A number two diaper in the beer aisle....what my life has come to...

I think it is about time to get to blogging again. Life has completely changed. I am sure there are more posts to come to go into greater detail on all of this, but for now I need to start somewhere. We went through some of the most heartbreaking, sad and challenging times of our lives thus far, and then had the greatest joy one can experience, all in a matter of days, with the entrance of our little baby boy, Kyle Daniel Lewis on June 4, 2013.  I read a blog post, from a well-known blog called the Pregnant Chicken, that made me laugh out loud, and recall, one of the many hysterical moments I have had as a new parent. I figure we should start out my return to blogging on a lighter note.

When Kyle was about 7 weeks old, I had to return to work. I had such a short time left on leave that it was just awful to think of him all still wrinkled and red having to go to day care already. That is for another post, but for now, on to the story! I had the greatest and most self-less gift from two my best friends, Jenny and Cristi, who each took a week of their lives to be Kyle’s first nanny’s when I returned to work and my post today is about my last day with Cristi and Kyle before I returned to work. It was Monday, July 22^nd and I was going back to work Tuesday morning so Cristi and I decided we together could certainly manage a trip to the grocery store, mid-morning, on a week day, with a newborn. No problem right, two graduate degree holding, professional, aunt’s several times over, well rested and prepared women could do this! I mean he is only 8 lbs, how could he possibly win this one? Plus while I had the help, and the fact that she was going to be stuck in the house for days on end, and then Jenny too, I wanted to stock up and do the whole meal planning thing so a huge grocery trip was in order. Not to mention I really didn’t have much stocked up anymore from my 65+ days of bed rest prior to his arrival.  Again, many more posts to come!

I nursed him, changed him, planned around his daily little poo, dressed him, had a list, coupons, etc. all in order, and we struck out to concur Kroger. We decided him in his car seat in the stroller was best as he dozed off on the short ride over. Great sleeping! We got this! High fives all around! Then one can push the cart for groceries and one to push the stroller. That way I can actually get more items than the 3-5 that fit on top of the stroller caddy. (The process of deciding what is a necessity and fits onto this tiny platform is comical now. Does lunchmeat trump juice? Does juice trump bread? With limited real estate it is a matter of how bad do I really need something)

We get into produce, first stop. He stirs. Oh god, he is awake, now what? First old lady comes over to admire, inquire his age, reminisce about her children, by the time I know her children intimately, he is in a full on cry. Pacifier, find the pacifier. I poke that in, and thankfully Cristi is working on sanitizing the cart and starting our list. Then it appears. The dreaded blue stripe. I am able to shake his first admirer and proceed to think, how can I change this diaper discreetly, as the restrooms with changing stations are first off not convenient at all, and secondly not somewhere I want to bring a 7 week old to. This kid does not tolerate a wet diaper. He has literally started crying before the pee has come in contact with the little strip indicator inside, it is like a fire alarm before seeing smoke.

I pull over in the floral section, and with Cristi’s help we do a quick presto change swap for clean pants under the guise of the hydrangea plants and tucked in his little car seat. He seems to calm down a bit, and the pacifier is working, but he is wide eyed and ready to rumble now. We make it to the deli and start to tag team the list. We are working feverishly as I know he is not awake much when he is not a fussy baby at this point. By the time we get to the deli, the on and off fussiness is back, and the stripe, yep, blue. We pull over once again, hiding in the international food aisle, and do the quick swap again in his little car seat.

At this point he is done, just over the notion he is confined, under bright lights, and is not a happy camper. Cristi rescues him out of his seat and starts the bouncing and cuddling, I push the stroller with one hand and the cart with the other, throwing in the last few items within reach we can muster. We head to the front. We get towards the front, and now he is screaming, full on red face, mad mad mad. Then I smell it, oh no, he has done it, the number two in aisle two. Now what? This is too much to handle in the car seat and there is no way I am trekking through the entire store to the exact opposite side of this massive place with a screaming 7 week old baby. We happen to be in the beer aisle and have had several sympathetic stares at this point so I seize the recently emptied aisle and throw down his changing pad on a case of Bud Light, and do the unthinkable, I change his messy diaper right there. Squatting next to the case of beer, I set record time, but this abrupt change has made him even madder. I throw the beer case, on the bottom of the cart, and we high tail it to the registers. Nathan will drink the evidence of our incident is my thought process.

At the registers, Cristi and I are throwing things on the conveyor belt, racing to move faster as he is absolutely screaming like we are pinching him. Nothing is working to calm him down. We get all sorts of looks, ranging from understanding and sympathetic, to the teenage bag boy looking at us like we are nuts. We pay, and bolt, one of us buckling in the car seat and the other loading the trunk, record pace I tell you! Just as we start the car and get moving, silence. Just the suck suck suck of the pacifier in motion. He is back in his happy place. Of course.

So kid, when you are old enough to read this one day…yes your mother changed your diaper on top of a case of Bud Light, in the beer aisle of a grocery store. You have given me a run for my money and you aren’t even 4 months old yet. Good times.

There are times when I look above and beyond....

