How a mug & spoons help me manage my grief and my life

The day I went to the ER for a suspected miscarriage, my husband wandered the hospital halls after the ultrasound to find food, and stopped at the gift shop. Once we returned to the room after the scan, and the medical staff exited, I told him I did not see a heartbeat on the screen. He claimed hunger, which I knew was true because I heard his stomach growl, and it was well past his usual lunchtime. He came back a while later with a cafeteria cup (probably containing sweet tea) and this mug. He was trying to cheer me up and be a little funny. Unfortunately, the mug stinks at keeping coffee warm enough for very long, and it has a chip in the rim from someone else leaving it in the van. I pulled it from the cabinet for sentimental reasons. I didn't want it broken in circulation. To me, it is more than *just* a mug. It is one of the very few tangible items I have connected to the very brief existence of our Francis.


In the Healing After Pregnancy Loss group I joined, we talk about spoons. It is related to the blog post about The Spoon Theory. One day, I was feeling frustrated with the poor reconciliation of my to-do list versus the got-it-done list. My upline director suggested I change how I view the spoons. Instead of using up the spoons, decide how to spend them and what kind of investment will be to spend them. I had a HUGE moment of AH-HAAAA!

I went to the box of plastic cutlery, and I grabbed a handful of spoons out of it. I then found a sharpie marker that actually wrote clearly and worked. I labeled the majority of the spoons. I did leave several blank for those days the grief visits, the stress plays hard in the day, the work of the day wears on me. But the others, I gave a name. As I use a spoon, I turn it handle up in the mug.

• Crafting - because I haven't done any in a long time, and it is something I want and need to do. Most days my brain just can't fire the pistons correctly for the simplest of knitting though. It's there when I'm ready for it.
• 31 - I have two of these for my business, so that I intentionally touch my work daily - one for the fun stuff, one for the must-do stuff.
• Schlepping people - I have to get people places on time and some days, it pulls a lot out of my resources to do it. But it has a name on a spoon because it is a must-do and it helps my family.
• Reflection - time at the end of the day to journal and end the day on a positive note.
• Time with my spouse- probably the most important spoon in the bunch. He is incredibly busy and stretched, and we must connect regularly so we avoid drifting in opposing streams.
• D.W.O.P.S. - Dealing With Other People's Stuff (or the expletive as it were). When it's not just a friend venting, and you find yourself  getting sucked into it. Or your kids are just at each other's throats all day and you're wearing thin of hearing it or refereeing it.
• Morning - Mornings take a bit out of me because I'm not a morning person, and there's a time crunch, and coffee isn't always hitting the brain fast enough. 
• Self Care - bathing, grooming, even getting out of my pajamas on those heavy-spirit days.
• Home Care - because a tidy space blesses everyone, and some days I struggle to even move a dish to the sink or dishwasher.
  
   

This is how I sometimes have to manage my days, and manage my grief. I'm a visual tactile person, and some members of my family do not always comprehend the burden on my soul or how it affects my ability to be the matriarch of my household. They can look at the spoons and see how many are available with the handle still down. I have reached a point that I don't need to use the mug of spoons to manage my days as regularly, but it's a gentle reminder to me that life must keep moving, and that there is space and spoons available to allow the grief to visit me for a few minutes, and spoons that are an investment in my life and that of my family.
This coffee mug is not just a silly mug to me. It was a gift from my husband, an attempt to demonstrate his pain to me where he can not articulate it, and his way of sharing humor to kiss my heartache that exists in a way he can not touch. This mug holds a value to me that only someone who has grieved a heavy loss and holds a tangible item related to that situation can fathom. To the rest of the world, it's *just a mug*. If you have a loved one who has such an item, please be respectful about it. When you treat it as an ordinary object, while it has special meaning to them, what you do is disrespect their grief and mourning. Every loss is difficult, regardless of the circumstances. Losing a child though, is a suffering that is more than a loss of the life, but the future that life would have had and the role others would have played in the child's story.

