Look, Mommy!

Today at Arby's Bubble Boy pointed to something and said something I couldn't make out (he is in speech therapy for intelligibility issues). I had a sense that he was pointing to someone instead of something so I was afraid to look.

I remember when I was about three or four and I was sitting in a restaurant with my younger sister and mother. My sister and I were giggling and pointing. To my mother's horror, we were giggling and pointing at someone. That someone was a black man. Thankfully, we weren't saying the "N" word. I don't even think we'd heard that word. We had heard the word "colored," however, and that is what we were giggling about.

"Mommy, look, there's a colored man. Hee hee hee."

Obviously, there weren't many "colored" men in the town in which we grew up. Obviously, we had gleaned from society or certain family members, who shall remain unnamed, that being "colored" was something to giggle at.

My mother tried her best to hush us. I don't know if the man heard us or not, but he gave no indication that he did.

I remembered this incident as I sat in Arby's with my four-year-old, hoping he wasn't pointing at someone.

"Mommy, I said look!"
"Look at what?" I said, eyes still lowered, procrastinating the embarrassment I knew was coming. Who was it? A person of color? Surely not. Bubble Boy has seen a million on t.v. not to mention the many we call friends. A disfigured person? Maybe.

No. "Look. It's an old guy."

I briefly looked out of the corner of my eye. As in my childhood memory, I couldn't tell if he heard us. I hoped he didn't. Awkward!

When I didn't respond, Bubble Boy said it again, louder. "AN OLD GUY!"

I whispered the mommy-type things. "It's not nice to point at people," etc.

Bubble Boy sulked. How could I not get excited about an old guy? Maybe he rode dinosaurs or something. What? Has my son not seen old people? To his credit, his grandparents, and even his great-grandparents, do seem young.

I know how disturbing it is that my sister and I laughed at an African American back in the seventies. Our society has come a long way. Thankfully, my sister and I did too; we grew up as sensitive, caring people who would never do such a thing nowadays.

I find it disturbing that my son thinks of an elderly man as a novelty. What does this say about our society today?

My family is planning on participating in Disney's "Give a Day, Get a Day" promotion. We have chosen a job that entails visiting and helping out the elderly. The timing is perfect.

Do You Like Sugar?

All morning the kids were waiting to open their presents.


Waiting so patiently.


First, everyone had to get up. Then they had to eat breakfast. Then Daddy needed to run out for one last forgotten gift.

Finally, we were ready. Each cherub had his presents neatly stacked in front of him. Their fingers were posed for ripping.

Wait- where's the baby? We need to go find E.E. He's been way too quiet, and we know that isn't good.

Where was E.E. when everyone else was thinking about Littlest Pet Shop and Bakugan, I mean, the birth of Jesus?

This is where he was. Putting syrup on his giant table pancake and licking it off.


Emily: "Do you like sugar?"
Buddy the Elf: "Is there sugar in syrup?"
Emily: "Yes."
Buddy the Elf: "Then yes!"

He had syrup all over him, the table, and the floor. Guess what kiddies? Now we have to give him a bath. So, just a while longer before presents, OK? Sure, Mommy. We were just sitting here thanking the lord for the baby Jesus and discussing the wise men's gift choices. No rush.

Brotherly Love

Today I was making turkey noodle soup for dinner. As I was pulling the meat from the frame, I gave the wishbone to J.T. and Bubble Boy. I told them each to take a side and pull while making a wish. I forgot to mention wishes are made silently, and so they both excitedly blurted their wishes out loud.
As they yanked on the greasy bone, Bubble Boy said, "I wish that J.T. and I will never get hurt again." I will never forget that sweet face, still healing from a run-in with the bedroom door frame, and that four-year-old voice wishing not only for himself, but for his brother. *sigh*
Meanwhile, J.T. exclaims, "I wish Bubble Boy were dead!" Do you hear all the movie sound effects for "the fun has ended"? I took the bone and asked J.T. why he said that. I suppose he could tell from the look on my face he had chosen the wrong wish. He ran from the room, and when I caught up with him, he was tearing up. I asked him if he was kidding. He had a confused look on his face, and I think his wish was just the act of repeating a line he had heard other kids say about themselves, siblings, parents, etc. It was a stock answer. J.T. has never said anything like that before, and he and Bubble Boy love each other and are best buddies.
He finally said he was kidding, and apologized to Bubble Boy, who was horrified and crying. He gave J.T. a hug, and all was well (except Bubble Boy might sleep with his eyes open tonight).

Still

Still processing...

Lily, if you were alive I think we'd end up calling you "Lily-bell" or Lily-bug." We'd end up calling you silly names like the rest of them.

