The Night Before Forever

It was the night of December 17, 2004, and I remember wandering around my empty room, reliving many moments of the last 14 or so years that room had been my home.  It was the night before my wedding day, the night before I would become a wife and pledge my forever love to my best friend.
I don't remember much about what I did during the day of the 17th - there were probably last minute wedding details to button up, hanging out with my family, finishing packing up my room.  It was when the sun set and reality hit that it was my last night, alone, in my bedroom, my sanctuary.  I would never again have a space all to myself.  I basically had the entire upstairs of my parent's home to myself, an luxury very few people get to experience.  My brother being seven years my senior, he was out of the house long before I was, so I got a lot of alone time upstairs.  I loved my room. I loved the color and the way it was set up.  It was still filled with childhood trinkets, figurines on my dresser, stuffed animals on my bed.  I still slept with my trusty Bearbo that I was going to have a really, really hard time giving up.  I was 21 and on the brink of a very big, very scary change.  I was leaving home, leaving my mom behind. I was excited and scared and nervous and, well, it was the moment I dreamt of since I was a little girl having conversations with my girl friends about who we would someday marry.

Walking around my room, it felt bittersweet.  I didn't want to leave, and yet I did.  Was I making the right decision? Was I ready?  I was 21 - why did I still feel like a vulnerable 14 year old kid trying to make big life decisions?  Matt and I talked about this day for years!  I wasn't having cold feet - just grieving my childhood and trying to figure out exactly what came next.

I thought I wouldn't get any sleep that night.  Our engagement was exactly two months long, and when we set the date with the Boise temple, there weren't a lot of openings (apparently the holiday season is a popular time to get married).  I actually ended up with a wonderful, beautiful night's sleep and I felt rested and ready to conquer the day.
We ended up scheduling a 9 am wedding for lack of options, which meant we had to be there about 7 in the morning.  Which meant I had to get up about 5 in the morning, shower, do my make-up, and head down to the hair salon I had been going to for many years so my rock-star hair dresser could work her magic with my hair for my wedding.  She awesomely agreed to meet us there about 6 am, and did an amazing, beautiful job with my hair.  It was so much fun to talk with her about all the hair styles she had done for me over the years for proms and other school dances.

After hair was done, my mom and I began the long (yet short) drive to the temple.  Matt and I met in a little room for some quick counsel before our sealing, and then we parted ways so I could get into my wedding dress.  The bride's room is beautiful, and I felt like a princess.  After I dressed and was ready to go, I walked into that sealing room, thinking I would be scared and nervous, but I felt very calm and confident.  This is exactly what I wanted, exactly what I had been waiting for, exactly the reason I had let Matt go off to Argentina two and a half years before, knowing he would come back to me and this would be our fate.  It was happening. It was real.

If I may digress for just a moment, much of 2004 was very difficult for me.  I had a mental breakdown that April that lasted months and took a very long time to recover from.  It hit me completely out of the blue, and honestly, I was not confident I was going to survive it.  It was that bad.  Luckily, my mom held my hand and helped me through it, and I came out of it very, very slowly.  It was rough times, and  I'm pretty sure I took years of my mom's life.

Shortly after I found myself in a pretty good mental state, it was time for Matt to come home, and I was so nervous.  Would he still love me?  Would it still be the same as it was before?  After the initial greeting, hugs, and after a day or two, for me, it was like he never left.  We fell back into life and love just as we had been before, this time a little older and with a wedding on the horizon.

Fast forward to December 18th again.  Kneeling across from him at the alter, looking into the mirrors of eternity, promising forever was definitely a defining moment in my life.  Of all the advice I ever received when it came to marriage, what my Grandpa Nick told me stuck with me the most, and it's what I tell others who are about to be married:  Listen closely to your vows, your promises.  Know exactly what you're agreeing to, and make sure you commit yourself entirely to those promises, no matter what.  More meaningful and significant words had never been spoken.  I listened and promised my husband and God, in front of family and friends, that I would forever keep these promises and be by his side forever, and not just in this life, and into the eternities.  In those moments I felt the love and support of not only the family and friends who surrounded us, but also loved ones who came before us, centuries before us, and the blessing of those who would come long after we are gone from this earth.  It's an indescribable feeling really.

