Hey Katie Girl

Charlie, Part 5

2011-03-03T17:53:00.000-08:00

I have a love/hate relationship with the word stable.

I understand that in hospital terms and to the doctors and nurses, being stable or actually becoming stable is a good thing.

To me it is neither good nor bad. How can it be? Your not healthy, but your not dying.

Your just stable.

When I was on bed rest if I was on the tenth floor I was considered in critical condition. If I was lucky enough to be moved down to the fifth floor I was then found to be "stable." Every single morning when the team of doctors would come into the room to do their morning "check in's" the phrase "we are thrilled your still stable" was repeated over and over.

I was not home but I was not on the tenth floor, I was just

stable.

But this time when Jill walked in to tell me that Charlie had been stabilized, the word was music to my ears.

The chain of events that led to Jill taking the elevator down to see me would soon be revealed to me and a man named Dr. Wong would not only become my new hero but a name that will live on forever in the Holmstead and Checketts households. When my dad and Carras walked into the NICU all they saw was a team of doctors around Charlie's incubator (never a good sign). Their were cardiologist, respiratory specialists, echo teams, nurses and pediatric doctors. They had ruled out the idea that it could be his heart, which was of course good news to all, but what was causing Charlie to have such difficulty breathing?

The Blessing was given. Then....

Cue Dr. Wong.

"He needs Nitric Oxide" he told the team very calmly.

No one questioned him. They just went to work.

Without an actual echo, without the x ray results back, Dr. Wong made a prediction. His prediction was spot on.

Immediately after the nitric oxide was administered, Charlie's O2 sats shot up.

Charlie came back. Charlie was stable.

"But" Jill said. "He's sick Katie. Charlie is sick."

You see in the NICU there are preemie babies, and then there are the others..."the sick babies" as the medical staff refers to them. There are even floors to differentiate between the two. The eighth floor is for the preemie babies and the seventh floor is for the sick babies. Charlie was now both and making his way to the seventh floor.

Jill explained that while Charlie was stabilized the x ray was reviewed and showed that his lungs were not receiving the proper blood that they needed to function normally. Charlie was diagnosed with Pulmonary Hyper Tension, a condition that primarily exits in babies who are full term, NOT preemies, which is why the team could not find the problem earlier. It had not been a front runner or a likely problem.

Charlie was now battling two life threading situations. One being that he was a preemie with underdeveloped lungs, and two his lungs were sick.

Jill told us that a doctor would be down to see us soon to tell us more. She then looked at me and said

"I am so sorry Katie."

She did not say he was going to be ok, she did not tell me to take a breath, she just quietly and very matter of factly told me the situation and then said that she was "sorry."

My parents frantically began texting the family and Carras just held my hand. Our heads were spinning and our hearts were heavy. I felt grateful that he was alive, but I was far away from him, and knew nothing about what the future held. I only knew that the battle we thought we were facing of having a preemie baby just got much more serious.

Charlie's pediatrician walked in moments later. He was a kind and very gentle man who looked like Harrison Ford. Dr. Bateman would later come to mean very much to me. As he spoke to us of Charlie's diagnosis, I heard nothing but the words

"For the next three to four days, it is going to be touch and go."

Wait. What did he just say?

Touch and go? I thought for a moment...what does that mean? I repeated the words over and over in my head. Touch and go...touch and go.

Oh...

I suddenly realized what he meant.

Dr. Bateman assured us that everything was being done to save our son. He also assured us that we could not be at a better hospital. And then he said something I will never forget. As he was leaving he turned to me and said

"oh and Mrs. Holmstead, just so you know, they don't have Nitric Oxide at Stamford Hospital."

The truth hit me. Had Charlie not decided to come on December 13th, 2010. Had Charlie decided to wait one more day, the transfer would have happened and Charlie would have been born at Stamford hospital where there was no Nitric Oxide, the medicine that saved Charlie's life and no Dr. Wong, the man that saved Charlie's life.

I had never in my entire life felt more divinely watched over then that moment.

While Carras and I quietly comforted each other, my mom stepped out of the room. Once again, I was helpless still unable to move my legs. As I watched her leave the room I thought about how strong she was. I knew that what she really wanted to do was collapse in the fetal position and cry, but off she went to make plans for the girls, as always helping my little family.

While she was gone, I wondered....

How in the world am I going to get through the next "three to four days."

Moments later, my mom walked back in.

"Your bother is on his way Kates. He is taking the all night flight tonight and will be here in the morning."

Spencer, my older brother was coming to my rescue.

Charlie, Part 4

2011-02-24T19:27:00.000-08:00

Neither Carras or I knew what to do. I demanded to be taken back up to my baby, but the nurses declined my request. They had been told by the doctors that I was specifically not allowed back up on the 10th floor, for the time being.This made me even more upset and more anxious. At this point, I entered a different world. A world that I did not know existed until this moment in my life. I entered a world of pain so incredible and so severe that it was as if I was not alive. I could no longer see. My vision became blurred and I turned to Carras for help, I could see that his mouth was moving but I could not hear the words. I knew he was trying to talk to me but I was not even there. I was silently praying over and over "Please Don't take my baby. Please don't take my baby."I knew there were people around me, I knew nurses were in and out checking my blood pressure and trying to calm me down. I knew that Carras was in no position to ease my pain since he felt the same. I knew nothing else but at that moment, I thought I was loosing a child.

The door opened and closed. Carras walked into the room.

I did not even know he had left.

"Your dad is on his way. he said. "He is bringing oil, so we can give Charlie a blessing."

My mom who had planned to leave earlier also came back into the room. Once my dad arrived back at the hospital it was the four of us again. We were all together in one room, but instead of talking about Christmas, and big family plans, there was silence. We were quiet, and scared out of our minds. My dad came over to my bed and knelled beside it. I grabbed his tie. I didn't look at him, but straight ahead. I begged. I pleaded to him and to my husband to go upstairs and to save my son.

And with that, the two most important men in my life left the room to go and save the most important little man in my life.

My mom walked over to my bed and grabbed my hand.

"It's out of our hands honey."

She cried. I cried. We cried together. She was right. I knew, as much as I did not want to think or even say it out loud. This was no longer in my hands.

Nor was it ever.

We waited. I prayed. She prayed. Nurses prayed with us and for us.Nothing else mattered at that point. Nothing else in the entire world mattered but my little family and this new spirit that had come into our lives. It was a beautiful, scary, eye opening feeling.

I watched the clock.

Twenty minutes later the door to my room opened. My dad and Carras came walking back in. They both looked...

relieved.

The doctors had allowed them to each open a door of the incubator. They Placed their hands on

Charlie's feet and a blessing was given that I would hear about over and over for not only my remaining days at the hospital, but will hear about for the rest of my life. The details of the blessing are personal and something that I cannot wait to tell Charlie when he his older. It has strengthened my faith like nothing else ever has. I have never been more proud of Carras. It was as if everything we had been through in our entire lives prepared us for this one moment. The blessing of life, the meaning of the gospel and the blessing of eternal families all made sense.

Carras with a firm belief told me that Charlie was going to be fine.

Not five minutes passed before there was a knock on the door.

It was Charlie's nurse, Jill.

"Katie?" She said.

"Yes, I'm here." I answered.

"Charlie's stable." He's stable!"

Charlie, Part 3

2011-02-08T20:59:00.000-08:00

When I say that no one on earth could have prepared me for entering the high risk NICU, it's an understatement. The tricky part to this whole story was how I, while on bed rest had convinced myself that I was not going to have a preemie baby, therefore how unprepared I was. Any time one of the doctors asked if they could have one of their "NICU specialist" come to the room to see me, I politely declined. I was put in touch with several women who had, had preemie babies and wanted to discuss what it was like, again I politely stopped listening.

It just was not going to happen to me...and not because I thought I was above it. No, quite the opposite.

I thought I would never have a preemie baby because if God wanted to give me something I could not handle, it would be this...something happening to one of my children.

Even when the "NICU team" came to introduce themselves, I felt like turning my head to see if there was someone else behind me that they were actually talking to.

But my reality was there. It was waiting for me and I had no choice.

As the doors to the NICU opened I could not see a thing, but could only hear beeps, monitors, and ventilators. I swallowed hard. I immediately wanted to be wheeled back out. Carras held my hand.

"Here he is" his nurse, Danielle said.

I was laying flat on my back, still unable to move from the surgery. I turned my head to the left and saw the tiniest little baby I had ever seen. His head was covered with a bandaged hat. His chin was covered with a chin strap holding the oxygen under his nose. His eyes were covered. The oxygen tubes were bigger then his cheeks. His belly moved up and down and his mouth was wide open as he gasped for every breath. His Chest was covered in cords, as were both legs and feet. He was enclosed in an incubator and instead of cries, I could only hear beeps, and more beeps.

At that moment I wanted to die. I had never known such pain, yet I had never known such love. I wanted to reach in, grab him and hold him to me, I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that I could not hold on longer, and that he was not still inside me. I felt as if I had failed him, I felt as if I could have done more.

I sobbed.

As I sobbed I overheard Carras ask if we could touch him.

The Nurse slowly opened up one of the doors to the incubator and I reached my weak arm inside.

"Now most preemie's cant grip the fingers because..." the nurse began to say.

Immediately my baby boy grabbed my finger with his gentle tiny hands.

I gasped. I talked to him and told him I was there.

He gripped harder.

I cried harder.

There he was, my baby boy. The same baby that I had spent 57 days and nights with in the hospital holding on to every minute for his life and for mine. All of the sudden those days of wishing that I was out of the hospital were washed away with wishes that I could have held on longer. I would have done anything at that moment to save him these first few moments of life.

We starred at him together for what seemed like hours. The nurses and doctors talked us through what we were seeing. They used medical terms such as C paps, O2 stats, and incubation. My head tried to even partially understand what they were telling us, but all I could do was stare at my baby. They were thrilled with his size. He was three pounds and two ounces. They were thrilled with how well he was doing. His diagnosis at that point was proven to be wonderful.

How on earth could anything that was happening be wonderful? It didn't seem right.

"So...what do you think?" Carras asked me.

I knew what he was referring to. The name. He wanted to know the name.

All morning long, we had been asked over and over if our baby had a name. My response was a definite "no." I needed to see him first. Boy names were new to us, we had spent the last six years of our lives exploring girl names, but boy names were unfamiliar. Days and nights while on bed rest were spent thinking of the name in desperation to try and get to know this baby boy better, but we never came to a conclusion and now he was here.

"Charles." I said.

Carras was stunned. "Really?" He said

I was surprised myself. I looked around to see if that really had just come out of my mouth. I looked to Carras, and then looked to the baby and said it again.

"Charles." It was perfect.

The beeping on the monitor brought me back to the reality at hand. The nurse started to move my bed so she could quickly attend to the baby. I air kissed his finger and promised to see him again soon. I did not want to leave, but I also could not bare to look any longer. It was just too hard, it was just too scary. Carras brought me back out into the hallway of the tenth floor at Columbia. It was time to go back downstairs to the 5th floor where once again I would lay in the same bed I had been for the many days before. I was stabilized and so was my baby.

My mom had called my sister in law to pick her up and she was out front waiting. She leaned down and kissed my forehead. She told me how was proud she was of me. She picked up as many things as she could from my room and Carras followed her out with a pile of books, and pictures.

"I will be right back." He said.

I said goodbye and was alone for the first time since having Charlie. I laid there unable to move and still numb, cold and tired. I said a prayer of thanks that I was alive, that my baby was alive and all was well.

Not five minutes had passed when Carras came back into the room. His head was down. He dropped the books and pictures that he had been carrying earlier.

"That was quick." I said.

No response.

"Carras?" I asked.

Again, no response.

"Carras?" Carras what's wrong?"

At that moment, he came over to my bedside and unable to stand, fell to his knees and through sobs said "Charles isn't doing well."

"What?" What do you mean?" Surely this was a dream, this had to be a dream. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" I asked again.

"He's sick Katie. They don't know. They don't know. He is not breathing."

He's not breathing. He's not breathing. The words played through my mind. If you want to give a women the worst moments of her life. Cut open her stomach, stitch her up, numb her legs to the point where she cannot move and then tell her one of her children is in danger. The worst moment of my life was playing out in front of me. My baby was sick, my baby was in trouble and there was not one thing I could do about it.

So I screamed.

Charlie, Part 2

2011-01-20T18:56:00.000-08:00

I felt relieved. I felt so overwhelmingly relived...that it was over. I was told the placenta had been removed and that my chances to have more children was still intact (something we were told could very likely go wrong). Recovery was in the horizon. I even remember hearing the surgeons talk about what they were going to eat for breakfast.

Seriously...

Andrea was still holding my hand but I begged her to go check on the baby. She quietly let go of my cold fingers and agreed.

As I was wheeled into recovery, I looked up right in time to see the most handsome man I had ever seen. He came running down the hallway right in time to dig his nose into my neck. As he wrapped his arms around me, I could feel the wetness on my cheek from his tears. I could hear the mumbles of the doctors around us as we embraced. They told us to "let it out" (which we did). I even heard one of them say to Carras "Your wife is my hero." Although I was in and out of consciousness, I smiled. I loved the sound of that. I did feel strong. I did feel proud. I did feel so incredibly blessed to be alive and I had never been more happy to see my husband.

We held hands as my bed turned the corners into my temporary room. The talk had turned medical. I listened as they told Carras how much blood I had loss and how the delivery had gone. He had many questions and wanted to know everything. While they spoke of blood transfusions and what was next regarding recovery, I looked up to see Andrea walk in. Her face was no longer covered in a mask, and her hands clutched her subway pass and back pack.

"My shift is over." She laughed.

"What a shift." I laughed back. I closed my eyes as she leaned down to hug me.

"I am seriously so proud of you Katie.... and he is beautiful."

Seeing Carras I had forgotten about sending Andrea to check on my baby.

"He is my first baby." She smiled proudly. "So I have to know what you are going to name him."

I promised Andrea that once we had decided on his name, she would be one of the first to know. And off she went. Just like that. My hero, left her day job and just like any other person hopped on a subway back to her apartment to get some much needed rest.

Before long, my parents walked in. They were a sight. They were beautiful. The two people that had been through everything the past eight weeks with me. They were tired, but relieved.

Not long after my parents surrounded my bed, in walked my regular doctor (who I get to call Brian). He was still in his street clothes and his breathing was fast. He was clearly in shock. Now over the course of my hospital stay I got to know Brian rather well. I had decided that if I was to have the baby at Columbia, Brian was the one that I wanted to do the surgery. He was the first face I saw getting out of the ambulance the night I was transferred and I wanted him to be there for me if anything were to happen. He was also the only one that knew of my deep dark fears. He sat with me one morning while I expressed my concerns of my safety during delivery. Brian, not yet being a parent himself tried to understand a mothers angst of not only being away from her children but also having a condition that can (very rarely) but can end not so good. He assured me that I was in the best care possible and spatted off the statistics that were obviously in my favor. We talked about life and yes, we even spoke of death. He told me why he chose to be a doctor and how many kids he wanted (two girls to be exact). I told him of my faith and how it had sustained me. He listened. He went far and beyond the call of duty.

As he approached the bed he was speechless. This was rare for a man who 99.9 percent of the time does not stop talking.

"I'm alive." I said almost laughing. "I made it."

"Yes you did, just like I knew you would." Brian said back. Switching into Dr. mode he noticed the paleness of my skin and asked if I was cold. I answered yes and he called to the nurses to bring in more heated blankets. As he apologized over and over for not being there during my ordeal the nurses wrapped me up and hooked me to a special heater that helps regulate your body temperature. The doctors who actually did do the surgery came in to speak us as well. I remember specifically Karen saying that she had just seen my sweet boy and that he was doing "wonderful." I also remember Dr. Jones coming in with his a beanie cap on and messenger bag thrown over his shoulder. He also had seen our baby and told me that he was going to be "just fine."

"Really?" I asked.

"Oh yeah" he said again. His last words... "They work miracles in this place."

And there he went. The man who saved my life and delivered my baby walked out the door into a his normal world and left us in our abnormal one.

It seemed everyone had seen him but us. We were still waiting for the ok from the NICU doctors. We were getting anxious, Carras especially and although I was so happy to be alive, I felt so empty not having a swaddled new born on my chest. The mood in the room was celebratory. My baby was ok, I was ok and I got to go home and be with my girls for Christmas. We had no reason to believe that anything at that point was wrong.

Finally a nurse walked in and said

"I just got the ok from the doctor. Are you ready?"

As my bed left recovery and I was wheeled down the long corridors to the advanced NICU my heart ached with anticipation and nervousness. Carras' palms, intertwined with mine started to sweat. Not a word between us was said as the doors to where our baby boy was opened.

No one on this entire earth could have prepared me for the next thirty minutes of my life.

No one.

Charlie, Part 1

2011-01-12T10:23:00.000-08:00

When I look back on the past 4 weeks and all that has happened, I have only one regret, and that regret is not yet writing about Charlie.

I am a sucker for a good birth story. I love writing about my own and hearing others, but this one was different, this one was oh so different. How could I sit down and write about the most important, the most traumatic and the most personal thing that has ever happened to me? Yes, that is the right word, it just seemed all too...

personal...

But the conclusion is always the same. I love to write, and I love the people around me. I want them to hear the story and I want them to be strengthened by this experience just as I have been. It is also too amazing of a story to not share (I think). But again, it is deeply personal and I will obviously only share and only write the things that I am comfortable with.

On December 12th, 2010 at exactly 9:45 PM my nurse Andrea walked in to make sure I had everything I needed.

"Are you ok?" She said

"I think so." I told her. "I don't know what is wrong with me, but I feel off. Something is not right."

Andrea looked at me funny. It's amazing how trusting the nurses are of their patients. I wanted her to assure me that everything was fine, but her look said it all. She seemed concerned too.

"You are probably just nervous about the big transfer tomorrow" she said as she handed me my sleeping pill (the only guilty pleasure I allowed myself the entire time I was in the hospital).

She was right. In just ten hours I was finally leaving Columbia Presbyterian Hospital for the first time in seven weeks. I was going to smell and feel the fresh air. I was getting out of my horrible hospital room and most importantly I was going to be closer to the girls and to Carras. I knew I was not going home, but because my little boy and I had worked so hard to get past twenty-eight weeks we were heading to a closer hospital. This was quite the process. It took a lot of persuasion for insurance purposes and a lot of back and forth with the doctors at Columbia. It was very clear they did not want me to leave, but it was very clear that for my emotional state, I needed to be closer to my family and friends. The ambulance had been ordered, the room packed and cleaned out. I was ready.

"Your right." I said back to Andrea. "I am just nervous." I swallowed the pill and climbed back into bed.

Andrea stayed, which she always did and tried to get my mind off of the obvious. We talked about vacations, and her boyfriend. She told me I had made her want to have children sooner rather then later. I told her that was the best compliment anyone had ever given me. I started to feel sleepy and she had other patients she had to attend to. After she walked out of the room I became scared and panicked again. I paced the room, and tried to watch a show. I prayed and wrote in my journal, but nothing was calming me down.

On December 13th at 2:30 AM I called Andrea on the phone and told her I was still awake. After much debate we decided on another sleeping pill. I had never taken two in one night but at that point I was willing to do anything. I worried about sleeping through something, (more bleeding, a contraction) but Andrea assured me she would check on me every hour on the hour and not to worry.   I took the pill and like magic I fell right to sleep.

At 4:36 AM I awoke to Andrea in my room calling (ok screaming) for other nurses. Grace, the head nurse rushed in and quicker then I had ever seen anyone work slapped a heart monitor on my stomach.

"We have a heart beat!" Grace screamed. "We have a heart beat!" she screamed again.

I looked around and saw Andrea. Her face was white. Grace was sweating. I looked down and saw that my bed, my hospital gown, and the floor were covered in blood. Within seconds the doctors and surgeons on call came rushing into my room. They took on look at me and said "we are delivering you and we are delivering you now."

My head was spinning. I looked at Andrea. "What about my transfer?" I asked. "What about Carras? You have to call Carras!" Andrea grabbed my phone as my bed was rushed up to the high risk floor. "I will call him right now." She said calmly. I looked up at the doctors and the surgeons. It was then that I realized I did not know a single one. It was the early morning and not one of the doctors that I had grown close with over the seven week course of my stay was in the hospital at that time to deliver me. This was not happening...this was not happening. My baby wasn't ready, I wasn't ready.

I did the math quickly. I knew Carras had a 45 minute drive, he would never make it. My parents were just as far, they would never make it. My boy, my baby boy I had been planning on having in seven weeks time and much closer to home was about to be born in the wee hours of the morning in the middle of New York City with not one of my loved ones by my side. I had to make a decision and I had to make it quick. As the doors to the surgical room closed I looked up at the Dr I would come to know as "Karen" and asked her if Andrea could stay with me. Karen looked to Dr. Jones who then looked to the anesthesiologist who then looked at me...and I realized that what I was asking was not exactly common. "Sure", she finally said calmly. Of course she can stay with you." Andrea was then transformed from a twenty two year old nurse straight out of undergrad to a full on hero. Her blond hair was pulled tightly into her surgical hat, a mask placed over her beautiful smile and a yellow gown draped her body. She gripped my hand in hers and held my phone in the other. She walked me through the shots, she walked me through the moments of panic and fear.   She told me I was fine when my body decided to stop breathing and finally through her tears she peaked over the curtain that blocked me from my baby and told me he was out and that he was alive.

She cried, my baby cried and then finally....

I cried.

On December 13th, 2010 at 5:06 AM Charles Carras Holmstead was born.

But that is not the end....

A Wall.

2010-12-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

I don't have much in me tonight.

