So what's it been? A hundred years? Five hundred? Something like that because I am certainly older (but no wiser) than the last time I thrust my words in your face. Well, here I am, again popping up out of nowhere. I figured I'd update anyone who's still hanging around. I also have a little request headed your way. Well, not a request per se but an opportunity.
Let's jump into it, shall we?
The first big news...
I'm engaged. I was going to start with I'm pregnant, but the engagement came first so we'll talk about that first. The short story is I started dating a pretty neat guy about two years ago and voila we decided we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. The longer story is we first met in third grade, our little sisters were best friends through elementary and middle school, and we reconnected many moons later and hit it off, then decided we wanted each other to stick around. The longer story - well, perhaps you'll have to wait for that one. I can't give it all away in one update post, can I? The main take home is he's really more than pretty neat, I love him a whole bunch, he's fantastic with A, he makes me laugh nonstop, and I'm a really lucky gal. And no, we haven't set a date for those wondering. It'll probably be a long engagement. And when I say long, I mean long.
Oh, so I mentioned I was pregnant. Yeah, that happened. So we got engaged in early September. At the end of September, he and I went to Harry Potter world in Universal (yes, I'm fully aware that's not the real name but I'll call it what I want). When we came home I started feeling a little weird (read: my boobs hurt like hell). October first I peed on a stick and there was that one single word. Pregnant. It wasn't a complete surprise. We weren't trying but also weren't not trying. We'd discussed it and thought it might be nice and I said if we were going to do it I wouldn't want to wait much longer because I didn't want to start trying after 30. I turned 30 in December. So that worked out. And now I am due with a little boy in June. Let's say this pregnancy has been a freakin' roller coaster. I'm beyond thankful the first trimester is over, but there are still so many emotions!
I also graduated grad school. I got my Master's y'all! In December, I not only turned 30, but I finished my Master's program. You can now call me Rachel Master-of-Writing Porto. I'm kidding... partially. But seriously, it was a huge accomplishment for me considering I'd had a hard time sticking to a program before I found the professional writing program and then I kinda fell in love with the program and didn't want to leave. My whole last semester I worked on a book proposal too, so that's a big new project that's going on in my life and something you guys could be really excited about if you happen to enjoy my writing... hint, hint.
Lastly, and here's where the opportunity comes in, especially for my fellow widowed ladies, I'm working on an awesome widow non profit called Widow Confidential. I met this really rad lady on the Idaho Military widow trip I went on in July. She has all these fantastic ideas and was designing this company to support widows and she graciously brought me on board. My job title is Content Program Director, so I basically handle all the word stuff - the website content, taking care of the writers, all that good stuff. It's a super opportunity and it's got me feeling all hashtag blessed.
I did mention a sort of request/opportunity and here's where I'll tell you a little about that. Being in charge of content and writers, it's also my job to find writers. We're still in the beginning stages, the website hasn't even completely launched yet. Before it does, I'd like to have a team ready. I'm looking for widows who are interested in writing. They could write a one time piece or be a recurring writer. Our goal is to have many perspectives. We don't want one widow (right now, me) writing the whole thing, we want the voices of everyone. We're looking for articles to fit these categories: work, play, home, sex/dating, self-care, as well as articles just for widows/by widows (like experience type essays) and widow/leadership feature pieces. Basically, how has widowhood affected those categories in your life? Learned a great way to cook for one? Have great travel tips for solo with children traveling? Want to share about a great or awful widowed spa trip? Those are the kinds of things we need. Every day things from widows' perspectives.
It's my hope that there is still a widow or two who checks my blog that might have a little inkling of interest, and if that's the case, please please email me at Rachel@widowconfidential.com and let's talk about getting started!
I think that's enough for you now. My plan is to be back more regularly. I miss you all <3 p="">
Wedding Etiquette: 7 Things to Remember When Your Friend Is a Widow
1. Remember she was your friend before she was a widow.
Or even if she wasn't, her widow-ness shouldn't surpass your friendship. Look at her as a friend first and a widow later. Way later, if possible. Don't try to put yourself in her shoes. Chances are, you'll make an ass out of yourself. Instead, treat her like you always do.
2. Address her the way she chooses to be addressed.
I remember planning for my wedding and how stressful it was addressing envelopes. Miss, Mrs, Ms - why are there so many? Typically, modern etiquette rules for Ms. if you are unsure or if she is an older unmarried woman. Feminism was trying to replace the Miss/Mrs situation with the Ms, but instead folks just added it as another option and confused things more. It was a good idea (I mean seriously, why do dudes only have to deal with ONE but we've got THREE to choose from), but it can be hard to predict who prefers which title. If you're good friends with your widow, you probably know how to approach this. Here's a hint - if her Christmas card comes with a return address of "Mrs. So and So" you should probably address the wedding invitation in kind. I was really persnickety about this in my earlier days, to the point where most people know to put Mrs on anything being sent to me - I always said "I earned my R!" Not all widows feel the same. If you're unsure, it probably wouldn't offend her if you asked how she preferred to be addressed.
3. For goodness sakes, give her a plus one.
As you might have guessed, weddings can be tough for us young widows (which may be where the unsureness around inviting your widowed friend stemmed from in the first place). It's not that we're not happy our friends are finding love and getting married - we are! - it's that we also remember being happy with our spouse and how much we miss them. It's also that weddings are typically an event you would attend with a spouse, you would dance together, you would have fun together... you know. And now the spouse is gone and it's just another event to attend alone. Don't put your wedding in that category, friend. Seriously. Let her bring a plus one. Once, I was told "Only the married people get a plus one." It hurt. Okay, I am married - kinda. I didn't choose to be NOT married and neither did he. If all my friends are married and getting a plus one, and I am the only one who isn't, well that just sucks. Yes, I can't wait to be surrounded by happy couples so I can drown my grief in your open bar. Why don't you just give her a great big neon flashing hat that says "CAUTION: SAD LONELY WIDOW" while you're at it? Don't be cheap - pay for the extra plate and let your girl bring someone, whether it be a new romantic partner, a fellow widow to help her deal, or a girlfriend to keep her company during the slow dances - don't make her be the only adult woman without a date.
