Yeah, that’s right Tuesday. You sucked. Pretty much from the moment I met you yesterday (around 6 am if I remember correctly).

Nothing worked right. The computer was slow, the phone kept dropping calls. Your only saving grace in that category is that my trusted coffee pot never faltered.

Nothing went the way I wanted it to. The painting isn’t going to happen, they gave away my moving truck (how does that even HAPPEN?) and so-and-s0 is mad at me. Again.

There was nothing good on TV. Because, well, it’s Tuesday night. I can’t remember the last time there was something good on Tuesday nights. So there.

So, yeah, you’re not all that you’re cracked up to be. You were a bad day. A horrible, no good, very bad day. Maybe your younger sibling (next Tuesday) will deliver on some good stuff because your older sibling (last Tuesday) was a helluva lot like you were. Not so good for your family line if I do say so myself.

Not to put any pressure on you, Wednesday, but I hope you don’t suck. Tuesday was awful, so you don’t have a whole lot to lose at this point but I would still appreciate a strong showing. Seriously, bring it.

“I think I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown.” My husband looked at me after this left my mouth and said “Why do you think that?” And I said “I don’t know.”

The truth is I don’t think I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. But I’m not all here. I’m not present.

But I have no idea where I am. Or what’s wrong with me for that matter.

But something is wrong.

Call it depression. Call it a slump. Call it whatever. The fact is, I’m not ok.

I’ve dealt with this before. And I came out of it. Eventually. I don’t remember how exactly, but I did.

Things got better. Things got ok.

But I’m not ok. Why? Yes, I’m probably still rebounding from previous events. I’m probably not over it. And throwing myself into work isn’t helping. That has always been my fall back plan. When in doubt, work. If that doesn’t work, take a nap. If that doesn’t work, leave the house with the kids. One of those three things ALWAYS works.

Except this time. Except now.

So, now what? And to be honest, I’m not looking for an answer from others. I have a feeling this is something I have to discover for myself.

Thank God BlogHer is coming up.

Thank God I get to see my parents in a few days.

Thank God Perckle is coming with me to NYC.

But then what? I’m trying not to think about it. I’m just trying to convince myself to leave the house in a little bit to try again. To try and get my groove back. To try and feel like Angela again. To lose the sadness and the blackness inside that are, quite frankly, suffocating me.

There are those moments in daily life that make you think “Woah, I’m actually a grown up.” There are the obvious ones like going grocery shopping, balancing your check book, paying bills and tucking your kids into bed. But then there are the not-so-obvious moments too. Here are some of mine:

1. Using a garage door opener.
2. Getting the newspaper delivered to my house
3. Buying picture frames (why this one makes me feel that way, I have no idea since I obviously did it before I “grew up” but it does)
4. Mailing birthday cards… on time.
5. Cleaning the dryer lint

What are some random things that make you feel all grown up?

Dear Life,

It’s been a while and we really should catch up a little bit. And probably soon. Because I haven’t laid eyes on you in what feels like forever.

Ok, not REALLY forever, it just FEELS that way.

You must have gotten some new running shoes because I seem to be very behind you these days. Although you are getting craftier.

Those piles of laundry (clean and dirty) seem to appear out of nowhere and you’re so quick, I don’t even hear you leave them in the bedroom.

The dishwasher that always seems to be full… I’m sure you’re behind that too.

The litter box that always needs emptied (*that* little game you can stop ANYTIME because, quite frankly, it’s gross).

You need to stock up on coffee the next time I come around because we’re going to par-tay and catch up and I’m going to sit in your living room with my feet up for HOURS and we’re going to chat the night away. Or at least for 15 minutes.

Because really, that’s all I need everyday. 15 minutes.

15 minutes to feel like I’ve caught up to you.

15 minutes of every dish being washed and every article of clothing clean and put away.

15 minutes of quiet and peach of mind.

15 minutes of a clean house. Ok, an hour would be awesome, but I’m trying not to get greedy.

I’m just not sure when you disappeared, little life of mine. Most likely the day my beautiful girl joined the family, but I’m sure I’ve seen you since then. Haven’t I? Where do you hide when I’m in headless chicken mode? And can I come hide with you?

Anyway, Life, it’s been great chatting with you. I guess this is my 15 minutes today. I hope you’re doing well (it seems like you are) and hopefully we’ll catch up again soon.

Sincerely,

Angela

Mourning, grieving, dealing with loss… it’s all the same thing.