In fact I have not had much in me all week. I hit a wall and I hit it hard.

I am hoping to give you really good news tomorrow night.

Stay tuned...

(Abigail holding a card made for me by the my youth for the York Town stake. Adorable).

Keep Shining On...

2010-12-04T18:46:00.000-08:00

Carras just sent me a video of he and the girls picking out our Christmas tree.

I am currently practicing heavy breathing as to avoid another meltdown. Baby Boy and I are sad to not be there.

Trying to cope..trying to find the words to explain how it feels..

I don't think that I am feeling sorry for myself, I know that it might seem that way, but the minute you become a mother your priorities change. I'm not thinking about myself in this situation, I am thinking about them. Who wants to pick out a Christmas tree without their mom? When it comes to my Holiday obsession, Abigail has always been my partner in crime. And now, she and Molly are doing it without me.

It just doesn't seem fair at times.

There I said it. Today, it just seems unfair.

I have not really been able to think much about Christmas, which if you know me is the polar opposite of how I really live. Christmas music in my house starts on November 15th- much to my husband's dismay. The Christmas books and DVD's are brought out of storage on the same day. I start planning decorations, gifts, and cards far earlier then most I know.

This year is obviously very different. I have yet to allow myself to really even think about it. I know that there is so much to do regarding gifts for the girls, and addressing cards but in order to survive, I really and truly have not even been able to go there. The girls brought me their letters to Santa to read, but my tears ended up smearing the red marker making the paper hard to decipher.

Oh and did I mention I drink hot chocolate year round..even in the summer. It's a family thing. I would rather have a warm cup of hot chocolate and a cookie for dinner then any fancy meal.

I miss them. I miss my house. I miss driving in the car with Carras. I miss having a normal, regular day being their mom. I miss wearing shoes, and I miss wearing a coat. I miss seeing homes decorated with lights, I miss the chaos of driving to and fro trying to get everything done in one day, and I really miss being able to listen to Christmas music.

So today I decided to give it a try.

I found this.

Baby steps.

I love it.

Thank you Coldplay. Once again, you have found the perfect way to describe how I feel. Once again, you are getting me through yet another tough time in my life.

"When Your still waiting for the snow to fall. It doesn't really feel like Christmas at all. May all your troubles soon be gone. Those Christmas lights keep shining on."

I will try.

I Simply Remember My Favorite Things.....and 28 weeks!

2010-12-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

Lately since I have been living in the hospital I have decided to make me life like an epsidoe of Glee. Every day I pick a different song that deals with my emotions, and I sing them. Loud. Sometimes in the shower, sometimes in my bed....And songs as they often do, heal our hearts, make us think, and give us hope.

My song for today is simply "My Favorite things." Otherwise known as things I like to think of when I am sad...

Here is goes...

Waking up this morning to e-mails and text messages reminding me of the special meaning today has...including this e mail.

TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!

TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!TWENTY-EIGHT!!! 28!!!

Realizing that I have the mother of the year and Molly has the grandmother of the year for not only throwing her a princess birthday party but dressing up as a her fairy godmother.

For Mel going the extra mile as always and showing up to surprise Molly dressed as her favorite princess. Could you please look at the two Snow White's reading? Be still my heart.

For feeling down yesterday and then hearing this song..and realizing that no matter how sad or down I feel, as long as I picture him I seem to be ok.

Hearing my mom tell me about how much Abigail joys and delights in decorating for Christmas. She has always been my holiday queen and to not be with her this time of year is miserable. But to know that she still jumped out of bed when she found out it was December 1st makes me smile.

Ordering a early Christmas present for myself. Merry Christmas to me.

A visit from my cousin complete with these cupcakes. A little piece of my extended family that I love and won't be able to see this Christmas.

Friends, Friends, Friends....Cannot say that word enough. It has an entire new meaning to me now....

My Girl Cousins....Yup..their all mine. How did I get so lucky?

My Family...all mine again. My absolute favorite thing.

I simply remember my favorite things....and then I don't feel so sad.

Happy 28 weeks Baby boy. You did it.

Christmas decorating with Skype

2010-11-30T19:13:00.000-08:00

Every night I have the same dream. Well, maybe not the same, but always similar. It involves the girls and our "pre-bed rest" activities. I dream of coloring with Abigail. I dream of spending the morning with Molly. I dream of my home, driving my car, and spending time with friends. I dream of putting the girls to sleep and singing them their favorite lullabies. Molly's favorite-Baby Mine and Abigail's favorite-Families can be Together Forever.

But then I wake up.

It usually happens every night between three o'clock and four o'clock. I look at the clock praying and hoping that it is closer to morning then I think. My heart drops when I see the time. I have to try to somehow go back to sleep. I look out my window and see the tall dark buildings. I close my eyes tight and sing songs in my head. I repeat uplifting quotes. Many nights I just lay there. I do anything and everything I can to not panic when I think about how far away I am from Carras and my girls.

Yesterday the dream was different. I dreamt that my house was full of my dearest friends. I dreamt that they had all decided to come to my home in my absence and once again make it a home. They pulled out the Christmas decorations. They hammered stockings and hung garland. They pulled out the nativity and placed the candy canes in glass vases. Their cars were all parked in my driveway since they know the gate code by heart (I love that). The flower boxes are replanted with New England pine and my favorite color ornaments. They vacuum and sing. They even sweep the garage. While the hustle and bustle goes on inside my walls, I sit in my hospital bed watching in complete awh. I watch while these women hold up different ornaments and different decorations asking where each goes. I try to hold in the tears. I look away several times gaining composure and strength. I say thank you over and over, but nothing really seems enough. They all kiss the computer screen goodbye and I close my lab top.

Skype signs off and I wake up

to find that my dream was real.

Thank you to these friends who made this dream a reality, who brought light into my home again for my girls, who have been the most understanding and service oriented group of women I have ever, ever met. As mothers you have all put yourself in my situation and what you would do. Only a fellow mother could understand the sense of loss I feel for my girls and my daily life. Only a fellow mother could understand the heart ache of missing her daughters third birthday and not being home to watch them decorate the tree. Only a fellow mother could do what you girls did today.

"I meant what I said and I said what I meant, a mother is faithful 100 percent!" Horton Hears a Who.

Thank you for being my faithful mothers.....

100 percent.

Molly turns 3

2010-11-28T16:34:00.000-08:00

Three years ago today I woke up early in the morning. I laid there for a minute only to feel what had woken me up in the first place-a contraction. I got out of bed and started to pace the room. It didn't seem to make sense to wake Carras up yet, I don't know why, but for some reason I felt peaceful and liked the feeling of being alone. Once the contractions got more painful and I had showered and changed, I gently woke Carras up.

"Its time" I said. My little girl was on her way.

I wish I had a video camera to tape Carras when these moments happen. Those who know him would probably consider him to be a pretty together and calm person, but in these moments he is the crazed and hyped up one and believe it or not, I am the together one. He flew out of bed asking me question after question and throwing every electronic that we owned into a bag. He even asked where is glasses were and laughing I told him that he actually didn't wear glasses. I reminded him that he needed to get himself ready and that I would go get Abigail ready to bring to my mom.

Once in the car, the sun was just rising. The drive was beautiful. The fall leaves were still visible and the sky was just beginning to show it's natural blue. It was a perfect New England winter morning. I remember feeling so calm and so peaceful. Carras was driving fast and busily changing the radio station every split second. The seek button must have been pressed more in that 20 minute drive then it had been all year. I wasn't annoyed. I secretly thought it was cute.

Once we arrived at the hospital and checked in my doctor shocked us with the news that I was only dilated to a 3. She suggested taking a brisk walk and coming back in a couple of hours. I could not have been more surprised. Surely she wanted to keep me monitored and safe right there with her, but her suggestion caught my attention when she used the words "speed-things-up." We decided to do it. Greenwich, CT had a main street from heaven with every shop under the sun.

Carras and I strolled (well I waddled) up and down, and in and out of shops for well over an hour. I bought new pajamas and he ordered breakfast at an outdoor cafe. Soon I found myself lost in Sephora trying to find a new scent. I tried on various lip glosses and was having so much fun. I patted myself on the back and thought I had found the secret to happy labor. Shopping! I mean why in the world had I not done this before. I was going to write an e-mail right away to all of my girlfriends. Everyone needed to be in on this amazing secret. All of the sudden I realized that it had been several minutes since I had last seen Carras. I started to panic. I looked around the store and he was no where to be found. I looked at the girls in black behind the counter. I pictured them delivering this baby on their beautiful carpet and then I wondered if it would mean getting free make up for a life time.....

I was brought back to reality when all of the sudden the the mother of all contractions hit.

And it HIT HARD.

I put my basket full of items down and slowly walked out the door. I still could not find Carras. I reached for my cell phone.

It was not on me.

And there in the middle of Greenwich Ave, I sat down on the curb and started to cry. The contractions were coming more often and were more intense. I started to curse my doctor. I wondered how someone so educated could make such a stupid decision to send a woman in labor out shopping! My cries were in a full blown sob at that point. I was all alone, 39 weeks pregnant, no husband and I didn't even get to buy perfume.

Within minutes my cries were interrupted when a car came to a screeching halt right by my feet. The door swung open and there he was.

"What's wrong!?" He screamed.

I screamed back. How could you leave me!? I yelled. "How on earth could you do that to me!?"

He calmly replied. "Katie, I told you I was going to get the car and you said ok."

He did? I didn't remember that conversation..I was lost in Sarah Jessica Parker's new scent. It didn't matter at that point, because at that point, this baby was minutes away from arriving.

We pulled back into Greenwich hospital and I was wheeled straight into labor and delivery. Exactly 44 minutes later, Molly Kate Holmstead was born.

To describe the birth of your child is nearly impossible, but to describe her life to this point is completely possible. Molly is JOY. Molly is my cup of joy that I get to partake of every single day. Molly is my sweet and tender girl who comes into the hospital, takes off her shoes and climbs right into bed with me. She rubs my cheeks and asks me if I am "ok." She tries to feed me my food and helps me take my medicine. She is obsessed with Snow White and tea parties and her Grandma. Molly has never come across a person that she does not like. She loves everyone and frankly everyone loves Molly. Molly is simply....

Lovely.

The Sarah Jessica Parker scent I picked out on the cold November day was ironically called lovely. After Molly was born, Carras made a stop by the store to pick up the bottle I had previously thrown to the ground

and

I have worn it ever since.

Happy Birthday to my lovely love, Molly Kate.

Celebrating in the hospital with Pinkalicous cupcakes

Love,
Mom

Thankful from room 536

2010-11-25T17:45:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to find the right words to say today. Nothing has sounded right. I woke early this morning realizing what day it was and realizing that this would be unlike any other Thanksgiving I have ever had. I laid in bed and thought. I thought about all that I had to be grateful for, yet I was still sad. I tried to hard to focus on the positive, but the emptiness that I felt was still there. Nurses came in and out wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving and asking when my girls were coming in. I told them that I was sorry they had to work and many of them told me that had no where else to go anyways..

that made me even more sad..

And for the first time since I have been in the hospital I was so sad that I was literally unable to pull myself out of bed.

I tried to listen to Christmas music.

Bad idea.

Once I finally was able to move I called down to Meriko-a woman who has turned into a life saver, bringing me my morning paper, doing my laundry and best of all making my hair and nail appointments. I told her that I knew it was last minute and I knew it was Thanksgiving but was there anyone who could come and quickly blow dry my hair and paint my nails (I try to look as normal as possible when the girls come in).

"of course" she said. "We are here whenever you need us."

And I was grateful. I was grateful that Meriko who probably wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else today was here to help me.

After I was finally able to get myself ready for the day I laid back down in bed. My mind drifted back to the night that Carras and I came to the hospital that very first night. We were punched with more information that one night then most could comprehend in year. And by punched, I mean sucker punched. The kind that hits you in the stomach and you literally look down to see if someone really just hit you. After thinking we had taken all we could, we were told that a nurse from the NICU was coming in to talk to us.

This terrified me. The NICU? I had heard of it, but had never had a baby who had to be admitted. My head was spinning as I laid in bed hooked up to machines and monitors. Carras tried his hardest to listen to the words blindness, deafness, brain dysfunction and more. I couldn't take it, I could not listen to one more negative piece of news, I know that doctors are trained for worse case scenarios but this was all too much.

I asked the NICU nurse to leave.

A doctor that I have grown to love and trust came in and finally painted me with some hope. He took my hand and said very simply

"Katie, if we can just get you to 28 weeks, this will all be very different."

My mind was suddenly brought back to the present and I opened my eyes. It was November 25, 2010. I laid in bed looking out at the gray sky again, but this time I realized how much I really did have to be thankful for. There is no room or space to be sad today. I am exactly one week away from this goal that the doctors just a mere 25 days ago thought was a "long shot." This baby is just 7 days away from his 28th week birthday.

I have family who will start pouring in with turkey and gifts. I have two girls who will come with giggles and the pictures they have drawn since I saw them last. I have a husband who is dedicated and so, so strong. I have my own sister who 18 years ago I held in my arms and sobbed because after four brothers, I finally had a sister. I have very over protective brothers who would crawl to the ends of the earth if me or my girls needed anything and sister-in-laws that I consider just sisters. I have cousins by the dozens. I have a Grandpa who flew here just to spend the Holidays with me. I have parents. Oh do I have parents who have made and shaped me into who I am and I have best friends whom I am reminded of every time I look around my hospital room and see the overload of gifts received.

And I have this baby boy. This baby boy that just 25 days ago I was told might not make it.

oh and I have clean hair and pink nails...

Just for you Abigail.

Happy Thanksgiving, from me and baby boy in room 536.

When Daddy dresses me

2010-11-21T09:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Saturday. Always a hard day but exciting as well because I get the girls for longer then a normal visit during the week. It was a beautiful fall day in the City so I recommended to Carras that he come in the afternoon and make a certain stop on the way for a certain birthday girl whose birthday is just two days after Thanksgiving. After running the big birthday errand and handling it with grace might I add (this is not an easy place to take two little kiddies by yourself) the girls ran into room 536 at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.

I always know when it's my girls. I can hear their squeals and shrieks down the hallway and I picture the other patients in their rooms rolling their eyes and preparing themselves for the "loud family" to visit once again. You see, I am kind of an unusual case here. Most of the other women are here because they are carrying more then one baby and most of the other women here don't have other children. It seems that every time a new nurse or new doctor finds out that I have not just one other, but two others children at home they take an active interest and are much more loving. They feel badly. How can they not? Every time one of them mentions my girls, I break out in tears. I keep thinking the tears will stop, but they don't and probably won't.

As the girls pranced in yesterday I hugged them until they said enough and I looked down right in time to see Abigail's outfit.

This was hard for me. As much as I hate to admit that, this was hard.

The second week I was in the hospital the doctors sent in a Psychologist to visit with me. As I laid there hooked up to monitors on both sides of the bed, this sweet woman said to me "your situation is about as out of your control as it gets." As a fellow mother she understood and listened as I talked about my family and being taken from them. She repeated herself. "Your situation is as out of your control as it gets." I was not sure why she repeated herself over and over but once it finally sank in, I realized that I had to accept it. I absolutely had to accept that the only thing I have control over right now is how I think.

I have no control over what I do everyday. I have no control over my current medical situation. I don't even have control over what I wear (must be pajamas) or what I eat. I shower with latex gloves on my hands to cover my IV's and deal with the non existent hot water. I talk to dozens of doctors and nurses everyday but I have no control when they come by or what they say or think.

And I certainly have no control over what Abigail and Molly wear.

Which I know in the scheme of things and in life is so not important. But letting it go is hard. Very hard.

So as I looked down, I laughed and pulled out my phone to take a picture. Abigail of course thought I was thrilled with the outfit and Carras could not figure out what the problem was..I think he was just happy she was even wearing socks with those sandals.

(Just another Saturday afternoon)

Today I am grateful for my favorite doctor on call, your prayers coming from far and wide, my new Christmas tree I can't wait to tell you about, many visits from friends, painted toes (finally), new pictures of the girls on my wall, a healthy heart beat of my baby boy, a Saturday night with Lily, and new pajamas...

and this on my sister in law's computer.

Let It Show

2010-11-19T13:42:00.000-08:00

Ironically, a week before I was admitted to the hospital we had our pictures taken by Wendy of Blue Lily. This had been somewhat of a difficult feat because the only way that Wendy was going to be able to work us into her schedule was to meet us at exactly 8:00 AM on a Sunday morning. I cannot even tell you how many times I almost backed out of these pictures. I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of getting the entire family ready for a photo shoot in New York City on a Sunday morning. The only thing that got me through was my friend Mel who was getting her pictures taken as well on the same morning. We complained, planned, and in the end still decided this was the right thing to do. Gosh dang it, if we wanted Christmas cards, we needed to just GET IT DONE...but I was dreading it.

Saturday night came and already Carras was giving me a hard time. We knew that our alarms were to be set for 6:00 AM and that we needed to be in the car and ready to go no later then 7:00 AM (with happy kids might I add). Again, I wondered what I had done, and if this was going to be in fact worth it.

For the past two weeks I have laid in my hospital bed thinking how lucky we are that we did these pictures when we did. I would lay awake at night with the quietness that surrounded me and picture what they would look like. Once received, I must have looked through them at least a dozen times. As I looked, I could not help but think of my life before this change of events occurred. I thought of the morning I got the girls in their dresses, and my friend Krista coming over at 6:00 am in the morning to do my hair. I thought of dragging Carras out of bed and watching him fold his tie as he held his tongue when I knew what he really wanted to say. I remember the quietness of the city that morning. Not another person in sight, no noisy taxi's, no beeping horns. I loved watching the girls run through the cobblestone streets and Wendy snapping away. I thought of our happy family together...

and my heart hurt.

Blue Lily pulling through once again

My Grateful Journal, Entry 1.

2010-11-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

Dear Girls,

I am writing to you both to tell you how much I love you. I have been in the hospital for two weeks now and my heart still longs to be with you everyday. Not a moment goes by where I don't think of both of you. I look at the clock and picture you at your various activities. I try to focus on other things, I try not to be sad but the fact of the matter is half my heart is missing because it is with both of you.

I have tried to find the words to explain to you our current situation. At the beggining I was so nervous at how this was all going to affect you both, and if it was going to effect you. I talked to doctors, social workers and child psychologist and they all told me the same thing. They answered my questions with surety that you would both be "ok." I felt comforted by this many times, but the more you have visited and the more that I see your faces the more I know how hard this has been on both of you. I am your mom, I am the only one who really knows how you are feeling. Abigail, I can see it in your eyes when you walk in. Molly, I can sense it in how hesitant you are to come near me when you first enter the room. How I wish I could take away any confusion or fear that you must have, but I am here for a reason and oh what a good reason it is, even if it is hard to understand.

I am here trying to bring your baby brother into this world. His little body needs to hold on just a while longer until he is allowed to come. Mommy is doing her very best to do everything she can to fight for his life everyday. I know it is confusing, I know it seems unfair, I know you wish that life was back to normal, and I know that you will not understand this for quite some time, but for now and for your baby brother I am where I need to be.

Mommy's friend brought her a journal today. On the front of the journal is says

"write in me everyday something you are grateful for."

So for my first journal entry I wrote about both of you.

Abigail I wrote about your laugh, your sense of humor, and your LOVE of life. I wrote about how excited you get when we make cookies, decorate for holidays or go to grandma's to see your favorite dog Randy. I wrote about how much you try to make sense of everything and your never ending questions. I love your drawings. I love your imagination. I love your cheeks, and I love how much you hate when I brush your hair. I love how once you get an idea in your head, it is there for good and how much it drives your daddy crazy. I love how strong you are. You are so, so strong my sweet girl and will be stronger for this. I love your prayers and your faith in what you are taught. You are one smart cookie. You and I have always had a connection that goes way beyond being apart for a couple of weeks. Nothing can ever take that away. You are my eldest and always will be.

"My Molly" as I have always called you. I wrote of your tenderness. I wrote of your sweet, sweet nature, and how much I love when you pat my cheeks and say over and over "are you happy mom? Are you happy?" I love how much you love your sister and desire to be with her till the ends of the earth. I LOVE your girly nature. I miss getting ready with you in the morning. I miss you climbing into the shower with me and sitting in the sink while we put make up on together. I love how you have an opionon on everything that you wear down to the jewelry that you pick out. I love how much you love your Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Lily. I love, love, love that voice. Your kisses are heaven sent. You are a sweet soul and a light in my life. I love how much you love babies and can't wait to see you with your new brother. You are going to be an angel to him.

My friends have been so amazing to you both. They have taken you in, fed you, played with you, hugged you and loved you more then I ever expected. They have bought you gifts and wrapped them with tags that say they are from your mommy. They worry about you and want to help. Make good friends girls, be a good friend, and I promise they will lift you in your toughest and darkest times.

Your Grandma has risen beyond the call of duty. I am so grateful for your time with her. You will never forget it. I loved my Grandma's and am so grateful to this day for my relationship with them and how close I was with them. There were many moments in life where I turned to them for a soft ear, and a comfort meal. They have been with me through this time, just like you Grandma has been there for you.

So today my loves, I am grateful for you two. I thank Heavenly Father for the gift of raising you, to love you, to read to you and to cuddle you. I can't wait for those simple moments again. I love you with my whole soul and everything that I am.

Love,
Mom

With Them...There.

