Dear Debbie,

Whenever I hear people talk about friendships from the internet as “imaginary,” I shake my head and think of how far from the truth those people are, and how they are probably missing out on meeting and knowing some incredible people, and how terribly sad their lives must be.

I’m not entirely sure when we met on Twitter, but it’s been years ago, as we’re approaching our fifth Avon Walk for Breast Cancer together. Without even knowing me, you welcomed me onto your walk team, welcomed me to join you and your friends in walking a marathon and a half. You were brave. I could have been a creep. Or boring. (Luckily for you, I’m only mildly creepy and only boring when I’m tired.)

When I reached my hotel in Chicago the night before our first walk, I got to my room and there was a fruit basket waiting for me, and my team t-shirt. Before we had even met, you had made me feel so welcome.

And then the next morning in front of Soldier Field we met, and over the course of 39.3 miles became friends.

I cannot imagine my life without you or Barbara in my world. You are part of my tribe. You keep me level headed when I need levity. You make me laugh when I need to laugh. You send me random texts to let me know I’m thought of, cared about – and it means the world to me.

You are a phenomenal photographer – I love your style and your eye.

You have a kind heart that is open and caring and generous.

You have a wide smile that lights up a room.

And you have an energetic, young spirit that seeks fun, finds fun and makes fun. I can think of no one else that would climb into an abandoned shopping cart on a walk course to be pushed around for awhile – but you’ve done it. Twice! I am envious of your fun-seeking spirit, and often wish I was more like you.

I am happy for you that you’ve found a centeredness with yoga, that you’ve made it a part of your life. Your enthusiasm makes me think I might like it (though…historically? My mind wanders too much for yoga).

My children love you, nearly as much as I do – and you are the fun one who sends them waxed lips and journals to trash. And I am grateful for your kindness because seeing my daughters happy is a huge blessing to me.

This past year has been filled with chaos and times that were difficult, and I don’t think I’d have gotten through it without you and Barbara in my corner cheering me on. I never felt alone, though, because I always knew the both of you were there for me and I can’t even begin to describe how much that meant. How much it still means. How I wish I could repay the both of you for every time I texted because I was angry, or stressed, or feeling some other chaotic thing and how you always responded with love and with kindness and emojis.

The two of you went so far beyond your way this year to make sure that my birthday was a special one – and all you get is some smelly old blog post. But I hope you know how so very much I adore you.

In a month, we’ll be in Chicago. We’ll have our walking shoes laced up and we’ll be logging another 40 miles. Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather get blisters and lose toenails with.

Blessed beyond belief to know you, and so very glad you were born.

Happy birthday. Love you!

Sarah

There’s a moment in each day where pure panic hits me – usually it’s when I’m driving and usually it’s some innocuous thing that sets me off. The brain starts churning and I start thinking of all the possible worst case scenarios and then before I know it, my eyes are puddling up with big stupid tears and I am so grateful there’s no one around to see me, just in case that tear makes its way down my face.

Because I’m scared.

I have maybe three more weeks of full time work and I cannot find anything to help fill those spaces to supplement the income for the hours I won’t be working, despite the millions (or so it seems) of resumes I have sent out.

So, I struggle with the part where I have to believe that good things will come my way and that I’m doing my best and that I’ll get through it. I struggle and I borrow faith and I do what I can do and I keep putting one foot in front of the other and I hope against what feels like unbeatable odds (I may be a bit melodramatic these days) that somehow things will work out, that something will come along, that my worry and anxiety over this mess was all for naught.

I’m trying so hard to believe it. To believe in myself. To stop with all the worry and just ride it out.

But it’s tough, and it’s getting tougher as the weeks zip fast.

So cross your fingers for me and throw magic fairy dust my way. And remind me to catch my breath and breath and to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to keep pushing against the fear, and keep trying – even when it feels hopeless – to get things done.

