Tomorrow is November 17, which would have been -- should have been -- still is my 9th wedding anniversary. 

It's hard to believe that we only had 6 anniversaries together as he died just 2 months before our 7th. 

I want to type more about it -- but just can't.  Just needed to acknowledge that tomorrow would have been...should have been....is my 9th wedding anniversary.

So fucked up.

Love Phoenix this time of year...

Just a few pictures from today...  The weather is finally cooling off, my flowers are in bloom... Bear's fighting a cold but I got him outside for some sunshine -- helluva fashion statemente with the Transformer boots and boxers too :-)

My purple ruellia -- I've got several that started out in 5 gallon pots and they've all grown like crazy in the last 18 months... 

My black magic roses, they're a deep burgundy color -- these are what I had in my wedding bouquet and they were gorgeous!

Bear and his new Transformer boots :-)

My yellow roses...

My pink roses... 

And my pretty orange ones... 

No, you really don't understand...

There are days that I feel like no one gets it.  "It" being the loss of a spouse, of part of you, of your other half.  People try their best -- and I get that and I appreciate the effort.  But until you have truly experienced the loss of a spouse, you simply do not understand.  You CAN'T fully understand.  It's simply not possible. 

Some will say "well, I lost my grandmother, I understand."  No, you don't. 

Some will say "well, I lost my friend, I understand."  No, you don't.

Some will even say "well, I lost my parent, I understand."  No, you don't. 

Some will say "well, I lost my dog/hamster/goat, I understand."  No, you don't.  (And, are you kidding me??!   I love my pets to but to compare their loss with that of a human is just shallow and naive). 

The only loss that I think would compete, for lack of a better word, would be the loss of a child and I think that would be so much more horrible than losing a spouse -- there simply aren't words. 

I loved both of my grandmothers and my grandfather and, when they died, I mourned their loss and I moved forward.  I loved my father and when he died, I mourned his loss and moved forward.  I loved Paul, and Sharon, and everyone else special to me that has died in the last few years.  I've mourned their loss and have moved forward.  This doesn't mean I don't think about them -- I do, all the time -- but the grief isn't constant, nonstop, unrelenting. 

When Steve died, I lost an entire part of my being.  Of my soul.  Of my body.  My heart BROKE. 

Physically, I'm all here -- but once you scratch away even just the top layer, you will see that a HUGE part of me is missing.  It's gone.  I will never be whole the way I was before.  I may be whole again, and I pray that I will be -- but my life will never be the way it was.  Bear will never have his Dad back.  I will never grow old with Steve.  He won't be at Bear's little league games, dentist appointments, able to help him through chicken pox, tease him about his first girlfriend, console him through his first breakup, talk to him about the birds and the bees, attend his graduation or dance with me at Bear's wedding. 

From the outside looking in, we look like we're doing okay.  We have found reasons to laugh again, to have fun again...  No one sees the tears at midnight when I climb the stairs to go to bed alone.........again.  No one sees the tears of a young boy who kisses a photo of his Dad before going to sleep.   No one feels his sadness when he's angry and hurls his Dad's picture across his bedroom floor while declaring "I HATE DADDY!"  No one feels the frustration when it's only me to help Bear with his homework after a crappy day at work (and who worries about helping him in math when we get beyond addition and frustration - I've always sucked at math, but it was one of Steve's strengths). 

The holidays are coming up.  It's a time that I used to look forward to that now just brings me to my knees.  In the next 10 weeks we have family pictures (of just Bear and I....sigh), Halloween, what should have been my 9th wedding anniversary,Thanksgiving, Bear's 7th birthday, Christmas and New Year's.  All things that Steve should be here for.  But he's not.  And I'm left with deciding which traditions I can stomach and which will bring me to my knees. 

The journey through the mountains...

I'm borrowing this from someone else's blog because it so clearly sums up the road of a widow...  It was just too good not to share -- thanks to whoever wrote it. 

Part I - The Journey

Before we go through a loss like this, we assume that grief is like falling into a deep hole. We think we will start climbing a ladder and as we get closer to the top things start getting brighter and brighter and we keep feeling better and better until we finally step out into the sunshine where the birds are singing and beautiful music is playing and our grief is over and we are then officially "over it"!

Instead, I have found it is like being plunked down into the middle of a mountain range. We start on the top, with the breathtaking view, when life is wonderful. We are just walking along, basking in the sun and the beautiful scenery when suddenly we fall off a cliff. Now we are lying in a deep, deep valley: bruised, confused, hurt, scared, and lonely. We soon realize that there is no easy way out, no rescue in sight. The only way out is to do it ourselves. So we start working our way up the mountainside, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling, and often stumbling. It is very hard, very discouraging, and very exhausting work. Finally we reach the top and see the sun again for a while. Maybe the top will be flat and we'll get to spend a little time up there enjoying it, or maybe it is very steep and as soon as we get there we have to start back down the other side into the next valley again.

The one thing we notice is that there are mountains as far as the eye can see. Somehow, we have to make our way through them if we are ever to get out. That thought can be overwhelming and cause us to give up for a while. But eventually we realize once again that the only way out is to keep going, so we start again: down one mountain and up the next. And sometimes on the journey, after a particularly hard stretch, we think, I'm so glad I finally made it through that!! And then we stop and look around and realize that we've been here before! All this work and we've gone in a circle and we're going to have to do it all again! And sometimes as we are climbing, we look up to see if we are getting any closer to the top, and we see a boulder heading our way. If we are fortunate, we manage to avoid it. But usually we can't, and it hits us head on and sends us tumbling back down to the bottom.

Sometimes when we are in the deepest part of the valley, we just sit, exhausted. And we might notice some things around us that we never saw before: flowers and animals and a gentle breeze in the cool of the valley. There is a world down in the valley that we never even knew existed, and there is beauty in it. And sometimes at night, when all is quiet, we can hear the others who are in the valley weeping. And it is then that we realize that we are not alone, that others are making this journey too. And we realize that we share an understanding of the journey and of the world of the valley that most others don't. And it gives us strength to start the climb all over again.

Sometimes as we are climbing the mountain, a helicopter may come by with some of our friends in it. Seeing us struggling up the mountain, they shout encouraging things like, I know just what you're going through; I went on a hike once. And, you are so strong; I know I couldn't make this climb! Or they ask, when will you finally get over these mountains and be yourself again? And we try to tell them about the journey and the world of the valley, but the sound of the helicopter drowns us out and they can't hear us. They throw down some food to give us energy, and it does, but some of it just pelts us on the head and makes the climb even harder. And then they leave, and we breathe a sigh of relief that we can get back to our climb in peace.

Part II - The Journey

As we make this journey, we start to notice that we are becoming a little bit stronger. When we get to the rough patches we now see that we are shaken but don't always fall. We find that sometimes we can walk upright now, instead of just crawling. And sometimes we can see a rough spot ahead and manage to find a better way around it. And once in a while we crest a mountain and see that the top is very flat and very beautiful, and we get to spend quite a while resting and recovering on the top before starting down again. And we notice that we are getting closer to the edge of the mountains; they seem to be getting a little smaller. The mountains are not as tall, and the valleys are not as low or as wide. In fact, we can now see the foothills, and it gives us hope.

And throughout this journey, we see the others who are traveling it as well, sometimes at a distance, and sometimes up close. And we encourage each other to keep going and to watch out for certain things. We talk about the journey and the world of the valley. Finally, someone else who understands! And we cry together when it is just too hard. And sometimes, we catch a glimpse of someone who has made it to the foothills. And we are so excited for them, and we become even more determined to keep going because someday, we too, will make it to the foothills.

So my point is this: Everyone starts on a different mountain. No two journeys are the same. Some people spend a lot of time in the valley at first, and some have more time on top of the mountain. But we will all be on the mountains and in the valleys. And we will all someday make it to the foothills. I promise.

BARF....truly a 4-letter word...

Barf.  Puke.  Vomit.  Throw-up.  Puke.  Ralphing.  Tossing cookies.  Blowing chunks.  Praying to the white porcelain God. 

I hate them all...  Steve used to laugh that I could look up a cat's butt, looking for worms -- but couldn't handle the simplest of barf buckets.  And he was right -- which is why we had a pact.  He'd handle the top -- I'd handle the bottom.  Give me a dirty diaper ANY day.  But cleaning up puke?  NO THANKS.

