postcards from the heart of writer's block

There is so much that I've been meaning to write about but I'm tired. I'm tired and my laptop won't stay charged. I'm tired, my laptop won't stay charged and I've also hit a little bit of writer's block. I mean, there's so much I want to say but I fumble over my words and start drafts that I don't finish. "Tomorrow," I say. But tomorrow comes and by nighttime (it gets dark so early now!) I just want to sleep. Or lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling, wishing I could muster the energy to write a few entries. The want is there but the words are escaping me. Case in point: I haven't posted Ethan's Halloween Tot School activities yet. Actually, I haven't even set up new tot trays since Halloween and the guilt -- oh the guilt -- is eating me alive when I am trying to fall asleep at night. Since we worked all summer, can I call this our holiday break? Because I'm going with that.

The holidays are (almost) here and Ethan is so excited that he can't stand sleeping in fear he might miss Christmas and Hanukkah (we do both). Thankfully, this has kept us very busy. The holidays are hard this year, definitely harder than I anticipated. There are the matching Christmas pajamas that won't be worn this year as intended. There will still be one child on Santa's knee, still one child in our holiday card photos. This will equal being told hundreds of times that everything I do is easier because I only have one child which stings extra badly around the holidays, I'm realizing. Ethan keeps me busy. He is in love with the holidays just like his mom. He can spend thirty minutes in the wrapping paper aisle of Target, turning every last roll over in his hands and admiring the print. I am trying to soak it all up and take it all in as he does, letting my desire to throatpunch everyone fall to the wayside and instead focus on the way his eyes light up at the first sight of the cardboard reindeer hanging from the Target ceiling. (We go to Target a lot and I'll fight anyone who thinks that Disney World outranks Target as the happiest place on Earth, just saying.)

I'm actually throwing Ethan's holiday party this year and even looking forward to it. It's more of that "keeping busy" thing that I hold so dearly (or is necessary for my survival, you choose). Ethan is really looking forward to it and has sent several postcards to Santa requesting his attendance (and I hear he's coming -- thanks, Grandpa!) so I'm looking forward to it, too. The holidays are going to be hard, but I'm not going to let them kill me.

That's really all that's been going on over here. Forgive my absence. It's unintentional. Bear with me as I trudge through this writer's block. I promise I'm not abandoning this space and have every intention of going back to regularly blowing up your news feeds with random abreactions and rambles.

blogging to remember: two weeks to go

Today marks two weeks until the Blogging To Remember Blogathon. I initially posted about this event a while back when I first began piecing it together, but I figured another post was due. On November 22nd, the day before the six month anniversary of Wylie's stillbirth, I will be blogging once every half hour for 24 hours straight. Much like a walkathon, swimathon, marathon or other fundraising event that requires physical activity (what's that? Kidding -- sort of), people pledge donations to my charity as I blog around the clock. To make things fun and as a way to give back to people for their kindness and generosity, there will also be raffle prizes -- and lots of them. For every $5 someone donates during the Blogathon, they're eligible to win a whole slew of raffle prizes (spoiler alert: this includes a Keurig brewing system and coffee!).

I will be raising funds for The Compassionate Friends, an organization that provides free bereavement materials to parents who are surviving the loss of a child at any stage of life. In addition, The Compassionate Friends have over 660 support group chapters nationwide for parents (siblings and grandparents, too) who have experienced this life altering loss.

I had the opportunity yesterday to have lunch with Alan Pedersen, the Executive Director of The Compassionate Friends. Alan lost his beautiful daughter, Ashley, and turned his grief into something beautiful. That has been my goal since we lost Wylie. I knew that I could either curl up and die or I could do something meaningful on behalf of her short but beautiful life and so, even when the days (and mostly nights) seem unbearably hard, I try to do just that. Alan and I were able to speak about loss in the form of miscarriage, stillbirth and infant loss. We talked about how to make these losses less isolating for the parents experiencing them. We talked about how to provide adequate support for parents who need it. And we talked about these things using the names of our children which is a gift in itself when living in a society that would prefer we sweep all this under the rug and let it all go unsaid.

