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On Miracles and Moms and Babies

I’m about to tell you a story that will make you believe in miracles. It doesn’t matter who you pray to (or don’t). It doesn’t matter how skeptical you are of luck and chance and the serendipitous nature of things. All of that is about to change.

My mom calls me her miracle baby. And I am. After an entire decade wrought with constant pain and endless miscarriages, I stuck around through a full term. And then some, actually. I guess I needed a wee bit longer to bake. So I arrived, at noon on September 29th, 1986, as my mom and dad’s miracle. Over a dozen miscarriages and a number on Catholic Charities’ wait list later, I stuck it out and made it to the delivery room to meet them for the first time. My great uncle, Jack, claims he named me. Christina Marie Griffin. Plain enough for quite the miracle I was. But whatever.

Then there were more miscarriages. Twins that I was so proud to meet one day. But there were two other miracles, too. I call them Bud Mud Bud and Sister. They call me Ten Pen Ten. Together we make up the Griffin Trifecta Miracle (which I just coined right at this very moment in history). There’s over a dozen others of us that just weren’t strong enough to make it that we’ll never know. But I guess three miracles were really plenty for one lifetime, right?

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This upcoming weekend we celebrate Mother’s Day and I’ll be celebrating not only because I love my mom, but because she’s the strongest woman I know and she fought tirelessly to be a mom at all.

Today Jenni prompted us to discuss the thing we are most afraid of. You know what I’m most afraid of? I’m ghastly terrified that I won’t have the same enduring strength and courage as my mom to fight for my own little miracles. The silliest part is that I may not have to wait a whole decade like my mom. Hopefully, at least. It doesn’t really matter. I’m afraid, so there.

But now you all believe in miracles and that’s all we ever really needed in life was to believe. We make our own destinies, but it surely doesn’t happen without a positive outlook. I know plenty of women who have already met their miracles. I also know plenty of women who are slowing dying a bit every time their miracle disappears yet again. And this all scares me so much.

Sometimes the scariest, toughest, most terrifying things are those things that are made up of the fibers and fabrics of what’s worth the most value.

Except snakes. I’m just plum out afraid of snakes.

Becoming Me: Seeking Truth

photo photo18-1_zps0f9e7bd0.jpgUs// Lake Garda, Italy// 2010
 

I’ve been tiptoeing through broken glass and burning coals regarding this subject as of late. When I’m certain I’m being careful enough, avoiding burns and cuts, my dad will call and tell me how transparent he found a post to be. Or, my friends will come to me first thing in morning and go, “wow, I totally saw right through that”. Hopefully, oh gosh I hope, this will maybe be even in the slightest bit new to some of you. Otherwise, it’s sort of like the kid who comes out of the closet to his parents but they’ve known it his whole life.

I’m pretending like I’ve developed the gumption to write this post thanks to a wonderful dialogue I’ve seen begin through some of my blog friends: Nadine & Lauren. So, what the hell, let’s get started.

Generally speaking, I am very content in my life. I have a steady, rewarding job that pays the bills and provides great benefits. I am madly in love with my husband and we’ve made ourselves quite a comfortable starter home. I’m in a routine that, broadly speaking, allows me to foster relationships, hobbies, goals and personal growth. Things are good.

Specifically speaking, I am so disappointed. This is not where I want to be. My priorities are nowhere near where they beg to be. And, for being only 26, I feel my life is closing in around me like it should when I’m 80. Hence the importance focus for this year.

What is it that I really want? What is going to make me soul affirmingly happy? The sort of happy that you look back on and go, “I built my life out of this and I wouldn’t change it for the world”. This, I decided, would guide what is important to me. I knew all along, I suppose. Maybe I was ashamed? But why? What do I have to prove and whom must I prove to? 

I’ve been fighting for a life that I don’t even want. It’s a life that I thought I should have. The one that looks good on the outside. The one I thought people would expect of me. I’m smart and determined. Tenacious, even. Makes sense, right? So why would I settle to be just a mom?

Ah, there’s the rub. All of this unhappiness. All because I’ve been unwilling to admit it. And while plenty of you are probably thinking, “you can work and raise a family”… no. Just no. Not for me. Not a full time job, at least. Not what I do now. Without getting political, but it will, because it is, Alex and I fully believe that a major downturn of our country occurred when June Cleaver had to work full time to support her family. Call it super conservative, backwards, closed minded, whatever. That’s alright. It’s what we are choosing for our family, not yours. I don’t have it in me to let someone else raise my children while I’m plugging away for a paycheck. And while it can work, it does work, and it will work, it won’t work for us.(… that is so hard to say living where we live because practically every household is dual income by necessity…)

Because, to me, there was never, ever a job on this planet more important than raising a family.

