On Your Fourth Birthday

Dear Hannah,

I don't even know how to start this particular letter. It seems impossible that we've spent 4 years with you, 48-months of non-stop parenting. Last night, as I was putting you to bed, you told me that you were so excited to be four years old, and you immediately followed it up with, "But I'm still little Mommy, don't worry." Oh, my heart!

I'm certain I say this every year on your birthday (and if not every day, then close to it,) but you are one funny kid. Truly, you're hilarious. Sometimes you mean it, sometimes you don't. But trust me, kiddo. You're a laugh-a-minute. Your comedic timing is nearly impeccable, and while I'm certain that it's unintentional 99% of the time, you still slay me with your one-liners and your running commentary about everything under the sun. (Literally. Now that the days are shorter, every.single.day. we have a conversation that starts with you asking me or your dad, "Hey, where's the sun?")

This has been a pretty incredible year for you. You started preschool. You traveled to Michigan and got to stay in a hotel and eat at restaurants, "like a big girl does!" You got your first haircut. You have learned to write your name, and you're learning to read. You're learning more and more how to play with other kids and be around bigger groups. You know all the things you "should" know at this age, and you're constantly soaking up more and more. Nothing gets past you. Eventually, you'll realize this is something that all parents say about their children, and it's probably true. Kids are sharp, and as a demographic, you don't get half the credit you deserve. But you, my dear. You miss nothing. You will ask me questions about people and places and things we haven't seen for months. You ask the tough questions.

"Mommy, how to airplanes work?"
"I dunno baby. Magic?"
"No, Mommy. How do they work?"
"Extra-special magic. Airplane magic."
"Ugh, fine. I'll just ask Daddy."

You keep me on my toes. You always want to know what's next, what's coming. You love your daily schedule and the calendar we keep with you. You also love your independence. You are an independent woman, and you'll be damned if someone will make you do something that you don't want to do. As trying as it is most days, I always remind myself that this trait is a blessing. It's true I always wanted a daughter, but I never wanted her to be passive. You are every bit the strong-willed, stubborn girl I wanted. Don't ever change. Would it be easier if you were more "agreeable" or yielding? Absolutely! But you wouldn't be you, my dear. You are stubborn and strong-willed and determined and every bit the challenge I'd hoped you would be. I never wanted to be complacent as your mom (or as anyone's mom,) and you do your best to make sure that never happens.

I never quite know how to describe you to people. At this stage, you're pretty "girly." Your favorite colors are, "pink and purple and lellow and green and....well, actually, I like ALL the colors!" You would rather wear a dress over pants any day, and your color of choice is pink. All that aside, you still love to get dirty. You prefer when your hair isn't combed or pulled back, and there is literally nothing you won't climb. You're happiest outdoors with Daddy, and when you're reading a book. I think if I dumped you in a princess dress, barefoot, in the middle of the woods on a rainy day, you wouldn't mind a bit. That is exactly the type of environment where you'd thrive.

You and your dad. Daddy and Hannah. You are exactly the pair I envisioned long before you were even born. You feed off of one another and you get sillier and sillier. I can usually find the two of you in the backyard digging up something, planting something, or in the middle of an impromptu session of Nature 101. I'm so glad you have a dad who is not only willing, but eager to teach you all about the outdoors. Because of him, you aren't afraid of animals or insects or anything I hate. You have so much power in such tiny little fingers; you can convince your daddy to do anything or take you anywhere. It's not always that you're foxy, more that you're having so much fun together, you can't stop. I think that's why you have such a tough reaction to any sort of discipline from your dad. I think you expect it from me--you know I'll make good on my promises to pull your privileges or put you in time outs--but I think from your dad, it hurts more. You know you've pushed when Daddy is the one putting you in time out and not me. But really, after a few minutes, you're the best of friends again. The two of you make my heart so happy.

Of all the traits that make you who you are, the most surprising to me is how much you love art. You LOVE to create and paint and draw and color. Those aren't traits or skills that either of your parents have, and truthfully, painting bores me. But you? Oh, you love it. When you get to go to "the studio" at school or when we bust out the finger paints on a rainy day, you are at your happiest.

Music is another one of your great loves these days. I swear, you can hear a song once, maybe twice, and you've got it down. Hilariously, your artists of choice are very Top 40: Maroon 5, Katy Perry, Charli XCX...you know it all. I know it bothers you, but do you know how hard it is not to laugh when you howl with Adam Levine during "Animal" or when you ask for "the boom and clap" song for the fifth time any given morning? I don't care if it's all bubblegum and nonsense, they're you're favorite songs, and no matter where I'm at any time or any day, I think I'll always smile when I hear "your songs" come on the radio. (You still have like, 10 Beatles songs committed to memory, so you're doing okay there. Hilariously, you knew very few nursery rhymes when you started preschool.)

Your imagination never stops, and I love the crazy things you come up with. One minute you're "building a hiding place" with Sofia the First and whatever stuffed animal (your "pets," as you call them) is your second favorite at the moment. The next, you're deep-sea diving or climbing a mountain or huddled under a blanket reading a book. I get so blown away by you sometimes that I forget to join in the fun with you.

