Shine Bright Like a Diamond

So my life went on hold in April. Trial came and just completely wreaked havoc. As only trial can. Ask any litigator. The best comparison I can give to non-lawyers is that trial is like finals week and all the stress crammed into one day, every day, over and over. It's physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausting. Anyways, here is a post I started while in trial and finished today:

Winter has kept hanging and hanging on around my home. We typically get one big last blast of cold in March, perhaps one in April and then we steady warm up until our summer months where our climate is a cross between a convection oven and a wet sauna.

This winter continues to amaze me. After record breaking SNOW DAYS, we have continued to have little bursts of winter. We had another snow storm, this time, the snow did not stick around for too long. We have had a couple of bitterly cold evenings and mornings. In the midst of all this, spring has steadily charged forward. A few weeks ago, trees started blooming. Tulips poked their beautiful little heads of the dirt. Daffodils started peeking. And most importantly, the Bradford Pear trees are blooming. These trees always create a beautiful white reminder that spring and summer are coming and that we are drawing to a close of winter times. We have many of these trees in our neighborhood and around town.  The City lined our main freeway with these trees and one of my favorite things is to see the long lines of fat white flowering trees during these weeks in the spring.

Last week (mid April ), Jack Frost showed up again. Despite all the beautiful flowers and flowering trees…we got hit by a blast of the cold weather…again. One day, we got a lot of rain and freezing sleet. And more rain and more sub freezing temperatures. And then it rained some more.

When the storm hit, ice covered everything.  Streets, cars, street lamps and those precious beautiful flowers of spring. This storm risked killing off a lot of what we had waited so very long for.

 

This storm coated every leaf, berry, petal and flower in a thick layer of ice.

The day of the storm was dark and cloudy. There was no light coming in from the thick heavy blanket of clouds. That evening, I put my boys in their warmest fuzziest pajamas.  The next morning, we knew spring was back. The breeze was cold but there was warmth in the air. And the sun came out very bright.

I left my house, rushing around like usual. I got in the car to drive to work. In order to leave my house, I drive east, into the sunrise.  Rarely does anything in this world cause me to gasp. Or render me speechless.  

The rising sun hit the trees. The trees covered in white blooms and ice. And it looked like suddenly someone had placed millions maybe billions of sparkling diamonds all around me. The trees, the grass, the sky. It was bursting with the light of sun through the ice.

When it hit the white blossoms of the pear trees, the light was so bright and blinding that it positively took my breath away. I tried to get the baby to pay attention, but at five months old, in his rear facing car seat, I really couldn't get him to appreciate it.

 

 

 

Sometimes the stars align and you get the opportunity to see something magical. It was utterly, completely and totally impossible for me to capture the affect of the sun that day.  With my wee little iphone camera and my insane trial schedule and my busy day, I just had to try to commit it to memory. I have honestly never seen anything like it.

Sometimes this world of ours provides us the opportunity to witness beauty that cannot be captured in words or through pictures. And it is in those moments I get a glimpse of divinity so far beyond myself that I know God exists, eternity is real, and there is more to life than we will ever know.

ELEVEN YEARS AGO TODAY

Today is my wedding anniversary. Last year we took a big trip back to our honeymoon destination. This year, will be a more subdued celebration and will also mark my first overnight stay away from my baby....bracing myself for random panicked middle of the night wake up...

 

Stephanie Inn, Cannon Beach, Oregon. 2002

Stephanie Inn, Cannon Beach, Oregon. 2012 (Pregnant and unbelievably nauseous in this picture-HA!)

Marriage. Man, we could all write volumes on it. Marriage means sharing your life and all the good and bad that comes with it.  Our story is 100% uniquely ours but a shared story like every other marriage. Eleven years of cleaning up after each other. Eleven years of pushing each other to achieve more, work harder, maximize our potential. Eleven years of working on our communication. Eleven years of me unloading the dishwasher so Scott can load it. Of connecting and laughing. Of bickering and being annoyed by the other person's CLEARLY INFERIOR WAYS of approaching tasks and problems :) Of creating a shared family dialogue. Of sharing millions of inside jokes. Of babies and dogs and baby poop and dog poop. Of balancing checkbooks and paying bills. Of grilling cheeseburgers and lounging on our deck with cold beer. Of listening Snoop Dogg and Tupac and Eric Clapton and Michael Buble and the music that is our lives' soundtrack. We were only 23...practically kids. And we still feel like those kids in so many ways.

