Parenting in My Dreams

I dreamed last night that I left Ramona, age 5 3/4 at home alone.  It was such a terrifying, guilty feeling that I woke up almost in tears, told Mr. Quimby, and went to lay with her in her bed for a few minutes.

Even now, later in the day, I can't quite seem to shake that feeling.

My counselor/therapist used to say that it wasn't the action in the dream that mattered, it was the emotion.  My emotion in that dream was that I had done wrong by Ramona and someone was going to find out.

I'm not sure what brought this on.  Beezus, age 7 3/4 has been allowed to stay home for 10 minutes alone while I took a walk around the block, but not with Ramona.  When they play outside, I emphasize that each person is in charge of themselves but that they should help their sister if she is hurting.

While Beezus was having special alone time with my sister a couple nights ago, Ramona had special alone time with Mr. Q and me - at church and at breakfast later, you could see her delight as she snuggled in between us.  While helping me get the house ready for the "Open House" she worked independently on a project moving boxes, and I was surprised at how easily she agreed to help.

She's generally a challenging child to parent and I worry sometimes that I give in to her too often or not enough.

I took some extra time this morning to do some speech therapy with her - snuggling on the couch as we read a story together that had lots and lots of "R" sounds in it.  That extra time and attention just seemed to make it more difficult for her to transition from home to school, though.

Beezus and I have settled in to a relationship that is sometimes, often, easy.  Ramona and I aren't there yet, so maybe this dream was my subconscious wondering if I'm doing enough - if I am doing the right thing.

I hope Part II is tonight so I can figure it out.

Memories of Emotions

I tell myself: "I have done this before.  I have moved half-way across the country before to a place where I knew nobody.  A place I had only visited."

I close my eyes and conjure up those images: the first look at the room in my residence hall, meeting my roommate, meeting the girls who became my friends, saying good-bye to my parents.  I let my mind drift and also remember the emotions: excitement, joy, fear, loneliness, excitement.  That awful tight feeling in my chest when I hugged my parents good-bye and the car drove away.

It is scary to go there for it makes the emotions so strong, both in my memory and in the present day.  But it comforts me, in some odd way, that I have felt these feelings before and survived them.

The tears and the tightness in my chest do not mean that I don't want to go.  They don't mean anything, they just mean that I am feeling happy and sad; and excited and nervous.  These are the words I repeat to the girls all the time - it's okay to feel different things at the same time.

I have done this before.  I will do it again.

I'm moving out

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind at the Quimby household - Beezus' First Communion, my breast biopsy, the passing of my mother-in-law, the community based consignment sale that I run.

Amidst all of that, I've been keeping another secret.

We are moving.  Not defecting from Prince George's County to Howard County or Charles County as one family seems to do each year from our neighborhood, but really moving.  To Denver. In Colorado.

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I've lived in the DC area since I was 18 years old.  I moved here a few days before my 18th birthday to come to college and other than going home for that first summer after freshman year, I've never left.

After I met Mr. Quimby and we married, we made our life here.  In the past few years, we've come close to moving two other times, but the job opportunities didn't pan out.

Which brings us to today, and to this move, and to this opportunity for Mr. Quimby's current job to be in a different place that will result in a shorter and easier travel schedule for him.  (I'll be asking my boss today if I can telework.)   We are trying to sell our house ourselves as a "For Sale By Owner" for a few weeks before we turn it over to a real estate agent.  After one message to various listservs in the area, I already have three people waiting to view it next weekend !  Mr. Quimby has obsessively researched the comps in our area and determined an asking price.

We are about to embark on an adventure together, just the 4 of us.

I've also been obsessively researching where we should live.  I've found the Atriums in the Denver area for the girls and I've cross-referenced high school graduation rates with access to trails with proximity to walking trails and libraries.  The Denver area has a reputation for conservative/traditional Catholicism, so I am still searching for the Catholic church that will be truly Catholic and will still be a good "fit" for our family and the guitar playing, hand-holding Masses that I love.  I feel like I've got a good handle on the area where we want to live. The neighborhoods look different there, in the far flung suburbs of Denver where we are looking.  Yards are smaller, houses are newer, the major streets are all straight and are laid out in a grid pattern.

