Six Weeks

Wait, isn't that the title of an old, dirty movie?

Moving on.

My sister in law, my brothers wife, has been in Michigan for four weeks. She'll be gone two more weeks. That's six weeks.

Ugh. I'm dying. She's gone, my niece is gone.

Kerry!! :)

When she was here we'd talk almost every day, do the 'pop in' deal with each other. She'd watch my kids and I'd get Caitlyn. Oh, how I adore that child. When she left she was just barely up on all fours. Now she's cruising furniture and has a tooth.

*sob*

Plus, ya know, Kerry is gone!

When we talked every day I'd get to bounce all my crazy ideas off her, and she'd bring me back to reality. She'd encourage me when I doubted myself. She'd remind me of how far I've come in two years.

As I'm writing this I'm not sure what I provided her. I do know that I adore her and love her with all my heart. Perhaps I haven't told her that enough or expressed it well.

What I do know is I'm missing her terribly and cannot wait until she comes home.

 

It's That Time Again . . .

It's that time again for four of my dear friends and I to get together, just as we have done every July for the past three years. Remember last year? It.Was.Epic. I mean, we talked with Josh Groban! Who said I had great moves and a wave like Prince William.

Now, this year won't be quite so exciting, but it's exciting all the same. Because I get to see these ladies who, as I've told you before, have stuck by me through my darkest, deepest depression.

They could have run, instead they stayed and were gentle with me. They encouraged me through two hospitalizations. They IM'ed me and Skyped with me. They emailed and called.

Yes, I had support right here, from my husband and amazing friends as well. But there was just something special, knowing that four women who had never met me in person would continually provide me hope and love.

I wonder if I would have done the same. I would now, knowing what I do. Having learned from so many people what friendship truly means.

So, as I head out to Pennsylvania tomorrow, with one of the ladies, Keren (already with me from Texas), I am once again filled with awe. I feel encouraged and loved in the way only girlfriends can provide.

We're going to giggle like 13 year old's and  share silly stories and secrets late into the night.

We may talk about the man who drew us together, but he's really not important. He's not what draws us close to each other anymore. It's our friendship.

I sincerely hope each of you has this kind of love in your life. We are truly blessed. Truly.

 

Yes, I Listened, Because She did First

If you're here visiting from Diana's place, welcome, but let me quickly tell you that she is a rock. Not me.

I was pretty out of it when we started talking -- my husband has known her since before she was born and we are good friends with her parents-- and I was still in the grips of a deep depression. She just accepted me as I was. She encouraged me to start blogging about my journey up to that point and what I was trying to do in order to get healthy.

She could have run screaming into the night. I might have.

She is a rock.

She would have done the exact same thing for me - and she has. So many times.

So my listening wasn't such a big deal. It was just me loving her the way she has always loved me.

 

 

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

I have friendships that stretch from Texas to Massachusetts. Michigan to Delaware. Pennsylvania to Ohio. Colorado and back. And all of you here out in blogosphere.

They are wonderful, strong women. Quick witted and intelligent. Funny and supportive. There with a shoulder to cry on and a stern "Stand up and fight" when I need it. They are beautiful inside and out. They are kind and loving, fun and mine.

We have girls nights and long conversations on the phone when distance and time constraints prevents us from getting together. We text when even a phone conversation isn't possible. Even the smallest, "Hey, thinking of you" brightens my day from one of these women. We cry and laugh together over big things and little things. We celebrate successes and hug a

I am so very blessed.

So when I encounter a group of women who fail at all of things?

I need to move on.

The End.

 

The Girl Who Didn't Run

On Monday I will board a train and head for NYC. Two hours later I'll be in Penn Station. And with a very, very great friend of mine, Karen. Six hours later we'll be at the closing concert of Josh Groban's Illumination tour. Did you miss the important detail there? Karen is the important part. Not Josh.

[caption id="attachment_1592" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Our Philly concert. Karen is on the far left."][/caption]

*gasp*

I met Karen three and a half years ago online. Right about the time I was really losing my mind I started talking to her. Since we only talked online I was able to paint a pretty normal picture of my life. But as we got to know each other better and our talked turned from, "OK, Josh's first CD makes my kids sleep. What's his latest??" to "I have a therapist." She was clued in.

And she didn't run.

Then I went into the hospital. The mental hospital. And I told her.