 

Eleven years and we both know our journey requires patience and kindness and empathy and support and a massive sense of humor. We will never reach the destination of having marriage figured out. But at the end of day, we both know we are in this forever. We love each other. And we are darn lucky to be where we are. Not much has changed and everything has changed. Scott explained to Eliot this morning that our anniversary was the BIRTHDAY of our wedding. Well happy birthday to my wonderful family. AND MANY MOOOOORRREEEE.....

 

Love is Art

So I found this on facebook and absolutely had to share. I have a couple of artsy friends who no matter what link or article they share, I read it or watch it because it never disappoints. The stuff they share regularly rocks my world. On this link, my friend wrote "Love is Art and Art is Love." It took me a while to really think through that statement.

It is so true when you consider it. Love is a overwhelming form of art. When you are touched by love, whether it be from your mother or child or a lover or in the form of kindness from a stranger, it is moving and powerful. Love is beautiful and complicated. Love is so very many things. And ultimately, it makes for some seriously good art.

Anyway, open the link. Read the story. Watch the video. Prepare to be completely moved. Her face. His eyes. The things unsaid. And the moment when she surrenders to her emotions. Wow.

QOTD: The True Gentleman

The true gentleman is a the man whose conduct proceeds
from good will and an acute sense of propriety,
and whose self control is equal to all emergencies;
Who does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty;
the obscure man of his obscurity,
or any man of his inferiority or deformity;
Who is himself humbled if necessary
compels him to humble another;
Who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power,
or boast of his own possessions or achievements;
Who speaks with frankness
but always with sincerity and sympathy;
Whose deed follows his word;
Who thinks of the rights and feelings of others
rather than his own;
And who appears well in any company,
a man with whom hoor is sacred and virtue safe.

-John Walter Wayland

Went to a devastating funeral of a friend lost suddenly and far too young. This was on his memorial card and just was beautiful. Since it was written in 1899, I will forgive the author for not making it a gender neutral piece :) But these words moved me. And I hope to live my life in such a way to meet these standards.

Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

That would describe my fitness attempts these last few weeks. And my attempts at anything. Every time I gain a hair of momentum, every time I gather up some stubbornness and insistence to get back on the horse, every opportunity I have to get back to it...I have come up short.

I have had one heck of a month or six weeks or six months. I had a tough pregnancy. I had a baby. I had a tough newborn. Husband got sick. Husband got really sick. Husband got pneumonia. I got sick. I got really sick. I stayed sick. I was sick to my stomach off and on for five weeks. Eliot got sick. Eliot got really sick. Eliot was sick off and on for two weeks. And then the crowning glory of it all. Nicholas got sick. Then Nicholas got really sick. And when your three month old is really sick and can't breathe? Your world stops spinning. I was 5 minutes away from taking him to the ER when his horrible cough settled down, he slept in my arms and Scott talked a tearful, panicking me into waiting until 8:00 a.m. to call the pediatrician. I called, he got loaded up on meds and got better in lightening speed. And since February 1, we have all been the mend. We are all trending towards...WELL. And HOLY CRAP am I ever thankful to have a healthy family and a healthy me. *knocking on wood*

And so my last few weeks workouts sort of look like this:

Monday: Tend to puking 4 year old
Tuesday: run 3.8 miles and do hot yoga, go to work and spend entire day stressing about whether 4 year old is keeping his ramen noodles down even though he's home with husband and doing fine. (Does stress constitute a workout?)
Wednesday: sleep until 8:15, attempt to work, sleep at desk.
Thursday: wake to nurse sick baby at 3am and 5am and 7am, cry to my parents that I don't know why we don't have a cure for colds because we can land a man on the moon but can't kill a VIRUS??? Think about going for a run.
Friday: sleep through alarm set to go to yoga. text girlfriend "I can't do it. I'm sorry"
Saturday: yoga. Think "I really should have come to yoga yesterday."
Sunday: church and cook meals for the week. Attempt to clean house.

During the healthy times, I made a GLORIOUS chocolate and vanilla layered cake with semi-sweet chocolate icing and a mocha ganache. And I wanted to blog that baby. I made a remarkably beautiful chocolate peanut butter cheesecake and thought about taking pictures. I hosted my family's annual tamale day and churned out 441 pork tamales with homemade chili ancho sauce. And I still didn't get out the blog. Oooof. Frustration.

I am dying to blog. I am dying to run. I am dying to yoga. I am dying to actually accomplish projects at work instead of stress about what is not getting done. So help me...in February, I am going to bill 180 hours and I am going to run 50 miles and I am going to not spend obscene amounts of money at Walgreens, on tylenol for little people and immodium and 7up.

