Friends

It is by chance we met, by choice we became friends.
Friendship is a strange thing---
we find ourselves telling each other the deepest details of our lives,
things we don't even share with our families who raised us.
But what is a friend? A confidant? A lover?
A fellow email junkie? A shoulder to cry on?
An ear to listen? A heart to feel?...
A friend is all these things...and more.
No matter where we met, I call you friend.
A word so small yet so large in feeling, a word filled with emotion.

It is true great things come in small packages.
Once the package of friendship has been opened,
it can never be closed.
It is a constant book always written
waiting to be read and enjoyed.
We may have our disagreements, we may argue,
we may concern one another, friendship is a unique bond that lasts through it all.

A part of me is put into my friends,
some it is my humor, some it is my listening ear,
some it is real life experiences, some it is my romanticism
but with all, it is friendship.

Friendships forged are a construct stronger
than steel built as a foundation,
necessary for life and necessary for love.
riends----you and me
You brought another friend and then there were 3.
We started our group
Our circle of friends and like that circle
There is no beginning or end...
~Author Unknown

You My Friend
You my friend
You don't always show it,
but I know that you care.

You My friend
If I'd ever need you,
I know you'd be there.

You I'm glad you're my friend.
Your smile makes me smile.
Your pain makes me hurt.

You My friend
I want you to know:
If you need me--I'm there.
make you happy, make you laugh.

You My friend
Sometimes you make me mad,
but I can't stay mad.

You My friend
Sometimes I want to get away from you.
And sometimes there's nothing I want more than:
to talk to you, to tell you about my day,
to hear about yours, to laugh with you,
to tease you, to share an inside joke,
that no one else would get,
to argue with you, but know we're just kidding..

You My friend
Do you remember the time when...?
There are so many times.

You My friend
Don't ever lose the wonderful person you are.
Stay happy. Stay healthy. Stay you.

You My friend
I'll never stop being your friend.
Don't ever stop being mine.

You My friend
Just wanted to tell you:
I care.
~Author Unknown

How Many Moans Would You Allow?

Nothing really inspiring me to post today, but I did want to share this article I read.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10573416/

And I thought my company were a bunch of tight asses for the no facial piercings or showable tattoos policy.

Evening Out Update: Cousin Cassidy from Polo has saved the day and I once again have a sitter for the evening. Tonight I will be gallivanting with the girls. Shiny Happy People will once again hold hands and rejoice.

Shiny Happy People Suck

I had narrowly pulled myself from the depths of holiday hopelessness when I received an unexpected blow late this morning.

A little background. I don’t get to see my girlfriends very often. We have our monthly Casserole meetings, but I had to miss the last one due to my brother’s unfortunate ATV accident. It has been close to ten weeks since I have shared laughter and cocktails with the ladies I value most, without the constant pull on my sleeve by any one of my three delightful chit-lins or a ten-minute negotiation with Jeff on whose turn it is to change the poopy diaper.

I put my foot down this week and decided it was time for an evening out, sans children and husband. My mother recognized my despair and took pity on me, agreeing to take the children tomorrow night. Finally. I look forward to this reprieve and can’t wait to see my pals Bombadee and Duchess Jane. Emails are flying, plans are being made and confirmed. I even have a new shirt to wear. Could life be any better? Shiny happy people are holding hands everywhere.

I am attempting to track down my mother at work this morning to confirm times for the kid exchange. She’s not in her office (we both work at the same health system) so I pull up her calendar to see where she is. That’s when I see it. In her calendar tomorrow night I see plans that have nothing to do with either her grandchildren or her daughters much needed night out. The evening is blocked with my step-father’s company Christmas party. What? Is this a mistake? Maybe she’s not going? My heart begins to beat faster, I can feel the perspiration collecting on my forehead and stomach getting tighter than Schweaty Man’s ass. I page her. I haven’t experienced such anxious anxiety since the doctor told me it was too late for an epidural with my second kid.