She didn't run.

I even said to her, "Now I really am some crazy person you met online!"

We met in person, and just laughed and talked for hours. She asked how I was. If I was seeing my therapist. If I was taking my medication. If I felt well. She cared.

And I was some crazy person she'd met online.

Nine months later I called her again to say I'd been back in the hospital. She already knew. My husband had told her when she'd called to check on me because she hadn't heard from me.

Again, she didn't run. She just made sure I was still coming to her house for our girls weekend.

No fear, this girl.

In July we spent our third girls weekend together and went to the Josh Groban concert. Yes, it was a thrill  to see him. But the bigger thrill? Spending that time with Karen. And now, here we are another four months later ready to do it all again. Heading to NYC for a mere 24 hours to act like teenagers, giggle, dance and scream  for this random singer that literally brought us together.

But the greatest part? Karen. The girl who didn't run.

Things You Should Never Do . . .

When you are depressed.

Really.

As I've gotten better this past year, I've come across some 'projects' and organization I did while I was in the throes of depression. And, oh, sweet lord. The mess I created. At the time I thought they would help, would give me a sense of purpose. But even at the time they only served to overwhelm me and therefor I tried to complete them as fast as possible.

Completing something like, ohhh, painting your entire downstairs hallway while you are hurrying? Results in not the greatest outcome. This summer we decided to repaint, and I was so shocked at what I'd done. I'd painted everything the same color as the wall. Every.thing. The walls, the trim, even the doors. No, it didn't give the house some ultra sheek and modern look. The paint I used was not made for doors or trim. Therefore it chipped off everytime you touched it. Which I didn't see while I was depressed. The good thing? Repainting was really satisfying.

Packing for a trip. I've told you the story about our Trip From Hell. How I packed the diapers in the roof top carrier. Here's some other gems. I didn't pack my husbands shoes. So that's why he had them in a plastic bag in the back of the van, just waiting for Sarah to spill Pedia Sure all over them and completely ruin them. I also packed items we wouldn't need unless we were staying for weeks and weeks and didn't have acess to a washing machine. We weren't, and we did. On a seperate trip I neglected to pack shoes, again. For John. Who was learning to walk - in the summer. How exactly could he do that on hot pavement? Planning while depressed was not something I did well.

I planned numerous birthday parties for the kids, which for the most part went well. I was able to pull it together long enough to get some food prepared and a cake made for them. We'd have a few friends and family over and I'd consider it a roaring success. Except the year we decided to have Violet's party at a local park. And I forgot to include that little detail on three or four invitations. So they showed up at an empty house.

I attempted, at numerous times, to organize my depression away. I was convinced that if I had a super organized house than I'd have more energy - and 'energy' was all I needed, I kept telling myself. So periodcially I'd clean out closets and rooms. And give all the 'junk' to GoodWill or day cares. I gave away important items such as: sheets we were currently using. (And searched for them for an entire day once the depression lifted. Then I remembered, vaguley what I had done with them.) Coffee grinders, all the Harry Potter books, children's puzzels that just needed to be organized - for real- in order for the kids to use them. Toys and stuffed animals/dolls that were gifts from special  people in our lives.

 I don't know that I could have been stopped. I was actively trying to heal myself and I thought these things would help. They didn't. And now I grieve some of those lost items. It's also embarassing when somebody says, "Where is that ____ I gave Sarah?" and I have to explain, again, what happened. I see the sadness in their eyes, and I'm not going lie, sometimes annoyance with me.

And I can't blame them.

But as I keep telling myself, everytime I say, "Where in the world is that ___?" And realize I gave it away, that it's all part of the healing process.

(Comments are now working! Blog is back up!!)

Hormonal Imbalances: On My Blog!

I have a guest blogger here today. She's not blogging at her own place today because (wait for it) she is here.at.my.house. Diana from Hormonal Imbalances is having a little vacation down memory lane, coming to see me, (and my husband, he's known her family since before she was born) and then hitting the BlogHer writing conference in NYC. What could be more perfect than that? You all know I adore and respect Diana - she's the reason I started blogging. She's the first blog I ever read. She's my 'Heir to Blair,' my 'Dooce.' And she's right here. Probably in my van as you read this. (that noise you hear? Me. Losing my mind.)

