Enjoying the Small Things

Enjoying the Small Things

Week 1,619

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I began to title this post “Week 3,” as in our-third-week-into-this or three-weeks-since-the-big-day, but I am beginning to see this differently and, as this is simply one step on the grander scheme of life, I am rather officically 1,619 Weeks into it. Life, that is. That’s 31 years, give or take a few weeks.

Last night, a friend sent me a passage she had underlined in her copy of Maya Angelou’s Wouldn’t Take Nothing From My Journey Now, and I smiled reading it.

“Life is pure adventure, and the sooner we realize that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as art; to bring all our energies to each encounter, to remain flexible enough to notice and admit when what we expected to happen did not happen. We need to remember that we are created creative and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed.”

And oh, how true that is…and our real-life has exemplified a new understanding of that these past weeks.

Life as Art.

I have consciously been able to control my sadness and coming-to-terms with all of this quite well, but the past few days, that subconscious sadness–the part that can’t be controlled with self-talks and good quotes–that cloud of can-this-be-happening? that seems to follow and shadow me no matter how many times I watch The Hangover (four, in a row, to be exact) to mask the seriousness of it…well, it was beginning to get to me.

I hate “The Bus.” I tried to lapse on payments so the repo truck would come and drag it away, but it lingered, not so much running over me like a few weeks ago or even hitting me, for that matter. I still have the grill marks on my face from the last hit, so that was nice of the bus; however, it’s the threat of a hit…the unknown…the smell of the exhaust or perhaps the memory of the pain of the last hit. And, I’ve been known to take a good analogy and fly it to the moon with exaggeration, so I’ll chill on the bus thing before you’re left scratching your head, but I’ll have you know I once likened one of my sister’s bad days to cows in pasture eating grass or somethin’ or other and, by the end, the cows had run out of the fence, the grass had been eaten, I think there was manure, and my sister and I were left laughing hysterically by the end of the analogy because we had no idea what we were even talking about anymore. I am often asked, in the middle of an elaborate analogy, “Where are you going with this?” And the answer, I tell you, is…to the moon.

Back to the bus. The thing is, I hate being sad. I hate being negative. And while I may be teased on my over-positivity or need to find a cape emblazoned with “Enjoying the @#!*-ing Small Things,” I too wallow in a bad mood from time to time. However, I’ve found I am quite healed by the Fake It Till You Make It Strategy–searching for the good (and there’s lots to find), writing about the good, taking pictures of the good, talking about the good–basically bathing in the many little things that bring joy to our life until I am no longer faking it, I believe it completely and have allowed the good to rise above the bad in that ever present glass of “Half Full.” Unrealistic? Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Regardless, I’d much rather live life as an unrealistic optimist than a realistic miserable pessimist. It’s so much more fun.

So, we’ve continued to do that…and it’s not just this whole thing that has challenged us. We’ve been doing it for years.

And if we had a gallery, we would exhibit pieces of our life this week. Slices of wonderfulness.


Life as Art: An Exhibit of our Week…

The Art of an Afternoon Cup of Coffee.

…enhanced by the accompaniment of a snuggled baby.

The Art of an Evening Picnic at the Lake with Cousin Joann.

The Art of a Dog Pondering Life in the Eastern Sunlight

and A Little Dog Protecting a Little Baby

The Art of Two Little Friends

(and I have to say, my girl’s friendships have meant so much to me these past weeks…I just want her to be happy. I want her to be unaffected by the emotions, the change. And seeing her in total bliss, skipping around with her little gap-toothed grin and wayward pigtails…well, that makes it all seem better).

The Art of New Baby Feet
(which, in my opinion, may just be the most delicious form of art there is)

The Art of Watching the Littles Entertain the New Baby
(and her little eyes taking it all in. Yes, she is loved…and that is how she will learn to be just as fabulous as she will be…which is very, very fabulous.)

The Art of a New Space
It’s been awhile since I did something new to the house…and it always makes me so happy to “feather our nest.” A friend stopped by a couple weeks ago when we brought Nella home and completely surprised me with two beautiful chairs for my girls from the furniture store she works at…and I fell in love hard and heavy with their quilted fabulousness and have been waiting to highlight them deservingly. Finally, yesterday, with a small handful of Craiglist earned cash, I walked into Homegoods and found a clearanced slightly damaged trunk, a lamp, an old suitcase and a few picture frames…all for less than that handful of cash. Then rushed home to set it up and hence improve the quality of my day a trillionfold.
So, out with the big clunky couch and in with the…

Superfun Play/Workroom

(p.s. Trunk double duties as storage…all my photography props fit inside, and the suitcase stores my printer paper.)

…and our gallery continues to grow.

…bringing all our energies to each encounter. …and we don’t have to fake that to make that. It’s real, and it’s beautiful.

1,619. That’s a really good number.

…and it’s only gunna get better and better.

The daddy comes home tonight…and we are anticipating his arrival like a soldier’s welcome home.

Life as Art…painting it beautifully. ~k

The Bus

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When a bus hits you and you’re lying in the street, it might take you a little while before you can stand up again.
And sometimes, when you go to stand up, your legs won’t come with you…because, well because they got hit by a bus.
So, you lie back down and absorb the feeling of that pavement and feel the pain a bit longer. But then you try again. Eventually, the feeling returns to your legs…even if it’s temporary.

My legs had feeling today…tire tracks, yes. But feeling.

We went out to lunch and people noticed my hospital bracelet. Marveled at the little bootied feet that dangled out of the sling. Asked to peek past the fabric that huddled her close to my chest. Smiled when they saw her. “Congratulations.”

Today, my beautiful two-year-old sang happy songs in the car. Loud and free.

And she propped her pudgy feet onto the seat in front of her and curled her toes, just like she always does, and it made me smile.