Last night, Bear went to bed early at about 7:30 pm.  Out of his classroom of 21 students, I learned that 10 were out sick yesterday.  We had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, he went to bed, and I did my thing until about 11pm when I dropped into bed.  About 12:15 am. I had this warm little body next to me.  I asked if he'd had a potty accident in his bed (he hasn't had one in ages but he hasn't climbed into my bed in the middle of the night without that being the catalyst in quite some time, either).  He said "no, Mama, I just want to lay with you."  So, we snuggled under the blanket -- butt to butt...  He felt particularly warm against my back (could feel his legs against mine) but figured he'd just climbed out from under his warm comforter.  I fell back to sleep only to wake up about 10 minutes later.  The light was on his bathroom.  "Bear, what's wrong?"  "I'm sick!"  I jumped out of bed only to find him sitting on the toilet, boxers around his ankles, bent over the nice dark brown rug I'd just washed over the weekend that hugs the toilet area on the floor...  Only it was no longer brown.  I was now covered with regurgitated grilled cheese sandwich and a nice big glass of milk.  A good six hours after eating.  You do the math. 

As I was folding up the brown rug so that nothing would drip out, I felt my stomach come up into my throat...  Don't puke!  Don't puke!  Bear and I went downstairs to the bathroom (tile - yes!) and I had him sit there with a bowl while I got the laundry started...  He seemed to be doing okay, so I went back upstairs to clean up the bathroom floor.  OMG, it was the nastiest, most vile smell... 

All I could do was think back to Steve.  We had a pact, dammit!  I don't do puke!  I remember when Bear was younger, it was always my job to get Bear cleaned up -- and Steve would bravely tackle the bed sheets and mess, even cleaning out the puke buckets. 

As a side note, that's when I knew I'd marry him...  We'd been dating for about six months when I came down with the most horrible case of food poisoning, thanks to some funky Kung Pao chicken...  I knew it was love when he cleaned my puke bucket for me.  Who in the hell needs romantic dinners and moonlit walks on the beach when you have a man who cleans up your puke bucket?!  I was already in love with him but that certainly sealed the deal :)  So, if anyone knows of a nice, single guy who cleans up puke buckets, I'd be interested... 

I got everything cleaned up, gave him a little carbonated soda to help calm his tummy, brushed his teeth and we both climbed back into my bed...  I let him sleep in a little longer this morning and he was able to keep his English muffin down.  He felt fine and there's no fever so I think we're good.  But man, I hate puke!! 

My love for Hall and Oates

I have been a diehard fan of Hall and Oates since I was about 10 years old. 

31 years later, I'm still a ginormous fan.  I've seen them live, in concert, more times than I can count and I have just about every album they've ever put out.  Most are still in vinyl and cassette form, although quite a few are in CD's.  One of my most prized possession is their "Along the Red Ledge" album in red vinyl.  My best seats were with Laurie in the early 1990's -- the Wiltern Theatre in Los Angeles -- first two seats off of the enter aisle in the FRONT row!  My car was broken into earlier that day, while we were checking into the hotel, and I was more upset that they got my Hall and Oates cassette in the stereo they stole!  They could have left my tunes!

Their new boxed set came out this week -- 4 CD's jam packed with all of their classic stuff, their newer stuff and 16 never-released songs.  I am in HEAVEN.  I listened to them yesterday while driving around doing errands, and Lilly is playing in the background now -- one of my favorites.  Unless you're a diehard fan, you've probably never even heard of songs like Lilly or Perkiomen or It's Uncanny -- but I'd urge anyone who longs for the good music of the past, the 'blue eyed soul' this duo is known for...  You won't be disappointed -- just make sure you've got great speakers because you're gonna want to turn it up!

Even Bear's been listening... "Gee, Mom, they're pretty good!"  Yes, son they are...  Teaching him to appreciate groups like Hall and Oates is one of those life lessons I need to teach him -- right up there with integrity, honesty and the birds and the bees :)

I'm in my happy place today! 

“Why? It’s not mine….”

“Why? It’s not mine….”


This is the response I got this morning when I checked Bear into the AM/PM program. There were some papers on the table, one got blown off, and I asked him to pick it up. “Why? It’s not mine.” I said “please pick it UP! I don’t care that it’s not yours – you’re standing there, pick it UP!” Then I got the growl… You know, where their face wrinkles up, his eyes become demonic and he gives you ‘the look’ that goes fittingly well with ‘the growl.’

In those moments, all of my sensibilities of positive parenting go out the window and all I want to do is tackle him to the ground and growl back.

Sometimes, I feel completely inept at single parenting. I KNOW he’s a good kid, with a good heart, but sometimes I feel like the naïve goodness is slipping away. I’m sure he’s just being a kid – and when I think back to what a turd I was as a kid, I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay but I hate that I feel like my sweet, innocent little boy is getting an edginess to him that I.just.do.not.like. How many times do I need to tell him that “poop” and “buttcrack” are not acceptable words? How many times do I need to tell him NOT to take his sand-filled shoes off in the middle of the living room, but to do it outside so the sand stays outside where it belongs? Why do I need to tell him EVERY morning to get the dog’s crate ready? I feel like I’m talking to a wall and I hate that I go from nice mom to royal bitch in 3.2 seconds, turning myself into a screaming maniac.

He deserves so much better. He deserves a Mom who is engaged with him much more than I am. He deserves a Mom who sits and plays games with him, who does crafts with him, who plays with him outside rather than just plopping him in front of the TV so I can get a few things done around the house. I should be doing my cleaning and laundry at night, after he’s in bed, so we can have our weekends for fun and adventure… But after being gone from 7am until 6pm – by 8:30 pm, I’m wiped out and the LAST thing I want to do is laundry or dishes or hosing off the patio set! He deserves to have a mom who not only makes up a chore chart (which I’ve done many times) but who STICKS TO IT! Both with making sure he does what he’s supposed to AND who rewards him appropriately, and on time, for doing a good job. He also deserves a mother who can be firmer with timeouts and appropriate boundaries, without resorting to spanking because he’s pushed me to my limit one too many times. He is the child – I am the adult – and when I snap like that, I’m certainly not being a good parent.

I feel like such a failure sometimes… I miss my husband beyond words and I know he’s not coming back. But sometimes I feel like I’m just going through the motions of mediocrity, just waiting for him to come back. Steve and I were a TEAM and we did everything as a team, including parenting. I hate that Bear’s life took such a detour the day his Dad died. I need to get it together but sometimes I just don’t even know where to start.

Great quote about life...

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearnings. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”
- Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum

What would Steve say?

This journey of widowhood has changed me...  In some ways, for the better.  And in some ways, for the worse.  It's certainly been eye opening in many respects and I'm a lot tougher and stronger than I ever thought I could be.  My life is what it is -- but I find myself wondering what Steve would think about some of the changes and circumstances that have taken place over the last 2+ years.

I wonder if he would approve of the way I'm raising Bear?  I think he would.  I've gotten madder than I should have sometimes and I've been more emotional than I think he needs to see sometimes.  Bear has seen and heard things that a young boy shouldn't.  But he's a GOOD kid with a wonderful and giving heart and I know Steve would be proud of him, especially with how he's handled himself since Steve died.  I hope my bad parenting, especially in the early days, hasn't harmed him for life.  He'd be supportive of my always positive attempts to be a good Mom, even when I fall on my face. 

Steve would be proud of how I fought for Bear to get into 1st grade and he'd be proud of how smart he is -- he's reading more and more and he rocks at math!  I think Steve would think going to church was a good idea, even though if he were here, he would have fought it like the dickens.  But I think he'd respect that Bear has a profound faith in God and that that should be nurtured and encouraged.  He'd also laugh -- how did this God-believing child come from US?!

He'd laugh at the fact that I can never keep up with the laundry.  And he's freak out if he could see the cars!  I've never been able to keep a clean car and there was a reason why they were under his domain... 

I think he'd laugh at my attempt to catalog his baseball stuff, especially when I posted a picture of a ball player on an online board, asking "who is this" only to find out it's Minnie Minoso, one of the greatest players of all time.  It was his hobby, not mine, but I must admit that I find it all rather fascinating.  I wish he were here to help me -- and I wish I'd helped him with it more when he was alive. 

