Things to say to people who are grieving...

My cousin passed away last week.  I plan on posting something about it later but the whole experience is very fresh and I want to mull over what I want to say a bit longer.  In short and for the sole purpose of this blog post, she died unexpectedly while delivering her fourth child.  Upon hearing the news, I was understandably extremely upset and wanted to teleport to south Florida to comfort my aunt and uncle and cousins who were undoubtedly in the worst situation of their lives.  The next day, I could barely speak about it, and the subsequent days could only speak through tears about it.  I appreciate that dealing with grief is individual to the person experiencing it.  And I can also appreciate that witnessing a grieving person can be very uncomfortable.  This is my first real experience with being the recipient of condolences and I have to say that I am shocked and awed at how some people offer their condolences so gracefully and know just what to say.  And yet, I'm equally shocked and awed at how some people seem to fumble over their words and vomit the first thoughts in their head.  It is quite fortunate that I don't need to reconcile my feelings with condolences or words of wisdom, and that I'm not easily offended.  But in the interest of preserving others from the word vomit, please allow me to help you find the words.

This baby is sick of your insensitive word vomit.

Do give yourself time to gather your thoughts.  Death is shocking.  It is okay to not know what to say when someone tells you what has happened.  I'm a little more removed from the deceased and I really didn't want condolences as much as I just wanted people to know.  I wanted them to know that I was hurting, and if I needed to excuse myself for a minute, I didn't want people to follow me and ask me why.  I just wanted them to know.  So if you have nothing to say right then, it's okay.  You can say, "I am so sorry to hear that.  Nothing I want to say feels right, so instead just know that I'm thinking of you."

Don't tell the grieving person not to cry or be sad or to think positively.  Death is terrible.  There's a time to move on and beyond and start rebuilding, but immediately following the death of a loved one is not that time.  There are seven stages of grief.  Can I get through stages 1-5, first? 

Do listen.  Part of the word vomit stems from being a fixer.  You can't fix it.  Stop trying to fix it.  Just listen.  Hear them.  The person grieving may want to tell you why this death is particularly tragic or what this person meant in their lives.  They may want to tell you how much they'll miss them or when they last saw the deceased.  It's okay to not have the answers or fix it.

Don't ask the gory details.  This is to entertain your own selfish, morbid curiosity and not for the betterment of the person suffering.  You don't need to know.  And God forbid it was a painful death, the grieving does not want to relive it.  He died of cancer.  You don't need to know that it was testicular or prostate cancer.  It's personal.  She died in a car wreck.  You don't need to know that her chest was crushed into the steering wheel.  Child birth.  You don't need to know that she hemorrhaged.  There will eventually be a time when it's alright to inquire.  While the person is still grieving is not that time.  So keep your curiosity to yourself.

Do let them know you're thinking of them and their family.  Often just hearing that you're sharing their grief helps take a little bit away.  Hearing that even those who didn't know the dead are mourning their loss can be comforting.  Tell them that they've been in your thoughts.  If you're the praying type, it's okay to say that you've prayed for the family.  Tell them you're hoping they find peace and comfort.

Don't suggest that the dead is somehow at fault for their death.  Sensitivity is not some people's strong suit. Even so, I think this one should be common sense.  He shouldn't have smoke so much, and maybe he wouldn't have died.  If she would have laid off the butter and sugar, maybe she wouldn't have had that heart attack.  If he would have not tried to drive such a long distance, maybe he wouldn't have fallen asleep at the wheel.  It's incredibly insensitive.  Even if it was their fault, that provides no comfort.  So shut up.

Do write a letter or a card with your condolences if you don't trust yourself to not be an insensitive jerk.  You might say something like, "I am so saddened to hear the news of John's passing.  You and your family are in my constant thoughts and prayers."  or "My heart aches at the thought of your loss.  I'm so sorry.  Wishing you and your family well."

Don't be a sage.  No one wants to hear your ancient Mayan proverb about how their dead mom is in a better place.  What you say/write should be heartfelt, honest, and with love.  You don't need to come down from the mountain and show us the way to grieve or tell us how much better off our dead loved one is.  You know what doesn't feel good?  Knowing you won't see your deceased aunt again.

