Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.
Arthur Miller

who you were

Some of the fishing companies that Jeff had worked for would provide jackets for the crew with their name embroidered on the shoulder. Once when asked what Jeff wanted marked on his sleeve (he had a plethora of nicknames that could of been used in his name's stead), he had remarked, "Just Jeff". When his coat arrived with "Just Jeff" scribed upon the arm, he had thought it was ruined. I had thought it described him perfectly.
Recently, I have noticed that the person who Jeff was and who Jeff is now imagined to be has shifted. I feel that I alone (aside from his mother and sister) can remember him with his real faults and with his true strengths. To others, he has become an icon.
I've heard him described as a 'Viking'. I've heard another express that he thought Jeff would have loved playing a Wii. When telling a dear friend how Liv had a MASSIVE temper tantrum and that I had (in the heat of the battle) told her that her father would have not stood for her hitting and kicking me, the friend said, "Oh yes, he would have. He was a sucker when it came to her."
I understand that the phenomenon that occurs when someone has died - they become someone in many people's eyes that they actually weren't while they breathed. But it angers me. I find myself correcting other's opinions, recollections and estimations of Jeff's personality. At times, the listener wants to stubbornly hold onto their new 'version' of Jeff. They argue with me, "I know Jeff would have given Briar a toy gun!"
But they're wrong.
He was huge, tall and strong. He could be crushingly terrifying - but he wasn't a warrior....at least not once he was old enough to have some sense. Jeff hated video games and thought they were a waste of time. Although Liv had Jeff in her pocket, he believed that children must treat their mothers with respect and kindness and at times, he was annoyingly intolerant of her childish ways. Jeff did hunt. He had guns. But he swore that they were not toys and that he would teach both of our children the proper use of these tools.
I am amazed and resentful that some people believe that they knew him like I did. I despise the image that they have created. I want to remember him as he was - Just Jeff.

I' m here. I'm having difficulty feeling "up" and creative. I feel beyond overwhelmed. I feel sad....and somewhat lost.
Liv is struggling in school. Academically she excels....Emotionally she is filled with anxiety and fear. It pains my heart. I want to help her but don't know how. She refuses any support I try to offer in the way of therapists, doctors, etc. I try myself but I am no expert in the way of childhood grief. She is angry....and it spills through our home like a oil slick.
Briar is doing well. He is loving playing L'il Duffers hockey. He's developed an avid interest in dinosaurs. He finds the sadness and stress in the house unbearable.
Life is too busy to comprehend. I am exhausted and sad.
I feel....embarassed that my path through grief has not continued in a steady and linear fashion. I feel like my musings are boring, repetative and redundant. Hence the reason I have rarely posted in the past few months......Sorry. I miss you. I miss your comments and being connected to those out there "in the darkness when I scream - someone can hear".

amazing mamas

Yesterday, my kiddos and I attended the Bethlehem Walk at our local Baptist church. While I am FAR from religious, it was so historically interesting and allowed me to have a conversation with my kids about the origins of the Christmas tradition.
The kids loved 'everything' about it, although I think Liv enjoyed the small, fresh loaves of bread the best judging by her pleas to go back for more. Briar really enjoyed collecting stamps on his Bethlehem map throughout the 'marketplace'....and then hoped to look at them while laying in bed (I didn't tell him that I had thrown his muddy coat in the wash upon walking through the door not realizing that the 'map' was in his pocket. I am SO hoping he forgets before I have to explain him that the hard piece of whitish lint at the bottom of his pocket was once his beloved map.)
As we walked through the ancient town, we had been instructed to keep an eye out for a baby named Jesus. Halfway through we came upon a young couple in wonderful costumes amid the hay bales depicting a barn-like scene. "Joseph" was very believable in his performance as he greeted us with "Shalom" and brief small talk about the tax man. His poor wife, however, was struggling.
"Mary" was a very young mama who was trying to breastfeed her hot, tired and altogether annoyed little one. As an audience stared on, she attempted to calm her baby with her breast without giving these onlookers something they hadn't anticipated - a flash. She seemed to be trying to look "Mary-like" - calm, serene and with a instinctive mothering knowledge that could subdue her baby with just a soothing word and mama's milk. As a mom, I could see through her thin facade to the panic and frustration she was feeling and as I led my children to the next vendor I thought of all the things I wish I had known before having my babies.....