I feel validated

I am a self-proclaimed slacker parent. I am NOT one of those helicopter, lawn mower, or incessantly intervening parents. This blurb online is one of many articles and anecdotes that confirm for me that I'm not doing it wrong. I have not scheduled my kids for anything except doctor's appointments and religious education classes. I've kicked them outside to play without structure, instruction beyond basic safety rules, and their own imaginations. If they took an interest in something, I let them take that lead. I have kids who, like my husband, do not like for me to nudge them too much. It becomes nagging after about the second time I open my mouth. At that point, they decide to immediately do the exact opposite of what I have been suggesting. It didn't take me long to figure out their modus operandi, and subsequently, alter my own when dealing with any of them. The kids have my big feet, and his method of doing things - their own. How's that for genetic quirks?

So, I can find enjoyment being a parent because these guys have their own minds and methods. Oh wait, that's how I wanted them to be. I have always wanted kids who could function in the world, apart from me, because I still haven't fully enjoyed my mid-life crisis, nor have I cracked too far into my bucket list. Then there's that whole issue of mortality. What kind of legacy do I want to leave via my children? Do I want kids who grow up completely incapable of handling the slightest wiggle to what life pitches?  Or do I want kids that make use of the brain and common sense God gave them? Yes, the toilet overflows occasionally. So reach back here and shut off the water supply before it gets REALLY messy, and this is how you go about effectively unclogging it without making it worse. Don't curl up in the corner sitting in poo water, whimpering about getting stinky and wet.

This morning, I was dragged from my bed at 5:10 to get Evil Genius to work at 6. We arrived at 5:36 to find 3 cars of employees waiting since 4:00 to be let in the door, and the building locked and alarmed. My 19 year old is in training to be a manager 8 months after starting his first McJob, because we drilled life's lessons into his brain, and he saw the examples we set and emulated them. He started calling the managers whose numbers he has. Secondary access to the building was gained, an alarm code shared, and employees could finally start prepping - 2 hours later than they should have been. From my mom-bus, I heard grumbling and whining from the other cars. Those are the same kids whose feelings will get hurt when they have to eventually answer to Evil Genius. How unfortunate that they were not happy to be able to get their work done finally. They would have preferred to sit in the parking lot looking at an empty building as customers came through, expecting their usual breakfast and coffee. They were going to get paid whether they sat or worked, and who wouldn't rather sit and collect a paycheck? (After a while, I'd find it boring and old, and start getting restless.) Meanwhile Evil Genius set about getting the workday started. THAT is the kind of result to my parenting that I was aiming toward. He hates being bored, and thrives on staying busy. He was a horrible kid when he was bored. He's not nearly as hyper and angry anymore since landing this job. The chaos to my calendar is an acceptable trade-off in exchange for seeing my son do a job he likes, and learning to lead.

However, I could absolutely do without this massive caffeine withdrawal headache from not getting coffee when I dropped him off, and coming home to crawl back in the bed. I should have stayed awake and had coffee at home.  Another lesson: the smallest of things you do, can have impact elsewhere.

The view across my mug

This is sometimes my view as I sip coffee from the bench on the front porch.
It was warm today. I was surprised since just a week ago it was most definitely NOT warm. So I took my coffee outside. I thought it was a little ironic of sorts to be 70 degrees by 10 a.m. yet, the tree was definitely dropping leaves.





Last week I was NOT wearing these, even while inside the house. Last week we were shivering with the freezing temperatures, wishing we had carpet instead of cold-retaining tile. Persnickety Ticker told me tile is brutal in the winter. Of course someone should slip Mother Nature some HRT. This menopausal weather is annoying at best.









Mmmm. Coffee. Devildog snagged the cup I used for the first round of coffee when I was away from the kitchen. So this mug is round 2's vessel. It was a housewarming gift, along with 3 others with similar phrasing and different colors. This is my favorite because it's purple.






And this view - would be the bane of many neighborhoods. But here, it's a bit of a welcome view. My FIL is visiting and has his dog Ashley with him. She was rescued from the Ashley River and as I understand things, she rescued him too. A few years ago, he was in a very dark place in his life. Ashley was apparently abused, and is a tender, sensitive & empathetic dog. Mini-Human loves Ashley, even though the dog has limited tolerance and hides after a while. So when this camper is in my driveway, there is dog hair on my floors. And we get to visit with the FIL I knew was there all along. It was hidden for so many years by those dark clouds.

Independent or Obnoxious?

