To Nana

This is the eulogy I wrote for my Nana:

The words I am about to say were both the easiest and hardest I have ever written. Easiest because honestly, I could stand here for days telling you about my Nana. Hardest because today I have to use the word "was" to tell you about someone who is so much a part of who I am.

Monica Sue McHenry was born on July 29th, 1934. She was the fifth child of Otto Sr. and Ruth McHenry. She married Tommy Hinds on January 22nd, 1954, and their family tree grew one son, three daughters, five grandsons, four granddaughters, three great grandsons and three great granddaughters (so far).

Over the past week, those of us closest to her have spent time looking through pictures and reminiscing and as we prepared for this day, we realized we don't know much about the little details about Nana, things like her favorite song or color, because that was the type of person she was: it was always about the other person with her. She lived in the present and didn't share much about herself, so when she did, you hung onto those stories for dear life.

One of the stories she shared with me was about a meeting she went to as a child with a neighborhood friend. She asked her mother if she could go to this meeting on a Sunday morning with her friend and the friend's father. She got permission and went. When she returned, her mother wanted to know if she had a good time and what they did. Little six year old Monica was so excited about the parade she got to be in where the grown-ups wore long white robes and silly pointed hats. Turns out the meeting was for the KKK and little Monica didn't get to attend any more meetings with her friend.

Even though I don't know much about her childhood, I can tell you all about the thing she was born to be: a Nana.

What is a Nana, you may ask? While I did not give her the name, I spent many Fridays (and Tuesdays, Wednesdays and others thrown in there) over the past 29 years learning what that word means.

Nana is the first person to take care of you when you join her family. Nana buys you your first training bra and teaches you to shave when your mother won't because she thinks you are too young. She makes the best ice cream sundaes, is a miracle worker - she is like Jesus with the loaves and fishes because she can turn two pork chops in to a meal for everyone who stops by unexpectedly. Nana bought the best gifts, made the best forts in the front room, shared the coziest bubble baths, was the best listener, gave the best advice (even if she just let you figure it out for yourself), was NOT the best secret keeper, because everyone could go to Nana. You had to remember that when chatting with her because your mother WOULD find out what you said (but you also got to hear what your mom said about you too).

Nana is the reason my mom and I made it through the pre-teen/teenage years, because her's was the place I could go, when I didn't belong at mom's house. She gave the best hugs and had the most comfortable lap, and I am sure if her little body was able, she could still rock me to sleep today.

She loved unconditionally and would fight for you if she needed to. She was a lover of music and art, especially that done by a three year old.

She was your biggest supporter, your best friend. She was my best friend.

Over that 29 years of Fridays, she taught me many lessons. But three stand out the most.

First, she taught me that you don't have to have anything to have everything. She was not a high school graduate, she didn't have a prestigious career, didn't retire from anywhere. She never owned a car - never even learned to drive. She almost hit a barn and they quit trying to teach her. She didn't own a house, but always lived in a home. She didn't go on fancy trips or have diamonds, jewels or pearls. But what she did have was her family, and she was rarely without a baby in her arms. And that was all she needed to be truly happy.

She taught me that there is always room for family. There was never a time in her adult life where she didn't open her heart and home to extra family. It never mattered how many beds or rooms were available: if you needed a place to be, Nana's was always there.

And she taught me that life isn't fair, but you don't get to give up. Her life was full of hard times. She married a man that needed to be kept in line ALOT, but she loved him to the end. She was diagnosed with cancer and had radical surgeries that changed her life. And when they told her she would never talk again, she spent hours in her bathtub practicing the word hor'dourves to prove them wrong. She survived her parents, her siblings, her husband, several nieces and nephews, her son-in-law and her great grandson. And through it all, she kept a smile on her face.


Over the past two years, and certainly the past five months when her life was the hardest, we watched and prayed and did all we could to help her as she moved from friend to angel.

