What came first the chicken or my boys’ Google search on how to fertilize an egg? Sadly for us it was the latter.
Let me interject a disclaimer here: We have rules about Internet use at our house. That doesn’t mean those rules always prevent my kids from searching for crazy things online.
A few weeks ago my son’s friend brought him over a special surprise – a chicken egg. They were both convinced that if they built their own incubator equipped with a heat light then the egg would hatch.
So all afternoon they searched for supplies. They settled on a rectangular storage tote, piece of egg carton and my piano lamp.
I let them work on their little project for hours despite the fact that I knew the egg was not fertilized. It came from my son’s friend’s grandma’s neighbor’s chicken but it wasn’t going to turn into a chick – I had called and asked his mom about it.
But it was a fun thing to occupy them for hours. I gently cautioned them that it might not be the right type of egg; it might not be a hatching egg. But they brushed me off and went about their business.
When they had their incubation chamber complete they took it a step further and started planning a chicken coup.
That’s when they asked me to search the Internet. They asked if they could look for chicken coups for sale on the local classifieds section.
I didn’t see the harm in it so I let them. My husband came home from work right after that and found them searching Google for “How to fertilize an egg.” Ha!
Completely innocent to them but not to the World Wide Web. Luckily they didn’t get very far into their search.
I quickly reminded them of our family’s computer/Internet policy and came clean about their egg.
I didn’t get into details about fertilization or the birds and the bees, I just told them that their egg didn’t have a dad so it wouldn’t turn into a chick.
They were sad and I felt guilty for dashing their chicken-raising dreams so I let them keep the egg and incubator on our kitchen counter for a few more days – until they were ready to let it go.
Then I kind of told them we could look into getting chickens next spring – after I had time to look into the city code to see what poultry regulations there are before my treehouse-hating neighbor could have anything to say about it.
And after we could search the Internet TOGETHER for chicken coup supplies. Since they didn’t really get around to finding any on the Internet classifieds.
We are exchanging dandelions for dollars over here because once again I have made a mistake as a parent and I continue to underestimate things.
My boys are always looking to earn money. I don’t (at this time) believe in giving them an allowance. You can read all about that here. But my oldest has been begging us for money lately and he’s been driving me nuts.
So when I saw a lawn full of dandelions last month I had a great idea. I’d pay my 9 and 7 year olds 10 cents per dandelion.
There were rules – they had to pick the dandelions, put them in a bucket, let me count them and they couldn’t sneak off to other people’s yards to add to their lot.
They also only had one afternoon. I was planning on mowing the lawn the next day so there was a time limit.
I have never seen my offspring work that hard or fast. They ran out to the backyard before I could finish laying out the ground rules.
And they picked, and picked and picked until their little fingers turned yellow.
I thought maybe I would fork out $5 or $10 per kid for this special assignment. Oh no.
I had to run to the bank to get enough money to pay up – $110 total – $52 for one kid and $58 for the other.
That’s crazy good money – a lot more than I ever imagined they would earn.
Together they picked 1,100 dandelions. It took me 20 minutes – no joke – to count the yellow-flowered heaps.
I was flabbergasted.
But I set out the ground rules and I felt a responsibility to own up to my end of the deal. This was my first special assignment job for them and I learned a valuable lesson.
Now that they’ve seen how much money they can make, they are begging me for more jobs.
Little do they know I wised up about weeds. I’m going to lower my rate and settle closer to my husband’s proposition – a penny each.
I still can’t drive by a yard full of dandelions and not mentally estimate how much my boys might make picking it clean.
But then again based on this experience they would probably make a lot more than I could ever guess!
The more I think about it the more the tree and its short life hauntingly parallels my experience with Luca.
In the fall everything looked beautiful.
In the spring it all was gone.
I remember praying that everything would be all right with Luca.
I prayed all evening on April 21, 2010.
I prayed that he would move, kick, twist, punch – anything!
I prayed until 2 a.m. when I could no longer lie in my bed and wait.
I prayed as we headed to the hospital.
