A Morning of Uncontrollable Giggles

Fact: I'm not a giggly girl.

Not to make it sound like I'm stoic or grumpy all the time; I'm not. But the tendency to dissolve into giggles doesn't overcome me very often. Laughing? Yes. Giggling? Not likely.

Saturday morning was the exception.

The first thing that needs to be clearly stated is that I was running on roughly 3 hours of sleep. I had a hard time sleeping to begin with, and then my husband had a cold, which made his normal snoring 100 times worse, to the point that I eventually went downstairs and slept on the couch. Not the most comfortable place to sleep as a pregnant woman; I didn't get much rest there, and had to get up a little after 5, because we were planning to leave early to go to Ocean City, NJ for the day.

The lack of sleep apparently made everything funnier. About 45 minutes or so into our drive, I started giggling and couldn't stop, my hilarity getting to the point that I almost choked on my tongue trying to catch my breath. The cause? A motel sign stating amenities that included "hi-speed wireless micro-fridge." Obviously I realized that those were supposed to be two separate ideas; however, this did nothing to quiet the part of my brain that went into hyperdrive imagining the scenarios in which a person would need a hi-speed wireless micro fridge. I almost called my Mom, who I was SURE would laugh with me, but then I realized she might actually murder me if I called her at 7 a.m. while she was on vacation.

A few minutes later, we passed a place called "Christ's Home for Children." Nothing funny about this. Except that maybe 1/4 mile later we passed a smaller building with the sign "Christ's Home Office" in front of it. Cue the giggles. Dan and I spent the next several miles contemplating how one might get an appointment with Christ at his home office, and speculating what made Christ set up his home office in rural Pennsylvania in the first place.

The final straw was an Amish buggy crossing the road in front of us. Not that this in itself was funny-- having grown up in Pennsylvania, the sight of the Amish doesn't really phase me much. The thing that brought on the giggles was the fact that the buggy crossed the road in front of us to pull into an Arby's parking lot. Unfortunately, our light changed and we had to drive away before I could stare too much, but it begged the following questions:

*What do the Amish order at Arbys?

*Did they go through the drive-thru?

A little further down the road, I missed a road we were supposed to turn on and Dan had to turn around... I apologized, saying that I had "zoned out" for a minute, but he called me out on the truth-- "You're still picturing Amish people ordering Beef and Cheddar's, aren't you?" To which I could only reply, "More curious as to whether they prefer curly fries or regular."

My Bubble

No matter how much I expect it, and try to remind myself it will happen, it never fails to surprise and irritate me how many people think they have the right to invade a pregnant woman's privacy and space. Complete strangers reaching out to pat my belly, asking me how far along I am and when am I due and is it a boy or a girl... I try to just smile politely, answer their questions, and move along as quickly as possible, but the eternal sarcastic inside my head wants to reach out, pat their belly, ask for their birth date, phone number, and current blood pressure reading, just to remind them that some things are just personal. (I wish to emphasize that this applies only to strangers or lesser-known acquaintances... if you are my friend or family member, this rant does not apply to you.)

About a week ago, I went to Giant late at night to pick up a few things. I had just walked in and was perusing the oranges (looking for the most perfect ones, as I hardly ever eat oranges anymore and wanted it to be as amazing as possible) when I was cornered by a complete stranger. She looked as though she was probably in her late 50's or early 60's, spoke very rapidly, and had mascara all over her eyelids, which I was powerless to avoid staring at. She asked all the usual questions, and when I gave her my due date, she started immediately shaking her head. "Nope. No, you'll never make it to May 30th. He's going to come out before then. Not too early, but definitely before May 30th. I worked in the NICU long enough to know when a baby will come early." It was truly a battle to get away from this woman without being rude, but I eventually managed, muttering to myself that although I appreciate her enthusiastic endorsement of an early delivery, I'd like to continue taking medical advice from a doctor, not from a crazy produce-section psychic.