You have always been such an active little girl. I don't know that I recall a time where you didn't love moving around and jumping and spinning. My little sense seeker. Even when you're asleep, I feel like some part of you is moving or wiggling. You love to dance and spin and go on adventures--and everyday with you is an adventure! There's nothing you won't try at least once, and if it gives you the chance to jump and get some of that much-needed sensory input, then everyone better stand back! Hannah Grace is ready to have fun! It's one of my favorite things about you.

This past year, we got a diagnosis for you that I'd always suspected. Something in me just knew, long before we knew your name. The thing is, I don't even care. It's part of you, it's who you are. Before you were born, and when you were a tiny baby, it was one of my greatest fears. Before we knew definitively, there were days when I worried how we'd get through it all or what our next steps would be. Would you truly be okay? What if we couldn't give you what you needed? Once we heard officially, I'd made my peace with it, and my primary concern was you. Hannah, I want you to be the best version of you. No matter what it takes or how long it takes, I want you to be the best possible version of you. It's a marathon, not a sprint, but we're getting there, baby. Everyday, we're getting there.

Sometimes you get overwhelmed or scared. Sometimes you don't know what to do, and you insist that you can't do it. Here's the thing: you can do anything you want, and you will. Like I tell you almost everyday, you can do hard things. You WILL do hard things.

I don't want to say what the dx is right now because frankly, it isn't important. We will cross that bridge eventually. But here is what I want you to know:

Your diagnosis does not define you.
You are not your diagnosis.
I will always be on Team Hannah, and I will be your strongest defender.

What defines you is your sense of humor, your impish smile, your full-body belly laugh, your love of reading. You are defined by what you bring to this world, and you have brought so much joy to so many people. You are defined by what you do and share, not by any diagnosis on a chart or in a folder.

You are a smart, happy, curious human being. You are important, not just to me and your dad, but you are important and you have a role to play in this world. You refuse to settle for less than your best. You are active and sharp. You are funny. You are a constant truth-teller, and if there's one thing you literally can't do, it's lie. You are Hannah, and you are not your diagnosis.

You are NOT broken. You are not weird. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with you. I know I will spend a lifetime saying this, but you have to trust me here. Everything about you, every little quirk and smile, every giggle and puzzle piece, you are the summation. If anything about you were different, you wouldn't be our Hannah.

There will be days that are hard. You've already had some bad days, and they broke my heart only because I was angry that people couldn't see you. There will be people who only see your diagnosis, people who have their own definition for it. There will be people who see a problem to be fixed, people who will make assumptions about you based on your diagnosis alone. Those people won't see the bright, silly girl you are. They won't see how smart and curious you are. They won't see how much you love to read and dance. They won't see you and they won't see all the wonderful things that make up Hannah. And baby? Those people suck. Trust me on this one; you don't want to be around them anyway.

I can't promise you everyday will be easy. I can't promise you that every child will want to be your friend. The day someone rejects you outright and you realize how much it hurts is still in the future, but I'm already steeling myself against it. The thing is, you're a pretty resilient person, so while I tell myself that I'm preparing for you to be upset and devastated, it's entirely possible you will be comforting me.

I can promise you that everyday (yes, even the bad days where I threaten to leave you at the zoo or sell you down the river,) every single day, I will be on your side. I can't live your life for you, and I don't want to--you'd miss out on so much! But I will be there every step of the way until you're ready to fly. I promise that together--you, me, and Daddy--we will keep working on Hannah. I promise that I will never try to "fix" you, only that we will teach you the skills you need. I promise that if anyone in our lives tries to put you down or insinuate in any way that you are "less than," I will Shut.It.Down.

I can't wait to see what the next year will bring you. You've already had so many adventures! How will you grow? How will you change? How much fun are we going to have together? I don't know the answer to any of those questions right now, but I know that we will have so much fun finding out together. I love you, baby. Daddy loves you. You are loved so, so much.

Happy Birthday, Presh.

Mother's Day 2011

Infertility Sensitive post below. Proceed at your own risk.

Today is my first official Mother's Day. It's.....weird. Last year, when we told our moms that they were going to be grandmothers, I felt very disconnected from Mother's Day. It's a day for moms, and well, I really didn't feel like a mom yet. I was just an incubator. Graham got me flowers anyway--that boy was raised right, I tell ya--but for the most part it was just another Sunday for me. This year, it feels strange that I'm the one getting flowers and I get to stand up at Mass with all the other moms for a special blessing. In some ways, I don't feel like a mom yet because Hannah makes it so easy. She sleeps like a dream, she's hardly ever cranky, she's extremely easy-going...I thought parenthood was supposed to be difficult!

::ducks, because someone is probably throwing a shoe at me::

I know it will get harder. At some point we'll want another one and we'll be evenly matched, two against two, and if we ever even think about a third child we'll be outnumbered. At some point, Hannah will start walking and one of us will get neurotic about her bumping into things and getting a concussion. At some point, she'll want to walk to school. Alone. At some point, she'll want to start dating. At some point, she'll develop her own opinions and world view and we will argue until one of us has a small stroke. If she's anything like me, her teenage years are gonna SUCK.

It's no secret that the last year and some months hasn't been easy for me. I've been a crazy hormonal roller coaster and my mood has been up and down, back and forth, and pretty much everywhere it can go. I've been to some pretty dark places and I don't want to go back there. Even when I was at my lowest, I woke up everyday because I had a really great reason to keep going. On Mother's Day, I'm going to celebrate the reason I wake up every morning.