My January/early February, in pictures:



My maiden name was Lopez, my family gets together once a year and makes hundreds of tamales,
 and it is an all day process of cooking, catching up, eating and laughing. We had so much fun this year.
And my goodness, homemade fresh tamales just WIN. Every time.

Nicholas. The world's longest eyelashes. The world's softest skin.

Just hanging out in the morning in mom and dad's
 room before a work day.  Loving on each other.

Sick baby boy, thankfully still has a Sumo belly.



Sick baby boy. Cuddled with blankie.

Sick baby boy getting breathing treatment that
literally turned him around in 24 hours.

Sick big boy, cuddling his monkey.








Mine. I messed up two things but
I can assure you it tasted RIDICULOUS.
I will make it again.

Food Network's Cake. Scott
challenged me to make it.








Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheesecake.  Or as my friend Gaye said,
"you know how every time you eat a Reeces Peanut Butter Cup you think
'gee if only this were more rich?' This cake solves that problem."

One of my running bff's ran her first FIFTY MILER (you read that right) the first of February. This girl LOVES her some Gosling (and who doesn't?). And I found out you can DIY a Gosling poster for yourself here http://memegenerator.net/Ryan-Gosling-Hey-Girl So obviously, she got a personalized Gosling. As have multiple facebook friends now that I have discovered this amazing website.

Sadly, just about each of these pictures deserves its own blog post. Carry on. Up next in my life...solid foods for the baby, Valentines for my big boy and a Vodka themed cocktail party hosted by me and my Mister.

Unplugged

Baby came and I took a break...from everything. Work, socializing, running, sleeping (not by my choice *looking disdainfully at little Nicholas who grins in return*), cooking, blogging, and eventually the last two months, I broke from Facebook, working remotely from home, house chores and doing everything except preparing for the holidays and being a mom.  Basically in the month of December, I bought and wrapped gifts, made cookies, nursed my baby, played Star Wars with my big boy and laid around in my pajamas.  New Years Eve was supposed to be spent with friends in lipstick and high heels. Instead due to an unfortunate shift in plans, I was doing yoga at 9pm in my bedroom and gazing with bewilderment at my sleeping kiddos.  And while I missed my friends, I loved having a quiet night at home.

It is rare, so very very rare, that I ever break from anything. That I ever say "no" to anything. As a person who thrives on a busy schedule and parties and friends and running and career, I don't know any other speed than full throttle. But somehow for a short period of time, I utterly and totally unplugged. And it was glorious.

While on maternity leave, I sensed something, a growing feeling inside me. Time is precious, the years fly by. Cherish the special uniqueness of being home. Rather than fight it and obsess about my to do's that were not getting done, I flowed. I cherished. I savored. I looked deep into both of my son's eyes every hour and said "I love you."

Ask any parent and they will tell you that the short time your children spend in your nest is fleeting and you blink and they are gone. My big brother had five kids within 7 years. And those kids are now almost through high school. Some have moved out and most have moved on. And while I know there were times my brother struggled with being a parent to five small kids, he has repeatedly said he honestly cannot believe how close he is to seeing them move out. He is wistful and sad and shocked by how fast it has gone and is going.

The first time around, with Eliot, I was obsessed with (1) getting him to sleep through the night; (2) keeping him and myself on a strict schedule; (3) returning to running; (4) maintaining contact with the office and clients and work; (5) acting as president of two legal organizations and maintaining my work in both of them. And it probably served me well to worry and obsess. I had a baby that slept through the night at 8 weeks. I maintained a clean home. I ran a half marathon when he was 3 months old. I had Eliot in January and became a partner in my firm that December.  Those sacrifices paid off and proved to me when I set my mind to something...I can do it. I can do anything.

This time I did not have anything to prove. Instead, I allowed myself complete leniency. I did not run until Nicholas was 10 weeks old (last Sunday). Like not a step. I have not pressured Nicholas to stretch his feeding schedule or let him cry it out. So while he's 10 weeks old, he sleeps for, at best, 4-5 hours at a time. I lost touch with clients and work a bit and will need to scramble to get it back in order. I let my house get pretty messy, on more than one occasion...much to my Type A husband's chagrin. And I lived in yoga pants. And yet, I find none of these decisions to be bad. I do not mind one little bit that I can't run 5 miles. I know I will again. And I know that if I wanted to, I could have made myself do it. While at times, I struggle with my sleep deprivation, I honestly don't really mind getting up at 2am and nuzzling with my little fuzzy headed angel. I know that work will always be there. And my house has cleaned up pretty well despite all my, uhm, "projects."

