EK – Page 2 – Angel Wheeler

A Letter To My Daughter On Her 5th Birthday

I can’t help but wonder if all mothers cry when their baby turns five years old? As soon as my eyes opened, I began to think of you. Not that that’s anything new. You are always the first thought to cross my mind. And as a sidenote, you will always be the first thought to cross my mind, no matter how old you are, no matter how far from me you travel. I think Willie Nelson sang a song along those same lines.

I couldn’t stop the tears this morning. And all through the day, I’ve fought to keep them at bay.

Five years. Five beautiful, wonderful years. They have been the most precious, most blessed times of my life. And that is saying quite a lot, sweet Emma Kate, because my life has been pretty marvelous. But when you entered the world, it went to a brand new level.

I don’t know the answers to all life’s questions. I certainly don’t know much at all. But I know that you have allowed me and taught me to love in a way that never seemed possible. Sure, we have our ups and downs. Life isn’t always a bowl of cherries, but when you step back and look at the big picture, there’s definitely more ups than downs and more cherries than pits in our bowl.

You are such a good kid. You are so smart. I have written to you for the first 12 months of your life, and then every year after that. Someday, I will print these out for you to keep and reflect back on. Reading back through, you will know how absolutely, infinitely loved and adored you are.

You have a great memory. You love to play a game with you daddy and I, especially on car rides, called “Remember when…..”. You usually start and say, “remember when we…” and you’ll fill in the blank. Then we all take turns giving our own remember whens. Sometimes, we all remember, and sometimes we don’t. Sometimes, I’m purely amazed at the things you remember from long, long ago. It’s also kind of sad when you don’t remember something that was pretty epic, so that’s one reason I write it down.

Because one day, my little lovebird, all you will be left with will be your memories. I want you to have good ones. Me and your dad are trying our hardest to give you an amazing childhood, but at the same time, being careful not to turn you into a brat. It’s a thin line to cross. Because sometimes giving your child everything is not the best, and someday you’ll understand that. It’s not about all the “things and stuff” in life, not the newest and greets, because those things always turn not so new, and not so great.

It’s about the “remember whens”. It’s about playing hide and go seek in the dark. It’s about birthday parties with family and friends, and adventures in the woods building forts, and hiking trails, and picking wildflowers. It’s about making play dough and playing dolls. It’s about lying in the yard and looking at the shapes in the clouds, or the stars at night. It’s about snuggles at bedtime and rocking chair time every morning with a blanket and chocolate milk and a warm,drowsy head on my chest. It’s about fishing at the lake, and swimming in a horse trough. It’s about dance parties through the house when our favorite song comes on, and sharing books together. It’s all the “remember when’s” that are too many to list.

It’s all about the time we’ve shared and the memories we’ve made.

You are growing into a great young girl. You are no longer an infant, no longer a baby, no longer a toddler, and pretty soon, you’ll no longer be a preschooler. You have learned so much. Most of your days are spent at St. Matthew’s where you’ve already learned to read 100 sight words. You are my little reader, but I always knew you would be. You understand numbers and how to put them together and take them apart. You also have a whole lot of dang common sense. You are practically perfect in every way. Much like Mary Poppins, huh?

Thank you Emma Kate for these last 5 years. They have been beyond my wildest imagination. I am so happy you’re mine. Someone posted on Facebook about you, that “God said ta-da”, and I think that sums it up perfectly. I love you oodles and gobs, and more, and more, and more.

Happy Birthday, my baby.

XOXO,

Mommy

What happened when I quit Facebook

I quit facebook. It was huge for me. I think either today, tomorrow, or the next day marks two weeks. Two weeks!

I don’t even know why I did it, except that somewhere in the past few years, months, weeks, or days, when it happened I’m not sure, but at some point, I kind of lost myself. It’s not face book’s fault, but just a combination of my choices. Maybe it’s never happened to you, but I got to the point where I just found myself sick to death of everything, including myself. So I pulled the plug. I can’t pretend it wasn’t hard. Within moments my mind was racing with pathetic thoughts. The first thing I worried about was that if I died, while not on Facebook, no one would be able to visit my wall to eulogize me and tell my loved ones how much they missed me. Or give a nice story. Or even know I died at all. That thought process right there may be indicative of the health of my mind at the time.

The next thought, after the death one, was that my sister’s birthday was coming up in a couple of days and just how was I going to handle that? Usually it was an ol’ happy bd fb post, but now I would need an alternate method. To the card store I went. It got me thinking that I didn’t receive one card in the mail on my previous birthday, except from Bealls, the local department store, with a friendly $10 gift to use toward my purchase. I may not have received a card for my birthday, but I know I probably got more than a hundred fb messages. What is that saying about us as people? Anything at all? Sending cards will soon be filed away in the same archaic vault as sending a lock of hair to a loved one. I almost sent one to my sister, just for old times sake.

Then over the next few days of my fb fast, I would catch myself thinking “I should put that on Facebook”. Or wondering about certain people who I only kept in contact with through that venue. It was comparable to a grieving process, how for a brief moment you pick up the phone to call your mom or your dad, only to remember they’re no longer living. But as the days passed, it became easier and better. I haven’t really missed it. Except maybe, a little.