Newborn Photos

A friend of mine, Katie Ryan, is a FABulous photographer. When I found out I was pregnant, I was really excited to have Katie take pictures of my kid. This morning, Katie came over and took some newborn photos of Hannah, and I'm so glad she did. I love the way they turned out! Even better, I'm glad we have some photos of her when she's so small.

Thanks, Katie!

http://katieryanphotography.blogspot.com/2010/12/hanna-newborn.html

Three Years Married, Ten Years Together

Today is our wedding anniversary.

"But ultimately there comes a moment when a decision must be made. Ultimately two people who love each other must ask themselves how much they hope for as their love grows and deepens, and how much risk they are willing to take...It is indeed a fearful gamble...Because it is the nature of love to create, a marriage itself is something which has to be created, so that, together we become a new creature. To marry is the biggest risk in human relations that a person can take...If we commit ourselves to one person for life this is not, as many people think, a rejection of freedom; rather it demands the courage to move into all the risks of freedom, and the risk of love which is permanant; into that love which is not possession, but participation...When love is not possession, but participation, then it is part of that co-creation which is our human calling..."

--From The Irrational Season, by Madeline L'Engle

10 years ago today....

--I was 16 years old.
--I was sitting around a firepit in good ole Evergreen Park.
--I was in a play called, "I Never Saw Another Butterfly", which is about the Holocaust.
--I had a really small part at the beginning and served as an extra throughout the play, so I had a lot of down time.
--I went to a cast party hosted by one of the guys in the play.
--I met some new people who have since become a huge part of my life.
--I have lost touch with a lot of people who I thought would still be my friends today. Life, eh?

Oh. And I also met my husband. Ten years ago today, at said cast party, I met the man who would become my husband.

How do I remember? Well, opening night for the play was October 12th, which I wouldn't remember except that it was a Thursday night, making the next night Friday--obviously. The 13th follows the 12th, making the second night of the play Friday the 13th. Theatre people are notorious for their superstitions (Macbeth, anyone?), and moments before the "curtain went up" (there was no curtain in our theater) someone said, "Hey! I just realized tonight is Friday the 13th!" What do you get when you combine high school theatre geeks with theatre superstition and raging teenage hormones from hell? I'll tell you! You get a bunch of nerds wishing each other "Good Luck!" instead of "Break a leg!" just to be safe.

Anywho, the next night was the "epic" cast party at Keith Wood's house. (We didn't use the word epic....I can't remember what word he used to describe the party back then. Probably bitchin'.) I remember looking forward to it all day on Friday and Saturday (the 14th). I had to work that day and spent part of my shift training a new girl. When I left she said, "Have fun at your party tonight!"

I remember very specific details about that weekend. I remembered so much about that weekend, even a month later and a year and two years later (and that should have been my clue right there).

At the party, a bunch of us were sitting around the firepit, laughing and being loud and goofy and horny, just like normal teenagers. I saw a tall, lanky kid wander into the yard and pull up a chair. I didn't recognize him but he looked slightly familiar. We started talking about Keith Wood and his eleventeen siblings (no lie) and I was killin' em! Joke after joke, man! (This is how I imagine/remember it in my head.) In my loud, obnoxious teenage glory I yelled out, "Hey New Kid! Which brother are you? WHICH BROTHER ARE YOU????!!!!" New Kid looked around and said, "Who me? I'm not related to anyone here. I don't know anyone here."

Me: OOPS! Bwahaahahahahahaa Sorry! ::obnoxious teenage laughter followed by self-indulgent teenage chatter about lordknowswhat--probably NSync.::

New Kid shrugs and looks at everyone laughing at Dumb Blond Angie.

This is where New Kid, who's name turned out to be Graham, slyly looks at me again and thinks I'm cute. (Supposedly. I have no knowledge of this because I was talking to my friends and was too self-absorbed to look at New Kid again. This is what Graham tells me happened.)

The night continues. There's lots of laughing and noise, coupled with some inappropriate lap dances around the firepit. (What? We were teenagers. You probably did it, too.) Somehow my position around the fire shifted and a few hours later I was talking to my friend Chandra (note to self: Facebook her and findout whatever happened to her) about the TV shows of our youth (because we were like, so freaking old back then!) when New Kid (who was sitting in front of us) tilts his head back and joins our conversation.

The conversation continues awkwardly until New Kid realizes it's dumb for him to be sitting with his back to us and turns his chair around. Finally! I get a better glimpse at New Kid's face and see that he doesn't resemble a Wood sibling at all. He's tall and thin and has a fun sense of humor. Eventually Chandra disappears (or maybe she just disappeared in my memory) and suddenly the conversation is left to me and New Kid. CRAP! I let my insane fear of silence take over and I start peppering him with questions. Where do you go to school? Who are you here with?

Turns out New Kid goes to Marist (RIP, all-boys school) and isn't there "with" anyone because he's the driver for the evening. His brother was dating a friend of mine, and between their small group (New Kid, New Kid's Brother, Brother's Girlfriend, Girlfriend's Best Friend, and Best Friend's Boyfriend) he's the only one with a driver's license. Somehow they sweet talked him into borrowing a minivan from one of his parents and driving them to the party where they would stay until someone's curfew kicked in and they had to get home.

