Irreverent Eloquence

      A box came in the mail last weekend. It was weighty with more than physical mass. My husband picked it up from the front steps and brought it in the house, set it on the table across from the front door, nearly an impossible place to miss a box that size.        With three girls six and under, boxes this size don't get missed. They sparkle with promise, a gift or treat gleaming through the plain cardboard and into their imagination. Apparently not this box though. It simply sat waiting.        I didn't mistake it when I came home. It caught my eye as I removed my boots, caked with snow, and tossed them onto the entryway rug. The sticker on the top was a large return address, the contents inside no mystery though I had not ever laid eyes on the finished product. The red lettering bolded the box as I passed it, begging to be marked as "Priority" in my day. I brushed my hand on it as I pushed it out of my mind.        "I can't open that now," I to

       I'm finding myself stuck in last year. I keep comparing and not finding too much contrast between  Fall 2013 and Fall 2014. I've not written much about our oldest daughter and unfortunately, this month, these days to be exact, last year were solely devoted to her and her new diagnosis. I hate that I want to tell you about her and her diabetes first. There should be some preface to this, some prologue that shows her as this amazing girl first, without the label of T1D, and yet, I can't tell you about where our lives are right now, and how far we've come, without the shadow of diabetes looming over us.        I will tell you that we make a lot of allowances in our household for kid behavior, attributing the nuances of naughtiness to holidays, Daylight savings time change, or the weather...last year this was the running mantra. The end of October hit us hard, me signing up to be a Daisy Girl Scout leader to twelve kindergarteners the day Charlotte got 'sick

       I've underestimated my 4 year old. If you know me well enough, you know she is the child that is capable of pushing all my buttons.        I feel like I constantly have a weary eye on her, waiting for her next move, like a chess opponent in a game that I do not quite understand all the rules. She is sweet but a diva, her attitude and spark spawned from nature and not nurture for certain, her raising and rules having not been different from her very dissimilar older sister's.         Our biggest hurdle since she was barely nine months old has been her eating habits. Noting early on her preferences and picky eating, we as parents and others as caregivers attempted to train and retrain her palate. It has been an epic fail since the very beginning. We've discussed it with pediatricians and read up on strategies to manage her behaviors at the dinner table. A few weeks back it came to a head with an impressive display on all our parts.         How shall I set th

       Some days my mommy-hood is a mixture of being forgetful and frustrated, figuring out the problem and then being forgiven. I had that day this week. I had a fitful night of sleep and woke with a headache and a wish to go right back to bed. The girls needed breakfast, and with fall in full swing, my first grader needed to get nagged into her shoes, jacket and backpack. After those few tasks, and seeing her onto the bus on time, I was free to meld into the couch for a few minutes and eat my own breakfast of tylenol and cold cereal.       I was lulled for an hour into a calm and peaceful state as my other two homebound little girls were quietly watching cartoons in the lower level. My 4 year old dresses herself every morning and since we've set up new guidelines for the closet that has been going really well. I hadn't really given any thought to changing my 2 year old out of her pajamas as it wasn't that late and they were playing so nicely. So I settled in for a reru

        I've not been writing much lately and the lack of making time is getting to me. The reality of life can always be an excuse but there are myriads of others to use, an oxymoron really is the best one for me: I have too much to say.        Does it ever get that way in your head? The thoughts and ideas bouncing around, crowding everything together and jumbling it into a mess rather than a clear and delineated cerebration. It feels like craziness to me right now, this absolute chaos that cannot be calmed and quieted neither inside nor out the confines of my brain. It's best to state it to my family when it gets to this point, I've figured that out on more than one occasion.        Once, while pregnant with my third and visiting family for Thanksgiving, I lost it in front of everyone. The women, at least five grown and three little girls in tow, had all gone shopping and left the men home to cook supper and converse. Much to my dismay, and to the continued and ev

