Blogging and Tapping Trees

I'm back!  As you know, I took a 2+ month hiatus from the blog.  There were many reasons for this little break.  One reason is that my camera hasn't been working properly, and taking photos is such a big passion of mine and a reason why I keep this blog in the first place.  Another reason was questioning whether or not I want to have a blog in the first place for all the world to see.  I mean, I love having an outlet for my writing and photography, but it is a little creepy to have my family displayed for all to see on the internet.  Yet another reason for my lack of blogging was that as the anniversary of my Dad's passing approached I just felt so overwhelmed with how to address it, what to write, how open and honest to be, thoughts of whether people are tired of reading about my sadness and his death etc... And so I remained silent and let the thoughts pile up and swirl around in my head and I know at some point this year I'll finally let it all spill out on these pages.

I also felt like I wanted to clarify why I blog in the first place.
I am not blogging with the hopes of gaining a following or becoming a "famous" blogger.  I have friends who have gone that direction and it's been really fun watching their readership grow and seeing their success, but I don't really want to have lots of strangers reading about my life.  My main reason for blogging is to keep a journal of our lives.  Scott and I will often sit on the couch at night and click back through old blog posts and it's amazing how many wonderful memories we have because of this blog.  I spent hours and hours creating a photobook of my blog with text and pictures and I only made it through the first nine months of the blog or so...definitely a continuing project for the next few years!  Despite the major amount of effort, I'm so thrilled to have this story of our lives for us to always remember. 

I've realized that for too long I was worrying about what my small readership of friends and family would think of me and my writing, but now I've just decided to approach this blog primarily as a family journal and personal outlet for me and if people want to read it that's fine with me, but if not...I'm not offended!  :)  So, despite the fact that certain things I write here might sound like bragging, that is not my intention at all.  I'm hoping to write a post soon about the fact that Camden is reading.  And I'm not writing this because I want all six people who read my blog to gush over my son; I'm writing it because I want to remember the details on when and how my oldest child learned to read and how proud we are of him.  Writing about the little things that make us laugh, the way Micah says, "be-cept" instead of "except", the new things Sadie is saying and doing, the ways I'm missing my Dad, the excitement of life...these are the things I want to remember and this is why I'm resurrecting this blog.  I'm not going to promise a certain number of posts a week or pressure myself to meet a certain standard, I'm just going to plug away when I have time so that we have a journal of memories!  Here's to yet another new beginning! 

We are currently enduring the longest and coldest winter I can remember.  Temperatures have been so cold that we've been cooped up inside since November - ugh.  Usually over spring break we help collect sap on campus, but since the sugaring season is a few weeks behind this year we had the opportunity to help tap the trees today!  It was such a fun experience for the kids and Dave was an amazing teacher - helping the kids search the trunk of each tree to find old tap holes from years past, teaching them how to identify a sugar maple, letting them help drill, giving them a chance to use the hammer on their own and hang the buckets.  It was a beautiful day that actually reached about 42 degrees and it was nice to be outside and feel the sunshine on our faces.  Many of our fellow faculty-family friends are vacationing in Florida right now, so it was a small crew of helpers but we had a blast!  One of the (few) perks of not traveling over spring break!

 These two are going to be in Kindergarten together next year! 

 Buddies...

 Look at that concentration...

 Love the pom-poms...

 It's easy to climb trees when the snow is 5 feet high!

 Camden and Dave on the move...

 My handsome husband!

 Daddy's work gloves!

 Team work!

Most of the trees didn't have any sap running when we tapped them, but the squeals of joy were pretty amazing when we saw one tree start dripping right away.  Everyone, even the adults, got a taste of that fresh sap.  I guess spring is coming after all...

