Unfortunate

I make a fool of myself (without meaning to) on a regular basis...its just kind of who I am. I'd like to say its part of my charm, but really its just me having a lot of humiliating things happen that make other people laugh.

Yesterday I picked Gracie up from school and noticed bigger smiles than usual on her teacher's faces.  With a jaunty wave and a big smile myself, I whisked Gracie and her little book bag out of the classroom. I may have heard a giggle or two as the door closed behind us.

I don't usually check said book bag during the week, as most of the papers, clothes etc don't come until the weekend.  This morning I did. Thank the good lord.

Inside I found a little tied up plastic bag, the kind you usually received when your little angel has made a mess of his/hers clothes.  Inside this bag, however, was a pair of old, ratty underwear.  MY old, ratty underwear.

I can only imagine that they were somehow stuck to Gracie's sheets when I sent them (freshly washed) backed to school on Monday.  These are pre-baby, should have been thrown away years ago, only worn in desperate situations underwear.  Which now those responsible for shaping the young mind of my daughter have sent home in a plastic baggy.

Parke will be picking up Gracie this afternoon...and possibly every afternoon for the rest of the year. Cripes.

Pretty in Pink

Last weekend we painted our kitchen bright orange.  As anybody who has ever painted anything knows, it sounded like a good idea at the time.  Don't get me wrong...it's bright, but I love the color.  It was more the four coats versus one, 24 hours versus 4, tantruming out of control toddler, dog with an orange tail, husband shooting dirty looks that left something to be desired.

Not wanting to waste my "good" clothes (which are really a myth when you have a 20 month old), I threw on some old shorts and a bright pink tank top.  Later in the day I realized it was a pink tank-top I wore when I was in the hospital before Rip was born.

And because I was vaguely the color and consistency of an angel food cake after 6 weeks on hospital bed rest, I wore this bright pink tank-top and way too much blush to my last ultrasound before Rip was born.

I wore the same tank top in the weeks after my pregnancy, when life was almost all grey and a little hot pink was all I wanted.

When I got pregnant with Gracie, I wore my bright pink top in honor of the bright pink bundle I prayed and prayed for.

Maybe it was the paint fumes, but I started to think my shirt was a lot like my life.  Here it was, albeit stretched out, a little faded, but still basically the same shirt. Here I was, a little stretched out, a little faded but still the same me. The girl who wore that pink shirt to an ultrasound almost three years ago could not have imagined what she was about to go through. The years between there and here were hard at best. But that same girl with a (painted) sweet dog, (screaming, but perfect) baby girl, (might want to kill me) loving husband and a (VERY bright) bright orange kitchen could not have imagined what she would one day be lucky enough to have.

Rambling Thoughts, Mostly

Last week was our annual Hassold family beach week.  This year was so much fun for me because Gracie was old enough to play and run around, not to mention I had time to actually read a couple of books (Bossypants by Tina Fey-hilarious) while various brothers, parents, and sister helped out.  Poor Parke was struck by the stomach bug and kindly stayed away for the better part of the week but managed to make it back for some pool time with his adoring fan(s).

 My best girl

 Why we thought the boat needed such a prime spot in this pic, I don't know?

Da Da!!

Gracie and her Pop...or as Parke put it, the Oprah Winfrey of her life (she reallllly loves her Pop)

Two beautiful peeps and a tiny pink photo bomb

Not amused

Gracie recently discovered "dancing" (and yes, those quotation marks are there on purpose).  Girl never met a tune she didn't like.  I hope she never loses this trait.  Yes, Gracie, I hope you dance...

I have a lot of friends (and I know some of this is circumstantial with me, but not all of it) who have gone or are going through really hard times having their babies.  I was driving down the road thinking about this yesterday, thinking of all of these people I know who want their babies so bad.  And how these babies will probably never know how badly they were wanted.  How we wanted them so badly that our bones hurt with it.