After promises were made and paperwork signed, we walked out of the temple hand in hand, husband and wife FINALLY, into the frigid cold December air for pictures.  It was COLD.  And WINDY.  And I had a short-sleeve dress!  After a few pictures, we followed our photographer over to the capital building in Boise, where we took some beautiful and elegant wedding day photographs surrounded by marble and beautiful decorations.  Afterword, we raced all the way to Marsing, where we held our reception.  We put on a family luncheon and decorated for our ring ceremony and reception to be held that evening.  It was a lot of work, and by then, after getting up at 5 am, and wearing a very heavy dress and heels nonstop all day, I was tired.  But there was still work to be done, more wedding to happen, and guests to greet.  Unfortunately, something in the food we got started to make people sick.  Several people ended up with food poisoning that night (luckily not me!!!), though they were able to hold it in and hold it together, mostly, until after the reception was over.  Matt and I took off right after the reception, and headed off into the sunset, happily ever after.

Well, after twelve years I can tell you that every moment is not "happily ever after", but I can assure you that we have a wonderful marriage, we are STILL best friends, and we have a wonderful life together.  Life changes.  Love even changes, but it doesn't affect how much you love that person.  It morphs over time, changing from the wild crazy hormone-driven teenage love you first experience when you're 14 and starry eyed, when you stay on the phone for HOURS on end after all conversation has been exhausted but neither of you want to hang up.  Love continues to grow over the high school years - we essentially got to grow up together, go through some of the tough high school years together, attend school dances and church dances and go on lots and lots of dates.  When it came time for Matt to graduate from high school, I had a really hard time.  He was my everything at school, my lunch partner, my hug between classes, and suddenly, he wasn't there anymore. I was totally lost most of my senior year.  It felt lonely.  The friends I had since childhood had all kind of found other friends, boyfriends, and interests in school, and I wasn't really sure who I was anymore. I missed lots of school.  I had to appeal to get my credits in order to graduate.  Luckily I was a pretty bright student and my grades didn't suffer too terribly, but it was tough to show up to school every day without him there.

Then my graduation came, which was very exciting and awesome, but was slightly tainted with the knowledge that soon, Matt would be leaving for his mission.  He got the call to Argentina, and I again found myself what felt like alone. I still loved him, but it was distant and different.   I remember laying in bed crying the day he left, and my mom came up to comfort me and I said to her, "What am I supposed to do for two years without him?"
For someone stronger than myself that would mean putting on my big girl pants, pulling it together and making something of myself, but I fell into a pretty deep depression and had no desire to do anything. I flunked out of my first semester of college (which I eventually redeemed myself for and graduated with a business degree with honors). It was a rough time.

Over all of the time, our love changed, our relationship changed.  I actually prefer the word "seasons" to change - our love went through different seasons, as it continues to do over the course of life.  Right now we are in the season of work, raising small children, and chaos and minutiae of family life. We tend to have very little time alone, and often feel the stress of a one-income family life and the sometimes crazy psycho-mom episodes I go through as a stay-at-home mom of three young kids.  That being said, I wouldn't change a thing.  Sometimes I think about what our lives would be like if we made different choices along the way, Maybe moved away, had no kids, had fewer kids, became career people rather than family people.  I never regret anything though. I feel like we are in the time and season we are supposed to be in, and I love this journey we are on together.

We have been very blessed during our marriage.  My husband is a great provider, has a wonderful job, and is dedicated to his education, his work, and his family.  We have enjoyed health and worldly comforts, a safe neighborhood, and faith in God.  There will always be hard times - no one gets out of this life without experiencing loss, disappointment, frustration, loneliness, guilt,and depression, but it's in between those times that we really live life, really get to enjoy our many blessings and thank our Father in Heaven for what we have been given. Healthy, happy kids.  A warm home.  The comforts of family life. Love, really honest to goodness love that grows and grows and grows.  I love our life together.

When you get married, you dream of the things to come.  My dream was always to earn a degree, travel some, start a family, and live "the dream" (which I find is different for everyone).  I find that I am living my dream.  Even on the "bad" days when I cry and think I might have it hard, I remind myself of the life we have built together, and I am ever thankful.  Yesterday, today, and always, Matthew is my best friend, the love of my life, and I look forward to the rest of this lifetime, and the next.

(By the way, I still have Bearbo - he is in a box in the garage, and I often think of bringing him inside and using him as a pillow.)

Melancholia at the Gyno

Before I get into what I want to say, I have to acknowledge the feelings of some of my friends who will read this.  Dear friends who have been unable to bring children into this world, friends who have watched their dear babies leave this world, friends who have beautiful children, but find that parenthood isn't anything like what they dreamed it would be.  You know, those unexpected curve balls - medical diagnosis - that you think never happen to you.  I really am thinking about all of you as I write this, and I feel kind of guilty writing it, but there are some serious feelings going on that I have to get out of my head and leaky eyes aren't sufficient.  I'm also thinking about those who are right where I'm at right now.