My friends, at least the ones that count, have hardly protested my absence. They tell me they miss me. They drop by for coffee. They host me at their house for fun and bonding time. But they are not insisting I socialize on their terms. They are thrilled to see me when I stick my head out of my cocoon but aren't pressuring me to change out of yoga pants and into skinny jeans.

I ceremoniously swore off facebook. In the wake of the horrific Sandy Hook shooting I was very disturbed and angered by multiple facebook posts turning the tragedy into a platform. I am glad I gave it up. Why on earth should I spend time cursing someone else's opinions when I had Christmas cookies to bake and kids to love? I honored the Sandy Hook victims by praying for them. Reading their stories from actual news sources. I read about the Adam Lanza, the killer, and prayed for his family too. I read and listened to oped's from intelligent commentators to help me decide what to think about mental health care and gun laws and the other issues. And, several times, I read the full list of the names of the victims to myself, out loud and cried a little. Like everyone else I asked "why" and questioned God for answers.

Then, yesterday, I returned to work. I was hit with a landslide of work "stuff." I have read lots of emails about friend stuff. I worked some on my running "to do" list of projects. I am blogging. I checked facebook. I went to yoga and tonight I'm going for a run. And so I'm back. I am being forced out of my cocoon. And it's so hard. So very very hard. When I look in my baby's chocolatey eyes and we flirt and coo at each other, that's all the matters in the world. But cooing doesn't pay the bills. And he won't be tiny forever. He needs social skills. I need grown up contact.

I wrapped myself fully, for weeks, in my nest. I insulated myself fully from everything out there. I was just truly present in my home and my kids got me, 100% of me, for weeks. I don't know that I will ever be able to do that again. If I think about that, I will undoubtedly suffer heartbreak. But I also know that I am not good as a stay at home mom. That the passion I have for homemaking and baby bonding would not be sustained. As the house continued and remained messy, it would cause stress for everyone.  I frankly just lack the skill set to be a successful homemaker. I did not accomplish much of anything other than being mom and if I actually "stayed home" I sadly doubt that would change.

So I instead concentrate on 5:00 p.m. And the magical hour of picking up my kids and finding out about their days. I am throwing myself head first into life again and it hurts. Unplugging is not ultimately sustainable for me and perhaps that is why it is so sweet. And so precious and so desireable. As I dip my toe into the blogging water, it turns out the temperature is just right. And it feels good. And as much as I miss my boys and long to see them and hold them, it feels good to write. And slowly the rest will start to feel good again as well.

Ultimately, as I reflect on it, what a wonderful time I had on maternity leave. I am so blessed that I was able to take 10 weeks to truly connect and bond with Nicholas. I am so thankful that in the 5 weeks Eliot spent at home with me, we deepened our love by playing hard and laughing and caring for our new baby together. I am so excited for 2013. I feel like a lot of momentum was building in 2012 for good things in my life. And I think that momentum will blossom this year. Here's to a new start and getting back to everything. In the meantime, I will blink away my tears and watch videos of my babies on my iphone at my desk. What a wonderful gift I gave myself by pulling the plug.

Gratitude

On facebook at the beginning of November, some friends were writing that they planned to post something they were thankful for each day of November. Since I like goals, I decided to tag along. Could I find 30 things to be thankful for? I thought it would be a good exercise for me.  Turned out, time ran out. And instead of running out of things to be thankful for, I ran out of days.

I was partially inspired to participate in the gratitude game because of a speaker I heard at a local attorney luncheon meeting, Laura Ling. After being inspired by her story, I purchased and read her book. One of the things that Laura used to get through her very long and hopeless imprisonment in North Korea, was to play the "gratitude game." Laura found something, anything to be thankful for. Can you imagine? You've been captured by the North Koreans, brutalized by your captors, and yet, you force yourself to be grateful. One day, Laura was thankful that she got to see a butterfly. One day she was grateful that she had hours of sunlight in her room. She practiced the act of being thankful to keep herself focused on the good that was present, even in the worst possible circumstances. Her story may have turned out quite differently, she could have died or been imprisoned forever. And she would have died thankful, not bitter. Makes you think about how you spend your life. If you are not grateful in your deepest heart, you are wasting the beauty that is gifted to you daily. There is always always something to be thankful for.