I think he would be disappointed in some of his friends and family, especially those who promised to be there who have never even called past that first week.  Thankfully, those are few and far between....  He'd be proud of the rest of our friends and family who have stepped up to the plate greater than either of us probably thought possible. 

I know he would be very hurt and disappointed in his mother and sister for not attending his service or ever checking on Bear.  And he'd be downright angry over how his sister has handled their mother's probate and estate.  He would have agreed with the content of the final letter I sent to his sister.  He would have cringed -- but after all that has happened, he would have hit the 'send' key himself. 
I think he would be humbled by the Turner Fund and all that's been done, in his name and in his honor, with Stepping Stones of Hope.  He's say "here you go with your projects.  And he would also be grateful that I found such a group for Bear to help him through something no child should endure.  Ever. 

He'd like how our already existing friendships have grown and blossomed and deepened.  And he'd be happy to see the new friendships that have been made. 

He'd nag me about getting sick so much, that I was burning the candle at both ends, and remind me that I need to take better care of myself.  But he'd do it in a loving way... 

I think he'd be relieved that he never had to attack the large, packed storage room on the front of the house.  Some people call it a garage.  He'd love what I've done with the backyard with the grass, curbing and landscaping, although I think he'd say there is too much pink & purple.  He'd agree that looking into the pool was a great idea, but he'd support me in not spending the money because we need to think of our future. 

He'd give me two thumbs up for not only buying the camper -- but getting it hitched up, hauling it up the hill, setting it up, camping, putting it all back together, hauling it back down the hill and parking that sucker STRAIGHT! 

He'd laugh his ass off about Yogi.  He'd also say "what in the hell were you thinking?!?!"  Then he'd see Bear with Yogi and agree that it was probably one of the best moves ever. 

He'd love me as much today as he did the day he died.  This I know is true.  And he'd be proud of how we've survived the last 2 years, 2 months and 1 day.  But who's counting...

I think he'd encourage me to think about dating but would also understand when I said "not yet..." 

And he'd smile at the clock...  We have a clock in our bathroom -- the batteries died before he passed away -- and it moves whenever I'm missing him the most.  This year, it's moved on his birthday and his anniversary in August (it advanced 7 hours...) 

Heartwarming weekend...

This past weekend was one of the best I've had since Steve died. It was the annual fundraising gala for Stepping Stones of Hope, which offers Camp Paz, a grief camp for children grieving the loss of a loved one.  Through them, I established The Steven M. Turner Memorial Scholarship Fund in Steve's memory and I can't even describe how much this organization has helped Bear and, through him, me.

I was asked to tell my family's story at the gala -- here's what I said.

Good evening.

August 7, 2007 started out as any other Tuesday. After a pretty normal morning of rushing around, my husband, Steve and I left home with our 4 ½ year old son, Bear, in tow. In our driveway, we kissed each other goodbye, we said “I love you” and we drove out of our neighborhood together. Steve turned right to take our son to preschool and I turned left to go to work. I had no idea that I’d just kissed my husband and best friend of nearly 10 years for the last time. And I didn’t know that 24 hours later, I would be struggling to find the words to tell our young son that his Daddy had died and would never be coming home.

Anyone who doubts what a 4 ½ year old child is able to comprehend wasn’t there the morning I told our son his dad had died. I didn’t know that a child was capable of such heart wrenching, guttural sounds and I knew, in that second, that I had truly broken his young heart. That moment will forever be with me. My husband and I were a team, in every sense of the word and without him, I worried I would never be enough for our son and I worried that he would never be whole or happy again.

For the next several months, Bear and I navigated our journey of grief the best we could. It was all I could do to get out of bed each day and if it wasn’t for Bear, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t know how to help our son through his emotions of sadness, anger and frustration. I asked friends and family for advice, I read books on grief, we snuggled and talked about Daddy, we’d look at picture albums hour upon hour. His heart was broken – he even wore a band-aid on his chest, over his heart. He was struggling and I wanted him to talk to me about what he was feeling. I’m 41 years old now and I can barely put my feelings of grief into words -- how in the heck could I expect a 5 year old to do that?

Shortly after my husband died, I found an online support group for young widows. I found an incredible amount of empathy there – so many young people widowed, just like me. I finally felt like I wasn’t alone and they understood where I was coming from. We don’t have any family in Arizona and, at the time, I didn’t know any other widows with young children in the Phoenix area. My son was the only child I knew who had lost a parent and I felt very alone and isolated. I thought that if I could find other children who had been through a similar loss, it would help him just like meeting other widows had helped me.

Around Christmas of 2007, I found Stepping Stones of Hope and in March of 2008, Bear attended Camp Paz at School, a one day camp held at a local elementary school. I remember driving to the school, scared to death to leave him for the day. What if these people don’t know what they’re doing? What if he comes home more sad and angry than he is now? Lisa Weyer, the Executive Director at the time, looked me in the eye that morning and said something I will never forget. “You need to have the courage to allow Bear to have his own grief experience.” I remember walking back to my car, without my son, praying that I’d done the right thing in leaving him there for the day.

Eight hours later, I was relieved to see a smiling, confident and joyful little boy – very unlike the angry, sad and frustrated boy I’d seen for the previous 7 months. I finally saw the twinkle in his eye that had virtually disappeared the minute I told him his dad had died. Grinning ear to ear, he couldn’t wait to tell me about his day and he proudly showed me the contents of his big, brown grocery bag FULL of goodies. He happily pulled each item out of the bag and told me about them -- each item was connected to his Dad in some way. His colorful mask… The night-shirt with a drawing depicting a memory of playing baseball with his Dad ironed on the front… His painted butterfly… The baseball themed blanket, donated by Project Linus. The outline of his body, on butcher paper, with a band-aid placed over his heart because that’s where he hurt the most… All of these items have become cherished possessions in our home.

He was able to talk about his Dad all day – to other children who got to talk about their moms and dads, grandparents and siblings who had also died far too soon. Finally, he had a support group of kids who got it. And for the first time since my husband died, I felt like our son was really going to be okay after all.

Bear will be 7 in a few months and, thankfully, most of his friends don’t understand what it’s like to have a parent die. His friends come to school on Monday morning, telling of the fun things they did with their Dads over their weekend. Bear can’t share those same stories. Other Daddy’s are at their soccer practices, Cub Scout meetings and birthday parties. Bear believes his Daddy is watching those things from Heaven and hasn’t drawn a picture of him since he died that didn’t depict his Dad with angel wings. Other Daddy’s are teaching their boys the ins and outs of baseball, football and hockey.

He’s stuck with a Mom who still gets confused on how many innings there are in a football game. If you were to ask him what he misses most about his Dad, he’d say playing baseball in the backyard, snuggling on the couch and most of all wrestling. He’s told me I can have a boyfriend again someday – but “Mom, they’ve got to be able to wrestle.”

My family was given a gift the day I was challenged to have the courage to allow Bear to have his own grief journey and we’re both looking forward to attending Camp Paz in a few weeks to continue our journey. The Camp Paz at School one day program was an important tool for my family to be able to begin moving forward. As a mother of a grieving child, I am so grateful to Dr. Finch for seeing a need 10 years ago and filling that need.

After Bear attended Camp Paz at School, I called the Stepping Stones of Hope office to see if there was a fund I could donate to so that other children could attend camp, regardless of their family’s financial situation. I was surprised that after so many years of Camp, that no one had set up a fund like this. I feel strongly that all children grieving the loss of a loved one deserve an experience like Camp Paz, so I established The Steven M. Turner Memorial Scholarship Fund in honor of my late husband.

Families that need financial assistance are asked to pay what they can and my husband's fund picks up the rest. It is funded entirely through donations.

To date, I am pleased to report that the Turner Fund has collected over $6,000 in cash donations to help grieving children and their families attend Camp Paz. All donations made to the Turner Fund are used to benefit Stepping Stones of Hope, and 100% of every dollar has been specifically earmarked to help a child or adult to attend Camp Paz. It is my hope that in the very near future, The Turner Fund will be able to sponsor a Camp Paz of its own.

I’m also pleased that over $2,000 of the silent auction items presented tonight were donated on behalf of The Steven M. Turner Memorial Scholarship with 100% of the proceeds going to Stepping Stones of Hope.

