Now, it’s 2011. We are approaching the last quarter of the 2nd year of our new life. This is the second set of holidays without daddy. This year’s approach was a bit different for us. Shortly after Thomas’ death my father came back into my life. I had not seen him in eight years and neither I nor my siblings knew where he was. Thomas faithfully prayed for a reunification every day even after the rejection I felt left me with only a hope that he was safe. It was one of many things I wished he’d survived to see. My father is of course older, a little slower, but he is remarried and happy. In 2010, he, my stepmother and brother all went to my sister’s house for Thanksgiving. When I was invited I had already booked the Disney World trip. The children and I saw them a few months later when one of my nieces graduated from a university nearby. Fast forward to this year, I got a text from my sister again inviting us there for Thanksgiving. We were getting another chance to be a part of this get together and this time I took it.
There is rest for the weary after all.
I’m sure most of us have heard the saying, “There’s no rest for the weary.” I’d become very familiar with it during my married life and my time as a widow. Being a caregiver, running a household alone as a wife, being a single parent, running a household alone as a widow all while holding down a full time job, I could have had this saying tattooed somewhere if I was into tattoos that is. It would have to be a fake one that washes off after a couple of days.
But when I put the children in the van and started down the highway to my sister’s house last week, I wasn’t thinking about getting much rest. All I was thinking about was getting away from the house again and seeing my family. I had no desire to stay home, or make a big meal, or do the constant clean-up that is an inevitable part of my son being at home all day with his toys. Ariana was excited, mainly about seeing “paw paw”. That is what my father’s grandchildren call him. Elijah as usual just went with what was happening, even though I could tell he was very confused when the little box in front of him showed one of his favorite cartoons. I had picked up a Phillips two screen portable DVD player for the van after work. I ordered it online from Best Buy for store pick-up and installed it before leaving the store’s parking lot. It turned out to be the cure for the “Are we almost there-itis” my daughter seems to come down with 30 minutes into any long drive.
Something happened after we got there. My children settled in to the unfamiliar surroundings pretty quickly and found playmates as soon as we arrived. My sister was caring for two of her grandchildren while her daughter worked. Thank God for cousins. My niece is 7 and my nephew is 3. Ariana is 8 and Elijah is almost 2. You would have thought they’d known each other all of their lives, but it was only their second time seeing each other. Once their mother picked them up around 9:00, Ariana was so tired she passed out in bed. My father and stepmother arrived at around 10:00. Elijah stayed up long enough to see them, but once I got him to stay still for five minutes he was out too. I stayed up another 30 minutes to get caught up, but knew if I wanted to get enough sleep, I had to retire as well. My brother left his home later that night to avoid traffic, but arrived before dawn.
I got something out of the trip I wasn’t expecting. I was able to relax. One aunt, two uncles, a set of grandparents and several cousins meant for just a few days I wasn’t the entire world to my children. When my son wanted to be picked up, he had his choice of several people and he took to the "new" adults in his life better than I could have hoped. They all knew how to deal with him. He and “paw paw” became fast friends and it quickly became clear to Elijah that this guy was impressed with everything he did and said. He pointed to an apple and within a few minutes there was an apple in his hand. He pointed and said “cracker” and POOF, several came to him. He said "milk" and someone gave him a cup. My sister made them breakfast and once Thanksgiving dinner was prepared, we ate it for days. My brother-in-law fried a turkey outside, my sister made potato salad and several sweet potato pies. Other members of my sister’s and my brother-in-law’s families brought other side dishes.
The cousins did not stay the night but they returned each day we were there and two more came to the house on Thanksgiving Day. My sister in addition to having two daughters has two stepdaughters who each have a daughter. There were children everywhere and my sister and brother-in-law have a big yard. When they weren’t outside, the Wii video game system in the back room kept them busy for a while. I’m surprised Ariana’s arms aren’t sore from playing the boxing game. Only thing is I might end up having to buy one of those things.
On Friday I didn’t even bother getting dressed. We all except my brother who had to go to another city for the day, stayed in our pajamas. I really hope this gathering becomes an annual event. I could use the rest.
With a bit of sadness, I drove us home on Saturday afternoon. Everyone else was staying over to Sunday, but I needed Saturday evening and Sunday to get us settled back in to our life. On Monday it was back to work and school. I had rather ease back into reality than be tossed back into it. I had a simple plan in mind. On Saturday evening, I wanted to unpack the suitcase, do two loads of laundry, put the Christmas tree up and decorate it. We had a leadership meeting and church service on Sunday.
The tree is up and I love it even more than last year. We added a new ornament this year. I found it at a holiday store in our local mall. It is a picture frame with angel wings. On the top it reads “Forever in Our Hearts”. In the blank space above the picture I had the store employee write “Daddy” with the year 2010. I put Thomas’ picture inside. Sunday evening I baked cookies and began to decorate the outside of the house. The presents for the children have been on lay-away at Wal-Mart since October. I still have to make that photo session appointment. My approach to Christmas will still be to dive in head first and pull out what is good. We’ll have a chance to have fun and to further explore the true meaning of the season.
So the only question that remained was what to do with Thomas’ Christmas money. This year’s charity will be "Love Haiti’s Children". I give to American charities throughout the year, but this one is dear to me. The pastors I had before I joined Word of God Fellowship opened an orphanage there after the earthquake. It’s true, my children have no father. They are however, blessed with a lot of people who love them intensely. The children in Haiti this orphanage was built for have no one until the missionaries get there. I think of all of the times my daughter tells me she misses her father every day, but is so glad that at least I am still here. It doesn’t comfort me to think of others who are less fortunate, but it does move me in ways I can’t really express.
We still hurt. We still miss Thomas. We still have plenty of challenges to face. We still have days where we seem lost. We still have so much growing to do. We’re still here though and we’re still a family. We still have hope. We still have love. We still have laughter. We still have our faith. We still have the ability to give. Every day of our lives I am aware of all of those things. The approach of Christmas and the New Year though allows me to become aware of them on a higher level. I can slow down and see things more clearly, plan for that growth, appreciate our progress, and remember how fortunate we are. As 2011 ticks away, I’ll aim to do the same thing I did last year, but more so. I’ll take some deep breaths, thank God for His mercy and His patience with me, tighten my grip on my children and do my best to move the three of us forward.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
My Approach to Surviving and Thriving Through the Holidays: Part One
The holidays are pretty much in full swing. It can potentially be a really rough time for my set of the population. This is our second set of holidays since Thomas’ death. We actually had several months between his death and the holidays and I appreciate that. I know several people who in addition to dealing with going through the holidays without their spouse, have the memory of losing their spouse close to a family holiday. Thomas died 17 days after our wedding anniversary and the first one afterwards was very difficult for me. My approach to the holidays last year had different themes. For Thanksgiving we abandoned tradition and our house. For Christmas, I decided to mix old ones with new ones, but to dive in head first.
