Tag: love

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Love Doesn’t Flow Up

Events in our lives, such as the death of a loved one, can seem to bring about great reflection regarding life. We often reflect in a rear facing manner on the “could have,” “should have,” and “would have” in relation to the loss of our loved one but never about the can and will be of the future. The loss of my maternal grandfather resulted in one of many talks The Chad and I have had over the years about our upbringings, our great similarities and triumphant differences. What we found in our discussion regarding family is that love doesn’t flow up. With that idea we both vowed to intentionally raise our children a bit differently, giving them what we did not have in our lives, in our relationships, fulfilling our needs and those of our children. Many parents say they will raise their children different from their parents methods, however they fall short to parenting by default, parenting by what was learned. Continue reading “Love Doesn’t Flow Up”

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Love and marriage

Thanksgiving of 1996 I was drunk at the home of two prominent San Diego physicians. So drunk that when I started with my probing questions in front of the dinner party of 15 you could hear a pin drop…a mile away. I was naive. Not necessarily sheltered, but my parents moved me to a tiny, LDS prominent and oppressive town in Northern Arizona. We never talked about the topics that mattered. We never really saw or experienced diversity anymore. We never discussed love, marriage, sexuality, feelings or what happens when you grow up and move out. So my question to the couple, “What is it like to be gay?” was valid on my part and appalling on theirs. Continue reading “Love and marriage”

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Blogs are Heartbreak Warfare

While jogging tonight I suddenly was overwhelmed by emotion. A huge sweeping wave that I have been fighting; for how long who knows. Tears came streaming and I fought them, I fought the burn. I used the excuse of the cold night air and the fact I just sprinted three-quarters of a mile, the burn in my chest, the ache, just the run. Then I smelled manure. Yes, that is it, just the manure for the rye grass seed of the prima Donna yards of the Arizona winter.

The burn faded as I began to power walk and breathe swiftly, the manure had subsided, the wave was now a tsunami. What was this feeling, why the onset of sadness, the overbearing feeling of emotion beating at my chest, weighing on my heart and mind. I felt as my head were in a tailspin, my eyes gravitated to the night sky to gaze upon the stars to ease this ache. My iPod was shuffling songs with varying beats per minute to keep me in line with my jog when finally I was floored by John Mayer.

I had listened to the song many times before, not a problem. Suddenly this song meant so much more to me today, at this moment than it ever had before. I realized the pain I was feeling was that of the last year and most recent events in my and others lives. The cost was my emotional toll of all these events. So much of my own emotion has been laid ever so bravely, albeit sometimes foolishly (to always wear my heart on my sleeve), with my blog. I have watched others do the same. Most recently a mother who experienced the most horrific tragedy fell victim to more pain because of her choice to bravely share an experience, to avoid her solitary confinement of despair, shock, and grief. Others have been victim to bad blood of failed business relations, failed friendships, even families are ever divided. In some situations the division could equate to infamous literary feuds: Montague v. Capulet and Hatfield v. McCoy.

Each story a heart, each heart a soul, and for each soul is one person sharing his or her story. Most share the story out of love, the love of writing, the love of life, the love of children, the love of their story because so many feel their pain, their joy, whatever the distinguished emotion, their situation is not exclusive, and yet so often we look at the blog, the tweet, the update as true social media, notwithstanding the true MEDIA aspect of news. Our posts are not FOX news, a breaking story from CNN, but a simple soul, an individual sharing their love for their life and the experiences they share no matter how callous, heartless, devastating, shocking, appalling, or deplorable.

Our blogs, our updates, our Tweets have become quite literally, and thank you John Mayer, Heartbreak Warfare. Jealousy fuels because of the lack of PR exclusivity, bombs of hate between former friends (and family) who cannot come to civil terms, families feuding for lack of understanding, compassion is the last to be shared by those involved or by the trippers. I am truly saddened by the many events of this year; the loss of my grandfather, the deterioration of the relationship with my sister (which if you know me and my blog, I have always shared such a special love for her), the deterioration of my friend and her sisters relationship, friends driving knives deeper and deeper, people being petty, not wanting to eat crow, swallow pride for the sake of humility, maybe even an ounce of humanity, compassion. No one has to be the best of friends, but a bit of human compassion could be called upon, only more pain is what remains.