I hate that my husband died. I hate that my son will grow up without his father. I hate that I know about Stepping Stones of Hope.

As a mom, I’m grateful that Stepping Stones of Hope does exist. And, as a wife, I am proud of what has been created with the Turner Fund and all of the families we will be able to help in my late husband’s memory.

Thank you.

I made it through my story without crying, thank goodness.  I also received a standing ovation which was most humbling.  My wonderful group of guests, filling up a table and a half, bought over $6,000 in auction items on Saturday night! Combined with I raised in cash from friends, family and begging (!) and what I paid for the table, we brought over $10,000 to Stepping Stones of Hope. That is AWESOME!!! 

I was also presented with a "Hope" award -- I wasn't expecting it and was really touched. 

Tears by Rice-A-Roni...

When Steve first died, I couldn't even barbeque on Sunday nights. It was a tradition (we'd spent the weekend cleaning the house, the last thing we wanted to do was dirty up the kitchen) and for the first few months, I cried through every Sunday night barbeque. I've kept up the tradition for most Sunday over the last 2 years. Tonight, I grilled chicken -- Steve's favorite and went to make a box of Rice A Roni with it. Again, one of his favorites.

We were out of Rice-A-Roni.

The tears just started flowing... I'm not a huge Rice-A-Roni fan -- I like it, but in an effort to eat better, it's not usually an item that makes the grocery cart. It's another reminder that Steve isn't here.

This song says it all...

Waking up to reality

You would think that after 2 years, 1 month and 18 days that I wouldn't wake up on a Saturday morning and roll over to snuggle with my wonderful husband who hasn't been there in 2 years, 1 month and 18 days.

There's much to do today -- need to straighten up the house and get ready for the carpet cleaners to arrive at 11am. I have off-white carpet and it's been 16 months since I've had them clean. They actually look pretty good but after a summer of running around barefoot and in and out, it'll be nice to have them sparkly and clean again. I need to grab the cat carrier from the garage to confine Eliot while they're doing their magic on the carpet, which reminds me -- need to run to Walmart for a new cat box so everything starts fresh and new today. Out with the old....in with the new... Greg comes today to do the yard too -- that always puts me in my happy place; it looks so nice and clean when he's done with it.

I talked with my mother last night who humored me with recent tales of family... My uncle has been seriously ill with pneumonia in both lungs -- in ICU for close to 2 weeks. He can barely breathe, and I have an Aunt that had the audacity to walk in and say "we need to get you out of here and to a pool so you can get in shape." WTF??? Perhaps that conversation would have been better yesterday -- when he finally got OUT of ICU and into his own room. But in ICU, hooked up to everything imagineable, not quite sure you're going to come out? Swimming? Really?

This is the same Aunt who nagged on the peeling paint on the underside of my covered patio last year when she and my mother came to visit. I love my Aunt dearly but there are times that she invokes a lot of WTF looks. She's in her 60's, has never been married, yet can pass judgment like there's no tomorrow. She couldn't say "gee, great job on keeping yourself upright for the last 10 months." No, she had to comment on the two small areas of peeling paint. "Well, you can just scrape it off and repaint it in a day." Obviously spoken by a woman retired since she was 48, never married and without kids. As my mother not-so-eloquently pointed out to her one morning, ease up -- and maybe congratulate her on the fact that she at least has kept the house with the peeling paint (on one income!) and her son is happy and healthy and taken care of! Fuck the paint! Oy.

One thing I'm looking forward to this weekend is tying things up regarding Stepping Stones and Steve's Fund. I can't adequately put into words how proud I am about Steve's Fund. WHO KNEW it'd grow the way it has and that our friends and family have supported it in such a loving way. Steve would be so embarrassed to have his name splashed all over the place -- but he'd be humbled and proud and honored. We're SO CLOSE to the $5,000 goal!

Bear is up -- time to get started with the day.

Parenting...

I think I was a much better parent when I was part of a team... Steve and I parented as a duo -- we reinforced each other and backed each other up.

Sometimes, I feel like the worst mom. When I'm really down in the dumps, I go back to that feeling that the wrong parent died -- if he were here, he'd be more patient and more disciplined. Then I remember how it truly was -- and know that's not the case. For as much as I loved my husband -- we both knew patience occasionally eluded him. I remember calling his mother once -- Steve was working himself into quite a tizzy over Bear crashing his cars off of the table onto the floor. I thought it was pretty normal 2 1/2 year old behavior but Steve knew he was destined to be a delinquent if this behavior continued. I called his mother that night, asking her to remind Steve what HE was like at that age. We would later laugh about that conversation, especially that I would actually call his mother!

I have no patience at times -- especially in times when I need it the most! When I look at Bear, I know I must not be that bad because he's a responsible, respectful, loving and giving boy. I also need to remind myself he's 6 1/2 and he's supposed to be a turd once in awhile!

When Steve first died, and I'd have this internal dialogue with myself, I'd credit Bear's good behavior with Steve's parenting... But I must admit -- I've been doing this for 2+ years on my own and I guess I need to take some credit for him being a good kid. I can take him into a nice restaurant and not worry about him running around like a hoodlum and one of "those kids". I can take him out with primarily adults and know he'll be okay. I've taken him to the funeral of a co-worker and he was extremely well behaved. But is that my parenting or is that his nature? I suppose time will tell.

When it came to parenting, Steve was always worried about turning into his father. His dad was a bully and an overall jackass -- no two ways about it. Steve was NOTHING like his Dad, thank God. He was such a good man and a good dad. I'm pretty confident those words were never used to describe his father. I want Bear to know how wonderful his Dad was, how much he loved him, how much he would have done anything for him.

Damn, I miss that man!

It's the simple things...

It's not about finding people to do something with. I miss having someone to do nothing with...

I read that earlier today and it really stopped me in my tracks. When you're first widowed, you just miss every single thing about the person who died and the life you had with them. As time goes on, you begin to feel like you need to start getting out and meeting new people.....to move on with "Chapter 2" or the next phase in your life. But it's hard.

Moving on is a simple thing... what it leaves behind is hard

I truly miss the simple, ordinary, mundane, nothing special but OH SO SPECIAL moments with Steve and of the three of us as a family. Going for a drive and holding hands, not feeling the need to say much of anything. Putting Bear to bed and laying on the couch, together, just snuggling while watching Law & Order. I miss doing things as a family -- playing in our silly little blow-up pool, coloring Easter eggs, watching Bear decorate the annual gingerbread house with Daddy... Lazy Saturday mornings in bed and Sunday morning breakfasts (he made the BEST breakfast potatoes!) I miss dreaming about Bear's future and our future as a retired couple...

I miss my best friend and the simple, ordinary, mundane and oh-so-special times we shared doing a whole lot of nothing...or so it seemed at the time.

What a difference 2 years, 1 month and 9 days can make...

Here's a link to the TV interview for Stepping Stones of Hope and The Steven M. Turner Memorial Scholarship Fund...

What day is it again?

I've been asked a few times this week -- what day is it again? I have to remember that not everyone's life, as they knew it, ended on August 7, 2007. My life has been so permeated by that date that sometimes I forget that the rest of the world kept on moving forward.

It's almost unfathomable to me that it's been two years. Two YEARS. So much has changed but so much has remained the same.

His favorite baseball magazine is still in the basket by the lamp... His black dress shoes are still in our closet, on the floor, tucked to the right, where he left them. All of his underwear, socks and old t-shirts with holes are in our closet, neatly boxed up. His toothbrush, deodorant and Listerine are still on the side of the sink.

Our yard, that used to be a pile of dirt with a vague brick pattern and dead grass is now a beautiful oasis of bouganvillia, hibiscus and green grass... The side of the house used to be dirt and weeds -- it's now a concrete RV pad with a pop-up camper on top. We used to have Clancy, Calli and Elliot, our feline companions. Clancy died under our bed, I had to have Calli put to sleep last November when her cancer worsened and Elliot now slithers downstairs to stay out of Yogi's sight. And Yogi -- how can I forget the Twinkie with fur? Our sign "Don't Trip Over the Guard Dog" is also new.