Father's Day

I've been kind of dreading this weekend for a while now.  Although Sunday is surrounded on one side by my birthday and on the other side our wedding anniversary, I just knew it would be a difficult time for me.  This is my first Father's Day without my Dad.  As if I already didn't remember him and wish him back enough already, I am completely surrounded on all sides by reminders of him.  Scott and I went out for a date night tonight and we had a blast together.  Sadie came along for the ride and was perfectly well behaved so we could enjoy some adult discussion and just be together. 
On the way home, we got to talking about my Dad and as we drove straight into the setting sun we were both blinded by tears.  It still feels so fresh to me.  Those final two weeks of his life are like an open wound that I'm hoping will heal with time. Sitting by his bedside watching him struggle for each breath will forever be a memory that I can't escape from.  I try to remember the good.  I try to dwell on his laughter, his unbelievable faith in me and support of me.  I try to focus on what our life was like before March of 2012 when he got sick, but I can't seem to escape this last year and the pain and sadness and confusion and hardship that came with it. 

This year for Christmas I made my Dad a photo book of our life together.  It started with pictures of him holding me as an infant, smiling with me through the years and ending with some photos of me crouching next to his wheelchair putting the best smile I could on my face despite the pain.  In the very back of the book I wrote a letter to my Dad.  It was a letter that summed up everything I had been wanting to say, but couldn't find the words for.  I gave my Dad this gift that I had poured hours of my life and many tears into in a quiet moment when we were home alone together - just a few days before Christmas.  We flipped through the book together, looking at all the photos of us and our family throughout the years and then I read my letter out loud to him.  We both had tears in our eyes by the time I looked up from reading it and he gave me a huge hug and expressed how proud he was of me.  I will treasure that moment forever. 

I read this same letter at his memorial service, and I'm sharing it here - to help me remember my Dad on this Father's Day, and every day.  He was a good, good man and a really amazing father.  I know I'm blessed to have had him in my life for 30 years and know that I will see him again some day.  I love you, Daddy. 

Dear Daddy,
Merry Christmas!  I know that these words are not even going to begin to express to you exactly how much you mean to me, but I'm going to try to articulate it anyways. 

I want to start by saying thank you.  Thank you for being an incredible husband to Mom, a steadfast and loving father to Caren and me and a committed and involved Bepa to my children.  I have a lifetime of memories that all include you - your laughter, your encouragement, your wisdom, your kindness, your support.   You have helped make this life of mine an amazing one and for that I am forever grateful. 
 

I have so many happy memories from my childhood.  I remember sitting on your lap and reading Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose and countless Berenstain Bears books with you.  I remember moving all the furniture in the living room and wrestling with you on the floor until I was giggling so hard we had to stop to catch our breath.  I remember learning to ride my banana seat bike and you being right at my side as you let go of the seat, cheering for me all the way.  I remember driving around the back roads of New Hampshire, trying to see if there was any part of this area you didn't know like the back of your hand.  We would listen to Oldies 99.1 on the radio and drive and drive just for the fun of it. 

I remember the distinct smell of ink and the loud roar of the machines when I'd come visit you at the Country Press and how much I loved playing in the special little revolving doors that brought you into the dark rooms.  I will always remember your love of Christmas and how excited you were to sneak around picking out special gifts for each of us. I loved when you would wrap the tiniest little gift inside three different boxes within each other just to see the confusion and joy on our faces when we opened it.  One of my favorite memories is being woken up early before school.  You would whisper to me that the perfect amount of fresh snow had fallen the night before and that it was a perfect day to hit the slopes.  You would call into work and call into my school and arrange for us to spend a day together.  I loved to ski, but that wasn't really the point.  It was the opportunity to spend a day with you, doing something together that we both enjoyed.  Thank you for teaching me to love the snow, and the outdoors and that skipping school on occasion was good for the soul! I could go on and on with specific memories, but mostly I remember you being present.  You were always there for my birthday parties and family dinners around the kitchen table.  You were at my school plays and chorus concerts and athletic events.  You knew all of my friends and they all loved you.  You made me feel special and important and like I could do anything.  Thank you for that.  Thank you for giving me confidence in who I am and who God created me to be.  