This morning, the girls and I went to visit my grandparents in their new home. This is the fourth place my grandfather has moved since his stroke, and it is what should be their permanent home. It’s an assisted living facility – but my grandparents have their own space. They were able to bring their own furniture – my grandfather can sit in his own chair, they get to sleep in their own bed, my grandmother has her same old card table tucked near the window so she can put her jigsaw puzzles together.

“It was lovely of you to move all my stuff here,” my grandfather said to my aunt last week, “but you know you’re just going to have to move it again in another few weeks when they send me home.”

He’s not going home. He’s nowhere near ready. He may never be ready.

He has an appointment with his doctor soon. An appointment with a neurologist to see how the old noggin is doing (has the brain swelling gone down? And man, I hope someone asks about the wonkiness with his short term memory). There’s a pain in his heel that is keeping him up at night, pain he is sure is the only thing holding him back from walking again.

He has a picture of Pumpkin that he apparently cut out of a calendar I had printed for them. He calls her “the funny one” – in the picture, she is making a funny face and has her fingers posed like antlers by her head. “It’s my favorite picture,” he told me today. “That girl. That’s some good photography there, Sarah.”

We posed for a picture, grandpa in his easy chair resting against a latched hook rug depicting Jesus. Jesus’s eyes staring, as yarn eyes might, over grandpa’s shoulders. My daughters hover near him, I lean my head in towards his. “Sarah, you’re blocking the Jesus eyes,” said my mom.

“Being old is no fun,” my grandmother said. “Getting old, that’s not so bad – the places you go, the things you see, the stuff you learn. That’s the good stuff. Being old? I hate this.” She paused. She sat perched at the edge of her seat, necessary with her short legs. Her slippered feet surrounded by a tangled pile of tubes from her oxygen machine. “I always thought we’d perish in an accident,” she told me.

That was her word… perish.

“The kids always say dad isn’t a good driver, but he’s a good driver. It’s not like I thought he’d get us into an accident, but that’s how I figured we’d go. Together, in a car accident.” My grandfather is an awful driver. He really is. That he’s unable to drive now is probably a good thing for motorists in West Michigan. “There weren’t even any near misses,” grandma said. “He’s a good driver.” Inside, I’m twisting around in my head the fact that the only requirement for being a good driver is avoidance of “almost” accidents. “Speeding tickets on the other hand…” she said.

When my aunts and uncles moved my grandparents’ belongings, my aunt wrapped my grandmother’s puzzle table with plastic wrap to hold all the pieces down and to not disturb her work in progress. Somehow I don’t think that I would have thought of that. I know my grandma would have been pissed to have had to start over.

I grabbed grandpa by the toe of his shoe, propped up on his recliner. I take the toe of his shoe and I shake it – it gets his attention, and his hearing is awful. I take the toe of his shoe and I lightly squeeze his toes in his white leather shoes and he looks up at me. “You like my new kicks?” he said. “I am going to walk all over in these!”

“I love them,” I said. I lift my foot and waggle a navy blue Chuck in the air. “Like mine?”

“I do! I do like them!”

We posed for our picture and without seeing the result he said, “Now that will be a good picture. You girls will always be my favorite.”

And he’ll always be mine.

I began 2012 awaiting the birth of my niece and all of the accompanying excitement relating to waiting for babies (with slightly less enthusiasm for the oh-so-many baby showers that came along with the whole ‘waiting for babies’ thing).

And the birth of my niece was one of the most amazing things about 2012.

Don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of things about the year that were amazing and special and great and awesome. But.

It was a tough year.

I was among the many who couldn’t wait for the year to end, couldn’t wait to see what promise a new year would hold, and so here we are.

It’s 2013.

You know how when you wait for your birthday and you think you’ll wake up and look older? Like magically overnight you go to bed looking 15 and wake up looking 16 and whoa, amazing right? (I’m not talking about now that we’re older. I wake up looking older EVERY. DAMN. DAY). And the thing is you would wake up in the morning and you’d look in the mirror and you’d think to yourself, “Nope… still look 15.”

I am kind of feeling that way this morning.