So here we go:

The last time I visited my Ob/Gyn was two years ago for my last post-natal appointment.  30 months of my life were spent carrying babies in my body, and while I can't say that I particularity enjoyed those months, they brought something beautiful and amazing into my life and changed me in ways I never thought possible.  Becoming a parent is really the most eye-opening experience to find out who you are, what you're made of, how little sleep you can survive on, and what your true potential is.

My last post-natal appointment also included a discussion about the tubal ligation I'd had the day after I delivered my last baby.  Had I had any problems with it?  No.  Was I feeling okay about it emotionally?  Yeah, mostly.  I had some pain still, but that was remedied with a short antibiotic and everything was fine.

Today I visited the office again.  The same office where I have gone for the last 12 years or so, many of those appointments discussing baby movement, uterine size, listening to that fast little heartbeat that isn't mine yet is still a part of me.  It's pretty amazing.  I had no qualms or concerns about my appointment today - it was a routine exam that hadn't been done in a few years, and I like to be proactive about my health. (Granted, I wanted to lose about 50 lbs before I had to go stand on the scale in the doctor's office, but that didn't happen.)

Anyway, as soon as the elevator door opened to that third floor I had visited so often, my throat caught and I had an overwhelming urge to cry.  It was so weird.  I wasn't there for babies or ultrasounds or heartbeats or even just pee in a cup.  There was none of that, and I found myself really not wanting to be there.  Never again would I enter excitedly awaiting the sound of that little fluttering heartbeat, or lay back uncomfortably on the table while the doctor pokes and prods at my stomach to feel the baby's position and how he or she was growing.

Today, my exam lasted all of 5 minutes, renewed a prescription for birth control (BIRTH CONTROL of all things, which I only take to control the acne I've been battling since I was 12 years old), and went on my merry little way.

I about lost it in the elevator going back down to the first floor.  I remember just how that elevator smelled (I didn't particularly enjoy that smell during my pregnancies) , but it was something familiar. Something that reminded me of something that would never be again.

When I got home a short time later, I forgot about my sadness as I dived into a few episodes of the Gilmore Girls (I am almost done with the first season!)  The rest of the day was okay, and I enjoyed spending time with my beautiful children this evening, watching a few Halloween shows on Amazon Prime.

After putting the kids to bed, I treated myself to a few more episodes of the Gilmore Girls because it makes me happy, ate a handful of peanut M&Ms (because chocolate makes things better), then went upstairs to check on my kids before heading to bed.  As I walked into my youngest's room, I was overcome with emotion and found myself crumbling into a state of ugly-cry.  I did my best to hold my snorting and sniffing back as I kissed my sleeping toddler goodnight, then moved on to Kellen's room.  He sleeps so soundly and quietly now after his tonsillectomy.  I was remembering what a momma's boy he used to be, and now how he's so independent and does things on his own terms.  I planted a kiss on my little boy's face, then moved on to my daughter's room.  All of my children hold a special place in my heart, but she held the first place as my first baby, and I think that's something special.   I found myself missing my tiny baby girl terribly. She is growing up into a beautiful girl, and I would never hold her back, but I so longed to take her in my arm and rock her and sing to her a lullaby.

After kissing Audrey (trying to avoid getting my tears and snot on her face), I was walking down the hall with my iphone light on, and stopped at my wall that has the painting of Jesus cradling a baby, with my babies' newborn pictures underneath, each of them chubby cheeked and perfect.  I miss those days so, so much. Even though those multiple-times-a- night feedings and diaper changes are exhausting, they were some of my favorite times. It was just me and my baby, skin to skin, face to face, only room for love and affection.

Do I regret having a tubal ligation to prevent future pregnancies? No, not particularly.  Pregnancy was darn hard, each one having their own unique challenges and discomforts.  But I do absolutely mourn the fact that I will never again bring another life into this world, to hold and rock and marvel at and love and sniff and nibble on their chubby little cheeks. Absolutely. I miss it so, so much. I really have no desire to start over again, yet I can't help but mourn the loss of that most important thing I was put on this Earth to do, to bring life into this world, into my world.   I cried and cried tonight after nighttime kisses and staring at those newborn pictures of my kids, but I also realized  how incredibly blessed I am to have the opportunity to bring them into the world and raise them and love them. Not everyone gets that chance.