       I woke up Saturday morning a little bleary-eyed. My two-year old had come bounding into my bed, all sunshine and smiles and happiness for a little before 8am. She always wakes up on the right side of the day, has always been a morning person. No surprise as she clamored about, bouncing and chattering away as she is wont to do. After successfully managing to divert her attention to her daddy's hideout in the bathroom, I rolled over and feigned sleep again as she slid down my bed and pitter-pattered her way to greet him.        His morning greeting to me for doing this was not so polite. "Hey babe, are these your old glasses?" he asked me through the half-cracked door. I knew they were not, that my old pair was buried under magazines and pajamas in my nightstand. "No," I groaned,"Gretchen, bring me back my glasses."        She smiled again when she handed them to me, sans one bow. My husband had the other and proceeded to tell me that without a

       I had the best day today. I slept well, even snuggled up next to my two year old for the last few hours of my short morning. She didn't pin me in the "H for Hell" position but rather nuzzled in under my chin, sharing her warmth and love in her slumbering state, all innocent and peaceful in her tiny nightgown and diaper. My alarm went off and I rolled out of bed without needing the snooze. I put my girl back in her own bed before I dressed for work and she stayed asleep while I got ready. I kissed my snoring husband good-bye and peeked at a perfect blood sugar on our oldest before I headed out the door.        I ate the most delectable deep purple plum on my drive, listening to the radio and not even getting annoyed with the silly banter of the morning djs; the drive went quickly and I was smiling and ready to be a nurse when I walked to get my assignment. Put on a unit where I thrive, I was given a great line-up of patients and enjoyed doing the best parts of my

       A tornado has ripped through our home. Somehow in the last month, life has gotten away from us and we have been left with chaos. I have been blessed with a few "free" days this week, a guilty pleasure of leaving my girls with Grandmas and escaping into work, a lunch date with a friend, and putting my butt-shape back into my cushion on the couch. I've walked into the disaster area of my house at least twice each day, carefully made my way around the piles of luggage in the entryway, the stacked mail on the counter, and pointedly ignored the empty fridge. Today is the day though to rectify the mess, to put on my housewife apron and get down to it.        It's 3pm and I haven't started. Well, that isn't exactly true...I did the dishes and started a load of laundry. I opened the stack of mail and paid all the bills for the month. I sorted through ALL my inboxes (trust me, over 750 emails made their way through the trash or archives and that was amazing!)

       I've been addicted to Instagram lately. I love me some filters, no doubt about it. There is this amazing draw to pull up a snapshot in that silly app, flip through every single option and see how it morphs my photo, how it edits the 'film.' I love that they all have cutesy titles too, "Rise" and "Toaster," "Earlybird" and "Nashville." It works well to have them cataloged that way, lined up for me to choose how to modify the life I captured for a moment.        My brain works this way too I think. Maybe that's why I love the app so much, because I can see through these few clicks into my own past, can look at how simple a moment I grabbed and embellished, cropped and filtered into a perfect memory. How do you make your memories? I hadn't thought about it much until this spring. I began reviewing events and days in my life and saw them through completely different eyes when I realized that in the remembering, I was chan

       I'll finally go there. Into FROZEN territory. My daughters have fallen in love with this movie and its soundtrack echoes in our home, in our vehicles, and I swear even into our dreams. You would think it may be the stuff of nightmares, a Disney princess movie mantra sneaking its way into every corner of your life. Oddly enough, or maybe sadly, this movie and all its quotes and songs and characters fit us so well that we don't even notice anymore that we're using it as reference.        I answered the phone just the other day, my mother-in-law on the line, saying "Answer. Just answer. Did it answer? I was worried it didn't know how to answer." She understandably didn't laugh and I found myself explaining the humor, my phone not functioning and the comparison to Anna and Olaf. I think I got a pity chuckle but trust me, that knock-knock joke gets full guffaws in my living room when my husband uses it.        My daughters' favorite part may be th

       They say that Grief is "work." That it takes time to push through it and resolve, if it ever does. There are stages according to theorists, levels to wade through, emotions to push past until the Grief is over.        I have to tell you though, it's a lot of hard work. Sure, the beginning stages just happen. The shock is a fog that envelops you and there is no way around it, even for those logical souls among us. It cycles too, though not exactly as simply as this shows. It feels more like a roller coaster, one day fine and the next the bottom drops out again. I've been finding it difficult to keep up with the Grief work.         I have a few other careers that are taking some of my time. During the week, I'm a stay at home mom to my three daughters, balancing Type 1 Diabetes in my 6-year old along with my wonderful Diva with more attitude than I know what to do with, and throw in my 2-year old that is making attempts (though not solid strides)