Do ask how you can help or purchase a small token.  Is there a fund for the bereaved family?  Can you bake a mean tuna casserole?  Or do you have time to stop by Kroger and pick up some manager special flowers?  Maybe a small tree to plant in the loved ones honor, or frame a particularly special photo?  Those are all appropriate tokens to show you care.

Don't compare your grief. Things that are not comforting: knowing that your grandmother died of breast cancer, too.  Knowing that you had the same labor complication, too, and almost didn't survive but thank God, you did.  Knowing that you daughter got into a car wreck last week but only broke her leg, but sorry your dad died when he was ejected from the car!  Stop comparing. No one needs an anecdote.

If nothing else, offer a hug.  This is great if you can't find the words.  Just a hug.  Hugs feel good.  Hugs allow the grieving to blow snot into your shirt, which also feels good.  Hugs don't say something stupid, offensive, and rude, but let the grieving know that you're sorry for their loss.


Based on my limited experience, if you've ever grieved the loss of someone, chances are people have said some pretty atrocious things to you.  It is my hope that you're able to laugh it off and find the comedy in the word vomit.  I have made a list to remember and chuckle at when the timing feels better.  Ultimately, we should know that intentions are good even if the words don't come out right.
 Still.  Fix your words, people. 

Babies and Marriage

I had a lot to worry about while pregnant with Ezra.  The last four months of my pregnancy were ruled by lists.  Things to do, things to buy, things to put together, things to make Jason do, recipes to make and freeze, classes to take, appointment dates.  Sometimes I felt so overwhelmed looking at my giant yellow legal pad, that I'd write things I already did just to cross them off my list:  Drink water.  Pee.  Take the dogs to the dog park.  Put gas in the car.  Eat bacon.  Pee. Often times, people would make suggestions for what to put on my list.  Get a pedicure when you're 39 weeks pregnant, a friend suggested.  Read a book about breast feeding and get a really long iPhone charger, another friend added to the list.  "Sleep now! Because you won't be sleeping again for a long time," came out of the mouth of every jackass and her sister.  And a few times, "Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

I admit, I didn't add that last one to the list.

My husband and I dated for five years.  We moved in together only after we were married and spent the first year learning how to live together and be patient with one another in our 5 square foot apartment.  The next four years were lots of love and laughter, joy, and a solid foundation for a family.  Soul mates, best friends, husband and wife.  What's more, Jason and I spent almost two years trying to make our little turnip, and leaned on one another through what was one of the hardest times of our lives.  If we could get through that, we could get through anything.  I was worried about a lot of things, but my marriage wasn't one.

At 38 weeks pregnant, I had several moments of anxiety where I changed my mind.  I love my husband so much, I didn't want that phase of our lives to end.  I didn't want to bring someone else in the mix when what we had was so perfect.  I didn't want to give up weekends sleeping in and cuddling, movie night on the couch, and lunch dates at La Parilla.  I tried to savor those moments right up to the end--even when I was hot and uncomfortable and wanted that little hot box of a baby out of me.

And then he arrived and as any new mother will tell you: chaos.  Just pure chaos.  I've mentioned those first two weeks with a newborn--but it cannot be overstated.  Chaos.  You don't know who you are, you don't know who your husband is.  You look in the mirror and you think, "WHAT THE HELL?" and you wonder aloud "What have I become?" and "What have I done?"  The only thing you can do is survive.  You're doing everything and nothing all at once, just trying to survive.  And after two weeks, you take your first breath of air since you pushed that baby out, and you think, "Okay.  I can do this."  But even then--it's just survival.  Nothing else.  Just survival.  You're doing what you can to keep yourself and your baby alive and that's it.  I should note here that this is why freezer meals are a God send.  If you're pregnant or know someone who is pregnant, make them something they can throw in the crock pot.  Because crock pots are how new moms and dads survive.

My day consisted of bottles, diapers, crying (from me), crying (from him), attempting to nurse, laundry, washing bottles, maybe 5 non-consecutive hours of sleep, eating a dry Eggo waffle over the sink like a rat, rinse, repeat, all day every day.  Every third day, I'd thrust Ezra into Jason's arms so I could have five minutes to hose off the important parts in the shower and roll some deodorant under my arms.  The other two days, I kept a stack of clean underwear next to the toilet and some body mist on the tank.  I'd place Ezra in the bouncer in front of me and sang a little song that went like this: "Spritz, spritz, good enough.  Clean underwear, good enough."  I never thought I'd get here, but I can actually look back and laugh about those early days.  I can laugh about the things I worried about, the stupid things I did in my sleep deprived, delirious state. 

