Love Street

spark and echo

2011-09-06T23:15:00.000-07:00

Here is the link to my new blog.

Things are weird right now. Many changes are brewing. I think a change like this is really what I need. I can't promise I'll update often, but I want to.

See you there, I hope.

Endings/Beginnings

2011-08-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

This will be my last post on Love Street.

Wait, scratch that. There will be one more post after this one. That will be the last one.

I have no plans to stop blogging, though. I already have a new blog. It may take awhile for me to get it the way I want it. I am a busy girl. (For example, I have been interrupted seven times since I sat down to write this.) But once I do, I will share the link here.

This blogging thing is a strange enterprise. I've already written about why I blog and my feelings are still largely the same as they were two and a half years ago. I am one of those people who has used blogging to supplement journaling. Most of my entries can be described as thinking out loud. I don't make many attempts to be "arty" in my writing; however, I make every attempt to be concise and easily understood. I was always reserving my arty writing for the "real" stuff: you know, poetry, fiction. It has taken me awhile to come around to the fact that blogging can be an art form rather than just a way to transmit information. And thus this blog has become a frustration for me rather than a release. It just isn't what I want it to be. That is my fault - for pigeonholing the genre.

I guess it would be easy enough for me to just change the way I do things around here, but I'd rather just start over entirely, leave my archives here for awhile, and begin anew elsewhere.

My new blog will be an ongoing art project. The differences between this one and that one may be subtle - it's hard to say right now - but the time has come in my life for me to really devote myself to being creative and making art. I have no plans to become a professional blogger, but let's face it, I really enjoy blogging. I love connecting with others, hearing their stories, and letting them hear mine.

I wanted to wait to post this news until the new blog was done but several people have been politely pestering me about neglecting this blog. This is why. I have outgrown Love Street and it's time to move on. And once my new blog is up and running, I hope you'll come with me.

Thanks for the support and love you've shown me over the last four years and 967 posts. You guys are amazing.

(It took me an hour and a half to type out this post. Don't expect that new blog anytime soon. ;)

30 Day Song Challenge, Day 2

2011-08-02T14:01:00.000-07:00

Day 2: Your Least Favorite Song

Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle

Puke.

This song makes me want to do that. I think it's been the Father-Daughter dance song at almost every single wedding I've been to. It's just so overused.

Or perhaps I am just jealous because I am not "daddy's little girl". That thought did occur to me.

Still! That is irrelevant. It's just not a good song.

30 Day Song Challenge, Day 1

2011-08-01T21:05:00.000-07:00

I'm doing this 30 Day Song Challenge on Facebook, but I figured I'd do it over here, too. I enjoy talking about music and the places it's taken me in my life.

Day 1: Your Favorite Song

I don't have an all-time favorite song, but this is my current favorite.

Ghost Town by First Aid Kit

I've been listening to this song quite a bit this summer, including one evening in June when I wrote this poem:

It’s been silence.
Quiet and crickets chirping,
cats meowing,
each blade of grass rustling
in the stale breeze,
the sound of time
wheezing by
in its wheelchair.

It was music you heard
staining your ears with life,
music that made the tears
drop with finality
onto your journal pages,
and your life’s words smeared
and you could no longer read
your own history.

So you turned
off the radio and record player
and instead began to listen to your cat’s hair
quietly hitting the carpet
in your house of sadness.

The music continues beyond
your legacy of isolation,
green lush enveloping
a loud, unapologetic life

unlived.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

2011-07-19T20:16:00.001-07:00

I've been writing blog entries in my head but haven't summoned the energy to sit down and write here. Truthfully, I've been in kind of a slump. For now, life is hard and it takes enormous amounts of effort to breathe through each day. A lot of things are piling up, ranging from the very serious (we are broke, the birth center owes us $3000 and refuses to pay so now we have to go to court on August 31, and in the meantime, there are car repairs and checkups for our cats and a sleep study for Roy waiting in the wings) to the moderately serious (I need a root canal and we don't have dental insurance, and also I hurt my back) to the annoyances of the everyday (Simon's slobber managed to kill my phone and my laptop power cord, neither of which are cheap to replace; there are ants in our kitchen; our toilet is leaking; it's fucking hot outside; my kids like to scream loudly all day long; I'm not getting enough sleep; I feel hungry all the time and there is not enough junk food in this house to satisfy me; my toenails look like claws; I have Sesame Street songs playing on repeat in my head every single day).

So. You can understand if I'm a little grouchy. I'm kind of like an old guy growling at people to GET OFF MY LAWN. I'm even hunched over like him because of the aforementioned back injury.

I feel the need to retreat, and so I'm taking a break. I'll see you back here when I'm feeling better.

In the meantime, stay off my lawn.

Charlie's Favorite Songs

2011-07-05T22:47:00.000-07:00

In no particular order:

Blueberry Pie by Bette Midler

One Day by Matisyahu (feat. Akon)

Howl by Florence and the Machine

Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) by Arcade Fire

If I Had a Boat by Lyle Lovett

The kid's got eclectic taste in music. I wonder where he gets that from?

A Second Chance for Robert

2011-07-03T06:44:00.000-07:00

Friday morning, as Charlie stood on a chair at the kitchen sink and “washed dishes” and Simon rode on my back in the Ergo, I read the latest Dear Sugar column.

Saturday I went to the post office and mailed out an extremely late Father’s Day gift to my dad.

The two events are not unrelated.

It’s not uncommon for Sugar’s column to make tears roll down my cheeks, but her most recent advice offering to a father who’d lost his only son broke me wide open. I stood in the kitchen with my grief burning in my body and I sobbed right there for both of my kids to witness.

I’ve done my fair share of bitching about illness and fever and teething lately but the month of June was so much more than those things that have led me here, to this place where I am once again a grieving woman. Father’s Day, for example. I think it may be the most bittersweet day of the year for me. On that day, I smiled and laughed and I meant it because my boys have a wonderful father who loves them and they will never have to question that. I have loved watching Roy grow into his role of daddy and I am so proud of him. All of that is tempered by my relationship with my own father. It’s practically non-existent and it feels like it lives only in my mind. It doesn’t feel real. Only the grief does.

And so while everyone posted on Facebook about how much they love their dads, I had nothing to say aside from a shout-out to Roy. I posted a video about forgiving our fathers but there was no response. Either no one saw it or no one knew what to say or no one wanted to talk about the places that hurt on a day that’s supposed to be celebratory. I’m okay with that. I do love my dad. He’s half of the reason why I’m here today. But we don’t have a relationship. And that I am not okay with.

I will never be okay with it. It’s the grief that keeps on grieving.

Simon’s middle name is Robert, which is my dad’s name. We knew, as soon as we found out I was pregnant again last year, that if we had another boy, his middle name would be Robert as a way to honor my dad. I wonder sometimes what it means to saddle a baby with the weight of a relative’s name. Will he develop a brain tumor like my dad did? Will he live in a way that my dad couldn’t? Will history repeat itself or will he write his own story? I asked Roy these questions today. I needed answers that were once clear but had become muddled.

“It’s a second chance for Robert,” my dear sweet amazing wonderful husband replied.

And it slapped me across the face like it does every once in awhile, the realization that I will never have a dad like the one in Father of the Bride, that my kids will never have a grandpa to play with, that there is a person sitting in a crappy nursing home in Waco, Texas, who is half of the reason why I’m here today and yet he is lost to me. Forever fucking lost to me.

I don’t know what to do with that. It’s been almost 30 years since his essence was taken, leaving this shell behind, and I still have no idea what to do with this howling emptiness inside me. I try to silence it, by sending out Father’s Day gifts and writing cheerful cards that say things like, “Charlie is 2 now! He’s such a smart and sweet boy. Simon is 7 months old and is crawling and pulling to a stand. We wish you were here. We love you.” It’s all bullshit. What I want to say is “Charlie is 2 now. Why didn’t you call? And what about my birthday? Why didn't you call? Do you even realize that you have a 32 year old daughter and two adorable grandsons? If I tell you I love you, will you say it back? I hope you’re not suffering. Are you suffering? I don’t think I can bear it if you are.”

(I know he is suffering.)

My dad will never have a second chance. I sometimes have to sit with this and let the enormity of it pass over me. I don’t know what to do except breathe and feel the screaming space inside me.

My dad will never have a second chance. So we gave his name to our second son because it’s the best we can do to give him the impossible.

My dad will never have a second chance. He will remain in the nursing home with the big picture of John Wayne over his bed and in his fragile and damaged mind he will drift away to happier times. This is perhaps the only thing that makes his suffering okay, the fact that he can escape it.

My dad will never have a second chance. And someday he will die, just as someday we will all die. Of course, we don’t know when. He’s defied our expectations by hanging in there for much longer than I think any of us expected. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve seen him. Charlie was six months old. It was Christmastime. In less than three months, I would be pregnant again with a little baby boy who would be given his name, a little boy he has yet to meet.

My dad will never have a second chance. I understand this, and that is the place from which my sorrow speaks. There is wisdom in that sorrow, and understanding, and compassion. And yet, like Sugar said in her column, I would give it all up to hear him tell me he’s proud of me and that he loves me.

And this is why I find myself here this morning, reaching for healing, despite the fact - no, because of the fact that my dad will never have a second chance. After all this writing and this spilling of my sad, sloppy guts, I still don’t know what to do with all this reality.

And so I will sit awhile. And breathe.

(All pictures in this post were taken by my dad in his college days, pre-illness.)

(If you don't already read Dear Sugar, you should start. Her column is one of my favorite things about the internet.)

Summer Style

2011-06-28T21:58:00.000-07:00

I was in desperate need of new summer threads and kicks. (Do you see how I did that there? Made myself look uber cool by using words other than "clothes" and "shoes"? I may be 32 now but I am still totally hip.) All I really wanted for my birthday was a basic summer wardrobe update, as I had no shorts, two bikinis that I hated and avoided wearing, several pairs of jeans that were hanging loosely on my hips, and a pair of Crocs flip flops that I've been wearing almost every day for the past two years and really wanted to retire.

