What a week!!!

 Last Sunday, my Mother-in-Law and I went to the Portland Flower Show! It was incredible, and very beautiful. I can’t believe all the work that goes into it. They really set up entire backyard landscape examples complete with stone walkways, and of course lots of flowers.

We had some pretty beautiful sunsets. Here is one of those pull over to the side of the road and take a picture sunsets. It is over Sebago Lake on our way home.

We finished our bathroom remodel! At some point I will download the “real” pictures from my camera that show color a bit better than the ipod. I will post a before and after, because it’s quite startling actually.

Chandler is our foster puppy lately, because Stacey has been busy dogsitting other dogs (and Chandler doesn’t always play nice with others). Here they are, three dogs on a log. Err, couch.

A sure sign of spring! Tapping the maple trees. C’mon sap! Everyone say a prayer that we get cold nights and warm days, they make for a good sugar season.

You probably should be jealous of my MAD ART SKILLZ. Or not. Whatever.

That’s what five doors in a pick-up truck look like. These five bad boys have to be installed in my house. They are evil. That is all. Let’s just say we have three installed and the score is Doors: 256, Jenn & Casey: 1.

Caption: I really don’t care what you’re saying, Mom. YOU go outside and pee, I’ll wait here.

 Skeeter and Marx. Marx is a gorgeous Bernese Mountain Dog belonging to my former professor and his wife. Stacey’s dog-sitting for them this week and Skeeter wanted to go for a walk with him. Every time they meet up, Skeeter is a wee bit nervous about Marx due to his size. Then they just start playing like nobody’s business.

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Alright everyone, have a great week!

Happy Friday, everyone! Please join in and link up with your own kid quotes and stories. The button is over in the side bar (over there! —>) and link ups boost my self-esteem. So you can feel good about yourself after. 😉

Have a great weekend, everyone!

My brain is cluttered this week. I have had thoughts about different blog posts swirling around in my head. Half-written, half-developed, half-good, half-crap. But when I sit to write, sentences are refusing to form in a way that flows, or makes any sort of sense. 

I’ve been feeling anxious because we have so much going on. Our house is going on the market this week, and I am half-worried it won’t sell, and half-worried it will sell right away and we won’t have anywhere to live until the end of June when we can leave for NC. And for anyone who has tried to sell a house, it’s really stressful to live in a house that must be show-ready at a moment’s notice. Luckily we are selling it ourselves so we have control over showings. But still. Sometimes I want to leave my dishes on the sink. Or not put the fluff and peanut butter away directly after eating.

And then there is the second book I am working on with my former professor. There are notes to take, chapters to write. Half-developed ideas that I feel like I never have time to sit down and develop.

So my inspiration has been lacking. I want to write about crazy family dynamics, how I have two sister-in-laws named Katie and we aren’t talking to either one. I want to write about how ironic it is that people think I’m someone who has “it” “all together,” when that couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to write about how I’m going to be 30 in six months, and how I used to think that was SO OLD, and that I’m still not sure when I’m going to feel like I’m an adult. I want to write about my failed attempts to start Kid Quotes Friday, and how I don’t know whether I should continue with a link-up or just forget about it. I want to write about how sad I am that so many of the infertility blogs I’ve been reading have had late-term pregnancy losses and my heart is breaking for all of them. There are so many words that I want to share, but I can’t.

At least not this week, because my mind is cluttered.

Apparently my brain needs some spring cleaning. Pass the Windex.

Wishing a Happy Anniversary to Shell at Things I Can’t Say, who has now been hosting Pour Your Heart Out for two years! I may be relatively new to the whole blogging world, but I’m so appreciative of Shell and the other supportive folks in her community who have made their way over here.

Here’s another slice of our week, in pictures!

I have been awake for a few minutes, and I alternate between looking over at her and staring at the ceiling (she hates it when I stare at her).  She looks so soft and peaceful.  Sometimes I sneak down and gently hold her hand, depending on whether or not her position allows me to.

She starts to stir and her eyes open a little bit.  They close briefly, and I know she’s making sure that she’s really done with sleeping for the day, and then half open again.  Then it’s either “morning” or “hi”, in a very soft sweet voice, a voice that has forgotten any woes from the day before and is ready to start taking on a new day.