• Wear slip on shoes - you will always find your hands full of baby paraphernalia, car seats and bags when you suddenly realize that you should be equipped footwear as well.
• Make sure to cross your legs when you cough, sneeze or laugh really hard - I don't know that any explanation is needed here. Oh! And say 'goodbye' to your days of jumping on a trampoline.
• Do you remember those catty girls in junior high who gossiped about everyone no matter how perfect and fabulous they were? Get ready for round two. Mom's can be harsh to and about each other. Find a group who is as self-deprecated as you are and don't take the others opinions too hard. You're doing a great job - the best you can. And really, they worry about their inadequacies as a mom as much as, if not more than, you do.
• You are amazing. You created a life within your body. Yes, the skin on your stomach resembles the face of a Shar-pei - but for very good reason. You made a tiny HUMAN BEING within it!
• You wouldn't know if your baby was ugly. It's better this way. Who would want to snuggle a trash can lid? You will stare into those shiny little eyes and know that this is the most amazingly awe-inspiring little one ever to have graced this Earth with its' tiny feet and mustard coloured poop.
• When people have issue with your breastfeeding in public, stare at them and speak loudly at the person with you, "I can't believe they are eating in public! How disgusting!!" I believe breastfeeding is normal, natural and healthy. It seems that the over-sexualization of the breast in our society has done terrible things for our children's eating habits. Would you eating your lunch in a dirty, public bathroom stall? Blech.
• Everyone may have an opinion on what you do and how you do it. YOU are the expert on your children. Trust your gut as you're the one who loves them the most and have their survival and mental well-being first and foremost....and you'll presumably be the one paying the therapy bills when they hit their teens.
• Also, though you may be feel judged while others look on as your sweet, wee one pitches a holy fit atop the wood chips on the playground thus embedding thousands of tiny slivers beneath their soft skin to ensure a long and drawn out reminder of this damned humiliating venture to the local park; they most likely are just reminiscing over the fact that the only way to soothe their child's impending tantrum at the grocery store recently was to allow their kiddo to plunge a damp, chubby finger into their parent's nostril as they strolled down the aisles in the shopping cart....while all the other parents stared and thought about their most recent brush with 'CIH' (Child Inflicted Humiliation) .
• Play with them whenever you can. Even singing "Super Planet Janet" for the fifty millionth time while you secure their lifejacket before swimming at your summer cabin will go a long way to defining you as a great and attentive parent.

the wishlist

My children are aware that Christmas is in 23 days. Already they are making their preparations for the big day. Snow flakes already adore most of the windows in our house, our advent calendar is hanging above the fireplace and letters to Santa are ready to post. After ruminating long and hard over what she would write, my eight year old daughter, Liv, stood up from the kitchen table with a letter for Santa clutched in her skinny, little hands. Hope and excitement lit her face.
"Do you think Santa can bring whatever you ask for if you only ask for one thing?", she whispered.
"It depends what it is, I suppose", I answered nervously imagining pink polka-dotted unicorns and hot-air balloon rides to the moon being requested. I was surprised when she handed over her note.
Her words make me vacillate between laughter and tears....
I don't know what I'd do without these little people who make life so much harder and some much more bearable in one motion.

P.S. Briar asked for a remote control monster truck taller than his head. Not as emotionally charged, but certainly enough to strike fear in a mother's heart. How the HECK is Santa going to pull off Christmas????