I was completely in love with this tankini, but by the time it came for my mom to buy it, there were none in my size. I scoured the internet and couldn't really find anything that I loved as much. On a trip to Target while my mom was here, I happened to pass through the swimsuit section and found a very similar one. I was stoked. It fits great and makes my boobs look awesome.

Roy bought me a pair of Sseko sandals with these straps. Love these shoes. The interchangeable straps and the multitudinous ways to tie them? Genius. What the company stands for? Nothing short of awesome.

In the last few months I've become obsessed with Threadless, and my mother-in-law was more than happy to feed my addiction with these two shirts:

(Breakthrough)

(Secret Garden)

I am such a jeans and T-shirt type of girl, and it's so easy for me to get sloppy. But I could never feel dowdy while wearing a Threadless shirt.

My mom also bought me some long & lean jeans from the Gap. With the skinny jean craze going on, it's ridiculously hard to find wide leg jeans. I looked for a long time and then it occurred to me that I should check The Gap, where I got my wide leg maternity jeans. These jeans are awesome. I already had two pairs that I had bought at the beginning of the year, but I needed to go a size down. Now I have jeans that fit, and I guess I'll hang onto my bigger pairs in case I put a few pounds back on.

And then we went to Old Navy, where I got some cropped pants and some shorts. I later went back to exchange the pair of shorts I got for a pair similar to the ones below. I got them home, put them on, and loved them so much I had to go back and get a second pair. At $10 each, I think these are a steal. While I was there getting my second pair of shorts, I also picked up a pair of cheapie flip flops and some cute sunglasses.

I'm so happy with all my new clothes, but particularly my shorts. It's been years since I've really worn shorts proudly and it feels damn freeing to show some leg, varicose veins and all. I decided it was time to really embrace my pasty whiteness and just wear what I like instead of worrying about possibly blinding people.

The only clothes-related thing left that I really want is a pair of TOMS shoes. I've been drooling over them for probably about a year now. I got some money for my birthday, which I was planning on using to buy them, but since I am now 32 and a responsible adult, I may have to use said money for responsible adult things like gas and groceries. Bummer.

However! There is still a chance for me to possibly be frivolous and get the shoes. And I am having a hard time deciding which pair to get. Here are my favorites:

Blue Leopard Women's Vegan Classics

Passport Black Women's Vegan Classics

Passport Lilac Women's Vegan Classics

Which is your favorite pair? And while you're letting me know, tell me about your summer must-haves.

(Also, I am so not a dress girl but I want to turn that around some day. Maybe next summer! Here are a few dresses I love, among some other clothing choices.)

this big exhausted weepy baggy mentally ill cellulite unit known as mommy

2011-06-24T21:42:00.000-07:00

I missed the official first day of summer. I had grand plans for that day, which really only included busting out the sidewalk chalk and writing SUMMER! on the driveway and then taking a picture and posting it here as a way of showing you all that yes! I am alive and cherishing the 100 degree heat! yes! I am one of those people who lives entirely in the moment! who never wishes any minute of her life away! who can take some lame sidewalk chalk from Target and use it to make a masterpiece worthy of display at the Museum of Modern Art! who is so fucking happy it's dangerously close to saccharine!

You see, I exhaled too soon. And this week, which was supposed to be about getting back to normal, all of a sudden became about Simon's first tooth coming in. And the fever. The runny nose. The crankiness. The refusal to eat. The sleepless nights. Basically a rinse and repeat of the whole month of June, which I am boycotting, by the way. I hate you, June. Forget the fact that you're my birth month, and my son's birth month. You've betrayed me, you mercurial Gemini you.

Last night was a terrible one in Simonsleepland. I mean, so terrible that at one point in the darkness I could not even see my baby's face - instead I saw a gigantic head with hollows for eyes and a mouth lurching toward me, like some kind of horror movie creature. I wish I was kidding. I had to have Roy take him away for awhile because he was freaking me out and I was crying.

If that's not a sign of sleep deprivation....

My mother-in-law came over this morning, and by that I mean Roy walked over to her house this morning and brought her over to stay with the boys while he slept the sleep of the almost dead and I left the house. I treated myself to breakfast. I ate. I read my book. I did not have to share my food. I did not have to ask the waitress for extra napkins because Charlie spilled his drink all over the floor. Then I went to the bookstore. I browsed. I flipped through magazines. I read a couple of poems. I lingered over the bargain books. I did not have to wrestle yet another Elmo book out of an insistent toddler's hands when it was time to leave. I did not have to pick up my baby and strap him to me because he was fussing about being in the stroller. Then it was time for a brief trip to the library. I got a few free (old) copies of National Geographic. Then I had to go home because Simon really, really needed me at that point.

My date with myself? Oh so needed and deserved, especially after three weeks of fever/illness/teething hell. I think I'll make this a Friday thing I do. I think I will be a little more aggressive about getting Simon to take a bottle, if for no other reason than I would like to go out with my husband to celebrate our wedding anniversary next month.

Late this afternoon, I finally got to hang out with one of my friends, her daughters, and her parents for the first time in about a month. (We have a weekly playdate.) We went swimming (Simon's first time) and had a little BBQ. Charlie stuffed his mouth full of grapes and then spit them all out, half-eaten. Charming. I danced with my friend's daughters in the living room and admired all the art around the house. The light outside was perfect as we were driving home listening to First Aid Kit. It was all very summerlike. What can I say? I love you, June.

(title graciously stolen and mercilessly bastardized from one of the wonderful works of Anne Lamott)

Exhale

2011-06-18T21:36:00.000-07:00

It's been two weeks. Two weeks of one small cold (parents), fever with no symptoms (Charlie), terrible crankiness and refusal of food (Charlie), phlegmy cough (Charlie), fever and cough (Simon), full-blown cold with fever (Charlie), full-blown cold (Roy), and hardly any sleep at all.

Somewhere in there, we had two birthdays, Simon started crawling, my mom flew in, we went to a baseball game, we had a birthday party, Roy's work got broken into, a skunk took up residence under our house, Simon turned seven months old and pulled to a stand (twice), and my mom flew back to Texas (with a cold).

What a ride.

My friend Kim was nice enough to send us an edible arrangement in response to my last post. Seriously, if this is what complaining gets me, I'm never going to stop.

Pretty! Yummy!

(Thank you, Kim. So wonderful of you!)

Things are getting better. I smiled as I typed that because I can hear Charlie in the next room throwing one of his mega nighttime tantrums. This is how I know he is better. And while I loved the cuddles we shared while he was sick, I'm so happy that he's back to his old sleep-fighting self.

There were some scary moments. His fever was like a metastasis, returning day after day. I would lie on the floor next to his crib at night, listening to him struggle to breathe. In my head: "This is YOUR fault. You didn't breastfeed him. If you had, he wouldn't be this sick. You are a terrible and selfish mother."

Love that mom guilt.

I'm ready to get back to normal life, whatever that is, ready for playdates and hanging out with my friends, going for walks, playtime in the backyard, reading and writing and art lessons, Monday movie night with the husband. I guess I'm even ready for laundry and dishes.

We have had so many bouts of illness since Simon was born. I wonder if this is just what it's like with two kids or if we are just so sleep deprived that our immune systems are incredibly compromised. We are going to be making some changes around here to give ourselves a boost. Boy, do we need one.

(But Simon's hair doesn't. It's awesome, yes? It just started doing that on its own recently.)

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and I doubt I'll be making an appearance in this space. I'll be with my family, and we'll hopefully all be feeling good enough to do something fun to celebrate the day. My own father won't be far from my mind, though, because he never is. Here's to daddies everywhere.

Delirium + Dreams

2011-06-14T21:29:00.000-07:00

Both of my boys are sick.

Charlie's three-day fever lasted from last Monday night through my birthday through his birthday and ended on Thursday, the day my mom flew in. It got up to 104 on his birthday, a nice little gift from the universe, and after popsicles, Tylenol, and a bath, it went down and stayed there. I know that I sound rather casual about it all, but let me tell you that there is nothing like holding your baby and realizing how hot he is, a mini overheating radiator, while all through your mind thoughts of meningitis and cancer race. I make those leaps easily, and before you know it, I am close to tears. I am almost always able to breathe away those thoughts, push the crazy back into my brain's mess, and be a somewhat normal, somewhat functioning adult.

Charlie's fever broke, but he kept his major attitude, and we spent the majority of the weekend preparing for our birthday meal on Sunday night.

My time in the kitchen went something like this: Measure out half of ingredients for strawberry cake. Comfort crying baby. Measure out other half of ingredients. Change toddler's diaper. Mix ingredients. Throw dirty dishes in sink. Give insistent toddler a banana. Rescue banana from clean soapy water in kitchen sink, where he threw it once he was done. Comfort crying baby again. Put cake in oven. Strap crying baby onto my back. Peel whining toddler from legs. Remove cake from oven and let it sit for ten minutes. Remove it from pans and watch the entire cake fall to pieces as it comes out of the pan. Rinse and repeat process for the rest of the day.

We managed to pull off a most excellent birthday dinner with only a few mishaps: the strawberry cake that fell apart, setting one of our plastic cutting boards on fire, and filling the house with smoke while making the pizza. It was a good time and a ton of work.

That night, right as Charlie was put into his crib for bed, he started coughing. And not some wimpy cough, either. A cough that said, "Attention, Mom and Dad! Phlegm!"

Monday was supposed to be his two-year well check. I took him in and refused the shots. The doctor pronounced his throat irritated but couldn't see much else wrong with him. By the time we got home Simon was running a 101 degree fever. Last night Simon had his worst night ever, burning up for part of the night, waking up once an hour all night long. Charlie, meanwhile, woke up about six times. Today they both had fever. Charlie's got a runny nose and cough. Simon coughs from time to time but is mostly just cantankerous. I'm glad the illness has finally made an appearance because fever without some kind of sickness makes me incredibly anxious.

The dreams started last week. In the first one, I found out I was pregnant again, already 25 weeks. Roy and I were waiting to have an ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby, but we had to sit through a bunch of baptisms first. Then fast forward (you know how dreams go), and Roy and I just got home to find Charlie screaming and Simon lying on the floor pinned under a chair. The top of the back of the chair was right on Simon's neck and he looked like an old man instead of a baby, his eyes bugging out of his head. He was ... not alive. I can't even say the word for what he was, because even in a dream, it's just wrong.

