The Bandaid

Last night I fed the boys supper earlier than usual. Their sister was off enjoying some time with family, so I made an easy meal and set them up to eat on our small counter height table in the kitchen. Somewhere between placing their food on the table and starting the dishes, I realized I had cut my foot.

No big deal. Right?
By the time I looked down, the blood was running off the top of my foot onto the floor.
Opps.

I looked down, surprised, and said out loud that I didn't realize it was bleeding. Nolan, who's always been interested in cuts and blood immediately hopped out of his chair and knelt down over my foot.

"It's bad mom. You need a Band-Aid!"

Off he scurried to the upstairs bathroom to grab one on my behalf. I knew he'd have to climb on the counter to reach the medicine cabinet, but I let him do it anyways. I knew he was capable (and his siblings weren't there to learn his trick).

He came running down the stairs and the most curious event happened.

He ripped off the paper cover.
Peeled the sticky edges.
Then placed the Band-Aid over my cut.
Talk about a role reversal.

I was in total awe. My six year old acted calmly, swiftly and with great compassion.
I leaned over to kiss his forehead, and thanked him for his kindness.

His reply?
"I love you mommy."

And then my heart melted.

Missing you, little angel

I'm not really sure how this is going to sound, but I am going to attempt it anyways. My heart has been increasingly heavy this week and it's going to explode if I don't allow the penetrating feelings to come out my fingertips.

It's been two years since I lost my niece. And two years (less a day) that my son was born.
One of the worst weeks of my adult life. One of the best moments of my adult life.

I don't talk much, about those few days, but I relive them in my head quite frequently. There are some pretty intense memories floating around....

The moment my sister-in-law walked up my driveway in tears. The subsequent moment she told me that her baby girl had died in her womb. My heart breaking into pieces. My eyes holding back tears so as not to scare my children. The look of utter horror on my devastated sister-in-law's face.

The night she went into labour. Staring at my phone to check for messages of her progress. Dozing between conversations. Feeling insanely hopeless. Angry. Overwhelmingly sad.

The moment I first laid eyes on her. Little Kinsley. A simple photograph shared by cell phone, an intimate look at the beautiful little angel who was born still. Feeling the need to scream. Or throw my phone. Or run away. Heavy, deep grief.

The phone call from a distraught relative. The words - you tell that baby of yours not to come, this is not his time. He better stay in there for now - which seared my heart so deeply I nearly fell to the floor.

Labour pains. Frantic tears. Terrifying conversations about the possibility of having a child so close to such loss. Prayers begging for mercy, for a reprieve from labour for just a few more days.

The ultrasound. Confirmation of a breech, 8 day overdue child. Panic in my midwife's voice.

Laying on a hospital bed, wondering if my sister-in-law had been in the same room. Preparing for an ECV, nerves frayed and mentally exhausted. Looking up at my husband, tears flowing down his face as the midwife offered him a package of infant loss materials for his sister while I laid in reverse position in an effort to flip our child.

The pain. The excruciating pain of knowing our child was alive in my belly.
The guilt. The take-your-breath away guilt of knowing we'd meet our son that day.

Then, the rush. Of clothes being removed, needles being inserted, questions being asked. The shaking of my entire body as they rushed me into the OR for an emergency C-section. The tears. The inability to stop them from falling down my face.

Then, there was Ethan.
Loud, alive and healthy.

More tears.
Heart pounding guilt.
Shame.

Two years ago, and less than 30 hours apart, two children were born into our family. They were suppose to be best friends. Go to school together. Play together. Grow up side by side. But the story we had written did not meet the reality of our life.

Two years later, the guilt has become tolerable though still overwhelming at times. I cannot help but wonder to myself, would she be as tall as he? Would she love his favourite show? Play ball with him?

Why is he here? Why is she not?

When he hugs my sister-in-law, is his hug filled with divine purpose, a greater gift from his angel cousin? Does he love his aunt so intensely because he is loving her not just as himself, but as his cousin, too?

He is, in many ways, greater than the sum of one child. I cannot help but wonder if in some small way a little piece of his spirit is connected to the spirit of my little angel niece. That a smile from Ethan is, in a way, a little glimpse of heavenly love as well.

