So I don’t profess to be a design star, but . . .

I have watched my fair share of HGTV and read enough home magazines that I think I know my way around a room. Well, after a very short trip back to St. Louis and barely sitting down, unpacking a lot of boxes, moving furniture, hanging pictures and organizing, I think we got mom's house to be pretty comfortably situated. Here are some photos:

Moderation in All Things?

Saturday morning was white and cold and required Eric going out with the snowblower to take care of our sidewalks and driveway. It's funny--how I didn't think about the fact that snow removal would be our responsibility when we bought the rental house downtown. But we realized we'd have to take care of that on Saturday too.

So after a quick breakfast, Eric started up the engine on the ol' snowblower and began clearing the snow off our driveway, then our sidewalk. He didn't stop there. He continued around our cul-de-sac and did all the sidewalks. Good for him, I thought as I glanced out through the front window. A good deed.

Then next time I looked out, he was doing the entire driveway of our neighbor on the other side, then continued to go around doing everyone's driveway in our entire circle. I was about to explode. I was sitting in the house with a crying baby and was trying to finish up all the breakfast dishes and fold the laundry, then Bianca kept traipsing in and out the front door leaving piles of snow to melt in the entryway. Next I was trying to get myself and Portia dressed and brush Bianca's hair so we could all head downtown to take care of the snow there.

After what seemed like two hours, he came back in. I wouldn't talk to him, then we started fighting. I'm ashamed to say that I used the term "moderation in all things" when arguing with him. Do you think it's meant that way too? Moderation in doing good deeds?

I know it sounds selfish of me, but I sometimes feel like Eric would help everyone on our street and completely forget about me in our own house. It drives me crazy.

After the fighting was over and we were trying to leave the house--with snowblower safely packed in the back of my car--Bianca wouldn't get up from the computer where she was replaying the "Christmas Time is Here" song from The Polar Express movie that's on my playlist. She was trying to learn all the words and playing the song over and over and over and over. "Bianca, moderation in all things," I told her as I turned off the computer.

I think I'm safe using that term for my own benefit.

If you knew my dad . . .

It's the weirdest thing. I was in Draper at this live nativity, taking pictures for an article I'm writing. Anyway, tonight when I got home, I was sifting through the pictures I took and came across this one.

A couple boxes of running shoes. . .

. . . and a half-used package of diapers. I've known that they're in the closet all along, but I've been buying new packages of size-three diapers anyway. I remember pulling them out of the box of Miranda's things and stuffing them into the bathroom closet before Portia was born. And I remember thinking how sure I was when I'd bought those diapers two and a half years ago that I would need them all. At the time it hadn't seemed odd, but now it seems so presumptuous to think that Miranda would have been around to use all those diapers.

I finally pulled them out yesterday after I completely ran out of diapers and put the first one on Portia. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. But it did make me think about three boxes of brand-new running shoes.

Several months before we found out dad's cancer was back, he and I had driven to California together to visit my sister. On our way home, we stopped at some outlet malls to walk around and stretch our legs. Dad also needed some new running shoes.

I don't remember the store where dad found them, but they were having a buy two, get one pair of shoes free. So dad bought three identical pair of the same size shoes. So sure he would wear them out and need them all. It makes me cry to think that he never even wore out the first pair.

I asked mom where they were and she didn't remember them. She'd left dad's closet as it was and hasn't completely gone through everything yet, even though she moved out of my childhood home last weekend. In my mind, I picture these boxes stacked perfectly in the corner of his closet. I don't know if they're there, but I know they're somewhere.

I'm worried about my mom breaking down about the assumption that dad would be around to wear out all these running shoes. The way I did when I found the half-used package of Miranda's diapers.

I've been worried a lot lately. Now that my mom is moved out and is in that great-big house all alone, all filled with boxes where she doesn't know where to begin unpacking them. But I know I need to do something for her, somehow get her more comfortable in that big old house. So, I'm heading back in two weekends and Susannah and I are going to try to bring some order to her house, break it in for her--if you will. The first Christmas is hard enough without a loved one, and I can only imagine how hard it will be alone in a big house.

Maybe while I'm there, I'll dig out those boxes of shoes. Find a good use for them. Maybe I'll hold on to a pair of them, stash them along with the jacket dad left in my coat closet when we went to California last summer.

Not-so-Black Friday

Yes, I went shopping on Black Friday. I took Bianca to the mall so we could pick up a couple things--mainly I needed to get something for Eric at Macy's and they'd advertised a "free breakfast set," which included a pancake bowl, spatula, whisk, snowflake mold (to make snow-flake shaped pancakes), and a snowflake towel. They still had them and the lady threw in a free mini Christmas Tree w/ ornaments to boot.

Then we went to Gymboree, and I let Bianca pick out a dress (oh my gosh--I love the new winter dresses!). Then since it was around 2, we decided to stop at the pretzel stand. We were just going to share a pretzel and cheese and a couple lemonades (I won't share with her because she's still sick, which it's been nearly four weeks now and we've been singing around the house that it's "the cold that never ends.")

