" We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection ... we write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to speak with others."
- Anais Nin
God’s been all up in my grill with flashing this particular quote at me in all kinds of ways.
And, then because practice makes perfect good, I’m getting lots of opportunities to apply the principle to real life.
Turns out this little saying applies to pretty much everything.
That Voltaire … what a smarty pants. And then there’s God with the whole “Hey, turn down the volume and tune in” thing.
Which is totally not what I meant to write at midnight on a work night. I just miss writing here and while I’ve been applying the aforementioned philosophy effectively in other areas I haven’t done it with blogging yet. (Will I ever learn to like that word?!)
Tonight, I just wanted to hop on here and share how much I am loving learning more about the awesomeness that is modern technology.
I always wait until a better time to Skype with my parents and surprise, surprise it never comes. So tonight I sat outside after I came home from a meeting that ended blessedly early and we chatted for a bit and I was so grateful for the technology to do that from my little phone!
And then it got even better! I saw earlier from a blog I follow The Mom Creative that a book I was interested in reading was available for free on Kindle. Too bad I don’t have that.
Oh, but wait! I do! On my phone. Which I found out super randomly when I was checking to see if the screenshot I took while Skyping turned out. There was a message informing me my Kindle update was complete.
It gets cooler. So then I download the book which has some impressive author blurbs from the likes of Ree Drummond, Ann Voskamp and Beth Moore.
In this post by Melanie Shankle --who is about to have her first book released --writes:
“As much as it all still doesn’t seem real, I look at Sparkly Green Earrings sitting on my bookshelf and it’s a reminder that God sees us. He sees the little dreams we have that we’re scared to voice out loud but whisper as a prayer in the dark. And then he works all things together for his good and puts pieces together in ways we never could have imagined.”
So when Sam asks me how it is I know for sure that God answers my prayers I can say because I am listening for them … when I tune in, that is.
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I'd stopped on my way home to catch a candid picture of one of the candidate's I'm covering putting up campaign signs. I was close to home when my husband called. There was an accident ... he started to tell me a baby got hit in front of our house ... it's pretty bad. But at the same time just before I rounded the corner to my house I saw the flash of a police car.
I heard the drum that beats inside to say something’s not right. I came onto my street and saw my house surrounded by police cars, caution tape and chaos. My husband was in the front yard – distraught.
He'd just told me a baby. Not Sam, not Jake. A baby. But time lapsed and all the information didn't click in my mind as I hurried into the madness. Could it be my boys?
I couldn’t get my car any farther down the street.
“You can’t go down there.” One of the world’s hall monitors informed me.
“I have to.” I shouted, trying to remember how to park my car.
what is happening? I ran.
I heard wailing coming from the left. I ran faster.
A toddler. Hit by a car.
Simultaneously I saw for sure that it wasn’t one of my kids because the toy-car wagon in the grilll of a Ford sedan didn’t belong to my boys.
It was Alex’s, next door.
Alex, a little boy who just barely got to the world before getting taken out on a random October afternoon. He just celebrated his 1st birthday September 22.
I never met him. But will keep a candle lit for him in my heart for the rest of my days. Because to me, the moment of relief I felt that my boys were okay, meant that someone else’s baby wasn’t.
I’ve done crisis counseling. I know what that’s called, I know it’s not rational: survivor’s guilt.
None of that helps when I can’t sleep in the middle of the night thinking of the baby, his sister, his brother, his father … his mother a few houses down. His grandmother, his grandfather, his babysitter … all people I only knew in passing … but now I hear them cry in my sleep. And I wake up with my own pillow wet from my own tears.
They each have their own stories … the stories that don’t get into the news because they’re happening at the same time as the news is developing and they’re happening in hearts and heads … not headlines.
There’s the story of his sister, Jessica. I can’t tell you her story, because I don’t know it. But I can tell you where my life intersected with hers, on the corner of 4th and Meridian.