New Kid seems nice enough. He may have told me his name, but I don't remember it. (Again, I way too self-absorbed. Besides, I didn't think I'd ever see New Kid again.) We start talking about work and he says that he's a summer camp counselor. ::swoon:: I'd always wanted to be a camp counselor (probably the biggest regret of my teenagedom) and when I said that I wanted to work with him, he says, "Great! You got a car? Then you're set. Megan (Brother's Girlfriend) will hook you up!" Then New Kid shouts across the firepit, "Hey Brian! I recruited her to work at camp with us!" Somewhere across the firepit I hear a voice say, "Cool." I saw a hand wave at me, but I don't think I ever saw New Kid's Brother that evening. If I did, I most likely thought he was Keith Wood's brother.

Well, it's a good thing I couldn't see across the firepit. Had I been able to see across the firepit I would have noticed a few of my friends (including Brother's Girlfriend and Girlfriend's Best Friend) exchange knowing looks. Based on what I was told when I was 16, apparently one of them thought that New Kid and I would make a cute couple once New Kid and his girlfriend broke up. I was "safe" and "uncomplicated", so....a good rebound? From what I remember, they had planned on introducing us at some point, but we ended up meeting and introducing ourselves on our own.

Well, at some point I had to return home or drive someone home. I start making my way out (we had to exit the outside through the inside) and I see New Kid inside. I say, "Well, I'm leaving. BYE!" and give him a big ole hug. In the basement light I'm really struck by how tall this kid is. I mean, wow! I felt like a midget in his company.

About a month later our mutual friends start talking about setting us up. They talk to him and tell him a *slightly* different story than the one I was told, but it was necessary to get either of us to commit. Two months later we started dating. I don't always remember October 14th, but this year I remembered for a few reasons. The first, you ask? Well, our 10th anniversary is coming up in a few months (10th dating, 3rd wedding) and every now and then we look at one another in complete amazement. It definitely doesn't feel like it's been 10 years. However, it's pretty undeniable. Since meeting each other we've both earned degrees, got married, purchased a home, one of us got herself preggers....it's pretty crazy when you think about it.

The other reason I remembered that today was the 10th anniversary of the night we met? It's sappy, really.

Today we went to a baby shower held by Graham's coworkers. For us. Actually, for our baby. Our baby.

Ten years ago, had you told me that New Kid and I would be married and just a few weeks away from the birth of our daughter, I would have screamed and run far, far away. "New Kid? But....I barely even know the guy! What's your name again?"

It's pretty amazing when you think about it. Every now and then I'll hear one of those ridiculous country songs about "You n' me, way back when" and I roll my eyes and change the station. And then some weird anniversary like this rolls around and my mind can't even process the events that have taken place in the last 10 years. As sappy as those songs are, they're clearly written by people who have looked at their spouse or loved one and thought, "What the hell....ten years already?"

So, New Kid. Happy "Anniversary". It's been a good ten years, hasn't it? I hope the next ten years are just as wonderful.

I Heart Family Picnics

Almost three decades ago, Graham's family started holding family picnics each summer so each side of the family--grandma & grandpa's kids, siblings, aunts, uncles, et cetera--could all get together and reunionize. They used to meet up in a forest preserve and everyone would bring a grill and make their own food and generally just have a good time. From what I understand there were games for the kids, Olympic medal races (with medals for prizes), and a big ole sandpit where kids could dig for quarters. One of the favorite picnic traditions, at least with the kiddos, were the yearly t-shirts that said, "I {Heart} Family Picnics" and always with the picnic year emblazoned on the front.

After a few years in the forest preserve, they decided to move the picnic to Aunt Erin's home because she had central air conditioning and a toilet that was enclosed in a plastic box. Shortly after the picnic moved from the forest preserve to the suburbs, the t-shirt tradition died off.

Fast-forward to Family Picnic XXVI, a.k.a. Picnic 2009. A bunch of us were standing around looking at family picnic photos from years past and spent a lot of time laughing over old haircuts, old clothes, and cousin Bob's "Caddy Tan". The idea of bringing back the t-shirts came up again and again, and finally we said, "Let's just do it!" I volunteered to take on t-shirt ordering if I could be provided with samples of older shirts to take to "my t-shirt guy". We decided that it would be a secret among the kids (i.e. anyone who wasn't grandma or one of her 5 kids, basically) and that we'd surprise the older generations with the shirts next year.

Fast-forward to 2010. We start planning t-shirts and collecting sizes for the big surprise. It takes a bit of work to get shirt sizes for some far-away relatives, and I have to pay a few visits to the t-shirt people to make sure the shirts look the way they're supposed to. Then there's a few more last minute phone calls to the shirt people after some cousins call and add a few more shirts to the order. Finally, it's picnic day! Graham and I have a few errands to run before we bolt out to Will County for the day. We're looking forward to an afternoon of food, bags, food, games, food, raffles, and food! We run some errands and leave the shirts at home because we've got to get ice and make a few more stops before leaving. I had planned on showering and changing. We're on our way to get ice, and BAM! Rear-ended!

