Mrs. Smith Goes To Washington

Northern Migration

2008-11-16T20:44:00.027-06:00

Birds fly south for the winter, but the Smith family has moved north this time of year. It has been too long since my last entry, but we have been a bit busy! So much has happened I have to look at my calendar just so I can remember where I, PH and the PLOs have been as of late.

We checked out of our hotel home in Alabama and went on a whirlwind tour to squeeze the necks of family and friends just one last time. Fairhope was the site of grandmother's new home, old faces at a neighborhood block party or over a long cup of coffee and a peek in at Sawyer's site in Montrose. Next it was off to Wilcox County to spend a few more lazy days on the Alabama River. One more walk in the woods, one more swing on the back porch, one more look through the Spanish moss at the slow, muddy waterway below. Since we had to wait out a doctor's appointment for PLO's broken elbow (she was released and given clean bill), we spent one more Homecoming at my college Alma mater. I am thankful for all of those that let us stay with them, break bread with them, or just plain went out of their way to see us before our two-day trek to the DC area.

As mentioned, we had some extra time in Dixieland before our actual move, but PH came up about two weeks early to close on the house...the house I had never seen, save pictures on the Internet. He spent his time here alone, painting rooms and unpacking every last box of our worldly possessions. He thoughtfully went to the local grocer and bought our favorite foods, hooked up the washer and dryer and even picked up a bag of Halloween candy. And it's a good thing...because the neighbors came out to see what the moving truck brought in!

The girls and I were thankfully accompanied by my mom on the 48-trip up. We all stayed with my sister the night before, and when she saw us off that morning, she cried and cried. It was truly endearing. Now, I have never been a very emotional person, especially when it comes to saying farewell before a trip. I'm more of a "see you later" kind of girl, not the goodbye kind. It isn't until now that I am reflecting on how much love I was able to experience as we said our goodbyes to so many over the past few weeks.

We saw some beautiful scenery and the fall leaves were absolutely stunning on the hillsides from Birmingham to Knoxville. But then the love ended there. We were only half way into the two day thing (I keep mentioning the length of time we were in the car...I just want you to understand we were all in this jam-packed vehicle, both babies, my mother and me) and then we hit a literal detour. No problem. There were billboards every other exit for a McDonald's, so we would just find one, play for a while and be on our way. Unfortunately, not one, but both of the Mickey D's locales were closed for re-no-va-tions. Try explaining this to the three year old who can spot the yellow "M" a mile away and with a jones for a Happy Meal.

Finally after the detour and closed down restaurants, we found a McDonald's not only that was open, but had an indoor playplace AND a Starbucks on the exit ramp! The road trip trifecta...except that the service was atrocious, the fries were cold and on the way out of the bathroom, our server did NOT wash her hands per employee regulations. Yuck. And the Starbucks on the off ramp was C-L-O-S-E-D. Windows soaped over and everything.

By the end of our trip the car was trashed and the DC area traffic was living up its reputation. We were resolved to make it to our final destination despite the pending poop diaper and resorted to singing songs from "The Sound of Music." As we skirted the District on I-66, I looked up and actually saw multiple groups of Canadian geese in a V-formation...headed in the opposite directions. Delirium had set in, but then in a calming Anglo accent the Garmin said we had arrived at our destination. We were home.

PH and his girls were so happy to see one another. Youngest PLO had certainly changed in the weeks she was away from her daddy...more hair, more attitude, I think. After a much needed diaper change, I took a quick tour of our new place. The pictures on the Internet did not do it justice. Maybe it was the month in temporary quarters or the weeks of living out of the back of our car and sleeping away from my husband that made me love this place even more. I am just so happy to have my family back together again.

So the migration is complete. We have already been visited by multiple families, welcoming us with their cookies and brownies, opening their doors to these strangers from the south. Again, endearing. And I wonder when I will feel settled, because when I go back to Alabama, it will only be as a visitor...for now. In our new home, I will try to recreate the only room our girls have ever known, put my Southern Living and Paula cookbooks on the kitchen counter and hang pictures of my family, Gee's Bend quilts and Judge Roy Bean's. Tomorrow I will begin to feather this new nest.

Can you miss someone you've never met?