I love how you always tried to embarrass me when I was younger (actually, you still have a knack for this!).  Whether it was singing loudly as we walked through the mall together or wearing a funny outfit that I typically would have been horrified to be seen with - I somehow was never embarrassed by you.  I think it's because everyone, and I mean every single person you've ever met, loved you so much.  You made people laugh and made them feel special and because of that all my friends thought you were the best Dad ever.  I was so proud to be seen with you.  I loved that my friends knew you were on campus in college because we could hear your laughter long before we could actually see you.  You were everyone's favorite, and because of that I thought you could do no wrong. 
I'm not sure I can ever really thank you enough for sharing your love of soccer with me.  Playing soccer truly helped shape me into who I am today and it means so much to me that we have shared this passion over the years.  Thank you for the countless hours you spent kicking around with me, letting me shoot on you or going over to the kick board at Proctor.  Thank you for driving thousands of miles throughout my career to bring me to club practices and tryouts and for coming to nearly every game I've ever played.  Your presence on the sideline pushed me to want to be better.  If you were running late for some reason I would feel distracted until I could hear your voice cheering for me, pushing me to work harder and play smarter.  As soon as I knew you were there I would suddenly turn my game up a notch, always striving to make you proud.  I love the legacy that you left at both Kearsarge and Gordon and that I was able to follow in your footsteps at both schools.  I was proud to be a Benson and proud to play on the same fields you played on.  Thank you for being an incredible coach - both formally in high school and informally throughout my career.  Your confidence and faith in me helped me to accomplish things I don't think I ever thought possible. 

I heard a quote somewhere that said the greatest thing a father can do for his children is love their mother.  This is truly one of the greatest gifts you could have ever given me.  I always knew that you and Mom were in love.  I knew that little disagreements wouldn't ruin your marriage.  I never had to worry throughout middle school or high school about what would happen if you separated, who I would live with, or how it would change my life.  I knew that you were together forever.  I knew you had made a commitment to each other and that you would stand by that for the rest of your life.  Thank you so, so much for the dedication and love you've shown Mom throughout all these years (and Mom, your care for Dad these last nine months nearly brings me to tears when I think of the love and commitment you are showing to him.  Thank you).  Providing us with a stable home was the most precious gift you could have given to Caren and me and I will always be thankful for it.  Without ever having to use words, you showed me what it means to be a good husband and a good father.  You helped me to understand what it was I should be looking for in a spouse, and I'm so blessed to say that I found someone to spend my life with who is as committed and loving and caring as you have always been to Mom.  Thank you for showing me what I deserved and for setting such a high standard for me to follow in my own life. 

Lastly, and probably most importantly, thank you for showing me how to love God, serve God and follow God.  Your faith is one of the things I most admire about you. 

It is so real.  You have taught me that it's good to wrestle with questions, to dig deeper, to own my faith.  You have shown me what it means to love others unconditionally, to accept people for who they are.  The way you welcome people into your home has always amazed me.  You make people feel at home and you shower them with kindness and generosity.  You share your belongings and your money with others even when you have so little for yourself.  I have always admired you and Mom for your hospitality and for living the life that Jesus calls us all to live.  Thank you for showing me what being a Christian really means and for helping me become a person who is continually striving to love God and love others more and more each day. 

Dad, you have always been my biggest fan, my greatest supporter and the person that I most look up to in this world, and watching you endure all that you have these last nine months has been the hardest thing I've ever gone through.  Sometimes I just want to curl up and cry and other times I want to scream at God and beg him to work a miracle.  But, you have been so steady throughout this entire journey.  You have shown me how to be brave, even when you're afraid.  You've shown me how to have faith, even in the darkest of times.  You've shown me how to lift others up, even when the world seems to be crashing around you.  You've shown me how to trust, even when life seems hopeless. 

