My Poor Pine

01 Sep 2011 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby

I am extremely emotional this week about the sun-scorched pine tree sitting on the side of my house. It’s ridiculous that I am being so dramatic about a plant, but I can’t help it.

The once beautiful, small blue spruce was given to our family by my husband’s coworkers after our son was stillborn in April 2010. I loved that gift. Loved it so much that I refused to plant it near a home we don’t plan to permanently stay in.

So I bought a giant pot to put it in last fall.  But because I did that, it may end up dying and I might not have it anyway.

The cute little tree sat on my porch all winter, spring and summer. Things were going really well until a couple of weeks ago when I noticed that the pine needles on the outer branches were turning brownish orange. I called and spoke to an expert at a local garden center who told me that the intense heat hitting my west-facing porch had probably scorched the tree.

We immediately moved the poor thing to the shady north side of my house and started watering it daily. But moving the tree shook off nearly 90 percent of its dried-out decrepit needles. It is now officially the Clemens’s version of the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.

I feel horrible. Horrible that it might die because I didn’t really know how to take care of it. Horrible that I am probably going to lose one of my favorite gifts – a gift that always served as a happy reminder of my cute little Luca. Horrible that if it dies, I can never replace it.

When I got it I realized I wouldn’t get to see my little boy grow up and mature, but I would always have the tree growing as a memorial to him.

I guess for now there is nothing I can do. I’ll keep watering it each day until next June when there is a slim possibility that new needles will sprout from its crispy branches. It’s out of my control now. And for those of you who really know me, you’ll know how hard that is for me to accept.

The hardest part will be waiting nine months to see if it lives. It reminds me of when we nearly lost our goldfish Nemo a few months ago. It was only a matter of time before he actually died.

I hate death. I hate change. I wish I could walk into my boys’ room and feed Nemo each night. I wish I could see my green baby pine on my porch each time I go to check my mail. But I can’t.

I know if the tree dies it really isn’t the end of the world. Believe me I’ve endured much worse. But I want it to live. I want it to grow. I want it to thrive.

“Mom, Take A Picture!”

25 Aug 2011 1 Comment

by Natalie in Parenting Battles, Trying to be a Better Mom, What's a mom to do?

Something he drew on his drawing board but didn't want to erase.

The popcorn tin from last Christmas.

Normally when a child yells, “Mom, take a picture!” It means he or she is about to do something amazing. Not when my 5-year-old yells it. When I hear that phrase I know he’s about to ask me to document the final moments of some piece of trash I’m going to make him throw away.

My oldest is a hoarder/collector who would save his nose-wiping tissue if I let him. He has the unique ability to fall in love with the most random objects and then desperately want to keep them forever.

We’ve had a lot of conflict recently when it comes to his collections. Honestly we are running out of room in his bursting closet and my husband and I need some relief. So we struck a deal with him. Whenever he wants to keep something that we don’t approve of, we’ll take a picture of it and print it off.

The cup of bugs he caught at a family party at a park.

Now I’ll admit he gets some of his saver style from his mother. I like to keep items of sentimental value. But so far

most of the stuff he wants to keep is junk. Like the chocolate milk bottle he drank empty at McDonald’s, or the bone-dry bubbles container

he finished off in the backyard. Two of my favorite “keepsake” pictures we have taken recently are of the metal popcorn tin we got for

A beetle on our side porch.

Christmas last

year that had caramel popcorn melted to its insides and the Styrofoam cup filled with a spider, ant and two beetles that he collected at a family gathering at a park.

Growing up we loved when my mom drove us by a house in town that was loaded with junk. We nicknamed it the junkyard – think the beast’s yard

A dragonfly he caught at his great-grandpa's 80th birthday party.

from The Sandlot times 20. It was disgusting yet mesmerizing. Piles of old broken down machinery layered the lawn. I always wondered about the man who collected all of the junk. I heard they made him clean it up after a bomb scare in

A giant butterfly he caught at grandma's house.

his yard when I was a late teen. I think my oldest may turn into that man.

Now I’m sure you’re envisioning giant mountains of garbage piled throughout his bedroom. Trust me, it isn’t that bad. But that’s because I don’t let him keep everything he wants. What happens when he moves out? I’ll have to hire him a housekeeper to keep him from swimming in trash.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s not that big of a deal. I have to clean my kid’s room all the time. But it’s emotional every

time my hand goes to place something of his in the garbage and I hear “That’s my special ________ (fill in the blank).” It’s hard to tell what’s special and what’s just plain garbage. Sometimes I have to sneak stuff into the outside garbage when he’s not looking only to worry that he’ll ask for it later.

