep within my being. The vivid reality of what my Dad is truly going to experience made me a little more fearful for the future. I don’t know if I’m capable to be strong enough when we get to that place but I’ve resolved to make it happen, for his sake.
In the meantime I plan to laugh openly, live hugely and love wildly. I’m going to keep dancing in between the tears.
We’ve talked more frequently in the past few weeks than we normally do. It’s not as though either of us is ever at a loss for words – it’s more that we simply don’t have the time. Our days are filled with work, with family, with extra-curricular activities. Before we know it, many weeks have gone by since we last touched base. We always pick up right where we left off, as we are wont to do.
He’s been off of work for the past few weeks, so he has been more apt to pick up the phone and say hello. He, like me, is not one to sit idly by and can only do so many crossword puzzles before he needs to talk to another human being. Last week we got to talking about his leave of absence from work. He has not been in pain, per se, but has had this feeling of little shocks on his left side. As a professional bus driver, he thought it wise to take some time off of work, make a visit to his doctor and see if they could figure out what was causing the discomfort that he is in. His doctor noticed that he had lost some muscle mass on the left side of his chest and had sent him to a specialist in order to run some tests.
He told me that if the tests came back with something serious enough to keep him off of work for a longer time, then he might have to look at buying some canvases and acrylics. He used to paint, nearly forty years ago. He abandoned it along the way but it’s been simmering inside all of this time.
His doctor told him that he would get the results on Wednesday. I asked him to let me know what the outcome was and carried on with my week. I am not a worrier by nature and have never been one to spin a situation twenty different ways. Things would be great, as they always are. He would be fine, as he always is. We would be untouched by tragedy, as we always are.
Wednesday night, my phone rang. We talked about Christmas, about the stocking that his wife had knit for Emily, about the plans we had for the holidays. There was a lull in the conversation and I asked him if he had received the results.
We’ve decided not to say anything until we get a second opinion.
I told him that wasn’t fair, that I deserved to know what was going on, that I wanted to know what to pray for. Was it cancer?
It’s not cancer.
I begged, I pleaded, I cajoled. He caved and told me what was happening. I sat here, weeping, while he put a put a positive spin on it. Much like I would.
Everyone dies, sweetie. I am lucky that I have a time stamp on it; I can make the most of what I have.
Which, yes, and I get that. I do. When the time comes for me to go I am hoping that I have that extra time to hold everyone just a little bit closer. After reading up on what he has, however, I don’t know that I would pick that path to death’s door.
My Dad has ALS, which is also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. There is no known cause, and no known cure. He has two to five years to live, all of which will consist of his body degenerating.
I know that everyone dies and I know that I have been lucky in my lack of loss and I know that it could be worse somehow. But still. This is my Dad that I’m talking about.
I love you, Daddy.
