Dear Anonymous comment #9...

Anonymous said...
Why do you allow the kids to rule the home?
11:54 PM

Dear Anonymous,

First, and most importantly, kiss off.

Seriously, you are a piece of work. Try as I might, I simply do not understand people like you. I do not understand what it is about going out of your way to be cruel and insenstive and 100% devoid of any compassion that is so attractive to you. I just do not understand why you delight so much in your inhumanity. Can you explain? Can you tell me what is going through your head? What happened to you to make you bitter, mean, and ashamed of yourself? To paraphrase your own question, why do you allow evil to rule your heart? Perhaps if you share, we'd all know better how to pray for you...

In the meantime, I just wanted to make sure I express how grateful I am to so many of you who have offered your time to me, and your prayers. They are certainly coveted. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful fellowship surrounding me...y'all are good.

Always,
Katie

A toast...to the end of an era...

Alright, this post will be brief (as I am procrastinating thoroughly right now, but really don't have the liberty!) I just wanted to share something that has been on my mind for the last week or so... life, as I know it, is over.

Tomorrow morning, at 8 am, I start my final year of nursing school (assuming I do not fail out!) I'll study, and slave, and work my little butt off to keep my grades. Tommy and I will run a schedule tighter than Daisy Duke's daisy dukes. The kids will have baseball, ballet, tae kwon do, tap dancing, birthday parties, first grade, and ten million other things sure to come up on a daily basis. Tommy officially will take on a management role, after 6 months of studying, training, testing, and jumping through hoops of fire. And in May, when I graduate, I will be a real live nurse. Everyone and their mother has heard that there is a nursing shortage, so there is no worry that I will find a stellar job right after, if not before graduation. I'll take that job, and love it, and slave, and work my little butt off to do well. Tommy and I will run a schedule tighter than Daisy Duke's daisy dukes. The kids will have baseball, ballet, tae kwon do, tap...etc, etc, etc. Catch my drift?

Today is the last day of my summer break. Tomorrow, I begin the journey that doesn't end until retirement. Sure, maybe I am being a bit overdramatic, but in lots of respects, it really feels like today is the last day of an era in my life, and tomorrow is the first day of another.

Kinda depressing, kinda cool. Anyhow, wish me luck...

Minty Fresh!!!

Around our house, bedtime is 8:00, give or take a bit. Some folks might balk at that, thinking that 8:00 is ridiculously early, heck it isn't even completely dark then. However, walk a day in my shoes, and you will soon see why those last fifteen minutes until the witching hour may as well be fifteen years.

Our day starts at a decent hour, depending on the whims of the children. Typically, it's around 8 am. The tricky part is that it is a daily gamble on whether or not the children will choose to head right in to get mom and dad moving, or make a pit stop somewhere first. By pit stop, I basically mean "find something that they are forbidden to play with, and simply go to town!" Examples of previous adventures? Permanent marker all over the computer monitor, white-out everywhere (including themselves), more selections of "artwork" on the walls than I can even count, the consumption of literally pounds of candy(which was stored on top of the fridge, mind you!) I'm sure I am missing plenty (oh yes, the time they covered Maya's entire bedroom with a fine layer of baby powder, that was fun!) but you'll have to take my word for it, we've been through the ringer.

I might add that there are many "misadventures" gone on with my children that have taken place at other times of day than the wee hours of the morning, such as the day that I was in the shower, pregnant with Isaiah, and had "trapped" the children upstairs with me via baby gate. Unfortunately, I had neglected to double check that there were no safety scissors within reach (yup, not the real ones, I'm talking about the stupid round tip, don't cut anything including paper dumb ones.) Midway through my 3 minutes of (relative) peace, I heard Maya's little voice from the other side of the shower curtain. "Mommy, Denver gave me a mullet!" Slowly, I peeked out to find that he had indeed. Diligently, yet quickly, he had lopped all the hair (and only the hair) on top of her head to a half-inch length. It was awful. The only way to salvage anything was to cut all of it, her whole head to that length, and call it a pixie cut. If you have never seen it, and want a good laugh, let me show you some pictures. Trust me, Maya's head is far too round for that look!

Or recently, for example, during the 15 minute visit from our mortgage people to have some papers notarized, I sent the children to the basement playroom, and chatted with the friendly notary. I actually said the words "uh oh, it is just too quiet! I wonder what they are up to..." After the kind woman left, I wished I could have eaten my words, so badly did murphy's law bite me. It turns out they were hungry, so they saw no problems with sneaking to the kitchen to grab a bag of groceries not yet unpacked, and make a snack. I am pretty sure it has happened to all of us at one point, as we have made ourselves a peanut butter sandwich...one thought: I should get some shampoo, and make a giant sculpture with it and this peanut butter. No? Never happened to you? Well then I guess my kids are the first! It was quite impressive, but a monster pain to clean up. (Normally, I'd make them clean it themselves, but I had visions of the bubbles created by a full bottle of shampoo and thought better of it!) I sent the two older kids to their room, and let Isaiah follow me around as I cleaned. When I went upstairs 25 minutes later, I noticed something odd, almost funny, but clearly odd. A perfect little "trail" of toys, shoes, odds-and-ends, in a neat little line, leading from the front door up the stairs, to the open door of the bedroom, which was empty. I ran outside, baby on my hip, and panicked. No kids in sight. I called out their names, normally at first, but then louder, and finally yelling. Just as I was about to have an actual freak out, they appeared around the corner...two blocks up. They had packed their little suitcases, loaded them into the wagon, and decided to run away. I was simply beside myself with anxiety, scared out of my wits, and at a complete loss for what I needed to change for disciplinary action.

