WHATEVS…

Sierra's online journal

So This Is Seven May 10, 2020

Filed under: Uncategorized — sierrak83 @ 10:16 pm

(Day 12: What are you excited about?)

wp-1589138798174174386129708385880.jpgOur girl turned 7 this week and despite the “stay at home” orders still in place, I think we managed to make it a kick-ass birthday for her. She’s been all smiles from Thursday (her actual birthday) through Saturday (when her “party” took place) because those three days were all about her. But in the process, it occurred to me that there’s a whole list of things I never expected to do altogether in the span of just three days… Or perhaps at all.

 

 

Watching our girl blow out her birthday candles without our families there with us.

received_2321103880423498135614402624580713.jpegLike most of you, family is huge to us. A birthday never passes without a family gathering of some sort. My dad, my sister, and my sister’s family along with hubby’s mom, twin brother, and dad and stepmom are always there to sing her “Happy Birthday,” watch her blow out the candles, and enjoy a piece of cake. Not being able to do that this year was rough but she made the best of it. She accepted video calls throughout the day to “see” the people she’d normally see and enjoyed having birthday dinner (and cake!) with a smaller group.

 

Scraping “Mother’s” off of the “Birth” Day cake hubby bought.

received_2341190944750167980186156042466448.jpegUsually, my sister makes her birthday cake and it’s always something giant and artistic and worthy of Cake Boss. But this year, we’re saving that one for whenever we’re (legally, safely) able to throw her a party. So I offered to make her a cake or order one from a local bakery to celebrate with in the day of. Her decision? She wanted the chocolate-on-chocolate cake from Costco. Two layers of rich dark chocolate cake coated in a chocolate frosting with chocolate ganache in the center. Yeah, that’s my kid. Anyway, when hubby got there, there was only one left on the shelf and it said “Happy Mother’s Day” on it in bright red icing. Our girl was not amused. Thus led us to scraping “Mother’s” off and using M&Ms to spell out some semblance of the word “birth” in multicolored candy to appease her.

 

Discussing where to position Sven and Lars, our Christmas elves, in May.

received_6034268638506305180730602374931038.jpeg“We have to make it magical for her!” If insisted. Of course that meant our Christmas elves would make an appearance for her birthday. They showed up on Thursday morning, dangling from balloons we’d hung the night before. And when I checked my email that morning, there was one from Sven that explained Santa had granted them three vacation days to spend with us before Rudolph would pick them up on Saturday night. They brought a gift and she was so tickled to see them!

 

Watching our girl slide down a water slide, in May.

screenshot_20200510-2136066524566687041828975.pngIt was a gift from Memere. And hubby “had to make sure it worked and wasn’t damaged or anything.” It was only about 60 degree so he insisted he wouldn’t hook up the hose to it. Fast forward about a half hour and our girl is rushing out of the house in last year’s too-small swimsuit and sliding down into the icy pool at the slide’s base as passersby were walking by the house in pants and hoodies. Surely if there was a Mother of the Year trophy available, it’s this act that would’ve earned me my nomination.

 

Hearing our girl exclaim, “I can’t believe it’s a blizzard outside!” and confirming with a glance out the window that she’s right… You guessed it… In May.

So to recap: The US economy grinded to a halt nearly two months ago (and has largely remained that way since). Schools are closed for the remainder of the academic year, so from March through June. A fabulous foreign species known as “the murder hornet” (which sounds to me like the name of a semi-pro prison-based dodgeball team if you want the truth) landed on American soil. And snow was forecast for May 9. In our area, it ended up being “just” flurries but thanks to the wind gusts yesterday, DID look blizzard-like for a few minutes. But oddly enough, this didn’t even make the top ten of strangest happenings in 2020 so far.

 

Setting up a folding table by the road to hold the cupcakes for our girls birthday parade.

screenshot_20200510-2138035481454982125659445.pngOur girl never NOT has a party. And we usually go all out. This year, though? No can do. Venues aren’t open and gatherings of over five people are prohibited. We’ve promised her a big party as soon as we’re allowed, which we’re all hoping will be this summer. But in the meantime, we jumped on the latest bandwagon by celebrating in the trendiest of ways…. With a car parade. Our friends and family did not disappoint. They came rolling down the street with their cars decorated, silly string flying, music blaring, horns beeping, and shouts of celebration streaming out their windows. It. Was. Awesome. But I hope to never have to organize one again because I hope all those people will be able to come to our house, walk into our backyard, and party with us for longer than it takes to drive by and grab a roadside cupcake. It was equal parts heartbreaking and heartwarming to witness.

 

Taking a family selfie to excitedly show off the new face masks we were gifted.

img_20200509_152000914962917121487753.jpgMaureen, our former daycare provider who cared for our girl from the time she was six weeks old until the day she (Maureen) retired, is a crafty person who loves to sew. She’s come to our girl’s birthday celebration every year since birth and always gifts beautiful, handmade gifts. A few years ago, for example, it was a quilted library bag that we still love and use to this day. This year, it was face masks. And we LOVED them

I’m so excited that our girl’s birthday was everything she wanted it to be and I’m so thankful that she has taken all of this covid-related wackiness in stride. We are so lucky to call her ours.

mvimg_20200509_142315973449789970779428.jpg

#QuaratineHairDontCare

 

30-Day Writing Challenge

 

Pet Peeves: Quarantine Edition April 8, 2020

If you’d asked me to list my top three pet peeves a month ago, you’d have gotten a very different list. But this is where I’m at now…

1) Feeling both overwhelmed AND bored. At the same time. At all times.

My day begins with three hours of working remotely. And most days, that’s not enough time to get the job done, which leaves me feeling…spazzy… for several hours after. And during that time, I also encourage my girl to start her school work, which she’s not always able (read: willing) to do without guidance. So when I’m done working, an hour or two or three of being a teacher begins.

I prepare eleventy bajillion snacks and meals daily. And pick up twice as many toys/messes.

I do my best to keep my girl connected to school, teams, and friends…. Taught her how to use Microsoft Teams, encourage her to video chat with friends, got her tablet set up with the various apps—and there seems to be a new one added at least weekly—our district is relying on for “distance learning,” and staying on top of all the email updates from teachers and coaches. Which reminds me. I still have to Venmo her dance teacher for the Zoom dance classes.

And when all this is done, we’ve got HOURS left in our day to decompress, though it never seems to be enough time.

At 8pm, we head outside for “bell time.” (Town-wide, people are encouraged to ring bells or otherwise make noise from 8:00 to 8:02 as a show of solidarity in this social distancing era.) And while we play our musical instruments, for lack of bells, my girl dances and I silently think, “One day closer to normalcy.”

After our girl is in bed, it’s time for dishes, laundry, picking up toys (again), and cuddling up with hubby on the couch. By this time of night, I’m ready for a giant glass of wine as a remedy for the anxiety that’s built up all day.

Rinse and repeat.

2) Having to repeat myself.

Here’s a smattering of the phrases I catch myself uttering multiple times per day, every day day…

– “Just because we’re home doesn’t mean you don’t have to brush your hair.”

– “I said ONE snack.”

– “No, it’s not lunch time. You JUST finished breakfast!”

– “3:00 is NOT dinnertime.”

– “Turn off the tablet!”

– “C’mon, we have to get this school packet done before we go outside.”

– “If you want to play outside, you need to put on actual clothes. Not pajamas.”

3) People who don’t stay home.

I’m following the rules. Other than outdoor time in our yard and walks around the block, my girl and I have left the house exactly once in the past three weeks. And that was to take part in a birthday parade for my cousin’s twins, which didn’t require us to get out of the car. Hubby goes to work and occasionally the grocery store. That’s it. If everyone did the same, we’d all be able to get back to life as we knew it sooner.

