In The Dark There Is Love

In the shadows there is light.

My family said their farewells to my grandma yesterday. I was honored when asked to add to her obituary and write her tribute. 

It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do because doing so, made her death real. A fact my heart was not yet ready to accept. But in the silence of my room, the words came...

I found him whom my soul loves. Song of Solomon 3:4

A love of imperfection and beauty, two souls brought together over 60 years ago—formed into one—and when one half ascended to heaven, the other wandered the Earth incomplete.

The love and devotion my grandma held for my grandpa was amazing. She taught me quite a bit about marriage and what family truly meant to her. While my son, Logan, was ill in the hospital, she would sit with me in his room and fuss about the nurses when they would poke and prod her great-grandson. “Can’t you see he’s sleeping?” She would say. With gentle smiles, the nurses would proceed with their duties.

Exhausted one afternoon, I cried on my grandma’s shoulder. “What if I can’t do this? What if Logan gets worse? What if my marriage falls apart? I don’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do.” She said. “You’re here with Logan. You are fighting for him and for Phil. That is what we do. We fight for family no matter what.”

Those words never left me.

To her, family was the air she breathed, the sunlight on her face, and the nourishment to her body. She loved beyond the boundaries, which were set. She embraced life and the people within it. Her faith unyielding even when loss shadowed her, grandma’s spirit remained lifted.

That’s not to say we didn’t have our fair share of humorous conversations. Her attempts to scold our antics were faint at best. With each wide-eyed gasp, “Andrea” was a laugh and a smile.

Though, my family lives 1500 miles away—which she never neglected to reprimand me on and that we only visited every two years—we managed to make her chuckle, cringle, and scratch her head at each quirky gift we would send to her. I am confident she has a collection of fuzzy mustaches and stuffed animal monkey’s concealed somewhere.

As somber as my heart wants to beat, it cannot.

She filled our lives with happiness and love and we, as her family, must pass it on to the next generation. Show them what family truly is. What it is to love and be selfless. What it means to put others before us. To hold tight to our faith and to know in the end, our family will guide us Home.

I was blessed to able to speak with her before she let go of this world. Through her tears and pain, her only worry was of Logan and if he would remember her. I promised her that he would never, ever forget about his great-grandma and all that she had done for him.

And he won’t because she is love.

Dorothy Mae Buresh is love.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

1 Corinthians 13:7

For those who know her: Dot in her blue dress is happy and dancing with the angels.

Yesterday while I was in my office, I heard Logan talking. I crept through the kitchen.

    

Logan was saying a prayer for his great-grandma. Bells from our neighborhood church chimed 12, the time her funeral was set to begin. I quickly snapped this photo before Logan knew I was there. It was such a beautiful moment. And for the first time in days, my heart lifted. 

I felt peace. 

Even in the shadows, there is light.

Behind the dark clouds, there is sun.

With every prayer, there is hope.

With each tear shed, we will heal.

Together. As a family. 

It is what my grandma would have wanted.

Snip This From Our Book: Mom, I Know I'm Different

My heart bleeds each time I work on my family's story. It's reliving memories I shoved deep down into the dark caves inside of my mind. Not all of them are sad or gut wrenching, we laugh more than we did then. It's our reality. It's shaped our family. Death crept in and threatened to take my child and I stood against it. Logan fought all the odds. He proved every doctor and specialist wrong.

The following snippets are one from me and one from Logan and from different chapters of the book.

Mine

I could no longer watch my son, with tubes and wires flowing from his gaunt frame, struggle to breathe. Each inhale was a battle. Logan’s life slipped away with each exhale.

I had informed the nurse that our pastor would be arriving within the hour. Her gentle hand patted my arm. “Have you eaten? I’ll have a tray sent up.”

I shook my head.

How could I eat? How could I nourish myself while my son couldn’t? He hadn’t kept formula down in days. Small glass jars of sweet potato and carrots were tossed into the garbage.

My vision focused on his oxygen monitor. 77.

How selfish to be breathing and walking about. I cursed myself. I cursed his illness. I curbed heaven and hell.

Anger consumed my heart as fever consumed Logan’s. I was tired. So tired. I marched to the hospital’s chapel, fists filled with crumpled Kleenex and I was going to let out. I had nothing left but fury and in that moment, I wanted to feel anything.

I didn’t want to be numb anymore. I wanted to feel because if I had to say farewell to Logan, he needed to feel the war within me. He needed to know I fought and the only way I could do just that, was to battle the enemy.