For Part One, I'll go back to 2010.
Last year, we spent Thanksgiving at Disney World. I wanted to take the children there in 2011, but after Thomas died, I decided not to wait. Ariana’s fall break, which shifts according to an annual teacher’s conference fell on the week of Thanksgiving so instead of having 3 days of the week off from school, she had the entire week. I booked and planned 6 days at Disney World over a span of three months. I kept the trip a surprise for Ariana just in case we didn’t make it, but we did and we had a wonderful time. Every year of our life together we hosted several people for Thanksgiving in our home. Thomas did the bulk of the cooking because that is what he loved to do. I contributed a side or two and did the cleaning before and after. We never traveled because he had to be right back at work the next day. I found traveling to be a good alternative.
As was our tradition during Thomas’ life, we spent Christmas at home. I tossed our old Christmas tree and most of the decorations (an artificial one we bought in 2005). One evening after work/school, I bundled up the children and we went to Wal-Mart for a brand new tree and all new decorations. I found us a pre-lit Colorado fir tree. It was 7 feet tall with over 800 tips. It was full bodied and beautiful in the picture (and was outside the box as well). Elijah sat in the cart looking around while Ariana and I went up and down the aisles picking up individual decorations ranging from $1 to $3 in price…stars, spirals, a key, a reindeer, a church and some other things. I picked up the small traditional ball shaped ornaments in packs of 5 in gold, silver, red and green, then a larger box as well. Ariana picked out an angel for the top. I put together and decorated it while Ariana did her homework. It was gorgeous.
On a different day, after church, we traveled to visit Thomas' family and his grave site. He is buried in his home town. I left a picture of the children and spent some time with my in-laws. On yet another day, we wrapped up and went out in search of groceries. I set myself to make a dinner worthy of being called a Christmas dinner even though one of the three of us was barely into table food. In Thomas’ honor we had Cornish game hens (a favorite of his). We had fresh cabbage, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, cranberry sauce and two desserts.
As to presents, I generally have a photo session done with the children and give the portraits to family members. I buy very few toys during the year, so when Christmas approached I had a really good idea of what I wanted for the children and picked things up when I could. I generally spent $200 on Thomas each Christmas. Last year I donated that money to Saint Jude’s Children’s Hospital and also took every opportunity to teach Ariana about charity. Even though this horrible thing had happened to us, I didn't feel it was time to shield her from other harsh realities of the world. She's a giving child. It wasn't hard to get the message across. After breakfast on Christmas morning, we read the Christmas story. Then, with a restful smile I watched Ariana and Elijah open and enjoy their toys and tried to rest. Like Ariana at her first Christmas, Elijah was a bit overwhelmed when his toy supply literally tripled, but he got the hang of it.
I did not regret how I chose to deal with either ocassion. When the last seconds of 2010 ticked away on December 31st, I was at church. I expressed my gratitude to God for having made it as far as we had, and thanked Him for His mercy and patience with me. Then I let out a deep breath and tightened my grip on my children. Last year I was determined to show Ariana that God would see us through as our faith had been shaken at its base. I was also in high gear of my "Yes we are still a family" campaign and in the end it was successful.
Part Two: What about this year?
For Part One, I'll go back to 2010.
Last year, we spent Thanksgiving at Disney World. I wanted to take the children there in 2011, but after Thomas died, I decided not to wait. Ariana’s fall break, which shifts according to an annual teacher’s conference fell on the week of Thanksgiving so instead of having 3 days of the week off from school, she had the entire week. I booked and planned 6 days at Disney World over a span of three months. I kept the trip a surprise for Ariana just in case we didn’t make it, but we did and we had a wonderful time. Every year of our life together we hosted several people for Thanksgiving in our home. Thomas did the bulk of the cooking because that is what he loved to do. I contributed a side or two and did the cleaning before and after. We never traveled because he had to be right back at work the next day. I found traveling to be a good alternative.
As was our tradition during Thomas’ life, we spent Christmas at home. I tossed our old Christmas tree and most of the decorations (an artificial one we bought in 2005). One evening after work/school, I bundled up the children and we went to Wal-Mart for a brand new tree and all new decorations. I found us a pre-lit Colorado fir tree. It was 7 feet tall with over 800 tips. It was full bodied and beautiful in the picture (and was outside the box as well). Elijah sat in the cart looking around while Ariana and I went up and down the aisles picking up individual decorations ranging from $1 to $3 in price…stars, spirals, a key, a reindeer, a church and some other things. I picked up the small traditional ball shaped ornaments in packs of 5 in gold, silver, red and green, then a larger box as well. Ariana picked out an angel for the top. I put together and decorated it while Ariana did her homework. It was gorgeous.
On a different day, after church, we traveled to visit Thomas' family and his grave site. He is buried in his home town. I left a picture of the children and spent some time with my in-laws. On yet another day, we wrapped up and went out in search of groceries. I set myself to make a dinner worthy of being called a Christmas dinner even though one of the three of us was barely into table food. In Thomas’ honor we had Cornish game hens (a favorite of his). We had fresh cabbage, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, cranberry sauce and two desserts.
As to presents, I generally have a photo session done with the children and give the portraits to family members. I buy very few toys during the year, so when Christmas approached I had a really good idea of what I wanted for the children and picked things up when I could. I generally spent $200 on Thomas each Christmas. Last year I donated that money to Saint Jude’s Children’s Hospital and also took every opportunity to teach Ariana about charity. Even though this horrible thing had happened to us, I didn't feel it was time to shield her from other harsh realities of the world. She's a giving child. It wasn't hard to get the message across. After breakfast on Christmas morning, we read the Christmas story. Then, with a restful smile I watched Ariana and Elijah open and enjoy their toys and tried to rest. Like Ariana at her first Christmas, Elijah was a bit overwhelmed when his toy supply literally tripled, but he got the hang of it.
