Making a List and Checking It Twice, 30 December 2012

I'm feeling conflicted.  Jay took the kids to a friend's house this evening so I could catch up on some introverted time after lots of loud holiday events.  But for the past 90 minutes, I've been puttering around on Facebook and email.  Physically, I'm alone in my house, but mentally, I surrounded myself with people (2-dimensional though they may be).

And at this moment, instead of journaling with a pencil on a mute piece of paper, I'm writing out my thoughts in a public venue.  Does this count as introvert or extrovert time?

I guess the point of my "alone" time is to do whatever will facilitate my rest and recovery, and if sitting under a blanket staring at pithy posts on my computer screen feels restful, then I don't need to feel like I'm wasting rest time.  "Get out from under the covers and do something restful--don't just sit there!"  It does sound kinda silly when I put it like that.

Before I get into the questions many of you are probably wondering ("Rachel, how are you doing?  When are you going to write that scathing, passionate entry, post-trial?  Have you figured out how to articulate what it feels like to have a murderer in the family?"), I have some rather mundane things to ponder.  In fact, they're so mundane I'm reconsidering the private pencil idea. But that would involve getting out from under my blanket, so I'll just stick with this.

Question: How should I spend the rest of our holiday week off?

Possible Answers:

1. Work out more ideas for our summertime 10th anniversary escape.

     The problem with this is that I haven't emotionally settled on what I actually want to do or where I want to go.  I think we're aiming for the British Isles, but do we really have enough energy to navigate buses and trains?  Am I sure I don't have the energy to rent a car and learn to drive on foreign terrain?  Wouldn't we rather take a cruise?  Can we afford the type of cruise we would want?  Would we wish we could have visited more inland areas than a cruise offers?  Is it realistic to expect that we can get childcare for two weeks?  If we wait to make a decision, mightn't airfare suddenly drop in price?  This "answer" to the question of how I should spend the week results in more questions than answers.

2. Nail down a way to quickly and inexpensively scan lots of letters and pictures I inherited from my mom's belongings.

     I have this box of adorable drawings my mom made when she was a little girl, and school projects her mom saved, and school projects of ours my mom saved, and Christmas letters, and journal entries, and a whole lot of miscellaneous papery items it would be nice to preserve and distribute to other family members electronically.  But do you think I'm going to do it one side at a time on my little printer?  No.  And once/if I do find a way of scanning, do I want to spend the time doing it this week?  Blech.  Sounds tedious.  But if not now, when?

3. Sit down and make progress on the recipe scanning project I already started.

     It's true.  I already have a scanning project going on.  And by "going on," I mean "started and neglected."  My mom's well-used box of recipes landed in my house when I blithely promised my sisters I'd scan the recipes for them.  But it's so boring to sit there doing that.  I've already scanned the Desserts category; is anyone actually interested in Soups and Sauces?

4. Hang photos on the walls.

     Here's another project I'm partway into.  Although we've lived in this house for 2.5 years, we have a total of three photographs affixed to the walls.  I've already planned out which photos I want and bought frames for them, so the only real reason to avoid working on this is that I'm always afraid of hanging things askew.  Maybe I shouldn't let that stop me.  I am also waiting on some pictures I need my sisters to email me, but if I turn up the heat maybe they'll respond to my request.  (Em?  Kay?  Are you paying attention?)

5. Watch cartoons or other shows.

     Something tells me I'll be able to squeeze a little of this into my week without too much trouble.

6. Do my laundry.

     Notice I did not say, do our laundry.  That's because Jay keeps whisking dirty clothes up and washing them before I do!  The only reason he doesn't launder my clothes too is that he is afraid he'll wash or dry something on the wrong setting (my clothes tend to be more delicate than the boy clothes around here).  I don't deserve him.  But I'm pretty sure I can't indefinitely avoid doing my own laundry, so we'll take this item as a given for the week.

7. Sit quietly and reflect on my spiritual life.

     This sounds healthy.  I wish it didn't sound boring.  Why couldn't I have been born with more of a contemplative nature?  Maybe I need to look at this as having some moments of reflection, rather than hours.  That sounds more doable.  And I could pick some sort of memory trigger (like seeing Christmas lights or hearing the heater turn on) to remind me to pray during the times I'm working on non-contemplative tasks.

8. Put away the Christmas decor.

     It would be nice to get everything boxed up and stowed away, but I know the house will look a bit bleak once all the trimmings are down.  Buuuut, if I put photos on the walls right after, that might take the edge off the bleakness!  Or I could leave the decorations up and the photos down and turn a cartoon on.

9. Exercise.

     Wait, what's that?  Oh yeah, it's that thing I used to do before EVERYTHING in my life felt more important.  I think a couple of brisk walks are in order this week!  Oo, and I could be contemplative during the walk.

10. Write a passionate post revealing my inmost emotional state.

     Or write a potential to-do list.  Almost the same thing, right?

Well, it looks like I've settled on laundry, reflective moments, cartoons, and exercise.  I guess I'll have to feel the rest out as the week progresses.  That's a priceless element of vacation time right there: playing things by ear!

Hey, did I put "Eat chocolate and lots of other holiday goodies" on the list?  Maybe I should have inserted that right before "Exercise."  Or maybe right after.

It's Over, 18 December 2012

If Alex Trebek of Jeopardy fame read this answer, "I don't know yet," the first person to buzz in with the question, "How am I?" would be the winner.

The punchline of the story is this: My brother-in-law was found guilty of second-degree murder two weeks ago, and today the same jury, after just 60 minutes of deliberation, found him sane at the time of the crime.

What this means for us is that he's going to a state prison--not a mental hospital--for most-likely the rest of his life--not simply until some doctor somewhere finds him "all better" and releases him.  We don't have to worry about him coming after us or our kids.  Ever.  (Actual sentencing will be given by the judge at the end of January; it will be a 15 years-to life sentence and parole is very rare in these cases.)

