Things to Miss

One of the hazards of raising young children is being constantly told that "someday you'll miss it" when you complain about something annoying your kids do.

In the spirit of this I present to you a list of things I HOPE I miss someday.

* Sharing my food/drink/spoon/straw/chap stick
* Finding only empty gum wrappers in my purse
* Empty toilet paper rolls
* Toothpaste smeared all over the sink
* 422 cups of water in the fridge
* Stepping on Legos and Polly Pocket pieces
* Fake fart and burp noises
* Melted ice cream cones in my car cup holders
* "Art work" on borrowed books
* Sticky spots
* Boogers on my shirts
* Combing snarly hair
* Being told I'm not smart 'cause I didn't go to preschool
* Crying, whining, tantrums, peed pants
* Begging people to sleep
* Mystery wet spots

Now.... I'm off to find some Clorox wipes and my sunglasses that suddenly went missing.  I have a feeling that when I find them, they're gonna be nasty!

Kids Q&A

Happy New Year Readers!  I hope 2013 treats you well and that you find much to be happy about.

On that note, in an effort to help you kick off your new year in style and eliminate some stress I've decided to teach you a little trick I use to keep my kids from driving me nuts.

Do you ever get tired of the broken-record questions from kids?

"What's for dinner?"
"Where are we going?"
"What's that?"
"What are you doing behind that locked door?" or "Why is your door locked?"
and the always popular "Have you seen my _____?"

Well, I did get tired of them.  And I'm still tired of them.  BUT, with some creativity you can turn those questions into opportunities to annoy the annoyer.  Sound too good to be true?  Read on for some of my stellar examples.

Q:  What's for dinner?
A:  Elephant toenails.

Now, this will occasionally get them to resubmit their question, in which case you continue naming an animal and a body part you'd never really eat until they leave the kitchen in a huff.  Some examples could be:  Kangaroo teeth, beaver tails, rhino butt cheeks (The Hubs's fav).  The list is endless.

Q: Where are we going?
A:  I thought we'd drive until we get to the middle of nowhere.  Then, when we get there we'll sit in a circle and stare at each other until we understand the mysteries of the universe.  Good news, I have chap stick in case you get hungry.

Yes, I really did say that to my kids the other day in the car.  And yes, they stopped asking silly questions.

Q: What's that?  (In some cases you may actually want to answer that.  But, let's say that all four of your children come to you one at a time with the same question... by number 3 you may want to get creative.)
A: Santa's beard.

As with the "what's for dinner" question, your possibilities are only as limited as your imagination.   Some other's I've used are: T-rex eggs, the rear axle of daddy's car, an elf lawn mower.

Q: Why is your door locked?  (I know some of you jumped to, let's say "lusty" conclusions.  You'd be wrong.  Ask The Hubs.)
A: Bathing my pet alligator, playing darts with Spider Man, filling Daddy's pillow case with shaving cream... Oops, the goal is to tell lies.

And finally, I understand that we mom's have a crystal ball with which we are able to magically locate any stray objects in the house.  But some days I don't want to dust off my crystal ball.  I just want them to stop losing their junk.

Q: Have you seen my ______?  (Shoes, coat, gloves, doll, camera, brain.....)
A:  Yes, I have.  Just a few minutes ago a mouse came shooting through the room on his motorcycle and I'm pretty sure he was holding ______ in his hand.

I love this one.  I makes them angry, which is my goal (wink, wink).  Of course, you can go with the highly annoying answer my parents gave me:  "Well, last time I used it I put it away." 

UGH!  I hated that!

However, even I occasionally have to use some of the classics from times gone by.  Because everyone should hear at least once in their life that  "It'll feel better when it stops hurting".

Best of luck to you my friends.  Parenthood is like being thrown out of an airplane without a parachute.  Now you at least have some material, so get to stitching.

No Goodbye's

Dear Readers,

First I need to thank you.  Thanks for sticking with me and not getting tired of my letters to my brother.  Thank you for supporting my need to express my feelings.  Thank you for being willing to get to know my brother and love him.