A beautiful young girl, 14, sitting in the street, wearing one black Ked and hitting the pavement over and over and over again. Screaming for her brother to wake up. Screaming at the man who hit him. Screaming for time to come back. Screaming. Her grandmother never let go of her … shaking and bearing witness to the grief around her, holding her own inside.
The next day I came over to the house I saw Jessica, in a dark room sitting by his crib, she was still saying his name, clinging to the crib, Wake up, Alex. Wake up.
Then there is Javier. A handsome 17-year old who said he waited his whole life to have a brother. They were just about to share a room together – Javier planned to paint the lighting McQueen lightening bolt in their room. Maybe he still will, he can’t think about that now.
I met Javier at the same intersection as his sister, but hours later. The scene was silent now. The only evidence of the afternoon’s tragedy and chaos was the little red toy car still in the car’s grill … the street still taped off, the wailing echoing in the minds of neighbors but save the sound of detectives talking in low voices it was quiet now.
No one came to pick Javier up from practice. He learned something was wrong, but not what exactly. He ran all the way home. He was nearly there when he saw the tape, like I did. Saw the wagon, like I did.
But there was no relief for Javier because it was his baby brother. I told him what I knew. I held him, this boy I’d never met, this boy who just learned his brother was in a horrible accident and fighting for his life in a city an hour away. A boy who was alone to process all of that.
So I hovered around his house, in case he came out. He did. We talked a bit, I introduced him to another neighbor, the one who’d given his little brother CPR, somehow information was helping, at least it gave him something to process, perhaps.
If he needed anything I told him to come over. At 8 p.m. he came to the door. My heart lifting, I thought he was coming to tell me good news. Instead, he just wanted to let me know his brother didn’t make it. But he was braver than me and used all of the words: my little brother … died.
And he had to go talk to his little sister, who’d come from a friend’s house. I came home with him, not because there was anything I could do to help but because I could be there, to hold them, to let him grieve without having to be the adult in the room for his sister … and that’s all I did. Held them until he was ready for me to go. I haven’t seen him since but I think about him every day.
I do see the grandfather every day as he comes out to check on the flowers, tidy up the memorial site, bring fresh water, straighten what the wind has bent.
I talk to him a little bit as I come to tie the balloons back up in the battle against gravity, the rain has come to put the candles out, the chalk messages are wiped away, the markings in the street are fading … but the memories, the sounds, the moments of that Monday afternoon no one can take back.
Those stay. Those stay forever. The impact permanent. And that’s just for me. So I literally can’t draw a full breath when I put myself in any one of their shoes. The best I can do is what I told the little boy’s mama: though I never knew him, I will never forget your son.
Alex’s story hit home for most everyone in my home. Matt has his own story, one he’ll most likely keep to himself. But he’s not sleeping well either. He heard the impact. He called 9-1-1 knowing what happened before he saw what happened.
Sam, well, how do you tell a five-year-old this story? We’re working through it. Sometimes he understands, sometimes he doesn’t Same as me. He says he dreams of Baby Alex. And in his dreams, they are playing Legos, and running, lots of running Sam says.
But I did not cover this story. I was a part of this story. Their stories are now a part of me.
I share them with you as a reminder to always, but always, remember this moment matters.
p.s. some of you are asking for more information about the accident itself as well as what possessed me to tell my son about it. This photo is taken in front of my house, does that help answer that?
And the other questions are really good ones too and I’ll come back with the answers I have as soon as I can.
And some have also wondered - yes we have a collection envelope for them and you can message me for more information if you would like to contribute something to this family ... I understand things are tight and there are a lot of things vying for our attention and resources, if you feel moved to share a few dollars, let me know.
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It felt so good to write here yesterday, I thought I’d squeeze in another post, in lieu of a shower though so maybe that’s not such good news for the people who interact with me in person.
But, for those of you who have written asking if I finally succumbed to the temptation of sticking my head in the oven during my long cyber-silence, this ought to be a good sign.
