My favorite things gone bad

When you were a kid, did you have a favorite toy?  Hell yes, you did.  Maybe even now you have a favorite.  In my toy stash, I sure have a fave ;-)  Moving on, my point is that we all have something that at some point we loved more than anything.

What if, let's just suppose, something happened to it.  Let's suppose it was tainted in some way.  Maybe it was hurt just a little and the defect couldn't totally be fixed.  Maybe it was trashed really badly and the stain or smell couldn't be completely removed.

Would it still be your favorite thing in the world?  Would  you still want to snuggle it when you were scared or sick?  Would you still want to carry it when you went to a friend's house?  Speaking in adult language, would you still want it displayed proudly in your foyer so that all of your friends would see it when they visit?

I think we want to believe we would love something just as much if something happened to it.  I think we want to believe we are humble enough that we will be happy to have the thing we love regardless of the shape it's in.

Then, there is the flip side.  Should we want a lovey (what a friend of mine has always called those things of childhood) that is damaged, dirtied, irreparable?  It's not that the damage would rub off on us, but it can't bring us the joy it once did and there is no going back.  Something that damaged can't be repaired.  What is the threshold for "that" damaged?

Whether the lovey is kept or disregarded is really of no consequence because the joy it once gave us is gone forever.  Once that damage has occurred, there isn't a spit shine bright enough; there isn't a seamstress talented enough; there isn't enough money to get it fixed just so that it is like new.  It will never be new again.

The Birthday Bitch Hat

I always get funny looks when I talk about my Birthday Bitch hat.  First of all, it says "Birthday Bitch".  Most people don't get why I look forward to wearing it every year.  Let me tell you...

Best.Hat.Ever.

That's my friend Carol beside me.  I'm really not sure whose left butt cheek that is.

First, I hate the multiple chins from the strap; second...look at my face...I'd been doing the ugly cry.

My first year wearing The Hat was January 26, 2008.  I didn't leave the house.  I sat on my sofa all day, basically.  It was the one thing I did to scream at the universe for having a birthday while holding Olivia in her final days.  She liked it because it was pink.  I know it may seem weird, but this crazy hat makes me feel a connection to her.

I've worn it every birthday since.  The next year was still at home, but I was a lunatic.  All the firsts after someone you love dies are horrendous.  I had some friends over and we were totally goofy.  This is still one of my faves of Brandy and me...

Last year, I was going through a miscarriage.  I was on bed rest.  I still pulled that sucker out (the hat!), but there are no pics. 
I don't know how long I'll carry on the tradition.  I mean, really, how many 50-yr-old women can you see wearing this and looking sophisticated? However, my friend Laura was such a good sport and wore a hat, too, yesterday when we went out to lunch.  Her's was customized...

It's HER birthday, bitch!

There is some video somewhere from yesterday...We had a great time at Buffalo Wild Wings.  A random table instigated "happy birthday".  A manager from a local tax office seemed to like it, too.  He gave me his business card, dated it, wrote Happy Birthday and told me I can get my taxes done for free.  Saaweet!!

It's goofy.  It's outrageous to some.  It's perfectly me.

Get Ready for IT

IT is pretty important.  I'm past midnight, so technically, IT's under a month, but only by 45 minutes at this second.

February 16th is the day I buried my daughter four years ago.  This time of year is a bitch.  Every day can bring something that is a reminder without the slightest warning.  It actually starts on January 2.  That was the first day she almost died. When you have a terminally ill child at home, there are no normal days. 

It is important to me that I honor Olivia's memory each year (truly each day) by celebrating her life and all that it was and not just the sadness that marks the anniversary of her death.  Over the next month, I want to educate about ACC (Agenesis of the Corpus Callosum) and introduce Olivia to those of you who never had the pleasure of meeting her.  For me, it's therapeutic to share the good and the bad.  Trust me, both are fantastic in the true meaning of the word and the bad is heavy. 

I'm edgy tonight.  My fuse is short.  That's almost always a sign that it's an Olivia day.  There will be lots of those in the coming weeks.  If only I had her here instead of the memories...