The second dream involved me and a friend going to the mall with both Charlie and Simon. We were in a shoe store and I left both boys with my friend to go use the restroom. When I returned, Simon was sitting in the stroller but Charlie was nowhere to be found. We searched and searched but he was gone. I was frantic, scared out of my head. The last thing I remember was CPS getting involved.

Then this morning. Once it was light out, Roy took Simon, and I slept a little on my own. And dreamed of a vampire apocalypse. My brother's best friend (who looked like his old best friend) and I were going to the top floor of a house to escape the many vampires that were on their way. We were huddled up there when from a distance I saw Charlie with my mother-in-law walking across the bridge to get to the top floor (where we were). Charlie had no idea what was going on; he was just being his cute little self and running around aimlessly. He was wearing his Easter shirt and blue jeans, his blond hair was flopping around as he ran. He ran right off the edge of the bridge. I was horrorstruck.

Then later someone showed up with Simon and he was given to me. At that point the vampires had arrived and were coming up to where we were. By some miracle, Charlie had lived through falling off the bridge and had returned. He also was given to me, and I was holding both him and Simon so tight. We were surrounded by vampires. It was just like a damn action movie, stupid music playing and all, and we were almost done for. I found myself wishing for two Ergo baby carriers because I had no idea how I was going to hold onto both of them and fight for our lives.

It was at that point that Roy woke me up, and I felt otherworldly. I can't say "I dreamt of a vampire apocalypse" with a straight face but it all felt so real. These dreams are almost exhausting as all this sickness.

Roy has been sleeping in Charlie's room for the past week. I've woken up in the middle of the night to find them both asleep in the glider, or Roy asleep on the floor with Charlie in his crib, or both Roy and Charlie on the floor. Simon and I sleep on the futon cushion on the floor in the other bedroom. If we are lucky, Roy and I get to have a face-to-face conversation during the day. If we are really lucky, we get to have some cuddle time in our bed (which largely remains abandoned these days) before one or both of the boys wakes up. It's a very strange delirium of a time. I miss my husband. I'm worried about my boys. I'm feeling guilty because my mom's here and there's all this sickness and we can't go out and do much and I'm tired and crabby and not my best self and I hole up in the office to write these bitchy blog posts instead of spending time with her but I so need the time to myself.

I'm feeling the weight of these dreams and I just want them to stop. I'm drowning in these terrible possibilities. I'm becoming a little afraid of the dark and of what sleep has to offer me. But I need need need, oh how I need that sleep. I can't remember the last time I slept through the night; I'm becoming somewhat of a wreck.

(Helppleasesendchocolatemaybesomeflowersanighttimebabysitterandsometranquilizersforthekiddosokaythanks.)

Dragtastic

2011-06-09T17:40:00.000-07:00

You know what I'm tired of? Captions of pictures that say things like this: "Please excuse my messy house!" or "Sorry, I look like shit in this picture." I've written plenty of explanations like that myself, even said things like this when people come over or something. But today I was wandering around the house looking for my phone and this realization washed over me. I am now 32 years old and I have spent a lot of time in my life apologizing for myself and feeling guilty about my feelings. Not all the time, and I certainly have gotten better about this in recent years, but that tendency still remains.

It's really fucking sad. It's so sad that I actually had to sit down for a minute and let that realization sink into me, the weight of it. Wow. And I don't think I'm alone here. I've noticed a lot of people doing this, and we all have one thing in common. We're women. I don't think I've ever witnessed a man doing this, ever. Have you?

On a related note, here is my kitchen sink right now. I am not going to apologize for the bits of avocado, the yogurt container, the disgusting rag. Nope.

(I suppose I could say something like "Sorry for the crappy cell phone picture!" but I'm done apologizing for the unnecessary.)

This week was supposed to be YAY BIRTHDAY WEEK! Instead it has turned into let's lie around and be crabby week. Charlie's had an off-and-on fever since Monday night and in general just hasn't been himself. So we've been lying around and being crabby. Both of our birthdays came and went without any big fanfare, which is so not what I wanted. I'm one of those bring on the fanfare types.

No fanfare right now. We're all just too tired. I started to feel guilty about the lack of celebration. I mean, Charlie's birthday arrived and we had nothing to give him, no gifts, no special breakfast, no fun outing, nothing except the video I made, which was actually a huge labor of love. But it wasn't as big of a day as I wanted it to be. And that's okay. He's not going to remember it. We'll have our birthday celebration on Sunday and everything will be great. Yeah?

My mom flies in tonight. Charlie's fever has been low-grade all day, a big improvement from the 104 of yesterday. Bring on the fanfare.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Charlie.

2011-06-08T22:17:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to me...

2011-06-07T22:24:00.000-07:00

You've got a lot to live up to, 32.

Practice

2011-06-06T21:55:00.000-07:00

I read Writing Down the Bones last week. I'd actually read it before, over 10 years ago. I don't think I was ready for it then, even though I liked it enough to keep it all these years.

Natalie Goldberg, the author of the book, stresses practice as the key to "unlocking the writer within," meaning you show up every day and practice (write). I used to feel pretty much the opposite - I'd only show up when I felt like it. Thankfully I usually felt (feel) like showing up often but I have yet to make writing my job. It's always been the thing I'm pursuing - what happens when it becomes work?

I got a taste of this last week. Roy came home from work early and I shut myself in the office for an hour. I had been dreaming of this all week - a whole hour to myself to write whatever I wanted! (The masterpieces that would come flowing out of my pen! Pulitzer Prize, here I come!) I wrote stream-of-consciousness style for ten minutes to warm up and then tried to work on various projects I've got going on. I got very little done because I kept switching around. Nothing felt like it fit. It was hard. It felt like work. I felt very discouraged at the end of the hour.

I don't know what to do with that discouragement other than conclude that it's my natural reaction to creating a new habit. And so I've got to push past it, because that's where the good stuff is.

***

I wrote the above about an hour ago and since then have been struggling with how to end this post. Because it's all well and good to say, "Well, I've just got to push past it," but doing it is a whole other story. I hate how I (and almost everyone else in the world) tend to say, "But I'm just gotta DO it" and that's it. I don't like that. But what's the alternative? If you've got to do the dishes, do the damn dishes. Writing isn't much different. I think I was just surprised at how the reality was SO different from my fantasy.

Life is tedious. From the every day chores, like dishes and laundry and cleaning counters, to the not-so-everyday chores, like paying for new tires, it sometimes feels like this thing called life is just one giant suckfest of blahs. Like, really? I stepped on avocado and it's smeared all over my foot AGAIN? The car needs gas AGAIN? It's so boring sometimes, and so unremarkable. And you know what? I always wanted to be remarkable. I wouldn't say that I was some genius child, but things came easily to me when I was a kid. I took dance lessons starting when I was 5 years old and the teacher told my mom I had the best point in the class. I didn't have to do a damn thing but point my foot! Amazing. And in school I got good grades so easily. I was always "a pleasure to have in class." And the stories just poured out of me and every single teacher I had told me that I was going to be a writer when I grew up. Because I was good at it so it was bound to happen, right?

I've learned a thing or two since I was a kid, thankfully. And one of the things I've learned is that natural talent is a wonderful thing, but practice makes all the difference. I have written a lot of shitty poems, blog posts, starts of stories etc. I've taken a lot of shitty pictures. But every once in awhile something salvageable comes bubbling up to the surface. The good stuff. And that's what I keep pushing myself towards. I've got natural talent for this writing thing, but it's still so raw. I could be better. I want to be better. So I'll keep practicing, even though sometimes it's damn annoying and inconvenient. Here's a little piece of practice for you, a small something I wrote in the car on the back of a receipt on Memorial Day:

your hand on my leg
in the car
on the way to Lowe's
to buy paint
for the play kitchen
you are building our son
for his 2nd birthday
feels like a divine message
scrawled on the back
of a Thrifty receipt:
"Hey, I love you
and I love this
Iron & Wine CD
and I love this morning
and its clouds of plenty."

***

Tomorrow's my birthday. Maybe as a gift to myself, I'll practice some more.

Still Life

2011-06-05T20:16:00.000-07:00

My kids are my main muses, but I often find myself drawn to silence and stillness around the house.

(a flower Charlie brought home from a walk)

(unmade bed)

(thumbelina carrots from the farmer's market)

(plants' reflection in our kitchen sink faucet)

(eggshells)

(tomatoes from the farmer's market)

(utensils)

(produce)

(strawberries!)

(grapefruit from our tree)

I had a little cold on Saturday but was feeling much better today. Some chicken soup and oscillococcinum kicked that pesky cold's ass. Good thing, because this week we've got two birthdays to celebrate and my mom is flying in on Thursday. I'm pretty excited to see her. The last time she was here, Charlie and Simon looked like this:

A lot can change in six months! And I can't believe Charlie is turning 2 on Wednesday. Wasn't he just born?

More Books, Less Clothes

2011-06-04T21:34:00.000-07:00

Today I went through my closet and found 49 items of clothing that I am not wearing. 49! What an obscene amount. So I took them all off the hangers and shoved them into a big garbage bag to donate. I did this quickly, in about the space of 15 minutes, so I wouldn't start second guessing my choices. I needed to do something to atone for the fact that Roy and I went to our neighbors' house this morning and took quite a few books off their hands. I feel simultaneously guilty and thrilled about bringing new books into the house.

Getting rid of clothes is easy for me, for the most part. I have finally reached the point where I'd rather have a few select items of clothing that I wear over and over as opposed to a whole closet full of choices. I want to own clothes that I feel good in, and I need to let go of the fact that the dress I wore on my 21st birthday (when I weighed an unhealthy 100 pounds) will never fit again, and why would I want it to? Still, it's a beautiful dress and it's still hanging in our closet for reasons I don't fully understand. It's in good company with the shirt I wore on my first date with Roy, the dress I wore to my high school graduation, the skirt I wore to my college graduation and the night Roy proposed. I know fully well that the memories I have of those milestones in my life will never fade, and yet I continue to hang onto what I wore then. It's absurd and yet a totally human thing to do.