(side note: when I left the grocery store maybe 20 minutes later, the same lady was following around the poor kid pushing carts in the parking lot, talking a mile a minute. I didn't catch what the conversation was about, as I was trying to keep my head down and move quickly so as not to be spotted and subsequently hunted.)

Thinking about it later, though, I realized that I seem to attract these kind of people even when I'm not pregnant. No matter how hard I glare, the lotion people in the middle of the mall will always offer to lather up my hands. The lady at Auntie Anne's asks me to sample a pretzel, every single time I pass her, even if I'm just walking laps around the mall to kill time. I thought the Bath Fitter lady was going to physically restrain me the other day at the mall, no matter how much I insisted that as a renter, I was not looking to remodel my bathroom. When buying fabric at a JoAnn's in Massachusetts, a complete stranger grabbed my arm and proceeded to inform me that she liked my fabric selections so much, she bought several yards of each pattern I had picked out (which is strange, considering I was using them to make a wreath for my mother-in-law, and I can't imagine those patterns coordinating in any other capacity.) No matter where I go, or what I'm doing, or how hard I try to convey the "please don't talk to me, I don't really want to be friends" vibe, people inevitably enter my personal space.

A couple weeks ago, I was shopping at Boscov's with my mother-in-law, my husband, and my daughter. We picked out several spring and summer items for my daughter and were on our way out of the store, when suddenly the neckline at the back of my shirt was being yanked downward. I suppressed a scream when the lady started talking, explaining that she wanted to see the rest of my tattoo (part had been peeking above the neckline) and then proceeded to drill me about the meaning it might have. Umm... excuse me? Since when is it considered appropriate to distort a complete stranger's clothing for ANY reason? Had she asked me I might have considered pulling it down myself in order for her to get a better view, but in no way was I ok with the fact that she just went ahead and yanked my shirt down herself. I have tattoos on my thighs as well... had I been wearing shorts, would she have given me a good old fashioned schoolyard wedgie to get a better look? Should I be paranoid?

I'm not trying to say that I'm a rude person... I usually manage to get through these situations with my dignity in tact and with a certain amount of grace, but inside I'm usually either extremely embarrassed or completely seething. I've never been a super outgoing person, and as a result, have established what I like to think of as "my bubble." I don't want strangers invading my bubble unless they are invited, or unless they invite themselves in a non-assuming, non-assaulting way. Ask to touch my belly and I may let you. Touch my belly without asking and I may try to bite your hand. It's that simple. And under absolutely no circumstances are you to in any way stretch or distort any article of my clothing to get a better look at what's underneath, whether it be a tattoo or a strange-looking mole. If it's under my clothes, it's none of your business.

Heartbreak, Grief, and a Glimmer of Hope

This past Saturday, I went with Dan to the memorial service of a childhood friend of his who passed away at 24 years old of testicular cancer. Never having met this young man, I felt that my role was largely just to be there to support my husband, and although I knew I would probably tear up, I wasn't anticipating feeling too emotional. After all, I thought, I've been through all this before, and a lot closer to it... how can this be as bad?

I made it through the memorial service without getting too choked up; it wasn't easy, especially while listening to friends recall the wonderful memories they have of a really wonderful guy, but the ever-distracting presence of Owen gave me something else to concentrate on. Dan tracked down the young man's 2 older brothers, chatted for a few minutes, and then we went home. Things went smoothly for the rest of the day, and at about 7:15, Dan left with his sister to go see his favorite musician (David Bazan) play a show at Messiah College.

Addison went to bed at 8:30 (early for her) and I was then left to myself. Which means the flood began. Because the damage of going to a memorial service for someone I didn't know wasn't immediate-- it came later, when I had time to reflect. That's when the bandaids fell off the old wounds and all the memories returned.