When I started the month, I wanted to make sure that I was thankful for the big things, each member of my immediate family. I wanted to make sure I was thankful for the little things. I wanted to make sure I didn't get too carried away and planned out and that I was thankful for what was happening right then. But like anything, it gets easier. Initially I felt a little too exposed, a little too heartfelt going on facebook, shouting out about all the good in my life. But as is typical for me, I quickly stopped caring what anyone thought. It was a very good moment for me to consider every day my blessings. The 2 minutes I spent reflecting and writing were often the best two minutes of my day.

I sputtered in late November and missed the 28th and 29th. It was not because I wasn't thankful for anything. It was because life got sticky with a newborn and I didn't use my phone or computer or get near facebook for bit.... Anyways, here is my list. And as December begins to amp up, and the pressure of having no presents under the tree is starting to get to me, it's good to slow down, be thankful, and spend a little time just observing the beauty around me. I won't always be so focused on it, but hopefully from time to time I return to positive reflections that I had this past November.

30 thankful things:
Nov. 1 - on his birthday, my older brother jeremy
Nov. 2 - technology, which allows me to work from home and take a longer maternity leave
Nov. 3 - Nicholas laughing in his sleep at 10 days old
Nov. 4 - my friend who threw me a very fun baby shower for Nicholas
Nov. 5 - beautiful orange trees with berries spotted on my walk, had never seen them before
Nov. 6 - a successful surgery for Eliot
Nov. 7 - my friend Shelley's beautiful and healthy new baby who arrived quickly, safely and to some pretty ecstatic parents
Nov. 8 - my husband's delicious coffee
Nov. 9 - brotherly love and that my oldest has shown no jealousy of his brother, only affection and kindness
Nov. 10 - on her birthday, my wonderful sister-in-law, Trena
Nov. 11 - bloody steak and red wine
Nov. 12 - those in military service
Nov. 13 - intuitive friends who are just there when you need them
Nov. 14 - a free chocolate glazed cream filled donut (winning)
Nov. 15 - my mama
Nov. 16 - running and the adventures and friends I've gained through it
Nov. 17 - my undeafeated football team. GO IRISH!!!!!!!!!!
Nov. 18 - the holiday spirit! And getting to watch Grinch with my kiddo
Nov. 19 - my son's wonderful preschool and the teachers
Nov. 20 - Eliot
Nov. 21 - gorgeous warm weather and a little girl that helped me have perspective on my own wealth and privilege and blessings
Nov. 22 - my dad
Nov. 23 - my husband's hard work to finish a beautiful remodeling project
Nov. 24 - Firefly Yoga
Nov. 25 - that my hair grows quickly. (I might have whacked off my bangs in a fit of hormonal rage...)
Nov. 26 - Nicholas
Nov. 27 - my brother Keith
Nov. 28 - DOH!!!
Nov. 29 - DOH!!!
Nov. 30 - on his birthday Scott, my phenominal husband.

Say Cheese

Self portraits are all over the place. With the invention of camera phones and social media, they are inescapable. And almost every random self-portrait out there makes me smile. I have a friend that is taking a picture of herself and her 5 year old daughter as they wait for the school bus and posting it to facebook daily. The pictures are completely adorable and hilarious. I have friends that do self-portraits to ensure wardrobe choices are appropriate and people who just take their own picture just for the heck of it. And yet, I completely and totally hate my own.

I don't know what angles I look best at or how to smile or what exactly I should do to ensure my pictures are cute and show my "best" side. I'm bad at self-portrait hair and angles. I feel awkward about any photo of me, that is me by myself. I don't mind having my picture taken with friends or family or maybe in front of a landmark. But I feel incredibly awkward about a photograph of me, by myself, for 'no reason'. Does not matter the circumstances, I won't like it. And as a result, I have failed to document either of my pregnancies at all. And I hate that.

Some people (mostly women) despise being photographed at all. This article broke my heart because luckily, I've never let the self-criticism go this far but I know so many women that do. My mother, in fact, has never seen a photo of herself that she likes. She hates them all. And like the 5 year old son in the Huff Po piece, I don't see my mom's flaws in her pictures, I see her warm smile and twinkly eyes.

As I've mentioned before, I am done having babies after my newest arrival gets here. In just a few weeks, I will never be pregnant again. And somehow, despite how privileged I am and how excited I have been for these babies...I have almost no pictures of me pregnant. I'm not even sure how that happened but both times, I've just been too "busy" to document my pregnancies. And I have never stopped to take pictures of this very amazing chapter in my life.