2010-11-14T08:48:00.000-08:00

(The whole family in Sun Valley)

My second night in the hospital my dad told me that I needed to find a place in my mind in which I could escape. Confused I asked him what he meant. He then explained to me that every time he felt low, or scared he had a happy place that he chose to escape to. He went on to explain where his happy place was. It was of course our cabin in Woodland, Ut. Far away from anything that could possibly distract you from the beauty that is there, this cabin has been a dream of my dad's for quite some time. There is no other place he would rather be. He described the image that comes to his mind to calm his thoughts. This image is of the entire family, my mom, all six of his children and four grandchildren sitting around the outdoor fire roasting marshmellows. The amazing and unbeatable sunset that can only happen in Utah surrounds us and we as a family are all safe, we as a family are all there, together.

Immediately I knew where my happy place was.

I have thought of it several times since we had this talk. Every single time I am poked with needles, I close my eyes and the image rushes into my mind. Every single time I am rushed upstairs to the high risk floor, I try to close my eyes and imagine this place that is so dear to my heart. It is place that in my 31 years of life, a year has never gone by where I have not visited. It is a place where those closest to my heart are with me, it is a place that my daughters now love the same way I did when I was their age, and it is the only place where I don't have to pull my husbands arm to take a week off work to go. This week is sacred, and we have it once a year.

My place is Sun Valley.

When Abigail was trying to make sense of how long I was going to be in the hospital and away from her, with a concerned sound in her voice she asked me

"are you going to miss Sun Valley?"

Luckily I could answer no to that. With all that I am missing in these next few months it was nice to finally have a positive answer to come back with. I think often of already missing Halloween, missing Thanksgiving, and worst of all missing my Molly's 3rd birthday. I have not yet let my mind wander to December, just because the heart can only take so much. It is a confusing place to be. On one hand, I know from all the doctors that the longer this baby stays in my tummy, the better, but the longer I am away from my children. As a mother, how do you grasp that? As a mother how do you comprehend the thought of not being with your own children for so long?

I don't have the answer, but I am searching everyday. The only answer that I do have, is that for right now I am where I need to be, with the people surrounding me that need to be. This baby boy is with me at all times which is such a comfort. The doctors are thrilled with his acitivity level so far throughout this process. They get a kick out of the nurses inability to catch him on the monitor and are confident that he is going to be just fine. He loves to move around in my belly and I love to feel it. It's has if he is saying

"we can do this mom"

And when we do, I know that Carras and I will be able to look at this trial as faith building. And soon, before long, as the girls, Carras and I and this baby boy will be riding our bikes through Sun Valley....Abigail's question will be answered.

And I will once again, be in my happy place.

(My Molly in Sun Valley)

If It Is To Be, It's Up To Me.

2010-11-13T07:34:00.000-08:00

(My Grandparents shortly after their wedding)

Weekends are hard. Everyday is hard but weekends are harder. They seem to be more quiet. Less doctors and nurses are here, and the hush that surrounds the hospital seems to scream at me and remind me of where I am.

When my eyes opened this morning, I found myself unable to move lost in thought. I thought of Carras. I pictured him waking up, making the girls Saturday morning pancakes, making the beds, getting them dressed, doing their hair, and running the various errands that take place on Saturday's. I longed to be there to help him, but I was also overcome with love and appreciation for the man that I married. If there is a strong man, a dedicated husband and father who can get through this challenging time, it is Carras. When we met, besides his sense of humor and the way he made me laugh, the first thing I noticed and was impressed with was his independence. For me, (someone who still talked to my parents everyday and relied on them for everything emotionally and financially), I was in awe of someone like Carras who was putting himself through school, and loving every second of his experience. It was not until later I would learn that this was how Carras was raised. He was raised to be independent, and to fight for the things he believed in and needed. It was also not until later that I would learn of his unshakable and undeniable faith that he had in the Gospel. It is these three things that have gotten me through this time. His faith, his ability to take care of himself and the girls and his way of making me laugh even in these hard times.

After I finally was able to get myself out of bed, take my medicine and talk with the doctors, my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Carras. It read

"can you get on skype?"

I quickly turned on my computer, and frantically plugged into the internet, and then the screen rang and there he was (of course in all Cougar gear). The Saturday morning cartoons could be heard in the background, and the girls could be heard running and squealing in the background. I asked how the morning had gone. He told me he had made pancakes, and that the girls were dressed and ready for their various activities. The beds were made, and laundry being done.

It was just like I pictured.

My Grandpa and Grandma Leishman have always been a huge part of my life. My Grandmother passed way four years ago, but up until then if I needed a second mother, I had one and it was her. To say she was an amazing woman is an understatement and one that does not do her justice. I have thought of her many, many times in the past two weeks and what she would say if she was here. I think she would be horrified at how little I am putting on my make up, and the hospital gowns I spend my days in, but other then that I know she would be proud. I have prayed and hoped many times that she is with me. My Grandfather is who is still with us is an absolute gem. He calls often just to check on my daily life and I find myself receiving questions from my friends

"Does your Grandpa really call just to say hi?"

Yes, he does, all of the time. The comfort that these two have brought to me throughout my life has been constant and the example of hard work and faith has ever been present. As long as I can remember, my Grandpa has had one saying that he repeats to his grandkids over and over.

"If It is to be, It's up to me."

A man true to his words, no one lives by this saying more then my Grandpa.

I have learned though, that is is much harder said then done. I had people tell me how strong I am, but my deep dark secret is that I don't feel strong. I feel scared, lonely, unsure, confused, and incredibly vulnerable. I feel sad every time I see the girls or have to say goodbye. I feel sad every time I hang up with a friend or watch one of them leave. I feel sorry for myself when I look outside and see the beautiful blue sky that I have not experienced for real in over two weeks.

But, none of this changes my situation and I know that. I'm just lucky that my other half is the strength that is holding everyone together, especially me and especially the girls. They don't get to see him every day right now, but the days that they are with him and the nights they are all sleeping at our home are the ones that I feel like my family is somewhat together and holding up as much as they possibly can right now

I'm doing what I can here and he is doing what he can there. Separate lives, but together with one common goal.

I feel the most complete when he with me and by my side. So,

If It is to be, It's Up to US.

And I think my Grandparents would approve.

From the Tenth Floor

2010-11-11T17:18:00.000-08:00

My Girls are coming in today. I have not seen them since Monday night. It is always a wide variety of emotion when the girls come. I am excited and nervous all at once. The nurses and doctors have been incredibly sweet in letting them come tonight. I have been moved up once again to the high risk floor and there is a strict rule about young children up on the tenth floor, but today they are making an exception. Not only are they letting them visit, but we have planned our day around their arrival. They let me shower (not normally done up in the ICU) to help me look as normal as possible and planned all monitoring times, and blood draws before they come. My doctors have even asked if they can come back at the time of the girls arrival to finally meet my little ones. I have tried to decide whether or not it is a good thing that they have taken an active interest in my life . For me it’s just my new reality. They are who I see everyday, they are who hold my hands through the toughest moments and as one of my nurses’ Terry told me last night “we are your family for right now Katie.”

In a way she is right.

I have had this feeling before, the feeling of nervousness, plus excitement and the desire to appear as strong as possible even though inside I feel the opposite. The day was February 6, 2005.   I had just given birth to my Abigail. The nurses had taken her for the usual testing and Carras had gone home to grab a few essentials. I was finally out of the labor and delivery room into my own private room.   I had called the nurses front desk over four times asking me when they were finally going to bring Abigail back to me. I paced the room, turned on music and even remember putting on make up anticipating her arrival (as if she cared if her mom was wearing mascara!) Finally there was a knock on the door and there she was. In her stripe bonnet and flannel blanket. She was the most beautiful sight I had ever, ever seen.   My heart skipped a beat and I looked down at the face of my daughter. I could not believe how lucky I was. I was excited but scared to death. She was mine and I was in charge. How was I going to protect her from everything bad in this world?   How could Heavenly Father entrust me with one of his precious daughters? It was a very scary and lonely feeling. I did not feel strong enough.

I still have this feeling when I look at both Abigail and Molly. Even before being torn away from them, I would have moments where I watched them play together and could not believe how lucky I was, that these two blond, spunky and sweet girls were mine.

And now as I wait for them to come, I dig inside to find the strength that I need to appear strong even though inside my heart is aching.   I try to remember that I am doing the most important work possible right here in this hospital room, that one day when their baby brother is here, I will remember that everything I did during these trying times was for them and for him.

While I needed to pass the time until their visit I decided to finally clear away all 42 messages on my cell phone that had accumulated over the week. I don't know why but I was scared to listen to them, I was prepared to hear messages that would bring back the dark feeling of despair and unknown. Instead what I listened to was 42 messages of hope and motivation from the people that I love the most. From my brothers, to my cousins and to my dear sweet friends. I saved a hand full but had to clear room of the rest. Now whenever I am down or have a bad hour I can listen to those sweet messages and remember. I wish I could call all of you back and let you know how much I love each of you.

Today I am grateful for a surprise visit from my brother Nate and his wife Dayna, almond M&M’s, phone messages, an adorable care basket from Amie,, my favorite doctor on call, magazines from Mel, amazing smelling lotion from Keri, fresh apples, and the anticipation of another visit tonight from my girls.

A Red Cup

2010-11-09T08:42:00.000-08:00

I took a warm shower today for the first time in over a week. The hot water at this place is incredibly moody and when you find a moment where it is actually warm, you have got to move and you have to move fast. This was also the first shower where I had my Aveda shampoo from home. I closed my eyes and took in the lovely smell of the same shampoo that my mom uses, my sister uses, and my cousins and aunties use....for a minute I felt like I was home....

I remember when my best friend Caitlin and I were living abroad in London. We decided to hop a boat to Paris for the weekend to see my cousin who was living there with her husband and two children. She started showing us around her apartment and when we walked into the bathroom I smelled that familiar smell of Aveda Shampoo mixed with mac make up. Once again in the middle of Paris, I felt like I was home. I loved it. Caitlin turned to me and said "are you all like this?" I smiled.

Today my other cousin let me know that Starbucks has their red cups out. Oh this is one of my favorite things about the Holidays! I love those red cups. I wish I could hop into my local Starbucks while Molly walks in and grabs her chocolate milk, and I my red cup. It's the little day to day things I miss the most. I can't help but feel as if I took so much for granted. It is hard to lay here and not feel angry or sad that you could have been more or you could have done more. I could have held my children more, I could have kissed Carras more when he came home from work, I could have just enjoyed life more. I know these thoughts do no good, but they do teach us, don't they? Every night when one of my nurses leaves I remind her to hold her children tight. Some react and some don't. Most actually completely understand what I mean.

Going to bed last night I had much to be thankful for. We had wonderful news on the baby's health and I felt a warmth in the room. My dear friend Mel has been sending out updates via e-mail to friends and family on the situation at hand. It has amazed me how much she has taken on but one thing that has touched me the most is that in each e-mail she will end with "prayers for today" and list specific prayers that are needed. She just seems to know. I in return want to end each blog post with what I am thankful for that day so I can focus on the positive and not the negative.

Today I am thankful for

A warm shower, prayer, Andrea my nurse who sits and talks with me, a night of no bleeding, girls happy at Grandma's, pumpkin chocolate chip cookies brought in by my dear friend Krista yesterday, Alyssa's care package, and Carras coming tonight to cuddle and watch our favorite show together

and certainly last but not least reading this. Words can't express, you will just have to read it.

The Intercom

2010-11-08T18:17:00.000-08:00

(2010, the Halloween my girls went trick or treating without me, and I had a great Lady Gaga costume)

Every night at exactly 8:00 PM the hospital is overtaken by an intercom system that sounds like it is from 1942. A man's voice comes on and in a very insensitive, and loud voice says these words

"VISITING HOURS ARE OVER. I REPEAT, THE TIME IS NOW 8:00 AND VISITING HOURS ARE NOW OVER."

My stomach drops and I get ready for the lonely and the overwhelmingly helpless feelings to take over. The past three nights my girls have been here with me when the annoucement has been made and in that moment I feel like a single mom who has been reminded that her "visiting hours" with her children are now over. Abigail rushes over to give me a hug, and Molly slowly puts on her coat and shoes. I hide my tears so they cannot see them and disguise my voice as if to make it sound strong. I watch them walk out the door into the fresh air holding their Grandma's hand.

I gasp for air.

I sit still.

I sob

and then I pray.

Tonight my nurse Andrea walked in. She caught me praying and asked if I was ok. I explained my sadness and she reminded me of why I was here and the importance of my stay. I told her I knew but asked her how she would feel if she was stripped away from everything she knew, and stripped away from her children.

"I'm 22" she responded. "I don't have children yet!"

And then she reminded me to take each day at a time and leaves me alone again.

Again, I gasp for air.

I think positive thoughts.

Again, I pray.

And then I am reminded that even though the visiting hours are over, the world outside is dark,
I am not alone.

To you, For you.

2010-11-07T13:25:00.000-08:00

My fingers are shaking as I type this...

All I can hear are the sounds of hospital beeps, loud nurses in the background, and the sweet breathing of Carras has he takes a much needed Sunday nap in a chair next to me. I am not home. I am not with my girls, I am not making Sunday cookies with them while the sound of sports blends into the background. I am at Columbia Presbyterian hospital in Harlem, New York. I have been here for almost a week total. I arrived last Monday night by ambulance as a transport from Stamford Hospital in Connecticut where in approximately 3 months I was supposed to deliever a healthy baby boy. I have gone through every emotion possible during this time. Denial (seriously, is this really happening?) to complete fear, to a sadness that I did not know existed. That sadness is for my girls. When the doctors told me that I would need to remain in the hospital until the baby comes my chest tightened, everything went blurry and I looked to Carras for some sort of relief.

"But I have two girls" I said. "I have two kids, they are my world, you cannot take away my world."

The doctor smiled, I know he understood but what could he do? This was a situation where I had and still have no choice in the matter. For the sake of the baby's life and mine, I have to stay in the hospital until this little guy decides to arrive (which hopefully for his health is not for some time).

I have been staring at my lab top during the long hours of the day wondering if I should write. I have not felt up to it. I have sent a total of maybe three e-mails since I have been here but for some reason on this Sunday with Carras napping next to me and the world going on outside for now it seems right. I cannot promise to update everyday. There are just days where I don't have the energy and then there might be days where I update more then once, but if it helps me throughout this process even a little then it's worth it.

To everyone who has been there this week. To my dear, dear friends who have crazy and busy lives of their own who have prayed, fasted, written e-mails, driven my children, planned schedules, sent out update e-mails, brought me Pinkberry "thank you" is not enough and never will be. I will never, ever be able to repay you for this time and for the many more weeks to come. I love you all more then you know.

To my family. To my sister in law Dayna who extended her stay this week to be with my girls making them feel some sort of normalcy and going the extra mile with monster pancakes, I love you. To my siblings, you get me through. Your faces flash through my mind many times throughout the day. I am so lucky to have all of you. To my Dad who after tireless work days in the city would drive right into harlem to sit by my bedside and cry with me. I love you. To my mom. Words cannot explain. You have taken my girls and made them feel safe, you have taken over all of the motherly duties including school work, and dentists appointments. You out of everyone have driven to the hospital more times already then I can count, trying to decorate my room and reminding the baby to "Wait for Santa." You have rubbed my head, reminded me to breath, and reminded me that I can do and I will do this.

To my girls. Oh my girls. Watching you both leave last night in your polka dot pajamas and uggs with tears streaming down your cheeks was the hardest moment of this entire situation thus far. I watched you leave and felt an ache that I did not know was humanly possible while still breathing air. I am not complete until I am once again tucking you into your beds and singing you to sleep. That day will come. I promise.

To my husband. Your snoring has never sounded so sweet. You are a rock. My rock and have been for almost 13 years. Your faith is something I am striving for everyday. Your sweetness with our girls, and your perseverance to still work and then make the long tireless drive to the hospital to only get four hours of sleep makes me feel more loved then anything else you have ever done or given me in my life. I can't wait for you to lay your eyes on your son.

And to my little guy. To this boy who kicks my belly in the wee hours of the night reminding me why I am doing what I am doing. I love you, now please buddy, wait for Santa.

Happy place, Happy girl and a Winter song.

2009-12-07T04:59:00.000-08:00

Everyone has their happy place. I have many. My parents house in Woodland Utah. Running outside, Starbucks (especially when they pull out their red Christmas cups) Sun Valley, ID and Anthropologie. I think what I love the most about this store is how different and unique each one is. I have been to many, and not one is the like the other.

When we were in Seattle (a city I fell in love with) my sister in law who makes my Anthropolige obsession seem tame stumbled across the downtown Anthropologie. It was HANDS down the best one I have ever been too including San Francisco's and Manhattan. My Abigail was having the time of her life in the home department.

I want the painting behind her in the first picture. BAD.

Maybe I need to make a trip back to Seattle.

Lastly, if you are already tired of the same old Christmas music. Download this. It is amazing. The song "winter" by Sarah Bareilles has been on repeat in my kitchen. You can find the entire album on i tunes.

Remember

2009-12-04T19:30:00.000-08:00

I listened to Jingle Bell Rock a total of 22 times today.

It was painful.

We took the girls to our local town Holiday stroll tonight.

It was hilarious.

There, we had to buy a total of four Rudolph noses to get one that actually worked.

It was annoying.

Abigail fell asleep on my lap tonight.

It was heavenly.

To my girls and other future petites of mine. Please take your own family one day to cheesy town events, get involved, you will feel better. Secondly, let your own kiddies listen to the silly, annoying Christmas songs as many times as they want, it only happens once a year, and lastly teach your children to fall asleep and sleep in their own beds. It's good for your marriage and good for you but once in a while, PLEASE let them fall asleep near you, by you, on you. Once their eyes are closed, stroke their hair, touch their skin, and just be, for a couple of minutes at least. Then, gently pick them up, take them to their beds and tuck them in. These are the moments that make the hard days seem like a blur. These are the moments when your pain subsides, these are the moments that everything seems to make sense.

Oh and when you go that town Holiday stroll where people are wearing Christmas sweaters and selling really ridiculous "crap" as your daddy so gently referred to them as tonight. BUY Them. Let your kids wear them, and wear them proud.

I love you two. Oh do I love you.

A Thanksgiving Home

2009-12-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

Moving is never easy. No matter if you move across the country (which we have done) or to another country (which we have also done) or just down the road (which we just did).

A move is a move. And this move in particular has been no different.

Actually, I should not say that. It has been different. It feels very right, and I have had non stop support throughout the entire process. Honestly I felt like a new mother the way my fridge was filled to the brim every night with food, or the days that my children were taken care of. My family, my friends, those who I have become close too since moving here two years ago have been there for me with a listening ear, or hand, support, advice and amazing perspective.

But is still has been really hard.

You see, a very ugly, dark side of me comes out in times like these. A side that I wish I could do away with. A side that my husband hates, and that makes my girls question their mothers sanity. It is called the "perfectionist" side. I want everything done now and I want it done right. There is no time for mistakes, there is no room for excuses, let's just press on and get it done. But this house has been different. It has by far the most space that we have ever had as a married couple (most of our years have been spent in apartments in larger cities) and I have found myself completely overwhelmed by the project at hand. I have on more then one occasion just sat down on the hard wood floors with my head in my hands, my eyes closed, boxes surrounding me just trying to figure out the next step only to never figure it out.

When my husband I lived in London we had each other, a purple couch, a bed, and great friends. That was it. I remember getting an apartment warming gift via royal mail from my mom. Attached was a hand written note that said "enjoy this time. In a way it will be the easiest time in your lives. No children, no car, no yard, and no house. Just enjoy each other." I read it not understanding. I read it today with complete understanding.

Because of the stress of the move I was so looking forward to Thanksgiving for a little break from the manual labor. My entire family was going to be in town and when I say entire family I mean all 18 of us including my Grandpa. Somewhere in the last five years we have doubled. Doubled our numbers, and doubled our pleasure (sorry I could not resist). We really have turned into a big, crazy, family that you could make a Holiday movie about staring Vince Vaughn. But through the drama I find myself at the end of every Holiday so grateful for my siblings, for my parents and this year for my in-laws. What everyone forgets to tell you when your a 7 year old girl in the midst of four stinky and hyper brothers is that four brothers actually equals four amazing, sweet, funny, and talented sister-in-laws. They treat my children as if they were their own, they respect my parents, they put up with our silly family traditions and best of all they LOVE my brothers.

Oh do they love those Checketts boys. But I can't blame them really.

So tonight as I walked past my Tiffany blue guest room and saw the bed neatly made but empty I had that familiar pain of another Holiday over, and another sad goodbye to my brothers who all live so far away. The stress of the work that still needed to be done in the house came back with full vengeance. This caused the pain of those gone to be worse. Again my normally "go get em" attitude was being replaced with a overwhelmed, frantic one. So instead of digging back into the work I gathered my little family into our big empty family room and asked everyone to draw me a picture of what they wanted their new house to be. I felt like all my focus had been on fabrics and colors, instead of the things that really make a house a home.

But Abigail reminded me.

Her one wish for our house? That it was big enough for her whole family to live there. She drew a picture of a Christmas tree with all of her cousins, uncles, aunts, grandma's and grandpa's faces hanging from the branches.

She does not care one bit if her room has been painted or if her lamps match. She does not care if I have hung the pictures in the living room or if my book shelves have been filled. She cares who is here with her. A true people person and lover of life. She constantly reminds me what I have to be thankful for.

A home and a family that fills it.

Thankful for Baking Powder

2009-11-26T11:23:00.000-08:00

I forgot to buy baking powder. Who forgets to buy backing powder when their one assignment for the entire Thanksgiving dinner is dessert?

Me.

My house is quiet (that never happens). Molly is asleep and Carras has run to get the baking powder that his wife forgot, and Abigail is at her grandma and grandpa's playing with her cousins.

Does life get better then this?