For Better Or Worse, Forsaking All Others

What do I know of marriage? I know that I took vows before God and I take these seriously.  I know that marriage is hard work. But it's work I want to do. What I don't know: What happens when a vow is broken? I thought I knew what I would do if 'the' vow was broken, if my husband cheated (he didn't), that I'd be out of here. But a friend of mine is making me see things a little differently.

She is fighting for her family.

Her husband cheated, and after the dust settled, after the tears, she decided to stay. To let him stay. Because they had 12 years together and four children. Because they had a marriage (of sorts) and she loved him enough to try to fight. And he loved her enough to try, too.

So they are fighting for their family.

I was at their home last night. And I'll be honest. I have a hard time being with him, knowing what he did to this woman I love and respect. This beautiful woman who has been my friend these  past 7 1/2 years.  But I watched them together last night.  He spoke to her in a kinder voice than I've ever heard him use.  He looked at her. I haven't seen him really look at her in years. There was eye contact and conversation. He didn't put her down, which he always used to do. They didn't fight.

When I ask her about their marriage, about how she is staying, she says it's never been better. That they talk more, communicate better and have fewer fights now than before his infidelity. She say's it's because they are both taking responsibility for what happened, that there are factors on both sides that cause a bad marriage. So now they are both working on it. I never thought of it this way. I just thought, "You cheat, you leave. End of discussion." But now I'm beginning to see things a little differently.

Would I stay and fight? Or would I feel as I do now, that the fighting was done and the decision had been made when the cheating took place. I don't know.

I do know that I have a new found respect for her as she and her husband fight for this marriage.

I Guess I Didn't Really Want To Go

My 20 year high school reunion is in a couple weeks. When I received the invite I just assumed I'd be going. Then, as the days passed, I realized . . . I wasn't sure. Which surprized me, because despite the usual high school angst, I really enjoyed that time. I was busy and had a great group of friends. I've recently reconnected with a few of them via FaceBook and I'd like to see them.

Just them. That's about, oh, three people. The rest? Meh.

And let's be honest, even after 20 years there are still a couple people I actively don't want to see. 

My husband tried hard to get me here for the reunion, until it occured to me that I didn't want to go. That there were three or four people I wanted to see and that was it. Then, I saw this on my FaceBook wall:

Guy who duct taped small guys to lockers and tortured them: Happy Birthday Brotha!

Guy who was duct taped by said guy: Thanks. When is the reunion?

Guy who duct taped small guys to lockers and laughed: August 14. Hope you'll be there! We can party like we did back in the day!

Uhm. . . you two never partied together. You duct taped him to a locker. I know because I helped take him down. And now you're all, "Let's party like we used to!" How is that? Because I was present at some of your parties. And the way you partied would be to make fun of this very person.

So, I was done.

Yes, it's been 20 years. Maybe he's apologized. I know that I had to do some apologizing when FaceBook first reconnected me. But I was disgusted.

I'm sad to be missing out on seeing these couple people. But it turns out one of them, who I had my senior pictures taken with (holy big hair Batman) will be coming into town just as we're leaving. So we're getting together. I've known her since 9th grade. It's been 20 years, 2 husbands, 5 kids and too long since we've seen each other. I can't wait.

On Thursday night I'm getting together with another friend I've known since 8th grade. We were at each other's college graduations and she helped move me to Delaware. We were married on the same day 10 years ago. Now we get to hang out at a nice restaurant with our handsome husbands and be adults (because we are just playing at this adult thing. Still.).

On Friday I'm seeing a friend of mine that I've known since I was four years old. Four. How cool is that? We both have three kids around the same age. So we're going to let them run around together at the park. Maybe share some silly stories with the older ones. "I remember when your mom . . . " gah.

These are the people I really want to see. This is what I'm excited about. It's going to be so fun, so nice. I can't wait!

**I'm also meeting Alexia from Babies & Bacon! We're having our own super mini BlogHer '11 at a local Panera.**

****my spell check will NOT work from my lap top!! So please, please forgive any typo's!!****

I Have Great Moves. And Wave Like Prince William.

And I'll take it. I'll so take it.

Because Josh Groban said those words to me. Yes.he.did.

::headexplosion:: A thousand million large ::headexplolsions::

You know I went to the Josh Groban concert on Friday night. If you don't? You've been living under a rock. And? I went to the Josh Groban concert on Friday night. I've been saying since we bought our ticket that they were so incredible, I could wave and he'd wave back. And I did. And then he did. ::no words::

I'm dying all over again.