Lemme tell ya, the fastest way to get attention in the ER is to show up and say you're 19 weeks pregnant and have been in a car accident. We were both fine. I had some bruising where the seatbelt tightened and a hell of a bump on my head, but baby and I were good. Graham was fine, too, after the doctor came in and said, "You're all good. You can go home now." He was able to breathe again and stop shaking. The good news is that we got a hell of a preview for actual labor, and I got a sneak peak and what getting hooked up to a fetal monitor feels like. And, naturally, the speed-through in the ER was great. I walked in, explained my situation, and the nurse on call looked at the registration tech and said, "She's going upstairs." They even brought me a wheelchair so they could whisk me upstairs when someone came down. I think we waited a total of 10 minutes. Not too shabby for a minor car accident on a Saturday. Meanwhile, the guy having a heart attack in the next room over was still waiting when they wheeled me upstairs. I wonder what happened to him...

After we were released from the hospital, we had to stop and get something to eat. They wouldn't let me eat anything on the chance that I was in preterm labor or was sufferring a placental abruption. A few hours in L&D makes a lady hungry! We stopped and got some quick fix foods, ran home, changed, took photos of the damage to the car, and grabbed the shirts. Honestly, we probably wouldn't have gone to the picnic at all if we didn't need to distribute the shirts. This project was a year in the making--we couldn't NOT show. And then I'd have 30 t-shirts that were basically a year old so we couldn't use them for next year's picnic. LAME. A few texts to let everyone know what was up and we were on our way.

Once we got to the picnic, we had very little time to catch people up on what happened before we were swarming with cousins demanding to know when we'd distribute shirts. The car accident ended up being a nice disguise, though. When all the cousins disappeared suddenly to distribute the shirts, someone told the aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandma that "everyone wanted to see the damage" on the car. So, thanks(?) guy who rear-ended us!(?) A quick shirt distribution, and we all paraded into the backyard like Chinese tourists in New York City. It was a hell of a day, but it was a nice surprise, and everyone was really excited to see the shirts make a comeback. Best of all, it won't have to be a surprise next year! EXCELLENT!

And of course, they made cousins and their significant others line up and take a photo to commemorate the occassion:

Missing a few cousins due to distance, time zones, and the military, but you get the general idea.

Aren't we a fun bunch? I tell ya, this is one sassy, fashionable family. The family that picnics together stays together! Or...something like that.

P.S. The picnic was actually in mid-July. I'm just now getting around to posting the photo and catching up. 'Cuz I'm lame.

The Gender Detector Was Victorious!

Phew! After what seemed like an exceptionally long wait in Labor & Delivery (where my hospital hides the u/s department), we finally have a gender! It was making me crazy not knowing if Baby G was a he or a she or a who knows what!

BUT...after what seemed like an exceptionally long wait, you need not wait any longer, friends! Baby G is officially a...................














GIRL! Ta da!

In one fell swoop, Graham managed to slip me an X chromosome instead of a Y, thus putting an end to 3 generations of males-born-first-G(&%#)@'s. He's always said that he was meant to have girls--clearly even his body was in on it. So, hopefully on or shortly after December 6th, 2010, a baby girl named Hannah Grace will make her way into the world.

And, as soon as I can get to a scanner, ultrasound photos will be posted.

Because books are what I love

I'm a bookfiend by nature, and I always have been. As a child, I used to devour books at an unhealthy pace. Once I learned how to read I couldn't stop, and once I found a book or series I loved, I read it over and over and over again. Teachers and my parents practically begged me to read other books, claiming I'd get bored reading the same stories or all about the same characters. I still don't understand it--if the book bored me, I wouldn't read it again! Non-readers are weird folk.

I distinctly remember being allowed to choose a new Babysitter's Club book at the Chicago Ridge Walden's one evening as I had been particularly well-behaved for a while (a huge accomplishment for Dennis...er, Angie the Menace). I knew exactly which book I wanted (I was an 8 year old with a "Books I Need to Read" list. Sick.) and I ran to the Series section in the far back corner (an excellent reading and hiding spot) and picked it up. I'll never forget it: Babysitters Little Sister #1: Karen's Witch. It was a spin-off series staring Karen Brewer, step-sister of BSC president Kristy Thomas. Karen had a wild imagination that I fell in love with and I really identified with her. In the books, the first especially, she believes that her elderly neighbor Mrs. Porter is really a witch named Morbidda Destiny. For a short, squirrely, odd, and imaginitive child such as myself, what wasn't there to love about this?

My mom argued back and forth with me. Naturally, I was open to her opinions.

"But you hardly LOOKED at any other books, Angela Rose!"
"But Mo-om! I want THIS one!"
"Just look around, Angela."
"NO Mo-om! THIS one!" ::foot stop for good measure::
::Mom rolls her eyes and sighs, wondering why she wanted kids to begin with. She relents, because it's getting late and this will only get ugly if she persists.::

And because I couldn't wait--I had to know the truth about Morbidda Destity!!!!--I was an extremely well-behaved child (meaning: while Mom shopped for clothes I hid in the circular clothing racks at Sears and read my new book) and I managed to finish the darn thing before we left the mall that night. My parents were pretty surprised. I was in second or third grade and easily finished 150 pages in less than 2 hours. In retrospect, I bet they were wondering why I couldn't channel that energy into cleaning my bedroom or pairing up my mismatched socks. But, I digress. I've always loved reading, and that's just one example of it. I found this meme on Molly's blog, and I couldn't resist!