Today is my sweet baby's 1st birthday.  Wow!  As cliche as it is to say, time flies. 

Bubba Jasec.  Happy Birthday!

While I was driving to Taco Bell to get him his special birthday dinner - pretty much loves cheese quesadillas when I make them at home, so why not try it for his "birthday dinner out"? - I got to thinking about the day one year ago when he made his entrance into our family.

We weren't planning on any more babies.  We'd given away a lot of our baby things - crib, strollers etc...  But sometimes despite our own choices, God sends us things we didn't even know we were missing.

As The Hubs and I were waiting for his arrival, all drugged up on an epidural, just killing time, I called my brother and asked him how he'd feel about us naming the baby after him.  He agreed that it would be "cool".

I wanted Jasec to be a warrior, like Ben.  I wanted Jasec to have the name of a man in my life who has meant a great deal to me.  And also, part of me knew that my brother may not survive this cancer battle and so I wanted a piece of him to keep with me here on earth.

As I waited in the Taco Bell drive-up line I sent a text to Ben saying "Hi.  Thinking about you today on Jasec's first birthday.  So grateful you were able to meet him.  So grateful I was able to give him your name.  Love you."

And then I started crying.  Which isn't super great when you're about to get handed a bag full of tacos and quesadillas.  Teenage employees of fast food restaurants may think I'm about to go on an emotional food binge.  They aren't trained to deal with emotional women.  Oh well, I can be fodder for pimply gossip.

And in my head I composed this letter:

Dear Ben,

I don't really know how to say goodbye to you.  I don't know how to let you go.  So, I've decided that I won't.  I refuse.  And no one can make me. 

For as long as I live on this earth without you I will sense your presence.  I will remember you.  I will talk about you.  I will tell your stories to my children.  You will be more than just a picture on the mantle or a cement headstone in the ground.

I will see you in the dancing shadows cast by campfires on red rock walls, in the graceful movements of a galloping horse, in motorcycles flying through the air.

 

I will see you in flannel and cowboy boots, in hoodies and deep thumping bass music.

 

I will hear you in the "chirp" of tires grasping at slick rock, in the roar of a tricked out engine.

 

I will see you in the crisp morning air of the Uintah Mountains, in the casting of a fishing line or the swaying of the trees.

 

I will smell you in the scent of motor oil, gasoline, and bacon, the fizz of a soft drink or the muted flavor of vitamin water.

Most of all, I will see you in the eyes of my sweet baby boy who bears your name.  I will watch him grow, I will hear his laughter, see his smile, soothe his heartaches, share in his joys.  And all the while I will teach him about the man you are.  And I hope that he will feel a closeness to you through that special connection of a name.

God is taking you away, but he gave me little Jasec to help make it better.

Ben and Jasec, Feb. 2012, at Jasec's blessing.

How grateful I am for both of my Benjamin's.

Love,
Aspen

Ben's Biker Gang

Written summer 2012

Dear Ben,

Cadie learned to ride a bike today.  Two wheels, no training wheels, freedom.  My heart was bursting with happiness for her as I watched her go back and forth, up and down our street.  She was the ultimate ragamuffin with her messy braids flying along beside her.  Her bike was still wobbly as she flew past me.  I can't believe she actually made the turn at the end of the street rather than laying the bike on its side.  Her grin was huge.

Mom was standing next to me and she made a choking sound as Cadie flew by with her feet up on her handlebars, wobbling, grinning, braids slapping her face, not watching the road, but watching our faces as she passed. 

"It's almost more than I can watch."  Mom said as she pasted on a smile and waved to Cadie. 

I laughed at her and reminded, "You, who watched Ben?  Cadie has nothing on him."

And it's true.  You were such a fearless kid.  We learned to ride bikes at about the same time.  I was six.  You were four.  My older sister pride insists that I learned before you, but most like I was only a day or two ahead of you with my pitiful bragging rights.  You always caught up to me and then passed me on by, with a grin to match Cadie's on your face.  Of course you were missing the pigtails, but the affect was the same.