4. Speaking of guys, include her new guy.
If your widowed friend is dating again, don't exclude her new partner. Whether you think it's right for her to be dating or not, it's shitty of you to pretend her new partner doesn't exist. Plain and simple. Oh, they haven't been together that long? Well, see above. Give her the plus one and let her choose if he will be her date. You don't really like him? Well, I'm sure you don't like everyone attending your wedding either. Hell, you probably don't like a portion of the people IN your wedding. As the bride, chances are you won't even have to spend more than 5 minutes with him. And if you know his name, don't put "Guest" on the table card. If she RSVPs me and Joe are coming, the name card should read Friend and Joe, not Friend and guest. Don't be a douche.
5. Don't make it weird.
Sometimes people can be overly sensitive about widow stuff. Don't go out of your way to make it weird. Don't call her up and talk all cautiously. You know the voice, "Oh... heyyy.... sooooo... I'm getting married and..." Everybody knows her husband is dead. It is no secret she is a widow. Don't act like you're keeping something from her when you're trying to talk to her. Want to ask her how to be addressed or what her new beau's name is? Ask. "Hey, do you care what title you get on the envelope?" "Hey, is Joe your plus one or are you bringing someone else?" "Hey, what's your guy's name?" Are all better than "So, I don't want to be weird or anything but... since you're husband isn't here..." Be upfront, be real, don't be weird.
6. Let her take a breath if she needs to take a breath.
There have been multiple times I've had to step out of weddings. Like I said before, although I'm happy for my friends, weddings are tough. I love weddings, but they can be a real widow ass kicker. Sometimes, that song will come on and she can't get out of the dance hall fast enough before tears erupt. Sometimes she cries a little harder at the processional. Sometimes she needs to go for a walk during the oldest couple dancing tradition. Sometimes she needs an extra drink. I am thankful that the vast majority of the time I've experienced that "Need a moment" moment, people have been supportive. Don't be upset or offended if your widowed friend needs to take a breath or needs a second to pull herself together or if you happen to catch her looking kind of sad when you glance her direction. Let her handle herself her way and be respectful that even though she loves you, she might be hurting a bit, too.
The nicest thing that anyone ever did for me pre-wedding was ask what song to avoid playing. I am super attached to our wedding song and most everyone knows it. Especially right after Jonny's death, I couldn't hear our song without completely losing my shit. It was so very kind of a particular bride to ask me. No, I don't expect that treatment and no, I don't include that as an etiquette step, I was surprised and grateful when she asked and I assured her not to change any plans because of me because I would handle myself fine. But it was a very considerate thing for her to do and I will never forget that someone spared a thought during planning their special day on my feelings. Oh, and no, she wasn't weird about it, she was just like "Hey, what's your song again? I'm going to put it on the no play list because I know it's hard for you." And I was like, "You don't have to do that but our song is..." and she was like "No, it's fine, I just don't want it coming up randomly it's not part of anything for us so it doesn't need to be played at all." Very thoughtful.
7. If your friend is a military widow and your wedding is on Memorial Day, don't be pissed if she bails.
Seriously, this one should not even have to be stated, but as Memorial Day really is a beautiful long weekend perfect for weddings, I couldn't leave it out. If your wedding is on Memorial Day and your friend declines or bails out early, you have no right to be pissed. Chances are she is going to a cemetery (or urn, wherever it's located) to spend some time with her husband, or partaking in some other grief related ritual. This tip also applies for any special dates; her anniversary, her spouse's birthday, her spouse's angelversary... if it's a tough day for her, she has every right to grieve and deal with it her way. This doesn't mean don't invite her, of course. Maybe she'll like having something to celebrate and spending time with friends to keep herself occupied. Just don't be pissed if she declines or leaves early.
I hope this helps for brides who might have some concerns about inviting their widow friends. Widows, did I leave anything out? Drop me a comment to add your tip. Think one of mine is great or unfair? Let me know. Want to share your own experience? I'd love to hear about it!
Photo: Creative Commons Rebecca Shiraev
Consistency is Key
... and mine are locked inside. Seriously, anyone got a number for a good locksmith?
Of all the times I say I'm not going to let this sit and I'll start writing here regularly again, poor Little Pink has fallen by the wayside in these chaotic times.
The truth is, between writing for school, writing at Many Kind Regards, and starting to write freelance (yup, I'm taking the plunge!), I'm pretty "write"d-out. But tonight, the call was strong and the urge was not to be ignored to hop over here to my own little space, even if just to ramble.
Things have been going, to say the least. Today was "a day," said in that tone that hints to more than just a day. It started out awesome, but then of course things started going down hill. I won't bore you with all of the details, but let's just say I'm glad to be sitting and doing nothing.
I feel like I'm approaching a crossroads, and maybe that's what motivated me coming here. So many things are happening, a lot of them good, but it has me facing a multitude of decisions. It's like there are so many paths I can choose to pursue but I kind of want them all and I kind of want none. Would it be completely ridiculous that maybe, possibly I am afraid of success? Does that even make sense? It is. It is completely ridiculous. Isn't success what we strive for? Isn't the reason for attempting anything to be successful? So what am I really scared of? Well... what if being successful, even a little bit, is too much? What if I end up completely overwhelmed? What if I can't keep up? What if I am putting my eggs in too many damn baskets because they are all just so pretty and sparkly and appealing? I suppose it inevitably comes down to... what if I fail? There it is. Success isn't the fear, it's the taste of success followed by the crush of failure.