I don't know that I'll ever get over the fact that I won't have any more kids.  I am confident in my decision to not have more, yet it still makes me profoundly sad, if that makes any sense to you at all. I know it will to some of you.

And so, I'll go through the natural parenting process, watching my three little blessings grow and mature and learn and hopefully, hopefully make this crazy world a better place.  Right now, that's enough, and I know how blessed I am, and I'm truly thankful for it.

Who knows, maybe something crazy and unexpected will happen in the future.  I wouldn't complain.  (That's not true - I probably would complain - a lot.) :)

Audrey

Kellen

Camden

My Dusty Rocking Chair

Something happened today that made me very sad.

With the older two kids at school, Camden and I spent much of the day together.  He has been sick (I suspect RSV), so we have taken it pretty easy.

We were in his room together this morning, playing with his blocks and jack-in-the-box (which he finds hilarious), having some fun.  After a while I let him play on his own while I tidied up his room a bit.

There was a clean towel laying on the floor, accidentally tossed aside at some point, so I picked up the towel, half-heartedly folded it and tossed it on the back of my leather rocker in Camden's room.

That's when I noticed it: dust. A thick layer of dust covering the back of the rocker.  I stared for a minute at that layer of dust, trying to remember when Camden last held still long enough for me to rock him before bed.  He hasn't really wanted to slow down and read books, and when I have sat down with him, he quickly grows impatient  and wants to get down and play.

It has been a while since we relaxed together in that rocker, singing or reading books.

This realization made me very sad.  My baby, my last one, is growing too fast.

I quickly grabbed a wet wipe and removed the layer of dust, but the sadness remained. I tried grabbing Camden and settling into the chair with him and a book, but he wouldn't have it, even being sick.

I am going to try every day to rock him.  I don't want our rocking years to be over.  I am not ready for that.

The House that Built Me

I know they say you can't go home again.
I just had to come back one last time.
Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.
But these hand prints on the front steps are mine.
And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom
is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.
And I bet you didn't know under that live oak
my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

               -Miranda Lambert, The House that Built Me

Those who know me well know that I hate pickles and olives.  They know I love singers like Jewel and Savage Garden, that I hate scary movies, and that loud noises and chaos make me want to jump out of my skin.

Those who know me well also know that I'm a pretty sensitive person, and I get very emotionally attached to worldly things like cars, books, and homes.  This blog is dedicated to my childhood home, the home I've spent much of my life in, the home I spent my formative years in.  

Let me digress for a moment to say that this home has also been home to many other families and people before me.  I don't want to make it sound like I am the only one who ever lived there or made memories there.  I know I kind of came in last, and the home wasn't originally my home.  Two families were blended together, and I consider myself a lucky person to have so many people in my family.   What I'm going to write about tonight is my personal experience with the House that Built Me.  It did, after all.

My mom and step-dad are selling their home after many years - Darryl has lived there over 40 years and essentially raised two families, and my mom has lived there with him for 25.  Like any family life, not all of the years were good, but that is life.  And the years make up who we are.  

I moved into the house on Alaska in 1990 when I was seven years old.  I was terrified of it at first, because it was filled with people I didn't know, smells I was not familiar with, noises I couldn't identify, and - worst of all - upstairs bedrooms that separated me from my mother, who I had pretty much shared a room with for most of my life up until that point.  My poor mom - I slept on the floor in their bedroom for many, many, MANY nights because I was too afraid to sleep upstairs by myself. 

After a while I got more comfortable, and the room at the back of the house became mine.  The windows looked out into the backyard, where a great Walnut grew and I could see Bogus Basin from my bedroom window.  It's the best room in the house - the coolest in the summer, and the coziest in the winter (though there is a smell of creosote from the chimney that runs right through the room).  I loved that room.  I did try living in nearly all the four upstairs rooms at one point (except for my brother's room), but in the end, I always came back to my room at the back of the house.  Like I said, it's the best.

It was in that room that I grew up.  Where my decor changed from  pink paint and little girl accouterments to hundreds of pictures of puppies cut of of calendars that adorned my bedroom walls, to dark burgundy paint and pictures of hot guys cut out of teen magazines.

My brother and the puppies on the walls

I had a lot of sleepovers with friends in this room.  I also had a couple of special sleepovers with my brother on Christmas Eves, where he would sleep on the floor and I would sleep in my bed and we would laugh and laugh until late into the night.  I remember him calming my fears one night because I was afraid that our dog at the time, Bandit, would try to attack Santa Claus, and that Santa Claus would retaliate and injure or kill our dog out of self-defense. Luckily it never came to that, though Bandit didn't last long because of his determination to kill every cat in the neighborhood. 