Today I am thankful for

My man who says "I'll go" when I have informed him of my silly mistake and runs to rescue me by finding the only grocery store open today that has baking powder.

My oldest daughter Abigail who last week told her primary class that her favorite thing in the whole world is to bake pumpkin cookies with her mom.

and to my Molly Dollies who lets me read her Goodnight Moon no matter what time in the day and who naps so mom can make the pumpkin cookies and so that Dad can go and get the baking powder.

and lastly...I am thankful for my forgetful mind who I inherited from my wonderful mother which allowed me to forget the baking powder, which forced me to stop baking, which caused me to have a moment to sit and reflect on how blessed I truly am.

A Believer

2009-11-25T05:26:00.000-08:00

When I walked into my parents house last Sunday I found my dad eating a bowl of cereal with glossed over eyes.

"You look tired" I said as I reached out to give him a hug.

"I am so sick of being on the road and being away from home." He responded as he picked up my Abigail and swung her into the air.

Just one week earlier we had moved out of their home 20 minutes away into our own. Out of everyone, Abigail was having the hardest time coping with not seeing her Grandpa as often. A smile lit up on her face as he held her.

I kept the conversation rolling. "Of course your tired, you have been on three different time zones in a matter of six days." And that is just his norm.

"But your coming to Seattle this weekend, right?" He asked.

I honestly do not know where this man gets his drive, or his energy.

My dad has worked in sports for twenty five years. It is what I know and how I grew up. I lived and breathed basketball and hockey. Instead of watching Annie I watched NBA Basketball bloopers with my brothers. The smell of a Spalding Basketball brings me comfort and nothing gives me more of a thrill then watching a live NHL game. To top it all off give me a quiz about NBA in the 80's and 90's and I will blow your socks off. It was as I have said, my life.

Seven Years with the Utah Jazz, two years with the NBA, eleven Years with the New York Knicks and the New York Rangers and not one championship. Winning isnt everything I remember hearing over and over, but when you are in this line of work...I hate to say it, but it kind of is. Growing up this way has had it's ups and downs, but that is a whole other post and for now will only be kept in the vault of Katie's thoughts because today, today I am just proud of my dad.

Because in Seattle his first ever professional sports team won a championship.

When my dad told the family that he wanted to become involved in soccer, my older brother and I who are products of the Utah Jazz were shocked. I remember Spencer and I looking at each other several times as if to say "is he serious?"

But he was. And he believed when no one else believed. He kept going when all had abandoned him, he held his head high when the press attacked, and when the public attacked. He stood strong on days when anyone else would have become weak, he somehow found a way to fight, to work, to sweat and to believe.

And so to Seattle I flew, with Abigail in toe for a mother, daughter weekend and to witness History.

For our family at least.

For more information on this story and for a way better written blog go here.

The Nearness of You

2009-11-20T19:56:00.000-08:00

Thank you Blue Lily. Thank you.

Moving Week

2009-11-15T19:23:00.000-08:00

It's moving week. Which means no sleep, break downs, lots of paper plates, great friends who stop their lives to help, dinners brought and my ever dedicated mom who has helped me in every single one of our moves. I seriously don't know how to unpack a kitchen without her....

Here is the first thing I did in the new house....

And yesterday as I walked around trying to find where in the world my Johnathon Adler book ends went...I found the first thing that Carras did in the new house...

Goodness Gracious...

Mother of the Year

2009-11-09T19:17:00.000-08:00

The day after Halloween I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I woke up with circles under my eyes and got the girls ready for church. I actually don't even remember that Sunday, what was said or what took place....I do remember coming home and falling deeply into a sleepy nap that I so desperately needed.

I woke up to the sounds of Molly crying waking up from her own Sunday nap. As I reached inside the crib to hold her closely I noticed glitter in her hair. I carefully examined her blond locks trying to remember if she had participated in a craft that required glitter during her nursery class....I carried her downstairs to find Abigail spread out on the floor with empty candy wrappers surrounding her.

"Isn't Halloween the bestest ever!?" she shouted when she saw me.

"Halloween...what?" I said trying to wake up. "What is in your hair!?" I then shouted.

"I don't know" she shrugged as she stuffed another recess pieces into her mouth.

I bent down nervously to smell her hair. It was chocolate. Chocolate from candy adorned Abigail's hair, and glitter from Molly's tinkerbell costume adorned her hair. It was all slowly coming back to me now...Halloween was the day before and

I had nothing to prove for it.

No pictures. Just a messy house, tried and cranky kids, a worn out husband and a worn out me.

Thank goodness for friends who came to the Holmstead Halloweenival (a Holmstead Halloween tradition) and took pictures for me, the slacker mom who was too busy ordering pizza and making sure the music was turned up and the fog machine blowing.

And in no particular order, here is the cast of the Holmstead Halloweenival.

CARRAS-Zoolander, 6 years in a row and counting.

KATIE-The famous vampire Rosaline from the Twilight series (might I say, my costume was kind of amazing thanks to my fabulous hair stylist and dear friend, Krista.)

Abigail-Ariel (by choice)

Molly-Tinkerbell who on the night of Halloween decided that she did not want to wear her costume, but play the donut hole game instead. You will see two pictures of her, one in costume, on the day of Abigail's parade and one of her on actual Halloween in which she is not in her costume.

I wish that I could write about how amazing my Halloween was, how much candy my girls ate, and how much fun I had, but the truth is, I tried once again do too much and I felt sick Sunday night realizing that I had not snapped one shot of my girls. Sure, my friends came through and somehow managed to take pictures for me, but in the end it was me who failed. Where was the perfect pumpkin background with make up and hair done just right? Where was the perfect trick of treating picture candy in hand? Where were my priorities?

Tonight as I was looking through my phone pictures to make sure just one last time I had not taken a shot of the girl I found this taken at 8:46 PM October 31st.

Half of their costumes have been removed, hair and bodies wet from trick or treating in the rain, smiles of joy, and then I realized...oh yes, there they are. There are my two precious priorities. Mother of the Year, I did get a picture!

Witches Making "Potions"

2009-11-05T03:47:00.000-08:00

Abigail has a friend. And this friend's name is Mia. And Mia has a mommy and this mommy's name is Alyssa. And Alyssa is Abigail's mommy's friend. And Alyssa is amazing at sending Abigai's mommy pictures, voice recordings and so on of these two playing.

It melts my heart.

Today while they played I was sent this picture. With the subject line "withces making potions"

I loved it.

I hope you do too.

Halloween pictures and posts are coming later today. I promise. In the meantime this will have to do.

Currently in LOVE with...

2009-10-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

Oliva Broadfield. A fabulous artisit I discovered when I heard her song Holding onto you. I cannot get enough of her. I intend to listen to her right up until I change the CD's in my car to Christmas music. She makes my morning and afternoon car pool's so much more enjoyable.

Download Holding onto you (which inspired my last post) save me, probably nothing and eyes wide open.

Oh for crying outloud just download the whole thing and if you don't like it I will give you a full refund. The entire album is only 7.99 on I tunes right now.

But only because I know you will fall in love with her.

What are you listening to these days?

You Should Know I Bleed Blue

2009-10-26T20:39:00.000-07:00

Usually when I set out to write a post I pick the title first. I am not quite sure why, but for some reason if I pick my title the rest just seems to fall into place. Tonight was no different. The title of this post was intended to be Marriage is about compromise. A plain and simple truth that most of us have heard over and over, but what does it actually mean?

I will tell you what it means.

It means taking your two little girls on a Friday night flight leaving JFK international airport in New York City and flying across the country to Salt Lake City, UT where the local time is 2:00 AM in the morning once you finally land. You wake the girls up while they scream and kick the inside of the airplane. Onlookers stare at you as you, yourself try to wake up. You grab the I-pods, sippy cups, blankets and that box of animal crackers left on the floor and exit the air craft. Once you step off the plane you devise a plan with your husband. Who will get the car, and who will stay with the girls and wait for the luggage. Both girls want to be carried because you didn't bring the double stroller. Your arms are burning as you try to carry your 5 year old and all carry on bags in one arm. Once you reach the baggage claim the one suitcase that you carefully packed the entire families clothes in is the last one off. Your phone buzzes and your husband tells you he is waiting patiently outside. You hang up the phone and realize you have two kids, one large suit case, and three carry on bags to somehow get outside. You convince your five year old to pull the suitcase and she complains. You pick up your two year old, a princess back pack and two other carry on's only to walk outside to rain. Once the car is packed you settle in for the 60 minute drive up the mountains to where you are staying. You arrive at 3:00 AM to an eager cousin and two adoring uncles just wanting to see their nieces You let them play while you sleepily put your pajamas on. Once all is quiet your husband looks over at you and says

"It's all for the Cougs babe."

I couldn't decide at that point to laugh, cry or smack him.

So I decided to laugh myself to sleep.

My alarm clock- Molly wakes Abigail and I up at 8:30 AM. We all had received just over four hours of sleep but it was game day and napping was not an option. I made eggs for my sister in law and bacon for my nephew. I watched Abigail run around screaming that this was "the best day ever!" One by one the family walked into the kitchen in their pajamas. We discussed the day and the schedule. I bathed and dressed the girls. I dug around in the suitcase wondering what had happened to my super packing skills. I did their hair, tried to do mine and ended up leaving with it wet. While putting on mascara my eyes stung due to lack of sleep. My outfit was a mess and so was I, but we pressed forward with pumpkin picking, carmel apple eating and pig racing. Carras wore his BYU hat and BYU sweatshirt proudly.

The late afternoon causes us to change out of our hay filled boots. The girls are split up, Molly to go with my brother and his wife here and Abigail to drive down to Provo for her first ever...

Cougar Game.

This is where the compromise comes in.

You see my husband is an avid, crazy, psychotic at times BYU football fan. Come the fall our Saturday's are literally planned around the games. Good moods are based on wins, bad moods are based on losses. Boxes are shipped to the house every year with new sweatshirts, hats, and outfits for the girls. In other words, it is a big deal to him.

I remember having a serious conversation with him once. We were discussing what we could do to be better spouses to each other. The tone was serious as I was explaining what I needed from him. When the tables were turned I looked him straight in the eye and asked what I could do better. His response?

"I would really like it if you got into Cougar football more."

I almost fainted. Not just because of what he said, but because he was heart felt and dead serious. It was from that moment that I decided to no longer just accept his crazy obsession but to embrace it. In the same conversation he expressed his desire to one day make it a tradition to take our children to Lavell Edwards stadium (where we met) once a year for a game. This was before he knew he was to have two girls. I of course supported him in that dream and thought it was actually rather adorable.

This was the first year we made his dream come true.

The Cougars lost but in the end it did not even matter. What mattered was looking over at Carras holding Abigail. She wore a BYU sweatshirt with the Cougar claw on her left hand. Her team beads around her neck, and cotton candy around the sides of her mouth as she cheered right along with her dad.

The next day we ate with family, visited Grandparents and packed our bags for the all night flight. We left Salt Lake City at 12:11 AM and arrived in New York at 6:47 AM. The girls were cranky, and tired. They cried as we waited for our bags. They cried as we carried them to the car, they cried on the way home until in their own beds, but in the craziest way possible I can honestly say it was worth it. It was my chance to show my husband that no matter how crazy, or in my world how silly this little obsession he has is, it is his and therefore it is mine, and in the end that it what marriage is about. I have learned so much about myself throughout this process. I have learned the true power of giving of ones self to another. To make this sacrifice, and the work that was involved just to get my little family there. To letting go of any sort of pride involved in cheering for the Cougs. To being ok with your daughter wearing a cheesy blue sweatshirt, to becoming a true fan, and to actually liking it.

Besides I don't do it for the Cougs. I do it for him.

I do

2009-10-22T19:36:00.000-07:00

a picture is worth a thousand words...or say they say. It is true. Pictures can often speak more to the heart then words.

We spent the day in central park taking pictures with Blue Lily. We had the perfect weather. I cannot remember a fall day as beautiful as today. The leaves are at their peek, the sun was shinning, and we photographed in a comfortable 74 degrees. Abigail was a rock star but Molly was stubborn, Carras was an amazing sport and I was stressed to the max. Wendy kept assuring me "everything was fine" but I wanted the perfect shot. I wanted to somehow capture my relationship with the girls, and our relationship as a family. Could we do it? Could we pull it of?

You will just have to wait to find out....These things take time you know.

In the meantime a little story about why I choose Blue Lily. A dear friend that I met in California had used Wendy and her husband Tyler for their Family pictures last year. Sus gave me the password to look through her pictures to help her choose her favorites. I was floored. The pictures were amazing, real, and unique. They captured each of her four children perfectly. Their different personalities coming out in each picture were evident. I had never seen professional pictures that captured what the heart of a family really is about.

But time passed....and the need for my own family picture faded from my mind.

Then last July a friend sent me this.

I looked to see who had taken the shot and again, it was Blue Lily. I picked up the phone and a sweet voice said

"hello, this is Wendy."

"oh...um, hi" I stuttered. "My name is Katie, but I live out east, I don't know if you ever come this way....." I was making no sense.

"Oh!" she said rather cheerfully. "We are coming to New York in the fall. Central Park."

Central Park, in the fall? I booked, signed, and drooled, right there. It was as if she was reading my mind. I Katie, take thee Wendy, to come to New York in October, to photograph my family. Oh and can we make it Central Park?

I do.

And that day was today.

Thanks Wendy. Thanks Tyler. Thanks for the quarters, the bribery, the laughs, for talking me out of wearing black, and for making the haul to this amazing City that I love with all of my heart.

Especially in the fall.

Fall Afternoon at Grandma's.

2009-10-19T20:47:00.000-07:00

Make believe is a great place to be.....

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-10-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago Carras and I took the girls to see a movie, not something that we do very often with a four year old and a two year old. We were seated parent, child, parent child. Each girl had a treat of their own and a bucket of popcorn to hopefully keep them seated through at least the previews. The lights were dimmed, sound system in check and the movie previews began.

Right as I reached for a twizzler, my hand stopped, my mouth hung open, and my heart melted. Eyes watering already during a preview is never a good sign.

I had heard a rumor years ago that a certain book would be turned into a movie but I refused to believe it. I could not possibly see how a book this great and short in length but deep in message could be messed with by Hollywood. It turned out I was wrong, and it indeed has been made into a movie. My eyes became huge as the music started and I saw for the first time Max in character and his furry friends. My heart tightened and I could not control the emotions. I was crying.

Carras looked over confused. "Whats wrong?" he asked. "Are you ok?"

"This book", I tried to say but could not finish. "This book" I tried again but the sobs were harder at that point. Then I mustered up the only words I could.

"Ben used to....."

Carras casually gave me that "your crazy but I love you anyway" look and reached over to grab my hand. After 10 years he knows me well enough to just leave it there.

You see for the first 13 years of my life I grew up with just boys. Four to be exact and when my mom announced to the family that she was pregnant with number five I remember skipping merrily into my pink room to think about all of the things that my new little sister and I would do together. I had never had a sister and after three rowdy and dirty brothers this was finally going to be my chance.

What happened next it one of my mom's favorite stories to recall of my younger years. It was just weeks before the arrival. The nursery was set, the family excited and I quietly walked downstairs in my night gown and socks to find my mom talking with my dad. What I said next stunned them. "Mom and Dad, I want you to know that I have been praying for the new baby and I know now that is is going to be a boy." I remember the look on their faces as I continued. "But it's ok" I said "because I am good with boys."

Three weeks later my mom gave birth to a new baby boy. They named him Ben.

Then it was official. I was the only girl in a family of four boys. One older and three younger. My childhood memories consist of playing basketball on the sports court with my older brother, walking to school with him and to our favorite local candy shop. My memories of my younger brothers consist of reading. Reading to them whenever and wherever we could. In their beds, in my beds, and in our parents bed when they traveled. On the porch at night with a blanket spread or in our back yard. Whenever it seemed like mom had, had enough with four rough and tough boys, I knew that the minute I offered to read to them, they became calm, sweet and eager.

Where the Wild Things Are was Ben's favorite.

"Again" he would say over and over as he ran around wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots." I would agree. He would climb to the top of the bed post as I read pretending to be Max sailing away on his boat. He would march right along side the bed as Max marched along side his furry friends and when Max climbed back from his make believe world to find his warm dinner, Ben would climb into his own bed and lay his head on my shoulder. He then would grab the book from me and ask "Can I sleep with it?" "Sure" I would answer laughing. And as I switched the light off I knew that Ben would reopen the book to find Max's world.

Fast forward 30 years later and I am dinning with friends at a swank New York City restaurant. My dear friend tells me of her young daughters sadness of being the only girl in her family of three brothers. I sat back and smiled at those memories of being her exact age feeling that same sadness, but I had to tell my friend that those four stinky, annoying, crazy and down right hysterical boys are now my best friends. That I would not trade one day of my childhood for anything in this entire world. That the days spent playing sports, watching sports, catching frogs, building forts, getting hit in the head with nerf guns, and reading Where the Wild Things Are over and over are the days that define the person and the mother I am today.

I don't think I can adaquately express what these wild boys mean to me. Nope, that was easy, I can't. They are now all grown, Ben being the youngest, some are married, some are not. I often find myself drifting off into my own dreamland of when we were young and free. I can see Spencer out late shooting hoops on the sports court while mom begs him to come in and start on his homework. I can see Nate on the trampoline with no shirt, no socks and no shoes. He is working to master the "donky honk" while Andrew looks on. I can see Andrew hanging on Nate's every word and smiling that adorable dippled smile at me when I walk in from school.

And I can see Ben. King of the wild things, always in costume, holding this book with his arms stretched out hoping for the magic that comes along with turning it's pages.

And I see me, hoping and longing for that same magic as I am right there beside him.

If you don't have time to go and see the movie you need to at least download the soundtrack. It is adorable and great for the kiddies. Enjoy.

Denial and Letterman

2009-10-14T19:39:00.000-07:00

Me too J.Crew....me too.

Sorry folks...that's all I've got tonight. I love the fall but when the temperatures are already in the low 40's in October, I find myself longing for clear summer nights and craving a girls weekend to California (yes girlies, you know who you are. When can we set it up?)

Molly has a double ear infection, Carras has been working all hours of the night and yes we are still working on the new design of hey katie girl...

Stay tuned...

If you want...

I don't blame you if you have already given up...

Meanwhile I am going to sleep and I will be dreaming of my inability to accept what I cannot change.

Like Cold weather

Like babies getting sick

Like husbands who work in stressful jobs

but grateful for

modern medicine

gorgeous leaves

and that my husband has a job.

P.S. after living outside NYC for over 20 years I finally did this on Monday night....it was a hoot.

A Bouguet of Pencils

2009-10-08T21:58:00.000-07:00

That Nora Ephron...she really is amazing and let's face it I have never ever seen a movie of hers that I did not love, I repeat..that I did not love.

I have many favorite fall activities that are my own personal traditions. Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies must accompany every BYU game watched on television with my fanatic husband, apple picking with my girls, pumpkin picking with my dad, pumpkin carving with the family, Ella Fitzgearld's rendition of Autumn in New York, and of course that oh so cozy movie

You've Got Mail.

My heart melts every time I hear Tom Hanks say "Dont you just love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this now knowing has it's charms."

I can't quite express it but my heart still melts when I hear him say that line. Once the leaves on the trees start to change this movie calls my name. It brings wonderful memories along with just the pleasure of a perfectly written script, sweet characters and a fantastic setting.

Try it. I promise. It will become a new fall favorite.

Thanks to everyone who voted! The new name has been picked (it just might surprise you) stay tune for a brand new blog....

Or...Vive La Vie

2009-10-06T19:38:00.000-07:00

There is no better place to be in the month of October then Connecticut. And to prove it I spent the entire better half of the day at the beach with my girls, in 70 degree weather while the fall foliage surrounded us.

Can you say perfect? (not me or my kids, we are far from it, but the weather)

Per designer request, the voting polls are still open. Thank you all so much for your comments about the blog change. It really does mean so much. More than anything it is just so amazing to hear from so many of you that I rarely get to hear from.

and if you have not voted yet, you still can. See post below.

So from me, Katie girl who as it has been pointed out, loves the posh in life, but also embraces the apple sauce might I say to all of you thank you, thank you.

Vive la vie.

I know I did today.

Pish Posh

2009-10-05T18:26:00.000-07:00

The verdict is in, my blog is a mess. This I know. And as of a week ago I had no idea what I was going to do about it. I had tried to do some "modifications" on my own and just completely ruined the entire website. I even went so far as to call the Geek Squad to see when they could come to my rescue but the soonest time slot they had was October 21st. Oh and by the way the Geek Squad knows nothing about blogging (he told me so himself).

Cue Blog designer Megan.

This girl has brought light to the darkness that has descended over hey katie girl. She has given me hope when I thought all hope was lost. She has helped me believe that blogs are good and can be good when done right! (is anyone sensing my sarcastic tone yet)? But really I love her, what more can I say. After several conversations and late night chatter we have decided that the blog needs a complete and total makeover. New name, new layout, new header, new button, new html format (see how far I have already come) and so on and so forth...so now

Cue you.

That's right, lucky you. While your children are tucked away in bed, or your feet are resting comfortably on your ottoman after a long day of hard work, you get to read on and help me pick my new name for my new blog.

But before you do, a brief background if I may. When I decided to start a blog I really had no idea what the blog would become. I knew that I needed a place to record feelings and thoughts, but mostly I needed a place where I could record my world and my life as a mom. You see I think that every woman is so magnificent that I long for their wisdom and advice. Mother or not, I have learned more from friends, single, married, mothers, non mothers, aunties, my mother, grandmothers, sisters, and cousins then from anyone else. I think that the power women can portray to others with their words is a blessing I feel lucky to have. I am not saying I am one of these magnificent women who can bless with words but more so what fuels my fire is that one day my girls will have these words for themselves to help them and guide them through their own days of motherhood, which can be both good and bad (because God knows we have both). This is why I write, for them. But wait we were talking about you and why I need your help, not me. Sorry.

