TODAY

My country bombed Iran today. I woke at 7:30 for an appointment with pest control to keep all of the cockroaches, insects, and spiders out of my home. I sat at the dining room table, reading the news on my laptop while drinking coffee. A man named Adam with long curly hair under a ball cap and crooked teeth sprayed chemicals along the baseboard of each room, under cabinets, behind the piano and couch, as well as outside on the earth against the stone of my house, behind neatly landscaped bushes and flowers. He assured me that the insecticide wasn't harmful to my dog.

The bombing was described as a joint effort between my country and Israel. NPR reported that Trump encouraged innocent Iranians to "take over your government. It will be yours to take. This will probably be your only chance for generations."

I went and got my nails done. A gentle Vietnamese woman wrapped my fingertips in foil with soaked cotton balls to soften the layers of finely-milled powder in a color that was brownish purple like a faded bruise, that I have had painted every four weeks since my husband died. After she dipped and polished my nails, I washed my hands with a goopy peach soap that has granular beads to exfoliate and soften my skin. I paid $55 and gave a $10 tip for a job well done. After 21 months, I spoke up and asked her what her name was. Ouane.

x

On social media, I found fervent posts against the war and I consider sharing a few. I wondered if it would be too much–If people would decide not to follow me. And if they didn’t follow me, how would they know what I believed and how important it was to consider a different viewpoint?

The dog bit and pulled at the curtains again, the pressure almost pulling the rod out of the wall. My friends Steve and Anna came over to help. The cats, squirrels, and other dogs outside the window just rile up my dog and he growls and lashes out, appearing crazed and vicious. On the other hand, when he meets people he quickly lies on his back, exposing his tender belly, waiting for scratches and pets. While Steve found a stud and secured new anchors and drilled screws into them, Anna and I discussed the books on my coffee table. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. Hijab Butch Blues. There Are Rivers in the Sky. Essays After Eighty. This is Your Mind on Plants. And what books had we just read or were currently reading? Awake. A Truce That Is Not Peace.

My father was a handyman for single or widowed moms and grandmothers while he was retired. Then he suffered a brain injury and subsequent strokes. I visited him and brought hot chocolate. I told him I had brought the treat and he replied as always, You did?! As if it is a surprise every time. My sister raised him in his hospital bed and put the drink on his tray in front of him. While he took small sips, I told him that work had been hectic but I was getting a bonus. My son joined the tennis team at school. The dog was still crazy. Then my sister and I talked for an hour but I never brought up the news about Iran. We don’t usually talk about things like that.

I received an email from a Muslim political action group that I subscribe to, urging me to contact my representatives and implore them to immediately bring to the floor a resolution to end the war. I clicked a link and entered my name, address, and email, then signed an already-drafted letter to my members of congress. I had a moment when I considered what difference my letter made and then clicked ‘send.’ I was informed that I was among 94,019 fellow Americans to sign and send it. 

After dinner, I sat on the couch and drank more beer. Instead of watching the news, I watched a movie that was about a woman who had died and in her afterlife, she had to choose between her first husband (who had died in the Korean war) or her second husband (who she was married to for 56 years) who to spend eternity with. As a widow myself, I should have been amused and laughed because it was a comedy but instead it fell flat for me.

The Pentagon named the bombing “Operation Epic Fury.” While the aim was the offices of the Supreme Leader and his missile program, Iran's news reported the strikes also hit a girls school near a paramilitary base, killing at least 53 young female students and wounding dozens more.

My secret is that all winter I have let a tiny spider thrive in my kitchen above the counter behind my coffee maker. In the corner between the window and the wall, she has a little cobweb with a plump fly dangling among tiny gnats. I just don’t have the heart to wipe it all away.

THE ACCIDENT

Cars were diverted to one lane, moving forward at a small crawl. The sky was inky slate and the lights from the first responder vehicles pulsed in cherry brights and electric blue beams. I saw a man standing next to a truck with a tractor and equipment attached, several cops huddled nearby. Then there was a stretch of pavement mirroring the night and a white sheet covering something. More black concrete and then another truck, more cop cars. I crept forward and the pulsing lights continued, reinforced by the multiple lights at the intersection. Stoplights. Red. I hit my brakes. In my mind, I imagined the sheet again, the forms and shapes underneath. I imagined debris of organic material, from a farm. Pumpkins. Gourds. Smashes of their flesh and pulp. 