Books are harder - although reading over the previous paragraph has me realizing that clothes aren't so easy after all. The other day I let my mother-in-law borrow a few books that were slated to be donated to the library. I couldn't bear the thought of parting with them. Letting go of books is like finally admitting to myself that there are limitations to this life and I will never be able to read every single thing I want - there's just not enough time for that. I want to read Virginia Woolf and all the other greats! And yet when given the choice, I always bypass Virginia Woolf (for example) for someone else.

These big realizations are sometimes crippling, sometimes freeing. I find myself torn a lot of the time. I love how I feel after a big purge of our possessions but getting there is sometimes a heavy process. Looking at that dress I wore on my 21st birthday is a huge reminder of my Great Depression, yet when I look at pictures from that day I see a smiling (albeit way too skinny) girl. I should probably just get rid of the damn thing; I do have pictures, after all.

Here's a picture of the books that I had stacked in the office before I cleaned it out. I'm still feeling massively guilty over acquiring more books. There are worse habits, though, right?

Food Is Love

2011-06-03T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'm not a foodie. For the longest time, I did not get people's fascination with food or food blogs or cooking shows or anything else. I grew up not thinking much about what I was eating or what was in it or where it came from. I had a penchant for fast food, soda, candy, cookies, chips, and all that other processed junk. (I still do.) Several years ago a co-worker buddy told me he was reading The Omnivore's Dilemma and that it was about knowing where your food comes from (among other things). I honestly had no clue what he was talking about - I had no frame of reference for any of it. My food came from the store! What else could I possibly need to know?

(I am cringing a little at how terribly ignorant I was about food just a few short years ago.)

Additionally, I never really cared for cooking. I didn't even learn how to cook until Roy and I moved in together. Before then, I ate out or made spaghetti noodles with butter using my one pot my mom bought me when I moved into my first apartment. Once I learned to cook, I recognized the importance of it and went through the motions of putting food on the table. I did not get how people could see cooking as a creative outlet because to me it was a means to an end. You're hungry, so you make something to eat so you won't be hungry anymore. The end.

Since then I have been learning little bits here and there and making small changes in my diet. Having kids has pushed me to make healthier choices, but in order to make those choices I've had to learn a lot. As a result, I've become much more interested in growing our own garden, going to the farmer's market, buying local and/or organic, and (wait for it) cooking.

(Let me interject here to let you know that I still enjoy the hell out of Dr. Pepper and a bunch of other junk that may end up killing me. However, I am miles away from where I used to be and in a few years I'm sure I'll be miles away from where I am now. I believe in baby steps when it comes to making changes.)

A few months back I was reading through Aura joon's archives (great blog with gorgeous pictures, btw) and came across this post on food. I love how passionate she is about food. When I was done reading that blog entry, I came away thinking, "Food is love." (She may have even said that in her post; I can't really remember.)

Nothing says "hey, I dig you" more than food. Recently I developed a crush on the cute family down the street so I brought them a small basket of strawberries from the farmer's market. A blog friend came to visit and I brought her and her husband some strawberries, too. Today I drove out to Orange County to see a friend and brought some strawberry muffins I made last night. There's something extra special about giving someone some good clean food to eat.

We have a grapefruit tree on our property and I love it when our friends come over and pick some to take home and enjoy. It's just such a simple and uncomplicated happiness. That's the way we should eat. Simple. Uncomplicated. Without all the unnecessary crap that turns real food into food-like substances.

Last night Roy's allergies were acting up, so I made chicken soup. Every week we buy a whole organic chicken at the farmer's market and cook it in the slow cooker, and then we use it for meals throughout the week. I used the rest of the chicken and the broth from when we cooked it for the soup, threw in some carrots and green onions, and steamed up some rice. I also roasted some carrots and that was our (healthy) dinner. I was actually beaming last night - this is what I mean by food being a simple and uncomplicated happiness. I cooked and fed my family with love, and I felt it all the way in my soul. That's amazing when you really think about it.

(homemade organic chicken soup)

(yummy)

(roasted organic carrots)

(healthy toddler meal: cheese, avocado, carrots, chicken soup with rice, and milk)

(healthy toddler who refused his high chair and instead ate dinner with Elmo, Zoe, and his magnadoodle)

Charlie is not having a big birthday party this year. Instead, we're going to have a small gathering of just family, and I think I will cook everything myself. I have never, ever, ever attempted anything like this. I'm still not sure what we'll be serving, but I think it'll be a lot of fun, and a lot of love will go into it, of course.

This is not what I planned.

2011-06-02T22:39:00.000-07:00

I had a decent post in the works, but in the past hour (well, over an hour now) that I've been writing it, Charlie was throwing a tantrum and woke Simon up twice - so I've been away from the computer more than I've been on it. Yes, an hour long tantrum WAY after he had been put in bed for the night. It makes no sense to me why things have gotten so out of control but they have, and we've tried everything, from rocking to singing to back patting to even letting him cry and scream for short intervals. Nothing works consistently.

We had two great nights in a row on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I was hoping that was the end of this terrible stage, but apparently not. So instead of my decent post, here's this crappy, whiny one. I'm a little irritated because I even uploaded pictures to post but it's just getting way too late. And Simon woke me up at 4:30 this morning all ready to play so I'm just dead.

But I hope to redeem myself with this offering.

My new favorite song:

Listen to and enjoy this little beauty, and I'll see you tomorrow.

Hello, June!

2011-06-01T21:40:00.000-07:00

Since it's my birth month, I've decided to give you a present.

I'm going to post every day for the month of June. YAY.

One of my primary goals for this month is to get into a writing schedule, so I think posting a lot will help with that. Another one of my goals for June is to catch up on the 3,000+ photos just sitting on my desktop. Today I finally finished January. The two photos in this post are a couple of my favorites from that month.

Anyway, it's entirely possible that I could run out of ideas on things to write about, so if you'd like me to write on a specific topic, please leave your comments and/or questions in the comments, and I'd be happy to give you my thoughts.

The Month of May

2011-05-31T14:19:00.000-07:00

May was about decompression and quiet (as quiet as it can be with two little boys in the house) and balance and clarity.

In May:

Osama bin Laden died. The Rapture did not happen. I had a wonderful Mother's Day, complete with a beautiful necklace from my boys, breakfast out, a box of chocolates, an eyebrow wax and bang trim, some much treasured time to myself, a visit from friends, and dinner at my mother-in-law's. Simon started getting on his hands and knees in preparation for crawling and he also started making BIG sounds in preparation for talking. Simon amazed us with his abilities to move across the room at record speed by just wiggling and rolling around. Charlie baffled us (and still does) with his mega nighttime tantrums and as a result, we got little sleep the entire month. But Charlie amused us by starting to say HI! to everything, from the flowers to the ants to his own pudgy little arm. And Charlie melted my heart by saying, "Hi Mommy. I mishu." We went to Sea World and the Renaissance Faire and a wedding at a winery, strolled around the neighborhood, went to the Farmer's Market and to play with friends, and spent lots of time in our "backyard." We had family pictures taken, thanks to Becki, which you will see scattered throughout this post. I went to a free zumba class and loved it. I started taking art lessons on the cheap twice a month and love that too. I did yoga on our back patio early Friday morning under the trees and (guess what?) I loved that as well.

Life is good.

Of course, life also deals out some shitty situations, like the fact that we are poor and on top of that we are having some issues with the birth center who handled my pregnancy and labor. I will probably say more on that when I know more (and by that, I mean when the issue has been completely dealt with). These things are stressful, to be sure. But they aren't everything. Life is full of such annoyances.

Clarity is often difficult in a world that seems designed to keep true understanding at bay. From the depths of the garage we dug out three big Rubbermaid containers filled with my old journals and I read through a few of them. Ten years ago I was an incredibly prolific writer but, as I have already mentioned many times before, I was also existing in the blackest hole of desperation and depression that I have ever experienced. Dealing with sexual abuse and daddy issues on top of being a confused 20-something year old made such a terrible combination. I was just so lost and I had no idea of what I was doing or where I was going and I didn't even have much of a clue that things were going to get better. I made some awful decisions and I hated myself. I hated myself and believed myself incapable of love. And that was all I wanted: love. To love and to know that someone in this big cruel world loved me back.

I proved my hurting and cynical self wrong when I married Roy and had his babies.

But there is another side to the story.

As I grew up and shed the heavy skin of that lost little girl, I not only gave up the ridiculous notion that I would never know real love but I also gave up the idealist who wanted to drop out of college and just write and who for a short while did just that. But then I re-enrolled in college and being a scholar was my religion for awhile. I had already convinced myself that writing for a living wasn't going to happen and so I had to figure out something else. And so once I got my BA in English, I immediately went on to pursue an MA in English because I was still trying to figure out something else to do with my life. We read stories and poems and essays and critical writings and I loved every minute of my education, both undergrad and grad. (Well, mostly.) I was thrilled to be surrounded by all the depth and genius of those writers. Learning is an amazing thing and a gift for which I am so grateful.

But I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I could have been a college professor or a journalist or a photographer or a teacher or even something entirely random, and I could even have stayed at my terrible job that I hated, continuing to proofread boring legal documents while putting up with inordinate amounts of bullshit.

I could have done all of these things and even enjoyed some of them, but the only thing I really wanted (other than babies) was to write, dammit.

I gave up the crappy job after Charlie was born and worked through all the birth trauma and then had Simon, and I find myself deeply and joyfully entrenched in this mothering thing - not just the mothering thing, but this stay-at-home mothering thing. On any given day I get to hang out with my kids, watch them meet another milestone, play outside, take walks, read books, laugh, cry, change ten poopy diapers, go for playdates or to the park. Some days are damn hard but I love it wholeheartedly. And I am fulfilled in a way that I thought I could only dream of. It's a gift, to have this time with them.