Today was one of those days that I got to annoy my oldest, who I think I'll call my NonConformist. It may end up getting abbreviated to NonCon to save keystrokes. I'm a slacker like that. Something he's accessed has generated problems with my computer and the machine was running horrendously slow for days. I'm hoping that I've cleaned it up with the series of scans that took all day today. In the meantime I culled a lot of garbage from around my desk. Apparently I've been neglecting the area. Go figure. The boy hasn't been online and he's having computer withdrawals. I'm such an evil mother like that too. How dare I not allow him to get online to do his schoolwork, because now he's behind in his work for the state's Virtual School. I have no sympathy for him. If he truly did his work in the total time he spends online he'd have much more work banked ahead and missing a day wouldn't be the least bit of an issue. I would have allowed him 2 hours to get as much work done as possible except one of the scans literally took ALL day from 9:30 this morning to sometime after 6 PM tonight. So, I didn't let him on the computer while I was gone to take the younger two kids to to class at church. I didn't want the scan to take even longer than it already was. In the process he's been a royal pain today. Meh. I've developed a poker face, so I haven't let his ranting and rambling bother me. I went with a friend to a bookstore, and Clone was scoping out material while I sat in the coffee shop relaxing. Last week the tables were full. Today they were empty. There were four others there, all male. One teenage-looking young guy, kind of punkish reading something, probably fantasy or anime type of stuff. A 20-something with a couple novels, his cellphone, a motorcycle helmet and a backpack that resembled something for camping or military use. Given his gait and carriage, I'm going with the assumption this guy was affiliated with the military somehow. There was a middle aged, overweight, and balding guy with thick glasses, complete with neoprene straps to keep them from falling off his head. I didn't look at what he was reading, but he had a fair size stack of books. Then there was this guy...another 20 something, obviously studying and trying to cram a ton of information into his grey matter. I caught glimpses of him off in thought. Then Clone brought a poetry book over to read aloud. She tired of the book by Mattie Stepanek and ran off to the kids' section to find something else. I got up to toss my cup, and the studying guy said "She reads really well." "Thanks. Not bad for first grade. I suspect it has something to do with my refusal to baby talk to my kids." He asked if Clone was around other kids. I said "she has two teenage brothers and lots of other friends' kids." Then Clone mentioned the one in gestation. I knew she'd never keep that a secret once we told her...geesh. Student said that he didn't have kids, but had 40 nieces and nephews, and that he was one of 10 kids. I think he added the sibling count because my jaw hit the floor at the number of times he's an uncle. I joked that no one was going to harass him to have kids anytime soon. Nope, not Catholic, but a military family that just kept having kids. Because really...after 3, what's one more right? He moved down here from Alaska, to go to Commercial Diving School, learn to weld, get away from the cold, and along with all that get going with a career in deep sea diving work. The welding was additional insurance to keep employment. His course is very accelerated and intense and full of prior service military folks. My daughter then started flirting heavily with this guy, giggling inanely like a school-girl, and saying "Call me". He asked what I was teaching my daughter, which was quickly met with, "She has two teenaged brothers, and attends public school, anything is possible." He talked about traveling with his family as a child between Japan, 10 bases in the lower 48, and finally living in Alaska. I related that my life was rather mundane, high school sweetheart, children, brief stint at Camp Lejune with the husband, back here, interesting but not so much excitement. He said "it is what you make of it" which is very true. Then Clone returned with a 4 inch stack of kid books to read, mindless of the short time we had left to get back to church to retrieve the other kids. She got one book read, which was logged in her reading log for school to count towards her 25 books for the quarter. At which point the guy went back to his studying. We never exchanged names. I can understand why the girl was flirting with the guy. He was easy on the eyes and seemed to have a decent personality. It's nice to find a person with distinct goals and taking action to achieve them. I'd like to think he's a credit to his parents and that they raised him well. I have no idea if he ever behaved like my non-conformist child in his middle teen years. But Student admitted to being too independent minded for the military. It's not entirely a bad thing to be independent, but it's another course of life if you choose to be a disrespectful oaf to everyone around you for the sake of being one. It remains to be seen if my oldest will be an "Independent minded" individual, or if he'll continue to be anti-everything to everyone around him.