And so I come to the root of my word for 2013. What is really important to me. A new career path isn’t going to make me happier. More money isn’t going to make me happier. Everything I did yesterday, do today, and will do for the foreseeable future is to ensure that one day, some day, we can say we are ready to start our family. Staying healthy. Paying off our debt. Burying those student loans. Building equity in our home. Moving.

It’s long term and rather crappy. What is important to me definitely doesn’t leave room for luxury or fun vacations. But, I am so entirely comfortable with that. After all, the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to make the unbelievable sacrifice that comes with parenthood. I guess I just didn’t realize the sacrifice would begin so prematurely. And I am so glad it has.

Joyeux Anniversaire x3

Last Saturday was my baby sister’s 20th birthday. Today is my baby brother’s 23rd birthday. And today is also my mom’s ##th birthday. Happy Birthday to these beautiful people.

photo tina-ceremony_028_zps2b6af8c5.jpgThat’s right, she gave birth to him on her birthday. Isn’t there some sort of prize for that sort of feat?

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& so I thought I’d leave it at just this and save them from embarrassing photos blasted all over the internet. But then I decided… nah…. what’s the fun in that? Soooo….

photo 272748_4356074537152_1249861014_o_zpsbd484c56.jpg(there’s my mom in the Americana bathing suit)

photo 69003_840847517749_3981681_n_zps549607aa.jpg(that’s my brother and sister after polishing off one too many bellini’s in Venice a few years ago)

photo 67258_840861459809_6361495_n_zpsb9ddaf79.jpg(annddd that would be them a few days later polishing off some brews in Munich)

& then I started to feel a little guilty so I decided to finish this post off with something sweet.

photo 178004_10151186109023082_1074586854_o_zps5cd8bf33.jpgerrrr… kind of.

Happy birthday, mom. Happy birthday, bud mud bud. Happy birthday, baby sister. I love you guys so much. Love, ten pen ten

P.S. In case you missed it… This week’s recap:
* A Printable Wisdom GIVEAWAY!!!!!!!!
And my favorite posts around the blog-o-sphere this week:
* Allie found this awesome Nude Timelapse
* A Beautiful Mess’s Handwritten Statement Wall is kinda awesome
* This made me laugh

The 2012 Byland Family Christmas Spectacular

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Three years ago we bought our first Christmas tree. It was our second Christmas in the house but we’d spent our first holiday mid-move in the depths of snow-mageddon. Buying a tree is sort of out of the question when you are knee deep in hardwood floor installations and furniture deliveries. So there we were. Buying our first tree.

At Lowes.

Please don’t judge me for owning a fake tree. Ahem. Artificial. It sounds better. Believe me, I’ve judged myself enough for an entire lifetime. But it’s better for the environment. And it came pre-lit. And it just paid for itself this third go-round. I mean, a decent 8 foot Fraser Fur isn’t exactly cheep. Plus, Misha has asthma and is highly allergic to pine. So a plastic Christmas will be had.

We love our giant mass of pre-lit plastic. When she’s set up and glowing in the corner of the living room, everything seems right with the world. Even if just for one month.

So here she is, three years old. There’s a chunk of branches that we hid in the back that just don’t seem to want to light up. And she’s sagging a bit unlike she’s ever done before. But she’s still our tree. And we love her so.

Ok, Alex. Time to get off your new iphone and decorate that tree! (It’s called Falldown, and it’s a silly little game where you let a metal ball drop down a wooden maze, and he’s obsessed).

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(ps not too shabby for amateur hour, manual mode, no flash, Christmas tree photography, huh? This girl’s starting to get the hang of it… s-t-a-r-t-i-n-g….)

It Happened… & We Survived

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Success. Great success.

We hosted Thanksgiving. And we survived.

Let’s go through the highlights on this Monday morning. Just because sometimes that is more fun.

* Having my sous chef (aka baby sister aka Sara) peel and slice practically everything and only cut her finger once.

* Nearly forgetting to make cranberry sauce, and then realizing that I was eyeballing ev-er-y-thing. I blame it on being sick.

*Oh yeah! Hosting my first Thanksgiving while getting over this flu/ cold/ sinus infection awfulness. So exciting!