My graduate degree remains unfinished. I only have my thesis to go. My course work is set to expire a year from now. I took a year-long leave of absence for this year because of Simon. A few months ago I began to think about going back. I decided that I needed to change my thesis topic because I was no longer interested in the old one (that I've had since 2005). I got the ok from my advisor and was instructed to start researching and reading and putting together a thesis committee. That was almost two months ago, and I haven't done anything remotely related to school.

I don't want to research or read or put together a committee or write a thesis. I know I should want to do it, after putting so much time, energy, and money into the program, but I don't want it anymore. I don't want any of it.

And that is what I said to Roy a couple of weeks ago: "What if I don't go back to school?"

Sometimes all you have to do is ask the question, and then you'll see the answer.

Which is:

Start where I am. Find a place amongst all the toys, piles of crap, unpaid bills, and dirty diapers, and write. Clean out the office and make a space for writing to happen, and write. Carve out both small and big chunks of time, and write. Start or join a writer's group, and write. Do the dishes and the laundry, and write. Deal with life's stressors and beauties, and write. Love my husband, and write. Mother my kids, and write. Piss and moan about how unoriginal I am and how I have no extra time, and write. Practice saying "I am a writer" instead of "I want to be a writer", and write. Forget what I should be doing (like finishing my degree), and write.

And that is where I find myself at the end of this strange and glorious May. Motherhood has stripped me of the extraneous, bringing me back to myself, and I finally understand that my past self was indeed sad and lonely, but she wasn't wrong about everything. She knew that the dream would never die - and that it shouldn't.

I've come full circle, but this time as a whole person - and a writer. And so I write. Because in writing is where I find my truth. I write and I write and I write and I write.

Oh, Saturday

2011-05-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

I don't know what to say here sometimes. So let's start with my immediate surroundings.

I use my laptop a lot in the kitchen. We have this big pull-out cutting board that makes a wonderful desk, and also a wonderful place for stacking various things like books and papers, storing toys and half-eaten food, and also does an amazing job at its intended use: cutting things. Often I am cutting oranges or strawberries right next to my beat up ol' Macbook and as a result there is food stuck all over it.

Anyway, next to me is that sink full of dirty dishes that you see in the photo above. I'm lazy and there are a million other things I would rather be doing than cleaning up that mess that's been sitting there since last night. I'm so lazy that I took that photo through Photobooth so I wouldn't have to pull out my camera, take the picture, find the cord to upload the picture to my computer, and post it here.

So let the record reflect that I am lazy, so lazy that the diapers that went through their final rinse this morning are still in the washer, waiting to be transferred to the dryer. It's the weekend. I've already done 10 loads of laundry this week, as well as 10 loads of dishes, if not more. I've put away countless clean items of clothing, swept the floor, wiped down the high chairs, and I'm just done. I hate all this maintenance. I would say it's pointless but I know it's not. The house needs to be somewhat clean so that we can all exist in harmony, and from time to time I do enjoy the act of cleaning. But you know what I enjoy more? The acts of reading, writing, listening to music, watching movies. And sleeping.

Nighttime sleep has been scarce around here this past week. I wish I could blame Simon, but the main culprit has been Charlie, who is going through some weird stage where he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night (not scared, just tantrums) or doesn't want to go to bed at all. There have been a lot of tears and not much sleep. But I've had a nap every single day this week, which is pretty damn rare. One nap is pretty much a miracle, but a whole week of them? Aces.

I am reading this right now.
This has been haunting me for the past few days.
I watched this and this recently and have this and this on deck.
I remain obsessed with this, this, and this.

There's been much on my mind lately. For the past couple of weeks I've been feeling so content, with not the words to describe why or how. But the happy have to fall, yes? Straight into a pit of darkness, which is what happened to me around 3:30 this morning. I feel like life would be so much easier if I wasn't so damn moody. In all reality I know I'm not all that moody, but I'd like to just stay one thing for longer sometimes.

(That's a plant we've got growing in our kitchen. That picture came out that way out of the camera and I think it's perfect. I've been more pleased with my pictures lately, perhaps because I'm becoming more forgiving of my lack of photographic skills. My mind has been elsewhere.)

I guess that's the thing, I've become more forgiving of myself in general. Until I fall into that pit of darkness, and then everything I do is wrong.

On that note, I need to go find my happy place. I'll be back sometime later.

this moment

2011-05-20T21:16:00.000-07:00

On my mind tonight is a woman I once knew. She taught Psychology and Sociology at my high school, but I didn't have her for either class. I was a PAL, and she was our group sponsor. She was kind and generous, bold and regal and statuesque. She was never afraid of letting us know exactly how she felt, whether it was her bright smile when she was happy or her fierce glare when we'd disappointed her. I only recall that glare happening once in the two years I was a member of the PAL organization. I still remember how it felt to wither helplessly under the angry disappointment in her eyes.

One time, we had to bring something to class that reflected what was most important to us. I brought a pen and confessed to the group my dreams of becoming a writer when I grew up. From then on, my teacher gave me all the creative writing assignments for our group. After I graduated, she gave me a bookmark and the book in the picture above.

I was one student among hundreds, maybe even thousands, that she'd known in her career as a teacher, and she still remembered my dream.

She died ten years ago, in May 2001, just four years after I graduated from high school. Her breast cancer spread and it eventually took her. I went to her funeral and walked up to see her body, and I still can recall the shocking whiteness of her hair and her hands clutching her glasses in her casket. I remember her in death just as clearly as in life. I don't want to remember her dead. I still don't like to think of this world without her.

I read that Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul book once, and for the past ten years it has followed me from place to place. From Texas all the way to California, through my many residences. It's lived a comfy existence on my bookshelf and was never even opened again until just a few days ago. I picked it up, wondering if it was time to let it go. I thought of her and wondered what she'd want me to do with it, felt guilt at the possibility of parting with something she'd given me. And then I put it in our box of things to donate. It's time for some other fledgling writer to read it. Besides, she gave me so much more than that book.

She believed in me. At a time in my life when people had started giving me the side eye when I announced my intentions to become a writer, she gave me permission to hold onto the dream.

I have never let go.

This week Roy and I had A Very Serious Conversation about just what it is I want to do with my life. I told him that I love staying at home with the boys but that I also really want to do this writing thing. I want to write like a motherfucker. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Well then, let's find a way to make this happen."

It's time to live the dream. I think she'd be proud of me.

whoring myself out for an iPad2

2011-05-18T12:59:00.000-07:00

It's true. Look here.

I want it.

Obligatory copying and pasting of info:

I’m posting this to enter a contest offered by MeridaHome at Design For Mankind! I want to win the iPad 2! (and I love Erin’s shoes!)

Let the games begin.

Six Months Old, and Some Rambling

2011-05-16T20:51:00.000-07:00

Say hello to Simon. He's six months old today and feeling quite jolly about it.

So my baby is half a year old and I'm still kind of crapping my pants about it. Time is a tricky, sneaky bastard.

Simon is Mr. Happy (except when he's not). He puts his soul into his smiles. He laughs from the depths of his belly. He's super chubby, and I adore all his rolls. He got his first real taste of solid food yesterday (avocado). He can sit up unassisted for longish periods of time (but there are still plenty of faceplants). Crawling is just around the corner. Right now he's really into plank pose. Fine by me; I'm really not in a rush to have two mobile children. (Yikes.)

And his hair. Oh my, I'm so in love with his red hair. It just suits him.

It's been a fun six months. The things I've learned! I've been stretched way past the limits of my heart and I'm feeling good, really good, about this motherhood thing.

Today also marks my six month anniversary of exclusive breastfeeding. I never expected to love it as much as I do, but I find it to be an almost spiritual experience. When Simon is nursing, and he turns his bright blue eyes up to my face, I become small in the face of something that is so much bigger than me - but that is me. It's the best mindfuck ever. I'm so happy to be able to do this, and so proud of myself for sticking with it.

I really wanted to post Simon's birth story today. I was working on it last night and had to stop. I've found that I have to write it a little at a time. I end up getting distracted or emotional or something other than focused. There's much I have to say regarding that whole experience. Much to say about many things, actually, but somehow two kids is 500 times more work. And 500 times more fun. It's true. Life has been good to me, even when it's being a shithead.

A little birdie told me, in not so many words, that I need to update more often. It's true, I do need (and want) to update more often. (See above about two kids being 500 times more work.) The past few days have been filled with epiphany and clarity. I love both things. I love sharing about both things. So it's a good time to write.

I posted at the end of April about my overwhelming feelings of being overwhelmed. I was seriously overwhelmed. Have you ever felt overwhelmed? Because that was me - totally overwhelmed.

It seemed like everywhere I looked, aside from my little family, things were completely out of control, in the worst state of chaos ever. I couldn't find anything. I had no place to put anything. In our house, not everything has a place. Just take a look at the top of our microwave:

Doesn't look so bad, but when you list everything out, like this:

(a bar of lavender soap wrapped in purple tissue paper, the case for a Donald Duck DVD, a body butter container filled with change (and it still smells like shea butter), a CD of white noise, a bobby pin, two receipts, two halves of two separate plastic Easter eggs, a blank greeting card, a pen, and a copy of this biography)

you realize the need for order. That's a lot of stuff crammed into a really small space. So imagine the stuff we could cram into a whole room. Like our home office.

Ugh. This poor room. We've treated it so terribly. It's gone from pristine to dumping ground several times in the two and a half years we've lived here, and I'm just done. I decided on Thursday that it was time to treat it with the respect it deserved, so on Friday I had my mother-in-law come over to watch the boys. I hauled every last piece of crap out of there, and Roy and I spent the weekend going through most of it. I listed 33 books on Paperbackswap and about 15 CDs on SwapACD. I filled up a box full of things to give or return to others and another box of things to donate.

But it still feels like we have too much. We live in a state of information overload, and there is often too much coming in and not enough going out. Too much emails, snail mail, blogs, websites, projects, to-do lists, and not enough time, space, or energy.

I finally made a big realization, one that I've been inching towards for quite some time now. This whole time I have been trying to do things the same way as I did before I had kids. And it's just not possible.

I can no longer write out long to-do lists for each day or even each week. It's a recipe for failure.

I can no longer come home from yard sales with a big stack of books. As much as I want to, I don't have time to read them all.

