What a HOOT!!

Our Lucy is four. And she couldn't be a happier, more delightful child. We're celebrating today with our grandparents. Happy birthday to our darling little Lucy, who is even brighter than the bright sparkling sunshine we are blessed with today.

Summer Sunshine

At long last, summer has arrived in Portland. We now busier than busy playing at the park, swinging on our frontyard swing, and splashing in the kiddie pool (yes, it's only 75 degrees, but that seems unbearably HOT to two little girls who have been subjected to 55 degrees & rain for months).

Summer, we love you. Please stick around.

First Grade, First Grade!

Miss Mary has officially graduated from kindergarten.

To the tune of Frank Sinatra's, New York, New York, the kindergarten class sang to the audience, "Start spreading the news. We're leaving today.... We're gonna be a part of it, First Grade, First Grade!"

Absolutely, positively fabulous!

The missing piece

My neighbor Susie has a Shel Silverstein book called, "The Missing Piece." It's the tale of a little shape traveling around searching for its missing piece, and she's read it with Mary and Lucy a few times. They delight in the prose, and repeat it often.

For the past two years, I've felt as though our life had a missing piece. I would take the girls to school, and turn to bring a younger sibling home with me, only to discover I didn't have one. I would see mamas toting babies and get that pang of desire for my own little papoose. Pregnant bellies became like magnets for my hands. The feeling grew stronger and stronger until finally I could deny it no more. We should have another baby. Curtis enthusiastically agreed. Practicality weighed in, and I could persuade myself and Curtis that our life, our house, our car weren't ideal for another baby. But then, I would get another missing piece moment and realize that sometimes the heart outweighs practicality.

And so, we got pregnant in April. With a due date of January 17, a special day for our family because it is our beloved Great-Papa's birthday. The minute we knew, we were overjoyed. We did tricky wine-glass rearranging so as not to raise suspicions. We began our debate over which of us should have naming privileges. We plotted our home remodel project, and researched larger vehicles.

I felt great. I felt too great. In nine weeks of pregnancy, I had only three hours of queasiness. At our first appointment on Monday, the baby was measuring small but had that ever-important heartbeat. The ultrasound screen showed a little blueberry with two small eye sockets, staring straight at me, and that beautiful beating heart whooshing away. The doctor expressed concern about the baby's size, and asked to see us back in a week to make sure things were all right. And then late Thursday night, it became very clear that things were not right at all. At 2am on Friday, an ultrasound confirmed that the baby's heart was no longer beating. And I am utterly, completely devastated.

Perhaps this is too personal to share on a blog where I usually write only of the kids' antics and birthday celebrations and my latest gardening failures. We hadn't announced the pregnancy, so I'm sure this comes as quite a surprise. I'm not up to phone calls quite yet, so I apologize for not being able to tell my close loved ones about this personally. But there is a huge part of my heart missing, and I cannot imagine keeping that hidden away. I cannot fathom why miscarriages are so taboo that we cannot share them and grieve for those lost babies, as we do for others whom we love dearly and lose.

The only thing that I know for certain right now is that our missing piece feels larger than ever.

Sorrow

Today, I arrived at Mary's t-ball game and was greeted by a group of teary-eyed friends. One of them approached, embraced me, and told me that our beloved priest had passed away this afternoon. Very unexpectedly, of a massive heart attack. We are in shock.

Our incredible Fr. Slider has greeted us so warmly into this community. Our first week at St. Agatha, he made a special point of introducing us to several other families so that we would make friends quickly. He went out of his way to get us connected and involved in our new neighborhood. When Mary had her appendix out, he called our home asking how she was and offering support. He was one-of-a-kind. In more ways than one.

He was a married Catholic priest. Yes, married. Because he converted to Catholicism and then decided to become a priest after he was already married, he received special approvals all the way up to the Pope himself. And his wife, Jacque, is our preschool teacher. Beloved as a gentle and wise teacher. She helps our children learn impeccable manners and also teaches them to love art as she helps them create masterpiece after masterpiece, each suitable for framing. She is a treasure. To know she is dealing with the loss of her husband has me literally sick to my stomach.

Tonight, I tried to explain to the girls that Fr. Slider is in heaven. Lucy barraged me with questions. The most notable was: "So when does he come back to live again?" And I said, "Oh, honey, he doesn't. He is in heaven forever now." Her reply: "But Fr. Slider is the one who told me about Jesus dying and coming back again. Doesn't he get to do this, too?"

Oh how I wish! Today our little neighborhood lost an amazing man.

Tadpole Trekking

Despite all of the rain (oh, yes, there's still rain here. Mother Nature apparently takes revenge when you divulge secrets), we had a fabulous weekend. Time with friends, a family-room-floor picnic (did I mention it was rainy?) with Gram and Papa, and during the nicest stretch of weather, a trek down to the tadpole pond at Oaks Bottom. The girls loved seeing the little almost-froglets.

We capped the weekend off with some sunshine. And some bike racing down the street with our gang-- the fantastic four who live next door. What a crew!