Hardback, trade paperback or mass market paperback?

Yes please! I like paperback for its portability, but if I always like a good hardback. (Sorry Molly, I stole your answer, but it's essentially the same thing.)

However, I'll always choose hardcover for special books that I want to keep and share, like the Harry Potter series or the Anne books.

Waterstones, Borders or Amazon?

What’s a Waterstones? I love Barnes & Noble, personally, but I do love Amazon for the instant gratification it gives me.

Bookmark or dog-ear?
Both. I use bookmarks for placeholding or in my favoritest books, but I'll dog-ear to mark a quote or a good point for a book club meeting.

Alphabetize by author, or alphabetize by title, or random?

I've got a sickness. I alphabetize by the author's last name, then by title. Randomized book "order" gives me hives.

Keep, throw away, or sell?

I usually keep, unless it's a book I don't care for one way or another. I'll donate those.

Keep dust jacket or toss it?

Keep!!

Read with dust jacket or remove it?

With it. I'm very with it, man. Groovy.

Short story or novel?

I'll read anything, but I read more novels than short stories for sure. I love a good collection of short stories, though.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?

I haven't read all the Lemony Snicket books, but I definitely prefer HP to LS.

Buy or borrow?

Both! I'll always buy a good book, but borrowing from libraries puts a happy in my heart place.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendations, or browse?

I almost always go on recommendations from friends, and browsing helps direct me to the right books. Reviews don't mean too much to me.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger?

This is where I vary from most other bookies. I enjoy a wrapped up ending. I like knowing what happens to characters, especially at the end of a series. If the series ends, it doesn't necessarily mean the characters are dead, but I like to know what happens to them, or I'll start screaming, "BUT WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM??????? TELL ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" after I read the last paragraph, and really, it's an unfortunate thing for all of us.

Morning reading, afternoon reading, or nighttime reading?

Yes please! I'm mostly an afternoon reader. I've found I can't focus on reading as much during the evenings.

Stand-alone or series?

Both!

Favorite series?

The Anne books, hands down.

Favorite children’s book?

Bernstein Bears, Charlotte's Web, Caddie Woodlawn, But No Elephants, Heidi, and The House That Had Enough.

Favorite YA book?

Gosh, I don't know. YA is never a genre I've been too fond of.

Favorite book no one has heard of?

The Perfect Hour.

Favorite books read last year?

The Blind Assassin.

Favorite book to re-read?

The Anne books.

Do you ever smell books?

Always!

Do you ever read primary source documents like letters or diaries?

Occassionally. The last favorite one I read was "Love, Ronnie" and it made me cry.

What are you reading right now?

Re-reading Crossing California by Adam Langer.

What are you reading next?

Maybe The Washington Story, the sequel to Crossing California. Or....heck, I dunno. I'll hit up the library next week.

If it's peace you find in dying well then let the time be near

I'd like to preface this entry by saying no, Mom, you don't need to worry about me. I'm not thisclose to being committed to the hospital or needing you to come over and hide all the sharp objects and unplug the oven. I promise, and I nevah break a promise.

I've been thinking about death a lot lately. I haven't been thinking about offing myself or thinking overly morbid thoughts like, "Dead people are lucky because they can't hurt anymore." I've just been thinking about death and dying and the overall process of it all.

Medically speaking, dying is serious business. The human body has a lot to accomplish before it shuts down for good, and post-death it's messier. Emotionally speaking, death is exhausting. When my grandpa died, I was five years old. I vividly remember my mom telling me that Grandpa would be in a casket and it would look like he was asleep, but that he wasn't asleep, he was dead. I said, "Okay, but if he's not asleep, what is he?" My mom paused again and said, "He's dead." Her eyes were red and her nose was running. I still didn't understand what dead was, but it sure as hell made my mom sad. I remember her bawling and unable to speak when we picked out my grandpa's tombstone. I remember how cold that room felt, and that I could see my breath while I watched my mom cry.

I remember running around Modell Funeral Home playing 'airplane' with my cousins and my sister, and thinking it was pretty awesome that we could be as loud as we wanted and Grandpa wouldn't wake up. I remember being yelled at for not being sad.

When my dad's mom died, I was in 6th grade, and I hated myself for not being able to cry. I remember being told she had died, and not really feeling anything. I had begged and pleaded with God on my knees the night before, and I remember my dad coming home and telling us that it "didn't look good." My grandma was strong. She was 81 and still lived on her own. She identified the men who robbed her. She smoked everyday and still washed her clothes by hand. She was strong as hell, and if someone like her could die, there was no hope for the rest of us.

And then, there was my Nina, my big, fat, Italian grandma who ruled her roost and heaven help anyone who tried to tell her otherwise. Nina was my mom's stepmom, and was my grandma. She wanted to be called Nona, or Nonna, but as a small child I couldn't say it correctly, so she was Nina. In the end, I think she preferred Nina over Nona. Almost anyone can become a Nona, but no one else had a Nina.

