Celebrating Life

Sometimes the best of intentions get lost. Like when I went from updating my blog daily to every other day. Then once a week. Then twice a month. And finally not at all.

I won't offer excuses. Life happens to everyone. So does death.

I have come to the conclusion that life should be celebrated even if it's only for a short period of time. That was why when I found out I was expecting our second child, I didn't wait very long to tell people. I was excited, and I wanted to share our wonderful news.

(As a side note, I am a huge procrastinator when it comes to online announcements and it didn't get announce online until I was around 12 weeks.)

I miscarried at 13 weeks.

That was one of the hardest weeks of my life.

I will never get to hold that baby. I never quite understood missing someone you never knew until now. It had never happened to me before. I knew both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents.

I've experienced loss before, but I've never known what it was to grieve a loss that is just potential.

We named the baby Nadia. Personally, I would encourage anyone that has a miscarriage to name the baby. It's hard enough not having the usual funeral and grave.

I'm learning all over again how sweet the people in my life can be. Each offers comfort in their own way, and somehow it translates in a way that my heart understands--from the friend praying earnestly for me because she's been there, to the one that bluntly stated that she did not understand because she's never been there. They both care, and it shows.

I said that life should be celebrated, and for a few short weeks, Nadia's life was celebrated before it was cut off. Before any of us got the chance to meet her. I'm glad that I didn't wait to tell about her. We got that much longer to celebrate a little life.

I appreciate every one that has prayed, called, texted, messaged... God has worked even through this heartbreaking time, and I believe that He is not through using this to work His purpose.

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What's in a name?

I've hesitated to write about this because I try not to use the names of my family members online. Partially to preserve privacy, and partially because it can be easier for people to know who I'm talking about. But some things I just feel are too special not to share.

I recently came to the conclusion that Sweetie and I did not actually name our son. We just thought we did. Turns out God is the one that named him.

Up until the point that we knew for sure we were having a boy, I had a name picked and Sweetie had been fine with it. Walking away from the ultra-sound, Sweetie's tune completely changed and we were back to square one. Eventually, Sweetie picked the first name. It was not for any particular reason, just a name that he liked. I decided on a middle name after my grandfather that passed about five months before little Boll-weevil was born.

Now I don't even remember why, but I was recently looking up baby name meanings. I knew that Boll-weevil's middle name meant "king." I had thought that his first name meant "healing," but as it turns out, it means "joined." If you take "king" to represent "King of kings," you suddenly have a name that literally means "Joined of God." See Mark 10:9.

This is a baby that I have come to consider to be a miracle child. We did not plan to have a child as soon as we did. Because of my health, I wondered if it were possible for me to even have a child, yet he was born ten months after we married. Our baby's impact on the lives of those around him was another indicator that he was sent from God because he was needed. God sent Dad a grandson that he got to see almost daily for nine months before he died. If we had had a child when we had been planning to, Dad would never have seen his first grandchild.

Children can be like glue in a marriage, and everyone goes through their rough spots. Little Boll-weevil has certainly brought Sweetie and I closer together than almost anything else could have done. Somehow being responsible for this little soul gives us extra incentive to take care of our marriage and each other.

But what makes me start to tear up over the name meaning "Joined of God" is the confirmation that God was the One that put Sweetie and I together. That's another story completely, but it was no less miraculous. Our first-born son that is half of each of us has a name that is a constant reminder that we were put together for a reason. We may not know what we will face in the future, but we have the assurance that we are meant to face it together. We were and still are "Joined of God."

Now let me just find my tissues...

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My Socks Don't Match!

How much time do you spend on laundry? Probably more than you would like. How much time do you spend matching socks? If all of your socks are the same, maybe not much. But if you have many different patterned socks the task can become time consuming.

I've recently decided to stop wasting so much time worrying about things like matching socks. Sure, it may be a little awkward, but life is too short to waste time worrying about something making you feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes three little words can make you uncomfortable: "I love you."

Do you remember the first time you said it to a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you remember how terrified you were? It's because the words hold a lot more meaning than their mere eight letters would suggest.

Some families say it more often than others. Just like some families are more touchy-feely, or "huggy" than others. The thing is, life is too short to pass up the opportunity to say "I love you," to someone you really care about, whether by word or deed. Even if it's awkward.

Several years ago I felt impressed to go and visit my Aunt Wanda in the hospital. I was living in Little Rock at the time, and Oklahoma City was a simple weekend trip. While I did stay with my grandparents, the purpose of the visit really was my aunt. I enjoyed spending that time with her, even though it was a bit odd to go for the express purpose of seeing her. I was so glad later that I did it. It was the last time I saw her before she died.

The last time I saw my grandfather he was outside talking with some of the family. I felt too awkward to interrupt and say goodbye, so I just waved. We left on our trip back home, and I never saw him again. I wish now that I had overridden my feelings of discomfort and given him one last hug and said "I love you." But I can't change it now.