Daddy O - Frances England

I know this song is supposed to be a happy and upbeat song.....but it makes me sob for my kiddos and all they`ve lost.

adding to the pack

I have tried to resist. I have tried to talk some sense into myself. I have tried to convince myself that we are better off financially and obdigation-wise. I have tried to divert my attention.....But somehow all I have wanted to do since Freckles' death is get another dog.
I realize that the last two years of his life, he was a major head-case that needed not just some deep emotion empathy and redirection, but hard-core antidepressants. His seperation anxiety after the death of Jeff, followed so very quickly by my beloved dog, Eli, was more than his big heart could bear. And although, at times, euthansia seemed the only solution for his window frame destruction/light switch removal/door knob denting/etc., I miss having him around.
I had contacted a woman about purchasing a puppy from her at the beginning of next year. We had chosen a golden retriever whose mother was imported from Germany. It all was so perfect and full of coincidences. The breeder is a younger widow with two children living on a farm. We had decorated a jar with pictures of puppies and started to save for the purchase of the puppy and its' initial vet bills. I was being responsible and logical about the process of adding another member to our family.
But, really, my heart is far from logical. I think probably even moreso since the death of Jeff. When something feels right, I do it. I do it with gusto and just hope that even if my actions yield horrific results, I have learned something in the process thus making the experience valuable.
As I perused the adds on our local used site, I was struck by an add containing a sweet and forlorn-looking german shepherd cross puppy. After speaking to the woman who had him, I felt completely compelled to see him. I told myself, "We don't have to get him. I can just go see him, pet him and be on my way if it doesn't feel right." But, alas, as soon as I set eyes on him, had him in my lap and felt his kisses I was struck.....with puppy love. As I watched how comfortable he was with Briar's loving and at times, overly playful misinstrations, I fell farther. When I watched Liv's face filled with contentment as she stroked the puppy's fur as it calmly laid in her lap, I was head-over-heels.
So two days ago, we headed out to pick up our little guy. He's going to be a big guy as he is german shepherd, husky, leonberger cross.
We've named him Caleb.
So far, he's been fabulous. No chewed up shoes. One accident on the rug. Lots and lots of snuggles and cuddles.
And even if he does do something.....puppy-like, I will remind myself that although Eli was the best dog in the history of mankind, he once ate a pound of butter as a puppy....and barfed it on the floor. And really, he is too small as of yet to detroys curtains, door knobs and other household structures as Freckles did....And he's not fast enough yet to kill a chicken. ;)
I am smitten.

wordless wednesday

Moe Schmoe

Our cat, Moe, puts up with everything. Literally everything.
Briar, the perpetually love machine, carts him around upside-down as an impromptu backpack. Moe regularly endures being cuddled in a well-meaning but overly zealous fashion while the little people in our house attempt to fall asleep. He rarely complains when being dressed in baby clothes or as he zips down the driveway in a doll stroller. Once, I even had to interrupt a friend mid-conversation to inform her that she was standing on Moe's tail as she spoke.

We had planned to keep Moe indoors for two weeks after our move to ensure that he knew where 'home' was. We didn't want our special and sweet teddybear of a cat to go missing. After a week of Moe's pleading, however, we succumbed to his requests for some outside air. He stuck close to home but rolled around in the fresh grass as if he was expressing his extreme pleasure in the luxuriousness of its' lush green carpet. After that he came and went as if he had always lived here.
One morning last week, as the plumber and contractor came and went I noticed that Moe was looking a bit nervous with all the activity involved with all the new bodies in our house. He stuck close to the ground and ran in short bursts from corner to corner of the room with a wary look in his eye.
That was the last time I saw him. Heartbroken, the kids and I made ads pleading for Moe's safe return. Liv wrote her own posters and I went from door to door asking our new neighbours if they had glimpsed "Mohito Meow Mein".
Days passed and no Moe. I started to brace myself for the worse and worried as I made my rounds yet again to the ditches on our street that I would find his little body mingled with the mud and weeds found there.
Three days later as I sat on the toilet (Sorry for too-much-info there) in my nightly preparations for bed long after the kids had fallen asleep, I thought I heard a slight "mew". Listening more intently, I realized that it was coming from the wall beside me. Staring in disbelief at the drywall between the bathtub and toilet the contractor had repaired three days previously it dawned on me. Moe is in the wall!!!!!
I ran to the garage to arm myself with some tools all the while loudly reassuring poor, entombed Moe that it was going to be okay. I ripped that wall apart, pulled out a pile of insulation, and to my joy and amazement two little golden/green eyes stared back at me.
An extremely grateful Moe devoured his food and lapped up water for an amount of time I would have thought abnormal if the situation had not been so far from normal.
Although he was so dehydrated even his little puckered bum-hole was even dried out and flaky (again, too-much-info - Sorry), he has fully recovered after his under the bathtub burial and he doesn't even seem to hold any ill feelings toward the bathroom.

