turleybenson

As in, a decade

2012-02-01T15:50:00.004-05:00

A number of factors led us to make the decision to go on our upcoming trip.

1. We've been talking about doing "something" for a long time.

2. It was cheap.

3. We got the flights practically free.

4. The only other big trip we've been on (2006), I had bad hair and Mike was about 40 lbs. heavier.

(We need better pictures)

and

4. We are celebrating a rather significant wedding anniversary this year.

I'm talking the big 1-0. And we just can't let that pass without celebrating in some significant way.

Mike and I rarely do things. Like without kids. We have gone on a handful of dates since J was born, one since G was born (if you can count a wedding as a "date." Which I can). We've left J overnight without either of us TWO times. Two nights in 3.5 years. And only one of those nights were we actually together, and that was about 6 months ago.

What I'm saying is, we need a kid break. And though it will absolutely break my heart to do so (I've already cried about this approximately eleventy-four times), we are leaving the kids for 5 days.

Both of them. Even my almost 6-month old baby.

For many people, this is no big deal, and others are reading this going I COULD NEVER! But I feel like after 2 kids it's important for us to be us again, just for a little while.

We are going with 2 other couples. Our first cruise! I hear you either love it or you hate it so let's hope for "love."

Bahamas. Florida. Excited!

(And yes, a little bit heartsick.)

Note to self:

2012-01-26T11:53:00.005-05:00

Take a few moments every day

to hold each of your precious boys

very very close.

As you do,

remember the time before you had them

when you longed for them so much

it hurt.

This will smooth out the rough edges

of sleep deprivation. Tantrums. Long lasting colds.

The days you say I have no idea what I'm doing.

(which is every day)

It will also make the happiness even sweeter.

And remember to kiss that spot on their necks.

The soft one, that makes them giggle.

Remember when my kid turned 3?

2012-01-15T23:34:00.007-05:00

So as I've stated many times already, August 2011 was a rough month.

Unfortch, it was also the month my J turned 3. Let me set the stage for that event:

Baby G was 2 weeks old.

I was post-second surgery but pre-third surgery.

My mom was here and had extended her trip.

I still hadn't seen or talked to almost anyone.

I had just decided that my failed attempts at breastfeeding were making us all miserable, and that I should stop (cue weepiness and heartbreak).

We were generally on survival mode. Doing just enough to get by each day.

So what I'm saying is, the normal birthday fanfare, complete with a homemade creative birthday cake and party favors and themes... was not gonna happen. At all. And I didn't feel bad about that (you can't have that every year, right?), but I did want to do something special for J, since the month was otherwise all about me, my baby, my recovery, and survival, and a lot of separation from him.

So I chose something that was both extremely simple for me, and extremely delightful for him: his best friend P and Chuck E. Cheese.

We left the baby home with mom, bought a package pizza/token deal, and let the boys play to their hearts' content. He didn't care one bit that there wasn't a party or fanfare; he was in heaven. Truly. (Pair his friend P with any activity, and generally, he's in heaven).

He was spoiled with presents throughout the month (from grandma Benson, mostly, but also friends and us and my mom). He had a wonderful day/week. And it required zero planning and effort. Except the effort it took to be in Chuck E. Cheese for 2 solid hours on a crowded night, which should not be understated.

And? This is the only picture I have of it [above].

My happy happy birthday boy (despite the circumstances).

Man I love this kid. Even when I'm tempted to post him on Craigslist.

The luckiest

2012-01-04T21:56:00.002-05:00

I was having a convo with my mother-in-law a few months ago about lucky people.

I admit, there are a few people I know that have it pretty much made. OBVIOUSLY you never know what trials a person is facing deep inside their own private life, but sometimes? You pretty much know what's going on with them. And in some cases, there just isn't that much bad.*

--Back to the convo.--

So she and I swapped stories about folks we know who have pretty much been handed a great life--spouse-wise, financially, good kids...you know, lucky ones. And the killer part is that they don't even seem to get how fortunate they are.

And then I had this thought:

If they don't know how lucky they are, then how lucky ARE they? You get what I mean?

Perhaps you've heard about the secret to a happy life? I feel like everywhere I turn I'm hearing this one (a message I need to hear, perhaps?), but according to all my sources the key to happiness is this: Gratitude. No matter how little you have by outside standards, no matter how unconventional your life is, no matter whether you are where you thought you'd be by now. Learning to have gratitude for what you have at this very moment is (I'm realizing) the most important thing you can learn to do.

(And sometimes the most difficult.)

So I'm asking myself daily,

Do I know how lucky I am?

And the answer is...yes. Sometimes. And sometimes no.

(I'm working on it.)

*I totally realize that discussions about how lucky "other" people are is ultimately fruitless, and goes against the very nature of gratitude. But I also think it's ok to have imperfect conversations every now and again :)

Merry {simple} Christmas

2011-12-26T22:33:00.006-05:00

We have one small box marked 'Christmas.' It holds all our ornaments, decorations, lights, and stockings. So to begin with, I sorta do it simple every year.

But this year, we didn't send a card out. (Though we loved getting yours!!)

We bought a really small tree.

We purchased very few gifts, for ourselves and the boys (actually I bought ZERO for baby G. Second kid). And what we did buy, we bought online mostly, and avoided all those crowded parking lots.

Partly because we knew we'd be spoiled by family anyway, partly because of the pile of medical bills on the counter, and partly because a small Christmas was just what we needed after a big year.

I focused more this month on this concept*: give whatever it is you are lacking. I felt ignored, so I gave attention. I felt broke, so I gave money. I felt a lack of the spirit of Christmas, so I gave for the sake of giving: service, unexpected gifts, kindness. It made for a lovely December, and one not at all distracted by consumerism.

Today, on Mike's day off, we spent a cold, beautiful day on our long-awaited new bike path behind the apartment building. A gift in itself (thanks, city!). And a perfect family outing.

This is not to say that December didn't have its challenges. OK, one challenge mostly (toddler fits GALORE), but for the most part it was pretty close to perfect.

I like the idea of simple even more than I did before. I think we might make it our new tradition.

*if you aren't reading this blog yet, you should start. It might just change your life a little bit.

A new kind of great

2011-12-21T11:59:00.005-05:00

I talked to a friend this morning who I haven't talked to since G was born. She asked how we were and I replied, "Great!"

She said, "So everyone's sleeping through the night?"

Well, if that's your definition of great, then no. We aren't doing so great. :)

But this is my definition:

We have two lovable, healthy boys. A baby who is sweet and smiley and lights up when he sees us. A toddler who has FINALLY decided to be done with diapers (!!!).

We still have our jobs, and our apartment, and we still fit, despite worries to the contrary.

We have lots of wonderful friends to fill our days and late night runs to Sonic.

And most importantly, we have learned how to appreciate all of these things.

It's true, I'm not getting near enough sleep these days. But I know it's a phase that will pass soon.

So I stand by my original statement,

We really are doing great.

A Christmas miracle

2011-12-14T14:29:00.010-05:00

Perhaps you've noticed, but things have changed for me over the past 4 months of my baby's life.

I went through some really hard things. I got through them.

I have a new perspective.

Also, I cry all the time. In a happy way. Every Christmas song, every kind act I witness, every story I hear of goodness. Talking about my journey. Just a constant flow of tears over here. And in my old age, I'm also learning how fruitless it is to be ashamed of genuine emotion, so I let myself cry a little when I want to. I don't apologize for it anymore.

Life just looks different to me these days.

I'm hoping to record a lot of my recent insights here on this blog, so I can have a keepsake of the sacred path I've been so blessed to travel. And maybe it will strike a chord with you too.

So here's just one thought I've been having lately.

I spend a lot of time staring at my beautiful new baby these days. It is a lovely experience to have a baby around during the holidays, feeling so blessed that no wrapped gift could ever mean that much to you.

I know there is so much skepticism in this world. I know Christianity is viewed as myth and fable by a lot of folks. Everyone has the choice to believe or not to believe, and I respect that fully.

But looking into my baby's eyes, I have to tell you: believing that the son of God came to earth as a helpless baby who was destined to change the world forever? It doesn't seem like a stretch to me.

It actually makes perfect sense.

Come what may

2011-12-06T16:47:00.003-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about expectations lately.

And how utterly, totally useless they are.

For instance, I expected to have a smooth delivery and a quick recovery. I did not.

I expected to have a hard time adjusting to having two kids. I did not.

In the one case, things were far worse than I anticipated, and in the other, far better. So what was the point in having any anticipation at all? Not a whole lot, in my opinion. On a smaller scale, some nights I can't sleep at all, and am SURE I will be exhausted the next day. I spend energy worrying about how hard it will be to stay awake...and then it's not. (The reverse is also often true--lots of sleep, then unexpectedly dragging all day long.)

It seems to me that I have no freakin' idea how things are going to turn out. And the great part of that is that they are often far better than I expected.

So I'm starting a new approach: letting go of my expectations. The good AND ESPECIALLY the bad. Because worry is useless and disappointment is a waste of time.

I'm at a very interesting moment in my life where I am simultaneously dealing with intense disappointment over my traumatic birth experience (which includes the delivery and all the complications thereafter), while being overwhelmed by how smooth my transition to a mother of 2 has been, and feeling daily how abundantly blessed I am to have TWO! BEAUTIFUL! SONS!

(I honestly want to shout it out that way, every time I think of it. How many people get TWO such BEAUTIFUL SONS?! To me, it feels like an amazing, rare, precious gift. Because it is.)

So I'm working on the sadness, trying to let it/help it ease and drift away so I can put my whole focus on the happiness.

And I am trying to let go of my expectations. Because they feel increasingly irrelevant in this blessed, sometimes random life of mine. I can't foresee what will happen. I'm just trying to shift how I deal with it, come what may.

And one more for the "highlights" list...

2011-12-02T15:54:00.004-05:00

Mike repurposing his Eagle Scout trophy to fit the occasion. Then leaving it as the centerpiece of the adult table for Thanksgiving dinner and just waiting for mom to notice it...

(You know to expect trouble when he starts asking questions like, "Mom, what colors of felt do you have?")

Thanksgiving '11

2011-12-02T13:11:00.006-05:00

We spent a long Thanksgiving vacation at my in-laws' again this year. It was, as always, wonderful.

One of the highlights for me was watching my father-in-law, who admittedly isn't a "baby person," fall in love with my baby. He said there's just something special about this one, and I tend to agree.

(My baby is particularly sweet.)

Baby's first plane ride. Baby is teething, and had his fist shoved in his mouth like so for most of the trip.

Another highlight was watching J also bond with his Pop Pop. They have a lot of fun together.

And Grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, all adoring my kids and my kids adoring all of them. Ah, family.

Other bests:

Hearing J mention the cousins' dog in his prayers. (He's very thankful for any animal time he gets.)

Mexican food and In-n-Out also rank up there. (Always with the overeating.)

Seeing my sister-in-law seem relaxed and content as a newlywed. Loved that.

Meeting up with some old friends.

Sunny days, warm walks, the train park.

Another virtually perfect trip west. Even the flight didn't seem so bad (though my memory's not so good these days, and it's easy to say that in hindsight).

Also, taking time once again to look around and see how much I have to be thankful for.

In short: A whole bunch of stuff.

Best buddies

2011-11-10T12:50:00.004-05:00

What can be said about the bestest friend a 3-yr-old could have?

For a long time, I've wanted to record by blog the awesome bond these two little boys share. J and P are just about as close as brothers. They talk about each other daily, they never tire of each other's company, more days pass that they are together than that they are not.

(And their mommies are great friends, too. Which definitely helps.)

For over a year, J has spent 2 days a week over at P's house while I work. These two little guys were born a mere 3 months apart, and they have become each other's biggest fans.

The very first time we had P over, they were both around 18 months old. I took this little video:

Last week (a year and a half later), I took this one:

So as you can see, the more things change....

I couldn't possibly post all the adorable pics I have of the two of them; we hang out pretty much constantly. But here are some gems:
At the waterpark we frequent in the summer.
At the car park, P hitching a ride while a much scrawnier J obligingly provides the manpower.
At Beantown, on a rainy Saturday.

They are each other's protectors and bodyguards. If another kid tries to mess with one of them, you can be sure the other will be at his defense.

(It should be said, they fight sometimes, too.)

J tells me often, out of nowhere:

P is my BEST friend!

I am so grateful for cute little P, my son's best buddy.

The home birth, part 2

2011-11-03T12:52:00.011-04:00

I wandered from the bedroom, to the shower, to the bathroom, to the living room to deal with the labor. I have to say, that was a huge benefit to being at home. I could move, try different things, not be confined to one location.

You remember when Katie Holmes had her baby and everyone was talking about the "silent birth" philosophy in whatever their religion is?

I think I had one of those.

I was very, very quiet. I think I spoke 3 or 4 times, other than directing Mike when to push on my back. I didn't complain, I didn't make sounds. (I'm willing to bet most people actually labor this way--just one more way TV has it all wrong.)

And remember when I wrote that post about how I wasn't brave?

Scratch that. If I may say so, I was kind of a warrior.

It's interesting when there's no medication available. You just don't have that option, so there's no point thinking about it. You know that the only way past it is through it. These lines from my favorite poem kept coming to me:

I have given my word and will to bring this child.

It was so, so hard. But I never doubted I could do it. I knew I had signed up for this, and I just had to get through.

In the late afternoon I started feeling like I wanted to push. The midwife checked me, I was at a 7. She said when I got the real urge, I would know it. And she was right.

I got in the tub and couldn't possibly have controlled that urge. It was just there. I thought that finally being able to give in to the pushing would be a relief. As it turned out, this was by far the hardest, and darkest part of the experience for me.

I pushed. A lot. I really don't want to scare anyone who hasn't given birth about this, because everyone's body is different. But my body did not react well to the pushing phase. It was more than the fact that I was in it for 3-4 hours... but I'll just say that much.

This was the only time I cried. Mike got in the tub with me, hoping to give some support. Finally, and all at once, the baby came out. I scooped him out of the water, and he cried immediately. That was at 7:23 Wednesday night.

I don't remember it, but apparently I then said some of my only words:

That was brutal.

We held our slippery little boy for several minutes in the tub. I couldn't fathom that it was finally over, that our little baby was out, and perfect, and with us.

At this point, the scary things started happening--realizing how bad the tear was, and that I was hemorrhaging. Being too weak to hold my new baby.

I ended up at the hospital that night, and for 3 more days. They gave me a blood transfusion first, then wheeled me in for surgery, when I finally got to sleep. I was about 10 steps beyond exhausted. They told me I even snored.

There are a lot of things that are troubling about the last several hours before I went to the hospital; things that were not of my doing. Things that make me question a lot.

I'm so grateful that my baby and I are fine today. I'm grateful I had the right to choose to have him at home. I'm grateful for everyone who gave me good care, and didn't judge me for my decision. It took a village to get us all back on our feet.

If I had delivered this baby in a hospital there is 100% no way I would have avoided a C-section. I'm not saying that's good or bad, but it is a fact. I wanted the experience of a natural childbirth, and boy I got it. The good and the bad. And some extra complication tossed in because, hey, this is me after all.

I'm sad that I didn't have the right to choose what I really wanted--a birth center birth. That was far and away my first choice. I still probably would have had some of the same complications, but the hospital would have been right next door, so I would have been in less danger.

As for my advice on home birth? Do your research. Ask a lot of questions. Find someone with a proven record who you trust. Accept that things might not go the way you want. My personal opinion is that if you've had a vaginal birth that went smoothly, you are the best candidate for a home birth the second time. I'm not sure I'd recommend it for a first labor.

But above all, my opinion is that we all retain the right to choose.

(And between you and me? There is absolutely 100% no way I wouldn't have gotten that epidural.)

Just sayin'. :)

I hesitate to write this birth story...

2011-10-28T14:50:00.004-04:00

But here it is. Part one.

It started on a Tuesday.

I'd had contractions throughout the night, but at about 4 am I couldn't ignore them anymore. I got up, dealt with it for an hour, woke Mike at 5.

They were 3-4 minutes apart. Painful but not unbearable, and not increasing in intensity.

At 10 I sent Mike to work, telling him to keep his phone on, give his presentation, and call me. I assured him I was fine, but his coworkers eventually made him leave.

"Just in case," I sent J to the babysitter with an overnight bag that morning. She picked him up for me because I knew I couldn't do the 30 minute round trip drive in my condition.

I emailed my boss, told her the maternity leave was effective immediately. I ate ferociously all day long.

Sometime during that morning I called the midwife. She warned that contractions might slow down throughout the afternoon, and she was right. For most of the day, they were 12 minutes apart, but never stopped completely. A heating pad got me through most of it. So did leaning over a chair, sitting on a yoga ball, and deep breathing.

I almost had Mike pick J up on his way home, but the sitter urged me not to. (Thank heavens for her wisdom.)

By 8 pm, things had picked up. Hardcore. I called the midwife again, and she said Anytime you want me there, I'll come. That time was midnight.

That "time warp" thing happened that everyone talks about. Hours would pass, and I would have no concept of it. Occasionally I would look at the clock in shock. Wonder what was taking so damn long.

Mike did more for me during labor than anyone or anything else. With every contraction, he would push on my lower back as I pushed air out of my lungs. I have no idea how long he did this, but it must have been hours upon hours. I saw him stretch his arms between contractions and had a vague understanding of how physically taxing this was for him, too.

He did not complain or falter once.

The midwife urged him to sleep. I urged him to stay awake. No one else could help me as effectively as he could. I needed him there with me. We were mutually invested. He stayed.

I think I ate once. Foggy memory of blueberries in a bowl. No appetite.

As night became morning, morning became afternoon, and afternoon waned, I thought Surely this next part will pass more quickly than the last.

I was wrong, every time. My body was taking its slow, slow time to progress. The first time I asked to be checked I was at 5cm. That was at 5 am Wednesday. I had been in labor for over 24 hours.

The baby wouldn't be born for 14 more...

The Big Brother

2011-10-11T14:38:00.004-04:00

So I know I've been mostly focusing on this one (and can you blame me?)

But I want to focus on this one for a minute (and can you blame me?):

How is it possible to have two such beautiful boys? Lucky mama.

Lots of people ask how J is dealing with life since little G arrived.

Well.

The hardest part for me being in the hospital for so many days was how terribly, terribly I missed my little J. This guy has been my constant companion for 3 years, and then out of nowhere, I disappear from his life for several days, unexpectedly.

was

rough.

After being in the hospital for a few days, Mike brought him by to visit and to meet his new baby bro. I was overjoyed to see my little buddy, and he of course had no idea how all of this was already impacting his life. He was great.

My dear dear friend Crystal (who watches J for me when I work) kept him for FOUR DAYS for me when things took an unexpected turn. AND she acted like it was no big deal, because she is just that gracious and kind. I worried and worried about how J would deal with that long separation, and then again with subsequent hospital stays.

And? He was fine. He was totally, totally fine. He bore it all like a champ. MUCH better than I did.

As far as handling life with a new baby...he actually kind of acts like it never happened. He asks about G, or refers to him, or pays attention to him approximately twice a day, for about 10 seconds. It's kind of funny; he just hasn't let this new kid disrupt his life too much.

And I'm OK with that. It could be a whole lot worse.

J is absolutely CRACKING US UP lately. It seems like overnight his vocabulary and ability to communicate doubled, and he was already a pretty eloquent kid. He tells knock knock jokes. He reads entire books from memory. He sings songs quietly to himself while playing. I can talk to him about more complex concepts, and most of the time, he gets it.