A friend from work last week got some terrible news, a good friend of his, was in a horrible car accident and was killed. She was just 27 years old. I listened to him recount his memories of this young vibrant life, with a warm heart and good soul. Losing anyone is difficult, but losing someone young, is life changing. I know. I empathized with the sense of helplessness he is feeling and felt emotionally tied to the struggle of how unfair having such a young person taken is. You could see him getting choked up, just thinking of how horrible and unexpected something like that is, how it just drains you, emptying a part of you that you never knew was filled. It is a weird feeling, like a balloon with a tiny hole slowly draining; silent, unexpected, and painfully slow. I left him with a sympathetic smile and my small offer of condolences, and help if needed. I didn’t need to fill his grief with more grief, but I felt my own little deflated balloon deep in my own heart. It is something that I think no matter how much time goes by, when something like this happens, you can recall it in an instance, and feel that ache again. Sometimes you don’t feel it, but it is still there, you always carry it, you always remember it is there, dormant. It just takes a random connection, memory, smell, or place to bring it back. Here is my experience, here is my deflated balloon.

In my almost 32 years, I have experienced death. I have had people I love, close family, and friends die. It is never something one wants to have experienced in their life, but it serves a purpose to the living, it keeps one in check with remembering what is truly important, and reminds you that there is much more to a life than just living. It is how you live that is just as important to the longevity you are blessed with. We all have the ability to sustain a life, but you have to choose to live.
I met Amy volunteering at the high school library. While we were absolute opposites in many ways, she was shy, I was outgoing, she was beyond studious, and I was a procrastinator, she wanted to blend in, I wore purple jeans. In this complete dichotomy of opposites, we forged a great friendship. She talked to me about her awkward family, the boys she liked, her dreams and thoughts, and I shared all of mine as well. She was so crazy smart; she helped me with my math homework, even when we had to via instant message after she left for college. She was always there to help me figure out how to manage my never-ending battle with those letters that worked their way into math equations.

February 19^th, 1998 was a Thursday, starting off just like any ordinary Thursday. I got up early, my friend Jason had picked me up for school at my house, in his boat of a car that we both loved since it meant our freedom! Class was normal, had lunch with my little pack of friends, nothing out of the ordinary. I was excited as that night one of my best friends in high school, Amy, who had gone off to college at Florida International in Melbourne the year before, was driving home that day so we could celebrate her birthday that night. Her real birthday was the 23^rd, on Monday, but she had a big school project and wanted to spend the weekend back on campus preparing, so we moved up the party. Her family owned a local Chinese restaurant, and me, Amy, and my two other close friends, Maggie and Leah, who were still in high school with me, were all going to meet up at her parents restaurant, order pizza and have cake, and then head over to go bowling at the local bowling alley across the street from her family’s restaurant. Maggie came by and picked me up around 7pm and we met Leah at the restaurant, and Amy was there when we arrived. We always joked about ordering pizza to a Chinese restaurant, so tonight was the night we were going to do it! I was a big scrapbooker then so of course I wanted pictures, and had forgotten my camera, so luckily Amy had one that night, so I commandeered it for the evening to capture it all on our little yellow roll of Kodak film. We had her favorite, strawberry flavored cake and pizza with her parents and little brother; sang, hugged, took pictures, and then headed over for bowling. Me in my Elmo t-shirt, with my keys around my neck on the 1998 accessory du jour, the lanyard. Amy in her high wasted, tight, white, bongo jeans and coke bottle glasses, we were living the good life. I don’t remember who won or who lost. I just remember me being the paparazzi as normal, and having a great time.

My curfew was midnight, which was extended since it was a special night with Amy coming into town I had negotiated to extend it. I also remember leaving the bowling alley and it was pouring rain and we were caught completely off guard. We had driven over from the Chinese restaurant in Maggie’s car, and so we piled back in it to have her take Leah and Amy back to their cars, and then Leah was going to give me a lift home since she was closest to me. It was just a complete monsoon, and I remember Amy complaining about her white Keds getting wet. Leah, Amy and I jumped out at the curb in front of the now closed restaurant, and said our goodbyes while Maggie drove away. We made plans to try to get together in about two weeks when Amy would be home again, and talked about checking if our Spring Break’s aligned so we could make some beach plans. Leah and I ran to her car and Amy to her’s already packed for the trip back. I had made a CD for Amy for her birthday that had the new Janet Jackson song, Together Again, on it as we both loved it from the radio and had been emailing about it earlier that week. She kept it out in her hand when she ran to the car as she wanted to listen to it on her hour and a half drive to Melbourne.

Amy had introduced me to email. Funny now thinking of how we take it for granted, but before she left for college in the August of 1997 she came to my house, to our new Gateway computer, with our dialup internet connection and installed ICQ, the new thing all the college kids used, which was one of the first instant messengers. She also set me up with a Hotmail account Elmofreak1@hotmail.com. (We both were stunned that someone else could be an Elmofreak so when we set it up and that name was taken we added the number one.) My ICQ name became ElmoJulie and it was with this new technology we would stay up late doing homework “together” online after she left for college. Chatting about class, teachers, plans, friends, you name it.

Amy had a little champaign colored Acura, which out of my friends, was a pretty darn nice car at the time. It always was super clean and smelled of Chinese food, as sometimes it doubled as a delivery vehicle on the weekends and breaks she was home on. Plus the years prior when her family business was her part time job too. Amy’s family was Buddhist and while her parents were very strong in their faith, it was not blinding to them, as that would later become so much more evident. Amy was a just a good person. She was kind, thoughtful, innocent, and wanted to be an astronomer. She loved science, space, and reason. She was rational and grounded and a strong and stable friend that was dependable in many respects, with her time, her thoughts, and her honesty. Looking back now, you can see the rarity of these attributes in many relationships today. She had not ulterior motive, no push to move you down to lift herself up, and was selfless in many aspects of her everyday life, and demeanor. We should all strive to have a little “Amy” in our lives.