I've tried everything...time-outs, spankings, hot sauce on the tongue, confiscation of toys. I must point out that I am a no-holds-barred mom. When I take a toy to be thrown out...it is thrown out. A spanking is a bare butt, "spare the rod, spoil the child" sort. A time-out is sitting alone on the naughty chair being ignored completely. I'm at my wits end.

Recently I perused a book from a dear friend, Debbie, and it has been insightful. Just today, I reread Dare to Discipline by Dr James Dobson, a favorite of mine even just as a reminder that I am not an idiot, that discipline is real work. I needed to reread it this evening due to the behavior last night. After 2 hours of completely ignoring my requests for them to sleep, (some of those requests were nice, others were yelled, and everything in between) I left them alone, and sat for a half an hour reading my school books for my classes starting monday, and talked to a friend on the phone. When I went to check on the progress, I found them wide awake, and very minty. They had taken not one but FOUR tubes of toothpaste, and emptied them everywhere. The bathroom was a disaster, my bed was covered, a bucket of water was dumped on the rug in my room. It was very icky. They got the works from me. Yelling, spankings, a tablespoon of toothpaste for each of them to swallow, even a proclamation that I am not their mom anymore tonight. (I made them call me Mrs Michel and everything!) I went downstairs, waited, and listened. That seemed to hit home, as they wailed that they still wanted a mommy, and they needed someone to take care of them. After awhile, they talked, and decided that they had in fact done a very bad thing, and agreed that they should really be good. We talked about it this morning, and they have been pretty well behaved. Even still, I am exhausted. Fried out. Beaten up. Just plain beaten.

Don't get me wrong, I am certainly not alone. There are gwadzillions of other moms out there in the same boat. But at the same time, I can't speak for anyone but myself, and for me...I need to get proactive. I need to follow through on the promise I made to my shrink, and acknowledge step #1 according to Dr Dobson on how to maintain my sanity. I need to ask for help. I need to ask people who want to help me to step in and help me. Perhaps it is the desperation of last night, the thing that is making me actually agree, not just theorize about how it is a good idea, but that's cool, because my rope is fraying rapidly, and I need a break. No wait, not a break, many breaks. Dr Dobson says "#1. At least once a week the mother should go bowling, or shopping, or 'waste' an occasional afternoon. It is unhealthy for anyone to work all the time, and the entire family will profit from her recreation." My personal good ole Dr Dunlap wrote me a "prescription" for it, to hand over to my loved ones, since I feel far too guilty to come right out and ask. I've gotten gutsy enough to ask two people that I love, and both have agreed without hesitation. Even still, I hate putting people out...but not today. Today, my hands are still tingly from the menthol and I probably have fluoride poisoning from the amount of toothpaste I cleaned up. Today I have circles under my eyes, and even I can tell that I am getting sickly looking. I am stressed, and I need some help. I need a break...ASAP.

On that note...anyone want to babysit tomorrow night? (Or any night, really! That's the downside of Tommy's work schedule, I'm in school in the morning, and he leaves at 1 for work, so he does what he can) It's last minute for sure, but it would be a great gift to me this weekend in particular. Several of my old Fridays/small group/Willow girls are going for a girls only camping weekend. Cindy, Lindsey, Lisa... women who lift me with laughter. If there's anybody out there who might be willing to take the kids Saturday night, it would matter. It really would. (Oh, don't worry, the kids only like to terrorize me, everyone else is pretty safe!)

Furthermore, if the mood ever strikes, and you feel like enjoying my children, I'm humbly asking that you will. I know that admitting that I am simply not strong enough, smart enough, or cool enough to do this whole mom thing alone is a big step, a step that I know many moms aren't taking. For those moms (and you know who you are!) please call me, and know that the barter system of babysitting works wonders!

Well, it's been a half an hour since the kids went to bed...time to assess the damage...much love to y'all...

weeping, wailing, and throwing punches...and proud of it

Recently, I had another moment in the garden, me vs. the weeds, except this time, it wasn't a garden, it was a deserted parking lot late at night, and it was my steering wheel that caught the brunt of my rage. Sitting in my car, doors locked, lights off, CD of "Laurie songs" playing loudly, so loudly that I could barely hear my screams.

Right at this moment, my eyes fill with tears, because I can still taste the wail in my throat. That guttural wail of absolute brokenness, like your damaged heart itself is trying to escape it's cage via your lips. It's the kind that you cannot control, it is not so much a sob as it is you... the very core of you, the ugliest, dirtiest, most pain-saturated part of you, and it is desperately and forcibly making it's way out into the world.

There are so many ways that I am healing, and getting better, perhaps even better than I was when she was here. There are parts of Katie that are coming to the surface and blossoming. There are things that God has uniquely blessed me with, things that are completely and totally Katie and Katie alone, that are showing up on the outside of me, released from the bottle I have stuffed them in for so very long. There are pieces of Katie that are good, very, very good.

