Road Trip

18 Oct 2012 6 Comments

by Natalie in Don't ever take your kids..., Parenting Battles, What's a mom to do?

 

On Tuesday night I vowed to never step foot in my 2008 Honda Odyssey again. After riding all day for our family road trip, I didn’t ever want to sit in that minivan again.

And neither did my 3-month old.

We left last week for California, a trip that would take us 750 miles across the country and at least 11 hours each way.

Before we left, I spent $20 in the Target dollar section hoping to give my older boys something to do while riding. We didn’t make it 30 minutes before those cheap activities failed me.

Apparently you have to be able to open them for them to be fun, and my 6-year-old has yet to learn how to tear through plastic packaging. I got to listen to him whine from the back seat as he couldn’t open, only noisily crinkle the crap out of the wrapper.

At our first stop I opened everything I could see that he might have trouble with. Then I gave him a brief overview on how to operate our traveling DVD players.

The ride was much smoother after that.

My husband and I decided to break up the trip by stopping in St. George for the night and driving the rest of the way the next day. With how well the first day’s travels went I was optimistic about our second day. I was naive.

We left St. George bright and early, but didn’t even make it to Mesquite — about 40 miles — before my 3-month old was screaming. I hopped in the back to calm him down, but to no avail. He was MAD.

We pulled off at a barren exit while I fed him. When we all climbed back in the van, my 6-year-old announced that he needed to go to the bathroom. Luckily there was a potty 5 miles away, but then we all had to endure a can’t-you-go-when-it’s-more-convenient speech from my husband.

At that point I was so nervous about having to go before it was “convenient” again, I thought I better try while we were stopped. When I saw the line of four biker chicks waiting outside the Chevron lady’s room, I changed my mind and decided to hold it.

Bad idea. Our next stop was Barstow where we ate a pizza at a park. You can only imagine what the facilities were like there. I ended up squatting over a chrome commode because the nasty metal seat nearly frostbit my backside. It. Was. Gross.

Aside from a couple of smartphone Google-maps mishaps, one of which nearly led us up a rocky cliff in order to find Pizza Hut, we made it to our final destination without any more incident.

Note that I said without any more incident. That doesn’t mean we were free from any more outbursts from the youngest member of our party.

Poor little baby. I think a combination of things drove him to tears — strapped facing backwards, stranded by himself in the middle of the van, restricted to sitting in a tiny chair with a poopy backside, to mention a few.

But the trip back to Utah would be worse.

On the way home, we didn’t stop in St. George. We drove straight through each inch of those 750 miles. It was the longest drive of my life.

Before we even left California my husband made a dangerous suggestion.

“We could slide the middle seats in the van together,” he said. “That way when our baby gets hungry we wouldn’t even have to stop. You could just kind of lean over his car seat to feed him.”

Say what? I didn’t know if I should yell at him for thinking that was a good idea, or laugh at the absurdity of his proposition.

Luckily — for him — I laughed. Then he backed off of the idea like it was a joke. Sadly, I swear he was serious. To his utter disappointment, I sat up front with him and didn’t hunch over the car seat every three hours to nurse.

The drive from California to Las Vegas was actually pretty good. The baby fell asleep and we drove in peace. I finally got to dive into the new novel I bought for the trip.

But after Vegas I think we all had had enough. The two oldest kept punching and pinching in the back while yelling loud enough to keep their brother awake.

Once again I tried to calm the little one down by climbing into the middle and acting like a fool to entertain him, but it was all in vain. I finally climbed back to the front and tried not to let my heart break as he continued to cry. It was horrible staring at his screaming pinkish purple face knowing there literally was nothing I could do for him.

Despite his cries, we drove on.

To top the trip all off, as we were buckling up at our last pit stop, my husband spotted two baby mice frolicking by the entrance to the fast-food joint where we had just eaten. They were inches away from the door to the place where my meal was prepared – Where all of our meals were prepared. Yuck!

Our baby fell asleep while nursing during dinner, giving me a sense of hope. But I guess he has gotten really good at sensing his car-seat confinement. He was screaming mere minutes from our final take off.

Having already hopped in the back seat twice on the trip I figured it would do me no good. I waited an hour or so before I could take it no longer.

By the time we rounded the point of the mountain, I was dreaming of having a taxi-like partition between the front and rear seats of the van. I thought I was going to go crazy with the screaming.

I jumped into the middle of the van hoping that the third time would be the charm and that I could somehow make him stop. We rode the rest of the way with the interior light on as I jingled rattles and babbled like a bubbling idiot trying to entertain him on the last leg of our journey.