I still remember sitting on my bike in our cul-de-sac watching you show off your new skills.  You were pedaling around the circle and I was sitting in the middle, on the manhole cover, watching you.  I don't remember what I was feeling at the moment.  Probably I was happy for you and am used by you.  You were always so proud of yourself and so cheerful about things that being jealous would have been wrong.  Your happiness wasn't cocky, it included me.

Anyhow, I remember sitting there watching you race and then you looked up to give me a cheesy grin and suddenly lost control of the bike, which caused you to slam into a mailbox.  You were so little that you slammed the top of your head into the bottom corner rather than slamming your face into the side of it.  You fell down and started crying.  I remember the mailbox was black.  What a strange thing to remember.

I hurried over and could see blood on the top of your head, along with a V shaped cut.  It was the first of many times that I walked you bleeding into the house to find Mom. 

Before too long you graduated from bikes to motorcycles, three-wheelers, go carts, or pretty much anything motorized.  I rode along behind you anywhere that you were willing to take me.  Farmington Canyon, the dikes, countless riverbeds and slick rock trails.  You always went just a little faster or up a  steeper trail than I would have.  I wasn't nervous though, I trusted you.

One of my favorite memories is of a time after I was married.  You and several of your buddies were living together in a rental house in Centerville.  A few of you decided to buy little 50 motorcycles. 

Not Ben - but gives a nice visual

I laughed so hard when you told me about it, just picturing you guys riding those tiny kiddie bikes around. I remember you telling me that you guys would ride those little bikes around your rental house sometimes, including up and down the stairs.  I'm sure your landlord LOVED you guys. 

The best was the day I was driving along 400 East on my way to mom's when I actually saw you guys.  Your little biker gang.  It was hilarious.  All of you with your big shoulders hunched and your knees tucked into your chests, going a smooth 25 down the side of the street in a little line.  You all had a Dick's grocery bag hanging off your arm.  Grocery shopping on your bikes.

I honked and waved, once again cracking up at one of your antics.  Lucky for you there were no mailboxes in your way this time.

~ Aspen

Dear Ben

Your 32nd birthday was this past week.  On 12/12/12.  How cool is that?  And you made it.  You're getting old my brother. 

I wanted to post something on your birthday, but the day ended up being much harder on me than I'd anticipated.  I kept thinking of the day you were born and the hopes and dreams and happiness that accompanied that birth.  And then I began thinking of all the years ahead that would be empty without you in them. 

And I couldn't find the strength to post anything here.  I didn't have the right words to express the depth of my sorrow at losing you.

I managed to post this on Facebook:

Dear Ben,
Happy birthday! You made it!! 32 years ago Mom and Dad brought you home to me and let me hold you. I've held you in my heart ever since that day. You've taught me so much about friendship, loyalty, patience, and the value of being unconditionally loved. Thank you for being my childhood play mate, my adolescent confidant and my friend. Now, for the first time, you're going somewhere I can't go and teaching me about goodbye. Nothing has ever hurt so much in my life. But if I could give you one wish for your birthday it would be freedom from this mortal body that has held you prisoner. I would wish to see you driving a jeep through heaven, smiling your cocky little half smile, and leaving us all in your dust.

Happy Birthday B.
Always,
Aspen

 

Now, three days later, I still want to post something more about your birthday and it's significance.  But I still find it too hard to delve into that emotional abyss and bring something up that would be more than just rambling. 

So, I began sorting through my letters to you and I came across this one.  I suppose it fits and it describes how I've been feeling lately.  Somewhat.  For now it will have to do.  Until I can get my thoughts together and down on paper.  Just know that I love you.  Forever.  And even though you need to go, my life without you will never be the same.

- - - - - - - - - -
Dear Ben,

Sometimes I want to be a total martyr.  I want the world to know that I hurt more than anyone has ever hurt before.  That my pain is deeper, my frustration greater, my anger more pure than anyone in the history of the world has ever experienced.  I am special in my suffering.