The picture-taking strategy is starting to help. I’ll probably end up with dozens of photos of pieces of trash. But it’s worth it if he’ll finally let me throw some of it away. Maybe he’ll grow out of his hoarding habits someday and I’ll look back at those pictures and laugh.

A baby pine cone he found in the mountains.

Nemo Update

22 Aug 2011 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death Tags: , ,

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I don’t normally post on Mondays, but I thought I would give you all an udpate on our family pet.

Nemo went to the big pond in the sky today. He took a turn for the worst Sunday morning before church. At about the same time I was trying to get the boys to brush their teeth before heading out the door, they noticed him twitching sideways again in his tank.

Needless to say we were late for church as we tried in vain to to help him. He must have offically died late Sunday night or early Monday morning.

The boys actually took their fish’s death quite well. We buried him in the corner of our front flower bed tonight. My oldest wanted him to have a headstone, so we found a big rock and painted his name on it.

We cleaned Nemo’s tank last Wednesday so I am hoping and praying that had nothing to do with his death after what happened last time when we nearly killed him. I just have to keep telling myself that he was at least 4 years old – which in my opinion is ancient for a goldfish.

School Shopping Stress

18 Aug 2011 Leave a comment

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

It’s no secret that I am not excited to send my 5-year-old to all-day kindergarten this fall.  But I decided to try to show my support and encouragement for his new school year by taking him shopping for some new school clothes.

Big mistake.

The shopping trip backfired, doing nothing to better our relationship.

I spent most of the time hollering, “Knock it off,” as I chased down my 3- and 5-year- olds while glancing at clothes out of the corner of my eye. Luckily I invited my mom to come, so she could help me reel them in.

We went to one store and were in there for less than an hour. It could have been less than a half hour if my boys would have behaved. I keep waiting for the day that they realize that if they cooperate and do what I ask them to do, it will make things go faster, giving us more time to do things that they ask to do.

But they still haven’t figured that out so they fight back making things worse.

First of all we made the mistake of trying to get the boys to sit in a shopping cart. That would keep them close, right? Right. But the department-store shopping cart is about one-fourth the size of a grocery-store shopping cart. And they have problems with the carts at the grocery store.

I think the urge to pinch, punch and pick on your brother is multiplied by 100 when you are in close proximity. They weren’t in that cart for two minutes before one of them was crying.

Then we let them down. That’s when I wish I would have had two of those kid-leash things.

I understand that kids are crazy and that little boys don’t love to shop, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s okay for my children to run around the store hiding under folded clothes and swinging from hanging rails.  They literally looked like wild monkeys.

They were having the time of their lives at my expense. I think in their mind the department store was a whole new McDonald’s-style playground with unlimited possibilities. Fun for them. Death for me.

One of the highlights was when we asked my oldest to try on some slip-on sneakers. We wanted to see him walk in the shoes, but of course the pair was hooked together with an elastic band.

He put one shoe on his left foot and then took off as fast as he could, hobbling around the corner with the right foot’s shoe and inch away from tripping him with every step. I thought for sure he was going to come crashing down into some end-cap display. At least it slowed him up making him easier to catch.

Then came time to try on a pair of jeans. You would have thought we had asked to re-administer his kindergarten shots. He flopped around on the floor trying to get away while my mom held him down and pulled his legs inside.

It was mass chaos and it stressed me right out. My mother thought it was hilarious. Probably because I did stuff like that to her when I was young.

But was really got to me was the fact that I was trying to help and take care of my son by buying him some nice things for school and he treated me like dirt. He acted completely ungrateful as he totally ignored my pleas for good behavior. Hopefully after the talk we had when we got home he’ll think twice before acting like that again – at least anytime soon.

Now that I think about it maybe our shopping trip didn’t completely backfire. It helped me realize that it might be nice for me to let someone else deal with his wild-side outbursts for a change. Believe me, I’ll miss him while he’s at school, but a little structure and discipline will do him good.

Words of Wisdom

11 Aug 2011 5 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death Tags: , , , ,

I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy. And yet, during the past couple of months I have seen three friends forced to face that loss. I am seriously starting to worry that I am jinxing those around me.

I don’t know if I just wasn’t as sensitive to it before, but it seems like pregnancy loss is all around me now.

Ever since Luca died I have been terrified of pregnant women. I worry for them. I stress over them. I feel awkward and nervous around them. I know first-hand that a positive pregnancy test doesn’t necessarily guarantee a healthy bundle of joy at the end of 9-month’s time.

So I’m starting to think I should steer clear of expecting women just in case my bad luck may be rubbing off on them.

