Pictures of our new home from our toddler's point of view

You know those times when you can't find your phone anywhere, and then you find it on the floor somewhere face up? If you have a toddler, once you get over the relief that the screen isn't cracked (or worse), you immediately check the photo stream because . . .well, toddlers.

Recently, I discovered that Edgie had taken roughly 200 photos in one afternoon on my phone. Once I deleted all the blurry and repeated pictures, I started to enjoy looking at the rest. He was obviously walking around the house just clicking away. It was really interesting to see his point of view for a change. I thought I would share it with you. I didn't edit any of the pictures because I really wanted to keep the artistic integrity of his work.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm lazy.

Let me introduce you to the photographer, three-year-old Edgie:

His hair looks so much better now that he let the barber cut it. The lice he contracted at preschool really did the trick: "You don't want to get bugs in your hair again, do you Edgie?"

This is our entry from his perspective. It really isn't this big, but from his POV it looks huge! Notice the sliding barn door on the den. I reeeaalllly wanted that design element, and I'm so glad we could work it in.

You don't necessarily notice all the color variations on the floor unless you're a toddler with a camera pointed right at it. All the shades of the wood allowed us to decorate with many different tones and colors.

One place we played with different colors and stains was our kitchen. Hubby actually chose all the design elements here. He loved the look of off-white cabinets and a dark island. We liked the look of stainless steel appliances, but not of the fingerprints left behind. Ours have a granite-colored finish.

The best part of the kitchen is behind those double doors in the corner - a huge pantry. So much storage for snacks (which makes a happy Hubby and boys) and for all of my fun serving dishes that I use maybe once a year.

Here's our granite. Can you see it? It's actually the opposite of how it looks here. It's a creamy white with dark flecks.

Isn't it interesting how it changes when you put your face right on it? Toddlers have long known about this trick.

Stairs from a toddler's perspective. Toddlers have also long known how scary stairs are.

When the house was being built, they were putting in this lighting on the stairs. I thought it was an unnecessary expense. Now that we're in the house, it love these! We turn them on at night for our two nocturnal wanderers. I actually fell down the last two steps one night when they weren't on. They really help!

We needed a new time-out spot. Here's the view from the new one.

We have a lot of natural light from the three huge windows in the great room. I really like it. We don't have blinds yet. I thought that would really bother me, but we have no neighbors behind or on either side of us.

Unfortunately, this is our view . . .

 . . .because we have no grass either. It makes for a dirty, muddy mess everywhere. Luckily we have boys because they totally don't mind.

And here is the view from the photographer's bed when he gets tired.

Mommy is going to have to work on getting him to fall asleep by himself. That way we won't have to turn on the stairway lights for him when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Mommy is not there. But that's a blog post for another time (and not the first).

I gave myself the unrealistic timeline of having all the boxes unpacked and put away by February 1st. I realize now how ridiculous that is. It took me about nine months to pack it all up. It should take me at least half that long to unpack and organize.

Stay tuned in February when my decorator stops by and we share some tips. The grass and landscaping are coming in the spring, and I can't wait to show you that, too.



What is your favorite design element in new homes?

Closing Time: One Last Call for Memories

We finally had a closing date. It was to be the day after Christmas. I panicked and scrambled to complete all the packing I had been putting off until we had a firm date. Hubby would have had me just throw things in boxes, but my organized brain had to pick through and categorize every item. My sentimental heart had to pause, remember, and reminisce.

Since most everything was packed up, we did something different and ate dinner out on Christmas Eve. We chose an Italian restaurant, and I was surprised by how many patrons were there. It was just the six of us at our table, and I wanted to make it special even if we weren't technically in our own house for our last Christmas Eve. I smiled and tried to engage the boys in games of Tic Tac Toe while we waited for our food, and I ignored their continued whines that it was taking too long.

"Let's talk about our favorite memories of our house," I suggested.

"When Baby E came home from the hospital," began Knox. That surprised me, but made me puff my chest in pride. Joey was always so happy when the new babies came home, too.

Edgie (formerly Baby E) added, "Snow sledding in the front yard!" That was a memory that involved Knox as well. He would pull Edgie down the small slope in our front yard and end up in our neighbor's driveway.