       In the wake of the death that rocked my world I struggled to understand. I had assembled the greatest team, the best support, and together we had put every domino in show-place to win. Yet when the pieces fell, a trick had been played, a side slide set when I was unaware and my win never came.        Waking up into a defeated shock did not turn off the inner thoughts racing around my hospital room. I thought first of introductions and inductions to faith. Then of decomposition and imposition to the staff. I thought of formal notification and minimally of missed celebration. When I realized I had my team still assembled, that they were waiting for me to pick up the pieces and direct them how to proceed, I obliged. Those that stood by our side through the night, pacing in waiting rooms stuffy with dread and stifling with grief, were exhausted by daybreak and sat on the floor next to my bed, the emotional toll aside from the sleepless night wearing them thin. The reinforcements

Thud Thud Thud Thud.      It started just this week, a knocking in my laundry room, rhythmic in its pattern and consistent with its drone. I was alone at first when I loaded the dryer, my girls away with Grandma and my husband off to work. Tasked with readying his vacation wardrobe, I fancied a belt or balled up sleeve causing the noise, an annoyance but something I could ignore for the day.       Today I was setting about to do piles of wash, four suitcases home from weeks of travel and there it is again. Thud  Thud  Thud  Thud. It is regular, this beating drum, predictable and loud though not altogether unpleasant at first. I park myself to work, content to feel a cool breeze while I while away some time alone. My girls are home again, playing about the house and yard, and I can hear them through the window teasing each other. Shortly though, they are then coming to tell me about the disagreement. They open the door to my office and the beating gets stronger. I think they must

       I was talking to a good friend of mine tonight and she asked what I planned to write about next, saying she hoped it was something happy. She said that after my few brief breaks lately that my writing is dark and sad. From a literary perspective, it seems I have lost my balance, that the end of my posts don't lift the reader back to equilibrium but rather drop them into the pit with me, on uneven footing and all off kilter in the world.         I've been thinking a lot about balance lately. The half full glass, or is it half empty? My view of  the world has shifted perhaps from being optimistic and upbeat to something cynical and melancholy. I know I've said before that I have long subscribed to the philosophy that to enjoy the good times in life, we must endure the tough times. I still believe that whole-heartedly and it is in reviewing this lately that I am struggling. I can imagine my other life, the one I want to have been given with a living son, my four

       After my first baby came home from the NICU, my  husband and I visited our hometown with new baby in tow. We stopped to say hello and show her off at my aunt and uncle's house, smiling as they cradled the wrinkly pink thing we called our little Fish. I watched her get passed around the room, nervous as a new mom always is for the simple reasons but because she was early and small, I was anxious about sharing her too much for her immune system and because she did not bottle feed well.        My aunt chatted me up, putting me at ease with a banter about life, our jobs and home and checking to see how new parenthood was treating us. She asked, "Do you even remember what life was like before you had her?" The question struck me as such an odd one. Of course I remembered that life, barely a few months before, my daughter wasn't here and I knew nothing of motherhood. As a matter of fact, my daughter having been born two months early and spending her first month in

       I dimmed the lights, a cue to gather close to the parquet floor. I signaled the DJ who turned up the romance for the newlyweds as they walked on, hand in hand. The party really began then, and I left it in the dark of that ballroom, busying about keeping my thoughts at bay as I marched and worked tables.        I'm not sure how many times I had to say 'no thank you,' to the well-meaning invitations. I did not count as I smiled politely and declined to join them in the crowd as the music swelled. I kept a distant eye on the gathering of swaying hips and arms swinging over heads. It was not going to be my scene. I know I've been caught many a time, kicking up my heels and singing along, letting a fun and carefree night of celebration take me away from myself, but not this time.        I had to be stern more than once, set my lips and shake my head, keeping my shoulders square to only manage the tasks at hand, not allowing persuasion to drag me from duty. Perhaps