He is a precious, sweet, hilarious little dude. We are loving this stage he's in. I think he's going to be a great big bro.

Now if only we could get him out of diapers...

Back in the game

2011-09-29T16:54:00.005-04:00

Well, I'm working again. I couldn't afford to take much time off (or any at all, but I digress). I'm only working half-time (9 hours for me) for the next 6 weeks, then back to my full hours after that.

Which leads me to this point: So many things are different about having a second child.

The sleep thing I mentioned (IE not as hard to deal with).

Going back to work being not nearly as heartbreaking.

They can cry and it's not the end of the world.

Things kid-related just aren't as stressful.

I may write more about this later, but one of the many hard things that happened to me shortly after the birth was a terrifying, massive panic attack. Wow, it was awful. Have you ever had one? If yes, I'M SO SORRY. I hadn't. It was arguably the worst I've ever felt, emotionally. Possibly physically. It lasted for several hours and required a return visit to the hospital to figure out what was going on.

So yeah, it was awful, and it turned out to be a post-traumatic response to the birth itself. But I remember thinking somehow, in the midst of it, that I did not have the luxury of feeling down about little things anymore. I remember thinking that yes, it might be hard to juggle two kids and life in a small apartment, and all that, but that I did NOT want to become one of those people who couldn't appreciate what they had. I was able to tell myself, through the fog of panic, that if I ever got out of it, I would never take for granted the beautiful blessings I had--my two precious boys, my husband who saw me through all the craziness. Feeling normal never felt like such an elusive gift.

My mind was a scramble, but I was able to be clear about one thing--I had a family I needed to be there for. I was lucky to have them. And I couldn't be crazy, because I needed to take care of them. (Yes, I did genuinely fear I was going crazy).

So perhaps part of feeling so much better and not too overwhelmed NOW is that I saw, for a second, how bad bad really feels. And I mean BAD.

I learned something. But I'm not willing to say I'm grateful for the experience. At least, not yet.

I had a great doctor's appointment today. One thing that has always been important to me is understanding what is going on with my body. If something is wrong or requires medical treatment, I want to know the science behind why it's happening, how it will be treated, how it can be avoided in the future.

So me having two crazy births involving faulty placentas? I want to know why that happened. In fact, I NEED to know. So today, as I was talking to a new doctor at the local family practice (I kinda love that place, let me know if you want to know where I'm talking about), he said, without me asking,

"Maybe we can schedule an appointment where you can sit down with some childbirth specialists and try to better understand why these things happened to your body, and whether there's an underlying issue." It was kind of an answer to my prayers.

So I'm grateful for that.

And at this point, with all the med bills I've racked up (seriously, STAGGERING. worst ever. trying hard not to think about it), and my very high deductible and out-of-pocket maximum reached, why not seek out all the medical advice I can?!

(P.S. I also got an EKG and a blood workup today because WHY NOT?!!)

come visit me in the poorhouse,

turleybenson

Getting there

2011-09-16T13:37:00.003-04:00

Our first picture of baby G

(G, as in...Curious G, the monkey. Or G Costanza, if you prefer.)

It's 5 weeks later, and I feel like a new person. Or, I feel like a person, which is a big step for me. Within days of my last surgery, I started to feel about a thousand percent better. I think knowing the worst (knocking hard on wood) is behind me, and no more surgeries (KNOCK KNOCK) was what kicked me back into myself.

My mom left and I still figure out how to get showers in. I can leave the house with both of the kids. I have decided not to get my tubes tied.

These are big things, I'm telling you.

We named our baby G after my beloved Grandpa, who was actually my step-grandpa, and had no children of his own. He was a funny, wonderful man. Baby G's middle name is Mike's father's name--one we are very proud to carry forward. He is an honorable, amazing man.

When I called to tell Mike's parents about the name, his dad was very touched. He said, "Well, I better clean up my act!"

Not necessary, I assure you.

I am not sleeping much, but it is much easier to deal with the second time around. I remember crying daily out of sheer exhaustion when J was a baby. The sleep deprivation knocked me over. But this time, I know I can survive, I know it will pass, and I just plain don't feel it as much. It's interesting; having a second is both harder and easier than having the first.

My midwife kept a detailed record of the birth process, and sent me a copy this week. It was interesting, and upsetting, and I'm glad I have it. It reinforces some hard questions I have for her about some decisions she made, and why she made them.

I'm still pretty unsettled about some things.

I know people are wondering if I regret my decision, if I would do it again, or if I would recommend home birth. I'm planning to post all about those questions at some point. I never wanted to be a poster child for home birth, but I also totally understand the fascination--I mean I don't really know anyone who has done this before either. I would have had a lot of questions for them if I did.

So I will put together something to answer as best I can right now. I can finally talk about what happened to me, and better assess my feelings, now that it isn't so fresh.

In the meantime, I'm smooching my two little boys and letting myself feel victorious for getting them both dressed by noon.

What he's lookin' like these days.

Not knowing where to begin

2011-09-01T10:02:00.006-04:00

My last day being pregnant. Maybe ever.

That's the main reason I haven't written--not knowing where to begin. Well, that and the fact that my life has often felt barely manageable over the past 3 weeks, so blogging has been last on my priority list.

I'll start here:

The last thing I wanted out of this birth was a war story.

And that is exactly what I got.

I don't know how much I want to share, or how much I still need to process, but giving birth was the hardest physical thing I've ever done. By a factor of a thousand. It was one of those long, hard labors you hear about. You just never know what you're going to get.

But it wasn't so much the labor that was unmanageable (obviously, I managed somehow, though I'm amazed I did), but what has happened since.

Yes, I avoided a hospital birth. But today I'll be going in to the hospital for the fourth time since Baby G was born. That's right, the fourth. I'm getting surgery on my perineum for the third time. Will you pray this is the last? I'd appreciate it.

So obviously, I tore really badly. That is one factor in this nightmare equation.

Another is that shortly after G was born, his placenta ruptured (for those counting, that makes 2 ruptured placentas for me. What the crap.), which caused me to hemorrhage, which required a 911 call, and 2 blood transfusions.

Please note that every part of my nightmare represents the exception to the norm. These things do not usually happen. They just happen to me.

Enough bad news for now. I'll share more later, in pieces, I suppose. The enormous upside is that Baby G is a sweet, cuddly, lovable little guy and we are so happy he has joined our family. He was never in danger, he has always been healthy and well. Thank heaven.

I am trying to figure out how to have 2 kids instead of just one and finding it a bit overwhelming at times, particularly with all the hospital visits and healing that needs to happen. Thankfully, my mom is here and has been for 2 weeks and will be for one more. She has been a lifesaver. LIFE SAVER. Along with a whole army of angelic friends who have taken J in, brought meals, and shown their love in a hundred ways. What would we have done without all that help? I can't even imagine.

One day I will dedicate a whole post to them.

To anyone who has called, texted, emailed, Facebooked: thank you so much for your concern. I know I haven't responded to the vast majority of you. I was in a really dark place the week after the birth, trying to digest everything that happened. I spoke to no one except Mike for several days. There are whole chunks of time that I don't even remember. I feel dramatically better now, but I am still having bad days. It's been hard, and I'm not afraid to admit it.

I've decided I have such awful births because I get such sweet babies.

Thank goodness for these little guys, making it all worth it in the end.

It's been a rough week.

2011-08-18T15:19:00.001-04:00

Among the roughest of my life, certainly.

The labor was rough. The delivery was
rough. The effects on my body were rough.

It has felt like a "one thing after another" scenario...and it's not over yet.

So rather than taking time to elaborate on what happened, I'm conserving all my energy to gather for whatever's coming next.

My beautiful baby boy was born at 7:23pm August 10 at home. 8lb 8 oz.

It was a transformational experience. One I'm still processing.

I still don't quite know what to say about it. Except maybe this:

In the end, no one delivered this baby but me.

Free at last

2011-08-08T08:41:00.002-04:00

Rest in peace, my friend.

Breathing in, breathing out

2011-08-04T20:45:00.005-04:00

Something happy is happening in my life right now. And something sad is happening too.

I am waiting for this baby to arrive, and I have a friend who is waiting to die.

She is 70, has been wheelchair-bound for years, and has battled dozens and dozens of serious health issues for the bulk of her life. This time, it is cancer (not her first fight with it).

She has been somewhat ill for as long as we've known her (8 years), but really ill for several months--breathing issues, loss of vision, fatigue, pain, pain, pain. The other day it turned critical, and she is now in the ICU, finally refusing what little intervention is possible at this point.

Mike and I have been helping her out while enjoying her friendship for some years now--we drove her to church every week before J was born, then Mike did it alone. Until she was unable to go anymore. At that point, he simply brought her the sacrament.

We visited with her often, befriending her friends, bringing J along to meet her. And she loved him, sometimes letting him ride along on her wheelchair. We have received many thoughtful gifts from her, brought her meals, checked in, shared life changes. She is a big part of our lives.

Mike and I went to see her two nights ago. She looked simply awful. I asked her what she wanted us to pray for (did she want to recover?), and she said, Bravery, to face death head on. We left thinking (and in some ways, hoping) she wouldn't make it through the night. She's just been through too much.

I went back tonight. She told me she's "getting there."

Here's what I'm learning: Death is a process. Birth is a process. The scattered contractions I feel, the loss of breath she experiences, they are different ends of the same cycle. We are both inching closer to something we cannot control. She's getting there, and so am I.

I read a memoir once about a woman dying of breast cancer. The end was long, drawn out, and she told her daughter she didn't know how to die. I believe this is where my friend is sitting--in a place that is comfortable only because of the morphine drip, and uncomfortable because she knows she doesn't belong here anymore. But she doesn't know how to die. Her mind is drifting, her breath is short. I asked her about her house and she told me where she will be buried.

The lines aren't connecting anymore.

I walked out with her daughter and we hugged and sobbed. It is hard to see this kind of dying up close. I've never seen it before. You want them to be able to go, but that wanting doesn't make it happen. She will still be alone in her room all night, counting her breaths, trying to catch them and trying not to catch them.

Soon I will be at the other end of that precipice, giving birth.

I hope I can be patient, not fight it. Face it head on. Remember to breath in and out.

I cannot will it to happen. But when it does, I will be thinking of her.
And when our time comes, I hope we can both be brave.

No. I'm really not.

2011-08-01T12:00:00.006-04:00

So as I've mentioned before, when interacting with people in real life (as opposed to blog life?), I'm not totally forthcoming about my birth plan. I know it took me a lot of reading, soul searching, and education to get to my decision, so I certainly can't expect people to be immediately understanding of it.

But sometimes, I can't avoid telling people...or other people telling other people. And that's fine! Really. But I find that I'm getting a reaction pretty often that I'm totally uncomfortable with and that is this:

You are so brave!

Which brings me to the title of this post. I'm really not.

I really don't want to get all preachy, but I almost can't help it. Because if someone hadn't gotten a little preachy with me five years ago, I never would have learned everything that I have, and I am so so grateful for this education.

Homebirth isn't a "brave" decision. It's just a decision. It's not a "risky" decision; there is NO greater risk of negative outcome than there is with any other birth choice. Really. That is a fact.

I feel so strongly about women researching their options and making informed decisions. And in this country, those decisions are shrinking, and it makes me angry. It should make everyone angry. Because of ridiculous laws based on weak logic that protects big business, I can't give birth in a birth center, as I would have originally chosen.

Because of doctors who themselves are really pretty uninformed, our c-section rate is through the roof (MUCH higher than most other developed countries). I know most people know that. But the most tragic thing for me is that because the way birth is handled in this country, most American women have become convinced that they can't do it. Either their bodies aren't built right, they don't have the tolerance level, or it's just "taking too long." I'm not anti-pain meds or anything, but I am pro-birth support, which would make so many of those meds unnecessary.

I am not brave for having a home birth. I am choosing to have 2 devoted birth supporters (my midwives) who are trained to help me through the hard work of labor. That is something a hospital birthing mother doesn't have. In a way, doesn't that make her braver than me? These midwives will take an active role in supporting me and getting me through something that will, obviously, be really tough. They will not lay me on my back, hook me up to machines, and wish me luck.

I know some people have really positive experiences birthing at hospitals, and I don't feel that all nurses and doctors are evil (I had WONDERFUL recovery nurses with J), but they are simply NOT TRAINED to help you the way a midwife or doula is. It is not part of the U.S. medical system. It just isn't. Most OBs are more like trained surgeons these days, certainly not labor support specialists.

So I'm choosing support. Because I know I'll need it in order to accomplish this thing I know I can accomplish, and that I know every woman can accomplish.

There are cases when intervention is necessary. I had one of those cases. And if I have one of those cases again, I'll be grateful for it. But most of the time, none is needed, and it is given anyway. And that makes me angry, too.

There. I got preachy.

I highly recommend these books, if you are interested in learning about how amazing your body is, and the choices you have:

And if you don't care, that's your prerogative. But if enough people decide not to care, then we will all have fewer options. It's certainly heading that direction, and the result is not better obstetric care. It's worse.

I'll stop there. But I would encourage everyone to find your own way of educating yourself about your body and birth.

And I would ask that you please not tell me I'm brave.

(But if you already have, no hard feelings, OK? :) )

Lying on my new sheets, looking at my toes

2011-07-23T22:03:00.005-04:00

(And trying to conceal in this picture how freakish they really are)

I had a great week full of stuff that I won't be able to do soon. InCLUDING the aforementioned, pictured-above pedicure with my dear friend.

I actually had 4 dinners with friends this week. They were each lovely, and great distractions. We also had some good family time, enjoying being 3 before we are 4.

I've got my list of go-to peops when we need someone to help out with J after labor begins. We've also got the tub here now, ready to set up anytime.

I made 4 more freezer meals today, and 2 loaves of zucchini bread.

(Try this recipe.)

(And this one.)

I kind of amazed myself. And I'm pooped.

(It helped to have a stool in the kitchen to sit when I needed to).

I would blog about something else, but who has energy to think up other blog topics right now? (Did you hear how many freezer meals I made today?)

As of today, I'm 38 weeks. Still feeling alright, despite the crazy heat (100 degrees yesterday! Fairly unheard of for Boston).

J is driving me slightly crazy, I'll be honest. I find it helps to watch him while he sleeps and appreciate that part of his personality. It also helps that today he told me I was his best friend.

A devil and an angel, that one.

Now I just need to plan lots of stuff for next week to keep me occupied...any takers?

Why I'm never trusting my chiropractor again

2011-07-19T10:24:00.004-04:00

Because she once told me I was pregnant. When I wasn't.

Because she told me I was having a girl. The ultrasound begs to differ.

Because she told me I'd be having a baby by now. And here I sit, contraction-free.

(I will continue to let her fix my back/hip/neck ailments, though.)

I'm no longer anxious or anticipating the immediate arrival of this child. Things have calmed considerably, and I'm (mostly) comfortable and OK with waiting.

So just in case you were wondering...no signs of baby yet. I did, however, get my pedicure, which felt great. And I did make my dinner date with my former coworkers, which was fantastic. And I do plan on making my dinner date with m'girlfriends tonight.

I think the key is planning lots of little things to look forward to in order to distract from when this baby is gonna show up.

Personally? I think we've got a little more time. And that's AOK.

Stats

2011-07-15T10:04:00.002-04:00

Contractions today: 0

Fridges cleaned: 1

Freezer meals prepared: 2

Loaves of bread made: 4

Clean houses: 1

(very helpful hubbies: 1)

I think we're in pretty good shape. And according to my chiropractor, that's good since this baby's coming in the next 4 days.

Hmm...she also told me I was having a girl so. We'll just see about that.

False alarm

2011-07-13T21:12:00.004-04:00

I know this is pretty common, but throughout my pregnancy, I've counted the weeks up, feeling grateful for every one completed. I know women who have delivered at 25, 28, 32 weeks, with scary outcomes that (thank the Lord) ended well, but only after long, long hospital stays.

So throughout this pregnancy, I've coached my body: just make it to 30 weeks. Just make it to 34. Just make it to 36.

At my most recent appointment with the midwife, she told me her policy on delivering at home, so I had a new coaching mantra: For the love of all that is holy, just make it to 37 weeks.

As you may recall, I made to to exactly 37 weeks with J, but as that was a totally different situation, there really was no reason for me to think this one would come that early.

Then, two nights ago (36 weeks and 3 days), I was awakened all night long with fairly painful contractions. I would open my eyes, acknowledge them, try to reposition, and fall back asleep.

I didn't get much rest.

Then in the morning, the contractions continued. I tried to go about my regular morning activities--get J ready for the babysitter, make breakfast, etc. but the regularity of the contractions became increasingly alarming. I downloaded an app to time them, and saw that some were 3-5 minutes apart, lasting almost a minute.

And that's when I lost my cool.

I cried to Mike, I lay motionless in bed, I worried and worried. I had 4 days until the 37 week mark--the point at which I could deliver with my midwife the way I had planned. The thought of another failed birth plan was too much for me, and my stress mounted with each cramp, which I knew was only making it worse. I asked Mike for a blessing, sent him off to work, put a show on for J and finally called my midwife.

May I remind you that although I have a child, I have never been in labor before. It's a weird thing. I thought, this could either be nothing, or this could be THE thing, and I had absolutely no idea which. I have friends who even on their third or fourth babies don't know labor when it's happening, so I felt totally helpless and well, stupid, when it came to what was happening to my body at that moment.

I explained to her what was happening through my tears of anxiety (I just need one more week! I kept telling my body), and she listened, calmed me, and told me that even if I did indeed have the baby that day, we could still proceed with the home birth.

And then my contractions stopped.

It was an enormous relief.

It was also an enormous wake up call.

I looked around my house and thought, Wow. We've got a lot of work to do. I've been operating on the premise that we have a few weeks before we need to really worry, but the little reminders I've had over the past few days (contractions, cramping, leg pains, general uncomfortableness) are telling me to get our stuff together. Nowish.

And then I start to do something on my list, and then my body tells me to take it easy. Two steps forward, one step back.

(Meanwhile, Mike is a work horse, morning to night.)

So I'm listening to my body, doing small things when I can, still hoping to make it at least until next week. Still grateful for the point I've already made it to in this pregnancy. So happy I'm now only 3 days from 37 weeks.

I did get a haircut today though, so there's that. If I make it to Monday, a pedicure.

(The freezer meals and clean fridge are on hold for now.)

Our Fourth

2011-07-08T23:03:00.004-04:00

Coming home from our 4th of July weekend was tough.

We drove up to Vermont with some dear friends who were about to move away, to visit some other dear friends who recently moved away. We spent the 3 day weekend living it up--renting a boat on a nearby lake, walking the lovely rural neighborhood, swimming in a stream close by.

It was beautiful.

I was a bit nervous about a 4 hour drive at 35 weeks pregnant, but all was well (aside from a little bit of post-drive swelling).

We said our sad goodbyes, and arrived home knowing that our traveling days are over for a bit. No more escapes, at least for a few months. Those are the things that made it hard to get back to "real life" the next day.

Well. That and all the laundry.

So long, holiday weekend. It really was fantastic.

Alone on Sunday: take two

2011-06-26T21:28:00.004-04:00

A funny thing happens when your husband is suddenly called to spend a significant amount of his time doing something that he didn't choose, but that you both believe is important.

You start to appreciate him more.

