salome dorthy thomas crane

I had to pull my blinds and shut my office door today,

I've been waiting for the words to come, for the eulogy my Grandma deserves, but it's been a few days and the words haven't hit me.

Till now,

My boyfriend sent me a video of Tom Lehrer singing "We Will All Go Together, When We Go"
and it hit me like a brick wall.

The reason the words haven't come, was because I somehow never believed they would have to come, and so begins,

My Grandmothers Eulogy -

Me and my Grandma had a joke, a joke that she would obviously outlive us all. She outlived her husband, her son, and her dog. The joke would start the same way every time,
Grandma would say, "I'm a wicked old bat!"
And I would finish with "Who will outlive us all!"
And we would laugh.

It was in highschool, with a license, I began to visit my Grandma on my own. Once a week, sometimes twice, I would order us food from the burger joint down the street, I would pick at chicken fingers and fries, and she would pick at the burger I'd cut into quarters, and we would share the secret milk shake that neither of us ever drank much of, but that we always ordered - just because we weren't supposed too.

Every time I visited my Grandma I would stalk in wearing some giant pair of heels that were completely impractical, but she loved. The first thing she would always ask me was if I needed a tissue for those 'nose bleeders', and then she'd make a comment about what great legs I had, she never once told me my dress was too short, which it always was, or that a mens x-large sweater and tights wasn't a full outfit, she would just tell me my legs looked great, and to enjoy it while i was young!

It was during these lunch visits I learned who my Grandma really was.
She told me stories of the men who made advances on her, who had 'wandering hands' and who 'expected more then they deserved' and whom she always curtly put in their place.

One of my favorite stories my Grandma told me, and re-told me many times upon request, was when after a date had walked her to her door, and made his intentions clear - she told him that he was not welcomed in for the night, and when he replied with 'don't you know who i am? who are you to say no to me'

she simply replied
"I'm no one special, but if I don't respect myself, nobody will."

In these days following my Grandmas passing, the tragedy I'm left with is this,

My Grandma believed these words.

Instead of replying 'I'm a beautiful, educated, self-sufficient women" she chose "I'm no one special"

I've told my Grandma more times then I can count, that she was my hero.
In a time when women rarely sought further education, she gained a degree

My Grandma was an amazing figure skater, and she passed down her custom made skates to me, because I happened to be in a phase, and they happened to fit. Those skates were the catalyst to countless outings with my sisters, with my friends, never getting any good, but always having fun.

My Grandma was music, I spent my teens banging out terrible mopey songs on her piano. She never told me I was bad, but she did encourage me to find my key...

My Grandma coudln't be held back by anything, in 2000 when she suffered a full stroke, she recovered competely and went on to tour with a choir, sining and traveling when she was told she may never regain the mnuscle movement of her face.

How We Do Halloween - Halloween Monster Squad

The 'Yellow Castle' that I grew up in was never big on halloween, I grew up hardly acknowledging the holiday.

Charlotte however got her claws in this holiday and even sparked up my love of all thinks spooky. 

Thus, I've committed to organizing the Halloween Monster  Squad. I've rounded up all the classic Halloween Spooks - Vampires who bring tooth brushes, Mummies who bring scrolls of white ribbon to play with, Witches who drop their hats, Mermaids who leave behind trails of shells, and more (actually, feel free to give me more ideas, there's a lot days between now and halloween...)!

The following is a letter written to my 3 year old,

Dear Charlotte, Ursula the Mermaid, Little Mouse, Abracadabra'd cat/dog, Little Tiny Monster (or whatever it is you want to be called this very moment...),

You, my sweet daughter, you brought Halloween to the Yellow Castle. You spread the Halloween Cheer(?) and because of this the Halloween Monster Squad gave you a very special gift.

The HMS(for short) gave you a Magic Halloween Bag!

Every October you can set this magic bag on the porch next to a lantern any night you'd please, and one of the HMS will stop by and leave you a special little thank-you gift.

As your mommy I'm going to require you to have some etiquette and write a thank-you note each night which you can leave in the Magic Halloween Bag.

Last night was your very first HMS delivery, a clumsy Halloween Witch flew into a net of spiders, so she turned them into magic spiders. In her letter she mentioned that these spiders aren't like normal spiders, they don't eat bugs, these spiders are magic and they LOVE to eat bad dreams!

If we hang these spiders in the room they will eat as many bad dreams as they can, and you can sleep peacefully (even though I still have to sleep with your foot in my face).