 

To My Husband on our 10th Wedding Anniversary… November 1, 2018

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Highschool sweet hearts

We met a lifetime ago. We were kids, sixteen years old and clueless about all that would come. A first date, the culmination of your persistent asking. A first kiss in a parking lot on a cold January night as the snow fell around us. Prom nights. Graduations. College years spent 150 miles apart, and all the weekend road trips and all-night phone calls to stay connected. The night you proposed, and the night my car died to save our future. Every moment of our past has led us to now, almost 19 years later, celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary. And I want to thank you.

 

02Thank you for supporting me emotionally through some of the roughest points of my past. Moving out of my parents’ house at 17, my mom’s brief illness followed by her passing and the emotional fallout that came after, navigating some tumultuous family relationships. When I can’t catch my breath and feel like there’s no way out of the hole, you’re the one I turn to. You bring me logic when my mind spirals out of control. You calm me down when I need it most.

 

04Thank you for being a constant source of encouragement. The little things you do and say have the biggest impact on me. Helping me see the bright side of a particularly rough week at work, boosting my confidence in my parenting, reminding me of my strengths when I’ve forgotten myself. You have helped me find my backbone countless times when I otherwise feel like a pile of mush. (And who knows? Maybe someday I’ll actually write the book you’ve been telling me to write for years now.)

 

Thank you for helping me celebrate all that’s good in our lives. And there’s been so.05 much. good. It’s easy to glide through life and lose sight of the positives. And sometimes I have to consciously stop and take it all in. Without our partnership in life, I don’t think any of it would have been possible. From the big stuff like our home and our family to the smaller stuff like family date days…I say it all the time but it’s completely sincere every time I do: “I love our life.”

 

06Thank you for being Rylin’s other (often better) parent. I’ll never forget how happy we were to have conceived our girl. The birthing class, setting up the nursery, and pacing the halls of Johnson Memorial Hospital with me during labor, awaiting the arrival of our future. That feeling of panic when they “let” us take her home from the hospital, unsupervised. We’re not always on the same page when it comes to parenting but I wouldn’t want to share the responsibility with anyone else. I am almost constantly in awe of you as a father and so thankful that she has you to teach her by example how a man should treat her.

 

Thank you for doing your best to help me be my best self. I’ve told you for 18+ years 07that “it’s not your job to try to fix me.” But for 18+ years, you’ve done just that. And for that, I am more appreciative than you know. Whether it’s shouldering more than your fair share of household responsibilities or taking me away for a weekend getaway, you always know what my soul needs to smile brighter. And you do your best to deliver just that.

 

We are each wildly different people than we were when we met. And I’m absolutely proud of who we’ve become, both as individuals and as a couple. Our marriage isn’t perfect but I’m proud that we’re both willing to acknowledge its faults and find ways to bolster it. And each other. Every day, I’m proud to call you my husband and so thankful to be your wife.

I love you always and all ways and look forward to celebrating a lifetime more anniversaries with you.

03

Perhaps the first ever “funfetti” wedding cake (11/01/2008)

 

My Last Letter to You October 29, 2017

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“In order to love who you are you can’t hate the experiences that shaped you.”
–Andréa Dykstra

 

Photobooth

That second friend request from 2009 is still sitting there in my Facebook notifications. You sent it after I messaged to ask why you’d disappeared from my friends list. I mean, it seemed odd that you would’ve deleted me, considering it was you who reached out to me when the first friend request came in 2007. Do you remember what you said to me then, in ’07? “It took me a while to find you on here because I couldn’t remember your last name.” Always the charmer, you were… Part of me chalked that comment up to a bruised ego after I declined to receive a visit from you in ’03. But part of me thought maybe it was true. Maybe I was that inconsequential to you.

 

Anyway, back to ’09. You told me you had deleted your old page but that you’d send me another friend request. Which you did. And there it’s been ever since. Pending. You never asked me how I even noticed your name was gone from my friends list. Or maybe you suspected why. Either way, I’ll own it. I still look you up from time to time. I wanted to know that you were happy, thriving, growing up. I’d seen that you got married—holy damn, I thought THAT day would never come! I’d seen pictures of friends and cars and your sister—all grown up! And eventually talks of a new girl who became a new wife…more cars and more friends and a little sports. And then October 2017 came around.

 

Summer 2000 a

Earlier this month, I clicked on that pending friend request to visit your Facebook profile and saw posts from August about the fact that you were missing. A GoFundMe page set up by friends. An update about you turning up in an ICU in New York. Far from home. Critical. Alone. My sister reached out to your family and learned about your prognosis. When she first started updating me on what your family told her, I could tell she was dancing around the harsh reality. I said, “It’s okay, Bree. I’m not attached to him like that anymore. You can tell me.” So she did. And my heart broke for you, for your family. You’re too young to be where you were. You had so much life ahead of you…so much more to experience. I sent a friend request to your sister and messaged her to tell her I was thinking about all of you. Taylor said she’d pass along the message. I’m not sure if she did. Or you heard it. Or if it mattered. But I was….I still am.

 

Sweet 16

My “Sweet 16” Party

Your mom recently posted to your Facebook page a plea for friends of yours to visit you. She wrote, “He believes he has been forgotten….He needs to know he is loved.” But I didn’t visit. I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to—because I did. And not because doing so would’ve caused a ripple in my household—though it would have. I didn’t visit because I was afraid. I was afraid of walking into that hospital room and you not remembering me or caring that I was there. I was afraid to find out that maybe I wasn’t as an important piece of your history as you were of mine. And that would’ve shattered me. Maybe not visiting was selfish of me. But let me make it abundantly clear. You were not forgotten. And you were loved, fiercely.

 

Forrest Park

Forest Park (MA) – summer 2000

I’ve been in this weird place since finding out your condition. I’m a very happily married woman, most days at least…haha! And it’s been, what? Seventeen years since we last hugged goodbye. But you will always be my first love and a huge part of my past. So I’ve been walking in this bizarre and lonely reality for a month now where my heart is aching and I feel like I can’t talk about it. Because the person I want to talk to most is Chris—my best friend, my husband. And he’s held onto that night in the parking lot on your last visit to town. Do you remember? He and I had been arguing, the result of you-related tensions boiling over. You said to him, “If I wanted her, I could have her.” As though it were supposed to ease his mind. I knew when you said it that it wasn’t true. And you knew it, too. But I think he believed it, which was heart-breaking to me in itself. And that was the night his disdain for you was solidified. Anyway, he and I have created a beautiful life together since that night…a rock-solid marriage, a loving household, the most amazing daughter I could ever dream to call mine. He’s given me stability, kept me grounded, and showed me far more patience than I probably deserve. But I can’t ignore the fact that I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for the experiences you and I shared so long ago. You’ve always had a place in my heart, always will. Yet I feel like, out of deference to him, I can’t show how much your illness has been weighing on my mind.

 

Fall 2000

What was I thinking with that hair color?!

I woke up yesterday morning to read Taylor’s post. You’re gone. And I’m not sure what to do with all the feelings I’m feeling. So I asked Chris to search through the basement to find “the box” for me. You know the one…teen-aged girls squirrel away mementos from boyfriends in “the box.” And most women probably burn that stuff when they start a new relationship or toss it in the trash when packing up their girlhood room to move into a new house. It’s definitely disposed of in some way before they get married. But I’m one of the lucky few who holds no ill feelings towards any of my exes, including you. So I’ve kept it all. And last night, I’m glad I did. I opened that shoebox for the first time in 14 years—I know because there are emails tucked away in there, dated for 2003. And I took out what was on top…an old t-shirt of yours, the one I wore as a nightgown after you left. And I wept into it.

thumbnail_20171028_232450

 

I spent last night looking at old photos, reading old love letters, and remembering all the experiences we shared—the good and the bad. I know your friends will likely be sharing their memories of you over the coming days. And though ours go a bit further back than some, they’re important to me and I hope they were important to you, too. I won’t pretend to know the choices or circumstances that led you to where you ended up. Nor will I claim to know the man you’ve grown into. But I’ll tell you what I remember about our years together, a lifetime ago when we were kids….