It's good to know your mother well

There are quirks about me that I inherited from my mother. Most notably is the one relating to first thing in the morning. I'm just like my mother in that regard, except less unpleasant looking. Just give me several minutes to become coherent, and preferably wait till I've had at least half a cup of coffee before talking to me about anything. For instance, my father went with us to my in-laws for Christmas last year. After sleeping on a fold out sofa, I needed some stretching and strong coffee to wake up and deal with well over a dozen humans crammed into a double wide trailer in South Carolina. Granted, that place is larger than my 1100 sq ft but more bodies equals fewer square feet per person. In any case, my father rises before the sun, as gerontological quirks require fewer hours of sleep. I peeled myself out of the bed at what I think is a fairly reasonable hour (8:30ish) and went about my routine for waking. After visiting the water closet, I tottered into the kitchen to get my java, all while my cheery father was repeatedly saying good morning to me, and trying to ask how I slept, and other attempts at conversation. I kept waving him off with a grunt, much like my mother (and his wife for 33+ years) did any time he attempted to talk to her that soon. He either didn't get the hint or didn't recognize the gestures and noise.
My sons tried to tell him. My nephew tried to tell him. It was all to no avail. Finally my oldest said "Grandpa, for everyone's safety, do NOT talk to her until she's had coffee and speaks to you first. Seriously, it's dangerous if you try to talk to her before she is fully awake." My father responded with "ah, ohh-kaaay" with a hint of personal offense taken by my lack of desire to talk to him. The man watched me and as I tipped the mug back for the near-final swig, he tried talking to me again, asking if it was safe to greet me. I shook my head no. The coffee wasn't strong enough, and would require a second one. It made me very grateful that I was able to convey to my children the understanding of my quirks, especially the first-thing-in-the-morning deal. I didn't want to be like that, but in all honesty I just don't move fast in the morning.
Fast forward to today. My neighborhood association had a yard sale last week that was essentially rained out, so they quickly decided to do it again this weekend. I spaced out about it, even though i wanted to go scope it out, if nothing else to look at other people's clutter they were trying to pawn off on the rest of the world. Again I move slow in the morning, and slower when I'm not completely healthy. We ended up going over there as the last 3 people were packing up to go back home. My son the Beast, trailed along after the episode of NCIS he was watching ended, while Clone and I were already done. He snagged himself a couple 1000 piece puzzles (insert motherly eyeroll here) a PS2 game, and a mug. He came to show it to me and upon returning it, the mug's seller saw him with it and told him to just take it. He's excited about free stuff (it's genetic, my apologies). He brought it over to show me and yes, it rather aptly describes me in the mornings. But he's unwilling to let me have this mug, tells me to get my own.

Coffee!!...must....have COFFEEEEEE!

I was awakened by a phone call this morning, in the middle of my multiple snooze button interactions. While I was taking that call, Devildog got up to get Clone ready for school. He's my hero like that because a well digger's backside has nothing on the current temperatures normally reserved for March around here. I finished the phone call and got up to make Clone's lunch and my coffee. My hero made the pot of java this morning, and he amassed additional brownie points for that act of love too. I was looking for certain containers for my Clone's lunch and started putting away some of the dishes in the drainer, in order to locate said containers. Apparently, some of us need coffee to make coffee.



I found the brew basket in the dish drainer.


"How did you make coffee without this?" (holding up the brew basket for Devildog to see)
::quizzical look::
::maniacal cackling::
He opened the top of the coffeemaker and pointed to it saying "Like that"


It wasn't a total failure, because coffee made it INTO the pot for consumption but it was certainly an amusing start to the day.

Wild animals eat their young for a reason

I have a friend, who is due any day and can't evict the baby soon enough, that asked me to make a hooded baby towel for her. It's an incredibly simple, yet large project that is taking entirely too long for my liking. However, it's using up my stash of cotton yarn that came in huge skeins. I have been toting this bag with grassy green yarn for weeks trying to finish it. Except now, I have to wait to finish it.
My son violated a cardinal house rule. Food and drinks are consumed AT the table or in the kitchen only. Instead, he sat at my desk this morning with his coffee to be closer to the TV. Somehow while I was in the shower, he spilled his coffee all over my chair, the floor under it, and IN my yarn bag that was next to the chair. What a way to make your mother curse on a Sunday morning as she's getting ready for CHURCH of all things. I tried to wash it by hand as much as possible, then left it to soak while I was at church. It's now sitting in the sun with a fan on it to dry out - not just the project, but the two skeins of yarn too.

Mothers of clumsy teenagers with coffee understand why wild animals eat their young.