This one has the "F word" (in the link anyway)

http://abedformyheart.com/blog/happy-f-ing-new-year/

A friend sent me this link. It pretty much sums things up.

It's been a wicked couple of days. Panic attack induced asthma attacks and oh, turns out  I have pneumonia. Last night my eldest had an allergic reaction that sent him to the same hospital, the same emergency room... I was wrapped in worry for my living child and torn apart with the memories, the flash backs of my dead one.

I'd like to think I'm not the pity party type (maybe I am) but ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!!!

Everyone is home. The big boy is ardently resisting our efforts to make him rest while all I want to do is sleep.

Right now the "F word" is the only one I find appropriate.

Until next time...

Somedays look like this (for you Cara)

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend (imagine Disney World as a person and you've got her, except with the biggest friggn heart you've ever encountered... yeah, then you've got her) . She told me she was happy to see my post about our five stockings because "at least for a second there was something good."

I've often thought that I should tell you guys about the good stuff, too. The thing is I only feel compelled to write when I'm overwhelmed with the hurt, when I have to get it out of me. Also, I kind of tend to forget that someone actually reads this...

Anyhoo, with that thought in mind yesterday I went on a photography bender to give you a glimpse of some silly, goofy, messiness. Sometimes the days look like this...

My eldest making cookies "I can do it mom." Notice him reading the recipe... Like are you serious? That's off the charts adorable. The picture to the right is the icing. I said "Ok, babe, how much powdered sugar do we need?" He looked at the page and said "Two pounds." We have a lot of icing if you need to frost some cookies... or a house.

Meanwhile, this happened... Rainbows 

This is my man just after he told me that it's ok that the dogs love him more because the baby loves me more (which is not true but he is kind of completely and over the top a mama's boy... just kind of). You may have noticed the stylish blue diaper the little white dog is sporting (her name is Popcorn, in case you care). Yeah... she's incontinent. Seriously? Yes, our little while snuggle pup is actually a 70 year old little old lady who has had 15 kids. Maybe in her past life. We spend half our day chasing after her to pull that stupid thing up. I ordered doggie diaper suspenders and being an adult is stupid.

Did I mention she's a snuggle pup? It almost makes me forgive her for peeing on EVERYTHING. Almost

This.

And this. This picture makes every molecule in my body smile. What you can't see is that two seconds before I snapped this he was crouched down behind our great big scary pit bull and he had just popped up and squealed at his daddy. He's very pleased with himself, can't you tell?

The big boy and I had our first ever mother-son Pinterest fail. Nailed It! "They look like watermelons mom" 

Shortly after this picture my man and I had a giggle fit in the kitchen over something ridiculous I said with the eldest looking on as if we had utterly lost our minds. It involved being tickled with crabs but I think you had to be there.

Me making swooning noises and googly eyes. I'm stupid crazy about my man.

And at long last... This.

The real treat was when the hubby crawled into that bed with me and we talked for two sold hours. Some days, we don't talk. Some days are too hard, too painful, the black is too thick but...

Somedays are like this.

Until next time...

Five

This year we are "doing" Christmas... sort of.

Our awesome little fixer upper sits nestled in an older neighborhood alight with twinkle lights, icicle lights, reindeer, snowmen... you get the picture. Our new neighbors dig Christmas. A few weeks ago I turned the corner coming home and realized that I didn't loathe the lights, didn't hate the stupid snowmen. It was actually kind of ok.

We hung lights, net lights, icicle lights, even those crazy colorful lights that could give people seizures. We had plenty from another life, the life when I was one of those crazy Christmas people. This season couldn't come soon enough or last long enough. The hubby made a "no Christmas tree before Thanksgiving" rule because I would have pulled a Hobby Lobby otherwise. LOVED IT.

I don't love it anymore.

There is a reason the suicide rate is the highest during the holidays. This is the time when we celebrate. We bring our families together. We count our damn blessings. We have tree decorating parties and memories and babies in footie PJs squealing with delight.

Except those of us who don't.

My oldest remembers before. He remembers the hot cocoa, the Christmas music, the traditions. He remembers. His heart doesn't bleed with every memory like ours. He wants these things. He deserves these things.

I cant bring myself to play Christmas music or to make a big deal out of decorating the tree. The memory of the last time rips and twists in my heart. I can't. Maybe someday I will but not now. I bought a new tree. I couldn't put up the one that Damon pulled down, permanently making it katywompus. I couldn't pull out the old ornaments. I couldn't open the box that holds his "baby's first Christmas" hat even though I can tell you exactly where it is, exactly what the hat looks like. It's too much. I bought new ornaments. I couldn't find orange ones so I converted silver ones with orange glitter. The rainbow baby has already attempted eating most of them, they are scratched and squished and bent. Somehow that feels better.

"Mommy, can we please have stockings this year?" My oldest asked a few weeks ago.

This is the one I most dreaded. I have to make a decision. Will I hang four stockings or five? Do I not hang a stocking for my dead baby or do I hang a stocking that will scream its emptiness at me for the next month?

Five, we hung five.

It hurts. I hurt. Everything hurts.

Until next time...