The Stories Writers Tell

Writers tell stories. Whether the pages are filled with hundreds or thousands of words, it’s likely that you’ll find some facts mixed with some fiction, some truth mixed with some lies, and some happiness mixed with some tears.

Sometimes the stories I tell are my own. Whether they’re my experiences or my inventions, they’re shared by me and made real when you read them.

And sometimes the stories aren’t mine to tell, either because someone else can tell them better, or because someone else should tell them first.

However you dice it, today, I’m an aunt.

Seasons

A few years ago Marcus and I experienced the season of weddings.  We married young, so we were the first of our friends and cousins to tie the knot.  But others quickly followed suit, and it wasn’t long before we spent every weekend (or so it felt) celebrating with friends and family as they embarked upon their lives together.

Logically, the season of babies followed. Not only did we eventually have three children of our own, but we welcomed cousins, fellow Demon Deacons, and friends and neighbors.  To be frank, when it came to kids, our proverbial cups runneth over.

And now, like it sometimes happens with real seasons, I suspect that Marcus and I are preparing to encounter a difficult season ahead in our lives.  Both in our early thirties, we’ve been blessed to bring our children into a world where they are surrounded by loving family, including both grandparents and great-grandparents.  And this week, we lost their first great-grandmother and Marcus’ grandmother. The blow has hit us all hard, both in what it means to us as a real loss and what it says about the road ahead.

My post isn’t meant to be about what a wonderful woman Grandma was (and she was a wonderful woman) or how much she’ll be missed (by so many, more than words can say).  It isn’t meant to talk about all the wonderful things she did for the Cuban community (and she did so much).  It isn’t about her beautiful daughter, sons, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren (and they are all amazing).  It isn’t about her devoted husband (and he is an amazing man, too). There are children and grandchildren who could sing her praises much better than I.

Instead, it’s about this season that I fear is upon us.  The season where I realize that we’re mortal and where we learn that death is all around us.  This is the season when I will have to explain to my children that someone has died.  It’s the season where I fear one death may be followed by another.

I long for the seasons of weddings and births.

A Week’s Worth

Whew! What a week!

It’s only Monday…isn’t it?

At any rate, Kiki and I spent last week atvthe beach with the girls, which was lots of fun. The weather wasn’t entirely cooperative, but we had lots of fun anyway.

We’re in the home stretch now, though! We’re back at mom’s house, and there are 8 days until Marcus comes home! Yay! So that’s in the back of my mind, every day.

We had a bit of fence drama at the new house for a stressful (for me) and frustrating (for Marcus) 30 hours. But, it’s in the process of getting sorted now, which is encouraging. It’ll cost us…but unexpected expenses happen, and that’s why we have savings… Sort of.

My writing is going well, and I’m starting to branch out more, which I’m excited about. Expect a whole writing related post soon.

Knitting continues, and I’m working on a newcsock design. I have test knitters signed up, and hope to email them a draft later this week.

So, what a week…on Monday. I wonder what Tuesday has in store…

You Can’t Go Home Again

I suppose you can. I mean, here we are. Home again.

But though I’m happy to be here, glad to be with family, and excited about our new house, coming home again entails so much more than I ever expected.

Part of the situation is, of course, that we are in a state of flux. Marcus isn’t home yet, we aren’t living in our house yet, and our things aren’t here yet. But all that aside, it’s amazing how hard it can be to move, even moving home, after three years somewhere.

I miss my friends in England, our house, our schedule and routine, everything. I miss my knitting group, grabbing the girls from school and heading to Anne’s for tea, and even knowing where to shop for the things I want and where they’ll be in the store.

Some of this is going to take time. And I know I can’t even really expect that clock to start ticking until Marcus is home and we’re moved in.

It’s so funny, because you get so much support when you move overseas–sponsors, meetings, support groups, newsletters…and even then it wasn’t always enough.

But when you move home, you’re coming home, and the support isn’t there. But it’s just as hard as the first move.

I know it will all fall into place, and that this was the right decision for me and for my family. But it’s still an adjustment. It’s still hard. And we’re still working at it…

And Baby Makes Five…

…and apparently steals your blogging mojo.