Miraculously it worked.

We were able to drive the last hour and a half of our trip in peace listening to the presidential debate while our two oldest boys watched probably their twelfth movie of the trip.

But an hour and a half of peace isn’t enough to forget the other hours of close-spaced stress.

We rolled into our driveway at 9 p.m. At least 12 hours from when we left. And that’s when I promised myself I would never get back into our silver van.

Unfortunately, that promise was short-lived. I had to climb into the driver’s seat less than 12 hours later to take my oldest to school.

So I may not be able to avoid driving around town, but you can be sure it will be a long time before I am ready for another all-day mini-van confinement.

There Is Hope

11 Oct 2012 1 Comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: , , , , , ,

Author’s note: I try not to write too frequently about my angel baby boy. Thoughts of him are constantly in the back of my mind exhausting my emotions. I don’t want to exhaust others with reading about him. But this week I found hope again in dealing with his loss. I know I wrote about him last week, but I had to share that hope without letting another week go by.

OK. Ill admit it. There have been times since the loss of my son that I have become frustrated with my religion. I have felt discouraged and disheartened as prayers and pleadings have failed to cure my broken heart.

This past weekend my faith in healing was renewed as I listened to a church leader, Elder Shayne M. Bowen, speak on the loss of his 8-month-old baby boy.

He spoke on Saturday, October 5, 2012, during The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, semi-annual conference. It was hands down the best talk I have ever heard on losing a child.

Unlike most leaders in the church, Bowen validated my loneliest thoughts as he spoke of his lost son, Tyson, who choked on a piece of chalk 22 years ago. He addressed his message to those parents who have lost a child and have found themselves asking, “Why me?”

For so long I have felt guilty for asking that question. I have felt guilty for questioning my beliefs.

Bowen’s words proved to me that I am not alone. He spoke of having similar feelings and thoughts. But not only did he speak about his grief and doubts, he shared ways that he worked through his grief and doubt.

Finally I have a strong example from a stalwart church leader to guide me on my path to healing my broken heart.

A lot of times members of my church attest to being thankful for their trials and the lessons those trials have taught them. I have felt alienated from my peers because I have never felt thankful for losing my son.

In his talk Bowen said he felt guilt, anger and self-pity after the death of his baby boy. He told about the doctor telling he and his wife that there was nothing they could do and then he wondered how he was going to tell his other children that their brother wasn’t coming home.

I have wondered the exact same thing.

He said others told him that they knew how he felt – but they knew nothing of how he felt.

I have heard similar comments.

After his son died he had many sleepless nights, some of them he spent wandering his house checking on his other children.

I have wandered a similar route.

It comforted me to hear that a spiritual giant from my same religious background experienced some of the same things as me – and that he too struggled with his testimony after losing his baby.

It made me feel “normal” for the first time in a long time.

My favorite part of his talk was near the end when he described how far he has come.

“Sometimes people will ask, ‘How long did it take you to get over it?’ The truth, is you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fullness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the first resurrection.”

I couldn’t have said it better. I, like elder Bowen, may be able to be happy at times, but I will never find true, complete joy until I can hug my baby boy once again.

Bowen said that Tyson remains an important part of his family, and Luca is an important part of mine.

After feeling anger, self-pity and guilt, Bowen prayed that his heart would change.
He said that through very personal, spiritual experiences he was given a new heart and even though it was still lonely and painful, his whole outlook changed.

I feel like Elder Bowen is at the peak of his mountain of grief while I am still at the summit. I still have a long way to go to work through my sorrow. But knowing that others have crested over rough boulders and sharp slopes on their way to finding peace gives me hope, hope I haven’t had in a long, long time.

I am still waiting for my new heart, but now I believe it will actually come.

If you too are struggling while dealing with the loss of a child, listen to Bowen’s talk. Hopefully it can bring you peace and hope like it did me. If nothing else, it will show you that other people have been there and you are not alone.

My Bassinet to Crib Panic Attack

04 Oct 2012 1 Comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, Parenting Battles, What's a mom to do?

I buried part of my innocence when I buried my baby boy.

I wish that I hadn’t.

Before Luca died two years ago, I was naively optimistic about the world. I was certain that nothing bad or difficult would come my way.

Boy, were my eyes opened the night I found out I would have to deliver him after he had already died. Bad things happen to good people, and I will never see the world the same again.

But I thought things were going better for me recently. That having a rainbow baby had once again instilled hope into my life.