That night as Leah and I drove off, and Amy headed north on US 1 and Leah and I turned left and headed south, the rain picked up, by the time I got home, the rain was so bad that just running from my driveway to my front door I was pretty soaked. I came in and my mom was in the living room watching TV, and said to me “Amy didn’t drive back to school tonight did she? The rain is heading right her way and it is a bad storm” I told her yes Amy left when we did to go back and I am sure she will be fine, brushing off her comments as typical overly and unnecessarily worried mother comments.

The next day I got up with my usual 5:30 AM alarm, and with the usual routine, Jason picked me up, and my first hour was ironically with one of Amy and my favorite teachers, Mr. Contoupe. He was my swim coach and also taught leadership and a smattering of other classes, heading into his portable classroom that early morning just beating the bell, it was still drizzling outside. I took my seat and chatted with a few friends around me waiting for class to begin. Just as the bell rang, so did the class phone on my teachers desk. Mr. Contoupe answered and after just a few seconds, he made eye contact with me, shook his head a few times, said he understood, and that he would need someone to cover his class immediately. His eyes became full of tears, and I knew, I just knew, I didn’t need to have him say anything. I just felt it. It was the strangest feeling.

Amy had lost control about 45 mins north of where we left off last night; she hit a patch of water in the road and just lost control. They didn’t think she was speeding, but it was just bad bad weather that came on, quickly flooding parts of the road more than likely. It was on a section of road where it curved and there was a tiny guard rail but that her car had gone over and had fallen a little ways, rolling over. She was airlifted to the Melbourne hospital, and was in critical condition, things were not looking good.

Mr. Contoupe and I left campus immediately and headed up to the hospital. We both cried the whole way. It was awful. (It is here that you can see that Mr. Countoupe is no ordinary teacher, he is a whole other blog post later.) We arrived after the hour and a half drive, but it seemed like days. I was not prepared for what I was about to see. There in ICU was Amy, all bandaged up, with every machine I can imagine connected to her, helping her breathe, beeping and ticking and ringing, I first remember the noise of it all and how loud that hum seemed to be coming from the room, thinking how all of this noise, was keeping this peacefully sleeping person alive. Then I focused on Amy, I saw her face, she was not recognizable, her chest heaving back and forth with each forced breath in, her swollen and cut face, hands and arms, with errant stitches that seemed so haphazard all over her. Their bright blue filament cut with jagged edges jutting out of her like small antennae. Next were her parents, TK and Jenny. I fell into their arms, me just sobbing, I breathed in the fresh smell of bok choy and sesame oil that permeated their skin, they had gotten the news early in the morning, right as they arrived at their restaurant prepping for that days business. I didn’t know this at the time, but her parents never cried during this, which I am sure was super human of them, as in their culture they felt that tears would prevent a soul from choosing the next life, and prevent them from moving on. They were absolute rocks. I cannot imagine now as an adult and the love you have for a child, being able to contain this. It was a lesson in self-sacrifice to me.

Jenny still had on her white apron wrapped around her tiny waist, with soy sauce stained on the front. They immediately raced to the hospital in the early morning hours. Her brother Jonathan was quietly sitting in a chair in the corner, I gave him a hug but he did not get up or look at me. He was still in shock and was a quiet soul to begin with. I don’t think he could wrap his head around what was happening. I don’t think any of us could.

Small Buddhist figures were scattered in the room and incense was burning, we held hands, her parents chanted, and I had never felt more helpless and tiny in my whole life. I felt so insignificant, so meaningless in light of this greater force working against us. I think before we got the results over the next few days, I think we knew at that point that Amy was gone already. That it was not her lying there anymore; it was a shell, just a wrapper of a soul.

Over the next few days they did brain wave tests, responses tests, anything and everything, all of them came back with zero activity. I missed school the next few days, either intentionally or just plain skipping it, to drive to be with Amy each day. No one said anything; they knew I had to go. School did not matter at this point. This was a larger lesson, a lesson in life, and death. That I unfortunately was having wither I liked it or not. I went through all the stages of grief, I got angry, I was sad, I was depressed, hopeless, angry again. I stopped functioning. I stopped eating, showering, caring. I just stopped. The world stood still.  By the end of the week they decided to unplug the machines, it was Monday. I went in one last time alone with Amy. Her family gave me a moment to just talk to her, be with her one last time. I held her hand, cried, and told her that I will never forget her, or what she was about, and that I will try my best to be the kind of person she was. That I had learned so much from her in patience, fortitude, ambition, and innocence, that it would not stop with her and that her life had such meaning to everyone around her. Her parents and brother had some time with her, and then we all went in together, holding hands around her, her parents chanting. The nurse came in and asked if we were ready, and the room became calm and peaceful, the machines silenced and just the quiet chanting warmed the room. It put a trance on the room, on me, and it was so so calm. After a few shutters, and a few small sighs, her chest raised and lowered one last time, and that was all. That was the last moment we had.

I struggle now, as an adult, if I needed to see that at 17. If I needed to be that close to death, dying, and losing someone I cared about in such a personal way. I hear of parents wanting to shelter their children from things like this, and for me, it was necessary. I needed to see it, to touch her, to be with her. I need to see her go, and to really know that I was there for her, and she was there for me. Looking back now, I have to struggle to see this Amy, this bruised and battered shell. I can easily recall her warm funny smile, and her curious eyes behind her thick glasses, and her quick and bright laugh. That is my immediate memory, that is what I know. I remember the Amy I choose to, not the last one I saw, and for the chance to spend those last days with her and her family helped me grieve and grow, it was like her last gift to me. The giver was just not quite done yet, even in her final days.