Oh, dear anxiety, how I love you and the "what-if's" you bring to my brain. As if there aren't already too many thoughts whipping around in there, as if processing the things that are actually happening isn't enough, let's add some maybes, could be's, and what ifs to make a delicious stew of fear and apprehension. Yum.
In other less whiney news, my kid is in Kindergarten. And it's full day.
"Wait, stop the presses, what?!" those of you who've hung around all this time are saying, "Little A is in all day school already?" That's right, folks, little A ain't so little anymore. In fact, she refuses to hear anyone say they are baby sitting her - it is only Big Girl sitting these days.
Little A becomes Little Rach more and more each day. Seriously, I see myself in that kid's mannerisms, behaviors, and thought processes every day. Thank God she has her father's eyes.
The funny thing is now that I've noticed how much she is like me, I can really pick out specifics. She likes to sing randomly and make weird noises. She's constantly talking to herself or her friends (that are visible only for her). There are several times after she's gone to bed when Jesse and I are hanging out and I'll say or do something and one of us will say "Holy shit, that was so Ariana." It's quite alarming at times. The really funny part is there are so many times where she'll say or do something and I'll ask where in the world did she pick that up from?! Days, hours, minutes later it will be pointed out to me that I'm doing what I was wondering about. Hello, this is Captain Obvious calling, is Rachel there? We can't forget of course, that she does have her individuality and she's quite assertive. That kid is, as cheesy as it sounds, the light of my life. Sure, she drives me nuts sometimes (makes sense, since I drive MYSELF nuts) but she is so funny and intelligent and caring and it is just so neat watching her grow that being her mom is my greatest gift.
So, yeah, things are pretty good. We're pretty happy. We have our down days, and we're not immune to our fair share of struggles (like today being "a DAY"), but when all's said and done, we're content, we're together, and we're frickin' rockstars. And that's all that matters.
Of all the times I say I'm not going to let this sit and I'll start writing here regularly again, poor Little Pink has fallen by the wayside in these chaotic times.
The truth is, between writing for school, writing at Many Kind Regards, and starting to write freelance (yup, I'm taking the plunge!), I'm pretty "write"d-out. But tonight, the call was strong and the urge was not to be ignored to hop over here to my own little space, even if just to ramble.
Things have been going, to say the least. Today was "a day," said in that tone that hints to more than just a day. It started out awesome, but then of course things started going down hill. I won't bore you with all of the details, but let's just say I'm glad to be sitting and doing nothing.
I feel like I'm approaching a crossroads, and maybe that's what motivated me coming here. So many things are happening, a lot of them good, but it has me facing a multitude of decisions. It's like there are so many paths I can choose to pursue but I kind of want them all and I kind of want none. Would it be completely ridiculous that maybe, possibly I am afraid of success? Does that even make sense? It is. It is completely ridiculous. Isn't success what we strive for? Isn't the reason for attempting anything to be successful? So what am I really scared of? Well... what if being successful, even a little bit, is too much? What if I end up completely overwhelmed? What if I can't keep up? What if I am putting my eggs in too many damn baskets because they are all just so pretty and sparkly and appealing? I suppose it inevitably comes down to... what if I fail? There it is. Success isn't the fear, it's the taste of success followed by the crush of failure.
Oh, dear anxiety, how I love you and the "what-if's" you bring to my brain. As if there aren't already too many thoughts whipping around in there, as if processing the things that are actually happening isn't enough, let's add some maybes, could be's, and what ifs to make a delicious stew of fear and apprehension. Yum.
In other less whiney news, my kid is in Kindergarten. And it's full day.
"Wait, stop the presses, what?!" those of you who've hung around all this time are saying, "Little A is in all day school already?" That's right, folks, little A ain't so little anymore. In fact, she refuses to hear anyone say they are baby sitting her - it is only Big Girl sitting these days.
Little A becomes Little Rach more and more each day. Seriously, I see myself in that kid's mannerisms, behaviors, and thought processes every day. Thank God she has her father's eyes.
The funny thing is now that I've noticed how much she is like me, I can really pick out specifics. She likes to sing randomly and make weird noises. She's constantly talking to herself or her friends (that are visible only for her). There are several times after she's gone to bed when Jesse and I are hanging out and I'll say or do something and one of us will say "Holy shit, that was so Ariana." It's quite alarming at times. The really funny part is there are so many times where she'll say or do something and I'll ask where in the world did she pick that up from?! Days, hours, minutes later it will be pointed out to me that I'm doing what I was wondering about. Hello, this is Captain Obvious calling, is Rachel there? We can't forget of course, that she does have her individuality and she's quite assertive. That kid is, as cheesy as it sounds, the light of my life. Sure, she drives me nuts sometimes (makes sense, since I drive MYSELF nuts) but she is so funny and intelligent and caring and it is just so neat watching her grow that being her mom is my greatest gift.
So, yeah, things are pretty good. We're pretty happy. We have our down days, and we're not immune to our fair share of struggles (like today being "a DAY"), but when all's said and done, we're content, we're together, and we're frickin' rockstars. And that's all that matters.
My Abandoned Garden
When I was first widowed, I searched for advice to proceed along this new journey I had been so unfairly placed upon. I read widow self-help books, what to expect books, articles, and conducted numerous searches. I wanted to know if what I was feeling was “normal,” and if I was doing everything “the right way.” There was a lot of useful information and tips in these resources that helped guide me along: not making any big decisions in the first year, financial advice and cautions, information about grief stages and emotions, and general pick-me-up and keep living encouragements. As helpful as some of these resources were, though, I still found them lacking in grit. It’s as if some subjects were too taboo to be put into written form and distributed widely, and it was often those taboo subjects I found myself most confused about. Here are some things I’ve learned along my 5+ years of widowhood that “they” aren’t likely to tell you in those books. These may not only aid a newly widowed person in handling some of the confusion, but I have hopes that they might also shine some light on what a widowed person is feeling for those who are supporting her or him.
