Part 2 is here....

Unless you live under a rock, you probably know that the last Harry Potter movie comes out this week. Normally, I'm super, super excited about these things (what can I say?? I love Harry Potter!) but this one is different. You see, the other person in my life with a Harry Potter obsession to rival my own, was Amy. She and I raced each other through the books (she always won!) and then spent hours discussing the possibilities. With each book, we would reread the previous ones, in order, just to make sure we didn't miss anything. We discussed character development, wand lore, what kind of wand we thought would choose us, love affairs among the characters, how I wanted a house elf and we joked about how she would make a great house elf (she LOVED cleaning other people's houses...truly!)...the list goes on. We both just really enjoyed a good book, and Harry Potter gave us that. So of course we always saw the movies together. Even when she moved away, we would meet in Waterville (the halfway point) and spend the afternoon having lunch and going to see the movie. The last movie, although I saw it first with my husband, Amy and I saw together at the movie theater not far from her hospice house. After we saw it, I immediately wrote to the producers to see if we could be granted one last wish--to see a sneak peak of the last part so that Amy and I could be together and see it before she died. They never wrote back.

So here it is...the movie that last November seemed so far away...and I have to go see it without Amy. A good friend has already offered to go with me and I may take her up on it. Why? Because she asked me by saying, "I know this is a loaded question, but would you like to go see the last Harry Potter film with me?" Here is someone who already knew the hugely conflicting emotions I have about going to see this movie and she was fully acknowledging them upfront. I felt truly comforted by not having to explain my hesitation to her. She already knew. (Incidentally, this person is the mom of the little girl, Sophie, to whom I did not sing Happy Birthday a few weeks ago. She was understanding then, too!)

Anyway, I'll probably go at some point this weekend...maybe alone, maybe with a friend. Because Amy would never, ever expect other people to stop living their life just because she isn't here to live with them. So I'll get the super big popcorn, a large root beer and a pack of tissues, because I'll probably cry during the movie. And not because of the character development, either.

Surprise!

In the months (and, yes, admittedly *years*) after Sophie died, I was so acutely and painfully aware of other people's pregnancies. After Evan was born, it got better, yes, but not completely. Why? Because no matter what I had, we were missing something--someone--in our family. We were a family with four children, but not. So when people I knew became pregnant, I would flinch, just a bit, because a part of me just wanted that so much...even though I didn't necessarily really want it, you know? It doesn't make sense, but there you have it. My point is that I am so, so, so very aware of what being pregnant (or not) can do to friendships, especially those formed through the bonds of loss. Nobody who has had a loss ever begrudges the pregnancy or healthy baby of anyone else--nobody. It isn't a grudge so much as a pang of jealousy--sometimes a BIG PANG, depending on when your loss was. And when I am the one announcing something, I am so hugely saddened by the fact that my happiness could possibly cause someone else pain. Because I have been in those shoes. I have walked that road. It hurts so much and I can't stand the fact that I might be putting someone else through that.

AND, at the same time I am feeling apprehensive and saddened by what this news might do to others, I am feeling so much joy. After Evan was born, we gave away most of the baby gear, got rid of clothes as he out grew them and basically closed-up shop. We were done...or so we thought. And now, after a few weeks of wondering if things were okay, we found out today that they are 100% perfect!


And so, we embark on this journey yet again. There is fear, yes, but I don't feel the same gut-wrenching anxiety I had when I was pregnant with Evan. I have too much faith in this baby now, and (while it may sound crazy) I believe Amy had a hand in bringing this little surprise bean down to us. I will forever be grateful to her for this last opportunity to mother a little miracle.

Happy 4th!

Thirteen years ago today, I married my best friend. How lucky am I?

The Clamp

Imagine going through life with a clamp on your heart--squeezing, slowly, tightly, thoroughly. Imagine waking up and being able to feel your heavy heart trying to beat but struggling because of the clamp--but yet, still there, trying desperately to get you through the day. Imagine your arms hooked up to an IV of fluid that creates a constant ache in your muscles. A constant, physical hurt that is just there day after day after day. Imagine your same body size with 100--no, 1,000--extra pounds to carry through the day. Breathing is labored from the weight, your arms ache from that fluid, your heart is working overtime, just to get you through the day. Are you picturing this?

Now imagine someone walked by and saw you hooked up to all of this, struggling to maintain composure with your children, crying while you do your laundry, completely unable to explain it all to your loving husband...and they said, "Oh, you'll be okay. Everything happens for a reason. It was meant to be."

Wouldn't you want to smack them? Just a little???

Please--don't ever say that to a Babylost Mama--especially as due dates, birthdays, or other anniversaries are coming up. They are struggling. Hard. Instead, maybe say, "I know [this date] is coming and I can't imagine what you are feeling. How can I help?" Or maybe invite her living children over so she can have a few hours of peace. Maybe find a way for her and her husband to have a date. These are all helpful--really, really, really helpful. But don't, for goodness sake, say it was meant to be. The death of her baby wasn't meant to be--it sucks. Quite simply, it SUCKS. Thank you for listening to my little PSA.

Happy Birthday Dear Sophie...