The most recent loss impacted me more than I ever imagined it could. My friend delivered her tiny baby girl stillborn at 22 weeks. I went to see my friend and practically cried through the entire visit. I hate that someone I care about will have to face similar sorrows as I did as she works toward healing her broken heart.

Not only did her loss conjure up memories and emotions of when we laid little Luca to rest, but it brought back all of the raw feelings of true sorrow I have experienced off and on during the past 15 months.

The worst part is that even though I have survived the death of a child I am no resident expert on how to live through that loss. Everyone is so different and will have different ways to heal.

You could say that people are being placed in my path because I will be able to relate to what they are going through, but I still don’t know what to say to those who share a similar fate. I have no words of wisdom to help ease others’ pain. There were no words to comfort me when my arms were empty and my heart crushed into pieces. Nothing anyone said or did would ever bring breath back to my baby’s lips and so it did nothing to help.

I wish I were a stronger person. That people could come to me and I could help them understand and work through their losses. But honestly usually all I do is cry as I tell them what they already know – that losing a child stinks. And it stinks forever. There’s no magic solution to remove the pain.

After Luca died, I wanted to be around other women who had experienced a loss. I knew they couldn’t take away my pain, but I still wanted to know how they felt, what caused their child’s death, what they did to remember their baby, and so on. I wanted to hear that they had reacted like I had and that I was “normal” in my loss.

They were the only ones who could relate to what I was going through. The only ones who knew how it felt to bury a baby.

I guess that even though I have no inspirational advice on how to get rid of the pain, I still may have something else to offer. The fact that I survived. Survived all of the lonely nights of self-pity, worry and guilt. Survived the shock, horror and grief. Survived the hardest thing I could ever imagine experiencing.

Maybe the fact that I could keep living in spite of my grief will be inspiration enough. I just hope and pray that my friends who will need that inspiration will be few and far between. Like I said before, I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy.

My Year in Headstone Pictures

04 Aug 2011 1 Comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby

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One year ago I received a very unique birthday gift – the placement of my son’s headstone.

I don’t know exactly when it was set, but I had been checking regularly for weeks, waiting for the cemetery grounds workers to lay the granite slab. I went to the cemetery by myself early on my birthday, Aug. 3, and found it was finally there.

Now I have hundreds upon hundreds of photos of my oldest two sons first 18 months. But unfortunately I don’t have that many of Luca.

I am truly blessed and lucky to have beautiful, professional photos of my son’s perfect angelic face, but we really only got to see him twice – once at the hospital and once at the funeral home.

Therefore, most of the photos I have of Luca are not of Luca but of things that remind me of Luca. I thought I’d share those photos with you.

Most of the photos are of his little resting place. We try to go there on major holidays or special occasions.

Sometimes when I go I look around at his babyland neighbors and wish I had done more to decorate his tiny headstone. Some parents are so thoughtful and elaborate in their displays.

Other times I am super excited at the way we have remembered our youngest family member throughout the year. Like when we found the candy cane solar lights during the Christmas season.

Now I have written before about how I don’t completely enjoy visiting the cemetery, but despite my reservations, I still want to do something outward to remember him. My two oldest boys love to go too. They feel important as they scrub their brother’s headstone with toothbrushes. It’s a small gesture that makes us feel like we are serving him in some small, strange way.

Now I know that my handful of cemetery-decoration photos does not hold a candle to 18 month’s worth of baby’s-firsts photos, but they’re all I’ve got.

I hope you enjoy!

Fix the shop then I’ll come get my car fixed

28 Jul 2011 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

I absolutely hate dealing with car mechanics. Especially when I know they are trying to pull one over on me.

I know nothing about vehicles and therefore have to rely completely on what a mechanic tells me is wrong with my car, how much it is going to cost me and if he actually fixes it. I have sworn off a local body shop forever because I had my old van in four times within six months for the same problem.

The traction system starting acting up last December. By April it was still having problems despite being “fixed” by this shop a couple of times.

When oil started slipping down the side of the tire blackening my hubcap and smelling like burned grease, I brought out the big guns. I finally made my husband call the shop. The owner didn’t make any excuses for him, like he had done for me in the past, he simply told him to bring it in at our earliest convenience and they would take care of it.

That made me mad for two reasons. First, he made it sound like it was a piece of cake for me in my spare time to drop off my only way of transportation to have him try and fix it again. Bring it in at our earliest convenience? I think he meant at our earliest inconvenience. Because it’s never convenient to drive 20 miles, park my van at the shop where I can either hitchhike a ride home or wrestle my boys for hours in the lobby while mechanics try to work on the problem. Normally I have to call my mom to rescue me and drive me home so I don’t freak out at the shop.