I did not regret how I chose to deal with either ocassion. When the last seconds of 2010 ticked away on December 31st, I was at church. I expressed my gratitude to God for having made it as far as we had, and thanked Him for His mercy and patience with me. Then I let out a deep breath and tightened my grip on my children. Last year I was determined to show Ariana that God would see us through as our faith had been shaken at its base. I was also in high gear of my "Yes we are still a family" campaign and in the end it was successful.
Part Two: What about this year?
Monday, November 14, 2011
Year Two: Pulling Back the Curtain
Geez whoever said the 2nd year of widowhood could be harder hit the nail square on the head. We've got just over 3.5 months left in it. What I hoped would be a time of healing has turned into a time of revealing more of what needs to be healed. Having a new baby and some other things going on probably pushed the tough stuff back a bit. It took 18 months for me to break open about the anger I felt. I guess that is a necessary step. This is a really long road.
Children especially (and I have two) have complicated grief. With my son, even at 22 months, he is drawn to male companionship. He's fortunate to have a Godfather who loves him. He will about 50% of the time now recognize a picture on the fridge as his daddy because I told him that is who it was. My daughter, I now know will need 2 therapists. One for some reading and speech issues that showed up late and another for grief.
It's just been in the last few months my daughter has really started to talk in bits and pieces how she feels about what happened to her father and now she says it is on her mind a lot. Last night she said, she thought he would be around for her to grow up and she's outraged he is not here. She was very calm when she said it, but still hearing your child say she's outraged and you can't fix it stinks. Yesterday she saw a dad pick his daughter up and kiss her and I could see the hurt in her face.
School is an issue and an evaluation revealed some significant gaps in her learning. She tells me there is a lot going on in her brain.
And why wouldn't there be anyway? A large number of children who lose a parent also lose an entire year or more academically and have to catch up later. When we are struggling with the homework I try to remember that. Her father is dead. She's confused and she misses him. She's mad he's gone but also relieved he didn't give me what he had. He coughed a lot and at six years old of course she thought he was contagious. She's concerned about not having a father, but mostly because I have to do it all for her and her brother and she doesn't think that's fair. I certainly can't argue with her, but it is really any wonder there isn't much room left for remembering there are 3 feet in a yard?
She's a loving child who tries hard. She is brilliant in that when she is thriving she shines like the sun...the cutest little cheerleader, an animal lover, a budding Science geek, and a soloist in the children's choir. Test grades are low though and with this being an EOG year, it's worrisome. Her overall GPA is only saved by how well she does on her homework and classwork even though it takes her longer. And the mercy of her teacher who graciously sent me a packet of work she got behind on last week to complete by this Friday and still get full credit.
She is just zoning out at certain times, probably partially due to everything she is thinking about and the gaps the therapist found. Previously when she was corrected for zoning out, she'd start crying, but she has stopped doing that since I became aware of it. Yes, there's some drama queen in there too. Other than that she is very well behaved and I can count on one hand the number of negative behavior comments I've gotten in the last 2 years.
But a visit to her pediatrician is on the list too because if there's another issue causing the lack of focus I want to address it. The therapist didn't notice any, but one thing I do notice is when left on her own to write something, it comes out just like anything her father would write…a lot of misspelled words and grammatical errors that make her sentences nonsense. It's like there's a block between all the rules she is learning and putting them to use. She can convey she understands a story orally, but if left to write a summary of the story, it's a mess.
But if I put her down with her Science book and there's questions at the end of a chapter and she has to look up the answers in the content and write them down she can do it. One morning I discovered we'd forgotten to do her Science homework and she got it done in 15 minutes flat. Now she does love Science, but with her other issues, I'd think she would struggle with this. I'm glad she doesn't, but it doesn't make sense to me that she doesn't if that makes sense.
One thing the therapist did say was that there is likely nothing I could have done to prevent what has happened with her and that I'm doing the right thing getting help for her, which was therapeutic in itself. But I called our local hospice to make an appointment for myself. Life had not settled enough to fit it in previously and really I'm just peeling back the layers and able to talk about what happened in a way that therapy could be beneficial. I've always been sad or mad about him being gone, but have found a way to stay on the road to a good life. We have good times together and we stay positive about our challenges. I'm just really starting to feel the reality of what I'm facing. Some of it Thomas left me with because life and his illness meant we didn't address it during his life. Some things I'm facing directly because of his death and some things I might be facing either way, but they're magnified because of his death in one way or another. Exhaustion sets in and it is setting in when my daughter needs me more than ever.
During his life, our situation was very private out of respect for my husband and I don't regret it. But where I go from here is my decision. There's no fear of seeking professional help especially when it comes to my children. The trick of needing counseling being a structural weakness takes too many people under. Too many people are swallowed up in isolation surrounded by a fear of being labeled weak. Were I weak, I would never have survived to this point and that goes for anyone in the same situation. Is it fair? Nope, but fair only exists in children's games. Who knows why some people face things that would crush most people, but God has always proven Himself to be the equalizer and talking to Him let me know I am equipped for this. That could mean I use the strength God gave me to handle it or I use His strength to find the right resources for help. Either way, I just know that, I take His strength and take charge...hearbreak and all.
Children especially (and I have two) have complicated grief. With my son, even at 22 months, he is drawn to male companionship. He's fortunate to have a Godfather who loves him. He will about 50% of the time now recognize a picture on the fridge as his daddy because I told him that is who it was. My daughter, I now know will need 2 therapists. One for some reading and speech issues that showed up late and another for grief.
It's just been in the last few months my daughter has really started to talk in bits and pieces how she feels about what happened to her father and now she says it is on her mind a lot. Last night she said, she thought he would be around for her to grow up and she's outraged he is not here. She was very calm when she said it, but still hearing your child say she's outraged and you can't fix it stinks. Yesterday she saw a dad pick his daughter up and kiss her and I could see the hurt in her face.
School is an issue and an evaluation revealed some significant gaps in her learning. She tells me there is a lot going on in her brain.
And why wouldn't there be anyway? A large number of children who lose a parent also lose an entire year or more academically and have to catch up later. When we are struggling with the homework I try to remember that. Her father is dead. She's confused and she misses him. She's mad he's gone but also relieved he didn't give me what he had. He coughed a lot and at six years old of course she thought he was contagious. She's concerned about not having a father, but mostly because I have to do it all for her and her brother and she doesn't think that's fair. I certainly can't argue with her, but it is really any wonder there isn't much room left for remembering there are 3 feet in a yard?