Slim offered this funny nugget: "When I used to run in circles around the house!" Our stairway was in the center of the house, and every morning Slim would run down the stairs and make several laps down the hallway, through the kitchen, through the dining room, and through the living room. Honestly, that was kind of my first indication that something about him was a little different. But, since I can't remember the last time he did that, it's really a marker for how far he's come developmentally.

Lil' C's memory surprised me and made me giggle: "I liked when Joey and Knox went down the waterslide in the backyard!" When Joey and Slim were three and Knox was a little over a year old, we made the slide into a water slide with the hose. Knox had decided to strip off his diaper and go down nakey. Joey, always wanting to be part of the fun, stripped off his clothes, too. Slim was operating the hose, and Hubby and I were sitting in lawn chairs crying from laughing so hard. It was just one of those moments you can't plan. And Lil' C? He was a seven-month-old fetus in my tummy. He has heard us tell that story so many times, I'm sure he feels like he was "there."


Dinner was nice, and once home I retrieved all the Santa presents out of their in-plain-sight hiding places (the moving boxes). Christmas day was a blur of wrapping paper and plastic ware on which we ate our traditional Christmas morning cinnamon rolls. Toys and last-minute "must be packed items" littered the house. Hubby's sister has people over every Christmas night, and I told Hubby to take the boys while I continued packing.

"Just come over," he implored. "Take a break. This will still be here in two hours (that's what I was afraid of). C'mon. It would mean so much to all your boys."

Usually, he doesn't care what I do; but I knew it meant something for me to be there. So I took a break and went. I'm lucky to have wonderful in-laws whom I truly enjoy. And a lot of them! We recruited lots of help for our move.

That night, into the wee hours of the morning, I was packing. My problem was the basement, and all of the things stored down there that no one really knew about but me. All of the boys' things I wanted to save. Pictures, cards, memories. Joey stuff. All last year I thought I would get it organized, but that never happened. I didn't want the movers to touch it. I sat in the basement amid the mountainous stacks of boxes and cried. Partly from exhaustion, partly from regret over my own disorganization, and partly because I was thinking of MY favorite memory of the house.

We used to have dance parties in the basement when all the boys were little. We would crank up some kiddie music - usually Raffi - and just dance and giggle until we all dropped exhausted on the floor. I could almost hear the music playing "Knees Up Mother Brown," which was Joey's favorite. I swore I could hear his giggles.

I always knew, even though Joey died in that house, there he did not remain. I spent the last year, though, scared that somehow we would be leaving him behind. The next day, as I walked through the empty house ready to follow the moving truck to our new one, I spoke aloud, "Joey, we're going now. You come with us, okay? You come with us. Don't stay here. We're going."

In a flurry, I was telling people where to put things, what boxes to unpack, which ones to leave for later. I fell, exhausted, night after night into my bed in my new smaller, cozier bedroom. As I organized this and cleaned that and made those things fit into this space, I managed to check e-mail on my phone.

What was happening was incredible.

This post from 2012 was making the rounds again. People were commenting in droves both online and in person, even more so than when it originally was posted. Hubby was even receiving calls at work telling him they had seen it. People from all over the country were reaching out to me.

I am convinced this was Joey's way of telling me that he knows where to find us. Considering that he would be tickled beyond all belief that something written about him is getting all this attention and considering that it came out of the blue two years later right at a time that I needed a sign was amazing. This good memory. This way of bringing Joey with us wherever we go. I choose to believe that he had a hand in it. I need to believe that.

So here we sit amid boxes and discarded bubble wrap with still so much to do and organize, yet we are home and cozy and familiar already. I go and check on the old house, still unsold. It seems cavernous to me and unfamiliar, like I am seeing it with different eyes. It feels lonely and desolate; and I don't like going there. It reminds me of how I feel about going to Joey's grave. I don't like going there either. He's not there, nor is he at the old house. I know that. I know that he - and our memories - are always with us. All right here in the new house where they are supposed to be.

For someone like me, who hates change, this is important to remember. 

My least favorite four-letter words

There are a lot of four letter words that make me cringe. Too many naughty ones peppered in a conversation, movie, or blog post I'm reading turns me off. I can recognize the humor in a few well-placed ones, and I did enjoy a raunchy variety show with Hubby while on a recent trip to Las Vegas (complete with lots of cosmopolitans). While I'm not a total prude when it comes to naughty words, I don't choose to use them very often myself. I feel guilty when I do.