I prayed when we saw the still ultrasound image of our baby’s non-beating heart.
I prayed while in labor.
I prayed that entire time that Luca would live. That everything would be all right.
But it wasn’t.
We have prayed for Luca’s tree dozens of times lately.
We have prayed that it would blossom.
We have prayed that it would grow.
We have prayed that it would live.
But is hasn’t.
How could something so beautiful die? How could it be just fine one moment, then perishing the next?
I now have an angel tree for my angel baby. How ironic.
It has reminded me of how much I learned with Luca. I learned that sometimes things are not meant to be. Sometimes prayers aren’t answered – at least not in the way we want them to be. Sometimes you have to say goodbye.
The city is in the process of planting a new tree to replace the one that died. Our family went to the local nursery and picked out a new one.
This is where the story of the tree’s death no longer parallels that of my baby Luca’s.
Because no matter how many babies I could have, I would never be able to replace him. I can’t go pick out a new Luca.
He is rooted in my heart forever.
While I am terribly sad that Luca’s tree died, I am trying to look for the positive.
Planting that tree last year was a great experience for our family. It was a great way to celebrate our little baby’s fifth angelversary. It gave us something to look forward to during that milestone birthday – something to plan for.
I don’t know why the tree died, but I know it has reminded me that I should not take anything for granted. Boy how I need to be reminded of that over and over. It’s a lesson I just can’t seem to learn.
As I sit under the shade of that tree I’ll think of these experiences and remember how much of a sacrifice it was to get it there. I’ll remember our family’s trip to the nursery to pick out the two separate trees. I’ll remember how hard and clay-like the ground was when we planted the original one. I’ll remember how beautiful it stood that first year.
I’ll remember my little Luca. How hard it was to get him here. How brief his life was. But how beautiful he was in my arms.
He and his tree will be forever implanted in my memory.
Most people who play at the park probably won’t think twice about the new Eastern Redbud in the corner near the bench and lamppost. To them it might be just part of the landscaping. To me it has become much, much more.
The white flag has been raised. The nearly naked pics are down. A truce has been called.
Call it a compromise, call it a deal, I don’t care what you call it. Our neighbor has agreed to stop her shenanigans in our back yard.
I am thrilled! My husband is cautiously optimistic.
What happened? How did we get her to take down the 13 sketchy pictures you could see from ground level towering over our cement fence in our back yard?
I’m not exactly sure. But here’s the Reader’s Digest version of recent events:
A week and a half ago we decided to spend a Monday night family night working on the tree house. To make things go quicker, I cut a bunch of wood during the day so when my husband got home we could get working as fast as we could. We were hoping to get the rail and deck finished.
We worked for about an hour in peace – until our neighbor came home.
She was very upset. I’m guessing she expected us to work on the weekends but we must have caught her off guard by building on a Monday night.
Long story short, she shouted some terrible, terrible things through the fence and then above the fence after we kept ignoring her.
It was the first time that I realized I could no longer just dream that she would stop. I could no longer sit idly by. No longer was she simply quietly putting up posters and smoking us out (sure her music was loud sometimes but she wasn’t). She had crossed a line.
I spent the next couple of days working with the police to see if there was anything we could do.
Meanwhile we were scared to go in our own back yard.
I decided that I was going to need to call the police every single time she did something – putting up more posters, blaring her “Jamaican music,” lighting fires right next to our fence – anything that seemed like it was directed at us.
That’s what the police said to do initially. They said to call them when she did anything else. But I was hoping that if I ignored her she’d lose interest.
I didn’t have to wait long to call them again.
On Saturday she took down all the posters. We couldn’t figure out what she was doing. But they were only down for an hour or so before she put them up again.
When I saw her haul them out of her shed and prop them into place again I called the police. Three officers came this time and said they’d go talk to her. As they were leaving I asked them if they would see if she would talk to me.
Crazy?! You may say that it was. I honestly don’t know what overcame me. But I really felt like I needed to talk to her. I could no longer live in a place where I was terrified to go in my own back yard.
The officers said they would try to get her to meet with me but couldn’t promise anything.