I didn’t realize how scared I still was that something might go wrong again for me — until we tried having our new baby sleep in his crib, in a room down the hall.

I thought I was ready to move him, my two-and-a-half-month-old good night sleeper, into a bedroom with his two oldest brothers. But after a 2 a.m. panic attack the second night of having him out of my room, I knew it was too soon.

I pushed my husband out of bed, made him go grab our baby and bring him back to me. I was scared to death that something had happened to him.

Seriously? It’s crazy how much I still worry that something is going to happen to my living children. I have some major posttraumatic stress when it comes to my kids.

Having a new baby has given me hope, but that hope hasn’t quite extinguished all of my fear.

I guess I didn’t realize how many times a night I reach over his bassinet wall to feel the rise and fall of his chest, or lean over to brush my ear near his nose to hear the in and out of his breath. Having him near — close enough to physically feel that he is still alive — has comforted me more times than I realized.

So after one and a half nights in his crib, he is now back in the bassinet by the side of my bed. I know that eventually I am going to have to move him to the other room permanently — heaven knows he’s getting nearly too big for his little bed. But I don’t know how I am going to do it.

How am I going to put my mind at ease? How will I keep from waking and worrying a dozen times a night when he’s not next to me?

Gosh I hate that I have these feelings. I hate that anyone has to go through hard times.  I wish I could go back to the days when I was positive that everything would work out the way I wanted it to.

But I don’t think I will ever be able to go back to those days. And I wouldn’t trade having Luca for anything. He may have died, but he is still, and will always be, my baby.

I just wish he were still here with me, and ultimately that his death hadn’t shattered my rose colored glasses and left me worrying about what big trial I am going to have to face next.

I wish I could have held onto my everything-in-the-world-is-amazing positive attitude a little bit longer. Then maybe I could sleep easier at night.

I Want to Marry My Mop

27 Sep 2012 1 Comment

by Natalie in Failed Housewife

I never thought I would be excited to mop my kitchen floor. I don’t know, it must have something to do with crawling around on all fours wiping up crusty food stains and muddy shoe prints.

Sounds like a great way to waste a half hour, right?

Not to mention the fact that I naively laid 12-by-12-inch white tiles throughout my entire kitchen within the first six months of home ownership. I know the black-and-white checked floor looks really cool – like I have my own little pizza parlor – but I seriously wish someone had warned me about that one.

Especially now that I have kids.

I recently broke down. I spent $47 of my hard-earned birthday money and bought a wicked steam mop. Honestly I don’t know why I didn’t by one 7 years ago as my own housewarming gift.

I guess I held out because I thought steam mops were a lot more expensive.  I borrowed a Shark Steam mop from a friend a while ago and thought it was nice, but the pump-handle action coupled with the price tag kept me at bay.

I ended up buying a Eureka Enviro Steamer from Amazon.com. It was less than $50. And now I no longer need to buy floor cleaner. The steam is supposed to be a lot more sanitary anyway.

Why didn’t I do this earlier?

Not only is the new mop extremely quick and efficient (I can mop my kitchen in less than 5 minutes) it has also helped me relax a little in the kitchen.

In a way feel like that crazy lady on the old Resolve carpet-cleaning commercials. You know, the one who said, “That’s okay,” when her son spilled grape juice on her cream carpet, or her dog tracked mud throughout the living room.

When my kids shed food from their plates onto the floor, I almost smile and say, “That’s okay.”

Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I still snap at them sometimes and the control-freak in me still pours their Kool-Aid and grape juice into sippy cups.

But in all seriousness I am extremely happy with my new mop. I’ve decided that I need all the help I can get when it comes to keeping my house clean.

And although I’ll probably periodically drop to my hands and knees to scrub those darn 12-inch white squares with bleach cleaner, I definitely won’t do it on a regular basis.

Now if only I had a vacuum that didn’t suck.

He Packs, She PACKS

20 Sep 2012 3 Comments

by Natalie in Failed Housewife, What's a mom to do?

Here are the bags I recently packed while getting ready for vacation.

My husband made the comment a couple of weeks ago about how women are always stressed out before going on vacation. Oh really?

After running (with the kids) to get the van’s tires checked, buying diapers and gas from Costco, picking out everyone’s favorite treats from Winco, hauling 4 loads of laundry up and down our stairs, and then packing 1/3 of our home into several miscellaneous bags and boxes I can tell you why this woman was stressed out the day before our most recent vacation.

