Fuzzy Love

Out Of Touch

My name is Katherine and it has been two weeks since my last post.

I've gotten a few calls and emails that have basically said, "Ahem. What is going on?" so I suppose I should hop to. I haven't posted, basically, because all I've really wanted to do since I got back from Halifax is to be around Mark and the kids. Meaning really physically around them (sort of like smothering), and not on the computer or even the phone much.

Instead of the usual Halifax hangover, which involves about a week of exhaustion and general bitchiness caused by time zone changes and cranky children, I've actually had extra patience and a need to suck up my family's presence. Plus it was the end of the preschool year and Liam's birthday (more on that tomorrow), so I had a lot to do.

It sort of goes without saying, but the trip was tough. Almost everywhere I looked in Halifax held a memory of my mom and, while at home I can forget that she's missing for whole blocks of time - half a day even - Halifax would have none of that. Couple that with a tangible ache for a hug from my husband and sniffs of my children's hair and, well, you can just imagine. I kept busy.

By the time I left for Denver, my brother James and I had touched virtually everything in my mom's house and made lots of piles (piles make me feel productive). We piled what we wanted: stuff I wanted, stuff he wanted, stuff too emotionally difficult to wade through (pictures, letters, and the like). We left what we didn't. Then I packed up the piles into moving boxes while James re-landscaped the backyard, which was beautiful before but lately neglected. We talked through the window while we worked. During such a difficult task, I'm quite impressed that James and I didn't fight once (bickering doesn't count).

(But then this past weekend James had to fill a dumpster with the stuff we didn't want and make several trips to Value Village. Thankfully he had Sam and mom's friend Judy to help him.)

While James continued in the garden, I walked (with my mom's littlest sister, Judy).

Twelve times around a track for Brain Tumors and, thanks to so many of you, I was the number two fund raiser in Halifax, with an astonishingly grand total of $1350. My god, thank you. I was also surprised to see one of Mom's earliest caregivers there, walking for Mom, along with a nurse that also cared for Mom along the way.

One of my friends mentioned that she wished she could walk with me, and that got me to thinking. So, just to make sure I remembered how blessed I am, I took y'all with me.

Thank you, thank you.

The walk was good. It felt productive and honor-filled. Although, strangely, it took some work to show off my honor. My aunt Susan had done the Spring Sprint in London a few weeks earlier and, not wanting me to arrive empty-handed, warned me that there would be a tribute wall. So of course I prepared a picture complete with tear-jerker quote (laminated, no less, in case of a Scotia rain storm) to add to the wall. But when other aunt Judy and I showed up to do some walking, the tribute wall was no where to be seen.

I asked about tributes while checking in and was told something along the lines of, "Oh yes, a spot for tributes will be up in a few minutes." Well, it wasn't up in a few minutes, and not even in a few minutes after that. So I asked again and was again told the tribute wall was coming. Again with the waiting; again with the asking. Still no wall. Finally, when the announcement came to line up for the start, and STILL no wall, I marched up and demanded a goddamn tribute wall. The slightly-exasperated response: "You know, you're the only person who brought anything."

I got my wall.

Honestly, I was very restrained for such an emotionally-charged set up. And the result? Pretty much every person there strolled over to see what the heck the big-yet-virtually-empty sign was all about.

And look what I got to bring home to the kids:

Stress brains. (I know, it's out of focus, but for some reason all eyes were upon me, even though I felt the picture made perfect sense. So I rushed).

There's more to tell tomorrow (as always). And you know, I've missed blogland. It's good to be back.

Pink, Yellow, and Green

The colors of Project Spectrum are about to change, and I have yet to post a thing about it. Let's fix that.

The Ballet T-Shirt still wasn't quite dry this morning (and this is Colorado, people; you only see wet in that picture because of sprinklers), but I put Olivia in it away. That may be why it has a bit of a curling issue on the lower edge, so next time I'll be patient and perhaps put something heavy on the bottom besides. It really is cute.

That curling you see above is not what I'm talking about; after a few minutes it rolled right up. I am still pretty pleased with it, but it's one of those sweaters in which every little stitch is highly visible, so any little wonky parts are jumping out at me (especially the cast on under the arms).

