Friday, October 30, 2009


Maybe it's because I was never a mother before that I do not mark birthdates and important sections of time and the 28th came and went and I did not remember that my son would have been half a year old.... It was not until I read Susan's beautiful blog for Will that I remembered-- her son was three days younger than Ben and went the same way.

And I am gripped with guilt that I did not know it.

How could I have missed it?

Sometimes I think that I am just whistling past the cemetary, making light of this darkest sorrow, and just trying to barrell past it. I don't know when I started doing that. Maybe when we decided to wait to start trying for another baby until January. Though everything in me screams and weeps at the thought of it, there are a million reasons why and not even one good one to excuse the fact that I am not borrowing my sister-in-law's baby chicken costume for my son to wear tomorrow.

I've been quiet for a month, but know that my heart is such a complicated place. I find my hand tracing the scar across my abdomen when I lie down to sleep at night, and I long to feel a baby kicking there again. And I imagine what my fair haired child would be like and I grieve the upcoming holidays without him and I love my Father in heaven but I wonder again and again at His choice to allow this thing. And I also feel the deep gratitude of survival and I know that I am so happy to still be here, but every time I think of Ben-- which is daily-- I wish I could really remember what he looked like. All I can recall is his strawberry blonde cap of hair and his precious button nose, with brand-new-baby pores that brand new babies have-- you know what I'm talking about? And in my drugged and grief fogged state I poked his little nose, playfully, like I would have had he been breathing, and it was a perfect little nose. I know that I looked at and felt his little fingers and I remember feeling faint when I saw that his nail beds were purpling... horror.

Oh, but know this-- things get better all the time. I do not feel wild with grief like I did weeks ago. I feel that, in a way, it has simply moved in with me. It lives with me, follows me like a faithful puppy, and just sort of waits for me to glance its way. It doesn't assert itself like it used to. But it lives here. It has taken the space my child abandoned.

I cannot believe that I missed his six month mark. What could I have been doing? What kind of mother would I have been, if I could forget such a date? It may seem silly, even trivial, but the weight of it sits on my chest and pounds at me-- guilt. Sadness. Refusal.

My God, I am thankful for this ability to feel and love. Please come make it useful. Please come make this all mean something. And if You see my son, please tell him that I love him...

Friday, October 23, 2009

The Worst Play I Ever Saw, by Antonio*

The assignment: Write a review of the competition One Act that we were able to go watch in dress rehearsal. I am reporting this essay exactly the way it was written.

The Worst Play I Ever Saw, by Antonio*
"The play that I saw last thursday was so so boring. it was boring cause they are the worst actors i ever seen on my life. i told my friend that if i had to choose the play or kill myself, i woula pick killing my self. During the play I falled asleep. By the way that nap that I toook in the theather was kinda confortable. When I was asleep I dream about that the play was over and that every one that was on the theather went running to their class. When we went running the drama teacher came running with us. That how bad it was. Then the next day the drama teacher quit her job. Then it turn out that their was no more plays!!! Hooray!!! We don't have to go to more play at school. When I woked up the play was over and I was happy."

[sic sic sic sic sic sic sic]

I'm very happy to report that I am incredibly resilient, that our drama department is fantastic, and that this little guy is as cute as he is ... not particularly gifted in the area of writing. Except that he's stinking hilarious and when he wants to, he writes just fine. Hm.


For the record, the play was FANTASTIC, and I suspect he thought it was, too. He was just trying to be all bad for his homies.

*not his real name

Thursday, October 15, 2009


I've been gone so long!! I promise that I have not forgotten-- I have begun a couple of blogs that I haven't had time to finish, but I'll do it this weekend... have had a lot on my mind and am eager to get it "on paper." :)

But I had to write, right this minute, to share the funniest little poem one of my boys wrote. I found it on the floor-- he and another boy were pretending like they were fighting, and one of the boys wants to be a rapper so he wrote this long, elaborate rap about how dumb the other boy is. Okay, it was funny and clever, but the response was so cute. The other boy wrote:

Oranges are orange,
Apples are green,
I don't like Stephen*
because he is mean.
He don't really talk
'Cos he got to concentrate
on his walk.

*not his real name

Seriously, they make me laugh.


Thursday, October 1, 2009

I repent!!!

Okay, so I repent. Sometimes I am so completely opinionated and then I feel overwhelmingly convicted and then the Lord shows me something that completely adjusts my perspective. No one wrote to me asking me about this, but I couldn't get it out of my head all day yesterday and had to check some things.

So here is my revised statement:

If you are a blogger who sells things/has ads on your page/likes to link people to other sites, you are not evil or greedy or silly :) There are a handful of sites that I do believe are ridiculous, but they have become kind of famous and that might be why they're moving in that direction. It's not mine to judge.

And yesterday I found a really cool site through anther blogger's site, and the whole right side of her page was covered with ads.

And she seemed like a really nice person.


I repent!