* Forgetting the rosemary for the turkey and sticking it in his little butt.

* The green beans. The healthy green bean casserole recipe. Nixing the healthy green bean casserole recipe because it was way too complicated.

* Ice. Falling. All over the kitchen. No way to give those green beans an ice bath anyway.

* Alex’s contribution: Pigs in a Blanket.

* Turkey perfection & turkey carving perfection thanks to my dad.

* My brother’s legal apple cider moonshine concoction. Delish.

* Lions lost. Redskins won.

* My cousin’s cheese ball. Hand carved. Delish again.

* Leftovers…..

* Tryptophan comas.

I hope your Thanksgiving was just a fabulous as ours.

And now, for some pictures.

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So there was food…..

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& a large dose of Griffin’s….

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Pies, too….

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& then there was rest…..

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So let Christmastime commence, Charlie Brown.

To Be Thankful

Should be easy, huh? And while I can always come up with the standard list (family, friends, food, clothing), it’s tricky these days to focus your perspective in the right frame.

Today Alex finished a ton of rather monstrous house projects that had fallen into the “well, if nothing else, we’ll finish them before we put the house on the market again” category. It was stressful. Unlike my family, where we did everything from change our own oil at home to build rooms from scratch by ourselves, he’s learned pretty much everything on his own in the past three years we’ve owned our house. And he’s not a natural handyman. Oops. As in, he hates it.

So, in typical Tina fashion, I’m sick. Surprised? I’m not. Let me paint the picture here. Alex is cursing the homeowner gods over caulking and nailing into studs and everything in between, I’m trying to clean for tomorrow’s party and I just crash. I mean, I pass out. On the bed, thank goodness. But, there I am. And there he is.

It was a rough day.

And on the eve of Thanksgiving, all we could think about is how we don’t have enough time, we don’t have enough money, we don’t have the right jobs, we don’t have the right house to raise a family, we don’t have, we don’t have, we don’t have. What do we have? House projects and illness. Been there, done that?

On the other side of all of that bickering, all of those awful thoughts, all of those emotional comments, Misha and Baci curl up on the couch in the cup of my lap and rest their heads on one another. And for just a moment, we could think clearly.

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Here’s what I’ve got for you. To help you be thankful:

While there will always be someone smarter, prettier, richer, luckier than you….

at the same time….

there will always be someone worse off than you…..

So instead of a list, I’m just telling you this:

I’m thankful for my life. I’m thankful that the largest stresses in my life are over extremely lucky career choices & who we will celebrate the holidays with & which cities will be best for us to raise a family & the whens and hows of carrying my future babies & how to save for their college & whether to bake a pecan pie or a cherry cobbler for Thanksgiving. I am thankful for my little family.

From all of us to all of you, have a blessed Thanksgiving.

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Granny

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(Throwback, much? This is from 2007 at my uncle’s ordination anniversary party. It was the first summer Alex and I dated. And the summer I took him to Michigan to meet the family. We’re young, huh? And there’s Granny and Uncle Jack. Looking awesome, as usual.)

Thanksgiving reminds me of my Granny. She’s not with us anymore here on earth. But growing up we’d always cart ourselves the 2 hours south to Richmond, Virginia for one of the holidays (sometimes it wasn’t necessarily Thanksgiving; maybe it was Easter or Christmas). And she’d be there at the door to give us a huge hug. And feed us. And, oh, offer us a fresca.

Fresca reminds me of Granny, too. She loved her fresca. And her wine. I suppose maybe we just have a lot in common.

So back to Granny. She isn’t my real, real grandma. She’s my real, real grandma’s sister in law. Which makes her, like, my aunt of some sort. We don’t pay attention to those things in my family. I have aunts and uncles who are probably cousins half removed and taken back a 2nd or 3rd time. It’s all just silly. We’re family. And she’s my Granny.

This is why Thanksgiving reminds me of Granny: Granny loved to throw a party. Oh, boy did she love to entertain. And seeing as this is my first holiday entertaining myself, I’m trying to remember all that she did to make each and every holiday feel special. And here’s what my terribly faint memory can recall:

* Granny always had gifts for us. She loved to shop. Oh, yeah, that’s right… maybe we just have a lot in common. ;)

* Granny always had food for us to munch on before the big meal. Forget spoiling our appetites. Holidays are made for good company and gluttony.

* Granny made sure your glass was always full. For me, this was always fresca.