The clumsy Halloween Witch dropped her hat, but luckily you found it. Make sure to leave it next to the lantern tonight so that the next HMS member to stop by can pick it up and return it to the clumsy Witch.

Charlotte, I love you, I love your fascination with life, I love living in 'Castles' and never 'houses', I love laying next to you in your crib as you fall asleep, only to pick you up and tuck you in bed with me a few hours later..

Mouse, you are a very special girl. 

I hope you have a VUNDERFULLLLL HALLLLOWHEEN!!!

WHA HA HA HA HA....

love, 

mommy

Baptized Extra Hard

Note: Make sure not to miss the hilarious pictures at the end.

My entire life I've held off on being baptized. When I was 13 my two best friends were being baptized, and I was asked to join them. I turned down the opportunity with a gut-feeling that I still had some battles ahead in life, and that maybe I didn't fully understand what I was committing to at this young of an age.

Several more times during my teenage and young adult years I would turn down a chance to be baptized. A small, still, voice in my ear, telling me just to wait, that this wasn't the time, and that the time would come and it would be perfect.

Through my teenage and young adult years my life got ugly. I battled addition with prescription pills, lived with a boyfriend who had a dark spiritual life, got caught up in ugly and sometimes scary situations, but deep in my heart, I never doubted that God was there, through it all, just waiting for me to surface.

I got sober when I was 21. Shipped of to rehab in Gonzales, Texas. I met my husband, fell in love, got engaged, broke off the engagement, got reengaged, broke off that engagement, and finally, in 2014, we got married, moved to California, and had our daughter Charlotte, all in a whirlwind of about a years time.

During that time I had witnessed several baptisms. I found a deep joy and beauty in watching others publicly commit themselves to God. I would closely watch their faces as they were taken down into the waters, and try and pinpoint what exactly it was that changed when they were brought back up.
I knew it wasn't a change I could find physically, and yet there was always something different, a new hope that shined on their still drying faces.

The soaking wet embraces, tshirts dripping, soggy smiles. I knew I wanted that. But when the call came, if anyone else wanted to stand up and take on the waters, I always had that voice telling me, wait, this is not your time.

But my time came. And it wasn't during a peaceful time. I didn't feel clean, or strong. In fact, I felt weak. How could God use me in my current state? Why did God want me now? I've had stronger points in life, there have been times where I've "had it all together". THIS WAS NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES!

The night before my baptism, I found myself crying on the back porch, cigarette in hand,

God. What do you want from me!? I'm slogging through life, covered in crap, falling apart at the seams. My life is in shambles, I'm struggling every day, I feel so far from you!

I didn't want to do it anymore. I texted my mom, I was probably going to reschedule. I had gotten in another ugly argument and I didn't want to take all this shit out into the water with me.

In my mind, there was a picture of what my baptism would be like. It seems silly now to have pictured somehow still waters, when I was asking to be baptized in the pacific ocean. My dad is ordained and I knew I wanted him to be the one to baptize me. My husband would be with me too, and I would come up out the of the water a beautiful, glowing, new creature of God, all smiles and hugs.

This wasn't God's plan for me. This wasn't God's plan for me because God knows my heart. He knows my insecurities. He knows my deepest fears and doubts. What if I came up out of the water feeling no different? What if the smile I wore was forced, and the embraces that were meant to be joy filled felt empty instead?

God knows my heart, and he loves me.

When we got to the beach, the first thing I noticed, with a pit in my stomach, was the shore break.
The waves, bigger and stronger then normal, were breaking right on the shoreline. There was no water FOR me to be dunked in! I'm a small person, my only hope was to be blessed and then maybe thrown into a wave? Immediately my doubts were growing.

My dad never wavered. He never showed a single doubt about the success of the mission ahead of us. My husband made jokes, he kept me laughing. With my earthly fathers confident grip on one hand, and my husbands comforting grip on my other, the three of us stood on the shore hand in hand. My family surrounded me, my dad shared a verse and blessed me, and off we went, into the mighty pacific.

As the first wave came crashing towards us, I knew, confidently, that my husband and my father would pull me through. And they did. Time and time again. It took us almost an entire set (7 waves) to make it out into water deep enough to baptize in.

Only the tide pulled out. Right as I went down.

All day things had been going wrong. Parking was NIGHTMARE, I had been in worse pain then usual, the waves were breaking on the shore, my heart was still in recovery from the argument had the night before, nothing felt right, right down to the moment I was going down into the water.

As my dad leaned my back, suddenly what water we had was being sucked back out into the tide. Further and further I leaned back, until I literally felt sand beneath me. With hardly a millimeter of water covering me, lying flat on the sand, I had been baptized.