Anyway, the total came to about $6. I handed over my MC because it's one of those lame places that only takes visa or MC. Well, after a couple swipes, the lady told me my card didn't go through. I thought with dread how Eric had told me a couple weeks ago that they sent new cards and I didn't "call in to verify" so they stopped our card. I pleaded with them to take my Discover card. "Sorry." Everyone behind me in line (and yes, there was a line as we'd been waiting for nearly 10 minutes to order) was looking at me holding my Gymboree and Macy's bags and undoubtedly thinking that this lady has a maxing-out-her-credit-cards problem. I gazed forlornly at the steaming pretzel and cheese and lemonades, then said I was sorry for wasting their time. Bianca let out a cry of despair, and we began to walk away.

I felt a touch on my arm and a middle-school-aged girl said, "My grandma is going to pay for you."

I turned back around, explained she didn't have to do that. Could I please buy her something with my Discover card somewhere. No. Are you sure? Yes? I thanked her profusely. Bianca and I scarfed down our pretzel. Sometimes I think we forget how kind people can be. And I wondered if I'd ever do that for someone else. Probably not, had this not happened to me. But I've resolved that if I ever see this happening to someone else, I'm going to step up. What a great example this woman is to her grandkids. I want to be that person for my kids.

The rest of the shopping trip was a daze of people hurtling in front of people, lines everywhere. As Bianca and I were driving out of the mall parking lot, a woman was at the intersection with her poster. And yes, I know these people might not be who we think they are. But right there is a teaching experience for my daughter. I searched my car for something I can give this woman regardless of who she was. Turns out, the only thing we could find was a party-size Butterfinger. We rolled down the window and asked her if she wanted it. She did. God bless. Merry Christmas.

A Bored Meeting

I hadn't been this bored since the sixth grade. Last night, I spent four and a half hours at the Jordan School District board meeting. Wow. I wish I'd brought a book along--the guy in front of me had obviously been to a meeting of this kind before.

I was there because the district was making some announcement about ALPS, the program that Bianca's in. I'd heard rumors days before that they're completely overhauling it. That the system, which was initially there to provide special classroom structure for "gifted" children, is now more geared toward "accelerated learners" so the whole system is failed.

At first I was angry. Not only had school vouchers not passed and Bianca is number 72 on the waiting list to get into the new charter school in Herriman, but dissolving the ALPS program as we know it would mean I'd have no options. None. I can't stand being backed into a corner.

So I went. I'd read all the information on the web site earlier in the day and waited. I waded through all the restructuring boundaries in West Jordan, other boring stuff I don't remember, another obscenely long boundary shuffle (I can't remember where, but I remember thinking snidely that this was the board's attempt to bore all the angry ALPS parents into leaving).

Finally, at 8:45, they got down to business about what was happening with ALPS, and it was as I'd heard. Most of the kids in the ALPS program are "accelerated learners," not gifted. The true gifted children most likely have behavioral problems, can't learn in a normal school setting, yada, yada, yada. I deduced that my child is NOT gifted. She must be an accelerated learner. After they went through all the details, 38 people had signed up to speak. I'm not a public speaker. I wrote my letter and emailed it already this morning. Anyhoo, 38 people can speak from 3-6 minutes each and I was bored stiff until after 11 o'clock. With a couple good suggestions, a couple I didn't care for, but really getting nowhere.

I don't know how I got myself into this situation. Why I feel like I need to attend these things. I found myself driving home, sleepily I might add, at 11:30 and had no benefits of staying out late. No fun book club conversation to think about. No yummy food or drinks in my stomach (and I was so thirsty through that meeting--I should have jotted over to Chic-filet [sp?] for a lemonade when I realized how wordy everything was going to be).

I slunk into bed around midnight and Eric asked me if I'd been on a date. I wish. I stayed up for another hour tossing in bed, trying to get comfortable and planning what I'd say in my letter in the morning. Twelve hours later, and I'm still bored at the thought of last night.

If you ever end up going to one of these meetings, be sure to bring along a LARGE drink and a good book.

What if?

I've been crying for three days straight. Back in June, I found out that a woman in my support group, who had already lost a baby from seizures, had another baby who also had the same disorder as the first baby. This second baby was born 10 days before Portia, April 13. I cried then and held my baby close.

Two days ago, this baby died. And I've been crying so much that Eric just expects my eyes and nose to be red when he looks at me. I pick Portia up at the first sound of a cry and hold her as much as I possibly can.

I'm thinking about going to the funeral on Saturday--not that she would know me from Adam, but just to be there. I wouldn't bring my children. But I'm scared mostly because I haven't ever been to another baby's funeral. Eric and I were talking this morning about Miranda's funeral--how it was a big blur and he said something about turning around and seeing everyone crying and wondered why exactly they were crying.

I hope this doesn't come out sounding wrong, but I think I know why people were crying. They were thinking about their own children and the genuine possibility of losing them had just been slapped in their faces. Of course they were sympathetic to us, I'm not saying they weren't. And I appreciated every person who came there to support us, and I appreciate every person now who isn't afraid to talk about Miranda to me. I welcome hearing her name.

And that is, after all, why I've been crying for days now and keeping Portia so close. Because it is possible that Portia could be taken from me too. It could happen. I am truly sympathetic to this woman and my heart breaks for her, but who am I really crying about? I've never met her baby. I know my baby and hold her and feed her every day.

Perhaps I'm crying for Miranda who isn't with me anymore and the real possibility that Portia could be taken away too.