The home is the same, yet the furniture has changed a little. The cars are the same, but they're not nearly as clean or organized as they were when Steve was alive. There are baseball card boxes all around the house, just like when Steve died, but unlike him, I have no idea who the players are, their stats or what they're famous for. Our bedroom has changed -- on the one year anniversary, I completely transformed our bedroom (new bed, mattress, furniture, etc) because I felt the need to have one place in our home that was just for me. I'm glad I did it, but sometimes I still miss walking in and seeing his things on his side of the bed... Well, it's still "his" side of the bed. It will always be... And I still hog the whole bed -- there's just no one to tell me to move over.

I miss having a husband and I miss my son having a Daddy. I miss the humor he brought to our family and I miss the love he brought to our marriage. I miss having someone to talk to when I get home from work. I miss the look on Bear's face when we'd walk in the door to find that Steve had spent 2 hours putting all of his wooden blocks and toy cars into a race scene in the middle of the coffee table -- just so Bear wouldn't miss him too much when he went to nights. I miss saying "they're YOUR family -- YOU deal with them!" when I'd grow tired of his mother and sister's antics. I miss having him fix the toilet and I miss the loud chuckle he'd let out when he'd ask me to bring him a screwdriver and I'd yell back "plus or minus?!" I miss him having dinner ready when I got home, and I miss waiting for him to get home. I miss helping him with eBay and getting frustrated at the fact that he typed 7 words a minute. I miss fighting with him -- and I really miss making up. I miss my best friend and the father of our son...

I miss.....everything.

I love you babe and miss you in a way that words can't possibly describe... August 7, 2007 is the day my life, as I knew it, ended -- it's also the day that I realized just how much I loved you... I feel so blessed to have been your wife.

Love,

Me

The grief monster's visit...

On my widow's board, there are references to the 'grief monster.' I've been visited by the grief monster many times in the last 2 years and don't remember the grief monster bringing such anger with it like it has the last few weeks...

Some think that the cycles of grief come in order -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Before Steve died, I thought that was how it worked. I'm here to tell you, and most widows and widowers would seemingly agree, that you can hit all 5 stages in the matter of about 42 seconds -- even 2 years out from losing the love of your life.

I'm 6 days away from the 2 year mark, and the last few weeks have been particularly hard. I thought I was stuck in the depression stage until the anger phase hit -- like a tornado. That swirly feeling in my stomach and just being angry with the world has left me feeling rather weak and unsure. But there's an upside -- this week, I've tackled the school board and was successful in getting Bear to first grade (you can't even imagine how difficult this was -- good grief). I've been successful in writing off my former sister-in-law -- Steve would be proud (and jealous -- he wanted to do this years ago!) She wanted nothing to do with us when Steve was alive, and it's even clearer now that Steve's gone -- I don't need that in my life, or Bear's life. All done. And I dealt with a rather sensitive issue at work, that's causing me a bit of angst this morning because I'm not sure of the outcome yet -- but I know in my heart of hearts that the right thing was done and, at the end of the day, that's really all that matters. Always go with the path of integrity -- it'll lead you down the right path.

I'm very proud of where I am today. It's been the most horrible 2 years I ever could have imagined for myself or for Bear. I can't imagine losing my father at 4 1/2 and while we talk about him all the time and he misses him horribly, he knows his Dad is watching him wherever he is and that he's flying around with beautiful white wings. I expect a lot of him, as would Steve and I will never allow him to use "my Dad died when I was 4 1/2" as an excuse for being "less than" in any area of his life. Yes, he died. Yes, it was tragic. Yes, it was unfair. Yes, it happened. Yes, we will move on. Yes, we will have a good life. Yes, we will be happy. Yes, we will honor him, always.

Those first few weeks and months were horrible. The fog didn't lift until about the first 6-8 months. I thought I'd die in the beginning. Truth is, I wanted to die. We were 2 weeks away from taking our first family vacation in Arizona -- and I wished -- and prayed -- that we would have been on that trip when "it" happened. We could have all gone together. I'm grateful now that that didn't happen. But it took a long time to get here.

Steve was the most amazing man -- my best friend. We had a good marriage -- not perfect, but pure and good and real. I hope that someday, I can find another best friend like him but I'm not going to hold my breath. I was so lucky the first time; I don't know how I could possibly find someone another time around. Bear would like me to -- in fact, he's told me that it's okay -- but "Mom, they need to be able to wrestle." Man, I sure miss wrestling :)

In the past 2 years, I've enrolled Bear in T-ball, changed jobs, bought a camper (hitch it up and went camping too!), got Bear through his first year of school (the skin of our damn teeth), went to San Diego, Oregon and Stockton. I took Bear on his first airplane ride -- and his second, and third. We've lost two cats and gained a puppy. (Unfair trade, by the way -- he poops a LOT more than the cats!) I've also learned that I have some amazing and wonderful friends who have stuck by me -- truly, through the worst part of my life.

It's hard to believe Steve's been gone 2 years. I miss everything about him -- yes, even yelling "if you're going to pass gas, GO OUTSIDE!!!" And I'd give anything to pick up the random pair of undies or socks from the bedroom floor, grumbling while I dropped them in the hamper. I'd give anything for that. I miss him so much.

But Bear and I are good. We're happy. We're finding joy again. We're finding silliness again. We're saving up for a swimming pool which is something Steve always wanted for Bear -- hope to break ground next spring. We're making plans for the future -- some that Steve and I talked about and some things that are new. It's hard letting go of the past in order to embrace the future -- but I'm still here and I still need to live my life. Steve would want that for me -- and, if he had been the one still here, I would have wanted it for him.

I never thought I'd make it through the first second, minute or hour. Then I made it through a day. Then two. Then a week. Then a month. Then a year. And now -- almost 2 years.

Wow.

Missing Steve

I miss Steve so much, it hurts sometimes... Tonight's particularly rough -- I just miss talking to him, making plans with him, just knowing he's here. I forgot how hard I could cry... Hug your loved ones, friends. They're taken in an instant and, 2 years later, you still feel lost.

Elliana Sharon is here!

Ain't she a beauty? 7 1/4 lbs and 18 1/2 long -- born at 1:23 pm today...

Bear's been singing Jesus Loves Me tonight -- just warms my heart... And he just told me that he wants to live in Heaven. "Mama, I'd have a good life there....so would you. I bet Daddy's wings get wet in the rain....."

Sigh.

New beginnings...

In about 16 hours, Elliana Sharon will enter the world for the first time and I can think of little else tonight... This is Jen's second baby - Frankie being the first -- and I'm so excited!

Bear and I had a good weekend... Yesterday, Bear len went to Sylvan in the morning and then to run some errands... Bear's babysitter showed up about 5:30 pm, right after their pizza arrived and I headed to Ernie's Tap House, a small bar and grill in Fountain Hills, about 45 minutes away. My boss along with 2 co-workers and the husband of a co-worker are in a band and they played last night. There was a huge contingent from work and it really was a good time. Felt so good to get out.

This morning, we had planned on going to church but just didn't make it... Instead, we drove to Tempe to meet Sandra for lunch. We went to the neatest place -- the Rainforest Cafe -- and Bear was intrigued by the moving elephants, swinging monkeys and many saltwater fish tanks. We continued to go shopping for school clothes, picked up a baby gift for Elliana and a gift for Frankie, a couple of books for Bear, a stop for ice cream and a twirl around the carousel. A fun, full day with a friend and my favorite boy...

Life is too short...

In the past week, two of my friends have lost their brothers. One seems to be natural causes and the other was a self-inflicted gunshot wound. One was single, the other left a family including his wife of 21 years and two boys, 11 and 15. In 21 days, it will be 2 years since my Steve died. Another friend of mine had a beautiful baby girl and, my sister Jennie, is due to have her 2nd baby -- Elliana Sharon -- any day now.

All of this has me thinking a lot about life and death and how they seem to go hand-in-hand. I've learned a lot over the last 23 months and 7 days... Life is too short. Maybe it's that I'm about to be 41 or maybe it's the fact that I've been widowed, but I seem to give a lot more thought to life now than I ever did before. And not just life as in breathing and moving and getting up every day -- but the quality of life. Like, maybe I should look into putting a swimming pool in next spring because if I don't do it now, I may never do it. And, in the grander scheme of things -- if I don't do it in this life -- it will never happen. The realization that this life will end -- someday -- is very sobering and it seems to have put things in perspective for me in a way that I've never had before.