This week was my second as a bishopric wife (sorry to those of you who don't know what that means. Sort of like the presidency of a congregation. Very demanding. Doesn't sit with his family.)

I decided to use a more Zen approach this week--accept that I probably wouldn't see much of Mike (since I knew more what to expect), sit in a better getaway spot with J just in case, enlist the help of his favorite childless couple.

The morning started as expected--Mike off to early meetings, with the expectation that he would come home only long enough to get us packed up and out the door so we could arrive really early at church.

Instead, he came home with almost 2 hours to spare. We enjoyed having some extra time with daddy, truly enjoying it for what it was: an unexpected gift.

On the way to church an angel of mercy came down and put J into a deep sleep.

(This has never happened.)

Mike carried him in to church and lay him down on the back pew (far from any unsuspecting crotchety men), and then guess what.

He slept soundly for the next 1.5 hours. A true Sabbath miracle.

When he awoke, he was happy to go into nursery and join his friends and his beloved teachers. I was happy to have enjoyed an entire meeting without worrying how next to distract him.

After church, Mike was able to leave with us, only slightly later than most other people. We came home and spent more daddy time together--plenty of tickles, plenty of "steamroller", plenty of all the good things we get to do together.

It could have been like any other Sunday we've had for the past several years. We've always had him around all day. But this time the family time felt like a gift. And so it was better.

I know I've been lucky to have as much time with Mike as I do (have I mentioned he now works from home 3 days a week?). This is not at all how I was raised: having a dad around more often than not. Most of the time I take it for granted, don't think about how fortunate we are. But Mike's new calling has given me a new perspective on things, at least this one precious day a week.

Sunday was as good as I can expect my Sundays to go for a while. I certainly don't expect a repeat of all the fortune I had. But I sure am grateful I got it this time.

Fears in a box

2011-06-21T11:16:00.007-04:00

J has been exhibiting all kinds of strange behavior lately.

(Let me put it this way: I googled "can my toddler see ghosts" the other day. I sure did.)

The most alarming and distressing change, though, is a sudden and VERY INTENSE phobia of bugs. It started a few weeks ago, and then Mike took him camping and he was bitten by a mosquito. And he saw it, and he felt it, and boy oh boy did he remember it.

Now every tiny little bug is life-threatening to him. He has always had bug x-ray vision--I swear this kid could spot a gnat from a hundred yards away--but now that ability is mixed with heart-stopping fear.

It doesn't help that this is the stage when the imagination really starts to develop big time.

Also? this happens to be one of those buggy years--more ants seem to be around, fruit flies are hanging out here and there. A few spiders, and those dreaded leggy bugs every New Englander hates (see here for what I mean). They are the absolute worst. Every house I've lived in here has had them. They don't bite, but uggggh I get the willies just thinking of them.

I told my midwife about this new fear ('cause she wants to know all about J, and I love her advice) and she gave me a bug box. You know, sort of like you used to have in your third grade classroom that a lizard would live in? She explained to us that we could take the box and go hunt some bugs, put them in the box, and then J could see that they weren't all that scary after all.

I didn't know J was really listening when she told me this, but this morning (after another bug freak out), he grabbed the box, asked me to open it, and walked around the house saying, "Come here, bug! Come here!" beckoning with his little hand.

We were laughing so hard. And shaking our heads. Sort of one of those oh-so-common funny/sad little kid moments.

Oh if only it were that easy, to just take all your little fears and beckon them into a tiny box, where they couldn't get at you anymore...If this were the case, he'd definitely put the prospect of a new baby in the house in there, too. sigh.

Plan B: renting A Bug's Life.

(We're ready to try anything.)

In all our glory: wedding edition

2011-06-15T13:36:00.009-04:00

Me in the dress my mom made me real quick.

Mike in his snazzy new suit (that is now about 2 sizes too big for him).

J in his "Cape Code wedding attire," so named by Mike's mom.

A close up of the man of the hour (not the groom, the OTHER one):

And a little glimpse of the awesomeness of the night:

I mean, am I right?

(all photos courtesy staceykayphotography.com)

To the man sitting in the pew in front of me

2011-06-12T17:06:00.003-04:00

I know you don't know me. I don't know you either.

In fact, it could have been your first time at church today. Sorry for that.

There's no way you could have known that it was my first week as a bishopric member's wife.

Alone, in the pew with one very cranky two-year-old and one very pregnant belly. You didn't know that the morning had already been fairly terrible; a husband at meetings for more hours than expected; me making the unwise decision to attempt potty training alone.

(Nor that the morning included a poop disaster. And a pee incident.)

That my nerves were already frayed by the time I got to church, and my hormones didn't help.

You don't know my son, but if you did, you'd know that this was the worst behaved he has ever been at church, and that rolling on the floor and flailing are typically reserved for rare occasions at home.

And by the time he decided to rest his feet on the back of your pew, I was just thankful he wasn't screaming or crying, and thankful I wasn't either. Though I was close.

So when you turned around in annoyance and physically moved his little feet so that you wouldn't have to feel the pressure of them behind you (not kicking, mind you, just pushing)? That is what they call the last straw. And I barely made it out of the chapel before my already awful morning finally caught up with me and left me crying in the bathroom.

You couldn't have known.

I've been in your shoes before. I'm sure I've reacted, too.

(Overreacted, even.)

But thanks to you, I learned something today. You just don't know if that woman behind you who is letting her kid do stuff that sorta bothers you is having one of the roughest days she's had in a while. If there are a whole pile of big adjustments currently on her plate that she has no idea how to tackle, that she's barely holding it together. You don't know how much it would mean to just suck it up for once, to put up with a little annoyance to spare her further pain, and just let it slide this one time.

Just this once. And maybe again next time.

You might not know how it feels to be crying in a tiny stall while your two-year-old asks you over and over "Can you be happy mommy? Are you OK?" all the while hoping no one comes in and hears him, feels sorry for you.

This phase, however long it will be, is going to be a big trial for me. There will be many more people in the pew in front of us, dealing with the repercussions of a husband who has committed to serve faithfully in a very demanding capacity, and a wife who knows that is the right thing for him to do.

My faith will be tested.

It will be hard. Harder still when this new baby comes.

If it's true what was taught in Sunday School, Jesus suffered for this trial of mine, too.

Today was the first taste of my new reality. And it was a shock. And I hope in the future I can remember this moment and not turn around and give the lady with the crazy kid behind me a dirty look because he is bothering me.

Today, thanks to that man, I have a new hope:

I hope I never make someone's hard day worse than it already is.

Sometimes when I can't think of a post, I look at my phone pics

2011-06-09T10:54:00.009-04:00

When we were in AZ last month, I gazed upon this picture on Mike's parents' fridge quite often. I love it:

Mike's dad has all these comparison pics between his kids and their children at similar ages. I often wonder what it was like to raise a little Mike, and how similar/different my experience is raising J.

(Also, thinking one day we're gonna get serious payback for the mischief he used to get into. Oy vey.)

A while back, we were driving home from somewhere, and in an effort to appease a very grumpy and prone-to-fits J, Mike promised him a party once we got home. I gave him a long look that meant, "I'm not bailing you out of this one, so you better find a way to keep your promise."

And he did:

...complete with pointy hats and a PB&J "cake." And it looked delightful.

(He's a good egg, this daddy.)

(Like the one time he set J up in the bed to have some reading time and I peeked in to see this):

(And it kinda made my heart burst.)

Other pictures I've taken of J over the past several weeks...

Watching a movie with his best buddy under a fort his sitter built:

Jumping rocks at a farm after eating strawberry ice cream and running through the sprinklers:

And it's at about this point that I start to think, You know what?

My kid's got a pretty good life.

A grandpa who puts his picture on the fridge,

A best friend to eat popcorn with,

A babysitter who builds forts,

A daddy who throws impromptu parties,

A mom who takes him to see cows...

Lots of folks who love him. What more could he (or I) ask for?

What I did on my Spring vacation

2011-06-02T14:15:00.013-04:00

(...as told by JTB.)

Rediscovered my love for the dragon train:

Realized I'm finally tall enough for stomach swinging:

Experienced the delightful sensation of sprinklers, c/o grandma's back yard:

Took advantage of grandparents who like eating out as much as we do:

Daily rides in Grandpa's '64 convertible, Uncle Buck (a personal life highlight, thus far):

And sadly, I also learned the consequences of fake sneezing to be silly, and consequently hitting one's teeth on a windowsill.

Look closely...there's a grey tooth in there. This one kinda breaks mom's heart--something about my "perfect smile" and "Baby Gap castings." Luckily, there seems to be no permanent damage, just a grey tooth...until it falls out in a few years.

One moment of sadness tucked into two weeks of fantastic-ness in Cali/AZ.

(In short, we had a really good April.)

Weightier matters

2011-05-26T11:43:00.011-04:00

I've been thinking about weight lately.

And that's not something I really like to do.

Not just my own, but my husband's (still going down!), and other folks in my life who seem to be (in my opinion) a bit too preoccupied with it. And it makes me kinda blue.

I've gained a lot more weight this pregnancy than the last. But the thing is? I don't really care. It's interesting to me, and I wonder about the amount of time it will take to come off occasionally, but not often. I'm just not that kind of person.

What's been striking me a lot recently is that the people in my life who seem to be engrossed in weight and food and calories are usually the ones who are skinny. Not average, not slightly overweight, not fat...SKINNY.

And that bugs me.

I feel sorry for skinny people who spend a good portion of the day contemplating what effect a certain meal is going to have on their waistline, how much they can "afford" to splurge this time, etc. What a sad life that is (again, in my opinion). Or to constantly compare yourself to what you looked like in high school, or at any previous date when circumstances were totally different. That seems like a pathway to constant disappointment for me.

We grow up, we have babies, our metabolisms slow down. Obviously it's important to get plenty of good stuff into your diet, and perhaps it is appropriate to become more aware of that the older we get, but that's not usually what is driving people who talk about it all the time.

They want to be skinnier.

I love my husband. I think the life changes he is making are absolutely appropriate and I tell him over and over how proud I am of him. Over the years, I have encouraged him (via us, and cooking for us) to eat healthier, adding more veggies and grains, subtracting more fats and sugars. Sometimes I'm great about it, sometimes I'm not.

But I would never dream of criticizing him for how he looks. I know different people are of different opinions on this fact, but for me? That kind of a comment is just not acceptable in our marriage. I would be devastated if Mike ever gave the hint that he would prefer it if I looked differently than I do. And the fact that he NEVER WOULD is one thing I have always loved about him. Before I was married, I was skinny. You might say I had a "great body." And I got attention for it, often unwanted. And one thing about Mike I knew right from the start is that, although he found me attractive, that "hot" body of mine could have looked like anything and he still would have loved me.

That is an incredibly reassuring feeling. I hope all of you know what that feels like.

I never want to be a mom who inadvertently gives her children a complex about food. Some days J eats a lot, some days he hardly eats anything. Sometimes it's all veggies and grains, sometimes it's not much more than crackers and cheese. Overall, he's getting what he needs, and that's what matters.

I think most of us could stand to eat a little better, be a little more aware of what we put into our bodies. But lots of us could stand to be a little easier on ourselves, and those around us. Having little or no idea what is in the past or present of the overweight people we see, how could we possibly make judgments about how they look? In fact, how dare we?! I have many larger people in my life, and in some ways? I like them more for it. I know I will not be judged by them in the ways I truly hate to be judged. I know I can love them for who they are and they will never wonder if it's because they look a certain way.

In short (in long, actually), I vote for a little less talk about looks and calories and a little more just loving you and loving me, just where we're at. Oh I know this isn't a new idea, but it seems to be everywhere in my life right now, and frankly I hate how much it keeps popping up.

And speaking of weight, here's me now: weightier than I've ever been, and loving it:

(I admit to feeling great, even cute pregnant.)

10 more weeks to go!

A Yummy Dinner

2011-05-24T14:33:00.004-04:00

In case you haven't heard, Mike is on a mission to lose some significant weight. And it's working. And I am very proud of him. I don't know if it was the "big" birthday, the big wedding, or what motivation triggered him, but a few months ago, it's like a switch went off, and he's completely changed his diet.

(I haven't).

He eats a lot of quinoa, veggies, some protein, Cheerios with banana...and really, not a whole lot else. AND he has almost completely cut processed sugar and desserts out of his diet.

(I haven't).

So when I cook (not often lately), I try to make something that the whole family can enjoy, knowing that he has become very very choosy about what goes into his body (not me!).

For instance, he almost wouldn't eat my whole wheat veggie mini pizzas the other day because the sauce had too much sugar. Say what?

Anyway, last night I made something delicious that I'd like to share with you. I give you...

Turleybenson's Vegetarian Shepherd's Pie (Mike-approved!)
(adapted from various shepherd's pie recipes and what I had in my fridge)

You start with whatever heap of veggies you can find in your house. Here's how I did it:

Potatoes (these are kind of key)
Large handful of green beans
Canned tomatoes
1 Small Onion
Garlic
Carrots, chopped
Mushrooms
Yellow squash
1 T olive oil

In this scenario, the yellow squash will be playing the role of "meat" formerly played by ground beef. You could also use eggplant or zucchini or any meaty vegetable.

And here's what I did:

Saute onion, garlic, and carrots in the olive oil until they are softened.

Add the can of diced tomatoes (or if you have fresh, that will work too--about 14 oz).

Add all the other veggies, all chopped, and let simmer about 10-15 minutes. If it is too liquidy (it wasn't last night) add a little bit of corn starch.

***ALERT: Here's where my improv skills really kick in.***
Add about 1 T of curry powder to the veggie mixture and stir thoroughly. YUM!

In the meantime, make your mashed potatoes. I only added 1 T butter, 1 T sour cream, and 3/4 cup rice milk to mine. Not too bad for you, in my opinion.

Layer veggie mixture in 9 x 13 pan, then potatoes on top. I added a bit of feta cheese to the top also.

Broil for about 7 minutes, until top is just starting to brown.

Dish up, serve, have your mind blown.

A little challenge

2011-05-20T15:08:00.004-04:00

My seminary stint is almost over, and much as I'll miss it, I'm also starting to enter the final phase of pregnancy when all you want to do is sleep and eat. So I'm looking forward to getting more zees at night, instead of trying to piece them together during the day.

I go through phases occasionally when I examine my life and feel I should be doing more. Or maybe have more to show for my daily activities. I'm proud of my job, and that I can provide income that we really need to get along right now. I don't love it (and I don't hate it), but I'm proud of it.

However I don't really create anything tangible (at least not lately), and I'm sort of super jealous of people who are creatively inspired.

I don't think I'm all that creative, I guess. (Cut to me constantly searching the web for ideas on how to better present a lesson to my seminary kids, and thinking "I would NEVER have thought of that!").

But that doesn't mean there aren't other things I could be doing, or learning, or pursuing that would make my life feel richer, more fulfilled. So I'm going to try to do some of those things over the next month and see if I can't feel some progress.

A little challenge to myself, if you will.

I seem to have a lot of close friends who are embarking on major changes in their lives at the moment, and I'm sort of tired of wondering when I'll ever be inspired to change in the ways I know I need to. Kinda sick of thinking, and ready to start doing.

I haven't been feeling particularly nice lately, or patient (sorry Mike and J). I think there are things I can do to change those things, too.

Sometimes I feel like I've written this same post over and over. Do normal people do this much self-examination? Or self criticism? Or are they this lazy that they get to this point so often? I don't know what it is, but I know I'll kick myself for not spending this pre-baby time trying to de-funk when I have the chance (and the sleep).

I'm not saying I'll get to the gym anytime soon, but I am saying, I'll try harder to think about getting there.

(picture above of J doing a little self examination at a great kids museum in Berkeley, CA)

I really don't have time to write this post

2011-05-12T12:06:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, a friend called and said it sounded like my life was pretty busy these days. What with the new seminary assignment and everything else I already had going on.

I replied that No, I didn't feel like life was particularly busy. (My logic is that if I still have time to watch TV, I must not be that busy).

But in looking at my blogging frequency over the past few months, I suppose it is OK for me to admit that I have felt busier than I was last year. Too busy to post with any regularity, I guess. When one thing comes into your life, sometimes another thing suffers a bit. And that "thing" can't be my work, or my child, or my calling. Or, apparently, my TV.

The blog has been that thing.

I have many things I want to record (heavens, I haven't even detailed a fraction of the glorious summer I had last year). I recently had 2 wonderful trips across the country, one of which included a long awaited wedding that turned out breathtakingly beautiful. The kind of night when you hear yourself saying one billion times how amazing everything looks, and yet you still don't feel like you are exaggerating or even capturing just how AMAZING EVERYTHING LOOKS.

Mike's BIG birthday was back in February, and I hardly even mentioned it here.

This baby is growing and growing and I haven't talked about how unprepared I feel.

How much J is changing and growing up every. single. day.

I'm going to accept that this isn't going to be a frequent blogging period for me. That's OK. I'll miss some things on here (even some major ones), but I'll get all that other stuff done...hopefully.

See you soon,

turleybenson

My favorite Mother's Day card

2011-05-10T00:11:00.000-04:00

Was this one.

Cinco de Mayo

2011-05-05T14:29:00.003-04:00

Nine years ago tonight, my roommates and I threw a Cinco de Mayo party at our cute little apartment.

(We liked to do that sort of thing.)

My bff Mike was, of course, in attendance.

After months of being wishy washy about it, by the end of the night, we decided to officially be an item...in secret.

(People in singles wards like to do that sort of thing.)

Eventually, we came out of the closet and got married four months later.

Happy Cinco de Mayo. For some, the celebration of the Mexican army's unlikely victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862 (credit Wikipedia).

For me and mine, the start of a crazy, unexpected, awesome journey.

Salud!

The intro to the midwife

2011-04-19T13:45:00.004-04:00

As J is now fully aware, we are off to "Canaforna" tomorrow. I can't tell him we are going ANYWHERE until about 3 seconds before we go, unless I want to be tortured with questions of Can we go now? Are we ready? WE GO CANAFORNA MOMMY??!!! every 2 seconds.

I decided to give him a one-day warning this time. Mistake? Possibly.

Meanwhile, it's cold and dreary outside, which is always just how I like to leave town.

Anyway. On to midwif-ier matters.

Yesterday I had my 24 week (!) appointment with my midwife D. She is very good with J and he really likes her. She has a small office in the back of her house, and it is filled with all sorts of cool retro Fisher Price toys that J loves to play with.

If your only experience is with a traditional OB, you would be amazed, and possibly shocked, at how my appointments go with Midwife D.

Each and every one of them is a mimimum of an hour. Since J is fully entertained the whole time, and since it is such a relaxed environment, I welcome these long appointments. She hugs me, asks how I'm feeling, how Mike is doing, how J is handling things. She offers parenting advice, and books on parenting and pregnancy. She answers questions, helps me find better sleep positions, gives me ideas on how to keep my diet balanced. She doesn't care whether I weigh myself or not (I do, incidentally).

She dresses in bright colors, stops to talk to J if he gets upset, helps him redirect his focus.

She is a lovely, lovely person.

Last month at my appointment, she started telling me about the time the house caught fire and had both J and I engaged in the story. She spoke to J as an equal (it's all part of her philosophy), about the fire trucks coming, and hosing down the area. I thought it sweet that he seemed so interested even though I was pretty sure he had no idea what she was talking about. At the end, she described the remaining scene as a "mudbath."