2008-10-01T07:48:00.014-05:00

Six years ago today I solemnly boarded an early morning flight to south Florida with the mission of seeing an ailing baby boy named Jacob. The situation I was putting myself in would be considered by most as dangerous and nonsensical. It was a promise -- more like a pact of desperation -- that the boy's mother and I had made. But much to my later shock and disbelief, after I got on my plane to meet him, little ten-month-old Jacob drew his last breath.

Jacob suffered from spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), the number one genetic killer of infants and toddlers. SMA is a neuromuscular disease that robs one of any voluntary muscle movement (for babies think sitting, crawling, swallowing, breathing), but yet leaves one's emotions and intellect untouched. While I had seen pictures of Jacob's smile, the familiar wisdom in his young eyes, the forced and conflicting smile of his mommy and daddy in family photos, I had only experienced Jacob via scant emails and lengthy phone conversations with his mommy, Shaina. Six years ago today, Jacob's suffering came to an end and his parents held their baby boy for the last time. Six years ago today I had missed the chance to meet this miraculous child in person, but today I wonder: Can you miss someone you've never met?

This can only be answered with my mother's heart. It is the love and longing I had for all my unborn children. It is the planning of their entire futures upon learning of their existence. It is the fear of raising a child in an uncertain world that pushes courage and blind faith to rise to the parental occasion. It is something that defies logic, and if you have ever had a child...living or not allowed to fully live...you can begin to understand how I miss Jacob.

As I approached Jacob's home that morning six years ago, I called my husband to let him know I had arrived safely. I could hear some tension in his voice...which was understandable since just two weeks earlier we had buried our own baby boy, Sawyer, from this same sinister disease. It was the tie that bound Jacob's family and ours. Throughout the previous five months, we all became unwilling experts on this disease to which there is no treatment, no cure. We experienced the same trials with inexperienced nurses and doctors and both chose to care for our boys at home instead of a hospital. We swapped emergency room stories with horrific ease as we recounted the hesitation of the ER doctor and the instinctive pouncing of our mothers' hearts and hands to resuscitate our choking children.

And now I was moments away from knocking on this door and meeting Jacob's family for the first time...but under these circumstances? This Jewish family was in the throws of sitting Shiva for their baby boy. I had no idea what this ritual entailed, but I was about to get a primer. I took a deep breath and waited for someone to answer. Keep in mind that Jacob's mommy Shaina and I had never met face to face, so when this blond-haired stranger with a southern twang (that's accent) arrived on their front stoop, let's just say that I got the look reserved for a door to door salesman. But after some awkward seconds of confusion, I simply said "I'm Sawyer's mom," and was welcomed in.

I don't remember how much time lapsed before I actually met Shaina. No one can teach you how to act in situations such as these. Who would want to learn?!? But since this same scenario had just happened to my own family just days prior, I sat quietly and listened. The phone was ringing, there were hushed conversations here and there, and in a darkened corner of the home, Jacob's grandfather sat reading the Torah.

Finally, Shaina made her way down the stairs and we felt all eyes on us as we embraced for the first time, these two young mothers with too many worldly hardships in common. I don't know who let go first, but the air was heavy, and Shaina broke the tension as only she could by saying, "You're so blond." To which I responded, "You're so short." (My 5'5" stature seemed to tower over her five-foot-nothing height, and I am certain Shaina would say I cheated her out of a few centimeters!) That was the first unforced smile I had felt in weeks.

Since October 1, 2002 so much has happened in the lives of Jacob's family. They have taken their son's life and death and wielded it into their passion: the Jacob Isaac Rappoport Foundation which to date has raised $500,000 for spinal muscular atrophy families and research. Since this date six years ago, Jacob's older sister and family have welcomed two younger brothers all of whom will certainly be touched by their brother's memory. In fact, at last night's Rosh Hashanah, Jacob's aunt beautifully described the vacancy felt by Jacob's absence as she prosed on the message board at Jacob's website, ourshootingstar.com:

Jacob,
Last night we celebrated Rosh Hashanah at your family's house. Jordan and Max read us a story and Sam sang us a song. We all ate chopped liver (Pop Pop's favorite), and had Granny's famous brisket. Jordan sipped on wine and quickly spit it out and your mom gave a beautiful toast about you and the story of the giving tree. It was a beautiful night but you were deeply missed. I sat back and watched your siblings laughing and playing with each other and I thought where is Jacob? You would have been singing about apples and honey along with them. You would have been close to Jordan's height by now. You would be running to grab Sam his blankie and bunny when he bumped his head on the table. Jacob...no matter how much time passes or how many holidays we gather for there will always be an emptiness without your smiling face there. I know you are always with us in spirit but some times that just doesn't feel like enough.