Anyway, in the name of Project Spectrum, I thought I'd take pictures of some of the more colorful things in my house - the books - and give you a peak into my bookshelves at the same time. Without actually showing you the bookshelves themselves, which are packed two rows deep and quite, well, stressful to look at. (I was planning to do this sometime, for PS, but then books came up yesterday, and here we are.)

Funny how not many of my green books are novels. Dressed for the Photographer is one of my favorite reference books - it pictures and describes fashion in 19th-century photography - as I inherited a box of old family photographs that periodically vex me (if I could just have my grandmother back for an hour...). And I just got In Stitches by Amy Butler. I don't have much in the way of sewing skills, nor do I have a place in which to sew other than the dining room table. But I'd like to be able to sew things and I've been carrying this book around a lot lately.

On to yellow (it's kind of fun to see my books this way).

Ah, a few more novels. I haven't read The Piano Tuner yet, but I will. But I actually think I enjoyed all of these other books. Empire Falls and Deliverance were both read in the last year. And looky, Hamlet was actually picked up for the first time since university (other than for a move).

And finally, pink:

Yup, that's all the pink I've got. It's another book that hasn't been opened since university (poor neglected Darthur). Mark will probably suggest that I use this knowledge to motivate myself to chuck the sad little thing, so it can sit abandoned on a used bookstore bookshelf, but that's not the way I operate. It's a quality book, even if I only read it when forced, and therefore I will keep it FOREVER. Although perhaps it could possibly be shuffled off to the basement.

Pretty much any book that comes in that 8ish by5ish inch book format attracts me (with a bonus for a book club guide in the back). Some of my favorite recent books have been The Time Traveler's Wife, The Bookseller of Kabul, and Devil in the White City. And one of my all-time favorites: An American Tragedy. Unfortunately none of those come in pink. Anyone have any favorites you'd like to recommend?

Anyway, I'm in a knitting slump right now and am strangely unmotivated to cast on for something new. Wait...[checking forehead]...no, really, I'm fine. Even infant sweaters are too much of a commitment, and the Heartbreakingly Stiff Baby Kimono sits unfinished with only a little bit of work remaining.

It probably has something to do with the trip to the Scotia I'm taking later this week. I leave on Wednesday evening, by myself, to clean out my mother's house (with my brother and aunt), visit a bit with family and friends, and do the Spring Sprint. I'm really dreading the house part and not sleeping well, even with those little pills I have. So, in the meantime, I've managed to commit to some purely functional, albeit colorful, dishcloths. How sad is that?

Random Stuff

Holly Jo tagged me for the eight random things meme, but you wouldn't be blamed for thinking this was any other post (Random? Me?).

1. I have to start each day with a cup of tea or the day just doesn't seem right. A good basic black tea, like English Breakfast. I also require a little bit of chocolate every day or I can get grumpy (most often just a small handful of chocolate chips).

2. Liam's birthday is coming up so I'm sending him in to school soon with a treat (pop-cycles). He also has to bring in pictures of: himself as a baby, his pets, and his family. We realized that - yikes - we hadn't taken a picture of the four of us together in over a year. Last night a friend tried for a long time to take a decent shot and this was the best one (guess who dressed himself?).

3. I am from Canada but have lived in the States for ten years so I'm loosing my accent. People used to recognize me as a Canadian right away, and then I got Minnesota for a while, but now it's rare that anyone says anything about how I talk (except for a few weird things like saying soother, not pacifier, and process, not prawcess).

4. We were cleaning up yesterday because friends were coming over for dinner and Liam was anxious to help. I asked him to get changed and then he could clean the kitchen table, but the order got a bit mixed up and I found him like this (oh yeah, he's nekid under there):

5.  I've knit on and off since I was a kid, but not obsessively until my mother needed brain surgery. I traveled home and my aunt Sue had some of that Regia self-patterning sock yarn. My friend Kelly says she can tell how stressed I am by how much I knit, which makes me think I need one of these shirts.

6. Two things I find really funny are here and here (especially this one):

7. I read a lot and, although I get a lot of books from the library, I like to own and keep forever books I really enjoy. I have to admit this is getting rather unwieldy.

