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Tuesday, May 26, 2015

The Eve Of 5

I've been floating somewhere in between awe and grief for the last week, repeatedly asking myself the question, HOW IS IT POSSIBLE 5 YEARS HAVE GONE BY?
I am torn between celebrating an amazingly, spunky, enthusiastic, spirited daughter and avoiding all the dark feelings and regrettable emotions that her birthday bring to the surface. I want to host parties, full of balloons, decorations, laughter, and cupcakes while simultaneously wanting to drink all the wine and hide until June.

It's been 5 years. I ask myself if her birthday will always be this hard, but after 5 years, I know the answer. Nope. This year is easier than last, as her 4th birthday was easier than her 3rd. The effing cliche is right - Time heals.

But May will always bring memories. Memories I will cherish forever and memories that I long to erase. There are so many moments that are vividly etched into my memory, sights, sounds, smells, that I am certain that only a few days or weeks have gone by. Other moments are fragmented, foggy, comprised only of details I've pieced together from others, that entire weeks and months blur together.
This is how I know I am a mother. All mothers feel this way when their first born turns 5. Even the ones who have perfectly predictable, not-so-terribly traumatic, birth stories.

My struggles with infertility, my child's birth story, my illness, my PTSD/anxiety, my disability, these are all just details. They're important because they have shaped me and changed me inside and out, but they're not what defines me. And they're certainly not what separates me from other parents on the eve of their eldest child's 5th birthday.


Emeline Joy Landefeld -
photo taken May 28, 2010



Thursday, May 14, 2015

I Am...

I was inspired to do some Old School Blogging (OSB) by Angela of Jumping With My Fingers Crossed and Elaine from Miss Elaine-ous Life.

When I taught 3rd and 4th grade we would write I Am poems a lot. Somewhere in a file in my basement are samples I've done throughout the years, but I decided to spend my time writing and creating something new rather than finding our what I Was a few years back. 

So here you go. My version of an I Am poem.


I am open, honest, imperfect, and healing.

I wonder what the next year has in store for my family.

I hear quiet, blessed quiet for the first time all day.

I see piles and piles of clutter that need attention and organizing, but I just don’t have the energy for them.

I want to be healthy and strong.

I am open, honest, imperfect, and healing.

I pretend I see better than I actually do.

I feel deeply and often.

I touch the feathery strands of hair on my sleeping daughter’s head, marveling at her existence.

I worry about transportation. All the damn time.

I cry in yoga, a lot. Especially, in pigeon pose.

I am open, honest, imperfect, and healing.

I understand that life is not fair and some of the best lessons come from unimaginable circumstances.

I say I’m not afraid when I am.

I dream of independent transportation and impromptu road trips.

I try every day to not let my disability define me, especially in the eyes of my daughter.

I hope I am a role-model to Emy and that I am not screwing her up too badly.

I am open, honest, imperfect, and healing.

My heart, my soul, and me. May 2015





That's me. In a nutshell. Open and raw. Who are you? Want to play along? Just copy the bold words and fill in the blank. Visit the blogs of  OSB host Elaine and this month's co-host Angela for more information.