I am able to identify one feeling, at least: Relief.

But I've never had a family member convicted of a violent crime before, so it's going to take me a while to figure out the rest of  my feelings.  My trusty therapist mentioned that sometimes going through a trauma temporarily numbs our emotions, so it might take a while for me to emerge out of the bomb shelter my heart's been hiding in and articulate what I'm feeling.

Meanwhile, here are the words and phrases that come to me at this moment.

Vindication
No more lies
Thank you
It's over
Jesus
Family
Hugs
Ouchy

Once my emotional "sap" is running again, I hope to write an eloquent and passionate post about all of this.  Thank you for listening.

Emergency Room (Not That Kind), 01 December 2012

Today Jay and I were sent to the emergency room.

At least, that's what the hotel calls it.  When Jay and I walked into the lobby last night, just starting to remember what being relaxed and happy felt like, we were jarred to discover that our two-night reservation had only made it into the hotel's computer as a one-night stay...and every room in the place was booked for the following night.  So much for feeling relaxed.  We had our room for last night, at least, and were told to speak with the manager in the morning.

When we went down after breakfast, the manager told us there was one room open--the one they keep off-chart for emergencies (not the medical kind; I suppose like a hole blowing up in the wall or something, a la What's Up Doc).

This would most probably count as a hotel emergency.

The good news is, they aren't charging us for the night and will let us redeem our now-unused online deal voucher anytime during the next five months.  The bad news is, the view from the room is mostly of air ducting and the WiFi cuts out every time it starts raining.

The sound of rain drops pattering on metal ducts is surprisingly charming.

But the other good news is, when the intermittent rain lifts, the sea appears on the horizon beyond the rooftops, and this does happen to be the most darling emergency room I've ever encountered.

Our paid-for room didn't come with books!

In a sense, staying in a room designated for emergencies is rather fitting for us right now.  During this trial, it has felt as if we're in an ongoing state of crisis, waiting for disaster to hit in the form of huge delays or a mistrial or a family member's emotional breakdown or--worst of all--an acquittal.  Thank God that fear is passed, at least.

And like the view from this room, our immediate future looks rather dreary.  More trial, more waiting, more anger, more empty space at holidays and birthdays where my MIL should be sitting.  Even the rain splashing against the hotel's metal ducting is reminiscent of tears.

But also like where we're staying today, if I look around inside the room, or out the window past the ugly roofs to the sea, I find beauty and feel peace.  Our lives don't currently have a gloriously sunny, unimpeded prospect, but there are sweet things to delight in, like my children's faces and my flowerbed's seedlings and Jay's strong embrace.

Today, I'm so glad for the chance to sit still long enough to absorb some beauty around me, and to think on the Everyday sweet things in my life.

Sometimes a visit to the emergency room is just what the doctor ordered.

GUILTY, 30 November 2012

For those of you in suspense, this is a quick note to say that we did get a verdict on Jay's brother yesterday: Guilty of murder in the second degree for stabbing his mom to death ten times with a kitchen knife.

As Jay put it, we are relieved that guilt was found, yet disappointed that it wasn't found in the first degree.  However, sentencing is very similar for both ("15-25 years to life" in prison), so it doesn't make that much of a difference.

Sentencing will not happen until the sanity phase of the trial is completed.  The defense takes the floor now and tries to prove that he was insane (unaware of his actions) at the time of the crime.  Good luck with that.  But you know what?  If he's found to have been insane, then he goes to a state mental hospital for probably the rest of his life...and an actually-sane person who faked his way through, living in a facility with actually-insane people--sounds like a nightmare to me.  I'd probably rather choose prison.

At any rate, I have a lot to say about all of this...I just don't know what it is yet.  Jay and I get to take off to our 1930-Something hotel this weekend and I can't wait to relax and start figuring out how I feel.  Deeeep sigh.

We feel the love...thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Waiting Some More, 28 November 2012

Today was another day of waiting; of trying to stay busy and not watch the clock; of feeling my heart pound every time the phone rang.

See, here's the thing.  However unlikely it may be that the jury comes back with a "not guilty" verdict, there's always a chance that they could.  (Juries have the power to make their own decision regardless of what anyone else involved thinks about the case.)  And that tiny little chance sits like a heavy, ice-cold pebble somewhere deep inside my heart.  For if my brother-in-law is found not-guilty and is released, our family will all fear for our lives.

Now then: As Jay pointed out, it would take all twelve members totally agreed upon innocence for that to happen, and it's highly unlikely.  But the cold rock in my chest sits there, nonetheless, and I just want it to be over already.

Like, now.

Jury's Still Out, 21 November 2012

Today, twelve o'clock noon came and went without a verdict being delivered.  So, we take a deep breath, try to shake off the stressful suspense, and go on with our week while we await continued deliberations next week (they start up again on 27 Nov).

For the record, I would just like to say that I am tired of going through this hard trial--in both its figurative and literal meanings.

In other news, my 21-pound (9.5 kg) turkey fits in my roasting pan!  And it might actually be completely thawed by 6:30 tomorrow morning when it goes into the oven.

As you can see, a tight squeeze.  Yes, I know it's upside-down; I'll flip it over tomorrow.

And now I am going to sit here and think about things I am very, very thankful for, specifically regarding my Jay.  If by this point in the season you have tired of reading other people's Thankful Lists--or if you can't handle reading me rave about my sweetie pie--close this window and write your own during the time you would have spent reading the rest of this post.  :-D

The following list is in no particular order (and I begin with the caveat that I am not listing Jay's many X-rated qualities, although I do happen to be highly thankful for those).

