Beautiful Dreamer

Hey there-

I was busted last night.

Both boys (7 & 11) had teeth pulled yesterday. Or should I say they had teeth wiggled out yesterday. Apparently that is what the dentist likes to say so she doesn't have kids bolting from the room after they hear words like extracted or yanked. Both of my boys are very stoic in these situations and they came out of the room with slight smirks on their faces and bloody gauze hanging out of their mouths.

The dentist had told them they deserved something special from the tooth fairy after being so brave so they both left notes for the tooth fairy so she knew these teeth were pulled and didn't just fall out. I dutifully snuck into their room later to exchange the teeth for the loot. (I give $1 per tooth.....OK I splurged and gave them each $2 after the nice dentist practically forced me to....) I had trouble finding Arthur's and had to dig around a bit before locating the baggie with his note neatly taped to it; "This was pulled" was all it said. After securing the money and the note I (the tooth fairy, sorry) wrote for him; "Good work" under his pillow I moved on to Henry's tooth.

I crept to his bed and stretched my arm up to reach my hand gently under his pillow and..........his little head popped up with a huge smile on his face.

"The dentist told me I was too old to believe in the tooth fairy," he said.

This coming from a guy who, when he was 5, told me he didn't believe in the Easter bunny.

"Why would a bunny leave eggs for people? That just doesn't make any sense."

You're right, Henry, it doesn't make any sense.

I went upstairs to share the story with Mike who was absorbed in the extra inning of the Brewer's game (Go Brewer's!) and could not have cared less at that moment about me being busted as the tooth fairy.

So I went into the bedroom and started crying. Why, you may ask. I think it has a little something to do with today being Bob and my 15th wedding anniversary and a little something to do with the sainted dead spouse syndrome. Of course, if Bob were here he would have stopped whatever he was doing and given me his undivided attention and laughed appropriately and sentimentally at my tooth fairy story. Better yet, if Bob were here, he would have crept around the room with me and seen Henry's head bob up for himself and we could have laughed together later.

I am sure that is what would have happened. If Bob were here he would celebrate every silly milestone involving our boys with me in exactly the way I would want him to.

It all would be perfect, if Bob were here.

HA, beautiful dreamer.

Well, if Bob were here, we would have celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary today. Instead, I am packing for a trip to San Diego where Mike and I will speak about the challenges and joys of marriage after widowhood. We talk about the sainted dead spouse syndrome and the anniversary dates that can be tough for both of us. I bet the tooth fairy story will be brought up this year. I bet we laugh about it.

Nothing is perfect, except maybe the weather today which is the exact same weather we had 15 years ago.

Happy Anniversary, Bob. I miss you! Love, Renie

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Newsflash

Hey there-

To me Henry (11) is all Wellenstein and Arthur (7) is the McGoldrick. People say they look exactly alike but I know differently.

Henry looks just like his dad, has a lot of the same interests, and has the reserved observant nature of his father.

Arthur looks like my brother and is more lighthearted and social. The way he greets people and handles himself in a crowd reminds me of my dad.

I have often thought the two would make a good political team. Henry would be the speech writer and Arthur would be the one shaking people's hands. (not that I would wish a political career on either of them mind you)

Henry obviously had more time with his dad, and Bob took advantage of the time to introduce Henry to many of his passions, some of which included cooking, camping, science and bike riding. After Bob died I desperately wanted to keep these interests close to Henry's heart. But as any parent, widowed or not, has to realize, the child will have their own interests and you can't force yours onto them.

But, I will admit, that I continue to look for these "Bob Wellenstein" traits in Henry. It still makes me smile when Henry wants to make Bob's famous pancakes or when he excels in science at school. So it took me by surprise when Arthur began expressing interest in the kitchen.

"Mom, what can I do to help with dinner?"

Wait a minute.......I've been spending so much time looking for the Wellenstein in Henry that I may be missing it in Arthur. He's not ALL McGoldrick, clearly. Neither is Henry ALL Wellenstein.