Amy always would share with me how she felt so insignificant in the world, so small, and so I told her that she was leaving unforgettable, that she was now ingrained in me, my daily life, and my reason to be better. To be the best version of myself I could be. To be a small ode to her each and every day, to volunteer more, study harder, get through every level of schooling I was able, and to never settle. To her family, she was so so much more than any of this, they were and I am sure still are, crushed. Something like this is I am sure just unrecoverable for a family. Later, I would try to visit them whenever I was in town from various colleges, or jobs, but I slowly lost touch with them.  Their grief ate at them, eventually not being able to keep the restaurant open. Her brother had trouble in school and socializing, and while I have tried to find them recently, I have not been able to track them down. I wonder if they went back to Taiwan.  I do want to find them again, and let them know that a little piece of her is still a part of me, and that I strive to keep her alive each day.
Her funeral in the coming days, showed me a strength that I cannot imagine, in Buddhist tradition she should have been cremated immediately after dying, but her parents knew that with all the young people involved in her life, that they would need closure, so they broke tradition, and gave her an American funeral first. Since they were not strong English speakers, they asked Maggie and me to give her Eulogy. It was the most difficult thing I had ever done at that point, and I think now looking ahead, it will still remain as the hardest thing I will have to endure. The funeral home was packed, with her new college friends, and roommates, her high school classmates and teachers, her parents, brother, family, and customers. During the entire service her parents were in the front row, consoling and hugging those around them, without shedding a tear. Her mother shook with the sobs forming inside of her, but she held them in, she demonstrated that strong and silent resolve that I had respected in her daughter too. This act to me was her last gift to Amy, to let her leave, to let her go.

Her parents had bought her a new glaring white pair of her favorite Bongo skinny leg jeans, new white Keds, and a trendy shirt that I knew she would have tried on a few times, but would never have actually bought. It was something that made me smile seeing her in that shirt. Her first and only crush, Randal, came to the funeral that day too. I gave him a hug, and told him how her first dance with him at her senior prom was something she talked about all the time, and that she had such a crush on him. He was so kind and warm, and I just wished he knew the Amy I knew. Not the shy, bookworm, he thought she was. I thought about how embarrassed Amy would be wearing a trendy shirt, meeting her crush. She would have been mortified, except maybe the new jeans might have evened things out in her eyes.

After the funeral, many of the kids came back to my parent’s house, we just needed somewhere to all go, we weren’t ready to leave each other just yet. My parents were very supportive though all of this, and I am sure it was not easy on them to see me have to live through these days. I don’t think they really knew the extent of the toll this took on me, but they gave me my space and let me have the freedom to manage my life, my grief, and to come to my own conclusions and thoughts. I can appreciate now as an adult how difficult this would be to sit back and watch.

In the days the followed I found out more about Amy and her last few days, they retrieved her camera after the accident, and her parents could not bear to develop it, so they gave it to me. I had it developed and out of the 36 frames, 8 pictures came out, 7 were from a small birthday party her roommates in Melbourne had thrown for her over the previous weekend, also a strawberry cake, and showed her laughing in her dorm room with balloons and her new friends. Then there were about 25 black squares on the negatives, no images, nothing. The night of our bowling and party had somehow been erased; those happy moments only existed in memories now. Then one final image, preceded by several more black rectangles of overexposed film, this one image from our night out was the one picture Amy had actually taken that night, it was of me sitting on Maggie’s lap at the bowling alley, and we are both smiling and happy, with Amy behind the camera. It was like a final image of what Amy saw, and we could then see what she saw through the lens that night. It was odd to me how this could have happened, as how can this one image survive amidst the overexposed frames?  It has to be Amy’s own intervention. The other thing that was returned to me after the accident was the CD I had given her that night, just the disc was ejected from the car, and the case was thrown from the car we assume. She was listening to that Janet Jackson song “Together Again” when she essentially died. The song we both loved, and now the lyrics are all the more fitting. Amy’s family decided she would have wanted to continue to give, even in death, and donated her organs. They were able to take several and I know were able to make several other families extraordinary grateful for her and her families generosity. It was a catalyst for many friends affected by their loss, make this choice as well in the coming days. Not long after Amy’s death, I turned 18 and I became a first time blood donor as well as many friends, something that when I am able, I try to do as well, and hope others still continue too.

I hope one day to find her family again, to see how they are, and to let them see that a small part of Amy is still alive, that I try to find her patience, her drive, her analytical side, her quiet and thoughtful demeanor (good grief do I need more of that!), her peace. She made her mark on me, and on many of those around her. I can only imagine what great things she could have done, if she had a fair shot at a long life. I would have loved to be at her wedding day, her have her at mine. For her to have met Nathan and eventually Kyle, and be able to visit us, and be a part of my life still. It is these sad realities that make you realize how finite losing someone is. When you can put tangible examples from life’s journey that you can picture that person in, but know it can never be, that is when you realize you are still grieving, even years later.

Middle of the night realization...or was that pregancy heartburn?

I know there was a distinct moment as a child, when I realized that my parents were people before they were parents. I remember being sort of shocked when they talked about their lives, before each other, before marriage, and before kids, even when they were kids themselves. It was like a foreign idea, that there was something before us, and that idea was just so weird! Now of course it makes plenty of sense, and to hear stories about their upbringing, or their lives it often still has a piece of disbelief in it for me. 

