I feel like I should include some sort of disclaimer with this blog. If the last one I posted about Matt made you nervous and uncomfortable, please do not read this. My intent is not to send you into some sort of panic and make you squirm in your seat. This is my way of coping.
A key part of accepting what has happened is coming to grips with the fact that it's NEVER going to be better. That the pain is NEVER-ENDING. It may morph into a different form of pain but it is a wound that will never heal.
It will leave you with a limp. Sure, you'll be able to walk.. but it will be evident that you were hurt. Badly.
Facing the cold, hard truth that life is forever altered is hard to come to terms with because that means change is inevitable.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
The five stages of grief. I hate putting any sort of punctuation after each of the stages because it makes them seem so... contained. When in reality there is nothing clear-cut or black-and-white about them. The books I've been reading make the stages sound so cut-and-dried, like they're all packaged and labeled, tied-up with a perfect ribbon.
They neglect to tell you that just because you've accepted it doesn't mean you're not going to deal with denial on a daily basis, along with depression, a dash of bargaining and a sprinkle of anger. Grief is as unpredictable as a toddler. I don't even like putting the stages in a certain order because you can go from denial to depression to searing anger to begging and pleading with God and then land back in denial-- all in about 5 minutes.
I'll think I'm doing alright.. or coping anyway and then all of a sudden I'll snap. Maybe it will be triggered by a memory, a restaurant, a smell or maybe it'll be nothing more than opening my eyes in the morning.
You know you're grieving when you want nothing more than to be haunted. "Inhabited or frequented by ghosts" is how the dictionary defines "haunted."
OOOH, PICK ME! PICK ME! (Uhh.. to be haunted by MATT, not some random ghost, just to clarify.)
The desperation to see him leaves me frantic. Thinking of how there's nothing I can do about it makes me so irritated sometimes. I can feel my heart accelerate and my breathing turns into hyperventilation as I rack my brain trying to come up with something.. anything.. to make it possible.
I'm sitting at the cemetery as I write this and I could swear I feel some sort of presence here, like I'm being watched. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see my big brother walking towards me.
I would give literally anything to see him.. for him to walk up, tap me on the shoulder and tell me this was all just a nightmare and it's time to wake up.
Why don't they include "apathy" as a stage of grief? I have such a total and complete lack of care in so many areas of my life now.
This, of course, does not apply to my family and friends. They are the reason I get out of bed in the morning. Some days all I feel like doing is curling up on the couch (with an unlimited supply of Oreos) and sobbing. I am so thankful for my kids that keep me going. I have my time to grieve but I can't just quit and give up because they are my everything and I know I have to pick up the pieces and keep things moving. Their happiness and well-being is everything and sitting on the couch accomplishes nothing. Their little smiling faces and knowing that my brother would've wanted me to take care of them and myself keeps me doing everything.. from going to class to brushing my teeth (well I guess I do that for EVERYONE'S benefit) to doing laundry (I mean I haven't seen the actual floor of my laundry room for like 5 years but you know what I mean.)
Since Matt died, my sense of care and concern for those close to me has been heightened greatly. Not that I didn't care before but I think when you lose someone you love you start to see things differently. There's no gray area anymore. It's all black-and-white. The things that truly matter come sharply into focus and everything else fades to black.
There are some things that mattered so much to me before October 14 that became insignificant details that will never be thought of again because of that night.
The things that really matter in life aren't things.. they're people. Tragedy has a way of highlighting what's really important to you. You learn that you can't overuse the phrase "I love you" if you mean it.
Do me a favor, would you? When you're done reading this go tell the people that matter to you the most that you love them. Your kids. Your spouse. Your siblings. Your best friends. Your mailman. (Ha, just kidding on that last one. Unless of course your mailman happens to be a family member or close friend.. otherwise I'm thinking that might land you with some sort of restraining order.) Maybe there's someone in your life you care about but history, time, bitterness, whatever it is, is keeping you locked in a state of pride that leaves your relationships at a standstill. Get over your petty differences, put aside any hurt and anger you might be holding onto that keeps you from being close or at the very least telling them how you feel.. and reach out. Call them. Write them. Text them. Do something.. because guess what? We all say we want to live each day as if it were our last but isn't it funny how we make excuses about why we just CAN'T take the first step to repairing damage that has been done? The truth of it is one of these days it WILL be your last and I know for myself I don't want to die without telling the people that matter the most to me that they were my everything.
Grief takes so many forms. It's incredible the way it comes out unexpectedly, the tendrils of it slithtering and weaving throughout every aspect of life.
At restaurants, I find myself ordering the things Matt liked to order. I'm pretty sure if you cracked my head open a bunch of Guns N' Roses lyrics would spill out. One of his guitar picks is on a chain around my neck that I'll wear for the rest of my life.
Incorporating all of the little things that made Matt who he was into my life is my way of showing loyalty to him and ensuring his memory will be kept alive.
So weird how when shock wears off you're left with a devastation that is unbearable. You know like how if you have frostbite or are super cold, it doesn't really hurt when you're outside and frozen? It's when you get to someplace warm and the feeling starts returning that there is pain.
I read this book about a surfer named Bethany Hamilton that had her arm bit off by a shark. She said she felt no pain when it happened, while she was in shock. Your body doesn't even bother with pain receptors during that kind of trauma because your brain knows that you are very aware there is danger and it is life-threatening. She said when she woke up in the hospital the next day that's when she felt the pain, when the shock had wore off and the healing began.
The shock of my brother dying is gone and in its place is this horrible, burning, heart-wrenching ache that rises and falls like a rollercoaster.
Death doesn't change what you are to someone. It doesn't mean Matt isn't my big brother still. He always will be. All death means is that it will probably be a while before I get to see him again. It puts some time between us but I'm thankful I knew him well enough so that I can hear exactly what he would say in response to anything I would ask him.
It's been 66 days. How is that even possible?
My parents used to have a Cessna when we were younger and as a family we'd fly all over the place in it. I'd always get stuck in the back, which was fine by me because Mike or Matt would sit next to me. Anyone that's flown can relate to the adrenaline that pumps through you as a plane takes off. The engines screaming louder and louder. The gravity that pins you against your seat as you ascend into the air.
I can remember sitting in the back of the plane with Matt with our headsets on, grinning at each other as we sped down the runway. It was our favorite part of the flight.
Since Matt died I keep having that feeling of taking off in a plane.. but it's not in a good way. It's not like how I remember it was when my dad was at the controls. It's like taking off in a plane you know is doomed to crash. That feeling of being thrown back in your seat and all you can do is pray the plane won't explode. It's the feeling of total helplessness and knowing that there's nothing you can do but hold on to the seat in front of you with white knuckles and ride it out.
It's an out-of-control panic, fueled by grief.
I really, really miss my brother.
About this time last year Matt and I went out for lunch and I remember him, with a mug of coffee in his right hand, running his left hand through his hair, asking me how my writing was coming along.
I shrugged. "It's ok, I guess," I had said, "I'd like to write a book but I don't know what to write about."
The corners of his lips curled upwards and he grinned over his coffee, "I can think of a few things."
I laughed. "Well yeah, me too, but for those things I would need a pen name.. and a place to run to in Mexico if Mom and Dad find out."
Smirking, he replied, "Do whatever you've got to do to get it written. Writing is your talent and I'm looking forward to reading it."
So what am I gonna do? I'm gonna write a book, that's what.. and dedicate it to my brother.
I can't think of a good way to end this but I guess that's fitting since it's about grief and this grief is one that will never really end.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
for Lisa: me and you & you and me.
Two years. That's how long the world has been Lisa-less. For those of you that didn't know her, she was my cousin. She was born six months to the day before me. Up until two years ago I didn't know life without her. To be in a world where she is not is so... odd. Not right. It feels very much like I'm waiting for her to get back from a faraway vacation.
My favorite picture of she and I was taken about eight years ago. She's wearing a tank top and shorts and I'm wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. I love it because it shows how different we are from each other.
During the summer my grandma would make us eggs for breakfast and Lisa would eat the yolk and I'd eat the white part. Symbolic of our unspoken agreement that although we were total and complete opposites in so many ways, we fit together perfectly.
I'm sure you have someone in your life that just GETS you. Gets everything about you. Gets why you feel the compulsion to count the number of words in a sentence, or the way you want to just SCREAM when the person next to you slurps the soup they're eating or how murderously annoying that relative is that always INSISTS on kissing you ON THE MOUTH or how they know to immediately eat the mushrooms out of the chinese food on your plate before you start gagging.
All it takes is a half-second glance out of the corner of your eye and they know EXACTLY what you're thinking. You become a firm believer in ESP when you have a connection like that with someone. We had an empathy for each other that can't be put into words.
Lisa spent her summers in Michigan. During those months we were inseparable. All good things must come to an end though and when the summer was over we'd begin the countdown until the next time we'd see each other.
There's roughly 1,272 miles from Grand Ledge, Michigan to Bradenton, Florida but distance was never really an issue with us. No matter how long we'd have to go without seeing each other we would always pick up right where we left off. Time could not touch us. No amount of miles would have mattered.
I am in no way exaggerating when I say when I was younger I got in trouble every single month when the phone bill came because Lisa and I would talk everyday for like, HOURS. I mean sure, I had plenty of other friends but no one could compare to her. We'd sit on the phone together in silence sometimes, one of us reading and the other playing a game on the computer.
Four months before Lisa died she came to Michigan. Patrick, Anna and I met her at the airport and from there we decided to grab some lunch. Mind you me, my children were just shy of being three and one year old at the time so you with kids know what those ages mean: chaos reigns wherever you go. That day was NO exception. It was a Mexican restaurant we chose and let me tell you, Anna was covered head to toe in her lunch-- she was basically a walking enchilada-- and Patrick was pretty much swinging from the light fixture hanging above us. The severity of how traumatic it can be to have small sleep-deprived children tends to fade as time goes on but this memory will forever be freshly imprinted in my mind. I wouldn't have blamed someone that had a tremendous amount of experience with young children to have gone RUNNING AND SCREAMING out of there.
