So my most recent internet addiction is this website of before/after photos called... wait for it... Better After. You can just take photos of your before and afters and send them in, and lovely Lindsey will post them on her blog for her adoring readers to browse. It's super addicting. I have spent an inappropriate amount of time reading in the three days since my sister Sara informed me about it.
Yesterday, I sent in a before and after of my own, and it was featured today. Hooray! I'm freaking out like one of those "Price Is Right" contestants that start crying while they jump up and down and clap. "Camille's Hutch? Come on down!!!" It's probably the best thing that's happened to me all summer.
Here is the link.
Enjoy the hours of before and after goodness on Better After, but not too much!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Roses for Henry
I believe that families are forever. This is my testimony...
I am no stranger to loss. In fact, losing things seems to be one of my defining characteristics; lost keys, lost bills, lost scholarships, lost shoes, lost temper, lost sunglasses, lost sanity, lost sense of propriety...
This is nothing new. When I was 6 I lost my brothers. My mom was pregnant with twins (Andrew and Anthony). They were to complete the Fantastic Four Circle of Awesomeness, consisting of them, myself, and my sister Emily. We were going to be Super Heroes. We were going to be Epic. We were going to change the world. Then something went wrong and out of nowhere, they were gone.
I remember staring at the little casket they shared thinking about how scared I was of what was inside. Not scared of my brothers, not even scared of their little bodies, but of Death. I was six. Death was real and it was in my house. Even after they were buried, Death stuck around. Not long after, my parents divorced. My life still wreaked of Death. I spent years running away from it, but you don't get over something like that. Not all the way. Not ever. And although the wounds have long since healed, I will proudly bear those scars for the rest of my life. My little brothers will always be an integral part of who I am.
The remainder of my childhood was spent bouncing around from parent to parent, lost somewhere between Fresno, Houston, and nowhere. I wasn't totally my mother's. I wasn't totally my father's. I didn't really belong anywhere. Whenever there were family photos, after the big group shot I was told to go wait in the corners while photos were taken for other kids' dads. Somehow I managed, however, because I was never alone in those corners- I had Emily.
Emily is the single most important person in my life, aside from my husband and step-son. She is me. I am her. We are one unit, functioning separately but united forever by genetics, shared circumstances, laughter, tears, innumerable personal jokes, and the knowledge that what we have survived together has bonded us in a way few people will ever understand. You see, Emily and I grew up in a church that teaches that families are forever. I've always struggled with that concept due to my fairly unique circumstances, but always felt that somehow, some way, no matter how strange it may look to those on the outside, I do have a family. If nothing else, as long as I have Emily I'll never be by myself. She and I will always belong with each other.
Still, it's often very difficult to accept that my family is so fragmented and I must confess I often find myself bearing resentment towards those who have simple, nuclear families. Two weeks ago I was asked to teach a lesson in our church's Women's Group class. I teach every second Sunday and usually have a great time, but I agonized over this lesson because the theme was "Families Can Be Together Forever." I kept thinking to myself, how can I teach this class on "Forever Families" when I have divorced parents and no children of my own? Divorce and Infertility have, it seems, shattered my dreams of having a "real" family, and Death and Loss haunt the fragments of whatever it is that I have left over.
Then it hit me with great power; although my parents are not perfect, although I am not perfect, although my dear husband isn't perfect, although my body is not perfect enough to bear any children of my own, my Savior Jesus Christ and my Heavenly Father are Infinitely Perfect. I don't know how the various pieces of my broken family will be restored, but I know that in Christ all things will be made whole. Death and Loss have been conquered by the Glorious Resurrection of our Lord.
I realized in preparing that lesson that my life, my family, my dreams, aren't actually shattered or lost at all. When you shatter something, there's only one way to put it back together. The process is long and agonizing, and more often than not, impossible. If a piece is missing or put back in the wrong place, there is a hole which will prevent the unit from functioning until that piece is restored. That's how I've been looking at my life for so long, seeing so many cracks and missing pieces. But I realize now that's just not true. With so much love and beauty all around me all the time, how can I ever think that my life is broken?
Instead, I think my family is more like a rose bush. A branch cut from a rose bush, left to the hands of most people will wither and die without the parent bush to support it. However, in a master's hands a branch cut from a rose bush, any rose bush, carefully tended, watered, placed in soft fertile soil when the time is just right, and kept from drying out will grow roots where it is planted and become a new bush of its own. It's actually a fairly simple process. The trick is to get the timing right. Planted too early in the year, the branch will rot in the early spring rains. Too late and it will dry up before it has a chance to root. But a master gardener knows just which branches are strong enough to survive being taken from the bush, knows where to plant them to keep them strong and healthy, and waits until the moment is right to do the cutting.