She asks me how I slept, and then I ask her.  Sometimes we discuss our wacky dreams for a minute.  Then she’ll suggest that it’s time for breakfast.  Before I go make us breakfast in bed, I always lean over and kiss her on her cheek.

I come back with the tray and we eat our breakfast.  I put the tray away, and we usually lay on the bed and snuggle while watching a show for awhile.  She has an indescribable glow to her in the morning and her hair always falls just right.  I tell her how beautiful she is in the morning and she’ll either indicate that I’m lying or crazy (or just wrong).  Sometimes she’ll let out a small, very cute yawn, with an innocence that brings to mind an image of what she probably looked like as a little girl yawning.

She is my morning sunshine, and she is probably going to roll her eyes at me while reading this.

Kid: I tried to make a smoothie, but we don’t have a blender. So, I put it in the microwave. Yeah, it just wasn’t the same. –7 y.o.

Kid: I’m really gonna miss you Jenn. I think actually I miss you so much already I probably need more therapy. So… you should probably just keep working with me. –9 y.o.

I’m a social worker. Crisis and trauma are kind of my bread and butter. When I worked for a homeless shelter, calling 911 was what we did, between intoxication, seizures, tuberculosis,  and a variety of other health concerns.

There’s a difference between calling 911 when you’re at work, and calling 911 because your husband is downstairs, disoriented, after having collapsed while exercising.  Suddenly you cannot remember you own name, your address, or why you are calling.

Every day, I work with young children to become desensitized to reminders in their lives of past trauma. To help them be able to react in a reasonable manner to their every day environment. To help them become less hyper-vigilant, less reactive to loud sounds, and triggers.Triggers which could be anything from the sound of a male voice, to the color of a shirt or nightgown.

There’s a difference between teaching others how to adapt and cope with their environment, and recognizing that you yourself have a physical reaction to the sound of ambulance sirens ever since you heard them turning into your driveway. 

I am not immune. I may have a lot of training and intellectual understanding about trauma, but it doesn’t stop the feelings. It doesn’t stop the reminders. It doesn’t change the fact that over a year later, I still stare at this spot above our toilet because the night my husband went to the emergency room for 7 hours, I left the candle burning in the bathroom and it left this mark on my wall.

It doesn’t stop me from looking at my phone every hour, expecting a text message from Casey letting me know he’s okay (a rule that I put in place when I had to go back to work while he was home recovering from the stroke). It doesn’t stop me from tearing up when I notice that Casey’s speech is slurring, or that he has dropped what he was holding because he can’t control his hand, or that when he runs he favors his right leg.

I am not immune to the reminders. I am not stronger than than what happened to us. And although I don’t think about it all the time, it is always with us. The stinging reminder of mortality, the questions from well meaning friends, the burn on my wall.

Soon it will be wiped away with a fresh coat of paint. I suspect I will continue to stare at that spot on the wall.

A reminder of a night my 32 year old husband had a stroke. The night that changed everything.

He won’t often sit down for heart to heart talks.

But he will make sure that you have safe tires on your car, and he’ll even go have them put on for you so you can avoid the smelly tire place.

He won’t be up for a chick flick marathon with lots of junk food.

But he will fix your computer on a moment’s notice, even when it’s probably your fault that it’s broken.

He won’t always be good with expressing how he feels in words.

But he will hug you hard, he will interrogate your future spouse, he will teach you how to ride a bike (and he will make you get back on when you fall).

He won’t know how to tell you what’s on his mind.

But he will whisper to you in the dark how proud he is of you, when he thinks you are asleep.

There will be rocky times – between Dads and daughters – there will be times of exasperated sighs, eye rolls, and dramatic exits. There will be times when neither one knows how to get through to the other.

But then, you will dance together on your wedding day, he will hold you when your heart is hurting, and you will watch him take care of your  mother with such tenderness that you feel as though your heart is on the outside and you will know you were born of love.

And then one day, you will call him in tears. Because you’ve had an eyelash stuck on your eye for 6 hours, your eye is swelling and you don’t know what to do.

And he will tell you to pop your eye ball out of your head and remove the eye lash.

And then you’ll ask him to have your Mom call you back when she gets home.