I think one death is too much. Two deaths in less than a month has been far too much for both me and FireDad and we’re adults. Or at least we portray adults on this blog. At any rate, I’ve been worried about how all of this loss has been affecting the boys. LittleBrother has the grace of not really understanding. Being just barely over the age of two, he only understands that sometimes Mommy and Daddy are sad and that he’s seen a lot of his relatives in the past month.

BigBrother, on the other hand, is a different story.

At four, he’s understanding much more of what is going on that some people want to give young children credit. When I explained last Tuesday that Daddy, Mommy and Nana were sad because Uncle died, he brought up the fact that Big Papau died. We then launched into a lengthy discussion over our grilled cheese sandwiches about death, Heaven and other concepts that still confuse me. Sometimes it stings, how bluntly he talks about it.

“Uncle died. Like Big Papau is dead. They’re both dead.”

As adults, we tiptoe around the concept. We use words and phrases that are supposed to somehow make it seem less in-your-face, less real. He passed away. He’s no longer with us. He’s gone on to Heaven. He’s no longer suffering. No, for BigBrother, the two men who have left us are simply dead. No sugar coating. No easing into the concept. Just dead. He doesn’t cringe when he says it, like I do. His stomach doesn’t churn like mine does. He accepts it. Oh, to be four years old.

At the funeral on Friday, we waited our turn to pay our last respects while the rest of the non-related mourners made their way to the casket, down the family line and out the door to their waiting cars. Our turn arrived and I walked toward the casket with my mother-in-law, sister-and-brother-in-law, husband and two sons. I stood back. My grief from last month still so raw, I didn’t want to push myself. BigBrother walked right up to the casket, put his hands on the side and peered at Uncle. There was no fear of seeing someone you love looking like someone else in a big box. There was no fear of death at all, like the rest of us have when faced with the death of a loved one. His acceptance is somewhat inspiring. But still very heartbreaking.

I debated not taking them to Uncle’s funeral. They’re kind of noisy, being my children. Sitting still is not their strongest suit. But, after doing some reading and soul searching, I decided that they would come with us, just as they came with us to Big Papau’s funeral. Why? I found this quote.

If the child is old enough to walk, let them walk with you into the funeral home. If not old enough to walk, carry them with you.

Point taken.

In the week or so after Big Papau’s funeral, BigBrother would ask me if I was still sad. One day he told me to try harder. I love being challenged by my children. I also love their innocence, their acceptance of life… and death. I wish I could be more like them in these ways. I’m working on not being sad. It would help if I could have one full month off. Right? Someone work on that one, please.

Because, while the flowers are pretty, they’re killing my monthly budget. And, you know, grief is emotionally taxing when you’re not four. So, really, one month off, at the very least, okay? Okay.

I had been wanting to build a snowman for awhile. Snowpocalypse, round 1 didn’t involve much packing snow by day two and we missed the window in which to build our snowman. So on Saturday, day two of Snowpocalypse, round 2, we bundled up, traipsed outside and began to build a snowman. By we I mean that FireDad began to build a snowman. I just took pictures.

BigBrother helped a bit.

LittleBrother mostly fell down in the snow, cried, got picked up, took two steps and fell down again.

And again.

This was the first time we’ve been able to use the Snowman Kit that we got from one of my Grandpa’s friends during the week of his funeral. In the plastic bag came two black circles for the eyes, an orange carrot-type nose, a yellow pipe for the mouth, three brown circles for the buttons and a black scarf to tie around his neck. All pieces but the scarf were handmade. It’s totally awesome. So, once the pieces were in place, I thought FireDad was done and I took a picture of him with his creation.

We went about slipping and sliding and tripping our way through the snow. Then FireDad told me to go look at our snowman. I did. I laughed out loud. Really, I lol-ed in the snow. My awesome husband made me an ANGRY SNOWMAN.

We’ve been talking lots about Calvin & Hobbes for the past few weeks. Even before Grandpa’s sudden death (for which this particular strip is totally appropriate), we had been talking about rebuilding our Calvin & Hobbes library so that the boys have access to what we both feel is the epitome of comic strip awesomeness. And so with the angry snowman in mind, my husband made my day. Or weekend. But we didn’t bring him to life. Promise.