Back to the name.

I originally wanted KissmeKatie.blogspot.com but that was taken, so was KissmeKate. Many of my friends call me Katie girl, and that is where I came up with the name heykatiegirl.blogspot.com but the truth is it never felt right. Every time I would type the blog name in the computer my eyes would linger on the title thinking how not me it was.

So..

Megan and I have narrowed it down to three. I will write them for you to see and explain each one. At the end of this post will you pleeeeeeeeeeeease leave a comment or e-mail me and let me know which one you like the best?

Here it goes. Don't laugh.

Option 1) Kiss Me K. (www.kissmek.blogspot.com) The explanation behind this name has been explained (see above). When the world of blogging was introduced to me, this was the name I envisioned myself having. Because the others are taken, KissmeK is the next best option.

Option 2) Vive La Vie (www.vivelavie.blogspot.com) which translates as Live the day in french. This idea came from fashion designer Diane Von Furstenburg's spring collection. Her clothing was designed as care free, loose, and their motto for that particular collection was Live the day. When I first saw her spring collection I thought it was genius. To be honest, and don't let this steer you one way or the other, this is my favorite.

Option 3) Posh Applesauce (www.poshapplesauce.blogspot.com) This one is tricky, but also my blog designers favorite. The other day Abigail overheard me explaining to my friend my dilemma in needing to change my blog. My friend said to me "You have to ask yourself what your blog is about?" "That's the thing I replied, it is just a bunch of pish posh. A collection of my thoughts, my opinions." I continued "It's stories about the kids, about my family and life as a mother. Just PISH POSH!" All of the sudden Abigail chimed in, turned to me and said "pish posh apple sauce?" in her high voice. I looked at my friend and said..."that's it! Pish posh applesauce should be the name of my blog!" My brilliant moment became not so brilliant after I found out very quickly that blog name too was already taken. My clever blog designer came up with this shortened alternative.

Option 4) and the last option is to not change the name, keep it the same and just revamp the layout. (but don't let this be because you are too lazy to change the new name in your archives).

Again please do not let my personal favorite (or Meghan's for that matter) make the decision for you. I want honest opinions because I really do value them. Even if you have never left a comment in your lives please just this once, take the time to let me know what you think. Closing ends tomorrow night! (or when Meghan says so). Yes, I love her a little too much....

Until then

Vive La Vie!

Mommy Elizabeth

2009-09-24T17:52:00.000-07:00

I walked into the room in my mothers house today which she refers to as the Children's study. The Children's study is basically just a code name for "room filled with messy papers, computers, homework folders, high lighters and i pod connectors." But let's face it Children's study does sound better and much more dignified. I have many memories in this room. This is where I wrote every single late night paper in high school. This is the room in which the phone rang hoping it was that certain boy asking me to senior prom, and this is the room still where all the books read to me as a child are stacked high into the shelves. I love this room. Pictures of my siblings from babies till graduation hang on the walls. Art projects given to my mom decades ago shower the shelves, it is a room full of memories. Whenever the six siblings are home and together, this is the room we all seem to congregate in, even if by accident, this is where we seem to find one another.

And so when I walked into this room today and found Aunt Lily playing with Abigail and Molly I smiled.

I found it incredibly ironic tonight that right at the same time that I found this picture taken on my computer...I also received this e-mail from my mom. The e-mail was entitled We are Blessed.

Dear Kids,

Dad and I had separate but similar parenting moments yesterday and as we spoke about them today on the phone we both shared the same thought- how blessed we are to have such wonderful children that have become such wonderful parents.

Dad spoke of Nathaniel coming up to Caspian and bringing Baby Gabe so Dayna could catch a break and being so dear with him and there was brother Andrew right by his side comforting his nephew and being so tender with him.

Dad said as he feel asleep last night he had tears of gratitude in his eyes as he thought about these two boys that had grown into such fine men.

I had the opportunity yesterday of listening to Spencer tell how he had helped Connor to better understand how to deal with a struggle that he was having at school. It was brilliant, he could write a book on how to talk with a child in such a way that he could understand and relate to. I was blown away with his ability to stop and teach his darling boy.

I have the opportunity to watch Katie on a daily basis showing such patience with her two girls but the thing I enjoy the most is the way she truly gets such a kick out of them- like tonight when we discovered that Abby has face painted Randy the dog so he would look like a butterfly. Katie knows when to laugh and enjoy such moments as these.

To Ben and Elizabeth watch and learn, you have some great examples. There is not doubt in my mind that when the time comes you two as well and Drewbe will rise to the occasion.

For now please know of our gratitude and love for the way you take such wonderful care of our grandchildren and for the fine people you are.

We love you all dearly, MOM and DAD

And I had to wonder. Is Elizabeth watching me or am I watching her? She teaches me how important it is to have fun. She reminds me to laugh when I want to scream, and in her subtle way she has already risen to the occasion several times since I started having my own children. She is wise beyond her years and wants so much to do what is right. My girls love her as do I. My girls love their uncles and aunties as do I.

This picture reminds me of just how much.

Martha, Martha, Martha

2009-09-23T19:15:00.000-07:00

Is it disappointing or is it ok to discover that someone you thought was incredibly stuffy and boring actually is...well how do I put this....incredibly stuffy and boring? I had that exact experience today which leads me to a moment that I like to call blogger confession. I am entirely and truly not a Martha Stewart fan. I never have been. In fact even in the early days when she was on a rise and becoming bigger and bigger by the minute I was that girl in the check out stand picking up a copy of her magazine trying to find a reason to buy it. The recipes looked intimidating and every time I saw something that I liked for house or home I wanted to know where to buy it...not find instructions on the next page of how to make it...which leads me to my next confession..

I wish I were more crafty.

I really do. I admire women who can sew, make birds nests out of straw and cook a rack of lamb for their family all in one day. I wish I desired a craft room full of ribbons and matching boxes, with jars of scissors and tape, but I don't. I desire a room that I can call my own, but I want it filled with my children's art work, good books, a beautiful lamp, no wait make that two beautiful lamps (but each different) an area rug that is unlike any other, good music, and lots of flowers, real flowers, cut from my garden...which brings me to my third and final confession.

I love a good garden. My obsession started shortly after I married my husband and after living in London. The gardens in London whether it was a public park or someone's common gardens (a term they use instead of private gardens) are immaculate. They are cared for, thought out, beautifully pruned and unlike anything I have seen. (Remember the scene in Nottinghill where Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant have their first kiss after they have climbed the walls to a garden? All is quiet, it is green and lush and beautiful. The music starts and as Hugh tries to talk, Julia turns around to kiss him. That ladies is not made up. Those gardens really do exist and are that beautiful). Shortly after returning to the States my American husband (who by that time truly believed he was meant to be British) and I bought our very first home. It was old, but had charm. The garden had been clearly neglected and before we did one thing to the inside of the house we started on the outside. Many evenings and Saturday's were spent outside and occasionally this American man turned British would spend time alone outside evaluating what was growing, and what was not. He became so wrapped up in our English gardens that he was later inspired to write his Business school essay around his own ability to create, which not only got him into Stanford University but was read at the opening ceremonies of his first year.

But back to Martha. I got to see a taping of her show today in New York. I was so hoping that she would be funnier, happier, and less of a well oiled machine when the cameras were off but I am sad to say, she is just the same if not worse. She looked good. She has great legs, but the poor woman just lacks a personality.

But hey...she's got one hell of a Garden.

Besides seeing my 'friend' Emily, the very best part of the day was the drive to and from the City with my mom. Driving in my dad's car (shhhhh) and listening to old Burt Bacharachs hits with city views was comfort for the soul. The car blasted with I Say a Little Prayer, Walk on By, and my favorite What the world needs now is Love sweet love.

Maybe...someone outta tell Martha.

Thanks Em for the tickets and to see me and my adorable group of girls (including my mom) tune in Friday, September 25th at 11:00 AM eastern standard time.

Indian Summer

2009-09-21T17:52:00.000-07:00

I find it incredibly fitting that on the very last day of Summer I post my Summer pictures.
It's oficially over. Even Abigail and I's 14 days.
I learned so much. Important things. I also learned a lot of
non important things...but mostly I was reminded of what I already know.

I LOVE MY FAMILY.

Weddings...

Lazy days with friends..

Soccer Games

My happy places of all happy places....Sun Valley. All 76 of us.

Lazy days at the Cabin....

The Ragnar High

2009-09-16T21:11:00.000-07:00

My Phone vibrated with a text tonight. I picked it up to find a message from my cousin.

"You have not blogged for over 10 days, what is your problem? Are you out of material?"

My stomach turned at the sight of the number 10. 10 Days. Had it really been 10 days since I blogged last? That could not be right. I checked the date of my last blog post and realized that she was wrong. It has not been 10 days. It Actually had been more. I then had to laugh at the assumption that I was out of material. Quite the contrary in fact. I have too much material. To much inside my head to keep it straight. And instead of doing what most good bloggers do-which is record things as they happen, I record things when and only if I feel like it. When the writing urge snaps me and takes me into that world that I love so much, that writing world where nothing can stop me...that is when I blog.

And tonight, I am happy to say, I am in that world. So pull up a chair. I have a lot to say.

This past weekend, I along with 11 other amazing women ran the New England Ragnar Race. No, that was not a typo, and yes I ran another Ragnar. My dear friend Mel (who I ran the Ragnar in Utah with) decided back in the spring to put together a team for the first ever New England Ragnar. This race would take us from New Haven, CT to Boston, MA. Mel's vision was clear. She wanted an all girls team and she wanted to run for a cause. After the team was taken care of and the runners picked, the cause was still to be determined. Not long after, it was clear who and what we would run for. I will never forget when Mel had told me her idea.

"I think we should run for Jennifer."

I thought over and over about "running for Jennifer." I thought about this woman that I had known almost my entire life. I thought about her sons who are dear friends with my siblings and nights spent with them playing pool basketball or grilling hot dogs. I thought about these boys and how the circle of Life has brought them back to teach my daughters how to swim. I thought about walking into church the first day Jennifer had lost all of her hair and watching her stand proudly at the pulpit wearing a hat with large flower on the side. As she spoke to the congretation about motherhood I was overcome with her courage. Mel was inspired. Running for Jennifer was not a good idea, it was perfect.

The training started once again. Except this time around we all had each other. We had a support group of 12 women discussing the aches and pains, but mostly the highs of running. We had each other for the gently reminders of why we were doing this and who exactly we were running for. I would look at Jennifer during church and picture her body when it was strong. I used to envy the energy she would display while she would calm 52 primary children with such grace or run her boys around from activity to activity all the while displaying her dimples for all to see.

Her face echoed over and over in mind as I rised early in the morning to train. When I found myself weary of the long runs or the early mornings, I pictured Jennifer and I wanted to be better, more patient, and more grateful.

With a month to go, we picked the final name for our team that would accompany us to the finish line. Jen's wonder women. We dressed as Wonder women complete with socks and wrist bands. Once the morning of the race was upon us, I looked around to find us all dressed in our costumes standing in the rain. The sun, not yet upon us caused me to reflect on the reverence of what we were doing and why we were there. I was so proud at that moment. I was so proud to be part of such a cause and to be part of such an amazing group of women.

After 194.9 miles, 32 hours, 36 different legs of runners, two tanks of gas, a dead car battery, many bathroom breaks, 6 seperate rain storms, 2 hours of sleep, a skunk,a wild pig chase, many handfuls of trail mix, 17 different dance parties, and too many laugh attacks to count, I was reminded of why I run. There was a moment when I was running alone. The clock was way past the midnight hour and I still had over five miles to go. As the music played in my I-pod I was taken to a place where only runners can go. I thought of my girls, I thought of Carras, I thought of Jennifer. I was so overcome with emotion and gratitude for the life that I live. The heavens were opened and I felt a warmth that I needed to finsih the race.

I was also reminded of how proud I am to be a woman and how amazing and powerful we can be...as long as we have each other.

As our team entered the Harvard football stadium in historical downtown Boston, I saw something that I will hold with me for the rest of my days. There in the middle of the Ragnar finish line was Jennifer with her husband by her side. She was dressed in her signature breast cancer color-pink. They had made the three hour drive up to see our team cross the finish line. In her hands-a home made sign that read simply

I love my girls. and on the opposite side, Thank you.

"I am going to cross the finish line with you." she said softly.

The tears came. We all put our arms around Jennifer and then joined hands and walked across that finish line with her at our side. We were complete. We were a team.

Jen's Wonder Women.

It was an experience like no other. I came home and wrapped my arms around Abigail and Molly. I retold story after story to Carras until I cried myself to sleep. My tears were of complete joy, that such an accomplishment could be made all in the name of a woman we all loved. It is a high that is impossible to top.

The Ragnar High.

Loss of control

2009-09-04T06:19:00.000-07:00

Lately I feel a complete loss of control.

Just the other day I headed out of the house to take Abigail back to school shopping. I had planned to stay within our town limits and avoid any type of high ways, strip malls or heaven forbid large stores that sell everything under the sun. You know the stores that I am talking about, right? The ones that provide inexpensive soaps instead of putting windows in their depressing structures. (I'll take the windows please). The kind of stores where you can walk in and the lingerie and peanut butter are in an isle right next to each other (creepy).

Yes, I am talking to you Target.

So when Abigail and I started to drive, I had the stores all lined up in my head...starbucks first (of course), design solutions for a back pack, crew cuts for dresses, Lil' johns for shoes, and how about...

My thoughts were interrupted.

"Mom where are you going!?" Abigail said extremely annoyed.

"oh, back to school shopping, remember honey? You need to get a back pack, a new lunch box, some new shoes....."

she interrupted me again.

"I know, I know. BUT WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

I didn't follow.

"I thought we could go to design solutions for your back pack and lunch box (this store is where I bought my couch and has the most amazing European children's trinkets) and then maybe..

interrupted again...

"Mom, I really need to go to Target for my back pack because I know exactly the one I want. I saw it there last year."

I almost started crying.

"well honey, chances of the exact same back pack being there is really slim, this is a new year, so lets just stick with the stores that are close, cute and fun and we will have this all done in about an hour or so."

This did not satisfy her in the least. "Mom, I want a princess back pack with a tinker bell lunch box really, really, REALLY bad."

Oh goodness no.

Oh goodness no, no, no.

It was happening. My once easy to convince daughter was now gaining her own independence as I was slowly loosing mine. "you see" she continued "I keep thinking about the first day of school and how I really want a hot pink back pack and then if I have a Tinker Bell lunch box, everything will be perfect."

I jumped back "perfect is a dangerous word and no your life will not be perfect is Ariel is on your back pack."

"yes it will." she said completely sure.

I was headed in the direction of a will too/will not battle and then I realized I was a woman who was thirty and she was a little girl who was shy of a 5th birthday who still beleived in fairies and princess.

I slowly turned the car around to head towards the high way. As we drove away from the charm of my quaint town to the hustle and bustle of fast drivers and Mcdonalds I kept looking at her in the review mirror. This was indeed the first year she had shown any sort of concern over her back pack and lunch box. What was it going to be next year, her clothes?

No again. Please no.

As we headed into Target, we of course could not find a parking spot. I was annoyed. This would not be happening if we just stayed inland. After circling the parking lot over and over we found one far away and I grabbed her hand to help her out of the car. She was as excited as ever. As we started through the under ground parking a woman and her daughter were exiting the building with shopping bags in tow.

"You better hurry!" the overly excited mother exclaimed. "There is nothing left!" and they ran to their car giggling away.

She was FAR to happy to be back to school shopping at Target.

Abigail and I entered the store and took the elevator up to the level that was labeled "BACK TO SCHOOL AND LOOKING COOL."

Seriously could the red shirt team come up with something a little more...I dont know...creative?

"THERE IT IS!" Abigail shouted. THERE IS THE SAME BACK PACK!"

I was shocked. It might not have been the exact same one, but it was indeed hot pink, and it did indeed have her favorite princess's on it and it was indeed.....

THE LAST ONE.

I started walking towards it right in time to see another mom walking towards it. My walking sped up, her walking did too, my walking turned to running, her walking did too. I started to panic, she did too. She looked like a nice decent woman, but that back pack was the entire reason we were there and I was not about to let Abigail down.

I grabbed the back pack fast and headed for my cart.

"I beleive I had it first." she called out coldly.

"oh I am sorry, but I think I had it first..hence why I am holding it." I snapped back.

What was wrong with me? I was in the middle of a Target isle fighting with another mother about a 14 dollar back pack that her daughter probably wanted just as badly as my daughter. A back pack that a mere 15 minutes ago I wanted nothing to do with I suddenly had to have.

The other woman (and defiantly older might I add) grabbed her daughter and stormed off.

I turned around to slap Abigail five but she was already too busy finding the straps to place over her tiny shoulders.

"Perfect." she said.

"oh that's right...perfect back pack, perfect life." I said right back.

It has been an entire week since the first day of school and everyday it has been something different in which I am reminded that I am slowly loosing control. No sweater, ok fine. Hair down, ok fine. And my personal favorite- hot pink heart socks with a brown multi colored fishy skirt (as pictured above).

I know these are just little things. It will just get harder and harder. Heart socks will seem like a walk in the park by the time she is 15 and telling me that she can indeed stay out past curfew, but I find it a little unearving. I have never been good with change, even the slightest differnce in my day can make me incredibly uncomfortable, but I know that in the end change is absolutely necessary.

But what has not changed is how much I miss her the minute she jumps out of my car and waves goodbye for her first day of school and the tears that I shed as I drive away.

That will never change.

I have to say a quick thank you to all of you who e-mailed, called, offered personal nannies, meals, etc for Rebecca and her family. Seriously I was overwhelmed with all of the amazing offers and dear friends out there. Adam is actually doing really well, look at the blog for precious pictures. adamjamesfaust.blogspot.com

14 days of summer.

2009-08-25T21:05:00.001-07:00

Rebecca and our babies, Libby and Molly, just three months apart.

After a month of summer vacation I arrived back to a humid, beautifully green, New York. Carras, the girls and I spent a week of bliss together...yes read that word again, it says together. I had my husband for a FULL week in my happy place of all happy places, Sun Valley. It was heaven to say the least and I came home wondering who came up with the idea that husbands leave their wives on a daily basis to go to a little something called work, unless of course your my husband you actually call it prison.

Ok that was a bad joke.

and of all nights to make a bad joke...this is not the one.

I am ashamed to say that after 4 hours of driving from Sun Valley to the Salt Lake airport and then taking an all night flight with both children, getting into a car at 6:14 a.m. to drive another hour home I walked into my front door depressed.

I was not happy to be home.

I walked Abigail up to bed. Carras gently placed Molly in her crib. All was quiet. We got into bed at the same time where he put his arm around me and said

"we did it"

"Yes, we did it" I replied, "but it's over. Summer is now over."

"I know" he said.

and we closed our eyes to fall asleep and to forget that summer was indeed over.

I woke up still depressed. Instead of unpacking, and making dinner all I could think about was how sad I was it had all come to an end. I missed my brothers already, I missed my aunties and cousins. I wanted to see my nephew come sliding into the kitchen in his socks and mohawk. It had only been 24 hours and I was a mess.

"You are just tired." Carras said over and over. "You will be fine tomorrow."

Tomorrow? I thought. Tomorrow you will be back at work and I will be faced with a messy and neglected house, piles of laundry, tired and cranky children and an empty fridge and he thinks I will feel better?

But I didn't say anything. I went about the rest of my Sunday thinking about my dreamy two months of complete and total fun. The laughter, the rest, the joy, the sunshine. My time with the girls, my strong bond with Molly. I filled my mind with anything but the next day.

But my day of complaining was put to a complete halt when I received a phone message from my dear friend Rebecca.

"Katie, I don't know if you are back in town but if you are, can you call me. There has been an accident. Just call me when you can."

My heart leaped out of my chest. Rebecca is a relatively calm person. This message was anything but calm. Something was seriously wrong.

She answered on the first ring.

"Rebecca, I am home, we got in on the red eye yesterday, what happened? What is wrong?" I asked

She breathed a heavy sigh and geared herself up as she tearfully told me about her 14 month old nephew. Adam had been playing with his older sister Caroline when the tub water was turned on accidentally. The hot water ran while Adam tried to free himself. By the time Rebecca's sister Catherine found Adam he was burned on over 65 % of his body.....

and that was it.

I didn't hear anymore then that. My chest tightened as she recalled what had happened and told me of Adam's condition. I cried with her, I tried to find words of comfort but came up short. I could not even find a way to comfort myself. I was devastated for her, and her family.

Rebecca went on. She explained that, that night her sister (Adam's mother) would be taking the train from D.C. to Connecticut with her other three children and dropping them off with Rebecca and her own four children. Adam is expected to be in the hospital until December and Rebecca's sister was headed up to Boston for the surgeries.

"What can I do?" I said over and over. "Rebecca, what can I do?"

"well", she said and switched into that strong Rebcca voice, "we are having cousin camp here. I have balloons on the mail box, the kids have made posters, and I just took out home made bread. Cathrine and the kids should be here any minute. I am putting on a brave face and we are going to show these kids a good time. Can you help me with that?"

I hung up the phone gently and called to Abigail.

I told her the story of Adam and that we needed to help. I tried to hold in the tears but couldn't. She was memorized on me. I could see her brain ticking away.

She immediately knew what to do.