And that's when J turned to her and asked, "D (he pronounces her name very well), what's a mudbath?"

She just has a way, I tell you.

When I was looking for a midwife, I interviewed probably half a dozen of them. I liked all of them, but some were less convenient than others, some cost significantly more than others (ahem, midwife N!), and when it came down to it, I just like D the best, in all categories. I also got a personal recommendation for her. I have never for a second regretted my choice.

As a side story that totally did not influence my decision AT ALL (seriously, it didn't), she also happened to be the midwife for a certain supermodel who is married to a certain mega football celebrity in the area...so that's kinda interesting. (And she didn't tell me that, I read it online)

AND YET! She doesn't cost any more than anyone else (ahem, Midwife N!). So she strikes me as grounded, sincere, real. Sort of like a very wise and wispy grandmother. The kind that was definitely, definitely a hippie at some point in her life, but has now melded nicely into mainstream society.

She advises me to pray if I have concerns. She reminds me to take time to focus love energy on my growing baby. She calmed me down when I fell down the stairs (remember? that was scary).

Its true, I found some of her "harness the powers of the universe" talk a little startling at first, but not because I didn't believe it. It's all true, what she says. It's just jarring to hear your medical practitioner speak that way. It's really made me shift my paradigm, and that is a process that's still going. The more I read, the more deep spritual faith I have in midwifery (when practiced responsibly, of course), and the more sad I feel that it has become a sort of dying art in the U.S.

Before I get all preachy, I'll just say that I highly recommend a midwife for anyone--one that you trust, and one that believes in a woman's body's ability to do what it was made to do.

In short, I think I definitely found one of those, and I think I'm keeping her.

What's up this week.

2011-04-12T10:27:00.007-04:00

Well, we made it home in one piece last week. The journey, as usual, was a bit bumpy. But we survived it fine.

We had a wonderful time with the family, with minimal drama. That's always a bonus, no?

For the moment, we are back in weather of 50s...sometimes 60s...with some hope that Spring is really coming sometime. (Maybe.)

And next week J and I will be off again, on what has become our annual trip to San Jose, CA. Exciting, and sure to be relaxing and fun; sadly Mike will not be joining us this time. But we will be meeting up with him for his sister's wedding in a few weeks in AZ.

So basically, the month is shaping up to look pretty sunny.

Last night, we attempted to find Mike a suit for the wedding...with J in tow. It was kind of a disaster. This is precisely the sort of occasion on which I would have phoned either of my recently departed friends to see if I could drop him for a few hours so we could do this alone. Most folks who now live nearby are either pretty overloaded or have no kids, so I feel a bit guilty not being able to return the favor. I'll need to come up with some sort of plan for times like this, because a night of tantrums and beligerence ended up with no suit to show for it.

And we only have 2 weeks to find one. And get it tailored. (Suggestions?)

In the meantime, I was panicking that I had to find not just a color-specific dress for this wedding, but a MATERNITY color-specific dress (soft orange or apple green, since you asked). Then my mother graciously offered to make me one while I was at home. She whipped it out in about a day and a half and I am very happy with it. Bless that mom of mine. (I vow to post pics of the wedding after the fact).

In other news, this baby is kicking the crap out of my insides. For some reason, I don't recall this occurring so early with such ferocity last time. It's not painful per se, just startling. I'm just now remembering how I posted about the midwife I thought I was going to use, but never posted about the midwife I AM using, who is a very different person.

(I vow to do that. Soon. She is certainly worth writing about).

Also, Mike tiled our backsplash and painted a wall while we were gone. 6 years after moving in, we might finally hope to have our condo "finished" at some point. Perhaps I should leave more often?

Musings from a distant home

2011-04-03T22:17:00.013-04:00

Whenever I go to Texas in the early part of the year, it's always a sort of shock, body and soul.

It snowed in Boston on Friday. In Texas, we had a picnic. We went for the shady spots. We found a nice indoor pool to cool off.

I have a 15 square foot porch at home. Outside my small apartment. Here, J plays outside all day, every day (often pantsless). On nearly an acre of land. At night he runs the length of the large house, chasing the dog. It's mostly just us at home. In Texas he is always surrounded by cousins, neighbors, aunts, grandparents. A dog. (Sometimes, I think it's even too much for him, it's so unfamiliar.)

We've gone shopping, we've eaten out, we've gone swimming, we've played kickball, we've barbecued, dined outside, my heavens we've dined inside, we've met new cousins, seen long lost nephews, we've pedicured, we've picked flowers, we've run, we've ridden in cars, had family dinners a plenty, played and played some more.

It's been a good trip.

I always feel a little bit guilty bringing him back home to our little house.

Today in the car with Grandma, in the silence, J said:

"It's too quiet, mommy."

What a readjustment he's in for...

There's a lot of cool stuff coming up for me

2011-03-25T10:44:00.005-04:00

But you know what's not cool?

When you go in to the tax lady's office (the person who is helping you with your fairly complicated taxes---what's she called?) and she comes across your "charitable donations" form, and sees that you are Mormon.

And then says, "Oh I've been to 'that church' (which I realize means temple square in Salt Lake) a few times."

And continues: "I had a few clients there who invited me.
2 of them were crooks and they are in jail now."

And then you sit there with shock on your face and wonder how much you really want to know.

And she continues to continue: "The were using the church list to get people into their business (GROSS) and then set up a Ponzi scheme."

Ew.

And it gets worse.

"And I was really surprised to find out that some of them had lots of wives and lots of houses. Pretty crazy stuff happening in Utah."

And even though you try to explain that they were NOT, in fact, real Mormons if they were living polygamist lives, she just responds with raised eyebrows, pursed lips and...

"You'd be surprised."

Well. I certainly wasn't expecting THAT when I went to the tax office. You got that right.

Just 'cause.

2011-03-16T21:46:00.005-04:00

Baby inside.

Baby outside.

Half way there!

Fits and Giggles...and Sushi

2011-03-14T07:34:00.003-04:00

I think it's safe to say that I've been pretty lucky in the way of my child's attitude thus far. He's not been excessively whiney, rough-and-tumble, disobedient, or really, unhappy. He's always been a good-natured kid, right from the get go. He's had days here and there where naughtiness has occurred, but it's always passed, and he's reverted back to his laid back ways.

I've always considered this to be luck and nothing else. And luck, as we all know, sometimes runs out.

At 2 1/2, my child has finally, and surely, realized that he is in fact 2. And after enduring the effects of that discovery for a few weeks now, I think it's safe to say that a shift has occurred. And that we can anticipate its effects for a while to come. I'm talking AT-TI-TUDE, all over the place. Things that have always been routine and easy are now met with tantrums, evil giggling + running away, screaming fits, and belligerence. Teeth brushing, diaper changing, (heaven help me) fingernail clipping... It's as if I am slicing his actual fingers off, the reaction I get.

I look at a pack of diapers and see a stack of power struggles; a series of wrestling matches, and I groan inwardly. I'm ready to potty train just to avoid one kind of fight in favor of another.

I dread bedtime, knowing I will have to fight to brush the teeth, fight to change clothes, fight to change diaper, fight to get him into the crib. That's a lotta fight, folks. Particularly when all of those things very recently were easy breezy.

I know it happens, I don't think I'm exempt from the rigors of raising a toddler. But it's still exhausting sometimes.

On the up side, I've discovered a new way to get him to eat (his once-adventurous palate has been very stingy for many months now). He loves all things pancake, and so when I'm not trying to sneak in nutrition (flax seed and berries in the mix, for instance), I've started telling him that everything is pancakes. A veggie-filled quiche? Pancakes. Bam, instant scarf-fest.

The pinnacle was Saturday night, when Mike made sushi for some friends. J needed to eat, and I didn't feel like going through the routine of finding something else in the cupboards, so once he (predictably) started asking for pancakes I told him:

These are Japanese pancakes!

And he fell for it. He ate probably 7 California rolls, filled with seaweed, avocado, cucumber, crab meat... (confession? I won't even eat that)

It was pretty much awesome. Who says trickery is a bad parenting move? All the experts? Well I say, whatever works!

Other things he's been doing:

Trying to use various phrases, almost always out of context, such as over there, yesterday, just one time, after that.

Example: I want to see Porter yesterday after that. Just one time!

It's pretty great.

Also, he doesn't want to talk about the baby anymore. So we've cooled it with the "baby brother" talk. We've got time.

And lastly, whenever he hears a car honk its horn, he exclaims, "Are you KIDDING me?"

That one? Not so flattering. Sounds like mommy needs to control her road rage a little better.

(Conclusion: We love our growing, mimicking, sushi-eating, naughty little boy.)

So sure

2011-03-10T13:39:00.006-05:00

I was so sure I knew what I was having. SO sure. Remember when I was pregnant with J and I KNEW it was a boy from pretty much day 1? That kind of sure. And when you get it right once, I guess you get a little cocky.

We had our ultrasound yesterday. Once again, it came really fast, and I couldn't believe it was already time to "find out." Mostly I was concerned that everything look good--measurements normal, no visible problems, placenta in the right place this time... But I was also anxious to have my "knowledge" confirmed: that I was having a girl this time.

I had a real doctor doing the U/S this time, which was comforting (especially since a tech got one of mine wrong last time. Remember?). She scanned the body parts--the brain, the spine, the limbs, the placenta. Assured me everything was fine (RELIEF! JOY!) And before she had even really looked down there, she looked at me (Hi, doctor, I'm having a girl!) and said,

"This is a boy, you know."
__________

I was actually OK not finding out this time. I have ALWAYS been one of those people who think you are CA-RAZY for not finding out, but for some reason, I was willing to forego this part; be surprised. But Mike really wanted to, and so I easily gave in.

It was only a few days ago that I started thinking, "What if it's NOT a girl? Am I prepared? How will I feel? Do I PREFER a girl?"

I didn't really address any of those questions fully. 'Cause I was just. that. sure.

___________

In that moment, when the doctor (M.D. Meaning I can trust her.) told me that, then SHOWED me that, I had a lot of tiny moments of emotion, all smooshed together.

Shock, being foremost.

Relief, since I didn't have to learn/buy everything all over.

And if I'm being honest? Just a teeny bit of disappointment.

I've thought many times during this pregnancy that this might be "it" for me. We're not terribly young, and I'm not really a large family kind of mom (I think it's healthy to know that about oneself). I know my emotional limits. I do not have anything to prove, and my priority is being able to give my kids what they need me to give. I'm not sure I can do that with more than two.

But. I also wanted the chance to raise a boy...and a girl. I wanted the experience of both kinds. I think most of us want that, no? But we don't get to choose, do we? I have a sister with 3 boys, a sister with 4 boys, a sister who had 4 girls before her 2 boys. Hello? I come from a family of 7 girls. Talk about not being able to even ride the odds, let alone choose what you get.

But I don't think I want to live in a world where you do get to choose. This is one of those things that I think (hope?) teaches you what you need to learn. I'm not sure I would choose right for myself if I had the chance.

I sort of wanted a girl when I was pregant with J. But as soon as I saw him, all thoughts of my would-be daughter were gone, meaningless, seemed ridiculous. Then why did I do it to myself again? I could focus on what I'm missing--the "drama" everyone talks about with raising girls. The avoidance (hopefully) of all the angst girls go through in adolescence, teenage years. All the worries that are singular and unique to raising a girl.

But what I wanted (and I guess what I've always wanted) was the chance to teach my girl that she can be anything she wants to be. She can be strong, self-assured, capable, independent. She can be smart and not be ashamed of it. She can be a mom, a lawyer, a teacher, a writer. She can be all of those.

I know, I can still teach those things to my boys, and I plan to. But it's a little different for girls, isn't it? I know, I was one. And I'm not sure I knew all those things.

Who knows what my future in childbearing holds. Heaven knows it's all been pretty unexpected up 'til now. I am so happy at the prospect of two beautiful, healthy boys. I hope they will be great friends, and come to rely on each other the way that only brothers can. I'm going to spend the next 4 1/2 months focusing on that, and on the many many great things that little boys offer. Also on the fact that I won't have to buy a stitch of clothing, at least for a while (hooray for that!).

But today, I'm allowing myself to be honest. I know I'm not the only one who has felt that twinge, and then felt guilty for feeling it. Upon hearing the news, a very sweet (male!) friend called me yesterday to tell me he knew what I was feeling. I didn't even want to admit it until that point. But there it was: a shared experience.

As for this surprisingly male baby in my belly, I know once I see him (and likely well before), all of this will be moot anyway. Of course he is going to be what's just right for us right now.

Why I went to bed at 9:30 last night

2011-03-02T07:50:00.004-05:00

It's week 3 of my new church assignment. Let me tell you how it's going.

First of all, what IS my assignment? It's called early morning seminary, and here's what that means.

I get up at 5:15am 2-3 times a week (Mike and I switch off days), drive to the church, and teach a group (typically only about 5-8) of teenagers for 50 minutes about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This year we are focusing on the history of our church (D&C).

About 6 weeks ago, when the bishop asked to see me, I knew exactly what it was for. Mike's previous teaching partner was moving away, and they needed someone to take his spot; I was the logical choice. (Mike hadn't warned me that he had actually suggested my name, but I'll leave that story out of this.)

I can't say I was excited at the prospect. I was pregnant, and I would have to lose sleep. I would have to prepare lessons on a very regular basis. Those were the things I was focusing on. But I was told that this calling earns you blessings, and I must admit, that was my main motivation for accepting--feeling the need for some o' those.

Then I started. Our class is a combination of 2 wards (congregations), and almost no one from our ward goes, so I didn't know any of the kids. But right from that first day of teaching, I was reminded of something:

I love teenagers.

I really do. If given a choice (which we rarely are at church), I would choose to work with teenagers every time. My prior calling was with the women in the ward, and while it was fine, it wasn't all that inspiring for me.

I feel inspired by teenagers. I just remember so vividly that time in my life--how seminal it was in determining what kind of person I was going to grow up to be. The hard times, the great times, the way church and the Gospel meant so much to me.

So here's my somewhat surprising verdict:

I love my new church assignment. I LOVE it. It's been a while since I've said that. (Probably since the last time I got to work with teenagers.)

I don't feel more sleep deprived, I get more done on the mornings I teach, I feel invigorated, I'm learning, and I get to work with my husband. What isn't great about all that? All those things I've heard previous teachers say, to which I never gave much credit? THEY ARE ALL TRUE. I suppose if I weren't the kind of person who liked teens, it would be different. (I'm pretty sure I had some teachers who didn't.)

And do they like me? I honestly don't know. But what I DO know is that they know I like THEM. 'Cause kids are smart like that. They can tell. And that's so much more important to me.

I will only have this assignment for a few months before I'll move on to something else (pretty sure having a brand new baby will disqualify me for next year). But for now, I'm absolutely treasuring these mornings I have, being reminded of what I love to do.

And perhaps being re-motivated to figure out a way I can make doing that a bigger part of my life, permanently.

My [crazy/sad/eventful] week, at a glance

2011-02-24T10:38:00.007-05:00

On Sunday, there was a party for my two departing friends (well, four, really, since I consider their husbands to be buddies too).

On Monday, I fell down the stairs. Terrifying, yes. But I think I'm fine.

Tuesday was Mike's (ahem) BIG birthday. We had a family breakfast, a family lunch, and a just-the-two-of-us dinner and movie. Stopping briefly on the way home to buy materials for a cake that I was supposed to buy Monday (see above RE FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS).

It was nice, but quiet way to ring in a new decade.

Wednesday there was one crazy playgroup, and one unexpected and lovely evening with one of the two departing families.

Then there's today, when I have to say goodbye to my dear friend of 6 1/2 years. My friend who lives up the street, who borrows and swaps with me on a regular basis, whose kids we've seen arrive, who was there for me when mine did, who I've called and chatted with almost daily to catch up on news (and I'm no phone chatter, traditionally). Who has been there to lean on, who has leaned back. Many weekend trips, many playdates, many, many memories.

Yeah. I have to say goodbye to her.

Friday morning she will fly out.

And then there's Saturday, when I have to say goodbye to my other friend, one who has more recently become a significant part of my life. Who I've had many Sunday dinners with, who took care of my child for several months for me [and did a way better job at it than I do, IMHO]. Whose husband is as funny, crazy (and sometimes infuriating) as mine, whose adorable little boy we've seen grow up to a walking little toddler.
Oh, I will miss her too.

And then, I imagine, there will be Sunday, when it will really hit me. When I realize that two (four, counting husbands; eight, counting children) major people in my life have moved on. There will be a few quiet days while I digest this enormous change.

This certainly numbers among the most emotionally up-and-down weeks I've had in my adult life. Here's hoping I make it through in one piece (stairs notwithstanding).

How I got here this time

2011-02-16T23:45:00.007-05:00

It's hard to say when "not preventing" turned into "earnest trying," but all in all, I'd say it was about 9 months. 9 frustrating months. A familiar frustration...which made it all the more frustrating.

In October, I decided to seek help. I went to my witch doctor, I called my gynecologist. My witch doctor told me to get off of dairy again (I knew I needed to do). My gynie told me to come in for a visit.

I talked to both of them, at length, about my concerns, my suspicions, my frustration. The WD put me on a new regimen and diet. The G told me to take ovulation tests for 10 days and scheduled me for a diagnostic ultrasound the following month (in case I didn't miraculously get pregnant this month).

Here's what happened in the meantime:

I got off dairy. I started my regimen.
I felt the same.

I took the ovulation tests.
They were all negative.

I worried something serious was wrong.

I thought a lot about personal revelation, and why I felt like it wasn't a big part of my life. Not feeling that a personal guide (in my world, the Holy Spirit) is communicating with me and leading me in a certain direction. I felt disappointed that I didn't seem to be living a life in tune with such things.

And then I had this revelation. It was powerful, and subtle. I trusted it. And I relaxed.

I went to Arizona for a long Thanksgiving visit, and by the end of the trip, I had some suspicions.

When I got home, I had to call and cancel that ultrasound, but could I schedule another one?

Because sometimes,

miracles do happen.

No more clean clothes

2011-02-08T10:13:00.003-05:00

The signs are all over the house.

The overflowing laundry hamper. The messy kitchen counters. The unvacuumed floors.

The profoundly empty refridgerator.

Mama's been sick.
And almost nothing's been getting done.

This is not to say that mama does everything, but Mike has been too busy taking care of me and J to do anything either.

Yesterday afternoon, I turned a corner. It was 3 days of misery, but I think the flu is gone. And WOW was that bad. As one who never, NEVER gets the flu, I can finally empathize with what people always say about it--knocks you down flat for 2 days... absolute agony...nothing worse...

I'm sure there are worse things. But it was pretty bad. I'm hope hope hoping it starts and ends with me and my two boys stay healthy. I'm tackling laundry and making a shopping list and praying our lives get back in order by the end of the week.

I have a new assignment at church--have you heard? I will be joining Mike as the other early morning seminary teacher. This means we will alternate waking up at 5:30 am every day and teaching a room full of teenagers about the Gospel.

I was supposed to start on Monday. That didn't happen. I'm planning to start tomorrow instead.

This, I believe, will go down as one of the most busy, eventful months in my personal history. Between the new teaching gig, Mike's upcoming [big] birthday, two of my closest friends moving away and the events surrounding that sadness, and various other goings on, I have felt like it's been all push push push, without a moment to stop and breathe.

I guess the flu was my body's way of saying stop. Breathe. (Breathing would have been easier without the nasal congestion, I don't mind pointing out.)