For whatever reason, she agreed. I took my kids to our friends’ house and my husband and I went to her house to discuss the situation.
With an officer standing by I told our neighbor that I’d like to come up with a solution all of us could live with. I told her I wanted to hear her concerns about the tree house and see if I could address them. (I also told her that taking the tree house down or moving it were not options.)
Her concerns ranged from superficial – the tree house is an “eyesore” – to internal – it may catch fire.
So I offered to get some tall, fast-growing, narrow evergreen trees to block her view of the tree house. They would also create a windbreak and help prevent the tree house from falling into her yard.
I also offered to get a wireless smoke detector so we would know immediately if the tree house started on fire.
She said she’d take down the posters and light fires in a different area in her yard. (She had no idea that the smoke from her fires was bothering us.)
My husband also talked to her about her language and behavior from the Monday night fiasco. She agreed to stop.
She asked what we thought about her music. We told her we didn’t care if she played it. It really wasn’t too loud.
She took the posters down as we walked away.
Now I’m on a mission to find some tall, narrow evergreens. I’ve got a standing appointment with one of my favorite sales guys at our local nursery to go tree shopping when the weather finally clears up.
When the tree house is complete I’ll order that smoke detector.
I still can’t believe it’s over. I don’t know why she agreed to stop.
Maybe it’s because she realized I decided I was going to keep calling the police on her. Maybe she knew it was a news reporter and cameraman who were knocking on her door last week wanting to do a story on this wild adventure. (We told the media we wouldn’t talk to them unless she did.) Maybe it’s because she was able to voice her concerns and we listened.
Certainly it’s because so many of you have been thinking and praying for a resolution. The power of prayer is real.
I can finally look outside without seeing those lingerie ladies.
I’m certain you are wondering what was the reasoning behind the pictures.
We didn’t ask but she felt like she needed to explain. She didn’t put them up to get to our kids. She said we were putting up something trashy so she put up something trashy.
We are going to treasure our tree house even more because of all of this. And because hey, one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.
Author’s note: Tomorrow would have been my son’s sixth birthday. Instead it’s his 6th angelversary – it has been six long years since he was born stillborn.
What is my life like six years later? It’s busy. It’s crazy. But despite all the running around I do for our family, in the back of my mind is always the thought of the one other kid we could be running around. We’d have one more school program to go to in the spring. One more teacher to see at parent teacher conference. One more birthday party to plan each year.
But instead of a birthday party for Luca we will have a memorial celebration. Because no matter how many years go by, we will never forget our baby and the day we got to meet him.
Today I once again reflect on the brief, brief time we had with Luca and the impact he has had on my life.
Once again I dedicate this week’s blog post to Luca and his story.
My Angel’s Story
I was tired, I was huge and I was ready to have my baby boy. But not ready for the way it would all turn out. I would have happily carried him weeks beyond my due date if it meant he had a chance of being born alive.
Honestly? I wasn’t quite ready for a third child. I always wanted my kids close in age, but my two boys, ages 3 and 1, were a lot to handle. I was okay with waiting a while. But both my husband and I had strong impressions that we needed to try for another baby.
Despite those impressions, I was still extremely nervous about how I could be a good mom to three boys under the age of 3. Each day I grew, not only in circumference, but also in my confidence in being able to raise three tiny spirits.
On April 21, 2010 I had my 37-week check-up. Luca’s movement had been slowing down significantly for a while now and I was worried. I discussed my concerns with my doctor and we listened to his heartbeat, which appeared to be strong. So, my doctor and I decided that maybe little Luca was running out of room in my overcrowded womb.
The beginning of my pregnancy was a piece of cake. I felt better than I had with my other pregnancies and had virtually no morning sickness. But the end was pretty bad. I kept having sharp pains in my side and my muscles were aching.
Fearing the worst
My mother-in-law kept my other two boys while I went to my appointment so I decided to lie down and take a nap until she brought them home. That’s when I started panicking because I couldn’t remember the last time I felt Luca move.