1) Jay loves to grocery shop.  Loves.  He enjoys it so much that he is willing to brave the wilds of Thanksgiving Eve crowds to pick up a couple loaves of bread...with the kids in tow!  He doesn't blindly grab things off the list, either; he compares prices from brand to brand and season to season, and if a new item catches his attention, he'll carefully assess whether it looks like a helpful deal or not.

This is the kind of jungle Jay's braving at this very moment.

2) Jay does dishes cheerfully.  I'm not saying he enjoys doing them (in fact, I know he doesn't), but he uncomplainingly returns day-by-day to the unending stream of crusty cookware.

3) Jay is taking care of his health.  He's on this crazy low-carb diet thing that I could never handle, but he is continually researching strategies for getting the best nutrition he can.  And mm-mm, he looks gooood (to state it in a family-friendly way).

4) Jay works at his job day-in and day-out, even though it's by-far not the most rewarding thing he can imagine doing.  But he doesn't just show up to work and scrape by--he looks for ways to improve and invest in what he's doing.  When the paycheck shows up each month, he sees it as equally belonging to our whole family, and doesn't lay on an iota of guilt or resentment that I do not bring home a salary.

5) Speaking of jobs, Jay is extremely affirming of my "domestic engineering" career as a homemaker.  When I decorate or cook or vacuum or garden or pay bills or brush the kids' teeth, he sees it as being highly valuable and worthwhile...and also views it as being hard work!

An example of the decorator aspect of my homemaking career, although I cannot take credit for placement of the rubber snake.

6) That said, Jay doesn't simply notice undone household chores and think, "That's Rachel's job."  He's started doing his own laundry, actually; and when I recently told him I was feeling guilty that I wasn't being vigilant about keeping his hamper empty, he said, "Well, they're my clothes!  I figure, if my hamper's full, I should wash them!"  And if that makes me all aflutter, you can only imagine what I felt today when he pulled a 7).

7) Jay will sometimes inquire about what's on my to-do list (or he'll take a guess), and then he'll pick my biggest, most stressful item, and do it for me when I'm not looking!  Today is a case in point.  Since I'm hosting Thanksgiving at our house tomorrow, I wanted to get our wide, tiled kitchen/dining room floor scrubbed.  But I was waiting until I had done most of today's baking to minimize re-dirtying it.  Jay saw "floor" written on my list and casually asked, "What's that mean?  It needs to be swept, or mopped, or what?"  "Well," I sighed with resignation, "actually it's a hands-and-knees scrubbing job.  I'll do it after my nap."  At which point, I unsuspectingly went off to take said nap.  When I got up 90 minutes later, the house smelled lemony and I discovered a sweaty Jay standing in the middle of a cleared-off kitchen floor, fans blowing all around.  "You...didn't...!" I stammered, and he lightly broke in, "Oh yeah, I scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees with tile cleaner while you were napping.  It's done.  Seriously though, you're surprised?"

True.  Love.  Right.  There.

Take that, Brad Pitt, Sean Connery, and Hugh Jackman!  This is the sexiest man alive right here.

8) You know that stereotypical "guys are bad listeners" idea?  Not Jay.  In fact, that's the second thing I liked about him after meeting him.  Jay listens to whatever I have on my mind or heart and really engages with me about it.

9) And that stereotypical thing about "guys don't express their feelings"?  Hah!  I am rarely at a loss to know how Jay feels about something, which enables us to communicate about it, and I'm not left to guess and hope his needs are being met.  Jay doesn't just hope other people or life automatically come in and take care of his needs, though.  If he needs to be alone, he lets me know and we work out ways for that to happen.  If he could use a late night playing games with friends, he lets me know we need to prioritize that.  He says "no" to things that he knows will overly-exhaust or pointlessly drain him, but is willing to say "yes" to challenges that could strengthen him for the better.

10) Jay loves his extended family--and mine.  With all of the trials (literal and figurative) our two families have been through over the past couple years, Jay has lovingly and patiently been a listener and counselor to his family, and has picked up slack for me when I've needed to be those things for my family.

I could go on.  I haven't even touched on what a wonderful daddy he is to our boys or how gifted he is musically or how dedicated his is to following the Lord.  But I think I'd better stop here because Jay just got back from the store and let me know it would help if I could get the kids ready for bed while he puts away groceries.

I rest my case.

Handing It Over to the Jury--Part One, 19 November 2012

Raise your hand if you've ever had a family member put into the hands of a jury before.

Okay, to those of you who raised your hands: How did you feel the night before?  Were you sick to your stomach?  Did your head ache?  Was your whole body so tired that you didn't want to move?  Did you simultaneously want to sit still, work on tasks in a frenzy, be by yourself, be with people, think about something--anything--beside the trial, and want to talk about it with someone?  Did you need to look at your driver's license to remember what your home address was when you were placing an order at a store?

Maybe that's just me.

I'm telling you, the intensity of this emotion is physical.  Tomorrow, barring any catastrophes, the two attorneys will give their closing arguments, the judge will give his instructions to the jurors, and the jury will disappear into a back room to discuss what they have been listening to and observing over the last two weeks.  Then at some later point, they will emerge and render their verdict.

There are three possible verdicts the jury is allowed to deliver in this case:

1) Not guilty

2) Guilty as charged of first degree (premeditated) murder

3) Guilty of second degree (crime of passion) murder

Without giving specifics, the jury would have to be full of numskulls (or be run by the mob) to render a "not-guilty" verdict, given the evidence they've received.  And as to first degree versus second...we will have to wait and see.  The defense pulled a really dirty stunt last week by asking to call an additional witness as a bargaining move, but their bluff was called and it looks like the prosecution has the more convincing argument at this point.