I am grateful it happened on a weekend. I am not grateful it happened on the day I was supposed to take Mike out on his big birthday date, and that I had to miss it. (He found another date, so not all was lost).

Mostly, I'm grateful it's over.

Folks, try not to get sick while you're pregnant, OK? It's just better that way. Turleybenson out.

The most anticipated post of the year...

2011-02-01T14:47:00.013-05:00

And I almost forgot to write it!

Do you want the good news or the bad news?

Well the GOOD news is that we did indeed hold our annual Gingerstravaganza this Christmas. It did not disappoint.

I'll start with us.
I decided to actually plan ahead this year, but still keep it simple. Manageable. I opted for a British phone box (aka a portal to the Ministry of Magic, a la Harry Potter). It turned out fine, which is about a thousand percent better than years past.

As for Mike. Well. Let me tell you. His project took aallllllll day long. It involved a template, probably 15 custom gingerbread pieces, "logs", and a whole lot of genius. May I present, Falling Water, Mike-style:
She's a beauty, no? Even without the landscaping Mike always intends to do, but never, ever, ever finishes.

Other entries of the year included a team effort on an Eiffel Tower that may or may not have caused some marital dischord. I thought them brave to even attempt a joint project. Heaven help us if we did.

The finished product didn't come together until later, and I don't have a picture of it. But it was stunning, I assure you.

Next, J did a pretty awesome Seussian house. The angles and shapes were so kooky, I don't feel the pictures do it justice, but here they are:

It was cool.

MK opted for something original, but simple this year--a neatly decorated pyramid. "Simple" was a good call, because she gave birth like 3 days later.Which brings me to the bad news.

We three couples have been through a lot in our years of Gingerstravaganza--the births of many babies, changing schedules, lazy contributors (ahem). And though we didn't know it at the time, this was to be our final one together.

JF and MK will be moving away in a few short weeks. I can't really deal with the reality of it right now, so I'll just give you this parting shot to remember this and all years past of our much-anticipated tradition.

Gingerstrava....gone-za. :(

Thank you, and I'm sorry

2011-01-27T23:19:00.004-05:00

These are words I hear myself saying a lot lately, specifically to my husband.

For the past three months he has picked up the slack, prepared the food, tended to the kid, forgiven, forgiven, forgiven.

What was it, maybe 4 months ago? I was telling someone that I finally felt like my house was a bit cleaner, my cooking a bit more regular, that I felt I had a better handle on things.

That was right before this:

And then it all went to pot.

But oh, I'm happy. Both for the + sign and for the fact that first trimester is over, and I can hope to feel like myself again (fingers crossed). AND for the fact that I've got one of those particularly understanding "other halves."

I can't wait to hear how many "I knew it!"s I get. I've already gotten about 7. Just don't tell me if you knew it because of my already bulging belly.

Also? Thank you for feeling happy for me right now. :)

Deets: 13 weeks. August 6th.

The first "away" of the season

2011-01-20T15:01:00.004-05:00

One day I'll give you a list of the reasons why I blog roughly once a blue moon these days.

Today I'm going to spend looking forward to our overnighter this weekend. You probably couldn't tell, but I really need it.

It's snowing all day tomorrow. Which is the opposite of surprising. Who cares. Even if it takes 4 hours to get there (it should take 1), we are GOING to get there.

And I'll tell you how it was.

Winter blahs....again

2011-01-12T16:17:00.006-05:00

We're snowed in today. One of those "city is shut down, snow won't stop, gonna have to shovel your car out thrice" kind of snowed-ins.

I wish I were enjoying it more.

We've had a rough week here. We've all got some version of a cold, I'm having a bout of insomnia, J is not sleeping, and he is aaaaaaall attitude. Tantrums galore this week. It's sort of amazing to me how connected our moods are. Whenever he starts acting up, I do a little self assessment and realize that I'm usually in a bad mood myself.

It usually starts with me.

I know I say this every year, and hats off to those of you who can embrace this time of year, but I cannot do this New England winter thing any more. Not one more. This will be my eleventh, and I remember the first one being pretty awful. It's a marvel I held on through so many more.

I'm giving in to the demands for movies today because I just don't have the energy to fight it. I have such TV guilt, people. I really do. And it doesn't help that I have a kid who has TV junkie tendencies. Oh how I wish he were one of those kids who had little to no interest in it but alas,

he is his father's son.

Not much energy for blogging, for playing, for much of anything lately. Hoping beyond hope for a getaway soon to recharge my batteries. (That's a hint to at least one of my readers)

'Cause these batteries are running reeeeal low on power.

Sad face.

Capable Me

2011-01-04T21:51:00.010-05:00

I've always loathed being told what to do, or what I am or am not capable of.

I'm sure most people hate that. I haven't taken it to the p0int of rebellion or outright disobedience (for the most part, anyway), but when I'm going along doing something I think is perfectly morally and/or socially acceptable, and someone tells me I shouldn't be doing it? That's when my anger really flares.

In these moments I have to stop and question whether my anger is justified, or whether it's my pride (the bad kind) that is being pricked a little bit. A lot of times, it is the latter.

Other times, I feel like I'm OK, and am in fact in the right. But I have a hard time articulating that in the moment, or knowing how to defend myself.

My family has always loved to tell me what I'm doing, what I should be doing, or what I can't do. When J was a tiny baby, I was talking to one sister (whom I love very much, and generally have a great relationship with), and she said (with heavy implication),

"Oh I remember when I had my first baby, I thought I was SO BUSY."

I said, truthfully, "Oh, I don't think I'm that busy."

She said, "I used to obsess about germs and soak his bath toys in Clorox every night and wipe everything down CONSTANTLY. I was so SILLY."

I said, "Yeah, I don't really do any of that. I think some germ exposure is healthy."

She said, "And I remember thinking that the reason he was so easy was that I was SUCH a GOOD MOM."

I said, "Wow, not me. I always just figured I really lucked out."

Obviously, she wanted me to fall into one of her categories so she could be like HA! SEE? You don't know anything yet. Wait until you're in MY shoes!

I guess that's the underlying message that drives me the absolute battiest.

I hate (with a bloody passion you might say) when people make those implications. That I don't know what I'm in for. That I have no idea what motherhood is REALLY LIKE. Because somehow, the fact that I have 33 years of life experience behind me, 23 nieces and nephews, and AM ACTUALLY A MOTHER MYSELF, STILL doesn't qualify me for "knowing what it's like ." I really think there must be something about my personality that makes people want to prove to me that I don't know what I'm doing. It's been a lifelong plague. I don't know what it is, but if I could turn it off, I would.

Then again, I think some people just thrive on those moments when they get to say "I TOLD YOU SO!" and sort of sit around waiting for them.

I have felt some of this when I have told people about my decision to have a home birth. It's interesting; in a lot of the literature I've read, it is often suggested that you keep your decision to yourself, or only share it with people who will absolutely support it. I haven't really come across anyone who has outright called me stupid or anything (and really, this decision isn't something I publicize widely or anything...except for blogging about it, I guess), but I have definitely felt the implication from other mothers (sisters?) that I have no idea what I'm in for.

Because I've never been in labor, because I've never had a natural birth, because of whatever piece of my personality that makes people think I am uber naive and therefore incapable of normal human function.

I had one experience when, upon hearing my decision, a friend immediately told me of an instance in which a woman's baby died at a home birth. From the details, I could surmise that it was a situation in which the baby would have died no matter what, but the implication was that the home birth caused it, or rather, the lack of knowledge of the delivering midwife.

I know this particular person had good intentions, so I was able to brush this story aside without being really bothered, but it did kind of teach me not to engage in conversation about this with just anyone (again...blogs aside).

The more reading I do, and the more midwives I talk to, the more at peace I feel with this decision. I do still wish I could give birth in a birth center, but having that option taken away, this is the best one I have, and I am calm about it. Of course there will always be some fears, but I'm trying to take the time between now and then to deal with my issues, learn to tune out the negativity in my life, connect better with my husband (he will be playing a major role in a home birth, after all), and also? To love my home. Birth will not come easily here if I am focused on the square footage or lack of an acceptable backsplash in the kitchen, you know what I mean?

I need to make sure this is a place of solace, a place of peace. A welcoming place where we are all comfortable.

In short, this might be a good time to start looking into a cleaning service...

POST SCRIPT: Often with a post like this, I get a few comments like "Is it me? It's me istn't it." Instead of asking if it is about you, try to evaluate whether you do things like this to people, and if you do? May I suggest trying to stop?
It's probably annoying somebody.

I will do the same.

I need to ditch my constant constant preoccupation with what "people will think."

You could say this is my year of me.

Merry New Year

2011-01-01T14:53:00.005-05:00

Well, it's January 1, it's 55 BEE-YUTIFUL degrees outside, J is sleeping an exhausted sleep, and we are doing a very thorough cleaning of the house today.

I think we're starting the year off just fine.

The winter doldroms are upon me, and I'm not loving it. I know I just have to hunker down and get through the next 90 or so days withoug going nuts, and after that things will be fine. I know this every single year, but it always sort of knocks me over anyway. I have to remember to be a little more forgiving of myself, lower my expectations a little, and not to lash out at whoever is in the room with me (usually Mike).

But seriously, days like today almost make me weep with gratitude. We don't often get a "warm" respite in January, but by heaven's we'll take it and run today. We've actually had the windows open most of the day. J and I went on a long walk and played in the foot of snow that's sitting on most of the ground. Incidentally? It's perfect for snowballs and snowmen, which are J's new favorite. So that entertained us for a good hour. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, I'm trying not to beat myself up about the fact that J got a little more TV time than usual. Anyway, a lot of it was The Grinch, Charlie Brown Christmas, and Frosty the Snowman. And so now, every single time we go outside and he sees snow on the ground, he asks me, in genuine concern:

Where's Frosty, mommy?

Because obviously, he should come bounding around the corner at any moment this time of year. I try to take it for its cuteness instead of a sign that we need a serious TV detox over here (which we are going to get once my life can get back to normal--I NEED BABYSITTERS BACK!!).

In December, my work suffered greatly. We were sort of shut-ins, I didn't have my usual help with J, so I really didn't get much focus time on the laptop. This will be changing shortly (I hope). I could do without work guilt on top of the other stuff.

In spite of the challenges of the month, we had a lovely, quiet Christmas. I don't think J really "got" the whole Santa thing, but then I didn't really play it up all that much. What he did get was a Woody doll from his daddy--by far the favorite gift of the year. Very sweet to see him really play with a doll like that, giving it a voice, making it fly. Just like Andy himself...

But with all the influx of new toys, we are feeling the need to purge the old. No kid needs this much stuff. Especially a kid who lives in this size apartment. Anyone out there need toys? Probably not the best time to ask.

Random, perhaps, but that's where we're at, January first.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-23T18:06:00.000-05:00

And you're welcome

Fah-who-for-aze

2010-12-17T08:45:00.000-05:00

This is yet another post about the Grinch, who seems to permeate our holiday season.

We showed J the old school cartoon Grinch movie last week. Now he's nothing short of OBSESSED. (I like to flatter myself that I have something to do with it.)

He could literally watch it twenty times a day, and still ask for more.
I like Grinch!
I like doggie Max!
(And no, I don't let him watch it twenty times a day.)

So now that I've seen it oh, more than a few times, I'm finally appreciating what a great story it is. Of course I've read and seen this story for years, but it's really been striking me this time. Christmas goes on as usual despite a massive, city-wide burglary? That's somethin' else.

I remember one pretty lean Christmas Mike and I had around year 2 of marriage. I had been laid off several months prior, Mike was a student, and things were pretty slim. We got gifts from family and returned every last one of them for cash (though I still fantasize about those awesome boots I had for one blessed week...).

I bought Mike one present that year: a $10 basketball, because he was in charge of the teen guys at church. At the end of the day, we realized that even $10 was a splurge. We took that back, too.

We did allow ourselves the luxury of a Christmas tree that year--we found a magical lot that sold us one really cheap. We handmade some ornaments and called it good.

I also remember around this time that an anonymous envelope was dropped at our door containing over a hundred bucks. To this day I have no idea who left that there. Can I thank you here, anonymous donor, in hopes that you are reading? (and I kind of think you are.) It was a truly touching gesture.

Despite the leanness, we realize now (as we realized then) that we really have no idea what true want is. Even if you can't buy each other gifts, or get your kids the toys they want, or the ones you want to get them, a bigger perspective shows that doesn't really constitute true need.

We are all pretty blessed.

Growing up, we had many lean years. Much leaner than the one Mike and I had, because there were 7 hungry kids in the house, too. There were definitely Christmases when we struggled pretty badly.

And do you know how I know that? Because I was told so, years later. NOT because I remember it.

Actually, I remember thinking it was pretty fun hanging up pantyhose and large socks for stockings. I didn't know we did that because we couldn't afford ACTUAL stockings.

I remember loving every time my mom made beans and scones for dinner. I didn't know she did that because she couldn't afford to make anything else.

So while it is tempting to make Christmas about what we buy our kids (which IS pretty fun, I have to admit), I think those Whos down in Whoville are a pretty great reminder to be happy no matter what.

So long as we have hands to clasp.

With or without the Jing Tinglers, Tar Tinkers, OR Who Wompers.

In conclusion, I suppose there are worse movies my son could be addicted to.

Baby it's cold outside

2010-12-10T16:33:00.004-05:00

It is. It really, really is. The kind of cold where you leave a cup of water in your car overnight and at 1 pm the next day it is still a solid block of ice.

Me no likey.

I've said it before--we've been really blessed in the weather department this year. Spring was springy, summer warm and relatively long, fall was mild and beautiful.

Now it's time to pay the piper. It's definitely, DEFINITELY winter out there. No more parks, no more walks, lots of avoiding trips anywhere and running to the car and back. Brrrr, people.

A coupla things about that. First, we bought our Christmas tree this week (parked, ran out of the car, looked for 5 minutes, nodded, ran back to the car) and Mike started pulling out the ornaments when we got home.
(THE FOLLOWING STORY IS IS NOT A JOKE)

When he pulled this one out, J said:

It's mommy!!

If you don't know why this is funny, see here.

Also, due to the weather, I've been making some soup lately. My friend intro'd me to this one, and it is a favorite around here. So good, and so healthy!

Gingery Chicken Noodle Soup
(adapted from mayoclinic.com)

Ingredients
3 ounces dried soba OR rice noodles
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 tablespoon peeled and minced fresh ginger
1 carrot, peeled and finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
4 cups chicken stock or broth
2 tablespoons reduced-sodium soy sauce
1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breasts, chopped
1 cup shelled edamame
1 cup plain soy milk
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro (I hate cilantro, so…SKIP!)

Directions

Bring a saucepan 3/4 full of water to a boil, add the noodles and cook until just tender, about 5 minutes. Drain and set aside until needed.

In a large saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and saute until soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the ginger and carrot and saute for 1 minute. Add the garlic and saute for 30 seconds; don't let the garlic brown. Add the stock and soy sauce and bring to a boil. Add the chicken and edamame and return to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the chicken is cooked and the edamame are tender, about 4 minutes. Add the soba noodles and soy milk and cook until heated through; don't let boil.

Remove from the heat and stir in the cilantro (unless you, like me, HATE IT). Ladle into warmed individual bowls and serve immediately.

Enjoy! And keep warm!

And one more thing for those of you who are still reading.

(DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING STORY IF YOU ARE DRINKING MILK)

As seen on one of my cleverest friends' FB status today pertaining to the MOST OVERLY COVERED CHRISTMAS SONG EVER (and the title of this post):

The Tom Jones version of "Baby It's Cold Outside" is definitely the rapiest.

LIKE.

What to do with December

2010-12-05T19:34:00.003-05:00

Thus begins the cold part of the season, when anything outside is unthinkable, and parks are no longer a refuge.

J asked if we could go to the playground tonight. We often do, on long, lonely Sunday nights, but not anymore.

I've never had a two-year-old in an apartment for an entire winter. The prospect has me a little nervous. Back to seeking out indoor refuges, preferably ones that don't break the bank. But whereas last year he was pretty happy to tag along, stay in stroller, OBEY me, nowadays it's more about running away, being determined, and throwing fits (whoa nelly).

The bounce house we can probably afford once a month or so.
The pet store will no doubt come back into play.
Target might suffice in a pinch?
The playground in the mall is worth the 20 minute drive to get there. Every once in a while. Mostly 'cause FREE.

This year I do have memberships to both the Children's and Science museums. We'll definitely be using those. Probably a lot. (I can get you in free, too! Call me!)

Lots of play dates.

And so on.

Also, I have gone from 2 to zero babysitters for the month of December. Not sure how work is going to get done. Also a stressor. Hmm...

The good news is, November was great. Our 11 days with Mike's family was great. The mountains and mountains of food we ate was great. The traveling was not great, but not terrible either. Sucks to pay for 3 plane tickets, but nice to just let the two-year-old go right ahead and throw the fit on the floor and not worry about the other guy on your row.

Hoping for a long spell of Christmas spirit and a short-feeling winter.

Thankful. And here's why.

2010-11-27T19:06:00.003-05:00

It’s not original, but I think taking a minute to note what I’m thankful for at least once a year is just good horse sense.

I’m thankful to have zero consumer debt.

I’m thankful to be disease-free.

I'm thankful for good Mexican food, whenever I can get it. Which is rarely.

I’m thankful that I have a husband who is always true to me.

I’m thankful that we got to create our little family together without too much baggage from the past to deal with.

I’m thankful for Mike’s parents. Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without his mom. They are (of course) imperfect, but such good, good people. And they genuinely love me.

I’m thankful for a healthy, sweet little boy. I know I would have made it somehow, but trying to picture the last three years without the blessing of my sweet baby makes it hard for me to swallow.

I’m thankful we had a healthy savings account this year so that when time came to file taxes and I realized just how much freelancers have to pay, I had money in the bank to cover my stupidity. (I’m not so thankful that we now have an unhealthy savings account, but I’m going to move on)

I’m thankful that I have such a wonderful gynecologist that when a friend needed one, I could give her a sound recommendation. I’m thankful that my blessed doctor discovered her cancerous cells when her own doctor was flat out ignoring her concerns. I’m thankful for hope that she will recover from this terrible thing.

I’m thankful for the bad that helps me appreciate the good.

I’m thankful for every talk I read, every lesson I hear, every post I come across that teaches me not to compare myself to others.

I’m thankful to know that someday, I might even be able to do that.

A really late Halloween post

2010-11-19T13:10:00.008-05:00

It occurs to me that I never even posted last year's Halloween post. I'm gonna have to see if we ever got a good picture of J in his costume--a grandma-made Popeye, complete with muscles.

Yes, it was.

Also, it should be known that with the exception of his first birthday (the custom-made football you see here), it is very likely that my son's costumes will be hand me downs from any of his many, many multitude of cousins. This has been the case for his second and third Halloweens.

This year, he inherited this beauty:

Pictured: his favorite treat of all time: the fruit snack. Kind of takes the toughness out of the shot.

Not pictured: the spiky hair and black eye I gave him.

WITH EYESHADOW, people, calm down. It added a nice, and slightly disturbing touch. It is Halloween, after all, right?

We didn't take him trick or treating (I mean, he's two) but did go to the party at the church, and one at play group. He wasn't too fond of the costume at first, but it grew on him. He was cute.