 

QuinceaneraI’m going to remember how we met. You moved in across the street from me in the summer of 1998. You used to ride your bike past my house real slow. You later told me it was because you wanted to talk to me but were afraid. Can you imagine?! So you sent your little sister over to talk to me first. She was about 8 or 9 at the time, I think. And when it was time for Taylor to come home, you came over to get her…and chatted with me. You know, since you were there anyway. You probably thought that was a pretty smooth move back. Thinking about it now actually brings a smile to my face.

 

I’m going to remember what it was like falling in love with you. We fell hard and fast, as is the way with teens. (I was 15. You were 18. Your mom was nervous. Hahah.) I’d had boyfriends before but you were my first love. The kind that, to this day, still makes my stomach do backflips when I think back on it.

Summer 2000 b

 

I’m going to remember those square-cut diamond earrings that you wore in both ears. And that cologne of yours…. Did you know that for years after you, the slightest whiff of Tommy could bring me to my knees? I’m going to remember the way you cocked your fitted cap to the side when you wanted to lighten the mood. And the chain you never took off your neck. I’m going to remember how when you weren’t sure how to express your feelings, you spoke in song lyrics—you ALWAYS had the perfect song even when your own words failed you. I’ll remember the drawings and doodles and scribbled messages on marker boards. I’ll remember how you paused a little too long when speaking sometimes to avoid stuttering…a quirk you hated about yourself but one that I found endearing. I’ll remember Sunday morning softball games with my extended family…you could catch ANYTHING that was hit to the outfield. I’m going to remember making you pose for that god-awful “Titanic” themed portrait and the haunted house at Six Flags…and all that came before and after.

Drawing

I’m STILL trying to figure out the meaning of this…hahah!

 

I’m going to remember that no matter how much of a “tough guy” you tried to act like, you were a softy. I’ll remember that you preferred to joke when conversations got too heavy and often hid your insecurities with cockiness. I’m so glad I saved those letters, including the ones we wrote back and forth in a journal that summer you came to visit when I was living with Bree. Do you remember that? It was surprisingly YOUR idea and you did it happily in my sparkly blue pens. You said so much in those letters. And I either didn’t realize the gravity of them then or had just let the memory fade. Reading them last night was cathartic.

Journal - summer 2000

20-year old you questioned if people would miss you

 

And, sure, I’ll remember the arguments. The eye rolls. The exasperated sighs. The giving up. Hey, it’s all part of the experiences that shaped us, right? Love isn’t all rainbows and glitter all the time. And, with all the moving around you did, who could forget the goodbyes? There were tearful farewells in driveways and tearful drives to drop you off at home and tearful (and sometimes inappropriate…hahah) send-offs at bus stations. In fact, looking through old photos made me realize we did lots of crying. We got pretty good at goodbyes. But this one is the toughest because it’s the last.

 

Most of all, I’m going to remember how you made me feel. Safe. Loved. An important piece of your history. Flipping through the mementos of our time together has reminded me of who I was back then. And honestly, I hardly recognize that girl. She was adventurous and spontaneous and so so snarky. I miss her. And maybe if you’d looked back on those times, you might have thought the same about yourself—that you missed him. The him you used to be. I can’t picture him ever questioning how much he was loved.

Oct 2000

An excerpt from one of your last letters to me

 

I’m sorry, Nick. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have been the people we needed each other to be. But I’m not sorry for a single minute of the often tumultuous, on again off again, 2+ years of my life I spent with you. Or for any of the communicating we’ve done since then. Thank you for playing such a huge role in the experiences that have shaped me. And never EVER doubt that you were loved.

So Long

 

So long, old friend. I hope you find the peace that you couldn’t find here.

Love always,

Sierra

 

PS – Because I know you like to joke when the tears are coming, I’ll leave you with this. Typical Nick. Please note the god-awful “Titanic” themed portrait hanging on my wall behind you.

Cockiness

In memory of Nicholas Lorenzen (5/9/80 – 10/28/17)

 

Looking Up August 20, 2014

Filed under: Uncategorized — sierrak83 @ 10:38 pm
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A few months ago, I saw a video online called Look Up. It’s stuck with me since then. And it’s made me stop and ask myself, “Is Facebook consuming my life?” It’s the first site I surf to when break time rolls around at work. It’s my home page on my personal laptop. It’s open virtually any time I’m holding my phone. My answer seemed to be a resounding yes! Until last week. I had the privilege to be on vacation. A full five days away from the office to spend at home with Rylin, my 15-month-old. (Yes, I’m that mom. The one who counts her child’s age in months. But I promise to only do it until she’s 2.) And I thought to myself, “Self, now is the time. No Facebook for a week.”

I dreamed of what a week away from Facebook would be like. There wouldn’t be any political rants to get under my skin. Or eternally pessimistic friends to get my spirits down. Granted, there also wouldn’t be any photos of my friends’ adorable children or internet memes of wrinkly pug puppies wearing tutus, either. I had lofty ideas of how I’d spend my time while Rylin napped; I’d scrub the bathrooms until they shined and make my own laundry detergent. I’d have sumptuous dinners waiting on the table when my husband Chris returned from work. I’d read more. I’d finally get those family photos into an album. I’d learn Italian. (Okay. Maybe not that lofty.) Still, it was going to be great.

Sunday night, true to my personal vows, I returned home from a family beach trip, posted a couple of photos to my profile, updated my cover photo, and signed off.

MONDAY 8/11

Resisting the urge to open Facebook on my phone first thing in the morning, as I usually do, was difficult. After breakfast and “Rhyme Time” (a half hour of nursery rhymes and songs for children Ry’s age hosted by the librarians at our local library), and a bit of playing, it was nap time. I did laundry. I checked my email to find a notification that my brother-in-law, who had been with us at the beach the day before, had tagged me on Facebook in a photo. I imagined it was a photo of Ry playing in the sand and wished I could see it.

It was rough but I made it through Facebook-free. That night, I think Chris could tell how much it was irking me to not be online. (Maybe it was the nervous tics?) He sat on the couch next to me scrolling through his news feed smugly.

“There’s BIG news happening and you don’t know about it because you’re not on Facebook,” he said.

“Suuuuure,” I rolled my eyes.

Still, he insisted. “I’m serious.”

“What’s this ‘big news’ that’s going on?” I asked.

“Robin Williams is dead.”

I didn’t believe him. We went back and forth for a full minute—me insisting he was joking and him insisting he wasn’t. Finally, I googled and confirmed. “Holy shit! Robin Williams is dead! THIS is what happens when I take a week off of Facebook? I kill Robin Williams? Who’s next?!”

TUESDAY 8/12

I came to a startling realization that we have three social events that coming weekend, two of which were being organized on Facebook. “I’ll have to have Chris check his events calendar for the starting times,” I told myself. Dinner was ready when he got home. More laundry got done but the house was no cleaner than it was over the weekend. I finished the book I was reading before bed.

WEDNESDAY 8/13

My day began at 5:19am when I was woken by the faint calling of “Momma….” I opened my eyes and became acutely aware of the fact that the air conditioner was off. The ceiling fan was off. The video monitor was off. Thank goodness for the battery backup in the audio monitor or I never would’ve heard Ry; we had no power. I tiptoed upstairs to close the office door across the hall from Ry’s room, hoping it would muffle the beeping sound that likely woke her. It worked. She fell back to sleep and I thanked my lucky stars for a little more sleep.

Back in bed, I couldn’t sleep, though. I was too worried about why the power was out. I checked the weather app on my phone to see if storms were in the area; nope, just rain. I peered out the window to see if the neighbors had power; nope, all dark out there, too. My next order of business would normally be to pull up Facebook to see who else was in the dark. I had a moment of panic. “How do I know how long it’s going to be? How many people are without power? What if no one else has reported the outage yet?” I then realized that Facebook is not the end all and be all of reporting power outages. A quick visit to our power company’s website later, I knew that a whopping 24 customers were without power and the power company was already working to restore it. It came back on about 40 minutes later and I was able to catch some more z’s.