It is the body of Laurie, I would find out the next day. Laurie, who had a 12 year old cat named Zima with gray fur and a pink nose, and white tipped ears and cheeks. “Let’s help this beautiful kitty find a loving home” a friend shared on social media, hoping to reach someone through friends of friends who would take a 12 year old cat who had maybe only ever known its elderly companion. A photo showed Laurie holding Zima in her arms. Laurie wore a plush blue robe covered in white puffy clouds and stood in black boots, the laces undone and dragging on the floor. Her grey hair thinly draped her wrinkled face. Then in a single act in the night, strangers were passing by her body, witnesses to her death. 

I thought of the Palestinians, who have lived for 36 months in a nightmare of torn flesh from shrapnel, flesh on fire, bomb after bomb, witnesses to endless death. Entire family lineages have been destroyed. Each member is a single life, a life like Laurie. Or you. Or me. The survivors? Traumatized. No one is coming to help them to survive or to properly bury their loved ones. The entire world has been witnessing it with no changes. 

My home is warm and has faucets, sturdy beds, curtains, plants, and a piano. I have ice cubes and a coffee pot. I have the ashes of my husband in a thick glass-stained blue and green box, where I can look upon it anytime I want; I can touch it tenderly every day. It is surrounded by books of poetry, vinyl records, his old trombone case covered in a collection of stickers, and a framed photo of him fishing on the Nestucca. He stood with his gear on a large boulder, a smile of simple pleasure on his face, in his favorite spot, surrounded by evergreens. 

I feel guilty maybe for not adopting Zima the cat. Also as a witness to the Palestinians’ suffering with little I am able to do. And even though it is natural, I feel guilty for smiling and going about my everyday living while Dan is wildly missing from us–something that my guilty brain also still finds completely surreal even after a year and a half. It never ends. I do what little I can. I said a prayer for Laurie. I shared the post about Zima. I contact my representatives, and advocate for Palestinian rights. And for Dan, I listen to the bird calls. I tell Raine when something he does or says is like his dad. I make a batch of chili enough times that I can do it without looking at the recipe. I watch the trees, welcome sunlight in the winter, and listen to music. I write.

EIGHT MONTHS

I sobbed as we reached the final hours of 2024. I wasn't ready to leave the year in which Dan was alive.

I have these moments. Weeping and shaking with pain and longing. I always tried to imagine what it would feel like--to prepare myself, but you just don't know until you are in it. I gasp, "Babe!" calling out to him, to the silence.

I have things to write about and photos to share. Eight months of moment by moment living. I want to document my continued life and my grief. But it is too painful to focus my attention and type the words. 

I will try. Here are some memories.

I am now Stormy's bestie.

Summer sitting in the back yard at Gillman, where he sat. Stormy at my side. Listening to and watching the sparrows, doves, and the occasional cardinal, reminding me of my mom.

To be read.

The book I was mysteriously gifted in the mail. I have yet to read it because I haven't been able to find the time to sit still and read. I did read Letters of Note: Grief almost immediately, and it helped me reflect on my pain and disbelief in order to write his eulogy. 

I couldn't hang his stocking. It was too painful and felt awkward.

Not only the holidays and anniversaries--His absence was felt everywhere throughout the house all the time. There was no respite from that jarring reality. During the inital shock (a month or so?) it felt like he was on a trip and would be home any moment. It hurt immensely to realize over and over again this was not the case.

A sweet gift from Annalisa

Family and friends are a lifeline, though it is wispy and hard to see, it is strong like a spider thread. I have made so many phone calls and texts while crying, reaching out for them to fill the void in my heart, the emptiness in my stomach, the hollow challenge of being alone. They have each been present in some small way-- mail, gifts, and flowers, sharing their memories and moments of memorial, and coaxed me through the blizzard of my path. I long to be with them all the time, as if being in the same room with someone who also knew and loved Dan can bring me relief.

Kristi carries her coaster with her everywhere and sends me photos.

 

Tobin's LP featured a DAN FOREVER tribute.

Le Fleur delivers a bouquet from April and family on the 8th of every month. My mother also died on the 8th in December. 

8th grade night -- "The late Dan Herzing and Leah Herzing," announced for Raine's parents.