There have been many times over the years where I’ve been approached by the friends of a new widow asking, “What can I do?” or wondering not only how they can help but how they can better understand and empathize with their friend. Remember in reading these that grief is extremely individualized and what may help one person cope may be the exact opposite of what another needs or wants.
The Ticket That Ruined It - Writing Prompt Wednesday
Hey there, here we are again with another edition of writing prompt Wednesday (except it's on Thursday). Excuse the absence, it was spring break for my little one and therefore I was breaking from life as well.
Today's prompt reminds me of one we did in my creative writing class that I really enjoyed, where we took a family story that had been passed down and changed the perspective of the story teller. Moving your story into someone else is such a fun way to merge nonfiction with fiction, to blend what is real and what you imagine could be real for others. Without further ado...
It was sometime before fifth grade. I know that much because Rose moved away in the fifth grade, and she was with us, like she often was - up until fifth grade. She and I were in the back of my parents' car. Was it a van yet? My guess it was a minivan, but I could be wrong. In fact, I can't even remember if my little sister was born yet. I don't recall her being there, so I'm guessing I was probably around six years old. If memory serves, it was the light blue Dodge Caravan my mom had. It was her first minivan. We had gotten ice cream cones, as we often did in the muggy Maryland summers, and as per usual, Rose had painted her face chocolate. We stopped at a gas station. I believe it was one of the "Sunday Drives" that were a fun family outing for us when I was a kid. We would just hop in the car in drive. At each stop sign, someone would yell a direction and on we would go. There were no smart phones or portable GPS systems back in these days. There was a Rand McNally Atlas stored under the mat in the trunk space, but we never needed it. Someway, dad never got lost. I was sure he must have had maps of the whole world stored in his mind. As we drove, dad would tell ridiculous stories starring a character he'd created and named Formaldehyde and Rose and I would laugh and laugh until tears streaked the dirt and chocolate down our adolescent faces and we were doubled over in laughter cramps. We enjoyed our journeys to no where, mom pointing out her dream house along the way (a real fixer upper) and me pointing at horses. So, we stopped at a gas station. Most likely to refuel and stock up on napkins. Somehow, a lottery ticket got involved. Mom or dad bought a scratch off. I wanted it because scratch offs are so neat and so fun to do. I was told no. I was a bratty, spoiled six year old and I didn't like the word no. I threw a fit. Crossed arms over my chest, I pouted and said I was having the worst day ever. Rose tried to cheer me up, but I turned away from her. I was the world and the sun, at that moment, was the lottery ticket, without which I simply could not survive. Rose attempted to get dad to resume the Formaldehyde stories, but the magic of the moment was lost by my grumbling and grievances and the laughter was muted until we arrived back at home.
Told from Rose:
I always looked forward to time with Rachel and her family. Her dad was the funniest guy I knew and her mom was the most caring woman. Rachel was my best friend, and we always had a fun time together. They liked to go for drives in their van, along back roads and scenic routes, pointing out anything that interested them. I was just happy to be out and along with them, one of the gang, part of the family. You could always tell they liked you and considered them one of their own if they picked on you. I might have had a bit of a problem eating. In fact, it might have been a huge problem. My face just seemed to catch the food (especially chocolate ice cream) before my mouth could. We laughed and laughed at how bad I was at eating. Formaldehyde was the true star of the laughter with that family though. The adventures of Formaldehyde and her stinky misfortune were the funniest tales, I often stopped breathing mid-tale, my giggles taking precedence over airflow. While Rachel was my best friend, she could be somewhat of a... well, she had a temper. She really liked getting her way. She could also be bossy. And if things didn't go her way, well, you'd hear about it. After exhausting every napkin in the van (and trust me, there were several), we had to make a pit-stop to get gas and refill on things to catch my mess. Her parents had bought a scratch off ticket that Rachel insisted on being hers. I saw a look exchanged between the lady behind the counter and Rachel's parents. They weren't allowed to buy it for her. I guess Rachel didn't see it, because she continued to insist they give it to her. I bet they would have given it to her had she not asked in front of that lady. Something tells me someone could have gotten in trouble, at least, that's what it felt like. So we get back in the car and Rachel is in one of her moods. With a huff, Rachel plopped in the seat, arms tightly over her chest, crying and howling. It kind of hurt my ears. Even though we'd had a really fun day, Rachel forgot about all the stories and sights we had seen and declared this the "Worst day ever." I couldn't believe she had said that! "Come on, Rachie" I tried to coax her out of her bad mood, attempting to get her laughing again. "What happened next with Formaldehyde?" I asked. Her dad began the story but Rachel kept up with her sounds of disdain and the story was cut short. I ended up having to go home because Rachel couldn't get her act together, and her mom had warned her. I wasn't happy. I was supposed to spend the night that night (and I knew I'd just make it the whole night this time!) and I was having so much fun. That girl had quite a temper, I hate that she let it ruin our day.
Now I suppose it's time to go ask Rose how close I got it ;)
Today's prompt reminds me of one we did in my creative writing class that I really enjoyed, where we took a family story that had been passed down and changed the perspective of the story teller. Moving your story into someone else is such a fun way to merge nonfiction with fiction, to blend what is real and what you imagine could be real for others. Without further ado...
Prompt: Choose an incident from your past - it could be an ordinary occurrence, such as a family dinner - or a significant event, such as an achievement or a mishap. Write about it from your perspective, then write about it from the perspective of someone else who experienced it with you.