Secondly, I hate the fact that they think I won’t notice that they haven’t fixed the problem the first three times I have brought it in. I am sure they look at me as a young, mostly blonde, female and figure I have no idea what they are talking about. I may not know the mechanics of how they fix my car, but I know when it doesn’t actually get fixed. Especially it it’s spewing oil out its hubcap.

A lot of it is probably my fault. I chose this shop because it had the lowest price in town. That should have been a red flag for me, but honestly I don’t think I should have to pay an arm and a leg to diagnose and fix my vehicle.

Finally, the thing that makes me the maddest is I feel like they try to take advantage of the situation because I am a woman. The shop owner seemed to be a lot more accommodating for my husband than he was for me. He definitely had less excuses for him.

I hate sexism – even on the smallest scale. I mean I wasn’t trying to bust through the glass ceiling or anything. I was just trying to get my minivan fixed without having to get my husband involved. Luckily I have not only sold that van but I have vowed to never step foot in that shop again.

Churchtime Fun

21 Jul 2011 6 Comments

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

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It’s 10:58. We’re running toward the chapel doors. My four-year-old leads the way to the left side of the room where we normally sit. I pull my 2-year-old along as he races to keep up. “My pants,” the 2-year-old yells. I turn around to see his slightly too big black dress pants around his knees. I turn forward again and see the four-year-old booking it to the front of the chapel. A nearby sister helps shove my son’s pants up and I race to the front of the room and sink down next to my oldest — on the front row. I look up to the stand and catch my husband’s eye. All he can do is smile.

All in a Sabbath day’s worship.

Sunday mornings are crazy at our house. My husband has meetings so I am left alone to get the kids and myself ready for church. How I am supposed to have a spiritual experience after yelling at my children to get out the door is beyond me.

I don’t know how we do it, but most of the time we get to the church in one piece — we’re not early by any means — but we manage to plop onto a pew relatively close to our meeting’s start time. We bring with us a church-time circus that I am sure is not only disruptive but highly entertaining for all.

Half of the time I sit down and glance at my Sunday best and find I’ve spilled toothpaste, cover-up or breakfast down my dress. One Sunday I splashed butter all the way down my skirt and leg while rushing to get rolls ready before church. I spent the first five minutes of sacrament trying to wipe away and camouflage the long grease stain that ran down my side.

Most Sundays I spend a majority of the meeting drawing pictures at my 4-year-old’s command only to erase them and try again, because to him they don’t look like what he requested.

Then there’s the 2-year-old’s drama. He refuses to go to the bathroom before we leave our house but something about Sacrament brings it out of him. Many times he’ll scream, “I need to go potty,” during a quiet part of the meeting and I rush him to the nursery toilet — sometimes twice.

I’ve given up on singing hymns. At most I get through three measures before my children either need me for something or slam the book in my face. If I’m lucky, the chorister will choose a song I have memorized and I can sing off and on while I do other things.

I pack three hours worth of treats and activities in an oversized beach bag “just in case.” In case one of the boys burns through the games, paper or goldfish I have packed and I’ll have to dig down deeper to find something that will pique his interest and buy me a few more minutes of reverence.

I spent hours making quiet books (see slideshow above) for Christmas hoping they would help. I’ve affectionately nicknamed those books the “not-so-quiet books.” When the boys play with them, they fight over the pages and pieces — even though they each have their own identical books. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even feel bad if they don’t want to get the books out.

By the time the meeting is over we have left a trail of destruction all across our bench. I swear if the kind old man who brings treats for my boys each week gives them Nerds one more time I am going to flip.

Normally I can’t wait until the closing prayer. Then I can set them lose to find their dad while I clean up our whirlwind of devastation.

Why do I put myself through all of this? Why do I sit nervously in a quiet chapel worrying about my child’s next outburst? Why do I get out of bed early each Sunday morning so I can start getting ready for a stress-filled sacrament?

I do it because the Lord has given me everything. My meager three-hour Sunday worship is only a small way I can show my gratitude.

I do it to show my two crazy boys that my religion is vital to my happiness on Earth. And even if I hear less than 5 percent of what the speakers say, I am following my heart by dedicating myself to my worship.

It’s not easy taking my boys to church alone and I am sure I will complain about it at least a few more times before my life is through.  But if I don’t start taking my children now, how will they learn reverence and respect for a Heavenly Father who gives them everything?

Thank heavens for good friends and neighbors who let me sit by them and help me entertain my irreverent monkeys. Because no matter how crazy our church-time circus becomes, I will continue to go each week. Heaven help me find the patience to survive.