Wells Fargo Arena on Friday night. It was amazing. Obviously. The man talked to us. So, yeah, pretty amazing, duh. We knew he'd answer three texts from the crowd, so we prepared our questions on the way.

When we got there? I panicked and couldn't get mine worded right. So I sent in Mal's. (Which I totally owned up to immediately.)She sent it as well, but it didn't go through. The time came for the Q and A portion of the show. He answered two texts, it was cute. Funny. We laughed. Then this happened. My thoughts are in red.

He says, "The next question is from Kim *how funny, her name is Kim. We'll totally laugh about this later, like, he was totally talking to me!* in section 114 *huh, that's our section. Too fun!* row one" *wait, that's us.* seat 3 *omgomgomgomgJosh Groban is right there looking at US at US at me he's looking at me! He sees me. He picked me he chose me he loves me OMG OMG OMG. I should stop jumping up and down now. I should stop screaming. I should totally stop screaming. I should stop. Really. I.should.just.stop.

I instantly became a 16 year old fan girl at a Justin Bieber concert. And I loved every minute of it. (But I do not want to see any video of my reaction. No, just no.)

His reaction, to my reaction? Uhm . . . yeah. He was a bit, surprized? See, we were really close. He'd already seen us. And then I literaly jumped around and waved my arms like I was the next contestant on the Price Is Right. I'm sure he saw me and thought, "Awe.some. This is my target audience?  The 38 year old moms who use my music as a soundtrack for make out sessions with their husbands. Yaaaayyy. . "

The five of us screamed so loud, all at once, that our voices carried across the arena. And he thought it was just me, my voice, that loud. Excellent. I mean, I went insane. Totally and completely lost it. But even I couldn't do that without a little help. And I had help, yes I did.  

The coolest thing is, this happened to us, the five of us. We planned this concert for almost 4 years. He chose our question, talked to me, I answered him, and he did it. A Josh Groban concert isn't exactly the event for the wave. It was epic.

Here's the video, from YouTube. It's not our video, because this is a better angle and shorter. And you can hear him better in this video. Because you know, I'm not screaming like I just saw Elvis and he gave me his sweat soaked scarf *gags*
http://youtu.be/RSuB8zbeGk0

But after my text with Josh Groban? I was totally fine with him ending the show with You Raise Me Up. Totally.

Where I Say "Thank You & OMG It's Happening" All At Once

Don't click out because you think this post is about Josh Groban. It's not. Really. *rolls eyes.* (But This post is. And so is this one. )

I'm leaving this morning for my annual girls weekend. Four girls and I sit around for four days and talk all things crazy, play silly board games, catch up on a year of kids, romances (three of the five of us are single), and yes, Josh Groban. Although, to be fair, he is the last thing we discuss.

Except this year.

This year we go to The Concert.

*squeals like a 13 year old* *shut up, I know I'm 38* *nobody asked you*

You must understand, that these girls, these women, are awesome. Awesome with a side of awesome sauce. Before we met -- in person (because, yes, I met them on line.) I was hospitalized for depression for the first time. I told them. And they didn't run. In fact one of them, Karen, met me just a few months later. Alone. The other three kind of shrugged their shoulders and said, "Yeah, stuff happens. Are you alright? What can we do from out here in the interwebs?"

And then they spent long evenings and late nights chatting with me on AOL Messenger -- and no, not all about Josh. I got a care package. Phone calls. So many, many  laughs.

Support, that's what I received. So much of it.

And when I went into hospital the second time, they continued to support me. I met them in person, a few short weeks after. They hugged me and showered me with love. We giggled and talked and giggled some more. They treated me as though I was normal. (ha!)

So, this morning I pack up and drive to Pennsylvania to join Karen, Linda, Mal and Keren. We'll stay up late talking about all things silly and serious. We'll play Dirty Pictionary. We'll exchange funny gifts with each other. On Friday we will get dressed up big time, get lookin' all hot, take tons of pictures and go to the concert together. And I? Will totally cry. Not because I'm seeing Josh Groban. But because I'm with these girls.

Thank you. I love you all.

 

My Wish For You

 

You break free.

You let you yourself become powerless.

You find the power in that letting go, find the freedom.

You recognize that you cannot fix, you cannot love it or control or organize it away.