8. I don't have a terribly good memory, so I take pictures of everything. It's not uncommon for me to take over 500 pictures in a week if we are on vacation. This sometimes annoys the hell out of Mark, but it did ensure we were early adopters of digital cameras.

Okay, done. I tag Cathi, Stefani, and Jannett.

Not enough randomness for you? I finished the Ballet T-Shirt. It's taking forever to dry so I'll get Olivia to model it tomorrow.

Surprises

Surprise number one:

Mark sat down with Liam and made a list of all the things Liam loves about Mommy and Mark stuck these little signs all over the house. There are things like cuddles and talks and that I'm good at playing games. That sign in the picture was the first thing I saw when I got out of bed (stuck to a painting of my hometown's skyline) and it immediately made me cry.

Surprise number two:

Liam has been achin' to go back to the local pottery place ever since he saw one of these gnomes in the store window. Mark took him back last week and let Liam pick out whatever he wanted to give me, and they painted it together. So now I am the proud owner of my very own gnome, who I suppose will live out amongst the sunflowers, at least until winter.

Surprise number three (it's a biggie):

A trip to Vegas, baby! Mark conspired with my friend Kelly and Jenn's husband Bill (no surprise for Kelly, unfortunately) to send the three of us to Las Vegas for a weekend next month. Kelly lives outside Seattle, and we've been talking about a trip together somewhere, sometime. We did it once before, two years ago, when we met up in San Francisco. And who cares where, right?

But Jenn just sold her house and is trying to find another one and all our summers are getting booked up with visits and then school starts in August and you know how it goes, right? So Kelly, Bill, and Mark buckled down, picked a date, and booked it. And so we're going! It came as a total surprise to me, even though there was much telephoning and messaging going on. I gather I'm not that hard to fool.

Although there were definitely sad moments yesterday thinking of my mom , thank goodness I also am a mom, because you know how those little people are the light of your life? It helps. A lot.

Well, of course the trip helped too.

And god help me, that gnome cracks me up.

Blown Away

I'm sorry; I haven't posted in a few days because I honestly haven't known what to say. $1055. One thousand fifty-five dollars. I didn't even dream of a number that big, but that's how much has been donated in my Mom's name. Thank you. My god: thank you. For the donation to a good cause, for helping me be the NUMBER TWO fund raiser in Halifax (I know it looks like Ms. Hicks Hicks is ahead of me, but if you click through you'll see I'm kicking her ass), and, most of all, for honoring my mother.

I know that I've beaten this topic into the ground, but it still amazes me the good things that continue to happen around my mother's death. I know, a person with a little more...what: faith? god? something in them wouldn't be surprised, but my mind continues to be boggled. Imagine: most of the money donated came from people whom have never met my mother. And some came from people that have never met me or my family (in person). As much as Mark calls my blog friends my "imaginary friends," they are real friends, a concept that was explained better than I ever could do it over here.

It all helps remind me that I am surrounded and supported by really wonderful people, and I am so so grateful for them. But you know that, right? (And you're probably sick of hearing it and hoping I'll soon move on to another topic. Like shoes, maybe.)

But still, I have been a little nervous about tomorrow. My brother, for example, is planning on tidying up my mom's long-neglected yard with some buddies and then going to get drunk. Well aware it could be a difficult day (or at least have difficult moments), Mark started the special stuff today. First off, he was wholly supportive of my taking off with a friend for a long lunch and pink toes:

Pink toes! Even though that meant he had to run a Saturday's worth of errands by himself with both kids. Jenn and I got to have a whole conversation with little to no thought-train derailments; a rarity in our worlds. Plus we got to eat ahi.

While I was being pampered and stuffing my face, Mark planned, shopped for, and then cooked a scrumptious meal that we ate out on the deck (my favorite place). It was a happy summer-time meal, with blueberries in the salad and corn on the cob.

I know he has more surprises in store for me tomorrow (Liam is just itchin' to tell me about them).

And I wish for you lots of good surprises too. Happy Mother's Day to you and your mom.

(Oh, and yes, I finished Rusted Root).

The Voices in my Head

I am seriously too old for this. Or I should be more mature or self-assured. Or something.

