I am bowing my head for Madeline Alice Spohr.

April 14th, 2009 2:30PM, Pacific Time

She is fluttering her (purple?) angel wings and smiling down with love.

We will not forget her, Heather & Mike. <3

-courtesy Mrs.Schmitty

Bet you didn’t know you had wings.

On Monday I sent John to get us a Christmas tree.

I like real trees. I know that many people have their own, good reasons for having fake trees, but I just can’t have one. I need the smell of a real tree. I need the mess of annoying real tree needles to scatter the carpet. I need the real tree sappy bark and the real tree prickly branches.

I like it when things are real. They hold more meaning for me, somehow. I am alive when I feel.

Real.

Monday evening, I opened a large storage container. In fact, last year, I closed myself up in it entirely, which is a humorous thing for me to recall. What’s even more amusing to me is that, in true camera-obsessed form, I had my Kodak in there with me.

Instead of a dork, it now contains our Christmas decorations. One of the things inside was the Angel we top our tree with each year. We have owned her for about 4 years. Her arms, held open with ribbons and ornaments streaming from one, are posable. I have never moved them, however, and I pack her carefully each year so she that remains in the same position.

So I was more than a bit taken aback when I pulled her out of the box on Monday evening like this:

It was a striking image, her arm thrown across her face, ribbons and ornaments still streaming from her hand. As if the Reality of the family that she was joining this year was too much to bear.

Was she shielding her eyes from my pain? Weeping for us; unable to bear witness.

Tuesday morning, looking down at my own hand, I was reminded of my Angel.

And I realized that I had misinterpreted the message I’d received in her the previous night.

Others are not shielding themselves from this hurt I’m sharing. My pain is not being avoided – it is being shared by and divided amongst all of my “angels.” Without them (you guys), the burden would be heavier, because I would carry it practically alone.

You are my Angels, so to speak.

Every message you send me. Every comment you leave. Every email I get. Every @SarcasticMomLC you shoot my way on Twitter.  You are bearing witness, standing with me, and sharing my pain – you are lessening my burden by supporting me.  All your messages do this.

Please forgive me if I have not the strength or words yet to reply to them all… but know I see them all. I see all of you.

I see you, throwing your hands across your faces with me, the ribbons streaming from them beautifully as you each take a little piece of my pain so I do not feel alone here in “the abyss.”

Sometimes it hurts when things are so real. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, really.

Thanks for letting me feel safe being real.

I thought it would be harder. Haha, I said… oh, nevermind.

Today’s Photohunt theme is “String(s)”

When I first saw the theme for today’s Photohunt, I thought it was going to be really hard. I know some people just go take a new picture, but I find it’s more fun for me to try to find a picture I’ve already taken that will fit the theme. So, nothing came to mind, and I felt… challenged. But that’s the point, right?

So here’s my take:

A STRING hangs from the middle of these chimes, with a wooden piece attached, out of frame.

A long STRING of lights is woven in and around this animatronic deer’s body.

This is a bunched-up STRING of tinsel garland.

This Angel has a STRING you can use to hang her from a tree.

These bells are hanging from a STRING.

(Hm, Christmas-Time is a very STRINGY time of year, isn’t it?)

Kind of obvious. Shoe STRING.

Some STRINGY pumpkin guts.

And, and look!

When John finally decided to stop STRINGING me along.

(but i didn’t take this one, Joan Williams, our premarital counselor, did. She rocks!)

18 Months

Dear Braden,

April 16th, 2008.  This was the day you turned 18 Months old.  Officially A Year And A Half. 

Where has the time gone, I ask you?  But you don’t know.  You just keep running ahead at full steam, with your daddy and me trying to keep up.

One day into your 18th month, Momma & Daddy finally found a decent house for us to live in, and signed a lease, and then moved out of Mold House.  You have not been sick since. 

You gave your approval to the stairs in our new home right away, climbing “up!” like a rockstar.  Wow.  Momma had no idea you could do that, little champ!  We had to install gates at the top and bottom so you wouldn’t fall and bust your fivehead open. 