I haven't had formal (professional) maternity shots taken. I haven't taken weekly belly profile pictures. I haven't even snapped informally funny pictures with my funny belly . And sadly, I think it's all because I am not particularly comfortable with pictures of me by myself for 'no reason'. And so the amazing and beautiful progression and transition of my body is something I will have to rely on from a few scattered photos and memories.  I have enormous regret that I have not put my own issues with self-portraits on hold and just made a point of creating some type of journal of this amazing transition of my body.

And so, at 35 weeks pregnant (never mind that I'll be lucky to make 38 or 39 weeks, let alone 40), I decided, no time like the present. And I decided if anything I could get the last 4-5 weeks. See if there was any noticeable difference between week 35 and week 39. And so with the lovely instagram's help, I present to you weeks 35, 36 and 37.

Self-image issues placed on hold. I'm throwing it all out there. And for anyone newly pregnant or not so newly pregnant, DO SOMETHING to document this. You will not remember what it looked like or how your body supported the squirmy little person inside.  And you cannot know what your body looks like by looking down at your shoes a couple times a day. Honor your beautiful changing body and the miracle within by capturing it and its changes. Do it naked, clothed, weekly, monthly, daily, I don't care. Just do it. And here's my final rule: absolutely, positively no criticism of yourself or comparison to someone else. You are creating new life and you are blessed and lucky to be doing so.  Now is not the time to complain about your hair not cooperating like you'd like or asking why someone else's stretch marks are less visible than your own. Share with the world or share with no one, just don't fail to document the beauty. It's why God created camera phones. And photo filters.

Week 35. I call this look "business baby". I argued 4 motions in court this day.

A little fuzzy but I had to add because of how cute Eliot is peeking in on the picture.

Eliot, getting his picture "with MY baby."

37 weeks. Full Term. Doctor says all systems are "go". Holy cow. This is really happening.

Lemons, Lemonade, Lemons, Lemonade

One of my favorite expressions has always been "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."  There are definitely times you have to shake yourself off, dust yourself off, slap on some lipgloss and carry on.  I can't possibly count how many times in my life I have cried tears of anger/ frustration/ helplessness/ hurt, wiped away misplaced mascara, and then greeted whatever part of my day comes next.  Follow up the bad by salvaging good from that day, that moment. 

A week ago my father-in-law was in surgery...getting some plumbing reworked in his heart...also known as quadruple bypass. Two known heart attacks and one massive surgery to repair the damage and all I kept thinking about was that 50 years ago, he would not have made it. The first REAL brush with death for any of my husband or I's parents. And I can say, it was as rough as I had imagined it might be.

The good news is that after a 5+ hour surgery, several days of very slow recovery and whispers of the worst possible outcomes, he took a big turn in the right direction. We are so unbelievably blessed and thankful as every day brings a new milestone. Recovery is a realistic word.  And lots of "if's" are now "when's". WHEN you get out of this ICU room. WHEN you finish building that clock you're working on. WHEN we watch that next football game at our house. WHEN you hold your new grandson. But there is so much work for him to do. Luckily he's stubborn and strong and is not the type to throw in the towel just because it hurts to move or hurts to quit smoking or hurts to make changes.  He's just stubborn enough to turn himself around and get on that road to recovery. He just retired and he has things to do and projects to work on and he'll be damned if he lets a few heart attacks stop him.  I see in him the strength I see and love in my husband and often times the stubborn determination that leads someone to live their life the way my husband lives his (future blog post foreshadowing).

So trying to find the silver lining. Trying to find the lemonade. This particular lemon posed a very difficult challenge for me. Where in the HELL is the sugar I need to make my lemonade? The entire last week, we had lots of family stay with us as they are all out of town and the hospitals and specialists he needed were in our town. Schedules were upside down. The last few weeks of pregnancy are supposed to be quiet and peaceful. And we moved on...to Plan B. Everyone was in crisis mode. We did not know what the next hour held for anyone, let alone the next day.

All week I kept trying to make lemonade from the lemons and I realized that sometimes there isn't any lemonade to be made. There is nothing GOOD to be made out of nearly losing an immediate family member. There is not anything POSITIVE to take from the clutch in your gut and the tears burning at the back of your eyes for days on end. There is not anything happy to LEARN from someone almost leaving with lots of unfinishined business and life to live on earth. People leave all the time before they have finished all their business and the truth is, it is never okay. 

So rather than make lemonade out of the bitterest, nastiest of lemons, I decided to make my own lemonade, perhaps from a powder, without sugar or real lemon juice. I didn't even try to make lemonade until Friday. And by then, I was so frazzled, so spent, so upset with this lemon, that I almost did not make it at all.