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Christmases were the best.  We were not rich, but my mom always made our Christmases amazing.  My brother and I would sneak down the stairs early in the morning, rounding the corner to the landing to peek at what Santa had left behind.  I remember a couple of years in particular: the year I got a bike with a radio on it, and the year I got a karaoke machine (my poor family had to listen to me belt out Shania Twain and LeAnn Rhimes for way, way too long).  

Summers were also awesome at that house, especially once I had my dogs, Kiko and Lucky.  I loved to lay out in the front lawns, laying my head on lucky's side while he snoozed in the sun, Kiko keeping watch from a few feet away.  I'd usually have a book in hand and a content feeling inside.  Those puppies were the best.  Sadly they are not buried at the house under any trees, as the ground was frozen when they crossed that rainbow bridge, but their memory is forever with that house and in my heart.

My beloved grandpa took his last breaths in that house.  A death which I'm sure he never dreamed of and never wanted (he always wanted to go out bravely on a mountain top with his boots on in God's great outdoors fighting of a grizzly bear by hand, or something like that).  I will forever cherish the quiet last moments I got to spend with his body before he was carried down there stairs by two men who loved him greatly and looked up to him. I stood in that particular spot perhaps that longest today.

The house went through a lot of changes over the years, from a complete remodel shortly after we moved in, to the dirt driveway finally getting concrete; my own room changed colors countless times, and doors put on the old garage.   The front door also changed many times. 

The beginning...

My awesome cousin Greg in his cool shades in the kitchen before it was remodeled

My friend Kenna in the driveway when it was still dirt.

The one room that never changed was the family room at the back (or front?) of the house.  With it's orange dingy carpet, ugly brownish copperish wallpaper and freezing cold temperatures in the winter due to a lack of insulation, that room was forever a favorite for watching movies and hiding from whatever was going on in the rest of the house.  This was our official TV room, and we never had a TV in the main part of the house until after I grew up and moved out and my grandparents moved in.  The family room was too cold for them.  :)

There is a stair, second from the bottom, that squeeks in the most delightful way when stepped on, and I always teased my mom about farting when she would step there. 

This happened - homecoming day!

There is a tin box buried in the front yard that I will probably never find that served as a time capsule for my friends and I, buried sometime in the early nineties.  I don't remember it's contents.

The basement is unfinished and has a musty smell of dusty concrete and iron, and can feel a little damp and creepy if you spend too much time down there.

The fan in the "computer room" whirs annoyingly.

I descended the stairs many times to a handsome boy in a tux holding a corsage after patiently waiting for me to finish my make-up for homecoming and prom.

I played on many tire swings over the years, hung from the great trees that adorn the property and provide shade and shelter to the aging house.

In that house, many hugs were shared, laughter rang out, angry words occasionally exchanged, meals cooked, tears shed, games played, children raised, grandchildren learned to crawl and walk and play, and love was grown.

Today was my last time visiting the house that built me.  As my two older children played in the trees outside, the house was quiet and I found myself alone (well, with my baby boy) in the house.  I walked every room, taking pictures in my head and remembering different things that happened in each room. I ran my hands along the walls, wiped away some tears, and said goodbye.   Even Camden was quiet and melancholy as we strode through the house, sharing one last walk-through in a house that he will have no memory of. 

I feel as though as loved one has died - the memories are there in my heart always, but now it's just an empty shell where life was vibrant and has now gone quiet.  I keep reminding myself that my memories are not retained in that house, but in my heart.  Home is with us always, in our memories and hearts and not necessarily in the sheet rock and concrete walls of a house. 

I always dreamed of my children having that house to go to to visit Grandma, playing in the vast lawns and under the great shade trees.  Many adventures are yet to be had there - but those adventures will be had by someone else - another family, another child.  I hold the memories made in that house forever near and dear to my heart, but it's time for someone else to take over.

I happen to know that the family buying that house has young children, which I am grateful for.  They will make amazing discoveries and go on amazing adventures as they find all the nooks and crannies and secrets of the house.  There are so many places to hide and explore.  I hope they are able to hang tire swings, dig holes, build a new tree house, play hide-and-seek, and ride bikes and have sleep-overs with all the neighborhood kids.  