My junior year in high school was chaotic. 6 students in our district died that year-- an elementary school girl, a middle school girl, and 4 people in my high school. Of the 4 from the high school, there were 2 that I knew, and one I knew well, named Chris... I had grown up with him, had him in all my classes all through middle school AND high school, frequently chose him as a partner in projects, and had even dated his twin brother for a time. He lived down the street, and I spent a great deal of time at his house over the years, sometimes just to spend time with his mom. He died on May 2, 2002... just before the end of our junior year. I attended his viewing and funeral and spent much of the next week at his house, even sleeping there a few nights, with a large group of our friends.

A few months later, my aunt died from what had started as breast cancer, but spread throughout her entire body. I went to see her at the hospital when it was obvious that the end was near, but couldn't make it through the door-- it was too soon. I had been at the hospital moments after Chris had been taken off life support and had gone in the room to say goodbye... the memories of that were still too clear, and the overwhelming circumstances of what I knew was my aunt's impending passing were too much for me. I went to a waiting room down the hall and cried instead. A few days later, I attended her viewing and funeral, and hoped that I was done with all of that.

The summer between my junior and senior years was probably one of my best summers... I spent all of my time with my two best friends, Tessa and Megan (who happened to be cousins). We went to concerts, took small road trips, spent entirely too much time at what was then the Camp Hill Mall (Tessa had a huge crush on a guy that worked in the food court, and wanted to spend as much time there as possible.) At the end of the summer, Tessa and I helped Megan move to Maryland... she had decided to try living with her mother, as things were not going well living with her father. It was emotional leaving her behind, but she promised frequent visits, and I had to be ok with that.

My senior year flew by quickly... I met Dan, who would later become my husband, in September of my senior year and started dating him in December. This relationship and my jobs (first Fishbone, then Picture People) consumed most of my free time, and visits from Megan were the occasional bright spots throughout the year. I graduated on June 14, 2003 (Tessa's birthday) and was ready to embark on the next chapter of my life. I have a very cherished photo of me on my graduation day, still in my cap and gown, standing with Megan... I only saw her for that fleeting moment that day, but it is very precious to me, as that was the last time I saw her.

On July 8, 2003, Megan was killed in a car accident on 11/15, driving back to Pennsylvania for a visit. Tessa woke me up with a confusing phone call... she kept saying that Megan was "missing", that she was supposed to have arrived by that time but hadn't... she was crying, and although I held onto the hope that Megan truly was just missing, deep down I knew that Tess wouldn't be crying like that unless something awful had happened. We later found out that the accident had happened near Gettysburg... something caused Megan to cross the median, and she was hit head-on by a tractor trailer. She was ejected from the car, and traffic was tied up for hours.

The next several days are full of fractured memories. I remember spending most of my time with either Tessa or Dan, depending on the time of day... I know I spent a lot of time crying, but I don't really remember it. Her funeral is a blur as well-- her mom agreed to have the funeral and burial in Pennsylvania... Megan was buried in a family plot in Oberlin. The funeral was awful-- the random minister they had asked to do the funeral service kept forgetting her name and calling her "Michelle." (Megan had attended a Russian orthodox church most of her life, while living in Camp Hill, but for whatever reason her mother wanted a Methodist funeral service, and seemingly just selected someone at random). The burial was almost worse, but was strangely funny in a way... someone had bumped the panic button on their keychain, and a car horn was blasting during most of the burial service... no one could tell which car was going off. I couldn't help smiling, because somehow I knew that Megan would be laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness of all of this.

I went to West Chester as planned in August, but stayed only for a semester... I made no friends there (socially anxious to begin with, I have a difficult time making friends... add to that the fact that the loss of my best friend made me disinterested didn't make things easier.) Would things have been different if Megan hadn't passed away? Probably not, but I definitely think that her death, and the subsequent depression, made things a lot more difficult.