It was sometime before fifth grade. I know that much because Rose moved away in the fifth grade, and she was with us, like she often was - up until fifth grade. She and I were in the back of my parents' car. Was it a van yet? My guess it was a minivan, but I could be wrong. In fact, I can't even remember if my little sister was born yet. I don't recall her being there, so I'm guessing I was probably around six years old. If memory serves, it was the light blue Dodge Caravan my mom had. It was her first minivan. We had gotten ice cream cones, as we often did in the muggy Maryland summers, and as per usual, Rose had painted her face chocolate. We stopped at a gas station. I believe it was one of the "Sunday Drives" that were a fun family outing for us when I was a kid. We would just hop in the car in drive. At each stop sign, someone would yell a direction and on we would go. There were no smart phones or portable GPS systems back in these days. There was a Rand McNally Atlas stored under the mat in the trunk space, but we never needed it. Someway, dad never got lost. I was sure he must have had maps of the whole world stored in his mind. As we drove, dad would tell ridiculous stories starring a character he'd created and named Formaldehyde and Rose and I would laugh and laugh until tears streaked the dirt and chocolate down our adolescent faces and we were doubled over in laughter cramps. We enjoyed our journeys to no where, mom pointing out her dream house along the way (a real fixer upper) and me pointing at horses. So, we stopped at a gas station. Most likely to refuel and stock up on napkins. Somehow, a lottery ticket got involved. Mom or dad bought a scratch off. I wanted it because scratch offs are so neat and so fun to do. I was told no. I was a bratty, spoiled six year old and I didn't like the word no. I threw a fit. Crossed arms over my chest, I pouted and said I was having the worst day ever. Rose tried to cheer me up, but I turned away from her. I was the world and the sun, at that moment, was the lottery ticket, without which I simply could not survive. Rose attempted to get dad to resume the Formaldehyde stories, but the magic of the moment was lost by my grumbling and grievances and the laughter was muted until we arrived back at home.
Told from Rose:
I always looked forward to time with Rachel and her family. Her dad was the funniest guy I knew and her mom was the most caring woman. Rachel was my best friend, and we always had a fun time together. They liked to go for drives in their van, along back roads and scenic routes, pointing out anything that interested them. I was just happy to be out and along with them, one of the gang, part of the family. You could always tell they liked you and considered them one of their own if they picked on you. I might have had a bit of a problem eating. In fact, it might have been a huge problem. My face just seemed to catch the food (especially chocolate ice cream) before my mouth could. We laughed and laughed at how bad I was at eating. Formaldehyde was the true star of the laughter with that family though. The adventures of Formaldehyde and her stinky misfortune were the funniest tales, I often stopped breathing mid-tale, my giggles taking precedence over airflow. While Rachel was my best friend, she could be somewhat of a... well, she had a temper. She really liked getting her way. She could also be bossy. And if things didn't go her way, well, you'd hear about it. After exhausting every napkin in the van (and trust me, there were several), we had to make a pit-stop to get gas and refill on things to catch my mess. Her parents had bought a scratch off ticket that Rachel insisted on being hers. I saw a look exchanged between the lady behind the counter and Rachel's parents. They weren't allowed to buy it for her. I guess Rachel didn't see it, because she continued to insist they give it to her. I bet they would have given it to her had she not asked in front of that lady. Something tells me someone could have gotten in trouble, at least, that's what it felt like. So we get back in the car and Rachel is in one of her moods. With a huff, Rachel plopped in the seat, arms tightly over her chest, crying and howling. It kind of hurt my ears. Even though we'd had a really fun day, Rachel forgot about all the stories and sights we had seen and declared this the "Worst day ever." I couldn't believe she had said that! "Come on, Rachie" I tried to coax her out of her bad mood, attempting to get her laughing again. "What happened next with Formaldehyde?" I asked. Her dad began the story but Rachel kept up with her sounds of disdain and the story was cut short. I ended up having to go home because Rachel couldn't get her act together, and her mom had warned her. I wasn't happy. I was supposed to spend the night that night (and I knew I'd just make it the whole night this time!) and I was having so much fun. That girl had quite a temper, I hate that she let it ruin our day.
Now I suppose it's time to go ask Rose how close I got it ;)
A New Project - Dear Snuggles
Well, I've decided I've neglected my little corner of the internet for long enough. I miss being here and I miss putting my thoughts into words and I miss all of you (is anyone still out there?). So, in order to help myself keep up with writing and visit here much more often, I'm trying a new project.
Every Wednesday (possibly more, but let's just start with one day) I'm going to post a writing prompt and... well... write about it. I know, it's totally different than what you're used to seeing here at Little Pink, but I promise it will be interesting. I'm going to start with a relatively simple one, to ease myself into this new idea.
So without further ado, let's just jump into this, shall we?
Dear Snuggles,
My nearest and dearest, the fuzziest, snuggliest non-breathing friend, I write to you with the most sincere appreciation for your life long friendship. As my first toy, you had quite a lot to live up to. How long would you last? Would you end up in the garbage, at a yard sale, passed on to a new child, or quietly ruminating in an adult's bedroom? No one knew then that it would be the latter. No one realized that your soft brown fur and beady eyes would provide one girl comfort for an eternity. No one expected your Steiff tag to be a source of pride for an Army brat born in a cold country she no longer remembers. No one could have possibly known that your plush body would hold the scents of true home, the most comforting aroma to breathe in.
I expect when you arrived with me that you were actually larger than me. As a new babe, you might have been ginormous, unfortunately I can't remember our first meeting. I know with certainty, however, that I was never fearful of you, regardless of how much larger than me you might have been. I know that you accompanied me on a transatlantic flight and I wonder if you helped me feel safe.
As I grew, I could not sleep without you by my side. You traveled with me to many a sleepover parties and handled squealing girls like a champ. I accidentally dropped you in a mud puddle before Rose's birthday party. I really wanted to go, but there was no way I was staying over without you. Thankfully, my mom took you home and washed you and brought you back to me. I wonder if you would have appreciated that night off? Or did you feel as lost without me as I you when we were apart?
I needed surgery in second grade. Tonsils and adenoids, no big deal. I was allowed to bring one "comfort object" but at first the surgical team didn't want to let you come with me because of your glass eyes and metal tag. I assured them you were the only one I wanted, needed rather, by my side and somehow they waiver. Maybe mom took you before I went to surgery but I know you were next to me when I awoke and let out a scream. I bet you remember that scream. Like my mom, you probably wonder how in the world I could scream like that after having surgery on my throat.