I leave you with the lyrics to this song that resonated such powerful emotions within me, also my farewell into the New Year as I reflect on the year that was, the year to come, and my hope for this holiday is that the ugly line to fade and people start crossing the lines into humanity, compassion, empathy.

Our blogs are not news, we are people, ALL of us. We all have a heart, a soul, we all feel at some level.
Lightning strikes
Inside, my chest to keep me up at night
Dream of ways
To make you understand my pain

Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It’s heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare

If you want more love,
why don’t you say so?
If you want more love,
why don’t you say so?

Drop his name
Push it in and twist the knife again
Watch my face
As I pretend to feel no pain

Clouds of sulfur in the air
Bombs are falling everywhere
It’s heartbreak warfare
Once you want it to begin,
No one really ever wins
In heartbreak warfare.

If you want more love,
why don’t you say so?
If you want more love,
why don’t you say so?

Just say so…

How come the only way to know how high you get me
is to see how far I fall
God only knows how much I’d love you if you let me
but I can’t break through at all.

It’s a heartbreak…

I don’t care if we don’t sleep at all tonight
Let’s just fix this whole thing now
I swear to God we’re gonna get it right
If you lay your weapon down
Red wine and Ambien
You’re talking shit again, it’s heartbreak warfare
Good to know it’s all a game
Disappointment has a name, it’s heartbreak warfare.

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You Might Die Having More Than One Baby…Well Not Literally

My reaction to having twins was pretty much like all other mother’s or soon to be mothers who found they were having twins.

WTF!!??

Seriously. I did not sign up for this. I was crazy enough to sign up for ONE. Let alone TWO!

The journey of life begins. Every mother/soon to be mother’s fear is the loss of the pregnancy until about week 12 or so. The fear subsides. Sometimes the morning sickness. Heartburn is a daily visitor. Urinating is like breathing….you don’t realize you went so much until you see your water bill the next month from what seems like continuous flushing. And finally the time comes when the two little faces you have come to know as Baby A and Baby B, blurry, splotchy, and skeletal, greet you with white filmy, pink flesh, cries, crying, tears, joy, sorrow, shakes, unknowing, fear, terror, pain, defense, a rainbow gamut of emotions.

I wanted to make sure my kids were alright. I was put at ease to know they were. They still are. Bounding, giggling, sqwealing, wailing, whining, crying, and carrying on, they are more than alright. But before we got to the alright, I really was not sure if I would be alright.

I was not sure if I could go the distance. I saw my skin stretch to the point of being a cast member on a Sci Fi world premiere television event. My back, hips, and knees were in so much pain, I was thankful for the winter season in AZ so I could sport compression stockings 24-7. I quite literally thought I would die. Twin pregnancy sucked. Pregnancy with a singleton sucked, but nothing compared to my two for one deal.

So when I met them and I was ponder how the hell I would manage. By Myself. All Alone. I thought I was going to break. Yes I have DH. Yes he is a great help with changings and baths and the like. But the rest was all me. You see I was the one with the lactating breasts. I was the one who had two. Lactating. Breasts. And so I did it. I breast fed both my twins. At the same time, one on each breast. For each feeding. Never missing a beat. Never, if hardly ever giving a bottle. With the exception to boost caloric intake for Sara who was a lot smaller and needed more, even though she was six pounds at birth as a twin. But I did it. Until I thought I was going to die. Until I thought I was going to lose my mind. I was losing every inkling of who I was as a person. As a woman. A wife. A caregiver. I need to break what I was doing for my own metal condition. To prevent a complete breakdown.

I had many. Breakdowns. I would put the kids down for their nap time which was every 2 hours give or take. And then I would find a nice spot in the house to retreat and ball my eyes out. I didn’t ask for twins. I didn’t have fertility issues. I was and am a good mother…why was I cursed? Why was I given this ultimate challenge, the job to top all jobs, an early death sentence, why me? I asked this for six months after the birth of my Thing One and Two. What was I to learn? Had I not suffered and struggled enough in my young life that NOW. NOW when I can enjoy being a mother I am tossed this curving knuckle ball to beat out into center field.