It makes me wonder about my great friend, Paul. Diagnosed with colon cancer on his 32nd birthday. He put his body (and spirit) through chemo, radiaton and surgery and went 5 years of living his life (the way it was meant to lived). He was the happiest I'd ever seen him. He died early on a Saturday morning at the ripe old age of 37, 5 months and 2 days after he was diagnosed with his second round of cancer -- this time in his liver. We had some wonderful, philosophical and deep conversations -- throughout our 10 year friendship but especially towards the end, and I know he didn't want to die. He had so much left to do.

There's no particular point in this post, other than needing to write things out a bit... My friends will miss their brothers. I miss Paul and so many other people I've lost in the last few years. And my heart still aches for Steve, 23 months and 7 days later.

My adorable nephew and Godson, Frankie

Is he not the CUTEST kid!!!???!!! I haven't seen him since he was about 4 months old and can't wait to get my hands on him (and his sister, due ANY day now) over Thanksgiving... Jen -- make room for your dear ol' sister -- I may not come back to Phoenix!

Thunderbird Pools...

I'm going to try hard to put a pool in next spring. It's something Steve and I had always planned on putting in; we even had plans drawn up in 2006. When he died in 2007, I figured it would never be an option but I think with some creativity, lots of garage sales and a little luck, we can break ground next April.

My neighbors had this pool company put their pool in back in 2007 and I had him come out yesterday to take some measaurements and give me a plan... It came this morning and I love it! They're all the same pool, just different views.

My three requirements are a pebble-tec interior, in-ground cooler and a rock waterfall. I want holes for umbrellas and a volley-ball net and I'd like a large entry step so that you can sit in a chair without having to go in... Because I had the yard landscaped last year, there are certain things we need to move around, like a large tree I had planted to give some privacy between my upstairs balcony and that of the neighbors. He did a good job of including things like the shed, my existing slab/balcony, winding walkway, etc. Anyway -- I'm excited to see the options and take advantage of the lowest prices in years!

For those of you who I haven't been in touch with in quite some time, I wanted to share a post on my parenting board on June 11, 2009.

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When Steve was missing, I called 911 and they dispatched a police officer, Sean Gaston. He was with me, by my side, every step of the way that day. He took pictures from my wallet and canvassed the adjoining stores (it’s a HUGE shopping center). He pushed the Wal-Mart security department to let me watch the surveillance tapes to see if I saw Steve. He kept me together that day – always thinking, always looking. I was adamant that Steve’s story and picture be on the 5pm news – there was no good reason why he was missing, and he never would have left the store on his own.

After hours of searching with absolutely nothing to show for it, we began to worry that he had been abducted or hurt. If that was the case, someone had to have seen something. About 4:45pm, Sean came to me and asked for a picture – he’d finally gotten the ear of someone and Steve’s story and picture would be on the 5pm news but he had to go NOW. So, off he went. At 5:05 pm, I walked to the back of Wal-Mart and 10 minutes later, I found Steve’s body in the bathroom stall. From that point on, I don’t remember much as far as details – I remember screaming and yelling and hitting the walls. The coroner came in, the detectives came in, the grief response team came in… I remember the gurney. It was all a blur. At about 8pm, I headed home with friends to wait for Laurie.

About a month later, Sean reached out to me to see how I was. I was numb and in a really bad place. He told me that Steve’s death had affected him a great deal. We weren’t on the phone long – I just couldn’t do it. But every time I have retold my story from that day, Sean was an integral part of the equation. I’ve often thought of reaching out to him but it just didn’t feel right – still too emotional.

About 10 days ago, Bear and I went out to dinner and he ended up playing peek-a-boo with a bunch of cops around the corner. Eventually, one of the female cops came over and talked with him, gave him some stickers, etc. We struck up a conversation and I finally asked if she knew Sean. Yup, they all did – great guy, was now their Warrant Officer, etc. I gave her my email address and phone number and asked her to pass my information on to him. He called last week and we set a time to meet last night.

I hadn’t seen him since the moment we said goodbye, when he headed to the police station for the press release. I found out that he’d finally talked to his Lieutenant and said that he knew Steve’s story didn’t fit the profile for newscasts – but he knew in his gut I knew my husband and he knew in his gut that something was very wrong. I remember saying goodbye that night and it adding to my fear – he’d been by my side through it all and I felt like I was on my own. I remember making him promise to come back and he said he’d be back after he was done with the press release – I was afraid that I’d never find Steve but with him there, I at least had some pull. So, fast forward 22 months and 3 days – and we met last night. I can’t even tell you what a huge step in my healing meeting with him was.

You could tell we were both really appreciative of the chance to meet again. Big hugs in the parking lot – lots of emotion. We sat together for an hour, reliving that horrible day. Between us, we can both account for every single second of August 7, 2007 as if it were yesterday. He shared with me that in all of his years as a cop (about 15), he has never been affected by a case like he was Steve’s. He said up until that day, all of his calls had been normal – straight forward. He said he had always been able to separate it as business – those other cases didn’t affect him personally, until Steve. He’s been beating himself up for 22 months because he felt he should have done more, he shouldn’t have accepted their word that the bathrooms were empty, and that he wished he could have been the one to tell me Steve was gone – that I shouldn’t have found him the way I did. I stressed to him that he did everything he could have done – we both did the best we could with what we had. He called his wife that night and told her that he was okay, but that he’d had a bad day and in that respect, he wasn’t okay and then he drove around for about 6 hours. His Lt. even told him he did everything. I pointed out to him on our way out that most cops would have handed me the missing persons report and drove of – he didn’t.

He also felt bad because he came back to Walmart after Steve’s body was found (he has just walked into the police station, to meet with the public affairs officer to get the press release out when they asked him if the guy they’d been looking at was at Walmart – he said yes and the PAO responded “they’ve found Steve’s body.”) When he came back to Walmart, he said he wanted to see me but emotionally, he just couldn’t. Once he said that, I remembered someone telling me that, that night, but I’d forgotten. I just knew we hadn’t connected again. I think meeting again was as therapeutic and healing for him as it was for me. We talked a lot about that day, the specifics, filled in the gaps…

He was very clear that if I ever needed anything, to let him know and he’d be there – gave me his personal email and cell phone number… We also promised to keep in touch – that day brought us together and had an impact on both of us. Personally, it feels like I’ve reached another one of those invisible milestones in my healing – a milestone that I didn’t know was there until I got past it and realized how important it was, after all.

It's been awhile...

I've recently connected with a few of you and have realized that it's been far too long since we've chatted! I've decided to resurrect my blog in an effort to keep in better touch with friends and family... For the last 23 months, I've felt like I've been going 200mph but it's time to slow down a bit and, at a minimum, do better at keeping in touch with you all... I promise to update this a whole lot more often...

Last month, I took Bear camping for the first time in our new camper. I bought it from a friend in April, and we spent time getting things organized for us, learning how everything worked, etc. We drove to Payson for Father's Day weekend -- it's about 2 hours northeast of here and a whole lot cooler in the summer -- it's just beautiful. I was so proud of myself -- I got it hitched to the Durango (with the help of some awesome neighbors) and up to Payson, unhitched, set up and re-hitched the next day to come home. I white-knuckled it up both ways as I'd never towed anything before but now that it's behind me, I'm ready to go again. I'm planning another trip in August over the 2nd anniversary of Steve's death -- really don't want to be in town so off we go again. I'm really looking forward to it.

Yesterday, for the Fourth of July, we went to my friend Janice's house for a BBQ and swimming. We met on my first day of work when we moved to Phoenix and became friends -- we became even closer when her husband died just 8 months and a week after Steve. Bear had the BEST time swimming with her yesterday!! Since I'm a complete freak around deep water (I think her deepest part is 10'), I chose to play photographer -- and with Bear's 14 trips inside to go potty, it was good that I was already dry! He had a special suit that keeps him up and he was all over that pool!! At the end of the night, right before we left, a couple of owls perched on top of her fence -- it was the coolest thing! She lives in a beautiful, desert area north of Phoenix and it's not uncommon for her to have rattle snakes, bobcats, javelina and the occasional mountain lion.

Here's a picture of one of the owls -- they aren't very big, maybe 8" tall... It's a crappy picture but you can see where he is -- it was really cool!