But there are some totally harmless four-letter words that really have my panties in a bunch lately.

The first one is: MOVE.

Say that and people who have moved instantly give you the pity eyes and the sympathy sigh. (You instantly get tons of unwanted advice and unhelpful commentary on how quickly someone else's house sold, too. GAH!)

Moving tests everything you know to be true: the strength of your marriage, the creativity of your decorating style, and the solidity of your ability to multitask and organize.

I'm so tired. I'm tired of trying to pack with a toddler following me around saying, "Don't pack that away, Mommy!" I'm tired of trying to keep the messes of four young boys and their sloppy father contained because we could have a showing at a moment's notice. I'm tired of yelling at them when the stress of it all gets to me. I'm mostly tired of wasting entire days cleaning and organizing my house to perfection for a showing only to receive feedback that the potential buyers, "Liked the house and thought it showed really well, but they are not putting in an offer because of some XYZ stupid thing."

And it's Christmas time and we don't have any decorations or lights up, and that kills me.  

The next four-letter word is: LICE.

It's safe to say that one gives everyone the heebie jeebies. Even my mother, who has seen her fair share of hard times and is very logical about everything, said, "Oh my god, Kathy, I am so sorry!"

I always believed lice to be more of of girl mom problem - all that hair and that sharing of hats and bows and girly-things. Hubby and I have said that if our boys got lice, we'd take 'em in the backyard and shave 'em down.

Yeah, that doesn't work on a little three-year-old who won't let anyone touch his head.

We just happened to be at the barber when I opened the e-mail saying that lice had been found on one of Edgie's preschool classmates. I laughed - laughed! - as I read it aloud to the barber. He kept saying Edgie would go last, and I just thought it was because he howls so loudly while getting his hair cut that the barber wanted to wait until the offices across the hall cleared out for the day.

But it was because he knew my long-haired sweetie's curls would have creepy crawlers. All the way to the drugstore I kept itching my head even though Lou, the barber, said I didn't have them. But seriously, did something just bite my back?!?!

My poor little boy screamed and cried so hard while I was treating his hair that he vomited. When we were done, he looked at me with his big blue sad eyes and said, "Mommy, do I still have lice?"

I cancelled a house showing for the next day while I stripped all the sheets and quilts and washed them and vacuumed down the couch and throw pillows (even though the school nurse told me that, like any parasite, lice need a live host to survive so doing all that isn't necessary). Even though he was declared lice-free by the school nurse, I'm still cautious. Murphy's Law tells me this isn't over.

And I sit here ready to cry over it all. I'm spent - emotionally, physically, mentally. As I drove away from my lemon-scented and freshly tidied house yesterday before the showing, I prayed to Saint Joseph (the patron saint of home sales). Really, I begged him: Please let someone love our house. I know we have been yelling at each other a lot lately, and I know Joey died there; but there is so much wonderful energy there, too. I thought of the dance parties and the Easter egg coloring and Christmas cookie decorating and the pumpkin carving. I thought of the blanket forts that have been built and the stories that have been read and the new babies that have been cuddled in that house. I thought of the brotherly love and the family gatherings and all the birthday parties. I know someone will love it. And I just need to keep my eyes on our new home and all the wonderful possibilities it holds for the future.

Then I was thinking about all of the more important four and five letter words that truly deserve my disdain. Lice and moving - these will pass; but what of the issues that never seem to go away?

Guns (and the violence that people create with them)
Hate
Race
Debt
Creed
Color
Class
Death
Grief

People are really suffering over these words, these concepts that dig a hole too deep to crawl out of. The sadness and anger that these words create in people permeate our society and divide its citizens.

A few years ago, when friends would complain their woes to me, at some point they would stop short. With wide eyes they would make this disclaimer: But, it's nothing compared to what you're going through (you know, meaning the cancer). I would say to them, But you only know what YOU'RE going through, and it's hard, too. 

What I'm going through is nothing compared to what some people are suffering with right now. Yes, it's hard and it sucks, but I still need to remember that "this too shall pass." I need to remember to have empathy and understanding for other people and their problems. I need to not be so consumed with my own misery that I turn a blind eye to others.

There's no denying that certain words evoke certain emotions in us. Hopefully the one emotion that is created in us all is empathy. 

