Irreverent Eloquence

My "Life Plan" circa 1995.        If you didn't know it already, I am a planner. I love making decisions and mapping out the how and when I will arrive at my destinations in life. My mom recently unearthed this beauty of a project that I must have done for school, I'm guessing in about fourth or fifth grade. I clearly did not have many goals at the time...finish school, drive a minivan, score a glamorous diamond and a full family then coast through life to my death at age seventy-six or so.         Now I don't want to judge my younger self too harshly. After all, what more could there be in life than that, and how else to portray it all except for shiny and sparkly and smiling? What would it look like now? If I had to redo this project in this year, 2014, at age 30? If I had to predict where and how my life would go, when it would end, could I do it? Would I cut out cute photos of my dreams going forward and what would they include?...

       I have been lax in my pursuits of faith this week, struggling with an undercurrent of the blahs. If I am honest with myself, I do not have the energy to do what must be done, to work for belief. Tonight I am back on track, having not let my mind wander far from cultural differences and language barriers, and definitely not too distantly from deities. I've been reading a few books lately about education, specifically renewing a fervor for educating girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Maybe some of you have read these books, Three Cups of Tea  and Stones into Schools ?        The topics have touched on things I hold dear- education, female empowerment, and opening oneself up to cultural experiences. It has made me curious to say the least about the people in general, who seem a world or two away from the life I live, but also about the religion, Islam, that most of them practice.        I will not profess to be mor...

       I launched this week my worry over faith. In my Grief I have been privy to many takes on the afterlife, mostly from my Christian peers. I have my son painted as an angel, most definitely in Heaven, and for others that must be some kind of relief. I'm not sure that it affords me the same feelings.        After being raised a dutiful Catholic I have not taken to the dogma of religion as I was taught. Not that I'm much of an independent thinker on these issues; I merely am unsure that I subscribe to the teachings one and all of my Church. I am intrigued by other religions certainly, but I find myself most drawn to nothing. Not atheism really, more likely agnosticism.              Have you thought it out? The whole existence of God? I think about it a lot, read about it, dissect the theories and cannot for the life of me make heads of tails of it. How could we not be created by something or someone Divine...

Shall I start with what I am already supposed to know and believe? If I want to examine my own Humanity before diving into another culture or religion, I'll begin with this: Roman Catholic faith.         I was baptized, reconciled, celebrated my first Holy Communion, Confirmation, was married and have had each of my daughters baptized all in the Catholic Church. I attended religious education from the time I was 5 years old all the way until 15. I can't tell you now the last lesson in theology I attended but I feel like I have a fairly decent handle on what my Church preaches.      What stuck in my mind when my son died though, was this: I don't know if Griffin goes to Heaven.         What is your instant reaction? Of course he does!? When I think back to what I have been taught through the years it gave me pause about his fate after death. I was baptized and I baptized my girls all to take away Original Si...

        Do you think God says, "I'm sorry?" Seriously. I'm reading up on Grief and doing my Grief work. I'm following others' blogs and seeing all over that it will make sense in the end, this loss. I have this wonder then, if that's really the case, if when we flit on up to Heaven and get our personal encounter with God, if this Being will peer into my eyes and utter those words, "I'm sorry."        I've uttered them enough this year myself. I shake my head and mournfully tell my family, my friends, my health care team how sorry I am to have them bear witness and carry our pain. We apologize to one another and forgive ourselves for the choices made that cannot be changed. I hear from well-meaning folk that this was all in someone else's plan, that we cannot blame ourselves and how this death will serve some purpose.         "Love means never having to say you're sorry." Is that how it will be for God? That in my en...

       What a dreary day in May, a month I usually love and really enjoy. The rain started lightly enough this morning, a drizzle filtering in through the clouds, the sky a drab tone of gray from the start. I was content to lounge in bed a little longer, my husband taking my kindergartener to school and my other girls enjoying a slow rise, leaning back on my large pillows and snuggling in for an episode or two of morning cartoons.         I closed up the windows to the house, didn't want the cool air to suck the warmth from my home, didn't want to let in the damp to wet the windowsills. I told the girls to play outside but only as far as the empty garage so they wouldn't be coming in muddy, asking me for towels and a change of clothes. The rain abated for a few minutes as we walked out to the truck this afternoon, loading in to pick up the oldest from school. A deluge targeted us soon after, though, as the wipers swished full bore to cl...