Okay, five paragraphs in, and I still haven't gotten to the point.  The point is that I forgot about my husband and my marriage.  I didn't have time to mourn our old lives and certainly didn't have time to ask Jason how his day went.  Before Ezra, I didn't understand what people meant when they said a baby will do a number on your marriage.  It is, yet isn't an overnight thing.  It's a gradual chipping away at your ability to care and love.  It's how you used to casually, absentmindedly scratch him behind the ears, but now, when you're not holding a baby, you just want to sit on your side of the couch and enjoy not soothing someone.  It's how you feel so unlike yourself, so unsure of every decision you're making that you can't bring yourself to ask and listen and care about how your spouse is feeling.  It's your husband, watching his wife, who has only had eyes for him for the past decade, suddenly feel out loved and cast aside in place of a tiny person who he loves, too, and can't begrudge.

And then when Ezra was 8 weeks, we sat on the floor of our bedroom and took turns holding him and coaxing him to laugh and coo at us.  As Ezra enjoyed the view of the ceiling fan above us, Jason said, "I didn't think it would be like this.  People told me, and maybe I kind of knew, but I didn't know.  I feel so distant from you, like you don't even look at me anymore.  I'll talk to you sometimes, and you don't even respond.  I'll walk into a room and you don't see me.  You don't touch me, we don't talk anymore, you're just so consumed by Ezra.  I knew you would be, but I didn't know."  And I didn't really respond.   In fact, I didn't actually hear what he said, until I replayed it in my head before bed.  And my first response was anger.  Duh, I'm not listening to you!  I'm so tired and I cry all the time and I'm barely keeping myself alive.  I don't even know who I am.  I haven't known who I am for a while, now.  I can't worry about you.  I'm trying to keep myself from falling to pieces.  I'm putting my own oxygen mask on, and when I get it on, then I'll assist you with yours.

"Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

In the morning, I softened.  How would I feel with the roles reversed?  And we can't live like this.  We can't have a house, where 1/3 of the family is feeling unappreciated, left out, and ignored.  Me ignoring him wasn't going to be the new us.  I never thought we were going to be one of those couples who struggled once baby arrived.  Hearing him say we had problems was tough, but a needed reality check.  We can't (and don't want to!) undo the new person in our lives.  So how do we create a new normal?

I function by lists.  So I pulled out that yellow legal pad (which now had eat, wake, sleep schedules for Ezra on about 20 of the pages).  Here's the actual list:

-Notice one thing he's done to help with the baby, and tell him.
-Ask him, and listen, about his day.
-Do something nice for him (buy him new pens at the store, buy him M&Ms, make him chicken tortilla soup).
-Plan an at home date.
-Hug him, every morning and every night.  A good hug.
-Thank him for doing the a.m. feeding and emptying the dishwasher.


It probably sounds so stupid that I had to make a list or that I forgot to love my husband, but I did.  And at first, it was hard.  I was tired and I didn't want to do any of the the things on the list.  If I had a rare free moment, I wanted to shower or sleep or just sit and be.  But as I checked the items off my list each day, they became a part of my routine and I remembered that I love him and it magically became easier to ask him to hold the baby so I could actually shave my legs.  And we laughed hard like we used to in bed reading textsfromyourex and yourshittyfamily and his favorite posts of the day on Reddit.  We risked dates, because they were important, with our unpredictable baby (that's not true--he's pretty predictably awesome all the time).  I was genuinely excited when he came home from work and so appreciative when he folded all the laundry in the dryer and put the bottles on the drying rack. 

Our new normal isn't much like our old normal.  Babies do change everything.  And it turns out that anxiety I felt while pregnant was valid and the need to mourn our old lives was important.  But once we got over that hump, the new normal is actually better.  Granted, we're only 16 weeks out from turning our whole lives upside down and we're still learning to adapt and put the pieces back together.  But if we don't guard our marriage, take stock, and reconnect, we could easily find ourselves downstream. 