I spent a lot of time with my maternal grandmother when I was growing up and heard about her childhood and life before kids and marriage too, and remember many of her stories, that I hope don’t just die with me. I know that while my children will never meet her, nor have the same experiences I did, I am realizing now with our digital age, I have an opportunity like never before. I have a way to leave behind my stories, and the stories that were shared with me growing up. I can give to my children and nieces, my account of things, first hand, and in my own voice. They can get to know the me of now, at a later point. My kids can read about how I feel, what I think, my opinions, and observations before they were even around. It is really remarkable actually, to be able to represent yourself, without the filter of someone else recounting things, or offering their version or opinion on something. It is so unique I think, and thinking back to my own family, how neat would it be to have now. To hear their memories either as they happened or things that you would typically never know, because really conversation is becoming a dying art. I remember some of the best stories just came out of late night conversations with my grandmother, her telling me about her life, my mother’s life, and then us grandchildren. Later of course I would get various versions of some of these stories recounted by my grandmother, that my mother would give me her take on them, and often they matched up surprisingly closer than you would think, but just with a sprinkling of opinions varying the tale. It is thinking back to this, that I am hoping I can keep up blogging, and keep this record going, that I have a chance to put my thoughts, opinions, feelings and observations together, so that my voice is added to the chorus that my children and nieces, (who knows maybe a nephew or two in the future too!), can find perspective in my writing, and they too can come to the realization that we too had pasts, we also had a life, and a story and an opinion well before they were even thought about. That these experiences and histories shaped us as well as molded us into the parents, grandparents, and hopefully great grandparents we might someday become. I think knowing where you came from is just as important as figuring out where you are going. Often it is the past that dictates how we cope, manage, and navigate in the future. I hope that I am diligent enough to keep up with this little project so it might one day be a wonderful gift to my kids and theirs.

Four more years!! and four more and four more and four more.....

Four years, usually only presidents seem to care about that particular duration of time, but with today marking our four year wedding anniversary I can't help but realize how quick that went for us and how slowly it probably would go for a president! 

I do have to say I have really enjoyed that we have had these four years to be married and live our life together and really figure out how to be a good partner, friend, and spouse to one another. We have had the blessing of time and just enjoyed our life together, just us two, oh and the dogs! J It has been our small little family up until now, and we are looking forward to starting the next chapter with the new addition in June. I know that these past four years have enabled us to have the skills and communication to continue our marriage outside of child rearing as well. It is reassuring that we have done it now, so that when the time comes, and our children face their own lives, and families, we have established what we want and the life we want to enjoy, together, back as a married couple.  While I am beyond excited about our future family, and all the new love, joy, challenges, and obstacles that presents, I am also picturing that horizon where we have a life again of just us two, and our little piece of the pie that these four years have represented. It does bring comfort to know that while we leave this chapter behind us, it repeats itself again towards the end of the novel.  Happy Anniversary to a great partner in life and in love, I am a lucky lucky girl.

The fine line between a wedding and a funeral...

It has been wedding central it seems like lately on my evenings and weekends, which has been great since having a baby is seriously almost as expensive as their first year of college it seems! When I tell people that weddings are my hobby or something I enjoy helping to plan and be a part of, most people who have experienced the planning of a wedding look at me like I have four eyes. If you have lived through your own wedding you now know how different planning a wedding is than planning say a birthday party, or a Christmas dinner. It is an event like no other, and often those who are virgin brides/wedding planners don’t get what all the fuss is about, and why on earth anyone would hire a wedding planner or coordinator is beyond them. Then you talk to them post wedding. You hear of the stress, the frustration, the expense and then not even having time to enjoy the day, which is usually immediately followed up with, “If I had known then what I know now, I would have spent the little extra to have someone there to manage that day at minimum”. Also many find out also on the flip side that having someone in their court to navigate the very clique waters of wedding vendors, that often the help in negotiations and planning can actually save the bride more than the cost of the planner or coordinator. Basically making the assistance free! Unfortunately it is often a realization that only seems to happen after the wedding has happened, but some brides wise up early on and get it from the beginning, either from seeing the benefits and value happen first hand, or attending a really bad wedding.  This I think is why I am kept busy enough with just friends of friends, or referrals from weddings I have done that a future bride has attended. They have firsthand experience to rely on to take that leap of faith.

Now that I have that out of the way, here is the catalyst behind this post. Each time I meet a bride, especially in the early stages before their eyes get glassed over like a deer in a headlight with all the to-do’s on their lists, I try to put the day in perspective for them, as I think this is the greatest reason as to why a wedding day is so special and a day like no other you will ever experience. (Of course besides the fact you are committing your life to someone else!)

Your wedding day is the only time in your life where you will be alive to witness all those that love and support you in one room for one purpose, you.  They will come from near and far, they will be the oldest and youngest members of your family and friends, all there to show that they love you, they encourage you, and they believe in you and this person you are about to spend the rest of your life with. If you really sit back and think of this, it is actually larger than the wedding itself. It will unfortunately never be recreated again, even at your funeral those same mix of people, will sadly not all be there to celebrate you and your life. This is your one shot to really be present, really absorb, and just take in all that you can to remember this day. That should be your sole energy on your wedding day in my opinion. Yes the flowers are beautiful, your makeup was flawless, you have photographs to pass on to your children and their children, but as you head towards the end of your life, you will look back on that day and remember all those around you and realize that it is about to happen again, in a much more somber tone, and that unfortunately you won’t be there to see it.