I think my family is like a great rose bush with branches cut off and scattered all over the world, all tended to by a Master Gardener. I believe that when the great day of Resurrection occurs and all those little branches are gathered back together, we will never be just one bush again, but rather we will be an entire garden of blossoming roses.
I know that one of the brightest and most beautiful roses will be my tiny, perfect nephew, Henry- Emily's firstborn son, who was cut off from his family last night after a brilliant and beautiful 2 weeks on Earth. I know Henry is not lost, or gone, but simply moved to a different corner of our Family Garden where his spirit can keep growing and increasing the beauty of our family. I know that in the hands of the Master he will continue to bless us with his sweetness and strength until that Great Day when we will all be gathered up and planted together again.
Death and Loss are powerless. As the Apostle Paul teaches in Romans 8, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril or sword? Nay in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
I know that although at times we may not fully understand his will, God's plan for us is perfect and that our family will all be together again one day.
Emily's sweet friend Mona wrote another tribute to dear Henry, here.
I am no stranger to loss. In fact, losing things seems to be one of my defining characteristics; lost keys, lost bills, lost scholarships, lost shoes, lost temper, lost sunglasses, lost sanity, lost sense of propriety...
This is nothing new. When I was 6 I lost my brothers. My mom was pregnant with twins (Andrew and Anthony). They were to complete the Fantastic Four Circle of Awesomeness, consisting of them, myself, and my sister Emily. We were going to be Super Heroes. We were going to be Epic. We were going to change the world. Then something went wrong and out of nowhere, they were gone.
I remember staring at the little casket they shared thinking about how scared I was of what was inside. Not scared of my brothers, not even scared of their little bodies, but of Death. I was six. Death was real and it was in my house. Even after they were buried, Death stuck around. Not long after, my parents divorced. My life still wreaked of Death. I spent years running away from it, but you don't get over something like that. Not all the way. Not ever. And although the wounds have long since healed, I will proudly bear those scars for the rest of my life. My little brothers will always be an integral part of who I am.
The remainder of my childhood was spent bouncing around from parent to parent, lost somewhere between Fresno, Houston, and nowhere. I wasn't totally my mother's. I wasn't totally my father's. I didn't really belong anywhere. Whenever there were family photos, after the big group shot I was told to go wait in the corners while photos were taken for other kids' dads. Somehow I managed, however, because I was never alone in those corners- I had Emily.
Emily is the single most important person in my life, aside from my husband and step-son. She is me. I am her. We are one unit, functioning separately but united forever by genetics, shared circumstances, laughter, tears, innumerable personal jokes, and the knowledge that what we have survived together has bonded us in a way few people will ever understand. You see, Emily and I grew up in a church that teaches that families are forever. I've always struggled with that concept due to my fairly unique circumstances, but always felt that somehow, some way, no matter how strange it may look to those on the outside, I do have a family. If nothing else, as long as I have Emily I'll never be by myself. She and I will always belong with each other.
Still, it's often very difficult to accept that my family is so fragmented and I must confess I often find myself bearing resentment towards those who have simple, nuclear families. Two weeks ago I was asked to teach a lesson in our church's Women's Group class. I teach every second Sunday and usually have a great time, but I agonized over this lesson because the theme was "Families Can Be Together Forever." I kept thinking to myself, how can I teach this class on "Forever Families" when I have divorced parents and no children of my own? Divorce and Infertility have, it seems, shattered my dreams of having a "real" family, and Death and Loss haunt the fragments of whatever it is that I have left over.
Then it hit me with great power; although my parents are not perfect, although I am not perfect, although my dear husband isn't perfect, although my body is not perfect enough to bear any children of my own, my Savior Jesus Christ and my Heavenly Father are Infinitely Perfect. I don't know how the various pieces of my broken family will be restored, but I know that in Christ all things will be made whole. Death and Loss have been conquered by the Glorious Resurrection of our Lord.
I realized in preparing that lesson that my life, my family, my dreams, aren't actually shattered or lost at all. When you shatter something, there's only one way to put it back together. The process is long and agonizing, and more often than not, impossible. If a piece is missing or put back in the wrong place, there is a hole which will prevent the unit from functioning until that piece is restored. That's how I've been looking at my life for so long, seeing so many cracks and missing pieces. But I realize now that's just not true. With so much love and beauty all around me all the time, how can I ever think that my life is broken?
Instead, I think my family is more like a rose bush. A branch cut from a rose bush, left to the hands of most people will wither and die without the parent bush to support it. However, in a master's hands a branch cut from a rose bush, any rose bush, carefully tended, watered, placed in soft fertile soil when the time is just right, and kept from drying out will grow roots where it is planted and become a new bush of its own. It's actually a fairly simple process. The trick is to get the timing right. Planted too early in the year, the branch will rot in the early spring rains. Too late and it will dry up before it has a chance to root. But a master gardener knows just which branches are strong enough to survive being taken from the bush, knows where to plant them to keep them strong and healthy, and waits until the moment is right to do the cutting.