THURSDAY 8/14

After three full days home with Ry, I was exhausted. My energy was no match for her. I napped while she napped. “Those damn photo albums have waited this long, they can wait a little longer,” I thought.

During afternoon play time, Ry looked at me and clear as day said, “I did it.” I was psyched! It was her first three-word sentence and certainly something to celebrate. I wished I could’ve posted a status update about it so everyone would know what a smartypants I birthed. But I couldn’t. So I decided I’d just call someone to tell them about it. And suddenly it didn’t seem momentous enough to warrant a call to anyone in particular for JUST that purpose. I imagined calling a friend to report the news and the pregnant pause that would follow my announcement when they wanted to say, “Okay, well, thanks for calling.” Instead, I waited to tell Chris when he got home. I was too tired to cook. We had take-out for dinner.

FRIDAY 8/15

After Chris’s work day ended, we took a very cranky Rylin to play at the playground at our local library. If I were on Facebook, I would’ve private messaged a couple of our friends who also have toddlers to invite them to join us. And maybe even posted a picture of them playing. Instead, we had fun just the three of us and Ry made friends with another 15-month-old girl named Charlotte.

SATURDAY 8/16

While chatting with a friend before Zumba that morning, she asked, “Are you back on Facebook yet?” I shook my head. “Oh,” she said, “well then you didn’t get the link I shared to your page. The Pooch Plunge is on the 25th.” I thanked her for the reminder because our golden retriever would’ve never forgiven me if I forgot.

That afternoon, we took Rylin to Magic Wings, where we’d be attending a wedding that evening. After walking around for a bit, we stopped at the food court to grab a snack. Chris pulled out his phone and began checking his news feed. “Cute. Today was Aiden’s birthday,” he commented.

“I’m. An. ASSHOLE!” I exclaimed. Chris didn’t understand what was wrong so I explained, “We were supposed to go to his party. I told them we’d stop in quickly before we left for the wedding. I can’t believe I forgot!”

I felt terrible and wanted to call Tonya, Aiden’s mom and a lifelong family friend of mine, to apologize for having missed the party. I took out my phone, opened my contacts, and….”HOW DO I NOT HAVE TONYA’S PHONE NUMBER?!”

SUNDAY 8/17

The three of us had plans to attend a friend’s barbecue. Chris had to check his events calendar to confirm the start time because all I could remember was that I’d agreed to bring a veggie platter. Ry napped through the party’s start time and after yesterday’s blunder, I didn’t want to not notify the hosts that we’d be late. Text message, it was. After the barbecue, I received an email notification that one of the hosts tagged me in a status update and immediately felt out of the loop.

MONDAY 8/18

Back to the grind. I went back to work and Ry returned to daycare. When I arrived to pick her up at daycare in the afternoon, I found her sitting in the dirt pit—like a sandbox but instead of sand it’s dirt. She was raking dirt around, digging her fingers into it, and sipping it from an empty Adobo container. I wish I were kidding. She was FILTHY from head to toe. But smiling the biggest smile ever and she passed out cold on the way home; these are both two sure signs of a fantastic day.

She went directly into the bath tub when we got home. After bath, I fed her dinner and put her to bed. When Chris got home from work I said, “If I was on Facebook, I totally would’ve posted a picture of Ry. She was dirtier than I’ve ever seen her.”

Chris laughed and said, “I feel like you’re taking this no-Facebook thing too far.”

“I’ll go back on tomorrow. Maybe,” I promised. Looking back, I’m not sure why I didn’t take the picture anyway.

TUESDAY 8/19

I found what I believe to be the coolest website ever made. It’s a travel agency for stuffed animals. I know. You’re saying, “Whaaaaaat?!” Just hear me out. You purchase a “tour package” on their website then mail them your stuffed animal. They’ll then take photos of your stuffed animal enjoying its vacation. When your stuffed animal comes home, it’s accompanied by a CD of photos of the adventure. I immediately wished a) Ry was old enough to find her stuffed animals traipsing around Japan to be entertaining and b) I could tell people about it.

So I told Chris. I don’t think he appreciated it half as much as I did.

“I would’ve put it on Facebook. You know…if I were on Facebook,” I told him.

“Would you just go on Facebook already?!” he smiled.

TODAY 8/20

Well. Here I am. On Facebook. And after a week (plus) without logging in, I see more of the good in it. It’s a means to share what’s important to me in a way that isn’t invasive to others. It’s a good way to organize my social life. It’s how I often contact people. It’s the manner in which I get my news. And what’s wrong with any of that?

Instead of nixing social networking altogether, I’m now thinking about cleaning up my profile a bit…maybe make use of the filters Facebook provides to help me sort my friends into groups and help me hide some of the content that I really don’t want to see. Or start to drop people off of my friends list if necessary.

Hello, Facebook. I’ve missed you!

 

My First Tarot Reading February 6, 2014

Filed under: Uncategorized — sierrak83 @ 1:36 am
Tags: , , ,

“Employees only” the door said. She opened it and ushered me down a set of narrow, rickety wooden steps into the basement of the bar her and her husband own. “It’s kinda chilly down here. Sorry about that,” she offered, as she sipped soda through a coffee stirrer. I was led into her office and she motioned for me to sit. She settled into another chair opposite me. White Christmas lights hung from the ceiling and flickering light danced along the walls from the candles between us.

“Have you ever had your cards read before?” she asked. I shook my head no.

“Do you have any questions?” Again, I shook my head no.

“Nothing at all?” she asked, incredulous.

“I don’t really believe in all this,” I admitted. I paused before adding, “I don’t really disbelieve, either. I wouldn’t say I’m a skeptic, exactly. I mean…I want to believe. But I want you to tell me something that will make me believe.”

She had me shuffle her deck of tarot cards and then spread them out, face down, between us. She told me to pick out six cards and keep them face down in front of me. I did as instructed. And it began.

The first thing she did after flipping over my cards, one by one, was scribble a letter on her notepad. And then she told me things about myself. “You tend to be the sensible one in your relationships.” How could she know that? Is it because of the purse I carry? It WAS a sensible purchase… “It’s up to you to sort of rein things in when they’re getting out of hand. You have that wild side in you, too, but realize there’s a time and a place.” Is it written in the way I dress? Damn this Dress Barn top. “You see things that others often don’t. Your intuition is stronger than most people’s.” I’ve always (arrogantly) thought that but lots of people probably think that about themselves. “You’re a super emotional person but you don’t let people see your vulnerable side often. You internalize things that bother you rather than show it.” True. But again, that probably applies to 50% of the world.

She then began talking about “a male in my life who is going through some shit” (her words, not mine). She told me what’s happened so far (which was correct) and warned me that “it’s not over yet.” She told me how I feel about the situation (which was spot on) and advised me how to handle what’s to come. “Does this make sense to you?” She asked. I nodded and motioned to the letter on her notepad as I admitted, “Yes. I think that letter you wrote over there is him.” Lucky guess. Has to be.

She told me that a father or grandfather figure was coming through for me. “Dad has passed, yes?” Nope. “Then it’s a grandfather figure. He’s showing me you as a little girl. He just thought you were the cutest thing.” I meant more to him that I realized, she said. She asked me if his birthday or anniversary was in the month of May. I shook my head and said, “Not that I know of. He was born in November and died in January.” Still, she insisted, “I feel a strong May connection with you.” I told her that my daughter was born in May. Her eyes lit up and she said, “Your grandfather had a hand in that somehow.” This is all a sweet sentiment, but how can I ever know that what she’s saying is true? I can’t very well go ask PopPop, now can I? I was smiling inwardly about my grandfather when she added, “And this is connected to mom, right?” Nope. PopPop was dad’s dad. [Several days later, I realized that she could very well have been talking about my mom’s dad. I met him exactly once in my life. My mom, who hadn’t had contact with him in years, heard that he was hospitalized and dying. She knew I’d always wanted to meet him and, knowing that it could be my last chance, she took me. I stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed. I was about 12 years old at the most. And I could only think of two things: “So this is who I get my blue eyes from” and “Holy crap, this dude looks like Santa Claus!” He died a short time after that visit. He was alone, after a life riddled with addictions that meant more to him than his family. And that visit probably did mean more to him than my 12-year-old self knew.]