Today, we threw pennies into the fountain and made wishes…for simple things.

And doused ourselves in dirty fountain water because what Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Today, we read stories in our room, amid laundry baskets and taped up diapers on the floor that didn’t quite make it to the trash can.

(Click here to see the big girl reading…and push me out of the room when I invaded.)

Today, we bumped into friends in a parking lot and huddled forever to talk. And laugh. And smooch on babies…my babies. Like the world moves on flawlessly while it waits for us to jump back in. But laughing is always good. My girls will always hear me laugh…I promise them that.

And tonight, when the day was over…a real sleepover with friends and popcorn and movies in bed.

And the same candles from the delivery room flicker once again. I’ve turned them on every night since and leave them on through the night…and the same batteries have yet to go out.

I want to give my girls the world.

I want to grant them a life without pain or sorrow. I’m not in control of that, but I can love…and my ability to love just grew a trillion-fold this last week. I love them so much, it hurts.

And, once again, I have to say I am in awe of the response from beautiful, thoughtful, amazing people Nella’s story has garnered. There are so many heart-warming things you’ve said I would love to repeat here…still taking it all in, but tonight, one that stood out that made that big bad bus seem further away…one that erased a few tire tracks…one that made me hug this girl a little tighter…

…from a Daddy:
“Thank you for having the courage to share your innermost thoughts and sharing Nella with your readers. The world became a better place the day she was born. When Nella is older, please let her know that she has inspired this reader to remember what’s important in life, be a better man, and be the best Daddy he can be to his own little girl.”

I whispered that to her…I thought she should know up front. She’s going to do big, big things, you know.

And so is every child, regardless of chromosomes…if we show them the way.

I have two girls. Two beautiful girls. How cool is that?

Our sleepover awaits.
I smell…laughter.
And I hear the distant sound of a bus…driving away, exhaust trailing behind it…lingering a bit, but promising to fade away.

Go away, bus.

The Same

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I will not always write about ‘what happened’ to us.
And I will soon not think of it as what happened to us…but for us. In fact, I’m already there.
I will move on.
But, for now…it is therapy. To write these feelings. To take them someplace safe.
My dad says friends are asking him, “how is she really doing?”
And the truth is…just fine.
I cry every day still.
And there are times I think it’s all a dream.
But, it’s not.
Perhaps it’s not quite coming to grips with things yet…or perhaps it will always be this way…but I fear becoming known as ‘that Down Syndrome family.’
…because this does not define us. This does not define her.
It’s just I need a little time to stay here for awhile.
But, eventually…I will continue to write about what I’ve always written…simply life. Our beautiful life.

We are the same family. …who happen to have this beautiful child who maybe isn’t quite like the others, but then again…she so is.



She’s so tiny…just like Lainey.
And she growls softly in her sleep like a little cub.
She loves when we hold both of her hands, and she falls into a relaxed trance when we hum softly in her ear.

The “It’s a Girl” balloons in the house are slowly deflating. The fragile edges of the flower petals are browning. And the monumental moment of the beauty of her birth is stretching further and further from where I can still touch it…taste it’s sacredness. But, you know when I can feel it? At night. When it’s dark and all are asleep except her and I. She sleeps with me…and our hearts beat together as she lies on my chest and I hold her tiny hands. And I talk to her…and, I swear, she understands.

I bring her face to mine until we are breathing each others’ breaths, and oh, is it beautiful. I look forward to night because night is finally beautiful again.

And last night, I leaned over to my blonde little wisp of a girl who was fast asleep with a puppy ear gripped between her fingers…and I cried as I whispered in her ear just how very proud I am of her. I told her I couldn’t have done this without her…and that she means so much more to me than she ever has before. I worry she will get lost in this tangled shuffle of emotions…but then I watch her and realize, we’ve done something so right. Because she is not lost…she’s right there with me all along, smiling, showing me how this is supposed be done…leading the way.

I don’t think I’ve changed a single diaper without her help yet. In fact, she apparently tried one without my help tonight, but thankfully I noticed a cock-eyed onesie, a tiny leg unleashed from some jammies and a half-taped diaper before a catastrophe. I looked up to big guilty eyes and, before I even needed to ask, she admitted…”me did it.” I love messed-up pronouns.

With Brett gone, I am truly breathing in the beauty of being a mama of two girls while simultaneously experimenting with seeing just how big my laundry pile can grow before I have to wash it. Because I seriously don’t care. Clean underwear are overated if you ask me.

I told my friend the other day that this whole thing has completely changed me. I even went so far to say I didn’t care about buying another pair of shoes again in my entire life. And I like shoes. She told me it would come back…that I will always like shoes because that’s just how I am.

Yesterday, I took my girls out just for a bit…for fresh air. For a sense of normalcy. And I ventured in a shoe store…just to see. I didn’t need any shoes and knew I wouldn’t buy any…just tried some on. And you know what? I still like shoes.

Because this is who we are. We are a normal family who do normal things. We live life to its fullest, and now…even more so.

So, as fitting, just like old times, tonight…
…to the lake we went.

Lainey joined by her friend, and I by mine…and Nella slung to my chest, hanging just about where she resided a month or so ago, the last time we traveled here.

We spread a blanket over the stiff grass, unpacked watermelon and crackers and cold grapes from the picnic basket…and watched as the sun set behind the stretch of trees.

…and Nella basked in the evening light and listened as her sister laughed and ran laps along the lake…just like she will someday.

Evening has us huddled for another girls night accompanied by a crackling fire…and much happiness.

We are the same family. But better.

Thank you, Thank you…from the bottom of my heart…for your beautiful comments. I read every one, am touched by every one, and know more now that there is so much more beauty in this world than I ever allowed myself to see. Thank you.