I will never forget watching Lisa calmly pick Anna up from her highchair, cleaning her off and walking around the restaurant, cuddling her. Or the way she held Pat's hand walking out to the car and buckled him into his car seat.
She told my kids she loved them and there was no doubt in my mind she meant it. Although we lived across the country from each other, she loved them like an aunt would because she was just like a sister to me.
She had a heart of gold. When we were young I can remember being impressed by the way she cared and loved each person in her life. She had such a respect for other and was careful to not want to offend anyone.
Lisa, I know to say you were in unbearable pain would be a vast understatement. I don't understand why you went through what you did and the day you died the world got so dark. I miss you so much sometimes it feels like my heart's in a vice.
Lisa was ALWAYS the responsible, level-headed one of the two of us. She thought things out and analyzed. I, on the other hand, ran with whatever crazy idea flashed through my mind and sounded like a good time. We pulled each other in different directions until we met in the middle. A perfect balance.
She was always worried about how long I'd be grounded for whatever unbelievably insane plan I had concocted for us when she came to visit. Our evenings usually began with me spending forty-five minutes reassuring her that we wouldn't get caught (and even if we did I wouldn't care anyway because it'd be SO worth it). She was forever trying to keep me out of trouble.. and get into trouble with me at the same time.
We'd sneak out the basement window of my parent's house, throw my car into neutral and push it a ways down the driveway (which ALWAYS resulted in uncontrollable laughter.. I mean HELLO?! Pushing heavy machinery + trying to be quiet + being with your best friend = hysterical laughing) until we were far enough away from the house that Dad and Mom wouldn't jolt awake when I started the car. Then we'd drive off and the night belonged to us. (While I have no problem revealing our escape plan I feel as though 99.9% of what we did in the wee hours of those mornings should remain unknown as the stories haven't aged enough for my parents to think they're funny yet if they found out...) Needless to say, we were pretty wild, not wanting to waste a minute of the time we had together.
As the sun began to rise and light started splintering across the sky we'd slide back through the window to my room. Crawling upstairs an hour later with bloodshot eyes, we'd exchange smug smiles as my parents wondered out loud why we looked exhausted. In hindsight, I think they knew we had been up to no good but let us get away with murder because they knew how much we missed each other when we weren't together. (I could be COMPLETELY mistaken about them knowing though, so do me a favor and maybe don't mention this to them.)
I miss her. It's as simple and complicated as that.
I hate suicide.. everything about it. Aside from the obvious tragedy of losing Lisa, I hate that it strips her of her identity, reduces her to nothing but a number, a statistic.
Those of you who knew her, be honest, what do YOU think about when she crosses your mind? Do you think of her magnetic personality, the loyalty, her contagious laughter that seemed to take in everything around her, the empathy she had? Or do you think of the way she died?
I've read that worldwide there are approximately one million suicides per year. That comes out to someone ending their life every forty seconds. By 2020, it will be every twenty seconds.
Those statistics are a suckerpunch to the stomach. To think of the lives ending every few seconds of people that mean as much to other people as Lisa meant to me.
When someone you love dies, you expect the world to stop turning. Maybe it's because your world does stop turning or maybe it's becuse you can't imagine being in a world without them. You hold your head in your hands and brace yourself (For those of you that are Lost fans, you know when they time travel and there's the blinding light and headache-inducing noise? That's what it makes me think of.) You wait for gravity to fail and the Earth to turn inside-out. The most horrific thing, to me, about tragedy is the moment when you realize that life will keep going regardless.
Then there is nothing but emptiness. A cave has been carve in your heart that will never be filled.
I'm not really the violent type but when I hear someone describe suicide as a "selfish decision" I want to strangle them. Selfish?? Do you have ANY idea what it took to push them to end their life? What they had to endure? It's not that they wanted to die, it's that it was too painful to keep living. I don't expect anyone to understand that but take a moment to try and wrap your brain around what that would feel like. Remember that there is far more to the story than you know. Don't you dare judge her.
I'm not saying that I agree with it. I'm not saying I don't wish every day that Lisa hadn't made that choice. She backed every decision I ever made so if she is at peace, and I believe she is, I will deal with it. You can't change the past or anything that has happened to you and since there's no way to make some things better, she did what she thought she had to to end the pain. I miss her every day and although I have pleaded with God to make it all a bad dream, it is reality. She is no longer hurting and for that I am thankful.
I dream about her on a regular basis (which is actually a HUGE comfort), when I'm at a family gathering and someone tells a family story it's hard to not look around the room for her so we can roll our eyes and laugh about hearing it for the billionth time and I have even dialed the first numbers of her old phone number to stop mid-dialing, in horror, and realize I haven't come to grips with the fact she's gone.
In the end, she is always on my mind. Memories of her fly at me daily in a Tazmanian-Devil-whirlwind kind of way and suddenly it's like she's with me. She visits me in swirls of matching ladybug tattoes, code names for virtually everyone we knew, our dream of being the crazy cat ladies of the town, living together in a creepy old mansion when we're old, unprecedented memories together and of course, a mutual love of raspberries, to name a few.
Whether you want it to or not, life goes on. Even though she is gone I incorporate her into my life as much as possible. No, there will be no new memories but there are the old ones and thankfully, there are a lot of them to relive. There are pictures of her throughout my house that remind me of good times and her laughter. My baby girl Ella has the middle name "Marie," in remembrance of her. Every year on December 4, the anniversary of her death, the kids and I buy twenty-five balloons to commemorate each year of her short life and I tell them about her as we let the balloons go into the sky. On her birthday, September 2, I watch "Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken," a movie we were obsessed with when we were younger. Through those memories, her memory is very much alive.
She is gone but her memories are not.
It's been two years, Lisa. I love you. I miss you. Forever.
My favorite picture of she and I was taken about eight years ago. She's wearing a tank top and shorts and I'm wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. I love it because it shows how different we are from each other.
During the summer my grandma would make us eggs for breakfast and Lisa would eat the yolk and I'd eat the white part. Symbolic of our unspoken agreement that although we were total and complete opposites in so many ways, we fit together perfectly.
I'm sure you have someone in your life that just GETS you. Gets everything about you. Gets why you feel the compulsion to count the number of words in a sentence, or the way you want to just SCREAM when the person next to you slurps the soup they're eating or how murderously annoying that relative is that always INSISTS on kissing you ON THE MOUTH or how they know to immediately eat the mushrooms out of the chinese food on your plate before you start gagging.
All it takes is a half-second glance out of the corner of your eye and they know EXACTLY what you're thinking. You become a firm believer in ESP when you have a connection like that with someone. We had an empathy for each other that can't be put into words.
Lisa spent her summers in Michigan. During those months we were inseparable. All good things must come to an end though and when the summer was over we'd begin the countdown until the next time we'd see each other.
There's roughly 1,272 miles from Grand Ledge, Michigan to Bradenton, Florida but distance was never really an issue with us. No matter how long we'd have to go without seeing each other we would always pick up right where we left off. Time could not touch us. No amount of miles would have mattered.
I am in no way exaggerating when I say when I was younger I got in trouble every single month when the phone bill came because Lisa and I would talk everyday for like, HOURS. I mean sure, I had plenty of other friends but no one could compare to her. We'd sit on the phone together in silence sometimes, one of us reading and the other playing a game on the computer.
Four months before Lisa died she came to Michigan. Patrick, Anna and I met her at the airport and from there we decided to grab some lunch. Mind you me, my children were just shy of being three and one year old at the time so you with kids know what those ages mean: chaos reigns wherever you go. That day was NO exception. It was a Mexican restaurant we chose and let me tell you, Anna was covered head to toe in her lunch-- she was basically a walking enchilada-- and Patrick was pretty much swinging from the light fixture hanging above us. The severity of how traumatic it can be to have small sleep-deprived children tends to fade as time goes on but this memory will forever be freshly imprinted in my mind. I wouldn't have blamed someone that had a tremendous amount of experience with young children to have gone RUNNING AND SCREAMING out of there.
I will never forget watching Lisa calmly pick Anna up from her highchair, cleaning her off and walking around the restaurant, cuddling her. Or the way she held Pat's hand walking out to the car and buckled him into his car seat.
She told my kids she loved them and there was no doubt in my mind she meant it. Although we lived across the country from each other, she loved them like an aunt would because she was just like a sister to me.
She had a heart of gold. When we were young I can remember being impressed by the way she cared and loved each person in her life. She had such a respect for other and was careful to not want to offend anyone.
Lisa, I know to say you were in unbearable pain would be a vast understatement. I don't understand why you went through what you did and the day you died the world got so dark. I miss you so much sometimes it feels like my heart's in a vice.
Lisa was ALWAYS the responsible, level-headed one of the two of us. She thought things out and analyzed. I, on the other hand, ran with whatever crazy idea flashed through my mind and sounded like a good time. We pulled each other in different directions until we met in the middle. A perfect balance.
She was always worried about how long I'd be grounded for whatever unbelievably insane plan I had concocted for us when she came to visit. Our evenings usually began with me spending forty-five minutes reassuring her that we wouldn't get caught (and even if we did I wouldn't care anyway because it'd be SO worth it). She was forever trying to keep me out of trouble.. and get into trouble with me at the same time.
We'd sneak out the basement window of my parent's house, throw my car into neutral and push it a ways down the driveway (which ALWAYS resulted in uncontrollable laughter.. I mean HELLO?! Pushing heavy machinery + trying to be quiet + being with your best friend = hysterical laughing) until we were far enough away from the house that Dad and Mom wouldn't jolt awake when I started the car. Then we'd drive off and the night belonged to us. (While I have no problem revealing our escape plan I feel as though 99.9% of what we did in the wee hours of those mornings should remain unknown as the stories haven't aged enough for my parents to think they're funny yet if they found out...) Needless to say, we were pretty wild, not wanting to waste a minute of the time we had together.
