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Thursday

Just when I think the piece taken out of my heart has been found, I come upon a picture like this and I realize it is on the other side of the universe and always will be:
hope cherishing love

It has been only seven weeks since we learned our baby was gone. I wonder if every Thursday, for the rest of my life, I will know how many weeks it has been?

I added a new link a few days ago. It will take you to The Shining Light Fund. They help families who have experienced pregnancy and infant loss by hand-making beautiful memory bracelets as a small, meaningful way to memorialize the loss. Mine is on the way.

***you can find the picture here

Infinity + 20 Minutes

The allergist’s office does not have a shortage of magazines to flip through during the 20-minute wait after Sam gets his twice-weekly shots.

They have Waterfowl Woodworking magazine. They have Kiplinger’s and Modern Bride. Stacks of Forbes, Seventeen, and the Smithsonian decorate the tables sprinkled around the waiting room. It makes me wonder about the demographic of their patients (I am one too).

1. They are wealthy or trying to become wealthy. In order to afford allergy serum, twice weekly shots, and checkups every few months for asthma and eczema it might make sense for me to pay more attention to these magazines.

2. They are wealthy 15 year old girls with hay fever.

3. They are wealthy 15 year old girls who are already dreaming of strapless wedding gowns but might want to reconsider because of the eczema.

4. They are wealthy 15 year old girls who are preoccupied with planning their weddings, to be held in the portait gallery of the Smithsonian Institute. Only indoor weddings will do because of that pesky hay fever problem.

5. They are wealthy 15 year olds girls who are going to hand-carve flocks of mahogany swans to serve as focal points and centerpieces at the reception following their fabulous Smithsonian portrait gallery weddings.

I don’t have time to seriously read these magazines because I am busy trying to entertain the kids. The only children’s book they have in the waiting room is a pharmacutical company produced propagandic Asthma ABC’s! and I have had just about enough of learning “M is for Mucus!” I know that already.

I also know that Balsa wood is good for making decoys, that Ireland is a great place to invest (quite the boom they have going on right now). I know that green is the new black and vintage bridal gowns are all the rage. It is amazing what you can learn in a mere 20 minutes.

Mistake du Jour

Should I have let Aidan wear a too-big (but really cute) skirt to school today?

Sizing clothes for Aidan is very hard—she is a skinny, tall kid. Her waist is a size 5, her leg length is a size 8. Capris look like shorts on her. Long pants look like capris. If I buy skirts that fit her waist they are too short. We prefer modest-lengthed skirts which means a big, baggy waist.

She gathered the excess material and slipped a yellow sparkly bobby pin over the gathers to hold the skirt up. Her shirt hid the bobby pin. This morning it seemed like an ingenious idea and I was impressed by her cleverness. Now it doesn’t seem like such a good idea. All day I have been thinking of the giant lapse of common sense I had this morning when I said “yeah, you can wear that!”

Could today be the day a new “most embarrassing moment” is born in her life story? Someday, when she is sitting in her college dorm room with friends and they are discussing their lives and childhood traumas will she say something like this:

One day, when I was in second grade, I wore a new skirt to school. It was really cute—patchwork calico in pink, blue, and yellow. Really springy. Anyway, it was too big, so I bobby-pinned the material to keep it up. Can you believe my mom thought it was a good idea? Anyway, it was after lunch and I was running on the playground. All of a sudden I crashed to the ground. My skirt was down around my ankles and I got a bloody nose. All the kids started laughing. I pulled up my skirt and ran to the clinic. My skirt had a big rip in it too. I was so sad and embarrassed. It took until we moved halfway around the world for the kids to stop making fun of my Cinderella underwear.

I am hoping when I pick up Aidan from school today her skirt is up, intact, and she doesn’t have Kleenex jammed up her nose.