I often relay this to the brides I am lucky enough to help plan or be a part of their special day as I think it is really forgotten in the shuffle of all that happens in that short window of time. You concentrate on the groom, on your future, on your marriage, and many other important things, but really in my opinion this trumps all of those things, as without these people in your life, none of the other elements or events would exist. While I can see how some might think this is morbid and a dreary reality to think about on what is to be one of the happiest days of your life, but for me I hope that I can convey this and it is received as just something to deeply consider and appreciate, that this day is larger than you, larger than that massive white dress, and larger than the ring on your finger, it encompasses your life, and I find that this is the reason I am addicted to weddings. I am lucky to get to observe many weddings and the reactions of brides, grooms, family and friends, with a very unbiased eye. My single most favorite moment is when the bride and groom are at the front, reciting their vows, and everyone’s eyes are on that couple. It is then that I scan the room, and see all the faces just in awe, love and care for this couple vowing to share a life together for as long as they live.  It is really something remarkable, and unfortunately the couple doesn’t experience, but it is that moment that gives me chills, and makes me realize that that moment is why I love to be a part of wedding days. It makes whatever work, stress, or frustration just nothing to be concerned with. That all the effort, time and cost is worth it. That this moment will never be recreated, and this same love will never be felt again at this magnitude while these two are still alive. Next time you are at a wedding, really look around the room, you will see what I am talking about. You too will be addicted!

Lance Armstrong and Ice Cream Cake

In 2002 I took up the hobby of cycling, both road and mountain biking. It was at the time, due to someone else, that this became an interest of mine, but none the less I adopted it whole heartedly. I commuted to work on a bike, my weekends were biking, and I rarely used my car for probably two years or more. I would grocery shop and pack my backpack with everything I would need for a week, sometimes even condensing and recycling all the prepackaging of foods and groceries before even leaving the bike rack of the grocery store or farmers market to head home. I will admit it got me in great shape without any additional effort, and I loved that I could actually experience the day, outside, where now I commute in the dark and come home in the dark most days. (That might be due to the ridiculous hours my job expects of me too.) I was fit, tan, and full of fresh air and optimism. I had just started a new job in the summer of 2004 at the University of Florida, and ironically my place of employment was also big into cycling. We even had a team that road bike together weekly, and even found me a place to shower before work after my commute in. (It was like 12 miles or so, which now seems ridiculous, but then it was such a short ride). While the shower area was near a necropsy room, and that had it disadvantages, I considered myself a mild hobby cyclist and regardless of what made me start, I really enjoyed it.

Each year I was always eager to watch the coverage of the Tour de France and my boy Lance. After the 2002 race I got an I love Lance sticker for my bike with a big red glittery heart on it. He was such an awesome person, both with his philanthropy and attitude, and his commitment and grit. While I have never been an uber fan of anyone, gushing over someone or any of that non-sense, he was the first person that I think I really felt as a public figure would be someone I would like to meet someday. He was someone that had attributes that I admired and valued.

Ironically in October 2009 I had the experience that I had thought about back in 2004, I met Lance Armstrong. He was the key note speaker at a large convention I was working, and while it was a brief meeting, and I did regret that I had no camera and did not want to be one of those people who stalk a public figure for a photo, it was an amazing experience. Not too many people can check off their bucket list that they met someone that they admired, shook hands, had a few words, and then were able to really observe them up close and personal.  Since the event was in Austin, in his hometown, he simply rode his bike to the venue, was in jeans and a t-shirt, gave his talk, and hopped back on his bike to head home. It was surreal.  I just watched him interact with a string of people all vying for autographs, photos, and trying to chat it up with him. He is not much of a chatter it turns out, so probably a good thing I didn’t get time to talk to him much might have been disappointed. He gave a great talk to the 5000 or so people that were there. He was exactly as I had pictured he would be, and also the same demeanor and personality I had envisioned all those years. He was real, down to earth, approachable, and of course fit. He spoke about his kids, his life, his philanthropy, and even chicken nuggets.  I left that encounter thinking how cool that was, and how not that long before I think he had some small hand in the course my life had taken thus far.  Let me explain.

Right after starting my new job at the University in the summer of 2004, I was taking my normal route to work on my mountain bike. It was sturdier, and I liked it better than my road bike for commuting to work on. I kept my typical routine, of waking up, throwing on my cycling gear, packing my suit, heels, breakfast, lunch, hair dryer and makeup and carried my bike with its glittery I heart Lance sticker, down the three flights of stairs from my apartment to hit the road to work. I rarely even brushed my teeth before heading out since I got ready for the day once I got to work. I would literally roll out of bed and within 5 minutes was on my bike. It was my daily routine.  