Wednesday night I went out with some girlfriends for drinks and dinner at a new local restaurant. With good, non-judgmental, highly-supportive, and casual girlfriends. It was a night too look forward too; nothing to think too much about. But, for some reason, I could. not. get. dressed. Nothing in my wardrobe looked right, fit right, worked together, something. My nice jeans: warn and pale at the knees from too much crawling around on the carpet. My other nice jeans: well, they have only fit for about a week since Liam was born and they sure as hell didn't fit on Wednesday. Other pants: too formal, too casual, make my hips look big, don't look right except with that top I need to pick up from the dry cleaner, don't work with any of my shoes. It took me FOREVER to get dressed.

All to go out with friends who could care less what I wear as long as I'm feeling fine. Which I wasn't, until I got there and got down to having a girls night.

I ended up wearing the jeans with the pale knees and a sweater I feel like I always wear. So I figure that either I need to keep some sort of style guru in my closet (that would say things like, "You can totally wear those shoes with that jacket!") or I need to stop over-thinking this stuff.*

And speaking of over-thinking, it occurred to me for the first time the other day that I have, perhaps, turned just a bit into one of those moms that has let herself go. Now, let's be clear here: I do not wear mom jeans, I do not ever wear sweatpants outside of the house, and I do get out with friends (sans kids) pretty regularly, but I am forced to admit that my kids are better dressed than I am. {sigh}

So all that may have had something to do with why Poppy, which has been whipping up so quickly, got [temporarily] cast aside for something new (well, it also has to do with the sleeves being a little too bell-like for me, so I'm going to rip the little bit I had done and eliminate the bell):

I started Rusted Root yesterday. I love the Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece it calls for, which I used before for Olivia's Sport, and it seems like a good combo of mindless stockinette and a bit of lace. I think I'll have to go back to my LYS and get a fourth ball of it though, since I'm not letting this sweater be too short as I have let others be in the past. I'm thinking I'll do an extra repeat of the pattern and then use the left-over yarn for one of these.

Oh, and I have found my first project for the fall. I have wanted to make this sweater since the magazine came out, but that price tag did me in. Now I can do it.

And finally, can anyone explain to me where Liam got his super-powered memory? Today, after lunch, Liam put on his most polite voice and asked, "Mommy? Can I have some of da trick and treat candy from that basket? Pleeeeease?"

Of course all our Hallowe'en candy was eaten, sent in to Mark's work, or thrown away long ago. Before Christmas, for sure. There certainly wasn't any left to put in that basket way up there and forget about for the next six months.

Well. Lo and behold:

*And I need to go shopping. But serious shopping; shopping with a goal, not impulse stuff. Not my favorite thing.

And These Are The Days of Our Lives

Well, it was kind of a rough weekend. I'm not sure why, exactly, since it was mostly a weekend like any other, full of errands and cleaning out the garage and chatting with the neighbors while the kiddos played. But lots of things made me sad about my mom for some reason. And it seems that's the way it's going to go: happy days mixed with suddenly grief-filled days. Although I think about Mom every day, I usually manage to keep my self busy enough that I don't dwell to the point of getting upset. This, of course, then leads to guilt and feelings like I'm cheating her out of her due sorrow. Man. But my Mom's little sister called yesterday and we talked about the mom that she was and the grandmother she would have been and it was very sad.

And then there was worry for my Dad, who is also in palliative care (for ALS). Honestly, I wish I were making this stuff up (I realize that at this point you're probably thinking that I'm really a fifty-year-old man and soon I'll ask you for a date).

Since I was also overtired, I gave myself a time out yesterday, napped while Olivia napped, then fell asleep again while reading Liam his bedtime stories, and at some point dragged myself into my own bed. Then this morning I got myself a giant-ass Starbucks and I'm feeling much better.

Anyway, one reason why I was so tired is that my friend Jenn had a yard sale on Friday and Saturday and, since I'm a sucker for a yard sale, I hauled a bunch of our stuff over to sell. I've been feeling a bit over-stuffed lately, so a purge was in order. We got rid of a little bit more baby gear (I actually teared up when it was carried away) and this god-awful leather jacket I've been schlepping around since approximately 1988 (can you say shoulder pads?).