I know what some of you are thinking? Why didn’t you rush to the hospital??? Knowing what I know now, my advice to any pregnant woman who is the least bit concerned about her baby, would be, GET TO THE HOSPITAL, NOW. Speed if you have to. What are they going to do? Tell you your baby’s fine and send you home? Hopefully. Laugh in your face about your unnecessary worries? Never. In all reality, even if I had been in labor and delivery when Luca’s heart stopped beating, they still wouldn’t have been able to save him. There wasn’t anything I could have done. I realize that now. But there are other reasons why babies stop moving. In my opinion it’s just better to get it checked out as soon as possible.
I literally worried all night about my Luca’s movement. I think the strong feelings and confirmations I had received that I was supposed to have another baby kept me waiting for his little legs to kick or his fists to punch. Luca’s pregnancy was my only pregnancy I haven’t run into problems conceiving. I thought that was a sure sign that this truly was meant to be. It was meant to be, just not in the way I hoped or expected.
I waited, and waited for him to move. Finally at about 2:30 a.m. I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up and sat in the bathtub for a long time. Travis came in and convinced me to go to the hospital. My mom came over to sit with my boys so we could run up to the hospital. When I got there, they hooked me up to a monitor and we found the baby’s heartbeat. Well, at least we thought we did — turns out the sound of my own heartbeat was reverberating back. We didn’t know that for sure until they hooked me up to a basic ultra sound machine and zoomed in on the heart. I knew immediately that my son had died. I looked at my husband and he knew it too. We had seen a number of live, beating hearts in ultrasounds. This one was still.
But the nurses said nothing. They tried to remain calm as they called my doctor and asked him to come in. He arrived at about 4 a.m. to confirm my baby’s death. We all cried — nurses included. He told me I could go home and come back later to deliver my baby or he could induce me right away.
The thought of leaving the hospital knowing that I was carrying my dead child made me cringe. I knew that having a stillborn was going to be the worst thing I had ever experienced. Delaying it wouldn’t change anything. They wheeled me into a corner room and posted a grieving sign on the door.
Shortly thereafter we started calling family members to let them know they were going to have to come in sometime that day to simultaneously tell Luca “hello” and “goodbye.”
Sharing the Heart-Breaking News
My poor mother. She was the first to hear of his death. And she had to take the news while watching over my other two little ones in my quiet, lonely home. I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt. She texted me awhile after I called to tell her he had died, asking what she should tell my other boys when they woke up. That literally broke my heart. What did I want her to tell them?
We didn’t want to tell him that their brother was “sleeping” or that he was “gone.” We decided to tell them the truth. That he had died. They were sad, but their grief was expressed differently than an adult. They didn’t cry much but they did throw more tantrums and asked to be held a lot more.
Telling people and hearing their reactions was one of the hardest things for me. I could handle the pain that I was going to have to bear, but having to inflict some of that pain on others made me so sad. It still makes me sad.
Our family members started gathering at the hospital and at our home waiting for the time when they would meet Luca. I knew we would only ever have a few short hours with him and so I prepared to face my nightmare with a smile on my face. This was the only time I was going to hold my baby. The only time I could take pictures of his beautiful face. I wasn’t going to let my grief overcome my ability to make the moments meaningful.
I don’t know if it’s all in my head, but I don’t think I had the full power of my epidural during his delivery. It was by far my most painful delivery. Not only emotionally, but physically. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have the anticipation of meeting my healthy baby to pull me through. With each painful push, I knew I was a step closer to meeting a baby I wouldn’t take home. I’ll never forget the shock in my doctor and nurses voices and faces as Luca was born. They all gasped in unison. He had suffered a cord accident that was visible the moment he was delivered. The cord was wrapped around his neck several times and it contained a true knot. Umbilical cord knots are extremely rare and knots resulting in a baby’s death are even more rare. Although I will never be grateful for what happened to my son, there is something I am extremely grateful for: The fact that we found out why he died.