As hard as it is to say goodbye to my childhood home, it's simply time.  Time to let go, time to move on, time to discover new places.  I'm lucky - I spent most of my childhood in one home. I had roots, and I am grateful.  I had a warm bed and space to run and people who loved me.  What more could I ask for?  My goal in life is to provide the same for my children.

I hope in 20 years I can go back and knock on the door and ask to look around my old home.  I'd love to touch the walls and find my way back to my childhood, find those memories back in the house that built me.  

My kids on the front porch, the last day at Grandma's house on Alaska

Stupid Cat (please read the whole post before you judge me here)

We got our stupid cat October of 2012, shortly after I had quit working at the bank.  We had actually been to the animal shelter looking for a dog several times, but never found the right fit for our family.  We were walking past a little cage filled with kittens and I said, "Hey honey, what about a cat?  They're pretty easy."  So, we peered in at the fuzzy little faces and chose a couple tabby ones that we liked.

We took the first one in a little room for a "test drive" to see how it would do with the kids.  Well, he cowered under a chair and away from us the few minutes we were in the room with him, so we sent him back and got the other little tabby.  He was the cutest kitten!  He acted like a big-shot super hero at six weeks old, walking around the little room like he owned the place, investigating the kids and playing around like he was already part of the family.  We knew he'd fit right in, so we adopted him on the spot.

I've always considered myself a dog person.  I've never cared much for cats - I've always thought of them as snobby, self-centered creatures.  I would much prefer the sloppy drooly company of a giant dopey dog!  However, the kitten was cute and over time, he kind of grew on me.

The first night we had him home, he immediately perched himself on my shoulder and took a nap.  That became his special place in the evenings, and I really didn't mind.  I thought it was kind of cute.  It only became a problem after he grew up and there was too much of him for my shoulder, so he had to resign himself to my lap instead (or my chest if I happened to be laying down reading a book).

He grew on me over the years, though I still often referred to him as "Stupid Cat" (even though his name was Scout).  As far as personality goes, he had one of the best ones I've ever seen in a cat.

Every morning he would sense me stirring, and would coming in mowing his good morning to me, then follow me to each of the kid's rooms as I woke them up.  He would walk into their rooms meowing his good morning to them, then rub against their little legs as they rolled out of bed.

He loved to cuddle with one of the kids as they lay on the couch drinking a warm cup of milk.  If he wasn't sitting right on top of someone, he would reach a paw as far as he could to make sure he was in contact with whoever he was sitting nearest.

Matt and I would always laugh about the fact that he acted part dog.  He loved to play fetch with his favorite toy, a pipe cleaner.  He kept his stash of pipe cleaners hidden under the oven.

When someone would come over, rather than skulk away to hide like most cats do, he would be the first greeter at the door, then usually sit in close vicinity to whomever  was visiting, often cuddling up right next to their hip on the couch.

During family gatherings, he loved to lay in the middle of the floor right in the middle of everyone so he could be a part of whatever was going on.


Over the nearly three years that we had him, we tried our best to keep him inside.  It worked for a long time, but in time, he started bolting out of open doors.  He usually kept to our yard (even right up until recently as far as we know).  We don't believe in letting our animals roam, and believe it's irresponsible and disrespectful for an animal to poop in someone else's yard (heaven knows we have plenty of cat poop in our back yard that did not come from OUR cat).

I tried to not like him, keep my affections from growing for him.  But the stupid creature was just so...likable!

Every time he got out, Matt and I would always say that one of these times, he wasn't going to come home.  Well Monday, that time came.  He escaped out the sliding glass door as he often did, but this time, rather than coming home after an hour or two, he just didn't come home.

Stupid cat.  Didn't know what was best for him.  Stupid cat for worming his way into my heart.  Stupid cat for breaking the "cat stereotype" for me so that I actually LIKED him.  Stupid cat for winning me over. Stupid cat for adoring the kids and showing particular affection for the baby.

Stupid cat for making me drive miles and miles of back roads over the last two days hoping to catch a glimpse of him where someone may have hauled him away and dumped him.  Stupid cat for making me call the local animal shelters every day, hoping someone has brought him him.

Stupid cat for making me lose sleep wondering what could have happened to him.  Stupid cat for making me leave the back door open when I leave the house, just in case he does come home and is hungry or dehydrated he can go right to his designated eating place.

Stupid cat for leaving a cold spot in my lap when I sit in the living room in the evenings.

Stupid cat for actually making me ugly-cry for you.

Stupid cat for leaving a void.

Stupid cat for making me like you.