I don't know if I will ever write about the moment I had to tell Raine that his father died. It is not only my story to share. I do want to write more about how incredible Raine is and how his grief is healthy and not destructive. I hope it will always be that way. I am his guide as a grieving wife and I do my best to show Raine myself as a kindred spirit of Dan's---Positive, funny, kind, strong but also vulnerable and comfortable with that.

Tax season 2025.

Everything is a reminder of Dan's death and in each moment, I challenge myself to move through it, letting it be what it is no matter how painful, and remain standing after. My sorrow connects me to humanity and I try to honor it as I would any other person's.

 

MONDAY BULLETS ON THURSDAY

Copied from May 14, 2024

To do:

• Play with Stormy (always)
• Meal plan - UGH
• Stop procrastinating packing for moving
• Visit my dad at the nursing home

Contemplating:

• How proud I am of Raine getting straight A's this term!
• Forever the Palestinians
• Ways to start writing again
• Holiday memories with my mother and Dan

Eating/Craving:

• Overnight soaked oats with chia seeds & yummy toppings
• Culver's
• Honeycombs
• BLATs
• Christmas cookies

Listening to:

• Chappell Roan, duh
• Christmas music -  Over the Rhine, Phoebe, Sufjan
• Classic rock radio
• NPR

Wearing:

• Those old school black leather el Naturalista boots - yay winter!
• My Slash t-shirt/Dan's cardigan/Sweatpants
• Constantly striped Smartwool socks
• Shearling winter birks

Addictions:

• Coffee and beer - the usual -
• Altoid winter mints (desk, car, purse stocked)
• My blanky, forever

Missing:

• Dan. Dan. Dan.
• My mother.
• All of my friends across the country

Making:

• Decisions... Travel, work, houses
• Meals. I am so bad at cooking.
• Pinterest boards - paint colors, tattoos, hair cuts...

Wish list:

• Tickets for trips with Raine
• Easy recipes
• The desire to shower!
• Garbage/recycling cans for the new house

MONDAY BULLETS ON TUESDAY

Copied from April 2011

To do:

• Look through photos for memory boards 
  
• Call social security to figure out dumb stuff
• Go to post office and get stamps
• Go to therapy

Contemplating:

• Selling two cars and getting one
• Songs for friends to sing at the service and parties
• How much I loved my husband

Eating/Craving:

• Honeycombs
• Protein bars
• Coffee
• Avocado toast
  

Listening to:

• Dan's playlists
  

Wearing:

• Dan's cardigan
• Wide legged jeans

Addictions:

• My blankie

Missing:

• My husband's kisses, hugs, cooking, laughter, funny little dance moves

Making:

• Collection of notes and thoughts as I grieve
• Tags for special gifts at memorial service

Wish list:

• New book "The Light Eaters"
• A used Subaru Outback. Dan found me my dream car 8 years ago but it is time to let go. *sigh*

Snow Day Confessions

 

Most days off lately I have just sat around in my pajamas feeling sorry for myself and bored. So, today I went out. As in, I actually showered, dressed, packed up my laptop and a book, and drove to the coffeeshop, alone. It's a snow day so I wore my favorite wool socks, some crisp new gray pants, the softest black tee I own, and a different shade of gray scarf--wrapped around my neck now... loosely because it can hurt with my fibromyalgia. I'm listening to Jason Isbell's recent album, Weathervane, suggested by Corey. Only 5 weeks and then I'll be there visiting him, Suzy, and the doggo-kids in Charlottte. I'm also going to make it out to Morganton and spend a little time with Sarah and Ryan. North Carolina is beautiful and I'm excited to experience it in "winter." No other travel plans until the summer when we go back to Europe. I am practicing today with my chocolate croissant and coffee. My laptop is actually super gross and dusty which seems appropriate because I think the last time I ventured out to write was with Molly last winter. The fact that I used to do this regularly and intensely, for school for two years, seems lost on me now. I am out of practice and my writing/reading/scholarly/creative muscles are atrophied. So you get this rambling, long, single paragraph, stream-of-consciousness. Why don't I write on the blog like I used to? I wrote so much when we lived in Oregon. I go back to it often and witness again the difficult and also beautiful times. With Dan doing well in his targeted treatment regimen, I have told myself that no one wants to read about anything else--and certainly not about me. 