       I'm missing that characteristic I think. Melodrama is something I watch on screen and would love to perfect. Not that I haven't tried it out once or twice, in a frenzy of high emotion and unsettled nerves I have let loose some tirades.        There are a few I can recall distinctly. Once, I was so mad at my fiance (now husband) that in the heat of the argument, I yanked off my engagement ring and flung it furiously across the room, pelting him in the chest. That might have been followed by my stomping out of the room to pout, I don't rightly remember. I'm sure I have slammed doors with the best of them, sworn a blue streak, and I have mastered the art of the eye roll and sarcastic retort.        What I'm really meaning to display is not deeper, just a few shades darker really. Like a dusky hue in my personality, the capability to ooze emotion in every action, each movement precise and timed to perfection, all culmina...

             I've long enjoyed shopping as an outlet. A time away from home, searching with a purpose or wandering "just looking," shopping has been a way to pass time for me when I have it to spare. Even when I am rushed though I have found that I look forward to hunting for deals, planning ahead for gifts and bringing home purchases to sort.      After Griffin died there was not much of anything I enjoyed, least of all shopping. In Grief, simple pleasures were replaced by complacency, as I was much better suited to sitting home wallowing than I was to be pushing a cart walking through a store. The fun of life was lost for a time and I found myself disinterested in the everyday needs of the house- milk and bread and pullups and toilet paper- as well as anything fun such as a looming 2nd birthday for our youngest daughter.        There were sparks of my old self attempting to light a fire within me, days I wou...

             He is so peaceful and serene, lying seemingly asleep. My son, the saint. Or my son the serial killer?  In death he seems so perfect. In this state he is perpetually innocent. He will never have the chance to live, to live up to his full potential.         In all our mourning what could have been, it strikes me as odd sometimes that I assume the best of him.  Every day I watch Griffin's sisters, a product of the same two parents and similar circumstances, and know they have their ups and downs. I can't tell you how many times I have seen them from the corner of my eye, or even the eye in the back of my head, doing something they think is so sly. Sneaky, mischievous, downright wily at times, those three little girls can be little devils. Most of the days end though, with my kissing their downy heads in bed, whispering goodnight to them as angels.        Every night the sa...

Happy Mother's Day, the last day in the week of Beth. The last day to walk a mile in my shoes with me.  So of all the shoes, which pair say "Mom" the most? It's a bit of a trick question really, because I play that role wearing all my different shoes, don't I? It's a hat I can never take off and one I can't imagine not being able to wear. Tonight, I'm choosing these babies:  Classic momwear, just like mom jeans and mom hair, functional if not sassy.        I love these shoes. They are not bold and colorful, not exactly a statement piece but they are a staple in my wardrobe. A gift to me in the week before my second daughter was born; they fit when not much else would. They have become the perfect thing to slip on when running out the door in a hurry, easy to trudge through the store pushing a cart full of kids and of course, comfortable year round.         I would love to show you some kitten heels that pair with my 'm...

Today is another day of reflection on parenting. National Clean Your Room day actually, so very fitting the day before Mother's Day. With all my little girls' rooms in tip top tornado- terrorized states, is it any wonder that today I walked my mile in these beauties? We didn't make much progress on their dirty world, I'm afraid, despite my tone and attitude. Sigh. "Who would have thought a good little girl like you  could destroy my beautiful wickedness!" -Wicked Witch of the West, as she died.        I've been telling you how lovely being a mother is haven't I? Spinning you into my web of pleasantries and sweetness, caring for four darling angels day in and day out. Mesmerizing I'm sure it has been, hypnotizing even, reading about our days frolicking in the sunshine and smelling the roses. Now here we are, stuck together in this sticky mess, me about to unleash my fangs, and you caught unawares.         Today has been a Wicke...