What if We Don't Like Our New Neighbors?

Now that my garage sale is over, it's time for me to start packing up this house. I've been moving at a slow pace because it's hard - physically, mentally, and emotionally. Leaving behind the memories of where my boys were little and the place where Joey died is going to be tough.

But we're ready in other ways. Ready to have a flat street where the boys can ride their bikes. Ready for wide open spaces and fields where they can run and hit a baseball.

Ready for new neighbors . . .(?)

Yet another scary part for me. The people next door to us just moved out. They were renting the house for a year until their "dream home" became available. It was clear they knew they were only going to be here a short time. They were not friendly, and made no attempt to be so. Our boys tried so hard to be friends with their kids, but their kids were only mildly interested. Honestly, I only talked to the parents once in a year - shortly after they first moved in.

New people make me nervous. I think I'm a friendly and sweet person, but what if the neighbors are a nightmare? I'm writing more about this on Mamalode this month, and you can find that post here.

                                   

And here you can read more about my budding gardening skills (<-----Did you see what I did there?).

Updates on both the neighbors and the garden to come!

Can You Stop Time By Saving Memories?

You all know by now that the Frog family is moving. Probably not until the fall, but I will go crazy if I don't start to pack and weed things out now. So that's what I'm doing.

If you've ever engaged in this process - which, as painful as it is, I highly recommend - you know it can be difficult for many reasons. There is the stuff you like, but can't currently find a use for. There is the stuff that was a great deal, but that you have absolutely no use for, there are your favorite things that you have outgrown (literally and figuratively) and can't bear to part with, and there are the things that simply hold memories within.

For me the latter category is proving the hardest to weed out. And I will probably write about this a lot in the coming months. If you are sick of hearing about it, I understand. Please click here to read I Wish I Could Stop Time on Mamalode.* Please click here if you just want to go pee/make yourself a sandwich/have more important things to do right now. You can close the window when you get back.

For those of you who just love my writings on Mamalode (thank you for that), you can read two of my latest here and here.

*Edited to point out that someone else has put their name on my writing. But rest assured, the words are all mine. 

Around the Pond with the Frog~March 2014

Forgive me for a being a little late getting this wrap-up out there. This spring is proving to be a busy time for the Frog house. We're trying to clean everything out of our house so it doesn't look like 6 people - and the spirit of a seventh - live in it. Shooting for a June date to put it on the market. It's hard, and it will surely be the subject of a lot of what I write in the coming weeks and months.

That said, I won't be writing or be on social media as much. I've already stepped back a little and put my series, Grief Stories, on hold. I thought about completely taking a break, but that wouldn't be fair to me. Writing is my outlet. It is a source of good things for me, so I think I'll keep it.

So, that said, in case you missed anything in the month of March, here's what I said:

• I wrote about little panic attacks I get when I realize we are halfway there (wherever "there" is). Read that here.
• I was on Mamalode twice in March talking about Mom friends here and about being a fit mother here. Please click on these links as these are paid writing gigs for me. You can choose the $0 option to read, for now. 
• I shared a couple meatless recipes for Lent. You can find the pins on Pinterest here and here.
• I talked about fire safety and told you how you could view some rad fire safety videos and get lesson plans if you are a teacher right here. 
• I featured my former Her View from Home writer, Kelly, talking about pet loss on Grief Stories here. 
• I reviewed a book by Matt Mooney called Unspeakable Joy about the loss of his son here. I will be interviewing him soon. In the comments, please share a question you'd like me to ask him.

And finally, the book came out! You know, the one by all the Super Cool Lady writers called I Just Want to Be Alone. The one that already has FORTY five-star reviews on Amazon. Click here to read more about my co-authors and HERE to order the book.

Phew, I think that's it. So I will be writing, but it will probably only be about once a week - maybe twice - we'll see. To be sure that you see everything I post, please subscribe to my blog by clicking one of two buttons in the top left-hand column. Either follow me on Bloglovin or by e-mail. You will only get mail if I post something new.

You can also follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest if you are not already.

Now, off to pack up the basement. If anyone has ANY packing or storage tips, please feel free to share them in the comments. Newbie here. 

Love to you all and here's hoping by my next wrap-up we'll all be wearing shorts and feeling warm.