I've become accustomed to the fact that there are three Sophies in our homeschool world. One of them has become very good friends with Megan, a friendship that I'm sure will only grow stronger in the coming months as we begin our homeschooling journey with Megan. I will never forget my time early last year getting to know this family. Their older child's name is [W] and their youngest child's name is [K]--names that I used all the time when I wanted to talk to them. But Sophie? yeah...that one I just couldn't bring myself to say. I would call her "sweetie" or "kiddo" when I needed to refer to her or talk to her directly. After a few meetings like this, her mother (fairly) assumed that I simply didn't remember Sophie's name, so she told me, "This one's name is Sophie." (Yeah, I knew that.) I explained my situation and why I had a hard time and she was so unbelievably understanding and wonderful about it. She let me take my time, get to know her kids and waited until I truly felt okay calling this beautiful little girl by her name--which I do easily now, with no problems at all.

Today we went to a birthday party for Sophie. (Though I should note that even as close as we have become in the past year, I could not bring myself to write down, "Sophie's Birthday" on my calendar. I wrote, "party @ [M family]'s residence.") I hadn't really thought much about what would happen at the party...until it did. We all gathered in the living room and began to sing, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sophie, happy birthday to you!" Right when I got to the part about "happy birthday dear Sophie..." I began to tear up. I became so suddenly aware of the fact that I will never, truly, get to sing that song to my little girl and how unbelievably unfair that fact is. Wiping my eyes on Megan's dress as she sat cuddled in my lap, I couldn't finish the song. Here it is, more than 4 years after our loss and I still tear up over this seemingly easy, unrelated incident. Of course there are other little girls in the world named Sophie and of course they have birthdays. Duh. But know what? It might be a while until I can sing Happy Birthday to any of them. My apologies to all the Sophies in the world.

Don't Say That

So I'm out at dinner the other night and a parent says to me, "We sent our kids to regular school for the socialization." And now I'm thinking several things...first, why on Earth would you say that to a homeschooler?? Why would you make such an incredibly loaded statement like that to someone you KNOW has decided to keep their kids home? Second, I'm thinking of all the reasons I don't want peers socializing my children. Third, I'm thinking that if that is really the reason you sent your kids to school, it isn't a very good reason. Finally, of course, I'm thinking of all the things I could say but won't because I'm too nice a person.

Such as a sarcastic, "Yeah...socialization is good, but Chris and I prefer to raise our kids in a box with no interaction." Or perhaps a kind, "Oh, are your children puppies? I didn't know!"

I won't go into all the complex reasons why socialization shouldn't happen at school (good place to practice it, lousy place to learn it) but please know that there isn't a homeschooling parent in the world who hasn't heard this a million times and hates it. And there isn't a homeschooling parent in the world who hasn't researched this substantially and made a well-informed choice that works for their family. We aren't judging you for your choice, so please give us the same courtesy.

Overall, Chris was very impressed with my restraint. Let me know what you would have said....

Home Alone

So yesterday I had to leave Erin home alone for the very first time in her life. Here's the story:

Yesterday morning, Erin, Evan and I went looking for frog eggs. On the way, we stopped at the really tiny post office about 1.2 miles from our house to mail a package to my mom. The package was going to cost $15 to mail, so I went to pay with a credit card. The internet was down so the woman at the counter couldn't swipe my card and I didn't have the cash to cover it. So she put a sticky note on my package with my phone number and said she would call me when the internet was back up and I could go back and it would be all set.

Erin and Evan and I went out on our frog hunt...found nothing. (Not that I can blame the frogs, it was 44-deg and raining. I'd still be buried under leaves too, if I could be!) Anyway, then we went home and as I was getting lunch, Evan begins to fall asleep on the living room floor. Because he has a fairly small window of opportunity for a nap, I quickly got him into bed. When I came out from nursing him, I noticed the answering machine light was flashing and, you guessed it, I had to go back to the post office to mail that box.

I looked at Erin. "I've got to go mail this box, Sweetie, will you be okay?"
She hesitated..."No, I think I want to go with you."
"I can't take you because Evan is asleep and I need you to stay here with him. I'll be 10 minutes, tops."
"Okay, I'm fine. Wait. What do I do if the house catches on fire?"
"Get your brother and get out."
"That's it?"
"Get your brother and get out. Go to [neighbor's house] and call 911. Get your brother and get out."
"Got it. Get my brother, get blankie and get out."
"No...get your brother and get out!"
"Okay, okay!"
"I'll be 10 minutes."

I left, thinking about how my baby girl was growing up. I got to the PO, mailed the box and came out to see that my tire was absolutely flat. Not hey I could still drive a little flat, but oh look, I'm driving on the rim flat. Thinking fast, I brought the car 100ft to a friend's house (so it wasn't on the side of the road) and went to ask her for a ride home. I couldn't find her, so I got my cell phone thinking I would call Chris, have him bike to get the car while I walked home. My phone, however, was nearly out of battery. SOOOOO...I used the last bit of battery to call Erin and tell her I was going to be late and not to panic, and I started hoofing it home. I went as fast as I could, but with all of it, (the getting there, the mailing, the moving the car, the trying to find my friend, the phone call...) I was gone about 30 or 35 minutes.

When I got home, I burst in the door sweaty and out of breath from my speed walk home and say, "I'm hooommmmeee" (you know in that calling, singing voice). I walked over to her saying I was sorry and was she worried and she looked up from her book and said, "What? Were you gone?"

Um...yeah.