Phone Rings
Me: Mom?
Mom: Whatcha need?
Me: Are you going to Jim’s Christmas party tomorrow night?
Mom: Yes.
Me: I thought you were babysitting.
Mom: Oh (sharp, deep breath in)….you know, I can’t seem to remember this party to save my life. Sorry.
Me: What? You forgot?
Mom: Yes. And I can’t not go to the Christmas party.

There was more, like her suggestion I call my cousin in Polo, but you get the gist of it. “Sorry, I forgot, can’t do it.” I’ve tried calling cousin Cassidy, but haven’t gotten a hold of her yet. It just sucks. Now I’m stressed, and pretty sure I won’t be able to go (the pessimist in me). All of this probably sounds pretty mundane while there are hearts aching in both the houses of Bombadee and our Duchess. But, I am feeling a bit selfish and plan to focus on the fact that the most terrible thing in the world right now, besides knowing I can’t eat cookies, is me (most likely) missing my evening out.

Shiny Happy People...

I have made a decision. The only way for me to break free of the downer, pessimistic state I have been lingering in for days now is to pull myself out. Yes, my pal Ben will spend his daughters first Christmas in Iraq, but he doing something that is important to him and part of who he is. Not that his presence there is more or less important than his presence here, but it is the choice he has made and I respect that. It’s my privilege to know someone who has sacrificed so much for their convictions.

I miss my sister that I cannot change. Her move to Arizona paralyzed my family and the unexpectedness of it still stings. While she will not be at my home for Christmas Eve, she will be in my thoughts all day. I look forward to her arrival on the 27th and will savor every moment of time she’ll be “home”.

My pal Green Bean has been feeling blue, wanting to pause time with her dearest LaLa. I am familiar with this desire, dear friend, and can only offer you the assurance that the experiences and moments you share will only multiply and become more and more and more precious. It is very difficult, but ultimately rewarding, to live and delight in the now. I still struggle with this myself, but am making an honest effort to stop longing for yesterday and forecasting tomorrow. (There has to be some famous quotes for that concept.) And your brother, while heartbroken, is very lucky to have such a sister.

My plan is to have each entry this week be brighter than the last. As I typed this entry, I have been singing “Shiny happy people holding hands” silently to myself. If that’s not effort, I don’t know what is.

Holiday Hopes or Hopelessness?

I have been trying to think of something wonderfully Christmas to post this week. I’m struggling.

This time of year I try not to dwell on what we don’t have but rather on what we do. This year it is especially hard. My pal Ben is in Iraq and will miss his 3 month old daughters first Christmas. She may not remember this with sadness, but he always will. My sister Sara will not be with us Christmas Eve for the first time in my 32 years. A family in Byron, Illinois will be struggling to enjoy the holidays after burying their young son. Many families across our nation will share their struggle. This, and much else, makes me sad.

If any of you have ever received one of my holiday letters in the past, you know I always end with the first verse of my favorite song. It is my holiday hope for all. As for who the “you’ll and your” is referring to in the lyrics, let that be your own choice; God, Angels, Jesus, Buddha, Brahma, Mother Earth, or even your own conscience or self.

I pray you'll be our eyes, and watch us where we go
And help us to be wise in times when we don't know
Let this be our prayer, when we lose our way
Lead us to the place, guide us with your grace
To a place where we'll be safe

Carver Obsession

My office is obsessed right now, myself included, with a modern day mystery of biblical proportions. Ok. I may be overstating a bit, but is has consumed lunchtime and water cooler conversations since Tuesday night. What is it that has us all in this stupefied quagmire you ask? What is the question on the forefront of everyone’s mind?

Who is The Carver?

If you don’t watch FX’s Nip/Tuck you are probably thinking “Who in the hell is The Carver?” and I am thinking “Why in the hell aren’t you watching?” Nip/Tuck is comprised of all of my favorite closet vices:

• 1/2 Soap Opera
• 1/4 Grossly Explicit Medical Procedures
• 1/4 Soft Core Porn
• With a dash of every cuss word from shit to cock.