But along with that, there is the sense of "I-still-miss-her-more-than-I-even-want-to-think-about." There is a ache with every beat of my heart, an ache for my sister. A desperate, wailing ache.

And that is where I am.

I have bruises on my hands where I pounded on my dashboard. I have puffy eyes. I have astonishing people in my life who are reaching out to me every day, praying me through the grit. I have a Father who is using all sorts of tools to show up for me, songs that tell me I am "held," books that tell me "I hope you realize how much your family, your friends, your church, your community, and this world need you. Don't allow who you truly are to be lost, buried, or devalued...what is most truly you matters." I have a sense that it is okay for me to be in the exact place that I am, in my grief, in my growth, in me...even if that place is somewhere between "full of hope" and "hopeless."

Where are you? How is your garden, your parked car, your pillow to scream into? How is your journal, your diary, your blog, your safe place to express your ups and downs, no matter how ginormous or petty? Has someone told you today "I hope you realize how much your family, your friends, your church, your community, and this world need you. Don't allow who you truly are to be lost, buried, or devalued...what is most truly you matters"? May I tell you?

I hope you realize how much your family, your friends, your church, your community, and this world need you. Don't allow who you truly are to be lost, buried, or devalued...what is most truly you matters.

What color is your blood?

I know what color mine is! I got a tattoo last April, on the front of my right hip. Yup, before you asked, it hurt very, very much. But worth every single wince of pain. What is it? About the size of a silver dollar, a beautiful Cubs insignia. Breathtaking, I swear... That night, after I was able to remove the initial bandage, I had a moment of joy even through the pain. On the bandage was the perfect mirror image of my new tattoo, a mix of blood and ink...my blood, Cubbie blue. Aahhhh. Beautiful. (and yes, I saved the bandage!)

So the other day I got a copy of a pretty new book on the market. It's called "Cubs Nation" by Gene Wojciechowski. Basically, it is a brilliant, intimate detailing of each and every game of the 2004 season of the Chicago Cubs. Actually, the details about the games are brief, but each day he tells a new story of Cubs lore, whether it is an interview with a player, or a beer guy, or a bleacher bum, or whatever. It is fantastic, definitely one of the best reads yet to date, in my book. (and not simply because of my blood type...)

On the other hand, the book did give me a moment of pain that I hadn't visited in a while. That stabbing I-miss-my-sister-and-I-wish-I-could-share-this-with-her kind, the sort that hits you from out of nowhere. Right smack in the middle of a story about the author's tour of the place where each player's uniforms are custom made, I realized how much Laurie would have LOVED this book. Laurie was born in June of 1984, just a few weeks before The Sandberg Game, was 14-years-old and oblivious during the 1998 semi-boon with Kerry's 20 KOs and the Sosa/McGwire chase of Roger Maris. She had just begun her real devotion to the legacy, she was just starting to see what color her blood was... this book, it would have grown her up. It would have taught her all sorts of little things unknown, about baseball, about the Cubs, about life. (Seriously, its that good!) It would have showed her little details about our beloved boys in blue that simply watching the game wouldn't expose (like the 3 things Matt Clement relies on to get him through the tough times: religion, family, and Greg Maddux. For crying out loud, he named his only child Mattix!) or that Eddie Vedder is so devoted, he owns an actual full Kerry Wood uniform displayed on a moving mannequin! It would have been so fun to share this crap, and that just ain't gonna happen. That sucks.

To some of you, this may have been the most boring post in the history of blogging. To the rest of you...read the book, you'll know that "ouch-I-miss-her" feeling that will make you want to read more and more...

Laurie reading her maid of honor toast to us at our wedding!  

Oh, the places you'll go...

Hey y'all. Before I get to the nitty gritty, I would first like to take a moment to direct your attention to the blog of my super cousin, Mandy. She is prayerfully hunting for a new assistant, and I figured since we have the ability to network, why don't we? Check it out, and get the word out, if you'd be so kind! http://pixiethawts.blogspot.com/
(um, yeah, I don't know how to put a link in all smooth like Drew-the-Pooh.)

Anyways, I wanted to share a story, just because. Kinda sad, but kinda not. A few weeks ago, Tommy and I had the chance to get away for a weekend, to go the wedding of a friend in St Louis. We had a blast, and the wedding was beautiful. Honestly, there were a few moments during the ceremony that I couldn't help but think about the fact that I would never see my sister get married, but it was cool because if you cry at a wedding, nobody stares! The big punch-to-the-gut moment came during the reception. We all sat down, and the toasts began. The best man was great, he had us all in stitches, and then the maid of honor. She started by saying that she was very nervous, and so she had recruited all the bridesmaids to help her. And then, she picked up a book and started reciting the words. She got about 4 words out before Tommy and I simultaneously squeezed each other's hands in that desperate "ouch, this is gonna hurt" sort of way. We were both instantly brought back to our wedding day. Laurie was my maid of honor, and the toast she gave us, was a reading of the book "Oh, the places you'll go" by Dr Suess...The same book that the bridesmaids took turns reading out of. I only made it about 15 seconds, before I quietly excused myself to sob uncontrollably in the ladies room.

