Dear Annessa,

Now that you're four, and there are a lot of things you know - how to ride your bike, how to operate an ipad better than Mama (pure craziness), and how to snap your fingers (just to name a few).  But there are some things you don't know:


You don't know that a year ago today, all three of our lives were changed forever.  Uncle Dan called me right after I put you to bed to tell me that Daddy had been in a horrible accident. Kathy came a picked you up and took you back to a wedding see and her family were at.  You danced on the dance floor in you pjs as Daddy fought for his life.  He fought to come back to us. 

You don't know how just you being you got me through the worst moments of my life.  How I would watch you sleep and pray that you would come through this okay too.  You probably don't remember tap dancing in the ICU or  the time you wore your Minnie costume all over the hospital - making everyone smile.  You might not remember practicing your letters in the waiting room or all of the stuffed animals, treats, and toys people dropped off for you to help pass the time. 

But mostly, what you don't know, and that I hope someday you will comprehend, is that you are the reason Daddy and I kept going and continue to keep going.  We love you so much that there just are no words.

Sometimes I wonder what you'll remember.  Will you remember how when Daddy finally heard your voice after so long that he reached out to give you a hug with tears dripping off the corners of his eyes as he lay in the hospital bed?  Will you remember the tube with the "milk shake" in it that fed Daddy?  Will you hear the soft beeping of a hospital monitor and will it bring back memories of your childhood?
I want you to know that you are so loved, and all you have to do is be you.  Wonderful, curious, energetic, sweet you. 

There were so many people I wanted to write to today - Daddy's doctors, the flight nurses, our dear friends and family who supported us in so many ways.  And maybe one of these days I will sit down and write to each of them (Lord knows I have written to them in my mind a hundred times over), but today, I wanted to write to you.

I want you to know that just you being you has made all the difference.

Love you to the moon and back,
                 Mama

It's almost been a year...

The last few days, I have just had this uneasiness in my stomach.  I thought maybe it was back-to-school-jitters. But I've met the kids, their families, and even attempted to teach math.  So, nope, it's not that.  But tonight, as I watch Rich get ready to bow hunt again (with lots of help from family and friends), I am realizing that the anxiety I'm feeling is in preparation for the "big day." 

Just hours before the accident, Ness, Shannon and I were picking apples.  Bags, and bags of apples that were never made into pies.  Never dunked in caramel. That morning I had dropped Ness off at Megan's so I could pick out light fixtures for crying out loud.  Sometimes I look back at the girl that was walking through that day and think about how stupid she was.  She had no idea what was coming.  How could she Not Know?  Couldn't she sense that something Bad was about to happen?  Why did she give a shit about staying on budget for the lighting?  Why was she so ticked that all of the Honey Crisp apples were gone?  Will that girl be able to go apple picking this year without have a complete mental break-down?

When I really think about That Night, I can't believe any of us survived.  Looking back, I realize how little I really understood.  I remember feeling so frustrated with my mom in the early days when she mentioned the fact that our house would need modifications.  "Why?"  I thought.  The hospital will give him new legs and he will be walking before he leaves.  I know it." How little I really did know.  Was I protecting myself so that I could make it through the days and nights ahead - be the wife I needed to be and the mom I needed to be?  Make the decisions I needed to make?  Probably.  But, I'm not sure the denial makes it any easier now.

Now the tears come easily.  6 months ago - I couldn't make myself cry if I wanted to.  I was surviving.  Now, I am coping.  We all are coping.  I see it in Rich's eyes.  I even see it in Annessa's eyes at times when she remembers that Daddy can't walk down by the creek with her or that Daddy can't throw her in the air at the swimming pool.  Now she has to settle for mom's weak attempts.

Still, I watched the two of them dance today and my heart was happy.  It was a wobbly looking little dance, but it was my daughter dancing with the dad she almost lost.

I listen to her ask questions like, "Daddy, why can't boys be married to two people? I want you to be married to Mama and to me."

"We can't get married honey - someday you will find a boy you love and you'll marry him. Maybe in college like me and your mom.   But I'll be at your wedding to walk you down the aisle."

Yep.  You will.   Thank God you will be there. 

"What the??"

(Totally unrelated to this post, but a pic of her eating a sandwich - a remarkably huge battle won by me as she generally refuses to eat sandwiches.)

You guessed - that is Annessa's newest catch phrase.  "What the??" Nice. Classy.  Should be a great little set of words for her to use to impress her preschool teacher in a few weeks.

The first time Rich and I heard her say that, we were somewhere between stunned and amused.  After all, hearing an almost-four-year-old exclaim "What the??" when seeing a dead bug in the door jam is kinda funny.  You have to give us that. 

 Then, of course, the self-examination started.  "Do we actually say that?" (oh, by  the way - she doesn't actually finish that phrase, THANK GOD.) So, back to the part about where in the world she picked this up.  Bingo, You guessed it. Her rock star parents. 

But, the way I figure it, no harm done.  We still have 3ish weeks until school starts.  That's 21ish days to replace "What the???" with something more appropriate to show surprise - like "OMG!" That should work just fine, right?

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Part Two: Richdate (a word sandwich for Rich and update, get it?  Clever, I know...)

Rich continues to impress me every day.  The stuff that he endures just to do what you and I take for granted is simply amazing. 

Case in point: He came to my ribbon cutting event for the new charter school the other day.  Not only did he come, but he invited our families as a surprise to me.  Very thoughtful.  Determined to stand during the 20 minute ceremony rather than sit next to my grandma (and the other grandmas in the crowd), he paid the price.  He got home and took his right leg off and started to transfer from his chair to the bed when he noticed a pool of blood on our (thank God) hardwood floor.  Scrammbling to clean it up (I was still at school), he took off his tee-shirt and mopped up the blood.  The once yellow shirt turned completely red.  It's hard to believe that 11 months out, he still has a wound that will not heal.  Of course, while Rich wasn't looking, the dog siezed the day and hopped up on the bed with the bloody shirt.  Nice.  Blood all over our cream comforter.  Thanks Gus.  That's just fabulous. 