My thoughts right now are so weird.  Primarily, I want TRUTH to win.  But if what my family and I see as the truth does prevail, one of our family members will be in prison for the rest of his life.  On the one hand, the idea of never having to deal with his lies and machinations is so overwhelmingly relieving that I have almost no other feelings; yet, somewhere deep inside, I grieve that this young man, our brother, would be lost to the free world forever.  But in a time shorter than it takes to type that last sentence, I am right back to relief at the idea of being safe from him forever, and am truly horrified at any other scenario.

Yesterday I spent 20 minutes on my knees praying for God's will to be done--praying for His justice to prevail.  Heh, here's a crazy thing: By contrast to the accused in this trial, I look like a pretty darn upstanding person; but compared with a perfectly loving, perfectly true, perfectly just God, I haven't done diddlysquat of good.  And yet...He listens to me.  He hears my prayer and holds me in His arms and says, "I love you, little one.  And I've got this."

Even so, knowing that doesn't make the headache and queasiness go away.  Nor will hearing a jury proclaim guilt over my brother-in-law make the hurt and pain go away.  But it will make me feel a whole lot safer and so very relieved at not feeling jerked around by his lies anymore.  Truth for the win!

How See's Candies Made Me Cry, 16 November 2012

Today is the only day I made an appearance in court this week.  It seemed best to me not to ride the roller coaster of hearing defense witnesses examined and cross-examined, and I really needed to catch up on dishes, laundry, and tickles with the kids (not to mention catching up on naps).

When I gave an outline of the trial in my last post, I rather hopefully stated that closing arguments as to guilt would be given today and that the jury would be able to start deliberations.  As sometimes happens, the defense was allowed to add a last-minute witness who is not available to testify until Tuesday the 20th, so today was a short day of testimony in court.  Hopefully, Tuesday will be the day for closing arguments, and maybe the jury can even come back with a verdict before holiday time at the end of next week ("Thanksgiving," for any readers not familiar with our autumn holiday tradition; it involves much eating).

So other than this morning, today was a fairly regular day.  I did homework with G, ate leftovers for lunch with the kids, and finally got the pile of clean clothes off the living room floor and into dressers.

Jay's dad--who's been in court all week long, bless his heart--needed some grandson therapy and wanted to give us a little break, so he took the boys before dinnnertime to stay at his house overnight.  Jay and I promptly kicked up our heels and went on a hot, steamy date!  Well...we thought about going on a hot, steamy date, but we ended up meeting at a greasy spoon restaurant between running separate errands.  The average age of the restaurant's clientele was about 125 years old, and the decaf coffee tasted like battery acid, but I got pancakes and Jay got buffalo wings and we could still sneak some kisses behind the menu, so it's all good.  (Besides, 125-year-olds are so adorable.)

From there, Jay headed out to guys' night, but I felt restless.  I didn't want to sit at home by myself, but I didn't want to sit and have a conversation with anyone, either.  Then I hit upon the perfect middle ground: the mall!  There I could be surrounded by people but wouldn't have to talk with anyone.  Perfect!

While at the mall, I detoured into a See's Candies store, because sampling a free chocolate seemed highly appropriate for my evening.  (You've forgotten by now that I had pancakes for dinner, right?  Good.)  While the lady uniformed in white and black behind the counter pulled out a maple bon bon for me, I broke out of my introverted mold momentarily and mentioned wistfully that See's always reminds me of my mom.  "Oh, did she used to work here?" the lady asked casually.  "No," I replied, "she just loved this chocolate."  The lady's face softened and she asked, "Is she still with us?"

My friendly smile quivered a little when I said she wasn't.  "Mine isn't either," she revealed gently, and asked if the bon bon was my mom's favorite.  When I said that actually, the milk chocolate-covered cherry was, she snatched up another candy wrapper and said briskly, "Well, I think you need one of those too, then.  You eat it, and you look upward, and you say, 'This is for you, Mama.'  You make that your new tradition.  You eat that cherry candy and say, 'This is for you.'"

Today may be the only day in my life that being handed a bag of chocolate made me cry, and it is very probably the only time that I'll get a hug from a See's Candies employee.  Then again, it may not be, because she told me to come into the store anytime I wanted to eat a candy for my mom, and she'd get it for me.  :-)

Personally, I'd rather go with dark chocolate, but this was Mom's fav.  She had a whole strategy of just the right way to take a bite and slurp out some of the syrup without dripping any of it on herself.

And this is what is so amazing about an unexpected life.  This morning in court I was feet away from a family member who has sided with the evils of the world, and this evening I was embraced by a complete stranger who is seeking out the joys.

I say "a complete stranger," but the See's lady isn't really a stranger at all.  She is a sister in grief--and who knows?  Perhaps the tradition she suggested I make will stick, and I'll continue going back for the cherries...and the hugs.

Court's In Session, 10 November 2012

Today I woke up around 7:30 a.m. after eight hours of sleep; was awake for three hours or so; and went back to bed, sleeping for another three hours.

When people ask how I'm doing after being in court all week, my standard response is, "Very, very tired."  People all react differently to intense emotional situations.  Some cry, some exercise hard, some need to be surrounded by friends, some need to hide by themselves, some get indigestion, some eat too much, some eat too little, and so-on.  I've experienced every one of those responses at one time or another, but my main reaction is physical fatigue.  I told my sister Claire this afternoon (after my nap) that I feel physically like I'm recovering from the flu, my muscles all weak and a little shaky.

Although I use pseudonyms and conceal specific geographic locations in this blog, I hesitate to convey specifics about the trial while it is going on, on the chance that some reader might somehow be connected to a juror or a witness and put two and two together.  The public defender (aka the defense attorney) already tried calling for a mistrial last week--denied, thankfully--so I don't want to mess with a touchy situation.  I can give details after it's all over.

Maybe sitting in the courtroom would be slightly less exhausting if it were as beautiful as this

However, I can tell you a few general things and some things about myself.

