Princess Camp.

This past spring, Hubby and I made arrangements for the summer camps the kids went to this year. Wolf Camp for Naturalist, Basketball Camp for Golfer..and, uh, nothing for Sassy. Really, what kind of camp does a 4 year old need?!

Sassy patiently sent Naturalist and Golfer off to their respective places and then announced one day: “I can’t wait to go to MY camp! My VERY OWN camp! Just like Naturalist and Golfer! It will be a PRINCESS CAMP and I will have SO! MUCH! FUN!!!! When is it? When do I go?”

Hubby and I looked at each other and mouthed, “Oh, crap.”

I started mentally preparing a princess craft day full of crayons, beads, tulle, and tea cakes…knowing that it wouldn’t come close to whatever princessy camp ideas she had floating around in her mind.

And then, like a gift from heaven (or from Walt Disney himself), Hubby found a Princess Art Camp at our Rec. Center. We registered, and Sassy is there as I type. This morning she got up, got dressed in her Snow White dress, and I whisked her away to Princessland. She joined the other tulled out 4 year olds whirling around a room full of princess puzzles, tea sets, crayons, feathered boas, and books. She ran in and didn’t look back, even when I said, “Bye! I’m leaving now! Bye!”

This is a good week to be a princess!

Sassy at Disneyland, 2006

Running to stand still.

I’ve had some emails asking more about the active grief process I mentioned when talking about my flower gardening as a way to cope with losing my daughter. When I first wrote about it, I didn’t want to get too into it. I didn’t want to get to personal or depressing…I like my blog to be all sunshine and smiles, you know? Not boring or melancholy.

However, as much as my mind is ready to move forward and be done with all this grief stuff, my body isn’t. It’s like it’s being hardwired on a cellular level to hold on and remember. Oftentimes, it’s my body that shows the first and last signs of grief, even before my mind can register it. The only thing I can compare it to is when Hubby gets aches and pains in his bones before a storm rolls through. That’s how my body feels, and then I have to sit and think, “What’s going on here?”

So, since I’m still feeling mentally achey, I’ll write about how I first discovered active grief.

Part of my recovery from getting HELLP Syndrome was a couple weeks of bedrest. It was horrible…just laying there, thinking about the trauma and the loss of Baby Rose. As soon as my blood pressure was under control, I needed to DO something. I had so many feelings and thoughts inside and no idea what to do to get them to stop haunting me. At first, I would get reprieve in my sleep, but then I stopped sleeping because of the endless loop of loss and grief that kept playing in my mind.

I’ve never been one to enjoy exercising, but I felt like one of those wind up toys that’d been all wound up. I needed to move the built up energy out. Combine that with a fundamental anger at myself for failing to carry Baby Rose through a successful pregnancy and I could think of only one thing that I wanted to do. Something that my body would hate…Running.

I’d set out at a fast walk, and drive myself on. The anger and grief came out in a marked cadence while I slammed my feet down on the treadmill. I’d push myself faster and faster, with tears eventually making their way down my face. Bubbering and breathing hard, I ran to exhaustion. I can’t tell you how many people stopped by my machine concerned about my appearance. I’d just wave them on. ‘Nothing to see here. Just a freak on a machine, having a mental breakdown. Move along…’

Those early days I ran with only two songs on my playlist. I couldn’t bear to listen to songs, or watch TV, or read books. It all seemed so frivolous compared to the life and death struggle I’d just been through. But there were two songs that pulled me through every day, both by U2. I’d start out with ‘Stuck In a Moment’, and listen to the words sing to me:

You’ve got to get yourself together
You’ve got stuck in a moment
And you can’t get out of it
Don’t say that later will be better
Now you’re stuck in a moment
And you can’t get out of it

and then continue:

And if the night runs over
And if the day won’t last
And if your way should falter
Along this stony pass

It’s just a moment
This time will pass

and then I’d be crying and hyperventilating, because I didn’t believe it…but I wanted to.