The good news is that my sister-in-law, Julie joined me a few minutes later, and was so great about letting me cry, and blab to her. After getting it all out, I actually felt good, like I could still feel Laurie's touch on my life. We went back in, had a great meal, fantastic fun with friends, and cut the rug so hard we nearly passed out. (Tommy is a great dancer, in case you've never seen him in action! We rocked that floor hard!)

Anyhow, hope all is well... I'm off to read the amazing transcription that Laurie wrote in the copy she read from and gave to us as a gift, then read the book, and ponder the places I'll go...

PS One last tidbit...I'm no longer a blonde! My wonderful cousin Molly made a special trip to help repair the craziness on Friday! Molly, you're the best...even if you laughed really hard at first! Oh, as promised, I have written you into my will. You'll get all three of our kids, our dog, our cat, our fish, and our lawnmower...What do you mean you are so glad I am in such good health?!? Love you oodles, gorgeous! And speaking of cousins, Mandy and Heidi were awesome with the kids! They can't wait to sleep over again, so we'll just have to set up another event! (wink wink!)

Fine. For the "so-called-friends" who keep wondering if our camera still works. You win. Jerks. Wow, now that I look at it, I almost look normal...maybe not so much! By the way, see on the braids, where it looks like a golden color? THAT IS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE IN REAL LIFE!!! They are the same barely-a-hint-of-yellow color as the top of my head! Yikes!

I am such a girl!!!

WARNING: There is no point to this blog entry whatsoever! There will be absolutely no insightful words, inspiring thoughts, or even a mention of anything profound. It is simply a temper tantrum, full-blown, kicking and screaming, about the stupidest and shallowest thing in the world. Forgive me in advance!

Why?!? Why did I let myself do this?!? Why on earth did I ever stand at the end of the hair color aisle at Target and pause for even a second?!? Why didn't I call someone to let them talk me out of this first?!? Why?!?

Yes, folks, I have done something stupid. Very, very stupid. I have taken a lovely head full of pretty strawberry blond hair...and turned it platinum. I dyed it not once, BUT TWICE!!! What the heck is wrong with me?!? I bought a box of ultra light blonde, and decided to do it last week. Well, halfway through the process I glanced in the mirror and freaked! I grabbed the shower head, and frantically rinsed. However, that was a dumb move. Stopping midway gave me a weird gold-yellow color which I hated. So what did I do? I went out and bought another box!!! DUH!!! (please excuse me for one moment while I bang my head on the wall.) Well, it is blonde. Very blonde. Gwen Stefani. Christina Aguilera. Paris Hilton. Pamela Anderson. Blonde, blonde, blonde!!! I am platinum! I don't want to be platinum!!!

Yes, I have already called my brilliant cousin Molly, the hair stylist/master, who will most likely be written into my will. The one thing I have been pretty much informed of for certain is that whatever we do, we will have to wait a couple of weeks, so I don't have to go bald (which doesn't sound that bad right now!!!)

Now I need to go stare at myself in the mirror for awhile, while wailing away. Why?!?! Why, Katie, why?!?

Hope y'all are well and normal-haired.

A gulp of fresh air...

Aaahhh. It is just simply so sad that all it takes for me to be right with the world again is to get a new internet service provider! Before I get to business on the good stuff, allow me to take one second and put some info out there for my nearest and dearest (which of course is all of you!) First, we changed our email, hopefully for the last time! Tommy is undecided still, but my new address is nursekatie1@comcast.net, so go ahead and update your address books, and to make me feel warm and fuzzy, shoot me an email too! Secondly, since we were so fed up with AT&T regarding our DSL, we decided to simply bite the bullet and ditch our land line altogether, and run with the hip crowd that relies solely on cell phones! If you don't have our numbers, and need them, email me, o-tay?

On that note, it seems that there is once again so much to catch up on that it can't really be done. The overnight walk, for one, was astounding. Painful in several ways, but overall, an experience we are not likely to forget any time soon. I love that we spent time together, walking in ever-changing groups, or pairs, talking about different things, and dragging each other step by step. I feel a special wedge in my heart for each of the folks on the team, family, friends, and perfect strangers alike. I also feel so overwhelmed by the intense outpouring of support from so, so, so many. Prayers, and midnight phone calls, and visits to the spectator sites...it is quite a great feeling to be part of such a great fellowship. Thanks, y'all.

Oddly enough, the hardest part was actually the check-in process. The shock of being surrounded by thousands of people all in my boat was a bit disconcerting. I got really mad at Laur just then. I looked at all the faces, all the beads people were given to wear to represent thier losses, and it just felt like a kick in the gut. All at once, I felt like I was part of a big group of survivors, and so completely small in my grief. I just kept hearing the words that Chris said, as he walked into the house that night after finding out that Laurie had taken her life..."this is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard." That is so much what it felt like. This is so completely stupid. Obviously, the event is a great thing, and the cause desperately needs to be fueled so that change can take place, but it simply felt like the biggest crock of crap that we had to be there. Later, as we walked by all the luminarias that each walker made, and dedicated to a loved one, I got angry all over again.