And, quite frankly, it sucks.

Getting ready to celebrate a new life and then in one day, everything changes. You find out there is no heartbeat. That the baby is gone. That you will not be buying little clothes or reassembling a crib. That you will have to make dozens of phone calls to tell everyone the bad news.

That you will be leaving the hospital without a baby in your arms.

For the fourth time.

I’ve never been particularly “good” at mourning. I go through all the stages:

1. Shock and Denial (this can’t be happening to us… again).

2. Pain and Guilt (I thought I did everything right, why us?)

3. Anger and Bargaining (Please, let them be wrong. Please let them be wrong.)

4. Depression (Inevitably, this hits me HARD)

5. The Upward Turn (Maybe, just maybe we’ll get through this)

6. Reconstruction and working through (Ok, what’s next? What can I deal with now?)

7. Acceptance and Hope (We’re going to be ok. We are ok.)

I go through them almost like going through checkpoints on a map. I can genuinely “feel” when I’m going through another stage.

Except this time was different. Because the very next day, I had to start through them again.

My beloved grandfather passed away the day after we got the news. He walked into heaven with my baby in his arms.

It forced me to be with family. It was something I needed although I’ll admit it wasn’t something I really wanted. It forced me to help others, to get out of my own head.

It forced me to deal with it all. At once.

And I’m ok. At least I’m getting there. There is another piece of my heart missing. Four little pieces of what could have been that are somewhere else.

And I take comfort in the little things.

My two healthy children’s laughter.

My husband’s strong hugs.

My work to keep pushing me forward.

A good book I can’t put down.

A good cup of coffee with friends.

And the happiness to know that one day, I will have answers. That one day, I’ll hold those four little ones and understand.

I know without a doubt that the baby was a girl. I knew it from the moment we found out. And we have named her Kerry. Because I don’t like to call my children “it.” Because they deserve to be named. Because I need it for closure. For acceptance.

For the memory of what could have been.

We are moving on. Slowly but surely, we are moving on.

And I’m aware of… well… everything. Hypersensitive to the world around me. To the signs of new life everywhere.

And I don’t want to miss it.

I don’t just mean in terms of blogging (because that’s such an old topic for me to blog about and quite frankly I’m tired of pointing out the obvious fact that I don’t blog as much as I want to). I mean in general.

I’m not entirely certain why. It’s just kind of been a fact of life for me lately. I’ve been spending a lot of time just sitting. And thinking. And wondering. And thinking some more.

But I’m not sure what has grabbed my attention the past few weeks.

Do you ever times like that? Times when silence just seems so much more preferable than noise? When a quiet night on the couch is better than running out to yet another commitment? I don’t know. It’s probably just a time for me to reflect.

But, just like the last few times I’ve been through this, it feels like something more is coming.

Something bigger. Something deeper. Something…. more.

But I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I’ve been thinking about my family, my career, my passions in life. I’ve been reflecting on my goals and how I can never seem to get them all done. But I’ve also thought about how far I’ve come in life. How much I have done in the past few years. And how much more I’m capable of doing in the next few years to come.

It’s just one of those times I guess and writing has always been my companion through each and every one. So here I am with my laptop, trying to make sense of the noise in my head as I eliminate some of the unnecessary noise in everyday life. As I sift through my obligations and decide which ones I need and which ones I don’t.

And above all, just trying to make sense of it all.

But the good news is, it doesn’t have to make sense. Not right now. I just have to be open to whatever opportunities come my way and have the ability to decipher between what I need and what I don’t. What’s best for my family and what isn’t.

And to figure out what I want.

So what do I want? In the past couple weeks I’ve at least figured out these two things:

1. I want to stop procrastinating on those personal things that mean a lot to me (Thank you Crystal for sending me the link to this amazing post by the Bloggess and putting things in perspective).

2. I want to live each day to the fullest, even if it doesn’t always go according to plan.

So, at least I’ve identified those two things. Because if nothing else, it’s a start. And you can’t do anything or go anywhere if you don’t at least start.

I have been glued to the Olympics pretty much every waking moment that it has been acceptable and appropriate to be so (for the most part anyway) and I’ve been in heaven. I love the Olympics. The competition, the back stories, the sheer love of sport… it gets me every time.

But there’s something else that I love the Olympics although it doesn’t get nearly as much hype as say, the Super Bowl.

The Commercials.