The loop would then go right into ‘Beautiful Day’, and sing:

The heart is a bloom
Shoots up through the stony ground
There’s no room
No space to rent in this town

You’re out of luck
And the reason that you had to care
The traffic is stuck
And you’re not moving anywhere

*sob*sob*sob*sob*

It’s a beautiful day
Sky falls, you feel like
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away…

…And see the bird with a leaf in her mouth
After the flood all the colors came out…

I didn’t believe it, but I wanted to. I would repeat those songs over and over until I couldn’t run anymore.

I can’t say running made the grief easier, but it was a great outlet for pent up emotions, and I would exhaust myself to the point where I could sleep again. This was the origin for my active grief. I couldn’t just sit with it, I had to do something with it.

A couple years later, I added “Float On” by Modest Mouse to my mix of two songs. There’s just something calming about 2 minutes of someone singing:

And we’ll all float on ok
And we’ll all float on ok
And we’ll all float on ok
And we’ll all float on
Alright!
Already, we’ll all float on
Now don’t worry, we’ll all float on
Alright!
Already, we’ll all float on
Alright!
don’t worry we’ll all float on…

And we’ll all float on,
Alright!
Already, we’ll all float on
Alright!
Don’t worry, even if things end up a bit to heavy
we’ll all float on, alright!
Already we’ll all float on
Alright already we’ll all float on
Ok don’t worry we’ll all float on

Even if things get heavy we’ll all float on
Alright already we’ll all float on
Don’t you worry we’ll all float on
All float on…

6 years later, my playlist is a little more extensive and fun. Eventually I got to a place without the anger and self hatred, and found some great club remixes of awesome 80’s songs to add to it. If that doesn’t say ‘healing’, nothing does.

But I still warm up and cool down to my initial 3 songs. Now, I believe them.

Jealous, much?

When Naturalist was born, a plan was set in motion. It would take almost 12 years to come to fruition, but patience is always rewarded.

The plan was hatched in the mind of my mom, who started planning a grandma/granddaughter getaway for just the two of them. First, she had to wait until Naturalist was potty trained, and out of the terrible twos (which was more like the terrible 2’s -5’s for Naturalist), and able to carry her own luggage, and spend a week away from home without getting homesick, and not whine very much…

My mom decided that this year, with Naturalist turning 12 in a month, she fit all the requirements and so they whisked themselves away for the past week. All Naturalist had to do was pick the destination. It was a tough choice…anywhere in the USA…so many places!!!…but she finally settled on Hawaii.

Off they went, with their matching Hawaiian print bags and smiles on their faces. I was happy and excited for them as they left.

But then, I started getting pictures in my email like this:

Naturalist, surfing for the first time!

with quick notes that said, “Hi Mom! I’m going surfing now! I’ve been playing on the beach all day! Bye!”

And now, I’m only feeling one thing. Pure, unadulterated, jealousy. J-E-A-L-O-U-S-Y.

Good Grief.

Today we remembered Baby Rose, and I am sad. 6 years after her stillbirth, I miss her just as much as when we first lost her. Not as constantly, but just as deeply.

We have grief all wrong in our culture. Here, it’s something to be avoided or ignored. It’s uncomfortable and taboo to mention out loud. So often it’s the person who has lost someone who ends up apologizing for the loss to other people when they are so thick in grief it’s hard to function, rather than the other way around.

I remember meeting a new neighbor for the first time. I was introducing my kids, and she introduced her little girl. Then, she blurted out, “I have another little girl. Had another little girl. She was 5 when she died. It was only a year ago.” I was silent, digesting the sadness of her loss. She continued, “I’m so sorry. Sometimes I just blurt that out. I don’t know why, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” So then I said, “I lost a daughter in childbirth. I had complications, and they had to induce her to save me. She died. I blurt that out sometimes, too, so don’t be sorry.” It was her turn to be silent. Then we both started laughing and crying all at once.

Just as death is the flip side of life, grief is the flip side of love. You don’t grieve what you don’t love. And when we try, as society silently implies, to bury the grief and ‘move past’ the loss…it only succeeds in burying and moving past the tender love that we once had and still endures. That is a tragic trade off.