Yep, you got it right–I’m pregnant with #3.

To clarify, I am pregnant with #3, living in America while my husband is still taking care of our house and lives in England, watching the girls, living with my mom, and trying to write in my free time.

Whew. Now I know where the rest of May went.

In anticipation of all the pregnancy questions that may be ruminating around in your head, here are some preemptive FAQs:

When are you due?
Baby #3 should arrive in early January. My due date is January 6th. But of course, we know all about those pesky due dates.

So wait, how far along does that make you?
I’m 9 weeks and 2 days pregnant.

Umm…aren’t their rules about telling people before the end of your first trimester?
There are. They were made up by women having their first baby, who don’t look pregnant until well into their second trimester. I am, however, having my third baby. That means I pretty much started to look pregnant the minute I conceived.

In addition, I’m pretty open about my life, and if something ever happened to my pregnancy, I’m sure I’d be writing about it anyway.

Are you hoping for a boy this time?
Who answers “yes” to this question? You set yourself up for nothing but potential disappointment and who wants to be disappointed with ANY healthy child?

On one hand, of course we’d love to see what our son would look like and what it would be like to have a boy. On the other hand, we’ve got this girl thing covered, and that’s pretty cool, too.

Are you going to find out what you are having?
Yes.

There are so few real surprises in life…why ruin the surprise of your child’s gender?
Seriously? Whether you find out and cry and hug your spouse in the ultrasound room, or find out in the delivery room, is it any less of a surprise? This argument always cracks me up. I like knowing, planning, and preparing. It’s part of the fun for me, my husband, and our family!

So, expect a few baby knits, baby woes, and baby joys in Kelly’s world from now on! It hasn’t been the easiest start to a pregnancy–I haven’t felt too badly, but it is hard being without my husband for these early weeks. Luckily, I’ve had help from family, which has made it much more manageable.

For those that are curious, I’ve also stopped taking my antidepressants. This was my choice, and didn’t come on the heels of any reading or doctor’s recommendation. In fact, I always said I’d never stop even if I did get pregnant again. However, when the “pregnant” flashed on my digital pregnancy test, I stopped my 40 mg of citalopram cold turkey (which I do NOT recommend). I’m not opposed to starting them again if I can’t go any longer, and I’m in open conversation with my midwife about my depression. But for now, though I am still suffering some, I am managing it well. Again, family support has been a huge help here.

I promise, pictures, knitting, life back in America, and the like will all follow in the not-so-distant future…I’ve missed blogging, and you! Give a shout-out in the comments section if you are here!

The A.C.

Not to be confused with “The OC” or “The Vegas”, my sister, soon-to-be-brother-in-law, husband, and I just spent a weekend in “The A.C.” There’s nothing like a quick jaunt up to Atlantic City. Fill up on White House Subs, get your gamble on in Bally’s and Wild Wild West, and drink it up.

What once started out as a fun weekend has become a yearly tradition, and there’s no end in sight for our foursome and the adventures (and stories) we encounter in Atlantic City.

Eating White House Subs

Gearing up...

...to head out!

Crashing on the return home!

See you next year, Atlantic City!

The Importance of Pictures?

I was just sitting down to blog and tell you all that we made it back to the states safe and sound, no worse for the wear.

Then I realized that this would be my third blog post in a row with no pictures, and it got me thinking…how important are pictures to the satisfaction you receive when reading a blog post?

I’d love to get some feedback from my readers, even if you aren’t regularly a commenter. Do you like it when I post pictures? Why? What pictures are you the most interested in?

And I guess that gets us down to the reason you read my blog–the knitting, the girls, my life/depression/coping, or the combination of it all?

I’d love to hear from all of you…

Mothers and Daughters

A dear friend recently blogged about Mothers and Daughters.  I was quick to respond, commenting that though my relationship with my own mother is excellent, I spend most of my days now worrying about my relationship with my daughters.

I wonder if they’ll remember the days I was depressed and couldn’t get out of bed, or the days I took them to McDonald’s as a special treat and we ran around the playground.  Will they remember the mistakes that I made as a mother, or that I tried so hard to be the mother I wanted for them?