As a matter of fact, a friend recently made a comment about Arthur's social nature; "I wonder where he gets that from?" She then motioned her head towards Mike. Does this mean they are part Hogan as well?

Newsflash......both of them are their own person.

I know we all want to see bits of ourselves in our children. With Bob being dead I have searched for these bits even closer. Am I hoping to keep him alive through the boys? Am I wanting to prove that Bob was, indeed, alive, and not just a figment of my imagination?

I don't know.

What I do know is that we are all bits and pieces of everyone who has influenced us in our lives, alive and dead.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

More Acceptance

Hey there,

Arthur (7) and I were walking to our friend's house down the block when he asked me about the presenting I do about Grief and Loss. He was curious what kind of questions people ask me after I am done with the talk. I told him most people are curious about my marriage to Mike and how I decided I was ready to date again and how my children (he and Henry) accepted Mike in their lives.

"How DID we accept Mike?" he asked, squinting up at me in the sunlight.

"Well, you two were so young when you met Mike (2 & 5) that I don't think you thought one way or the other about it, it just was," I told him.

"And then when we got older we thought......Mike, OK, we accept you!"

He looked up the hill for any cars, smiled at me, grabbed my hand and started to cross the street.

Yup Arthur, that is how it happened.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

My Tree

Hey there-

Father's Day, 2011.

Mike wanted to go on a bike ride before we grilled some fish on his new grill for dinner. I should say before HE grilled fish on his new grill for dinner. I thought a bike ride, in between the rain drops, sounded like a fabulous idea.

I watched him take off down our street, concentrating on clipping in his biking shoe to the pedal of the slick Trek mountain bike he rides.

It was Bob's bike.

They are Mike's shoes, apparently Mike has smaller feet than Bob.

I started laughing, belly laughing.

One of my favorite funny memories of Bob is the first time we went out on our bikes after he got those clip on bike shoes and so lovingly replaced the pedals. We were riding through SE Portland on our way to Ben and Jerry's for a little sweet treat. If you have never been to SE Portland you won't know how congested the narrow neighborhood streets can get with parked cars and how many bicyclist can be cruising these narrow and uncontrolled intersections. Portland is a bicycling city.

Well, a bicyclist came from the perpendicular street and we had to stop short. Bob, unfamiliar with his clip on shoes was unable to remove his foot from the pedal and tipped right over. It was in slow motion. He just fell slowly over, his feet trapped on the bike, helpless to stop himself.

I laughed so hard seeing this normally coordinated, sporty guy topple over, still trying to extricate his foot from his pedal.

Nice, huh? I'm so loving. It was just so hilarious. And he wasn't hurt or anything.

It's interesting how life stacks together all of it's parts on top of each other into one big whole. Like the circles of a tree that show it's age. The years stack on top of each other, wrap around and on top of the years before, some are wider than others and some have little bumps, each have their own story, each is an important part of the whole tree.

My live husband can unwittingly and unknowingly bring up a memory of my dead husband and I can laugh over a memory of Bob while making a memory of Mike.

This is my tree.

I love my tree.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Beautiful Dreamer

Hey there-

The other morning Henry came out of his bedroom and went to the cupboard in the kitchen looking for breakfast. His shoulders were bent forward and his head was hanging a bit and he didn't answer his usual "Good" when I asked him how he slept.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"I had a dream about Dad," he told me. Then he started sobbing, big shoulder shaking sobs.

Upon questioning he couldn't remember much of the dream.

"But I remember the emotion," he cried.

I attempted to comfort Henry by telling him my belief is that when you dream about the person who is dead it is the person visiting you, checking in, saying hi. So dreaming about Dad should be a happy thing. As I explained this theory to Henry I omitted the part that I never dream about Bob, never.

Last week Mike came downstairs one morning and told me he had a dream about Bob the night before.

Going with my theory, that is a little weird.