Then we did our annual pumpkin carving. Mike, always on the lookout for something new and different, did this:
Can you tell what it is? Try tilting your head a little bit to the left. Now blast some smokin' 80s motown.

Well, our execution wasn't perfect, but you have to admit, the concept was pretty outstanding.

(a web search produced this beauty).

As for me as a mom at Halloween...I'm still figuring out my stance on things. For instance, I couldn't stomach the thought of handing tiny children candy all night, so every 3 and under that came our way got animal crackers and raisins.

So apparently, I'm a fuddy duddy. I guess I didn't know that.

While writing this post, J started begging me for a lollipop. He's been doing that for days now, and I have turned him down every time. Why a lollipop? He's had TWO in his entire life. I guess they made an impression on him.

And realizing that I never did let him eat any of his Halloween candy (I gave a lot of it away), I decided to throw caution to the wind. And now this awesomeness is happening:
And that concludes my Halloween post.

Remembering what I know

2010-11-15T16:34:00.008-05:00

I had a great time with m'sis. She had never been here, and I think got a great little sampling of our great city.

Which means, she ate Mike's Pastry.

I mean, obviously.

I think I've mentioned here before that at least at one point in the past few years, I went to what I sort of mockingly term a "witch doctor."

The truth about this is, I seek out all types of treatments for what ails me, and actually treating things pharmaceutically or surgically is typically my last choice. In that vein, when I was trying to get pregnant after the miscarriage, I started some treatments with my then-chiropractor, that had nothing to do with chiropractic.

A little summary of the treatment:
NRT (nutritional response therapy or kinesiology) uses muscle testing to determine different deficiencies in your body, weaknesses in organs, and other "energy" blockages. You treat these deficiencies with whole foods supplements and/or herbs. You have a very specific regimen of what you take, and when, and this regimen fluctuates often as your body heals and has different needs.

I credit this treatment for my successful and very healthy preganancy with Baby J. I really do.

However, sometime during J's first year, I fell out of the practice of going to my appoinments with the witch doctor. Not because I didn't believe in it, but because it costs money, I had my baby and to be perfectly honest? I don't really like my witch doctor. I like what she does, I just don't like her personality.

So this go 'round, when things were not working after a few months, I started to play a little game with myself. I'd say, If I don't get pregnant this month, I will call my WD. And the month would come and go, and before I knew it, it was time to try again, so I'd say, No, really, if it doesn't happen this month, I WILL call her!

And on and on and on.

Last month, fed up with myself and my lack of positive results, I actually finally did truly call the WD.

So a week and a half ago, I went in to see her. I was prepared for a lecture (she likes those), a condescending air (it's just her way), or some kind of judgment palpable in the room (her specialty).

I got none of those. She was kind, she was understanding, and she listened intently. (Perhaps I was remembering her wrong?)

And as I lay on the once-familiar table for my assessment, the remembrance of what we had achieved a few years ago washed over me. I thought, I can put up with attitude, snarkiness, whatever I have to if it will get me back to motherhood. I remembered so clearly the strong impression that this treatment had helped me get there the first time.

As I lay there, waiting for her to come back with my copy of my regimen, I felt a peaceful, reassuring voice resonate throughout my body.

And I can no longer deny that even if I don't know the timing, I now know this truth:

This is going to happen.

Hi.

2010-11-11T15:09:00.002-05:00

Remember me?

My sister's in town, so.

See you later!

It ended on a high note

2010-11-04T09:19:00.004-04:00

Saturday was a bit rough.

J had been up all night because of...who knows what. The cold? The attitude? A growth spurt?

As is customary on the weekends, Mike was on nightwatch duty, so he too was up all night. I was oblivious to the situation and awoke to find the two of them sleeping soundly, snuggled together in the bed in J's room.

J slept until 11 am.

We had stuff to do, so we tag teamed. I went to help clean the church, came home, Mike went to pick someone up from the hospital (we're such good people, don't you think?).

J didn't take a nap. He was grumpy. I started to feel sick myself. (Likewise with the grumpy.)

There was not a bit of fun to be had on Saturday.

So in the evening, DYING to get out of the house, I informed Mike he was taking us out to dinner. Our usual spot had a 1 hour wait, so we opted for a new Mexican place nearby.

It was half empty. And it was truly, truly terrible.

Just what we needed, ANOTHER CRAPPY MEXICAN RESTAURANT.
(#thingsIhateaboutBoston)

Unsatisfied and frustrated, and as we drove in the general direction of our house, J spoke out to exactly what I was feeling:
"NOOO HOOOOME!"

So we turned around and drove up the long wooded road nearby. We drove quietly, not caring where we went, how we got there. Just drove in silence, everyone's nerves and moods finally calmed.

Then out of the darkness, we heard our little boy say:
"J happy."

And then he promptly fell asleep.

This is not a Halloween post

2010-11-01T22:58:00.004-04:00

The other day I was chatting with my friend about how we both had a fairly crappy week.

Then she blurted out "I'm sick of kids!"

Then I laughed my head off.

Because she is not the kind of person who says crap like that. I am. And sometimes it's soooo refreshing to hear the ugly truth spoken out loud.

She has a two-year-old. I have a two-year-old. They spend a lot of time together. They have a love/hate relationship. (It gets old.)

My son has his second cold this season. You know, the season that JUST STARTED? (Yeah. Old.)

Sometimes life kinda sucks. And sometimes it feels good to acknowledge it, and then laugh your head off.

Because what else can you do?

(As for Halloween... I will post pictures as soon as I have pictures to post. As in, I have to stage some. Woops! Forgot the camera AGAIN. HELLO AWESOME WEEK!)

The question in their voices

2010-10-25T17:11:00.005-04:00

Every time we call the in-laws I hear it.

"Anything new with you guys?"

"Are you calling just to chat?"

"What's going on in your house?"

I know it. I know that every single time the phone rings they are hoping we are calling with an announcement..."the" announcement. Just as they did before J came along.

And every time we call, neither of us ever mentions anything about it.

We are going to visit them next month and I almost want to send an email beforehand saying something like this:

Mike and I are having trouble getting pregnant again. Please do not even in the smallest way imply, ask, or refer to anything remotely related to the subject. Much appreciated!

Do you think that's OK to do?

I almost feel like it would be OK to talk to my M-I-L about what's going on (I feel pretty close to her), but I just don't want any pity. Especially when she has a 38-year-old unmarried daughter who is facing the very real possibility of having no children herself. I don't think my MIL would fault me for being sad or frustrated, but I just don't want this problem to occupy any of her plate right now.

I don't want to burden her with this information. (Especially since it's not really huge information.)

Several years ago, we visited Mike's and his brother said, "Well I was just sure you were gonna walk in here and be OUT TO HERE!" (gesturing, as you can imagine)

We weren't pregnant. But we were trying.

I don't want any more of those comments. Especially from someone who had 5 kids before he was 35.

So what do you think--take preventative measures, or not? I'm kind of leaning toward yes...

Love Letters: Neighborhood Edition

2010-10-23T21:04:00.014-04:00

I kind of forgot one of my more major numbers.

10:

Years I've been living in Boston.

I was talking to a fellow long-termer the other day and we were both marveling at the fact that we'd been here that long. Certainly neither of us ever dreamed we'd live here for a decade. We both came as students, got jobs, got married, had a kid in that time.

Later in my life I'll be introducing myself, saying, I grew up in Texas, went to college in Utah, and then I lived in Boston for TEN(+) YEARS!

A sizeable chunk of my life.

7 of those years have been spent in my current town of residence. (You know, the one I've grown to appreaciate a little more?)

In that vein, and realizing it might not be much longer we live in this town, and knowing we had a family photo shoot coming up, I decided we should have our pictures taken in our neighborhood. Places we pass often, places of significance to us.

There's a girl in my ward (congregation) who I have known for all of those 7 years, and in fact was her teacher back when she was a teenager. We were pretty tight. You can imagine how pleased I am that she is now a lovely college-attending young lady.

She's also taken up photography as a hobby, and has a pretty good eye for it. So she did our family shoot. It was her very first one, and I'm very proud of her results.

We had a lot of fun hanging out in the places we often hang out, except dressed up and hamming for the camera. We only wish we'd found some old typewriters to use as props.

Anyway.

May I present...A love letter to my neighborhood.

Focusing on our 2 walking routes: The old abandoned factories...

and the lovely cemetery J loves to walk through...

My neighborhood looks pretty good from those angles, eh?

(all pictures copyright Pina Productions)

Some of my numbers

2010-10-18T16:58:00.008-04:00

9 years since I've been a student. (I still miss it.)

8 years I've been married. And I'm still learning every day. By the way, has anyone ever told you that marriage requires a lot of work, a lot of swallowing your pride, a lot of focusing on the good instead of dwelling on the bad, AS WELL AS a lot of joy?

Well, now you know.

5 years I've been living in this apartment. Would you believe me if I tell you that's the longest I've ever lived in one home? Well you should, 'cause I think it's true. (Possible exception being when I was 2-7? Mom, any insights here?)

And finally, after 5 years, I'm starting to love it. :)

3 years I've been blogging. That's kind of cool. One of these days I'm gonna get me one a' them blog books. Then I can act like I've been published. Sweet!

2 years I've been at my job. Let's hope I can hang on for at least 2 more.

2 years I've been a mom. So far so good, I think! Wanna know what he's doing right now? This: AKA taking in a little dose of Sesame Street (a new season finally gloryhallelujah), whilst sitting on our duvet, which he calls "the cloud."

I know.

1 year I haven't bought a loaf of bread (Except one time while camping--is that allowed?).

Yep. I've been making my own since last October. Every week, sometimes twice. And last night I even made hamburger buns (Delicious, since you asked).

And really? That right there is the whole point of this post:
BRAGGING RIGHTS.

And since some of you asked, here is the bread recipe I use (it's really hers, but I don't think she'll mind.)

4 Cups hot tap water
2 1/2 T yeast

Combine water and yeast in large bowl, let sit 10 minutes.

Add:
2/3 cup sugar
2/3 cup vegetable/canola/olive oil
2 t salt

Mix in mixer for a few minutes

Add 10-11 cups flour, a few cups at a time
(I usually do half white, half whole wheat)

Mix together, knead 10 minutes

Let rise in bowl for 1 hour, then let rise in bread pans 1/2 hour.

Bake at 350 for 23-25 minutes. Makes 4 loaves.

Fertility 101

2010-10-14T11:32:00.005-04:00

My dear friend told me about a class on fertility being held at a local hospital. It looked interesting, and I thought maybe I could still learn something new, even after all my googling and reading and searching and asking.

So I went.

There were 4 speakers, discussing different aspects of infertility. Some of it was interesting, much of it was way above what people there were looking for. I'd put actual pictures of reverse vasectomy procedures and diagrams of semen extraction on that list.

Especially for the 3 or 4 men who were in attendance, who I imagine were in no mood to try anything that night. Yech.

One doctor spoke generally about first steps in fertility assessment, and put this list of risk factors on the projector screen:

Smoking
Alcohol
Obesity
Stress
Caffeine Intake
Poor Diet

Um...yeah. So this is where I have to laugh, because although I'm not the healthiest person around, I would say that NONE of these factors apply to me, almost at all. Never smoked, never drink, not stressed, not overweight, never even drink soda, let alone anything caffeinated (though I do like m'chocolate from time to time), and I try to eat pretty well.

NEXT?

The other thing I liked was when another doctor got up and projected pictures of ovulation tests, predictor kits, and an ovulation chart. Then she said: DON'T USE ANY OF THESE!

It kind of made me laugh because HELLO! I'm totally there (though I'm trying not to be extreme about it). Afterwards I approached her and asked what specifically she didn't like about that route of measuring fertility--were they inaccurrate, or was it something else? She said she just thinks they add an unnecessary layer of stress to an already stressful situation. She basically said, If you are having a monthly cycle, you are ovulating. Period. You don't need some tests to tell you so, since they are so hard to time right. And if you are having sex twice a week, you should be fine.

Which is great advice. Except when it's not fine. When it doesn't work. Which is why people resort to craziness to try to get it right.

Overall, I appreciated the reminder that if serious issues exist, there are procedures out there than can be done. I really really hope I don't ever have to use any of them, but it makes things feel a little more hopeful.

What I didn't appreciate was the couple who brought in their four-year-old daughter to a room full of infertile women. They are lucky that little girl made it out of the room with them and not someone who might be just that desperate.

(Just kidding. But seriously, people, really?)

Anyway, I'm always up for learning new things. Especially fertility things.

And yes, they talked about Octomom. It was useless (but kind of fascinating).

Where I'm "at"

2010-10-11T22:06:00.005-04:00

I've had my ups and my downs with our current apartment.

Which happens a lot when you own a place, I'm guessing.

The good stuff is good and the bad stuff just reminds you that in one form or another, you're stuck with that bad stuff. Probably for a while.

We've had our share of unsavory neighbors, intra-condo drama, and other complaints while living here. But the biggest complaint we have is the tininess of our living space.

(It's a bit less than 1000 sq ft, if you've forgotten.)

Our neighborhood isn't the best neighborhood ever. Just next door to our building is a tin eyesore of an abandoned factory of sorts, and next to that is a former chem lab, then next to that is a large, but barely occupied multi million dollar condo development. It's just kind of a really weird hodge podge around here.

And in general, the area we live falls short on my list of long-time residences: it's expensive, it's cramped, it's often decrepidly aged. It's far away from family, it's cold a lot.

(Stay with me folks. I promise it gets better.)

BUT.

For one reason or another, the past several months have brought about an awakening to the flip side of all three of those factors: apartment, neighborhood, region. And if I had to describe my feelings about where I live right this moment I could sum it up like this: I feel affectionate for my current home.

I had a thought the other night. An epiphany, perhaps. I know for a fact that this is one of those phases in our family's life that we will look back on with nostalgia and fondness. And the awesome thing about that is that I can feel that fondness right now.

Could you follow me on another tangent?

When I was pregnant and unemployed, and had a pretty open social calendar, I wasted SO MUCH TIME feeling anxious, depressed, and well...loser-like. In the end, things worked out and I had a beautiful baby that I could afford to care for.

Do you know how much I want to go back to pregnant me and slap my own face and tell myself to snap out of it??!! When I think back on that phase of my life, and how luxurious it was to have so much free time to read, and rest, and prepare, and reflect, and care for others, and grow, and anticipate, and feel joyful...well it makes me really mad at myself. I spent it filled with anxiety instead of hope.

I don't want to do that again.

Do I hope we have a bigger house in a better neighborhood in a different region in the very near future?

Yes, I do.

But I have decided not to let that desire overshadow my appreciation for where I live now.

And I plan to expound on that in some future posts.

(And photos)

If at first you don't succeed (try, try not to be bitter)

2010-10-06T16:04:00.007-04:00

I've been fighting the battle of discouragement, bitterness, frustration, and anger about not being able to get pregnant and I gotta tell ya.

I'm losing.

I just don't get it. I like to think not so much that "things happen for a reason" (though that is true a lot of the time, I think), but rather that trials give us opportunities for growth. That if we look back on them, we can see what we learned from going through them.

When it comes to trying for so long to have a successful pregnancy with J, I try to look back to see what I learned.

So far, not much comes to mind.

Was it compassion? Was it patience? Was it learning to appreciate him that much more when he came?

None of these seem like supergreat reasons for me.

A few months before I got pregnant the first time, one of my sisters had a miscarriage. It was the first miscarriage of my family, out of 20 pregnancies. I had been struggling with infertility for several months at that point, but had no idea what was still ahead.

When she had the miscarriage (she later told me) she had a very real feeling that it was happening for a reason. She thought, maybe something big or bad was going to happen the month she would have been due--something that would make it difficult for her to deal with while caring for a newborn.

As it turned out, the month she was due was the month I miscarried. And in her sisterly love, she felt sure she had her answer: that she suffered that loss so that I wouldn't have to go though it first.

It still makes me cry to think of that. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to have the compassion to think that way for another, instead being focused on my own loss. But thinking back on it, I have to say that Yes, it definitely would have been harder to go through being (once again) the first in my family to deal with that particular fertility-related trial.

But I still wish she didn't have to go through it.

When things happened the way they happened, she had her baby boy 4 months before I had my baby boy. I imagine these two will be lifelong buddies. I like that.

But honestly, I still don't see why it had to happen that way.

This time around isn't quite as heartbreaking, since I have a beautiful son to remind me that I've already been blessed above and beyond, but it still hurts. It still sucks. Yep, it does. And mostly, I try to look back and remember how I dealt with it the first time. Did I cry every single month? I think I probably did, several times. Did I feel a stab in my heart every time someone told me they were pregnant? Yes...that sounds vaguely familiar. Did knowlege of anyone's "accidental" pregnancy fill me with envy?

Yep. I kinda remember that too. In fact, I remember politely declining to attend baby showers after a certain point. I remember holding any baby I could get my hands on, for as long as I could get away with it. I remember massages, herbal treatments, invasive testing, charting, diet alterations...many many attempts to change my fate.

I remember that finally having a healthy pregnancy erased so much of my pain. It healed (of course) wounds that couldn't have been healed any other way.

I just never thought I'd have to remember that pain.

I know that patience is my most lacking quality. I don't know if I'll gain any through this second experience. I'm not sure I gained any the first time. I'm not entirely sure I'll learn anything from all of this, quite honestly. It might be ten years from now that I'll be able to have a better perspective on it. Or maybe in ten years I'll still be scratching my head wondering what it was I was supposed to have learned.

I don't know.

All I know is that I can allow myself bad days. But I can't allow myself to feel bad every day. I don't know how long this is going to take. I have to somehow come to some sort of surrender to that reality, and sit with it. I have to feel happy when friends are luckier than I am in this department (and I do--I really do) and feel compassion when friends are less lucky than I am in this department (and I do--I really do).

I have to find some kind of peace. Every single day.

And for whatever reason,

I have to wait.

The story of a boy in one shirt

2010-10-03T21:13:00.011-04:00

I'm going to take a little break from posting about the birth stuff. Especially since every month of "trying" unsuccessfully is one month closer I'm getting to Bittersville.

Well hello again. It sucks to see you.

(Also, I really phoned it in on that last post. I blame my iPhone, which is getting most of my techno-attention these days. I can't wait until the new wears off!)

Anyway.

We had such a lovely, quiet weekend here. Spent mostly indoors, with a few walks around the neighborhood, a few errands run, and one very late ladies night in with the kids.

My son loves to have us both home all weekend. Or as he would say, he "lubbs" it.

That's all he's been saying lately.

I lubbs daddy.

I lubbs Porter's house.

I lubbs 'Kea. I lubbs Crystoh.
(I'm so glad he lubbs both his babysitters.)

I lubbs Elmo.
(as if I had to be told)

And what he doesn't "lubb," he's sure to tell me he likes:
I like it pears, I like it walk, I like it store... there's a lot to like (and lubb) in his little world.

(I lubb it.)

He asks daily to play with his friends. All of them. And their parents, and siblings.

He's very good with names.

He thinks if he closes his eyes and hides I can't see him. It's kind of my favorite.

He's still pretty happy most of the time.Except when he's not.

He's a little boy all of a sudden

...but he still needs his doggie.

(I kind of lubb that too.)

Coincidences, Pt. 2

2010-09-30T21:22:00.003-04:00

So as I said, this girl I met gave me Midwife N's name. I didn't do anything with it, but it was kinda there, in the back of my mind.