As the sun began to rise and light started splintering across the sky we'd slide back through the window to my room. Crawling upstairs an hour later with bloodshot eyes, we'd exchange smug smiles as my parents wondered out loud why we looked exhausted. In hindsight, I think they knew we had been up to no good but let us get away with murder because they knew how much we missed each other when we weren't together. (I could be COMPLETELY mistaken about them knowing though, so do me a favor and maybe don't mention this to them.)
I miss her. It's as simple and complicated as that.
I hate suicide.. everything about it. Aside from the obvious tragedy of losing Lisa, I hate that it strips her of her identity, reduces her to nothing but a number, a statistic.
Those of you who knew her, be honest, what do YOU think about when she crosses your mind? Do you think of her magnetic personality, the loyalty, her contagious laughter that seemed to take in everything around her, the empathy she had? Or do you think of the way she died?
I've read that worldwide there are approximately one million suicides per year. That comes out to someone ending their life every forty seconds. By 2020, it will be every twenty seconds.
Those statistics are a suckerpunch to the stomach. To think of the lives ending every few seconds of people that mean as much to other people as Lisa meant to me.
When someone you love dies, you expect the world to stop turning. Maybe it's because your world does stop turning or maybe it's becuse you can't imagine being in a world without them. You hold your head in your hands and brace yourself (For those of you that are Lost fans, you know when they time travel and there's the blinding light and headache-inducing noise? That's what it makes me think of.) You wait for gravity to fail and the Earth to turn inside-out. The most horrific thing, to me, about tragedy is the moment when you realize that life will keep going regardless.
Then there is nothing but emptiness. A cave has been carve in your heart that will never be filled.
I'm not really the violent type but when I hear someone describe suicide as a "selfish decision" I want to strangle them. Selfish?? Do you have ANY idea what it took to push them to end their life? What they had to endure? It's not that they wanted to die, it's that it was too painful to keep living. I don't expect anyone to understand that but take a moment to try and wrap your brain around what that would feel like. Remember that there is far more to the story than you know. Don't you dare judge her.
I'm not saying that I agree with it. I'm not saying I don't wish every day that Lisa hadn't made that choice. She backed every decision I ever made so if she is at peace, and I believe she is, I will deal with it. You can't change the past or anything that has happened to you and since there's no way to make some things better, she did what she thought she had to to end the pain. I miss her every day and although I have pleaded with God to make it all a bad dream, it is reality. She is no longer hurting and for that I am thankful.
I dream about her on a regular basis (which is actually a HUGE comfort), when I'm at a family gathering and someone tells a family story it's hard to not look around the room for her so we can roll our eyes and laugh about hearing it for the billionth time and I have even dialed the first numbers of her old phone number to stop mid-dialing, in horror, and realize I haven't come to grips with the fact she's gone.
In the end, she is always on my mind. Memories of her fly at me daily in a Tazmanian-Devil-whirlwind kind of way and suddenly it's like she's with me. She visits me in swirls of matching ladybug tattoes, code names for virtually everyone we knew, our dream of being the crazy cat ladies of the town, living together in a creepy old mansion when we're old, unprecedented memories together and of course, a mutual love of raspberries, to name a few.
Whether you want it to or not, life goes on. Even though she is gone I incorporate her into my life as much as possible. No, there will be no new memories but there are the old ones and thankfully, there are a lot of them to relive. There are pictures of her throughout my house that remind me of good times and her laughter. My baby girl Ella has the middle name "Marie," in remembrance of her. Every year on December 4, the anniversary of her death, the kids and I buy twenty-five balloons to commemorate each year of her short life and I tell them about her as we let the balloons go into the sky. On her birthday, September 2, I watch "Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken," a movie we were obsessed with when we were younger. Through those memories, her memory is very much alive.
She is gone but her memories are not.
It's been two years, Lisa. I love you. I miss you. Forever.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
superman, mud puddles & tyrannosaurus rex
Happy Birthday, Patrick Matthew.. FIVE years old today!
Five years. How did it go so quickly? How can my little boy POSSIBLY be FIVE years old?! *sob*
I blinked and suddenly my baby man that came into the world tipping the scales at 8.5 lbs. now stands in front of me wondering about God, naming off the planets and telling me all about his friends at preschool.
I'm sorry but WHAAAAAT? I'm telling you it was like five MINUTES ago the doctor placed him in my arms for the first time.
THAT'S IT-- NO MORE BLINKING.
I gotta admit though, Patrick Matthew, the older you get the more amazed I am by the way your mind works. I love the way you look at the world and how excited you are about life. You see the possibility in the world around you and I hope you never lose that.
I LOVE that you are ALL boy. You see things in terms of mud, monster trucks and dinosaurs. Splashing in puddles, collecting bugs and anything that makes LOUD noise are of course some of your favorite things.
The moment you were born was one of the best of my life. I'll never forget the first time you were put in my arms and how I felt my heart explode with a kind of love I never knew existed until then. You were our dream come true wrapped in a blue blanket.
You didn't cry when you were born. I remember the doctors wanting you to cry but instead you gazed around the room with big, dark eyes, taking everything in. As if you were piecing together the muffled noises and fuzzy lights from when you were in utero.
From your first breath it was obvious-- you were born READY.. for anything and everything.
Watching you grow up and witnessing all your milestones has been one of the greatest joys I'll ever know in life. From your first tooth to your first step to your first day of preschool-- I am so thankful to have witnessed them and to be your mom.
"I can see him right now, knees all skinned up.. With a magnifying glass tryin to melt a Tonka truck.. Won't he be a sight with his football helmet on? That'll be his first love 'til his first love comes along.."~ Brad Paisley
Your first LOVE?! Oh wow, I can't even go there.. and yet I know I'll blink and it'll be here. Thinking of my baby boy being in LOVE is a little much for me at this point but I can't deny I am so excited to see who you're going to turn into, the paths you'll take and all you'll achieve in life. I have no doubt that with your drive and determination you will be a rock star at whatever you choose to do in life.
"God created boys, full of spirit and fun.. to explore and conquer, to romp and run."
You are FULL of mischief. Wait, I take that back.. you ARE mischief. I LOVE that about you. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile and the spark that leaps from them when an idea flashes into your mind. Pure mischief.
Those who know you well remember the days when your stuffed Tigger, "Tiggy," had to go everywhere right along with you. I'm talking E V E R Y W H E R E. I did not DARE run the quickest errand without taking that stuffed tiger along also.
Nowadays, Tiggy sits on your bed, waiting patiently for you to tell him "goodnight" before you go to sleep. Gone are the days of dragging him every place you go. His comfort is no longer needed and is yet another sign of you growing up.
"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero." ~Marc Brown
Over the past five years you have become a big brother twice. I LOVE what a great big brother you are and it's been so awesome watching you with your little sisters.
Anna is your partner-in-crime. It amazes me that the two of you do EVERYTHING together. Mind you, you might be arguing and shoving each other the entire time but you're attached at the hip. Your bond is unlike any other-- you're best friends.. and I love that. How funny that you think it's okay to tease Anna but when someone else does it you're all over them like white on rice. I love how the two of you will do anything to get the other to laugh. You are Anna's HERO.
The bond you have with Ella makes my heart break with deliciousness. From the moment she was born, you have worshipped her. I love how you crawl into her crib every morning and tell her stories. Or how you'll see the seam on her sock isn't lined up JUST right so you'll drop what you're doing to fix it. Or the way you'll give up the toy you're playing with if it catches Ella's eye.
You are an amazing big brother. That makes you not only Anna and Ella's hero but mine as well.
"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes."
I can not WAIT to see what lies in store for you in the next year. You'll start kindergarten *gulp!* and I'll no doubt have a total breakdown watching you board the bus.
When you woke up this morning, you said, "Hey mom, guess what? Today I'm 5! Next year I'll be 6.. then 7.. then 8.." I felt panic fluttering in my chest as I realized just how quickly time is going. Can't I put you in slow motion? Can't I keep you at five years old?
I love you so much, big kid! I am so thankful for every minute of every day with you (no matter how exhausted I am.. :D). Here's to another amazing year and everything it holds for you!!
Five years. How did it go so quickly? How can my little boy POSSIBLY be FIVE years old?! *sob*
I blinked and suddenly my baby man that came into the world tipping the scales at 8.5 lbs. now stands in front of me wondering about God, naming off the planets and telling me all about his friends at preschool.
I'm sorry but WHAAAAAT? I'm telling you it was like five MINUTES ago the doctor placed him in my arms for the first time.
THAT'S IT-- NO MORE BLINKING.
I gotta admit though, Patrick Matthew, the older you get the more amazed I am by the way your mind works. I love the way you look at the world and how excited you are about life. You see the possibility in the world around you and I hope you never lose that.
I LOVE that you are ALL boy. You see things in terms of mud, monster trucks and dinosaurs. Splashing in puddles, collecting bugs and anything that makes LOUD noise are of course some of your favorite things.
The moment you were born was one of the best of my life. I'll never forget the first time you were put in my arms and how I felt my heart explode with a kind of love I never knew existed until then. You were our dream come true wrapped in a blue blanket.
You didn't cry when you were born. I remember the doctors wanting you to cry but instead you gazed around the room with big, dark eyes, taking everything in. As if you were piecing together the muffled noises and fuzzy lights from when you were in utero.
From your first breath it was obvious-- you were born READY.. for anything and everything.
Watching you grow up and witnessing all your milestones has been one of the greatest joys I'll ever know in life. From your first tooth to your first step to your first day of preschool-- I am so thankful to have witnessed them and to be your mom.
