Time Travel

[caption id="attachment_4336" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="Wishing I could go back in time and take a less blurry photo."][/caption]

There is a PBS special that is on quite frequently about the science of time.  During a preview, the voice-over explained that our ideas about time are all off.  The past is not the past they promised.  I found myself excited.  What if the past was not the past and I could actually see Ellie right now?  I committed to watching to find out.  The whole show they droned on and on about Einstein and ideas that nearly made my brain explode.  Unfortunately, no clues on how to time travel backwards.  As we used to joke in the hospital, "I want my money back!"

Trader Joe's Magic

I know I have frequently blogged about my ongoing love affair with Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups and their oh-so-delicious sipping chocolate (seasonal only, unfortunately!)  I hope I don't bore you if I continue singing the praises of TJ's.

When Lotta and I were in Trader Joe's recently, I suddenly realized I'd missed an aisle.  And I felt a great amount of gratitude knowing that the aisle in question was steps away from me.  Not clear across a football field sized arena, but barely an arm's length away.  Fit my energy level at that moment particularly well.  Another bonus is that I do not have a great many Ellie memories in Trader Joe's like I do for Willy Street Co-op, so I am not constantly fighting back tears as I am in WSC.  Finally I adore how extra specially, uniquely authentically friendly the staff is.

I was at Trader Joe's on Saturday with Lotta.  The person checking us out was named, "Ben", just like MY Ben!  He told me our total was (drumroll please) $126, which as you may or may not know, Ellie was born on January 26th (1/26).  It just made me smile, and feel closer to Ellie, like she was sending me a message, something that I hadn't felt in quite some time.  Then the person behind me in line, their total was $13, which, again, as you may or may not know, Ellie passed away on the 13th of January.  That Trader Joe's Magic.

What Everyone Deserves

 

Not only is he such an excellent brother, but he is also a superb photographer! Geez what cant he do?

Kip and Patrick came to visit us a couple of weeks ago, along their cross-country journey.  At one point, Kip and Lotta and I were all in the "library" (formerly known as "the bookshop" aka Ellie's room).  As I stood contemplating Lotta's ensemble, I suddenly had a flashback of the time that I chose Ellie's outfit for the last time.  Knowing that it would be the last time, felt like such a tremendous weight.  It felt too big, and at the same time incredibly insignificant.  Wanting so desperately to make the perfect choice, wishing that Ellie could help me decide (she was nonverbal by this point).  And knowing that, in the end, there wasn't one perfect decision.  I just had to fumble along and do the best I could, knowing, ultimately, the most important thing was to make a decision.  The nurse's aide who washed Ellie up could not proceed until I made this decision for which I felt completely and utterly stuck.  Oh the pressure, I can feel it even now, 10 months later.

All of that came rushing back to me as I stood in the room with Lotta and Kip.  I shared the story with Kip and what I loved most was his response.  He just sat there and listened intently, as if I were imparting some vital information.  He didn't try to "cheer me up", or even roll his eyes as if saying, "here comes another story".  He simply said, "Wow, I can't imagine."  That is why I always say everyone deserves to have a gay brother living in Brooklyn in their lives because having someone like that on your side just makes everything more bearable.

Compassion

Here is part of an e-mail I sent to my Self-Compassion teleseries group recently.

I was not  feeling highly self-compassionate before the last tele-series.  Lotta and I were having an all yellow snack  together (cheese curds, very popular here in Wisconsin, peeled apples, and  pirate's booty).  I was thinking how maybe I'm just not good at self-compassion, sort of like I'm just not good at meditating.  As I had this thought, Lotta started  hitting herself on the head.  Okey dokey, maybe I should learn this as a role model for Lotta!?!?  I feel like just having this intention of being more  compassionate in some ways increases my compassion.  Perhaps right now that  means noticing the spots where I am less compassionate than I would like to be, so that I may create something different.

I know it'd be so fabulous to want self-compassion without being

[caption id="attachment_4272" align="alignright" width="225" caption="Lotta eats cheese curds off Capital lawn."][/caption]

inspired to do it for Lotta, but really, isn't this one of the greatest gifts our children give to us (and maybe, if we are lucky, us to them) the gift of striving to be better?  For me, at least, I know that I have had no greater teachers then these little people living with me (and of course the invisible one too).  They have enhanced my life in ways that I cannot even fully comprehend and never could have imagined.  They inspire me to constantly evolve and change as they do.

Names

[caption id="attachment_4301" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Ben does not WANT to recall anyones name..."][/caption]

Nowadays one of the times I miss Ellie most is when I can't recall a name.  (Luckily, 85% of my friends are named "Jennifer", which  tremendously helps.)  It's the husband of a friend or the child of a friend when I get into trouble.  Ellie would always always know, right off the bat.  Just likes books, she always knew the author and illustrator (and usually who it was dedicated to to boot--what the heck does that saying mean?).  But when it came to school, for some reason, she hardly knew anyone's names.  And her classmates were so sweet about always saying "hi" or "bye" to her even though she would only see what color they were wearing (if it were one of her 6 favorites, that is).  Perhaps she was overwhelmed at the numbers.  Ben on the other hand, can't recall who Betsy C is, no matter how many times he has seen her, and often calls her "Aunt Susan".  He can't recall the names of any of his uncles.  It just doesn't stick for him.  When he was younger, he would just call Kip and Patrick whatever name popped into his head.  I really liked that idea of just naming people, how much easier would life be if you could call people by the name YOU thought of?  And not feel embarrassed about not recalling their actual given name?