What about me matters? I tell people that I write to advocate against stigmas in illness, but I don't. I only update on Dan, and I don't even write very much about the stigma we encounter with his cancer being lung cancer. I don't participate in fundraisers or awareness campaigns either, even in November which is Lung Cancer Awareness month. Honestly it sounds exhausting. I'd rather avoid confrontation and stay in my pajamas and eat croissants. Or drink. By now, I have drank enough alcohol for a lifetime and I am only 43. It increased significantly --became daily--after my mom died. The crack in my mind and the crater in my heart--it was and still is just too much. I don't want to feel it so I try to distract and numb myself. Having bipolar disorder, on medications, and drinking daily is quite a choice. It's not the move but I do it anyway. Change is hard if you don't want to change. If I keep writing my way into confessions like this maybe I will begin to want to. 

I have never known moderation in any aspect of myself and certainly my unhealthy habits. But I suppose that is part of bipolar disorder. I also think my boundaries are fuzzy. I over share if I feel comfortable with you. I am easily codependent with many people in my life. I can see how my symptoms overlap with borderline personality disorder, which is hard to admit because I worked with borderline patients in Chicago and I thought they were terrible people. It's hard to seperate that disorder from the person. I suppose that could be said about any disease. Who is Dan apart from his cancer? How does he maintain his self-identity or how did he encompass cancer into his identity without getting lost? I think about these things often, especially for other friends and people I know who have cancer. Some of them I actually only know because of their cancer. I would say that Dan is grounded as himself, and actually rarely thinks about his cancer. In September it will have been 10 years since his diagnosis. At that time, we learned that the cancer had sort of began about 9 months prior and grew, spreading throughout the year. It felt so fast but I now know that is not as quick as some people experience. It can even be just a few weeks. 

So in a way, as it is January of 2024, Dan has been living with cancer for 10 years now. I have been living with his cancer too. And that is another reason that I self-medicate. It's not just drinking. I push boundaries, as I said, and I spend too much. I make a joke of it but it really is not the move. It is hard to save money when it burns a hole in your pocket. And it is stressful when life is precarious like that. Kristi told me a way to think of stress is “Stress is: I am feeling this and I don’t want to feel this.” She said sometimes just acknowledging it as a feeling helps her calm down. What do you do to calm yourself? I soothe myself with a blanket, just like I did as a child. My mother never expected I would carry the habit into adulthood. However she never made me feel ashamed or funny about it. She just laughed and shrugged her shoulders. I've moved onto an almond croissant and a chai latte. Sigor Ros. Time to read a little of my book--"1000 Words; A Writer's Guide to Staying Creative, Focused, and Productive All Year Round" by Jami Attenberg. She started the #1000wordsofsummer movement if you remember. I like this because it is full of thoughts from authors. I'm especially curious what is shared by Ada Lemon, Elissa Washuta, Alexander Chee, and Roxane Gay. I also want to do some research for contests and submissions I can do for my tiny book, "Blankets," which was my thesis. After that, I think it is a perfect winter day to take roses to the cemetary. How do you spend your snow days? 

If I decided to post this, and you have read this far, thank you for being my witness in life. And consider supporting Palestine and a permanent cease fire. Many small voices can make great change. 

Peace be with you.

8 years, 8 months

"Can we keep going and find a way into chronic management of lung cancer? Can the drugs keep developing and give Dan an extended life with disease? I feel fortunate to even be asking these questions eight months after his diagnosis. And yet, I haven’t found my peace with it all. Does one ever?" - Eight Months 5.18.15

I wasn't prepared for the changes that came. Major life changes. Changes that were connected to Dan's disease or perhaps just circling on the periphery. Moving. Dan having multiple surgeries. His disability income with no hope of earning more than he does, ever again. I wasn't prepared but I have tried to accept it all. 

Changes that were unrelated came with brutal force. My mother died. I spent this Mother's Day at the cemetary for the seventh time. I watched my father drift into some sort of point on the Lewy Body Dementia spectrum. Rachel and I became surrogate mothers to him-helping with his medical care, finances, medications, and sometimes personal care.