"Lets pray mom, and then maybe...go get cupcakes." her chubby hands flew into the air as she surprised herself with her own, good idea.

I laughed for the first time that day. "Prayer and cupcakes is about as good as it gets" I told her.

After leaving Rebecca's house that night and meeting Catherine and these adorable kids who have already captured my heart, especially little Caroline (the one right above Adam) Abigail and I devised a plan called

14 days of Summer.

Rebecca will keep Catherine's children for 14 days until they will then go to a different sisters home. The plan is to keep them together while Adam receives the medical attention he needs. In the meantime it is mine and Abigail's job to do at least one act of service a day to these precious three.

And so, the laundry has been piling even higher. My suitcases remain packed, our fridge still empty. Cupcakes have been brought, flowers dropped off, tonight a pizza party with fireflies, sprinklers, and babies with diapers and chubby legs filled my lawn. Adams siblings were happy and I felt a peace while watching them play.

They were being watched over by a much higher power then myself.

I tried to hold the tears as I watched my healthy Molly squeal with delight as she chased the older kids. Oh the power of perspective!

Our summer is certainly not over.

We still have 14 more days to go.

for more information on Adam and medical updates you can go here
http://www.adamjamesfaust.blogspot.com/

Happy Anniversary.

2009-08-24T20:43:00.000-07:00

8 Years ago today I married this man.

I am happier then ever.

Happy Anniversary.

Utah Summers

2009-08-14T23:18:00.001-07:00

The girls and I at the MLS all star game in Utah.

Growing up my summers were spent in Utah.

Which was totally random considering I grew up in Connecticut. I didn't care though. While most of my friends took off for the Cape and Nantucket I boarded a plane with my four brothers and one very young sister and flew to Utah for the entire summer.

I loved it.

I would get butterflies just knowing that in a matter of weeks school would be out and I would fly to Utah to see cousins, friends, feel the freshness of the mountain air, the Utah nights, and taste real, authentic Mexican food. I would come back to Connecticut before the school year began trying to explain too my east coast friends just how amazing Utah was but in actuality they really were confused.

What could be so great about Utah?

A lot.

So this summer I announced to Carras that I would be packing the girls up and spending the entire month of August in Utah.

"why?" he asked.

I mumbled out some long winded explanation about wanting them to experience what I had experienced growing up, knowing their cousins, and grandparents. As I spoke I felt like I was not making sense but in my head it was just what needed to happen. I explained that Abigail is finally at the age where memories actually stick. I want her to have that one familiar place besides home that she loves, the way that I love it.

'but 4 weeks is a long time to be away from each other." he said.

"I know" I replied. "but....."

and that was it.

Our flights were made and the day after we arrived home from Miami the girls and I were off on a 6 hour plane ride to the mountains that I love.

It has been amazing, hard, fun, and exhausting all at the same time. I have loved the moments spent with friends, I cherish the times with family and the weddings, soccer games, and other such nonsense that we have been able to be part of (not that weddings are nonsense but when you come from a family my size they become a dime a dozen). There have been moments where it felt right to be here and moments like last Saturday where it felt very wrong.

Carras had flown in to be with us for the weekend. We spent three days with his family in Eden, Utah jet skiing, hot tubing, cousin playing, and catching up. It was amazing to all be together but when it came time to take him back to the airport Abigail fell apart. As Carras kissed her goodbye and crossed the street to the terminal I turned around right in time to see her climbing out the window to stop him. I tried to calm her down and wipe her tears while holding in my own.

That was a moment that made my silly Utah fantasies seem very wrong.

And so goes the battle and the constant questioning.

Is it worth sacrificing time with my husband and time with their dad so that my girls can have these memories of their own?

I wish I had the answer but the truth is, I don't.

But what I do have is a bucket full of my own memories of summers spent here. My dad would meet up with us on and off; the way that Carras has done with us. There was always pain when he would have to return to New York but the pain quickly subsided by my Grandma's scrambled eggs and my cousin Hailey's laugh.

I remember distinctly one night after saying goodbye to my dad driving in the backseat of our car and looking out at the valley all lit up. I was aching inside but happy knowing that I was where I was supposed to be for the time being. In the fall it would be back to my life in Connecticut, back to the comfort of the green and the crickets, but for then, and for that night it was the comfort of the mountains.

And it still is.

I have enjoyed the past three weeks immensely. Particularly with my girls. Molly has been my saint and such a trooper. Traveling in the car to and fro, mingling with many unfamiliar faces and all the while happy as can be. I feel as if my eyes have been opened to her. I have enjoyed her more than I ever have. I have found a relationship with her that can get lost in the everyday.

Schedules are supposed to focus us but in a sense I think they can cause us to loose what is important or to forget. As I was reading to Abigail tonight knowing that it was our last night in Utah together I was overcome with panic. Soon our lazy days and careless nights would be replaced with order, and structure. I will loose her to early morning pre-school and instead of staying up late talking as we have been she will be back to sleeping on her own, in her own room.

This is out of character for me because I tend to be a very structured person who thrives off of order (especially early bed times) but if anything has come out of my time spent in Utah it has been the reminder that I love being a mom. Particularly I love being

their mom.

Don't Slow down

2009-08-11T23:04:00.001-07:00

leaving the hotel in Miami.

I broke my toe on my thirtieth birthday.

And that is just the beginning.

As I sit here to write my first blog post in almost three weeks I am at a loss for how to start..but as all good writers will tell you the only way to actually get over writers block is to just sit down and write.

So I am starting with my toe.

I did not want to turn 30. I don't know why. It sounds stupid now that I am 30 and three weeks, but when I reached over one morning to turn my calender from June to July the countdown had begun. Twenty two days until I finally entered adulthood. Twenty two days until buying anti-age face wash. Twenty two days until I finally joined the ranks as most of my dear friends. Twenty two days where sun block became essential. I thought and thought about this birthday more then any other. I knew in my mind it was stupid, but in my heart I felt a deep sense of loss. Not for my youth, but had I done enough with my life so far?

My father is a huge advocate of setting goals. He takes it so seriously in fact that a family vacation we took back when I was in high school was centered around how to set goals and how to achieve them. I remember vividly the family sitting in a conference room he had rented out in the ski lodge where we were staying. The room was bare and cold. Ice water sat in the center. The walls were covered in pictures of nature. I was confused as to why we were sitting inside instead of enjoying the fresh powder outside. A box sat at the foot of my father as he stood to explain what he and my mother had planned for the day. As he reached into the box he pulled out 6 thick leather binders. On the front of these binders inscripted in gold was the word GOALS. On the bottom right hand corner, our names. My father explained to us the importance setting goals had played in his life. We were then told to find a quiet spot where we could think, dream, and write for the rest of the day.

I took this assignment very seriously and found myself engrossed in the process of planning my life. I took my fathers idea of categorizing my goals to make them easier and more manageable. The categories that I chose were family, friends, school/career and lastly God. I spent hours thinking and sweating over every detail. My goals included getting accepted into Brigham Young University, improving my relationship with my mother, making the high school lacrosse team, finishing the Book of Mormon before I left home for College, loosing 10 pounds, and the list went on and on. I remember putting the pen down exhausted and instead of feeling empowered I felt overwhelmed.

but back to the toe....

On the day of my actual birthday I was running around like a mad woman. My husband had planned a night for us and dear friends to head into the City for dinner and an after party at a swank bowling/dance club right on Chelsea Pier. My friends were taking me to lunch, Molly had a visit with the Dr, I had promised Abigail we could go get a cupcake, and to top it all off, Carras also surprised me with a weekend get a way to Miami the next morning. As I turned to get my pajama wearing, cheerio covered Molly our of her high chair my foot jammed right into the plastic edge of the high chair and I heard a loud, CRACK.

It hurt so badly that for some reason all I could do was laugh. Abigail was distraught as she reminded me over and over that "it was my birthday" and that this "just could not happen!" I laid on the floor while Molly sat by my side and looked at me with concerned eyes. I was home alone and trying to remember if I had ever read in all my baby books what to do if mom breaks a toe and cannot walk.

no one ever wrote about that one.

Abigail's solution was a Dora band aid. She carefully sat down next to me and unwrapped it with her little fingers. I watched her ever so gently place it on my toe and laughed again as I hugged her and whispered thank you. I hobbled around trying to figure out how in the world I was going to do everything I wanted to that day. I decided to make my way upstairs. My girls followed as I slowly fell onto my bed. As I lay there trying to decide what to do next my eyes wondered over to my book shelf. And there it was-the leather binder with gold writing.

I wobbeled over and pulled it out. I stared at it knowing that I had not opened it for at least a year. As I turned the pages my mind wondered back to that very day when my dad gifted us with this book. I went back to find the actual goals that were set on that snowy day in 1994. It was my beginning to everything. I looked at my school goals, I read the goals I had set on how to become a better friend, and I laughed when I saw the words BYU young Ambassador (I can barely carry a tune), but then I opened to the section where I had written God. I saw the words, marriage, temple, children and eternity. I looked over at my two girls who had slowly followed me up the stairs with worried looks on their faces. I looked down at my broken toe that had slowly begun to turn purple to see the Dora band aid that had been placed there ever so gently. I looked down at my hands to find my wedding ring that my husband had given me eight years earlier and realized that the question; had I done enough, was answered.

Not yet, but your headed in the right direction.

And so I comfored Molly as she recieved her shots, I picked up Abigail from nature camp, I went to dinner and danced the night away with a lot of Motrin and a serious limp. I kissed my girls goodbye and flew to Miami the next morning to reconnect with the man I love. There we spent three days and three nights talking, laughing and discussing our own goals for our little family, all the while the Dora band aid stayed (until I decided that it just was not sexy enough).

The night we arrived home from Miami I started to sort through the mail. One card intrigued me as I saw the returned address of a dear friend I had not spoken too in some time. I opened it to find a 30 mile speed limit sign on the front. Inside the card read

Don't Slow Down

I laughed as I thought about the past 4 days. I laughed about the over scheduling that had caused my clumsiness to take over only to leave me with a broken toe. I thought about the clear answer I had found when I realized that my life was JUST beginning and not the other way around. And I laughed because in reality

I have absolutely no intention of slowing down.

It all seems silly now. I am thirty and nothing really has changed, except I do feel a sense of pride. I feel almost....smarter, more experienced and centered. I have realized that the more I know, the less I know, and I am ok with that. I feel extremly lucky to still be evolving. I don't need to have it all figured out by a certain age. I don't need to have a certain number of children or live in a particular place. I need to find joy in the journey. I will never do enough, because if I have, then somewhere along the lines I have fooled myself into thinking there is not more to learn, or not one more person to love.

You see...slowing down for me is absolutely not an option.

Broken toe or not.

The friendship drug

2009-07-21T21:03:00.001-07:00

Sus at Purl in Soho

I had a friend tell me today that I was "better then drugs."

I liked it. I mean I have never done drugs before so I don't really know what I could compare them too, but I know that they must accomplish some sort of escape or relief or else we would not have drug addicts, and let me make this clear I am not making light of a person with a drug problem per say but more clarifying that I took what she said as a compliment.

whether or not she meant it as such.

That is how I took it.

Friends are amazing, girlfriends in particular. Where would we be without them? Where would I be without them? I quiver at the thought. We have the power to heal, to strengthen, to understand to listen, to walk with, to shop with, to laugh with.

Maybe that is why I have never needed drugs.

I have been blessed with good friends.

But even better then drugs is walking the streets of Manhattan with one of them. Picking up where you left off, searching for cozy fabrics, eating yummy tarts, and dreaming about the impossible. Laughing our way through central park, stopping at the same window displays, and hashing out the important issues in between.

We stopped here, here and here.

Thank you Sus for coming. Thank you for teaching me to knit. I promise I will have the washcloth done by my 31st birthday.

House envy

2009-07-19T18:18:00.001-07:00

Remember when you were a teenager and there was SO much talk about not reading beauty magazines because it would damage your self esteem? Perfect bodies or unattainable fashion figures were not to be messed with. My mother abide d by this rule and I was not allowed to read them, subscribe to them, borrow them, or talk about them. My mother wanted me to learn from other sources

as she should.

And as I should, I grew older and now make my own rules. I am known to my husband as the "catalog queen." Almost every month I am stocked with new magazines with amazing lay outs, colors, designs, and yes very, very skinny models.

which does not bother me one bit.

Because instead of having body envy I have a little problem called "creative house envy." It does not happen often, but when it does it hits hard. It starts with the sound of a magazine casually being flipped open. My eyes slowly scan the adds, the table of contents and then the questionnaires. My eyes focus on new clothing for children, and the newest and surest way to improve your marriage. Page after page of new toys, new music and new books emerge.

still nothing interesting...

and then it happens.

I have opened my eyes to view the most perfect house I have ever seen. The page turning slows, but the heart beats faster. The voices in the background become nothing but white noise and with each turn of a page, comes a dryer mouth. Oh yes, creative house envy has indeed set in.

Art work hanging on the outside of the home? A round breakfast table with a lazy susan for easy access? An outdoor play house that was built as a replica of the families older home? Brilliant. Completely family themed and totally brilliant.

For a complete look of this dreamy abode, you can go here.

Summer Loves

2009-07-15T18:43:00.001-07:00

Current favorite summer song to blast: Strawberry Swing, by Coldplay

Current favorite summer snack: Costco pineapple.

Current favorite summer accessory: J.Crew straw hat.

Current favorite summer movie: Away we go (but I don't recommend it)

Current favorite summer moment: Molly giggling her way into the pool for the very first time.

Current favorite Abigail word: "Cooker cape" for my apron.

Current favorite Abigail question: "Mommy, did you know that when you say you love me a lot it means you will be with me forever?"

Current favorite Molly word: "boo" for uncle Drew.

Current favorite summer discovery: Molly might just like dancing more then her mommy.

Current favorite summer surprise: This from my husband as an early 30th birthday present.

Current summer sadness: Missing my sister who has been in Africa for three weeks.

Current summer lesson learned: I am blessed.

Current favorite summer activity: Sparklers not on the fourth of July

My very first button.

2009-07-11T04:10:00.000-07:00

I seem to complain too much about the amount that my husband and I have moved since our marriage in 2001. I always try to make him feel sorry for me. My typical comment goes something like "I have followed you from job to job from school to school and I would like a little appreciation" and his typical response is always sarcastic "I guess you have had it tough Katie. Boston, London, San Francisco and now New York." The conversation usually ends there because

He has a point.

But in the midst of all of these moves my heart breaks a little more each time because with moves come amazing friends. I find that right when I start to feel comfortable, they leave or I have to leave. It is so unfair...cool places to live or not, I would take the people over the place anytime. It took me a while to learn that. I used to think it was all about where you were, but I am slowly learning it is not where you are but the people that surround you.

Leaving California was particularly hard. My friends had become my family and I theirs. I watched them have babies, changed their toddlers diapers, and spent Holiday's in their homes. Daily conversations and musings with them became part of the air that I breathed, and when we moved across the country from them I found myself alone and gasping for air. We all talked on the phone as much as we could and shared in our woes of once again starting over and venting about these crazy careers our husbands are after. I cried, and they cried as we talked about what could be done to make these transitions easier.

and so

One of these particular amazing friends, Amber has started something that I think is just peachy keen. She, like I has had to endure many moves with her adoring husband and three little boys. She, like I knows what it feels like to be a mommy and feel alone. She, unlike I has done something amazing about it.

Presenting Mamiga.

This is truly cyber love at it's best. It is a website developed for mommies everywhere who want to share their ideas, daily inspirations or.... get this...ways that you and your kiddies can serve others depending on where you live. You can live in Japan and contribute. You can live anywhere or move anywhere and still contribute. This is all about one mom helping another and then passing the love around. The name comes from obviously the word mom and amiga which means friend in spanish.

Because every mom needs a friend.

Oh Amber, you genius you.

Independence

2009-07-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

There is no where in the world I would rather spend the 4th of July then New England.

Nowhere.

There is just something about being here where it all started that makes the patriot in me come out. This is the only time I will ever listen to Neil Diamond or Al Greenwood and let's be honest it is the only time I will wear red, white and blue all at once...at least on purpose. The patriotism in my town is so evident on this particular holiday that you can almost smell it. Our local celebration is one that brings people from all over. Including those who grew up here and have since left. You will see more old friends travel to New Canaan for the 4th of July then for Christmas. And that is the truth.

This local celebration that I speak of holds many memories for me, most very dear.

Until last year.

Last year on the fourth of July my husband, two girls, and I along with much family were at a neighborhood party. We were enjoying the all american ice cream, fried chicken and seeing old men in lobster pants. As the sun began to set we knew that it was now or never to make it to the local fireworks show. Rushing to grab blankets, treats, and kiddies, we all piled into the cars to start the amazing train of vehicles that leads to the celebration. Windows are down, and American flags attached to cars (a popular trend started after 9/11) flow in the wind. Somehow o Abigail was separated from us and in a car with her grandparents and uncles on her way to the show. We followed but because of traffic we took much longer to arrive. As we parked the fireworks started and we rushed through the crowds to try and find our family. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

"hello" I said as loudly as I could.

"Katie!" my dads voice screamed. But that was all I could hear from his mouth because in the background was my Abigail crying a cry that I had never heard come out of her.

"Dad!" I shouted. "Dad! What's wrong?"

but the phone had gone dead.

Carras and I both started running. Hard. We didn't know where we were going but we knew something was wrong. We ran and ran until we found the family but by the time we got there neither my dad nor Abigail was in sight and my mom looked distraught.

She explained to us that the fireworks started and Abigail flew into a breakdown. They thought they could calm her down, but they couldn't. What started out as being scared turned into a full blown panic attack. My dad rushed through the crowds to take her to the car. He held her while she sobbed on his shoulder but the car was at least a mile away.

My heart beated loudly. If anyone knew what a panic attack was it was me. I have suffered from them almost my whole life and they are helpless and scary. I needed to find her.

We as mothers all know these situations, these feelings. The feeling that your child is suffering and you can't get to them. I knew she was in good hands, I knew she felt safe with her grandpa, but I also knew that I needed to see her, for me. I needed to hold her in my arms and tell her that she was fine and that I was sorry for not listening to her when she told me earlier over and over that she didn't want to go, that fireworks made her "uncomfortable."

Once we finally found them, they had made it back to my dad's car. His passenger side seat was all of the way down and she had panicked her little body right into a deep sleep. Her face was flushed and her hair wet with sweat. She was curled into the fettle position and still breathing heavily. I took one look at her, then to my dad. I walked over to him and hugged him.

"Thank you" I said.

I picked Abigail up and held her in the back seat while she slept all of the way home. She won't remember this I thought. When she wakes up, she will be fine. But before we reached the house her eyes opened and she took one look at me and said WHERE WERE YOU!? I kissed her and told her that I was so sorry and that I would never let anything like that happen again.

So this year as the 4th of July approached we started to talk to Abigail about the fireworks. Surely one whole year of maturity and growth would help. When we brought up the holiday that was celebrated with crazy, loud, colors in the sky her eyes grew big and she began to panic. Her head shook no over and over as she pleaded that we not take her to the celebration. My heart dropped. I had to be there, it was tradition, it is a holiday, I could not even think of a fourth of July where I did not attend the extravaganza. We gave her the option to bring ear phones and listen to music. Carras talked to her about holding her tight and covering her ears. I showed her clip after clip of You tube videos of fireworks but

She would just ask me to turn the volume down.

I knew it was not a possibility, nor was it worth it.

So this year we attended the parties and the picnics. We even went with the family to lay the blankets out and all the while promised Abigail that before it got dark we would get her home. Every time the sun inched lower she would turn to Carras or I and say

"We have to go!" she would scream. "We have to get out of here!"

Finally they announced that it would be 15 more minutes until the fireworks began. We didn't even say goodbye. We grabbed our two blondies and started running to the car. We had cut it too close I thought. What was I thinking? Abigail began to worry too. Finally Carras grabbed her hand and told her to trust him. I needed to trust him as well.

We got to the parking lot but now had to find our black car amongst the other 500 black cars. (welcome to the east coast). I started pressing the unlock button frantically as we both looked for lights. There is was, 3 rows away. We ran and all 4 of us jumped in the car.

Within three seconds the fireworks started.

And there we were as a family, safe in our car.

Together.

And so as we drove away with the fireworks booming behind us, family, friends and food left behind I was grateful to my husband, grateful to my daughter and grateful that on a day of celebration for our independence that we could celebrate

her independence.

Cousin to Cousin

2009-07-03T19:10:00.001-07:00

How do you explain the word cousin to your child?

I luckily never have had to.

It strikes me as completely amazing that my Abigail seems to just get it. She understands without really understanding and it has been this way since their beginning.

I was fortunate enough to grow up around most of my cousins. It was this way until I was 12. I remember it as honestly the happiest and best times of my childhood. I developed relationships with them that have lasted throughout a move cross country and into my adult years. They have been bridesmaids at my wedding and I at theirs. They have been the first ones to walk into my delivery room or introduce the world of Dr. Seuss to my children. We have survived divorce, job loss, cancer, rejection, and even death. I tell them everything and they tell me right back. The best part? We just get each other. I never have to be someone that I am not or that I am. With them. I just....am.

They are my home.

Abigail and Connor are the leaders of the pack. Molly and Gabe follow behind to start this amazing trail of grandchildren. My siblings and I are still young and of course there are many more to come, but for right now they have each other and for Abigail that is enough.

I don't remember ever explaining to her what Connor was. That he was family versus just a fun friend, but like I said there never was a reason to, she clung to him like he was a lifeline, like he was the older brother that she never had, and you know what? He is.