Back to Work

The end of the year also brought the end of my maternity leave.  As January 5th approached, I tried not to think about it, but it kept creeping closer and closer until it was the night before I went back to work and I was shaking with anxiety, overpacking my car with all the things Ezra would need in my office.

I cried the whole five minute drive to my school.  I spent the day trying to juggle Ezra and the emails I needed to answer, and it didn't work, so I cried some more.  I tried to be okay with leaving Ezra in the classroom, but within the first few minutes, an overly excited child tossed a foam block into the air and nailed my sweet baby in the head--which caused tears for the both of us.  My sweet Emma came by to ask me how it was going, and I cried some more while choking out, "It's so hard."  And being a mom, and one of my best friends, and the most empathetic person I know, she knew exactly what to say.  I still cried.  All of that is because crying is what I do now.  Now that I have a baby, the waterworks just won't shut off.

I've done this a thousand times with other moms.  I've seen them struggle to drop their babies off on that first and second and third day, week, month.  I've seen them cry while peeking through the observation window at their giggling babies.  I've answered their emails and phone calls, "just checking in!" and talked them down from the ledge.  I heard them when they said, "I can't do this.  Maybe this isn't for me.  Maybe I should quit my job.  I can't quit my job!  I don't know what to do!"  And I said the right things and gave them big hugs, and called to let them know it was going well--and took pictures of their babies so they'd know that it was all smiles.  So I thought it would be different for me, especially since I could have him any time I wanted, visit him, kiss him, see him, even wear him all day.  And maybe it was easier than most, but still not easy.  I spent the last 15 weeks holding Ezra to my chest, instinct telling me exactly what he needed at any moment.  I spent my whole days devoting 100% of my attention to the tiny extension of my heart.  And now the thought of relinquishing one. single. minute. to anyone, even teachers I know, and hired, and trust is enough to make me vomit.  The dull ache in my chest still feels heavy and achy.  Tonight, I think, worst of all.

Ezra's first nap without mom.  :(

We're four days into this new adventure, and tonight was the hardest night.  We had a total of 15 minutes to cuddle before Ezra became exhausted and cranky and extremely ready for bed.  We didn't get cuddle time on the couch.  We didn't get bath time where we sing at each other.  We didn't get before bed baby massage.  And we only got about 45 seconds of cuddle time in the rocker before He was out like a light.  I miss him.  It's hard to believe this time last week, I was unshowered and exhausted from running the daily baby care marathon.  And without that daily marathon, there is a hole in my heart.  So I held my sleeping baby and tried to stop my chin from quivering before bursting into huge, ugly, heaving mom-tears.  Cathartic. 

Being a mom is so hard sometimes.  It's so beautiful and rewarding and soul warming, but it comes with endless guilt, large emotions, and that ache.

I'm told all of this will get easier.  Maybe it will.
There are some joys.

I let Jason read Ezra's daily report from his teachers and he said, "Ezra did circle time!?  That's so funny!  What is circle time?"  When I explained that he probably sat in a teacher's lap and sang songs and watched a lot of one year olds dance around, Jason clapped his hands and laughed and seemed so genuinely excited for Ezra.

When I walk into his classroom (every hour!) and see my smiling baby, who is so entertained watching all the big kids and cuddling my friends/his teachers, my heart warms.

And if I'm being honest, it's nice to remember what alone time and personal space feels like.  It feels good to know I've accomplished something at the end of the day.  If I had the financial choice, I'd choose to stay home and watch The View.  But the alternative, working at my sweet school, isn't so bad and I'm so lucky to work five feet away from my sweet coconut.

Still, there's an ache, a hurt, a heart flutter that even illegally obtained Xanax cannot fix.

Grace

If you asked my closest family and friends to describe me, they'd come up with a whole slew of adjectives.  I imagine ones like boisterous, abrasive at times, funny, judgmental, harsh, giving, unemotional, biting, loyal.  But graceful?  No.  Graceful would never be uttered when describing me.  In fact, if you asked me a year ago, I probably couldn't even give you an accurate description of what grace is.  And surely, it showed. 