I can no longer collect fabric, yarn, old clothes, or art supplies in the hopes that I will be some crafty mama. At this stage it's just not happening. Well, just kidding about the art supplies. I do tend to use those sometimes.

I have this tendency to collect ideas and thoughts (in addition to things), write them down, bookmark them, star them in Google Reader, and then not do a damn thing with them. I like to collect because I like to have choices and because I want to do everything in the world. (This is why Pinterest is like crack to me.) But oh, then I got smacked in the face with another epiphany.

All my choices are really what's making me distracted.

Sit down and think about that for a minute. Think about the internet (as an example) and how it's just this big black hole of options. Click here, here, here, and here, and next thing you know it's three hours past your bedtime and holy fuck, you're going to need a lot of coffee tomorrow, not to mention the fact that the kitchen is still a mess and you still need to take a shower and probably spend some time with the ol' ball and chain. Three hours doing absolutely nothing but fucking around in cyberspace.

But real life can be like that, too. Every Monday night Roy and I watch a movie together, usually something on Netflix instant view. We generally spend more time browsing through all the options than we do watching the actual movie. It's so completely frustrating and stupid.

I love options. But I'm also tired of them.

So I sat down and did some more cleaning. I unsubscribed (again) from Facebook notifications and a few other sites that were clogging up my inbox, and then I went into my Google Reader and mercilessly unsubscribed from 150+ blogs. I went from 284 feeds down to 131 in the space of five minutes. And it felt damn good.

(I still think 131 RSS feeds is fucking ridiculous, but give me time. I'm still learning.)

I know that I've talked a lot about purging and uncluttering and all that, but it's in my nature to be a packrat. I've always liked to hold onto things, particularly cards, photos, letters, and books. I am actually quite a sentimental person. But sometimes it gets to the point where all the stuff I have gets in the way of my life, and that's when I know things need to change. That I need to change.

So that's what I'm doing. I'm attempting to change, one box of crap at a time. I am not the same person who could read 15 books in a month, write for two hours every day, keep up with a shitload of blogs, and watch a movie every night. My life has changed.

I'm a mama. A mama! I still sometimes can't believe it. I've never felt quite so alive. But I can't do all I want to. In the middle of the day, I sometimes find myself glancing longingly at the bookshelf, or the bed, or the bathtub, wanting to take a nice hot bath with a good book, followed by a nap. I want a deep creative life, where I write and take photos and paint and do whatever else with wild abandon. I want to travel and eat good food and get massages and pedicures and eyebrow waxes on a regular basis. But when I chose to have kids, I said goodbye to some of that for awhile. Not all of it, but some of it. I've had to slow down and realize that I can have everything, but I can't have everything all at once. My brother told me that once, and I thought he was full of shit. But the older I get, the more I return to it.

I may not have everything, but I have more than I ever thought I'd get. I have my boys, I have my husband, I have love. It's all I ever wanted. And I've never felt so inspired. Happiness suits me.

this moment

2011-05-06T11:59:00.000-07:00

My mother-in-law and I took the boys to Sea World this week. It was a wonderful, low key day, and we all had a great time. Above is my favorite picture from the trip. When I look at it, I know that it is a good picture of who Charlie is right now. He loves animals and is content to watch them for long periods of time. In this picture, he's looking at the "yions" (sea lions).

We didn't see much of what Sea World has to offer, and that was just fine with me. We let Charlie tell us what he wanted to do, and that's what we did. (We got the educational discount rate so the amount of admission was not an issue.) I've been feeling so rushed and overscheduled and overwhelmed that now, all I hear from my body and mind is "slow down." Our weekends into June have somehow filled up, but now I'm thinking of bowing out of some things in favor of some R&R.

For Mother's Day weekend our original plan was to go camping as a family in the mountains. Then we became a little concerned about the cold, so I said I wanted to spend Mother's Day out at the Mission San Juan Capistrano. But I got a killer sunburn at Sea World, and plus I'm just beat. So all I really want for Mother's Day is a nice, long, uninterrupted nap and perhaps a pedicure. I want to spend the day just relaxing. I really have no desire to go anywhere.

It's time for me to get back to the basics. Inside it feels like chaos and everything around me reflects that. So I'm taking a page from the Book of Charlie. I'm going to stop and watch the sea lions. Or, as the case may be, stop and watch the flowers bloom.

Nice work, Mr. President.

2011-05-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

Our world is now a little safer for my two sweet boys and all the other children out there.

My humble thanks.

I give up.

2011-04-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

It's been far too long since I updated. I've started several posts, only to be pulled away by one thing or another, and each post ends up in that graveyard of drafts, never to be touched again. I'd like to finish something, but perhaps all I really can do right now is start. And start. And start again.

There was a discussion about motherhood on one of my Facebook groups recently, and something profound was said (not by me):

I am trying to peel back the layers of pressure and emerge as MYSELF.

I've returned to this over and over since first reading it, and I've decided that it's just one of those things that I need to keep inside as a mantra, something to hang onto. A reminder that there is a self buried under all this stuff and I'd do well to honor her.

And so I give up. I can't do it all. I can't update here with the regularity I prefer, I can't keep my house clean, I can't keep the laundry folded, I can't seem to make family dinner happen, I can't make the bed, I can't pay the bills on time, I can't be away from Simon for more than a couple of hours at a time because he just won't take a bottle. This is chaos. I don't like chaos. I'm a big fan of order, of balance, but I just can't seem to find either. They are both elusive, like smoke burning through a life that looks nothing like this one.

And I'm lonely sometimes. I have so much to be grateful for, and yet the loneliness persists. I would say it's the human condition, but I don't know that for sure. So let's just say that it's my condition.

And yet I'm not unhappy. Because motherhood has stripped me of so much petty nonsense, and here I am, emerging as myself, with bags under my eyes, jeans that are way too big, a hopeless head of hair, unshaved legs, a runny nose (allergies? a cold brewing?), a novel writing itself in my head, lines of poems scrawled on random sheets of paper, stacks and stacks of books that I want to read, songs that play over and over in my head (including songs from Sesame Street). I am completely incoherent and that bothers me but at the same time I feel free. There is no time to doubt, only time to be and do and all those other weird verbs. Every day another layer is stripped away, because motherhood is an exercise in letting go.

Some big challenges are looming on the horizon, and I am anxious. Keep me in your thoughts? I'll try to report back more often in May. In the meantime, here's a picture of Simon, who is now five months old and just as red-headed and blue-eyed as he can be.

And let's not forget Charlie, who is (as you can see) so not a baby anymore.

I have never loved like this, nor have I ever felt so real or alive. It's love that makes me myself.

Happy Birthday, My Love

2011-04-02T12:43:00.000-07:00

Roy turns 32 today!

Charlie and Simon bought him some wood-carving tools and wrote him this birthday letter:

Dear Daddy,

Happy birthday! You are sooooo old! But you sing the best songs. And we love you. And we got you these tools because we know you like to make things. We know you are tired so we will try to sleep really good for you this weekend. We are so excited to go to see the aquarium with you and Mommy. You are the best daddy EVER.

Love,

Charlie & Simon

Smart kids, yeah? They sure do love their dad, and he really does love them, even though most of the time he's really, really tired.

We were musing this morning over how we met when we were 25, and we didn't know where we'd be at 32 (not that we really considered the age of 32 specifically anyway), but what a sweet (and sleep-deprived) place it is. Happy birthday, Roy.

this moment

2011-04-01T13:55:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I accidentally ended up at a poetry workshop. I say it was an accident because there we were, minding our own business, having driven down to the farmer's market for our produce and a whole chicken and a rosemary plant (which I cannot say without singing in my head, "parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme"). We then walked to the library for some books; there was a conference going on, lots of cool booths set up in front of the library, and my mother-in-law was there. We all went inside, and I was nursing Simon in the kids section when she said excitedly, "There's a poetry workshop! You should go!"

"Cool," I replied, wanting to check it out but unsure of how to do that at that moment, baby attached to me and all. We talked logistics, I handed her Simon once he was done, and then I ran across the street to where the workshop was. My hair was unbrushed, I had no makeup on, and I was wearing the shirt I slept in the night before. There was a mistake with the program and the workshop was actually almost over by the time I showed up, but the poet running it encouraged me to stay. After everyone else had left, she let me pick a writing prompt from a list. The prompt was from Pablo Neruda's most excellent book The Captain's Verses: "We have changed a thousand times." I wrote for ten minutes without stopping, often surprised at the feeling of tears welling up in my eyes. At the end of the ten minutes, I had a few pages of rambling and a deep understanding of just how long it has been since I have really done this writing thing the way I really want to do it.

It seems that the universe really is trying to tell me something, what with hearing about the publication of my professor's book, serendipitously ending up in this poetry workshop, and then reading this just last night. The voice is telling me, "Write on, sister!" and so this week that is what I've been doing, pure unadulterated untamed writing. Finding the time is difficult but I'm learning to do this writing thing over and over; it seems like the process of learning never ever ends, even though I have been doing this my whole life. I told the poet who taught the workshop that I had been writing since I was a kid, and she said, "I can tell." And I said, "I don't know how not to do it. It's just what I do."

And that's true. It's just what I do.

Truth on a Wednesday Morning

2011-03-30T08:48:00.000-07:00

I read this most excellent post on parenting this morning and found myself nodding my head emphatically. And then I posted something in the comments (which disappeared, and I'm not sure why) that said: "I formula fed my first son, and the reason why I did that is because I did not get the support I needed at a critical time."

And that's the truth of what happened. No more, no less, really. I mean, I guess I could say more, but I've already done that.

It feels good to finally not feel like I am so much to blame. It's sad that so many of our parenting choices are called into question day after day after day - by other mothers, no less. Parenting has become such a three-ring circus of a pissing contest - in some circles. It's ridiculous. Yes, I'd love to feed my kids all organic/local, never have a chemical touch my kids' soft skin, and never, ever get upset with them. But some days just suck and we're all lucky just to have made it to bedtime without a major nervous breakdown.

I hope that I will never, ever, EVER again let someone make me feel so terrible for what was a necessary choice at the time.