I hope you don't mind we gave you the name "Lily" instead of "Delaney" like I was planning. Delaney didn't seem reverent. You were born an angel, and some names are more earthly than others. Delaney is a name for a little girl who will run and jump, scream and throw tantrums, sing and eat lollipops with a melty smile. I am so saddened that you will do none of those things.

You are still and quiet. You were delicate in your body. Lily is a name for an angel.

I plan on planting some lilies-of-the-valley for you by Evan's magnolia tree. These are better for me than a cold headstone.

Lily, if we do have a Delaney that runs and sings and eats lollipops, I hope you will feel happiness. I hope you know that every time I see lilies, I will remember you.

Processing

How discordant are my last two posts with one another? Wow. One is happy times and the other is like a smack in the face. Unexpected for sure.

Today I got the call telling me my daughter's cremains were ready to be picked up. Is that even a word- "cremains"? That's what the funeral director called them. So, I will be bringing home a tiny silver urn. It will be rough to do that. Going in the funeral home to sign the papers wasn't bad, but having the urn in my hands...

I'd say some days, I still forget what happened. Denial, maybe? It seems as I have already done the denial thing. However, I have read that grieving people skip around the phases of grief, coming and going and coming again.

I have my "postpartum" visit next week. I hope all my parts are in order. I had a thought today- if I cannot have any more children, I will be devastated. I will fall in a hole. That tells me I do want another baby. First, my visit and questions. Second, hubby?

I am heading to Indiana tomorrow to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. I know it is going to be uncomfortable. I still look pregnant.

I keep thinking about Ambercutie and her new favorite song. Before the loss, she had been singing along with her Barbie MP3 player to Carrie Underwood's "All-American Girl." When I heard it today, the lyrics made me sad. Ambercutie was so excited about that "little pink blanket" that she was certain we were going to bring home.

Well, we did get a girl, but we will be bringing her home in a little silver urn instead.

Lily

Lily is the daughter we didn't get to bring home. At least, not the way we expected. She will be in an urn beside the urn of her older brother, who would have been seven this January. Yes, we have two urns now. I did not plan on being a collector.

This is our third loss so far. The first was due to a blighted ovum, so no urn for that one. The second loss was a baby boy, Evan, who had Trisomy 18. Now Lily, whose death is undetermined at this time. Fortunately, we have five BEAUTIFUL children, and I feel blessed more than ever now that I know how fragile life can be. Thank God for these children at home; they are a life line right now.

What happened to Lily? I have seen a specialist for my past three pregnancies after Evan. I had the neuchal translucency scan to check for chromosomal abnormalities. I did the same for Lily. Her scans at twelve weeks all showed a healthy fetus with no defects. My blood work indicated our chances for a chromosomal problem were one in 3000. At about seventeen weeks, I heard her heartbeat. Less than a month later her heartbeat was gone.

I have gone over everything that I did in that month. The exterminator came. We were around livestock at the fair. There was mold in our basement. I drank caffeine. I had a sinus infection. I don't think any of these things was the cause, but I wonder. No word from my doctor yet, and it is so hard not knowing.

I wonder if we will be able to have the sixth one we were all looking forward to. Because we are already so blessed, I feel bad complaining about it if we can't. However, will I always see the empty seat, the empty coat hook...? Most likely, we do not have a genetic problem that has caused these tragedies. I believe they all have different causes. We were just unlucky. If that is the case, and our doctor says we are not likely to have another stillborn or miscarriage, we may try again. We have much to learn and discuss before we make that decision.

Until then, we will also mourn and heal. I miss the baby for whom we planned. At least I got to meet and hold her. At the last ultrasound, when the heartbeat was not detected and she was still, the doctor told me the news. He switched off the monitor, and all I could think was "turn it back on." I saw her face, and then it was gone. I felt I would never see her again, but I forgot about the part that comes next. I forgot we would pack our bags and go to the hospital. We have done this many times with happy outcomes. This time I would not leave with a baby on my lap, but a memory box instead.

Just a few "memories" are in that box. Among them are tiny footprints and a lace-trimmed blanket the size of a handkerchief. What is not in the box are the dreams of a precious life not lived and love for a little girl named Lily. No box is big enough.

Lately

Cumming Country Fair:

Myrtle Beach:

Little boys do not think fish heads are gross...

My three-year-old (or a wild boar) got into the cupcakes for my daughter's party.

I should've used gloves. No, I didn't kill the three-year-old. This is food coloring from kneading fondant cake icing.

Birthday cake for nine-year-old vampiress.