I still hold a lot of optimism for 2013 – because 2012 was so difficult and I have a lot of hope that the new year will be better. I believe in new chapters and fresh starts and the whole symbolism thing about New Years Eve, which is why I’ve always loved it so much.

You know, maybe it would be better if the new calendar started in May – so instead of waking up to bleak cold, you could start fresh and it’d be green outside and spring and warm and you could start your year in sunshine. {Seasonal Affective WHUT?}

I didn’t mean to start the new year as a grump.

(The winter made me do it.)

***

The reality is… I’m very excited about the new year and its potential and I have hope for good things for me and the people I care about. I have hope that it will keep getting better. I believe it with almost every fiber of my being (except the fibers that are currently moody).

***

I am open to seeing what this year has to offer. Last year was full of so much change, there’s a part of me that strongly hopes that this year is boring. Boring, healthy, happy, content.

Dear lovely Internet,

It is Christmas eve and I am waiting to bring my girls home so I can tuck them into their beds and they can fall asleep with the thought of Christmas running through their heads – one a believer, one not so much – both still eager to wake up on Christmas morning to see what there is to see. Stockings filled with treats, presents under the tree, and a trip to my mom’s where we’ll open more gifts, eat traditional monkey bread, and spend time with family.

I have had a hard time finding Christmas joy this year – and I know that I’m not alone. I know it because I’m seeing it in status updates on Facebook, in your pictures on Instagram, and in blog posts and tweets. Something about this year has hung heavy on so many of us, and finding the joy of the holiday has been difficult.

And even now, with Christmas officially just hours a way, I still struggle to find the joy and the magic that usually has me as eagerly anticipating Christmas morning as my daughters do. I’ve come to terms with it, pretty much, that maybe this year is just meant to be the year I take a break, breathe in and breathe out, and just absorb the moments and keep on looking forward at what is ahead.

Do not mistake my lack of spirit as a lack of appreciation for all the gifts in my life, though. I am blessed. I am loved and I am cared for and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t realize it, that I don’t thank my lucky stars for it. This knowledge makes my lack of Christmas enthusiasm easier to tolerate.

On Christmas eve, if you find that you are having trouble finding the joy, the wonder, the magic, the light… know that you’re not alone. Know that I’m glad you’re here. Know that we have all of these new days ahead of us, days stretching wide and full of the kind of magic that need not be wrapped in paper and tied with string.

It’s been an…interesting year. For me, and maybe for you, and maybe that’s what our gift is – that we’re getting through it, that the world didn’t end, and that we get to wake up and start fresh in the morning.

I look forward to waking up tomorrow morning. I can’t wait to see the enthusiasm with which my daughters face the day. I can’t wait to hear their laughter ring through my home. I can’t wait to see toothy smiles and bright-eyed faces. And that is my gift, as well.

Whatever the day is or means to you, know that I wish you joy. I wish you well. I wish you peace and love and twinkly lights. I wish you candy canes and reasons to smile. Most of all, I wish you friendship and love.

Merry Christmas.

Love, Sarah

P.S. This is one of my favorite Christmas songs introduced to me by a friend of mine a few years ago (I know it’s older than that, but I HAD NEVER HEARD IT until she mentioned it). I think it’s pretty. So, I’m also wishing you pretty harmonies and lyrics you can’t understand.

Dear Internet,

As they say here on the Interwebs: I am disappoint.

(I don’t know why they say it. Or why they say it like that. It’s disturbing, no?)

Let’s start again.

I’m disappointed in you, dear Internet. While I usually make it a point to avoid my analytics like the plague, the other day I decided to look. I looked after someone in my photography message group asked what our strangest keyword search string was lately (“Personal Zamboni,” baby), and so I took a deep breath and wandered over to see.

First of all – all y’all looking for cookies and cheesecake on a stick? Hello! Hi. Glad you found me. It’s yummy. Eat up. Enjoy.

Now, the rest of you? The ones searching, “What does she want for Christmas?” or “What to get someone who won’t say what she wants for Christmas?” It’s you I’m disappointed with (Unless, of course, you are shopping for me, in which case Amazon gift cards work, and I should start seeing those roll through my inbox shortly, no?).