And, by the way, that whole oven thing? Mostly a joke because I use inappropriate humor as a coping tool, hey, it beats drugs, right? See, I can’t help myself .
Also, mine’s an electric oven, so the joke would ultimately be on me.
Yesterday I was amazed at the way technology plays such a critical role in how I do my job in ways that I never dreamed of last time I had this gig.
A decade ago, I had a cell phone but it was at the coast and rarely charged – so between those two factors – totally pointless.
Yesterday I was on a field trip with a group of fifth-graders touring the local landfill. I was on the school bus when my editor texted me that we needed a story in the paper, due later that afternoon.
The story was about a young man named Cody Myers who was murdered a year ago by two sick-twist psychopath white supremacists monsters.
Actually, the story was about the foundation that’s been formed since his death by his family in order to continue his vision of providing children who couldn’t afford them musical instruments, and lessons.
I followed the Myers’ story very closely last year, it was when I was still a stay at home mom writing my monthly column. It struck a chord deep within me that these worries of mine with little ones are a blessing compared to those I will face when they are old enough to, like, leave my field of vision.
One night, on deadline this column came to me, truly channeled from beyond myself.
Anyway, in that column I mentioned Cody’s mom as she was in my heart so much as I followed the story. I’ve often thought of her and Cody’s story as a way of bringing myself back to a place of grace despite the madness around me.
For the story on a tight deadline, it was tempting to just stick to the basic facts of the benefit concert: October 21, noon to midnight, Trails End in Oregon City … but it means so much more in context doesn’t it?
So I used our archives and Facebook posts to put as much of it together as I could while praying for the chance to talk with the right person for the story.
An hour before the story was due, I got the opportunity to talk with Cody’s mom who was gracious with her time and in sharing such a painful story, but also she said it is good to have her son remembered.
I know I am only one of many who never even met him, and yet will never forget him, or his story.
It’s been so long since I’ve posted here I had to think to remember my password. Sigh.
Really? July 3 is my last post?! I think it’s safe to say four months is the longest I’ve gone without blogging—a word I still loathe—since I was introduced to this awesomeness by my lovely friend Rosie seven years ago.
All that is to say … I miss it. And I’m not giving up on my promise that I’ll be back to more regular blogging one of these days soon.
Starting today.
So, I know this would be freaky and wrong in a lot of important ways but it’s crossed my mind many times in the last four months that it would be so cool if I could just download my thoughts into my computer and upload the posts I compose while falling asleep and driving to work and yes even during some of the boring parts of my otherwise interesting meetings.
But, that would come with a host of problems … like the obvious fact that many of my thoughts aren’t for public consumption. I know, those are kind of the best ones … but I insist on saving those for after I’ve had a few cocktails.
So how about a super quick update and the commitment to be back soon with more?
drinking less of the aforementioned cocktails, less coffee and lots of water – what do you know? There’s been so action on the bloody scale.
appreciating the good news that I won a long-fought battle with my mortgage company yesterday. For the first time since this spring I know where I’ll live at Christmastime (and beyond). so relieved!
watching season openers for my favorite shows Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice and The Office.
laughing at myself, a lot. Humor makes everything better.
eating meat again … thinking about quitting.
willing this lovely autumn weather to last longer than summer did in Oregon.
waiting anxiously my parents to move to the same side of the country as me. so awesome!
prepping to wrap up the final details of my journaling class with Big Picture Classes. so excited!
opening my eyes and heart to new possibilities and perspectives.
sleeping in a very crowded bed with two little boys who refuse to stay in their room all night. trying to remember this is a short, short season and love the snuggling time. but also: exhausted.
remembering how it feels to be in the swing of being a reporter.
brainstormingideas for Sam’s fifth (FIFTH?!) birthday party this weekend
wearing fun outfits more often. Like real, coordinated outfits instead of just what fits … encouraged!
considering ways to work in personal writing time. Now that I’m doing it all day, it’s less likely to happen at home. Partly because that’s where everything else is waiting. Did you know it’s true that “the dishes will wait?”