On New Year's Eve 2013, a cup of urine changed my life.  As I sat on the edge of the tub, watching that second pink line appear, I felt such an overwhelming feeling of divine grace.  For two years, I wanted that second pink line.  Every night, for two years, I prayed for that line.  And as my shaking hands held that white stick, I couldn't help but thank God for His grace.  And then, of course, the whirlwind began.  I flung our bedroom door open and showed my husband the line and a nine month celebration began and our sweet son was born and everything we've ever wanted was ours.  But in the back of my mind there was an echo.  Grace.


I can't remember where I heard it--but I once listened to a speech, or a sermon, or read a blog where someone said all his life, he wanted God to help him control his temper.  He would drive down the road, someone would cut him off, and he'd yell obscenities and carry the anger with him all day--so at night he asked God to take that anger away from him.  But does God just cure you, or does He give you the opportunity to control your temper?

For me, it's grace.

It started with that second pink line, but all year, I had the opportunity to experience grace--though I didn't quite know it.

When a friend let me down, I had the opportunity to be kind, when I didn't want to be.
When an acquaintance made some strange and unkind observations about the possibility of miscarrying, I had the opportunity to be forgiving, when I wanted to be sarcastic and ugly.
When I watched a family members argue, I had the opportunity to speak love where contributing would have been easy.
When my husband expressed neglect after our new baby, I had the opportunity to be empathetic and self reflective, when complaining about tiredness and preoccupation seemed valid.

So that's what grace has meant for me.  It means being generous to those who don't deserve it.  It means showing kindness when you want to bite.  It means forgiving and bringing love to the table.  Above all, it means loving as God has loved us.

As I grow older, I'm more and more convinced that you earn the gifts God gives you.

So tonight, we toast to the opportunities.

A Toast to 2014

I'm a little behind on my blogging.  I decided that I needed to spend the last month of my maternity leave savoring every moment with my little cupcake and celebrating the holidays with my family.

But now, here I am on New Year's Eve.  I put Ezra to bed two hours ago, made some cookie dough for my husband, and started another load of laundry.  I'm currently sipping a Coke Zero, trying to warm my feet under a fat Chihuahua, and reflecting on what an amazing year it has been.  Tonight marks one year since I sat on the edge of the bath tub, holding two pink lines in my shaky hands.  Rejoicing.  Forgetting to breathe.  Finally.  I cried, I held the test to my chest, I jumped up and down, and then I cried some more.  I felt my pulse in my wrists and my ankles, and heard my heart beating in my ears.  Finally.  It feels like just last week.  But a whole year? 

What a year.  I have been the happiest I've ever been in my entire life.  Incandescently happy, a la Mr. Darcy. 

My pregnancy was wonderful.  I grew fat and swollen, but felt the most beautiful I've ever felt in my life, even as I dripped chocolate ice cream on my bare belly.  I loved every minute of being pregnant and feeling the little guy kick.  And then he was born and my whole life changed.  I used to roll my eyes when people said things like, "You'll understand when you're a parent," or "Just wait..."  And I make a conscious effort not to say that to my childless friends.  But OH MY GOD.  It's really the most undeniably life changing thing.  There's a whole part of your heart that you don't even know is there.  It's unreal.  

I'm have so much to be thankful for.  I thank God every night, every morning, every sixth minute...  My favorite moment of the day is when Jason, who has been up with Ezra for two hours, quietly tip toes into the bedroom and places a snuggly baby on my chest.  What a way to wake up in the morning!  A smiling, giggling, happy Ezra.  And I thank God. 

Now I promise--I'm going to stop gushing about how happy I am to have gotten pregnant and to have had a baby.  Officially.  This is it.  But I'm not going to stop gushing about Ezra, though, because he's so damn cute.

Speaking of Ezra, he's kind of the best baby ever.  He's officially 16 weeks on Friday.  He smiles all the time, sleeps through the night, and amazes us every day with his new games, expressions, and abilities.  He recently learned to grab onto things, specifically his Captain Calamari legs, and pull them into his mouth.  He can entertain himself for longer periods--at least 15 minutes at a time, but on a good day 30-45 minutes!  He likes to pull his feet up to his face and has definitely discovered his voice, and boy is it loud!

So what's in store for 2015?