There’s a lot of people landing here somehow, after searching for gift ideas and I guess that makes me a bit sad.

The thing is, dear Internet, odds are I don’t know the she you are hoping to shop for. I probably don’t know what she likes and doesn’t like, or her favorite color, or her hobbies, or whether or not she’d think getting a pygmy monkey for a pet would be awesome or less than awesome.

But you should.

I’m guessing the mysterious she wants you to know who she is and what she’s about and she wants you to pay attention and be observant and she wants you to pick up on her hints and her cues and find that perfect gift for her.

IF SHE KNEW YOU WERE VISITING SOME RANDOM BLOG OF SOME RANDOM LADY IN MICHIGAN TRYING TO FIND A GIFT IDEA? She might be slightly underwhelmed also.

Just saying.

I get it, gift giving can be tough. There can be a lot of pressure to find the right thing.

But I assure you, I know nothing more than the rest of y’all. I get some cool stuff to review sometimes (Tide To Go Stain Erasers recently ended up in my mail box, and that might be a fun stocking stuffer because damn they work, but is that why you’re here? I dunno), and I have all kinds of opinions about all kinds of things and so maybe… just maybe I do have something to contribute to the whole generation of gift ideas thing.

But…probably not.

Somehow, a lot of you searched those words and ended up here. I hope you’ll find something you like and stick around. But… I can’t tell you what to get her for Christmas. Or her birthday. Or Valentines Day, if you’re into that sort of thing.

But I sure do hope you figure it out.

Just use your noggin’. And your heart.

I guarantee, she’ll probably maybe kinda sorta love whatever you come up with.

Good luck!

(And back away from the Google).

Love,

Sarah

Ah, writers’ block. Ah, being tired of the overshare. Ah, being tired of emotions and talking about my grandpa and hurting over all of that stuff. SO, I asked people for questions to answer for today. My brain feels less hurty now.

What made you start baking? Cause you rock and make the best cookies known to man.

I’m not sure what made me start baking, but I’m guessing it was a novelty at first, to be allowed to. And once my mom realized I could bake, she stopped! If we wanted anything baked, well… I did it. I’ve been baking since fourth or fifth grade (much like The Princess, actually!), and haven’t stopped yet.

What is your favorite thing to bake besides cookies?

I love most sweets, actually, but I really love cheesecake. I bake what I love to eat and I LOOOOOOOOOVE to eat cheesecake. I have had a fun time finding cheesecake recipes that I love – the one I make most frequently is a brownie mosaic cheesecake, but I also LOVE a salted caramel cheesecake, and last winter, I experimented and made a seasonal type thang, using gingersnaps for the crust and possibly some nutmeg (I can’t remember!) in the actual cheesecake. Clearly it sounds like I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore – I’ll have to try it again.

Why is Pinterest so addictive?

I feel I should point out that this question came from The Princess, the resident Pinterest Addict. And I think the reason Pinterest is so addictive is because it is such a visual medium. We love pretty pictures. Also, when we see something that other people have done, it makes it seem achievable. Like we can do it. Just so you know, kiddo, I’m not gonna be able to do those wicked cool gymnastic silhouette nail art things. Sorry.

What’s your favorite cake flavor?

Cheesecake aside, I’m not a tremendous fan of cake. I love my doughnut cake. I love a flourless chocolate cake. And I adore an angel food cake with a dark chocolate glaze. Traditional cakey-cakes? Nope. No thank you.

What is your solution for world peace?

Cookies and naptime. This would also be my platform if I was running for President. I think part of the reason people are so cranky is because they are so busy depriving themselves of the good things that they just get crotchety. Have a cookie. By the way, when was the last time you got that recommended eight hours of sleep? Yeah. That’s right. You probably haven’t. I know I sure don’t sleep that much. You should take a nap. Also, while I’m at it. Thirty minutes of exercise daily. Yes, cookies and exercise. Generally speaking, self care type things over all will make people less likely to be jerk faces. Hence the positive effect on world peace. That’s my theory. Really? Nothing else has worked, so… y’know… worth a shot.