Happy birthday baby girl, we miss you and think of you every day.
xo

On Mother's Day

Even after the most heart-wrenching, exhausting and emotional days, the ones where I find myself saying:

'If I could just run away'
'Maybe the kids are better off without me'
'If another little human touches me in any way'
'Maybe I should I change my name'
'I didn't sign up for this'

I know I am meant to be a mom.

My heart loves more.
My spirit endures.
My eyes see the beauty.

There is no greater gift than being a mother.

Today, I selfishly celebrate this gift. This amazing opportunity to mold and motivate little minds with big hearts, little hands with incredible dreams and little feet with many miles to travel. For they are my biggest accomplishment.

They call me mom.
xo


Happy Mother's Day to my incredible Mom and Aunt, my loving in-laws, grandmothers and all my incredible friends playing the role of Mama, Stepmama, Godmama, Furbaby Mama and daughter missing their mama. Sending all my love.

Birthdays in Heaven

I'm struggling to detail my thoughts, my heart full of feelings. I know that tomorrow is Miller's first birthday in heaven, and I wish it were here, with us. That little pooch, my first fur baby, he is still missed an incredible amount in our home. My heart still has an unoccupied, empty space which used to hold his physical presence. His skinny body. His furry ears. His relentless quest for snuggles.

Tomorrow is Miller's birthday. And his mommy can't be there to spoil him.

It's funny, how kids just know, just sense what adults need. Tonight, B asked me to read her 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow Bridge', the gorgeous book which describes a dog's journey to heaven along a connected rainbow beginning on earth. It was hard to read, but I found comfort in the following passage:

Just as they did in life,
dogs want to make their
loved ones happy, to tell them,
"Everything is all right.
It's beautiful over there.
And we are not done -
not by a long shot.
I'll always be here for you."

Happy Birthday my Miller boy, I hope Gram feeds you Pizza Hut crusts and Pop takes you fishing. Maybe Babcia will even slip a cheese slice into your dinner. You are well-cared for, no doubt, but please know you are so special that the kids, Daddy and I still talk about you every single week.

Love, Mommy

On his last day, so sick but still one of my favourite photos. I can see deep into his soul through those eyes.

'Tis the season

I absolutely love the holiday season. Not just Christmas, but the entire season of advent all the way through New Year's Eve.

I love it.

This one has been no exception.

Despite a few hiccups - mainly Jay's epic smoke detector reach-turned broken foot and E's inability to sleep the night - I'm happy to report the tree is decorated, presents wrapped and Christmas music is blaring (side note: Jay you really have to stop changing the station on the kids and I!) I have even learned that the season can be wonderful without doing everything on my list. I didn't decorate as I usually do, nor did I bake. And I've realized that I'm ok with that. I am learning (slowly) to pull back on the 'want to do's' in favour of downtime with my kids and husband.

While the boxes are yet to be opened, I've already experienced some incredible gifts.

First, two long time girlfriends went out of their way to 'lift me up' over the last few weeks. An unexpected delivery of flowers. A sweater drawn up with a Miller-esque pup. Both deeply affected my heart, as both went out of their way to think of me. I am so grateful for their gorgeous souls, and have decided to pay it forward with two unexpected gifts of kindness to other mama friends. Mamas supporting mamas. Love.

I also received a well-disguised gift from N early this week. It began as an epic meltdown and ended with his realization that while he couldn't change the situation he was in, he could do the one thing I've been urging him to do for a very long time. In between sobs, and INSTEAD of raising his voice and escalating, he say, "Mommy, I just need a hug." WOW. I was insanely proud of him. He GOT IT. Sometimes we don't get our way, but that doesn't mean we can't feel upset, and in being upset it's ok to ask for a hug to release the negative feelings. So proud. Major milestone.

Last night, B came home with a homemade ornament. Made in class, her first year of school, it's just so special. It immediately brought tears to my eyes. Her little hand. Her handwritten name. The little faces she drew on each 'snowman' finger. Such a beautiful memory to share for years to come.

To say I am grateful is an understatement. My heart is aching with love. And I keep thinking, what can I do with these feelings? Well here's what I am going to do.

I am going to pray.

Pray for my friend who is celebrating a last Christmas with her palliative mother. Pray for my friend who lost her little sister unexpectedly. Pray for my Gram, who is celebrating her first Christmas in heaven with all her family and friends. Pray for Jay, the kids and I, who continue to miss our furry boy Miller and feel a distinct sense of loss as we get closer to Christmas.