"I can see him right now, knees all skinned up.. With a magnifying glass tryin to melt a Tonka truck.. Won't he be a sight with his football helmet on? That'll be his first love 'til his first love comes along.."~ Brad Paisley
Your first LOVE?! Oh wow, I can't even go there.. and yet I know I'll blink and it'll be here. Thinking of my baby boy being in LOVE is a little much for me at this point but I can't deny I am so excited to see who you're going to turn into, the paths you'll take and all you'll achieve in life. I have no doubt that with your drive and determination you will be a rock star at whatever you choose to do in life.
"God created boys, full of spirit and fun.. to explore and conquer, to romp and run."
You are FULL of mischief. Wait, I take that back.. you ARE mischief. I LOVE that about you. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you smile and the spark that leaps from them when an idea flashes into your mind. Pure mischief.
Those who know you well remember the days when your stuffed Tigger, "Tiggy," had to go everywhere right along with you. I'm talking E V E R Y W H E R E. I did not DARE run the quickest errand without taking that stuffed tiger along also.
Nowadays, Tiggy sits on your bed, waiting patiently for you to tell him "goodnight" before you go to sleep. Gone are the days of dragging him every place you go. His comfort is no longer needed and is yet another sign of you growing up.
"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero." ~Marc Brown
Over the past five years you have become a big brother twice. I LOVE what a great big brother you are and it's been so awesome watching you with your little sisters.
Anna is your partner-in-crime. It amazes me that the two of you do EVERYTHING together. Mind you, you might be arguing and shoving each other the entire time but you're attached at the hip. Your bond is unlike any other-- you're best friends.. and I love that. How funny that you think it's okay to tease Anna but when someone else does it you're all over them like white on rice. I love how the two of you will do anything to get the other to laugh. You are Anna's HERO.
The bond you have with Ella makes my heart break with deliciousness. From the moment she was born, you have worshipped her. I love how you crawl into her crib every morning and tell her stories. Or how you'll see the seam on her sock isn't lined up JUST right so you'll drop what you're doing to fix it. Or the way you'll give up the toy you're playing with if it catches Ella's eye.
You are an amazing big brother. That makes you not only Anna and Ella's hero but mine as well.
"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes."
I can not WAIT to see what lies in store for you in the next year. You'll start kindergarten *gulp!* and I'll no doubt have a total breakdown watching you board the bus.
When you woke up this morning, you said, "Hey mom, guess what? Today I'm 5! Next year I'll be 6.. then 7.. then 8.." I felt panic fluttering in my chest as I realized just how quickly time is going. Can't I put you in slow motion? Can't I keep you at five years old?
I love you so much, big kid! I am so thankful for every minute of every day with you (no matter how exhausted I am.. :D). Here's to another amazing year and everything it holds for you!!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
my brother, my hero
I have never felt this hysterical, this panicked in my life. There is no relief, not for one second. I am comforted by the fact that he is at peace and that all I have to do is shut my eyes and I can feel him with me. But the pain of never seeing my brother again.. it is unbearable. There is literally nothing I can do about it.
The only thing I can think to do.. is write.. and write.. and write.
I keep seeing his name on Facebook along with "we'll miss you" and "RIP" and it's the most disorienting feeling because.. there's no way all those people could be talking about MY brother. MY brother is just FINE, thank you. MY brother is just a phone call away, he could be here in a second if I called him and how funny it will be to tell him all of this and what a crazy mistake everyone has made.
Then I remember Thursday night. It's not a dream.. is it? It's real. TOO real. It goes from being incomprehensible to so painstakingly clear in a fraction of a second. It's like taking a sledgehammer to the chest when the realization hits.
It's ironic that Matt struggled with being able to breathe all his life and yet the memories that he left behind are enabling me to breathe now.
I thank God every single second that the last thing my brother and I said to each other was "I love you." Even though those were our parting words, what I wouldn't give to say it one more time.
I would do anything.. ANYTHING.. to hug him just one more time. I would endure any amount of pain to have just one more conversation with him. One more cup of coffee.
Just one more.. just one more.. It wouldn't be enough. I know this. My heart is broken so I'm left adding "just one more time" onto everything.
I feel like I'm stuck in a washing machine that's set to "crazy." Or like I'm in the jaws of a wild animal that's shaking me mercilessly back and forth. The pain is unrelenting and more surreal than anything I've ever felt.
I am completely broken.
Matt was one year old when he was given his first shot of epinephrine and diagnosed as an asthmatic. From then on, he had at least one really bad asthma attack a month. My parents would sit up all night, rocking him, afraid they would lose him.
Let me tell you though.. my brother-- he was a fighter. My parents were always worried about him overexerting himself and playing too hard and worrying about him getting sick but in actuality, I think he was tougher than the rest of the family combined.
I didn't like it when Matt would get sick but before I was old enough to go to school I absolutely LOVED when he would be home for several days or even weeks at a time. So clearly I can remember being five years old, which put Matt at ten, and he and I would hang out all day, watching Dino-Riders, setting up wars between our armies of tiny plastic green men and playing with Legos (which was a HUGE deal since he had built entire CITIES of Legos and to let his clumsy five year old sister fumble around with them was true sibling love because he knew I'd destroy them all on accident.)
He'd even humor me and have tea parties and play dolls with me. I'm sure he would just LOVE that I'm divulging that tidbit of information but my point is.. THAT is what an awesome big brother he was.
As we got a little older, I was (and always will be) in total awe of Matt. I didn't just see him as a rockstar, he was my hero. He introduced me to the world of Green Day, Nirvana and Guns N' Roses, to name a few. His musical taste was impeccable.
Anyone that knows Matt pictures him with a guitar in his hand. NO ONE could play like my brother. In his hands, a regular ol' guitar turned into pure magic. I mean I know he KNEW he had talent but he was always so humble about it. Man, he was such a musical genius.
He played in numerous bands over the years and wrote hundreds and hundreds of songs. He is hands-down the most talented musician I will ever know. I think he saw things in terms of music. It was his calling.
He always had such a rockstar quality about him. It wasn't only the music he played.. it was him. His persona carried with it an electrifying charisma and coolness that can't be emulated.
It's strange how when someone harms your sibling all you can do is think about tackling them and beating the crap out of them.
If only asthma would take a human form for a couple minutes, the pain I would inflict.. The sister (and five year old) in me wrinkles up my nose, sticks out my tongue and says, "Oh YEAH? Well he beat you for THIRTY-ONE YEARS.. AND he's in Heaven now, so you didn't win, HE did. So SCREW. YOU." (Well that's the censored version anyway.)
I can't help but be so irritated by the people that I see driving down the road who, by the way, are total strangers and I have no right to be angry with, but they're just driving along.. living their lives.. like nothing happened. Like everything is JUST FINE. Really all I want to do is ram their little cars and tell them to get those annoying smiles off their faces and remind them that the world has stopped turning.. SO ACT LIKE IT. I want to shake them and say, "Don't you GET IT? My brother is GONE and I'll never see him again and the world will NEVER be right and I don't CARE if you didn't know him.. DON'T YOU DARE SMILE AT ME AND TELL ME TO 'HAVE A NICE DAY,' you annoying gas station attendant, or I may jump behind that counter and maul you.."
You get where I'm going with this, right? It hurts that MY world has stopped turning but the rest of the world goes on. This, to me, is one of the most painful parts of tragedy.
"A sibling may be the keeper of one's identity, the only person with the keys to one's unfettered, more fundamental self." ~Marian Sandmaier
Siblings hold keys to our past that no one else can begin to imagine or understand. Siblings are bound by history and the deepest foundation of family.
Mike and I were talking about how when you're with your sibling you just have a feeling of being home. When you're with them you know you've got someone who'll stand by you no matter what. Siblings are one of life's greatest blessings. Not that I didn't appreciate and value my brothers before, but every time I hug Mike from now on I can tell you it will be a lot tighter.
There is nothing like a sibling. I grew up with two big brothers and in my eyes, brothers are the same as superheroes. They know EXACTLY what to say when you're heartbroken. Just with their words they can mend a day that would've otherwise been complete crap. They swoop in to help when everyone else goes running scared. They scoop you up and put you back on your feet when the world has beaten you down. My world is short one superhero and my heart is broken.
"You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them."
The above quote echoes over and over in my head, along with what someone told my parents Thursday night: "God loans your children to you, but they belong to Him." It's the same with a sibling. They are your gift, straight from God, put in your life as a built-in best friend. You need to cherish every single second and memory you have with them because in an instant, they could be taken away forever. Likewise, you have to be a gift to your family as well. I hope and pray my brother was as thankful to have me as a sister as I am to have had him as a brother.
Three memories repeat over and over in my head tonight:
When I was in first grade I remember the brother of one of Matt's friends coming up to me on the playground at school and saying, "Isn't your last name 'Tenniswood?' Do you know Matt?"
"That's my brother," I replied, with a gap-toothed six-year old grin. (That should let you know right there how cool my brother was.. even the fifth graders were ok with being seen with my first-grade self because I was Matt Tenniswood's little sister.)
Then I was 14 years old and Matt's band had won the Battle Of The Bands. I remember the night the Vermicious Knids aired on the radio playing "Somber" and how proud I was of him.
"That's my brother," I told the friends I was with, beaming with pride to be his sister.
Then there was Thursday night. The worst night of my life. I saw the ambulance, leapt out of my car and ran as fast as I could toward it. My feet felt so heavy like there were weights tied to them. The lights. The confusion. The leaves crunching under my feet as they pounded against the concrete. The paramedic that stood between me and my brother: "Excuse me? Ma'am? Are you a relative?"
"THAT'S MY BROTHER," I heard myself scream and sob.
It just has to be a dream.. it just HAS to be. If only I could wake up.