He said that Bob and I were together talking about the boys summer haircuts that Mike had given them and how much he liked them. Bob didn't say anything to Mike in the dream, no thanking him for helping to raise his boys or any encouraging words. Apparently Bob and I simply hung out on the back porch and watched the boys and their short hair run around for a while.

Rude. I thought to myself, but maybe I'm just bitter that Bob seems to be visiting everyone else in their dreams but me.

"He seemed very happy with the hair cuts, I think the fact that he's happy with what we're doing was implied," Mike said.

Very generous of Mike I think.

Well, if Bob visits anyone else out there in their dreams be sure and send him my way. I wouldn't mind if he came by and said HI.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

A House of Cards

Hey there,

Henry (10) had his first "health" class in school last week.

He came home chock full of information about adolescence.

"Mom," he asked me, slurping up his ramen noodles with a fork, "when did you start adolescence?"

"Excuse me?" I stalled, just exactly what was he looking for?

"What about Dad, when did he start adolescence."

Now there is a question I never thought to ask Bob before he died.

Henry went on to explain that when he was in adolescence he might be happy one minute and angry the next, his friends would be more important to him than his family (what!?!?), his motivation could be lacking, and he might have trouble focusing.

Hmmmmmmm........I think I am in adolescence NOW........

"When I learned about this stuff in school my teacher called it puberty, only he pronounced it pooooberty," I told him, still stalling a little, not sure why.

I have no idea what made me tell a 10 year old boy a story involving poo since five minutes later I saw him dancing in the dining room building a house of cards singing "pooooberty.....pooooooooberty".

Today the boys and Mike were leaving to go camping. I told my boys to be helpful.

"Mike has three healthy young men with him and he better not do all the work himself. Be focused," I encouraged pumping my arms in the air.

"OK, Mom," Henry said, eyes trained on his house of cards, "unless I enter pooooberty, and then I might not be very motivated or focused."

Damn school.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Dead End

Hey there-

What is the statute of limitations on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)?

I have been having some health issues lately that have required Dr's. visits and tests and scary possibilities and waiting for results.

Last week I sat in the Dr's. office and listened while the very nice doctor lady told me she was sure everything was fine.

"No worries," she told me. "I just want to be thorough, I am sure we are leading to a dead end. You look healthy and your lung capacity is better than mine, I am sure you are fine."

This very nice, very thorough, youngish, kind of spunky lady had no idea why I sat in front of her with tears streaming down my face.

"That's what the very nice doctors told my husband too, and now he's dead," I told her.

"Oh dear, how long ago did your husband die?" she asked, with the familiar head tilt.

"Seven years."

SO NOT THE POINT!!!

I know she was expecting me to say six months or possibly last week by the way I was reacting. I know it seems crazy to be sitting in an office seven years after your husband died, remarried, and by most accounts happy and mostly sane, and be freaking out about a non-life threatening diagnosis and some test results for a possibility that will "most likely lead to a dead end".

I know this logically.

But apparently my body has not caught up with my mind on this one. Apparently, I am unable to sit calmly in a Dr's. office and listen to a very nice lady tell me that she is sure I am fine while she busily orders complicated tests to rule out scary sounding possibilities. Apparently I did not learn the first time not to ask too may questions and to NEVER EVER Google the scary possibility that your very nice Dr. is sure you don't have but insists on testing you for anyway, just to be thorough.

Apparently, I have a little PTSD.

Yes, seven years later.

Oh my.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Resilience

Hey there-


We got new carpet installed yesterday.

Sunday was spent moving furniture, ripping up carpeting, pulling up staples and painting. The whole project started with a bathroom remodel. You know how these things go, first the bathroom gets fixed up and then before you know it you're ripping up carpeting and taking the pictures off the wall so you can paint the living room.

Arthur (the 7 year old) has been loving all of it. From the demolition of the tile to the hanging of the new toilet paper roll, he's wanted in on all of it. You might think we were the only people ever to remodel a bathroom. Arthur would move his bed in there if he could. And just what was Henry doing while Arthur and I were on our hands and knees yanking out hundreds of staples from the floor? Henry was curled up on the love seat in the sun room amongst all the displaced furniture reading Harry Potter.