Our sweet little, Moe-lasses! We love him to bits and pieces!

the new digs

We're finally in the new house...every night. The shower is fixed. The beds are in their permanent positions and the playroom is festooned with all its' miniture household items.
I have been unpacking like a crazy person. I am determined to have the house functioning in an efficient manner before I go crazy. I dislike the temporary and chaotic feel a house has until all the garbage cans, towels and books have their spots. I like to know where the scissors live so that when I need them, they are where they should be. Finding them wedged between the wall and a cardboard box just doesn't do it for me.
Anyhow, the house is getting a more 'homey' feeling and I am feel less panicked.
I have started my new job and am really enjoying it. I am working in a doctor's office as an M.O.A. (medical office assistant). My favourite parts are smiling at the little ones who come in a bit fearful and hopefully making their visit a little less scary. I find that if I tell them about my kids, they seem to trust me more....and I LOVE doing urine tests. I never thought I would love doing something that had to do with someone else's bodily secretions....but it's really COOL!
I am enjoying learning and am finding that I sleep better knowing that I'll be able to buy groceries without having to do the financial juggling act I usually have to.
I don't like being away from the kids....but I love getting home and telling them about all the new things I've learned.
The chickens and ducks don't have a permanent housing arrangement yet as we still have to get a fence up in the backyard. So far it's only deer netting that is keeping them somewhat contained.
We've walked to the beach a few times and collected so many salmon berries that Liv has taken to making 'jam' for on her toast.
I haven't yet had a moment to complete my assignments for the organic master gardner course that I finished....but I am hoping to have them done in the next few weeks.
Liv is LOVING the backyard, the deer that meander through, the GIANT mushrooms to look at in the woods and looking into the stream.
Briar is enjoying riding his bike up and down the driveway, spraying the garden hose on anything and everything and cuddling with the chickens (as always).
I think we're going to like it here. I think we're home.

falling into place

Although life has become so stacked full of have tos/should dos/need tos associated with moving, I'm finding that the move and all things associated are falling into place and feel right.
I don't want to mislead you into thinking that life here is placid and calm; it's fucking crazy. But inwardly, I know this is the right decision (although if things blow up in my face, I may be found claiming that it felt wrong from the start....).
There is NEVER a 'free' nanosecond, let alone moment anymore. The second life slows briefly, Briar helps out by emptying the contents of a fire extinguisher in the basement, Liv decides that my refusal to by a fused plastic doll with shocked expression and a smear of some unidentified substance on its' synthetic clothing from the secondhand store is evidence that I don't love her as much as love "Briar or the Earth" (her words, not mine), and ducklings that were not expected to hatch out for four more days make a surprise appearance. (Again the humidity was off for the late part of the hatch causing one of the ducklings to need my now-skilled hands for extrication from his calcium-laden 'womb'...And again, we have a slightly mangled baby on our hands.
THIS time I know to let Nature straighten out toes herself though. NO orthopedic shoes for this little quacker....)
I have been hesitant to mention one of our enormous life changes before now. Liv will be attending public school in the Fall. I truly feel she is ready to face a few new challenges and to be with other kids more of the time. Many of the practises of conveyor belt conventional continue to cause me to hiss and spit but after meeting with the principal at the school she will be attending, I felt comforted with the thought that I can still remain a large part of her learning experience. I feel that not everything in life is perfect but is necessary for some of the lessons we need to learn (Don't I know THAT)....And I must admit that there are times that I need help. Liv is an eager and excited learner. She is so very bright and knows so many things I had never even grasped at her age....And I hate to admit it, because I feel like a failure as a mom and especially a homeschooling, organic eating, poultry shoe making mom....But it is sometimes hard being in the presence of a wonderfully spirited seven year old girl 24/7. I need a rest. This is SO NOT the main reason she will be attending school, but I think a break from eachother will do us good....I just wish it wasn't EVERYday for 6-7 hours. I will miss her terribly.
The house we are moving into is in the process of being renovated. New roof, new windows, doors, flooring, paint, etc. It's on a five acre parcel of land with two houses (one ours, the other the landlord's). The landlord's driveway goes straight down to the beach and we're welcome to go down anytime. They are happily accepting the arrival of our feathered friends and have even agreed to allow us to adopt a dog in the near future!!!!!
I've been offered a job but can't say much about it yet except to say that it will pay well and work with the kid's schedule awesomely.
I have so much more to write but so much more to read in preparation for my class tomorrow.....P.S. Did you know that dandelions are indicator plants and often signal a deficiency in calcium in your soil. BUT because dandelions themselves are SO full of calcium, it's nature's way of curing the problem. Cut 'em off, dig 'em up or mow 'em down, but leave their bodies to put the calcium back into the soil!!! It takes quite awhile to make a difference but is so much better for the enviroment than adding chemical fertilizers as an excess of one nutrient will cause a deficiency in another!!
P.P.S. Can anyone remember what the character's name was in Flashdance? The first picture is of a duckling that looks as if it's wearing legwarmers. I want to name it after the Flashdance girl....