If you had spoken to me eight years ago I would have anticipated Dan being taken care of such as this, or worse. At one point I believed finding my mother lifeless or showering my father were preparing me for those moments with Dan. This is just where my mind ends up. Isn't every experience preparing you for the next? However nothing has surprised me more than being here right next to him, so many years later, in our same side by side spots in a nest of sheets, fingers intertwined as we fall asleep. And I am living life as if he doesn't have cancer. My only reminders are his CTs and MRIs every few months. And they continue to show everything unchanged. So I feel peaceful about his cancer. Most of the time.

I am just following his lead of focusing on positive things--including making future plans.

The unbelievable...Sweden celebrating Midsummer Day. I'll bring a white sundress and wear a crown of flowers. We'll move onto Amsterdam with crowded streets of bicycles and canals, flower festivals, and poignant places to visit. Make Raine's dream come true and visit Paris. Let him sweat and consider going back down as he climbs those stairs, but then finally reach the elevator that takes him to the top of the tower.

And the ordinary: Let's have lunch together tomorrow; a new restaurant. Savoring al pastor or tacos de lengua, guacomole with the right amount of lime, a cuban cocktail with tequila and squirt with a splash of coke. A tall glass of smooth horchata with cinnamon.

Let's spend the evening on the patio and play with our beautiful son. Our crazy dog.

 

I am hopeful for another year, and then maybe another 8 years. To sit down and write another blog post like this. Wouldn't that be amazing.

QUARANTINE - APRIL + MAY 2020

What a difference these curtains make. Before these light ivory curtains, we had black ones that made the room dim and cozy...but just too dark. Now it is a fresh start! Every morning I wake up to light. When I sit up, I have Cezanne and Picasso to look at, clear as a bell. Peaches and oranges strike a note, green invigorates. Say what you will about these artists, I love these paintings.

Do you have a special way that you sleep? Does your partner? Dan has to leave 1 foot out of the covers. Always. We both have "huggy pillows." Lying on our sides, we hug a pillow before we fall asleep. Once asleep, we let go and lay on our backs, snoring with abandon. I still sleep with "blankies." I have had one or two or three that I sleep with all at one time ever since I was a baby.

Do you fall asleep to music?

I either fall asleep while reading or watching a documentary. Every once in a while, I fall asleep to silence and a dark room.

How do you wake up? Since the quarantine, I have no alarm. I wake late, after Dan and Raine have already had breakfast. After Dan has gone on his walk.

It took me at least one year to think of my bedroom as "mine." It was my mother's before it was mine. I have three pieces of furniture that were hers. Two tables that we use as nightstands and one dresser. When I dust, I dust these beautiful wooden pieces that I dusted as a child. I remember finding it exciting to open the little drawers and polish the vases, finger her necklaces and rings, search for something I wasn't supposed to see.

Considering blue walls...

Custom wall art by my sweet friend Melissa Fields

For me, the past two months have been about home projects. I've been busy rearranging things, purging closets and piles, and carefully selecting wall art. I don't like empty space. Every place has a purpose in my home. It may be the fact that it is something I have the power to control. I'm going to share some photos over the next couple of days...

Beyond that, we move through our days with vague purpose. Raine finished his e-learning and now spends his time playing outside or talking with his friends on Fortnite. Dan continues his routines, and I've been able to work. We mix cocktails as soon as it seems apppropriate, take generous naps, and leave books lying around that we are reading... Or have yet to read. 

Furlough begins June 1st, however, so I will have to put all of my energy into getting ready for school starting June 15th. My first batch of pages are due for workshop June 22nd. Exciting! Also scary.

How are you spending your time? Where do you live? Are things opening up in your region? I've grown used to visiting the post office or grocery store with a mask on. I've learned to place my glasses far down the slope of my nose to avoid fogging. That's my tip. What's yours?

The days are slipping by. We watched a dove deliver two eggs onto our front porch rocking chair. One birthed, burrowed in its mother's breast, and then left. 

Hoping you are all doing well, friends. Extraordinary times we are living in. 

34 Jobs in 24 Years

UPDATE: 2 jobs were omitted due to lack of memory. I was a sandwich artists at Potbelly in downtown Chicago, as well as another sales stint in a Pier 1 in Lincoln Park. I vaguely remember a data entry job in Peoria, too. So it's actually "37 Jobs in 24 Years"

Here I am at almost 40 years old with no career.