It makes me so glad that the night that Daddy passed that I got to say "I love you," one last time. I'm glad for the opportunities that I had and didn't pass up during his illness--to sing for him, sit with him, pray for him. I don't have regrets for anything I did, even if it made me uncomfortable at the time.

I try to be more mindful now to say "I love you." I never know when my last opportunity will be, and I don't want to neglect it. Feeling awkward over it is such a waste, and the regret really isn't worth it.

So if you catch me wearing mismatching socks, no, I haven't reached a new level of harried housewife. I'm just choosing to focus my energies on things of slightly more significance in the big scheme of things. Which would you regret more? Missing your last opportunity to say "I love you," or wearing mismatching socks?

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What Is Normal?

Occasionally life is really topsy-turvy and I find myself wanting it to get back to normal. Then I have to stop and think, "What is normal?"

Daddy died about two weeks ago. People ask me how I'm doing, and I can honestly say I'm OK right now. I cry sometimes, and that's normal. I'm still able to take care of my daily duties. That's normal, too. Grief is a weird thing even when it's being completely normal.

Life for me has had so many drastic changes that I've almost given up trying to have a "normal" life because apparently it's just not going to happen. But I don't know everyone else's circumstances. Maybe "normal"  lives don't exist at all except in the confines of our most idealistic daydreams.

It's normal for normal to not be normal. At least that's how I've come to see it.

So now I have to learn to deal with a new normal. My parents have been such a big part of my life that I can hardly imagine what life will be like without Daddy. Because he always traveled for work, half the time it just seems like he's gone on a trip. Then I remember that he isn't coming back...

I tear up a bit when I remember that. That's OK. It's normal.

I'm still Looking Up. God has always been and always will be a constant. Maybe that is the true definition of normal.

***

I have wanted to continue blogging for the past two weeks, but have not known what on earth to write since Daddy died. There has been such an outpouring of love from everyone around me that I don't even know quite how to take it in. I appreciate each one that has been there for us and prayed for us.

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Chocolate Mess

When I made my post about my family Christmas traditions I made the statement that we did not have a traditional dessert. One of my cousins took offense at the statement and reminded me of a dessert that my mom makes almost every year in December: Chocolate Torte.

I'm re-naming it Chocolate Mess. It looks prettier sliced up and arranged on a serving platter. And let me tell you, they are tiny slices. They have to be. The whole cake has a grand total of five cups of sugar. That's right: five. But because of the small slices, this cake would appear at three or four different Christmas parties throughout December.

I'll post the recipe below for those that want to try it once I regain access to it. I would warn you, though, this recipe is for either the incredibly brave, or the incredibly stupid. Personally, I think I fell into the latter category considering the fact that I had a seven-month-old baby to take care of as well as make a time-consuming cake.

I could not find my cake pans when I began this venture. I decided that my loaf pans would do in a pinch. That was my first mistake. You cannot get a spatula down into a loaf pan well enough to loosen the cake layers, so all of those fell apart. I tried pan-frying the batter like a crepe, but couldn't get it quite thin enough, even when I managed not to scorch them.

Fortunately, my mother offered to help me with the cake, so the next day I brought my batter and icing over to her house and she began showing me how she makes this look so easy. It should be noted that my mother made this cake almost every year with no assistance. After my experience, I would recommend that you have two people working on it. It speeds this up and just makes everything go smoother.

There were so many things that she does that are not in the recipe. Like greasing the pans with butter. Granted, I assumed you needed to grease the pans, but Mom has a particular preference for using butter because of the taste. And spreading it with your fingers if you want to be sure that you really got the pan covered. We just used a paper towel with a dab of butter most of the time, though.

The recipe says that it is a twenty-two layer cake. Mine turned out with sixteen layers...I think. If it weren't for the layers that I ruined while attempting to make the cake on my own, I probably would have had twenty or more. Oh well. It still tasted good.

Make the icing in advance. It thickens as you cook it. This is another thing not mentioned in the actual recipe. Also, you will have to wash the pans in between uses. Every. Single. Time. I was actually hoping I could skip that step. No such luck.

But the number one recommendation I would have for anyone that wants to try making this cake for the first time? Find someone that has done it before. Mom finally told me that it took years of making this cake before she had it down to her smooth process. It's worth it, though.

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Shhhh... I'm Introverting

I'm an introvert. There is no denying it. Some people are somewhere between extrovert and introvert--I believe it is called ambiversion, but I am firmly on the side of introversion. I come from a family of introverts, so it's sometimes hard for me to remember that other people do not function the same way I do.

Rather than explain what introversion is, I want to tell you what it means to me personally. You can find all kinds of information on introversion, what it is, and how introverts behave on average. That's not what I want to do today.

I don't dislike people. I do dislike crowds. They make me nervous.