the thoughts of little ones

Our vet sent us a bouquet of beautiful and fragrant flowers with a sympathy card expressing her shared sadness for the death of Freckles.
The seemingly omnipresent and exquisite scent of the lillies has Liv wondering which part of the flower contains recepticles for the fragrance. Although we've done some research online, we have been unable to pinpoint the exact location of....well, the smelly part.

Liv has taken to doing her own scientific inquiry into the floral scent glands....
And has been coming up with her own hypothesis...
Which Briar has been testing by sniffing her face.

At this point, they have agreed that the smell from a flower does not reside in the pollen.

happenings.....

I haven't really written what has been occurring in our little house since Freckles hasty departure. We're having a hard time without him. I have trouble sleeping because I seem to feel the need to be the one listening at night for intruders, fire, chicken-hungry raccoons, undetected ice-encrusted meteorites on a high speed course for our home, etc.

I would immediately head out and find ourselves another bundle of furry love if we only knew where we would be living and if another landlord would allow the presence of a four-legged, loving and slobbery security system.

This lack of knowing where we will be in three months has vexed me completely. I don't like instability. I abhor the unknown when it comes to living conditions and food supplies. Call me crazy.

So in a generally terrible mood caused by lack of sleep due to the non-dog status of our home and a houseful of energetic and seemingly rabid children, I did not mince my words when the landlord called to announce her plans to contact the realtor in the morning. After she inquired about my general mood and the happenings in our little home, I answered in an frustrated montone, "Well..... I'm not looking forward to moving. I can't decide whether to plant my garden or not as I don't know if I'll be here to reap the harvest. I'm attempting to put together a garage sale and can't find an affordable house to rent.....And the dog died."

I admit that it felt truly wonderful to just let go. Tell it how it is. To hell with polite empathy and consideration. In that moment, I just felt the need to pour it out. I'm not usually the person to do this. I attempt to find some small kernel of justification for the other party. I put my needs aside. I won't mention it if I feel upset....or if I do, it will be so watered down by my need to not upset you, you may not hear my tiny protestation hidden in my words. (In fact, I was once having a conversation with a very sweet older woman on the street. Unprovoked, her insane and blood-thirsty dog latched onto my leg with it's teeth peeling back my skin through my jeans. For the time that the psychotic dog stayed attached to the back of my knee, I struggled to continue talking without clenching my own teeth as I spoke. I stoically attempted to not limp away as I departed lest I alert her to the blood now trickling into my shoe.....Anyhow, long story short, I didn't want to upset or embarass her so I didn't tell her of the stress her fucked-up dog was causing me.)