The mere mention that Connor is coming to visit sends her into complete hyper mode until the actual day arrives. Tears are shed as our plane leaves the mountains of Utah knowing that Connor stays while she goes. When asked to play wedding with a friend she simply replies "Connor is my boyfriend and I only play wedding with Connor." And really, to her, or to anyone for that matter, a cousin could just be another kid, another play date. But, for her without any explanation it has been and it is much more than that. He is everything to her and she to him.

Connor is here to visit.

And as I watched them run into each others arms this morning to greet one another and share a laugh over their coco puffs I was reminded about this unbreakable bond that they share. Hands were held as we walked the streets of the city today and Connor reminded her to "stay close." Abigail responded in a typical four year old way

"Connor what would happened if I decided to climb up that tall building and I fell off and hurt my head?"

A laughing Connor replied "well that would never happen."

"Why?" She asked.

"Because silly, I would never let it." he said simply.

And their hands held even tighter.

Sisterly Love

2009-07-02T05:10:00.001-07:00

What is one to do when their mom dresses them in ridiculous, constraining frills that don't allow precious ones to play without the embarrassment of mooning her fellow onlookers?

Cue sister...

I am so glad they have each other.

Oh Happy day

2009-07-02T04:07:00.000-07:00

It is incredibly strange to live in the town that I grew up in. It has taken some MAJOR adjusting but I find myself enjoying it more and more everyday. Especially when we open stores like this...

Announcing.....

Crewcuts and

CRUMBS

Does it get better than that?

I think not.

Caution: Music will play

2009-06-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

I believe it was the Weepies who sang sometimes rain that's needed falls. I usually agree with this statement. It is never easy to go through trials but sometimes we need them in order to help us grow stronger. Let's be honest, I have never been of the type to wish for trails but usually what comes from the bad is good. I can absolutely say that.

But lately I have disagreed completely with the Weepies. On the east coast It has rained almost every single day in the month of June and NO I am not exaggerating (as I am sometimes prone to do). I have found myself on the path to a complete breakdown imagining my summer rushing by without temperatures breaking 70 degrees. I have crazy thoughts about Armageddon and just what if...what if we are to not have a summer this year?

and have to head right into fall, and then winter.

I couldn't do it.

I won't do it.

because we deserve a nice, warm, beautiful, hot, and sweaty summer after enduring the grueling New York winter. I want to smell sunscreen on my Molly's chubby arms. I want to buy chlorine protective shampoo for my Abigail's blond hair. I want to wash at least one load of towels in my washing machine every night and I- the mom want a sun kissed face. I want to attend a Yankee's game with my brothers and Shakespeare in the park with Carras. I want a hot, sweaty, New York Summer.

so when my dad called me last Friday to tell me that he had gotten tickets to our Yankee's I was ecstatic until one hour before the game it started to

RAIN.

HARD.

I had headed into the city early to meet Carras for dinner. We watched as the streets of the City cleared out to avoid the downpour. Standing in a clothing store right on 5th Avenue I had a birds eye view of bikers wearing ponchos and tourists clamoring to street vendors to buy an umbrella. As is custom and normal here the cynic New Yorkers began their rants and raves of how long until the game would be canceled. I could not help but feel sorry for myself. I had been positive up until this very point. I had dealt with more indoor days then I would have liked, helped the girls find other things to occupy their time then the golden sun, but this was my last straw.

I called my dad and told him we would just eat dinner and head home.

"Why?" he said.

"because it is pouring rain and everyone here is saying the game is going to be called." (canceled) I answered smugly.

"Have a little faith he said. We are still driving in. See you there."

and he hung up.

and so we boarded the 7 train all the while it rained and rained. I was wet and still sad. Not even the action of the street vendors or the college band playing horrible imitations of the Beach Boys could cheer me up. Rain was absolutely not needed today. Today the Weepies were wrong.

and then as the 7 train pulled into the stadium. I walked out onto the platform and looked up to see a red sky. Not blue, not grey, but red.

Was that actually a sunset? A sunset in the midst of sleet, rain and yes, hail?

It was and it was beautiful.

I sat down in our seats and took a deep breath. I laughed hard with my brothers, ate cracker jacks and in the 7th inning stretch sang along with my drunken New Yorkers take me out to the ball game.

Finally.

Summer is here.

For now at least.

Forgive the playlist. It is not here to stay, but I wanted you to hear the song for true understanding of this post. Annoying, isn't it?

Run. Drive. Sleep? Repeat.

2009-06-23T08:11:00.000-07:00

We did it.

I can't believe it's over.

It was amazing in every sense of the word. I have never, ever done something so psychically challenging in my life but

I loved every minute.

Normally when I want to express myself, I write.

Not this time.

Only pictures can explain the beauty, the bonding, the hardship, the sweat, the laughter, and the experience of

Running, driving, sleeping (none) and of course

repeating.

Enjoy.

This car trailed us almost the entire race. The caption? Will run for weed.

Getting ready for the race

My first let was a killer. It was up snow basin canyon. My brother Nate giving me a pep talk.

My teammate and dear friend Mel greeting me at the end of Leg 1.

Team 2 at the top of Snow Basin

Right before Leg 2 we drove through the most beautiful parts of Ut and watched the Sunset.

So glad I had my man on this race.

Nathaniel running up the actual RAGNAR mountain.

The night shift starts and caffeine shots begin.

The strength of the team...RIGHT HERE.

Carras also running up the famous RAGNAR mountain

Mel wrapping up the race with a 8 mile downhill run

Team Big 'J' ( named after my cousin Jaman who passed away three days before the race. He was 30 years old)

I have thought about this race non stop since coming home. I realized afterwards through everything that running this race is like having a baby. It starts out as a goal. Then you must plan, then of course comes practice (smile). It takes time and energy. The big day arrives and you are unsure. You are scared. You wonder if you can do this and what in the world were you thinking! You look to your friends and family for comfort and advice, but everyone tells you that you will "do great." You push forward through moments of physical pain and exhaustion. You are scared and so very emotional. There are moments of clarity. There are moments of spiritual enlightenment and in the end

it is all so incredibly worth every pain and every emotion possible.

because just like having a baby.

I would do it all over

again and again.

Father of the Girls

2009-06-21T17:03:00.000-07:00

To the men I love...
and to the men

my girls love.

Happy Fathers Day.

KEEP CALM, and dance

2009-06-17T13:28:00.000-07:00

Whenever I am about to leave my girls for an extended period of time everything they do suddenly becomes A-HA-dorable. Like today, Molly was eating her watermelon with her fingers completing the task with loud slurping sounds. I could not stop staring at her. The way that her mouth moved and how innocent she looks while eating.....or the way that her polka dot bib rests on her little tummy. Abagail's demands and constant needs did not seem as overwhelming today as they normally do. I am able to look at my children in a different light, and this light makes incredibly sentimental and weepy.

The Balanced mom talks about this very thing. In it the author so brilliantly points out that we are never fully ourselves with our children but we are certainly not ourselves without them.

Well put.

I guess this is why we as mothers need breaks, but when the break comes, my heart hurts.

I don't know if I would call the next four days a break. My world has been turned upside down in a matter of 48 hours (details will follow later) but what I do know is that leaving my children is never easy and incredibly nerve racking. As I sit down to type the schedule out for the babysitter I find myself only clicks away from threatening her life so should anything happen to my girls. Do I dedicate an entire page in her packet of directions and pronounce my love for my children? Do I help her understand that if one hair on their head is harmed she might not live to see the light of day...

In the end what makes this all worth it is that as mothers we give and give of ourselves all day and this weekend I am doing something for ME. I am crossing off a to do on my bucket list, and in the meantime filling up my canteen only to come home stronger.

In the midst of packing, grocery shopping, scedualing, and laundary doing, four things helped me breath a huge sigh of relief today are...

My computer savvy sister helping me upload 80 new running songs onto my YELLOW I-pod in the midst of her finals week at school...

My stud of a brother Ben who helped create and design our new team name and new team T-shirts in less then 3 hours only to have them delivered right in time to wear as we run. New Team name-BIG J.
My dear friend Lexy who sent me the link to this t-shirt on a day when I needed this oh so wonderful reminder. T-shirts are here.

And of course to my girls who helped me break in my new running shoes with a very last minute impromptu dance party.

oh and dear babysitter, please dance with my girls while I am gone.

Mr. Ed

2009-06-16T18:48:00.000-07:00

I have to be honest...

I am going to have a really hard time continuing to watch the Bachelorette after the departure of a certain someone whom I had very high hopes for.

Mr. Ed was my front runner (and many others for that matter) for Jillian. He was handsome but goofy, quiet, yet funny, and very charming. PLUS a man who leaves because of his job...

BINGO.

He is career oriented. The desperate housewives and I (our group who gathers regularly to watch and mock) could not believe how Jillian could show her disgust for Ed stating that he loved his job more then he cared for her..

ummm.. yeah Jillian he has known you for two weeks.

If I were her, at that moment when Ed said he needed to leave, I would have turned to the producers and called the show good only to quickly pack my bags and follow Ed to his SUV in waiting, fly to Chicago and live happily ever after.

Doesn't she get to keep her new clothing anyway?

Who needs the other 12 weirdo's whose jobs are obviously lax enough to the point where they can leave for months on end with no consequence.

Yes, Tanner P I am talking to you.

Goodbye Mr. Ed. I will miss your face.

City Jib Jabs

2009-06-15T07:24:00.001-07:00

Last Monday the girls and I took a break from the burbs and spent a day in the city with my so cal girl. I love this girl more then cupcakes but I think I love her boys more. I got to babysit while Ash went to take care of some business and I have never had so much fun in my life. Overlooking Columbus Ave we sang, ate, and Toby took Abigail under his ridiculous computer skills wing and made a video just for them. Abigail has never laughed so hard and cannot stop watching it...

I mean what else is there to do in New York City then make Jib Jabs?

oh and eat here. My FAV.

and look at an apartment right above here.

and now for you viewing pleasure....

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

UP and away

2009-06-12T20:55:00.000-07:00

Why is it that when you become a mother you cry at everything? I cried at practically everything that happened to me today.

It is not very often that I get to spend a day with just my Abigail, but when she woke up this morning and asked her usual question "what are we doing today" I surprised her with a day of just she and I time.... A day with mommy always includes a cupcake and today it was too also include a hair cut. But instead of sitting back with a People magazine while her locks were chopped I cried throughout the entire process. I kept snapping shots and wiping away tears. The hair dresser finally asked me

"is this her first hair cut?"

"ummmm, yes" I lied.
I cried as we walked to get a cupcake together because she is just too cute sometimes. We talked about what the word "boring" meant and she told me she liked my laugh. We talked about her new stuffed animal she had just gotten and gave him the official name of Biscuit Scratchy Holmstead. She asked me why she did not have her own dog and I told her "someday." I cried while watching her pick the cherry off her cupcake to eat first and then slowly devour the frosting (the exact same way her mommy eats her cupcake).

I cried when we arrived home today and Molly showed me a new trick of her own by saying her very own sister's name for the first time.

Say "Abby"

"ABBA"

and

I cried tonight as I sat next to Carras in a movie theater and watched UP. He had taken the girls the weekend before while I was away but insisted that I see it on my own without the chaos of the kids. A serious cord was struck about the grandness of just loving where you are in life and whom you are with. Adventures can be found in the everyday and I cried as it was reminded to me throughout this movie. I cried at Ellie and Mr. Fredrickson's love and grateful that one day my husband and I will grow old together. I cried on the way home replaying to Carras what I loved most about the movie..

and I cry as I write this post

because I loved being with Abigail today, I loved eating a cherry cupcake, I loved witnessing Molly's new milestone and I loved holding Carras's hand through an animated movie that reminded me of the beauty in simplicity.

and I cry because I know these days are few...tomorrow might not be so good, but as motherhood goes we take the good and the bad.

and I usually cry with the bad too.

The Ragnar Race

2009-06-12T05:37:00.000-07:00

I've got running on my mind and not much else right now.

Exactly one week from today I will be in Logan, Utah starting a 170 mile long run ending in beautiful Park City, Ut. This is something that I have wanted to do for years and last summer as I celebrated my 29th birthday with my husband on a beach in Miami I realized it was either now or never.

Turning 30 for me has been terrifying for some reason. I can't explain it. I have many friends who are 30, hot, hip and 30. I have friends in their 40's, hot, hip and 40. But for me turning 30 this July has caused me to stop and think about my life and what exactly I have accomplished. And so last summer sipping a margarita (virgin) I set a goal and started to training the very next day.

One year later here I sit after my third run in 24 hours, wet from the rain (don't you love running in the rain), tired, and scared to death. I am as prepared as I will ever be but to plan an entire year for something only to have it finally staring you in the face is actually terrifying. I have butterflies of excitement, anxiety from self doubt, and humbleness (is that a word) for those who have helped me along the way. My dear friends who have woken up when the alarm strikes 5:45 because it was the only time that day I could run. For the therapeutic conversations we have while running and reminding me that I can in fact do this. For my family who have babysat the kiddies, and dealt with many bad moods due to lack of rest because of training. To my team, the 11 others who have sweat, trained and drained all in the name of teamwork. To Abigail and Molly for enduring long hours away from me and for dealing with babysitter after babysitter even in the wee hours of the morning. I dedicate this run to you my two girls, for it is both of you who have taught me the reality of dreams coming true.

ok this is starting to sound like an academy award speech....

And last but not least (yes honey you get your own paragraph) to my man who is not only running the relay with me but who has encouraged me from day one and who reminded me the other night how far I have come and how proud he is of me.

And so exactly one month before I turn 30 I will have accomplished what I set out to do and hopefully live to tell the tale (and post about it) when all is said and done.

And now what is it that they say?

Onto the races?

Onto the races.

Phone Time

2009-06-10T11:02:00.000-07:00

I just want all of my friends who live far away to see the torture I go through in order to get more then 10 minutes on the phone with them.

and my husband wonders why I have to spend so much on manicures...

Of course it is always worth it. I could go on and on about how many times we have moved and how many dear friends I have had to leave behind because of it but instead I will just voice my appreciation for the invention of the telephone, computers, e-mail and blogs to keep up with your busy lives and beautiful children.

Now if you will excuse me while I go find some nail polish remover

oh and

Sus...call me back.

p.s. Please forgive the ridiculous self portrait. My choices to take pictures are two four year olds and a golden retriever.

Goldalicous

2009-06-09T13:35:00.000-07:00

This just in.

Family favorite and children's author extraordinaire Victoria Kann has a new book out.

GOLDILICIOUS.

Abigail walks around the house with these books, sleeps with them, bakes with them and refuses to eat a cupcake unless it is..

you guessed it

PINKALICOUS

The third in it's series (firstly comes Pinkalicious, then Purplelicious) Goldalicious is just as adorable and the art work causes you to stop and stare making the night time reading task so much more enjoyable. And like the other's the message of allowing children to have an imagination speaks to it's readers loud and clear.

Goldalicious is absolutely golden.

Frost Yourself

2009-06-05T11:55:00.000-07:00

I have never been a jewelry person.

Shoes? Check.

Bags? Check, check and another check.

Jewelry not so much. It was not that I didn't like it. I loved it but whenever I put on a piece I felt over done, like I was trying to be something I wasn't. But time heals all hallucinations and in the past five years I have started an amazing collection that I will one day pass on to my girls.

It all started when my grandmother passed away. The night of her funeral her daughters and granddaughters all piled into her room to heal wounds. We laughed, cried, wrapped Harrods scarfs around our heads and took pictures. My grandmother was an amazing collector and kept everything which included her jewelry. As my grandfather went through each piece and told story after story I realized how amazing jewelry can be. It doesn't have to be expensive, but it does have to have a story. That is the key to fine jewelry.

My newest find is Lulu Frost. Amazing, unique, delicate and insanely talented. She is an east coast girl (holla) and a fresh new talent who has found a way to make jewelry from period antiques which happens to include the historical Plaza hotel in New York City. From old keys to chandeliers from the 1860's each piece has a story to tell.

Just how jewelry should be

besides

every girl needs a little frost.

These are my favorite find thus far. I bought the necklace.

Yellow

2009-06-03T18:02:00.001-07:00

I love yellow.

I always have. When I was 14 years old my family moved into a home that my parents still live in today. Being the second oldest and having only one other sister in a house full of and run by boys I was to have my own room. I remember the day that my mom told me I could have it painted any color I wanted.

"yellow" I told her.

"Really? Yellow?" she looked at me surprised.

"yes, yellow."

Thus my obsession started and continued through high school and college. I loved yellow flowers, yellow pillows, yellow hair, yellow plates, I loved the color of yellow in a bathing suit or a sweater. My fiance at the time (now adoring husband) even wrote me a poem about the color yellow. But that is for our secret file and not to be shared.

I went through something in college that I don't know if I am quite ready and willing to share just yet, for when I do it needs to be for the right reasons. It is so personal and still on a level so painful to discuss that it is not to be taken lightly. I want one day to talk, write, and discuss it with others. I want to feel completely healed from it, but most of all I want my daughters to know, and to learn from it.

Now I have you curious don't I?

But you will have to wait.

Just know that in the meantime ironically the song that got me through it all is a song entitled...

you guessed it

YELLOW.

Yes, the song yellow by Coldplay healed my heart. Not the lyrics, but the melody, the beat and that voice. Chris Martin's sweet, sweet voice. I would often find an escape, a realease of stress, gult and anxiety by just getting into my car and driving. All the while, yellow would play over and over until I had to drive back and face reality.

I can't explain why. The meaning to the song is actually a mystery. Chris Martin has never explained why or what the song means. I think this is on purpose. I think he wants his listeners to feel as I did. That the song was just for me, it was written and being sung to me. At a time in my life when waking up seemed difficult, this song motivated me because I knew that the moment I was in my car or walking to class I could listen to it. It brought healing at a time when I could find none and did I mention his voice? Oh yes, I did. That sweet, sweet voice.

Last weekend I got to sit three rows away from Chris Martin to see Coldplay for the second time in concert. When my husband surprised me with the tickets for mothers day I went straight away and bought these and then cried the entire time my song was sang.

and

as I am wrapping up this post tonight I turned around to see my husband walking in from work wearing a

yellow tie.

Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you. And all the things you do.

Afterthought: Download 'Jem's' Version of Yellow. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

Be Still my Heart

2009-06-02T21:14:00.000-07:00

I want to blog.

I really do. But I am coming up short. I have so much going on and nothing to say. My life has been a non stop whorl wind of activities, guests, events, entertaining, decision making, mommy doing, and everything else that life feeds to it's hungry. I love life, I really do, I feel fortunate to be as active and as busy as I am but lately I feel as if at the end of every single day my head is going to explode with sheer stress. I snap at the simplest of questions or requests made by family. Just the other day I overheard my little sister whisper to my husband

"shhh, don't bother her when she is writing." (I just happened to be on the computer). And watched them both back away from my ice cold exterior.

I have messages piled up from dear friends wondering how I am holding up and what the latest news is, but instead of calling back I find myself just angry that there is not more time in the day to talk to them for hours on end.

As I was driving to and from today I listened to John Lennon in all wisdom sing

Life is what happens to you while your busy making other plans.

I had heard this line, this song a million times before but today John did not sing it to me, he yelled it. He yelled it loud. My whole life has been about plans. I love to be busy, I love at the end of the day to feel successful as if I have achieved enough, but at what expense? At whose expense?

As I listened to the song I looked in the rear view mirror and saw this;

and then as I was looking through my pictures tonight I found this:
and I realized that John was right. Life was happening to me right this second. These two girls are starting to form a relationship and if I am not careful I am going to miss it. So although there is much to be said, many pictures and weddings to blog about- that will have to wait. Because tonight this is on my mind. This life that I lead, these two girls that I raise are the ones I am thinking about.

Oh be still my heart.

Please slow down.

I adore you two.

It's Mine.

2009-05-28T04:46:00.000-07:00

A year ago I walked into this store and saw a couch. It was the couch. It was my couch.

I loved it.

I thought about it for an entire year..

and

then

on memorial day

while my husband was golfing...

I walked back into that same store and I..

Bought it.

Behaving badly

2009-05-27T18:59:00.000-07:00

Last week when I went to pick up Abigail from school her teacher pulled me aside and said

"I understand Abigail's uncles are coming tomorrow."

I was totally shocked. I had mentioned this to Abigail but only once and that was to avoid the constant questions such as when, when and when.

but before I could answer, Abigail had already heard our conversation and decided to chime in.

"And baby Gabe, and Connor boys, and Mary, and Dayna are all coming too!"

I laughed...

"Her cousins and aunties" I explained. "and yes her uncles are coming, they all fly in tomorrow morning. She gets so excited when the family is all together."

The teacher looked at me.

"Yes, well um, she had a really hard time listening today. I think she just must be overly excited."

I paused.

"You should see us when we are all together." I responded smugly.

and grabbed Abigail's hand and walked away.

and this Miss. teacher

is one of Abigail's uncles.

and he is very overprotective might I add.

Very, very.

It was an amazing weekend!

I miss you all already.

Three Worlds

2009-05-27T17:43:00.001-07:00

Last Wednesday afternoon I sat in the historical Beacon theater in downtown Manhattan and watched my 52 year old mother walk across the stage to receive her masters diploma from Columbia University. Emotions flowed freely from all six of her children as we watched her 5'1 frame slowly make it's way across the stage to shake hands with the dean of Columbia and earn her masters degree in social work. We could not help but go wild as her name was announced. A standing ovation from the row of her biggest fans moved her to tears as well as I. She turned her blond head around and waved wildly. Time stood still as I witnessed my mama bear achieve something so amazing, so unpredictable and so...well...insane. Insane in a very, very good way.