But I'm saying it. I am using my voice to be Wylie's voice. I am standing up and saying that I have a daughter named Wylie Meadow Joly and her heart was broken and she died, but she existed. She existed and she mattered and I will remember her until the day that I die. She leaves behind a big brother who would have been the greatest big brother the world knew, a little boy whose love, compassion and kindness knows no bounds.

It's not every day that the Executive Director of an organization comes from California to your little South Florida suburb and invites you for lunch to talk about how to help people. But that's how The Compassionate Friends works: they want to help people and, selflessly, they do just that. No matter how long ago your loss was, no matter how fresh the wound, no matter the age of the child you lost, no matter if said child never took it's first breath, they are there to remind you that you're not alone. Maybe that sounds a little insignificant but as a parent who had one day to hold the body of my beautiful daughter, there is nothing more significant than that.

On November 22nd at 8 a.m. EST, I will be kicking off this year's Blogging To Remember Blogathon. I will be blogging once every thirty minutes for 24 hours straight to raise funds for The Compassionate Friends. No donation is too small and every dollar helps. For every $5 you donate, you're eligible to win a whole bunch of great prizes. We have had over $1,500 in prizes donated this year, including items from Arvowear watches, Planetbox, The Printed Palette, Ben & Jerry's and Keurig. A full list of prizes being donated can be found on the main page of my Blogging To Remember homepage.

To donate, to learn more about the Blogathon, my family, The Compassionate Friends and other FAQ's, hop on over to Blogging To Remember. I appreciate your continued support and I can't wait to do big things for this year's Blogathon!

green smoothie muffins

I am very lucky because I have no problem getting Ethan to eat his fruits and veggies. His preferred snack is always some vegetables and hummus, he can't keep his hands out of the tomatoes when I'm trying to get lunches ready and he chugs green smoothies with weirder ingredients than I admittedly would touch (like spirulina). Still, smoothies can be messy and sometimes I don't have time to prepare one before we rush out the door on our daily adventures or errands. Muffins are super convenient because they freeze well, are filling and you can prepare a whole bunch of them to last you a long time. Muffins make the perfect to-go snack which is helpful in our always-on-the-go life. These are the kind of muffins that I'm totally cool with letting Ethan have for breakfast or as just a snack.

If I had adequate baking gear, I would have made these completely in mini-muffin tins. However, I ran out of mini muffin tins and so I made the rest in regular sized muffin tins. The regular sized muffins took longer to cook by a good 10-12 minutes and seem to be Ethan's preferred breakfast meal whereas the mini muffins are a better little snack because they're not as filling.

The first thing you need is some vegetable puree -- aka the green smoothie portion of these green smoothie muffins. I didn't really measure how much of everything I put in, but I wound up with a tiny bit more than 2 2/3c of vegetable puree and it worked perfectly. I threw in some steamed broccoli, steamed cauliflower, a banana, 1/2 pear, carrots, zucchini, spinach and a couple splashes of some prune juice. My mixture needed a little more liquid so I added a Happy Baby banana, beet and blueberry puree pouch. I threw this all in a food processor and pureed until smooth and then set aside.

In my mixer, I threw in two eggs, 3 tbsp unsalted butter, 1/4c brown sugar, 1 tsp vanilla extract and 2 tablespoons of honey and beat until smooth. Blend the puree mixture into the egg mixture until combined and then add 1/4c Greek yogurt (I used plain).

In another bowl, add 2c flour (I used a gluten free blend), 1/4c raw cacao powder (optional, but Ethan is pro-all things chocolatey) and 3/4 tsp baking soda. I also added a few dashes of cinnamon, cloves and allspice but didn't really measure. Whisk the dry ingredients together and fold into the wet ingredients.

Pour into muffin tins (preferably mini muffin tins if you have!) and bake at 350 degrees. It took my mini muffins 20 minutes to be ready and my standard size muffins 30 minutes to be ready.

the one about voting

I couldn't let an election day pass without a post, despite the fact Ethan and I voted early on October 21st. I've been trying to bite my tongue because -- let's just say I don't really ever make lots of new friends during an election.