You've shown me how to smile, even when that might be the last thing you want to do.  You are the bravest, strongest, kindest man I know, and I am so, so proud to be your daughter.  Throughout this difficult time, I am continually reminded how blessed I really am.  I'm blessed to have had an incredibly solid relationship with you for over 30 years now.  Some people never know the love of an earthly father, but I do, and I have never taken that for granted.  I'm blessed that you have been such a strong presence in my life, not just as a child or a teenager, but as an adult as well.  Watching you love on my children brings me the greatest joy.  Thank you for making them laugh, for reading them books, for allowing them to be a part of your life, even when the noise and the chaos was sometimes difficult for you to handle in recent months.  They love their Bepa.  They pray for you every night and Camden flips his pillow over to the cold side "just like Bepa" before falling asleep.  I'm so blessed that you got to watch me grow up and see me get married to a wonderful man,  that you have been able to know and love my children, and see our run down house become a beautiful home. 

No matter what happens in the future.  No matter how many weeks or months or years you are in my life, know that I consider myself blessed because of your unyielding presence in my life.  You mean the world to me and I love you with all that I am. 
Love always,
Lindsey (LB)

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

 

Waiting

I've done a lot of waiting this year.  Waiting for good news.  Waiting for answered prayers.  Waiting for my belly to grow.  Waiting.  Trying to be patient and trusting.

I sat by my Dad's bedside as he slowly slipped from this world to the next.  For more than a week I watched, and I waited.  I waited for him to take his last breath.  Every moment wondering if this would be it.  Every night when I kissed him on the forehead and told him what an incredible Dad he was to me I wondered if I'd see him again.  Every night I fell asleep with my phone next to my bed, waiting for the dreaded phone call that was bound to come.  And then one night, about an hour after I had said yet another "final" goodbye to him, the phone did ring.  And it was it.  The waiting was over.  It had actually happened.  And I arrived at my parents' house just a couple minutes later and sat with him and loved him and cried.

And now I find myself waiting once again.  Though this time I'm not waiting for a final breath.  I'm waiting for a first breath.  A first cry.  I'm waiting for my heart to become whole instead of waiting for it to break.  

In just a few short days I'm going to give birth to our precious little girl.  Maybe on her due date, March 25th, which would have been my Dad's 59th birthday.  And when I'm in those horrible, painful moments of labor, I'm going to remember how brave my Dad was throughout his entire journey, but specifically during those final weeks.  I learned, as I held his hand, that dying isn't easy.  That it's physically exhausting and draining and challenging and heartbreaking and scary.  I learned that going from this life to the next takes courage and, if you believe in heaven and eternity with God, death is, in a way, being born into a new world.

I'm going to take what I learned from my Dad and tackle this labor with the same courage and strength that he showed me at the end of his life.  I dread labor.  I have had some pretty horrendous experiences in the past and I can already feel the pain of the back labor I've had with both of my previous births just thinking about it.  But I'm ready.  I'm ready for new life.  I'm ready for a little precious person to bring hope and joy and grace to our family.  I'm ready.  And so I will wait once again, but this time my heavy heart has been replaced with one of hope. 

A Very Special Homecoming

Eight weeks is a long time.  It's a long time to be lying in a hospital bed.  It's a long time to be alone all night long with just uncertain thoughts of the future to keep you company.  It's a long time to be poked and prodded and cared for by strangers who soon become friends, but somehow they are friends you kind of wish you'd never met given the circumstances.  It's a long time for a spouse to go home to an empty house every night after being by your side for long days.  It's a long time for daughters to miss and worry and wonder about their Daddy.  It's a long time for grandkids who say, "See Bepa?" every time their Mom leaves the house, even if it's just to go for a run.  Eight weeks is a long time. 

I know there are families that experience this reality for much more than eight weeks.  I know it's possible that we might find ourselves there again sometime in the future.  But for now, in this very moment, we are all just so thankful that those eight weeks are over.  Right now, I'm so thankful that when I think about my Dad tonight, I am picturing him sitting in his recliner in his own house with my Mom close by...listening to the same claps of thunder that are shaking my walls and seeing the same lightning light up the same sky.  I think I can finally allow the image of him lying in his hospital bed at rehab, watching a TV that doesn't even have ESPN and chatting with the occasional nurse that pops in to slowly fade from my mind. 