She's a loving child who tries hard. She is brilliant in that when she is thriving she shines like the sun...the cutest little cheerleader, an animal lover, a budding Science geek, and a soloist in the children's choir. Test grades are low though and with this being an EOG year, it's worrisome. Her overall GPA is only saved by how well she does on her homework and classwork even though it takes her longer. And the mercy of her teacher who graciously sent me a packet of work she got behind on last week to complete by this Friday and still get full credit.
She is just zoning out at certain times, probably partially due to everything she is thinking about and the gaps the therapist found. Previously when she was corrected for zoning out, she'd start crying, but she has stopped doing that since I became aware of it. Yes, there's some drama queen in there too. Other than that she is very well behaved and I can count on one hand the number of negative behavior comments I've gotten in the last 2 years.
But a visit to her pediatrician is on the list too because if there's another issue causing the lack of focus I want to address it. The therapist didn't notice any, but one thing I do notice is when left on her own to write something, it comes out just like anything her father would write…a lot of misspelled words and grammatical errors that make her sentences nonsense. It's like there's a block between all the rules she is learning and putting them to use. She can convey she understands a story orally, but if left to write a summary of the story, it's a mess.
But if I put her down with her Science book and there's questions at the end of a chapter and she has to look up the answers in the content and write them down she can do it. One morning I discovered we'd forgotten to do her Science homework and she got it done in 15 minutes flat. Now she does love Science, but with her other issues, I'd think she would struggle with this. I'm glad she doesn't, but it doesn't make sense to me that she doesn't if that makes sense.
One thing the therapist did say was that there is likely nothing I could have done to prevent what has happened with her and that I'm doing the right thing getting help for her, which was therapeutic in itself. But I called our local hospice to make an appointment for myself. Life had not settled enough to fit it in previously and really I'm just peeling back the layers and able to talk about what happened in a way that therapy could be beneficial. I've always been sad or mad about him being gone, but have found a way to stay on the road to a good life. We have good times together and we stay positive about our challenges. I'm just really starting to feel the reality of what I'm facing. Some of it Thomas left me with because life and his illness meant we didn't address it during his life. Some things I'm facing directly because of his death and some things I might be facing either way, but they're magnified because of his death in one way or another. Exhaustion sets in and it is setting in when my daughter needs me more than ever.
During his life, our situation was very private out of respect for my husband and I don't regret it. But where I go from here is my decision. There's no fear of seeking professional help especially when it comes to my children. The trick of needing counseling being a structural weakness takes too many people under. Too many people are swallowed up in isolation surrounded by a fear of being labeled weak. Were I weak, I would never have survived to this point and that goes for anyone in the same situation. Is it fair? Nope, but fair only exists in children's games. Who knows why some people face things that would crush most people, but God has always proven Himself to be the equalizer and talking to Him let me know I am equipped for this. That could mean I use the strength God gave me to handle it or I use His strength to find the right resources for help. Either way, I just know that, I take His strength and take charge...hearbreak and all.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Breaking Open At One and a Half Years
Yeah, I'm usually never late, but this walk I have found is one where there is no set pace.
So I haven't posted in quite some time. I have these times where I close in on myself and have thoughts and emotions I don't want to share. But that wasn't the original purpose of this blog. It was to be an open honest account of the ups and downs of my journey after my husband's death. I wouldn't have anyone reading not know it's a huge challenge. There's joy in my life and pain. That's the honest truth.
I had to come to terms that I'm still really angry about what happened, about everything, the disease, the effects of the disease on Thomas and therefore our marriage, how I don't see myself the same anymore, how some of the encounters with him during those times, especially when he was heavily medicated really lowered my self-esteem, how I'm still a product of some of the negative things I went through.
I couldn't even cry...not more than shedding a few tears here and there. I could sit and get behind on laundry, let the house become disorganized, lose focus, but I couldn't let the emotion out even when I felt it coming. I told myself I had to be strong, that I couldn't let the children see me break down. I'm all they have left, I should keep it together. I could hear my my husband telling me how it wouldn't do any good to cry, how I shouldn't be that weak (yeah, I know).
After a while I got a bit fed up...angry really. As many times as I'd told people who asked about it that God can handle your anger and as many times as I'd told myself the same thing, and even heard it in my head when I would pray, I could not seem to make the step to say, "Yeah, I'm mad...I'm really mad. I'm mad at Thomas, I'm mad at me and yeah, I'm mad at You too cuz I know you love us and didn't cause what happened, but I also can't understand why I can't catch a break."
I mean my husband is dead. My children have NO father. But one thing I learned while Thomas was alive was that having a huge life weight doesn't mean you're immune from the challenges of life other people face. Thomas and I had his illness plus all of the normal issues married couples face and his illness left us without the tools a lot of couples use to deal with those issues. We did what we could. The fact that we're on a grief journey and my children have no father doesn't keep parenting challenges away. It doesn't keep house challenges away and it invites money issues...rolls the red carpet out for them it seems. I felt stuck, but the very real need to acknowledge what I had and have that is good usually would over-ride my urge to say..."CRAP!"
Then came a turning point for me. In church the message was about dealing with stuff that holds us back and how the first step was to admit it. At the end I went up for prayer. They pair you with someone hopefully in your category to pray with you. I could already feel the tears coming. I looked up and it was a friend, another single mom, 12 years my junior but one for which I have a lot of respect. She had her girls young but has made a good life for them. One is in Ariana's class at school, the other is a year behind them. She works her behind off, has her own home, goes to school, you get the idea.
She leaned in and asked, "Is there anything specific you want to pray about?" I started to lose it, but managed to say, "I'm really angry about what happened to my husband and my marriage." As she began to pray I began to sob. I realized my mood in the weeks leading up to this were the result of me putting God out to arm's length again. At a certain point a few months ago I had come to the conclusion that despite what had happened, the children and I could have a bright future. Now, I still believe that, but it appeared that as soon as I came to that conclusion some force decided to see what else could be thrown at me since I had the nerve to still believe I could have a life after my husband died...nice right?
When she finished praying, I only meant to give her a hug, but I was so far gone by then it turned into that gut wrenching, hardly able to catch your breath sobbing, I'd probably been needing to get out for nearly a year and a half. I felt so bad for her. By the end, she was crying almost as hard as I was. I realized my failure to reach out sufficiently. Finally finding that shoulder or rather letting it find me and "losing it" didn't make anything blow up.