Still, I knew I wanted to bring Ethan with me to vote so that he could understand, from a young age, the importance of voting and making your voice heard. Because Ethan is only three, it would have undoubtedly been easier to leave him at home while I ran to go vote. If I left him at home, I wouldn't have to explain why I was voting for each person or amendment I was voting for as I went. I wouldn't have to lose my place in line to take a super-important-right-away potty break before hitting the polls. I wouldn't have to explain to him how to properly pencil in little bubbles on pretend voting ballots (Lincoln vs. Washington, of course) as if this was the most pressing part of the day. It's easier to say "he's young, he won't understand" -- but it's not fair to continually write off children in that manner. They understand more than we give them credit for. I was initially worried as to how bringing a toddler into the voting area could be received, but to my surprise the poll workers were very supportive. They helped make the experience even more exciting for Ethan who had already rehearsed the names of his preferred candidates on the car ride over. We took some time introducing ourselves to the volunteers holding signs in favor of our candidates and to let them know they had our vote. This helped make the experience even more real for Ethan.

Election time is a great opportunity to talk to your kids. I'm continually impressed by how perceptive Ethan is and the depths of really intricate things that he's capable of understanding. There are some "but why?" questions he asks that I don't know how to answer. Why can someone else's religion dictate whether or not people that he loves can marry or not? Why do some people (looking at you, Pam Bondi) devote their lives to hurting other people? Why do these people have ugly, hard hearts? I don't know how to answer these questions but, as his parent, I can help him learn that we can fight back. We can vote them out and we can let the love in our own hearts shine. We can stand next to those people we love because there is strength in numbers and in love. Ethan can grow to be a man who fights for women, not against. He can grow up with enough respect for his mother, aunt, grandmother, friends, fellow humankind to trust in their ability to properly care for their own bodies. And, really, discussing medical marijuana with a three year old isn't nearly as complicated as people think. "Some people need this to get better, mommy, like you put medicine on my bug bites when I need to get those better." A three year old gets it.

I also really wanted Ethan to understand the importance of voting for our city commissioners. His future elementary school is one of two elementary schools in the city without full-time resource officers on the premises. I bring this up to other parents and am met with "oh, that's because the neighborhoods are the safest and there's no need for them." That doesn't fly over here.

"If we need police officers at the school, we vote for Melamed," my three year old will tell you. This morning at Starbucks, I overheard two grown men talking to one another in line. "Are you voting?" One asked. "I don't know. Who is running? Who are you voting for? I'll vote for them too," replied the other. Let that sink in for a minute.

So go vote. Vote with our children in mind, with their future in mind, with their education in mind. Vote for the people who have been robbed of their rights and for those whose rights are still being threatened to be stolen away. Vote. Take your children to the polls. Teach them the importance of standing up for what is right in a world that sometimes feels very, very wrong. Do your part to raise a child that won't be 40 years old and standing in a Starbucks line apathetically asking someone else who is running.

trying for the girl

I have a little boy. He is three and a half years old, a tornado stuck in a toddler's body. When I was pregnant with him, I knew he was a boy before the ultrasound technician told me. My pregnancy with him was my first and this led everyone -- family, friends, strangers -- to insist that I wanted a girl. No, that I needed a girl. When I revealed that he was a boy, there were some jokes of "are you sure?" and the supposed reassurance that I could always "try again for a girl." I was somehow supposed to feel disappointed that on June 22nd, 2011, a screaming, chunky, dark-haired healthy baby boy was placed into my arms. I didn't feel disappointed. It was as if I had won the lottery, only better. Here was this amazing little human being who I had given birth to, a child who I was fortunate enough to watch grow up. Each time he surpassed a milestone -- rolling over, sleeping for a three hour stretch, his first solid foods, his first steps, his first sentences, the first time he urinated in a toilet -- it was as if my pride alone was lighting up the sky in lieu of the sun. Still, I was supposed to feel disappointed or incomplete in some way. At least this is what everyone told me. "Just the boy?" The well-meaning Target associate would ask. "Don't you want to try again for a girl?" Or the old high school classmate who I hadn't seen in years but managed to pass by in the grocery store aisle. "Oh, he's so cute! You should try again. Maybe this time you'll get the girl!"