You realize that even thought you can't do these things, you are powerful, courageous, strong, independent, intelligent, amazing.

You find peace.

You find quiet.

You find easiness and relaxation.

You stop planning.

You let go.

You love and laugh and dream again.

You stop trying.

And start living.

You let go. Just let go.

You stop trying and start living for you and your children. Make a new life.

You let go.

 

 

 

And You Are?

I've mentioned before that I have some memory loss from my depression. I know the time period, am aware that I have this lost time and can make the necessary adjustments in public to accommodate any small things that come up.

I thought.

I have a very kind and wonderful friend that I've known for quite a few years. She's been a huge help this summer with Violet getting sick. Which got me to thinking: How did I meet Tonya? And I couldn't figure it out.

Then today, as we're sitting at the pool she mentions the pre-school Violet attended. And without thinking I'm like, "What? Kevin went there? When?" She just stares at me.

And I realize. This is how we met.

Excellent.

Thankfully, when Violet was sick I happened to mention, completely in passing, how I had lost time when I was depressed. Since she is a licensed psychologist I felt totally comfortable revealing it -- and the fact that I was aware I'd known her since John was a baby.

So she stared at me for about 10 seconds and her face softened. She kind of shook her head and said, "We talked in the hallway all the time. I was pregnant with McKayla. You told me about The Brady Kohn Foundation. You aren't remembering any of this?"

I shook my head, no.

She said, "Wow. You really were out of it."

And I had to giggle. Once again, a true friend.

No, I don't remember. And I still don't. I want to. I so do. I'm trying to piece it together, but I think I'm creating memories of what she just said, not real memories. And it sucks. Because I adore her, her kids and her husband. I want to have these memories of her being pregnant and the beginnings of our friendship. Instead I have a blank space.

Later, at the swim meet I turned to her and confirmed the name of two women we've spent days talking to.  Every morning. I know that I talked to them every morning last summer as well. Our girls swim together. But I don't know their names. So I asked Tonya. She just told me I was right. And I said, "Yeah. I should know them. But I 'met' them during the really bad time. So . . . " And she didn't ask any questions.

Maybe another reason for this depression, for this whole healing process is to show me the wonderful and beautiful woman who surround me.

Sunday Confessions:I'm Going To Miss Her

I'm linking up with the always awesome-sauce Diana over at Hormonal Imbalances today for her weekly hop, Sunday Confessions. Make sure you visit her all.the.time. Because I said so.

Sunday Confession: I'm Going To Miss Her.

Because she's moving. And if she lived here, as in the state I live in, well then it would make perfect sense that I would be missing her. Right? Right.

Only she lives in Colorado right now and is moving to Texas. So how much sense does it make that I'm going to miss her?

That would be zero, zilch, none.

I haven't seen her in person since October and uhm, that was the first time we actually met. But we talk on the phone every day. Sometimes for hours. (Dear husbands, you did not just read that. Really? We are totally working our butts off.)

What started out as a phone call about reflux and her daughter has turned into so much more. First it was questions about blogging. Hers is the first blog I ever read. Ever. And what made me want to do this.  She has the most incredible sense of humor. We started laughing and haven't stopped.

She has become one of my closest friends. I've told her some things I haven't shared with a whole lot of people. She didn't judge. She's become a role model for me in many ways. She is one of the most intelligent women I've ever met.  Her texts are witty and hilarious. I snort and laugh out loud at them, making my husband and random strangers give me the side eye. My kids, although they haven't met her, call her 'Auntie' and know when I'm on the phone with her. (It's not all the time. Really.)

And it makes no sense that I'm crying as I write this.

But she's moving and I'm sad.

Maybe I think she's going to start a new life in Texas and it will be so cool, fun and busy that she won't have time for me and my questions. My insanity of thoughts and ideas. That she'll meet a bunch of girls her age (I'm 10 years older.) and realize I'm no fun, really. 

Because I think she's cooler than Josh Groban. *gasp* *dies* ::headexplosion::

I giggle every time I pick up the phone and I hear, "Soooo, here's the thing." Or she answers the phone, "Hola."

So, she's moving and I'm going to miss her. And we don't live in the same state. And never have.

Because that makes sense.

A Bitter, Yet Oh So Sweet Day

Two years ago a dear friend of mine called me. She said she was driving through the town where we taught in Michigan. When I asked why she was in Michigan she told me her brother had commited suicide.