Go figure.
So I haven't posted in quite some time. I have these times where I close in on myself and have thoughts and emotions I don't want to share. But that wasn't the original purpose of this blog. It was to be an open honest account of the ups and downs of my journey after my husband's death. I wouldn't have anyone reading not know it's a huge challenge. There's joy in my life and pain. That's the honest truth.
I had to come to terms that I'm still really angry about what happened, about everything, the disease, the effects of the disease on Thomas and therefore our marriage, how I don't see myself the same anymore, how some of the encounters with him during those times, especially when he was heavily medicated really lowered my self-esteem, how I'm still a product of some of the negative things I went through.
I couldn't even cry...not more than shedding a few tears here and there. I could sit and get behind on laundry, let the house become disorganized, lose focus, but I couldn't let the emotion out even when I felt it coming. I told myself I had to be strong, that I couldn't let the children see me break down. I'm all they have left, I should keep it together. I could hear my my husband telling me how it wouldn't do any good to cry, how I shouldn't be that weak (yeah, I know).
After a while I got a bit fed up...angry really. As many times as I'd told people who asked about it that God can handle your anger and as many times as I'd told myself the same thing, and even heard it in my head when I would pray, I could not seem to make the step to say, "Yeah, I'm mad...I'm really mad. I'm mad at Thomas, I'm mad at me and yeah, I'm mad at You too cuz I know you love us and didn't cause what happened, but I also can't understand why I can't catch a break."
I mean my husband is dead. My children have NO father. But one thing I learned while Thomas was alive was that having a huge life weight doesn't mean you're immune from the challenges of life other people face. Thomas and I had his illness plus all of the normal issues married couples face and his illness left us without the tools a lot of couples use to deal with those issues. We did what we could. The fact that we're on a grief journey and my children have no father doesn't keep parenting challenges away. It doesn't keep house challenges away and it invites money issues...rolls the red carpet out for them it seems. I felt stuck, but the very real need to acknowledge what I had and have that is good usually would over-ride my urge to say..."CRAP!"
Then came a turning point for me. In church the message was about dealing with stuff that holds us back and how the first step was to admit it. At the end I went up for prayer. They pair you with someone hopefully in your category to pray with you. I could already feel the tears coming. I looked up and it was a friend, another single mom, 12 years my junior but one for which I have a lot of respect. She had her girls young but has made a good life for them. One is in Ariana's class at school, the other is a year behind them. She works her behind off, has her own home, goes to school, you get the idea.
She leaned in and asked, "Is there anything specific you want to pray about?" I started to lose it, but managed to say, "I'm really angry about what happened to my husband and my marriage." As she began to pray I began to sob. I realized my mood in the weeks leading up to this were the result of me putting God out to arm's length again. At a certain point a few months ago I had come to the conclusion that despite what had happened, the children and I could have a bright future. Now, I still believe that, but it appeared that as soon as I came to that conclusion some force decided to see what else could be thrown at me since I had the nerve to still believe I could have a life after my husband died...nice right?
When she finished praying, I only meant to give her a hug, but I was so far gone by then it turned into that gut wrenching, hardly able to catch your breath sobbing, I'd probably been needing to get out for nearly a year and a half. I felt so bad for her. By the end, she was crying almost as hard as I was. I realized my failure to reach out sufficiently. Finally finding that shoulder or rather letting it find me and "losing it" didn't make anything blow up.
Go figure.
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Overnight Fever, One of the Parenting Adventures that Make You Miss Having a Partner
Why do fevers prefer to strike at 2:00 in the morning? I mean you can't take the child to school or daycare or wherever they go after they've had one. You're up all night, and get to spend the next day chasing your now recovered child. My daughter had these fevers every so often, usually when a new tooth was coming or if she had a little cold. Last night my son had one. He's had a runny nose since last week and started coughing yesterday. At 18 months old, he doesn't take much medication, so I medicated the fever only. Then we prayed and he sang praises to God, raising his little hand and waving it around, saying "ha-oo-ah". That's baby talk for halleleujah. He has some breathing medications, but he wasn't having any trouble breathing, at least not until later. I pretty much knew that he'd be back to his old self soon and back to running around the house. In other words, he'd be fine. I'd see him through it.
Then there's me. I miss having someone to lean on in situations like that. I miss having a partner in parenting. I miss having someone to love them with me and having someone I love with whom to watch them interact. Some of the cutest things they do happen right here in the house, and I'm the only one here. I wouldn't have my husband back like he was. He was so very sick. But it's hard sometimes. My hopes when it comes to my children, my fears when it comes to them, my angst, no one to really share that with now, not anyone I can lean on and say, "can we do this?". Right now I'm making plans for our future and I can really feel it.
My children have amazing Godparents and their Godfather especially has really stepped up to be a big part of my son's life. My son loves him but when I see Elijah run to him I can't help but think of Thomas. I'm very grateful that my son will have someone to do guy stuff with, and a man to teach him about being a man whether I remarry or not. I know some people don't have that, but when they do things, I'll really miss that special look of pride in their dad's eyes.
But I'm noticing that just as much or even more than the sadness over Thomas not seeing them as they grow and not having the opportunity of watching them grow through his eyes, is that as much as I thank God everyday for the people who love them, there's a noticable absence. When Ariana had these overnight fevers, Thomas sat in his room and prayed. That was his part, well that and convincing me she should get to sleep with me instead of in her room. I could say I feel his presence. I could say I'm sure he's helping me through these things and other challenges and he may be. There are times I can feel him. There are also times when I feel his absence.
I think though he prayed enough to last us a while. During his final year, that is pretty much all he did at home. I know a few of those prayers were not answered until after his passing. So I may not see him an image of him in the corner of the room like I did during Elijah's first trip to the emergency room and I may not hear him praying in my head like I did the last time Ariana got a stomach bug, but I know he's still here somehow. But I won't lie. Dragging the well child to the emergency room along with the ill one, packing the ill one in the van when the well one has to go to school, pulling myself through the day with two children bouncing off the walls after pulling the night shift with an ill child...not my idea of a good time.
I ask myself sometimes who is going to love me through the challenges I love them through. But despite the loneliness I have never felt hopeless and the answer to that question comes if I look for it. On one trip to the emergency room, I looked across at a couple holding their baby who was in the ER due to vomiting. At one point, out of frustration, the mom laid her head on the dad's shoulder. She was obviously exhausted. He stroked their son's hair with one hand and her hair with his other hand. I shook my head for a moment. Then I looked at Elijah and he smiled at me. Despite not feeling well he was happy. Their baby had not smiled at all since they'd gotten there. I laid my head back on the back of the bench and asked God to heal their baby and all the other children in the hospital.