I was and still am fortunate to have a handful of people around who supported me and honored the difficult process of healing from the loss of Baby Rose. This is important because to really get through it intact, I found that grief needs to be active. It’s not all about emotions, but also about doing something that your heart feels is right.

Some people build things. Other people form foundations to help support other people going through the same things. My dear friend over at ‘A View From Here’ blogged about making jam.

I’ve found a good outlet for my active grief is my flower garden. It’s not big–size isn’t the point–but it’s a place where I go and do something with my hands. I work with the rhythms of nature. I wait expectantly for the blooms, savor the beauty of the full flowers, am saddened when they wither and fade, despair when the cold winter comes, and then feel joyful when spring comes around again to make everything green and alive. Hope, loss, grief, all the way round to hope again. The cycle is comforting to me. Plus, the flowers don’t want to change the topic when I go out to think about Baby Rose. They don’t get uncomfortable when my tears come. They listen patiently without saying a word, which is sometimes all a friend can do.

Check me out…

So, I have my first ever guest blogger post up on a loverly place called “Mile High Mamas“. You know, because here in Denver, we’re up a mile higher than all you other chumps. We’re like the sherpas of North America up here.

I’m excited that the good folks over there accepted my article and agreed to use it! Feel free to link over and leave a tiny, validating comment for me. Something like, “UR kewl!” or “ROFLOL!” or “ROFLMAO!” or “UR so gr8!”. (These are things Naturalist’s friends text to her on my phone, so I know they’re totally acceptable forms of communication.)

Oooh! Aaah!

Looky! I put up a brand spankin’ shiny new TAB on the top of my page. ‘Home’ and ‘About’ have procreated and made ‘Unschooling‘!

The White Dress Effect.

When Hubby and I decided that we’d spend July 4th up at Fort Laramie National Historic Site for an old fashioned, 1876 celebration, I knew one thing for sure.

Sassy would wear a white dress.

I could just picture it. Literally, I could forsee all my pictures with her floating around in a white dress against the plains of Wyoming, against the red, white & blue decorations, against the Platte River, running down the dusty pathways…I blame this all on an obsessive love of every episode of ‘Little House on the Prairie’ when I was younger. When I pictured myself as a mom, I pictured me as Caroline with a handful of girls in prairie dresses running around on a farm.

Oh yes, the dress must be worn.

Well, the dress must be worn if Sassy was in the mood to wear it.

And also? Red, white and blue ribbons in her hair. And? Carry a flag in her hand. And! Mary Jane shoes!!! It was at this point that I shook myself out of my reverie and reminded myself that I’m talking about my daughter, not a doll. So, I backed up to just the dress.

I think our early morning, 7 am departure made her reaction time slow, because when I put the dress over her head she didn’t fight it. I packed along sensible shorts and a shirt in case she changed her mind, but so far so good! I pushed my luck a *little* and put her hair in french braids since the other thing I’ve always wanted is to have a girl that actually likes me doing her hair. Sassy didn’t mind that either, miracle of miracles, so off we went to Wyoming.

She wore the dress the whole day! And I took tons of pictures. Because someday, when my memory fails (in about 4 days), I will look back at these pictures and remember Sassy as a sweet girl in a white dress with braids in her hair. I’ll see these pictures and forget her asking me for help and then getting frustrated and yelling, “I CAN DO IT’ while yanking away again. I’ll forget her turning the following things into a competitive sport : eating first, getting down the stairs first, drinking water first, peeing first (and quikest), putting on our shoes first, etc. etc. “I WIN!!!!” she says triumphantly. “You LOSE!” she says just as triumphantly.

But the White Dress Effect makes her sassiness and attitude fade away in a blur of green and yellow prairie grass, blue skies, root beer, and blueberry scented kisses.

Happiness is…

Waking up to find the Golfer has already showered and gotten dressed.

Walking downstairs to make breakfast and having him say, “I think I’ll go do some laundry now. My basket is getting pretty full!”