My favorite part about getting ready for our trip to Yellowstone two weeks ago? My husband telling the boys that they could go outside and have a water fight while I got everything together. Keep in mind, my boys don’t like to do anything without me and my husband was conveniently occupied with meetings over at the church house. Add a fussy 2-month-old to the mix and needless to say, I was up til’ 11 p.m. getting stuff ready to go.

Here is the bag my husband packed while getting ready for vacation.

It’s hard being in charge of everyone’s crap. My husband did his packing two nights before we left. He shoved everything he needed for the four-day trip into one small over-the-shoulder duffle bag.

I wish I could say everything else we needed fit into a similar bag. I managed to cram the rest of our trip needs into two suitcases, a large picnic basket, medium cooler, giant toy/activity bag, big diaper box, camera bag and purse/diaper bag.

And I packed light.

I guess that’s the difference between a woman and a man. I wish I was more easy going about packing and didn’t worry about all the things I might forget.

Luckily the trip was well worth the work. But each time we get ready to go out of town and I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off, I seriously wonder if it will be worth it.

I guess I can’t help falling into the stressed-out-before-we-go-on-vacation woman category. Next time I’m going to let my husband do the packing, that way if we forget anything, it will be on his watch.

Melting Up Some Magic

13 Sep 2012 3 Comments

by Natalie in What We Do/Make for Fun, What's a mom to do? Tags: , , , ,

My brother and his cute new wife just got back from a honeymoon to Florida. Where they visited the Wizarding World of Harry Potter Universal Studios in Orlando.

They stopped by and showed us photos of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, where they bought their robes and wands.

Naturally, after they told us of their stop to Ollivanders and the amazing wands they bought, my boys wanted wands too.

They thought my brother should have bought them some.

I tried to tell my boys that “the wand chooses the wizard” so there was no way that their uncle could have chosen a wand for them, but they still didn’t understand.

My oldest son told my brother to go home and use his Elder Wand to do a spell to send him and his brother their own wands. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that no use of the word “accio” would ever be able to summon up wands.

The next day a small box was delivered to our doorstop while we were gone running errands. My boys ran to the porch to see what it was, but were sorely disappointed when the box contained my new year’s supply of contact lenses – not their new wands.

At that point they began to realize that they might not magically get their hands on some wands.

That’s when the constant begging began for me to help them make some wands. My sister-in-law found an easy way to make authentic-looking wands on Pinterest and my boys wouldn’t let me forget it.

Finally when I could take it no longer, I found the Pinterest pin and we gathered up some supplies to make our own magic.

First off we headed to the local oriental market for a package of chopsticks. We bought a 20-pack for $3.99.


Then we came home and gathered up brushes, some acrylic paint, hot glue sticks, a glue gun and a bunch of different sized beads.


The boys took turns looking through and choosing their own beads and we worked carefully to glue them on to the bottom end of the chopsticks. The instructions I saw online said to cover the beads in glue then, after the glue was cool, to mold the wands’ handles with your hands.


That didn’t go so well for me. I ended up nearly melting my palm to a few of the wands trying to mold the ends before I decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead I ran the end of the wands under some cold water until the glue was almost all set. Then I squeezed the end with my hand to make sure the beads would stay.


The beads and glue made the handles of the wands look real. We even added a feather into a couple of the wands so that they had a “core.”

Once we had the wands molded to our liking, we needed to finish them off with paint.


The painting part was probably the fastest, but most stressful part.  I don’t know why I ever think I am a patient enough mom to paint with my children. Even though I make them wear some of my really old t-shirts I am still a nervous wreck that they are going to end up with paint everywhere.

But we survived and I am really happy with how the wands turned out.


They were really easy and my boys have been playing with them ever since. You can check out the website we looked at for instructions here.

My boys wanted to be done after we made only two wands. But after I had strewn crafting supplies all over my kitchen, I wasn’t going to stop with only a couple of wands. I made them help me finish ten. That way when we lose some (which I know we will) or when friends come over, we will have extras.

They are definitely not as fancy or as authentic as the ones my brother picked up in Florida, and I am sure they aren’t nearly as nicely made, but don’t tell my 4 and 6 year olds, to them they are still pretty magical.

What Should I Tell My Children About My Past Mistakes?

06 Sep 2012 2 Comments

by Natalie in From My Heart, Parenting Battles, Trying to be a Better Mom, What's a mom to do? Tags: , , ,

I had flashbacks all last week to one of my most traumatic childhood experiences.