I told her I was sorry. But I had to go. I had a thing to get to.

Really. 

I worked through some of the hardest, most shocking days of my teaching career with this woman. We met the week before our first day of teaching -- ever.

One day, very early on in our first year of teaching, I walked into her classroom and found her curled up next to one of her students, just talking to him. She calmly wiped the drool, gently blocked his spastic movements, laughed when he laughed, and I'm telling you right now -- they were having a full on conversation. I learned more in that one moment about teaching and loving children with severe mental impairments than I had in three classes and a five week practical.

Oh. And we dated the same boy. (And he was such a boy.) At the same time. Only at first we didn't know it.  And when I continued to date him ::head desk:: she didn't stop being my friend. Instead she helped me find an apartment in town and helped move me. We actually grew closer. I joined the same gym as her. We did aerobics together, went for long walks (oh sweet lord, those long walks with her long legs!), and after our marathon workouts we'd go to this great little ice cream hut and get a shake or cone. Totally makes sense.

When she was pregnant with her second, I was pregnant with John. When she was in early labor I was lucky enough to be on the phone with her. That right there is beyond awesome. John was born about two weeks after her second daughter.

So. Why did I say I had a 'thing' to get to?

Well, because I was at the height of my depression, and on my way into the hospital. I went to that 'thing,' only I remember very little about it. My friends, Mary, Kendall, and Carolyn tell me about that day every now and again. I honestly only remember bits and pieces.

I remember what I wore. (Because that's important.) And that I had to get Mary's house to borrow a Silpada ring. (Becasue, again, important.) I remember walking through Mary's house for the first time and having tunnel vision. I remember that I couldn't find my way there and it's two turns and five miles from my house.  I remember thinking, "I got this. Totally." Those friends now tell me they all thought, "What the fuck is wrong with Kim?" (That's word for word, all told to me without the knowldege of the other person. And these are all classy ladies, so don't go judging them for dropping the F-bomb. That's how messed up I was.)

That is so frightening. So very sad.

Mary actually tried to track me down, get me to go to lunch,  but I had gotten lost in the parking garage. For a half an hour.

On the way home I called my sister in law, Kerry and told her I was on the way home. Then I got in an accident. That I don't remember. NOT  because it was terrible and tramautic. It wasn't. It was just my van and the curb. I remember calling Kerry back and laughingly saying something like, "I won't be home! I just got in an accident!" And then thinking, "I don't know what to do." By the grace of God  a tow truck driver was following me. He knocked on my window and asked if I was OK. I do clearly remember looking at him and saying, "Yes. But I don't know what to do. I just don't  know. Should I call my husband?" And he must have walked me through what to do.

I don't remember anything else of that day.

The next morning my husband took me to the hospital.

Two months later I off handedly said, to my therapist, "And then I got into the accident. Wait. WHAT?"

I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten. How's that for messed up?

But today. Today is two years later. Today I will call my friend and tell her thank you. For still talking to me. For understanding. For giving me a second chance. For letting me explain why I didn't listen to her at the worst possible moment in her life. She, somehow, understands that I entering one of the worst possible moments in my life.

Today I will take care of my children. I will possibly paint, weed the garden and clean the kitchen.

Most importantly? I will remember this day.

And all the days that come after. I will remember the smiles and sighs, the laughs and cries. The 'I love you's' and 'How dare you's'.' I will remember the way John grabs our face and turns it towards him when wants something. I will remember the way Sarah screamed, "Today is the day! This is it!" When she got the news telling her she was going to be an angel in the Nutcracker this December. I will remember the way Violet beamed and said, "Thank you, Mom. I just love my nails and hair. I love you." After her spa and salon birthday party with her three best friends on Saturday. I will remember the way my husband makes chocolate appear every time I say, "I could go for some chocolate." and how I see love in his eyes when he looks at me. I will remember the amazing family and girlfriends I've surrounded myself with.

And now I have a phone call to make.

Gardening By The Seed Of Our Pants

I love this title, so hush. :)

Three girlfriends and myself went in together and got a garden plot at the state park down the road -- we've talked about it for two years and this year Lisa whipped us into shape. She staked out a place in line and got us a plot -- and there is a waiting list! She had to be there at 6:30 in the morning to reserve the plot for us. We love her.