It's been almost 7 years, and I've been to a couple more funerals since then, but none have left a scar as deep as Megan's. It has affected many aspects of my adult life-- Tessa and I haven't had the same relationship, although we are still close friends... I haven't made many new friends, largely due to my own insecurities, but in part because deep down I have a fear of getting close to people that I might someday lose... I can't drive to Gettysburg without getting a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach when I drive past the area where Megan died. I got a tattoo in her memory a few weeks after she passed away, deliberately placing it on my upper left arm, where it would be seen and presumably asked about. It never gets less awkward explaining when people ask that my tattoo is in honor of my dead friend, but in a strange way it makes me feel like the memory of Megan is always close by.

So when I went to the funeral with Dan and saw all of these young people mourning their friend, it reminded me of a quote I discovered after Megan passed away... "We call that person who has lost his father an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence."-- Joseph Roux. It touched me deeply after Megan died, and continues to, even now... from my experience, I learned that you never really feel like you have a claim to the grief you feel. After all, she was "just a friend"... I felt like I had less right to my grief than Megan's father, or her grandparents, or Tessa... they were all her family. I was merely her friend. But as time passes, I am learning to accept and acknowledge the fact that I have as much of a right to grieve as anyone else, because Megan left a hole in my life when she died, and no matter how many friends I make, or how much time passes, that hole will always be there.

I don't often talk about all of these things... partially because it doesn't exactly make for lighthearted, casual conversation; partially because many people are uncomfortable talking about death; but mostly because I've worn my grief like a shield for so long that it's hard for me to let go of it. I think a part of me is hoping that in writing this, I'll stop holding it so tightly and will be able to open myself up to new relationships a little more easily (because even after 7 years, I still tend to keep people at a distance). But I think my real reason for writing this is because I am hoping it'll be a little easier to move past it when it's no longer my own. It's purely selfish-- as hard as it was to write, I'm hoping it'll be freeing in the long run.

(photo, left to right- Tessa, Megan, and myself)

Breaking 7 Months of Silence

Seven months between posts isn't THAT long, right? ....ok, ok. I'm sorry. But kind of a lot has happened in the last 7 months, so you'll have to forgive me.

For one thing, I am now 31 weeks pregnant. Dan moved back to PA in November and graduated in December. We struggled for a few months to find him a job, and now he's employed by Penn State Hershey Medical Center. In the midst of all of this, Addison is potty training, becoming more independent, and developing the divatude of a full-blown 3 year old. So blogging hasn't been at the forefront of my brain for awhile. However, due to baby-kick-induced insomnia, I am often up well into the wee hours of the night/morning and find myself with ample time to think, reflect, and write.

It occurred to me that although I used to update this blog regularly, it was almost always an update about Dan or a quip about Addison... I don't very often talk about myself (except when nervously trying to make conversation... then I can't seem to talk about anything BUT myself. Must work on this.) In my attempts to continue this blog, I'm going to try to (occasionally, at least) provide some kind of story or insight about myself, maybe to give people a little insight about who I am but mostly to clear some of these things from my mind. That way, when I don't have a Dan-update or Addison-ism to share, I can still write SOMETHING.

I have a rather emotionally heavy post on my mind, but that will be for another time (perhaps even later tonight, after Addison and Dan have both gone to bed.) For now, I'll turn my attention back to everyone's favorite subject of my blogs, Addison.

Addison has been in potty training mode for a couple months now... we officially started on the day Dan started working, but have been pre-training for months. I set up a rather elaborate and enticing rewards system, and on the first day, Addison "went pee-pee" in the potty 11 times (I also gave her large amounts of juice that day, so there were more successes to be had.) Since then, we've had way more successes than accidents, and less than a week ago I recall telling my father-in-law that I couldn't remember the last time Addison wet in her pull-up during the day (we are not night-training yet.)