So I'm working on seeing God as my partner, on relying on Him more, not just for provision, healing, protection, wisdom and guidance, but as a partner in life, as someone I can lean on when I'm exhausted. There's no shortage of lessons on this journey. There's always something to work on and I'm still learning. I have concluded the learning never stops.
Then there's me. I miss having someone to lean on in situations like that. I miss having a partner in parenting. I miss having someone to love them with me and having someone I love with whom to watch them interact. Some of the cutest things they do happen right here in the house, and I'm the only one here. I wouldn't have my husband back like he was. He was so very sick. But it's hard sometimes. My hopes when it comes to my children, my fears when it comes to them, my angst, no one to really share that with now, not anyone I can lean on and say, "can we do this?". Right now I'm making plans for our future and I can really feel it.
My children have amazing Godparents and their Godfather especially has really stepped up to be a big part of my son's life. My son loves him but when I see Elijah run to him I can't help but think of Thomas. I'm very grateful that my son will have someone to do guy stuff with, and a man to teach him about being a man whether I remarry or not. I know some people don't have that, but when they do things, I'll really miss that special look of pride in their dad's eyes.
But I'm noticing that just as much or even more than the sadness over Thomas not seeing them as they grow and not having the opportunity of watching them grow through his eyes, is that as much as I thank God everyday for the people who love them, there's a noticable absence. When Ariana had these overnight fevers, Thomas sat in his room and prayed. That was his part, well that and convincing me she should get to sleep with me instead of in her room. I could say I feel his presence. I could say I'm sure he's helping me through these things and other challenges and he may be. There are times I can feel him. There are also times when I feel his absence.
I think though he prayed enough to last us a while. During his final year, that is pretty much all he did at home. I know a few of those prayers were not answered until after his passing. So I may not see him an image of him in the corner of the room like I did during Elijah's first trip to the emergency room and I may not hear him praying in my head like I did the last time Ariana got a stomach bug, but I know he's still here somehow. But I won't lie. Dragging the well child to the emergency room along with the ill one, packing the ill one in the van when the well one has to go to school, pulling myself through the day with two children bouncing off the walls after pulling the night shift with an ill child...not my idea of a good time.
I ask myself sometimes who is going to love me through the challenges I love them through. But despite the loneliness I have never felt hopeless and the answer to that question comes if I look for it. On one trip to the emergency room, I looked across at a couple holding their baby who was in the ER due to vomiting. At one point, out of frustration, the mom laid her head on the dad's shoulder. She was obviously exhausted. He stroked their son's hair with one hand and her hair with his other hand. I shook my head for a moment. Then I looked at Elijah and he smiled at me. Despite not feeling well he was happy. Their baby had not smiled at all since they'd gotten there. I laid my head back on the back of the bench and asked God to heal their baby and all the other children in the hospital.
So I'm working on seeing God as my partner, on relying on Him more, not just for provision, healing, protection, wisdom and guidance, but as a partner in life, as someone I can lean on when I'm exhausted. There's no shortage of lessons on this journey. There's always something to work on and I'm still learning. I have concluded the learning never stops.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
“Why Can’t I Be a Normal Kid?”
My little girl spent part of the morning crying because she has to do something different than the other children (wear a swim cap for swim class). Asks me, "Why can't I be a normal kid?" Now, let's start with me saying I don't know what that is. In a lot of ways she is a typical eight year-old from what I see, but in a lot of ways she is totally unique. I don't want her to believe she has to do what others do, say what others say or believe what others believe. I want her to believe she can be as that one commercial says, above the influence. I want to teach her to build a sound decision making process of her own.
Not that I didn't feel her pain. I'd asked myself a similar question time and time again. "Why can't I be like the other wives?" I asked myself and God that question more times than I care to admit. Only answer I remember was "Because this is your life." It's been from other experiences, teachings and encounters that I have learned my path as tough as it has been has as much purpose as anyone else's, that my life can still be wonderful anyway. God has poured His heart out to me in His word and through people's love and my pastors' love, support and teachings to the point where I believe that now. Today, I could just tell Ariana she will just do what I say. But no. I gathered myself to pour out my heart to her.
Ariana you were not born for that. Get used to standing out in a crowd honey because you were born to be different. This time it's just a swim cap, but other times you'll have to stand up for things much bigger and do what is best for you even when it means the crowd goes the other way. Not sure what normal is, but that is not for us. You were born to stand out. You were born to be great. You were born to lead, not to follow. You're going to be standing out and being different your whole life, because that is our destiny.
My mind raced back to a day four years prior. Ariana was four years-old and then my only child. I arrived to pick her up from pre-school to find that all of the children had gotten into the finger paint and decorated themselves like ninjas while the poor teacher was vacuuming the other side of the classroom. It was a real sight and as I searched the crowd for my daughter I crossed my arms, began tapping my foot and drumming the fingers on my right hand on my left elbow. I saw her, but she was facing away from me. I called her name and I closed my eyes. I opened them when I felt Ariana grab onto my legs and heard her yell "mommeeeeee!" like she did everyday. I reached down to hug her and opened my eyes. I was delighted and I'll admit surprised to see she had not one mark on her. She had been the only child to stay out of the paint. She said she was asked to participate, but refused, telling her friends it wasn't right, that they were not supposed to be in the paint. How they managed to do this under the nose of the teacher I never figured out really. Could ten four year-olds really be that sneaky? I have never forgotten the pride I felt and I've reminded Ariana of it several times when she has these types of issues. This time I didn't fall back on that. I thought I'd come up with something much better.
Okay so my little speech did nothing for her present crisis. She continued to cry even louder, but it was true anyway. So, I took a stuffed animal that was in the van and put it on her head and asked, "Am I trying to get you to wear this?" She said no. I told her, "Now, if I tied this to the top of your head and told you to go to camp, I believe that would be a bit much." I saw a half-hearted smile. She tried not to but it happened anyway. Of course Elijah had a huge smile on his face and when she saw that, she almost choked trying not to laugh. I don't know the chlorine content of that pool and don't want it in her hair for the hours between their swimming lesson and when I pick her up. So, we came to an understanding. She would wear the cap for swimming lessons and when she goes to a pool or water park with me, and I can do her hair after, she won't have to wear it. Was she happy? Not really, but that wasn't the goal. The goal was to get to work on time, but to make sure she'd wear the cap and I could drop her off at camp in an acceptable state. She looked like I'd spent the morning slapping her around.