Right around the same time we were moving into our new rental house, you decided that you would no longer be cooperating with us on the whole “eating healthy foods” thing. You used to adore green beans, peas, and carrots.  Veggies now = SATAN.  If Satan was on your food plate, you would flick him away.  As such, all vegetables are flicked away.

If a piece of vegetable accidentally goes into your mouth (you were feeling generous and decided to humor me?  more likely, you were just teasing me) you spit it out, and thenflick it away.  Niiiice.

You are lucky the Easter Bunny still decided to visit such a naughty, vegetable flicker.

You had your first Easter Egg Hunt this month.

You were DELIGHTED to find that these fun colored little thingies you kept finding? Had this stuff in them that you had never before seen…  but it tasted SO good, and holy cow, Mom, what IS this awesome stuff?  Choco-what?  Chocolate? Oh. 

OMG, CHOCOLATE.

Halfway through your 18th month, you had a particularly bad day of never-ending splatter poops (how on earth you were able to fill a diaper that many times in one day is BEYOND me, but I dub thee Doo-Doo MASTER), and another of the Mega Rashes you were still getting so often sprung up.

While I was cleaning you and you were thrashing about in a shrieking/crying fit, with tears streaming down your face, I vowed to fix it.  I gave you NO dairy for the next 24 hours.  The next day, you had another splatter poop.  I DREADED the impending pain you were about to suffer as I took off your diaper and started wiping.

But you were silent.  And motionless.  In disbelief, I cleaned you up and felt more relieved than I have in a long time.

Through research and trial with you, I discovered that you are lactose intolerant.  The undigested lactose you were passing was fermenting in your colon, exiting as an acid, and then burning the skin on your precious biscuits.  You now only consume lactose free dairy, and so far, you have not had one single rash.  Score one for Momma.  (FINALLY.)

Of course, you always make sure that no matter how many things we get “under control,” life remains interesting.

You love the little guitar that Daddy’s “Caglehead” friends gave you when you were still in Momma’s belly. You like it when Daddy plays it, and you are joining in with him more and more. Instead of just banging the strings with your hammer, now you actually strum at them.

Daddy is so proud of your interest in all things guitar.

Although, I have to tell you, he is kind of afraid you’re going to pee on his guitars sometimes.

And speaking of peeing? You are showing more and more interest in doing that in the potty. I LOVE THAT. Now if I could just get you to start it off in the potty instead of on the floor or the couch? That would be AWESOME. Just sayin’.

We stayed busy doing fun things this month, like the zoo…

Adam & The Couch Potatoes Concerts (where you were mistaken for a girl yet again)…

And the Lake Beachat Anderston Rd.

I’ve got to say, I have really enjoyed it. I think you have, too. It should be warm all the time, shouldn’t it? I mean, “owsigh” is still like your Crack Rock, isn’t it? Yeah. Mine, too. At least I know where you got your obsession from.

Oh, you know how I mentioned that you get mistaken for a girl (even when you’re wearing totally boy clothes, like above)? I guess your hair has a lot to do with that.

But I was thinking that you have a really sweet face. Almost feminine, because your sweet, chubby cheeks make it so soft. So I did, um… a little experiment.

And you really do make a cute girl.

Will you forgive me?

I sent that shirt to your girlfriend, Amy, in Australia. Maybe she will send us a picture of her wearing it. Then you can kiss her picture and prove how manly you are again?

Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find many ways to get back at me. You’re smiling now just thinking about it, aren’t you?

Yeah, I knew it.

I might as well mention here that you seem to have stopped shrieking so often… this is probably because you are talking better as time goes by.  And also because you have started replacing the solitary Shriek with tantrumming.

You are a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, you only have tantrums over really important things.

Like not being allowed to play with the pee in your potty.

Or being handed one of your toys.

The list goes on, but I think you get the point.

I have realized something.  You are really a little devil, always driving your Momma nuts and scheming her downfall.  But you hide your horns well…

Because every time I look at you, all I see is an angel on earth, that I am lucky enough to be loved by.

All my love,
Momma