We did some sledding.

We had a snowball fight. Or two. Or three.

And, really, despite the fact that we haven’t left the house since Friday and they cancelled not only soccer but church, we really had a wonderful weekend. I mean, with smiles like this, how could it be anything but good?

I’d be singing a different tune if we had been without power (like my parents and grandmas and some other bloggers I know). I hope everyone was able to be safe and warm this weekend. Let’s hunker down for Round 3, set to begin on Tuesday. (By the way? Despite the cheer of this post, I’m over winter.)

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[Reminder: My $100 Visa Gift Card giveaway, sponsored by BlogHer and V8 V-Fusion, ends tomorrow. Go enter!]

“It is the memory that enables a person to gather roses in January.” – Unknown

January is over. I can’t say that I’m sad to see it go. What started off as a wonderful month has become an increasingly difficult year. The death of my beloved Grandfather has thrown me for a loop, leaving me unable to find the words to properly blog over the past few weeks. With some other severe health concerns in my husband’s family, FireDad and I are somewhat dreading the continuation of this year. That sounds so negative and unlike me, unlike us as a whole.

And yet, while I’ve been immensely sad, the quote above applies. Something about the passing of someone so dear allows us to reach into the back caverns of our mind and remember things we simply hadn’t taken the time to pull to the front of our brains. I know that I was lucky. Or, rather, I am lucky to have been so loved by such a wonderful man. I am the luckiest of all of the grandchildren in the fact that my children not only got to meet their great-grandfather, their Big Papau, but they got to love and interact and play and laugh with him as well. I feel sad that my brother and his wife won’t know that same joy. I feel even more sad that the other grandchildren won’t get to introduce their future spouses to Grandpa. Maybe I am the luckiest. I do try to remember that.

Despite the grief of this month, it’s been a rather successful one. I’ve read eight books and, no, I don’t know where I found the time. I hit my deadlines though it was very difficult for me to do last week and contributed to a lack of blogging here (and there). I drove around Ohio. We just finished the floor in our kitchen and dining room (more about that project here). (By we I mean my amazing husband with a smidgen of help from his dad, his grandpa and a phone call to one of my uncles.) I started yoga in a class setting and really kicked up my own personal workout time, successfully losing two pounds this month (though I may have gained that back this weekend during a lovely day out with my friends). I started hosting two separate (awesome) giveaways. I had a post syndicated on BlogHer (go leave a comment on my parenting in public post if you would). And I took (at least) one picture, every single day.

In 2008 when my maternal (step)Grandfather died, I failed that very week at Project 365. I really thought that the passing of my paternal Grandfather would do the same. Instead, in the confusing hour after that phone call, I picked up my camera and expressed my grief visually. I may fancy myself a writer but the photographer in me comes out when I can’t find the words to say what I’m feeling in the deep recesses of my heart. January, of course, proves difficult in this region when it comes to creativity and lighting. I do hope that during the month of February I can work on being a bit more creative and not just flubbing through the project. Either way, I’ll keep at it.

January was difficult but it seems that I not only survived but managed to be rather successful despite the fog of grief. I will admit that even though they often bring tears, remembering and sharing stories and memories about my Papau has been a welcome distraction from the sadness. It’s been my way of gathering roses in this bleak midwinter month of January. Though, I’ll be honest, I’m ready for Spring as I have an idea to honor my Grandfather.

Plus, I’m cold. Brr.

On December 18, 2004, I married the man that you all know as FireDad. I didn’t know, then, that he would become FireDad. I just knew that I was marrying the man I knew as my best friend.

There was no way to predict what the future would hold. We didn’t even know as of our wedding day that we would be trying to conceive in short order due to my health issues and the advisement of one of my doctors. We had no idea that one day shy of eleven months later, we’d be welcoming our first son into our family. Or that two years and one week after that we’d welcome another son into our fold. We never would have wanted to imagine the loss we endured between those two dates. Other dates spring to mind and fall away as I sit in awe of all we have and all we are.

He still makes me laugh.

He still gives me butterflies.

He’s the glue that keeps me together, keeps our family together.

He’s still the man I love.

Happy Anniversary, FireDad. Thank you for the past five years. Here’s to fifty-five more.