About this time each year I would get the infamous phone call from my dad and it would go something like this....

Dad: Amber! How's it going?
Me: Good dad. What's up? (I just asked that to be polite--I knew why he was calling)
Dad: So, uh, what do you and Ryan need for Christmas? What do the girls want?

You never asked for cash because that meant you only got $50 or so because he hated giving cash for Christmas. You see, Christmas was my dad's holiday. I don't even think he knew all of our birthdays, but on Christmas, it was like it was our birthday. And I learned at a very young age that Christmas was the time of year that you could pretty much ask for whatever you wanted and it would probably be given to you. Saddles, full size keyboards, ponies. It was magical at the age of 8 and was still magical at the age of 31. Yeah...there wasn't an age limit to when the BIG gifts stopped. The phone call was as much for me (even at 31) as it was for my girls.

Last year was my dad's last Christmas here on Earth. The cancer was taking it's toll around this time and even though my dad tried his hardest to go out shopping, he only made it to a few stores before he had to retire home and rest. I can only imagine how defeated he felt.

Of all the "firsts," this is the one I have been most dreading. I long for the phone call....long to hear his voice...long for something normal.

Thanks be to God for my siblings and step mom with whom I can laugh and cry at memories past and join together to honor what once was our dad's holiday and make it our own.

My dad was always and is more God's than he was ever mine, and this Christmas, he is in heaven, doing whatever it is they do up there. Living it up, I can only imagine.

I used to be so comfortable singing in front of people and then one day I just wasn't. I don't know what changed --- getting older--insecurities--??
So basically I can sing my heart out in the shower and not miss a note (well, I'm sure Ryan would say differently), and I can sing to the girls without hesitation, but put me on a stage with lights and I shiver and quiver and kinda just want to puke ---especially if I'm gonna sing by myself and then my voice literally goes--like gone--poof-- and I sound like a mouse--squeak,squeak. My prayer always is that when I sing it would not be a distraction to others while they worship. I'm thinking my solo days are over because I seriously can't overcome the stage fright. New phases in life I guess. Gotta go with the punches.

After this week things should settle down and mellow out.

I've said that so many times...and I used to believe it was true. But alas, it is not. Next week there will be something else and the next week something else and that is life, busy, busy, busy.

But I think I am getting better at enjoying the little things more...like sitting and watching a T.V. show with Aspen on my lap, amazed at how little her hands are still...chubby even. It does seem like time stops in those moments. I pray I would be more aware of those moments and take the time to engage in the present, not allowing my list maker mind move me past the moment and onto the busyness of tomorrow that has yet to arrive.

If only balance came in a bottle.

I am created, not Creator.
I am redeemed, not Redeemer.

Simple enough to memorize, but sometimes too complex to imprint on my heart. But this morning I look around our home and I am put in place as created and redeemed.

We sit comfortably on gray leather couches (from mom) while watching our favorite shows on our big screen T.V. (from brother-in-law). My tea cups have a place to rest on little side tables, all thrift store purchased and refurbished by my mom. My bills live in a desk I used as a teenager, now stripped and stained to fit the look of our home.

My girls have bookshelves and a huge storage case, again thrift store purchased by my mom and repainted to fit their room. Our token pet, Beyonce the Bearded Dragon, was even gifted to us.

The bakers rack that houses our pantry items, a gift. The fridge, a gift. Our stove, a gift. Our kitchen table, kitchen desks, window side bench and corner storage unit, all gifts.

Our yard, filled with grass and plants and a beautiful patio, gifts.

Our trailer, a gift.

Items to fill the trailer for desert and lake trips, mostly all gifts.

I am sure I am forgetting many other gifts, but you get the point.

I am created, not Creator.
I am redeemed, not Redeemer.

I haven't seemed to figure out where keeping the sabbath and stay at home mothering mingle. I mean, do I hang my mom, dishwasher, cook, crumb picker-upper, nose wiper, toilet bowl scrubber, office manager, home school teacher, wife hat on the coat rack and call that "sabbath?" No, no. It has to be more elegant than that. Maybe a stay at home mom's sabbath comes in spurts, like the length of a DVR'd show that I sneak a peak at while folding laundry. Or maybe it's a few hours here and there that Ryan takes the girls and leaves me to some peace and quiet. Maybe it's pulling out frozen Costco dinners that just need a few minutes in the microwave before consuming. Like most things God related, I have found that keeping the sabbath is a heart issue, not a specific set of rules to follow. I love this and despise this. A list would be easier to follow (for me, the anal list maker). But I gather I would feel no rest from following a list on how to keep the sabbath (counterproductive I think). Better to ask God, who knows me and all the hats I wear, what my sabbath should look like. I have a hunch he'll say...Costco pre-made dinner, ditch the mop and sponge, pick up a book and sit outside getting in a few nuggets of truth while watching your girls swing on the rope swing.