My Dad came home last night.  After two weeks of pain and fear at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center that included an embolism, a major surgery to repair his collapsed spine and remove the tumor that caused it, acute paralysis from his waist down (I will never forget the moment his surgeon discovered this paralysis as I was in the room alone with him) leading to a rushed emergency surgery followed by six weeks of grueling physical and occupational therapy at HealthSouth...My Dad is finally home! 

My mom and I spent Tuesday afternoon with him packing up his room, watching his final therapy session and saying goodbyes to his therapists and nurses (all of whom were really sad to see my Dad go).  The anticipation was palpable.  We all breathed a big sigh of relief as we pulled into their little driveway in the village. 

This journey is not over.  A long road is ahead as my Dad battles this disease that is plaguing his body, while continuing to try and gain strength and mobility as he recovers from this spinal cord injury.  The incredible support of family, friends and the greater community has given us hope.  The kind words, the prayers, the financial contributions, the fundraisers and the amazing generosity of local businesses and carpenters and neighbors...God has been so faithful and I know He will continue to be. 

Preparing a Welcome Home sign for Dad's return before I headed down to Concord!

Dad's window by his bed at HealthSouth...

 Working hard in therapy...

 Saying goodbye to his occupational therapist...these two spent a lot of time together!

 Final meeting with our case manager - she was great!

 Dad spent almost two hours a day with his physical therapist.  He is a former marine and worked my Dad hard, but they had such a great relationship and I think I might have seen a tear in his eye when he said goodbye to my Dad.

 Mom learning to flush the pic line - she's a nurse now!

Our last photo together at rehab!

Heading out to the car!

 Pulling into the driveway!

 The welcoming committee...

 Dad's going to enjoy sitting on his own front porch again!

 The boys helping get Bepa's wheelchair setup...

 Thank you RP Johnson's and Jack for the new ramp!

 Micah likes the balloons...

 Mom putting Dad's wedding ring back on his finger for the first time since he had to take it off 8 weeks ago at DHMC.  It was a pretty cute moment!

Welcome home, Daddy.  I think you are right where you need to be. 
 

Elf on the What?!?

So I know this post is probably going to offend a few readers, but I just have to get it out of me.  This has been bubbling up in me for weeks, actually since last year, and I just have to ask out loud.  What on earth is up with the Elf on the Shelf phenomenon?!?!?  For those of you who don't know about Elf on the Shelf, it is based on a book and the plot is summarized here on wikipedia:

Image

Every day from Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve, each family's scout elf watches over the children and then at night, once everyone goes to bed, the elf flies back to the North Pole to report back to Santa about what activities, good and bad, took place throughout the day. Before the family wakes up each morning, the scout elf flies back from the North Pole and hides. By hiding in a new spot each morning around the house, the scout elf and the family play an on-going game of hide and seek. The Elf on the Shelf explains that elves get their magic by being named. In the back of each book, families have an opportunity to write their elf's name and the date that they adopted it. Once the elf is named, the scout elf receives its special Christmas magic which allows it to fly to and from the North Pole. However, the magic might go if touched, so the rule for The Elf on the Shelf states: "There's only one rule that you have to follow so I will come back and be here tomorrow: Please do not touch me. My magic might go, and Santa won't hear all I've seen or I know." Although families aren't supposed to touch their scout elf, they can talk to it and tell it all their Christmas wishes so it can report back to Santa accurately.

My understanding is that most parents use this little elf as a way to keep their children in check during the holiday season.  "Don't hit your brother, the elf (usually some creative name) is watching and will tell Santa that you've been naughty."  Seriously?  It just seems strange to me.  I'm not a big fan of using the whole Santa thing to scare my children into good behavior, but I guess to each their own.  