making the best of things … it’s a good strategy.
feeling better, finally!
getting nervous about the new changes coming at work.
lovingplanning Sam’s party and getting ready to decorate for Halloween.
having visions of catching up on Project Life … yeah, about four months worth – good guess!
listening to the sound of my boys starting to wake up.
crying less often.
acknowledging that attitude is truly everything.
flipping off the lady who flipped me off for no reason … and then realizing I should probably stop doing stuff like that. Then, she did it again so I threw up double birds and it felt kind of good. No idea what her problem was. Didn’t make it mine.
enjoying the realization that things might feel more settled in the near future.
thankful for all of it.
Thank you to Ali Edwards and Elsie Blaha who inspired this list of reflections in my life right now.
Long-term readers of this blog know I’ve been working on getting healthier eating habits, stronger and—out of favor as it is to say it—thinner.
I’m nearly half-way to my goal and as I often used to do when I see the possibility of actually achieving a goal, I sabotage myself.
Just as I was starting to feel better and fit into my smaller clothes, I went on a little binge. (I wonder if I will always have a variety of sizes of clothes in my closet making it look like I have so much to wear but really … no. Just the same pants I wore yesterday.) When my friend brought over a chocolate milkshake I put it in the freezer for later. By which I mean I hid it in the back of the freezer behind the frozen salmon. And then I forgot about it. By which I mean plotted my binge, waiting until every one else was dead asleep before coming downstairs to dig it out of the deep freeze and dig in.
I told myself I deserved it. A little treat for myself. Which really, is so considerate, right? I mean why not give myself something that will make me feel ill for a couple days – milk does me no favors … but this was a chocolate milkshake. in my house.
I enjoyed it to the last drop. By which I mean I inhaled it before I thought better of it berating myself the entire time. I know, total bliss right?
And then—why am I telling you this—I wrapped the empty cup in a plastic bag and threw it in the garbage hid it in the washing machine. Because that’s normal. And went to bed.
I woke up feeling, not surprisingly, sick and a little bit stupid. But not as stupid as I felt when I saw the garbage bag—yeah the same one I’d so carefully tucked among the towels loaded in the washing machine—sitting open in the sink.
Some of you know we haven’t been living in wedded bliss over here so my first thought wasn’t “Busted! How funny!”
It was more like a sinking feeling in my stomach followed by mortification quickly overtaken by rage: “What a jerk! Leaving the bag in the sink to shame me like this.” Because I am super good at jumping to negative conclusions. Awesome at it.
And because 6:30 in the morning is a good time as any to pick a fight I called my husband to inquire about this random garbage bag in the sink.
Husband: It was weird. I don’t know, the kids must have stuck it in the washing machine.
Me: I think the real question is what you were doing digging around the washing machine at 5 a.m.
Husband: Really? That’s the question?
Me: Well, also why you put the bag in the sink and not the garbage.
Husband: Because there was a metal spoon in it! And so you’d know one of the boys put garbage in the washer.
Me: I will totally have a talk with them.
Yeah, we’re healthy like that.
Feel better about yourself?
You're welcome.
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I’d love to say this is some kind of “fun mom” boredom buster activity but alas … that’s totally not true.
The other day, the Cinco de Mayo, to be precise, Matt was out of clean underwear and didn’t have time to wait for the dryer to finish. So … I dug the last pair of clean boxers in the house out of the Christmas bins. Which is to say I lugged four heavy boxes out from the corner of my closet and rummaged through them until I found Matt’s least favorite, yet clean, article of clothing and tossed them to him. Feliz Navidad!
He didn’t laugh as hard as I did … or at all. But karma got me back as I am still, ten days later, trying to put Christmas back in the box it came from. (Which reminds me of my friend Marcus’ awesome post called The Christmas Thud).