So I boxed up the nasty lemons.  I found good in other areas of my life and I focused as hard as I could on the amazing beautiful support and friendship and love that popped up in expected and unexpected places.

Without really even asking, I had dinner every night, delivered from people who have hectic crazy lives. We had bottled water and cokes and chocolate cake and lasagna and just about everything we could possibly want or need. All I had to do was answer an email that said "What time do you want dinner?" Family, co-workers, running friends. The love just kept pouring in. I had more offers than I could possibly accept for more food and support. If half the people on facebook actually prayed for him that said they did, well, we know why he made it.  I have never been more grateful for basically everyone in my life. The bitter lemons were in garbage disposal.

Friday my little three year old has his field trip to the fire station. Due to all the crazy circumstances, our four year old nephew tagged along. I got to oversee these little cousins make memories while they travelled through the fire station, inspecting big fireman boots, going inside a fire engine, running through the "stop, drop and roll" drill. It would have been wonderful to take my little boy to a field trip on a normal day and get a little time away from the office. But taking both he and his cousin made for some hilarious moments. They live two hours apart, don't get to see each other all that often but make the most of every minute together. Between playing ring-around-the-rosie around my legs to sharing juice boxes after the trip was over to Eliot proudly introducing his cousin to every one of his classmates, I saw it! There it was! My lemonade pitcher.

Then I dropped the boys off, made a mad dash downtown, completed a brief on a case, filed it in federal court and a few hours later was somehow giving the two monkeys a bath. I silently observed them splashing each other, making up rules to various games, filling bath toys up with water and squirting them at each other. They posed for me in their bath towels and I captured what may be the cutest picture in the history of the world. And then suddenly my pitcher had some pre-made generic brand lemonade mix in the bottom.

Saturday morning I spent a quiet few hours with just the little man and I, of all places in Target and Barnes and Noble. Target provided us a solid 90 minutes of entertainment as we slowly, very slowly pilfered through every aisle of Halloween decorations, scoured the candy selections, picked up a few groceries and just giggled and laughed and discussed everything in the Halloween section. And then Eliot helped me find pajamas that fit. They are Hello Kitty and they are awesome. We followed it up with story time at Barnes and Noble, where the lovely B&N employee read multiple fall themed books about leaves and raking and scarecrows, and then Eliot had an M&M brownie. It was a perfect morning. Someone actually measured the water for me and added it to my pitcher.

The rest of the weekend was busy, hosting family, pulling together meals for the people who were in town visiting our patient, shuffling various bodies here and there. But huge progress was made, medically, for dad. And suddenly he was out of his bed walking. And discussions shifted so noticeably that everyone was smiling. Thoughts were positive and the lemonade was being stirred.

Finally, Sunday night, he was moved to a non-ICU room. We took our little guy up with a poster that says "get well PAPA! <3 Eliot" and despite some initial hesitancy because Papa looks much different...pretty soon he was telling his grandpa all about his match box car and star wars and everything else that matters when you're a three year old boy. And when I told him to give papa a kiss on his hand and he happily obliged with a sweet little kiss and I got to hug him again and know he was on the right path...sigh, sweet relief.

Glass filled with ice, lemonade poured. It might just be generic powdered mix, but honestly, lemonade has never been quite so delicious.

You Can't Take It With You

Unexpectedly this weekend, I bought a new car. My old car had been through ten and half years of mistreatment and neglect from me. It drove me on countless trips to and from remote Kansas towns for court hearings. It was rarely ever cleaned. It survived my first born's abuse. And after taking us safely to a little weekend getaway trip destination on Friday, it died. Poor thing was not worth the money to fix it. I don't speak car or anything mechanical really. But I do understand simple math and simply put, I had to put it to rest. And I just have to say thank you as that car was the most reliable little car over those 140,000 (ish) miles anyone could have asked for. It never left me stranded on the side of a highway or refused to start in the cold. It just drove endlessly and for that, I am forever grateful.

We all know that things are just things. The clothes you buy today are out of style tomorrow. My new car will someday get used up and go the way of my last car. My furniture will wear out. Even my beautiful jewelry, which is so precious to me, will someday be given to my kids or grandkids or other family members.