I am training to run the SB 1/2 Marathon on 11/6. It was either that or sit on the couch and eat bon bons and get fat. A little extreme, I know. But I couldn't handle Tony anymore (aka P90X) and I couldn't seem to motivate myself to workout without some type of goal.

So I am one week into training which included two 4 mile runs, one 2 mile run and one 6 mile run and I have to admit that I feel a little old. I think I underestimated how long ago I trained for the L.A. Marathon, and how, coincidentally, much older that makes me (7 yrs). And I really haven't been on any type of running plan for 1.5 yrs since my discovery of P90X. Long story short, I am feeling it. But it's good to get out and run again, despite my aches and pains.

This will be the year of firsts, is what the people in this special club tell me. How do you join this club? Just have your heart ripped out by losing someone near and dear to you to whatever type of death came his or her way. I told God a while ago that I wanted to rescind my membership...get a refund and go back to life as it once was. Apparently there are no refunds.

Today marks a painful first. My dad's 8th grandchild that he never got to meet will be born at any moment. The grandkids were his life....so this is especially sad.

These are the moments when I wonder about heaven and what goes on up there. Can my dad see and watch what is going on down here? My finite mind says No. My faith in God says Yes.

Here's to another first. Here's to more crying and wrenching of my soul and heart. Here's to being stretched in ways I never really wanted to, and still don't want to.

Lily Leanne, I am so sorry you never got to meet Papa. He would have spoiled you rotten, as he did all the other grandkids.

In February Ryan got me an iPhone. I pretty much used it to text and make phone calls. No apps. No real iPod usage. Just the bare bone basics. Kind of a waste of money. Life was too busy. I didn't have time to go through the 13 GB of music he had downloaded into my iTunes library to decide what I wanted or not.
But, it's 7 months later, and I was tired of Sage asking,"Mom, can we listen to 'If I were a boy?'" and me saying, Nope, that's on dad's phone.
So I spent some time with my computer, like, a lot of time, and I finally created a playlist for the girls equipped with Beyonce and many other lovely songs. Sigh. One fricken moment at a time.

I've been trying to wake up earlier to get some quiet time in the mornings but my kids just keep waking up earlier and earlier. Is this a sick joke? I get all ready with my tea and stack of books and then I hear a door creak and footsteps and "good morning mama," even before I have cracked one of my books. Haha. Such is life these days.

Sent from my phone.

I cant figure it out. For 9 yrs my to do list has remained the same length.
I do, then cross off.
Then life happens, add on.
Do, cross off.
Live life, add on.

Ok. I get it. The list will always be the same damn length.

At least "buy more diapers" isn't on there anymore. Although the diaper days seem, in my mind anyway, much simpler than life now and that makes no sense to me at all.

Sigh.

Back to my list.

Sent from my phone.

Skinny Jeans and Lawn Mowers

No, I cannot eat doughnuts on Sundays after church and still fit into my skinny jeans. Yes, I must work out everyday to fit into my skinny jeans. No, I cannot eat whatever I want if I want to fit into my skinny jeans. Maybe I should get a bigger pair of skinny jeans. Just a thought. But I'm too cheap for that. Not going to buy new clothes just cuz I can't control the food that goes into my mouth, down my throat, and straight to my hips.

My lawn mower (yes, it's mine, this year's bday present at my request) needed an oil change after 8 hrs of use. I pulled it out of the garage the other day to get to business on the lawn and was surprised to see a pool of dirty oil underneath. So, though a bit painful, I got out the manual and Ryan walked me through the oil changing process...and I checked the air filter too. Might be growing a mustache soon.

Maintenance is sometimes annoying, even inconvenient, but nonetheless, necessary.

13 years ago my dad picked me up from my college apartment in Santa Barbara and we headed off, my younger brother in the back seat, to Lake Nacimiento.

My dad and I really hadn't spoken to each other in two years. He had done some jerk things and i, being 18 at the time, wrote him off.
But a counselor had asked me if my dad and I had any common recreational hobbies. Uh...yeah...camping, boating, lakes, etc. So the trip to Naci was planned.
The car ride was awkward but after a few minutes on the water, it all seemed normal.
Then my dad being my dad had heard about this other lake...Lake San Antonio. You could get there from Naci by way of a windy back road. We pulled the boat out and off we went.
We arrived at San Anton, and after my dad caught glimpse of the numerous trees and un-rough waters (even in the afternoon) he was hooked.
And so for 13 years we have gone on a family vacation (all siblings and husbands, one by one, and grandkids, one by one, my dad, Judy and a plethora of other fireman families) to Lake San Antonio.
My dad was the glue for our trip...the driving force. His trailer was home base. His presence was comfort.
This year we return minus my dad and minus Judy. We head up to this trip with what I can only describe as an orphan feeling.
There is nothing normal about this trip. And yet we plunge into the unknown with the hopes the carving the way toward a new normal.