The trial will probably last until the end of December, taking into account time for jury deliberation, Thanksgiving, and a week off at the beginning of December.  There will actually be two separate periods of jury deliberation.  Here's the layout:

Week 1: The People (aka the Prosecution aka the District Attorney) present their case as to the defendant's (aka Jay's brother) guilt and premeditation.  This is the week I just attended, and in which Jay and his other two siblings testified.

Week 2 (this coming week): The Defense presents their side of the story Wednesday through Friday, speckled with testimony from rebuttal witnesses from the People.  Friday afternoon, both sides present closing arguments and the jury begins deliberations.

Week 3: The jury continues deliberations and hopefully returns a verdict.  They will be deciding on guilt/innocence and degree.

Weeks 4 and following: If the jury returns with a "guilty" verdict, everyone reconvenes (same jury) and the Defense presents their case as to the defendant's insanity at the time of the crime.  The the People counter with their witnesses, testifying to the defendant's sanity.  (As a quick aside, legal "insanity" is not the same as mental illness; it means the perpetrator was incapable of knowing what he was doing at the time.)  Then they give closing arguments again, the jury deliberates and returns a verdict of sane/insane, and everyone goes home.  Then, depending on the verdict of course, in January or February the judge will decide on sentencing.

It all sounds so dry when I type it out like this, but every minute in that courtroom is packed with electric tension.  "What is the jury thinking about?  Why is the defendant making that facial expression?  Will the witness speak clearly or break down sobbing?  Will the judge sustain or overrule this objection?  Will this evidence be compelling or be ruled irrelevant?  Are the people on the jury paying attention or just interested in getting through the process as quickly as possible?  How would things be different if this had all never happened?  Did this all really happen?"

And of course, it did all really happen, although writing about it somehow makes it feel a little less real.  I guess that's good for now, because there's absolutely nothing I can do to make the case go one way or another, nothing I can do to change the circumstances, and nothing I can do to make it all hurry up and go away.

I can, however, eat chocolate and take naps!  And go for walks and cuddle with my kids and talk with friends about my feelings and cozy up on the couch with Jay to watch movies.  And more importantly, continue to pray for peace and healing, because that's what we all really need  most anyway.

P.S. I am not attending court next week to listen to the Defense's witnesses.  Nothing about doing that feels healthy or productive to me.  So I'll have a normal week at home.  Well, as normal as can be expected...which isn't really saying anything at all!

Murder Trial Begins Tomorrow, 05 November 2012

Tomorrow is known as Voting Day for 99.99999999% of our country's population, but to my family, tomorrow has been named Trial Day.

It has been one year and a week since Jay's mom was killed in her home.  The only suspect there has ever been is Jay's youngest brother, who has been incarcerated for this whole time.  I have only seen the defendant once since the incident: he was shackled and dressed in orange, and I saw him across the courtroom during a preliminary hearing.  Tomorrow, he will be dressed in a suit, but he will still be sitting across the courtroom from me, next to his lawyer, whose job is to convince twelve total strangers that he is 1) innocent of the crime and 2) if he's not innocent of the crime, he was insane and shouldn't be held responsible.

I've never seen a trial before.  I've never sat on a jury; and to be honest, most of what I know about these things comes from Hollywood (a real reliable source right there).  But tomorrow, I will watch as Jay's other brother and sister are questioned and cross-examined on the stand about the last words they had with their mom and what they did and saw, and the next day I will hear Jay asked about the same.  There will be police officers, EMTs, and DNA specialists interviewed.  Through testimonies, the district attorney will be piecing together a picture for the jury of what happened, and the public defender will be doing her best to rip it apart.

My mother-in-law's last hours, minutes, and seconds will be discussed in agonizing detail.  And twelve people who are stuck on this case (witting or unwitting though they may be) for the next 6-8 weeks have to listen to it all.

Fortunately for me, I can listen to as much or as little of it as I want.  I've decided to make plans to attend every day this week, accompanied by a relay of dear friends, while other friends and family stay at home with my boys.  But if I want to, I can leave after the first 10 minutes of the first day and never go back.

So how do I feel about all of this?  Nervous.  The kind of sad that's a physical, dull ache behind the frontal lobe.  Braced.  A little queasy.  Preoccupied.  And so very, very, very sad.

I find myself still asking the question, “Why did this happen????  What good can possibly come out of this??  How does this tragedy fulfill God's greater purpose for the world?”  Honestly, I hope I find out someday.  But I guess for now I just have to keep taking it one day at a time, leaning on the things I do know, that:

• God dearly loves every person, but He lets us make our own choices—which sometimes hurt each other in awful ways.
• God is with me every second, and He weeps when I weep.
• There is a bigger picture, and although I feel like I'm in a little boat in the middle of the ocean, not even able to see over the waves, God can see the whole globe and cares for every person in it.
• My mother-in-law and my mom and countless others who love Him are with the person of Jesus this very second, safe and sound and in total peace and joy...and someday I'll be there with them.

But not today, and most-likely not tomorrow.  Tomorrow I'm going to be on a wooden seat in a small room, clutching a tissue and feeling sick to my stomach.  But I will not be alone.  No, I will not be alone.  And while the district attorney paints a picture of Jay's mom dying alone at the hands of her attacker, I know she wasn't really alone either.  Jesus was there, holding her soul in His loving, scarred hands, and He was weeping.

Twelve Years of Memories, 31 October 2012

Today I am thinking about my mother-in-law.  Today marks twelve months since we learned that she had been killed; and although she officially died on October 30th, the 31st is the day I began mourning for her.

Everyone grieves differently, and Jay was telling me that he didn't feel any particular extra grief approaching this date, but it helps me to take some time to sit down and remember her, so even though my brain would probably be better off in bed at this early hour, my heart needs to be here.