I did want to post Ashlynn’s first day of 10th grade, so here it is:

Isn’t she lovely? This was the day after she was released from the hospital with yet another stomach blockage due to adhesions. It had been a while since we have had to deal with this, and it was downright scary. She spent three days in there feeling terribly. Normally, I would have been straight on fb for prayer, because it is a great avenue for that. My sister kept the Facebook world updated and many prayers came for healing and I am much appreciative. I know her healing is from God and I know the many prayers of friends and family reached the heavens.

Friends helped keep her spirits up. She developed a nasty cough right afterwards, but about has that whipped now too and is on to smooth sailing.

********

So here it is nearly September, and we are squeezing the last drops out of summer as we can. We went and took Emma out on a paddle boat the other day and found ourselves way too far out with just a few minutes to get back. Our thighs were burning trying to get back to the dock in time. Emma was crying in the beginning, she is such a cautious child and really tends to get anxious at new things, but she was all smiles in no time. A package of m&m’s might have helped.

She’s a full blooded two and a half year old now and keeps me laughing. She’s so good and a true blessing and joy in all of our lives. I really need to write down more of what she says because they’re just so darn funny.

All in all, since my fb sabbatical (and my deletion of all other social media, save pinterest and words with friends) I am feeling much more light hearted. I’m finding my focus, which primarily should be on the people who live under my roof. Other than that, each day is just a repeat of the previous. Sometimes it’s drudgery, sometimes it’s chaos, but there is always beauty to be found when I pause long enough to look around.

The big things are still the same: I’m still trying to find my purpose in life and still trying to grow my bangs out, both of which might take to the end of my days. And in the event the end of my days might come, you might have to go to the card store to send a condolence. Go ahead and stick a lock of hair in their too, okay, just for old times sake.

Hiking the PCT

I woke up this morning moaning.

The first thing that came into my mind was, “oh my neck, oh my back. Oh my neck and my back”.

It’s nothing more than a mass of knots and pain. Caused from carrying EK on my back yesterday on a hike in the woods, you know in one of those backpacks that holds kids.

This one to be exact.

You see, I read a book called Wild, by Cheryl Strayed and it’s kind of sent me into a frenzy. I can’t explain it. The book is a memoir about a lady who hiked the Pacific Coast Trail by herself. If you’re not familiar with the PCT, like I was, it is a stretch that runs from Mexico to Canada, through California, Oregon, and Washington. It took her three months, carrying everything she needed to survive on her back, living, eating, sleeping, and pooping in the wilderness. All alone. A switch went off in my brain. A desire to do the same.

Then a flash of reality went off in my brain reminding me I am 1) married 2) a mother 3) nearly forty 4) smarter than that.

So me and my brain, we compromised. I may not be able to hike the PCT, but I can go hike in the woods around me, my own personal PCT known as Perk Canyon Trail. So me and EK decided to do just that.

I strapped her on my back and we headed up.

About 14 steps up a very easy trail, I questioned my decision. It wasn’t easy.

It proved to actually be pretty hard. And I was reminded of a poster that hung in the Dyslexic teacher’s classroom at my former school. In big bold letters it read, WE CAN DO HARD THINGS.

I can do hard things, I kept telling myself.

In the book, Strayed keeps mentioning the weight of her pack was heavier than most backpackers. She never said the weight, but said it was at least half of what she weighed. I’m figuring an average 26 year old lady at about 120-130 pounds, so she’s probably carrying at least 60 pounds. Me, on the other hand, I’m carrying probably 25–30. And it ain’t easy for me.

A little ways up the trail, the air became a little nippy, so I stopped at a log to remove EK and put her jacket on her. It was a welcome relief. She then wanted to walk a little ways, and I was glad to have to only carry the pack without the added 22 pounds.

It is a real joy watching her exploring the woods, considering how she’s gonna cross this bride.

With mama’s helping hand of course.

Even getting off of logs proved to be a challenge.

Of course she had to stop and tie her “untie able” shoes after watching me tie mine, since she had been the one to bend over and untie mine, of course.

Later, I strapped her back in and we continued on. The leaves this time of year are remarkable. The colors are vibrant, although pictures don’t really do them justice.

The silence surrounds you. The only sounds are the crunching of your feet, the occasional call of a bird or flutter of their wings, and the rush of the water in the nearby stream falling over the rocks.

Eventually, EK fell asleep, her head bumping into mine, forbidding her to get a good sound rest. She finally laid her head against mine, pushing my neck forward, causing the tension in my upper back to increase. I lifted up on the pack, adjusting it, trying to relieve some discomfort without disturbing her, but it was only temporary.

It was a great time. It wasn’t the PCT. Thank goodness. It wasn’t 3 months but only shy of 3 hours. But it was enough.

If my back didn’t hurt so badly today, we might even do it again. Maybe.

I hope EK learns to love nature. There is just something about it. Something everyone should experience. We need to escape this modern world every now and again, and find solace in the wild.

And sometimes, we need to trade in our hiking shoes for some heels.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

****The youngest to hike the real PCT was 9 years old. Something to think about.