But it isn't true.

All it takes is one look around and I realize I'm nothing special.  There are no strangers to heartache among us.  Everyone has been touched by health problems, divorce, death, suffering, and disappointment. 

Cancer is no respecter of persons. 

Cancer doesn't define who we are.

Cancer is something that affects so many people.  I don't know that you could find a single person who hasn't been touched by it.

Often I'll run into acquaintances at the grocery store, at church, at the park and they'll ask about you.  I always try to keep it light and thank them for their interest.  Then they'll share their stories with me about their cousin, uncle, grandparent, parent, neighbor, co-worker, friend who is also fighting cancer.

How can something so common feel so personal?  How can something that so many people go through still feel like it's unique to my life experience?

And sometimes I feel guilty.  For the times before now when I didn't really get it.  For the friend who had a brother pass from cancer several years back, back when I didn't truly understand.  I feel horrible that I wasn't there for him and his family like I should have been.  I offered my condolences and went on with life, never asking again how they were dealing with the loss.  I didn't attend the viewing, I didn't bake them something delicious to eat.  I didn't offer to watch their baby or listen to their memories.  I didn't know. 

Ignorance was bliss.

I wish this club of suffering and worry wasn't one I belonged to.  I didn't realize how nice it would have been to be left out for once in my life.  Too bad I can't resign my membership and go back to being carefree.  It will never work. 

Because now I know. 

Now I'll be able to see that sad somewhat haunted look in other people's eyes when they talk about their loved one.  I'll know that aching they feel in their chest that never leaves. 

I'll know that every text message, phone call, knock on the door and ambulance siren causes them to pause in their day and for a moment wonder if this is it.

I'll know that they have no patience left to deal with every day frustrations.  They, like me, probably yell at their kids too much, snap at their spouses, roll their eyes at the neighbors.  They, like me, can't handle a dirty or noisy house, unwashed dishes, dirty laundry.  It's taking their full capacity just to keep from thinking about the future and what it holds.  Too much energy to just keep plugging through.

It's kind of sad that I'm not special.  

'Cause if I was, that would mean that a lot less people were going through this.

~ Aspen

With Great Gifts Comes Great Responsibility

A few weeks ago The Hubs went to visit my brother, Ben, and his wife Sara.  It was just the three of them and they had a lovely little chat wherein Hubs spilled his guts and they gave him a nice gift to aid in his emotional healing.

I won't go into the details here, but for the sake of the story you need to know that the gift was some money to spend on iTunes.

Hubs was overwhelmed and touched by their generosity.  Once he came to grips with accepting their kindness he got to work making a wish list, playing songs, and making purchases. 

I was home during this shopping spree of happiness and our conversation went something like this.

Me: That was so nice of Ben and Sara!
Hubs:  No kidding.  Way nice.  I'm excited to get some of the songs off my wish list.
M: Just don't buy any Elvis.
H:  But I like Elvis.
M:  Elvis's music is okay, but his voice stinks.  He sounds like he's having a seizure when he sings.  I bet after each performance he'd go back stage and laugh at all those poor screaming fools who liked to hear him sing.
H:  You have to admit that (insert song name here) is a great song.
M:  Sure.  When someone else sings it.  I'm a huge fan of Elvis songs remade.
H:  Whatever.

Then there was some clicking and more song playing and more giddy purchases being made.  I was reading a romance novel.  In my novels the hero never listens to Elvis.

Flash forward two hours - and some sweet romantic scenes - and Hubs calls me over to the computer to play me his list of purchases. 

Things were going along fine until I heard something sounding like a cheesy ho-down, honkey tonk ooze fest.

Me:  What is THAT?
Hubs: What, this song?  Isn't it great.  (Starts singing along).
M:  Okay, really, what IS that song?
H:  (He just smiles at me)
M:  (Leaning forward to read the name of the song off the playlist) Hand Me Down That Can 'O Beans?
H:  Ya!  From Paint Your Wagon!!  (He's thrilled and smiling as he sings along).
M:  I'm telling Ben you wasted his money.
H: (Stops singing)  I didn't waste his money!
M:  Ya, you did.  Ben would never condone the use of his money to purchase a song from Paint Your Wagon.