Stupid me. I guess I really am a cat person after all. I keep hoping I'll walk through the kitchen and see you sitting at the back door waiting to be let in.  I hope you find your way home.

The Treehouse

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, "Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy."
"I am too big to climb and play" said
the boy.
"I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?"
"I'm sorry," said the tree, "but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy."
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, "Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy."
"I am too busy to climb trees," said the boy.
"I want a house to keep me warm," he said.
"I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?"
" I have no house," said the tree.
"The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy."

And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
"Come, Boy," she whispered,
"come and play."
"I am too old and sad to play,"
said the boy.
"I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?"
"Cut down my trunk
and make a boat," said the tree.
"Then you can sail away...
and be happy."
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
"I am sorry, Boy,"
said the tree," but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak
for apples," said the boy.
"My branches are gone,"
said the tree. " You
cannot swing on them - "
"I am too old to swing
on branches," said the boy.
"My trunk is gone, " said the tree.
"You cannot climb - "
"I am too tired to climb" said the boy.
"I am sorry," sighed the tree.
"I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry...."
"I don't need very much now," said the boy.
"just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired."
"Well," said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
"well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest."
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.

~The Giving Tree

By Shel Silverstein

The story of The Giving Tree was the first thing I thought of as I watched my husband pull the remnants of many wonderful childhood memories out of the tired old tree.  For many years, only a  desolate moss-covered platform has occupied the space where there was once a large, two-room tree house.  A tree house that provided countless hours of elevated fun for numerous kids has simply been a playground for squirrels and landing pad for doves and pigeons.  But oh, it was once a glorious place.  

I cannot lay claim to the tree house - it originated before I was even a thought on Earth.  My step-dad built it with and for his children in the mid-seventies.  I wasn't there to witness the construction of it.  I don't know how many hours it took to build, how many boards were cut just right, or how many nails were pounded in.  I don't know how many slivers dug into the working hands that put up the tree house, or how many fingers got in the way of the driving hammers.  I wasn't there to witness the meticulous calculations of making sure the tree house fit just right into the waiting arms of that massive Elm.  I'll never know the excitement those children felt as they watched their Dad erect this massive wooden haven, the giggles shared, the stories told, the dreams imagined for that place.  Those sacred memories belong to Darryl and his children. 

But I am thankful they happened, and that I also got to share in the fun of the big tree house in the big Elm.

When I first moved in to the house on Alaska Avenue, it was 1990 and  I was 7 years old.  I was terrified of that tree house, and being a child who was afraid of everything, I could easily picture my broken body laying at the bottom of the rickety ladder which led up to the tree house, having slipped from a rung or gotten dizzy and disoriented on my way up.  I refused to scale that thing for a long time.  But one day, my brother talked me into it.  

Karlin climbed up that ladder before me and coached me on the way up. There was a big, thick branch towards the top of the ladder, just before you reached the open doorway of the tree house, that you had to snake your body over in order to complete your ascent to the top.  That was the worst part.  I remember standing on the rung just below that branch, shaking, not knowing how I would ever get over that big branch into the tree house, or back down for that matter! But, with Karlin's coaching, I snaked my little body over that branch, and found myself standing triumphantly in the middle of the tree house.  I still wasn't fond of making my way up that ladder, but soon I forgot how scary it really was, and I visited that tree house daily.  

After making some neighborhood friends, they all joined me regularly in the tree house, and soon we were the typical story-book tree house dwellers, pooling our money together to try to buy knick-knacks and carpet to fix that tree house up.  We kept a jar of money "hidden" there, and to be honest, I'm not sure what ever happened to the couple of bucks we managed to acquire.  

We spent countless hours up there, playing, sweeping, cleaning, and playing make-believe.  We always talked about having a sleep-over in the tree house, but my mom never allowed it, and I'm sure the parents of my friends would have never allowed it either.  We never did spend a night up there (though I can't say with certainty that my brother never slept up there).

After a few years of climbing that old rickety ladder hundreds (if not thousands) of times, Darryl decided to take that ladder down and replace it with a sturdier, marginally safer stairway.  I remember watching him build those stairs, and position them just right up to the door way of the tree house.  The stairs were marvelous! I really don't remember if they had side rails to hang on to, or if it was just a dangerous drop off on both sides of the stairs, but I didn't care.  The stairs were so much easier to climb up than that ladder!  

Several more years were spent playing in the tree house, and those stairs stayed in place for a long, long time.  I even had a dog who wasn't afraid to ascend those stairs up into the tree house.  She wasn't sane by any means (my husband always said she reminded him of Ed from the Lion King, the not-right-in-the-head hyena), but she didn't mind heights.