Logan

I had a friend, her name was Rain and we sat near each other in 1^st grade. She wore cowboy boots everyday. Even with her dresses. Our teacher announced that our school was part of a charity event. We were to ride our bikes around the church and school parking lots to raise money for lung cancer.

During recess, Rain sat down next to me. She looked sad.

“I’m scared to ride my scooter.”

“Why?” I asked.

“What if I fall?”

“Why would you fall?”

Rain pointed. She had half of an arm. I never noticed. I see who they really are on the inside—their souls. Not everyone has a nice one, but I’d like to think they could if they tried.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ride along side of you so you won’t fall.”

And, I did. I didn’t want Rain to feel nervous or afraid. After she showed me her arm, she told me was born with it. I told her I was born different, too.

We’re all different. Inside. Outside. It doesn’t matter. God created us different for a reason. No one has the right to make another person feel bad. Hurting others doesn’t make you better and it doesn’t make you superior.

It makes you a jerk.

I hope Rain is happy where ever she is and still wearing her cowboy boots.

Maybe one day I’ll see her again. You never know.

The Plant Experiment - conclusion is Splenda is BAD!

I wanted to do a plant experiment based on sugars and what reaction they had with the plants. Me, mom, and dad were surprised at what we discovered. 

Plant Experiment

Life Science – Biology

(4)  Croton Plants

100 ML of water

1 TSP. of white sugar, brown sugar, Splenda, and water (control)

5% solution

5-26-14

                        White Sugar               Brown Sugar              Control           Splenda

Height            11.5 in                       12 in                           10.5 in           10 in

Color              green/yellow           g/y                              more yellow g/y

Texture          all felt, rubber-like

After the solutions were slowly poured in, some of the liquid came out of the bottom. WS and BS sucked the water back in. The Control remained pooled on the plate. Nothing came out of SP.

5-29-14

The Splenda plant has a white substance on top of the dirt. Could be mold. All soaked up the water except for the Control.

6-2-14

The Splenda plant ha more white mold on the dirt. Leaves feel dry. Losing color.

New sprouts in the WS.

Increase in gnats and small bugs in the Control. The bugs live in the soil. No wings.

After pouring the solution in WS sucked the water back in, the water stayed in BS. The rain went right through the Control. And SP soaked it in.

6-6-14

The leaves on the Splenda plant are brown and wilting.

All the other plants are thriving. The bugs don’t seem to be hurting the Control. The White Sugar plant has grown the most. Not significant, but a little.

I am stopping the experiment. I don’t want to kill the Splenda plant. I am going to start using plain water and see if that helps.

6-12-14

The Splenda plant is healthy, again. The white mold is gone and the leaves are turning green.

If Splenda can do that to a plant in a short period of time, what is it doing to people’s insides?

YUCK!

Done and Done--Mama Needs a Cocktail

The clouds parted.
Angels sang.

CAT exams are complete.

The kid is officially a freshman *insert nervous breakdown*

I don't take the test, but I'm exhausted. 

Here's my confession, I despise tests. I don't teach that way. The reason I do them each year is to appease the state guidelines. Logan will do quizzes and tests if he has to, but otherwise, he's not a fan either. 

I'm thrilled as glitter on a pink tutu that the CAT exam is snug as a bug in a manilla rug and waiting for the postal service to send it back to its home. I will admit, receiving the results is pretty cool and hang them up on the board in the school room. 

We are taking a week off to celebrate his accomplishments. Take a few pictures (mostly for his 14th birthday), no big middle school graduation party. I have to save up for his senior one. 

So, on to high school we go. 

  

Spaghetti Squash Bake

I love to cook. I love to find new recipes. I love taking those recipes and making them my own. 

I use veggies instead of noodles. I try to use fresh foods as much as possible. Going to the Farmers Market is a great family outing on Saturday's. 

Italian food is one of my favorites, but the carbs about kill me. My stomach throws a tantrum. A great substitute for for noodles is spaghetti squash. I've made 10 different dishes using this delish vegetable. 

When I cook, I never measure. I taste and taste some more. Pinch of this. A dash of that. Drives my friends and family crazy when I post pictures of what I made on Instagram or Facebook and they want the recipe. Ummmmm, I threw it together, I didn't measure anything out, but it was awesome. 

Here is my way of explaining recipes...