My first memory of Mom—as I called her from the first point I joined their family—is a bit fuzzy, to be honest.  I remember seeing Jay's family join him in our university dining hall for breakfast one weekend.  At the time, Jay and I were peripheral friends, belonging to the same Bible study but running in different social circles, but it was always fun to see families of fellow students.  The reason my first memory of Mom is fuzzy is because I was so shocked by how much Jay's dad looked and acted like him.  I can still see Dad standing by the salad bar, and me feeling slightly freaked out at their similarity.

The next memory happened about a year later, during our Sophomore year.  Jay invited a few friends to his family's home for a movie and snacks one evening, and amusingly, my memory of Mom is eclipsed by Jay's dad here, too!  At the time, I was “watching” Jay, trying to figure out if he had more-than-just-friends feelings toward me, and during the movie night his dad chatted me up a bit and enthusiastically pointed out how much the family dog seemed to like me.  (Real subtle, Dad, haha!)  But I know Mom was there in the background, making sure everyone was comfortable and well-fed.

Fast-forward about six months; and it's not that my next memory of Mom is fuzzy, it's that I don't think I actually saw her at all.  I was preparing to go abroad for a semester, and in the month before I left, I took a walk with Jay one afternoon to have a good long DTR (“define the relationship”).  It was about dinner time when we finished up our conversation, and he popped into his house for a minute before I drove away.  When he came back out he said, “My mom would like to invite you to stay for dinner!  She's cooking lamb.”  Although I declined the invitation, I felt incredibly warmed that she would think to include me in their family meal (and maybe I should have stayed—I love lamb!).

Memory Number Four again takes place in our university dining hall.  This time, Jay and I were not peripheral friends: It was the morning of our first date, which would be taking place that evening.  His family joined him for breakfast, and he invited me to sit with them.  Enter here my first memory of Mom's smile!  She smiled so warmly at me throughout the meal...she was so happy that Jay was so happy, and I was happy too, and I love remembering her happy beam.

Jay and I were engaged three wonderful months later, and that summer was full of taking turns driving to see each other on the weekends.  There were many meals Mom made for me during that time, and conversations about guest lists and bridesmaid dresses, and questions about apartment-shopping, and lots more smiles.  She looked beautiful at our wedding and I cherish the photos I have of her that day.

It would take many more paragraphs if I were to recount all my Mom Memories during the ensuing nine years.  She was there for  all the milestones: My senior recital, our graduations, buying our first car, moving to our first house, vacationing as a family.  Announcing to her the coming birth of her first grandchild is a highlight among firsts for sure!  Seven months later, she and Dad were at the hospital just hours after G's birth, and she became Nana.

G—and later Z—adored their Nana, and she them.  She watched G during the day once-a-week while I worked his first year, which reminds me of one of the things I appreciated so much about her.  Although Mom obviously had her preferred way of doing things and held her own opinions, she never told me what to do, or how to change my parenting.  Watching G during the day and then later having the boys over one night a week, she was always extremely conscientious in honoring our parenting decisions and techniques.  Meanwhile, she delighted in watching the kids grow, and her sparkling laugh would bubble over when describing or hearing about their latest antics.

As her only daughter-in-law, it was my privilege to do little things for her, too.  She loved it when I cooked for her.  :-)  We had dinners at our house every so often, plus the occasional lunch I'd whip out for her if she happened to be running errands in the area.  Mom and I really bonded over food.  Jay and his Dad were in it for the conversations, sometimes forgetting to notice what was on the table, but Mom and I shared an appreciation for good food.  When she cooked for me, I made sure to voice my enjoyment, and when I served her, she made me feel like a gourmet chef!  “This looks like it could be in a restaurant!” was her highest praise, and words that I treasured.

And then I was there for some of her milestones: Their new custom house, 30th wedding anniversary, the birthdays and deaths of a number of her close family members.

But as many memories as I have of Mom, she beat me by having the first memory of the two of us.  A few years after Jay and I were married, Mom shared the following story with me.

“It was your first semester of college, and Jay took us into the dorm to introduce us to people.  In the dorm lounge, you and two other girls were sitting next to each other on a couch.  Jay told us your names and we moved on to the next thing.  The next year, when Jay sat with me and said, 'Mom, there's a girl at school I think I could be very good friends with,' I saw that couch with the three girls on it in my mind, and Rachel, your face lit up in my memory and I prayed, 'Oh Lord, please let it be her!'”

Mom, I cannot believe how blessed I have been to be called your daughter.  I so wish we could have had more firsts and seconds and thirds together, and I hate that we have lasts.  Thank you for loving me so much, even before you really knew me or knew how I would fit in your family.  I'm so glad you will always be part of mine.

Boyfriend? 04 October 2012

Today my husband had a deposition with a police sergeant and a district attorney, and my six-year old confessed that he kissed a girl.  Just a normal day, right?

As strange and heavy as it is to be involved in a murder trial, it's the kissing story that's making me reel a bit, to be honest.  Yesterday, when I picked up G from school, his teacher pulled me aside to tell me that G had been talking about kissing girls during recess.  When I broached the subject with him, he cringed and refused to talk about it.

But--O miracle of having a two-parent family--Jay was able to coax the story out of him during dinner tonight by first asking G if he was embarrassed to talk about it (he said he was) and assuring him that we wouldn't think "bad-silly" thoughts about him.  Then G smiled and said there was a girl at school who "hated him" but that he liked.  (!!!!)  And he kissed her.  !!!! "What did she do?" Jay prompted casually.  "She pulled away her arm."  This here mom breathed a sigh of relief that it was only an arm kiss, at least.  G continued, "She didn't like it because her daddy said she couldn't have a boyfriend."  !!!!!!!

He continued that sometimes she liked being around him and sometimes she didn't.  Like when they participated in a learning station during class, she enjoyed being with him, and they cuddled.  (I wanted to interrogate, "What do you mean, cuddled???" but I kept my mouth shut.)  But later she didn't want to be around him.