"Each new day forces one to face some new and devastating dimension of the loss. It creates a whole new context for one's life."

Sent from my phone.

I feel grown up to today. Maybe it's having friends who like to hang out with you as much as you like hanging out with them. Maybe it's the grass in the backyard. Maybe it's the trailer in the driveway or the fact that my kids are at an age where they crack jokes and join in with my sarcasm. Whatever the reason, it feels good.
Thank you God for all these gifts in my life.

Sent from my phone.

Have you ever felt it before? That feeling of...oh man, I'm gonna lose it today at some point.
I fought it all morning, but alas, as I was leaving work this afternoon I let it flow, and flow, and flow (the tears folks, the tears). The best advice I received on "grieving," was, "feel it." I felt it today.

The other day I went to put a mug away in the cupboard and to my surprise I found a bottle of creamer standing in line with all the other mugs.

Some days are just like that, right? Doing something but thinking completely of something else?

Yesterday was operation clean-the-house day. Pick-up-and-go-life is wonderful and without it I would be as boring (and bored I'll add) as a brick, but at some point, you have to sift through the piles and put stuff away.

I've also been hard at work on our lawn. It was seeded about four weeks ago and three days ago we were given the o.k. to mow, at which point our backyard looked like the rolling hills from up the coast somewhere. I'm about five hours into the mow job, but I think today will be the final cut and then it's maintenance after that. I love mowing the lawn though -- instant gratification. Don't care too much for the green fingernails though...haha..

Being the cynical woman I am, I anticipated my dad's death for about a year. Seeing him once or often twice a week and speaking to him daily, I could easily see his gradual decline in physical wellness.
But still, I was and am utterly surprised that he is gone. Not gone-gone. But gone from my sight, my touch, my hearing.
I have good days, like today.
Then I have bad days, like Father's Day.
Death has shaken up my world...tossed me about to and fro.
Some days I am so insecure I can't even stand myself.
All part of the process of losing someone you love...losing someone who loved you.

But today is a good day and I almost feel normal. I will enjoy and savor it for who knows what tomorrow will bring.

In August of 2006 I received a phone call from a woman at church asking if I would be interested in taking over the bookkeeping responsibilities for her husband's architect firm in town. My heart beat rapidly after I got off the phone and my mind raced with all the unknowns. Go back to work? Use my brain? Who would watch the kids? Within minutes I placed a phone call to my dad and step-mom (Judy) and asked if they would be interested in watching Sage every other Friday for a few hours. Without hesitation they said, "Yes!"
Every other Friday turned into every Friday and within a few weeks, Aspen (being only 8 months at the time), was going up to my dad's house along with her big sister so mom could "work."
And after a while, the kids stayed all day with my parents and Ryan and I would drive up to Upper Ojai to finish off the day with a tasty home cooked meal by Judy and treats galore handed out by my dad ("Papa").
For 3 years we have spent almost every Friday evening with my dad and Judy. I miss Fridays at my dad's house. I miss seeing my dad spoil my children rotten. My heart hurts tonight. I am so thankful for all of those Friday nights. I hope for more but I fear they are a thing of the past.
It's weird how all of a sudden you are fine and then the next moment you have tears streaming down your face and you are shuddering with an overwhelming sense of grief.
My dad is still in the hospital and each day brings about some hope and then more questions and fewer and fewer answers.
Oh God, you are the ultimate physician. May you guide these doctors serving my dad. May you grant them the wisdom and knowledge necessary to make sense of all of this.

Happy Birthday Aspen!

My grandmother (Meema) passed away yesterday at 3:30 p.m.

My dad is still in the hospital. Lots of unknowns but the UCLA doctors are hard at work trying to find answers to where his pain is coming from.

Looking forward to enjoying today with close friends and family. : )

Time seems to get lost in the hospital.

You sit. You cry. You laugh. And then you look at the clock and the day is almost over.

My sisters and brother make the time in the hospital bearable.

I am proud of my family. Proud of the way we are all using the gifts given to us to get through this.

I am proud of my dad for continuing to fight and endure such a physical and mental pain I hope to never know or experience.

Today he will undergo a procedure to hopefully relieve the blockage in his left kidney and partial blockage in his right kidney. At this point it is a weighing options game ...if we do this then this happens, but if we don't do this then this could happen.

So decisions are made and then we wait.

Today Dad, I am missing your voice.

I am thankful for my no-wash hair.

You know, the kind of hair that can go 5 days without a good bubbly scrubbing and rinsing.

The kind of hair you can throw up in a bun when you are leaving early in the morning to meet your siblings and step-mom to discuss your dying father's kidney's...to see if perhaps they are functioning better...like this morning for example.

It's the kind of hair that looks good even if everything on the inside is hurting ... in every corner of life.

Thank you Lord for my no-wash hair.