Watching the Naturalist make her own breakfast using our toaster/egg & sausage cooker combo.

Realizing that Sassy Princess has started playing Golfers’ Lego Indiana Jones on her DS…and that she’s made it through 30% of it without much help from anyone else.

Happiness is watching your kids find some independence.

More 4th Fun!

Here’s another fact from the book Kidchat: American Adventure!to consider and discuss about the good ‘ole US of A…

Fact:
“The Constitution was signed on September 17, 1787, but did not go into effect until the first Wednesday in March 1789 (if had to first be retified by at least nine states). The first ten amendments, known as the Bill of Rights, were ratified in 1791, safeguarding our individual rights.”

Discuss amoungst yourselves:

*If you could add one more right to the Bill of Rights, what would you add?

*If you could write a “Family Bill of Rights” for the members of your family, what ten rights would the bill include? (I LOVElovelove this one!)

*If you could guarantee that one ITEM you own would always be protected (never break, wear out, get lost, or be stolen) for which item would you want protection guaranteed?

We’re doing our family Bill of Rights sometime this week, but Golfer and Sassy already claimed protection over the Nintendo Wii and DS, respectively. Naturalist is still thinking about it. And me? It’s a toss up between my ipod or Macbook.

Countdown to the 4th of July!

4th of July, already?! It seems like yesterday that we were braving snow and sleet. Oh, wait, it pretty much WAS yesterday. The higher parts of Colorado were still getting snow well into June…it feels like we skipped from winter straight into summer. Not that I’m complaining!

I LOVE the 4th of July. Not just because of the BBQ’s, neighborhood parades, and fireworks. I love American history. My kids have kindly indulged my nerdy obsession and one of the most fun parts of our unschooling experience (for me!) has been sharing my American Studies background with them.

In fact, it was Benjamin Franklin who inspired us to let our passion and interest guide the way of our studies, rather than a set curriculum.

None of this is to my point for this post. When I sat down to write this, I’d just been looking through some pictures from our trip to Williamsburg. We took part of a day to drive around the Yorktown Battlefield…where the final battle of the Revolutionary War took place.

The week we were at Williamsburg just happened to correspond to the week that the joint French and American troops marched from Williamsburg to Yorktown, where the British were encamped and waiting fresh troops and supplies shipped down the York River from New York. In fact, we saw the reenactment of Generals Rochambeau and Washington inspecting their troops before the big march. (Rochambeau on the left, Washington on the right.)

Continental Soldiers show off:

The next day, we drove around the Battlefield Tour Road which was a really amazing drive. Most of it looked like this, with the trees providing a sheltered roof beside the wide open battlefields.

We happened on a clearing where a white cross was standing.

I jumped out of the car to see what it was memoralizing.

I used my rusty high school French to make an educated guess about what the plaque said. Here’s my best translation:

Here lies 50 unknown French soldiers killed at Yorktown for the independence of America.
1781

In an age of ‘Freedom Fries’ and ‘Freedom Toast’ I think it’s important to remember we didn’t get here by ourselves. In the case of France, they gave us a professional Navy and an entirely professional fighting force at a time when we had neither. They gave us upwards of 56 million pounds to finance our war (a debt that would influence the French Revolution) and lost an estimated 10,000 men in our service.

If not for France, we might be celebrating our independence in an entirely different way.

Here’s a question the kids and I have been mulling over, from a great little question book called Kidchat: American Adventure!. It’s a small little book that gives American trivia facts and then asks open ended questions to get a discussion going. I eat this stuff up with a spoon. Happily, so do my kids. So, here’s the fact for today:

“In the Declaration of Independence, there were twenty-seven separate grievances, or complaints, listed against the king of England, George III.”

Now discuss amongst yourselves:

*What do you complain about more than anything else? Why?
*If you were a king or queen, what one thing would you do for all your subjects to make their lives better?
*If you could get everyone in the world to stop complaining about one thing, what would you want it to be?
*Kings and Queens are known for waering crowns. If you could design your own crown, what would it look like and what would it be made of?