The night ended with us watching fireworks -- from Bear's bedroom window :) Our city fireworks are set off about 2 miles from home and when Bear's window is open, you can hear them as well... We were so exhausted after our day at Janice's -- it worked perfectly. Good show this year too!

Decepticons...

This is an old post from last year that I just realized hadn't been posted to my blog -- I didn't want to forget so I'm posting now... Still makes me chuckle!)

We’ve been watching the Star Wars trilogy and finished up with Return of the Jedi over the weekend. He’s also been watching Transformers. (I may not load him down with guns and ammo, but at least he’ll know how to turn himself into a fast car or knock someone out with a light saber should he ever need to use the force!)

So, this morning, we’re on our way out to school and I can hear Darth Vader breathing heavy from his backpack (he has a small talking toy). I said Bear, you know the rule – no toys from home. He got that “uh oh” look on his face and said “Mama, I don’t have a toy!” He wiggled just enough when he said that to set the damn thing off again… I said “Bear, no toys – put it back, please.”

He got the most serious look on his face and said “mama, I’m just a “decepticon of evil…” (Something the bad (evil) transformers say in the movie because they do bad things… I assured him he wasn’t a decepticon of evil and made him leave Darth Vader at home! I've been laughing about it all morning -- that kid just cracks me up sometimes.

Almost there...

(Another oldie that never got posted...) I really can't wait for New Year's to be here... Part of it is that I'm going to San Diego for 4 days...but the other part is that since Steve died, Christmas and the holidays are just so hard! It's one memory after another -- one day, I expect comfort and peace to come from those memories, but for now it's just heartache. I am finding some things to be grateful for this year -- which are helping with the heartache -- but they're coming from odd places.

One place of peace is coming from that fact that I am newly unemployed! Yup -- I got laid off on November 20th -- 7 days before Thanksgiving and just 2 days before I boarded a plane to visit Oregon for 9 days. I'm enjoying the break -- missing the paycheck but really enjoying a chance to exhale for awhile. I had the month of November off last year but that was due to a mental breakdown! Wasn't exactly in functioning mode. And I was sick last August with pneumonia -- again, not exactly a break. But this is sorta nice... I'm able to drop Bear off at school in the mornings and I get to pick him up when he gets out -- no AM/PM program for awhile. Yesterday, we made cookies when he got home from school -- another first.

I'm getting things done around the house that are lllooonnnggg overdue. Who knew I had a laundry room! With a utility sink! I cleaned it out the other day -- even moved the washer and dryer to sweep underneath and wow! It's sparkly and clean in there -- who knew. Today, it's beautiful outside -- about 40 degrees and due to rain tonight so I'd better act quickly but I want to clean out the garage. Okay, okay -- those of you who have seen the garage know that I can't clean it OUT in a day. But I may be able to find a corner where I can have a toe-hold! Not even asking for a foot-hold -- a toe will do!

Last year, my Christmas decorating consisted of whatever Bear picked up with $10 bucks at the dollar store. This year, with a jug of margaritas and a box of Kleenex, I managed to get our tree up. I ended up having to buy a new tree -- the top broke off our old one a few years ago and it was way too wide -- I'd have to move just about every piece of furniture in my living room to accomodate it. Which, with Steve, wasn't a big deal but I just didn't want to do it. The biggest reason for the new tree was that there were just too many memories associated with the old one. I know, it's just a fake tree -- but it was OUR fake tree. For many years.
I ended up shopping every store in town and found a beautiful Martha Stewart tree at K-Mart. It's pre-lit with 1000 lights (gotta have my lights!), and it's 9 feet tall - but also converts to 7 1/2 feet should I move somewhere some day without cathedral ceilings so it should be our tree for many years. I cried with every ornament -- but I did it. I had no idea we had so many ornaments that were baseball themed -- those were hard. Even harder were the personalized ornaments with all of our names on them, or the special ones that Steve gave me each year. BUT, I did it.



I also got a bunch of my snowmen out -- I love my snowmen :) Notice the baseball themed one, second from the right? :)

We also decorated a little outside -- I put lighted garland around the door frame, a poinsettia wreath on the screen door and we blew up the 9' snowman for the front yard. Add red & green lightbulbs by the garage door and we look festive. Didn't have the energy to run lights all over the bushes and trees this year -- maybe next year.

So, I'm enjoying some time off and will look for a job after the first of the year. I've sent out a few resumes but there just isn't much to choose from right now - I'm hoping things will open up after the first of the year.

Bear's had some big milestones... He just turned SIX!!! We celebrated by having a party at Peter Piper Pizza with 20 friends -- it was a zoo but it was FUN! Grandma bought him a big boy bike for his birthday while we were in Oregon -- she just shipped it home so I'll take it down to a bike shop this week and have it reassembled. He's going to have a ball with it! He's also lost TWO teeth -- his first, the day before Thanksgiving and the second, ON his birthday (December 10th). We went to a soup & salad place (his choice!) and he bit into a brownie -- and oops! Off to the bathroom we ran, bloody napkin held up to his mouth. Quite a sight...

Almost there...

I really can't wait for New Year's to be here... Part of it is that I'm going to San Diego for 4 days...but the other part is that since Steve died, Christmas and the holidays are just so hard! It's one memory after another -- one day, I expect comfort and peace to come from those memories, but for now it's just heartache. I am finding some things to be grateful for this year -- which are helping with the heartache -- but they're coming from odd places.

One place of peace is coming from that fact that I am newly unemployed! Yup -- I got laid off on November 20th -- 7 days before Thanksgiving and just 2 days before I boarded a plane to visit Oregon for 9 days. I'm enjoying the break -- missing the paycheck but really enjoying a chance to exhale for awhile. I had the month of November off last year but that was due to a mental breakdown! Wasn't exactly in functioning mode. And I was sick last August with pneumonia -- again, not exactly a break. But this is sorta nice... I'm able to drop Bear off at school in the mornings and I get to pick him up when he gets out -- no AM/PM program for awhile. Yesterday, we made cookies when he got home from school -- another first.

I'm getting things done around the house that are lllooonnnggg overdue. Who knew I had a laundry room! With a utility sink! I cleaned it out the other day -- even moved the washer and dryer to sweep underneath and wow! It's sparkly and clean in there -- who knew. Today, it's beautiful outside -- about 40 degrees and due to rain tonight so I'd better act quickly but I want to clean out the garage. Okay, okay -- those of you who have seen the garage know that I can't clean it OUT in a day. But I may be able to find a corner where I can have a toe-hold! Not even asking for a foot-hold -- a toe will do!

Last year, my Christmas decorating consisted of whatever Bear picked up with $10 bucks at the dollar store. This year, with a jug of margaritas and a box of Kleenex, I managed to get our tree up. I ended up having to buy a new tree -- the top broke off our old one a few years ago and it was way too wide -- I'd have to move just about every piece of furniture in my living room to accomodate it. Which, with Steve, wasn't a big deal but I just didn't want to do it. The biggest reason for the new tree was that there were just too many memories associated with the old one. I know, it's just a fake tree -- but it was OUR fake tree. For many years.

I ended up shopping every store in town and found a beautiful Martha Stewart tree at K-Mart. It's pre-lit with 1000 lights (gotta have my lights!), and it's 9 feet tall - but also converts to 7 1/2 feet should I move somewhere some day without cathedral ceilings so it should be our tree for many years. I cried with every ornament -- but I did it. I had no idea we had so many ornaments that were baseball themed -- those were hard. Even harder were the personalized ornaments with all of our names on them, or the special ones that Steve gave me each year. BUT, I did it.

We also decorated a little outside -- I put lighted garland around the door frame, a poinsettia wreath on the screen door and we blew up the 9' snowman for the front yard. Add red & green lightbulbs by the garage door and we look festive. Didn't have the energy to run lights all over the bushes and trees this year -- maybe next year.

So, I'm enjoying some time off and will look for a job after the first of the year. I've sent out a few resumes but there just isn't much to choose from right now - I'm hoping things will open up after the first of the year.

Bear's had some big milestones... He just turned SIX!!! We celebrated by having a party at Peter Piper Pizza with 20 friends -- it was a zoo but it was FUN! Grandma bought him a big boy bike for his birthday while we were in Oregon -- she just shipped it home so I'll take it down to a bike shop this week and have it reassembled. He's going to have a ball with it! He's also lost TWO teeth -- his first, the day before Thanksgiving and the second, ON his birthday (December 10th). We went to a soup & salad place (his choice!) and he bit into a brownie -- and oops! Off to the bathroom we ran, bloody napkin held up to his mouth. Quite a sight...