Well, Ezra and I will be counting down the last four days of my maternity leave before we head back to work.  I'm so fortunate to work at a preschool and have the most amazing friend and employer, who has been so accommodating--with both a 20 week maternity leave and allowing Ezra to chill out in my office while I warm up to the idea of relinquishing any moment with him.  I plan on bringing my Ergo and a bouncer and his play mat, and sweet Ezra will get to hang out with me all day.  But he also has a very coveted spot in our Infant classroom--with teachers (and friends!) that I adore.  All in all, it's a really great set up.  I shouldn't be sad or sick at all about going back to work, but I can't help but feel a pang of both.  I'm going to miss hate-watching The View, drinking a pot of coffee, and snuggling the best baby all day.  I'm going to miss being a staircase away from my husband, who I can kiss and love-pinch whenever.  I'm definitely going to miss sweat pants, slippers, and messy buns.  So, there's a pang.  But I know it's going to be okay.

On the home front, I'm really going to make an effort to beautify our little townhouse, Number 8.  Our furniture is dated and too big for our space, never mind not very pretty or comfortable or functional.  I've been pinning and pinning and have some great ideas.  Jason and I plan to make a few small updates each month and I'll be sure to update our progress when I can. 

The big projects I want to tackle first are our living room.  I'd like to get rid of our sofa, and coffee table, and end tables--which are metal and glass, and huge and just not our st
yle (and I can just see Ezra cracking his head on them when he becomes more mobile).  I like a light blue, grey, silver color scheme and plan on bringing in lighter and brighter accents.  In the spring, I'd like to beautify our front yard.  It's small, but definitely needs some love.  I picture flower pots and a new light fixture and a fun welcome mat.  If I'm feeling frisky, maybe a wind chime!

Anyway, it's time for me to push the laundry through, fill up the sink to wash some bottles, get under my heating blanket.  Happy New Year!  I hope 2014 was amazing for you and your family, and that 2015 brings you health, wealth, and happiness. 

Dog Guilt and Sleeping Through the Night

Ezra Grey is 2 months old.  The idea of that is unreal to me.  That my little man has been in this world for two whole months.  It feels like he's only been here a few days.  But he is wonderful and lovely and perfect.  Yesterday, he gave me the gift of sleep, by going 11.5 hours straight.  What more could a new mom ask for?

In other news, Ezra has also survived his first cold and his first round of immunizations.  The cold was passed around and we thought Ez would make it out unscathed, but just when we started to let out our sigh of relief, his nose started dripping and his voice turned raspy and my happy baby turned into an inconsolable mess who just couldn't get comfy.  As luck would have it, the doctor's office called to confirm his appointment later in the week and made room for him in their schedule when I mentioned his cold.  They gave me the go-ahead to give him Tylenol, which as it turns out, is a miracle drug for babies.  It turned my frowny, drippy baby back into the smiley, lovey, sleepy baby I once knew.  That, coupled with his new humidifier and baby Vicks made him fresh as a daisy.

By Friday, he was well enough for his immunizations.  I stood over him and held his little hand and we were playing a little cooing game.  He had a huge smile on his face when they stuck him with that awful, long needle and his sweet little smile slowly transformed into a scowl.  His little lip came out and he looked at me like I had betrayed him.  He totally thought I stuck him!  And he got two more in the other leg, which he screamed through, and they were covered with Bugs Bunny band aids.  I held him and rocked him and he arched his back as if to say, "Get off me, you mean woman!"  :(

A bottle later, he forgave me enough to let me hold him, but not enough for squeezes and kisses.  The next day, he mostly forgot about the whole thing.  Little peanut.  A friend advised that next time I turn away and after it's all done, go and pick him up--because then I'll be the savior.  Not the jerk who held him down.  Little buddy!  Lesson learned.

In other news... poor Bev.  Jason remarked the other day, "You used to tell Bev that she was an angel from God.  Now you don't even look at her."  Prior to Ezra, I worried about the introduction of a baby into the family for Bev's sake.  The books and blogs I read suggested that I prepare her by practicing ignoring her.  So sometimes I'd leave the house without saying goodbye to her.  Or I'd sit on the couch next to her without acknowledging her for a few minutes.  I laugh at myself now, thinking that's what ignoring her was. 