He was born at 5:13 p.m. and weighed 5 pounds 13 ounces. He was beautiful with curly reddish brown hair and rosy red cheeks. We each took turns holding him and taking pictures. Utah Share came and casted molds of his hands and feet. Pat Wimpee came and took dozens of priceless photos of him and our family. I don’t know what I’d do without those photos. I think I would forget the details of his face. The wrinkles of his toes. The size of his tiny fingers. At times I stared at his little body, waiting for his chest to rise or his eyes to open. He literally was perfect.
We had Luca in our hospital room for five short hours. My legs were still numb from my epidural, so I was forced to watch everyone’s encounters with him from the comfort of my hospital bed. That was really hard for me. I wanted to hug and comfort everyone and yet I was stuck on the sidelines. I am sure that those who came to the hospital to meet him will forever be changed. There was such a special spirit in the room. It was a terribly sad, yet wonderfully peaceful experience.
The next several days were a blur. I left the hospital on a Friday morning. That afternoon I sat in the mortuary office preparing a funeral. We had a very small service on Monday, just four days after I delivered. Thank heavens for pain medications. Without those my traditional delivery pains coupled with the pain of my milk coming in, would have been unbearable. I buried my baby and part of my heart on April 26, 2010.
How am I dealing with his death?
I believe, as my religion teaches, that I will raise little Luca someday. Sometimes that thought brings great comfort, other times it is little solace for a grieving mother who longs to hold her angel infant now. Although he is in a better place, free from sorrow and sin, I wanted the challenge of raising him in this crazy world. Wanted to see him wrestle with his older brothers or hear him giggle as the four of them cooked up mischief. I hate that we don’t get to have him now.
I have experienced all of the traditional grief stages at least once. I have felt depressed, angry, honored, jealous, comforted, tired, rude, bitter, overwhelmed, out of control, anxious, stressed and unmotivated. There have been times I have sat on my couch, not wanting to do anything. Then other times that I feel an urgency to give back to others in honor of my son’s memory.
What do I do when the grief is too much to bear?
I take long soaks in the bathtub where I blast Pandora and cry until my eyes are strawberry red.
I watch movies like Tangled and sob when I see Rapunzel reunited with her parents. I wish I only had to wait 18 years to meet my “lost” baby.
I take my boys fishing. Fresh air and the beauty of nature clear my head and remind me of my place in the world.
I lay by my other kids while they are sleeping. I put my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating and their lungs filling with air. That reminds me of the beautiful children I do get to raise on Earth. I can’t let myself take them for granted.
I start finding something I can do for others. I know it sounds cheesy, but sometimes serving others has been my saving grace. I understand the need to be still and internalize my grief and emotions, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have to find a productive way to patch over my grief until my emotions settle and I’m able to digest them.
Finally, I write through my heartache. Writing has always been a way for me to work through life’s problems. I imagine I’ll write through this problem my entire life.
I just have to keep reminding myself that life is hard, life is good and life is necessary.
Budgeting. It’s an important skill I wish I hadn’t tried to teach my children lately.
I want them to know how to live within their means. I want them to think and plan out before making significant purchases. But taking them to Home Depot late at night with a long list of things we needed to price out was probably a mistake.
We have been dreaming of building a tree house ever since we moved into our new house and it actually had trees. Last fall my boys made a long list of things they wanted their dream tree house to include.
So this year we set aside some of our tax return money to buy stuff for the tree house. My husband drew up plans – we included most of my sons’ dream tree house items – and we made a list of stuff we would need.
We had no idea how much everything was going to cost and we were anxious to see if we could get everything within our budget.
So I took the list of supplies we needed and typed them up in Excel. I printed out enough copies for each of our family members and rounded up some pencils.
We headed to Home Depot for family night.
At first it was great. My 9 and 7 year olds were really into it. They would help me find the lumber or the brackets or whatever else we needed and we’d each jot down the purchase price on our papers. Then we’d take turns using my cell phone calculator to figure out how much that would cost us for how much we needed.
It seemed easy.
But about thirty minutes in we lost control.