It reminded me of a hilarious, but accurate statement a very good friend of mine from college posted as his facebook status one day. Martin was always a funny guy and he married Melissa who was also a college friend. They have two beautiful daughters, one who is a year older than Ariana and one who is a year younger than Ariana. The girls see each other once a year at UNC's Homecoming along with two other children of a classmate of ours, but act like they've been together all year. Anyway, one day he posted "Little girls have more drama than TNT". That's the network with the slogan "We Know Drama". He had a few of his friends with daughters including me confirm his statement. He's right. They could certainly learn a thing or two from mine. But he wouldn't trade them for anybody or anything and I wouldn't take all the wealth in the world for my little girl. At least I'll never be bored.
Not that I didn't feel her pain. I'd asked myself a similar question time and time again. "Why can't I be like the other wives?" I asked myself and God that question more times than I care to admit. Only answer I remember was "Because this is your life." It's been from other experiences, teachings and encounters that I have learned my path as tough as it has been has as much purpose as anyone else's, that my life can still be wonderful anyway. God has poured His heart out to me in His word and through people's love and my pastors' love, support and teachings to the point where I believe that now. Today, I could just tell Ariana she will just do what I say. But no. I gathered myself to pour out my heart to her.
Ariana you were not born for that. Get used to standing out in a crowd honey because you were born to be different. This time it's just a swim cap, but other times you'll have to stand up for things much bigger and do what is best for you even when it means the crowd goes the other way. Not sure what normal is, but that is not for us. You were born to stand out. You were born to be great. You were born to lead, not to follow. You're going to be standing out and being different your whole life, because that is our destiny.
My mind raced back to a day four years prior. Ariana was four years-old and then my only child. I arrived to pick her up from pre-school to find that all of the children had gotten into the finger paint and decorated themselves like ninjas while the poor teacher was vacuuming the other side of the classroom. It was a real sight and as I searched the crowd for my daughter I crossed my arms, began tapping my foot and drumming the fingers on my right hand on my left elbow. I saw her, but she was facing away from me. I called her name and I closed my eyes. I opened them when I felt Ariana grab onto my legs and heard her yell "mommeeeeee!" like she did everyday. I reached down to hug her and opened my eyes. I was delighted and I'll admit surprised to see she had not one mark on her. She had been the only child to stay out of the paint. She said she was asked to participate, but refused, telling her friends it wasn't right, that they were not supposed to be in the paint. How they managed to do this under the nose of the teacher I never figured out really. Could ten four year-olds really be that sneaky? I have never forgotten the pride I felt and I've reminded Ariana of it several times when she has these types of issues. This time I didn't fall back on that. I thought I'd come up with something much better.
Okay so my little speech did nothing for her present crisis. She continued to cry even louder, but it was true anyway. So, I took a stuffed animal that was in the van and put it on her head and asked, "Am I trying to get you to wear this?" She said no. I told her, "Now, if I tied this to the top of your head and told you to go to camp, I believe that would be a bit much." I saw a half-hearted smile. She tried not to but it happened anyway. Of course Elijah had a huge smile on his face and when she saw that, she almost choked trying not to laugh. I don't know the chlorine content of that pool and don't want it in her hair for the hours between their swimming lesson and when I pick her up. So, we came to an understanding. She would wear the cap for swimming lessons and when she goes to a pool or water park with me, and I can do her hair after, she won't have to wear it. Was she happy? Not really, but that wasn't the goal. The goal was to get to work on time, but to make sure she'd wear the cap and I could drop her off at camp in an acceptable state. She looked like I'd spent the morning slapping her around.
It reminded me of a hilarious, but accurate statement a very good friend of mine from college posted as his facebook status one day. Martin was always a funny guy and he married Melissa who was also a college friend. They have two beautiful daughters, one who is a year older than Ariana and one who is a year younger than Ariana. The girls see each other once a year at UNC's Homecoming along with two other children of a classmate of ours, but act like they've been together all year. Anyway, one day he posted "Little girls have more drama than TNT". That's the network with the slogan "We Know Drama". He had a few of his friends with daughters including me confirm his statement. He's right. They could certainly learn a thing or two from mine. But he wouldn't trade them for anybody or anything and I wouldn't take all the wealth in the world for my little girl. At least I'll never be bored.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The Unclutter Train Makes Another Stop
From Webster's Dictionary, the definition of "clutter":
to fill or cover with scattered or disordered things that impede movement or reduce effectiveness (example: a room cluttered with toys)
That has pretty much described my house most of the time. I'd made up in my mind to make the place more comfortable and to do that, I'd have to put forth a lot of effort to unclutter the place. The Unclutter Train has been making its way around my house pretty much since the "Cleaning Up My Act" post. This has been an up and down process, as I expected it would but I'm trying to be gentle with myself. This time it was my bedroom. This stop would be very important because my room was a mess. I had become pretty good at cleaning other parts of the house, and the unclutter movement was in full swing after I had some furniture removed. I'd pulled Thomas' clothes from the two closets they were in and was almost overwhelmed by the space it left, but my room was such a mess, it was actually hard to relax in there.
There was too much stuff, the laundry was backed up…again and despite the fact he had not slept in it in about 7 months, my son's pack-n-play was still up. I was tossing stuff into it to get it off the floor and it was taking up a significant amount of space.
The other important thing was, getting this done would allow me to not only say, but enforce those four little words I'd been longing to say to my daughter, but didn't use much because frankly, I felt like a hypocrite when I did: "Go, clean your room!"
I had not tackled it previously because other parts of the house were more visible. I was exhausting myself every weekend as it was, going back to work on Mondays either just as tired or more tired than when I left there the previous Friday. So, with a three-day weekend to work with, I decided it was time. That room should be my sanctuary and it was pretty much anything but that. I had to turn sideways to go around my bed to the bathroom because of the pack-n-play and I could barely walk from one side of the room to the other without stepping over one of my son's toys. I have a walk-in closet no one could actually walk into without climbing a mountain.