They are very different kids.

Later that night Arthur was just out of the shower, his skin all pink and glowing and his hair a big tangle. He sat down on the couch next to Henry and me so I could gently comb out his hair. As I slowly worked out the knots (both boys are growing their hair out for 'crazy hair day') I realized I had never combed Henry's hair like this, Henry has always been too busy taking care of his own personal hygiene to wait around for me.

Then, while getting into his jammies Arthur animatedly told me a story involving some bison (NOT buffalo!). Bison have been his obsession since our trip to Yellowstone last summer. The boy has at least 25 pictures of bison hanging on the walls surrounding his bed, compared to the maps and dry erase board with daily reminders such as "make pancakes in morning" next to Henry's bed.

The point of all this?

The point is that while I watched Arthur strut around the room brushing his hair back from his face with one hand and wildly waving the other around during his very involved bison story I was struck by something, something seemingly obvious, but still a bit shocking to me.

Arthur is becoming his own man.

Somewhere amongst the backdrop of his dad dying and his mom falling apart and his older brother demanding lots of attention and his mom getting married again and older step-siblings coming and going, Arthur is becoming this individual, this person, this man-child with his own voice and opinions and interests.

Despite everything he's growing up, thriving.

"Kids are resilient," a friend told me at Bob's memorial.

Considering there was a time that poor boy practically needed to be bleeding out his eyeballs to get any attention from me, resilience is a good thing.

A quick thesaurus search for the word "resilience" finds these synonyms.....flexibility, pliability, spirit.

That's Arthur.

Thank goodness for resilience.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Expectations

Hey there,

I opened the refrigerator the other day and one of the many magnets I have with pictures or quotes or lists or instructions came crashing to the ground.

It was the 8X11 one that holds the list of Expectations for the household. You know, the list that includes making your bed every day before sitting in front of a square box, clearing your dirty dishes from the table, and no rough housing on the main floor of the house, just to name a few. (there are only 10 in case you are wondering just how nutty I am) It's a list that is sometimes adhered to and sometimes not depending on the day, the child, and how much I feel like nagging. (I mean gently reminding :-))

When the frame fell to the floor the Expectations list fell out and revealed the list that had been in the frame prior.

Courage
Patience
Resilience
Perseverance
Capacity to Distance
Sense of Humor

From now on I want to.........

Ah, a very different list from a very different time. I used to have this list posted on every mirror of the house along with the refrigerator. It was a list I found in the book The Courage to Grieve. According to the author, Judy Tatelbaum, these are qualities a person needs to successfully grieve. The last line is a mantra for yourself, a little reminder that you are moving forward. What was is no longer, what do you want to do NOW.

My first thought when I saw the list was how glad I was to not be back there, back in that place when I needed that list every day to remind me of how hard I was working, how far I had come, and that I was, indeed, no matter how slowly and painfully at times, moving forward.

Then I began to realize how appropriate that list was for right now. I need all these skills to successfully parent, step-parent, run a household, write with honesty, present with passion, be a good friend, be a good partner, etc.......

Heck, we all need these skills to make it through the day.

Maybe it is time to think less about expectations and think more about the qualities I want to teach my children. Skills they will need to be a successful adult, able to handle life's disappointments with grace and guts.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Relief?

Hey there-

I have noticed something interesting lately.

I will give you an example.

Yesterday I met a woman. We began talking and the subject of my book came up. Since I am still working on my "elevator speech" I proceeded with my usual babble about being widowed and living beyond grief, yadda, yadda, yadda.....(doesn't that just make one want to run out and buy the book!??!....help!) Anyway, once the word widow came out of my mouth the familiar head tilt happened. You all know the one I'm talking about. The head tilt that comes with the furrowed brow and is usually accompanied by some sort of sympathetic utterance such as "oh my", or "oh dear".