I think my family is like a great rose bush with branches cut off and scattered all over the world, all tended to by a Master Gardener. I believe that when the great day of Resurrection occurs and all those little branches are gathered back together, we will never be just one bush again, but rather we will be an entire garden of blossoming roses.
I know that one of the brightest and most beautiful roses will be my tiny, perfect nephew, Henry- Emily's firstborn son, who was cut off from his family last night after a brilliant and beautiful 2 weeks on Earth. I know Henry is not lost, or gone, but simply moved to a different corner of our Family Garden where his spirit can keep growing and increasing the beauty of our family. I know that in the hands of the Master he will continue to bless us with his sweetness and strength until that Great Day when we will all be gathered up and planted together again.
Death and Loss are powerless. As the Apostle Paul teaches in Romans 8, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril or sword? Nay in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
I know that although at times we may not fully understand his will, God's plan for us is perfect and that our family will all be together again one day.
Emily's sweet friend Mona wrote another tribute to dear Henry, here.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Insomnia
I suffer from chronic insomnia. I just can't fall asleep sometimes. I lay awake in bed tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable until all hours of the night.
I'm pretty used to it, and I have my coping mechanisms, but today was something new. I sat up in bed, bolt upright at 5:00 and couldn't go back to sleep. I tried EVERYTHING, and should have been easily able to drop back off to sleep, but to no avail. I wonder why.
Anyway, today I'm on deck with a solid 4 1/2 hours of sleep. It should make for an interesting day.
Hope you got a little more sleep than I did.
I'm pretty used to it, and I have my coping mechanisms, but today was something new. I sat up in bed, bolt upright at 5:00 and couldn't go back to sleep. I tried EVERYTHING, and should have been easily able to drop back off to sleep, but to no avail. I wonder why.
Anyway, today I'm on deck with a solid 4 1/2 hours of sleep. It should make for an interesting day.
Hope you got a little more sleep than I did.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
What does summer mean to you?
When I was a kid, most of my summers were spent chillin' at my mom's house watching taped episodes of "The Simpson's" and making Popsicle runs down to Hansen's, a dusty old mom and pop's general store lost in the blazing-hot haze that is the pillar of my childhood memories of Fresno. My sisters and I would cut models, clothes, furniture, and rooms out of the old Sears and JC Penny's catalogs and make doll houses that we would tape together and then pin to the walls of our rooms with thumb tacks. We would turn on the hose and run around outside in the sun, and put lemon juice in our hair to bleach sunny colored streaks into our manes. We would paint our nails and toes in outrageous colors and designs, and sew Barbie clothes out of the scraps from my older sister's prom dresses. When we got older, we would play poker using bean soup mix for chips and give each other haircuts and makeovers.
I didn't realize that we were lacking in material wealth, because to me I had everything in the world.
This is the first summer since before he was in Kindergarten that I've had the boy during the summer. His mom usually packs him off to NYC to chill in his grandma's apartment in the Bronx. He baits her rat traps, plays in the fire hydrants outside, stays up until 2 in the morning watching cartoons, eats a lot of Chinese take out and arroz con pollo, and on weekends they take trips to Central Park or the beach. Last summer he came home with a garbage sack full of shells he'd found on some Atlantic strip of sand while clamming with his Dominican Abuelita, whom he claims boils water and cooks the clams right there on the beach.
This summer Abuelita Germania is working. That means I have the distinct privilege and blessing of being a full time summer parent. And let me tell you... IT. IS. AWESOME!!!
We spend our days sleeping in, making pancakes that fill our tummies to bursting, riding our bikes down to the river and playing on the swing hanging from the ancient oak trees on its banks; finding sticks and racing them under bridges; eating Hawaiian shaved ices that melt in the sun and stain our shirts and hands with sticky goodness. We have been extremely privileged to share our adventures with my sister Sara and her kids, who came over to help us paint last week, and with "the primos," the children of Luis's cousin Roger. Today Andrei and the primos are clearing the cobwebs, dust, and grime out of our old tree house and turning it in to a club house, which is sure to be the home for the rest of the summer to board games, Popsicles, finger painted walls, secrets, sleep overs, fart jokes, and childhood dreams.
In my imagination, heaven is just a big long summer break, club house included.
*****************************************
What are your most cherished summer memories, as a parent, honorary summer parent, or child?
I didn't realize that we were lacking in material wealth, because to me I had everything in the world.
This is the first summer since before he was in Kindergarten that I've had the boy during the summer. His mom usually packs him off to NYC to chill in his grandma's apartment in the Bronx. He baits her rat traps, plays in the fire hydrants outside, stays up until 2 in the morning watching cartoons, eats a lot of Chinese take out and arroz con pollo, and on weekends they take trips to Central Park or the beach. Last summer he came home with a garbage sack full of shells he'd found on some Atlantic strip of sand while clamming with his Dominican Abuelita, whom he claims boils water and cooks the clams right there on the beach.
