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Harry Potter book sold by accident.

On the Fourth of July, we witnessed a man doing wheelies on his motorcycle near the park where we watched fireworks. He hit the back of a moving vehicle and was flung off his bike and into a telephone pole. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. After ages, the ambulances, fire trucks, and police showed up.

This did not make the news. I checked for days at multiple news outlets—online, the newspaper, and on our local TV broadcast news, curious about the status of this poor man.

But a Harry Potter book being sold early? Internationally important, stop the presses stuff.

July 12th, 2005 | Category: Life | 7 comments

Poodle

We do our best to avoid Chuck E. Cheese and his Grade D pizza. The head-splitting atmosphere is jarring. The interior is like Vegas for those who can still wear Osh Kosh B’ Gosh overalls and get away with it. What happens at Chuck E. Cheese doesn’t stay at Chuck E. Cheese, however. We come home with headaches, extra tokens that are not legal tender, balloons, and viruses. I’ve heard people leave Vegas with some of those things too.

We dodged and weaved the Chuck E. possibility for nearly a year before a certain birthday girl announced she would like to go to Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate. Sometimes parents need to make hard sacrifices for their children. We felt compelled to say yes on the condition the celebration include Sam, who is turning five tomorrow. Two back-to-back birthdays in the same large family is both nice and nightmarish. They are still young enough to not mind sharing celebrations, so it was agreed we would do it for our two birthday kids. We went this past Saturday.

We were joined at Las Cheeses by Nini, Mikey, and their two little ones. They told Aidan they would take her to Build-A-Bear for her birthday gift, which thrilled her of course. They gave computer games to Sam. After two hours of pizza, dozens of Coke refills, and 141 tickets won on games like Catch the Ping Pong Balls Painted Like Bumblebees In An Impossibly Small Basket As They Fly Around For Thirty Seconds, we headed to a nearby mall.

It took Aidan an hour and ten minutes to decide which animal, outfit, and name it should have. This left the ten of us who were not birthday girls to wander about aimlessly. I had plenty of time to contemplate the fact that Build-a-Bear animals have nicer underwear than me. Hubby used his time to make a bear for me. Ryley picked an outfit designed by Limited Too for my bear. I named it Ruby. This was done by the time Aidan tried the third outfit on her rabbit.

While we were waiting for Aidan to name her rabbit, Sam came up to me and said “I want to show you what I want for my birthday.”

He took my hand and led me to the bin that contained the hides of dozens of cute border collies. It looked like something Sam would admire. Then he said “…and I know what clothes I want to get for him.”

We went to the racks and he held up a t-shirt with an American flag motif heart and the words “Hug Freely” on the front. Then he showed me the jean shorts he wanted for his dog. Very nice, classic, Hilfigerian combo.

Out of curiousity, I asked “what are you going to name your dog?”

“Poodle!”

I knew Sam needed Poodle, the Border Collie, immediately.
a boy's dog

I approached hubby and told him of Sam’s birthday wish. Because his birthday was close enough, we told him he could get Poodle. He was thrilled beyond belief, deliriously hopping around and thanking everyone in sight.

Not only did Sam get Poodle and his laid-back-perfect-for-flea-marketing-or-scratching clothes, but he got the matching puppy with a magnetic bandana for hanging in Poodle’s magnetic mouth. Sam named the puppy “Sam Puppy Dude”, as his usual custom is to name all his stuffed animals after himself.

Poodle was stuffed, sewn, brushed, dressed, named, and in his cardboard box by the time Aidan decided to name her rabbit April.

Each night since, Poodle has slept in his cardboard box, in Sam’s bed. Devotion is being willing and able to sleep with your arms wrapped around a cardboard box. But that is Sam—devoted to his family, his ideas, and the things he loves.

July 12th, 2005 | Category: Life, Little Ones | 14 comments

Gravity

Hubby wrote about how a Spaghetti-O can’s lid viciously attacked him at lunch yesterday.

Yesterday was very difficult all around. It was Sunday and we are church-goers. But we haven’t been in several weeks. Last week, I was recovering from my procedure. The Sunday before I was still reeling from my news and didn’t want anyone to ask me any questions that would spring the tears from my eyes. Joel had a snotty nose the Sunday before that. Excuses.

The time had come, though, to confront a lot of feelings I had been holding under water. I knew going to church was going to expose everything I had been feeling. Anger at God. Feeling betrayed. Wondering if my feelings mattered to Him. Abandonment, loneliness, sorrow…all the horrible sensations of my previous loss dredged up again, stirred around, and set on fire.

In many ways, it is harder this time. Last time, I had things to make the pregnancy and loss more real. I had ultrasound pictures of my baby when he was alive. I received cards and letters in the mail, flowers I dried, a miniature blanket from my MOPS group. Hubby gave an amethyst ring to me as a memorial. I am not criticizing people for not doing these things this time. But now I understand why these tangible things are important to those who mourn. Having something to hold, in your hands, makes it real.

There is such an unreal quality to this most recent loss that I forget, sometimes, that it has even happened…I feel a twinge in my lower abdomen and think, for a split second, that it is growth. I have a wave of nausea or a sudden craving for salt and vinegar potato chips. The beginnings of a smile form until I remember no. I feel like an amputee having phantom pains in a leg or arm that is no longer there.

I do not have an ultrasound picture or dried flowers. I do not have any cards I can open for this loss. I do not have the makings of a memory box because my one lone item, my hospital bracelet, would rattle around inside.

These things can never replace a baby. But they are solid, material, and tangible. When I would start getting sad about my first loss, I could stroke the little fleece blanket, hold a yellow rose in my palm, and look at my ultrasound pictures. They didn’t heighten my pain. They diminished it and helped me heal.

If anyone noticed me at church yesterday with my face looking at the ceiling, they might have mistook me as someone raising my face to heaven in praise. No. It was to keep the tears in my eyes. It was all about Gravity. Hearing and watching my fellow church-goers sing “He gives and takes away” was extremely hard. They were all smiling, seemingly focused on the He Gives part. My job, yesterday, was to represent the He Takes perspective.

And still I choose Him. Facing all the dark feelings is necessary. People fear death and loss and sorrow because they don’t want to go to the places they dwell. But you can never fully appreciate the He Gives until the taking.

So someday, when I am at church with a big smile on my face and I happen to see a woman or man with their face tilted to the ceiling, I will wonder if they are using gravity to keep the tears in their eyes when nothing else will.

Until yesterday, that thought would have never occured to me.

July 11th, 2005 | Category: Loss | 13 comments
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