Tomorrow will be the anniversary of the day you took your last breath. So much has changed since then and yet it doesn't feel like that long ago that you were here in our arms. We all miss you terribly and it pains me to know that if you were physically here you would be the best brother, son, grandson, great grandson, cousin and nephew to us all. Please know that you will never be forgotten and we are all so blessed to have had you in our lives for the little bit of time you were with us. Until we meet again...you will continue to be our angel and our shooting star.

I love you always,
Aunt Susie

Can you miss someone you never met? After reading Aunt Susie's words, I am more certain than ever. Today is your day Jacob. We celebrate you and the profound, larger-than-life-itself affect your memory has on others, with and without SMA. And even though we never met, I know you because of the good that your family is doing to help other families living and dying with SMA.

Want to meet some more heroic kids with SMA? Watch ABC's Extreme Home Makeover, this Sunday night, October 5th at 8/7 central to meet the Akers family!

Home Suite Home

2008-09-28T08:34:00.005-05:00

well, the day has finally arrived. when we moved into our temporary digs this time LAST MONTH, i couldn't have imagined how quickly time would pass. during our four weeks here, PH has plugged along finalizing our move and the PLO's and myself had taken advantage of squeezing in visit with nearby family and friends when possible.

while i don't have time for reflection this morning (this bus is leaving in an hour!), i am so thankful for the time we've had in limbo. at times this "home suite home" would begin to cave in on us as the girls were going stir crazy (which would require a trip to the stairwell or wal-mart to exert some energy) or PH and i had to hash out the finer, more stressful points of moving multiple states away.

today, we leave for a two-week visit with the grandparents before making the two-day trek "up north." i know we will come back to visit...but that's just it. there will only be visits to our long-time home in alabama. that means for now, it's one more visit to sawyer's park, one more visit for a sunset cruise on the alabama river, one more time as a southerner to smell the humidity, feel a loved one's hug and to hear that sweet drawl of "hey, y'all."

i will always be from the south. but i am curious...when i am at stop lights, i won't see the abundance of auburn/alabama paraphernalia on the backs of cars. i wonder if "up north" they have bumper stickers that say "one red dot in a blue state"? God help us november 4th.

thank God we have a new home to go to...because i am over hotel living. the three-room suite is more square footage than some fellow human beings will ever know, but i know that no matter where this world take us...our hearts will always beckon back to home sweet home. sweet home alabama.

fodder-wing

2008-09-24T15:55:00.010-05:00

one of my dad's favorite childhood books was marjorie rawlings' the yearling. on a recent visit to the grandparents' home on the alabama river, our oldest PLO (donning her new hot pink cast, pictured, right) was given the nickname "fodder-wing" by my father, after one of the novel's characters.

it was endearing...to a point. when dad pulled out his copy of the yearling and began to read the lines where said character was mentioned, he had to delicately explain how fodder-wing met his fate. all this went right over PLO's head, but it made me laugh a bit, watching dad dance between the words of a favorite book and the hard life lessons that rawlings portrays to her readers.

those words had a lasting impression on my dad. eldest of ten children, books of this genre were an obvious childhood holiday, this son of a truck driving, harsh-speaking, marine father. who wouldn't need a mental portal of escape from the constraints of catholic schooling and the chaos around the dinner table? as a young girl, i remember first hearing about these characters and their tales of trial and survival on my own walks through the woods behind our yard in rural georgetown, south carolina. i know that this is where i got my childhood fascination with walden and my side of the mountain.

"The fruits do not yield their true flavor to the purchaser of them, nor to him who raises them for the market. There is but one way to obtain it, yet few take that way." (henry david thoreau)

during our visits to the river, i love stealing a glimpse of dad interacting with the grandkids, taking them for walks around the yard, alongside the treeline of an alabama pine forest, and then down to the water's edge. and just like when i was a kid, oldest PLO and her grandfather pick out a walking stick to steady their feet (or at least feel like real hikers). and i know that in the secret places of my dad's mind he is in a way hoping that jody baxter or nathaniel from james fenimore cooper's novel will be waiting just around the bend.

our fodder-wing is doing just fine. in fact, today the whole family went for a hike, pink cast and all. PLO made it out of the woods unscathed...but that's another story all together. yikes!

we go back to hospital this week to have the pins removed. prayers are appreciated for parents and especially our brave fodder-wing!

is this how hurricane refugees feel?