Look at this, Laurie...you're just not that special. You're a statistic. You're a number, a fact, a paper bag on the sidewalk. You had the world at your feet, and every opportunity to make a damn difference, but instead, you are a strand of beads from a giant heap.

I feel like I may be in a minority, because I am not in a place lately that I want to put Laurie on a pedestal. I am simply not at that place where I am jumping on the bandwagon to rave about how great she was. Mind you, I am certainly not basing all of this feeling on one particular bad decision she made (even though it sure was a doozy) I am taking it within the context of the last year or so of her life. I am feeling very mad at her lately because of the way she lied. She lied to me, to everyone. She said she was well, and happy, and all the other crap like the junk she said on her blog. She looked me in the eye over and over, and told me how much I amazed her, meanwhile not even trusting me enough to let me into her head or heart. It makes me feel like crap, and has done quite a number on my abilities to relate to people that I love. She has given me a raw edge, so that I look a bit more skeptically at those around me. She has made me spend more time wondering who will betray me next, and how, than I ever wanted. That ain't cool. So these days, even if I am alone, I am simply not in the mood to revere all of her. I'm more in the mood to try to find a way to redirect, to find a way to learn just as much from her about how NOT to treat people as I have about how TO treat people. Its quite a fine line, really...

Anyhow, I may have pushed a few buttons, and I am sorry. You know I love the girl, but I am simply not okay with glossing over and shutting down. Take it or leave it...but I'm still here.

A drop in the ocean...

It's been awhile, and I'm not altogether in the mood for a fantastic quilt of words, so I'm just going to throw my patchwork heart on the table, and hope the stitches hold...

I'm feeling desperately small lately, like an ant viewed from the roof of a skyscraper. I'm not saying I feel unimportant, not at all. I guess I feel more like a single bolt on a space shuttle. We've all seen Apollo 13, and know what happens if even one tiny screw is missing, so I feel like I definitely have a mission, and a purpose for being here, it is just that I feel...well, small. In the midst of terrorist attacks, and missing children found dead, and hurricanes forcing people to abandon everything they know...I feel small. Perhaps overwhelmed is a good adjective, too. Its as though I see a world chock full of things that need to be done, and communities that need aid, and people to be loved, and all I can think of is "whew, that's a lot." Not exactly a jump start on saving the world, is it?

I feel like I am so small. A mere blip on the radar of the earth. I don't mean this to sound selfish, or uncompassionate, but as I sat in prayer today, all I could think of was how small I feel. "I am so small, Lord. I'm just a girl who has so much to be thankful for, so I understand that you're busy, too busy for a small girl. There are people in the world who need you today, so it's okay."

And then I sat there for approximately 30 seconds before He answered. Yup, He responded to me in a clear way. I hit play on the CD player, and the shuffler picked a song, one called "No Ocean Deep Enough" by Paul Alan. Allow me to share the lyrics...

Have you any idea how beautiful you are…
That in a million years I could not love you more
Like the sun can only shine so bright in the auburn sky
And you will never be abandoned
I will never leave you stranded
I would die to find a way to reach you…

There is no ocean deep enough
No mountain high or steep enough to keep me away from you
There is no highway long enough,
No river wide or strong enough to keep me away from you

When are you going to believe like I believe in you?
If love is a lie then there is no truth
So I'll hang it all on the wire and follow you anywhere
You don't have to be lonely or look very hard to find me
I'll be walking on your stormy sea

I know your feeling lost sometimes
I know you're losing sleep at night
Faith is hard to find and prayers are crashing to the floor
And you wonder what you're praying for

And there it was, a "Dear Katie, Love God" message. Just as I was beginning to feel too small for God, I was reminded how BIG He is. Pretty darn cool, huh? Small as I am, the creator of the universe wants to spend an afternoon hitting garage sales with me and my mom and my kids.

Now, if you don't mind... there are some "sparrows" that I know that I need to pray for...

Would someone please give Tom Cruise a Xanax?!?

And other random thoughts that have popped into my head for the last two weeks...

So our DSL has been out for almost two weeks, and frankly, I thought I was going crazy a few times (as if I needed a nudge in that direction!) Not nearly as mind blowing as being in a different country for a year, but it did put a new perspective on how glad I am to be able to email, and blog, and find out what new retarded thing Tom Cruise has said each day.

Overall, I am doing...fair. Busy, emotional, frazzled...fair. Summer classes have begun, and as much as I try, I simply cannot make myself give a rat's ass about microbiology. Mind-blowing, I know, but bacteria simply do not thrill me. On the other hand, it's only two days a week now, and I am in good company, and it gives me 12 hours a week in a place where nobody calls me mommy. I guess now that I think about it, it's a decent break. (Man, you know you're a mom when you start to refer to microbio as "me time!") The kids are well. Summer suits them just fine. Little league t-ball just ended (which is fine by me...it was getting a bit tiresome forcing myself to cheer for the White Sox, Denver's team. Even he was getting a bit worn out of not being a Cub. I actually laughed as I told him "Don't worry, Denver, there is always next year.") Maya is really digging her ballet classes, and Isaiah still cracks us up daily, as he learns more stuff every day!