The Carver is a serial slasher that has been slicing up faces and sodomizing people since Episode 20. Next Tuesday, his (or her) identity is revealed in the 2-hour season finale. I haven’t been this enthusiastically impatient since Who Shot JR.

My picks: Matt or Julian.

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain...

After re-reading my previous post about ten times, as I always do, I realized I have become one of my worst fears.

A girl.

A Rare Occurrence: Tot Pissed at Partner

I don’t get mad at my husband very often, but last night I was pissed. White knuckled, steam sprouting from ears pissed.

Jeff is on a business trip this week. His company gave him a check for $1000 to pay for his hotel room, food, expenses, etc. On Saturday, he asked me to cash this check. Cash? $1000? I nicely (really) suggest he put the money, or most of it, in our checking account and just use the debit card all week. Even McDonald’s takes a debit card these days. This would assure it wasn’t accidentally lost or worse, stolen. After all this money isn’t a gift. He has to show receipts for everything and turn in what’s left. No. He insisted on taking the big wad of cash. Not sure if it was a manly thing, or a you don’t tell me what to do thing.

Rather than go through my issues chronologically, I will stick with themes. More on the money. Monday, I happened to pull up our checking account online. To my surprise I see a $396 withdrawal for Radisson Hotels. I call Jeff on the cell and he explains that the hotel insisted on a credit card, but informed him they were only “holding” $50 on it (he used our checking debit card). He also notes that he paid for the entire week in advance, using the before mentioned big wad of cash. Does this mean he has paid twice? Didn’t he sign something approving the $396 “hold”, or didn’t he sign it without looking? This is an issue for us this week, as we have around $300 worth of checks I am expecting to hit the account any minute and the balance now reads $20.27. I frantically call the bank, and they inform me “don’t worry, the hotel hold should clear tonight and you don’t have anything posting today”. Jeff checks with the pre-pubescent receptionist at the hotel and she indicates “don’t worry, it should clear tonight”.

These idiots obviously do not know who they are dealing with. Not worry? Are they kidding?

Tuesday, same issue, same results. “Don’t worry, it should clear tonight”. This time I’m getting ticked. If I bounce a check, someone’s head will roll. If I have an overdraft fee, many head’s will roll. Wednesday, same issue. The bank paid our several checks that came in and did not charge us any fees. By Thursday, the hold had cleared. Everyone involved can once again live peacefully, unafraid of my wrath. Except my husband who could have avoided all of this by putting the money in the account in the first place. He used his big wad and the debit card. Idiot.

Next let’s get to calling. Here I get fuzzy on the exact nature of my anger. I’m not sure if it’s because of his lack of calling, or his location every time I call him. Jeff leaves on Sunday and calls me when he gets to his room. It’s after 10:00 p.m. so the kids are in bed. I let him know we have basketball all week, so call around 8:00 to talk with them. Monday night, no call. I spoke with him on the phone a few times regarding the money issue, but no call to the kids in the evening. Tuesday, he calls at 8:00 and talks with all three. Wednesday, I call him from work around 3:00 in the afternoon (to update him on money issue) and he’s in the bar. He tells me how they are planning on going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame tomorrow night. Sounds cool, I respond. He calls again that evening and talks with the kids. The call is pretty loud, as they are in the bar before heading to the Hall of Fame. Thursday. It’s getting late and the kids are tired but waiting anxiously with the phone in their lap for Daddy to call. Around 8:25 p.m. I go ahead and call Jeff. After a few rings I get a hollered “Hello?” Background noise is so loud I can barely hear him. I ask, “Where are you?” You guessed it. In the bar. Normally I wouldn’t get mad, but I’ll admit it. I was. He asks what I want. I coldly say nothing, never mind, goodbye. Whatever I can to end the call. Immediately.

