We got home around 8:30pm and I went out to check the mail in the dusky neighborhood. Looked down and saw my very thirsty hydrangeas and looked further and saw my shriveling roses and looked even farther and saw the ground cracking under the blades of grass. It is dry. Turned the slow soaker hose on (so glad I put those in the front yard this year—thanks LoAnn for that suggestion years ago) and decided to meander through the cool grass and gaze at the dusky flowers. Picked a piece of lavender, a nice and full stalk of fuzzy purple blooms and here I hold it in my hand as a token of peace to my melancholy soul. The scent puts me at ease for some reason.

Today is my mother’s birthday—July 23rd! I am partial to the 23rd, for my birthday lands on it as well. It was my basketball jersey number in high school and well, it’s just a nice number. Upon leaving our meeting tonight, I used the restroom where they have very earthy scented soaps and lotions in there. In honor of my mom, I put on a generous amount of patchouli scented lotion as I left. Thinking about you, Ma, on a day I celebrate you being born.

Earlier this evening, we were driving down the Amstutz–a mini little expressway of sorts in Waukegan and North Chicago–and right before my eyes the SUV blazing ahead threw out of their window not just one piece of trash, but a whole handful of debris. What the hell is up with that? I wanted to get out of my car so badly at the next stop light, stomp up to their window and chew their ass out (I know…kind of bad ass living in the hood like of me), but who the hell taught them to do that? Who gave them the right to just throw their garbage out the window driving down the expressway? It is one thing to be walking down the street and see litter and choose to not pick it up. Or another thing to be getting out of your car and a gum wrapper sneaks out of your car as a gust of wind takes it away and you choose not to go chasing after it. But to purposefully say to yourself, “Um, I think I am done with this cheeseburger wrapper…um, I guess I will just pitch it out the window.” What the hell? Do I live among such hoodlums and riff raff that don’t give a rats ass about their neighborhood, their city, their world? Can you tell I have a little angst about this? The only reason I didn’t get out of my car at that stoplight is that it might be very likely they would have a gun in their car and would use it on me. Well, maybe not entirely likely, but possible. One of these days I will get out of my car…you just wait and see. Hurumph!

I spent another day trying to stay out of the politics of other peoples affairs at work. Does any one else find this hard to do? I am such a caretaker to a fault that I have this serious over-responsibility muscle (as my massage therapist likes to call it) and I feel a strong urge to take care of other people’s problems. I have to consciously keep my nose out and let them feel their own problems, stand up for themselves, hash out their own disputes, resolve their own conflicts. And some days I just feel dragged into it and have to consciously say, “NO! Mind your own business, Shanel. Look straight ahead, keep your mouth shut and do your work!” Kind of silly, but necessary. Even today, this one nurse tried dragging me into the affairs of another stressed out, can’t say no, in a tizzy sort of a nurse. She comes up to my desk where I am happily minding my own business and says, “Shanel, can I ask you a favor?” I look up at her, wary, “Sure.” She says in a whisper, “Could you offer to help Dory*? She seems overwhelmed.” I shake my head in unbelief. I won’t get into the rest of the story, but it proves to illustrate how easy my over-responsibility muscle gets flexed. [And a word to the wise, if you have one of these muscles, don't let the massage therapist apply any pressure to your armpits cuz that is where it is located.]

Audrey and I drove to school and to work this morning in the “new car”. It has a sunroof which was open considering it was an absolutely stunning morning. And AA was in awe every time she saw the moon. Well, she calls it “moona”–like she is some Italian or something. She pointed out moona at least 50 times driving to school. No exaggeration.

Lastly, I realized tonight some of why going to church is hard for me. I thought it had mostly to do with being reminded of all that I have lost in being a part of the Martens’ family. Seeing all the siblings and wives and little Elliott. Seeing dear LoAnn. Not seeing Roy. But I am recognizing that there are many more layers of the loss of family I am experiencing. Not just the Martens’; sure, that is the biggest sore spot right now. Being a part of the Martens’ used to be this thing people in our church held up as an honor, a coveted position, a family where people wanted to be included—and it was that. But that has changed and I feel pushed further to the edges of our church community because…well, I think a lot of it is people feel uncomfortable, like maybe they don’t know what to do with us or how to understand what has happened. This is not the point I am wanting to make; I feel myself digressing. The point I wanted to make is this: the other layers of losing family started before the uprooting of the great ol’ oak of the Martens’ tree. Before Audrey was born, I found myself pulling out and back, some out of necessity, some out of instinct (women do this right before they give birth) and then when she was finally born, out of self protection. And over time, with the birth of my daughter and the uprooting of this marvelous tree I have found myself on the outskirts of a family I so dearly treasured and loved belonging to, one where I felt myself gravitating to the center of. I have been propelling like a flywheel with all sorts of pain and grief to the outer corners of my church family. Tonight, I am simply feeling the multiple layers of loss of my church family. Just feeling it. Not trying to fix it, sort it, understand it. Just feeling it.

And lastly, the little things. Glad for sparkling water with a wedge of lime in a lovely glass.

Sweet dreams, little ones.

As we prepare for baby #2, aka Vanilla bean, we have thought through some things we need to help Audrey with prior to Vanilla Bean arriving.

Like, potty training. Getting rid of the pacifier. Moving to the big bed and out of the crib. Those sorts of things. We did the bed a few months ago and that has gone well. Not too much wandering out of the bed. However, I did hear her walk downstairs early this morning and then back up the stairs before I said, “Audrey?”

But our big accomplishment—> we have successfully gone seven days without using the nana, as Audrey affectionately calls the pacifier. Let me clarify: I have reduced the use of the nana to only at nap time and bed time. She has some serious withdrawal from the nana kind of like me when I try to not eat sugar. Not pleasant. And I think she is genuinely experiencing a psycho/biological withdrawal where she doesn’t know how to comfort herself except through her mouth. Oh dear. I held her for a good twenty minutes the other day as she was in such despair over the nana she dropped and I had hid away when she wasn’t looking. We eventually ended up trading evil for evil and broke down and watched an episode of Arthur snuggled on the couch. Oh well.

Next is potty training.

My dad and little Ruth Anne meeting for the first time.

…looking through very old pictures, that is, I stumbled across these you might enjoy. Prom, known to us Monte Vista Christian High School Alumni’s, as the Junior-Senior Banquet.

My junior year I went with Tom H. I borrowed a reeddd dress from someone and felt super sexy and pretty. I love my poofy hair; I think my mom did my hair and she was still stuck in the eighties with feathered hair and such. After the banquet, I remember going back to Hilary’s with her date and we all watched What About Bob in her parent’s living room. Real tame.

My senior year I was no longer dating Tom (which was a good thing) and didn’t have a boyfriend. So I worked up the courage to ask an older boy in our church, Sam. He had already graduated from high school. I don’t think I had a crush on him, but thought highly of him. This year, my mom made my prom dress. It was so lovely–deep green satin crafted into a stunning modern wedding gown design. I loved it. I felt elegant and lovely this year.

This year was a bit odd because my ex boyfriend, Tom, asked my sister to go with him to the prom. Oh well.