But as fun as a yard sale can be, we found ourselves sometimes guilt-ridden, as when hugely pregnant young women snapped up the baby gear (honestly, we should have just given it away, but we didn't) and sometimes just irritated, as when families drove up in giant SUVs just to bargain books down from fifty cents to a quarter. Anyway, the rest of the stuff will go off to charity, except for a couple of big-ticket items that have already sold on Craig's List (yay).

With all the sad bits and the crazy bits this weekend, there were good and sweet bits too. Olivia, for example, has adopted a pig.

She was bound to end up with a few stuffed pigs, because of the book and all, but she's suddenly bonded to this one from her Bobby. His name is Big Pig, because we're so good at naming stuff. He's soft and squishy and has such a solemn face and it seriously makes my heart melt to see her cuddled into him while she sleeps. I'm glad she has a comfort item, but I'm a bit worried that she's not feeling very secure right now.

And most of Liam's sunflowers have come up, even after their trauma (thank god).

I finished Isabella...

and I worked on Poppy.

And Liam was his sweet and goofy self (so happy to help his dad in the garage),

and it was catching. 

On Faith

First of all, I do understand my posts have been a bit random lately. I know that when you show up here you never know if you'll see a baby in a hand-knit sweater or hear about a funeral. I'm sorry about that. I will tell you that I'm not expecting anyone else to die any time soon (that's a poor little joke, isn't it?). At the same the healing isn't anywhere near over yet.

I guess I need to figure out what this blog is about. I used to focus this writing on my kids since my mom read the blog - after all, its founding purpose was to keep distant family in touch - and I didn't want to upset her with details like my worry for her or Mark loosing his job (that was a while ago - he has another one now). But now this blog is becoming more like me, and I guess I'm a bit random. Well, my life is a bit chaotic at the moment. I expect it will settle down soon.

Anyway, about healing: I am not a person to whom faith comes easily. Or even at all. At least, not since I defiantly declared at fifteen that I was an atheist. I can't remember why (a trend amongst my peers maybe?), but it fit. And then I became more comfortable with agnostic, and that's where I've been ever since. Not believing in a single religous thing, but unwilling to commit.

My mom used to tell me that I would believe in God once I had my first child and I realized that such a perfect little being couldn't possibly come from my own body without help from a higher power. And Liam was born and I instantly fell in love, but no lightning bolt of faith hit. I was perfectly okay with that. I'm a science kind of girl. Not necessarily a "I believe in what I can see" person, but definately on the side of provable facts (including those on the life of Jesus, before any spin was put on it). Although when Liam asked recently where he came from, I had a hard time claiming all the credit for making him "in my tummy." The question really caught me off-guard and I obviously need to figure out what I believe before I can teach Liam and Olivia.

It isn't easy to be faithless. And it is tough when someone you love dies and you don't believe that they're safe in heaven, waiting for you to join them. So once Mom was sick, and I knew it was going to be tough, I really really tried to get some faith. Just a bit, so that I could carry on after my mom was gone.

And let me tell you, I tried. I read books. I soul searched. And I even went to a class on faith at my friend's church (they have such things). The people in that class looked at me with big eyes and greeted me with open arms (literally - I got hugged a lot). One of the teachers was a seminary student, so I asked him questions that I have always struggled with and he honestly and ernestly answered me.* But in the end, he said, some of the more difficult questions just require a little bit of faith. And that I didn't have.

Then Mom died. And so many good things - little and big - happened right after her death and I suddenly began to attribute them to her. Things like my friend Chantel, who never ever reads the obituaries (who does at 31), reading them on the day of Mom's wake. And even things like Mom's friend Jim getting the last plane before a storm on the day of her funeral. I honestly think that I could not handle the thought of her no longer being a force in the world. So maybe I got some faith as a survival technique.

For me having faith is still harder than not. It's totally irrational; I still have my doubts about God, that hasn't changed, but I feel like Mom is out there somewhere. Not just her "energy" or her being returned to nature or whatever, but the force that was Mom.