My son’s elementary school headed to the local aquatic center last Friday for a field trip party at the pool. The thought of him going swimming with his schoolmates flipped my mind back to the time when my elementary school did the same — and the time when I was a few seconds from drowning.

I was 8 or 9 years old when the experience happened. My school was heading to their annual trip to the local pool. We walked with a buddy and were to stick with that buddy while swimming.

Unfortunately for me, my buddy could swim and I couldn’t. My mom warned me for days to stay off of the donut-shaped floatation tubes. She knew I couldn’t handle them. She wanted me to stay in the shallow end where I would be safe.

But my buddy rented one of the tubes then headed to the deep end of the pool. Stupidly I followed.

Almost immediately I ended up under the donut floaty while waves splashed around me and I fought for my life to climb back up. The tube’s slippery plastic, along with other tubes slamming on top of me, kept me from climbing to safety. Luckily a sixth-grade swimmer saw my desperation and drug me to safety where I coughed up what felt like a gallon of water.

It was one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me. And I still haven’t learned to swim because of it.

Not only was I scared for my life in the pool, I was scared for my life at home. I don’t think I told my mom about my near-death experience for almost a week. I knew she would be furious. She had warned me not to float on a tube. I was terrified to hear her say, “I told you so.”

So with that experience in the back of my mind, I geared up to let my 6-year-old baby splash in the water with his friends. Despite the fact that the school sent home a note forbidding flotation devices, I was still terrified.

I didn’t want him to sense my hesitation in letting him head to the pool with the student bodies of two elementary schools and only their staff and a couple dozen lifeguards there to protect him. But how could I hide it? And I didn’t want to tell him about my experience because I was certain he wouldn’t go after that.

I tried to encourage him to go, but I was so scared.

He has taken swimming lessons for the past three years, but he is just starting to feel comfortable in the water, and he is definitely not a fish-like swimmer.

He ended up not wanting to go so I picked him up early from school Friday and he hung out at home.

Honestly I was relieved because I knew he would be safe with me, but it got me thinking about what I should share with my children.

I don’t want my children to know of all of the major mistakes I have made or will make in life. I don’t want my stupid choices to impact their decisions. But when they have challenges in life, maybe it would help them to know of my own challenges. Maybe it would help them realize that I am an imperfect human, just like they are.

Now I know that floating in the deep end of the pool when I knew I couldn’t swim wasn’t an immoral or illegal action, but it was something that was seriously stupid. Should I tell my boys about my experience?

Maybe if I didn’t completely scare him from the field trip, my oldest might have been able to learn from my story and use it as a what-not-to-do example.

Heaven knows I have other stories of stupid things I have done. Should I shed all of the skeletons from my closet and come clean with my children?

Maybe, for now, I’ll keep the skeletons locked up, but not forgotten. That way when my sons make mistakes or do stupid things I’ll be able to sympathize. Hopefully all of my stupid mistakes will make me a better parent, a more understanding parent.

Because as the mother tasked with raising three boys, I am sure I will parent through my fair share of their mistakes.

Tasty Tortillas

30 Aug 2012 12 Comments

by Natalie in Cooking/Attempting to Cook, Failed Housewife Tags: , ,

I refuse to buy any more cheap tortillas – even if they are only .88 cents at the local grocery store.

No matter how long I microwave them or how slowly I try to peel them apart, I end up either shredding them to bits or wearing them to paper-thin thickness in the center.

I don’t know about you, but I can’t eat a juicy taco on a paper-thin tortilla. And heaven knows my little boys can’t.

I should just stop at Costco and get the jumbo pack of quality tortillas for less than $5. But I haven’t dared brave that store since the arrival of our newest baby.

So a couple weeks ago I tried my hand at making homemade tortillas. My boys and I were craving cheesy quesadillas after church on Sunday but we only had a couple of store bought tortillas left. (Why I thought to do this right after church when we all were starving is beyond me.)

Anyway, I found a super easy 5-ingredient recipe here here.

After mixing the stuff together and letting the dough sit for half an hour, I was ready to roll.


I am definitely not a pro at using the rolling pin. Most of the tortillas ended up looking anything but round. I actually think the shapes got weirder with each tortilla. But no matter the shape, they all taste the same, right?

My oldest son helped me roll the dough into balls. Here’s what my table looked like when he was done.

My husband came home just after I finished toasting the last tortilla. I think he ate 1/3 of the batch right then. That meant either they were really good or he was really hungry.

It turned out to be so easy that I thought I’d share the recipe. If I can do it, ANYONE can.