My Nina passed away 5 months before we got married. I was devastated. Since the day Graham slipped the engagement ring on my finger, I had dreamed of taking one precious photo with my grandmother. I wasn't stupid; I knew she was running out of time. She still gave the strongest hugs I've ever experienced, but she was constantly getting weaker. She couldn't walk without holding on hard to someone's arm. She couldn't do stairs at all. She couldn't really see by the end of her life. But she still had so much life. She was fiery, like me. I definitely get my strong will from her. She was right, dammit, and don't anyone say otherwise, because that was just asking for trouble. My favorite memories of Nina involve my mom saying, "Anna, stop yelling," begging her to lower her voice, followed by a booming, darn-near-glass-shattering, "I'M NOT YELLING! THIS IS MY VOICE! WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY VOICE! Santo Dio, Mary! NO ONE HERE IS YELLING!"

The day she died, I didn't cry. My mom fell into my arms at the hospital. My sister burst into tears. My mom lost it. For so many years we'd all heard that "this was it" and that Nina would be dying, and my mom was always saying, "I think I need to get ready," but she came out of the hospital so many times that we never actually believed that this time would actually be it, and that she wouldn't be coming home. I cried after her funeral. I cried with Graham and cried for myself. I cried for the picture I'd never get to take and the frame I foolishly purchased for it. I cried for believing she'd make it to the wedding, even at 84 and completely unable to walk and care for herself. I cried for myself, angry at everyone who dared to need me that week. I was hurting and grieving too. I wanted time to cry and say goodbye. Why did everyone need me right at that time? I was so happy a few months later, but I remember looking around the church and feeling a tug at my heart. She wasn't there, and she should have been.

The thing is, at the end of her life, Nina begged for death. She was so sick and miserable and I started to get pissed at God for not taking her. She did come home from the hospital, but there were days when I looked at her and prayed for God to take her. She loved her family and her life and all her children and grandchildren, but I didn't understand why God let her linger. I don't know if I'll ever understand it, but aside from the grief and the sadness I felt, I was also relieved. Finally she was at peace and she didn't hurt anymore. And I missed her, and still miss her, but it's wistful. I don't hate God because she's gone. I'm happy she's finally as she should be, and as I remember her from when I was small.

The more I think about death, the more I realize I'm unafraid of it. Honestly, I think dying has to be one of the most peaceful actions in the entire universe. The order in which people die isn't at all fair or clear, but I think the very act gets a bad rep.

Personally, whenever it's time for me to die, I'll be okay with it. It's not "not living" that scares me. My bigger fear is not getting the use out of this body that I hope for. I want to see India and experience different cultures. I want to jump out of a plane. I want to get a tattoo. I want to get to heaven and meet Jesus and have him say, "A little banged up, but all in all still in pretty good condition." (Ideally I'm getting to heaven, but given some of the crap I've dished out I'm not so sure sometimes. Sometimes I think about the song lyric, "I swear there ain't no heaven but I pray there ain't no hell," and think that if I had to choose between nothing at all and going to hell, I'd take nada. I burn easily.)

And because I'm a worrier about things, my bigger concern is for my family. Mom and Dad don't handle death well, and that leaves a lot of mess for Gina to deal with. I've never experienced a close family member passing in Graham's family, so I don't really know how they handle it. I know it sucks all around, that's for sure. My concern is for Graham--he's got to be taken care of. And my close friends. I want everyone to have some closure. If I've lived my life right, people will be pissed off that I'm gone, but also glad to have known me.

.........

I've always been contemplative, and after my mom's dad passed I used to swing in the backyard on a swingset that wouldn't be allowed out of Toys R Us and stare up at the sky. I wanted to see heaven. I wanted to see my grandpa staring back at me. I'd squint past the moon and ask nicely for God to show me heaven. Even when I said please, he never delivered. Wonder what that's all about...::shrug::

As far as an afterlife goes, I want to be a ghost. I want to run all around the world and just be a snarky, funny ghost. On the other hand, I'm not a wallflower. I need to participate, and it'd drive me nuts to have to sit on the sidelines and watch my friends travel and have fun and go to ball games. If I can't have fun, then no one else should be able to, either!

All in all, I can't control the future and if given the choice I wouldn't want to know what happens and how it all goes down. I hate surprises, but if I knew that death was gonna come knocking tomorrow, I'd be torn. Do I say my goodbyes or have one last hurrah? Do I share the news or just let everyone be surprised?

Like I said at the start of this post, I don't ever break a promise. I've made a promise to myself that I'll never have to look at myself and know that death is coming and THEN start living. I'll run out of time and hate myself for it. I don't do a good job of it, but I do try to actively live as though each day was going to be the last. It drives Graham nuts, but it helps me sleep at night. Like I said to my mom in high school, "If I'm supposed to live each day like it's my last, I don't wanna spend my last day doing laundry." She rolled her eyes, my sister laughed, and I went out the door for some ice cream.

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not going to sit around and be scared of death. I'm going to be scared of spiders and bats and rabid dogs, but not dying. It's an active verb, after all.

Chrismukkah 2010: Babies Edition

A few years ago, I met some women who are now very dear friends on a message board. We were all in the middle of planning our weddings and we'd go back and forth with questions like, "How should I word this on the program?" and "Does anyone recommend a good South Side bakery?" It's a little silly to think about it now, but while our friendships were formed initally on the foundation of flower choices and program templates, post-wedding madness we bonded over the usual and unusual, and sometimes downright unfair ups and downs life throws at us all.