She used to be the apple of my eye, the love of my life.  Now I go whole days without even talking to her, weeks without touching her.  Ezra has replaced her in every way and the hardest part is that she knows it.  Sometimes I'll catch her looking at me longingly.  But then the baby will cry or the laundry will need to be put in the dryer and another day passes without giving her any love or attention.  Jason tries to fill in.  He makes a point to play with her and hug her, but it isn't enough. 

All of that is to say that I feel tremendously guilty.  I still love her but I just don't have time to love her.  I was her best friend, and I abandoned her.  I'm trying to be better, but this is definitely one part of motherhood that hasn't gotten easier with time.  I'm hoping it will in time.  And I'm hoping that as Ezra becomes more mobile and can flick food off his plate to her, they'll become best friends too.  Being a dog mom and a baby mom is a hard thing to juggle.

That's what's going on around the Vacuza homestead.  We're preparing for Thanksgiving and getting our home Christmas ready.  Hoping all of you have a lovely holiday!

Love,
Ashley

The Californian Fishes in the Athens Pond

My mother and father in law recently made their visit to Athens to meet baby Ezra.  They've been to Athens twice before, but it was so long ago, we were tourists ourselves.  Now with 6 years of Athens under our belts, we made it our mission to show these Californians what Athens is all about.  Before they came, Jason and I made mental lists (and iPhone notes) of places we knew we wanted to take them and then narrowed what would be feasible during their visit.  Most locals would probably scoff at our list, as Jason and I rarely venture downtown.  We don't like the traffic or the parking, so everywhere we planned to visit barely grazed downtown.  So Athenians--don't bark at me! 

They arrived late Thursday night via Groome transportation and due to Ezra's strict bedtime routine and a delayed airplane taxi, we didn't get a chance to see them.  But Jason went early Friday morning and met them for breakfast at their hotel.  Then they got the full UGA student experience: they hopped on the Family and Graduate Housing bus and headed to campus where they sat in on Jason's lecture.  Five years ago, Jason would have never let this happen because his nerves would be shot--but as a seasoned professor, guests are no big thing for him.  I heard he got a round of applause, too. 

Finally, they arrived to our house to meet baby Ezra.  Our parents are very different from one another and Jason and I always dreamed that Ezra would learn to laugh and cuddle from my family and learn good manners and the value of hard work from Jason's.  But when he was in their arms, both of our parents loved him the same way.  They gushed over his little toes and cooed over his beautiful eye lashes.  They both commented on what a lovely baby he was and told us how lucky we were to have such an easy going baby.  They both wanted to hold him and feed him.  And truly, they both loved him the moment they laid eyes on him.

We celebrated that love with lunch at our favorite little Mexican restaurant, La Parilla.  If there's one thing I know about the Vacuza side of the family, it's that if they could eat refried beans and tacos for every meal for the rest of their lives, they absolutely would.  So naturally, La Parilla was a hit.  In our opinion, it's the best Mexican restaurant in Athens.  We've yet to have a single poor experience.  It's quiet enough, has nice ambiance, the service is always wonderful, the lunch specials are great, and it's kid/baby friendly (a hard quality to find in a lot of Athens restaurants).  Jason always enjoys their quesadilla (he rants and raves about their gooey, melty cheese) and I usually get their lunch fajitas.  This visit did not disappoint.


My inlaws have a lovely little farm where they grow pistachios and apples and pomegranates and grapes which they sell at their local farmer's market.  So when I tried to think of experiences I'd like for them to have during their visit, the Athens Farmer's Market at Bishop Park was on the list.  Saturday was a chilly and Ezra is so hot natured, I thought it would be a good day to try out our Ergo for the first time.  So like a true Athenian, I strapped my baby to my chest and marched into the little market of local produce and wares.  We bought delicious focaccia bread and a hunk of cheese.  And for breakfast I picked up some yummy pastries.  My mother in law got to meet a local celebrity when she spotted the 3 Porch Farm folks at their booth.  She had followed their blog prior to her visit and was excited to meet them and talk farmer au farmer.  And Ezra just slept on my chest like a sweet little personal heater.  Success.