I have tried my whole life to work hard and buy things that are a good deal. I try to spend money on people, on memories and on experiences. For example, I recently spent an obscene amount of money taking my 3 year old son to the Broadway production of the Lion King. Our tickets were front and center and yes, it hurt the pocketbook to buy them. But I will never forget his open mouthed awe at the opening number. His excitement and rapt attention during the entire 3 hour musical is a memory I will always cherish (I never thought we'd make it through the whole thing).

And yet, despite my honest attempts to focus on memories and not things, I cannot help but become attached to stuff. I honestly struggled to leave my car behind. In my head, my little blue Saturn was devastated that I would rather dump it than fix it and let it come home with me. Yes, I know. It's a thing. It's metal and plastic and grey fuzzy carpet. It doesn't have feelings other than those I assign to it. And my feelings for that car are more related to the feelings it evokes. My first car ever purchased with my own money. The car I drove to countless hearings, only to have clients and other people comment on what it must mean that their lawyer drives a Saturn (and not a fancy luxury vehicle). The car that I took on countless trips (running and otherwise) with the husband and friends--Vail, Oklahoma City, Dallas, Kansas City (probably 300 times) and many other destinations I can't recall. So memories of those things and the feelings about that chapter of my life are all tied in to the car itself.

I place far too much value in clothes and purses and gadgets and stuff. I covet the next best thing, whatever that may be. It's difficult for me not to in our culture and society. I have an iPhone 4. And it's magical. But now, see there's this iPhone 5...but I try. I make a conscious effort not to be driven by STUFF or THINGS but to be inspired by PEOPLE and EXPERIENCES. No purse in the world can replicate the feelings and views of sitting on the side of a mountain and just sucking in your breath because the views are so fantastic. (Okay, maybe a Hermes Birkin, but I can't know that because the Birkin is still just a dream.)

And so I struggle. To be a person of depth and meaning. To spend money on books and vacations with friends and family. To recognize that physical stuff is transient. And yet, this morning, my little son asked whether or not we still had his bottle of apple juice left from this weekend. He told us that he wanted to drink the rest of the juice with breakfast and then keep the empty bottle FOREVER because it would help him remember his wonderful vacation with mommy and daddy. (We took a toddler focused "babymoon" and went a bunch of places that were all about him...when we were not buying a new car that is.)

We laughed a little. How SILLY! Keeping a bottle of apple juice that you bought at the bagel shop to remember a vacation by? But then it hit me. He was assigning the same importance to that empty apple juice bottle that I was assigning to a broken down 10 year old car. It wasn't just a plastic bottle, it was his last trip with mom and dad as an only child. And so we assign value to things because simply put, it cannot be helped and it's how our brains work. That necklace isn't just a necklace. It's the first gift I ever received from my boyfriend (who would later become my fiance and then my husband and then the father of my children) who took a lot of time to pick it out and spent money he didn't have all to match it to a bracelet I had. That purse is not just a purse. It's a statement that I am successful and I have done what it takes to reach a certain level of success.

It's a very tenuous line. The innocence of keeping an apple juice bottle as a souvenir is the best way to remain connected to the very disposable stuff in our life.  The problem comes in projecting too much on to the things and expecting anything in return from them. I know that a new purse won't fix my problems but doesn't the temporary buzz of unwrapping it, all shiny and new, help suspend life's hiccups for a bit? A car is still just a way to get from point to point and yet, I'm already projecting a lot on to my new car because it's my "mommy" vehicle, complete with a third row of seating.

And then there's the reality that I work hard. And I believe that I should be rewarded for my hard work once in a while. So with all of that, I attempt to live a philosophy that is based on honesty with myself about what things can give me. Stuff can be a lot of fun and reminders of wonderful memories. Stuff is mostly necessary as we need houses to live in and clothes to wear to work and cars to drive us to where we have to go. I struggle but I try to remember that the new shiny fun thing is just that. It is fun and shiny and new. I am not bad for enjoying that which is shiny and new. It can't solve my problems or make me laugh a big belly laugh the way a good joke or a witty remark can. It can't make me feel warm and loved the way a hug from someone I care about or a compliment can. I cannot assign more to that object other than simple enjoyment for being what it is. Because that is where I get into trouble...when I expect a thing to be the answer to my problem or in and of itself provide happiness.

And so with a heavy heart, I must say goodbye dear Saturn. You and the memories that go with you are cherished. Thank you, again, for never dying on the side of a busy highway in rush hour in the winter, leaving me to walk miles in high heels or some other such fate worse than death. And thank you, again, for transporting me and my family countless times over countless miles. I'll never forget you...or rather, I'll never forget my twenties and early thirties. Because really, that's what you are is a symbol of that time. Cheers.