But some day they might be driving down the road in the rain with Van Morrison on the radio and their own baby sitting in the back seat and then they might get a taste of how much they are loved.  Because loving someone so much ALL THE TIME? That is the stuff that makes you tear up at Pampers commercials and A Baby Story (no matter how many times you've seen them).

It just struck me that thirty years down the road all of these hopes and dreams who are (or will be) our babies who we have prayed for will be all grown up with hopes and dreams and babies or their own.  And that gave me comfort and also made me want to pull over and smother Gracie with five thousand kisses while she was still small enough to let me.

I warned you this was a rambler.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I realize that is one of the cheesier sayings on Planet Earth, but when it comes to being Gracie's mom that is as close to a description as I can get.

I remember holding a friend's baby when I was pregnant with Gracie, and of course this wasn't too long after Rip died.  I turned to my friend and asked, "can you believe that you get to keep her?"  My poor friend looked kind of shocked and said something to the affect of they were of course thrilled to have their baby.  It was one of those awkward moments as a baby loss mama where you know you've said the- not wrong thing- but not the thing that someone who hasn't lost a baby would have said.

I have no doubt that mama was just beside herself that she got to keep her baby, it just hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't.

But sometimes when I hold Gracie I still get that rush of pure joy that she is MINE.  It's an attitude of gratitude.

I will be doing something like digging my shoes out of my closet and out of nowhere I will hear little feet running towards me and chubby little hands being thrown around my neck and WHOOSH there it is....sometimes I just can't believe my luck.  This little person gets to stay with me and I am so thankful.

I don't know if it will always be this way, if when she is thirteen and sassy or sixteen and (god forbid) acting trashy, I will feel so completely thankful.  I think so.  Its one more thing that knowing the alternative has given to me, as cheesy as it may be, an attitude of gratitude.

Gracie, Lately

Gracie, lately,

 developed a sense of fashion all of her own

  started to be more in tune with nature

found her inner princess

then found, not unlike the Duchess of Cambridge, the paparazzi can get to even the poshest of princesses

but she always has time for her people (and mama needs to do something with those crow's feet)

She managed to keep her sense of humor and style intact

and generally remains the sweetest, best thing her parents could ask for!

Life as we know it

I am a better mother because I lost Rip.

Let me be very clear here, the price was way too high.

Let me also be very clear that I said better, not perfect.

But I know I am better than I would have been.  It's something I think about every day, almost as often as I miss my son.

Patience is not something I was given, I am not someone who knows how to naturally "stop and smell the roses".

And yet, with Gracie, I do.

I almost always have an extra five, ten, thirty minutes to stop and smell roses or read a book five million times or rock her back to sleep for the tenth time.

Sometimes I am so tired when I get home from work that I would do anything just to lie down for five minutes but instead I have a dance party in the kitchen because all I can think is that there is a mother somewhere who would literally give ANYTHING to be having a dance party with her baby right that moment.  I am that mom.

 I am also that mom who is so thankful for the crazy baby rocking out right in front of her.

The baby whose happiest moments in the world are when she gets home from school and eats fruit snacks and dances in the kitchen with her mama.

Life is so hard and yet so very good.

He Really Did

I was just sitting at my desk this morning at work, you know, working, and half listening to some Pandora in the background.

By the way, Pandora is such a great invention, isn't it?

Anyway, it suddenly came into my consciousness that Rascal Flatt's Bless the Broken Road was on the radio.  All of the sudden I am sitting here with tears just leaking down my face.

This was Rip and my song while I was in the hospital.  I have the clearest memory of listening to this song while I was pumping breast milk at the Medical University after he was born.  It's funny how music can bring back all of those feelings, bring you right back to those moments.

But the thing is, even though I am sitting here missing that baby and would do anything to go back to that room and change the outcome, God really did bless the road that led me there and here.  I have been blessed, and continue to be blessed.  And I think that is part of what brings those stinging tears to my eyes, because the words are true.

That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you, Rip Harris.