Matt wrote songs for his nephew and nieces. He loved them all so much. He was such an AWESOME uncle. My kids will miss him so much. Thinking about how Matt won't be able to watch them grow up makes my heart burn with pain. There are so many memories he made with them and I am so thankful for each one.
Patrick's favorite memories of Uncle Matt are of them jumping on the trampoline together and Matt playing on the scooters with Pat.
Anna immediately yelled, "SANDBOX!" when I asked what her favorite thing to do with Uncle Matt was. Matt would come over and literally play in that sandbox for hours with them and all three would come in covered in sand with big smiles on their faces.
Five years older than me, Matt had the 'protective big brother' role down pat. He was forEVER looking out for me and bailing me out of all kinds of trouble when I was a teenager. I'm talkin' the "it's-3am-and-I-have-no-idea-where-I-am-but-I-need-you-to-figure-it-out-and-come-get-me" kind of trouble.
"Lil' sis," he'd say and put his arm around me, "You had me worried. You gotta be careful.. what would I do without my little sister?"
I've been carrying around his guitar picks and his inhaler in my pocket since Thursday. I sleep in one of his sweatshirts every night. Is that weird? Yup, probably.. and guess what? I really don't care if it is. And if I have to take another drive that results in screaming and punching the steering wheel repeatedly, so be it. I'll grieve how I want, thanks. I know Matt would understand it so frankly I couldn't care less if anyone else does or doesn't.
My family and I are so touched by everyone that has reached out to support us, pray for us and let us know they are there for us. Even people I'm not close with and haven't talked to in like ten years have extended the need to want to do SOMETHING to help.. ANYTHING, most have said. You should know that just by praying for us and the offering of your help.. you are helping us.
It has been such a comfort to me to see a lot of Matt's friends from over the years.. from elementary school, high school, his college years.. Matt was drawn to people that were a lot like him. The kind that would drop every thing in their arms in order to open a door for you or would help you through any situation, no matter the cost and expect nothing in return. The kind that are loyal through thick and thin. I am so thankful to know my brother had so many loyal friends that thought the world of him.
Matt would be SO honored and appreciative of everyone's thoughts and prayers. He was so humble and grateful for everything that everyone ever did for him. He was so kind and considerate of everyone's feelings. If he stepped on a bug, he'd think about it for weeks. His conscience was THAT tender. He would be so honored by the love shown by all of you over the past few days.
Today I watched my big brother be buried. Today I said goodbye to one of the best friends I will ever have. Today I felt my heart ripped out of my chest as the reality of never seeing my brother again slammed into me.
Tomorrow is Day 6 of being without Matt. It's been six days since my world stopped turning.
Matt, words fail to express how much I love you. You are my big brother and hero. Thank you for every memory, every story you told me, every piece of advice. Nothing I write will bring justice to describing how kind-hearted, gentle and wonderful you were for thirty-one years. You are gone but NEVER forgotten. I am honored to be your little sister.
Rest in peace, brother.
I love you. Forever.
http://www.facebook.com/roosterquantrill
The only thing I can think to do.. is write.. and write.. and write.
I keep seeing his name on Facebook along with "we'll miss you" and "RIP" and it's the most disorienting feeling because.. there's no way all those people could be talking about MY brother. MY brother is just FINE, thank you. MY brother is just a phone call away, he could be here in a second if I called him and how funny it will be to tell him all of this and what a crazy mistake everyone has made.
Then I remember Thursday night. It's not a dream.. is it? It's real. TOO real. It goes from being incomprehensible to so painstakingly clear in a fraction of a second. It's like taking a sledgehammer to the chest when the realization hits.
It's ironic that Matt struggled with being able to breathe all his life and yet the memories that he left behind are enabling me to breathe now.
I thank God every single second that the last thing my brother and I said to each other was "I love you." Even though those were our parting words, what I wouldn't give to say it one more time.
I would do anything.. ANYTHING.. to hug him just one more time. I would endure any amount of pain to have just one more conversation with him. One more cup of coffee.
Just one more.. just one more.. It wouldn't be enough. I know this. My heart is broken so I'm left adding "just one more time" onto everything.
I feel like I'm stuck in a washing machine that's set to "crazy." Or like I'm in the jaws of a wild animal that's shaking me mercilessly back and forth. The pain is unrelenting and more surreal than anything I've ever felt.
I am completely broken.
Matt was one year old when he was given his first shot of epinephrine and diagnosed as an asthmatic. From then on, he had at least one really bad asthma attack a month. My parents would sit up all night, rocking him, afraid they would lose him.
Let me tell you though.. my brother-- he was a fighter. My parents were always worried about him overexerting himself and playing too hard and worrying about him getting sick but in actuality, I think he was tougher than the rest of the family combined.
I didn't like it when Matt would get sick but before I was old enough to go to school I absolutely LOVED when he would be home for several days or even weeks at a time. So clearly I can remember being five years old, which put Matt at ten, and he and I would hang out all day, watching Dino-Riders, setting up wars between our armies of tiny plastic green men and playing with Legos (which was a HUGE deal since he had built entire CITIES of Legos and to let his clumsy five year old sister fumble around with them was true sibling love because he knew I'd destroy them all on accident.)
He'd even humor me and have tea parties and play dolls with me. I'm sure he would just LOVE that I'm divulging that tidbit of information but my point is.. THAT is what an awesome big brother he was.
As we got a little older, I was (and always will be) in total awe of Matt. I didn't just see him as a rockstar, he was my hero. He introduced me to the world of Green Day, Nirvana and Guns N' Roses, to name a few. His musical taste was impeccable.
Anyone that knows Matt pictures him with a guitar in his hand. NO ONE could play like my brother. In his hands, a regular ol' guitar turned into pure magic. I mean I know he KNEW he had talent but he was always so humble about it. Man, he was such a musical genius.
He played in numerous bands over the years and wrote hundreds and hundreds of songs. He is hands-down the most talented musician I will ever know. I think he saw things in terms of music. It was his calling.
He always had such a rockstar quality about him. It wasn't only the music he played.. it was him. His persona carried with it an electrifying charisma and coolness that can't be emulated.
It's strange how when someone harms your sibling all you can do is think about tackling them and beating the crap out of them.
If only asthma would take a human form for a couple minutes, the pain I would inflict.. The sister (and five year old) in me wrinkles up my nose, sticks out my tongue and says, "Oh YEAH? Well he beat you for THIRTY-ONE YEARS.. AND he's in Heaven now, so you didn't win, HE did. So SCREW. YOU." (Well that's the censored version anyway.)
I can't help but be so irritated by the people that I see driving down the road who, by the way, are total strangers and I have no right to be angry with, but they're just driving along.. living their lives.. like nothing happened. Like everything is JUST FINE. Really all I want to do is ram their little cars and tell them to get those annoying smiles off their faces and remind them that the world has stopped turning.. SO ACT LIKE IT. I want to shake them and say, "Don't you GET IT? My brother is GONE and I'll never see him again and the world will NEVER be right and I don't CARE if you didn't know him.. DON'T YOU DARE SMILE AT ME AND TELL ME TO 'HAVE A NICE DAY,' you annoying gas station attendant, or I may jump behind that counter and maul you.."
You get where I'm going with this, right? It hurts that MY world has stopped turning but the rest of the world goes on. This, to me, is one of the most painful parts of tragedy.
"A sibling may be the keeper of one's identity, the only person with the keys to one's unfettered, more fundamental self." ~Marian Sandmaier
Siblings hold keys to our past that no one else can begin to imagine or understand. Siblings are bound by history and the deepest foundation of family.
Mike and I were talking about how when you're with your sibling you just have a feeling of being home. When you're with them you know you've got someone who'll stand by you no matter what. Siblings are one of life's greatest blessings. Not that I didn't appreciate and value my brothers before, but every time I hug Mike from now on I can tell you it will be a lot tighter.
There is nothing like a sibling. I grew up with two big brothers and in my eyes, brothers are the same as superheroes. They know EXACTLY what to say when you're heartbroken. Just with their words they can mend a day that would've otherwise been complete crap. They swoop in to help when everyone else goes running scared. They scoop you up and put you back on your feet when the world has beaten you down. My world is short one superhero and my heart is broken.
"You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them."
The above quote echoes over and over in my head, along with what someone told my parents Thursday night: "God loans your children to you, but they belong to Him." It's the same with a sibling. They are your gift, straight from God, put in your life as a built-in best friend. You need to cherish every single second and memory you have with them because in an instant, they could be taken away forever. Likewise, you have to be a gift to your family as well. I hope and pray my brother was as thankful to have me as a sister as I am to have had him as a brother.
Three memories repeat over and over in my head tonight:
When I was in first grade I remember the brother of one of Matt's friends coming up to me on the playground at school and saying, "Isn't your last name 'Tenniswood?' Do you know Matt?"
"That's my brother," I replied, with a gap-toothed six-year old grin. (That should let you know right there how cool my brother was.. even the fifth graders were ok with being seen with my first-grade self because I was Matt Tenniswood's little sister.)
Then I was 14 years old and Matt's band had won the Battle Of The Bands. I remember the night the Vermicious Knids aired on the radio playing "Somber" and how proud I was of him.
"That's my brother," I told the friends I was with, beaming with pride to be his sister.
Then there was Thursday night. The worst night of my life. I saw the ambulance, leapt out of my car and ran as fast as I could toward it. My feet felt so heavy like there were weights tied to them. The lights. The confusion. The leaves crunching under my feet as they pounded against the concrete. The paramedic that stood between me and my brother: "Excuse me? Ma'am? Are you a relative?"
"THAT'S MY BROTHER," I heard myself scream and sob.
It just has to be a dream.. it just HAS to be. If only I could wake up.
Matt wrote songs for his nephew and nieces. He loved them all so much. He was such an AWESOME uncle. My kids will miss him so much. Thinking about how Matt won't be able to watch them grow up makes my heart burn with pain. There are so many memories he made with them and I am so thankful for each one.