[caption id="attachment_781" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="free labor"][/caption]

This afternoon three of the four of us were able to spend some time at the garden and we got it completely planted except for the tomatoes and peppers. We headed out there with our kids (free labor) and thought we'd turn the soil ourselves. Because we are women: powerful, amazing, life giving women. That's why we thought we'd just do it. Then we got there and remembered just how large the plot actually is, and how compacted the soil is. Ugh. We put the kids to work pulling weeds (I *may* have instructed Violet to pull the brussell sprouts, not realizing they were plants. *May*) while we started digging and breaking up the soil. An hour later we had a row about two feet wide by eight feet long turned. Yeah. Thankfully a kind man named Brownie came to our rescue with his rototiller and tilled our garden for the small fee of $30 and 20 minutes work. Well worth it.

While the kids ran amuck we taught them such lessons as: you must always walk on the garden path (said at increasing volumes in less kind voices as the day went on), how to dig weeds (which they loved, for about an hour. Which was 50 minutes longer than I thought they'd love it.), how to use the spigot (you pump the handle and fill your bucket. Then stop pumping. Please stop pumping. John! Stop.pumping!), how to water the newly planted seeds (you just need a little water poured from the bucket (because we forgot a watering can, so pour it gently. Gently, sweetie. Like David. GENTLY, Sarah. Gaaahh. Where's the seed?), and how you shouldn't walk inside others gardens (or, well. We've been here for four hours. And that garden hasn't been tilled or touched since last fall. And your ball has rolled in it, again. So . . . Kay. And I won't bring balls to the garden next time.)

Kendall taught me how plant in nice, straight rows. Which I did, with the beans. Six whole seeds. That took me forever to figure out the spacing of. And required Kendall to use a special word to get me moving. I was nervous about messing up our garden, OK? Then Lisa asked how many plants I had. Six! Uhm . . . not nearly enough. So we enlarged the bean space and Lisa began sowing the seed. By just dropping the seeds onto the soil about so many inches apart. Then gently covering them/tapping them down. Are you kidding me? I had spent a good 10 minutes doing math in my head figuring out spacing and rows and thinning . . .

We were offered lots of advice while were there as well . . . don't plant corn or potatoes because we'll just be feeding the 'coons. We were told this as we finished planting our last row of corn.

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Lisa just told the men that they weren't using the right kind of pest control, we had shotguns. But another gardener grows beautiful potatoes, so who knows? After we sowed all those seeds (zukes, carrots, cauliflower, beans, broccoli, lettuce, radish, peas, corn) we were told that it's best to start everything from plants at this garden - it just takes things too long to grow.

 In the end we decided that we're not using the garden to feed our families so it doesn't really matter. What matters is that we are having so much fun! We had a wonderful day - we laughed and talked and swapped stories. The kids played catch and soccer, hula hooped, found worms, learned about scurvy and vitamin C, ran around and are now exhausted. It was a fantastic day with fantastic friends. If we work all summer and have days like this and nothing grows? I'm perfectly happy.

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Love you ladies!

OH! Also -- no ticks to be found! yeah!

Sweet Brady

On March 28, 2002 my dear friend, Carolyn, lost her 2 1/2 son, Brady, to Aplastic Anemia. Brady was among the first people in the country to receive his own cord blood in a transfusion. This was cutting edge technology in 2002. Since his untimely death, Carolyn and her husband, Andy have started The Brady Kohn Foundation in an effort to educate the public on the importance of cord blood.

Thanks to them, thanks to Brady, women in Delaware can donate their umblical cord blood. Donate. It's life giving. It's used to treat over 70 diseases right now. If not donated it's simply washed down the drain.

Working with the Brady Kohn Foundation, I was able to donate Sarah and John's cord blood. Hero's at birth, my friends.

AND, in case you are reading this wondering about stem cells and all the controversy that goes along with it? These stem cells are NOT EMBRYONIC. They CANNOT BE COAXED INTO LIFE. This is just pure, unadulterated, good stuff. I can't put it any simpler.

Friends, you've shown me so much support. You've read about my deepest, darkest moments. I'm asking you to show just a little more and visit our website here to read about Brady today, on the anniversary of his leaving us. You can learn more about what we do over there on our site. You can also click on my tab 'umbilical cord blood.'

And The Oscar Goes To . . .