As the Dean of the program spoke to those in attendance I was struck by something that she said. "One who masters in social work has two worlds. One for themselves and one for their patients." I thought hard as I sat and listened to this statement. I looked around at all of the students that were there. They were polished and young. They had perfect figures and non wrinkled skin. I was proud of them for giving of themselves so freely to others. But then I looked over at my mom, she certainly looked out of place. She was older, wiser, and calmer. Her face was not wrinkle free but worn with experience. I realized that actually this particular student who mastered in social work had not two but three worlds.

World one was of us. Her family, her husband, her six children, and her four grandchildren. In these 18 months while writing endless papers, helping countless patients, and pulling all nighters, she married one son off (with three receptions might I add), brought one son home from a mission, welcomed a new grand baby into the world, helped a daughter move, gave another daughter a sweet sixteen bash, attended events for my fathers work, sent out Christmas cards, and attended family reunions. This is just the short list.

World two is in fact for her patients. She loved them, cared for them, thought of them, and I know that in the quiet of the night prayed for them. I know that she still thinks of them often and I know that most of them had never received a candy bar poster until they had met my mom.

and

World three is a world that my mom does not know. That is a world for herself. When she discovered that her home would soon be empty of those whom she had spent the last thirty years of her life serving she quickly found a way in which she could educate herself to keep on serving. Social work is the complete and total act of giving of oneself everyday and I couldn't think of anyone more up for the task.

And so now, my mom, the woman who carried me 29 years ago, will now combine her three worlds to make the world her own.

Go for it mom. I couldn't be prouder.

It's Official

2009-05-19T18:19:00.000-07:00

I am a buyer and brand rep for Pampolina Childrens Clothing. This is a huge company in Europe but I will be helping with the transition to the blessed US of A.
Wish me luck!

A Conversation Before Prom

2009-05-16T05:45:00.000-07:00

I had much weighing heavy on my mind as I helped my little sister get ready for her first prom. I wanted to tell her to behave, to not let the senior boy driving her drink or disrespect her, to not pay attention to mean girls, and of course to have fun...

But unfortunately I watched Grey's Anatomy the night before and I had to get something off my chest.

"Lily, I need to tell you something." I said trying to grab her attention as she adjusted the straps to her gown.

"what?" she said back.

"If I die and I am not saying I am going to anytime soon, but if for some freak of a reason I do, I don't want to be buried I was to be cremated, and I want my ashes spread on Baldy Mountain, I want Consider the Lilies sung at my funeral and afterwards I want a big dance party and I don't want anyone to cry, especially my girls...because I wouldn't be able to handle watching that. I want it to be happy occasion."

I expected Lily to respond with a typical teenage response like

Are you kidding me? Or are you seriously brining this up right now? Or my personal favorite. Why are you so weird?

Instead; not missing a beat she said;

"Ok well if I die before you which we know won't happen but if I do I don't want to be cremated, I want a pink casket and my tomb stone should say 'hot mama, because by then I will have had children....oh and maybe some sort of cool fringe on the casket as well.. and I like EFY songs..."

There was silence....

and then complete laughter.

There in her room as she slipped on her glass slippers for the ball, my sister and I had just had a conversation that all must have at some point in their lives. We did it quick. We made it simple. Then we moved on. It's over, she knows what I want, I know what she wants. There were no tears, only laughter.

And as I watched her drive away in a convertible porch with a boy I had only just met moments before I felt this overwhelming feeling of protectiveness, as only a big sister could.

And I was glad we had just had that conversation before prom even if it stemmed from nothing but a ridiculous overly dramatized TV show.

at least it was had.

Afterthought...Any opinions on being cremated in my religion I would love to know. And if you know where to get a pink casket contact www.csillylily.blogspot.com. Thanks.

Chrisette

2009-05-13T04:54:00.000-07:00

My newest obsession in music is Chrisette Michele. She is incredible and follows the same sound and genre as Estelle and Adelle, but she is better, more original and actually has been around longer then either of the other two.

Plus she's got soul.

Check her out.

For beginners download Mr. Right, Be Ok and my personal favorite, Your Joy.

Afterthought...

Mom, you would love her AND approve (she's not like Katy Perry, I promise)

Acceptance

2009-05-10T18:03:00.000-07:00

You can wake up early to shower and blow dry your hair.
You can dress your girls in their brand new dresses complete with new shoes.
You can make sure you have everything organized and ready the night before in order to have Time in the morning to take mothers day pictures...
But...

Part of being a mother is accepting you will never get the perfect shot.

Happy Mothers day.

Becoming her

2009-05-10T14:51:00.000-07:00

My mother and Grandmother on her wedding day, 1977

I remember the very first time I discovered I was becoming my mother.

I was 18 years old and had just moved across the country to start college. I was anxiety
ridden, full of doubts, and scared to death. I know that most girls cannot wait to leave home and tear up the town but I was the opposite. I cried on my moms lap the entire plane ride. She will still tell you to this day that leaving me in my dorm was one of the hardest things she, at the time had ever done.

Fast forward three months. I was driving in my car down University Avenue changing the radio stations. I pressed the seek button right in time for the beginning of Close to you by The Carpenters. I changed the channel. I mean who besides my mom actually still listened to the Carpenters...but after a moment I went back. I went back to the station with the old school music and listened to the entire song. This music that I was raised on was actually not bad. I found myself enjoying the song, but more so enjoying the feeling that my mom was right there in the front seat singing a long with me, cheering me on, telling me I could do it.

and I realized two things.

I indeed did liked Karen Carpenter AND

I was more like my mother then I thought.

These certain occasions would later become very common and now as a mother of two I am finding them occur every single day. I remember when I thought I was the first one to discover how great a dance party at the end of the day with your kids can be. I called my mom to brag about my genius. My mother who had, had my older brother and I only 16 months apart faced the same battles as I am facing now. A husband who works long hours. She was far away from family, siblings and friends and had to find small ways to entertain us. She too had dance parties every single night with my older brother and I.

"Oh I did that with you and Spencer!" she said.

"You did?" I asked shocked.

"Every night" she replied.

And I thought I was the clever one. Little did I know it was actually instilled in me.

From the books I read to the way I raise and protect my children I feel so incredibly lucky to becoming her, my mother.

It is often said that you cannot fully appreciate your mother until you have children of your own. I actually disagree with this. I fully appreciated that moment in the car when I realized how alike we were, how much I was becoming her

and how happy it made me.

12 Minutes

2009-05-06T21:05:00.001-07:00

I had a moment today.

I had just finished getting the girls ready and was headed down the stairs to get myself somewhat presentable before the craziness of the day had set in. I knew that I had exactly 12 minutes to accomplish this task. But as I turned to walk down the stairs something told me to stop. My entire being told me to just pause, take a moment and stop.

So I did.

I turned around and saw two girls. Two beautiful girls. One smaller then the other, both alike in so many ways yet so different. My eyes focused on Molly. I stared at her as if I was seeing her for the first time and at that moment, she was Abigail. She was the spitting image of my Abigail exactly two years and nine months before. The blond hair glowing from the glass on the window, the pink bow perfectly resting on top of her head, her walk, her talk, the way she smiled.

I felt myself slowly drifting back through time.

But then...

My eyes wondered again to the four year old standing beside her and I realized right then and there how fast the moments go. I felt a familiar pain in my stomach. The pain of a mother realizing that life is spinning by her and there is not a thing she can do about it.

So instead of using the precious 12 minutes of me time

I stood there for those 12 minutes and watched

and went about my day unpolished and unready

and it was worth every minute.

A Room Somewhere

2009-05-05T13:18:00.001-07:00

I don't know if I will ever become one of those bloggers who post a list of their daily inspirations on the side of their homepage, BUT it does not mean that I don't love some of the amazing talent that is out there.

Right now I am really loving a room somewhere. This blog is clean, crisp and to the point. Her daily finds are one of a kind and she has amazing style.

Oh and did I mention she has Judy Garland giveaways? Over the rainbow brilliant!

Like I said...one of a kind.

Shoe Therapy

2009-05-04T19:36:00.000-07:00

P.S. I have been so busy focusing on the negative of that day, that I completely forgot the amazing power of shoe therapy. May I present.....

These shoes.

I would like the world to know (or my 7 readers) that I saw these shoes last year BEFORE Heidi Klum and was never able to get a pair after she sported them around town.

This year, I was one of the first to buy them.

They are truly scrumptious indeed.

Goodnight Elizabeth

2009-05-04T18:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Elizabeth,

First of all I would like to thank you for commenting on my blog, even though like you said yourself you are not "generally a commenter." I know that it must have taken some serious courage on your part to step up to the plate especially when you yourself do not even know me, myself, Katie girl. I appreciate it very much. (Unless of course I do know you and you are keeping your identity from me on purpose, that would be annoying).

Secondly you need to know that I actually was not at all offended by your comment. Surprised by your honesty maybe, but not offended. I knew that by opening the conversation and asking for all advice and perspectives I may get some negative feedback as well as positive. I asked for it. Ask and ye shall receive. I did however like how you ended your thoughts with a compliment...

Thanks for always posting such inspirational thoughts!" -Elizabeth

That made me feel good. Thank you. Had you not, I might not be writing this letter to you.

Thirdly and lastly, thank you to my overprotective family and dear friends who jumped in to not only defend me, but to defend mothers like me everywhere who have to endure rude females such as the latte witch (aka Starbucks woman). I adore you all. Your loyalty is something that others probably only dream of. Thank you for your perspectives as mothers, cousins, and aunties and thank you for defending my ever lovable, squealing Abigail.

I have a feeling this discussion is not over. It will continue just like all good debates should, and in the meantime, I will continue to enjoy my role as a mother and seek to understand those who do not share in the joy of that role.

and Elizabeth...

my promise to you is to

be more aware of my children next time in public

if you promise me to

stop and enjoy the squeals (every one in a while at least).

It really is one of life's greatest sounds.

Goodnight.

No Compassion at Starbucks.

2009-05-02T17:24:00.001-07:00

I have had many friends in the past year tell me different stories of women (mainly older) who have at some point questioned the way they raise their children. Whenever I hear such stories I always cringe at the way that these older women treat these mothers (my friends). I picture myself in the situation with my friends and saying exactly what they need to hear, which, lets face it is to graphic for a blog post.

The stories always vary, some worse then others, but the one thing that every story has in common is the hurt in my friends voices when they retell the nightmare. They are heartbroken. To have someone question your abilities at something you work so hard on every single minute of every single day is the biggest blow to a mothers heart.

Oddly enough I had never had it happen to me

until today...

It was a lovely spring day. The kind that is picturesque in my New England town. My husband was taking a much needed and much deserved golfing hiatus. I decided to take the girls into town for some shoe shopping therapy. After fully satisfied on shoes we decided to sit outside at the local Starbucks for ice tea (caffeine free) and chocolate milk for the girls. After the chocolate milk was consumed Abigail decided to walk around the tables. Walking turned in running and laughing and squealing. (remember we were outside). All of the sudden I heard an older woman sitting in the corner say

"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Abigail looked confused, then sad.

Lily turned to me and said

"wait did that woman just tell Abigail to be quiet?"

'I don't know" I said. But I knew darn well, that yes indeed that woman just told my daughter to be quiet OUTSIDE.

We picked up our things and headed to the car. But I stopped. I handed Molly to Lily and told her to watch the girls and that I would be right back.

Whether or not the decision that I made next was right or wrong is the reason I am writing this post.

I walked right up to her and her husband and said the following.

"I am sorry to bother you, but I overheard you telling my daughter to be quiet. I have two problems with that. First of all you are at an outdoor cafe where there are plenty of other children, and dogs running around, and secondly you have no right to tell my daughter what she can and cannot do."

Her reply was as follows; "Well maybe you should raise your children to better behaved and then I would not have to tell them what to do."

I was sure at that moment that the pain in my heart was so strong, this nasty woman could see actually see it.

"do you have kids?" I asked

"That's none of your business." she said.

"And it is none of your buisness how I raise my children." and fighting back tears through my big sun glasses I walked away.

As I walked away, her husband yelled something at me that I do not and won't print.

Mothers I need your help here.

Was I wrong to walk back over to this woman and express my feelings to her?

Did I immediately put her on the defense?

Was I wrong for letting Abigail roam around outside while Lily and I finished our drinks?

Is there a way to deal with these kind of women and if so, how? How do we as mothers handle complete strangers who feel the need to tell us how to do our job or feel the need to point out the whens, hows and whats of our job?

I have always taught Abigial that hate is a really strong, ugly word...

but I kind of hate these kind of women...

Advice...anyone?

P.S. for an amazing story of a dear friend of mine and how she dealt with one of these oh so pleasant women...go here.

It's a Revolution

2009-04-29T18:40:00.001-07:00

Last Saturday night I was standing in an area known as "the pit" in a sold out arena listening to Taylor Swift sing her last song of the night. I, a 29 year old mother of two had literally lost my voice from screaming, laughing and singing so loud. She closed the night with track 13 on her latest album Fearless. The song, entitled Change was being belted from her tiny frame. The crowd was on their feet and in the background hung two jumbo screens that showed clips of the latest and most recent news devastating our country. Scenes of businesses closing, homes in foreclosure and the homeless wondering the street were present while Taylor sang these words

Because these things will change

Can you feel it now

These walls that they put up to hold us back will fall down

It's a revolution

The time will come for us to finally win....

I took a moment to look around at the faces of grandparents, parents, teenagers, and even younger watching the footage on the screen. Arms in the air swayed back and forth per Taylor's request and there was an indescribable hope in the air. I, a victim of the Britney Spears and Christina Aguliera era was refreshed. Indeed it was a revolution.

Good girls are back.

And I am so happy about it.
This girl is squeaky clean and makes being a geek seem desirable. She is honest, sweet, genuine and oh by the way can sing like no ones business. Her ability to put down how she feels on paper and transform it into a song is what sets her apart from others. She wears purple dresses with bows and cowboy boots, she talks of being burned over and over by boys but still believes in fairytales. She sings about best friends named Abigail and running through pumpkin patches with her mom. She is inspiring to say the least and oh..did I mention how sweet she is.
For the low down on meeting her, go here. I can't beat that post.

Now for the pictures: Enjoy....

I am happy to report that I have officially gone Country. I will never and no longer dismiss this genre of music even if my husband tries to change my mind.

I told you...

It's a revolution.

Happy National Sister Day.

2009-04-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

No one can prepare you for becoming a first time mother and

No one can quite prepare you for becoming a sister for the first time either.

When I was 13 years old the phone rang and I watched my older brother smile and hand the phone to me...

My nerves were unraveling. After all I had waited all morning to hear the news. After 13 years, four brothers, numerous bruises and embarrassing moments caused by all of them was I ever too have a sister? A sister. I could barely say the word.

"Katie?" my dad said.

I remember I could not even reply.

"honey?" he said again making sure I was there.

"Yes, I am here." I finally spoke up.

I waited for the news, although I had already convinced myself this was to be another boy. I had practiced my happy laugh when my dad told me that I had another little brother. I had even practiced the smile and thumbs up I gave my mom when I walked into the hospital. It was ok, I had good friends, good cousins, amazing aunties, and a mother that most would only dream of. I had convinced myself I would be ok if I never got a sister.

"It's a girl." he said quietly. "you have a sister."

At such a young age I remember specifically never feeling such a rush of emotion in my entire life. I cried tears of happiness for the first time. I didn't even know that tears through happiness existed until that day.

16 years later, she is my best friend.

I love you Lily.

Happy National Sister Day.

(thanks Linds for reminding us of such a special day)

Fabulous Floral

2009-04-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

Whenever a new season approaches I wait in anticipation for the new look. When the March edition of Vogue did a spread on blue and white sailor prints I was totally disappointed. Had we not seen this a million times before? No more preppy boring! But....I was being a tad too quick to judge. Within a month the trend had changed and the lay out of magazines and run ways had changed too

Florals.

Yes! Something with spunk, freedom and feminine beauty. Blue and White is still in (the Tory Burch collection is adorable) and you will see it everywhere, but I prefer the other. Just this past weekend I was in St. Louis shopping with my mom and every time I picked up an item (mainly floral) I heard my mom say "that looks like something I wore in the 70's." Well then she should have kept her stuff because it is back and better then ever. Here are my must haves, and some that I will just have recession dreams about.

Enjoy
DVF on the runway. Love this for the beach with my lil petites. The dress, not the head piece.
When Carras and I lived in London I worked at the Liberty department store. On my lunch break I would walk into the fabric room just to stare. I literally had to practice breathing techniques before entering.

Carrie Bradshaw apartment from Sex in the City. Ode to couches!

J.Crew floral pumps, and now on sale!

Nanette Lepore spring coat. Only problem is the fabric, swede..I would have actually bought it had it been in cotton.

"I'd rather have roses on my table then diamonds on my neck"-Emma Goldman

Let it Shine

2009-04-23T12:40:00.000-07:00

Growing up my family had a mission statement. It was something written by us, for us. I remember the Sunday night my dad called the family down to the living room for a family home evening.

"Tonight we are going to write our family mission statement." he announced

The groans and moans came. Hours would rather be spent on the phone with friends, watching movies or sleeping (this was back when there was no.. gasp internet)! We had no idea exactly what he meant but we knew that it meant it was going to take time, brain power and concentration, for nothing would be acceptable unless perfect.

"A mission statement" he explained "is a statement that represents us as a family. It will outline what we stand for, our ultimate goals as a family unit who we are as people and how we will treat others especially each other."

This was going to be much harder than I thought. Pencils were handed out and directions were given. Firstly we had to come up with words. Random words that described traits and characteristics of a "good" person. Second, take those words and incorporate them in sentences, then paragraphs, therefore forming our family mission statement.

We pushed onward and came up with words like happiness, encouraging, kind, gospel, father in heaven, and foundation. From these words (and after a couple of hours) we formed a family mission statement. This statement later hung in our home for us to see every time we entered It was a constant reminder of what we stood for as individuals and how we were to treat others especially each other.

Last year Carras and I decided we too wanted a family mission statement. But sitting on a couch with a 3 year old and a new born was a little different then 6 crazed siblings. As we looked at each other blankly I got the feeling that maybe we were getting ahead of ourselves. I mean really- who in their right mind had a mission statement so early on in life!?

The night ended in laughter and the idea faded away to our "to do" list much later on in life.

But then last December I was window shopping trying to come up with the perfect gifts for the perfect people in my life and I saw it. It was black, it was canvas and painted in eligible letters was my family mission statement. It was the mission statement that Carras and I tried a year earlier to create. It was simple, but for this time in our lives, when our children are young; simple was exactly what we needed.

The antique sign read;

This little light
OF MINE
I'm going to let
IT SHINE
Everywhere I Go
I'm Going to Let
IT SHINE
All in my house
I'm going to Let
IT SHINE
I'm just going to
LET IT SHINE
Out in the Dark
I'm Going to Let
IT SHINE
Let It Shine
Let It Shine
Let It Shine

I asked the price and thought in through. I thought of Abigail and how easily she could understand the words "let your light shine." I thought of the scripture reference "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and Glorify your father which is in heaven"Matthew 5. I read the words again. "All in my house, I 'm going to let it shine." Could there be a more important place then your home to let your light shine? This simple message seemed to incorporate everything I wanted my girls to understand at their young, innocent age. Give, love, treat others well, be kind, be yourself, and be strong. I then thought of the exact wall, the exact spot in my home where it would hang.

I ordered it on the spot, and three weeks later it came. As we hung our new family mission statement I taught Abigail the song that goes along with the words. We hammered, and sang away until it was finally placed right. I looked at her and she smiled, and I saw her light.

We have since moved from this house and Abigail asked me today where our "light sign" was.

"It is waiting for our new house", I responded.

"Oh! So it gets to come with us?" she questioned.

"Of course" I said laughing. "why?"

"I miss it" she said quietly. "I miss that light song."

So tonight I sang the light song as she softly drifted to sleep with a wet braid. And I as I turned to leave the room, I switched the light off leaving the room dark, except for a little silhouette asleep in bed that shone brighter then ever before.

Sing A Bye Baby

2009-04-23T08:48:00.000-07:00

If you are going to host a baby shower might I suggest.....

Frozen Margaritas..

Karaoke to such classics such as forever you girl, and beat it.

a dance party.....I love watching my fellow mothers let loose...if only our kiddies could see us now...
a husband who brings out the strobe lights....thanks Brian
and tons of laughter
I believe that this was the perfect way to introduce baby Hunter to his dear mothers friends...Good luck to you Kate. We love you.

Love Story

2009-04-21T09:04:00.001-07:00

Our wedding day, summer 2001

My love story with Taylor Swift began last December when I heard her version of Silent Night. The song stayed on repeat in my kitchen throughout the winter season. Most Christmas songs get old and boring. Once January rolls around you are usually ready to call CUT and put all Christmas music away, but I was so in love with the song that I decided to open myself up to the teen world of music or to (heaven forbid) country.

I liked what I found and am not ashamed to admit Love Story has now become one of my top 10 running songs. Perhaps because it reminds me of my own love story...not that my parents forbad me to see Carras (they loved him) but because when he really did ask me to marry him he said word for word

"I love you and that's all I need to know. Katie Just say yes." The words still give me chills and when I hear Taylor sing it, I of course feel like she is singing it for me. Ironically enough it is also the only song that calms my little Molly. In her car seat or after a long day she will clap her hands, and sway to the beat. Maybe she knows Taylor is singing about her mommy and daddy.

This weekend me and thousand of other screaming 16 year olds including my sister get to attend a Taylor Swift concert and rumor has it we even get to meet her...

Do you think I should tell her that I really do believe the song is written about Carras and I?

Taylor.... just say Yes.