A much needed break...

I had six hours to myself today. I can't even begin to tell you what a treat that was! I have been having Tara babysit for about a year now -- she was a teacher at Bear's preschool and is just great with him. I went and got my hair cut and colored, went to pick up Calli's ashes, went to Mervyns (who was having a great, going-out-of-business sale of 40% off and I got some good deals). I went shopping and bought a new blouse for New Year's Eve, went to the Dollar Store and to the grocery store. All by myself! I didn't have to say "No, BEAR!" once! Man, what a treat.

He also had a good day... He went on some errands with Tara, went to the park with some other kids she babysits, to McDonald's for lunch, home to watch a movie... A fun-filled day for him and he didn't hear "No, BEAR!" once either!

Just a treat. I needed to fill my sanity tank up in a BIG way -- haven't had a break since August, unless you count the 3 hours at a woman's church event in late October.

I almost lost it at the grocery store... A woman in front of me just screamed "high maintenance." Perfect nails, perfect hair, expensive handbag, who did nothing but complain - nonstop - to her son who was about 8. At one point, they were moving in line, he accidentally stepped on her toe, and she went on a TIRADE about how he'd RUINED her pedicure that was less than 24 hours old. I mean, it was a spectacle -- she made a HUGE deal out of it. I felt so bad for her son. I bit my lip. Hard. When it was my turn, the cashier looked at me and asked if I was okay. She'd heard the whole thing about the pedicure too. I told her -- if the customer in front of me had said one more thing to her son about how HE ruined her precious pedicure, I was going to lose it. I said my husband died 14 months ago -- I tell ya -- there are more important things in this world than a DAMN pedicure!!! As soon as I said that, she smiled in agreement and the two customers behind me chimed in too! This woman was a flippin piece of work. I felt so bad for her son -- berated because he accidentally stepped on her toe. She needs to get her priorities straight.

What a week...

I'm sitting here watching a live episode of Oprah, taped this morning, and Gayle King just read an article that appeared in Time magazine. I just found it and want to post it here so I don't forget. What little I heard really had an impact -- reading it in its entirety is even more powerful.

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How Obama Rewrote the Book - Nancy Gibbons, Time Magazine (11/5/08)

Some princes are born in palaces. Some are born in mangers. But a few are born in the imagination, out of scraps of history and hope. Barack Obama never talks about how people see him: I'm not the one making history, he said every chance he got. You are. Yet as he looked out Tuesday night through the bulletproof glass, in a park named for a Civil War general, he had to see the truth on people's faces. We are the ones we've been waiting for, he liked to say, but people were waiting for him, waiting for someone to finish what a King began.

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible," declared the President-elect, "who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."

Barack Hussein Obama did not win because of the color of his skin. Nor did he win in spite of it. He won because at a very dangerous moment in the life of a still young country, more people than have ever spoken before came together to try to save it. And that was a victory all its own.
Remember this day, parents told their children as they took them out of school to go see an African-American candidate make history. An election in one of the world's oldest democracies looked like the kind they hold in brand-new ones, when citizens finally come out and dance, a purple-thumb day, a velvet revolution. A hundred thousand people came out in red states to hear Obama; a hundred fifty thousand turned out in purple ones, even after all this time, when they should have been sick to death of Hope and Change. In Michigan, people put an electric fence around their yard sign to protect it. NASA astronauts on board the International Space Station sent a video message encouraging people to vote; they did, from 200 miles up. A judge in Ohio ruled that homeless people could use a park bench as their address in order to register. A couple flew home from India just to cast their ballots. Obama's Ohio volunteers knocked on a million doors on Monday alone. That night, a Florida official locked himself in the Seminole County election headquarters and slept overnight with the ballots to make sure nothing went wrong with the vote. Early-voting lines in Atlanta were 10 hours long, and still people waited, as though their vote was their most precious and personal possession at a moment when everything else seemed to be losing its value. You heard the same phrases everywhere. First time ever. In my lifetime. Whatever it takes.

When it was over, more than 120 million pulled a lever or mailed a ballot, and the system could barely accommodate the demands of Extreme Democracy. Obama won more votes than anyone else in U.S. history, the biggest Democratic victory since Lyndon Johnson crushed another Arizona Senator 44 years ago. Obama won men, which no Democrat had managed since Bill Clinton. He won 54% of Catholics, 66% of Latinos, 68% of new voters — a multicultural, multigenerational movement that shatters the old political ice pack. He let loose a deep blue wave that washed well past the coasts and the college towns, into the South through Virginia and Florida, the Mountain West with Colorado and New Mexico, into the Ohio Valley and the Midwestern battlegrounds: you could almost walk from Maine to Minnesota without getting your feet wet in a red state. After months of mapmaking all the roads to 270, Obama tore right past with ease.

The victory poured down the ballot, bringing along a larger Democratic majority in both houses, though not as broad as some had predicted: Democrats widened their margins in the House and the Senate. The Republican caucus is smaller, more male and whiter at a time when the electorate is heading the other way. But the Democrats did not come close to their dream of a 60-seat, filibuster-proof majority in the Senate, which suggests that people's hunger for change is tempered by their faith in restraint

When the race was called, there was a rush of noise, of horns honking and kids shouting and strangers hugging in the streets. People danced in Harlem and wept at Ebenezer Baptist Church and lit candles at Dr. King's grave. More than a thousand people shouted "Yes we can!" outside the White House, where a century ago it was considered scandalous for a President to invite a black hero to lunch. The Secret Service said it had never seen anything like it. President Bush called the victory "awesome" when he phoned Obama to congratulate him: "You are about to go on one of the great journeys of life."

John McCain, freedom fighter, has always seen the nobility even — maybe especially — in a losing battle, which takes the most courage to fight. When he called Obama to concede the race, the younger man honored the elder statesman. "I need your help," Obama said, and McCain offered it without reservation. "Whatever our differences, we are fellow Americans," McCain told the crowd in a gracious speech beneath the Arizona mountains. "I pledge to him tonight to do all in my power to help him lead us through the many challenges we face."

Remember this day. We now get to imagine, at least for a while, that the election of Obama has not just turned a page in our politics but also tossed out the whole book so we can start over. Whether by design or by default, the past now loses power: for the moment, it feels as if we've left behind the baby-boomer battles of the past 40 years; the culture wars that took us prisoner and cut us off from what we have in common; the tribal warfare between rich and poor, North and South, black and white; and the illusion, if anyone still harbored it after the past eight years, that what happens in Washington does not affect what happens everywhere else.

"She has gone home," Obama told the quiet crowd in Charlotte, N.C., on Monday night, recalling the grandmother who had raised him and shaped him and died on the eve of his victory. "She was one of those quiet heroes that we have all across America," he said, and tears we had never seen before streaked his face. "They're not famous. Their names are not in the newspapers, but each and every day, they work hard." One day later, Madelyn Dunham's grandson would be the most famous man in the world.

At a moment of obvious peril, America decided to place its fate in the hands of a man who had been born to an idealistic white teenage mother and the charismatic African grad student who abandoned them — a man who grew up without money, talked his way into good schools, worked his way up through the pitiless world of Chicago politics to the U.S. Senate and now the White House in a stunningly short period. That achievement, compared with those of the Bushes or the Kennedys or the Roosevelts or the Adamses or any of the other American princes who were born into power or bred to it, represents such a radical departure from the norm that it finally brings meaning to the promise taught from kindergarten: "Anyone can grow up to be President."

A nation doesn't much need a big President in small times; it needs one when the future is spitting out monsters. We've heard so much about Obama's brand-new voters that we easily forget the others he found, the ones who hadn't voted since Vietnam or who had never dreamed they'd vote for a black man or a liberal or a Democrat, much less all three. But many Americans are living through the worst decade of their lives, and they have anger-management issues. They saw a war mismanaged, a city swallowed, now an economy held together with foreign loans and thumbtacks. It took a perfect storm of bad news to create this moment, but even the big men rarely win in a walk. Ronald Reagan didn't. John Kennedy didn't. Those with the clearest vision often have to fight the hardest for others to see things as they do.