This summer Abuelita Germania is working. That means I have the distinct privilege and blessing of being a full time summer parent. And let me tell you... IT. IS. AWESOME!!!
We spend our days sleeping in, making pancakes that fill our tummies to bursting, riding our bikes down to the river and playing on the swing hanging from the ancient oak trees on its banks; finding sticks and racing them under bridges; eating Hawaiian shaved ices that melt in the sun and stain our shirts and hands with sticky goodness. We have been extremely privileged to share our adventures with my sister Sara and her kids, who came over to help us paint last week, and with "the primos," the children of Luis's cousin Roger. Today Andrei and the primos are clearing the cobwebs, dust, and grime out of our old tree house and turning it in to a club house, which is sure to be the home for the rest of the summer to board games, Popsicles, finger painted walls, secrets, sleep overs, fart jokes, and childhood dreams.
In my imagination, heaven is just a big long summer break, club house included.
*****************************************
What are your most cherished summer memories, as a parent, honorary summer parent, or child?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
It's a Boy!
I'm so glad to say that this morning at 5:09 Greenwich Time, baby Gray was born 15 weeks early. I am proud to be the first one to welcome him officially.
Henry, this is for you. Welcome at last!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Girl Cave Phase 1
So my dream of having a Girl Cave is one major step closer to fruition.
Today I put together my work table and got the majority of the furniture moved in to the room.
Remember, this is the room that Brendan moved out of, after living there for 6 months, preceded by Ana's 2.5 year occupation. In order to create more meaning and purpose in my life, I have reclaimed my previous "guest room" nee' "office" and am turning it into my own Girl Cave (aka Craft Room). The way I figure, I have a husband and son, and most of my house is a man cave. I need a space of my own.
So far, I have a big TV for watching movies, storage for books, supplies, and scrap book paper, a hutch for my fabrics, an big round work table/cutting table, two comfy chairs for chatting, and a long narrow table which will serve as *gasp* a permanent home for my sewing machine. This is a big deal for me because like most ladies my age, every time I want to sew something I have to unpack EVERYTHING, set up shop in the middle of the living room or kitchen, feeling guilty the whole time about the mess my family is living with, deal with casually disguised complaints by hubby about scraps on the floor, and then pack it all up when I'm done. It's very discouraging, and makes me not want to do things. Now, all I have to do is remove the snazzy dust cover off my machines (both serger and sewing) and go to town. I'm telling you, I'm already itching to get started.
But first I still have to: paint the hutch, recover the upholstered chairs, make a peg board, cork board, and magnet board, stock the large walk-in closet with organizational shelving, and unpack/organize my 7 bins of craft supplies.
Oh, but it feels SOOOO good to come this far. The new room is down the hall from the big TV, so the boys can watch TV and play video games and I can actually *see* and TALK to them while I'm working. And the best part is that I even get Internet signal in this room so I can blog about all my pretty projects right here in command central.
It's an actual dream come true, I say!
Stay tuned next week for pictures of the final product.
Today I put together my work table and got the majority of the furniture moved in to the room.
Remember, this is the room that Brendan moved out of, after living there for 6 months, preceded by Ana's 2.5 year occupation. In order to create more meaning and purpose in my life, I have reclaimed my previous "guest room" nee' "office" and am turning it into my own Girl Cave (aka Craft Room). The way I figure, I have a husband and son, and most of my house is a man cave. I need a space of my own.
So far, I have a big TV for watching movies, storage for books, supplies, and scrap book paper, a hutch for my fabrics, an big round work table/cutting table, two comfy chairs for chatting, and a long narrow table which will serve as *gasp* a permanent home for my sewing machine. This is a big deal for me because like most ladies my age, every time I want to sew something I have to unpack EVERYTHING, set up shop in the middle of the living room or kitchen, feeling guilty the whole time about the mess my family is living with, deal with casually disguised complaints by hubby about scraps on the floor, and then pack it all up when I'm done. It's very discouraging, and makes me not want to do things. Now, all I have to do is remove the snazzy dust cover off my machines (both serger and sewing) and go to town. I'm telling you, I'm already itching to get started.
But first I still have to: paint the hutch, recover the upholstered chairs, make a peg board, cork board, and magnet board, stock the large walk-in closet with organizational shelving, and unpack/organize my 7 bins of craft supplies.
Oh, but it feels SOOOO good to come this far. The new room is down the hall from the big TV, so the boys can watch TV and play video games and I can actually *see* and TALK to them while I'm working. And the best part is that I even get Internet signal in this room so I can blog about all my pretty projects right here in command central.
It's an actual dream come true, I say!
Stay tuned next week for pictures of the final product.
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