This morning he calls me at work and asks what I wanted the night before. I inform him how the kids were waiting, yadda, yadda, yadda. His response? “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know you wanted me to call.”

I didn’t want him to call. I wanted him to want to.

The Boogie Man

The husband is out of town this week, so I experiencing single parenthood. Getting the girls to school, dropping Mr. Lips at daycare and not getting to work until 9:00 a.m. is something I could easily become accustomed to. The evenings have pretty much been the same routine, since Jeff works second shift we’re not used to his presence for dinner, homework and activities. One difficulty I am working through is going to sleep knowing he’s not home. Usually, I hit the sheets as soon as he walks through the door at 10:45 p.m. This week, I find myself lying in bed, jumping at every floor squeak or jostle of Christmas tree ornament by one of the cats. Last night the damn dog starting barking at something, running from under my covers to the living room. I freaked. It took me several minutes to gather the gumption required to make the seemingly perilous journey from my bedroom to the living room. Upon investigation I concluded my dog was barking at the wall or something stupid like that. Here I am, yelling at my dog for doing what comes naturally, feeling like an idiot for being so scared. Back safely in bed reason returns and I realize it would be worse if the dog didn’t bark when something really was askew.

This whole scene has forced me to realize I’m a 32 year old woman who still believes the boogie man is under her bed.

Who's Got Time to Blog?

Sorry, I have neglected my blog for days now. Work is crazy and by the time I get home I am consumed by dinner, homework, baths, basketball, flute practice, reading logs, etc. My girls normal bedtime has always been 8:00 p.m. but lately they aren't hitting the sheets until closer to 9:00 - and that's with no "down time". Jeff has been working a million hours a week to help pay for Christmas and reach our goal of charging nothing (so far, so good). This puts more pressure on me becuause he would do alot of the daily home upkeep in the mornings with SugarLips before he went to work. The past few weeks, after I get all the kids neatly tucked in bed you'll find me in the kitchen doing dishes or dusting or decorating the house for the holidays. I started a great book, Wicked, about two weeks ago and haven't even had the time to pick it up again. You know I'm pretty tired if I would rather go to bed than read a good book.

Weekends are just as bad. Jeff is working 8 hour days at the tree farm while I'm taking the girls, and the boy, to their games. Mind you, some of you are aware of how hard it is to hold a two-year old on your lap for an hour to watch his sisters play ball. And, I have to do it twice every Saturday. Thankfully Mom is coming to tomorrow's games so this should help keep Mr. Lips occupied. This is not a lap boy. This is a "run into the middle of the court, cause I'm big enough to play too" boy.

I hope this post doesn't come acroos too bitchy. My husband is working his ass off and I love him for it, I just miss him a bit. My kids and their activities keep me busy, but they are the fuel that moves me. I look forward to their games and am known for the loudest cheers. When Abi asks "Mom, wanna hear me play the flute" or Emi asks "Mommy, can you help me with spelling" my heart smiles. My house upkeep is never ending, but those of you that know me know I can't relax if its messy. My constant pickup and cleaning is actually theraputic.

Somedays I think the clock is working against me, but we all know better. I would be miserable if my life were any different.

Pal Criteria

My pal Duchess Jane is putting together a recipe for her ideal man. Reading some of her criteria, I realized I would not qualify (inability to produce sperm and the fact I am already spoken for aside). This made me think, what my criteria to be one of my pals are. Now let me explain, I have MANY friends and acquaintances. To be a pal, is a step above for me. Those you can count on through thick and thin. Here is what I have so far:

1. You must be a conversationalist. If you were to ask me what I prefer to do on a typical Saturday evening, it would be good dinner and stimulating dialogue with friends.
2. While it is not required you have your own children, you must like children (specifically mine). For years Jeff and I rarely brought our kids to “friend functions” because we were the only ones who had any. Now that most of our close circle of friends has kids, more of our gatherings are kid appropriate and I love it.
3. One of my biggest pet peeves is those who just don’t show up. Late I can handle, but not calling, emailing, etc. to inform someone you can’t make it (unless of course half your brother’s face is torn off or something similar) simply bothers me. It’s inconsiderate and makes me come up with weird scenarios of my friends hidden in a ditch where no one can help then after their harrowing car crash. I’m a worrier.
4. You must be willing to tell me when I any of the following occur:
   o I have a booger in my nose or something in my teeth
   o My choice of clothing makes me look fatter than I am
   o I look ridiculous in my light blue eyeshadow and/or sparkly lip gloss
   o I am too drunk to realize I am being obnoxious and too blunt (spoken from experience).
   o I need to relax and not be such a clean freak
   o I’m sure I will be adding to this list as the day goes on.
5. I promise to respect any ideals or morals you have that differ from me as long as you respect mine (and allow me to try to persuade you to the dark side).
6. If a life altering event occurs and I need a shoulder to cry on or someone to rant to, my good pals would make themselves available.
7. If a table of young girls is giggling at us, you are willing to lift your leg and rip a loud horrendous fart in their direction. See Bombadee post.
8. You are not embarrassed to talk openly about sex. Jenny fits this one nicely.
9. You enjoy a cocktail now and again, but are not someone who likes to be blind drunk at all social occasions.

I’m sure as the day goes on, I will be adding to my list. Feel free to offer any additions or changes.

Thanksgiving Weekend Update

Thursday - aka "Thanksgiving":

Dinner at my mother in-laws house. Predictable day.

• 12:30 p.m. = arrive
• 12:35-1:35 p.m. = look through sale paper, make lists of what Jeff, the kids and I want
• 1:35-2:00 p.m. = carry all the food to the basement where a large table was set up (mother in-law prepared ALL food, I learned years ago this is what she prefers)
• 2:00-2:45 p.m. = Eat. Very little talking, mostly comments on how good food is.
• 2:45-3:00 p.m. = Carry all dishes and food back upstairs
• 3:00-3:45 p.m. = While the "men" carry up Christmas boxes, rearrange living room furniture and put up tree, I clean all of the meat off the turkey carcus while mother and sister-in-law begin dishes. I join dish duty when poultry is properly pulled into pieces and bagged neatly in Ziploc's.
• 3:45-4:00 = Mother-in-law reviews holiday list ideas, marks which items she plans on buying and hands back to us.
• 4:00 p.m. = Depart for home.

Back in Oregon, we stop at my parents house and visit for awhile before heading home.

Black Friday:

Jeff is working at the tree farm all day so the kids and I take my sister to Rockford dropping off her laptop to be fixed. Schweaty Man is going to look at it for her. She mentions to me after we drop it off how she hopes he won't be able to find certain pics her that her roommates took saved on the harddrive. My stomach turns at the idea of someone oogling at naughty pics of my kid sis and I suddenly realize all of my "Girls Gone Wild" lectures have fallen on deaf ears.

Stephie and I get a call on the cell phone. My parents have found her a new puppy for only $350 (ugh!).I will admit she is very cute, and neatly fits in the palm of your hand. Only three weeks old so Steph will have to wait until 12/17 to actually take her home. She has named her Delilah...she will be Samson's girlfriend (the current dog). We then enjoyed lunch at Beef-A-Roo with the parental units.

On the way home, we had a light bulb moment. With my parents moving (or not) all depending on if their house sale goes through, we figured they would not bother with a tree. Steph and I went to the tree farm, got them a tree, took it home, put it up and decorated it before they got home. Yeah...we're going for daughters of the year.

My evening was spent going to the grocery store to prepare for the Byrd Family Thanksgiving on Saturday.

Saturday:

Jeff is working at the tree farm from 8 to noon, so I am stuck getting the kids and all of our food ready for the party so we can leave when he gets home. I somehow manage to throw together three dishes, get myself and the three kids showered and ready all while Stephie is doing homework on my PC and my Mom is making pumpkin pies in my kitchen because her stove sucks. We arrive at Uncle Bob's around 1:00 and enjoy a typical Byrd family day.