People, I would typically say that when someone gives you a gift card or money that they have no say in how you spend it.  It's a gift.  You are free to use said money in the manner you see fit that will bring you happiness.

But, in this case, when your dying bro-in-law gives you an iTunes gift card you DO NOT insult the giver by purchasing music from Paint Your Wagon.  You don't want him to have regrets at this point in the game.  You want him to be able to rest in peace.  And he won't be able to do that if he knows that 89 cents of his money was wasted on a song about beans!

With great gifts comes great responsibility.

Oh, Hubs, maybe you should have bought some Elvis.

Tag Teaming

I've been working on a theory for the past 9 years and I believe I have enough indisputable evidence at this point to move from theory into scientific fact. But, like LaVar Burton on Reading Rainbow I say to you.... "Don't take my word for it". 

(I believe he was trying to say you should see for yourselves.  If that's not what he was trying to say then that little quote was confusing and ill-placed.  Also, I did zero internet research to see if that is in fact what he said.  I'm just going from memory. And we all know that my mom says sometimes I remember things that no one else does.  So maybe I just made that up. My point is that I'm going to lay out the evidence for you and let you be the judge for yourselves.)

I have come to the firm conclusion that one of the laws of childhood is that you do everything in your power to sabotage restful sleep for your parents.  Sometimes this means you yourself must go without sleep.  But it's worth the sacrifice.

For the oldest (or only) child this is most strenuous as they have no back-up, tag-team partner to help them in their quest.  They must carry the brunt of the load until another comes along.

I'm proud to say that Ms. Els valiantly carried the flag for the first 2 years of her life until Cadie Lu was born.  After Cadie Lu was born she showed signs of being a great sleeper.  But, at some point Ms. Els got in there and let her know how things were run.  After that they began taking turns calling out, coughing, needing to use the potty and getting drinks in the night.

My suspicions at this point were like an annoying phone ringing. Something I was aware of in the periphery, but was too sleep deprived to spend much time thinking about.

When Joely came along Ms. Els suddenly became a world champion sleeper and has given us nary a problem in the night since then.  After 4 1/2 years of problematic nights she was able to rest easy knowing she'd done her duty.  She passed the baton to Cadie Lu and Joely.

(Side note:  Sleeping through the night has no bearing on how hard it might be to get them to go to bed in the first place!)

Cadie Lu and Joely did a fairly mediocre job of carrying the torch.  Both seem to actually like sleep.  And without Ms. Els whipping them into a frenzy things seemed to calm.  Oh, some nights they'd throw out a moan or a whimper, or even a blood curdling nightmarish scream just to make sure I startled awake with my heart racing.  But once I peeked in on them they went back to sleep for the night, having accomplished their goal of interrupting my sleep.

Then, along came Jabes.  He apparently came with fresh reminders from heaven.  At this point the girls were moved to their own room in another part of the house, but Jabes had a firm discussion with Joely at some point and together they have taken their duty quite seriously, almost raising it to a level that Ms. Els could only have dreamed about.

I do not exaggerate when I tell you that Jabes ONLY sleeps through the night when Joely is up.  And Joely ONLY sleeps through the night when Jabes is up.  Spookily they are never up at the same time or even on the same nights.  They always, always tag-team it.  It's eery to see their organization and stealth given the fact that they are so young at ages 4  and 11 months old. 

So, you see, I have years worth of research from the trenches saying that this is in fact an organized and planned offensive by children of the world.  It can't just be mine!  Right!  Right?  Please tell me it's not just mine....

This makes me wonder how it will be when they are teenagers.  Maybe then it will be narcoleptic tag-teaming.  Like someone will always be impossible to wake up.  And then I'll be whining about how all they want to do is sleep...

Ha ha ha.... Riiiight!