* Granny decorated every inch of the house. Well, that’s a bit of a stretch. But the woman could decorate with such class and beauty. I mean, look at this wreath:

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(sidenote #546 for this post: I’m the oldest sibling, I swear. That would be my baby brother and my baby sister. They are just… giants. Mmmmkay?

*A few hours after the big meal, Granny fed us AGAIN. Now, this one may be just my parents feeding us turkey sandwiches, but this is how I remember it.

And here is the biggest reason I remember Granny whenever Thanksgiving comes around:

Many years ago, when we visited for Thanksgiving, the turkey didn’t taste the same. It was maybe a tad bit dry and a tad bit salty. And I remember sitting at the kids table with my cousins (okay, so they are like, 2nd/3rd/removed… I don’t care they are my cousins) and we were all like, “Wow, Granny’s getting old.”

Being a kid is so strange. We have no concept of time. Or age. Or truth. The turkey was probably just fine. But, sure enough, Granny was getting old. We didn’t see her aging year after year when we visited. She was always just our gorgeous Granny. We didn’t notice her slowing down. It took a Thanksgiving dinner before we realized it for ourselves. 

So then we started having holiday dinners at the country club. And they were absolutely fabulous but never the same. Then, we got older and busier. We didn’t make it down as often. Then, sooner than we could see it coming, Granny wasn’t doing too well. Then, even sooner, Granny passed away.

This was a few years ago. Around Easter. I think it’s fitting, seeing as she brought the family back together again. And what did we do? Why, of course we had one big party. We ate and we drank and we did just what Granny would have wanted us to do.

So as we near Thanksgiving and the rush of holidays to follow, I think about Granny. We don’t make it down to Richmond much anymore. We sure mean to. We sure want to.

That’s my honest truth about family and the holidays. The whole “we sure mean to, we sure want to” bit. Gosh, it’s difficult to get together. But, nonetheless, in honor of Granny, I’ll be sure to have a case of fresca for the taking on Thursday afternoon. 

And, hopefully, the food will be even half as tasty as what her and Uncle Jack would prepare.

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Friday’s Letters Take 14

Did you get a chance to run outside and look up at the sky to see this week just fllyyyyyy by? Yea, me neither. Happy Friday! 

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Dear Me, Boy am I proud of you for not running straight out of the dentist’s office when he said “Okay, now my assitant is going to come in and separate your tooth from your gums and prepare it for the impression.” Yes, it h-u-r-t like a 4 letter word. But you were so brave, sitting in that chair, white knuckled and kicking your feet as if that would stifle the pain. You get a giant sticker (mainly because sticky, icky lolipops and temporary crowns don’t really go together that well).

Dear Mommy Dearest, Thank you for coming down for my birthday month! I loved seeing you and thanks for alllllll the help, too! What a surprise and how awesome was it to have a home cooked meal from you in my very own kitchen! And thanks for all of the other help around the house, too! You can come visit whenever you want, hehe!

Dear Daddy Dearest, Betcha didn’t think you’d be nursing me back from illness this late in life…. Thanks so much for saving my life by running over an old rX of narcotics and migraine medication the other night. Drugs can do powerful things….

Dear Hubcap, This week I’ve realized that you say “I love you” more than I do. I hope you know I love you just as much as the many times you tell me. It’s just that, sometimes, when you tell me, I’m asleep. And words just don’t come out as easily. But, I love you, too.

Dear Pre-K, GET IT TOGETHER. Oh my goodness. You are a tough group. Whew. It’s going to be a long year, but you are doing a real fine job of making sure I never forget you, that’s for sure!

Dear Phuongnhu, YOU ARE GETTING MARRIED!!!!! JUST ONE WEEK!!!! AHHH!!!! SEE YOU SOON! YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BRIDE!!!!! (I’m not excited or anything….)

Dear Texas, Keep those temperatures dropping and the BBQ grilling. I’ll be seeing you on Tuesday.

Dear Readers, Oh, oh, oh! New post to the lineup!!! Get excited! I’ve got a little something something coming your way on SUNDAY! Sunday, you say? As in, the weekend?!?! I know, it’s not really something I do. That’s why I thought I’d warn you now. Check back on Sunday… I’m going to provide you with your Sunday morning coffeetime reading. In all honesty, it’s totally not that exciting.

But, either way…. Baci has a message for you:

Peace Out, Girl Scouts.