This particular conversation continued and like so many other times before the subject of my second marriage came up. Once the remarriage statement came out of my mouth the head that had remained tilted straightened, the brow relaxed it's concerned wrinkled look, the eyes lit up, the woman smiled, and said with a sigh of relief; "Oh, that's so great. I'm so happy for you."

I am not picking on this particular lady, who was a very nice and grounded person and I would love it if our paths crossed again. I have had countless conversations that have gone this same way, and I find it interesting, the visible signs of relief I witness when the person hears I am married again. As if the two minutes it took to get from the grief of the young widow thing to the joy of the married again thing was almost unbearable for them.

Why are these people so relieved to find I am remarried? It's interesting. Is the relief for me or for themselves? I don't feel much relief being remarried so it must be for themselves. Is it simply easier to talk about marriage than grief with a stranger? Do they assume that because I am married I am happy again,no longer grieving, I am "over it", I have moved on?

Well, I am married again, and I am mostly happy, but I am not done grieving, nor have I moved on. I have moved forward, accepted the hand I was dealt, and tried to play it as best as I can. But at the end of the day, Bob is gone, which I am sad about, and Mike is here, which I am happy about. Not much relief in that, really, but it is interesting.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

The Dentist

Hey there,

Funny story.

I brought my mother-in-law (Bob's mom)to the dentist recently. She has some complications going on with her teeth and gums and dentures. I will spare you all the details of what is going on and suffice it to say we are trying to keep her from needing a full set of dentures and that isn't always easy when a person is 87 years old. (brush and floss people, brush and floss)

Anyway, following the appointment the dentist was very kindly and patiently giving me the information about what we should be doing to care for her gums and current partials and what we should do if there is a problem.

I must have given the dentist some kind of look like this was too much information for me because she stopped suddenly and said;

"Maybe your husband could call me with any questions or concerns."

At which point I continued my blank stare and thought to myself;

"Why in the world would Mike call you about Bob's mom's teeth?"

At which point the very nice dentist must have decided I was either daffy or just plain stupid since she felt the need to clarify; "You know, her son, have her son give me a call."

Ah, I now understood the confusion.

"Yes, I will," I said, smiling, almost laughing, because what I really wanted to say was; "Listen lady, if you hear from her son you let me know because I have some things I need to say to him!"

Sometimes my worlds have collided so seamlessly that I don't even know who people are talking about when they say the word "husband". Current, late, Bob, Mike, live, dead, first, second, it's all the same to me apparently.



Thanks for checking in-

Irene

WOW!

Hey there-

Just when you thought you have heard everything, along comes a ten year old to prove you wrong.

Mike and I were on the committee to help plan Horizon Home Care and Hospice's annual Life Lights benefit for this year. The event raises funds for their Grief Resource Center which is a fabulous facility offering support groups, counseling and resources for the bereaved.

Friday night was a perfect cool clear fall evening at the beautiful Milwaukee Zoo where the event is held. Mike and I were in charge of one of the bars so the Aunts brought the boys to the event. It is truly a fabulous fundraiser with good food, good music, a sunset stroll through the zoo and plenty of opportunities to honor loved ones who have died.

One of the opportunities offered was to write a letter to your loved one and place it in a treasure chest kept safely at the center. Thinking Henry might like to write a note to Bob I went to find him among all the folks enjoying their fish fry.

"Do you want to write a letter to daddy?" I asked, once I had located them. "They have paper and pencils out there so you can write him a note."

"Do you mean my dead real one or my fake live one?" Henry asked in the sincere way he has. He needs to be certain about the expectations.

WOW! This is an interesting turn of events. Henry has always been so clear on who his dad is and who Mike is.

Initially, I was conflicted with his question, in defense of Bob I suppose. Plus, considering the event we were at I thought who the letter was for was rather obvious.

Not obvious to Henry.

Now, before all of you Mike supporters get all up in arms about the use of the word "fake" in Henry's description I would like to point out what a genuine monumental moment this was for Henry, Mike and myself. When Henry was asked to write a note for his daddy he was not sure if I meant Bob or Mike.......WOW!, again.