The kids have had a blast with this little seasonal detour making merry with the New Year’s Eve noisemakers and sticking clovers anywhere they can. Finally, I’m caught up on laundry and the darling boxers are tucked away for their December debut. The boys, I’m betting can be distracted by sand, the ice cream truck (that aggressively circles our house at naptime) and sprinklers.
I thought this post nicely shows how life with little ones can make simple things like getting something out of storage turn into a ten-day collect the ornaments from all around the house extravaganza.
Having our Christmas books out did remind me of something I wanted to do this summer to be ready for December 1st. I’ll post on that soon – subscribe if you want so you don’t have to keep checking back to see when I’ve posted. Or is that just you, Mom? xo
Note: And yes, that is the aforementioned boxers lying on the floor right next to the laundry hamper. Which is totally not why our marriage has been a little rocky but … really, dudes … come.on.
Also … no, Matt doesn’t read my blog and yes he’d be a little annoyed that I wrote that but I’d totally win that argument because, hello?! I openly admit my little … quirks … like running out of clean clothes for instance.
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And then nine weeks happened. I think I should rename this Project Life Goes On because I have managed to keep taking pictures and notes on the ordinary and extraordinary highs, lows and mediocre meanderings of our days.
And because, no matter what, life does go on and there is always something to be thankful for. Project Life (goes on) is one of the things I am so very grateful for, so here is week 17 and I will post weeks 9-16 later.
Title card: I was inspired by Maria to dress this card up – it’s one of my least favorites in the kit but when I saw her cute, simple addition I changed my mind and used it for the first time this year. I don’t love how the “week #17” turned out … but whatever.
(You can click on each picture to enlarge it and take a closer peek).
{Week 17: left side}
{Week 17: right side}
{Week 18 in progress}
Notes: I use a lot of index cards around here ala Anne Lamott. I’ve started recycling the backs of them in place of Post-its and write my ideas for journaling or pics I took, or want to take … my current Project Life hack is to tuck the days of the week stickers in the next week’s pocket so it’s right there as I’m popping pictures in the pockets. Not having those stickers immediately accessible was a small thing creating a big block in progress. Your block is probably different than mine but can likely be fixed with a tweak in your thinking, process or expectations.
I love what Maria said about the Project Life honeymoon seemingly being over. It’s not that I lost my enthusiasm personally but I hit a rhythm and stopped seeking out the inspiration and ideas of others in the PL community. Their posts inspired me to share again and that makes me happy!
To see all my other Project Life posts click here and here.
With Mother’s Day around the corner it seemed like as good a time as any to share my birth story. (Psst … Mother’s Day is next Sunday – don’t miss this chance to celebrate someone who matters to you, or your children … to my Dude friends … Mother’s Day means a lot to your moms and wives … for. real.)
This particular story about my beginning is one I’ve been wanting to write for a long time. (Here’s the link again.)Reading that will give the background for the posts to follow.
My column is only 600 words long. Since I’ve been writing that story since I was 14 years old, there was a lot of my story I had to leave out. The rest I’m writing here in a series of posts to cover that part of my journey … as a rough draft of sorts and I am thankful for all your comments, input and questions. Truly and totally grateful.
Q: So do your parents know about this project? A: Not yet. They will as soon as they land overseas. And get email access. Surprise! And p.s. I asked them last time I saw them if it would be okay with them for me to start writing about this stuff. The condensed version of their answer: It’s your story. xo
FAQ #1: Do you know your real mom?
FAQ #2: So do you know what you are?
FAQ #3: But they lied to you?!
FAQ#4: Do you ever want to find your real* mom? Note: If the questions are asked in this order then this question might say “biological” mom since we’ve already clarified who my “real” mom is!
Did I miss any? Let me know by commenting here or shooting me an email. You can click on the letter image on the upper left corner of your screen. Cute, right? I hope you like it because after downloading this adorable freebie from the awesome Cathe Holden it took me 75 minutes to figure out how to make it work. But now it does, so you know, email me!
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I miss some of my regular blog features so I’m starting with bringing back my Friday Favorites which is really just a way to share some happy crack with you all and a reminder to me that there is always something to celebrate … even in chaos.