So I suffered through the pointless comments, stops, gawks, and gasps about having twins. The daft and the bold of fertility issues which most assumed was my issue. NO ONE has twins that are boy girl. (Um…okay….did you miss sex ed.) I dealt with it all. The nasty, the insane, the unbelievable, even the codependents who clearly thought I was unable to care for two children at the same time. As if I was the Octo-Mom Nadya Suleman or something.

At about 10 months I knew I was going to make it. Life got easier as I weaned (Sara…not so much the Seth-En-Stein) off the boob and into a hand held baby bottle to go! Bottle feeding was easy as they were able to hold things on their own at that time. Then when the sitting up really was in full force the high chairs were rotated into the house. Meals got easier. Naps were still consistent. I was a free woman again. I could leave the house and not worry if I was going to have saucer size messes all over my shirts if I didn’t move fast enough through a store to get home for a feeding.

Things got easier because I kept them on a schedule. From the day they were born they were on a schedule with me. I knew if they deviated life would be hell. I wouldn’t sleep, I would suffer, they would suffer, DH and Big G would suffer with me.

The one year mark passed and I wondered where the time went. I still wonder. I thought life would get easier with them. Which life did, get easier, for a short moment. And then they both started walking. Climbing. Almost running now. My house is on a constant Def Con 1 status.

But being a mom of twins gets easier. I am able to enjoy these moments as they entertain themselves. I am not always the playmate, which sucks, but is a life saver all in one. I watch them now “twin talk” to each other. I watch them watch us and learn. I watch them turn into loving people before my eyes and I wonder where the time has gone.

Big G told me the other day how much he loved me and that I was a great mom. I didn’t know what to say. I welled up and felt the burn in my cheeks, my nostrils flared, and I wondered where the time went. He tells me how much he appreciates the organic juice and milk boxes for lunch, that I cut his sandwiches into triangles, that I picked him up from school with his brother and sister. And I wonder where the time has gone. That my boy no longer gazes at me like I am the most beautiful woman on Earth, but that I am the woman who knows him best. Moreso than his father. He looks at me and smiles and tells me how much he loves me. The twins fight for a seat in my Indian Style lap, each wanting a prized thigh to hold them. And I wonder where the time has gone that they used to feed until they couldn’t eat anymore, gaze up at me and pass out.

I really thought I was going to die with twins. But if dying means that you get to enjoy all that life gives you, with twice as many hugs, twice as many smiles, and yes…twice as many diapers. I wouldn’t change my death wish. Life with multiples isn’t easy, but what is easy is the love you feel for these people who came into your life when you thought you truly were damned.

I am proud to have enjoyed Grant as my oldest, he was my teacher on being a mom. The twins are only helping me perfect the fine art of evolving motherhood.

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The Way to a Mother’s Heart

In my meme yesterday, one of the eight things I had done was cried. Now the crying was definitely tears of joy, but tears nonetheless. I am a feeler, I am one of those people who will cry at movies, weddings, graduations, I am a feeler, I feel everything. Now my son, Big G, must know this because he can put me to tears in an instant.

In October of 2007 when we had taken a trip for a wedding I was getting dressed and when DH was helping me zip up my dress the first thing Big G told me was:

“Mama, you look like a PRINCESS!”

Cue tears.

Well the boy had another moment like that on Sunday evening when he was with DH. DH was helping him to take a shower and get cleaned up before bed. As he was drying him off the conversation turned to being a baby. They discussed everyone that is and was a baby. My mother, my grandparents, DH, the Squids, me, and finally Big G. Big G mentioned how he was 14 years old before I gave birth to him……remnants of a memory of a past life maybe? Interesting.

But the boy felt compelled to tell me something and this is how the conversation went:

Big G: Mom I have to tell you something.
Me: Okay buddy.
Big G: No Mom, look at me….look into my eyes.
Me: (holding my composure) Okay buddy, you have my attention.

Big G: I want to thank you Mom.
Me: Thank me for what baby?
Big G: For birth
Me: what? ( I look inquisitively over at DH who is laughing uncontrollably)
Me: Ok, babe do you need a shovel for whatever this boy is trying to say to me.

DH: No, no, he’s just so cute.
Me: Okay buddy what are you trying to say.
Big G: Dad, whats the word I am looking for……
DH: Birth buddy.

Big G: Right, Mom……thank you for giving birth to me.

And that is the way to a mother’s heart each and every time when my boy says something so innocent and beautiful just like that I melt and cry like a big baby!!