But God wasn't done with me.

Laughing hysterically at the strange sight that my baptism had surly been, my dad and husband struggled against the sucking waters to pull me back to my feet. In my peripheral, not even a full second before resurfacing, I saw a great and mighty wave.

The enemy had tried to take everything from me that day. My peace, my health, my relationships, and now even the water! But our God is mighty. He has plans for my life, and in my moment of baptism, he saw me. He saw me making a declaration to him, trying with all I had, being baptized under half an inch of leaving water, GOD! TAKE ME! I AM YOURS!

God claimed me.

God claimed me with an 8 foot wave.

I gave him the millimeter I could muster, and he came in with a wave so big that it took not just me, but my father and husband, down and under!

Never have I been so happy to be completely pummeled by a wave. All my worries, cares, stresses, they were all taken from me in that moment. Being tossed around like a ragdoll in the strength of that wave, God literally washed my cares away. There was no peaceful dunk for me. Still waters were not God's plan.

 The pictures are hilarious. The video leaves me laughing in tears every time. My mom even said "when you came out of the water you were glowing, I'm not sure if it was the baptism or because you were just glad to be alive"

It was a little a both.

All this to say, God loves us. He sees us. He knows our hearts. And if you can just give him that millimeter of water, he will bring in the all encompassing wave. Amen!

Enjoy a few snap shots of the ordeal, I'm going to try and upload the real pictures asap.

Here's the three of us trying to get out into the water..

Here we go! Getting baptized!

wait! where is the water going!?

Got that millimeter of water! AMEN!

And then seconds later, God brought in the wave!

And we ALL got washed clean!

and kinda washed away...

and in the end, my sweet husband trying to save me,
and my poor dad being washed away. sometimes you just gotta laugh.

Mommy After God's Own Heart

The Preferred Start Of The Day

Every morning I try my best to start my day with the lord. Some days that means saying a quick prayer while curled up around my 1-year old while she sits and watches Disney Shorts in bed with me. Other days, if I'm lucky, it means reading the daily 'My Utmost For His Highest' that my dad texts me the link to regularly. Some days, when Charlotte feels particularly active, it means heading straight for the Facsimile album I have on standby. Regardless of what my morning routine exists of, I try and start the day with God.

This morning did not start that way.

My morning started per usual, Charlotte threw her puppy out of her crib and started berating me with her chorus of 'DANK YOU. (thank you) DANK YOU (thank you)

.' directed at me, still trying to hide under the blanket for a few last seconds of sleep.

'Okaaaaay! Mommy's commmmming!'

I swoop her puppy off the floor and a little curly headed bundle of polkadot footie pajamas is instantly cuddled up against me. We plopped down in bed and within 30 seconds of me curling up around her, my head was suddenly drenched in puke.

Before I even had a chance to exhale a sleep 'Dear Lord,' my daughter had wretched last nights 5am bottle all over me, herself, and puppy.

'Oh no', says my daughter, in her tiny breathy voice, 'boppee' - her way of saying 'puppy'

The Actual Start Of The Day

In a scramble to clean bottle barf off all three of us, and in an attempt to keep the puke on us and not the blankets, I whip off her footies, grab a clean diaper from the pail next to me and sponge my head, and grab 'boppee' by the tail. Before I even had a chance to start my day with the Lord, I was covered in baby barf, darting to the bathroom with a puppy in hand and a diaper on my head.

Dear God! My soul cries out! In my moments of puke covered weakness, keep my thoughts on you.

This story is pretty laughable now, with my clean hair, clean baby, and clean puppy, but this moment in my life encapsulated so well what is my daily struggle.  

Even with the best of intentions, my relationship with God can so quickly take the back seat to the chaos that is surrounding me. Often times, the schedule of daily life is enough to keep my mind occupied and my spirit distracted, but even in my deepest moments of stress and frustration, God is with me! 

God doesn't get distracted from loving me. Though the puke on my head is a more extreme example of distraction, Jesus remember me when he was on the cross. Surly if the Son of God can remember me as he hung on the cross, I can remember him when I'm faced with challenges throughout the day.

And how much more satisfying is it, to love the Lord and follow him, even through the dark times. To have a stable, ever-loving God, who is full of grace and mercy, who loves me, who actively loves me, even when my spirit feels as gross and unfit as my hair felt when covered in puke.

I see the Lord use my daughter daily, to teach me things about myself, and in turn I teach my daughter. When my day started with the retching out of last nights bottle, I wasn't feeling particularly blessed at the moment. A few days later and the lines I've drawn became a perfect illustration for my life and my walk with the lord.