She piled the cards up into one pile and paused. “Mom is in here,” she said, tapping the pile. “But she’s not saying anything to me.” She spread the deck of unused cards in front of me and told me to pick four more. She’d piqued my interest.

For the next five or so minutes, she began to lose me. “Your husband is waiting for a decision that’s going to end in his favor….a promotion or a new job. It’s going to mean more money for the family. Probably around summer time.” August is when Chris’ annual review (and raise) happens at work. But that’s not what I’d call a promotion… “And there’s an opportunity on the horizon for you. It’s not related to work or money. It’s a great change, though. You’ll be leaving something behind and it’s really pretty cool.” Wouldn’t we all like to believe that great things are about to happen to us?

We continued this song-and-dance some more. I chose some cards. She pulled some cards from the unused deck and piled others up after discussing them. She told me about two relationships: an old romantic relationship and a longtime friend relationship. And there was infidelity involved. Considering that I’m happily married to my high school sweetheart and have ZERO reason to believe that he’s been unfaithful, I can’t begin to guess what she could mean by this….I guess this whole tarot thing is a hoax after all.

And that’s when she said something about jewelry of my mom’s. I don’t remember exactly what she said but I remember unfolding my hands and pointing to her wedding band, which I wear on the middle finger of my right hand. Whatever she said had to have hit home because it was then that I began to cry.

“Your mom was sick before she died.” I agreed. I’m fairly young to have a mother who died of natural causes. So she had a 50/50 chance of getting this right….it would’ve either been a sickness or an accident. “She had a hard time in the end. She was depressed because she felt like a burden and because she wasn’t ready for her journey to end. But she accepts it now. She realizes that her journey had to end.” She probably DID feel like that in the end. But then again, I’m sure everyone who dies of cancer at 48 has a hard time coming to terms with it. “She had a sibling who died very young, yes?” I nodded, thinking about her brother Christopher who died of SIDS“She wants you to know that she’s with her brother.”

And then she began to get eerily specific about things that have concerned me since my mom passed…

She squinted a bit and said, “Cooking…something about cooking.” I laughed and said, “I mean, she cooked but she was terrible at it.” She nodded and said, “This may sound strange but I’m just going to say it. She’s showing me a McDonald’s meal and saying ‘I may have been the fast food queen but at least I fed them.'” I laughed again. That was my mom. [Since we started trying to conceive, I’ve acknowledged that my mother never placed much importance on nutrition when I was growing up. I have even said that I’m downright resentful over the fact that mom didn’t teach us about eating healthy and vowed that I’d do better for my daughter. I can absolutely hear my mother saying this and truly feel that this was her retort to my recent statements.]

“There were decisions that had to be made in the end, one of which was somewhat rushed. And she wants you to know that she is happy with them. You made the right decisions.” [We had a family meeting a couple of weeks before the end. She was in ICU at the time and apparently the doctors didn’t think she was capable of making her own medical decisions. I remember telling her that I’d be right back, that I had to step across the hall to attend a meeting. And I remember that her face fell. My ordinarily headstrong, independent mother realized that the meeting was about her. “Oh. I don’t go to the meeting?” I knew that she knew it was about her. And in that meeting, we—my sister, my father, and me—informed the doctors that it’s always been my mother’s wish to not be sustained by life support. It was at that meeting that we agreed that when the time came, she would not be resuscitated. On the afternoon that she died, she’d been fighting off pneumonia and having a hard time breathing. I nervously called for the doctor when I noticed her face flashing blue between unsteady, spaced apart breaths. I remember several people rushing in with equipment and one nurse yelling over the chaos, “She’s a DNR!” The personnel who were about to intubate her stopped. And within about a half hour, she was gone. I hoped that we’d made the right choice by sticking to what she’d always said were her wishes.]

“Spirits can’t show themselves, just so you know. But she says she sits on your bed and watches you sleeping sometimes. And she sends you signs all the time.” [I remember telling Chris when she first died that I hoped she came to me. And I specifically told him that I don’t want to see her because I didn’t want to be afraid. I just wanted to know she’s there. If she sends me signs, I’m not paying enough attention. But I do seem to dream about her whenever I really need her.]

“You and your sister have placed blame on dad. And she doesn’t want that. She keeps saying ‘he’s just a guy’ and ‘I took such good care of him he’ll never forget me.’ The relationship between the three of you is nothing more than a power struggle and it’s just not worth it. Accept it for what it is and don’t blame him.” [My mom wouldn’t have said “guy”…”boy” or “man” maybe, but not “guy.” But the sentiment is her to a tee.]

“Did your mom enjoy a cocktail from time to time?” she asked. I shook my head because she didn’t. Ever. “She’s showing me a drink…almost like she wants you to take a drink for her. She wants you to remember her but to laugh and be happy. Your mom is awesome! She is so funny! She can come visit me anytime!” [The whole “laugh and be happy” sentiment is spot on. Following her wake, we had a celebration of her life in lieu of a funeral. There were no flowers. Just balloons. And music. And a memory book in which guests were asked to write a short note about a good time they remember about her.]

“She made it a point to get something for you…something she wanted you to have to pass down…? It’s for your daughter. She wants your daughter to have it. And she wants you to know that she’s so proud of you girls because you’re both moms. She’s stressing that ‘you’re not just mothers…you’re MOMS.'” [True. I was engaged to Chris at the time she was in the hospital. And she insisted that I needed to have a hope chest as my wedding gift. She purchased it while in the hospital and told me she’d fill it will all sorts of things when she got home. She never had the chance to fill it but the hope chest currently holds my wedding dress and Chris’ grandmother’s china.]

“There is something of your mom’s that was intended for you but you never got it. She wants you to know that your dad may have thrown it out and she doesn’t want you to be mad at him for it.” [My sister and I found a handwritten journal of my mother’s at some point just before or just after she died. It was tucked in the drawer of her nightstand. I remember my sister reading snippets of it to me, including one that said something to the effect that she hoped that someday I (specifically) would read it. When we went through her belongings after she passed, it was gone. My father admitted to my sister once long ago that he had it. But neither she nor I have seen it since.]

“She wants me to say thank you for the pizza. She says it meant a lot to her and she remembers it as a happy memory. Does that make sense to you?” I nodded. [One day when my mom was sick, she was having a “good day.” It was before she lost the muscle strength in her legs that would eventually render her unable to walk. And it happened to be a day between chemo treatments when she had an appetite. All she wanted was pizza from a particular pizza shop in our hometown. Not only did I deliver the pizza to her hospital room, but I also brought her dog (Bobby McGee, who happens to currently be curled up at my feet). The four of us—me, her, my dad, and Bobby McGee—took a stroll outside the hospital and found a gazebo. We sat there while she at her pizza and pet Bob. It was one of only a handful of truly happy memories I have of her final months.]

I daubed my eyes with a tissue—probably my third or fourth one I pulled from the box on the table during our session—and whispered, “I’m a believer.”

 

Zumba 101 December 29, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — sierrak83 @ 10:47 pm

My love affair with Zumba began about two years ago with a drunken pinkie promise  in the booth of a Denny’s Restaurant at around 2:30am. (Isn’t that where all good things begin, really?) “Okay, I’ll give it a try,” I vowed.

And I hated my first class.

I agreed to “give it another try” before making up my mind, though. And after a few such tries, I was hooked.

Hi, I’m Sierra and I’m an addict. It’s been three hours since my last class.

All people belong in one of three groups: those who have no idea what Zumba is, those who haven’t tried Zumba yet, and those who love Zumba. There’s no other option. I assure you.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE NO IDEA WHAT ZUMBA IS…

It’s the most fun you’ll ever have while working out. And the number of calories you can burn in an hour is astounding. So, please. Crawl out from the rock under which you’ve been living for the past 10+ years and YouTube it. Wiki it. Google it.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN’T TRIED ZUMBA YET…

You have your reasons, I know. But I’m here to dispell them.