As I am about to leave Bob's for Rockford (the Casseroles were meeting at ShoGun), my step-dad runs in the house and yells "we need help, Brett is hurt". Brett is my soon-to-be 38 year old brother. The short version is this: he and Aunt Tami were riding the ATV in the pitch dark woods. ATV can't make it up hill, flips over, Tami falls off, Brett and bike flip twice. ATV lands directly on Brett's face. Brett's face = bad. Broken nose, bottom lip and chin torn and hanging off of his face, all cheek tissue torn from gum tissue inside mouth, all nasal tissue torn inside of nose. Ambulance picks him up and he spends night in hospital. I miss my Casserole meeting. Evening pretty much sucks.

Sunday:

Jeff is working all day at tree farm. Get kids and myself ready for the day. Abi had a slumber/birthday party the night before so I get her at 10am, update her on Uncle Brett and find out she was up until 3am. This should fit in with the rest of the day nicely (sarcasm). Pick up Mom at 10:45 to head to Rockford. SugarLips was dropped off at the other Grandma N's house so Abi, Emi and I could have lunch and a play with Grandma T and Great Aunt Terrie. We enjoy a nice lunch at Stockholm Inn and tell tales of my brothers new face and listen to the girls update Terrie on band, girl scouts, friends, school, basketball and everything in between. We then take in Alice in Wonderland at New American Theatre. It was FABULOUS! An old high school friend was the Cheshire Cat and I was glad to see he recognized me and we quickly caught up when the play was over. As mom and I are heading back home, she suddenly blurts out "we forgot Isaac". We drive back to the city to pick up my son, none the wiser to fact he was forgotten.

After arriving back in "our town", the kids are left with Grandma T and Papa so Jeff and can go and put our dwindled down gift list on layaway. This takes us several hours and by the time we are done, I'm exhausted. $450 worth selected and purchased, about $200 worth not found. This is pretty conservative compared to our normal $1000-$1200 budget. We may make it through the entire holiday season with a single use of credit cards.

This causes me to exclaim: "Hallelujah"

Sorry if this post is long, full of spelling errors and rambling...I am drinking Zima XXX Hard Green Apple. I sure it has way too many calories, but I not sure I care right now.

Lunchtable Comment

Earnhardt Jr. Fan (hearing strange slurping sounds): "Jennifer, are you making love to your jello?"

If the jello could only be so lucky.

After Lunch Discussion

Nuns are "married" to God. Does this make God a polygamist?

Too Much Information?

The discussion at lunch today somehow ventured into this odd sharing of strange, drunken things we did in our early twenties. Grammy Pammy shared how they used to tube down the Kish, push eachother around in grocery carts and hop the fence to swim in the neighbor’s pool. Schweaty Man admitted how he unknowingly went to a nude beach in Europe and had to lay on his stomach until an 80 year old woman walked by giving the opportunity to run into the ocean.

I shared some stories, like; skinny dipping in Sugar River, getting the munchies and eating an entire Ambrosia Silk pie with two friends while climbed inside the Kish overpass on Perryville…you know, pretty harmless stuff that shouldn’t get people whispering about me around the water cooler. I must say, however, that Grammy Pammy quickly picked up on mention of “munchies”. I have a feeling she has had many cases of this side-effect herself.

Now, as I sit at my desk, I wonder if their opinion of me would change if they new some of the juicy stuff. Green Bean knows some of it (due to her own participation). My pal Jane is beginning to hear some old stories of naked parties and kissing contests (~sigh, Bob~). Sweet Potato and I have so many stories of high flight its ridiculous. One thing I may have going for me is the fact I had friends in different circles, all of whom I did certain activities with pretty exclusively. No one person knows it all, not even my beloved husband (thank goodness).

I think I like it this way. To quote an email I received this morning: “the idea of people from my real life knowing (too much) totally creeps me out.”

