{Originally Posted at Bring the Rain}

Take off your sandals, for the place
where you are standing is
holy ground…

Exodus 3:5

The funeral home called a few days ago (7/8) to tell us that Audrey’s grave marker was in.

This
week has been hard, and for some reason, this pushed me over the edge
emotionally. I don’t even know if I could say it was sadness, because
I have been waiting for weeks for this call. I wanted her to have more
than the little plastic placeholder with the piece of paper in it. I
was relieved that it was finally there, but it took my breath away to
hear the words. It feels so final.

Immediately,
I told Todd I wanted to go over and see it. We only have one car right
now (I kind of wrecked the other one a little bit, but I contend that
it was the pile of cement’s fault. It practically jumped out and
ripped off my bumper) and the twins had a friend over, so I started out
the door. Kate saw me grab my keys and she started screaming and
begging to come with me. I told her that I was going to see Audrey and
then to the grocery store, and that I didn’t think she would have as
much fun as if she stayed and played with all the girls. She
protested. And then she started putting on her shoes and saying over
and over, “Ona go, momma. Ona go.” When Kate says she “wants to” go,
she is pretty persistent. I didn’t have the strength to fight her, so
I told her she could come. She ran to the playroom and grabbed the back
page of a princess magazine they had been reading, wiped her eyes, and
said “let’s go, momma. I go wif you, just you and kate, momma. just
us, right?”

“Just you and me, Kate. We’re going to go see Audrey.” She climbed in her car seat, clinging on to the magazine page.

The
whole way to the cemetery, I watched her smile in the rear-view mirror.
I love taking each of my girl’s out for “alone time,” because we get
to connect in a different way than when we are all together, and I
think it helps them to know they are each so special to me. Kate
really needs this time, especially lately.

We
got to the cemetery and I grabbed my camera to take pictures so Todd
could see Audrey’s marker. I obliged when Kate asked to take off her
shoes. She loves the feeling of grass in her toes; she is the kind of
kid who wants to “feel” everything fully. She wants to touch the
flowers (pluck mercilessly), sort my purse (turn upside-down and use up
my new lipstick), and to enjoy her food (shove fistfuls of it into her
mouth while closing her eyes and purring “mmm-mmm.”). She doesn’t know
how to do life halfway, and I love that about her.

She
grabbed her little page and started walking around the cemetery with
this big grin. I spent some time talking to Audrey, and then asked her
if she wanted to come over with me (she had discovered the joy of
stealing the little flags from several vases….don’t worry, they have
been returned…).

She looked up at me, confused.

“Ona see Audrey.”

“She’s
right here, honey. They just gave her a special new plaque that tells
about her. It has her name on it.” I ran my fingers along the letters
and she took a step in my direction, then stopped.

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Originally Published on Velveteen Mind

Suburban Oblivion recently complained that her two year old had been replaced by demon spawn. She welcomed any interest in buying him on eBay.

As luck would have it, someone took her up on the offer. Someone that apparently can not have children. Sara responded with an exercise in gratitude, expressing that it sometimes takes getting bitch-slapped in the comments to remember how good you have it.

What followed was a discussion in Suburban Oblivion’s comments that touched on a topic that I take very personally. The topic of gratitude and our right to be ungrateful some days. This is something that I’ve been meaning to write about for some time, but always back down. Sara is a great fire-starter, so here goes.

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Originally published on I Should Be Folding Laundry

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Originally published on Mother of Confusion

My son was born after midnight during the cooler days of May, before the Central Valley could blaze triple-digit temperatures.

The delivery room was packed full of people. The doctor, several
nurses, my husband, my parents and my mother-in-law were in attendance.
As my son emerged into the world, I expected him to gasp and then cry
about the abrupt ejection.

He did not.

Instead he was quiet and blue. The umbilical cord was wrapped around
his slender neck several times. Of course I didn’t know that yet, but
the jubilant faces of the others gave way to peaked, pinched
expressions.

When I asked what was wrong. The response was, “Nothing. Everything’s okay. It’s okay.”

The reassurances scared me. I was only 20-years-old, but already I knew people lied when things were really, really wrong.

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Originally published on Loralee’s Looney Tunes

I visited my son’s grave today.

There was no special reason. No holiday or anniversary. No family or friends that live far away who wanted to pay their respects. I was just driving and saw the snow on the ground and wanted to check on my son, clean up his grave, and remove the decorations that I put up for Autumn.

Matthew is buried in a beautiful spot. We put him next to family, a cousin of Jonathan’s that was killed in a car crash with his grandmother when she was only 19. It makes me feel better that his cousin is close by. I will be buried near him, but not next to him because that space was occupied, which makes me very sad.

It used to make me angry.

The grave right next to my son is occupied by what they call a “Pauper grave”. Meaning, that the plot was donated and the family doesn’t have the resources for a headstone. There is a metal marker that has an index card with typing on it. The womans name has been obliterated. All I know is that death occurred in July of 1998 and that she was only 41 at the time of passing.

In the four years since my Little Bug has passed, my feelings about “Her” have changed. It’s still hard to know that this stranger gets a place that I yearn to have, but instead of being angry, I began to be curious about this neighbor of my son. Who was she? What was she like? Did she have any family?

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Originally Posted at Mom-O-Matic.

I’m going to try and talk about what’s going down with son because it’s kind of eating me up these days. When I write in this blog I do try to stick to just telling my own stories. That way I’m the only that can get mad when I realize that everyone knows my scene. But the lines between my story and his story are kind of blurry. When I look at my kids it’s like someone put the zoom lens on in my head. I really don’t see anything but their beautiful faces looking up at me. So worrying about son is overshadowing my view of everything. And I can feel it weighting me down into the depths of crappymotherhood. So I’m hoping I can get this off my chest and breathe a little easier, but do so in a way that respects his privacy. Here goes.

Son’s just been having a hard time of it this year. He’s been sporting these big, black shiners under his eyes all the time. He seemed run down and whiny often - but in that way that kids get when they’re sick. I admit we hoped that after his adenoid/tonsil surgery the relief from constant sinus infections would restore him. Bring back our bright and sunny guy. But my mommy gut knew that there was going to be something more going on. However, I told mommygut that she’s often been wrong since she started hanging around with myanxiety and to stuff it.

And at first he seemed to feel so much happier. He was sleeping better and eating more too. But those darn shiners just wouldn’t go away. And I hated them because they look like he hasn’t gotten enough care, or that he was sad. And then he started to say quite often, “I feel sad and I don’t know why.” (Mmm? What’s that sound? Oh that’s just my heart smashing to the floor - let me get a broom and clean that right up.)

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