This one particular day would change my life forever. I just did not know it yet. I headed out and about a mile into my commute I had to cross one of the largest intersections in Gainesville, now you would think, how big can this be it is Gainesville, but it was about four or five lanes each direction with the turn lanes. I waited for the light, and remember getting past the cars at the red light, and I would always double check for people running it, or trying to beat the green. This one day I missed a car, it was plowing along in the right hand turn lane and was trying to make a right on red without stopping, it was going about 35 I was later told. It was a young man trying to get his girlfriend to class on time, he was in a hurry and just as I saw him, his bumper was in my thigh and his side mirror was on the right side of my ribcage. It was a blur after that. I remember being on my hands and knees in the middle of the intersection and noticing my gloves were torn, and my knees bleeding. I remember crawling on all fours to the corner to try to lie against the cross walk pole. I remember sweating profusely, and being so so hot. I remember the pain, the pain so deep inside of me that I thought I wasn’t breathing still. Then ironically the realization that I am not going to make that meeting I was due to take minutes for at 8am. Back to the pain, that was a reality check. I remember hearing sirens, and people, I remember thinking I didn’t wash my face, brush my teeth, and since I had on padded bike shorts, I didn’t have on underwear. My mother always told me to wear clean underwear and here I was getting loaded into an ambulance, sans panties. Looking back now it is funny to realize what runs through your mind, and how trivial it all seems, but at the time that is where my brain was going. Maybe to distract me, because oh yes that pain, it was still there and maybe getting worse, it was hard to tell, was it def con 4 pain or def con 5 pain, I had no idea, I just knew it had to be bad for it to hurt like it did. Then I remember getting hotter and hotter, and my logical side started in, was I bleeding on the inside and that was why I was getting so hot? Was I dying? Why else would I be getting so so hot? (I would later find out that it was July, in Florida, in a large steel box of an ambulance, I had just been cycling at a pretty fast pace, oh yeah and the air conditioning was out on the ambulance that day) I remember thinking oh man my parents are going to go berserk; they didn’t like me biking to work to begin with, so this was going to be the icing on the cake. I didn’t want to be the one to call them that was for sure. I also made a pact with myself that I am going to fake it, that whenever I see them, I can fake it. I can put on a smile, and pretend I am just fine, just skinned my knees, and need some new gloves. I could manage their fear, and worry, and make everything just fine. They were at least a 4 hour drive away so I had time. I can get myself together in four hours, maybe five since I was sure my dad was still at work and had to come home first to get my mom before heading north. (I didn’t realize that I my bike and helmet would sell me out here, while I went into the middle of the intersection, my bike went under the tires of the car, and I landed on my head, and slid, that my helmet had half of it dented in and scuffed, and my backpack was scraped and torn and took the other brunt of my slide, lucky for my flesh!) It is crazy to realize once again, what you think about when something like this happens. It is so ironic.

They immediately put me in a CT machine to check for internal injuries and assess the damage. I had on that crazy neck brace and was lying on a board. I remember thinking, maybe the board is just really hard and that is why my back hurts so badly. If I could just get on a more comfortable bed, then surely I would feel a lot better. (Crazy was talking here.) What are these people thinking leaving me strapped to this and so uncomfortable?  At this point I was still alone, the person I was dating at the time had not made it to the hospital, and I had told someone my parents phone number to call as well as his number and my work number, since once again I was worried about that meeting that needed minutes done for it.

I got out of the CT scan and they started an IV, and then started the morphine. Oh the morphine, it was magic going in. It turned this horrendous pain into a sprained ankle. I could breathe again, and with the pain managed, my energy turned to fear. What had happened, what was wrong with me? I had not died yet, so that was a good sign. I wasn’t hot anymore, that seemed promising. Did they get ahold of my parents? I hope they told them I am alive and talking and fine. I am sure my mother is a train wreck right now. I don’t see my backpack anywhere so I can’t get to my cell phone to call anyone. Oh my hands are still strapped down; I guess I couldn’t do anything anyways.

What seemed like forever a doctor came in, turns out he was with me earlier, I just did not remember then with all the pain. He had taken a look at my CT and while they needed to do further tests, that right now it looks like I am the luckiest patient he had seen in a while. That my L1 and L2 vertebrates were both fractured, they were hairline fractures that had just cracked right inside the bone just a few millimeters from my spinal column of fluid. That had the cracks gone deeper, or just a hair further in, I would have lifelong mobility issues, and possible loss of use of my legs. Also since these cracks circled the column of spinal fluid and had not dislocated a vertebrae I would not need surgery in his opinion. That time to heal, a few versions of back braces and physical therapy would be my recovery from this. In his words, I dodged a bullet. That the helmet had taken the brunt of my head trauma and I had a mild concussion, but since it was really a time vs. healing thing, that in a few hours I could go home. Crazy right, you get hit by a car at 7am, break your back, and voila you are home and in bed by the afternoon!  They could coordinate my morphine dose so that right when I left I could make it slowly up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, but then I would be spending several weeks there in bed recovering. It was surreal.

It was at this point I lost it. I started to cry, and the realization of what had just happened became, well, real. I had heard my parents had been notified and were on their way. The morphine, while killing the pain, was making me nauseous, and all I wanted was to go home, start my day over, and forget this had happened. My boyfriend at the time, used this opportunity, to show me his true colors, and it was at this point I realized that he was not the one for me. It seemed like all these realities colliding, was just too much to handle.  While it would be months before all these epiphanies came to fruition, the seed was planted, and my life course would change forever.  A police officer had brought my bike to the ER; he had put it in his trunk after the accident. It was mangled, and dented, and my I heart Lance sticker, now ironically, had a slash across its glittery heart. It was also forever changed.

From this point forward, I healed, I stopped biking nearly as often, I moved on from that relationship, I changed my entire attitude about life, my future, my dreams, and what I wanted to do with myself, I ended up taking a new job after a year and half which eventually brought me to Kentucky, to Nathan, and to our current life here.