My landlord apologized and again explained that there would soon be a sign on the front lawn and the realtor would be contacting me to take photos of the house. After I hung up, I threw myself into a fit. Wailing and crying, I took mental stock of all the very worst things that could happen next in the kids and my lives. I told myself that at eighty years old I'll be working in a rat-infested fastfood joint ensuring that each ice cream has the signature curl at the top. Liv will be strutting her stuff outside in some article of clothing that does not even contain the same amount of fabric that her "Little House" dress has in its' sleeve. Briar will be too busy to notice some creepy, comb-over tressed, middle-aged man in a station wagon approach her since he is staring into the depths of his golden testicle emblazoned monster truck's hood wondering why it isn't sucking up even more gasoline through the enormous engine and out the ludicrously huge tailpipes thus allowing the people five blocks away to be alerted that he is here to assuage all their mind-altering illicit medication needs. It was a dark night. A sleepless and horrible night. I went through a lot of kleenex....I didn't even attempt the handkerchiefs.

Anyhow....First thing in the morning, the phone rang. I was tempted to ignore it after realizing that the number was again the landlord's - the bearer of terrifying and sorrow-filled news (yes, a tad dramatic). But I did answer it....It seems that she too had an entirely sleepless night. She had been a single mother as well. She did not want to cause anymore unnecessary fear or financial hardship upon us, if possible. She told me that if she can find someone to replace the deck and do some minor repairs for less than had been quoted, she will keep the house....And allow me to rent for longer.

*To recap - She has told me that she would be selling the house, then that she wouldn't, then she would, now she might not......*

I am hopeful and annoyed and touched and frustrated. I so appreciate her thinking of me and the kids. I am so amazed and touched that she is struggling with her decision because she does not want to cause us any more upset. I could hug her and croon softly in her ear for this. I may even kiss her on the mouth!

But, Thor Almighty!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I feel like a gnat on a yo-yo string. I'm going insane....faster than I was before. I don't know whether I should pack, get a dog or advertise my free chickens.

ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. Briar now rides a two wheeler and sports a mohawk....

goodbye, my friend

Yesterday afternoon, Freckles went to be with his big brother and his 'Daddy'. We will, and do already, miss him.
Even in such illness and pain, he managed to thump his long and hairy tail a few times for each person who entered the vet clinic as we waited for his turn to be released from his body. He was a true lover of all.
His constant companionship has been such a comfort. Although I have found immense annoyance in his special way of displaying his sadness with the loss of Jeff and Eli, I am surprised to find that I also found solace and respect in his choice to do so. He did what I have been unable to do. He effectively protrayed his pain despite anyone's else's discomfort or raging anger with the execution of this portrayal. That takes balls... (which he no longer had, I might add). Although I don't feel that I have the luxury of falling to pieces with each and everyone of this home's occupants relying on me, he fell to pieces for both of us and announced our sadness and anxiety.
I find that in the loss of our sweet boy with not a single bone of mean in his body, I am afraid and cannot sleep. Since 18, I have always had a dog to hear the sounds outside after dark for me and announce something out of the ordinary needing inspection. And although Freckles would have assisted any burglar in his transportation of any valuable items from our house, I do not believe he would ever have allowed harm to come to his children.
It seems that the noises in the night that I had always just assumed were of the large and furry variety, and as such, provided me with some comfort of not being alone, were not the dog. The house feels empty and soulless. The kids and I haven't gone downstairs asside from letting the chickens in for the night. Liv used to insist that Freckles accompany her to the basement (or bathroom, or outside, etc...) to assuage her little fears of burglars and bogeymen. It seems that I will have to now escort her to every bathroom visit or romp in the backyard....Unfortunately, I won't be able to do it so unquestioningly or patiently.
Damn it, Freckles! First you destroy the house, then you wreck your body and now you leave a hole in our hearts...Damn it.
I do love you.....and I so hope you know it. You're a good boy, Freckles. You're a good boy.

wordless Wednesday