First, I have super exciting news :) Diana, over at Hormonal Imbalances invited me to do a little guest post over at her place today. She's all kinds of awesome-sauce, so jump on over there and see what I had to say about potty training John and how incredibly well that went. And check her out while you're there. I puffy heart her. Her take on life as a SAHM, natural parenting and blogging cannot be missed. Plus? My husband has known her before she was born. Crazy, No?

Over here, today I have this to share with you:  I am not Meryl Streep. I am not Rene' Zellweger. I am not an Oscar winning actress. This may not come as news to you, but to me? Sorta.

You all know about my fight with depression. I've talked about how I fought it, I tried to fix it, I was hospitalized because of it. I also hid it. Or, I thought I hid it. I was wrong.

I ran into a friend this weekend. I've known her forever, but we haven't sat down together in ages. Since before I fell apart. Through a strange series of events, one of her best friends bought a house around the corner from me. So now I have two amazing women right smack in my face. (Uhm, hello answered prayer?)

Anyway, we saw each other and our kids were playing together. And then she said, "I read your blog." And I knew from the way she waited for us to be alone that she meant business. She wasn't about to pat me on the back and say, 'how cute!' I drew a deep breath, because I suddenly realized that she had read all about my depression -- the meds, the hospital stays, the crying, the guilt, the grief.  And she'd known me, seen me a few times a week when this was all happening. My mind started to race as I thought of how to explain that during that time, when we saw each other at school pick up, that I was hiding my problems. How I was pulling it together to deceive her and everyone else. She, too, took a deep breath and told me, "I saw you one day and I knew. You were pale and unkempt. And I knew. But I guess I didn't know how to say . . . what? Were we close enough for me to say something? I mean, I have a degree in family counseling. But I didn't do anything. And I think I knew."

Right there, in the midst of a birthday party, my heart swelled with such gratitude for this woman. I didn't know what to say.  My eyes filled with tears and I didn't bother to hide them from anybody.  I hugged her and said, "Thank you so very much." And then I let her know, I hope, that I really don't think she could have said or done anything that would have changed things for me.

I'm beginning to see that I had to go through this. In order for me to be here, where I am right now, I had to be there two and half years ago. Does it suck? Large hairy donkey balls. Do I understand why? Not even remotely. But I do know that without having been there and mucking through it like I did, I wouldn't be healthy today.

After I left the party I sat and really thought about what she'd said. Thought about what might have happened if she'd approached me and gotten my attention. And said what? I was a steaming pile of a hot mess. I was desperately holding onto the idea that I was fooling everybody. And failing miserably. Again, not an Oscar winning actress. Shocker, right?  I would have been defensive and completely denied any and all help she offered.  Yes, even friendship. I didn't nurture friends during that time, so there is no way our friendship could have blossomed. There is no way she could have quietly, unobtrusively helped me.  So, no. Nothing would have changed.

But as I stood there, listening to her, I felt . . . lifted up. Supported. Loved. She wasn't judging me. She wasn't running, screaming, in the other direction. She was doing exactly the opposite. She was, in fact, throwing herself in front of this crazy train. Because she didn't have to say a thing. I would never know that she suspected. I would never know that she felt this way. But instead of hiding, she put it out there. She made herself vulnerable to me. To me. To this crazy lady.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I felt normal.

I also felt incredibly blessed. Because what kind of person comes to you and says, hey, I think I realized there was a problem but I didn't know what to do and I wished I had done something and I didn't. So I wanted to say I'm sorry I didn't reach out. What kind of person is that honest? That vulnerable? What kind of person puts herself out there like that? I'll tell what kind of person. One that I want on my side, in my corner. The kind of woman I want to call my friend. The kind of woman I want to be when I grow up. 

See, she knew me 'when.' And she knows me 'now.' She might have watched from a distance, but she saw, oh, she saw. And instead of leaving, she has said, "I know, I'm telling you I know, and if it happens again? Oh, I will tell  you I KNOW."

That accountability is something I crave. It means she cares to stay around and that I'm not scary.

So, in the middle of a loud, giggle filled birthday party for a seven year old I was given an extrodinary gift. It was the best gift. And Kirsten? Thank you. From the bottom of my soul. I cannot express what you have given me. Thank you.

And, I see coffee, kids, laughter, play dates and giggling in our future. Ready?