I am going to pray for love and strength for those experiencing loss. I am going to pray for quiet moments of beauty and divine intervention for those unable to celebrate this season. I am going to pray that each of my incredible friends and family members find beauty in the holiday season, despite the worst circumstances.

Christmas brings out the most wonderful and also the most debilitating of emotions. It's so important that all of us remember that we cannot help how we feel, but we can help others feel loved and supported. Reach out this week to someone you care about. Give them the gift of your time, your ear to listen, or perhaps just a hug.

This is the true meaning of Christmas.

Snuggles with my baby girl

We're a few weeks into the new school year.

It appears that all of us are suffering, adjusting perhaps, a more appropriate term. The kids come home tired. Exhausted really. Their baby brother won't sleep through the night or nap during the day. I'm back to class and working on two contra projects (in addition to my latest freelance contract).

Seems so pop culture-cool to suggest we're zombies. All five of us. But we are.

It's difficult to be a good mom when I'm tired. When I'm exhausted, I feel like the worst mom in the world (so I'm also more dramatic when I hit the wall). But seriously, I thought losing two kids to full day learning would make my life easier. Turns out, not so much.

Tonight, after a VERY LONG afternoon, and after multiple requests to go to bed early, I found myself in Brooklyn's room. She chose her 'favourite' books, two oldie board style toddler reads for us to snuggle into bed with and read together. We took our time, I asked plenty of questions to practice her new speech therapy goals and when we were all done, I turned her light off and stepped back to her bed to tuck her in.

Then something fabulous happened.

'Mom, stay and snuggle with me.'

Oh, snuggles. I love me some snuggles. Especially with my girl, my built-in friend for life. My immediate reaction was to smile and hop in, but as I found my way to her extra pillow I realized I hadn't snuggled in some time. In fact, I don't remember the last time she and I snuggled at bed time.

The last two and a half weeks had been so busy,  I forgot to snuggle.

I'd been racing. From project to project, from meeting to meeting, from school to home and back again. And I'd forgotten how much I needed a snuggle, how important they were to my relationship with my daughter.

The two of us got all comfy, closed our eyes and then she jumped.

'Wait! I have to kiss you!' she said.

Ok, now she's scoring major bonus points. She proceeded  to grab my hand. One by one, she separated my fingers and kissed them. Gently. Carefully. Then she asked for my other hand and repeated her pattern of kisses.

I was in such awe of her perfection. My four year old little princess. I could feel the tears warming my eyes but I was speechless.

When she was done, she grabbed my face. Kissed my nose, forehead, chin and each cheek. Then she smiled brightly, and laid a giant one on my lips.

She has a way of knowing exactly what mommy needs. And I love her to pieces for it.

I am smitten with this little girl. Her gentle soul. Her crazy laugh. And most of all, her ability to remind me that nothing - not a bad day, week or month - is ever more important than taking time for her snuggles.

I'm not ready

The truth is, I'm not ready.
I don't think I'll ever be ready.

I just tucked in my two oldest, beautiful children. Asked them to please get a great sleep because tomorrow was their first day, first experience as full day students.

We'd already shopped for back to school clothing. Pulled out backpacks. Talked about snacks and lunch and which zipper container to open on their new, very fancy lunch bags.

Reminded them to use their manners. Get to the bathroom before too long. Wash their hands. Listen at circle time. Ask questions. Behave.

I told them how proud I was of each of them. How much I love them. How I will miss them dearly.

Then I said goodnight. Closed the door. And cried.

Cried for my pending loss. Cried for the quietness about the take over my house. Cried because I know life moves too quickly, children grow too fast, and kisses don't fit inside backpacks.

I cried because I love them. Love who they have become, love seeing them grow every single day, love every single ounce of their little bodies and souls. Love who they have moulded me to become as a mom and woman.

This journey, this incredible opportunity to have been home, their stay-at-home, work-at-home mother, has been more demanding and as a result more rewarding then I ever dreamed was possible.

And so, I'm not ready.
To walk them to school. Kiss them goodbye. Turn and walk away.
I'm not ready.

My Nolan. My Brooklyn. Forever my preschoolers, forever my little sidekicks on an adventure with me. Forever my soul mates, partners in crime and snuggle monkeys.

Forever my babies.
And so, I will cry. Over and over again.

Because I have been blessed with the most special gift of all. Being their mother.

xoxo