Now I don’t know that I’ll make them all the time, and I’m definitely not ready yet for a job at Costa Vida, but it was really nice to have a success in the kitchen for a change.

Sew Stressful

23 Aug 2012 1 Comment

by Natalie in Failed Housewife, What's a mom to do?

I don’t know why I think I can sew but every once in a while I get a wild hare and decide to tackle another sewing project.

What was it this time? A skirt for me to wear at my brother’s wedding.

I must have been feeling overly confident because I recently sewed some burp cloths that turned out pretty cute. But then again how hard is it to sew a square spit rag? The burp cloths were nothing compared to the skirt.

In my defense I didn’t think of sewing the skirt a week before my little brother’s big day as a first resort. One of my best friends and I went to several stores skirt shopping and had no success.

Nothing stood out to me and I didn’t want to spend $40 or more on something I thought was mediocre. Not to mention the fact that being a little over a month post-partum I hope to lose a few more pounds of my baby weight. (Note I said, “hope.” We will see what really happens.)

I didn’t want to drop some serious cash on a skirt that might not fit in December.

So the day after my skirt-shopping failure, I packed up my boys and made a trip to JoAnns.

I don’t know what other young boys think of that craft superstore, but my boys hate it. They were out of control the second we stepped foot in the door.

I rushed through the store searching for something to match my brother’s wedding colors as my boys swung from the cart and chased each other around. I finally settled on a green-patterned print and hurried to get it cut.

But I thought I was going to scream at the cutting counter. One of my sons decided to play dead in the middle of the aisle by lying sprawled out on the floor. That’s when the other one decided to pounce on him like he really was dead meat. All the while the young employee cutting my fabric just chuckled under her breath.

I didn’t think it was funny. I grabbed one of them by the arm and he started screaming out that I was hurting him. After half the store had turned their angry eyes on me – the parent that was beating up on her child – I called his bluff and made him admit that he wasn’t hurting at all. That’s when he started laughing and ran off again to chase his brother.

By the time we made it to the checkout line I was ready to cry.

My oldest two boys did end up crying – one hit his head on a metal shelf while trying to (once again) run away from me, the other bonked his forehead on the credit card swiping machine while trying to hang onto the counter like an upside-down acrobat.

I didn’t want to say it while we were in the store, but in my mind I was thinking it served both of them right.

I cut my fabric out later that night and was itching to start sewing but ran out of time. The next day I started bright and early stitching my skirt together.

I think I let my boys watch more TV that day than they have in a long time. As long as they were being good while I was working with my sewing machine, I didn’t really care.

The sewing actually went really well until I went to try the skirt on. I didn’t really know what size to make, but obviously I estimated wrong. I couldn’t cinch up the side. Unless I sucked in all of my air and didn’t breathe all day, that skirt wasn’t going to fit for the wedding.

Luckily I had some extra fabric. I sewed a couple extra inches into the edge of the waistband and readjusted the gather at the top of the skirt. At this point I almost felt like giving up. I had already gathered the top several times after my gathering string kept breaking. (I know one of my friends told me recently about a gathering trick using dental floss, but I couldn’t remember that in the heat of the moment.)

But the couple inches in the back was just what I needed in order to make myself squeeze in comfortably. A few hours and a lot of finishing work later and the skirt was finally done.

It turned out better than I thought it would and was super comfortable. It might not fit everyone’s style but it was perfect for me. (Even if my husband said it looked like I was ready to go to a sock hop in it.)

The wedding breakfast, ceremony and reception were amazing and even though it seemed so stressful getting my skirt together, it was so nice to have something I felt good in. Luckily it was all worth it.

Gone But Not Forgotten

16 Aug 2012 1 Comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby, Pregnant After a Loss

I called my son by the wrong name the other night. Which really isn’t a big deal for most parents. I honestly do it all the time with my oldest two boys. But I called my newborn son “Luca,” the name of my baby who passed away two years ago.

It really made me stop and think.

Having a rainbow baby has brought me so much joy, so much peace. Yet in a very small, strange way, it has also made me miss my angel son even more.

Taking care of our new baby has reminded me of some of the things I have missed not being able to raise my third son.

I never bathed him, never fed him, never patted his back to burp him or changed his stinky diaper. And I hate that I never locked eyes with him or saw him smile.

I’ve been reminded lately that I will never be able to replace my little Luca. Nor do I want to.

Deep down I will always wish I had him here, no matter how happy I have become. No matter how much healing I have experienced. No matter how many babies I have after him.

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