I held you during awkward teen years, squeezed you during breakups, confided all my secrets in your ever-listening ears and knew all my fears, pain, anguish, and insanity were safe with you. You followed me to college, and it's probably best that no one else can hear your sweet whispers because oh, the stories you could tell. I'm sorry I subjected you to that.
You accompanied me when I moved and found a spot in our bedroom in North Carolina. You watched my belly swell as new life grew inside me and you probably wondered if you would befriend this new child, as well. You were clutched under my arm as I headed off to the hospital to meet our new friend. In anxious anticipation you watched her enter the world and I'm sure both our hearts grew exponentially.
You probably still wonder if I will someday pass you on to our little friend, but I've selfishly kept you for myself. Maybe one day I will find it within me to surrender you to my most prized person but for now I let her visit while I keep a close eye on your whereabouts.
And when I need you most, I hug you close and inhale deeply, flooded with scents, memories, and feelings of home and comfort.
Words cannot thank you enough, my dear Snuggles, for being the epitome of a "comfort object." You encompass all things a teddy bear should and you are not only an object to me, but my friend.
With much love and adoration,
Rachel
Every Wednesday (possibly more, but let's just start with one day) I'm going to post a writing prompt and... well... write about it. I know, it's totally different than what you're used to seeing here at Little Pink, but I promise it will be interesting. I'm going to start with a relatively simple one, to ease myself into this new idea.
So without further ado, let's just jump into this, shall we?
PROMPT: Write a love letter to an inanimate object that explores why you appreciate what you're writing about, what its special qualities are.
Dear Snuggles,
My nearest and dearest, the fuzziest, snuggliest non-breathing friend, I write to you with the most sincere appreciation for your life long friendship. As my first toy, you had quite a lot to live up to. How long would you last? Would you end up in the garbage, at a yard sale, passed on to a new child, or quietly ruminating in an adult's bedroom? No one knew then that it would be the latter. No one realized that your soft brown fur and beady eyes would provide one girl comfort for an eternity. No one expected your Steiff tag to be a source of pride for an Army brat born in a cold country she no longer remembers. No one could have possibly known that your plush body would hold the scents of true home, the most comforting aroma to breathe in.
I expect when you arrived with me that you were actually larger than me. As a new babe, you might have been ginormous, unfortunately I can't remember our first meeting. I know with certainty, however, that I was never fearful of you, regardless of how much larger than me you might have been. I know that you accompanied me on a transatlantic flight and I wonder if you helped me feel safe.
As I grew, I could not sleep without you by my side. You traveled with me to many a sleepover parties and handled squealing girls like a champ. I accidentally dropped you in a mud puddle before Rose's birthday party. I really wanted to go, but there was no way I was staying over without you. Thankfully, my mom took you home and washed you and brought you back to me. I wonder if you would have appreciated that night off? Or did you feel as lost without me as I you when we were apart?
I needed surgery in second grade. Tonsils and adenoids, no big deal. I was allowed to bring one "comfort object" but at first the surgical team didn't want to let you come with me because of your glass eyes and metal tag. I assured them you were the only one I wanted, needed rather, by my side and somehow they waiver. Maybe mom took you before I went to surgery but I know you were next to me when I awoke and let out a scream. I bet you remember that scream. Like my mom, you probably wonder how in the world I could scream like that after having surgery on my throat.
I held you during awkward teen years, squeezed you during breakups, confided all my secrets in your ever-listening ears and knew all my fears, pain, anguish, and insanity were safe with you. You followed me to college, and it's probably best that no one else can hear your sweet whispers because oh, the stories you could tell. I'm sorry I subjected you to that.
You accompanied me when I moved and found a spot in our bedroom in North Carolina. You watched my belly swell as new life grew inside me and you probably wondered if you would befriend this new child, as well. You were clutched under my arm as I headed off to the hospital to meet our new friend. In anxious anticipation you watched her enter the world and I'm sure both our hearts grew exponentially.
You probably still wonder if I will someday pass you on to our little friend, but I've selfishly kept you for myself. Maybe one day I will find it within me to surrender you to my most prized person but for now I let her visit while I keep a close eye on your whereabouts.
And when I need you most, I hug you close and inhale deeply, flooded with scents, memories, and feelings of home and comfort.
Words cannot thank you enough, my dear Snuggles, for being the epitome of a "comfort object." You encompass all things a teddy bear should and you are not only an object to me, but my friend.
With much love and adoration,
Rachel
What I've Learned About Parenting in the Last 5 Years
In a couple of hours, my little baby girl will be officially
5 years old. Every year, each number feels like such a big leap. Last year she
was 4 and I was all like OMG MY BABY IS 4! Now she’s turning 5 and, well… it’s
the oldest she’s ever been!
I look back at the photos and the memories of the last 5
years with this little stinker by my side and I am filled with so many
feelings. Ones of the smiling kind, ones of the crying kind, and even ones of
the steam coming out your ears kind.
So many lessons have been taught along the way. Lessons in
how to clean a poop explosion from a high chair in hyper speed because we had a
date in 10 minutes. Lessons about how to say “No,” and mean it. Lessons
concerning feeding myself and someone else simultaneously. Lessons on the
greatest love a human can have coupled with the greatest frustration.
In honor of her 5 years, I’m going with 5 of the biggest
lessons I’ve learned over these years. Fasten your carseats.
5. How to clean and when
to clean
Poop explosions are no joke. Neither is projectile vomit,
glitter glue, or milk spilled under the seat that starts to sour. I’m naturally
a messy person but the level of mess infused by a tiny permanent house guest
quadruples any mess I could be capable of on my own. I’ve learned how to
disinfect toys and sheets and that sometimes it’s okay to cry over spilled
anything. I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s okay to say screw it.