While this particular group of friends has grown a little smaller over the past year or so, I'm exceptionally glad to have THIS particular group of women in my life! For one, they're all so alarmingly similar and different, all at the same time. For another, they all tend to have ridiculously cute offspring, and they've set the bar pretty damn high. And most importantly, they're all really, really talented in their own way, and they've been my friends for nearly 2 years and have helped me along some really frustrating roads, and they've also listened to me whine and complain about things that are annoying or just really, really bad luck. They're good people.

For the last two years, this group of friends has come together for "Chrismukkah", our holiday celebration. Because we all come from different backgrounds and walks of faith, it's only right to keep the celebration as inclusive as possible. While last year's Chrismukkah was loud and full of "single ladies" (sans hubs), this year we had the addition of some smallish ones. It was a little weird looking around and knowing that some of them were still incubating people this time last year, but it was also pretty cool to see former fetuses interacting with everyone. And, because I'm me, I had my camera out to capture it all. I'm a creep like that.

This is PJ, Lisa O'G's first child. He's obnoxiously cute.

He's definitely not sure of this sippy cup thing.

"Mommy? Where's Mommy?"

The hot chick in yellow is Christina G. She's preggers. Isn't she adorable? Once again, the bar has been set pretty high. I think I'll hide out in a cave for 9 months so no one can see me in all my fatness if I ever get knocked up.

(I've got such a klassy way with language.)

"Mom? Mommy??? MOM?????"

This is Courtney. She's Greek and she's smokin'! She's also got this adorable little monkey named Bennett.

I just love his fuzzy chicken hair! He's too cute. I really love those chubby cheeks of his!

This is Amy A. She and her husband attended the same Pre-Cana session as Graham and I back in July 2007. We all agree that the session was a little "eh" and that the softball couple may be divorced by now. Amy and I still wonder about them and like to ponder what happened after Pre-Cana.

Lisa ("LOG"), Amy A., and PJ. They're all really hot.

PJ just loves his Aunt Angie!

No really! He totally does! Even if he looks a little scared here. I promise. We're total besties.

This is Christina B. She was around 36 weeks pregnant here. A few weeks later, her little love bucket, Sabrina, was born!

Sabrina modeled some clothes for us. We're impatient ladies.

Then it was time for presents! Christina G. was super excited about her Secret Santa present!

This one loves her Yankee Candles.

I really just love everything about this picture.

However, I'm now looking for some new friends, because these three have clicked the "Defriend" button on Facebook. I'm a good person and a great friend! I take lots of random photos and post them online! Really....it's not that bad.

But then, it was Carolyn's turn!

I don't remember exactly what Carolyn got, but it was from Amy P., so I know it was nice.

Then it was Courtney's turn. While Mom opened her gift, Bennett got to hang on Auntie LOG.

I wonder what's inside....?

Woo hoo! Baby food! It's the gift that keeps on giving.

That's Erica on the left and Ali on the right. They're pretty, aren't they? They always look so freakin' cute. They're also both from the South! Erica is from Tennessee, and Ali is from Kentucky! And by Kentucky, I mean Joliet. I drew Erica in the Secret Santa. And because I'm an amazing, caring friend, I bought her gift that morning, approximately 15 minutes before this shindig started.

Geez....no wonder they all clicked "Defriend"!

Well, next it was Heather's turn! Heather is also from the South. South Carolina, specifically. She says things like "ya'll" and it makes me smile inside.

She had some trouble getting her box open (Ali is a taping master!), so she had to use her knife.

Aahhh....I have taught her well.

Woo hoo! Candles!

Then LOG got to open her gift.

She loves Christmas ornaments.

Next was Sarah. She was wearing hot boots that day. We were all pretty jealous.

YES...booze. A girl after my own heart.

Next it was Lisa's turn. No, not LOG Lisa. Lisa Z. Lisa. This Lisa, actually.

Sad to say, but she's basically my token Jewish friend. I don't see many of my other Jewish friends anymore. ::sad face:: BUT ::happy face:: Lisa's gift was from Kelly, and it was a super bag of Hannukah goodies!

Everyone loves Hannukah-colored gloves!

She has a little dreidl....it was made in China.

Amy P. Got ramekins! Amy P. is my neighbor. She lives on the other side of the tracks. Literally. She's good times, and she turned me on to Joe & Frank and their Polish sausages. ;-)

Kelly's turn!

Kelly's obsession with The Wizard of Oz comes in second only to my mother.

It was almost time to go. Here, Christina gets to chill with Courtney and Bennett and enjoy a last meal out before becoming a Mom.

So to recap: there's a Lisa, another Lisa, a Christina, another Christina, an Amy, another Amy, a Kelly, a Carolyn, a Sarah, an Ali, an Erica, a Courtney, a Heather, an Angie, and some hot babies. There's also a Katie, but she was off taking pictures of another cute baby that day, so we can't fault her too much.

Then, it was time for the obligatory group shot.

Oops! Zoom out! Zoom out!

There, that's better.

This time next year, there will be at least 2 new babies in that picture, maybe even more! It's exciting to have friends who are moms, and it's exciting to watch their kids grow. I'm so lucky to have a group of friends in the city, and I'm really lucky to be an honorary aunt to all their precious kids. Life is sweet.