There are three types of healing: medical, where the doctors give you medicine or perform procedures to heal you; miracle, where God cures you; and spiritual, where you body is no longer able to be fixed, so your soul gets to move on.

My little Emma was by her Nana's side through many of the hardest days, and she has asked me about dying and how you get to Heaven. And I have explained to her that everyone has a special ticket and how you have to wait to get your ticket and it is one-way (when you go to Heaven, you can't come back), and I have explained that your soul is what goes to Heaven, and your soul is made of your happiness and love and that is what gets to be an angel.

And over the past five months, me and God have done a lot of talking. I may not have a traditional relationship with him, but we get through things together. Like my Nana, I have seen a lot of hard times, and after my son's death, a friend gave me the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It was written by a rabbi and talks about how free will is responsible for the things that happen on Earth, and how God is like Nana and just helps you get through those times. That he is the God of everyone, so he doesn't use bad times to punish us. And it says that it is okay to question him and get mad at him and even hate him at times. Because like any relationship, you can't praise him for all the good and not blame him for any of the bad. God's shoulders are big enough to carry your pain, and he loves you enough, like Nana, to be able to handle your anger. Those thoughts have been what have gotten me through my hard times, and certainly the past five months. And as you grieve this loss with me, I hope those words bring you comfort as well.

So now, we must take the lessons Nana's life gave us and carry on. We need to love our family unconditionally and never give up. To cry when we need to, laugh when we can, and love always!

I love you, Nana!

Who Popped My Bubble?

Okay, so all you dream interpreters out there read this:

Last night I had a dream that I dived (?dove?) into a body of water. I swam all the way to the bottom and when I got there, it was dry, like I was in a bubble. I then laid there and rested on the bottom of the pool/tank/whatever on my belly. It was really peaceful.

But after a while, I decided to move and couldn't get up or move any part of me, like there was all of a sudden tons of pressure pushing down on my entire body. I struggled for a bit and then the "bubble" "popped" and all the water came rushing down towards me. I fought to get up or move without success, and I woke up before the water got to me.

What does it mean?

Hot Mess

Emma comes downstairs in this outfit as we are headed out to dinner. She stops and says "Pretty much, I'm a Hot Mess today"

Jim is trying to teach her to not use her middle ("bad") finger for pointing and other things. She says "It's not bad if I point it at myself"

She's a riot!

"Bird Flew...

...into the baby's room", Emma comes downstairs crying. I say "Huh?" I know I couldn't have heard her correctly. I ask where the bird is now, and she says she doesn't know. So I go upstairs, pretty sure there is just a bird flying outside the closed window in John's room. But sure enough, as soon as I get to the top of the stairs, here comes flying out of the baby's room is a little sparrow!

I call Jim because I am not really sure what to do. He wants to go all "PETA" and humane and get the bird out without harm. Blah, blah, blah. My first instinct is to schwack it down with a racket. But then again, I don't want to get hit in the head with a crazy bird or have to get a dead or injured bird out of the house.

Emma decides that she wants to help, so we devise a plan. First, we have to get the baby in a "safe" room. We move him to my room. She gets on the bed with him and tells him not to be afraid.

It just so happens that Muno (Yo Gabba! Gabba!) is singing "Don't Be Afraid" at the very same time. I Swear! I couldn't make this stuff up!

Then Emma and I shut all the doors upstairs except for her's and John's and make a bread trail between the rooms.

We open her window, which proved to be easier said than done, and she came up with the genius idea to get a cage (we don't have one so "this box will work, right Mom?") and keep the damn bird, which she was just 10 minutes ago crying about, as a pet. Yeah, that is a GREAT idea! Anyway...

The bird is pretty happy in the baby's room. He keeps flying into the closet and then around the room and landing on the bed or behind the rocking chair:

Finally, he gets "stuck" in the closet, so I have to coax him out with a broom. Now, don't go call PETA. All I did was shake some clothes around and he flew out and then onto the T.V. in the game room. Awesome!