My Hunger for the Games

14 Jul 2011 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Uncategorized

Spoiler alert: If you have not read the Hunger Games and plan to, don’t read this post. I don’t want to hint toward anything that will ruin your personal discovery of what happens during the three-book page-turning series.

I finished reading the Hunger Games series this morning and found that it had a surprising impact on me, catapulting me onto an emotional roller coaster with every page I turned.

I resisted reading the books until now, trying to hold out and withstand the urge to read them only because everyone else was. But I found a copy of the Hunger Games in my sister’s bedroom a few weeks ago and dove right in. It took less than 50 pages to hook me.

I had to know what happened to Katniss, to Peeta, to their happily ever after. It really tore at my own heartstrings. Because with my son’s death last year came the solemn, desperate feeling that even though I married the man of my dreams, who despite my many weaknesses and daily drama loves me like Peeta first loves Kat, we are not immune from heartache and misfortunes.

I related completely to Katniss from the beginning. I shared a lot of her emotions portrayed in the book. Sometimes I’m scared to think that life is going good…because I’m worried that something will snatch me from my happiness.  Sometimes I worry I inflict suffering and pain upon those I love because I’m a selfish, rotten person. Sometimes I feel completely focused and resolved, yet other times confused and disoriented.

The beginning of book three is when I felt the most like Katniss. When she is transformed into the Monckingjay- a symbol of strength and power despite her inner grief and weaknesses.

It reminded me of the people who have told me that my attitude through my recent trials has given them strength through their own personal tragedies.

I’m taken back by their perception of me. Because sometimes I don’t feel strong. I feel like Katniss – lost and out of control and literally like I don’t want to do anything.

Luckily my moral compass and my religious views keep me from turning to drugs and shutting the world out completely, but I feel like I can relate completely to Katniss when she crumbles up in an empty bathtub in a broken-down building to escape from it all – the pain, the memories, the sorrow.

I have to give Suzanne Collins credit for accurately portraying raw, true emotion. I don’t know much about her personal life, but you can tell she knows what sorrow feels like. I thoroughly loved the series.

My favorite part of her storyline was how Kat and Peeta were forever changed by what happened to them. They couldn’t go back to the way they were before.

So they learned how to cope and adapt.

Unfortunately I think that’s exactly how real life is. Our personal trials and triumphs forever leave an impression on our hearts and minds. Good or bad.

Now I know that my death isn’t being targeted by government-made killing machines and I have yet to see a human killed before my eyes, but deep down I feel like I have witnessed some personal tragedies that will forever change me.

Luckily I am not alone. I have good friends and family to help me through my trials. I have my own “Peeta” who wraps his arms around me and tells me it’s going to be all right. And I have my religion that brings me hope that this life is really kind of like a game. A game that if I can figure out and play out well, will only lead me to a better prize. A prize filled with a lifetime of true immunity for all of its victors

No More Nightmares

07 Jul 2011 3 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death

I dream of the day I can actually dream about my angel baby. I’m talking about sweet, peaceful dreams, not wickedly horrifying nightmares.

I have only had a handful of nightmares about Luca since his stillbirth last spring. But those nightmares are powerful enough that they burn into my memory making them impossible to forget. As if the nightmare of giving birth to a non-living baby isn’t bad enough. Try reliving it a number of times while you are trying to catch some ZZZs.

I don’t know why I can’t dream of him in a white robe floating on a cloud. Or hanging out in heaven with my grandma Fern and grandpa Leo.

Instead I either relive his nightmarish birth, or dream that I’m in denial about his death and therefore carrying around his dead little body. It’s horrible.

I have heard of people who have peaceful, even helpful dreams about their deceased loved ones. I’ve even heard of people being visited by their loved ones spirits. Not me. Not yet anyway.

I wish I new what triggered the nightmares. I’m afraid they get worse when I do things like flip through his picture book or think about the day I had him. But I can’t just forget about him. Even if it means I chance having another nightmarish flashback.

There’s a song that plays on his memory video with lyrics that haunt me. It says, “Are you really gone? Are you? Whisper to me, come to me in a dream, promise it’s more than it seems.” I both love and hate that song. Sometimes I think the whole experience with his pregnancy and birth was a big dream. Then I look at the pictures and realize it was real. I really did have my baby die.

I want him to whisper to me. I even want him to come to me in a dream – but not a nightmare. Let’s be honest. Life without him is nightmare enough. I don’t need that raw panic feeling eating at my broken heart during my sleep. It’s bad enough when I’m awake.

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