1. Every day this month Christina Katz is giving away a book on her blog: The Prosperous Writer. Check out the Writer Mama Every Day in May Giveaway to meet some cool authors and get some insight into your own writing with prompts and good conversation.
2. Speaking of the writerly life, participating in the world as a writer and showing up for each other and local events makes me happy. So this Sunday I’ll be at the final Northwest Author Series Presentation featuring Heather Vogel Frederick. I’d love to meet some of you there but we can only talk during commercials 'cause I'm totally taking notes! To learn more about this author click here.
3. Discovering Dave Ramsey = total happy crack.
Yep, that’s mycredit card those are my credit cards tucked in this little envelope. This is really its own post so for today I’m just giving a shout out to the hopefulness that comes with staring down what scares you the most and realizing that with diligence, patience and persistence you really can accomplish just about anything.
4. Happiness is … not waiting for someone else to do it for you. This sweet little rub-on sign that says “Bless this house with love and laughter” had ironically become a source of personal bitterness.
It has moved with me to two houses in hopes of my husband putting it up for me. “Next weekend” never came and I never wanted to “do it wrong” and as it fell under the vague category of “his arena” it just didn’t get done. For.Ever. So when he moved out* … I realized if it’s going to get put up, I need to do it. Which, duh!, was true before but I needed to be okay with him being mad if I “did it wrong” or whatever. And that is the true happy crack I discovered this week: if my intentions are good and I am honest with myself about my true motives it is okay for people to be mad at me! (Also a post for another day.) That realization, 36 years later, is liberating. Every time I see this at the top of my stairs I smile. *As an interesting aside: when he moved back home, he didn’t notice it. Good thing I spent so much energy being ticked about it, huh?!
5. And, last but not least, a little Happy Crack for kids:
Heart-shaped muffin cups + water + food dye + freezer = super fun bath time!
Disclaimer: if you start this you might as well keep a “batch” of these in a Ziplock in your freezer because they will be frequently requested.
On this gorgeous Sunday in Oregon, I’m procrastinating writing a final draft of my birth story column … I’m looking through old drafts of emails and posts to find some specific phrases I want to use and found this little gem. I meant to post it a couple months ago, back when we were funny and more happily married. But even then there were cracks in our caulking … metaphorically and otherwise.*
Here ya go – overheard around the Hardy house:
Me: Good news! I finally found something that will scrub that nasty buildup on the caulking in the tub.
Matt: Why are you looking at me like that?
Me: Well, because now it has to be re-caulked so it’s back in your department. But it does look so much better!
~~~
Matt to me early in the morning as both boys are comfortably asleep in our bed while we have cramps, kinks and dead limbs: We have to figure out a way to keep these kids out of our bed!
Matt to me after getting home from work and seeing my new organizing project-in-progress:
That should keep them out of our bed. Where are we going to sleep though?
~~~
When Sam started “marking” his and Jake’s cars with my nail polish, inspired by his dad and uncle’s system circa 1979, I got a headache from the smell. He was marking each one so … intricately.**
Me to Sam: You’re not taking them to prom! Just do one dot and move on.
~~~
Me to Matt (after the aforementioned project was completed***):
I’m not sure which is the title, the deed, and what all that stuff means so in the event of my untimely death it’s all in a file marked “{street name} – title.”
Matt: I’m not planning to throttle you or anything.
Me: Or, you could’ve said that in the event of my untimely death paperwork would be the least of your concerns … not to put words in your mouth or anything.
*Guess what? We are working on repairing this marriage of ours. Despite what anyone else tells me that feels harder than going through with the divorce. I have faith, though, that it’s the right thing to do for me personally, and for our family.
** Why, you might wonder, are some marked with pink AND red. Well, naturally those cars belong to both boys.
*** Y’all get that when I say “completed” I mean, removed from the bed and turned into small landmines throughout my office/bedroom/studio right? Okay, good.
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