On another note, my friend and I took our kids to McDonald's yesterday, and I nursed in public without a cover. I have nursed in public without a cover before, but really only when I was in a quiet area. This wasn't a quiet area. So color me surprised that 1) I'm one of those people who nurses in public, and 2) I actually stepped foot in a McDonald's.

Ahhh, motherhood. It's just full of the unexpected.

this moment

2011-03-25T13:20:00.000-07:00

(Charlie in the bathtub, rockin' the 104 fever)

It seems like I have really good weeks, followed by ones that are so bad, they're stupid. This was a stupid week.

(More) sickness! (Extended) family drama! (Old) friend drama! All in all, pretty depressing.

On a happier note, we did have our house cleaned. By a professional. A professional who changed our sheets, emptied our cat box, cleaned our trash cans, and made our house genuinely sparkle. Having someone come clean the house is a gift from my mom, and I love her for it.

But let's talk about the bad stuff, because I just feel like complaining and because I like documenting this stuff. (I won't be discussing the drama for obvious reasons.) My back was bothering me big time at the beginning of the week. (Probably from toting around a 19 lb baby and 30 lb toddler.) We were so sleep deprived because Simon is in the middle of the dreaded four month wakeful period, up at least 4 or 5 times a night. By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was feeling awful, but I truly thought it was just sleep deprivation and muscle tension. (Just!)

Charlie was very reserved on Tuesday, up until the afternoon when he was melting down every five minutes or so for no reason at all. At one point I was holding him and noticed how hot he was. Turns out he had a fever of 104! I have to admit that for one second, I quietly panicked. Just for one second. He's never had a fever that high. My first thought was "let's take him to the ER" but then I called the on-call doc, who reassured us that really young children can actually handle higher fevers much better than adults can. We gave him dinner, a lukewarm bath, and some Tylenol, and by the time bedtime rolled around, his fever was down to 100.9.

That was a long night, with Charlie and Simon both waking up multiple times - Simon had developed a fever as well. In the wee hours of the morning, I began to feel feverish, took my temperature and it was 99.5. The muscle tension had made its way into my ribs at that point - it felt very much like the back and rib pain I had when I was pregnant with Charlie. I was pretty much hurting all over, but at that point I knew I was getting sick and that some of it had to be the dreaded body aches. I did see my chiropractor that morning - my mother-in-law, saint that she is, had to drive me because I was in that much pain.

When I got home I crawled into bed. And only really emerged to help Roy take the boys to the doctor. It was a heartbreaking visit. I am not one of those moms who cries when her kids get shots or things like that. They recover so quickly and never make a big deal about it, so that's probably why. Either that, or I am a soulless demon. But Charlie was oh so traumatized from the beginning, starting with the nurse trying to take his temperature. She couldn't get a good reading because he kept thrashing around and screaming. At one point, he shrieked, "A bear? A bear?", wanting to hold his polar bear BFF. Oh man, it was just so sad. I ended up taking his temperature myself, which went much better. Then, when it came time to weigh him, he was inconsolable. I almost lost it myself and had to make an active effort not to cry. Poor Chuckles.

Simon was much more agreeable, and after ruling out meningitis, the doctor said they probably had the flu. He gave us a prescription for Tamiflu, which we did not get filled. But by the time we got home, the boys had no more fever. Charlie slept pretty well during the night, while Simon woke up a gazillion times. I had my fever off and on all through the night, but by Thursday morning it was gone. As the day went on, my body stopped hurting so much, but my sore throat, which had been mild up until that point, got much, much worse. Charlie was pretty much a mess for most of the day, and I can only assume that he was dealing with a sore throat as well.

I took some Advil before bed last night for my throat, which helped, but I woke up multiple times in the night (thanks, Simon!) absolutely soaked in sweat. It was pretty bizarre. I am not a person who sweats much, certainly not while sleeping. I also had a very strange dream, which is nothing unusual. I dreamt that one of my favorite bloggers wrote a pretty interesting new post. Then I was going down some giant water slide on an air mattress somewhere in Central America. But then I had to go back to my friend's house for some other reason that I can't remember, and then I left again. I got involved with a bunch of people who decided to steal pizza, and we got totally busted by the cops just as we were about to leave in our giant tour jeep. Oh, and I lost my camera. I was seeing all these cool things in Central America and had no way of documenting them. When we got back from our tour, I went to lost and found to see if anyone had turned in my camera, but no luck. My keys were there, though. That's pretty much all I remember of that dream. I woke up thinking about Malibu and how much I would love to take the boys camping there sometime soon. Maybe we'll do that. We deserve something supremely fun after all this sickness crap.

Being sick is depressing. We've had about five bouts of sickness in our home since Simon was born, and I'm really kind of burned out on it. I've never had to deal with this much sickness in such a short amount of time; I can only assume that it's because of the boys, which is fine - being sick is good for their immune system, but blah. It really is not fun at all. I spent several hours on Thursday reading the archives of this blog, which I hadn't read in several years, and was reminded how lucky we are not to be dealing with chronic illness. The boys are healthy; Roy and I are healthy. That is everything.

(PS, This week Simon gave up the swaddle and the swing. He's been sleeping on the floor, in our bed, or in the bouncy chair.)

these moments

2011-03-18T21:18:00.000-07:00

Last night I left the boys with Roy and went to go get my hair done. On the way, I listened to Pearl Jam's Binaural album (meh) and while I was there, I read two tattered copies of Poets & Writers magazine (awesome). One of my graduate school professors was profiled in January's issue for getting her book published, and I was grinning while reading about it. She was one of my favorite professors - I interned with her, actually.

Right before Christmas, my mom treated me to a trip to the salon. I hadn't had anything done to my hair since I dyed it pink, and I was in desperate need of something. My hair has gotten lighter and lighter over the years, thanks to various stylists I've seen, and so I wanted to try to get back to my natural color (which is a kind of icky mousy color) so there would be less maintenance. So I got some lowlights. I really did like it at first but after awhile I started to feel really blah about it. So this time I decided to go for some more highlights, plus some red. My stylist also taught me how to make my hair look "beachy" by styling my natural waves. I was surprised at how cute I looked - most of the time I feel like a smelly old hag who is covered in mashed up food and spit up.

I came home a happy girl and was greeted by Roy, who was holding a sleeping Simon. Apparently Simon was not happy that I wasn't there to put him to bed and finally conked out in Roy's arms after screaming a whole lot. Poor little guy. We got Simon off to bed and Roy gave me his anniversary gift to me: a Daytrotter T-shirt! I was stoked. I have downloaded so much free music from that site so I'm super happy that I got a T-shirt to show my support. Bonus: the T-shirt was made in L.A., so we essentially bought local. Big fat yay.

(The picture above is me in my new hair and Daytrotter shirt. I am so happy in this picture because I feel so pretty. Honestly, I feel guilty sometimes for wanting to change my appearance through different hair color, etc. I feel like I should just accept myself as is and that by manipulating my appearance I am just giving into what women are expected to want while also not setting a good example for my kids. I have a lot of Very Serious Conversations with myself about how I should not want to get my eyebrows waxed, but there is no denying that when I look in the mirror, I am horrified by the giant bearskin rugs hanging out above my eyes. I just feel better when my hair is lighter and my eyebrows thinner. I enjoy wearing makeup because it makes me feel pretty. I like having flattering clothes. I can't help these things; maybe I should stop feeling bad about wanting to feel beautiful. I mean, as long as I recognize that true beauty comes from within, it's all good, right? I don't know. I struggle with this - a lot.)

I ate two special St. Patrick's Day cupcakes our neighbor gave us and went to bed. The remainder of the night sucked. Simon was up a lot during the night, and it was a definite flashback to more challenging times. We've had a couple of other difficult nights this week, which is strange because Simon has always done remarkably well at this sleeping thing. Oh well. There's not much I can do about it except hope that this passes quickly. Perhaps we will try some new things if this continues. In the meantime, zzzzzzzzzz.

But then.....

This morning Becki and I hit up the Savvy Chic Kids presale. The sale opens to the public on Sunday, but because I'm a consignor, I got to shop early and bring a friend along. Roy was a saint and stayed home with the kids (plus Becki's son Luke) while we went and dropped entirely too much cash at this most awesome of sales.

Here's what I got (see picture above - cute kid not included with purchase of these items):

an inflatable baby pool
10 summer outfits (mostly for Simon, some new with tags)
6 pairs of shoes
a big ol' bag of Mega Blocks
4 pairs of BabyLegs
4 cloth diapers
1 wool diaper cover
a wooden ride-on toy
a little Ikea chair (My friend, who was a volunteer for the sale, got to shop earlier than me and bought this for me because she knew I wanted it. Yes, I have awesome friends.)
a space-saver high chair/booster seat for Simon
a sun hat for Simon

I didn't deviate too much from my list. I got some amazing deals and I know everything will get used. However, I still feel guilty because I went over budget and I did some impulse buying. It is funny the space I get in sometimes, when I just become a rabid consumer. I try so hard not to be in my day-to-day life and then I go to something like this and lose sight of everything we're working for.

I know that I should not be so hard on myself. After all, buying used is a wonderful thing to do. I think it's that loss-of-control feeling that got to me, but at the same time, I felt absolutely elated to have scored such great deals. I mean, Stride Rite shoes for $5? A wool diaper cover for $8? You can't beat that with a big fat stick.

I'm choosing to focus on the positive. I got my kids some nice previously owned things, most of which they'll both be able to use. Emphasis on the previously owned - the green factor is huge, and that makes me happy. And in order to shop early, I got rid of some stuff we weren't using, and even if it doesn't sell, it'll be donated. It'll never be in my house again.

Happy weekend, everyone.

Anniversaries/Changes

2011-03-14T14:32:00.000-07:00

It was six years ago this day that Roy took me out on our first date. That was then:

This is now:

After six years, four job changes (two for Roy, two for me), three moves, a wedding, two pregnancies, two kids, and countless priceless memories, I can honestly say that he's still my best friend and the love of my life. (Happy dateiversary, behbehs. You still make me incredibly happy. Let's play footsies.)