This may have felt a bit rambled, it's been a while since I've taken to the keyboard, but this is the story I have to share with you today, I hope it made you laugh a little, and maybe helped you to draw some lines of your own.

Letting My Bruises Breathe

Note: This blog was important for me to write. It needed to be written so that I can move past this subject and onto bigger, better.


Every time I walk past a mirror I glance at my cheek to make sure my makeup has properly coated the faint green and blue that has risen on my right cheek.

A while back I downloaded a photo-editing app so that I could blur out the bruises from my memories. In every picture, besides smiling faces, were the colorful patches of bruises that plagued me, literally head to toe.

No, my husband doesn't hit me. And no, you don't need to 'see the other guy' because I most certainty did not get in a fight.

I don't have an iron deficiency,
I don't bump into things and 'bruise easily',
I'm not being abused, roughed up, or physically threatened, 
and no, I'm not doing this to myself.

As a passionate self-proclaimed documenter of life, I've recently been at a major road block when it comes to my creative flow. I've written endlessly about my daily happenings, about motherhood, #wifelife, and more, but everything falls apart as I write. I can't find endings to what I feel are vapid rantings and I fear that the more shallow I write, the closer I tiptoe into clickbait article style writing.

I'm blocked, I can't speak, my favored medium of communication has been stolen from me and it's time I take it back.

I'm sick. I've been sick for a long time now, and after oncologists, hematologists, Cedar Sinai bills, and more vials of blood then I care to remember, I still have no answers.

There's so much more to my life then these bruises.

My daughter is over a year old now. She is terrifyingly smart and the prettiest little thing you've ever seen.

My husband is incredible. He encourages me endlessly and never gives up.

God has blessed us with an incredible new job for Andrew and apartment searches have begun.

I belong to a vibrant church, come Sunday I'll be making breakfast for the worship team (hope you like burritos).

I have pain, chronic and undiagnosed.

I had 3 seizures in 1 week, but thankfully got off the medication that was charged as guilty and no longer have to worry about them recurring.

In the mornings I let Charlotte flip chapters of the Bible in bed before we start our day, 

                    From Suffering To Glory
                    Romans Chapter 8:18

                         For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be                              compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

I will live my life, I will raise my daughter, I will be my husband's partner in crime, and I will serve my God. (and document it all)

Mommy's First Fathers Day

Today is my first Father's Day as a mother.

How do you express such love and joy that comes with parenthood, and how do you say 'Thank You' to someone for fathering children with you?

It's nuts. I can't figure out.

I'm usually the one with thousands of words, to write, and to speak, but today I'm finding myself speechless.

To Andrew, the best daddy in the world,

I remember when we first met, I told you how I thought'd you be such a great dad one day. You cried, you never believed you'd make a good father, so a few years later I proved it to you (hahah). Charlotte is 1 year old toady, you've successfully fathered our little girl for an entire year.

I can't imagine raising this little girl with anyone but you. You were made to be a daddy. Your protective side emerges to keep her safe. Your silly side comes out to play and laugh with her. Your musicians heart soars along with her little fingers strumming your guitar and her tiny voice floating along behind yours.

Her crib is slightly broken because of the night you climbed in to sleep with her when she wouldn't stop fussing. It's a perfect picture in my head of just how wrapped around her finger you truly are.

As she grows, I am comforted in knowing that you will be there for her, to set an example of a good man, to be her first love, and a safe place she can always return to.

Daddies are very important to little girls, and grown girls, and even when she's grown, she will always need you.

Thank you so much for splitting genes with me. We've created such a beautiful, intelligent, talented, angry little girl, and though I see my expressions in her daily, she is undoubtedly your twin, so I guess it's a good thing that you're so pretty. 

I love you, I love our daughter, and I love knowing that you'll always be there too love and father her.

Never underestimate your power as DAD, though it may often feel like she's in charge always know that your her daddy, she will always love you and she will alway need you.

LOVEEEEEE YOUUUUU

happy first fathers day!

To be a Mother

This blog starts somewhere, and ends up somewhere else completely, it was written through dry eyes and tears - mostly tears - so please forgive me if it doesn't all make sense, I did not double check or re-read anything at time of post.


Dearest readers,

I've long been absent from writing here at OhWowMommy!, and though I have enough excuses to break the internet, I'll instead write from the heart, and probably shed a few tears along the way.