Oh, and it costs $30!!  AND it has sold more than 1.5 million copies!  I guess I'm just not on that bandwagon...should I be?!?!?

If you are an elf on the shelf fan, let me know why in the comments!  Maybe you can make a believer out of me!  :)

Gender - painted toenails and little boys

If you have a minute, click here to watch a three minute clip from Good Morning America to get a little background on this post...

 This advertisement, which was sent out to J Crew customers in a recent email, has created quite a stir.  I'm sure many of you have heard about it.  The ad shows the President and Creative Director of J Crew painting her son's toenails pink.  Oh the outrage this simple picture has created!  One psychiatrist wrote on a Foxnews.com column, “This is a dramatic example of the way that our culture is being encouraged to abandon all trappings of gender identity.”  Another woman from the Media Research Center called the ad, “blatant propaganda celebrating transgendered children.”  Are you kidding me?  Maybe it's the sociologist in me, but this kind of commentary makes my blood boil.  First of all, what child wouldn't find nail polish fun to play with?  Kids like to paint.  Kids like to make messes.  Kids like to dress up.  Kids like to imitate their elders.  Girls and boys...what's the difference? 

Secondly, I'm pretty sure I know plenty of very masculine men who were dressed up by their older sisters when they were little and turned out just fine.  The concept that at such a young age, girls are only to play with "girl toys" and boys are only allowed to play with "boy toys" drives me nuts.  I'm not gonna lie, Camden loves trucks.  He loves getting dirty.  He seems to be a natural athlete.  He is very physical.  But, he is also sensitive.  He loves to read.  He loves to sing and dance.  He loves to snuggle.  He loves to push Buddy (his little felted bunny) or Green Monkey (creative name, huh?) around in his stroller (gasp!) and the other day he pretended to be pregnant with twins and put stuffed animals down his pjs (double gasp! Yes, our friends just gave birth to twins...Camden wanted in on the excitement!).  Are we setting our child up for a lifetime of torment?  Does playing with a stuffed animal or even a doll mean that our two and a half year old is going to automatically be gay?  OR are we allowing our child to learn to play.  To create.  To imagine.  The way he takes care of his little stuffed animals and tells me to be quiet when they are "sleeping" makes me think that he's going to make a pretty great Daddy someday (and he already is a great older brother!).  Is there something wrong with allowing our sons to develop a sensitive side? 

And I'm not on my own with this one.  Scott and I were watching an episode of What Would You Do? on television recently that tackled a similar topic.  Hidden cameras captured how people reacted to seeing a young boy in a toy store begging for a doll.  They then took it a step further and had the little boy wearing a dress.  Scott and I were glued to the show, discussing different people's reactions to the situation and how we would handle something like that ourselves.  I said something to the effect of, "I would have no problem with Camden playing dressup and wearing a dress at home or at a friend's house, but I'm not sure I'd want him to walk around in public like that."  Scott shocked me with his response: "Why not?  He's two years old...it really doesn't mean anything." 
Let's be clear here, I'm not going to actively encourage my son to wear dresses and paint his toenails, but I'm also not going to judge those parents who do.  And I'm not going to make assumptions about those little boys and their sexuality.  And I'm not going to stifle my child's imagination, just because he might be crossing gender barriers with the toys he chooses to play with.  I'm kind of proud that among the matchbox cars, fire trucks, train tracks, hockey sticks and blocks that litter our house, you can also find a "doll" stroller, stuffed animals, and a little doll who likes to have his imaginary diaper changed. 
Camden brought Buddy and his stroller with him when we ran a few errands last week.  We were quite the pair with our two strollers and we received so many smiles from friends and strangers alike as we walked around the stores.  People struck up conversation with him and wanted to see his little toy.  He was proud.  And so was I.

What do you think?  Do/would you let your children play with toys that aren't marketed to their specific gender? Do you think there will be long-term effects on allowing children this freedom?