It looks nothing like the historic Mayberry-esque town where we've made our home for the past 9.5 years.

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I know this will be hard - so very hard.  Nothing will ever be able to replace the Mother's Group that I helped form when Esther was an infant.  The "Milk Moms" have been my ever present companions on this path of mothering - it's difficult to conceive of mothering without them.

I am leaving my sister, who also moved here at 18 from Alabama.  Can't really think about that, though.  It's too painful.

So many people have said to me "I can never imagine doing that.  Just moving someplace."  I understand their sentiment and would respond with my usual "different families do different things."  It is difficult to conceive of such a notion, but for us it seems reasonable.  In the long run, we believe that this will be a good choice for our family.

In the long run.

Requiescat in pace

My husband's mother has died.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord
and may perpetual light shine upon her.
May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed
through the mercy of God
Rest in Peace.

And now, I must go tell my children that their grandmother has died.

For You O Lord, My Soul in Stillness Waits

This is the Psalm I have been listening to on repeat this evening.

For You O Lord, My Soul in Stillness Waits

You see, my mother-in-law is dying.

My husband's mother.

My children's grandmother.

Her body is weary.  I imagine she is tired.  She was still very active until a couple years ago, and still fairly active until about 10 months ago.  So this sort of feels sudden, in a way.

My prayers have been prayers for comfort for her and for strength for her children especially, and for all who love her.  My mother-in-law does not need prayers of strength, for she is already strong.  Her fourth child died at age 6 months of meningitis.  At his 6 month appointment he was fine and then he died a week later.  She went on to have five more children - my husband is the ninth child, the eighth one living.  Then her husband died when she was around 46, when her oldest child was 18, and her youngest child was four.

She went back to work at a time when women didn't do that.  She moved her family from their hometown to a town a couple hours away.  Seven of her children went to college.  She has strength.

Until a few years ago, she occasionally accompanied my husband on his business trips: San Francisco, Hawaii, Texas.  I'm glad they had that time together.  I have never felt terribly close to her - I craved a relationship that was more emotionally connected but it just wasn't to be. We named our first child after her mother.  I hope that pleased her, but I don't really know.

It's hard to write about this without telling my husband's story, and I don't want to do that, for it is only his to tell.  But I will say this: he went to see her today, to say all the things he has always wanted to say.  He got to sit with her and hold her hand. I am so very, very grateful that my sister-in-law encouraged me to encourage him to go.  I haven't been through this before and I called her yesterday morning for some guidance and I was rewarded with guidance and compassion.

Last fall, I went with Mr. Quimby and the girls to see my mother-in-law.  She was still very much with it mentally, and the girls had a lovely time visiting.  I was able to have a nice conversation with her: about her past and her present and all the things in-between.  I told her that her son, my husband, is a fine man.  I said that she raised him well, that even with his flaws (she was surprised to hear he has a temper !) he is a very, very good man.  It was the sort of emotional connection and substantive conversation that I've always wanted to have and I will be forever grateful, so very grateful, that we had that time together.

So, now we wait.  And I will pray, for her comfort and for a peaceful passing.

If you are so inclined, we would welcome your prayers, your thoughts, your requests for positive energy out into the universe.

My 5th Blogiversary

I celebrated my 5th Blogiversary a few weeks ago.

It was a little over seven years ago when my friend Vickie told me what a blog was, and I started reading and commenting regularly on various blogs.

I've written ad nauseum about why I blog and you can read more about it but using the drop down box of categories over on the right.