My three-year-old had to go to the bathroom. Twice. My husband took him while I stayed shopping with the other three kids. Unfortunately I don’t know as much about building supplies as my better half. We wandered around aimlessly, wasting time, until he got back.
That’s when our three-year-old no longer wanted to ride in the cart. The steering wheel of the orange car held no more appeal for him. He was NOT going to get back in.
So he started wandering alongside his brothers. Which probably would have been OK if his little sister didn’t want to do the same.
Without her brother to sit by she wanted nothing to do with the car cart either. So there we were with four kids, six lists, and an empty shopping cart.
If only our little princess liked staying by us. She had a newfound freedom and took advantage. She ran around in front of us while we tried to find that last few things on our list.
But those last few things were hard to find.
Meanwhile, her brothers snuck homemade Harry Potter wands into the store with them. They were sick of writing on their lists so they started wizard dueling in the aisles.
We pushed the empty cart around our tornado of children for what seemed like forever.
When there were only a couple things left on our list my kids were exhausted. Let’s be honest shopping – and shopping on a budget – can wear you out! (And we had been at the store for over an hour). Suddenly the car cart was enticing again. That’s when all four of them climbed inside.
I pushed more than my own body weight around inside that little cart the rest of the trip. Which would have been fine except one of our wands went missing.
My oldest son tossed it into the cart and somehow we didn’t notice it slip through the bars.
It was nowhere.
By now it’s past bedtime and I’ve been pushing around my offspring back and forth, back and forth the entire Home Depot store retracing our steps…twice.
My kids were ready to be home, I was ready to be home.
We stopped by the customer service desk three times during our journey asking if anyone had turned in our tan colored homemade wand. To no avail. Young Harry was going to have to go back and get another one at Olivanders.
We left feeling depleted. Yes we were able to price out all of the things we needed. But we were forced to leave without our lost wand.
And what was even worse was we were over budget. Uggh.
My oldest added up all our items on the way home and we were at least $250 over. So we put the list away. We didn’t want to look at it again that night. We went to bed hoping we could figure something out the next day.
That’s when we looked at our supplies again and removed a few items that we don’t HAVE to have. (Like fancy windows and a door. We can add those later. Maybe even with next year’s tax return). Then I did some research and found some lower prices on a few of our items and Lowes as well as a couple of discount coupons we could use.
We were all thrilled when we totaled everything up again and we could afford what we needed.
Wahoo! This is really going to happen. Hopefully building the tree house together will be easier than budgeting for it was.
Our trip to Home Depot was crazy. It would have been much easier for me or my husband to go by ourselves. But I wanted to show my kids what it is like to figure out how to pay for the things we want.
I hope my children (at least the oldest two) will remember how we had to work together to be able to afford our new tree house. I hope they realize that sometimes you can’t get everything that’s on your list. And I hope they know that money doesn’t grow on trees – especially ones with tree houses.
Author’s note: We’ve had some excitement while building our family tree house. Here’s where it all began. Here’s an update from earlier this week. Below is where it stands today.
Today has been another big building day. Thanks to the help of some of our amazing friends Travis was able to get all four of our tree house walls built and standing.
Like some of you expected, with more progress came more posters. Oh and more smoke. Sadly the peace has ended.
While I have been disheartened this week about our backyard drama I have also found great comfort in the love and support of so many friends and family who have helped me laugh and listened to me cry (although we have mostly laughed) about all this mess.
My kids ran around all afternoon today playing with friends with those lame posters towering behind them. If someone new came by they’d briefly point out the ladies in lingerie, then they’d be right back playing as if those pictures were just part of the natural scenery.
Kids are amazing.
Seeing their smiles while they stood on the platform surrounded by their new tree house walls made all this recent drama worth it.
I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next several weeks but I know that we are going to keep playing in our back yard with our new tree house with our friends.
As long as they too can tolerate the new pieces of natural scenery.
Author’s Note: If you are wondering what on Earth I am talking about in this post check back with my post from two weeks ago. No, this is not a joke. This is my real, crazy life.