And of course, my new nephew! I'm so unbelievably thrilled to have him in our family, he is so stinking cute. I loved hearing about his birth from Chris and Christa, who got to be there, both because I already love that kid, and because that is what I am hoping to do when I am done with school in a mere 10 months. As I've pondered his birth over the past few days, there have been a few moments that pulled at the "designated Laurie strings" of my heart. Obviously, because this is the first nephew or niece that she has never met, but also because I thought back to Isaiah's birth, which she was in the room with us for. As Chris and Christa and I talked about it, I wished she was there, too, to remind me again of the crazy stuff I said during labor and delivery, and then laugh in her weird way again.

On that note, I'd like to leave you with a prayer request...three, really. First, go ahead and praise our Father for showing up for our family in such a big way. Thank Him for blessing our socks off when we need it the most. Second, pray for wisdom, for Chris and Christa, as they take on the awesome job that He has given them. Ask Him to bless them so that they can raise this boy up for Him. Lastly, pray for Bailey, the birthmom. I know all too well how these are some of the hardest days of her life. As much as her head knows that she has done an amazing and brave thing, right now, her heart is broken and grieving. Sure, she knows Chris and Christa will be wonderful parents, and that she will have pictures, and letters, and even visits with them, she is still a mother who is grieving the loss of her firstborn. Pray that she will be held close, and comforted. Pray that people around her will love her, and accept her grief as any other grief, and not minimize it. Pray that he will reward her ten-fold for the good she has done...Because this is very, very good.

Happy Father's Day, Petey! I love you! 

Indian Princesses with Daddy... 

Just a little too late...

Earlier this evening, I took a peek at my blog. More specifically, I looked at the hit counter. I was actually on the phone with my mom at that moment, so the significance was instantly recognized by more than just myself. The counter read 6762. Not that it really means anything at all, but it was kind cool... the last four digits of Laurie's cell phone number. I remember saying to my mom "I should check again before I go to bed, perhaps I can see when it hits 6784, Laurie's exact birthdate." I figured that I would post tonight, and people just might take a look. But when I looked again, a few hours later, it said 6832. In the space of a Cubs game, 60 people stopped thier lives to see what I might be thinking. 60 people doing their daily thing paused a moment to care about MY LIFE. Weird...

Anyhow, I feel like everything I want to write has been written already. The things that are flooding my mind lately are the same things I posted on my bigbigbigbigbig posting. Basically, I am still having a desperately hard time adjusting to the fact that this is life now, no matter how strange and impossible it feels. Not that I am obsessed with my sister's death (but if I were, is that something to be ashamed of and stuff inside and fake to the world like I am moving along faster than I really am?) but I still find the sensation of...well, the sensationalism just overwhelmingly huge. Its like I am looking at the world through some funny glasses, thinking how astonishing this all really is, and then it hits me again. These are not fun-house mirrors, Katie...these are your eyes, this is your life, and it is YOUR sister that killed herself. It is YOU that is standing here up to your eyeballs in disbelief...this is your bed, lie in it, like it or not. It is a mind-blowing sensation, that, to be perfectly honest, I don't think most people could understand, at least not a lot of the people I know. I am surrounded by people that love me, and that I love deeply, but I often get the feeling (and it isn't a bad thing at all, not even a little) that I am alone. That every single person around me does not and cannot imagine what this feels like. Sympathy and empathy, sure, those things I am flooded with, but the actual imagination of it. I have the distinct feeling that while so many people around me are pouring love and prayer and peace into my life, there is very much a hovering sensation within them that simply says, with aloof security, "This could never happen to me. Katie lost a sister to suicide, but that would not, could not ever happen to my sibling. My brother/sister would never do that." It isn't so much a conscious thought, it is simply that it has never crossed their minds that it could happen. I'm probably not making any sense, but I am trying. Basically, in a nutshell...I don't know why Laurie killed herself, I don't know why anyone does, really, but what I do know, is that there are people living under the same roof as you right now that are contemplating it, too. The girl you shared a bedroom with 20 years ago, the boy you played GI Joes with for thousands of hours with as a child, the woman who breastfed you, the man who coached your little league, your best friend in high school...that person is thinking about it right now. It is real, and it could happen. Not to be a jerk, but to some of you, it WILL happen. Please, please, please, from the absolute bottom of this very broken heart, check up on that heart. If something seems wrong, get out of your comfort zone and get in there to do what it takes. If nothing seems out of place at all...well get in there anyways, and make sure you know what's going on. I just have this desperate feeling that I want to beg everyone around me to be aware. That doesn't mean you need to assume the worst, or the inevitable, or that it is a hopeless cause. Not so at all. Rather, it is the chance to take the pain of losing my sister, and turn it into the chance you might have to save your sister...literally.