I’d be terrible at Zumba because I can’t dance. Wrong. If you can follow along when Aunt Millie breaks out with the good ol’ Electric Slide any family function with a DJ, then you can Zumba. That’s all Zumba is, really…just a series of line dances you haven’t learned yet. Here’s what you can expect from a Zumba class: An instructor will turn off the overhead lights (and likely turn on some sort of strobes or colored lights), the students will cheer, and then he or she will lead the class through about 55 minutes of easy-to-follow, repetitive dance moves followed by about 5 minutes of stretching. Just do your best to follow along and if you can’t understand how to do a move, just do something else instead. The goal is to keep moving. And with the lights off, no one is really going to notice what you’re doing anyway.

I can’t go to Zumba! I’m a dude! Tell that to my husband Chris, who’s been coming to class with me multiple times per week since the beginning. True, attendance is predominantly (okay, almost exclusively) female. But I’ve had a handful of male classmates…and even a few male instructors. No one is going to look at you cross-eyed, I promise.

I’m not in good enough physical shape to take a Zumba class. You don’t have to be in shape at all. In fact, if you’re not in shape, that’s a pretty good reason to start going, isn’t it? All good instructors will be glad to show you how to modify movements as needed. Bad knees? Step side-to-side instead of jumping. Can’t figure out what the heck everyone is doing when the instructor yells “Merengue!”? March in place. Having a hard time popping your hip as quickly as the person next to you? Try going at half-speed. No one is going to bat an eye at what you are or aren’t doing during class as long as you’re moving.

I wouldn’t know what to wear. Though the Zumba website offers a full wardrobe of Zumba gear (including under garments and shoes), there’s no uniform. Sure, you’ll see some students in the official garb. But most of us just wear a comfy t-shirt and some yoga pants. Or sweats. Or basketball shorts. Really the only criteria is that it’s comfortable and breathable. Dress like you’re about to go for a jog. When it comes to shoes, go for something lightweight with little or no tread. Stay away from running shoes (or any other shoe geared toward forward motion) and dance shoes (or any other shoe with no or split soles). 

I’m afraid to go by myself…who will I talk to? Before class begins, you can say hello to the other people in class. We’re friendly. But beware. If you tell us it’s your first class, we’ll probably shoot off on a tangent about how great Zumba is. During class, no one has the breath to talk to anyone else anyway. And after class you’ll be so sweaty you won’t want to hang around to mingle.

How will I know what to do or where to stand? We’re friendly, yes, but we can also be territorial. Ultimately, we’re there to work out so our goal is to be certain we’ll have full range of motion throughout class. Others crowding into “our” space or otherwise inhibiting our movement is a buzzkill. Some tips for your first class:

  • Don’t encroach upon the front row. That’s where the regulars (and/or friends of the instructor) stand. And you definitely don’t want to be there if you don’t have some semblance of an idea as to what you’re doing because as the instructor moves around the room, the rest of the class will invariably rely on those in the front row to know what move is next.
  • Don’t hide in the back of the room. You’ll never be able to see the instructor from the back row. If you can’t see the instructor, you chances of learning the steps are diminished.
  • Don’t stand smack in the center of the room. Newbies typically prefer to fly under the radar. But here’s a hint: Everyone watches the instructor. The instructor typically stands at the front of the class near the center. So try to choose a spot near the edges of the room (even if it’s near the front). Everyone will be looking towards the center so no one will notice what you’re doing.
  • Don’t try to keep yourself lined up too perfectly with anyone else. Stand slightly to the left or right of the people in front of you (and behind you). Stand slightly in front of (or behind) the people to your left and right. This will give everyone the illusion of having more room to move.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO LOVE ZUMBA…

You’ve tried it. You love it. You can’t wait to go back to your next class. Here are some important things to keep in mind:

Not all instructors are created equal. I’m not Zumba certified but I’ve heard from those who are that “certification is a joke.” To become certified to teach classes, you pay a fee and show up for a one-day training seminar. Attendance is taken at the start of the day. And certification is given out at the end of the day. But there’s no tracking who actually stays for the middle part of the day when all the “training” actually takes place. That said, some instructors take what they do seriously. Those are the instructors who spend time selecting music, choreographing, and arranging their routines to maximize your calorie burn. If the class isn’t full, chances are the instructor isn’t very good (or is unfortunate enough to have a terrible timeslot for class). If you’re not sweating by, say, the third song, chances are the instructor isn’t very good. If you’re bored, chances are the instructor just ins’t for you. There are so many different “flavors” of Zumba classes so if one isn’t working for you, try another instructor.

The music is an important aspect of class. But it’s not the ONLY important aspect. I have seen some classmates (literally!) pop in earplugs at the start of class to shut out some of the noise. I’ve also seen some classmates bow their heads, raise their hands, and pretty much fade into their own two-steppin’ world the minute their “jam” comes on. Ideally, you should be somewhere in between these two extremes. If you don’t like the music, you should try another instructor; every instructor has their own style and chooses their playlist based on what they like. I’ve been to classes where the music is entirely instrumental, classes where the playlist could’ve been pulled from the American Top 40’s countdown, and classes where unusual-to-Zumba genres (ie country, techno, classic rock) have been sprinkled throughout. Find a class that suits your taste. But once you do, remember that your job doesn’t end with simply enjoying the soundtrack. Now you’ve got to MOVE.

Everyone—probably even you—has a nickname. When Chris and I first started going to Zumba, we didn’t know anyone else in our class. Two years later, we still don’t know most of them by name. But we’ve got nicknames for almost all the regulars. There’s Cow, a (despite what you may have thought) very physically fit woman who chews loudly on gum throughout every class EVER. And Hip (who over-exaggerates all hip motions). Soccer and Soccer Mom (a young, athletic girl who wears soccer shorts and sweat bands and her mother) always come together. Skunk used to have dark hair with a light streak down it…but will forever be Skunk regardless of her current hair color. Earplug hates loud music. I used to think this was “our” ritual—naming our classmates. Until one day when I heard Wingspan (the tallest, lankiest woman I’ve ever seen) whisper something to her friend about Google. I was not party to their conversation but as soon as she said Google, the three of us instinctively looked to the front of the room at the girl who immediately begins walking through the routine the moment she hears the next song start playing. She. Knows. EVERYTHING. And that’s the moment I realized that it’s not just something Chris and I do. About a year into attending Zumba, having lost a fair amount of weight, Soccer Mom approached me and said, “You look great. My daughter and I call you guys the Disappearing People.” It was then that I realized *gasp* we might even have our own nicknames from our classmates. (Side note: I’d HATE to know what Soccer Mom calls me now…post-baby and not-so-disappearing these days…)

You’re working out. Not starring in a J-Lo music video. Unless it’s a wedding band, jewelry really doesn’t belong in a Zumba class. So, please, remove your four inch hoop earrings before the warm-up. You are not obligated to coif your hair or layer on make-up for that 8am class on Saturday. You’re going to sweat. It’s okay to look a bit disheveled. There’s this one girl—I like to call her Porn Star—who comes to class every now and then. She arrives in a t-shirt, pony tail, and the teeniest short shorts known to man. And by the third (or so) song, without fail, she presses one hand up against the mirror and pulls her ponytail out with the other. She literally shakes her hair out. Then takes off her shirt and finishes class in her sports bra and teensy shorts. And every time she does this (which is every time she’s in class, mind you), I’m not the only one stifling a laugh and rolling my eyes. No one cares what you look like. Trust me.

If you’re not having a good time, you’re doing it wrong. It’s okay to smile. It’s okay to ham it up. Get lost in the music. Get lost in your movements. Know what you’re doing? Then do it bigger. The more fun you have, the more you’ll want to move. And the more you move, the more calories you’ll burn.