However, a couple days ago, Addison crashed big time. She had been sick with two illnesses in as many weeks... first a flu bug that caused her to vomit for 7 hours, then a rather nasty bout of croup. She was in recovery from the croup when she apparently decided that the potty was not for her... she had 3 "ackidinks" (her word for accidents) within a few hours. The first I was willing to excuse-- I am not beyond understanding that after almost 3 years of being allowed to go at will, she might occasionally forget what she is supposed to be doing. The second made me angry. Largely due to her attitude at the time... she was whining, yelling, and arguing about everything I asked/told her to do or not to do, and the followed it up by peeing in her pull-up while within 10 feet of her potty. The resulting conversation went something like this:

Addison: Mommy, you ang-er-y?

Me: Yes, Addison, I'm a little ang-er-y. I'm trying not to be, but I really wish you would have pee-peed in the potty. You KNOW better.

Addison: (grinning) nooooo, Mommy... you not ang-er-y! We best friends!

I couldn't help but laugh after that... not only does my daughter know how to manipulate my emotions from time to time, but she was also 100% correct. She IS my best friend, and she KNOWS it. We spend every waking minute together and know each other inside and out. We know how to make each other laugh. We can tell from each other's body language, breathing pattern, and tone of voice what kind of mood the other is in, even if the change is very slight. We tell each other everything. We could cuddle on the couch for an hour and a half watching a movie or spend an hour in separate rooms, each doing our own thing, and still come out of that time feeling connected. I know a lot of people are reading this going "no kidding, you're her MOM" but even though I knew the bond of a mother and a daughter was strong (I have always been very close to my Mom, and continue to be to this day), I don't think I ever really anticipated the deep impact it would have on every aspect of my life.

Serious Moments

(Yesterday, Addison walked into my room after I had pulled out my lamp and fan in order to get into the attic... was done in the attic but hadn't moved the furniture back.)

Addison: (shocked) Mommy, err yite. An' err fan! (your light! and your fan!)

Me: Yeah, I moved them for a minute. I'll put them back.

Addison: (crosses arms over chest, very seriously) Mommy... what happing? (happened)

***

(This morning, as I'm getting her dressed to go to Poppy's house)

Addison: I give Poppy a biiiiiiiiiig hug.

Me: That's good, you should give Poppy big hugs. And kisses, too!

Addison: (somber) Mommy... err dun mits me. (you're going to miss me.)

Me: Yes, I will miss you!

Addison: Err not mits me now!

Me: No, I don't miss you yet, but I will miss you when you leave!

Addison: (somber) Mommy... er dun mits me. A yot. (a lot.)

First Prayer

Addison prayed for the first time last night at dinner.

We were all sitting at the table... Mom, Addison, myself, and Addison's new toy, "Animal" (It's a tarsier, but since she can't say that, she calls it "animal.") We have a usual prayer that we say, "God thank you for ______, in Jesus name, Amen." Simple enough that we hoped she'd eventually learn it. Well, Mom started with "God thank you for these hot dogs, in Jesus name, Amen." I followed with "God thank you for the cheese, in Jesus name, Amen." Then Addison, who usually just pipes up with "Amen" paused, and said "God tank oo fer.... God... tank oo fer animal." She smiled really big, obviously proud of herself, and we praised her efforts probably more than she expected. How cute is she?

Hopefully posting regularly once more

I quit my job. Hurray! I hated that job, hate that I have to go in for 5 more nights, but as of 7:00 a.m., August 9, 2009 I will officially be an ex-employee of Walmart. Could write a book about my experiences there, but would probably get sued by the company. Hmm...

Anyway, my hope is that I can start updating my blog again. I'm also hoping to start working on writing some of my "memoirs" so to speak... not really to be published or with any hope that they would be, just so that someday I'll have a written record of some of my fantastic memories.

Fun words/phrases Addison is saying these days:

"wa-choo tink err dooning?" (what-chu think you're doing?)

"dog hogs" (hot dogs)

"patter-pitter" (caterpillar)

"is for my baby nose. Not err BIG nose!" (regarding her sunglasses)