Fake, real, dead, alive, Henry's got it all.

Lucky boy. Lucky us.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Every Year

Hey there-

Every year.

It happens every year.

Why does it still bother me? Why am I not prepared for it? Why does it always catch me off guard and cause my breath to quicken just a little bit? Why do I still sit and stare at the page in front of me as if I have never seen the word before? I stare at the word as if it is blinking in neon lights.

FATHER

That is all it is.

FATHER

It is just a word.

FATHER

And yet it gets me every time. Still. Every freakin' August. Every year.

FATHER

How do I fill in that blank? Writing "Mike" feels wrong somehow, as if I am saying that Bob never existed, that he had no part in bringing the boys to life. Especially as the years go by and fewer people know our story.

FATHER

There is only a short blank line after the word. Enough room for a name but not nearly enough space to fill in the epic story that word brings up for me.

Every year I gleefully sit down with my lap desk and my pen and the TV on and I begin to fill out the paperwork the school feels is necessary to properly care for my child for seven hours five days a week. ( I really am gleeful, I am one of those scary people who like paperwork. There is something very satisfying for me to see all those blank spots filled in)

But then, it happens, rather quickly, every year.

FATHER

And then I go from gleeful to confused. My hand hesitates above the blank space and my mind wanders off to all sorts of places. Places like the beige apartment where Bob and I were living when that stick turned to a bright blue positive sign and I told Bob we were going to be parents, or the chilly doctors office when we first heard the heartbeat of the child that turned the stick positive, or our big old house when I was crawling around on the carpet in pain and insisting that I didn't think I was in labor while Bob calmly sat on the bed watching me and asking; "If this isn't labor, just what do you think this is?", or the oak tree lined street outside of our house where I first watched Bob strap Henry into the yellow and red bike trailer and head off for an adventure at the park, or the guest room of our house where Bob would bounce and bounce on a big red exercise ball with a fussing Arthur.

FATHER

Who knew the word could conjure up so many random thoughts while Mike quietly sits beside me and watches the latest episode of "Mad Men"?

In the beginning when I got to the word

FATHER

I eventually (after staring at the word for quite a while) wrote Bob's name in the blank and then wrote the word "deceased". Ugh! Then I progressed, after much hemming and hawing (oh, and a wedding), to writing "Mike" but only after I had written the word "step" in front of the word

FATHER

and then in the space available for "Any additional information we might need to know about your child" I would write just a brief summary of my epic. Now, after my usual daydreaming I put "Mike" in the blank and I leave the word

FATHER

as it is on the paper. But I still state that their dad died and how old they were when it happened in the additional info spot.

Jeez, do you think I am over thinking this paperwork thing just a bit?! I bet most people don't take as long as I do to fill out the annual school paperwork. You would think I would dread it. But I don't. I still look forward to it and sit down gleefully. But then, every year, it happens, as if out of the blue.

FATHER

Every year.

I guess I'm a little slow.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Widow Crap

Hey there,

So many people don't understand.

They don't understand why Mike wants to put up with all of this "widow crap". Why would he want to speak on this topic? Why would either of us? Don't we want to leave it behind? Move on? When will we be done with this already?!?! Why would we even attend Camp Widow, can't we think of better ways to spend time in San Diego with no children?

The summation is that people just don't understand, people who have not lived through the untimely death of a spouse that is.

Following are a few excerpts from comments we received from widowed folks who attended our workshop entitled "Plan B; Remarriage after Widowhood"

"You send an incredible message of hope and that's what this is all about."

"I especially appreciate the openness and candor you and Mike have! Sometimes I felt like I was laughing a little too loudly!"

"The relationship that you and Mike have gives me hope that my Plan B is out there too. :) You are both such an inspiration to me!"

And that is why we do this. If we can give just one person hope that there is happiness and contentment and humor out there after such an incredible loss it is worth it.