In my last post I wrote that I my life goal was to: "Figure out a way to pay for all of Dan’s medical needs. Like, LEGIT. Not 5 year payment plans. :( "

As an update: I closed the gift box studio (Cardinal + Finch) and picked up a part time gig as a barista at Washington's coffeeshop The Blend. We are also looking into sending me to graduate school but I am having a hard time as I think about my options.

My priority is continuing my education with something I am passionate about but also that will lead to a career, not just a "job." Sorting this out is tricky though because my undergraduate studies were in both Art and Writing... I was always divided by both interests. It took me 10 years to get my degree because I changed schools (and moved) three times and changed my major over and over again. The final degree was in English Literature and Writing. And honestly, those studies and the degree don't exactly scream job opportunities...

And then here is the thing: I am 39 and started working at 15. So in 24 years I have had 34 jobs, including freelance and owning a business (3 different times).

To review:

Video store clerk (first job and the store closed 1 month later)
Pharmacy/gift store cashier
Video tech assistant at school
On-call driver (this was a real thing at my college!)
Movie theater cashier and popcorn popper
Janitor for a bank
Resident assistant at Goshen College
Office assistant
Public relations intern at Goshen College
Hallmark sales associate
Freelance graphic designer
Restaurant hostess at two different Pizzeria Unos
Activities leader at a day program for adults with mental disorders
Sales associate at two different stationary shops
Sales associate at a baby boutique
Store manager at a different baby boutique
Pier 1 sales associate for 1 day
J Crew outlet sales associate
World Market sales associate
Technical assistant at an insurance brokerage
Literary magazine editor internship
Web designer for literary magazine
Boutique store manager
Boutique and wine bar cashier
Social media assistant to restaurant
Owner/sales rep of Lularoe by Leah Ruth
Owner/graphic designer of Herzing Design House
Customer service clerk at HyVee
Office assistant/receptionist at Peoria Symphony
Patron services manager at the symphony
Flower delivery driver
Owner/designer of gift box business, Cardinal + Finch
Freelance graphic designer
Barista

WHAT THE HECK?
That list is so crazy I don't even feel like it helps me.

Graduate studies I'm considering are: Art History/Library Science or Creative Writing. Assuming I would be accepted. CW is a path to teaching, AH is a path to archive work.

Friends, what do I do???

Journaling || Roots, Interests, and Limitations

For making a big decision about how you are going to spend the majority of your minutes in a day, especially in such a way that you might be provided compensation for your time, I have always failed pretty miserably. I think too big, I think too small, I hop around with ideas, or I avoid thinking at all and keep with the status quo for fear of change.

My best advice is to go back to your root values and strongest interests, and then be really honest with yourself about your limitations.

That was my starting point when I searched for employment in Peoria last November. I took 2 hours of time for myself at a coffee shop and explored my thoughts regarding those principles. I didn’t go above and beyond, and wish mentally for anything more than what fit within those principles. I made lists. Then a spreadsheet. Then letters. I reached out and made contact. Then I moved on. I let the universe respond–but honestly I was too distracted with the business of life to even wait and bite my fingers. I considered my effort that afternoon to be the first in, at least, 10 afternoons.

A phone call came two hours later, then a 1 hour conversation followed. 24 hours later I had an in office interview. I could hardly catch my breath. I started a position with the Peoria Symphony Orchestra precisely two weeks later.

It has blessed me, in so many ways. It is not perfect, because no endeavor, relationship, or community is–but I commit every day to be grateful and enjoy what I am doing. I have been holding my brand new routines, friendships, and experiences dearly to my heart. It is all better than I could have ever expected. With the hospitalization and unexpected death of my mother the same week that I began work, it was either sink or swim. I could only choose to swim–and the current I could keep with. After all, these are the majority of my minutes in my days, so they need to keep me afloat.

Dearest Don Raine || Ed. 1

Dearest Don Raine,

When you were an infant, I opened the first page of a special journal and wrote to you. I never picked it up again after that; my apologies. You will learn that habits need at least 30 consecutive days to establish themselves definitively in our lives and I certainly didn’t give it 30 days. I was disappointed in myself for a while because I kept a diary as a child and was always faithful to writing throughout the years. After four years, I thought that I could still write in this special journal; I could go back and write from memories stirred by photographs and videos.

 So here we go.

I am starting my 30 day attempt to journal about you in front of everyone in the internet world (just this once).

And I am beginning with the present day.