It’s been almost two weeks since I posted about our neighbor slapping up nearly naked photos next to our family’s unfinished tree house. Today I am pleased to report that the signs, which towered over our 6-foot fence, gawking at us in our back yard, are gone.
I don’t know what happened.
We came home from spending several days on vacation to find them gone.
Hallelujah.
But I can’t breathe a sigh of relief quite yet. In a way I am kind of nervous. The signs are down, so what’s next? Passion like that doesn’t disappear overnight.
In fact the week that the signs were placed, our neighbor took great care to ensure their impact. Naturally the wind and rain withered the paper posters and turned their rebar stakes. She would straighten and twist them back into place so the lingerie ladies were still staring us down.
That same week she started trying to smoke us out.
My heart was in my throat the morning I glanced outside to check on things and saw a grey cloud settling near the tree house’s base platform. For a split second panic struck as I flashed back to the night last May when my parent’s home burned down.
Thank Heavens it wasn’t on our property. I quickly realized it was coming from her back yard. She started a fire right next to her side of our cement-block fence. This continued for several days. Fighting all natural instinct, I refrained from calling the fire department. I decided that would only fan the flames.
Ironically one of her concerns with us building the tree house was that it could catch fire and fall over her side of the fence.
But we haven’t seen any smoke – or scantily clad photos – since we got back in town Sunday evening.
Do I think she is finished fighting? No. I doubt it.
I am guessing she may be waiting until we start building again to stir things up once more. That or she is waiting until we are served legal documents – she said she’s going to take us to civil court.
This whole thing still seems like a crazy dream – kind of like Trump running for President. But it’s reality.
I wish all of you could have seen my kids’ faces the first day of building. They were thrilled. It makes me sad that all of this drama happened.
If only we could have kept building in peace.
But then again we’ve learned a lot of lessons since then – lessons on local law enforcement, lessons on city code, lessons on showing love to those who frustrate us and lessons on the definition of pornography.
For now we have decided to not only continue with our tree house plans (as soon as the weather and our schedules cooperate) but we have also decided to invest in a row of Thuja Green Giant Trees.
We’re saving up so we can buy the fast growing evergreens to tower along the property line between our back yard and hers, creating a natural barrier. I hope we can get them this fall.
And I hope that they really will grow two to three feet per year.
There I sat on Easter Sunday in a classroom full of four, five and six year olds. I don’t normally teach in my church’s (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) primary but I was asked to substitute for a friend.
I used cut out pictures to tell a simple version of the Easter story – the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Say it with me, “resurrection,” I asked the kids. We said it together three or four times. It’s a hard word to pronounce at that age.
Then the lesson book prompted me to tell a story about my gratitude for the resurrection.
That’s when I pulled out a picture of my baby boy who died nearly six years ago. I told the class how I will be forever grateful for the resurrection because that meant I would see my sweet baby boy again.
That’s when it hit me. Had he lived, my sweet little Luca would have been in that very class. The inquisitive, happy, lovable students I was teaching would have been his playmates. I hadn’t thought about that until then.
Oh the coincidence. My heart dropped for a second.
I listened to the kids tell me about what the Easter bunny brought them and how they colored their eggs. One of them was really nervous that her little brother and sister were going to steal all her candy when she was gone. Another said her dad was really good at finding eggs.
I wondered what my little Luca would have said. Then I wondered if he was somehow there in spirit.
At the end of the lesson I gave each child a small treat bag filled with candy and a plastic Easter egg. Inside each egg I typed up a piece of paper that read, “The Tomb Is Empty.”
I wanted the kids to remember the part in the story when the women went to care for Jesus’s body but it was no longer there. To me that is the most important part.
The tomb was empty.
He had risen.
Later that afternoon we stopped by the cemetery to visit Luca. I made sure to give him his treat bag – the one that he would have got if he were at church in my class.
I may not have been able to teach him about the resurrection that day. But in all actuality I have learned more about the resurrection from Luca’s short life than I could have in any other way. And I can’t wait until it finally happens.
Before you start building your kids a tree house make sure you ask yourself one question: Am I OK with nearly naked photos being posted right beside it by my disgruntled backyard neighbor? If the answer is yes, proceed.