There’s always a few in the mix that get me. This year’s winner (and it will be hard to top it, so I’m calling it out now) is P&G. I like the whole “Sponsor of Moms” concept but I LOVE the “They’ll Always be Kids” spot. It makes me cry.

Every time.

Congratulations, P&G, you have turned me into my mother. I’m crying at commercials.

Seven years ago, my husband and I started our journey of being husband and wife. But it definitely wasn’t your typical “wedding.” So, maybe you should hear the whole story.

My husband and I met through mutual friends in August of 2002 and began a whirlwind courtship in October. By New Year’s Eve, we were engaged and we were planning on a fall wedding in 2003. But my husband was in the United States Army Reserves at the time and with everything brewing in Iraq, we both knew that a deployment could happen at anytime.

So, on February 9th of 2003, I was visiting Eric at his dad’s house (we lived 2 1/2 hours apart at the time) when a phone call came in for my husband: Get ready to go to Minnesota. You’re getting activated for deployment.

Thus began a rather hectic week for us. I drove my husband to the airport the next morning (Monday) and tearfully kissed him goodbye. On the way to the airport, we made a huge decision: Let’s get married this week. (My note: My husband says we decided all of this while he was in Minnesota, but I remember it differently.)

I drove back home where my amazing parents helped me plan a wedding. We decided to keep it small and invite our closest friends and a few members of our family. We planned to get married in my parents’ living room and have a small reception dinner at Burgundy’s, a restaurant I used to work at in college in my hometown. The date (through some discussions with family) was set for February 15.

My husband was in Minnesota from Monday until Wednesday and he told me later that they kept changing the dates of his deployment (at one point, he was supposed to leave February 13) but he never told me of all the changes so I wouldn’t panic (good move).

On Tuesday, I bought my wedding dress: a white prom dress and sheer white jacket that cost a total of $35. We invited our friends and family to attend if they could. Also on Tuesday, I made the second phone call to my best friend from high school and left her another message asking her to call me back and let me know if she could be my maid of honor.

On Wednesday, I picked up my husband from the airport in Cleveland and on Thursday, we headed back to Lima to get our marriage license (which had to be expedited due to the unusual circumstances). We had a talk with a Justice of the Peace (who was actually one of my neighbors growing up) and he agreed to come to my parents’ house on Saturday. Thursday night, my husband headed back to the Cleveland area and my mom and I finished arranging things for the wedding (we got a tiered cake, bought a guest book and I picked up my husband’s wedding ring). After making a third call to my best friend from high school, I called my best friend from college and asked her if she would be willing to be my maid of honor. She said yes.

“What should I wear” she asked.

“Whatever you want,” I replied.

“So a blue flower print dress and combat boots is fine?”

“Sure, why not,” I said.

“And it doesn’t matter that I have pink hair?”

“Nope, no problem.”

So, that was taken care of, or so I thought.

Friday came and everything was still getting finalized. My husband had a bachelor party of sorts at Dave & Buster’s (if you’ve never heard of it, it’s kind of like a high-class Chuck E Cheese for adults) and I spent time with family at home. Yet another thing had taken my attention: a blizzard of sorts was brewing over the Buckeye state. And about half of our guests were from the Cleveland area. So now I had to have a backup for a maid of honor. I chose a mutual friend to both me and my husband, AJ, just in case Lindsay couldn’t make it.

Saturday morning and it’s time to get ready. My wonderful friend Adrian did my hair and my veil was the veil I wore in second grade for my First Communion, handmade by my dear Aunt Bea. The storm was still brewing and Lindsay had called to say she was on the road, but that things were going slow. Did we have our back up ready?

Yes, we have a backup.

Except, about 25 minutes later, I got a call saying AJ wouldn’t be able to attend. Her daughter was ill and they were hesitant to get on the road.

So, now I needed a backup to my backup. I chose my soon-to-be-sister-in-law Amy to stand in if necessary.

But, Lindsay showed up at my house about an hour later. And she wasn’t joking when she said she had pink hair. She still looked beautiful and I was grateful that she had made the trip. I finished getting ready and soon after, my husband arrived with his best man. (Yes, I peeked out the window. I don’t believe in superstitions.)

The ceremony was beautiful. My mom did an amazing job turning a living room into a wedding chapel of sorts. The ceremony was short and soon it was official: I was a wife.

Fast forward a couple of days and my husband dropped me off at my parents’ house and headed home (we didn’t live together nor did we have enough to get a place together). We lived apart from each other for nearly six months until Eric went active in the army and we moved to Upstate New York (but that’s for a whole other post).