Around the time of my blogiversary, I decided to treat myself to a custom domain name and a custom design for my 5th blogiversary.  The awesome team at SmittenBlogDesigns and the ever talented and patient designer Jacqueline came up with the custom design for me, inspired by that drawing of Ramona and her Mother that is featured over on my right sidebar.  I love that drawing and the story behind it and really wanted it as the inspiration for my new design.  Since I use Beverly Cleary's characters as pseudonyms for my children, it also seemed appropriate.

Unfortunately, I lost my extensive and carefully cultivated blog rolls in the process, which makes me almost want to cry thinking of the years I had spent building those blog rolls.  So, if your blog isn't on the blogroll, it should be back there soon.

I also started a twitter account and have over 100 followers which is terribly exciting for me.  You can go to my twitter account or my facebook page using those adorable icons on the right.

So, Happy 5th Blogiversary to me and thanks for stopping by the Thrift Store.

We were never promised . . .

"We were never promised a life without suffering."

Recently, I was at a women's prayer group in my neighborhood, an eclectic group of denominations and social groups.  My friend spoke these words "We were never promised a life without suffering" and in that moment, I felt so comforted, because my mind and heart were torn up in my own thoughts and my own worries and in trying not to think about it and not to worry. 

Worst of all, I wasn't telling anyone what was going on, because to tell would have made it a "thing" and to not tell, to not speak of it meant that it was not a "thing" - nothing more inconsequential than the splinter in a finger.  Because if anyone gave me sympathy or expressed worry it would simply be too much for me to handle.  It would mean that there was something to be scared of. And I just couldn't deal with that.

After the first mammogram, I had phone calls from the radiologist's office and my doctor's office.  During the second (diagnostic) mammogram when they wouldn't let me get dressed . . . when they kept doing "just another picture, just another view" . . . I got a little bit worried but not too much. After all this was my baseline and they just wanted to map and chart everything so that they knew exactly what it was.

Even when the radiologist came in to the room and said she wanted me to make an appointment for a biopsy, I still wasn't overly concerned. I was mildly freaked and cried a little when she left me, but I still kept thinking "they just need to know what everything is, this is just a baseline, don't get ahead of yourself, don't worry."

The very next day when I was at the ob/gyn's office, sitting across from the same kind man who delivered Beezus and Ramona, it was then that I was scared. Because as I was sitting in his office and he came in and we said hello and made small talk, he suddenly looked straight at me and said "the radiologist called me yesterday afternoon." it was then that I felt a cold chill passed through my body, because for one doctor to pick up the phone and call another doctor suddenly made this into a "thing."

Still, I persevered in my silence and in my efforts not to worry.   I spoke of this to no one: not my husband, not my sisters, not the warm and wonderful women that I have formed such close relationships with over the years.  

Then came the prayer group.  It was in that moment, when my friend reminded us that we weren't promised a life without suffering, that I was no longer afraid to worry.  

For this worry, this unknown, this suffering is the very same stuff that life is made of just as surely as laundry or wiping bottoms or working is. 

So, I let myself worry.  I mentioned it to a couple friends.  I let it become a small "thing."  The morning of the biopsy as I was sitting in the parking lot at the hospital, I couldn't bear it alone.  I tweeted and a friend responded.  And I felt better.

Then, I prayed.  I prayed for comfort.  I prayed to not feel alone.  I asked Susan/WhyMommy to intercede on my behalf, just as the priest at her funeral said we could.  And then, as surely as I am sitting here writing this today, I felt an arm slip around my shoulders from my right and then another arm slip around my shoulders from my left.  They were firm and they were warm.  Then, as I asked intercessions of other loved ones in heaven, I felt their hands rest on my head and on my back.

I let myself sit in my car and cry and worry . . . but I did not feel alone anymore.

Then I dried my eyes, got out of the car, and walked in.

Fast forward two weeks, to the present day.  

It was benign.

This calcification, this "suspicious area" was found to be benign, as are 80% of calcifications.  I didn't need to worry - but I did and I found comfort when I needed it most.