He's Got Soul

It is sometime during the 4:00 hour. I am lying, wide awake, in my bed sucking on a lozenge because I can't stop coughing. I've got a toddler's head rammed between my shoulder blades. I'm hot from all the blankets and lovies my ten-year-old has brought into my huge king-sized bed with him.

The house is quiet and feels a little emptier with Hubby on a business trip despite all of the company I have in bed with me.

Edgie has been pushing Slim in his sleep, "Move over Slim!! This my bed." And I roll my eyes because, no, it's MY bed; but I smile in spite of it.

I must have drifted back to sleep when suddenly I hear, "No Joey!" And Edgie stirs in his sleep.

I freeze in the dark, trying to decide if I misheard him. 'Joey' sounds nothing like 'Slim.' And Edgie doesn't know Joey, just of Joey.

I feel a whisper of cold air and hear a thump.

I sit up. Is it 4:44 a.m., the time he died? No, but it's 4:22 a.m., the date he was diagnosed, April 22nd. I shiver.

No. I tell myself. No, Joey is not here. He's never been here.

I know this. We told him it was okay to go. I know he took the hand of the spirit guide who came to get him from his earthly pain. He was such a sweet, trusting child. He is with the angels having a lovely time, getting to know his grandparents and all the other little children lost too soon.

But still . . .

I lay in the dark feeling the feeling of sadness that has been overtaking me a lot in the last few weeks. We are going to be moving, and I have been slowly packing up things that we don't need. Each time I pack a box, instead of excitement, I feel sad and a little sick to my stomach. I know it's time to leave here, to build our "forever" home.

But this home was the only home Joey knew.

He did inhabit two other places - our little brick ranch for six months, and our rental on Long Island for two years.

But he lived here.

He pushed trucks through the landscaping rocks in the front yard. He helped Daddy build the sandbox in the backyard. He slid down the slide on the swing set naked in the water from the hose because it was faster that way. He tried on my make-up and shoes and strutted down the upstairs hallway. He sat on the basement steps with his brothers posing for pictures. He ran to the garage door to greet Daddy wearing his first pair of "big boy" underwear. He sat on the fireplace and mugged for the camera with Slim on kindergarten round-up day and lined up all of his stuffed animals on the couch and played pet doctor when he got his veterinarian kit from Aunt Ann and Uncle Bob. Carving pumpkins at the kitchen table and coloring Easter eggs in the dining room. Sitting on the bed and leading his brothers in a rousing preschool chorus of "If You're Happy and You Know It."

He also died here.

Paramedics and firefighters rushing in to see about a boy having seizures. Sitting on the couch with the big round yellow "puke bowl" because he couldn't stop vomiting. Sitting at the front window staring at the outdoors that he once loved, but now could only watch creep slowly by. Sitting in the same chair asking the same questions. A bed from hospice in the front room next to the ugly pink couch that I wouldn't leave because I didn't want to leave him. Saying good-bye and going upstairs, only to come back down to an empty hospice bed and the same ugly pink couch.

I know he's not here. I know his spirit, as much as I want it to be here, does not live here anymore. As much as I want to see signs, like crooked pictures and times on a clock, his spirit is with God.

But his soul is here. His soul, his beautiful mind and emotions - they are in everything I see. I know I can bring his "stuff" to our new home. I can look at pictures and artwork and hold his much-loved Stripey Kitten and wrap us all up in a quilt I intend to make of his clothes, but I won't be able to "see" him in our new home.

He'll have never walked the staircase to the boys' bedrooms. He'll have never done his homework in the study. He'll have never laughed as he sat at the kitchen bar or played basketball in the driveway or chased his brothers around the horseshoe shaped street on his bicycle.

Will I still see him?

Will I see him in the eyes of his brothers as they excitedly pick out their new rooms? Will I hear him in their laughs as they strap on their Rollerblades and skate across the concrete floor of the basement? Will his footsteps echo with theirs as they bound down the stairs in the morning for breakfast? Will his hands work side-by-side with Hubby's as he plants his garden in the new grass of the backyard?

I can't be sure.

What I do know is that his soul stays with me. Wherever I go, he goes with me. I hear his laugh in my ears and feel his hug around my neck. I can see the brightness of his eyes and feel the excitement of his movements.

His soul is burned into mine.

Wherever I go, he will be there.

I will take him, and he will be there.