More years went by, and eventually other things took my time and attention.  School, Flag Corp, a boyfriend - life just happened.  But life always happened in the shadow of that tree house in the Elm, which stood above us like an alter to our childhood memories.  

Eventually, Darryl took down the stairs that led up to the tree house door.  A few years later (once I was married and out of the house), he started to tear the tree house down.  It was very old and dilapidated (not so different from what it was when I played in it as a child, but I didn't notice it), and we weren't sure of the safety of it anymore.  Walls came down in pieces, but for some reason, no one was ready for the finality of a big empty space in the big Elm just yet.  After those walls came down, the floor of the tree house remained, and sat there cradled in the tree for many years.  Without the walls around it, the platform wasn't very note-worthy or attention-drawing, so no one paid it much attention.  

Until Mom and Darryl started talk of down-sizing and selling their home (a story for another blog, another day).

It was decided that the platform should come out of  the great tree, so that whoever buys the house wouldn't have to risk their lives to take it down themselves.  So, I volunteered my young, able-bodied husband to scale a ladder 20 feet into the air and start knocking that platform out of the tree.  

On the day the platform came down, the weather was forecast to be a bright, sunny and warm day.  This did not turn out to be the case.  When we woke up, it was overcast, but we didn't think it would rain because the weatherman said it would not rain until the following day, and weathermen are always right.  Right?  

By the time Matt set up the ladder and was working away, it started to sprinkle (or "leak", as Audrey says).  After a while, the leak turned into a heavier drizzle, and the temperature dropped more.  Still Matt worked away at the platform, as I watched from below.  I know it's a little melodramatic, but I couldn't help thinking that the sky was weeping for that tree house, mimicking the thoughts going through my head.  In the pale light from the overcast skies, the tree, too, looked like it had given up, given in -  sagging in it's old age, mourning what it was once, and what it had once held.  

I have to admit, as I sat there under my umbrella watching, I shed a couple of tears.  No one saw me, thank goodness.  They might think I was nuts to cry over the deconstruction of a tree house.  But it was more than that.  It was watching my step-father walk around below the tree house, unable to climb a ladder anymore because of some health problems.  It was the thought of not having that house to visit anymore, my childhood home, gone, sold, belonging to someone else, a stranger who never knew the memories of that place.

It was the fact that I dislike change very much. I dislike watching people I love grow older.  I dislike saying goodbye.  I dislike the thought of them moving.  I dislike the thought of someone else moving in there, possibly knocking down those old beautiful trees, changing everything.  

I dislike the tree house being gone. It's final.  The beginning of a big change, an inevitable change, but a change I don't want to happen.

In the last few hours before the platform came down, it was evident that the tree did not want to let go of what was left of that tree house.  It had literally become a part of the tree.  Boards and cables were grown into the tree itself.  Matt sawed, hammered, pulled, pounded, and sawed some more to get it loose.  We pulled and pulled, and eventually had to tie a rope to the platform and pull it down with a truck.  Finally, after a few pushes to the gas pedal, the last boards came crashing down. 

It was done.

The space left where the tree house once was is so lonely, so unnatural.  As I stood there under that now open space, the story of The Giving Tree came to me.  The big Elm gave 40 years of it's life to cradling that tree house.  It supported it, shaded it, kept that tree house sturdy so many children could enjoy it.    While the children played in the house of that tree, I can only imagine that the tree was happy.  It smiled down on those laughing children, enjoying it's shade and massive support.  But as the children grew and moved away, the tree grew lonely.  Soon the tree house was empty, and that tree was cradling an empty shell, a shadowy reminder of the once happy and vibrant life which once surrounded it.   Though the children often came back, they had grown to old the climb into the tree.  It had served it's purpose. While it was happy to still provide shade and greenery, what it cradled was no longer needed. 

I imagine some day, after my family has moved away and new people take over, those big old Elm trees will be chopped down, no longer appreciated, seen as a danger in the wind.  The happiness they once provided will be just a memory.  

Maybe when I am an old woman, I will go back and visit that house some day.  The trees won't be there anymore, and the house may not be standing either.  But I will be able to stand where those trees once stood, and remember the old tree house which held the tree house I used to play in.  Maybe I'll have grand-children with me, and I can tell them about all the fun times I had playing up there.  Even though everything will be different, I can stand there, and be happy.  

**I am trying to find a picture of the tree house. When and if I find one, I'll post it**