Jay talked about why he could kiss me--"because we're married"--and I piped up that it might make the girl nervous if G talked about kissing with her.  "It doesn't make her nervous," G retorted confidently.  "She just doesn't like me."  Then Jay led a discussion that every little and big boy should hear, and suggested that maybe G should find out what kinds of things she likes and then do those things.  My eyes widened a bit when G rattled off what kinds of things she likes to eat and how she plays, but I'll choose to perceive this as him innocently inheriting my gift of observation, rather than being a stalker in the making.

I have to admit, G was awfully cute as he smiled and talked about this girl, and as he giggled about the things he did around her.  And to be perfectly honest, I remember pretending about kissing boys when I was his age, but I certainly didn't try to kiss any of them for reals!  Come to think of it, I deliberately avoided the occasional affectionate advance.  But I had no qualms about chasing said boys around the lawn.  I better quit before I bare too many quasi-embarrassing facts.

My take-away from this is that it's good to know I have a little boy who participates in his social environments, who feels safe talking about his feelings and actions around his family, and is willing to listen to suggestions about behavior changes.  Yes, those are good things.

One last Mommy thing to add:  Little Girl who spurns my charming son's playful affection, someday you're going to look back and say wistfully, "I really liked that boy G."

My Son, the Pirate-Knight, 18 September 2012

The great thing about thrift stores ("charity stores," if you're not from around these here parts) is that they are thrifty.  This morning, Z and I dropped off G at school and started on a treasure hunt.  (Quick rabbit trail: We stopped at a seed store first, where I bought poppy and sweet pea seeds and diatomaceous-earth dust, which apparently "tears apart" the bugs who eat it, according to the shop keeper.  It's organic and it kills bugs--no oil involved--so I'm for it.  As far as the flower seeds go, I love the thought of them magically blooming in my front yard in the spring.  It might actually take magic for them to bloom, since I currently have no place prepared to plant them.  But I have a handle on the pest control, so I'm still ahead.)

A great thing about thrift stores at this time of year is that they have racks of costumes and shelves of accessories, ranging from padded Pooh Bear toddler outfits to adult-size Darth Vader suits, and everything in between.  While I searched for potential birthday gifts for G (hey, he won't know it's been used), Z discovered his own treasures.

When I turned around from pawing through a rack, there was a 3.5-foot tall pirate staring at me, complete with three-cornered black hat, plastic cutlass, and huge grin.

His weapon of choice basically looked like this

Throughout the rest of my browsing, Young Pirate followed me around in his garb; I think he didn't poke any of the other shoppers with the sword.  Before leaving, his eye caught two other treasures: One was a plastic knight's helmet and the other a heavy sword (still plastic, but much more substantial).

The sword he found was slightly shorter and slightly more plastic than this image, but not by much

Z immediately decided that G should receive the pirate hat and large sword, while he would keep the cutlass and switch to the helmet.  But Rachel draws a line on bringing home weapons that could break the other weapons already at home, so I said "no" to that but "yes" to the pirate hat, the cutlass, and the helmet, adding a total of $2.37 to the pile of practical things already in my cart.

"Oh, your total is just a few cents away from qualifying for the $10-off coupon!" the unwitting cashier pointed out.  "Do you want to grab something else?"

Sigh.  Did I buy the 10-cent plastic farm animal sitting on the counter?  As if drawn by an unstoppable force, I fetched the barely-plastic $1.99 sword and added it to the pile.  "Well Z," I conceded, "I guess G gets his sword after all!"

There is something truly delightful about a small child smooshed under a plastic helmet, calling out brashly, "Here's your sword Mommy!  Try and get me!  I'm wearing a helmet so you can't, haha!"  How could I resist?  I grabbed the black pirate hat and the Scary Sword and we began the battle.  Of course, it's impossible for Mommy to win, because if she thwacks a leg, it grows back; and if she gets too close, she's declared captured and hauled off to jail (AKA the bench in the entryway); and if she tries to escape, she's bound with invisible chains.

Z in his "knight cap," as he refers to it

Eventually, I switched sides and joined the Allies, just in time for G to arrive home from school and claim his rights to the new toys.  I sauntered out to the driveway to meet the carpool--oh wait!  Was I still brandishing a sword and sporting a pirate hat?  Giggles from the interior of the van and a smile from the driver revealed that I was.

To end this seedy tale I fast-forward to bedtime tonight.  I went to the living room to find Z, who stood slightly-hunched over with his hands inside his pajama pants.  Before I had time to even imagine what he could be doing in such a position, he straightened up and pulled his hand out from under the waistband...with a cutlass as long as his legs following!  Being a mother of boys, I'm sure I will be shocked many times over the years, but nothing had quite prepared me to see a 2.5-foot sword--hilt and all--rise out of the recesses of a small boy's pajama bottoms.

Methinks that any day which includes pirates, knights, and giggles is a good day.  And now a good-night to ye, mateys!

A "First" Birthday, 13 September 2012

Today I made it through another First.  Today was my first birthday since Jay's mom passed away; it was my third birthday since my mom died.

For those of you who have had close relationships with your moms, I don't need to explain the significance of little traditions that paint a birthday--the phone call with your mom singing Happy Birthday, or being served a dinner of your favorite dishes, or a card being pressed into your hand. Having a birthday when some of those elements are missing is disorienting and--for me at least--sad.

And yet it's still fun to have a birthday and be treated with extra hugs and gifts and cards, so the day is a very mixed bag of feelings.  One moment I'll be dancing around the room to some tunes and then next moment I'll be crying when I receive a phone call that isn't my mom.

Tomorrow I hope to write about the ways I "mothered myself," to borrow a psychological term, and made the day into what I needed it to be.  Since this is a blog about mostly today, I just wanted to write this quick note tonight to say that I made it through today...and I am still able to look forward to tomorrow.