If you have a crazy story to share, post it here…I won’t tell anyone.

Some Random Quotes of the Day

Grammy Pammy: “Jennifer, your problem is you suffer from common sense”

Sparky (on phone with a computer user): “The password requires a minimum of five characters…..no, it can’t be four…..yes, it’s a minimum of five….uh-huh, it can be six…...it just has to be at least five….turn on your Num Lock key…..it say’s Num Lock on it…..N-U-M L-O-C-K…..”

Sparky (after hanging up with above caller): “I hate people”

Schweaty Man: “I’ve never had one that hard before…honestly”

Are Men Necessary?: Part I

CNN.com had an article this morning that caught my eye: Are Men Necessary?

Let’s dialogue this one, shall we? In a day and age when women can provide for themselves financially, use sperm donors to have children, negotiate price on a new car, have thought provoking conversations Saturday evenings out on the town with their girlfriends, pull out the ever faithful wabbit when in the mood, change a tire and use power tools (insert wabbit joke here) what are men for? Will they become “ornamental” as the author of this book predicts?

Even my man, whom I adore, can annoy the hell out of me. He burps, farts, scratches, stinks (sometimes), considers football a religion, becomes an imbecile around certain friends, thinks “hey baby, let’s do it” is a form of seduction, doesn’t understand why he can’t wear dirty jeans and a stained t-shirt to family functions and would love to have a huge steak and two beers for dinner every night of his life.

Could I live without him? Yes. Do I want to?

Do any of us?

Ice Hogs for Jane

My good pal Jane has a new obsession named Jason Notermann. He looks pretty hot.

The Real Reason I Chose To Stop Having Children

Inspired by Bombadee, I will share the following:

Growing up, one of the most important female figures in my life was my Grandma Byrd. I spent two weeks every summer with her, all family holidays were celebrated at her home. Since my childhood was marred by the drama of divorce, remarriage and constant moves, Grandma Byrd's was home to me. When I was pregnant with my first child, Grandma knew and celebrated with me. She was fighting ovarian cancer at the time, but she LOVED babies and looked forward to her first great-grand child. Sadly, I miscarried. She shared my heartbreak. Weeks later Grandma took a turn for the worse. She was no longer coherent and we waited for her to pass peacefully. I discovered, much to my shock, I was pregnant again. Grandma died before I could knowingly share my good news with her. At her funeral there were big, beautiful flower arrangements next to her casket. One stated "Mother", another "Wife", yet another had "Grandmother" on large yellow ribbon across it. Tucked in her hands was a flower with the words "Great Grandma" on the ribbon. Her name was Louise. My name is Jennifer Louise; my first daughter (born seven months after her death) is Abigail Louise.

Less than two years later, I found out I was pregnant with my second daughter. Grandpa Byrd, who was simply put…a grouchy old man, became ill. I was seven months pregnant at his funeral. His name was Everett Emerson, but everyone called him "Emmy". My daughter was named Emily Anne. We call her Emi. I often have thought her grouchiness was a curse from her namesake.

Many years later, the family had adjusted to life without Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa. Jeff and I were excited (and very surprised) to learn I was pregnant with our third child. Looking back, I had the creepiest conversation in my entire life shortly thereafter. Jeff and I discussed jokingly how this time we would have to come with an original name. Everyone in the family is young and healthy...no one will die giving us a name to use. My beloved Uncle David, who took me to Sunday School every week when I was little and taught me to wear a seatbelt, was a healthy and strong man looking forward to his 50th birthday. One day he had a headache that wouldn't go away and went to the doctor. They found a brain tumor, he died 19 days later. I was 16 weeks pregnant at his funeral. My son's name is Isaac David.

Each of my pregnancies, all unplanned, has been scarred by the death of someone in my family. Please note that no others deaths have occurred in my family in the past 32 years.

Coincidence?

Thank You Casseroles

I would like to publicy thank The Casseroles for providing me with a vaild reason to buy a new top each month.