2008-09-23T20:21:00.005-05:00

mrs. smith and the girls took a short trip to the grands' house so as to stay out of the way while PH and the movers packed our worldly belongings. when i told the oldest PLO it was time to go home, she said, "no, mommy, we're NOT going home. we're going to hotel."

i can't imagine being displaced from my home due to catastrophic circumstances. with katrina raising the awareness bar on storm preparedness, those of us in the deep south didn't take a recent string of hurricanes lightly. up until recently, our hotel home was fully booked for weeks as hurricane gustav, et al threatened the gulf coast. how do those running away from home decide what to take and what to leave behind when faced with the reality their home may not be there when they return?

i'm sure the walls will close in on us soon, but this is just temporary. a few moments ago the girls were playing with their dad on the 3x5 space i cleared in the hotel. a small basket of blocks and books, a few dollies and one teddy bear (sure to be fought over), and us. just us. all our possessions packed on their way to washington, and i have all i need right here.

hotel sweet hotel.

too tired to think right now. PLO just came and gave me a quarter from the night stand. she said i could do laundry with it. sweet thing. 'night, y'all.

broken bones and broken heart...part two

2008-09-22T15:10:00.009-05:00

so you got the broken bone bit from part one...read on for the broken heart part below.

during mrs. smith's house hunting trip to washington, eldest precious little one (PLO) took a tumble and broke her elbow. there was no denying that i would have to go home and that precious husband (PH) would have to finish the task of finding our first home away from our southern roots and relatives.

dear reader, i realize that washington DC is not a world away and not even that far from the mason-dixon (although on which side of this latitude is left up for debate), but this is the reality that our little family is dealing with.

so there i was in the dark hospital room, watching over my living, whole, completely perfect (save one little broken bone) PLO, stroking her hair, my own mother quietly standing by. i was flushed with the thought that if this had happened in DC, we wouldn't have our family with us, sending balloons and stuffed animals, bringing us much needed sustenance, lending a supportive hug and hand. PLO was fine...and i am thankful for this and all the help from our family and friends.

this gratitude is nothing new as our little family has been blessed more times than i would like to mention when it concerns matters such as these. six years ago, PH and i became all too familiar with the surroundings in this very same hospital: the medical equipment, the metal cribs, the chill in the air; those well-intended nurses coming in the middle of the night, just as you have dozed off in the plastic comfort of the provided recliner; the faint sounds of your child's cry of discomfort and the room phone's muted ringer.

our first-born child (that's our sawyer, pictured above) was diagnosed at five months of age with spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), type one. at that time, our family had been thrown into the deep end...first-time parents and now unwilling experts on this disease that is the number one genetic killer of infants and toddlers. PH and i learned that we were carriers for this neuromuscular train wreck, for which there is no treatment or cure. babies such as ours would need surgical assistance to receive nourishment, a small arsenal of equipment to help process bodily secretions, cough and breathe, and despite our efforts would more than likely perish before his first birthday.

this children's hospital was the site of many trials, physically, mentally and spiritually. of course, there was the exhaustion from the days and nights PH and i spent in the patient room with our newborn son. then there was the mental anguish that played out in the halls of the hospital as i tried to maintain the part of peacemaker amongst the visiting family members, oh, and learn how to be my son's (hospice) caregiver once we were allowed to take him home. between the times that i thought i would jump out of my skin and scream out loud right there in front of all the medical professionals and mourners (even though our son was still very much alive!), there were actually moments of spiritual clarity. you see, the most sinister thing about SMA is that while it renders the patient relatively useless physically, it does not affect mentally nor emotionally. the most peaceful seconds of my life were getting lost in the spirit and smile of my son's gaze as he griped my finger. despite my weariness in this world, my son's short life left an ember in my heart that eventually allowed PH and i to try to be parents once again.