Patrick's favorite memories of Uncle Matt are of them jumping on the trampoline together and Matt playing on the scooters with Pat.
Anna immediately yelled, "SANDBOX!" when I asked what her favorite thing to do with Uncle Matt was. Matt would come over and literally play in that sandbox for hours with them and all three would come in covered in sand with big smiles on their faces.
Five years older than me, Matt had the 'protective big brother' role down pat. He was forEVER looking out for me and bailing me out of all kinds of trouble when I was a teenager. I'm talkin' the "it's-3am-and-I-have-no-idea-where-I-am-but-I-need-you-to-figure-it-out-and-come-get-me" kind of trouble.
"Lil' sis," he'd say and put his arm around me, "You had me worried. You gotta be careful.. what would I do without my little sister?"
I've been carrying around his guitar picks and his inhaler in my pocket since Thursday. I sleep in one of his sweatshirts every night. Is that weird? Yup, probably.. and guess what? I really don't care if it is. And if I have to take another drive that results in screaming and punching the steering wheel repeatedly, so be it. I'll grieve how I want, thanks. I know Matt would understand it so frankly I couldn't care less if anyone else does or doesn't.
My family and I are so touched by everyone that has reached out to support us, pray for us and let us know they are there for us. Even people I'm not close with and haven't talked to in like ten years have extended the need to want to do SOMETHING to help.. ANYTHING, most have said. You should know that just by praying for us and the offering of your help.. you are helping us.
It has been such a comfort to me to see a lot of Matt's friends from over the years.. from elementary school, high school, his college years.. Matt was drawn to people that were a lot like him. The kind that would drop every thing in their arms in order to open a door for you or would help you through any situation, no matter the cost and expect nothing in return. The kind that are loyal through thick and thin. I am so thankful to know my brother had so many loyal friends that thought the world of him.
Matt would be SO honored and appreciative of everyone's thoughts and prayers. He was so humble and grateful for everything that everyone ever did for him. He was so kind and considerate of everyone's feelings. If he stepped on a bug, he'd think about it for weeks. His conscience was THAT tender. He would be so honored by the love shown by all of you over the past few days.
Today I watched my big brother be buried. Today I said goodbye to one of the best friends I will ever have. Today I felt my heart ripped out of my chest as the reality of never seeing my brother again slammed into me.
Tomorrow is Day 6 of being without Matt. It's been six days since my world stopped turning.
Matt, words fail to express how much I love you. You are my big brother and hero. Thank you for every memory, every story you told me, every piece of advice. Nothing I write will bring justice to describing how kind-hearted, gentle and wonderful you were for thirty-one years. You are gone but NEVER forgotten. I am honored to be your little sister.
Rest in peace, brother.
I love you. Forever.
http://www.facebook.com/roosterquantrill
Monday, September 6, 2010
Ready, Set.. SHOWER!!!
They really should make showering into an Olympic sport for mom's of little kids.
Did you know there's a precise formula to calculating just how much showering time you're allowed as a mom? With each kid, your time is cut in half.
For instance, before I had kids I probably only took like six minute showers (oh how luxurious that amount of time sounds now!). After Patrick, I was down to about three minutes. Anna dragged that time down to 1.5 minutes and since Ella's birth, you got it, I've got a grand total of 45 seconds to suds up before total pandemonium breaks loose.
KEEP IN MIND-- THAT'S BEING VERY GENEROUS.
I gotta ask.. WHAT is WITH the clockwork chaos that explodes every time I decide to make the world a better place by showering?! IT NEVER FAILS.
Even if I've got Ella asleep and the big kids set up with a DVD/game/books/what have you in the living room. If I was doing ANYTHING other than showering they'd be entertained for at least an hour in there but once that shower knob is turned all bets are off. Patrick and Anna deem Dora no longer acceptable entertainment and decide to paint the walls with peanut butter.
I mean I've heard everything while I'm behind that shower curtain from, "MOM, SOMETHING'S BURNING IN THE LIVING ROOM!" (WHOA BUDDY, you don't even know how fast I moved after hearing that!) to "HEY MOM! ANNA'S IN THE BACKYARD WITH HER EASTER BASKET STUCK ON HER HEAD!"
All of this goes down in mere seconds, my friends, SECONDS.
My childless friends innocently turn their heads to the side and frown in confusion as they wonder, "How could this possibly be such a work out? I mean it's not like the kids are going to strip naked, shovel all the chocolate they can find into their mouths and run down the street screaming "Old MacDonald Had A Farm" at the top of their lungs."
Um HELLO.. have you MET my kids?!?! THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I AM AFRAID OF.
This unbelievable madness is not limited to when I'm trying to shower when Tim is at work but also when he is HERE.
I'll get the green light to get the chance to rid myself of my.. uhh.. "Mom" smell (I could list all the ingredients of what that entails but I'll spare you) and it's off to the races. As soon as the shampoo hits my hair I can hear Ella screaming, Tim hollering and the big kids brawling and stampeding up and down the hall like a couple of buffalo. If I'm feeling particularly speedy and think I have time to shave my legs (or let's be honest, it's more like LEG because you know by the time I completed the task of two full legs the house would be burnt down) I can rest assured there will be four highly disgruntled people on the other side of that bathroom door when I open it.
I don't know why it works that way. It just does. Every...single...time.
The icing on the cake is when I hear Tim pounding on the door (because you know darn well I learned years ago to lock that puppy as soon as I get in there.. in fact, I'm thinking of installing a dead bolt) and yelling, "MEL! I COULD REALLY USE SOME HELP OUT HERE!"
Oh SURE. I MEAN I'M ONLY NAKED AND SOAKING WET BUT LET ME RUN TO THE RESCUE BY ALL MEANS.
The solution to this problem? YOU TELL ME. Yes, I suppose I could NEVER shower, that is one option. Not a good one if you have to be anywhere near me in real life though.
Or I could wait until nighttime but let's be honest, if it's a night I'm in class, showering is pretty much the LAST thing on my mind by the time my dead-on-my-feet self drags through the door and if it's NOT a night I have class there's always the fear of knowing that showering could wake up one of the kids and let's face it, even being clean is just NOT worth waking a sleeping child.
Then there's those of you who will dare to say I could take my kids into the shower with me. Let me say I have tried that on numerous occasions in years past when it was just Patrick and Anna. All that got us was a tub full of angry people with soap in our eyes. So I have to assume that adding one more slippery little person to the shower mix would be a backwards step.
The real kicker is when I have completed the seemingly impossible feat of showering to have Tim come home and ask me if I'm going to take one before going to class.
Our convo goes a little something like this:
Tim:"So you're probably going to want to shower before you go to class?"
Me: "I DID SHOWER, TIM."
Tim: "Oh.. well.. your hair.. I mean.. I just wasn't sure if you.. uhh.." (*starts backing away from me*)
Me: ***CENSOR CENSOR CENSOR***
So.. those of you wondering what to get me for my birthday next year.. or Christmas, Groundhog Day.. OR KWANZAA FOR ALL I CARE (yes, I realize I'm not black, thanks).. come over and watch my kids so I can SHOWER! THAT IS WHAT I REALLY WANT.
I mean what can I say? I'm a mom.
Did you know there's a precise formula to calculating just how much showering time you're allowed as a mom? With each kid, your time is cut in half.
For instance, before I had kids I probably only took like six minute showers (oh how luxurious that amount of time sounds now!). After Patrick, I was down to about three minutes. Anna dragged that time down to 1.5 minutes and since Ella's birth, you got it, I've got a grand total of 45 seconds to suds up before total pandemonium breaks loose.
KEEP IN MIND-- THAT'S BEING VERY GENEROUS.
I gotta ask.. WHAT is WITH the clockwork chaos that explodes every time I decide to make the world a better place by showering?! IT NEVER FAILS.
Even if I've got Ella asleep and the big kids set up with a DVD/game/books/what have you in the living room. If I was doing ANYTHING other than showering they'd be entertained for at least an hour in there but once that shower knob is turned all bets are off. Patrick and Anna deem Dora no longer acceptable entertainment and decide to paint the walls with peanut butter.
I mean I've heard everything while I'm behind that shower curtain from, "MOM, SOMETHING'S BURNING IN THE LIVING ROOM!" (WHOA BUDDY, you don't even know how fast I moved after hearing that!) to "HEY MOM! ANNA'S IN THE BACKYARD WITH HER EASTER BASKET STUCK ON HER HEAD!"
All of this goes down in mere seconds, my friends, SECONDS.
My childless friends innocently turn their heads to the side and frown in confusion as they wonder, "How could this possibly be such a work out? I mean it's not like the kids are going to strip naked, shovel all the chocolate they can find into their mouths and run down the street screaming "Old MacDonald Had A Farm" at the top of their lungs."
Um HELLO.. have you MET my kids?!?! THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I AM AFRAID OF.
This unbelievable madness is not limited to when I'm trying to shower when Tim is at work but also when he is HERE.
I'll get the green light to get the chance to rid myself of my.. uhh.. "Mom" smell (I could list all the ingredients of what that entails but I'll spare you) and it's off to the races. As soon as the shampoo hits my hair I can hear Ella screaming, Tim hollering and the big kids brawling and stampeding up and down the hall like a couple of buffalo. If I'm feeling particularly speedy and think I have time to shave my legs (or let's be honest, it's more like LEG because you know by the time I completed the task of two full legs the house would be burnt down) I can rest assured there will be four highly disgruntled people on the other side of that bathroom door when I open it.
I don't know why it works that way. It just does. Every...single...time.
The icing on the cake is when I hear Tim pounding on the door (because you know darn well I learned years ago to lock that puppy as soon as I get in there.. in fact, I'm thinking of installing a dead bolt) and yelling, "MEL! I COULD REALLY USE SOME HELP OUT HERE!"