Katie and Laurie...June 9th, 1984 

Do you know what I was doing at this exact moment 21 years ago? Believe it or not, I do. I was 5-years-old, and my big brother Greg decided to be super cool, and take his little sister camping. Given, we only went as far as the driveway, but he was so great, he set up our pop-up trailer for us, and we had a good old fashioned camp-out. He stayed with me, and when I couldn't sleep alone, he joined me in the back bed, so I wouldn't be scared. But as great as the sleeping outside with my cool brother thing was, the best part of the whole event actually happened in the morning. Bright and early, we were woken up by my dad, and I still remember his exact words..."You have a new baby sister!" I imagine that Greg probably knew that Dad had come over in the middle of the night to get Mom, and bring her to the hospital, but I was fast asleep, completely unaware that while I dozed, I was about to get the ultimate dream of every five-year-old little girl...a baby sister of her very own! Little La...born on June 7, 1984, exactly three months before my 6th birthday, weighing exactly what I had weighed at birth (7 lb 13 oz, if I recall...Mom?) later that evening, we got to go to visit, and honestly, I don't remember anything about Laurie, but I can still see my Mom when I first walked in, wearing her lavender nightgown, looking beautiful.
The following day, we picked up Mom and Laur at the hospital, and went straight to the Heick's. Just recently I pulled out a photo from that day, a picture of me holding Laurie for the very first time, grinning ear to ear.
So, now here it is, a mere 30 minutes away from the time she would joyously scream to the world that she was a year older. So would end the week long countdown of phone calls..."seven days until my birthday...six days until my birthday...five days, etc." In a half-hour, she'd be 21, and we'd have quite a day, with her friends and family gathered round to celebrate. We had planned to get all her friends together to hit Wrigleyville, for her first visit to the depths of the Cubbie Bear, her first legal Old Style, her first chance to have some bouncer squint at her ID, and smile when he noticed the date...but it is just not going to be.

Instead, we'll journey to the Lake tomorrow, to bring flowers. We'll take time out of our day to buy a cup of coffee and a sandwich for someone who might need it. We'll stop to thank someone we don't really know for their hard work at the daily grind. We'll sing happy birthday really loud in our cars, and I'll sit in the bleachers, I'll breathe in Wrigley, and I'll thank Laurie for 7,574 days of the best gift a big sister could ask for...Happy Birthday, Laur.

Another day, another stupid reason...

Damn it, this day was going so well! I was doing good, feeling alright with the world, starting to see beyond the junk. We spent the day together as a family, hanging out at home, going to the ball field to play catch and run around like 1-4-5 year olds do, bbq out on the deck, bath and bedtime, Tommy and I watching the Cubs squash the silly hopes of the Dodgers...and then tears from an upstairs bedroom. Maya was crying, a bad dream. I couldn't really understand what she was talking about, just "afraid" and "Munch" and "dead." She's sleeping again, and she's just fine, but I am sitting here just generally pissed off that this is the way it has to be. This is the stuff I have to explain to my kids now. Last week, Denver made a list of the people that he knows..."a checkmark by the ones that are alive, and an X by the ones that are dead." The week before, he asked me how his aunt died, and following the recommendations of the professionals, I had the privledge of explaining suicide to a five year old! How f-ing stupid does this have to get?!?! Maya tells me that she just wants to go to heaven now, and even at four years old, I think she can see right through the awkward explanations I give about why she still should be here. I'm just on the edge of my seat waiting for the day she asks me why Aunt Laurie gets to be there now, even though it completely contradicts my explanation of "God's timing." I know it could be worse, and there are a lot harder things to have to talk to kids about, but right now, I am mad. I don't want to talk to my kids about this crap. If I can't really understand it myself, how on earth can He expect me to give a decent answer to them?
I'm mad at her. This might not be a popular thing to announce, but on behalf of my kids, today I am mad at her. They have been completely screwed out of a relationship with an aunt who loved them. The last day we saw Laurie, she told Denver she wanted to have a "Denver and Munch" day, just the two of them to do something fun. The first time Denver cried over her was when he and I were driving in the car a few days after her death, when he realized that such a day would never happen. On the same note, Maya cried when she looked at my wedding album, and knew that even though Munch had asked her to be a flower girl, that would not ever happen. I can hear her little voice now..."Munch and Scott can't get married anymore, can they?" And Isaiah, he'll never, ever know her. She was there the moment he was born, her voice was the first he heard in this world, but he will never know her. Never.

And so I am mad at her. What did they do to deserve this? What did I do to deserve this? What did we all do to deserve this? Laur, I may have hurt in your lifetime, we all may have hurt you...so what do you want, a medal? Great, you win. You've trumped us all...happy now?

If this sounds bitter and harsh, well bummer. I'm not going to stop the process of getting through this now. I can say it out loud, and get it all out there, or I can stuff it inside, hide it away, bury it for as long as I can, and then...well, I think we have all seen how well that works out, haven't we?

By the way, Munch...we got bleacher tickets for June 7th, your birthday, just like last year when you went with Drew. I know you wanted to skip the game, and just go to Wrigleyville, your first time as a 21-year-old, but I decided to go, and sit, and cheer in your honor. It's your birthday, and I know how much you love celebrating it. We'll miss you here, and we'll do our best to pay tribute to you on your special day. Lord knows that if birthdays still matter in heaven, you'll be partying like a dork! I love you, you know...

Hey, does anyone know whose blog this is?