Waves

Recently a friend e-mailed me this passage...

"Grief tends to come in waves.
After the initial shock, the waves begin to wash over you unpredictably. At
first, the waves are huge and close together and you are afraid that you will
drown. Eventually, they get smaller and more manageable and you grow less afraid
of them, although a big one can still take you by surprise. Working through
grief means that you can just stand there and let the waves sweep over you and
try not to run or pretend you're not getting soaked. Standing there feeling the
waves, you start to realize that this is as bad as it's going to get and you
begin to survive. That's when you start to pass through the other side of
mourning: accepting and making peace with your loss (Unspeakable Losses by Kim Kluger-Bell) ."

I love this imagery, particularly because I imagined myself as the ocean when I was giving birth to Ellie.  I imagined the wave of each contraction coming in, peaking, and then going back out to sea.  I find it soothing to imagine grief in this same way, transient, not permanent, as so often in the thick of it, it feels as if it will never pass.

The Golden Arches

[caption id="attachment_4295" align="alignright" width="225" caption="I was finally able to capture Lotta at the Children's Museum party (in a borrowed costume) when Lotta wore herself out and sat staring..."][/caption]

I have never been a fan of McDonald's.  Not even when I was a kid.  There I said it.  I am a McDonald's snob, it's true.  I do however, find their bathrooms cleaner, on average, than truckstops or gas stations.  So when we are on roadtrips, we often stop at McDonald's to use the bathroom.  Sometimes we get a coffee.  Sometimes we are naughty and just use the bathroom (I am sure this is against company policy, so I am not recommending it to anyone else.)  When Ellie was younger, she thought of McDonald's as the pee-pee store.  Gives those golden arches a whole other meaning doesn't it?

Meant to mention in my blog yesterday about a concept mentioned to me by one of my lovely Jennifers.  Thought some of you associated with young ones might like it too.  Jennifer explained that on Halloween her boys sit down and write a letter to the Switch Witch requesting she take all of their candy (they get to chose 2 to consume on Halloween night) and leave them a toy instead.  We proposed this to Ben and he contemplated the concept for several days.  Finally, on Halloween night, he decided he wanted to give his candy to the Switch Witch (partly prompted by the fact that he cannot eat many of the candies due to his dental work).  He wrote the letter, left it with his candy on the dining room table and in the morning, the candy had been magically changed into a Dragon Toy, as he had requested.  He was escatic as you can imagine and plans on utilizing the Switch Witch next year for another toy.

 

A Sitcom Star in My Own Strangely Coiffed Head

[caption id="attachment_4280" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="Lotta had a lotta more fun than anyone else I think."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4283" align="alignright" width="225" caption="Lotta as Tigger-iffic."][/caption]

Halloween is BIG in Madison.  I am not sure why or how it took me 7 years to realize this, but there you have it.  This year we took full advantage and attended numerous celebrations for the kiddos--Baby's First Halloween at the Children's Museum (technically her second), Halloween Party at the Y, Trick-or-Treating Downtown, a party at the library, that's all in addition to the regular, garden variety

[caption id="attachment_4282" align="alignright" width="225" caption="Ben and Lotta wandering the streets begging for candy, that IS what this holiday is about right?"][/caption]

(what the heck does that mean, Wendy??) trick-or-treating.

I think I have mentioned in previous years how trick-or-treating on our street is way slow, the exact opposite of the experience in Illinois when we would routinely run out of treats.  Last night we had one group knock on our door.  Two little boys dressed as skeletons stood on my porch as I opened the door.  I handed them their re-purposed bag of bunny crackers (I will admit it, it is a Costco purchase which Ben adored at first and now makes a retching noise whenever I propose he consume them.  They are still good, individually wrapped.  Seemed like a good way to utilize Halloween.)   One of the little guys suddenly inquired, "What is your hair doing?"  Like he thought my hair was some kind of costume choice.  The mom immediately says, "OK, we're done here, let's go...."  I assured her not to worry, as my 6-

[caption id="attachment_4281" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="Ben as a dragon slayer because we could not find an actual dragon costume. Dragons have replaced dinosaurs for him."][/caption]

year-old asked a friend if she were pregnant.  A friend who  most definitely was NOT.  (Then I continued on crashing a plane into that train wreck by suggesting that perhaps it was because her breasts were larger, not because her stomach was.  Since I have always wanted larger breasts, I thought this would be preferable, apparently this is not the case for everyone.  It was one of those moments where I knew I should just stop talking but somehow could not.  Ugh.  Makes me cringe still.)  Anyway, I tried to reassure the mom on the porch that I knew my hair was scary, it was OK.  She had the good sense to walk off rather than try to convince me my hair was looking anything but weird at that point in the day.  (Thank goodness Patrick Kyle is driving cross country as we "speak" and will use his newly discovered skills and talents so my hair-do no longer frightens small children.  He just graduated from beauty school, could anything be better?)

It's these types of incidents that make me feel as if I am a sitcom star (only in my own head, because I realize a lot of this stuff is funnier to me than to anyone else).  It keeps me entertained.