Meat… & Balls…

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So my mom drove down from northern Michigan for the weekend. She brought my stepdad and their mini-schnauzer, Riesling, along for the ride. They came down to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t have the heart to tell them they are two weeks too early. 

Well, the truth of the matter is they had business to tend to back here in Maryland. And my stepsister, Zoe, also has a September birthday. So we shared the love. That’s fine with me. I’m all for stretching my birthday out over the entire month. Why not.

Anyway, for $5 per person, you, too, can have a fabulous family picnic at Sandy Point State Park. I’ll give you a second to take that in. Not per car. Per person. I’ve got to get out of this area. But a fabulous family picnic was had, nonetheless.

And I ate meat. Ribs. Juicy, wet, spicy ribs. Have I told you yet that I’m completely re-transformed to my carnivorous nature? It’s happened. Picnics are best when had with meat.

Oh, and the balls. We love our ladderball in these parts. I used to be a ladderball pro. Then, I’m not sure what happened. But I started losing. Bigtime. I haven’t figured out what changed. The shift in awesomeness occurred around the same time as my re-emergence into a meat-eating world. Coincidence?

I’ve got a rather close-knit family unit. Since my parent’s divorce when I was 16, my life has splintered into 2 family units. But neither is weaker nor stronger than the other. And I love each from the bottom of my heart. There’s nothing better than family time. Since my mom moved to Michigan, it’s hard to get everyone in one place. Even now, my baby sister was down at college in Florida. But you take what you can get.

And this weekend, we got meat…. & balls. Happy 2-week-early-birthday to me. (And happy birthday this week to Zoe!)

*Filed under Social Life*

Love Notes: Date Night

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We own a cookie cut townhouse that resembles pretty much any and all construction completed in the late 1960’s/ early 1970’s. It’s previous owners added features such as crown and chair molding and updated appliances. We added hardwood floors, fresh paint and a few aesthetics of our own. But, behind the Duration Sherwin Williams paint, Arhaus arts & crafts furniture and generations of family pictures, it’s really no more than boxed-in room after room.

This is dangerous for a marriage. Walk in the door, and there you are. Couch, ottoman, 47-inch television and 2 furballs ready to snuggle. Every movement in our house begins and ends in our living room. Some days it can be really hard to make it to the back of the house, where our dining room waits patiently for a purpose other than “laundry folding room”.

So our best friends & next door neighbors, Bill and Brie (from Recipe for a Beautiful Life, go visit her and say hello, don’t be shy), gave us this amazing wedding gift last year. Scrabble. Mmhmmm. I said that. By golly do I love my Le Creuset, All Clad, Pottery Barn dinnerware- oh the list goes on and on! But Scrabble is our favorite wedding gift. Here’s why.

Scrabble keeps our marriage fresh. Every Wednesday we have date night. We forbid our exhausted selves from setting foot in that front living room. The computer stays shut down and we let the DVR do the TV watching for the evening. The cats keep the couch warm while we walk the 30 steps to the back of the house. To play Scrabble and have dinner at the table.

I’ll have you know, this is our favorite night of the week. CSNY, Van Morrison, David Gray, Jason Mraz and Jamie Cullum fill the air with their rich melodies and set the mood with their romantic lyrics. We polish off a bottle of our finest red and argue about the wasteful use of the letter “S” on the Scrabble board. Baci plays in the empty game box. Misha sits on my lap. We are a family.

Wednesday nights are invaluable to our marriage. The dining room provides the backdrop for what could really be any lounge or cafe that we’d otherwise drop $100 on dinner and wine for a date night out. This is still a proper date. I keep my jewelry on, freshen up my make-up and surely wear something cute. Alex may loosen his belt, but it stays on, his shirt tucked in. We don’t do the dishes, either. We save them for Thursday morning. The night is just about spending time as us.

I’m no expert in the marriage department. Eleven months in, we’re honestly learning as we go. But one thing I can stand behind is this: look reaalllly hard and you can find the word rut in routine. If you don’t find a time besides the weekend to reconnect, you’ll find you are missing one another’s company. Even if you’re sitting right next to each other on the couch. Scrabble works for us. As does Wednesday night.

Love doesn’t prioritize itself. That’s what being a couple is about- the making it a priority part. After all, we’ve gotta be crazy to spend our lives with someone if we don’t want to put in the effort to make it work. That’s your best friend, right there, after all! So go out there and make it work!  Happy date night!

*Filed under Married Life and Social Life *