fast forward six years to PLOs broken elbow. fast forward six years to the week that my nine-month-old son drew his last breath and there i was with my daughter in the very same hospital. as the parent of a child that has died, i often wondered how my broken heart would react if one of our girls got hurt. had i met the universe's quota for worldly tragedy? certainly not as we live in a 'fallen from grace' world. but nonetheless, being in that place at that time was a surreal moment for me.

my broken heart has had time to somewhat compartmentalize my son's life and death, and as our pending move brings a few more stressful days to light, the wound of loss is as real as the ache in my chest and tears near my eyes. but when given the choice, i'll enjoy God's goodness as it breezes through the disappointments of this world (we didn't get the home we originally made an offer on, but another one is in the works).

and the life lessons that my broken heart has taught me has brought a light-hearted outlook on this broken bone. our PLO is as resilient as everyone said she would be and will don a hot pink cast for school pictures next week. our little "fodder wing" (as her grandfather refers to her) should have it taken off just before our first thanksgiving in our new home in washington DC.

broken bones and broken heart...part one

2008-09-22T12:52:00.001-05:00

well, mrs. smith went to washington with the intent of finding a new home for the family.

precious husband (PH) said he was going to whisk me away on a 10-day "vacation" to the greater DC area. we were to be footloose and kiddy-free for the longest duration in our ten plus years together. it was an effort to coordinate care for the little ones, but as always, the grandparents were more than happy to help out.

as we prepared for our trip, i envisioned how the past few months of obsessive research would come to fruition. i had stolen moments of sleep while PH was out of town compiling all possible property listings for our upcoming house hunt. i further divided my multitasked time while the precious little ones (PLOs) were climbing my leg and the walls to find any morsel of information concerning the public schools in the DC metro area. "not now, honey, mommy is doing important research that will affect the rest of your life!"

these efforts were all a vain attempt for mrs. smith to control her anxious heart. while the public school research could have waited (the eldest PLO won't enter kindergarten for another two years), i could have, and should have, easily left the property research up to the more than capable resources of the relocation professionals. yea, yea, that whole hind sight thing.

so...PH and i are day four into our second honeymoon. we are working like a well-oiled machine. we had laptop, cell phones, files and highlighters in tow. in the airport we went over our MLS sheets and compared properties as if we were preparing for a big corporate presentation. given my usually day to day details, i felt tragically sexy and grown up here. we canoodled in the hotel elevator and shared meal after meal of uninterrupted eye contact and conversation! wait for it...wait for it...

we were in the midst of signing our life away on an idyllic piece of property when PH's phone rang. he stepped into the hall as i continued to go over the contract with the real estate agent. i could tell by the tone of his voice that one of the PLOs had been hurt. our second honeymoon had come to a screeching halt and i was quickly thrown back to my parental reality.

about twelve hours later, i was on a flight back home and PH stayed behind to finish the home search. upon arriving to the hospital, i was thankful to learn that our eldest was resting peacefully (thanks to an IV cocktail that made her profess her love for rainbows and anyone in the room...sweet thing) and that i had made it back before her scheduled surgery.

it will be just a few pins and two months of a cast -- armpit to fingertip -- to heal her broken appendage. our eldest PLO is a fan of adventure and took a tumble off the top of the kiddie slide in the backyard. of course this could have happened at any time, but while both PH and i were away?!? this is not how mrs. smith planned to spend her first trip to washington, but there i was back at home, in this children's hospital, staring at the same equipment and the same crib that PH and i had become unwillingly used to just 6 years prior.

as parents, this was our first broken bone, but for mrs. smith, this was unfortunately familiar territory for my broken heart.

continued on "broken bones and broken heart...part two"

choosing a title is tricky

2008-09-07T17:18:00.001-05:00

choosing a title for a first-time blogger was tricky.

i am certain i will look back on my choice and recall its corniness...but my whole point to online journaling was to create a diary of our family's upcoming move to the DC area. i have never even been a devoted blog reader or subscriber, but i figured now was a good a time as any.

i am looking forward to documenting the next few weeks as our little family makes a great break (read: magnanimous) from our all-time home in the deep south to the oh-so different big city living. it is my intent to not only have a source for our family to keep in touch with our week to week challenges and achievements, but also to have a place to make sense of all the insanity and unpredictability i and my husband and two small girls will be subject to!

thanks for reading as mrs. smith goes to washington.