A week later I was at my chiropractor's office. She's a nice lady, but she gets up in my business sometimes, which is only relevant because I suddenly realized I had never asked her about her own VBAC experience. I knew from talking to her that her first birth was an unexpected C, so while I was lying there, getting m'bones crackled and popped, I asked, "Where did you have your younger daughter?"

Can you guess what her answer was?

I planned a home birth.

With Midwife N.

(wait. there's more.)

In fact, she wrote a book, and I have a copy right here, do you want to borrow it?

Yeah, so that was kinda crazy. A little too crazy to ignore. I accepted the book (the one I referenced here) and I've been reading it on and off ever since. It's good.

I also took this as a sign that I at least needed to meet with Midwife N. So I did--we did, all three of us, back in the spring. It was a great visit. I really liked her approach. She has tons of experience. I pretty much decided that if/when I had a home birth, I had found my lady.

And then I asked her how much she charged.

Whooooa Nelly.

A String of Coincidences, Pt. 1

2010-09-27T13:57:00.004-04:00

So for about oh, two years now, I've thought about my possible birth options when it came time for kid #2. The most disappointing thing about the unexpected C-section was that my birth of choice was no longer an option for me. Birth Centers (at least in MA) cannot legally have VBAC patients. We are considered "high risk." We can be attended by midwives at affiliated hospitals, but cannot, under any circumstances, be "allowed" to give birth in a birth center.

So that sucked.

Have I ever told you about my gynecologist? He is far and away my favorite, favorite, favorite health practitioner in the entire world. He is like clergy to me. I regard him with reverence, honor, respect, just as he regards every one of his patients. If you were to visit him just ONE time (you want to? I can hook you up), you would agree.

He is beyond.

Anyway, a few years ago, he stopped the "OB" part of his practice because he wanted more time with his kids. Giving birth with him in attendance (and a doula) would actually have been my #1 choice. (He refuses to come out of retirement for me. Oh yes, I asked.)

Anyway, when I explained my situation to him, he was very encouraging of a VBAC, but only in a supportive environment. He suggested a midwife he often works with, who I've heard of, and who is in high demand, actually. I happen to know someone who worked with her, and as fate had it, the midwife was out of town when my friend went into labor, and so she was attended by an on-call doc. It wasn't quite the birth she had hoped for. It wasn't at all the birth I wanted.

So. So much for that idea.

Someone at my work told me that the wife of one of my coworkers wrote a book about birth. (It's called Birth, actually.) Anyway, I found this woman's blog and read about how she had a VBAC home birth. I thought "That's insane," but I kept reading. She had an interesting perspective.

I started doing web searches about birth centers, VBACs, and other possibilities. I came across one message board on which someone in my same situation was inquiring about her options. The answer was, "I hate to break it to you, but home birth is really your best bet."

I thought, "That's insane."

I talked to J's first babysitter about the matter, since she had recently had a VBAC at a local hospital. I thought that was great, considering the VBAC rate here is less than stellar. I asked her how it went. And this is kinda what it sounded like to me:

Babysitter enters room. Nurses announce, "She's a VBAC!"
New nurse enters room. Other nurses inform her, "We've got a VBAC!"
And then for the next several hours it was this:

VBAC! VBAC! VBAC!

CAREFUL! SHE'S A VBAC!!!!!

Ok, THAT? Sounded like a nightmare to me. I want to be a normal birthing mother. Not a cautionary case study.

So at that point, it seemed the hospital route was a no-go for me.

And then I just felt defeated. For a long, long time.

Then I went to a baby shower for a former coworker. I knew NO ONE there. So I struck up a conversation with the person closest to me. Did she have kids? She had one. How old was he? He was three. Where did she give birth?

At. Home.

Really? Really. Her first baby? Yep. Did she have a large house? Nope, a small apartment. Was it, ahem, messy? Nope, it was totally fine.

I was astounded. I had just met a real life peer who had done what I previously thought was...how did I put it? INSANE. And she did it in circumstances very similar to mine.

And she had a great experience. And she highly recommended it. And she gave me her midwife's name and number. And that was the first time I heard about Midwife N, but not the last...

Two awesome things my baby said lately

2010-09-23T14:58:00.002-04:00

Me: Do you have a poopy?

Baby J: I sure do!

----

Me: Do you want to play on the porch?

Baby J: No, I wanna go to the beach, very fast!

(That was his most complex sentence produced to date.)

The thing about having another one

2010-09-19T21:06:00.009-04:00

Many times (per day, often) I am tempted to kick myself for waiting as long as I did to start trying for another baby.

Everyone has a different path when it comes to this decision, and everyone loves to tell you that their way is the best way as far as spacing between kids goes. The truth is, you work with what you choose, or what you get when it finally works out (if ever). There are advantages and disadvantages to every age gap, every number of siblings, every outcome.

I personally know a whole lot of people who didn't wait very long after the first one to try for the second one, and succeeded fairly quickly. I know many people who had 2 under 2, and I can clearly see the advantages of that choice. So sometimes, especially when I realize I have no idea how long this whole conceiving thing is gonna take, I berate myself for not starting to try a year ago, knowing it could take as long, or longer, than it did last time.

Maybe I would have a baby by now. Maybe things would have worked out better. Maybe I could have 2 kids close in age who would be best friends. Maybe I would be further along in my family goals.

But.

When I'm being real with myself, I know I wasn't ready for another baby a year ago. I wasn't ready nine months ago. I just didn't want another one yet. That is the plain ol' truth. In fact, in January when I went to visit a friend and her newborn, it was partially a test to see if my baby hunger would finally surface upon seeing his (truly adorable) little face.

I held that baby, appreciated his cuteness, and baby smell, and all the awesomeness of a newborn and then felt...nothing. No little tugs at my uterus. No aching in my ovaries. I just wasn't ready.

I truly think that there was no way I could have been ready until I figured out a possible birth plan. (More on that journey in another post.)

In summary, yes. Sometimes I wish I would have grinned and borne it. Gone for it anyway. Taken that chance, and perhaps had a second baby by now. But the bigger part of me knows that really wasn't my path. And really, really appreciates the implications of that fact.

This part of me feels grateful every single day for the time I have alone with my baby.

Every quiet afternoon I have reading books with Baby J, or teaching him something, or going to the store, or laughing at his antics, or just observing his sweet personality...I know, and feel deeply thankful for one-on-one time with him.

This isn't a gift every child gets. It's not a gift every mother gets. It's not better or worse than the alternative, but it is unique, and it is special. And I truly feel a God-given appreciation for it.

My baby is teaching me how to be a mom. Without distractions. And for some reason, that's what we both needed.

For us, things are just as they should be.

(and since you might be wondering exactly what that cake was in the first pic...here you go. Yep, I was pretty proud.)

Coming Clean

2010-09-15T14:16:00.004-04:00

OK, after much internal deliberation, and mulling, and weighing, I've decided to do something.

Blog.

About what is really on my mind.

In most cases, that's totally fine--I took my kid here, he said that. But right now I'm pretty occupied with a subject that for whatever reasons I'm hesitant to put "out there."

I alluded to this in a recent post, but we're currently trying to get pregnant again.

And we're having a hard time...again.

It hasn't been a really long time, but it's been long enough for me to not FREAKIN' believe that I'm back here, doing this. For some reason, I thought it would be a cinch the second time around. I really did. You know, my body figured it out once, it would be like riding a bike or something.

I thought I could actually plan it this time.

(Sometimes I'm such a moron.)

So I'm not going to have that late winter baby that I wanted. Now I'm on to just hoping for A baby, any time at all. Hopefully in the near future.

As I've mentioned before, Baby J's birth was difficult for me to deal with, and for a long time afterward, I couldn't even begin to think about having another baby, because I couldn't figure out how or where to have it. That was a big deal to me. In the time since, I've done a lot of reading, a lot of research, a lot of asking around, and talking, and I feel I've finally found my answer.

Which brings me to my next uncomfortable moment. Talking about the path I'm most likely going to take if and when this whole second baby thing gets kickstarted:

Homebirth.

And here's the part where I ask you not to look at this at face value, but to do a little research before you form an opinion. To find out that in fact, home birth has no greater chance of risk attached to it than a hospital birth.

But I'll get into that more in future posts, I'm sure.

I fear writing this because I fear many outcomes:
Getting negative energy from people who disagree with this choice.
Changing my mind.
Disappointment if it doesn't work out.
Never getting pregnant in the first place.

But I'm going to do it anyway. I feel like these are risks I'm willing to take. I have to be true to myself if I'm going to write, and this is a huge part of my life right now, if only in my head.

So there you have it. The beginning of a new blog phase for me.

You know, interlaced with some of that "we went here, he said that" kind of stuff.

It feels good to get it off my chest.

To my [former] readership

2010-09-08T21:21:00.010-04:00

For Pete's sake.

Who knows if anyone's still checking this here blog (fishing? a little).

I've been thinking a lot lately and doing a little bit of feeling overwhelmed. In a related story, I'm currently reading--like actively reading--all of these books:Four very different books that are filling four very different needs. I'm feeling sort of empty in a few areas and the reading is helping fill my wells.

But it's not helping me fill my blog.

I have a few ideas bouncing around upstairs and I'm trying to decide whether to just dump them all out here or to create a separate space exclusively for this other content that's collecting in my brain. What with my motivation level lately, I'm guessing it's just gonna end up here since creating another space would mean creating and I haven't been doing much of that at all.

I need to regroup. If you'd like to know more about any of the books, I'm gonna highly recommend the first three and say that I think I'm going to put the fourth one on a shelf for now. I've concluded that I don't have the luxury to read for pleasure right now.

Birthday: transcendental edition

2010-09-01T22:37:00.014-04:00

It was my son's second birthday last week. Though we had his party a few weeks prior, I still wanted to make the actual day significant in some way.

A friend of mine recently posted about a trip she took to one of my favorite places, and it inspired me. I decided J's birthday was the perfect time to introduce my baby to Walden Pond.

And so we went, just the two of us.

We walked down the path to the [ever-shrinking] beach, and I remembered.

So many memories connected to this place.

Walden was the place I read about in high school, dreamed about, longed for, was inspired by. (Yes, I was that kind of kid.)

Soon after I moved here, I visited it when it was still frozen over. Still beautiful.

In the spring I visited again. It was heavenly.

It's easy to attach meaning to a place simply because someone wrote a book about it, or because it's supposed to be a cool place. But for me, Walden really was what it was supposed to be. It was an other-worldly escape for me.

For me, it was breathtaking.

It was the first place I ever skinny dipped. (Many times. Often at midnight.)

It was a place I came to write when I needed a specific kind of quiet.

I went on a date there once. We read poetry. (Obviously.)

I went there to mourn during my brief break up with Mike. To mull over, to reconsider.

It was where my roommates and I fled on September 11, 2001. We needed refuge. We needed a break. Walden was exactly right.

Walden is a part of my history, and a part of me. It's a little ridiculous that I haven't been there in so long. (Years, actually.)

I took my little boy there, and he instantly pulled my arm toward the wooded path. So that's where we went. He was in his element. Even at two, the woods seem to speak to him in a way that no other place does.

He ran through the trees. He found pine cones and acorns (his favorite). He was free, and so so happy.

Then we went to the beach and we swam. We found amazing rocks.

We had a wonderful afternoon.

It was the perfect birthday, if I can speak for him. And in this case, I think I can.

It's my birthday, I'll have a guest poster if I want to

2010-08-24T10:57:00.008-04:00

I don't get a lot of questions, as some bloggers do, but if I had to say what my most commonly asked question is, this is it:

Who the heck is that Timp guy?!

First of all, it may surprise you to know that "Timp" is not his real name. Second of all, yes, he can be obnoxious. Third of all, he represents approximately one-third of my blog follwing, so I let him get away with it.

Plus I've known him since seventh grade. So.

Since he is the subject of so much curiosity, I asked him if he would be my first ever guest poster (hijacking husbands not included). He agreed.

Having the type of relationship that we have, I rejected his first two submissions because when you give me as much crap as he does, you better believe I'm gonna play tough editor when I get the chance.

And so, as a little birthday present to myself, I will let him do the rest of the posting today. Lady and gentleman, I give you: Timp.

Who am I, and Why am I Writing to You?

Who am I, and why am I writing to you? Well that's a very good question, and I'm glad you asked. The author of Turleybenson, we'll call her MTB, asked me if I was interested in contributing a guest blog post. After the initial disappointment and outrage of finding out I wasn't going to be paid, I was extremely honored.

Knowing the quality of MTB's blog (which you should read every day . . . twice) I knew I needed to write something really good. Well when I reflected on the compelling series of events and circumstances that led up to her asking me to guest post, I knew I had to write about it. It's a short story, but for the sake of content, one that I fully intend to drag out with excruciatingly detailed exposition.

You see this story begins with a friendship between a boy and a girl that started way back in the time when I was growing up. I call them a boy and a girl because that's what they were. Mere children who didn't know that a rich blond white girl wasn't supposed to hang out with a Hispanic boy from the wrong side of the tracks. (*note for accuracy: I only lived a few blocks away, came from a prosperous family, and though I am Hispanic, I am probably whiter than she is both in dance and skin color. I don't get much sun. Now back to our story.) It was a simpler time. A beautiful time. A time when every year had a "9" in it. Seeing that familiar "9" every day was enough to put some starch in a man's shirt, not like today's limp collars and baggy pants that are worn way too low as a result of the number "0". Who wants to start their day with that big goose egg? But I get off topic.

Anyway, this friend and I hung out some in middle school, quite a bit in high school, not so much in college, a little bit more after that, then a little less and now only very occasionally. We try to call each other every once and again to keep the friendship going, but between work and a kid, plus general laziness, who can keep up? I don't know why I'm telling you all this except to give you an idea of the history and emphasize the importance of the friendship and bond I shared with this girl over many many years,

…and also to let you know that through this girl I met and started hanging out with MTB.

Which of course led to MTB asking me many years later if I wanted to write a guest blog. After the initial disappointment and outrage of finding out I wasn't going to be paid . . . we've already been over that.

Well that's pretty much the story, which leads me to my next topic: "Why I Am the Way I Am".

If I'm ever asked to guest post in the future (and that's a big "if" after this post) I'm sure I could probably do a week long miniseries covering this topic with insightful introspection and entertaining Freudian slips such as the time at Thanksgiving when I meant to say to my sister, "pass the mashed potatoes" but it came out, "I hate you you stupid bitch!" *

(*note for accuracy: I don't have a sister)

Blogmaster's note: Maybe one day I’ll tell you the real story, including the parts when he got kicked out of 8th grade Humanities class, sang about a long-haired girl in Chemistry lab, and how we kept accidentally moving to the same major U.S. cities. And then I almost got drunk at his wife's bridal shower.

In my head

2010-08-22T13:27:00.007-04:00

That's where I've been a lot lately. In fact, if I don't post in over a week, one can pretty much assume that either I've had way too much fun, or been way too introspective.

The answer this time is sort of both.

I've been feeling a certain brand of unhappiness that I recall feeling last year. Turns out it was at exactly this time of year. I believe I can accurately name this a birthday identity crisis.

May I just post a picture and promise to write more later?
(The birthday party was awesome.)

(And yes, we had did have a dual theme. Thankfully, they were both red.)

24 months awesomer

2010-08-12T13:39:00.004-04:00

I just made a billion character-shaped sugar cookies. You know what that means.

BIRTHDAY PARTY Y'ALL!!

This Saturday we're celebrating No-so-Baby J's bday along with one of his best buddies, who is a few months older.
(wanna come? COME!)
(and please RSVP)

So I think I'm justified in writing one of those posts detailing the awesome stuff my kid has been up to. Like...

Singing the "Do Re Mi" song nnnnon stop for the past week. His babysitter's baby loves that song, so I'm pretty sure that's where this came from. He sings several lines perfectly, especially "Mi a name I call myself," a line that is sung at least 5 times in a row before moving on to Fa.

Using "Almost!" in proper context. Like when I'm getting his food ready, or doing something for him and I'm NOT QUITE finished.

Saying "Perfect!" when he does something. I have no idea where this came from (and between you and me? It's usually not perfect. Which kinda just makes it more awesome.)

When he and I are holding two of the same or similar things, he says "Mee-shoo!" and knocks his thing against my similar thing, sort of like "Cheers!" Again, this one totally has me stumped. Is he saying "Match you"? Is he saying "Mee too"? And who taught him that??! No clue. BUT I LOVE IT.

Singing oh so loudly along to his favorite songs, and sometimes along to hymns during church. Can't handle the cuteness.

Speaking really well! Ah, it makes life so much easier when they can TELL YOU WHAT THEY WANT!

Playing with Play-do at least 4 times a day. He calls it "making rocks."

Closing his eyes and walking around the house. Finding it hilarious when he bumps into stuff.

Learning people's names. It's kind of awesome to hear him talk about my friends as if they are his friends. P.S. they kind of are.

Counting. And doing it pretty well, I must say.

Spending obscene amounts of time looking in the mirror, perfecting his happy face, his cry face, his kissy face. And talking like they're old friends, he and himself.

Pretending to be a dinosaur, then pausing and telling me he is being a dinosaur.

So it's not quite his birthday yet, but I can't believe he'll be two this month. Even though I sort of can. He's like a little person, and as much as I miss that little baby version, this one has an awesome personality, and it's amazing to watch it develop.

And shoot me if I say awesome one more time in this post.

How I feel about the current trend

2010-08-09T20:57:00.004-04:00

I came across a web site that sold heinous personalized birthday outfits. It featured photos from some actual customers.

And I read some of the names stitched onto the clothes, such as:

Anastyn
Kaylee
Brylee
Rilynn
Kiley
Dailynn
Rhiley
Kamryn
Hayven
Catcher

And then I threw up.

The other woman

2010-08-04T20:23:00.005-04:00

So I know I said I thought Baby J's former babysitter was the greatest, but I gotta say...

his new one is pretty fantastic, too.

(He's kind of in love, in fact. I try not to get jealous.
In fact, I think it's pretty awesome.)

*Another safety note: The was a short ride in an empty parking lot. No letters, please (I've always wanted to say that, even though I've never gotten a letter ever!).

When the hits just keep on comin'

2010-07-29T12:11:00.009-04:00

We've had a run of pretty bad financial luck lately, and I sort of had a breakdown today.

The ground zero of financial havoc 2010 was a few weeks ago when I noticed my dashboard brake light was staying on, all the time. I'm ashamed to say, I let that go for a week, hoping it would just disappear. I finally went in for an oil change at our mechanic, hoping it just needed more fluid. Also? I'd been smelling gas for a while.

So I wasn't TOO shocked when they came back with a prognosis that needed 2 fixes; one for the brake line, one for the gas line. The day ended in Jonah's car seat getting strapped in to the front of a pickup so he and I could get a ride home with the owner of the shop (Good ol' Paul) since y'know, the BRAKES were about to go out.

The next day when I went to pick up the car, I came back home to find that my phone was gone. Just...gone. After dialing it, hearing a hang up, and then not being able to get an answer for hours we finally surmised that it fell out of my pocket, and some unsuspecting fool (crappiest. phone. ever.) "stole" it.

Which sort of forced the issue of a new phone. Which sort of forced the issue of THE new phone, which Mike has been begging for since it was born. And car repairs notwithstanding, at the time, we were comfortable (though a bit stretched) buying two iPhones. So we did.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

Mike's car broke. We got that fixed.