So now good things are happening to Jenn too. Amazing things, and there's more to come, I'm sure. She's never had a problem with faith, so this doesn't surprise her. As for me, I guess we'll see if this is just coping or if it will last.

I promise, there will be a baby in a sweater tomorrow.

* The other students in the class were mostly very sweet with me, although a few did begin to loose patience. Easpecially when I joked that "God Bless America" made no sense because why would God care about arbitrary political borders? That I would even form such a thought utterly flabbergasted the man sitting next to me.

Not My Proudest Moment

Warning: all matter of disgusting and disturbing stuff is discussed here. Today might be a good day to keep surfing.

I should have known that today was going to hell in a handbasket when the cat threw up while the kids and I were eating breakfast. It's never a good day when the cat throws up. Although, on the plus side, I didn't discover the cat puke by stepping in it.

Today was supposed to be a good day. Jenn and I planned to pack picnic lunches and troop out to the park (with the kids, of course) for a few hours. We planned this because I always assume the weather will be the same as it was the day before, which, in this case, was 70 degrees. But amazingly it was cold and rainy today. So no park. As a backup plan, we hung out at Jenn's for a while and then headed to the Horrible Place (McDonald's) for lunch and playtime.

Unexpectedly, about halfway through lunch, Olivia threw up. Granted, she wasn't inhaling her french fries as she normally would, but she did chomp a bit on an apple slice and I didn't notice that anything was wrong until it was much much too late.

What could I do but pack everybody up and go home? But Liam had not had any time to explore those McDonald's tunnels, so upon hearing this he promptly burst into tears. Trust me, my heart was not exactly bleeding for him at this point, but Jenn kindly offered to bring him home, so I dumped his booster in her car and took Olivia (sad, stinky, and soaked) home. She immediately fell asleep in the car, stayed asleep (for the most part) as I changed her clothes, and napped for the next three hours.

Fast forward three hours.

Liam had been delivered and had been wanting to play in his room for a while, but I wouldn't let him because he isn't exactly quiet and Olivia needed her rest. So the second she woke up, he bolted upstairs. Olivia was clingy, so I got her a sippy cup with a little water in it and we cuddled on the sofa. She immediately chugged the water. (There's a touch of foreshadowing there; see it?)

Now, Liam has been having some toilet training issues ever since my mom entered the hospital and the stress level in our house has skyrocketed (actually, it may have started before that - maybe when I went back to the Scotia in January). Specifically, he won't use the damn potty for poo. Since he still wears a pull-up at night, usually he just takes advantage of that first thing each morning. But not today.

So you know where this is going, don't you? Olivia threw up the water all over herself, me, and the sofa. She of course started to cry, which caused Liam, now naked from the waist down, to appear at the top of the stairs and declare that Olivia should, "stop being noisy."

Liam is half-naked because Liam is a mess. Not because of the accident he obviously had, but because he attempted to clean it all up by himself. There is poo entirely everywhere in the bathroom, including the floor, cabinets, garbage pail (oh, that's where the undies went), and a spot on the wall where he must have leaned over.

Unfortunately, my patience is a bit lacking right now. Normally I believe that yelling should be reserved for running-into-traffic-type emergencies, and I especially know that yelling is counter-productive when a small boy is suffering from stressed-induced potty regression. But I yelled anyway. Stuff like, "What are you doing?" and "You need to tell me!" and "Never put poo in the garbage!" Not good.

And you know what that sweet little guy said back (through his tears), "Mommy, you're hurting my feelings!"

Truly there is a special place in hell with my name on it.

Valentine's Day Fantasy

This is my third blogiversary. That’s a long time to have been broadcasting our family’s crazinesses to the universe. Oh, and here's some more:

Liam woke up in the early hours last night and was concerned about monsters, and, with several yells of "Moooommmmmmmy!" he woke me up from a dead sleep so that I could come chase the monsters away. He happened to interrupt a dream I was having, and that dream went like this: I was grocery shopping all by myself. My cart was full, and I had reached the last aisle of the supermarket (frozen foods), where I was searching for a bag of store-brand edamame. Before I could find it, I woke up.

That's what my brain thinks about when it gets a moment to itself? Grocery shopping for soy?

Mark and I soooo need a date night.