The unclutter train pulled in Sunday night and departed last night. I had six 39-gallon bags. One with dark laundry, one with light colored laundry, one with Thomas' dress shirts that I originally planned to keep, but on second thought put on the donation pile with the rest (save a few of my favorites of course), one half-full with my clothes that need to go to the dry cleaners and two with things to discard. I packed two other smaller bags with my son's old clothes to give to a young lady at my church who has one infant son and another on the way. Once the pack-n-play was empty, I folded it up and put it away. I could dance across the room now if I wanted.
I transformed my bed. I always had about 10 pillows on the bed. I only used two, but it took eight for my husband to have a chance to be half-way comfortable (four behind him and two under each arm), but he didn't attempt to sleep in there the last year or so of his life. I took six of them away, flipped and turned the mattress, then put a brand new set on my bed, new sheets, a new comforter and of the four pillows I kept, I put two pillows in the pillowcases and two others in the shams, and I finally had a new room. My walk-in closet is actually a walk-in closet. Now, it's not bring out the white gloves clean, but it's a relaxing spot I want to be in now. I slept much better the last two nights.
Yesterday I dug into the laundry. My linen closet was almost bare and I figured out why. Cleaning out the closet revealed where all the sheets and towels were I knew I had. Two loads later, my linen closet was stacked again on every shelf. Bath sheets and beach towels on top, regular towels and wash clothes next. My sheets and pillow cases on the 3rd shelf and the children's sheets and blankets on the bottom shelf. I washed, dried and put away two loads of our clothes next. It had become a struggle putting together the children's outfits for each day and I knew I'd purchased enough summer clothes. It was a struggle last night too, but because I almost had too many choices.
And while I dug into the laundry, I worked with my daughter to get her room cleaned. She has a large toy box, plus one of those three-tier ones with nine boxes for small toys. Even with her protesting much of the way, we got it done and I could see she was much happier in there. She probably didn't think she could be much happier than she was after I painted the room pink and put artwork on the walls, but she was. Happiness is being able to dance wildly to a Selena Gomez song without tripping over your toys I guess.
The other task I tackled over the weekend was the master bath and half bath on the first floor. I'd purchased new rugs and toilet lid covers to match the wall paper borders in each one, but they'd stayed in the bags in a downstairs closet for a few weeks. So after I did the weekly cleaning of each bathroom, I tossed the old rugs put the new rugs down. So last night as I settled down, the Unclutter Train pulled out of the station. Its next stop: the laundry room.
to fill or cover with scattered or disordered things that impede movement or reduce effectiveness (example: a room cluttered with toys)
That has pretty much described my house most of the time. I'd made up in my mind to make the place more comfortable and to do that, I'd have to put forth a lot of effort to unclutter the place. The Unclutter Train has been making its way around my house pretty much since the "Cleaning Up My Act" post. This has been an up and down process, as I expected it would but I'm trying to be gentle with myself. This time it was my bedroom. This stop would be very important because my room was a mess. I had become pretty good at cleaning other parts of the house, and the unclutter movement was in full swing after I had some furniture removed. I'd pulled Thomas' clothes from the two closets they were in and was almost overwhelmed by the space it left, but my room was such a mess, it was actually hard to relax in there.
There was too much stuff, the laundry was backed up…again and despite the fact he had not slept in it in about 7 months, my son's pack-n-play was still up. I was tossing stuff into it to get it off the floor and it was taking up a significant amount of space.
The other important thing was, getting this done would allow me to not only say, but enforce those four little words I'd been longing to say to my daughter, but didn't use much because frankly, I felt like a hypocrite when I did: "Go, clean your room!"
I had not tackled it previously because other parts of the house were more visible. I was exhausting myself every weekend as it was, going back to work on Mondays either just as tired or more tired than when I left there the previous Friday. So, with a three-day weekend to work with, I decided it was time. That room should be my sanctuary and it was pretty much anything but that. I had to turn sideways to go around my bed to the bathroom because of the pack-n-play and I could barely walk from one side of the room to the other without stepping over one of my son's toys. I have a walk-in closet no one could actually walk into without climbing a mountain.
The unclutter train pulled in Sunday night and departed last night. I had six 39-gallon bags. One with dark laundry, one with light colored laundry, one with Thomas' dress shirts that I originally planned to keep, but on second thought put on the donation pile with the rest (save a few of my favorites of course), one half-full with my clothes that need to go to the dry cleaners and two with things to discard. I packed two other smaller bags with my son's old clothes to give to a young lady at my church who has one infant son and another on the way. Once the pack-n-play was empty, I folded it up and put it away. I could dance across the room now if I wanted.
I transformed my bed. I always had about 10 pillows on the bed. I only used two, but it took eight for my husband to have a chance to be half-way comfortable (four behind him and two under each arm), but he didn't attempt to sleep in there the last year or so of his life. I took six of them away, flipped and turned the mattress, then put a brand new set on my bed, new sheets, a new comforter and of the four pillows I kept, I put two pillows in the pillowcases and two others in the shams, and I finally had a new room. My walk-in closet is actually a walk-in closet. Now, it's not bring out the white gloves clean, but it's a relaxing spot I want to be in now. I slept much better the last two nights.
Yesterday I dug into the laundry. My linen closet was almost bare and I figured out why. Cleaning out the closet revealed where all the sheets and towels were I knew I had. Two loads later, my linen closet was stacked again on every shelf. Bath sheets and beach towels on top, regular towels and wash clothes next. My sheets and pillow cases on the 3rd shelf and the children's sheets and blankets on the bottom shelf. I washed, dried and put away two loads of our clothes next. It had become a struggle putting together the children's outfits for each day and I knew I'd purchased enough summer clothes. It was a struggle last night too, but because I almost had too many choices.
And while I dug into the laundry, I worked with my daughter to get her room cleaned. She has a large toy box, plus one of those three-tier ones with nine boxes for small toys. Even with her protesting much of the way, we got it done and I could see she was much happier in there. She probably didn't think she could be much happier than she was after I painted the room pink and put artwork on the walls, but she was. Happiness is being able to dance wildly to a Selena Gomez song without tripping over your toys I guess.
The other task I tackled over the weekend was the master bath and half bath on the first floor. I'd purchased new rugs and toilet lid covers to match the wall paper borders in each one, but they'd stayed in the bags in a downstairs closet for a few weeks. So after I did the weekly cleaning of each bathroom, I tossed the old rugs put the new rugs down. So last night as I settled down, the Unclutter Train pulled out of the station. Its next stop: the laundry room.
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