My girls are my life.  But I’m quick to accept that there are days where I want nothing more than to be selfish.  For someone to help me with them.  For them to just play quietly and let me knit one more round.

Add in, of course, the struggles that I’ve had as a mother.  Should I discipline more, or less?  Should I spank or not?  Will one more lollipop really hurt them?  I don’t want them talking back…but how do I handle it?  Should we let them sleep in our bed?

Parenting is no easy task, that’s for sure.

Mostly, I hope that the girls know how much I loved them. That even with all of my shortcomings, they’ll remember that.

I flash back to a fight I had with my mother once when I was in high school.  Driving home after school still mad at her, and finding a note that she, my quiet and reserved mother, had placed on the seat next to me.  Reading it and hearing her say that she knew that she wasn’t perfect but that she tried her best.  And when I sit her trying to remember the bad, I can’t.  All I remember is this.

I pray that when my girls sit down to remember me one day, they’ll have the same realization.  That I wasn’t perfect, but that I tried my best.

My Girls

My Mother, My Girls, and Me

Don’t Get Your Hopes Up!

Hoping for a sneak peek at some holiday knitting?  Take a glimpse, but don’t get your hopes up…I’m planning on being as vague as possible because of several sneaky family members that read my blog.

The Yoke of Kiki's Christmas Cardigan (want to know the pattern? Find it on my Ravelry Projects page!)

Manly Malabrigo Socks for a Family Man

Go Skins! Dishcloth, for a Football Fan

Mom's Cardigan, about to be FROGGED!

So, some hints and glimpses, but nothing to ruin the surprises too much.  And you read that right, Mom.  Your cardigan has some errors and needs to be frogged.  So, this picture doesn’t even give it away!  So there!

Tell Me…I’ll Do It.

I am writing this blog to the sound of my two screaming daughters.  Marcus went out for dinner with friends.  It’s totally fine–I could really care less.  But I think everything just came to a head tonight.

I am just feeling incredibly over parenting right now.  I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true, at least in the minutes that I type this.  It will, of course, fade away later tonight, once the girls are asleep.  But in this moment…I can’t stand parenting.

I have tried to be patient with the girls and sleep, but it’s just gotten worse in the past year.  It happened slowly, starting with Erica learning to crawl out of her crib and having to move to a toddler bed.  She learned to climb over the gate, too, so there has been no physical roadblock to keep her in her room at night.

I’m not opposed to people who lie down with their children every night to get them to go to sleep.  In fact, there have been times that I’ve resorted to it for my own sanity.  But I don’t want that for me or for my family every night.  I don’t want to co-sleep.  I don’t want a family bed.  I want my girls to go to bed with a kiss on the cheek and a cuddle.  They used to do it.  I don’t know why they won’t any more.

I started sitting by there door and knitting or reading.  Of course, there were nights that I hated doing it and wanted and needed to be doing other things.  But for the majority of nights, I didn’t mind that 30 minutes.  It was quiet time…down time.  I accomplished things.  I loved seeing the girls as they fell asleep.

But for whatever reason…I think I’m just over it.  It’s probably a variety of things.  The stress of buying the house.  Concerns about the next year and what the move home will entail.  Starting to get ready for the holidays.  Sam being sick and Erica teething.  The web writing that is piling up on the computer because I’m behind.  The fact that I’ve had to cut back on my knitting to accommodate the tendonitis.  The fact that I’m not taking my medicine every day.

I know the medicine is part of it.  I am a better mom, wife, mother, Kelly when I take my medicine every day.  But I manage to reach 8 PM too many nights and realize I’ve forgotten, and then just don’t do it.  I know I need it.  But I still struggle to be a grown up and take it every day.

Erica has crawled up in my lap now as I type this.  Samantha waddled her way back into her bed and appears to have dozed off.  And now I feel my eyes welling up with tears as I realize what I’ve just written and what a bad mom it makes me today.

But I know that tomorrow is another day, and they’ll never remember me raising my voice tonight.

But if someone can help me with the sleep situation, I’d appreciate it.

And an extra prayer for me tonight wouldn’t hurt, either…