This month we celebrated your 4th birthday. You had a Paw Patrol themed party on Sunday the 9th and on the 11th, your actual birthday, we surprised you after daycare with pancakes for dinner and a mountain of presents piled high at your seat. What I want to remember most about this birthday was how happy and sweet you were. You were thankful and excited over every single gift–toy, clothing, game, or book. You were as equally grateful for (the most obnoxious but, yes, cool) remote control Batman transformer as you were a simple rake to go with your gardening tools. (We will see if the wheelbarrow can make an appearance by harvest time….?) You talked about your Paw Patrol party and your birthday and your wish list for at least six months prior to the actual festivities. I was slightly concerned you were going to be disappointed and bored once it was done. However you are a pure four year old delight these days. You happily play with your toys, laugh with daddy and me, and continue to make friends with everyone you meet. You are proud to be potty trained and have had swimming lessons. You are growing up, fast.

When I was your age, I remember just a few things.

We had our tv in the basement of our house, where we received the Disney channel for the first time in 1984. I remember that I couldn’t wait to finish dinner to go downstairs and watch it. Now we have a TV turned on in our living room or you have an iPad at the dinner table while you eat. Your favorite things to watch include Disney/Pixar movies, a cartoon called Animal Mechanical, and other families’/children’s videos on YouTube of opening and playing with toys. You can watch those YouTube videos for such. a. long. time. If we let you.

In the attic of our home, I slept in a small room with my sister. We each had a twin bed and your Grandpa Don would play his ukulele and sing sweet songs to his girls at bedtime. One of them was simply titled “Rachel and Leah.” I loved the sound of his voice and the strings of the instrument while tucked safely in bed. At bedtime now, daddy and I cuddle with you in your queen size bed (Rocco, too, and all of your stuffed animals–“buddies”) and we each read you a book, tell you two stories, and we sing two songs. After our routine, you request that daddy hang out with you for a little bit. I leave the two of you to giggle and talk. I am so glad that you have that time with daddy because for a while he wasn’t able to tuck you in at night. It was just mommy. I do love bedtime and the cuddles and songs. We try to make you laugh–it is a very silly time. There are a lot of fart jokes. Which you love. You fall asleep hard and fast once you have all of your “buddies” tucked in and your turtle nightlight and string of star lights are twinkling.

I remember car rides when I was your age. I remember how hot the leather seats in our station wagon were in the summer. I remember how my stomach flip flopped in the same exact spot every time that we drove from Washington to Pekin to see Grandma Noni. I never knew that calling Grandma Noni was redundant. I thought her nickname for Ethel was “Noni.” At Grandma Noni’s house, I liked to play in the back yard and hop on stones around the garden or hide behind the garage. I observed her flowers, the sprinkler, squirrels. Inside I was not allowed to go upstairs but I could go downstairs, where the basement smelled of oil paints and canvas and my older cousin, Vicki, lived there with her closet of beautiful clothing and shelves with exotic knick-knacks. I remember playing with my Fisher Price people and Care Bears, sneaking vanilla wafers or Oreos from the cookie jar, and spinning round and round in one of Noni’s living room chairs.

You haven’t had a chance to build very many memories yet at the homes of your grandparents because we live in Oregon. However you do see Grandma Char a lot. She has traveled to visit us many times as well as Grandpa Jim. Grandma Mary and Grandpa Don have only come out twice but the first time was when you were born. Grandma Mary was there in the delivery room! You seem to know them all well, however, because we have done a lot of video phone calls (Facetime) with them and visits have been memorable because you don’t feel like an only child while we stay in Illinois. You have Logan, Lexi, and JD to run around with. You LOVE that but you are also happy when it all goes back to you, me, and daddy back at home. Here it is your domain and you know every blade of grass, rock, and slope of the lawn. You have your gardening tools, water slide, kiddie pool, and toys–like your color-changing Hot Wheels race track or your Jake and the Neverland Pirates ship.

The only thing I remember about being four was that things were pretty simple. At age five, I can recall much more tension and change. I hope this is not the case for you. As your mama, of course, I want you to feel as excited and unbothered as long as you can. I love your innocence. It keeps me grounded and also optimistic. That is one of many, many reasons why I love you. You are incredible….

You are the best of what is the best in me and also in your daddy.

of the two of us.

xoxo