Oh SURE. I MEAN I'M ONLY NAKED AND SOAKING WET BUT LET ME RUN TO THE RESCUE BY ALL MEANS.
The solution to this problem? YOU TELL ME. Yes, I suppose I could NEVER shower, that is one option. Not a good one if you have to be anywhere near me in real life though.
Or I could wait until nighttime but let's be honest, if it's a night I'm in class, showering is pretty much the LAST thing on my mind by the time my dead-on-my-feet self drags through the door and if it's NOT a night I have class there's always the fear of knowing that showering could wake up one of the kids and let's face it, even being clean is just NOT worth waking a sleeping child.
Then there's those of you who will dare to say I could take my kids into the shower with me. Let me say I have tried that on numerous occasions in years past when it was just Patrick and Anna. All that got us was a tub full of angry people with soap in our eyes. So I have to assume that adding one more slippery little person to the shower mix would be a backwards step.
The real kicker is when I have completed the seemingly impossible feat of showering to have Tim come home and ask me if I'm going to take one before going to class.
Our convo goes a little something like this:
Tim:"So you're probably going to want to shower before you go to class?"
Me: "I DID SHOWER, TIM."
Tim: "Oh.. well.. your hair.. I mean.. I just wasn't sure if you.. uhh.." (*starts backing away from me*)
Me: ***CENSOR CENSOR CENSOR***
So.. those of you wondering what to get me for my birthday next year.. or Christmas, Groundhog Day.. OR KWANZAA FOR ALL I CARE (yes, I realize I'm not black, thanks).. come over and watch my kids so I can SHOWER! THAT IS WHAT I REALLY WANT.
I mean what can I say? I'm a mom.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Vacationing with kids is NOT for sissies
Let me start out by saying I LOVE vacation. The being in a new place and not worrying about our regular schedule, seeing new things through the kids' eyes, exploring cool spots around different cities-- so much fun!!
Notice I said "fun" and NOT "relaxing." Those of you who are childless that are reading this, take note: ENJOY YOUR VACATIONS BEFORE YOU HAVE KIDS BECAUSE AFTER YOU HAVE A CHILD THEY WILL BE ANYTHING BUT RELAXING (that applies to pretty much every area of life actually but I digress...)
Yes, family vacations are a fabulous way to create lifelong memories. The "getting there" part, however, makes me want to poke my eyeballs out.
So there we were, on the way to Silver Lake. While we were loading 867 totes of clothes, approximately 900 different pieces of baby gear paraphernalia, enough snacks and drinks to satisfy a couple third world countries, Tim and I shrugged off the two hour drive ahead of us. I mean it's just two hours, right? Even if it was full of screaming and pain, we can take ANYTHING for only two hours, we thought.
Uhh.. did we totally forget that we have kids?
Let me just lay the highlights of this particular car ride out for you:
There are five words every parent loathes hearing, especially while in the car: "LOOK AT THE MESS, MOMMY!"
First of all, I gotta say.. WHY "MOMMY?!?!?!" I mean DADDY is riding in the truck as well! I guess unbeknownst to me I am wearing a sign around my neck that says "CAPTAIN OF THE CLEAN-UP CREW." So of course I rubberneck around the headrest of my seat to see what's going on with Anna who as alerted me to this problemo.
Oh I'm sorry, did she say "MESS?!" I think she meant "ATOMIC BOMB."
Ah yes.. an ENTIRE CONTAINER of formula is spilled at Anna's feet right along with like a five pound bag of peanuts and an entire bag of Chex Mix. Honestly, more than anything I'm impressed all of this happened within like the first five miles of being on the highway. It was some SERIOUS damage in a stunningly short amount of time and I have no idea how Anna was able to reach any of it. NEVER underestimate the capabilities of a 2.5 year old.)
I snap back in my seat so I'm looking forward, trying hard not to let Tim see the fact that my eyes are about to pop out of my head. You see, my dear husband does NOT do well with matters such as this. He likes things clean.. VERY CLEAN (yes, those of you who know me, go ahead, SAY IT.. "opposites must attract," right? Oh har har, aren't you all so witty!)
It's too late, he can see my nostrils flaring and can tell I'm trying to keep composed.
"MEL, WHAT HAPPENED BACK THERE?" he says with a large dose of hysteria rising in his voice.
In hindsight, leading with, "So...you know Hiroshima?" may not have been the best way to break it to him.
He locks his eyes on the situation and within a half second he is mid-stroke driving 80mph down the highway.
Not good, not good at all.
NEXT UP: Ella poops. I mean she's a baby, it happens, I get it. However, when you're in a confined area it has a way of overtaking every single molecule of normal-smelling air.
Aaaaand there's Tim. Let's just say he's having "digestive issues" and leave it at that. So not only has Ella blown a hole in her diaper, now the cloud that is looming over Tim's section of the truck has taken the fresh oxygen supply in the truck down to about 2% and Patrick, Anna and I are clawing at the windows for clean air to breathe.
AS IF that isn't enough, right about that time Tim says, "Hey, ya know what? Pat hasn't gotten sick yet like he usually...*HURLING NOISE FROM THE BACKSEAT*...does."
So people, JUST TO REVIEW.. we've now got a POOP/PUKE/CRUSHED CHEX MIX smell issue going on. I mean do ya really need more of a reason to hurl yourself out onto the highway?!
As the cherry on top of a perfect road trip, the last 20 minutes of the trip we get lost and it's a race against time as we locate our hotel because yes, it's about to start pouring rain and no, we don't have anything covering all our crap in the back of the truck. (Wow, life would be so unamusing if we were prepared even like half of the time.. Hmm, hard to imagine...)
Just when we think we can't handle listening to one more fight from the backseat about who looks more like Elmo (the real kicker is this is a regular argument in our household) and will literally rip every last hair out of our heads if we hear, "ARE WE THERE YET?!" or "MOMMYYYYYY, I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE" again.. we see our hotel.
HAAAAAAALLELUJAH!
There might as well be a spotlight from Heaven on that building and I am SURE I heard angels singing as we pulled into the parking lot.
Seriously though.. isn't it funny how times when you think you're totally going to lose your mind because of the massive amounts of chaos around you that turn into the best memories? The ones that make you laugh until you cry when you talk about them later?
That car ride will go down in our family history and not even because it drove us within an inch of our sanity.. but because it's those kind of memories that make us family.
Don't think for one second that just because we all have sand permanently lodged in every conceivable orifice of our bodies that we didn't have an AWESOME family vacation. And yeah, we threw ourselves out of the truck upon returning home, kissed the ground and screamed "LAND!" and I had to basically OD on Motrin EVERYDAY to keep my assortment of headaches at bay but ya know what?
That's kinda the way we roll.. and I love it.
Aside from the time spent on the road (as well as the packing/unpacking aspect.. UGH!) we're already looking forward to our next trip! :D
Notice I said "fun" and NOT "relaxing." Those of you who are childless that are reading this, take note: ENJOY YOUR VACATIONS BEFORE YOU HAVE KIDS BECAUSE AFTER YOU HAVE A CHILD THEY WILL BE ANYTHING BUT RELAXING (that applies to pretty much every area of life actually but I digress...)
Yes, family vacations are a fabulous way to create lifelong memories. The "getting there" part, however, makes me want to poke my eyeballs out.
So there we were, on the way to Silver Lake. While we were loading 867 totes of clothes, approximately 900 different pieces of baby gear paraphernalia, enough snacks and drinks to satisfy a couple third world countries, Tim and I shrugged off the two hour drive ahead of us. I mean it's just two hours, right? Even if it was full of screaming and pain, we can take ANYTHING for only two hours, we thought.
Uhh.. did we totally forget that we have kids?
Let me just lay the highlights of this particular car ride out for you:
There are five words every parent loathes hearing, especially while in the car: "LOOK AT THE MESS, MOMMY!"
First of all, I gotta say.. WHY "MOMMY?!?!?!" I mean DADDY is riding in the truck as well! I guess unbeknownst to me I am wearing a sign around my neck that says "CAPTAIN OF THE CLEAN-UP CREW." So of course I rubberneck around the headrest of my seat to see what's going on with Anna who as alerted me to this problemo.
Oh I'm sorry, did she say "MESS?!" I think she meant "ATOMIC BOMB."
Ah yes.. an ENTIRE CONTAINER of formula is spilled at Anna's feet right along with like a five pound bag of peanuts and an entire bag of Chex Mix. Honestly, more than anything I'm impressed all of this happened within like the first five miles of being on the highway. It was some SERIOUS damage in a stunningly short amount of time and I have no idea how Anna was able to reach any of it. NEVER underestimate the capabilities of a 2.5 year old.)
I snap back in my seat so I'm looking forward, trying hard not to let Tim see the fact that my eyes are about to pop out of my head. You see, my dear husband does NOT do well with matters such as this. He likes things clean.. VERY CLEAN (yes, those of you who know me, go ahead, SAY IT.. "opposites must attract," right? Oh har har, aren't you all so witty!)
It's too late, he can see my nostrils flaring and can tell I'm trying to keep composed.
"MEL, WHAT HAPPENED BACK THERE?" he says with a large dose of hysteria rising in his voice.
In hindsight, leading with, "So...you know Hiroshima?" may not have been the best way to break it to him.
He locks his eyes on the situation and within a half second he is mid-stroke driving 80mph down the highway.
Not good, not good at all.
NEXT UP: Ella poops. I mean she's a baby, it happens, I get it. However, when you're in a confined area it has a way of overtaking every single molecule of normal-smelling air.
Aaaaand there's Tim. Let's just say he's having "digestive issues" and leave it at that. So not only has Ella blown a hole in her diaper, now the cloud that is looming over Tim's section of the truck has taken the fresh oxygen supply in the truck down to about 2% and Patrick, Anna and I are clawing at the windows for clean air to breathe.