You see, this is the blog I've been avoiding. I have nearly 40+ blogs sitting in the edit bin, because nothing was coming out right. Everything felt forced. I've long been avoiding another raw and real blog, ever since I wrote "Bi-Polar Mommy".

I'd rather sneak a funny story about motherhood into your timeline. My ten month old with 1 tooth and a penchant for growling. The in's and out's of dealing with the tiniest little curls you've ever seen, and how to avoid the massive dread locks that eventaute at an alarming rate...

But that's not what I need to share.

What I need to share, per usual, is what's on my heart.

so lets do this.

To be a mother,

To be a mother is to wake early, gather up your tiny baby, changefeedbathedressandplay, until nap time, when you then lay baby down, and follow suit. While baby sleeps, we clean up, we dress ourselves, do hair/makeup/what have you, eat a hurried breakfast, and try and do the multitude of things there are to be done. When baby wakes up, we repeat.

Learning from example, my own mother sets the bar exceedingly high, not only rearing seven children into this world, but keeping home and providing an education. She plays taxie man, teacher, chef and a multitude of other roles until finally everyone is in bed, and then she cleans, then she eats, then she prepares for the next day and then, maybe, she sleeps.

However, this isn't how I've been mothering, and it leaves me feeling 'less then' daily.

I haven't yet gone into detail on my recent state of health, it's an ever-vulnerable spot for me, and I often choose to ignore it to my greatest strength.

I'm sick. I'm sick, and know one knows why.

In late February, earlier this year, a crop of deep purple bruises sprouted on on left arm. Being fair skinned, I just over looked it as an odd occurrence.

By the end of the week, the bruises had spread up and down both arms.

By the end of the month, they had continued down my back.

By mid April, cheek too toe, I was covered in deep purple, black and blue. Bruises like you'd never seen, some measuring nearly 6 inches in diameter. Everything hurt, everything hurt - always.

Nights became sleepless, bottle feedings at 4am were a relief from the frustrating of what felt like trying to sleep on a pile of rocks.

My poor husband would hug me, forgetting about the new bruise on my shoulder. Daily I'd bounce my daughter on bruised hips. Every time I left the house, heat wave aside, I'd be in full length sleeves and pants. Two, Three, Four layers of makeup to hide the bruise on my cheek.

Nearly four months into this battle I've seen countless Doctors, specialists, hematologists, - I've given gallons of blood for testing, I've battled insurance, I've accepted 'cash patient' status, and I've made an appointment for a $700 full blood aggregometry test, the actual reading of the test not included, sigh.

All this to say,

I'm sad.

To be a Mother who is in near constant need of help. To feel as though my daughter, perfect and lovely, has spent too many days inside, rather than out playing.

To be a Mother who garners up all her energy to take my daughter for a walk, only to find myself faint and defeated by the halfway point.

To be a Mother who feels defeated.

To be a Mother who aches, who longs, to be like all the other women around her.

To be a Mother who makes that stupid kombucha stuff, or can share in a conversation about healthy eating. When really, all I can do is try my hardest to keep down whatever sounds the least puke inducing.

I've lost over 20 lbs these past few months, 10 of those lbs over these last two weeks.

I met, and passed my pre-baby weight.

I've recently made an emotional lean towards crying. First I was stubborn, then I was angry, I've wallowed in resent, and now I'm just sad.

I'm tired always. I'm nauseous, hungry, angry, sad, I don't understand why, and God's timing isn't matching up to mine.

God, what is your plan here? I don't understand it. I just want to play with my baby. I want to take her on play dates, and keep the house clean, and go the extra mile for those around me. I'm tired of asking my sisters to watch Charlotte for an hour. I'm tired

-------------------------

To be a mother, who types up the things she doesn't want to face. Who then has a complete break down and does what? Goes to her mother. Who cries her eyes out for 40 minutes and listens to the advice of the women who raised her.

'Give more to God' are the words I've taken away from the conversation I just had with my mom. Through tears and a snotty nose, my mom gives me the words of encouragement I need to hear.

'I don't know why God has you where you are, but you just need to give more of yourself to God'

My mom has taken care of me through it all. You name it, and we've been through it.

A legacy I pray I pass down to my own daughter.

Maybe this was about the insecurtieis we all face, of being a good mother. Maybe it was a venting space about the struggle with my health. What I do know for sure though,

To be a Mother is to teach your children about a GRACIOUS, LOVING and EVER-PRESENT GOD, to teach them to WORSHIP and PRAY, and REST IN HIS EMBRACE, and to always, always, give more to God.



thank you mommy, happy mothers day.