Ah. I have a good one – how do you explain Santa. I feel like my answer has changed every year and my kids are 8, 6, 4 and 4 – I need to get my sh*t together.

If I had it to do all over again, I WOULD NEVER HAVE TOLD MY KIDS ABOUT SANTA. Admittedly, I don’t love that a fictional fat man gets all the credit for the good gifts. It’s a lot of work. OY THE SEPARATE SPECIAL SECRET WRAPPING PAPER (I’ve amended this: Santa doesn’t wrap stuff). But yeah, I tell my kids – only one of whom is actually still a believer – that Santa comes on Christmas eve to bring presents. The Santa tracker from NORAD is particularly cool. I have tried that whole “Santa is watching you” threat, but it doesn’t seem to work on them like it did me. I will honestly be overjoyed when Pumpkin stops believing. I almost hope her big sister spoils it soon.

What do you want for Christmas?

Uh… World peace? Actually, I tremendously dislike when people ask me what I want because it feels icky to give a list of things I want. I think the best gifts are the ones that come from thought and care and knowing the recipient – when I’m shopping, I LOVE to find just the right gift that will mean something (I hope) to the recipient… something that shows I’ve paid attention. So, I like when others do that. Barring any random holiday work gift exchange, chances are, if you don’t really know me, you shouldn’t be buying a gift anyway. (But since you asked, I have always wanted a pony.)

Do you have a favorite quote?

Have I mentioned that I like quotes? Because I do. A lot. One that has been hanging on my fridge for several years is: “If you really want to be happy, no one can stop you.” Seems a pretty good rule to live by. Is it my favorite? It is in this moment.

Today the siblings sit down and they will talk to my grandmother.

My grandpa’s social workers are saying that the family needs to get into the frame of mind that assisted living is what he’ll require now, and everyone has to revamp their way of thinking, about this stroke, the recovery, my grandfather and his future – tailor our thoughts from whatever they might have been and adjust to a new reality which is that after over fifty years in that little white house on that little street, my grandpa is never really going to be home there again.

He is in pain, he is depressed. He was too tired for physical therapy yesterday. He won’t eat. He is easily confused.

This is not a reality I like. This is not a reality I know what to do with.

My grandpa has always been a man small in stature, and after his bout with stomach cancer when he had half his stomach removed, he was even smaller. But he’s never been someone I would perceive as fragile or weak. I once carried him in my arms as one would hold a baby – but I’m less sure that it was because he was that small or that I’m that badass.

I just can’t get out of my head the man he has always been. The man with Lifesavers in church, the man who always kept a jar of cookies in his kitchen, the maker of spectacular potatoes (American fries and ohmygod the latkes, so good), the man who always stocked up on red Koolaid for when we came to visit. The man who tells the story of the time I cried all the way down to Carmel when I was little.

I have never for a moment in my life doubted how much he loves me, how much he cares, how proud he is of me, how much he loves my daughters. Since the stroke, he is even more affectionate.

“Do you even know how precious you are?” he said to me and my sister last time.

He constantly says “I love you” and I am so grateful for that. So grateful for his words and that I still feel every bit as loved as I ever did, even though everything is changing.

I know he will resist assisted living. This is a man who well into his 80s has been shoveling his own driveway free of snow every winter. He will resist and he will hate it and I need him to be safe and to be cared for, but I don’t want his spirit to be broken and I don’t want him to give up.

And I don’t know what my grandmother will say – and she’s changed through the past few weeks as well. She’s softened a little bit, maybe. On Thanksgiving, she called me smart. I can’t remember the last unsolicited kindness she’s extended towards me. She told me I looked happier and offered some insight and sometimes I am surprised she is paying attention. This is, afterall, the woman who insulted my sister in the Emergency Room, hours after Grandpa’s stroke.

Today there will be a meeting and then we will all go on, putting one foot in front of the other doing what needs to be done.

Wish it were easier. Wish all of it were easier.