Our dishwasher broke. We replaced it.

In the midst of this, due to an error out of my hands, I was shorted one paycheck, which cannot be retrieved, so rather, I will just cut my hours to make up for the lack of pay.

Um, bad timing much?

We got a STACK of medical bills in the mail, like they'd been waiting all year to send them to us (see a million previous posts RE: WORST INSURANCE EVER) to the tune of, are you ready for this? FIFTEEN HUNDRED BUCKS. And that's WITHOUT a birth occurring.

And then, to add a poop topping to our craptastic debt sandwhich, I was standing in the living room last week, heard a loud POP, and then this happened.

Our sliding glass door
Shattered.

There was no sign of impact (the screen door was shut at the time, and there was nary a disruption. Classic case of you-thought-it-was-bad?-how-bout-this-suckas!)

And yet, through all of this (literally ALL occurring within one month's time), I've stayed strong, had a good attitude, and held it together.

Then today, I finally faced that stack of medical bills.

Commence breakdown.

But I challenge you to make a phone call requesting a payment plan to cover your son's visit to the ENT, because you just can't write a check that big right now, and NOT start crying.

It's a bit humbling, to say the least. Here's to a better August. Heaven help us.

P.S. this morning my brake light and Check Engine light came on. No kidding.

P.P.S. Mike sent me this to cheer me up. P.P.P.S. It's kind of working.

*two notes on safety in this post. If the carseat in the front cab makes you squirmy, remember that the alternative was driving with bad brakes. Also, it was a 1 mile drive. Secondly, the shattered pane of glass is the outside pane. The inside one is firmly intact.

What Mike said this time

2010-07-28T23:51:00.002-04:00

Mike: This Paul McCartney special is really good!

Me: Is that one-legged lady there? (crude, I know)

Mike: First of all, his name is Stevie Wonder. Second of all, he's a MAN. THIRD of all, he's BLIND. And lastly, yes, he was there.

The anatomy of a morning

2010-07-23T14:38:00.021-04:00

First we get up and beg mommy to put a pair of shoes on our feet that are 2 sizes too big in length, but just the right size in "fits over chub."

Then we eat breakfast, sure to leave one bite of everything, so we can carry that one slice banana and/or one bite of toast around the living room for 20 minutes before arbitrarily deciding to pop it into our mouth.

Then we go wake up daddy, and upon seeing his face, immediately remind him (with just the tiniest bit of anxiety in our voice) to put on his glasses.

"Glasses?? GLASSES?"
(Apparently, daddy just isn't daddy without them.)
(mommy kind of agrees, baby J)
We say goodbye to daddy, then we go down to the laundry room, but insist on walking backwards the whole way, like so:

We come back upstairs, play with stacking toys, and as with all things these days, immediately assign them family roles.

We find a new and inventive place to sit, while simultaneously giving new meaning to the phrase "dump truck."

And eventually, we pull it together enough to get ourselves back to the beach...for the third time in a week.

Just so you know

2010-07-22T22:20:00.003-04:00

I know I haven't posted in a week.

My brain is empty when it comes to blog posts.

But when it comes to the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale? My brain is very very full.
(and my wallet is very very empty)

Remember those jeans I blogged about? Now would be a good time to go get them. Even cheaper than I did.

Just sayin.

Conversations with my baby: 23 months

2010-07-15T10:23:00.002-04:00

J: Mommy! Mommy!
Me: Yes?
J: Big? Truck.
Me: Big truck, that's right!

J: Mommy! Mommy!
Me: Yes?
J: Eat? Pretzels.
Me: That's right, we're eating pretzels.

J: Mommy! MOMMY!
Me: Yes?
J: Big? Truck.

...and over and over. I won't pretend I don't love it, but I sort of can't believe we're already to the Mommy! Mommy! stage.

Now I'm just bracing myself for the Why? stage.

The coolest thing I've done in a while

2010-07-11T20:57:00.010-04:00

I'm a Mormon.

Did you know that?

(I'm guessing you did.)

And Mormons have certain...guidelines.
You may have known that, too.

In fact, one of those guidelines regards a little something we like to call chastity. You know, like not having sex before marriage.

Did you also know that I believe in this guideline? Strongly?

Oh I know, it's easy to mock this way of life.

You know what's not so easy?

Living it.

(tuh-rust me)

As you may have guessed from my little project, I feel pretty strongly about teenage girls not having sex, for so many, many reasons. So many! And I feel pretty strongly that not talking about it is just about the worst thing you can do for them. So that's what I like to do: talk about it.

On Thursday, I had an amazing opportunity to fly to Virginia to meet with a group of 70 teenage girls to do just that. I was super duper nervous. I just had so much I wanted to convey, and tell, and teach, and mostly I wanted to make sure that I said the things those girls needed to hear, regardless of what I had prepared (which was oh, say, 15 pages worth).

And so we had our talk. Sitting around a campfire, in the dark, we talked. We conversed. They had so much to say, to ask, to suggest. It was....awesome.

I was so relieved, excited, pleased, and mostly grateful for how it went. We talked longer than planned, sat later than was reasonable, and after we finished, they talked to me some more.

As it turns out, these girls have a lot to say, too. Easily one of the best conversations I've ever had.

I was so psyched that I couldn't sleep afterward. It really had nothing to do with the fact that I was on a bunk bed in a room with 20 other people in the sweltering southern heat...

It was soooo worth it. And I hope I get to do it again.

And if all that awesomeness wasn't enough, I also got some sweet flip flops out of the deal. Jealous?

(and since you asked, yes, my toenails AND my photography skills really are that bad)

Flying in, flying out

2010-07-07T22:45:00.003-04:00

My mom flew in yesterday, much to Baby J's delight.

He's definitely in love with Grandma. Or as he calls her, "MY Grandma." He kind of got spoiled today, I'm not gonna lie. Nothing ostentatious, but popcorn for lunch, a new Elmo bib, and ice cream after dinner? If he had a baby journal, this day would definitely get a page.

We are having a lovely time. We haven't had a family visitor in almost 2 years here, so it's been nice.

But I also have ulterior motives in both spoiling my baby and having Grandma here. I'm flying out (alone) tomorrow to do something kind of exciting, kind of terrifying. It involves camp, teenagers, and public speaking.

(I'm not sure in what order.)

And Baby J will have HIS Grandma all to himself for the day. I feel good about that.

Wish me luck. I'm feeling like I really need it.

Having a lovely weekend, btw

2010-07-03T21:36:00.003-04:00

(Just ask the lovebirds.)

Up, down, all-around crappy

2010-06-30T13:31:00.006-04:00

Can I tell you about my sort of bizarro day yesterday?

It's going to be a little bit uncomfortable for me, but then so is not writing about it. Plus I feel like it's going to be one of those posts that connect people with a shared experience, and I'm always up for that.

So I'm just gonna type this as a draft, see how it feels, and then decide whether to hit "publish."

How's that sound?

Here we go.

Yesterday my period was 6 days late. Six. I have charted my cycles for 4 years straight, and this scenario has only happened twice--and I got a little positive sign on the peestick both times.

Yesterday that sign was negative.
(It was the fourth such sign I'd seen in as many days)

So to answer your question: Yes, I was hoping for a plus.

Bizarro twist: Two days ago I was told by an alternative medical practicioner via muscle test (did that sentence make any sense to anyone?) that I was pregnant. She said these words with confidence, and with a hug: Congratulations, you're pregnant!

I stared at her dubiously and said, "Well, I hope that's true."

Hope. Even though all signs pointed to IT'S TOTALLY NOT TRUE.

So that was weird.

This morning I woke up, took my fourth test, got a negative. Called the non-alternative doctor, told them I was coming in for a test. Went to the doctor, almost cried when they said they couldn't do the test. Tears must have worked; got my blood drawn anyway. Was told to call back in the evening.

Dropped J at his new babysitter. Worked. Picked him up. Put him down for a nap.

Waited.

Waited.

Called my sister (she's a doctor). Was told I should get a blood test (didn't tell her I already did).

Called doctor for results. Waited for a callback.

Got a call back.

Negative.
Acted nonchalant. Hung up the phone.

Cried my eyes out for a minute, called my husband.

Fell asleep.

Got up when J did, plopped on couch and watched Sesame Street together. Felt grateful for what I already have. Still sad.

Remembered, in crushing waves, the horrid reality of "trying." Felt loathing, bitterness, fear that it would take that long again.

Cried s'more.

Went on a walk with my men.

Visited a friend.
(Wondered why my visitor hadn't arrived.)

Felt sick, took a bath, felt better.

Slept.

Woke up this morning to find the visitor was here.

Was grateful, at least, that we could finally get to the next phase of this awful roller coaster ride of making a baby:

Scary,
Occasionally exhilarating,
Oftentimes nauseating,
usually leaves you a little more battered than you were before.

Here we go.

Mum's the word

2010-06-27T21:40:00.008-04:00

For some reason, I was just thinking about a fairly silly tradition we had in Texas. I believe it is mostly a southern thing, but I could be wrong.

In fact, I don't think I realized this was not a nationwide phenomenon until I was well into high school, and an outsider informed me they had no idea what this thing was I spoke of.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present The Mum:

photo credit

Every year for homecoming, boys were.... shall we say...required to procure one of these beasts for his date. It seemed that every year they got larger and more ridiculous, to the point that now a days I believe some girls have to wear a neck band to hold them on (in my day, they were pinned).

People, these suckers can cost well over a hunnerd bucks. Ridiculous? Ya might say.

So the deal is, you wear it to school the day of the Homecoming Game, and to the game itself, and for the life of me I can't think why anyone ever thought this was a good idea.

The girls also procured smaller versions--garters for their dates, which amazingly enough, the boys wore...

photo credit

...on their arms.

Have you ever heard of such a nonsensical tradition?

No other point to this post, other than what the heck were we thinking.

(and yes I did...once)

When foot and mouth get intimate

2010-06-21T23:28:00.007-04:00

When I was 18 years old, having just completed a year of college, I opted to live with my oldest sister for the summer. At the time, she had 4 daughters, aged 1 to 8. At some point during that summer, I became a sort of second mommy to the baby, and I realized I felt more comfortable with children than I did with adults. I was immersed in it; it was my life; I loved it.

A few years later, living in Boston now as an adult, I began babysitting for wealthy South End families to help make ends meet as a newlywed. My husband was in school, and I had a day job that didn't pay much. I regularly cared for 5 different children from 3 families. When my last sitting job ended, I ached for those kids when my last job ended. In fact, I still think about them, several years later. I loved them.

There were many times before, since and in between that I felt similarly that I had a strong bond with the children in my life, and that I was pretty competent and comfy interacting with them.

Cut to a few weeks ago, when I made a remark that has haunted me since the moment it came out of my mouth. I was talking with a friend and I told her that the prospect of working with children sort of terrified me.

When she asked why, I actually said these words:

(here's where you brace yourself)

"Well, I don't really like kids."

I have had several times in my life when I've deeply regretted words spoken and well, this is one of them. I don't know if I was trying to be funny, or "honest," or shocking, or what, but I hate, HATE that I said that.

And if I AM being honest, what I really meant was this: In my more recent history, I have not had many opportunities to work with or be with children above the age of 3. I live far away from my many nieces and nephews. I am uncomfortable in situations when I am compelled to discipline other people's children. Entertaining kids of all ages doesn't always come naturally for me.

Sometimes as a mom I feel like I'm starting over in the learning curve. Before I had Baby J, I remember having moments of absolute clarity about the right way for a mother to teach her child, or react to her child, or guide them. Now? I see other people having those moments for me, and I think, "Oh yeah, I used to know that." You know, before I had to actually do it myself.

And I don't mean that in a glib bumper-sticker-"I was a good mom until I had kids," sort of way. I mean having my own child felt sort of like starting from scratch, for better or worse. I know pretty well how to deal with babies his age, and I expect to learn (or re-learn, as it were) how to deal with older children the older he gets. But right now my life is so focused on this 22 month old that I seem to have forgotten a lot of what I used to know about all those other ages.

I am so sorry for saying something so thoughtless and lame. If any of my readers happened to be there and overhear it, please forgive me, and do your very best to forget about it.

I've decided to forget about it, forgive myself, learn from this mistake, and move on.

(And most importantly, please don't tell your kids about any of this)

Tonal dissonance

2010-06-17T11:05:00.009-04:00

From last weekend.

We were happy.

I got a glimpse over the weekend of the wife I could be, all the time, if I chose to be. I heard myself speaking softly to Mike, even when I was annoyed, and making a "suggestion" on how I wish he would have done something. I had a gentle tone, all weekend long.

In contrast, two nights ago, I completely lost it on him. It was about money, one of my "hot button" issues, at the end of an angsty day (I'm havin' a few of those lately, and I'm not sure why), and I completely overreacted to a tiny little symptom of a bigger problem.

My tone was completely unacceptable.

I'm ashamed to say, it was certainly not the first time that happened.

I was watching a show a few weeks ago that I'm almost too embarrassed to admit to....OK it was Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood. Yep, it IS about Donna Martin, all grown up. Anyway, Tori and Dean had breakfast with an older married couple and the woman said the secret to their marriage was this:

"I tell my husband he can say whatever he wants to me, as long as he says it in a kind tone."

Well if that isn't the most profound and ridiculously simple idea, then I don't know what.

Because of my highly emotional nature, having a gentle tone is something that I constantly, constantly struggle with. I know. It's a problem. Not so much with my son--one, because he is pretty well-behaved, and two because...I don't know, he's my son--but MOST DEFinitely with my husband. I expect a lot of him, because he's a grown up, and I feel should "know better." I get frustrated pretty easily, and not being one to conceal my feelings, boy I let him know about it. Boy oh boy.

I don't know what was different over the weekend that caused me to react in such a different manner. Happiness at having such a lovely family getaway? Not wanting to cause a scene in front of several friends? Whatever it was, it was so refreshing, even for me. Just to hear myself speak that way--respectful, loving, nice...

I feel one o' them side stories coming on...

-------
I once asked a (not Mike) boyfriend if I was a nice person. His reply?
"You CAN be."
Hmmm...not really the response I was hoping for.
------

Anyway.

Treating my spouse with love made me feel love. I remembered all those things that I always loved about him, instead of all those other, hot button things.

I saw him with different eyes by speaking to him with a different voice.

It was kind of profound.

Especially when compared to the disgraceful display of the other night, when I sort of completely lost my cool on him.

I felt pretty bad after. And I apologized. And he apologized. And I'm hoping that this weekend I will take my lesson learned and it will be just as lovely as last weekend, and perhaps even spread into the week that follows.

Wish me luck.

Out of the mouth of my babe

2010-06-15T11:51:00.004-04:00

Baby J's description of our awesome weekend:

Uh Louis! Uh Porter! Uh horsie! Jibber Jabber BOAT! Garble Garble Louis! Porter! Blah Blah Animals! Uh Turtle! Beach!

I mean, that sounds pretty amazing, right? It was.

Here's my translation:

There was a boat to Nantucket, which included a trip to the beach (too cold for the adults, not so the little boys). There was playing with his buddies, as mentioned.

There was a truly heinous motel, which was really just funny.

There was a mini zoo, which included--yep! A horsie ride. And wandering chickens, and turtles, and sundry other animals.

It was fantastic. My weekends so far this summer are really knocking it out of the park. We really must keep this up.

On my mind

2010-06-07T13:55:00.006-04:00

I've been doing a lot of self examination lately. A lot of thinking. More than my usual amount.

I've been thinking about patterns in my life.
Why they are there.
How to break them.

I've been thinking about my first experience with childbirth (or as I think of it: weird surgery).

I've been thinking about my place in my family, my place in my friendships, my place in my marriage.

About motherhood.

About my body.

About another baby.

My job. My purpose, my passions.

(I was thinking about cutting my nails just now, then I did.)

I've been thinking about thinking.

There has been so much swirling around my brain the past few months, I almost don't know how to sort it out, turn it off, or how to make it productive. But this is what I've come up with so far:

I need to cut myself some slack.

I crave social interaction more than the average bear.

I am so blessed to have a husband who never ever makes me feel like I'm not enough.

I need to be sure I do the same for him.

There's nothing wrong with standing up for my child (which I do, often, and instinctively).

I need to stand up for myself more.

I am never going to tell myself again that I am too sensitive.

I am full of insecurities (but I'm working on it).

I'm still not emotionally healed from Baby J's birth (but I'm working on it).

And I am going to really educate myself before I have another one.

There are some pains that only I can heal.

There are some pains that only God can heal.

I am a different me in the summertime.

I need to give more people the benefit of the doubt.

I love the dickens out of my little boy. The feeling, it seems, is mutual.

One day he won't be so happy to have me around. And that's just sad.

I am incredibly flawed, and incredibly blessed.

I have a lot to learn.

(but I'm working on it)

Babysitters Club

2010-06-02T22:49:00.003-04:00

Much of my thoughts are consumed these days with trying to figure out a long-term babysitting solution for my Flurg.

As I posted before, his sitter of a year and a half is moving.

As in, today is the last day she will have J.

(I may or may not have cried about this fact last night.)

(And gotten teary just now when I dropped him off.)

(Also right now, writing about it.)

As luck would have it, as of July 1st, my work hours will also be increasing, so I am now faced with the task of finding a new sitter for more hours for my little dude.

I've had some friends offer to watch him through the summer; I am very blessed to have them. I will be taking them up on the offer, but as of fall, I really think I'm going to need a permanent solution for 2 full days a week. We've never had to do a full day anywhere, so 2? At a new place? Is giving me anxiety.

I know people put their kids in daycare all the time, and for many more hours than I may have to. I don't think it's a big terrible tragedy. But I like to think that every parent does it thoughtfully, carefully, trying to find just the right fit for their children. And that's where I'm at.

On a recommendation, I toured a day care facility last week. I went with my checkbook, planning to pay the wait list fee and hope they had an opening soon.

I left totally depressed, without a check written, thinking there had to be something better than that.

Yesterday I toured another place that might have openings sometime in the fall for an unknown price. I loved it. Even though it's still an unfamiliar place for J (parents, HOW do you deal with the heartbreak of sending your kids to school? I AM SO NOT READY FOR THAT), it had a fun, educational, stimulating vibe to it. I was ready to be on the list pretty much as soon as I walked in the door.

Even if I don't get into that place, I guess the point is that I know that there are options out there--some that I might not even find totally depressing beyond belief. I feel strongly that when I find the right fit, it will all fall into place, just as it has in the past.

* * * *

As dramatic as it sounds, I sometimes feel like I'm never going to have it as good as I did with J's first sitter. It was a perfect situation for us: the location, other kids to play with, the flexibility, the person she is.

Anyone who knows her will agree that she really is one of a kind. A wonderful, wise, calm, safe kind of a person.

This morning I told J we were going to play with "Aji" today. He looked at me and said, "Kaal?" (as close as he's ever gotten to saying the babysitter's name).

Yes, baby. Her too.

It kind of breaks my heart that Baby J will never remember her, but I will.

(How could I possibly forget?)

Me: Today was a good day

2010-05-30T22:51:00.005-04:00

Mike: What was good about it?

Me: My talk is over
The weather is awesome
Had a spare pair of J's pants in the car when I needed them
Spring planting is done
Bikes are fixed up
Yummy dinner with friends
Berry pie
Duck Duck Goose
And an all-around happy Flurg?

I mean really. What wasn't good about it?