What prompted me to blog about all of this, is a message, that while it will never reach Lance Armstrong, it might be a good one for him to hear now, that after something very catastrophic, you can change the course your life is on, you can alter your future, and you can change your perception on life, on your values, and what is really truly important to you at the end of the day. I am deeply disappointed in his deception, and the extent to which he misrepresented himself, however I can see that he can still do some good, he can still right his wrongs, dictate a positive path forward, and instead of shielding his less desirable attributes with the glow of a wonderful organization, he can step back in, shift his morality and virtues back to where they probably once were, and take back the reigns of his life. While that will not be the easy path, it is probably the right path, and like we all know the right path is often the more difficult journey to endure. From my life lesson I have gained so much more than that little scar on my knee, which is all that remains from that traumatic day. I became a risk taker in a much different level; I became more outgoing, more compassionate, more patient, a better friend, a better sibling and a better child. I grew that day more than I have grown the almost 10 years since. Knowing how that day changed me, and how it increased my adventurous spirit and drive, I think has a hand somewhere down the line that led to a coin toss that made my decision to move to Kentucky.  I appreciated things more than ever, and still to this day, I feel like it puts things in perspective for me. When I look back on that second that could have changed my life forever in the opposite direction, I am so very lucky that I had the opportunity to head out on another trail, and seek out a life with a fresh perspective.

 In the days after the accident I had a new appreciation for so many things. My sister to bathe me, my dad to be my advocate, my mother to be my cook and care giver, my brother to be my entertainment, and my friends to be that final loop of love and support that got me back to a better version of myself. I remember the day after the accident, my now sister in law, who was I think newly dating my brother at the time, sent up an ice cream cake for me and all of my visitors. I mean what do you do when all you have heard is your boyfriend’s sister has just been hit by a car? (I still think this proves that ice cream is the fix for everything!) I had a little piece with all of my family around me also having a slice, milling about my bed. I remember looking around and thinking, this moment I do not want to take for granted again. That the ice cream was so good, that I loved my family and friends so much, that I would spend the rest of my life living with that same appreciation for the things around me that I took for granted so much in my life prior. That I had seen death and awful things up until that point, but it took that moment with a slice of ice cream cake, to really see how sweet life was, and how grateful I had so many more years to enjoy it with such a different perspective.  I hope Lance Armstrong has this opportunity for a second time, and it won’t have to involve cancer.

Observations from the pregger....

When I was younger, I was certain I was different. I always walked to my own drum, had my own unique style, tastes, thoughts, and often defied tradition. I enjoyed my own unique journey, friendships, travels, and challenges. Some of course, like any point on life’s path, were good and some were bad. Each of these elements has shaped who I am, what I believe, and how I lead my life. It sets my priorities, my beliefs, and my passions. With being a first time expecting mom, there is a whole new world that I realize awaits me. I am certain that Nathan and I will love this child with the same ferocity and unconditional support that we have both been lucky to experience from each of our sets of parents. However, knowing a few pregnant friends and acquaintances thus far in my life, I still feel I am different. Maybe every expecting mom feels this way, and then after delivery they lose their sense and previous opinions in the matter, but here is my small observation, at least for now.

So far I have noticed two things about how people interact with you when they know you are expecting. First they all have advice, criticism, opinions and their own experiences to offer up, and secondly, not a single one has been the same. Which makes it ironic that everyone feels the need to share, and sometimes overshare; as since nothing I have heard from anyone has been the same from person to person (except a baby comes out at the end of the story)! I think it is more of a cathartic thing for the storyteller than really anything helpful for the expecting mom or dad, at least in my very inexperienced opinion. Now of course family, close friends or others, who you might directly ask a question or inquire about their experience, would probably be a welcome conversation with any expecting parent. Even hearing about the journey that those close to you made at this same junction in their lives, that is not what I am thinking here. I am talking about random acquaintances, strangers in the grocery store, people you have met once or twice, people you don’t normally share uber personal details with, all that find out you are expecting and seem to seek you out to tell you their tale of woe during pregnancy, labor and delivery.  It just seems silly to me, going back to the reality that no two women’s experience has been the same.  The other piece to this new experience that I do not feel I am aligning with the majority on here is that pregnancy is not all consuming. I was an individual, an employee, a friend, a spouse, a civic minded entity, and an entrepreneur before pregnancy, and plan to be all of those things, and a mom, once it is all said and done. Being pregnant is a status I am in for the next few months, which will culminate into the next chapter of mine and my husband’s life, parenthood. It will not just cease and desist my previous titles making me solely under the heading “pregnant”.  It is not my every waking thought, every meaningful action, nor my complete identity.  In our home, of course, it is a huge topic of our conversations, our planning, and our futures, but my day to day life goes on. I have responsibilities, dreams, thoughts, and plans. All of these include this little person we are gestating, but it is not the sole fulcrum in the balancing act of life that goes on each day.

 I am still Julie, I am still planning on leaving this experience Julie, and while this experience is amazing, wonderful, and unexplainably marvelous, it is an experience. It is not my identity. I have many other aspirations, for myself, for this child, for my life, my marriage, my family. It is a temporary condition that I want to enjoy while it is mine to experience but that will not define who I am, and I hope that because of this I will be a better parent. That I won’t need to live through my child vicariously, that I will truly hope what is best for them and their life, their dreams, their aspirations, and their happiness.  That I can accomplish those things for myself so that my future and the family Nathan and I build together can support our child to accomplish its goals and vision, rather than become my own entirely. Expecting, pregnancy, and babies, while obviously a huge part of my life right now, is not the only topic of conversation I can manage to have right now. I am pregnant, I didn’t have a hemispherectomy.