If it is no, don’t even bother.
We started building a tree house last week. We’ve been dreaming of one for years. So when we got our tax return this year we set aside a chunk of money for the tree house fund. (Wait until you read my upcoming post about the night we learned all about budgeting for this tree house. Good times.)
Anyway, Travis and my boys drew up plans and made lists of all the things they’d like to include. Then we got to work.
We borrowed my brother’s truck one night and made many, many trips to the hardware store- with tired, screaming children – in order to gather up all our supplies.
Then last Saturday we secured the posts, laid down the floor and put up the back wall. We were feeling great! We got more done than we ever dreamed of that first day.
But the next day we were deflated when we saw a note on our front door. Our backyard neighbor wanted us to call her about the “thing” we were building next to her fence.
She was upset. She was certain we couldn’t build something like that. I’m not going to get into all the details about what she said, but let’s just say there were concerns about us blocking her view, concerns for her and her pets’ safety, concerns about a fire starting then spreading to her yard, concerns about my children antagonizing her animals, etc., etc., etc.
And she was certain we were in violation of city code.
So I researched codes online and headed straight to the city building office the next day to talk to the building officer. I got there 15 minutes after the offices opened and she had already spoken with him on the phone.
He assured me that as long as the tree house was less than 15 feet high, smaller than 200 square feet and didn’t have electricity or plumbing we could proceed with our plans. And we didn’t even need a building permit.
You could say we were a little ambitious with this tree house. As it stood after the first day of construction it was 15 feet 7 inches tall. So we’re going to have to cut the wall down a foot or two. But the building officer said as long as we did that then we would be all right.
The next day I found out my neighbor started telling people that even if the city said it was legal for us to build the tree house she wasn’t going to stop fighting it. I had no idea what that meant.
Until Wednesday night.
My kids came inside from playing in the back yard with their cousins to tell me that our tree-house-hating neighbor was blasting some Jamaican music.
Whatever. I told them she could listen to whatever she wanted and to leave her alone.
Then they came and told me she had put up some Disney pictures on a post over the fence. That intrigued me.
I peeked outside.
Those were no Disney pictures (bless my naive little boys). There were three nearly naked photos of women posted on a pole in her backyard right next to the fence and near the tree house. And that Jamaican music? It was some serious rap (once again bless my innocent boys).
Say what?? I called the police. I had a feeling there was nothing they could do but I wanted to document what was going on.
They came over and talked to me, then went and talked to her, then brought her over so we could all talk together.
But there was nothing either of us could say to change anyone’s minds. She’s ticked about our tree house and that’s not going to change. I’m excited about our tree house and that’s not going to change.
I did, however, say that I was sorry she was so upset. We had no intention of making her angry. I hadn’t even ever met her until the police brought her to my front lawn. This was not a vindictive move. We just wanted to build a tree house for our family.
So here we sit with several sexy photos in our backyard skyline. (Where is she getting these pics anyway?) She has taken great care to make sure they will be there for a while by putting them in plastic coverings. If you come to our house, consider yourself warned. You may see more than you’d like.
Last night she posted three more pictures and got two more posts ready for others. One of the scantily clad women is wearing a tiny American flag bikini. It reminded me about the wild presidential campaign going on in our country.
I’m not a Trump supporter, but if this gets really bad I think I’ll ask him for some advice on how to build a wall … and then make her pay for it.
I debated about writing this post. Will she read it? Will it give her satisfaction? But then I reminded myself that I have never filtered my content on here before. This blog has always been about the real, raw aspects of motherhood – the good the bad and the ugly. I like to tell the honest truth – even if it is the naked honest truth this time.
The way I see it, those posters are actually helping our family. They are preparing us for when we take our trip to Europe. My boys are going to see all kinds of crap like this when we go to Italy.
Author’s note: Tomorrow would have been my son’s sixth birthday. Instead it’s his 6th angelversary – it has been six long years since he was born stillborn.
Boogers on the Wall 