Sometimes, there will be dishes piled high and that’s okay. Never try to clean
in the middle of a craft because you’ll just be doing double duty. And there’s
always the “right before company comes” quick clean to save from looking like a
total animal.
4. I’m still amazed by all of this tiny person
Everything she does and is amazes me. It amazes me how funny
she can be and how loud she can scream. How smart she is and how stubborn.
Every time she spells a new word or counts to a higher number, I am blown away.
Her big brown eyes still amaze me how much they resemble her dad’s. The hair
that reaches down to her butt amazes me considering she was such a bald baby.
The things she says that remind her so much of me. I am in constant awe of this
person and I doubt that will ever end.
3. Getting to re-do kid stuff is super fun
One of the biggest perks of parenting is getting to play
again. Going to bounce houses, playing the games at Chuck E Cheese, seeing the
animals at a petting zoo, riding rides at carnivals and theme parks. Not only
do I get to do it all again (except for
the stuff I’m too tall for and to that I say – LAME) I get to see her
enjoyment in it. There is nothing more fun than seeing your kid have fun at
something you used to have fun at and getting to have fun with them. Fun, fun,
fun, fun!
2. No one can make me angrier
Having a little miniature version of myself (in personality if not in looks) can be
exhausting. I’m a whole lot of person with a huge personality. My kid, like her
momma, has a huge personality. She knows exactly which buttons to press and how
to press them. She knows just what sets me off. I have a feeling this will only
get worse as she gets older. Oh boy, what a ride we’re in for. Even when she’s
making me mad though, sometimes it’s hard not to laugh. She was sitting on the
floor eating cereal from the box not too long ago. I told her not to eat
anymore, she was done. She holds up one piece of cereal. “It’s just one,” she
declared. I knew it was just one and that really what could one more do BUT I
had said no more and I reminded her that. She looked at me, looked at the
cereal, and reminded me it was just one. No. Pop, in the cereal goes into her
mouth. What a little turd! I couldn’t help but turn away laughing. She had won
this one. Just a few nights ago she asked if she could spend the next night at
grandma’s. I told her I wasn’t sure, that we’d have to see, but probably not.
Not even ten minutes later her sentence began, “On our way to grandma’s
tomorrow…” I said, “Wait, why are we going to grandma’s tomorrow?” “Because. I’m
spending the night there.” Wait. What?! With a stubborn streak and a mind all
her own, this child can be infuriating and entertaining all at once. This was
another time I couldn’t help but laugh. For someone who knows how to get to me,
I sure do love her a lot, which brings me to…
1. I never expected to love a person this much
I knew that motherhood would change me. The physical changes
were immediate. I am still blaming “baby weight” even on the eve of her fifth
birthday, she’s stretched my hoo a thousand times it’s size and made me forget
about it, and there’s nothing like the tiger stripes to declare my motherhood,
but the biggest changes were inside. I loved her father with all I was and all
I had. Until she came along. The love a mother has for her child is
indescribable. The pride, the joy, the fear all of it encapsulating this love
for a person you literally created that just continues to grow. Feeling any
injustice served to her times at least a hundred (WHY isn’t she getting the same attention in gymnastics class?! What do
you mean that kid took your swing at the playground?!) while trying to
reign it in to teach her to be a strong and independent person. Creeping in her
room at night just to watch her sleep, a look of complete peace on her face,
her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks. Constantly thinking of her, no matter what I'm doing. Hearing, “I just want to get super
close to you. Because you’re my favorite,” and being able to only reply, “You’re
my favorite, too,” while choking back a sob. I never expected any of this.
Happy birthday my precious girl. I hope I am enough mom for
you, that you always know how much you mean to me and the love I have for you
is endless and unconditional. May we learn many, many more lessons together and
may you one day learn these beautiful lessons from your own children.
Five Whole Years
What is it about the fives that really makes us think?
I mean, I know I don't miss an anniversary without thinking, but there's something about intervals of five that are so profound.
Five years.
Five ridiculously long, painful years.
I wanted to cling onto you that night. Well, let's back up. Let's start from the beginning. We knew it was going to happen from day one. But then the rumors got closer and closer. You were supposed to go in August, but that was to Iraq and for some reason someone didn't want the unit going to Iraq. I guess there wasn't enough action there? There were rumors for the reason, but we'll stay away from those now. So, it became the waiting game. You'd leave for training upon training and the deployment wouldn't come and at one point, dropping you off for training I said, "I kind of wish this was just the deployment. Not that I want you to go, but I want to get it over with."
All I wanted was to get it over with.
Anyway. We (the families) would be told things like, "24 Hour Standby," and "Leave at a Moment's Notice." It started to get more specific; "Don't expect your Marine to be here until Halloween."
Halloween came, you were a cowboy and I was a leopard. We went to a friend's house for a Halloween party and had so much fun. I was hormonal though, and we got in an argument that night. We made up because it was stupid. I'm sorry I was so damn emotional.
Then we heard, "Don't expect your Marine to be here for Thanksgiving." We went to Maryland because my mom had planned a surprise baby shower. It was such a great time. I think you were the most involved dad-to-be I'd ever seen at a baby shower. You handed me the gifts, smiled in the photos, and generally played along.
We had planned to spend Christmas in Florida with your family. At the rate things were going, of course you were going to be here for Christmas, they kept warning us with no consequence. It wasn't really going to happen, was it?
Things were changing in Afghanistan. The command over there were asking for more troops. The president was stalling on his decision. December 1st there was a press conference. He announced he would indeed be sending more troops (although not the number that was requested...) and we knew immediately you would be in that surge.