 

Poop Happens September 23, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — sierrak83 @ 2:08 pm
Tags: , , ,

One thing I have learned since becoming a parent is that poop is important. And talking about it is perfectly acceptable. You, my dear readers, will learn that from this post, if you haven’t already.

Before I was a parent, I didn’t realize you need to know when a kid poops. Not only when but how often and—gasp—what it looks like. (“Greenish and kinda seedy” is a common utterance in our house.) And this past weekend, I learned that poop is never more important than when it’s not happening. As was the case this weekend.

Friday night is a bath night for Rylin. Chris usually puts on a bathing suit and jumps in with her; it’s easier than trying to get her to sit still in the bath seat we have. So when she didn’t do her usual afternoon poop on Friday, Chris and I decided that we’d bathe her “after she poops tomorrow morning.” That turned into “before bed tonight after she poops” which turned into “Sunday morning after she poops.” Several times over the weekend, she got that real concentrated look on her face which was coupled with a little grunting and general fussiness. But when we changed her…no poop.

So we did what any parents in our shoes would have done. We busted out the big guns. We fed her Kirkland brand formula. Now, Kirkland makes some wonderful products. Don’t get me wrong here. But their baby formula seems to go right through Rylin. Which was a nuisance when we first discovered it but is a lifesaver when she’s having a hard time going.

GrinWhen Sunday night rolled around and there still hadn’t been poop, we admitted defeat. “She HAS TO have a bath tonight,” I decreed. Chris agreed.  While he drew the bath and suited up, I laid Rylin on the changing station on her “pack and play” which, for the record, is about five steps from the bathroom door. I took off her outfit and diaper. She smiled at me. It was a wide, tight-lipped grin which when flashed my way at 6:30am means “Hey, mom! I’m glad to see you!” But apparently when she does it at 7pm it means, “Brace yourself. I’m about to pee on you.” I let her finish, dried her legs with a baby wipe, and passed her off to daddy in the bathtub while I changed the wet pad that lines the changing table. Phew, I though. At least she peed BEFORE I picked her up to bring her to the bathtub. Because THAT’S happened…she’s happy as a clam in the bathtub and I’m standing there with a pee-drenched shirt. Not fun.

Rylin loves water. Be it the pool, a bath, or a shower, she kicks excitedly and tries to grab at the water. So bath time is usually all smiles and laughter. But last night was different. Chris bounced her up and down in the water and let her splash a little. Then all of a sudden, she started screeching like a tween who was just told that Justin Bieber has retired. Bright red face, pouty lip, hands balled up in fists. Inconsolable. Chris did what any concerned parent would do. He lifted her up out of the water and pulled her to his chest for a hug. And that’s when I saw it.

Poop.

“Keep her up out of the water!” I instructed Chris and I ran to grab some baby wipes. And that’s how I came to be bending over the bath tub, catching poop in a baby wipe. The whole time she was going, she kept trying to turn around to see what on earth was happening back there, fussing and straining all the way. And finally she was done. I dropped the “gift” into the toilet, flushed, and told Chris I’d be right back with another baby wipe to clean her before he puts her back into the bath water.

Photo credit: Bree Kohler-Priester

No sooner had I walked out of the bathroom to get more baby wipes, I heard Chris say, “Oh, boy. The Kirkland formula has kicked in.” I came back to the bathroom to find what I was hoping we had managed to avoid. Poop. In the bath water. Rylin smiled at it as it floated away, towards the drain. Not that tight-lipped grin. A big, gaping smile that says, “Look what I did!”

And all we could do was try not to laugh and remind each other, “She’s lucky she’s cute.”

 

 

Planting a Tree August 28, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — sierrak83 @ 11:40 pm
Tags: , ,

The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.

–Chinese Proverb

In December 2004, I stuffed my dorm room into my 1991 Dodge Dynasty, crossed the Throgs Neck Bridge one last time, and headed home to Connecticut having finished my degree at Long Island University, CW Post. Part of me stops to wonder, has it really been that long? But then I remember that that Dynasty was junked 3 cars ago—god, I loved that car—, my alma mater is now known as LIU Post, and I’m a mom. So, yes, it has been that long.

Anyway, home I came. I settled back in to my mom and dad’s house and took a lazy stab at a job hunt. I say “lazy” because I really spent no time at all before my sister suggested I help out at her office. “You know, temporarily.” She worked for a collection agency and their data entry clerk had quit right around the time that the agency acquired another…so not only was new business piling up but there was also an entire database of existing accounts to transfer from the old agency to the new.

It only took me a few months to get things caught up. But they were in no rush to get rid of me because without me, they’d be back to having no data entry clerk. And without them I’d be back to actually having to job hunt. So I stayed. And they gave me new tasks. I spent the next couple of years not only doing data entry but also acting as “legal liaison.” When a bill didn’t get paid and the debtor had verifiable assets (a job or a home), it was my job to transition the account to legal status; I obtained authorization from the creditor to sue the debtor, forwarded the account to a collection attorney, and then proceeded to be the link between attorney and client throughout the litigation and post-judgment process. I taught myself everything I needed to learn for that position and loved it. I learned a bit about small claims court and judicial process. And I learned the art of skip tracing.

And they soon realized that I’m pretty adaptable. And organized. And quick to teach myself whatever I need to know to get a job done. So they moved me to their sister company—a repossession agency. My job: “manage the operation.” And I was quick to realize that the “operation” was, for lack of a better word, a clusterfuck. I came in at a time when the company was transitioning from paper orders to an online system and pretexting was an acceptable means to obtain information. Notes weren’t kept about what the drivers were seeing and doing in the field or what office staff was doing on the inside. Fee schedules and paperwork were ad hoc at best. Invoices were sent out with the wrong fees then never paid by clients and no one ever followed up to request payment. And, in general, everyone seemed to be making their own rules.

I organized. I streamlined. And, once again, had to teach myself everything I needed to learn to do my job effectively. There was no training. I just did it. Interviewing and hiring, training and retraining, using our software to its fullest potential, creating policies and procedures, keeping accounts payable under control, monitoring and enforcing client contracts, contracting with insurance providers and other vendors. I have mediated conversations with angry debtors who woke up to find their cars missing. I have helped move repossessed vehicles to auction. I have negotiated contract terms with new clients. I have fine-tuned my skip tracing skills, which is honestly THE favorite part of my job. I have done ride-alongs with my drivers and even personally repossessed a few cars. But most importantly, I have been an integral part of taking the agency from what it was to what it is. And what it is is an agency that repossesses collateral safely and ethically, all the while remaining within compliance with all laws, regulations, and contract terms. And I’m proud of that.

Yet I feel like I’ve hit a wall. The repossession industry is changing. More and more regulations continue to pop up, like the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. Clients—especially the big banks—expect their repossession agents to work harder and do more but often aren’t willing to pay more. In some cases, clients in 2013 are paying the same as or less than they were in 2008…yet the price of fuel, insurance, EVERYTHING has increased in that time. I feel overworked (not enough vacation time), underpaid (I can’t remember the last time I received a raise), and unappreciated (by my superiors, my staff, and—with rare exception—my clients). And all the while, my degree is literally collecting dust. Is this what I busted my butt for (graduated suma cum laude, thank you very much) in school?

I’ve had the notion for a couple of years that there’s nowhere to go in my position. Unless I aspire to own said repossession agency when my boss retires—which, let me be clear…I don’t!—then what am I striving for? Nothing. When I first got the “I came, I saw, I conquered” feeling, I began another half-baked job search. Checked Monster.com here. Emailed a resume there. Even interviewed at a few places. I’m employed, so there’s no sense of urgency in that “OMG-where-is-my-next-paycheck-coming-from?” sort of way. But my goal for the not-too-distant future is to figure out what I want to be when I grow up and then go do it. Step one: I updated my LinkedIn profile. (If you’d like to connect: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/sierra-sorrell/33/94a/78.)

I should’ve made this decision about two or three years ago. But today is as good a day as any to plant that tree, right?