I had announced my second pregnancy when I was around seven weeks along and within three days I was already drenched in annoyance. I was inundated with "maybe it's finally the girl" remarks, promises of tutus and tulle and sparkles and princesses from Disney movies I'd never heard of. In my gut, I knew the baby I was carrying was a girl and I took to my blog, to social media, to publicly announce my disgust towards Princess Culture in hopes it would get everyone off my back. It didn't. Eventually it was confirmed I was carrying a little girl. "Finally!" The Target associate would celebrate as if the sex of my child somehow impacted her life. "Yes! Now you're complete!" I would feel anger thump in my temples as I tried to bite my tongue and let it be known that all that mattered was a healthy baby and that one sex was not more valuable than the other. I would feel hot tears sting at my eyes with the assumption that someone felt my son was in some way less valuable, that he mattered less, that he was inferior or unwanted or a reason to feel disappointed.

Weeks later, my daughter was given a terminal diagnosis in utero. Almost two weeks later, she passed away inside my body and was born sleeping. She was tiny and dainty with big round eyes like her brother and kinky-curly hair like her father. She had a wide nose like my sister -- a nod to my mother's side of the family -- and was perfectly perfect, except that she wasn't alive.

One of the hardest parts following her death was having to venture out into public again and explain to people who last saw me hugely pregnant why I was no longer pregnant and why I didn't have a newborn. As the initial shock wore off (to everyone except me, it would seem), people began getting bolder. They began saying things like "well, you're young. Try again! Maybe you'll get that girl." "You know, you already have the clothes anyway! A girl would be easy." "Oh, how terrible to lose a girl. You almost had the perfect family!"

I sit here idly trying to prepare myself for the first holiday season without the second child we anticipated having, the second child to occupy Santa's other knee in Christmas photos. I am met with "well, you only have a boy" remarks regularly that make me feel sick inside because I have a girl. I have a little girl who sits atop my mantle in an urn -- a blue urn -- who I will never be able to watch grow up. I will never know what she looks like with her eyes open or what her voice would have sounded like. I will never be able to lay next to her until she falls asleep at night and linger in her room for just a few more minutes of running my fingers through her hair. She will be an infant forever, captured as such in the one set of photographs we have that are supposed to hold us over for our lifetimes. I have only my memories of her traumatic birth and my imagination to wonder what if and if only.

But I also have a little boy. I have a little boy with golden hair that sticks up all over his head. A little boy with piercing blue eyes and a heart of honey and sweetness that melts you with it's purity. I have a little boy who asks us to lay in his bed until he falls asleep and asks me to sing him Natalie Imbruglia and Ben Folds songs until he reaches Dreamland, a little boy who befriends ants on the sidewalk and squirrels chasing one another up the trees. He climbs in my lap and asks me to snuggle with him, to cook with him, to color with him, to play with him, to live with him and sometimes all I can think as my mind tries to soak up all of the love that I feel within my heart is how I'm supposed to feel disappointed in him. Somehow, for some reason, I am supposed to feel disappointed by him.

Contrary to the effortless way people make it seem -- as if "trying again" is another roll of the dice in a board game -- I don't know if we will have a third child. While mourning my daughter I also let myself mourn the naive fantasy-filled dream of a house filled with children and a big family and even bigger chaos that I held onto before I realized things weren't that simple. I've had to accept that I may solely be a parent to my two children: the precocious little boy I spend my days with and the little girl who will spend her life in her tiny blue urn. And if I'm ever fortunate enough to have another child, to bring home another baby who is awake and who I can watch grow up? What matters, what has always mattered, will be that he or she is healthy and alive. I can't think of anything more trivial than whether or not a child is a boy or a girl. I can't think of anything more distasteful than basing a child's worth on their sex.

And if I don't ever get the opportunity to swaddle a newborn, change little diapers or rock an infant to sleep again? Well, I have my little boy to spend the rest of my life with. And there aren't even words to express how lucky that makes me.