Holy crap...It's MINE! I watch the "hit counter" at the bottom every so often, since Drew put it there for me a few weeks ago. Over 4000 hits, so it isn't a big surprise to me that y'all are out there, sneaking a peek into my brain. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't put it all up here if I didn't want anyone to see it, but still, the point remains, and apparently, must be clarified: THIS IS MY BLOG. This is a place for me to express my feelings, get my stuff out of my head and into words. I very much appreciate and it is helping me so very much to see all the encouragement that so many of you offer in your comments, but the truth of the matter is that even if no one in the whole world ever read this stuff, it wouldn't matter. What matters is that I have a safe (or thought I did, anyways) place, a place that is absolutely mine, for nobody else in the whole world. At the risk of being called a "know it all" like my brilliant, beautiful sister-in-law Cheryl (though I'd be in excellent company for sure!) I looked up the definition of pity in Webster's, and it reads "sympathetic sorrow for one suffering, distressed, or unhappy." If I have unduly caused any of you to feel that for me, please know, that is not my intention. My intention is simply to express the brokenness I feel in losing my little sister, and the journey of grieving her, and living my own life...in my own way. I am not trying to elicit anyone's pity, I am simply putting my own words out there, to get them out of my head.

On the other hand, if you are somehow offended by what I am feeling, I'd really like you to know that my goal is not to inflame, but to express. So if something I write offends you, I am probably sorry (unless of course you are an a-hole, in which case I couldn't care less.)

With that out of the way, I'd like to ponder a moment one of the things I have inherited from my mother. Like her, I hate bullies. The thing about a bully that is so disturbing is that they get joy from someone else's misery. They enjoy hurting people, and get great satisfaction from taking someone who is already weakened and broken, and kicking them further down. Bullies are proud of themselves when they are able to inflict more pain on someone who is already suffering. Bullies, like those two "family" members at my sister's wake, and like the "anonymous" commenter on the post I wrote about my dad, and the "anonymous" commenter on my mom's blog about Laurie's stuff, those people are proud of themselves that they have shown no compassion. They are pleased with themselves for having brought even more pain to a grieving family. Bullies are cruel.

But there is one thing that has given me hope today, even when I cried my eyes out. It occurred to me that while I was so sad that people were willing to stoop so low, they were not willing to reveal their identity. What that said to me was that even they knew they were doing wrong, and they were too ashamed to even sign their own name to it. It gave me enough hope to stop, and just turn it over to God. I let Him take away the sting of those words, and asked Him to help me forgive, and help them to be gentle. And if this feeling comes back again tomorrow, well I'll do the same again. Until then, there are actual things to be dealt with, important things, real things. Things that matter...

I have good friends

I really do. Even as I am trudging along, frantically trying to figure out how to fix this giant mess we like to call Katie, I have good friends to back me.

• Sara, who still calls me even when I say I want to be left alone, because she is good at knowing when I don't really mean it, and who loves my kids as if they were her own.
• Dee, who gives so much of herself to me in so many ways, whether it is buying some nice clothes for my kids for Laurie's wake because she knew it hadn't even crossed my mind yet, or cheering me on when I am at the bottom of the pit.
• AnnMarie, who has known me since before we could read, who makes sure to take time to write me amazing words to keep me going, and keeps me laughing all the time.
• Sarah, who almost literally carried me through this past semester so I didn't fail out, and who grieved in the way she does, by cleaning my whole entire house, top to bottom, when we found out Laurie had died, and I couldn't bear to leave my Mom's house.
• Dawn, who makes herself available to me whenever I need her, night or day, despite being a busy mom with a full time job. There is no doubt in my mind that she would drop everything at any moment if I needed her. She is one of the funniest people I know, and perfectly balances her way of making me laugh with her ability to comfort my tender heart. (Plus, she is taking me to a Cubs game today!)
• Michelle, who has more than a full plate, yet she still keeps little old me on her mind. She is a master plate-spinner, and it fills me to know she considers me one of her most valuable plates.
• Kim, who is so consistent with making sure that I know how much I stay on her heart everyday. This woman is remarkable the way she manages to wear a thousand hats, from friend to mother to hot-shot professional, and looks beautiful in every one...It inspires me.
• Kristin W, who takes care of her ailing father every day, and still shows up with the most brilliant smile, she blows me away with her strength. She is so diligent with asking me how I am doing, and is so willing to be there when I need to talk, even at the most random times.
• Sue, who doesn't buy my "I'm doing great" fake smile for a minute, and goes out of her way to be there for me, whether is is helping me with fundraising for the walk, or inviting me and the kids over to her house to hang out poolside.
• "Sara Benny", who has the most tender heart and huge brain, and offers both to me all the time!

And there are so many more, from all parts of my life, who are so consistent in their prayers, and are perfectly clear in their intentions to absolutely raise me up. Elena, Dana, Jenny, Erin, Shawn, Jeff, Jason, Alex, Randi, Nick, Christian, Eve, Dan, JoAnne, Kristin D, Gina, Joe, Susana, Miki, Jackie, Stephanie, Drew, Molly, Mandy & Heidi (although you are technically family!) I'm sure I am forgetting more right now, but the cool part is that before I can even realize it, you'll be there doing something amazing to lift me up, and I'll be amazed that I forgot to put you on this list!

Thank you, my sludge-balers. I have this vision of myself at the bottom of a icky trench, with sludge and goop up to my ankles, and I'm trying not to sink further, and there are all of you around me, buckets in hand, working patiently, diligently, to bail me out, a bit at a time. It's a long and messy process, but you're there...thank you.