I don't actually dislike interacting with other people, even strangers. Today, I purposely went inside the bank and Starbucks rather than the drive thru. I even avoided self check-out at Walmart. It is possible that I prefer face-to-face interaction when I know dealing with other people is unavoidable. I have fewer screw-ups going inside than using the drive thru. But I can guarantee that none of these people knew I was an introvert. I'm as friendly as you could wish. I even smile.

Unfortunately, if I am forced to be constantly in the company of other people--even people I like--for days on end, I'm going to start feeling claustrophobic. If I spend a weekend at social events, come Monday, I need another weekend to recover from my weekend.

Even at parties that I'm enjoying I will be very aware of the exits, possible retreats from all the noise (a bathroom or hallway), and what time I am planning to leave. It's nothing against my host or my friends. I just can't handle extended periods of high noise levels well.

Small talk bores me. Almost nothing annoyed me more as a teenager than to be asked how I was doing by someone that I knew perfectly well did not want an honest answer. This was especially true if I didn't think it was any of their business. I nearly insulted a dear friend when I complained about it, and he pointed out that he did care, and it was his business since he was my friend. I'm glad he called me out on it, but if he had not been a true friend, I would not have agreed with his sentiment.

If at all possible, text me. If a phone call is warranted, I would love dearly to have a text as a warning first, but I know that's not going to happen. Phone calls give me anxiety like you would not believe, unless you suffer from it yourself. Even making phone calls is difficult, which is why my sister and grandmother occasionally complain that they don't hear from me often enough. I love talking to my friends, but I hate phones. Phones are evil.

So...comment, text me, tweet me, email me, message me, post on my Facebook wall, but for the love of biscuits and gravy, don't call me about this blog post!

Want to read more about my introverted misadventures?
Check out these posts:

I Hugged a Stranger
Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Talking To Myself

Bacon

We had bacon for breakfast this morning. Grilled. Conecuh. Bacon. Imagine how good normal bacon tastes, now imagine adding a hickory smoked flavor to it and intensifying it tenfold. You are now coming close to what we had for breakfast. It's good. Very, very good. My family even commented on the expression of ecstasy on my face. Like they had room to talk when they have the same reaction. 

I'll be honest. I love food. I love good food, and I've had quite a bit of exposure to good food. I come from a family of good cooks. But there are certain foods that taste like they were made by angels in Heaven's main kitchens. Grilled Conecuh bacon is one of them.

I don't really know why I have such a reaction to certain foods. I never want to have them often so that they remain special. I could eat that grilled bacon and never get tired of it, though. It would be special every morning. I can just hear the old childhood chant: "Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!" Good times. Good times.

It may be something of a Southern thing. Bacon grease (or lard if you can get your hands on it) is a common seasoning for everything from green beans to cornbread. Vegans should beware, our cooking is rarely even vegetarian friendly. Although I find the same influence in Oklahoma as well. My great grandmother had a diner in Guthrie, and people still remember her fried chicken. They would ask her for the recipe, and she would give it to them. Then they'd come back saying that it never did taste as good as hers did. She never did tell people that she fried it in lard. It was her secret.

But I'm sharing the secret of grilled bacon. Even if you can't get Conecuh bacon. Grill some bacon the next time you grill hamburgers or hot dogs. You--and your taste buds--can just thank me later. 

Disclaimer:
I have been informed since posting this that it was Wright bacon, not Conecuh. We did have Conecuh sausage. Conecuh bacon does exist, and I have had it grilled. It is wonderful, as well, but I cannot say which I might like better unless I were to try them simultaneously.

Christmas Traditions

We had our family Christmas for my side of the family this morning. Early, I know, but as my sister and I grew older, got married, and moved away it's become harder to get together. We do it when we can, where we can. Last year we rented a cabin in Broken Bow, OK. This year we are at my grandmother's house in Alabama. 

We had some additions this year. I think Mammie really enjoyed being with us, and Baby enjoyed opening some of his first Christmas presents. I think he was more fascinated with the bows, though.

We're missing D--my brother-in-law. He's working such long hours on night shift that he couldn't get away. It feels weird to not have him here. Everyone misses him. We'll send his present back with Sissy, but it's just not the same.

Holidays to us are about family and food. The food is somewhat different this year as well as the family. Mom usually makes ham and cheese croissants for breakfast before we opened our stockings. This year, Dad picked up Dunkin' Donuts instead. I miss my croissant, but a chocolate cake donut is good, too.

We still had our usual dinner. Instead of a ham or turkey, each person has their own Cornish hen. We always have cranberry sauce from a can and stovetop stuffing (weird family preferences), but the other sides change from year to year. Funnily enough, I can't think of any traditional desserts that we have for Christmas.

Now that I have my own family, it makes me think of what traditions I want to continue, both from my family and Sweetie's family. I also want some traditions that are solely things that we create. I think it's part of what makes holidays special, and something that the children will look forward to. 

Oh, who am I kidding? I look forward to holiday traditions as much as anyone.