For a while afterward, I kept thinking that we would have another wedding. A big, traditional wedding with lots of friends and family and dancing and all the fanfare that comes with it. But later I thought “Why?”

Our wedding was simple and yes, a little rushed.

Our wedding was non-traditional and intimate.

Our wedding wasn’t full of pomp and circumstance or fanfare.

But our wedding was perfect for us. And a wedding should be about the bride and groom. So it suited us perfectly.

I don’t need a big wedding to be married. And to be perfectly honest… knowing everything that happened and how differently my actual wedding was from what I dreamed about as a little girl, and knowing that my husband wouldn’t deploy to Iraq until 2005, I would still do it all over again.

In a heartbeat.

I’m so grateful to be married to the man that I’m with. He is my best friend, my soul mate. And yes, we’re untraditional and yes, we tend to do things quickly.

But it suits us. And seven years later, I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to be with.

So the other night we were having some issues with our heater. This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with this situation. We have oil heat, so sometimes we run a little too low or the oil delivery gets delayed by a day or two (while we run out in the meantime). Or the line freezes and we have to thaw it out by pouring hot water on the line and then we have to feed the oil into the heater (sound complicated? That’s because it is).

So, like I said it isn’t the first time that we’ve felt cold and checked the thermostat to see it about five degrees lower than what it should be. And it also isn’t the first time that I’ve woken up and could just tell that the heat was out without even getting out of bed.

But the kids had been sniffling. And I was preparing to head to Blissdom and certainly didn’t want to increase my chances of catching whatever the kids had. So I made an executive decision and packed the kids up and headed to the closest hotel for the night.

And what was the closest hotel? The illustrious Super 8.

Aw yeah. Bring it on!

But here’s the thing. I was really surprised by how nice it was. We had a huge room (about the size of 2 1/2 “normal” rooms in a Super 8 ) and the whole place was really clean. Not luxurious, mind you, but clean.

And it didn’t smell. Major bonus.

Now, my kids have stayed in a fair amount of hotels over their short lives. They have stayed in some pretty gross places with us (which we picked out of sheer desperation, trust me). Like the time that the major ice storm hit Cleveland and we were stuck on the highway and absolutely had to find a place. That wasn’t the greatest experience ever, but we survived. They’ve also stayed in some amazing places while I’ve travelled for work before like Four Seasons Toronto (a gorgeous luxury hotel if you ever get the opportunity).

So there we were at the Super 8, about 10 minutes from my house.

And they loved it. They’re so easy to please. Their favorite part? The mini-fridge in the room.

I hope they never lose their love of the simple things. I hope they always look for the good in any situation. I guess it’s my job to help them along the way. No, that’s not a guess. It’s a fact. It is part of my job. But I think that part of it is inborn. There’s just something about them that naturally gravitates in that direction. I love it. It makes the days easier sometimes.

It’s been over 48 hours since I returned from the glorious haven of the Opryland Resort in Nashville and the Blissdom 2010 Conference and I’m still readjusting to “normal.”

But I’m not normal. Something has changed. Something is different.

I can’t put my finger on it. But it’s there.

And it doesn’t seem to be going away.

I’ve read several posts over the past few days about  revolutions and resolve and refocusing. Yes, all those things are happening here too. But there’s something else.

I’ve heard of new friendships formed, new blogs to read and new things to try. Again, yes to all three. And yet…

It’s more than empowerment. It’s more than permission. It’s more than an awakening.

And, there it is.

It’s Freedom.

Freedom to write in my own voice. Freedom to tell you the stories even if you don’t care. Freedom to share and hold back and share some more.

And that freedom was granted to me by 500 blogging women who shared their struggles over lunch, in elevators and while dropping our kids off in the childcare. It was shared over ice cream with a dear friend who just seems to get me. 500 women all “got” me this past weekend.

And I’m so grateful.

I don’t need to write about the sessions; the ones I attended are here in black and white for you to read.

I don’t need to be the top blogger, the wittiest blogger, the funniest blogger.

But I do need to be me.

And I do need to remember the freedom I just got.

So feel free to remind me. When I start sounding fake. When I start repeating myself. When I stop blogging regularly.

Remind me how good I feel right now. Remind me how this freedom hit me like a ton of bricks. Remind me that writing has always fueled me in the tough times for as long as I can remember. Remind me how much I love words and how it’s practically torturous not to share them, even with the void.

Remind me. And I promise to thank you for it.