Spaghetti Squash Bake - serves 4

1 - Good Size Spaghetti Squash
Fresh Basil Leaves
Fresh Garlic 
Sargento Havarti, Aged Wisconsin Cheddar, and Asiago
Newmans Own Organic Marinara 
Garlic salt
Salt and pepper

Preheat oven 375

On a sheet pan, layer with non-stick foil.

Cut squash in half the long way. It's easier to dig the insides out. Salt and pepper the inside. Put that aside and work on your garlic and basil.
Peel two garlic cloves. Pluck two basil leaves. Take and pair the garlic and basil, put them on the foil. Grab the spaghetti squash and flip them over so the inside is covering the garlic and basil. Why do that? As the squash cooks, the aroma from the garlic and basil infuse into it. 

Cook the squash for 35-40 minutes.

I flip them over and test the squash with a fork. If it pulls away, it's ready. I let mine cool for a few minutes before scraping the squash into 'noodles'. 

I grab a small glass dish and put the spaghetti squash inside. I pour half the Newman's Own sauce on it and stir. Shred the cheeses and sprinkle them on top. Place a few basil leaves on the cheese. I also sprinkled some garlic salt on. Broiled on high until cheese was brown and bubbly.   

The pan was devoured within minutes. 

I know it's not the most descriptive recipe, but make it your own. Change out the cheeses, make your own sauce. Whatever floats your squash boat.

Enjoy quirky peeps! 

Better Than Picking His Nose

Here at The Quirky Mustache, we embrace and accept all quirks--physical, vocal, and all of those in-between. 

This was once Logan's sock. (RIP Hanes white ankle), now it's a new dust rag. I have piles of these. Like, piles in the laundry room. Why do you think I go to Target so much. I should purchase stock in Hanes. 

Picking at his socks in not new, he's been at it for some time, but before that he picked at his mattress and waistband of his boxers. Logan apologizes when he annalates his socks. I tell him, "Don't worry about it. We all have quirks."

We do. Every single one of us. We don't have to be on a spectrum or have a psychological disturbance to have quirks. That seems to be the viewpoint with some. I was having a discussion about this topic with a woman and she seemed to think that she didn't possess a quirk. Not even when she was stressed or nervous. 

Interesting.

I observed her picking at her cuticles. I brought it to her attention. She stopped and looked around as if the cuticle police were lurking around the corner. 

People pace, twirl their hair, bit their nails (me). We all do something to release an emotion. 

When Logan was younger, he would shake his head. I feared his brain was being swished about inside of his skull. It was his release when he was excited. When he was nervous, he bit his hand. We quickly saw that when one physical quirk stopped, another began. As he has gotten older, he has confined his sock picking to home or at his best friend's house, where he feels comfortable.

We were asked many of times, "Why does he shake his head? When will it stop? Can't he control it?"

I asked his doctors the same questions. Funny, my favorite doctor asked, "What would you like us to do? Strap a device to his head and anchor it to his shoulders?"

The visual is...well, but, no, I didn't want to do that. I just didn't want kids to make fun of him any more. This was pre-homeschool and the constant taunting was wearing us down. Sadly, when people saw his quirks they assumed he was unintelligent. I've had it said to me so I know it to be true. The mama bear in me would poke them in the shoulder (verbally, of course) of my son's genius and brilliance. Einstein didn't have anything on Logan.

There came a time when I didn't say that either. I didn't have to prove a thing to anyone. Neither did Logan. 

People are quick to judge if what they see doesn't fit into their "normal" size box. Even though inside their normal size box, is an uneven octagon. The outer shell is what matters. Neighbors, PTA moms, and grandparents only should see the perfect box, with the pretty bow on top. Not the messy, wrapped, tape all over, patchy box.

The other night, I caught myself doing one of my physical quirks in front of husband. At first, I was mortified. He looked at me puzzled. Not because of my excited quirk of rubbing the palms of my hands together and clapping 3 times. He looked at me that way because I apologized for doing it. 

Now I know where Logan's gets it from. 

Does that make me weird? 

Duh. But, if you know me and my boys, we embrace weird. 

To my quirky people...QUIRK OUT! 
Spread the quirky love. 
Don't apologize.
Don't explain.
If your friends ask, well, they don't get it. My closest, dearest friends have never, EVER, once asked, "Why does Logan do that?" "Why do you do that?"
They love us.
Quirks and all.
That's the way it should be. 

Let's be honest. I would rather have Logan pick at his socks than other...things or places.