Anyway, that is an example of a good day gone bad.  But he does have good days that stay good too.  Days where the legs feel good and he is able to comfortably* make it through the day on two feet.

*Comfortably is relative here.  If you consider silicone liners and plastic socket around your legs in 90 degree weather the norm.  

I say all of these things because this is what Rich would never (or rarely) tell people. Not that he is ashamed or wants to hid it, it's just that when an aquintance bumps into you and asks "how's it going," most of the time they really don't want to hear about all the goary details.  So he gives them the short-hand version: "I have my good days and bad days.  Don't we all?" And that seems to sum up the healing process. 

He does his best to do whatever he can without complaint.  But when I really stop to think about his day-to-day life, I am amazed at his attitude.  God has really come through for us on this one.  That's for sure. 

Mama! Mama! Mama! AUTUMN!!!

So lately Annessa has been calling me "Autumn" instead of "Mama."  The first time she did it - I didn't even notice, Rich did.  "Did she just call you Autumn?"

"I don't know, did she?"

"AUTUMN!!!  Come here!"

Yep.  She did.

After further analisis of my new title, I figured out that she realized when we're out-and-about, people call me "Autumn" and I answer right away.  When she says "Mama," it's about a 50/50 shot.  Thus, her new strategy is simply calling me "Autumn" like the rest of 'em.

"But you're the only one in the world that can call me 'Mama'," I explained, "I love that."

"I know, but I'm gonna call you "Autumn" now.  Okay?"

Not okay - today we went to the pool with friends and this is how it went:

"Autumn!" No answer. 

"Autumn!"

"Just a minute!" I said.

"MRS. STEIF!!!"

Oh boy....wonder how long this will last?

Happy Birthday Rich!

 Dear Rich,

So I could be all sappy and lovey-dovey, but I'll save that for later.  For now, here is an "Ode to Rich" in honor of your 33rd birthday: 

 Ode to Rich

You are the man who shops more than any woman I know.

The guy who has racked up enough Cabela's points for them to send us one of those hard-covered books.

You are the man who insists that a Jack-on-the-Rocks only counts as one drink.  

(There is no second line to that one because, well, what else can I say about that rationale?)

You are the man that remembers EVERYTHING - especially the stuff I wish you would forget.

Yet, the guy who can't seem to remember that when a cereal box is EMPTY, it goes in the GARBAGE!

The guy who has designed a million pretend boats on the Ranger website - "it all depends on the the color of the truck.  If I got a black truck, this is what my boat would look like. If I stay with white, then the boat would have to be...."

You are the man who is now having a love affair with James Patterson's Alex Cross.

The guy that insists on renting an ENTIRE season (or TWO) of a show and watching in all in one sitting.   

The man who never leaves home without his calculator (thank GOD there's an ap for that!)

The guy who can find the best car deal, cell-phone plan, mortgage loan, or fishing pole for any family member or friend.  

You are the man that when you get on a roll, people shake their heads and say, "Where does he come up with this sh*#?!"

 The guy who's not afraid to say what he thinks and do what he wants.  

You are the man that every one wants at their parties.

The guy that everyone wants to be around.

 You are the man that I was lucky enough to marry.

The guy that is the perfect daddy in every way.  

You are you - and that is what I love. 

Last Fourth of July

This has been a tough weekend for me.  Last 4th of July (and the ones before that), we spend the weekend on my mom and dad's boat.  Swimming.  Jet-skiing.  That isn't happening this fourth of July. 

So....I've been keeping busy - the farmer's market, trips to the pool with Ness, gardening.  Stuff like that. 

I don't mean to be all "gloom and doom" - I do know that eventually, things will get easier for Rich to do.  Maybe someday he will get a spare set of legs that he can get wet.  Maybe someday he will feel confident in a crowd.  I'm sure these things will happen.  It's just until then.....

8 Years and Counting

The best day of our 8 years

This week marks 8 years of marriage.  8 solid years.  When I think back to 1:30 pm on June 14^th, 2003, I thought I loved him.  And I did.  I didn’t understand comments like, “Your love will grow over the years.”  How could I possibly love him more? 

But they were right.  My love for him has grown over the years.  We have certainly gone through our peaks and valleys, like any marriage.  But those peaks and valleys are ours.  They are what has defined us. 

Another piece of marriage advice people gave us was, “Marriage is work.”  What?  Work?  How could loving someone so entirely perfect be work?  But then we had our first married fight.  The realization that there was no “breaking up” if this wasn’t resolved was……interesting.  Ah-ha, this is what they meant by work. 

Eight years ago, our biggest worry was getting back from the bars in time to let the dog out.  Since then we have dealt with his job and the travel, my mom’s cancer, infertility, my depression, the deaths of grandparents, pre-term labor,  two heart attacks, the formation of a charter school, building two houses – can you say stress? a Master’s degree, and  a life-changing, near-death accident (not necessarily in that order…).   While some of these things aren’t all bad (the job stuff, the houses), they definitely brought about certain challenged we needed to overcome. 

I don’t think we are alone in our laundry list of crap.  I think each marriage has an itemized list of things that can either tear you apart, or refine your love. 

As I look at Annessa, I pray that she finds what I have found: A man who knows what God’s plan is for a marriage.  A man that makes her laugh.  A man that is worth the work. And a man that she will love more and more with each crappy situation that is bound to poke its way into their perfect life.