Well, at least that was enough time to close the baby's door so his only option was down the stairwell (dear God, please don't let him do that!) or out the window in Emma's room. Eventually, he decided the second of the two options was the best, and we all lived Happily Ever After. Especially Emma, who thought it was so cool to have a bird in the house AND get to throw bread on the floor and out the window.

Moral of the story: A bird in the baby's room is worth an afternoon of fun with your four-year old (and a load of crib bedding laundry and vacuuming.)

Hot Mom With Some Relay Action

This was supposed to be a "Dad" chaperoned field trip. The permission slip was sent home two weeks ago and I asked Jim if he would like to go; he said "Sure!" He hasn't gone to any of Xavier's field trips thus far and a third grade trip to the National Institute of Fitness and Sport sounds perfect for a dad to chaperone, don't you think? I certainly did!
However, two weeks passed, time for the field trip arrived and Jim wasn't able to be off work, so Mom got to go instead (yip...eee :() I am not now, nor have I ever been, athletic or fit. I really despise physical activity, so attending this field trip was only a duty, not a pleasure. I am the zoo/museum/musical mom, NOT a SPORTS mom....
The kids got to do lots of fun things:

Rock Wall climbing (which I did not get any pictures of because Xavier wanted a video of it instead, but that darn thing won't load here. Stupid website!)

Scooter Races

Beachball Volleyball Obstacle Courses and...

RELAY RACES (oh what fun...)

Our group had an odd number of students, so to even up the pairs we needed an adult volunteer. Have I mentioned that I am NOT athletic or physically inclined? AND I just had a c-section 7 weeks ago? Anyway, no other adult volunteered, so I did the good chaperon thing and offered myself. I hope these children understand one day the sacrifices I made for them :)

Here are some pictures of the glorious event:

At first I was paired up with Christopher Breedlove

And here is me, making a WAY stupid face as I try not to fall down doing what the kids called "karaokee". No, I did not fall. Yay me! But for the last race, Xavier wanted to race me. His team was behind, and since I was the last runner, I made sure his team was winning at the end. Hey, he's my kid and I wanted him to win, dang it! (even though I totally could have creamed him.... give me some credit, it was the only time in my life I ever even had a chance at winning a relay race - again, I am NOT athletic! I hated P.E. and wanted to call in sick on Field Day So, in the end, it was a fun day. The kids got to learn about taking care of their bodies, I "almost" won the relay race, and at lunch back at the school, Xavier tore his sandwich in half to share with me since I didn't bring anything for myself. He is such a dear, sweet boy! And I am glad I got to be the substitute for Dad on this one!

My Favorite Valentines Day

My favorite Valentines Day was celebrated a day late, at a restaurant we always go to and stopping to pick up diapers on the way home to get the kids.

My favorite Valentines gift was nothing more than a letter that said everything I've ever wanted to hear.

My favorite Valentines memory is waking up, still in my pj's, in the arms of the one person who has always had my heart.

My favorite Valentine is you!

I love you more with every breath I take!

Valentine Ornaments and a Pizza: By Us

Emma and I decided to make Valentines for the family this year. Here are the ingredients and tools we needed:

Here is Emma pouring the (LOTS) of cinnamon on top of the applesauce (who'da thunk cinnamon and applesauce could make dough?)



This is what Emma called the "poop". I'll admit, it did resemble it a bit.


Here she is cutting out our shapes. To be honest, this project wasn't as easy or kid friendly as I had hoped. Or maybe it is that I am TERRIBLE with dough!


Here are all of our shapes, and Emma putting in the string holes.


We baked them for 2 hours. There are no pictures of that. It was lunchtime and that was a little like watching the grass grow... :)

But the next morning, Emma worked on her gift tags.


And here is the finished product! (Ta Da!)



And here are my goofy two posing in front of their (dysfuntional) pizza. Xavier doesn't eat toppings and Emma LOVES sausages.