AS IF that isn't enough, right about that time Tim says, "Hey, ya know what? Pat hasn't gotten sick yet like he usually...*HURLING NOISE FROM THE BACKSEAT*...does."
So people, JUST TO REVIEW.. we've now got a POOP/PUKE/CRUSHED CHEX MIX smell issue going on. I mean do ya really need more of a reason to hurl yourself out onto the highway?!
As the cherry on top of a perfect road trip, the last 20 minutes of the trip we get lost and it's a race against time as we locate our hotel because yes, it's about to start pouring rain and no, we don't have anything covering all our crap in the back of the truck. (Wow, life would be so unamusing if we were prepared even like half of the time.. Hmm, hard to imagine...)
Just when we think we can't handle listening to one more fight from the backseat about who looks more like Elmo (the real kicker is this is a regular argument in our household) and will literally rip every last hair out of our heads if we hear, "ARE WE THERE YET?!" or "MOMMYYYYYY, I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE" again.. we see our hotel.
HAAAAAAALLELUJAH!
There might as well be a spotlight from Heaven on that building and I am SURE I heard angels singing as we pulled into the parking lot.
Seriously though.. isn't it funny how times when you think you're totally going to lose your mind because of the massive amounts of chaos around you that turn into the best memories? The ones that make you laugh until you cry when you talk about them later?
That car ride will go down in our family history and not even because it drove us within an inch of our sanity.. but because it's those kind of memories that make us family.
Don't think for one second that just because we all have sand permanently lodged in every conceivable orifice of our bodies that we didn't have an AWESOME family vacation. And yeah, we threw ourselves out of the truck upon returning home, kissed the ground and screamed "LAND!" and I had to basically OD on Motrin EVERYDAY to keep my assortment of headaches at bay but ya know what?
That's kinda the way we roll.. and I love it.
Aside from the time spent on the road (as well as the packing/unpacking aspect.. UGH!) we're already looking forward to our next trip! :D
Thursday, August 12, 2010
where's my "I SURVIVED CHUCK E. CHEESE" shirt?
So now that I've babbled away about starting a blog.. WHAT do I WRITE about?! Hello instant writer's block! Then today, along came my muse.. Chuck E. Cheese. (Well THERE'S a sentence I never thought I'd type.)
I should mention that after surviving a trip there a couple months ago, Tim and I signed a contract in blood immediately upon exiting that we would never, ever return. Like even if the tri-state area was being bombed and poisonous gases were dumping down from the skies, it was an Apocalyptic-like situation and Chuck E. Cheese was the ONLY place we could go to survive-- we would take our chances with the bombs and poison.
Funny how you can forget just how painful an event was after such a short time. I hate comparing Chuck E. Cheese to childbirth but.. yeeeeeeah.
Who in their right mind would return to such an anxiety-inducing pit of doom?! Tim and I wondered this aloud after stumbling out of the doors and reaching freedom and air that is clean and not filled with the shrieking of disgruntled and/or over-stimulated little people. We had SURVIVED and would never go back.
A few nights ago while we were clearing dinner from the table I mentioned to Tim the plans I'd made for this afternoon. Before I could even get the "Cheese" part of "Chuck E. Cheese" out of my mouth, the plate in Tim's hand hit the floor. Mind you, our last encounter with the giant mouse had resulted in Tim totally ditching me with Patrick and Anna in the midst of a riot of adrenaline-and-sugar charged gang of kidlets, only to find him whimpering and curled up in a fetal position on the OPPOSITE SIDE of the building. He will endure pretty much anything and everything if the kids are having a good time but that kind of atmosphere traumatizes him. To this day he claims when I found him hunkered down in the corner he didn't even know where he was. (Timmo, if you're reading this, I'm sorry, but you know you can't deny it.) Hey, I give him props for even staying in the building.
So.. in we go to be branded with a stamp that shows up under a black light and links us to our kids. How bad can this be anyway? Surely my traumatic memories of this place were exaggerated.. right?
WRONG. SO WRONG.
In a word: NIGHTMARE. They need to hand out free passes to the nearest mental institution along with admission.
So let's recap, shall we?
One child vomiting in the corner (thankfully NOT mine)-- CHECK!
One set of parents in a knock-down, drag-out brawl over whose turn it is to fish their kid out of the tunnel of death-- CHECK!
Nine thousand different games making seizure-inducing noises-- CHECK!
One oversized, seemingly angry mouse chasing us around-- CHECK!
Approximately 67,849 tokens in one pocket and twice as many tickets in the other-- CHECK & CHECK!
I counted not one, not two but SEVEN children CRYING.. so my question is, if even the kids are sobbing, who IS having a good time in this equation? Surely not the little man stuffed into a mouse suit that's forced to trot around in a climate that is practically tropical from mass amounts of humans and sweat and excessive amounts of breathing due to SCREAMING and RUNNING and MADNESS.
So we go up to cash in our multitude of tickets that the kids have jammed into every single pocket of my jeans (darn you, Chuck E.. can't you give them little bags to stuff them in or something?!). I mean the whole point of this ordeal is to drag home these fabulous "prizes" Mr. Cheese has laid out before these wide-eyed children of mine, right? I'm flaring my nostrils and biting my lip the entire time we stand in the line that's seventeen people deep as I come to grips with the fact we could've bought like a week's worth of groceries with the money that will be earning us plastic spider rings and bouncy balls.
A year and a half later, we reach the front of the line. It is completely inevitable that while my darling two year old is mulling over the seemingly-impossible choice of whether she would like a blue or purple sucker, the kid behind us comes up and starts pounding his angry little three-year old fists on the glass case holding all this crap.. uh, I mean TOTALLY AWESOME TOYS. Clearly he has snapped and frankly, I can't blame him. It's taking all my adult cells not to join him in a mob-mentality kind of mutiny that results in jumping up and down, foaming at the mouth and ripping my hair out.
In the end, the kids walk away with good memories and their little hands are stuffed with candy and plastic mouse keychains (that break before we get out of the parking lot, of course).
Will we go back? Well of COURSE we will. Why? Because THAT is how much we love our kids!
I should mention that after surviving a trip there a couple months ago, Tim and I signed a contract in blood immediately upon exiting that we would never, ever return. Like even if the tri-state area was being bombed and poisonous gases were dumping down from the skies, it was an Apocalyptic-like situation and Chuck E. Cheese was the ONLY place we could go to survive-- we would take our chances with the bombs and poison.
Funny how you can forget just how painful an event was after such a short time. I hate comparing Chuck E. Cheese to childbirth but.. yeeeeeeah.
Who in their right mind would return to such an anxiety-inducing pit of doom?! Tim and I wondered this aloud after stumbling out of the doors and reaching freedom and air that is clean and not filled with the shrieking of disgruntled and/or over-stimulated little people. We had SURVIVED and would never go back.
A few nights ago while we were clearing dinner from the table I mentioned to Tim the plans I'd made for this afternoon. Before I could even get the "Cheese" part of "Chuck E. Cheese" out of my mouth, the plate in Tim's hand hit the floor. Mind you, our last encounter with the giant mouse had resulted in Tim totally ditching me with Patrick and Anna in the midst of a riot of adrenaline-and-sugar charged gang of kidlets, only to find him whimpering and curled up in a fetal position on the OPPOSITE SIDE of the building. He will endure pretty much anything and everything if the kids are having a good time but that kind of atmosphere traumatizes him. To this day he claims when I found him hunkered down in the corner he didn't even know where he was. (Timmo, if you're reading this, I'm sorry, but you know you can't deny it.) Hey, I give him props for even staying in the building.
So.. in we go to be branded with a stamp that shows up under a black light and links us to our kids. How bad can this be anyway? Surely my traumatic memories of this place were exaggerated.. right?
WRONG. SO WRONG.
In a word: NIGHTMARE. They need to hand out free passes to the nearest mental institution along with admission.
So let's recap, shall we?
One child vomiting in the corner (thankfully NOT mine)-- CHECK!
One set of parents in a knock-down, drag-out brawl over whose turn it is to fish their kid out of the tunnel of death-- CHECK!
Nine thousand different games making seizure-inducing noises-- CHECK!
One oversized, seemingly angry mouse chasing us around-- CHECK!
Approximately 67,849 tokens in one pocket and twice as many tickets in the other-- CHECK & CHECK!
I counted not one, not two but SEVEN children CRYING.. so my question is, if even the kids are sobbing, who IS having a good time in this equation? Surely not the little man stuffed into a mouse suit that's forced to trot around in a climate that is practically tropical from mass amounts of humans and sweat and excessive amounts of breathing due to SCREAMING and RUNNING and MADNESS.
So we go up to cash in our multitude of tickets that the kids have jammed into every single pocket of my jeans (darn you, Chuck E.. can't you give them little bags to stuff them in or something?!). I mean the whole point of this ordeal is to drag home these fabulous "prizes" Mr. Cheese has laid out before these wide-eyed children of mine, right? I'm flaring my nostrils and biting my lip the entire time we stand in the line that's seventeen people deep as I come to grips with the fact we could've bought like a week's worth of groceries with the money that will be earning us plastic spider rings and bouncy balls.
A year and a half later, we reach the front of the line. It is completely inevitable that while my darling two year old is mulling over the seemingly-impossible choice of whether she would like a blue or purple sucker, the kid behind us comes up and starts pounding his angry little three-year old fists on the glass case holding all this crap.. uh, I mean TOTALLY AWESOME TOYS. Clearly he has snapped and frankly, I can't blame him. It's taking all my adult cells not to join him in a mob-mentality kind of mutiny that results in jumping up and down, foaming at the mouth and ripping my hair out.
In the end, the kids walk away with good memories and their little hands are stuffed with candy and plastic mouse keychains (that break before we get out of the parking lot, of course).
Will we go back? Well of COURSE we will. Why? Because THAT is how much we love our kids!
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