December 4th was a regular day. We went out to eat at Golden Corral. I was eating banana pudding, a delicious combination of banana flavored goo, Nilla wafers, and whipped cream. Your phone rang right as I was about to take a bite. I tried to listen. It was the sergeant from the armory. I heard a lot of "yes, sergeants," spoon hovering mid-bite. What was happening? You ended the call. You looked me in the eye and said, "I have PT Monday morning and then... Tuesday afternoon." I crinkled my brow... "Why are you PTing Tuesday afternoon?"
"No babe. I'm leaving Tuesday afternoon."
The spoon remained midair as the tears slid down my cheeks, salty paths of the composure I could no longer hold. There was only one place to which you'd be leaving. You were worried I wasn't okay. We had taken separate vehicles and you were so concerned about me driving home. I assured you I'd be fine and off we went to our little duplex in Richlands; you following, always watching to make sure I was alright.
We decided to blow up the air mattress that night, the nice king sized double stacked one we borrowed from my parents, and put it in the living room. We watched movies and cuddled so tight I briefly thought of crawling into your skin so I never had to be without you. How was I going to survive without you?
Four days. We had four days to prepare for the inevitable. You went through your packing lists and I double checked them behind you. "Where is your side arm holster?!" I looked for that damn thing for hours. It was missing one piece. And I knew without that one piece the world would fall apart. "Babe, I can rig it up and it'll be fine." I made you show me. It looked fine. I questioned your packing style, shouldn't you have the most necessary items at the top of your sea bag? You laughed it off and I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass. I just needed you to be ready. We joked about how you weren't allowed to go on convoys. About how you'd get there and dig a hole in the ground with a bubble over it and just wait out your 7 months. It was funny, but really I was terrified.
We went and picked out the final colors for the house we'd bought pre-construction. Blue with wine colored shutters. Countertops, the shape in the front door, carpet styles... we were so glad we got to do that together. We went to our plot, talking about all the things we would do in our brand new house when you got back.
We had a Christmas. We went out and bought a little tree and some bulbs, put it up and decorated it. We did presents. I had bought you new pajama pants, you loved pajama pants, and a new digital camera. My mom tried to get the camera to us in time before you left but it didn't, so I gave you my own. I wrapped a picture of the pajama pants (that I'd left in Maryland, thinking I had time) and a picture of the camera in cereal boxes. You drew me a card. Inside there was a picture of a blue house with red shutters, a woman, a Marine, and a little girl. You wrote, "My promise to you." You were gifting me our dreams, our life together.
You called your family and said you were leaving. Your mom and Emilie came up and we had a great visit. You got promoted that weekend. I was super proud. You let me pin you. I tried not to slap you too hard, but enough for you to feel it.
Decemeber 8th came. We loved and it was so ridiculously hard to walk out of that house, knowing I'd return without you. It was such a beautiful day, the sun was shining and it was relatively warm but my spirits couldn't match. Lady Gaga's Bad Romance came on the radio and we laughed and laughed about such a ridiculous song. We went to the 7 Day Store for some last minute items. An officer was there and he welcomed you home, you told him you were just leaving and he told you he'd see you soon then.
We had to go in early because you were an armorer and you had to hand out the weapons and all that other stuff. It was a special day so I got to go in. I talked out the window to the Marines in line and got a good scolding for that. Your sergeant told us it was stupid to think you'd never convoy, I let him know I was aware of that, it was just our joke.
We went to the staging area. I didn't want to let you go. People were taking pictures, many women looked so presentable with their makeup. I hadn't worn makeup that day because I knew I'd cry and it would run down my face.
There was a lot of standing around and socializing. We were just killing time. You spoke to your daughter. You told her how much you loved her, and told her to take care of mommy, you promised her you'd see her soon.
All of a sudden, you were called to FORM UP. I watched you walk away, a quick kiss but no real goodbye, and join the rest of the Marines. You were spoken to, then told to head to the bus. I watched you walk toward the bus. Everyone was walking away. Could I go? Could I follow? I would've folded up into your pocket if I could, just to stay by your side. A couple wives started walking that way and I did this skid/walk/run maneuver to get to you. I wanted to remain professional and composed and show you I was strong enough to handle this. I didn't want you to know I was falling apart inside.
I caught up to you. Our last kiss. Our last hug. Our last spoken I love yous where we could look in each others' eyes. I watched you walk up the steps. You took a window seat. You signed that you loved me, the way we would, and I watched the tears slip down your cheeks. You didn't want to go, I think you would've folded me into your pocket if you could. What was I without you? What were you without me? I Love You sign language, and tears, and then the buses rolled. I couldn't look away. I stood there, watching until there was nothing left to see. I wanted to fall apart but I wouldn't allow it. I tried to detach.
I numbly walked to the FRO's office where a few of my friends were. I returned the FRO's coat. She'd let me borrow it as the sun sank and I started to shiver. Your sister called you, I had your phone because it was against the rules to take it. Hearing your ringtone ripped another piece from my heart.
I went to a friend's house, as I wasn't ready to greet an empty house. They made me eat dinner. They reminded me I had someone else to think about, growing inside me, who needed nourishment.
I drove home to an empty duplex. The tiny house that had felt so cramped was now far too large, an echoing mansion mirroring the emptiness inside me. Baby furniture had arrived on the porch and I had to wiggle it inside without lifting it, my huge belly bumping it the whole way. It was my first task alone.
I paced the halls. I didn't want to be alone, but I didn't want to be with anyone else or in any other place. Our home was both a prison and a sanctuary.
As I lay on the couch, unable to lay in our bed without you that first night, drifting to sleep, I thought of when I'd see you next. In 7 months, you'd be back in my arms, and my loneliness would be relieved. I could make it. I'd be alright. You needed me to be strong and I would be what you needed.
That was the last time I saw you, soul present in body, on this earth. The last time I felt the warmth radiating from your skin, the last time I felt the tingle of your kiss, the last time I felt safe and whole.
I look to my right and there you sit. Your body in a small wooden box. I look to the Heavens and there you live. Your soul, watching down on me reminding me that I will be safe and whole once more.