On Sunday, Jason insisted his parents get the Waffle House experience.  This greasy spoon of a restaurant is not a California find.  Which is funny, as there is one on every corner in Georgia, so we have plenty to spare.  And even though I can think of 7 Waffle Houses in a ten mile radius (no exaggeration), a new one just opened up on our side of town.  But it being Sunday, we couldn't get a seat so we had to go to a less popular one.  The experience is the same, I imagine.  Fast service from women who appear to have had very hard lives, while country music blares on the jukebox.  Greasy hash browns piled next to bacon and eggs which were cooked on the same unsanitized flat top as the eggs prepared five years ago.  You know, about what you'd expect.  Don't think about it and gobble it down. 




On Monday, we enjoyed an Athens favorite: Mama's Boy.  I'm proud to say that at one point, we were considered "regulars" by the waiters.  To even get a seat at Mama's Boy is a feat.  To be a regular is a major accomplishment.  Ezra enjoyed the geometric wallpaper and mason jar chandelier, while those with fully functioning digestive tracks enjoyed biscuits with jam and eggs and pineapple bread with caramel rum sauce and never ending cups of coffee. When we left, our bellies were full of a true taste of Athens and our fists were full of York peppermint patties. 

Jason and his dad had a few fix it projects around the house, so his mom and I took Ezra and the dogs to the dog park at Memorial Park.  I've been a few times before, but it was never as busy as it was at this visit.  There must have been 25 different dogs.  There were three giant Great Danes and an adorable little Chihuahua named Calvin.  Tammy and Beverly had a wonderful time sniffing and socializing and chasing one another.  The park is so lush and expansive with wooded area and a central mostly dusty dirty area where dogs like to chase and dig.  The best part is that the whole acre and a half fenced in so everyone stays put and dog owners can socialize instead of giving chase. 

  
For dinner, we went ate by candlelight at Big City Bread.  Known for their delicious pastries and twinkle light garden dining, Big City Bread was also voted one of the most child friendly restuarants in Athens, which is a fact I like to tell all non-locals as it seems rather surprising when you look at it.  But in the day, there are buckets of chalk and adorable elementary school art on the walls and sidewalks.  Whenever I've dined at Big City Bread for lunch on a weekend, I will almost always spot a family from my school.  Anyway!  The food was delicious and the restaurant was quiet and peaceful. 






On Tuesday, we started our morning by heading to the Georgia Museum of Art.  The feature exhibit was Emilio Pucci's fashions from the 50s and 60s.  Mannequins sported bright patterns and orbish hats and girdles with butt padding were displayed in glass showcases.  We all agreed that my sister in law, Jason's sister, would have enjoyed the exhibit.  Jason and his mom seemed to really enjoy the portraits, while his dad enjoyed the landscapes.  I've never cared for landscapes, and I like the portraits just fine, but my favorite is the collection of silver dishes.  I like the filigree and all the different place settings.  I get that from my mom, I think.

 

Bear Hollow Zoo at Memorial Park.  It was the perfect time to go.  All of the leaves were perfect shades of orange and gold and we mostly had the park to ourselves.  We saw the bears taking their naps and Dill Pickle, the alligator basking in the sun.  I didn't see my favorite little owl, Radar, but we did see a vulture, some tortoises, and the deer.  I have always felt so conflicted about zoos.  Caged animals, solely for the purpose of human entertainment doesn't sit well with me.  So I took my first tour at Bear Hollow with trepidation.  I was comforted by a guide who told me that all of the animals were rescues--that they were injured or kept illegally by residents and were unable to be released back into the wild.  That, coupled with the care and beautiful habitats make me feel good about spending my time on the trail.

My mother in law celebrated her birthday during our trip and just like her son, the perfect night consisted of pizza at home.  So we ordered pizza in and had salad and wine by candlelight, followed by a game of rummy with rules that consistently change in favor of my father in law who cleaned the floor with us. 


On Wednesday, we met for breakfast at the hotel and to say our goodbyes.  We had a lovely, packed visit and I think they got a true taste for Athens and got to spend a lot of quality time with their new grandson.  But even with the good times, it's always hard to say goodbye.  Being 2,000 miles away and months from our next visit makes the goodbyes even harder.  So we'll be counting the days until we can be together again but will be satisfied with our good memories for now.  :)