It's a Bug's Life, 07 August 2012

Today I reached a crisis point with my gardening, and I'm going to say something that will instantly alienate me from most of my peers:

I've just about had it with all this organic crap.

If you give me just one moment before you run away screaming "pariah!" I will explain my case.

The Great Gardening Experiment began last September, when I was feeling particularly ambitious and felt the ancient draw of raising fragile green things out of the crusty soil. (Poetry aside, my soil is actually rock-hard-clumpy when dry and unbelievably sticky when wet. Pretty sure they make modeling clay out of the stuff in my backyard.) "Let's do a garden, and let's do it organic!" I exclaimed to Jay, and I checked out an organic gardening book at the library. The two main things I gleaned from that book were 1) compost is key and 2) rabbit manure is a perfect addition to compost. So in another moment of insanity ambition, I brought home two rabbits.

Let me pause here and give you my experience with organic farming.

• Everyone says "green" is healthier, and it probably is.
• Higher-end stores sell organic foods for higher prices, which we don't buy. (What we spend on guilt is still less than what we save on the grocery bill.)
• I read that one library book about organic gardening.

So much for that. Now let me tell you my experience with chemical farming.

• First of all, I love poison. Growing up on five wild acres, poison was my family's friend. I'll never forget the horrible summer when we all had to hoe an acre of rock-solid ground in the scorching summer heat. The only thing that got me through that blisterful trauma was my dad's promise, "I'm going to put pre-emergent down, so we won't have to do this again next year." Lesson learned: Pre-emergent = less suffering.
• My dad couldn't spread pre-emergent over the whole five acres though, so he used another chemical to rescue us from the threat of total weed domination. "I'm going to spray Round-Up today," Dad would announce, and he'd mix up a tank, strap it to his back, and wave the magic spray-wand of death over the targeted areas. For larger-scale assaults, he'd hook a large tank to the tractor and recruit one of us to drive while he walked alongside with the magic wand.
• I have other fond memories of poison, as well. Apparently, five acres of luxurious outdoor living didn't satisfy the local crickets and cockroaches, so they moved into my childhood bedroom. I still shiver when I remember the little scratching noises of their feet on the wall next to my bed. After a huge wood spider crawled over my hand while I slept, my parents gave in to my pleas and sprinkled insecticide granules along the baseboards under my bed.

Imagine waking up to this running over the back of your hand

• Later as a newlywed , I happily controlled ant problems at our first house by spraying its indoor and outdoor perimeters with a long-lasting insect-killing solution. (It said that it was safe for children and pets after it dried, so I wasn't too worried about doing the kitchen counters and cabinets.) When rats moved into the crawl space under our bathroom and discovered the washing machine in the garage, Jay distributed rat poison cubes around the property, and I'm pretty sure he didn't check to see if they were USDA green-certified first (although the cubes were green in color).

As you can see, my experience with chemicals far outweighs the organic. But I'm down with having a healthy family and as I said, last summer I felt ambitious—and optimistic.

I have now been through 1.5 growing seasons in our 8x8-foot garden plot. Some things I planted were quite successful and other things were disappointing. But I have worked very hard to pull weeds (a la Battle of Bermuda) without touching the tempting spray bottle of Round-Up in my shed. I've ignored the handy box of slug & snail bait and covered/uncovered certain susceptible seedlings every day until they were large enough to withstand the munching. Instead of buying bags of Miracle-Gro, I've daily fed rabbits and “recycled” their waste into a stinky pile in the corner of my yard.

To be completely honest, I have had some doubts as to whether I can “count” my garden as being organic. For one thing, when we buy non-organic vegetables and then compost the peels and stems, does that make my compost un- “organic”? If I'm giving my rabbits non- “green” feed, does that make their poop un-organic? When I plant seeds that aren't labeled “organic,” does that mean the plants that grow out of them are un-organic, even if their leaves aren't sprayed with chemicals? These doubts have nagged me.

And then today as I gazed wistfully at the hand-tilled dirt rows that should have been full of seedlings, I felt defeated. DE-feated. Every day there are fewer seedlings than there were the day before. As of today, I had a total of three beet seedlings left. There were four bok choy plants left out of 24 seeds planted. Half of the bunching onions are gone. One quarter of the sugar snap peas are left.

Clearly, organic is working for the bugs in my life, but it isn't working for me.

After using up a wad of Kleenex and drying my eyes, I did a web search on organic pest control—which admittedly I probably should have done at the very beginning. But the first article I looked at this morning wasn't very helpful. It said that of the growers they interviewed, the highest pest-control success rate was from letting ducks and chickens roam their yards.

Perfect. Even if our home owners' association allowed raising poultry, I'm already pushing my personal limits by having two rabbits. We do live near a series of duck ponds, but the mallard couple who visits our neighborhood for one week a year during mating season prefers our front yard.

Couldn't you visit the backyard?  The alysum can take care of itself.

Another article advised planting a larger crop than you need to allow for insect consumption. That is what I did, but the bugs are taking more than their fair share...and I'm not going to dig up my entire backyard in the hopes that I'll get four beets next year instead of three.

The next article I looked at discussed making earwig traps using oil or something; I didn't finish reading it because a neighbor arrived at the door just at that moment. She noticed my red-rimmed eyes and asked how I was, so of course I had to tell her my woes. She looked thoughtful and then said, “Are you putting down oil traps for earwigs? My grandmother did that.”

Sigh. Maybe I shouldn't decry the entire organic movement as being a failure but should instead better equip myself to implement it more effectively. My, doesn't that sound mature of me?  The truth is, I'm ready to plow the whole autumn crop under (all 12 plants) and liberally dose the ground with some of the Good Stuff.

But I guess I could finish reading the oil trap article first. It does sound intriguing.