 

Audiology and why I’m a terrible person July 17, 2013

Somewhere during my third trimester, probably over a bowl of ice cream and certainly while rubbing my belly, I mused to Chris, “Our job as her parents is to help her become the person she’s meant to be.” We had been playing the what-if game that all expectant parents play. (Don’t they?)

What if she hates us? How could she when we’re going to teach her and listen to her and love her unconditionally?

What if she’s gay? I just hope she finds someone to love and grow old with.

What if she decides she want to be a vegetarian like her momma? I’ll be happy as long as she’s nourished and growing.

And I had decided that I would never be disappointed in who Rylin becomes because my only expectation is that she becomes herself. Those parents whose lives shatter when their children choose the “wrong” career or marry the “wrong” partner are surely only devastated because their children have failed to live up to what mom and dad have already carved out for them in their minds. If we just roll with it and watch Rylin unfold into the young woman she is, how could we ever have regrets? I was so confident in my ability to clear my mind of all expectations for her future and remain open to all the possibility that was curled up and kicking inside me.

It wasn’t until her two week check-up that I began to question my willpower to not start to fill in the blanks for what lay ahead for her. “When do we retest her hearing?” I asked her pediatrician. She received a “refer” on the hospital’s infant hearing screening prior to us being discharged. Refer, as far as I can tell, is a nice way of saying “fail” without making new parents feel like their kid is anything less than perfect. Anyway, the staff pediatrician at the hospital assured us that it happens to lots of kids and that “the vast majority of them test normal at the recheck.” We tucked that information away and assured ourselves that Rylin would be like “the vast majority.” So there was nothing to worry about.

“We can recheck right now, as long as she stays quiet like this,” her doctor replied. She pulled out a machine that was about the size of a walkman (yes, I’m dating myself) and put a tiny earpiece into Rylin’s left ear as she dozed in my arms. A few seconds later, she withdrew the earpiece, made an adjustment, and replaced it in her left ear again. And then, she said what I was afraid to hear. “She’s still not passing. I just checked twice.” We were told that additional testing would be required and that a specialist from the children’s hospital would contact us to schedule an appointment.

In the days leading up to the appointment with her audiologist, I convinced myself that nothing was wrong. She probably just had fluid in her ear from delivery still. She startles to loud noises, so clearly she’s fine. Right? 

The audiologist began with a test that, she explained, tests whether or not there is any blockage in the ear canal. There wasn’t. No debris, no fluid…just a clear path to the ear drum. I breathed a sigh of relief, certain that that meant the fluid that was in her ear before—the fluid that prevented her from passing the initial screenings—had drained. She’d pass this test with flying colors.

Next, she pulled out the same walkman-looking machine that Rylin’s pediatrician used in her office. This, come to find out, is called an OAE (oto-accoustic emissions) test. Greek to me. Anyway, she checked both ears. “We like to test both, even though in her case we aren’t concerned about her right ear. We like to gather information from both ears.” The news wasn’t quite what we were expecting. She wasn’t passing on her left ear. But her right ear was behaving in a similar way. Does this mean neither ear works correctly? 

The audiologist explained the final test to us as she affixed tiny round stickers to Rylin’s forehead and behind her ears. In the BAER (brainstem auditory evoked response) test she would attach electrodes to the stickers and those electrodes would measure Rylin’s brain’s response to various tones played through a tiny earpiece inserted into her ear. One at a time; again, both ears would be checked.

We sat as quiet and still as possible, hoping that Rylin would remain sleeping long enough to complete the test. I watched the computer screen in front of the audiologist and wondered what all the lines meant. They’re moving a lot. That’s a good thing, right? About an hour into the test, the earpiece was moved from her left ear to her right. And we continued to sit quietly. Until about 15 minutes later, the audiologist explained that Rylin was starting to stir too much to continue the test. “I was able to rule out profound, severe, and moderate hearing loss.” I felt relief until she continued. “But I haven’t been able to rule out mild hearing loss.” And, again, her right ear (which passed the initial screening) is behaving much like her left. She showed us the computer screen she had been working from and pointed out what the lines meant. “This line here is the sound I played. And this line here is her response to that sound. With normal hearing, you’d expect to see a distance between these lines.” Rylin’s report didn’t look normal. Additional testing would be needed. When we come for our second appointment, the audiologist said, we would retest both ears. And determine whether or not Rylin might be a candidate for hearing aids. Hearing aids? Rylin doesn’t need hearing aids. 

When we opened the exam room door and entered the hallway leading back to the waiting room, I caught a glimpse of my future. A young boy was on his way in. He looked to be about five years old. A bit unsteady on his feet, clutching a toy truck in his arms, thick glasses perched on his nose. The woman walking next to him—likely a speech pathologist—chatted with him and I couldn’t help but notice that his pronunciation was off.

Suddenly, the what-if game took a different turn. What if she really can’t hear? What if her hearing loss affects her speech development? What if she needs hearing aids. I found myself googling to learn more about infant hearing loss. Could infant hearing improve? Could the BAER test results be wrong? Do children with mild hearing loss perform as well in school as children with normal hearing?

I expressed my concerns to Chris. “If both ears are behaving the same, that means her left ear is only barely failing, right?” And what I thought was, “Or her right ear is barely passing.” I admitted that I was worried that she may need hearing aids. I was worried about how others would receive her, how her peers would treat her. Will she still get to be a normal little girl? I watched her closely for signs that she was hearing. She startles when the dogs bark. Her eyes flinch when I replace the cap on her bottle after a feeding. She can’t possibly be not hearing, right?

A week passed between that day and our next appointment. Same office. Same test. Different audiologist. After about two hours of sitting quietly, watching my sleeping newborn with electrodes all over her head, the audiologist turned to me with news. “She is testing in the normal range. She is responding to all the tones I’ve played and I’ve been able to duplicate those responses, which rules out the possibility of it being a fluke.” Both ears. No more retesting. No hearing aids. Completely normal.

I let a tear slip out and broke into a huge smile. I have never felt so much relief.

And then I felt guilt. I realized that despite the fact that I vowed to not plan my daughter’s future for her, I somewhat had. In my mind, she’d learn to talk early and excel in school. We’d whisper secrets to each other before I tucked her in at night. She would tell me long, winding stories about her days and her friends. I hadn’t planned out anything that didn’t seem like a given during my pregnancy. But I had planned enough to be shattered by the reality that a hearing loss could change the things I wanted for Rylin’s future.

I felt like a terrible person for allowing myself to spend the last week thinking that a mild hearing loss was the worst possible thing that could have ever happened to Rylin. I thought back to that little boy at the audiologist’s office and felt ashamed that I saw his imperfections before I saw the fact that he was a happy, well cared for little boy. I felt disgusted that my biggest concern was possibly needing to have my newborn fit for hearing aids when other parents are dealing with much bigger issues than mine. I thought of my cousin and her wife. My cousin was due to deliver her baby girl exactly one month after I was due to deliver my baby girl. But instead, she delivered a sleeping baby ten days after Rylin arrived. How could I have been selfish enough to worry about a possible mild hearing loss when she’s dealing with child loss? Isn’t adapting to a future slightly different than I expected for my child better than kissing my baby goodbye on delivery day? 

I’ve talked to my cousin about my guilt over the fact that she and I got to experience pregnancy at the same time…and now I’m left with a healthy baby and she’s not. I feel a pang of regret when I share photos of Rylin to Facebook because I wish she could be sharing photos of Delaney growing, too. She told me not to feel guilty. “Life isn’t fair at times,” she said. “But the fact you guys have a beautiful healthy baby and we don’t isn’t considered one of those times.”

This post is for Sasha. And Racheal. And most of all Delaney. When life throws us a curve-ball in raising Rylin, I hope I can see past the set-back and remember how blessed Chris and I truly are.

On a related note, my cousin’s grieving has brought her to blogging as a way to get her emotions out. You can read her work here: http://sakoh1113.blogspot.com/?m=1