Tonight we are celebrating the end of National Family Reading Week. No joke, it's on the internet and yes, I'm grasping at straws to find something with meaning for today...not exactly the easiest thing to relate Windmill Day to my parenting style.        Anyway, my shoes for today are my coziest of all- my fuzzy and warm, furry and natural moccasins. Familiar and easy to slip into after a day away from home, they are the go-to pair to shift the gears from mom meaning business to snuggling and getting sleepy with the girls.         It is in these slippers every night that I can climb the stairs to chase little pitter-pattering feet to bed. I pad after them, sometimes quick quick and light on my feet, playful and teasing like a monster chasing her prey. Sometimes I am slow, plodding and pulling myself up by the rail, desperate to fall into bed myself, and barely making it through the routine. Many nights, it is a middle ground, the...

       I began this week with Griffin, sharing how I got to celebrate Bereaved Mother's Day on Sunday just because of him. Monday was about me as a woman, turning 30 and celebrating being comfortable in my own skin. Tuesday I discussed my professional and personal side as a Nurse and Wednesday celebrated being a wife.        Since I don't have specific celebration days for Thursday, Friday, or Saturday I am taking liberties with my theme and reflecting on my attitudes as a mom, all leading up to Mother's Day.        I did a little research into specific celebrations for each day in May and found Thursday to be "no sock day" thus my walking a mile today is barefoot.         So how do bare feet relate to mommyhood? I can't say that there is much about feet themselves I identify with, but more the idea of tough skin. From an early age I lived shoe-less all summer, running in the sand and grass in t...

Aksel and I relaxing in the sunshine on the "10minute deck" I had him help me install this past weekend. This week my lovely hubby decided to tune in to Blogger Beth. He asked me last night which day he gets to see my "wife shoes." So Wifey Wednesday it is!  Wife work boots.        Aksel and I have been married for more than 7 years. It will be 8 in September. I can't say that I knew what I was getting into back then, despite the fact that we had been in a relationship for 5 years prior to our wedding! Please don't take that to mean that we have had a tough road. It has been a fun ride, sure with some bumps along the way, but over all, I could not have chosen a better partner for the journey. So, which shoes in my collection best represent that side of me? I'm picking work boots today. Old, well worn, and with a touch of dirt from all the hard work we do together.         I feel like these are the best shoes to wear when ...

Hi, I'm Beth and I'll be your Nurse today.  It's a fairly standard greeting in my line of work. I only use it on weekends as those are the only shifts I am clocked in to play this role professionally, the only days I get paid to call myself a nurse. I am finding though, as I'm sure it goes for many of us in healthcare, that it isn't the only time we are asked to wear this hat, or these shoes if you will.         My RN uniform. Love my comfy kicks :)        I walked a mile in these shoes today and none of it on paid time. Not that I mind. After all, I became a nurse because I love caring for people. It has been one of the most amazing parts of my life that I get to be a professional on so many days and yet am blessed to bring my skill set home to use more casually as well!  I started out my day lounging in bed, just until someone bumped her head. Nurse mom to the rescue, not much to do, just reassurance and acknowledging t...

       Being a fairly modern feminist I don't need much encouragement to remember that I am a woman. I have always embraced my female nature, though not often in the most obvious of ways: by donning pink and frilly things. In fact, from a young age, I'm certain my mother would tell you that I was allergic to crinolines and lace. Until I was at least 8 or 9 years old I didn't even grow my hair long like a girl.        Some of that has changed over the years. I have always been appreciative of my strong side, my feminist edge; since I've started raising girls, however, I have also been drawn to more of the flowery and dramatic touches to accent the feminine side of myself. You may catch me at times in a lace overlay, I'm very drawn to embroidered designs and intricate patterns. I have worn a crinoline to my own wedding, and my hair is almost as long as it has ever been. And as I said yesterday, I have quite the shoe collection!     ...

Mommy and the kids.         I'm all for pomp and circumstance. I enjoy the excitement of celebrations just as much as anyone. Well, maybe not when it comes to celebrating me. I look forward to mail at the holidays and birthdays but I can't seem to get geared up for a big to-do when it comes to a 'Beth day.'        This week every year strikes me as one when I should be on vacation then, as it is full of days that bring attention to me as a person, me as a professional, and me as a mother. This year is no exception. In fact, because of my son, I have now added another 'celebration day' to this week, one I never knew existed until I was welcomed into the stillbirth community.        Today is International Bereaved Mother's Day. More information can be found here :http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2012/05/international-bereaved-mothers-day.html. It's a day to celebrate moms that have lost children or never been blessed...