After Bob died I remember people saying to me; "You are living my worst nightmare". Well, I was living mine too, thank you very much. But Mike and I "put up with all of this widow crap" because we want folks to know that after you wake from the nightmare, dreams still can come true.

And besides, widows rock! Just ask Mike!

Thanks for checking in-

Irene

Regret

Hey there,

I have been a bit of an emotional wreck the last few weeks. Mike will certainly back me up on this statement.

Not sure what it is about.

Could be the final steps of the book publishing have not been going smoothly and I am being constantly reminded of my ineptness when it comes to all things technological.

Could be Henry's birthday on the 23rd and Bob and my wedding anniversary coming up on the 10th (would have been #14). These milestones can still throw me into a bit of a grieving relapse, momentarily throwing me back to square one. Thank goodness that after six years square one doesn't last too long.

Could be the presentation that Mike and I are doing next week in San Diego. Putting together a power point on the unique struggles of remarriage post widowhood has my mind going in all different directions. Plus, as noted before, technology and I are not exactly friends. (do you think the group would be OK with a facilitated discussion? Maybe there will be lots of questions....)

Could be the summer and all the kids being home and the level of chaos in the house not being very conducive to any focused work getting done. Not to mention they keep needing to eat and have clean clothes and get to track meets......

Could be the angst that has been involved in planning our "family" trip this summer to Yellowstone and the Tetons. The teenage girls don't seem to find it the trip of their dreams as we and the boys do and are opting out this year.

Could be the recent email and Facebook postings from two close friends of Bob and mine from our Portland days. One family shared pictures of their trip to the Galapagos Islands and the other family is on practically the exact same vacation we are taking next month only all their children are with them and seemingly having a grand time.

Considering my emotional response to the last "could be" I am thinking this might be the straw that is breaking this camel's back. When I received the picture album from the Galapagos and saw the front picture of the three of them with their arms around each other smiling I was unable to open the rest of the album, seriously. And don't get me started on the Facebook postings from our friends in Wyoming. Throwing the computer across the room came to mind.

Regret has come running out of nowhere and kicked me in the stomach. Ouch!

That was supposed to be us, Bob and me and our little family, happily travelling the world smiling out at cameras from exotic ports. Or headed off on camping excursions to wild and wooded places with our children wide eyed and communicative in the back seat. I never imagined having a child who didn't like to hike or camp or worse yet, not travel at all.

I never imagined so much of what has come to pass.

Now, would any of these imagined joyous trips happened if Bob were still alive? Some most likely, but not all. I am sure behind the smiles toward the camera we would of had our share of grumbling and slouching and arguments about electronic device use. Bob and I would have had budget troubles and gotten annoyed at each other because we were lost and didn't have enough food with us, the kids might have whined to be carried along the trail or worse, just wanted to go back to the hotel and watch TV.

Bob and I never had the chance to be disappointed by a family vacation or the fact that Arthur complains if we walk the dog for more than a block. We never had to decide on rules regarding electronics or whether or not the child has to go on the vacation because it is a family vacation gosh darn it! We never had much of a chance to find out what our family vacations would have looked like. I just know I never imagined them to be involving a six year old with ear buds connected to an iPod hanging out of their ears, or children who didn't like to camp (which I can at least wrap my head around)or travel at all (which I can't understand in the least)or me learning how to play Monopoly on an iTouch and thinking this could be a brilliant way to make it across South Dakota and still have some sanity left. (hey, it beats having one of the kids repeating "I'm Babba Wawa and I'm weally weird" all the way across the state--I really did that by the way, when I was about 10. My poor parents and brother. I am sure if an ITouch would have been available back then they would have happily had me stare at that thing for a while)

All this emotion I am feeling, this regret, it's OK. Regret is sorrow over something you can't change, it's part of life. Sometimes your kids don't turn out how you imagined or your job or your vacation or your life. It doesn't mean it is bad, just different than you imagined. It means you're still living!

As my Italian teacher once said; "You just must accept".

Easier said than done I'm afraid.

Thanks for checking in-

Irene