Today is another anniversary of mine: the four year anniversary of the day I quit smoking. When I think that it's been four years, I can scarcely believe it. I was a habitual smoker for over ten years and I could never imagine my life without cigarettes. I'm glad I took the steps to make that change, though, because it is hugely inspiring for me to know that I did it. I made a change I never thought I was going to ever be able to make, and I stuck with it. I am a triumphant non-smoker!

My first post of the new year was a laundry list of things I want to accomplish and changes I want to make in 2011. It's overwhelming, when I really think about it, to consider all the changes I would like to make in my life - that post doesn't really touch on everything. I'd love to grow a garden, eat healthy foods for every single meal and snack, give up caffeine, do yoga every morning, floss every night, stop using the computer around my kids, wake up early each morning to write, and on and on and on it goes.

There is nothing wrong with wanting these things. But I often am doomed to fail before I even begin because I want all these changes to happen at once. I want to snap my fingers and have it be done. I'm such an American. No patience and no tolerance for the process of change. In order for my life to change, I have to change.

I did not come to this conclusion on my own. I read The Spiral of Successful Habits, an amazing post on Zen Habits, and it was like I got hit with a case of the DUHs. That's when I decided that I was going to change my life, but I was going to do it one little thing at a time, give each change an adequate amount of time to set in, and just go slowly. And so I have begun.

The first change I chose to make was showering every night before bed. It had become too difficult to get a shower each day. I was mostly successful but each shower was rushed, for obvious reasons. I wasn't always able to wash my hair either, and I have hair that needs to be washed every day. Sometimes my showers were downright stressful, especially if Charlie decided to hold the shower curtain open the entire time, letting water run everywhere.

This sounds like a simple change, something that would be pretty easy, but it's not always like that. I've almost managed to talk myself out of showering at night a few times, just because I was tired and wanted to go straight to bed. The only time I didn't make myself keep up with the nighttime showers was when I was sick recently, as I didn't want to go to bed with wet hair. But once I was better, I jumped right back to it.

When I am trying to talk myself out of taking a pre-bedtime shower, I remind myself how much I love having time to really get nice and clean, shave my legs, and enjoy the warm water. Since the boys are asleep and Roy is home, I can spend as much time as I want in the shower - this is a luxury I do not have in the mornings. I am super relaxed afterwards and fall asleep so easily. I just love lying in bed with wet hair. And in the morning I am nice and fresh, and it's much easier for me to get ready for the day.

So that was change #1. It's been going very well. My hair the next day is hit or miss, but let's face it - it always has been. At least I'm clean.

Change #2: a walk every morning by myself. I started this one right on the heels of change #1. Basically I make it a point to take a walk around the block each morning alone. I try to get out of bed, throw on some clothes, and leave the house, but sometimes I have to stop and change a diaper or feed Simon first. I absolutely love doing this little thing for myself each morning. Mornings in my neighborhood are nothing short of glorious, and I get five minutes alone in the world to collect my thoughts before the chaos begins. Much like my nighttime showers, this is a gift to myself - it is for me only. I spend countless hours a day tending to the needs of my guys (I'm not complaining, just saying), and I've earned this. Someday I would like the walks to be longer, but that will come with time and with other changes made. For now, I'm good with five minutes of solitude.

Oh yeah, sometimes my camera comes along for the ride; here are some photos from my walks.

(This is our grapefruit tree. Funny story, I had no idea this was a grapefruit tree until my brother-in-law told me it was. I thought it was an orange tree. That was a sign to me that we should actually, you know, eat the free fruit growing on our property.)

These photos are unedited. It's a fucking beautiful world out there.

So I'm into change #3 now, which is probably the most difficult one yet: brush my teeth a full two minutes each time. I use a Sonicare toothbrush, which is all fancy and actually shuts itself off once I've reached the two minute mark. I used to take my sweet time brushing my teeth. And then Charlie was born. And then Simon was born. I've been rushing through it. It's funny the things that we let go without even thinking about it. But this is something that I really need to take the time to do. So I'm about a week in and doing okay. I find myself getting bored before the two minutes are up. I find myself getting pulled away because of toddler drama. I must stop all that and exist only in my tooth-brushing world for those two minutes.

These are little things. But in my time on this earth, I have come to realize that it's often the little things in life that add up to make the biggest difference. Roy put our new tomato plant on our kitchen window sill this weekend, and that was enough to put a big stupid smile on my face each time I looked at it.

We should probably put it outside, though.

And speaking of changes, I love this time change! I thought it would really mess with the boys' sleep schedules around here, but things are going surprisingly well. And spring is on its way. My flash has been living on my camera since the fall, and it’s really nice to have lots of natural light pouring into the house.

I feel like I'm waking up after a long dark winter. Our winter was pretty mild, but I've spent a lot of it in the house, a little nervous about taking such a young baby out too much. But no more! I feel the call of sunshine in my bones.

this moment

2011-03-11T08:28:00.000-08:00

This is a blurry cell phone picture of an ice cream sandwich. And if it were anyone else, they'd say, "This is an ice cream sandwich that I ate this week. It was EPIC. The end." But that's not how I roll around here. I say things the long way.

But yes, that ice cream sandwich was epic. Mint chocolate chip ice cream smashed between two homemade chocolate cookies. I wanted to marry that ice cream sandwich. But I didn't. I was too busy chasing my toddler around.

Let me start over.

Roy and I took the boys to the zoo on Sunday. Our hopes that they would nap in the stroller while we were there were dashed. They both just screamed instead. We left the zoo in hopes that they would fall asleep in the car. Charlie did; Simon kept on screaming. We had to pull over into some random LA parking lot so that I could nurse Simon. There was something that looked like a dried turd on the ground near our car. (That is unrelated to this story. It was just something I noticed and that made me want to vomit. Plus I was pulling a Britney because I was barefoot, and who wants dried turd on their foot? I had taken off my shoes and socks, because I don't really like wearing them. I'm country, you know, because I grew up in Texas on four acres of land. But I have never driven with my baby on my lap.)

Back to the story. Simon was very happy to be held and nursed. I think he was just lonely. Since the car wasn't moving anymore (good grief, these boys are particular!), Charlie woke up and was not a happy camper. Once I got Simon all snuggled back in his car seat again, he wasn't a happy camper either. We drove for awhile, listening to their protests, and then decided we all needed to get out of the car for awhile. We stopped in one of my favorite little towns. Charlie needed a diaper change, and Simon needed to be fed (again). I sat in the driver's seat nursing Simon while Roy sat in the passenger seat and changed Charlie. People walked by and were staring at us. My boob was hanging out and Charlie was crawling all over the place, pressing random buttons, without pants on. Roy and I couldn't stop laughing.

Finally we got Charlie back into his pants and Simon into the Ergo. Charlie immediately took off down the sidewalk, Roy chasing after him. I was trying to find my shoes and after rooting around in the car for awhile, discovered that I couldn't reach them because it would be too difficult to perform those kinds of gymnastics while wearing Simon. Roy came to my rescue, handing Charlie off to me. Charlie was very absorbed in a leaf he picked up off the ground but then all of a sudden went tearing down the sidewalk. I chased him down the street in my bare feet, Simon bouncing along in the Ergo. I must have been quite a sight. All I could think was, "Five years ago I bet you never would have guessed your life would be like this."

Charlie was retrieved, my flip flops made it safely onto my feet, and we hit up the little ice cream shop for a snack. That's when I got the epic ice cream sandwich, which I immediately began eating as soon as we went back outside. It was awesome. Pretty squishy. I was having a hard time eating it because Simon was crying and I was trying to comfort him at the same time. I pretty much shoved it into my face as fast as I could. Then I had to chase Charlie down an alley. I was holding my hands in front of my face because I know I had ice cream and chocolate all over it.

That wasn't the end of our Claremont adventure. I decided I wanted to go into the awesome music store. I really really really wanted to browse. That's what music stores are for! However, I had to settle for a 10 minute visit during which Charlie ran out the door repeatedly. Only to be brought back inside by Roy, screaming. (Charlie was screaming, not Roy.) I was holding Simon, who was drooling everywhere, no doubt. I asked Roy if he wanted me to handle Charlie for awhile, and he said, "Sure." I took another look at my screaming child and said, "Eh, nah. Let's get out of here."

And so we did. And again, we couldn't stop laughing. Later on, Roy said, "I think it's awesome that we're those parents who are laughing while their kid is screaming."

Me, too.

This week I realized that I have come into my own as a mother of two. Up until now, I've kept the outings to a minimum because I was too scared to handle two kids in public by myself. But this week alone, I took both of them grocery shopping, to campus, to two friends' houses, and to the music store. This is huge for me. And it feels good to not stress so much over the logistics of it all.

But it's not just about the outings. It's so much more than that. It's this feeling I have when I go to bed at the end of the day. I know I give them my best every single day. I may not be the best mother in the world, but I am exactly the mother they need me to be. I don't care if they scream in public (well, obviously it would be nice to avoid it), but if they do, I don't believe it's a reflection of my parenting. I faced a lot of disapproving stares this week, particularly at the grocery store when Simon started crying hard because he was hungry. But babies cry, you know? It's what they do. It's how they communicate. And it's not fun to hear, ever. But it happens. All the judgy looks in the world aren't going to change that.

We took Simon to the doctor for his well check about a month ago, and one of the questions I asked was about how much he spits up. Simon spits up a lot because he nurses for comfort quite a bit. He's ingesting all this extra milk and as a result I get to change my shirt five times a day. He won't take a pacifier so when he is fussy and can't be distracted or comforted any other way, the only option really is to stick him on my boob. Problem solved. Anyway, I asked the doctor about the spitting up, just to make sure that it wouldn't cause any problems, and we got into a stupidly familiar conversation about how Simon is eating too much and that is why he weighs so much. (If you click on the link, you'll see that he told us the exact same thing about Charlie, only Charlie wasn't spitting up a lot.) I asked the doctor what to do and he told me that we needed to let Simon cry instead of letting him nurse for comfort.

That pretty much goes against all my parenting philosophies. I mean, really?! I'm supposed to let my three-month old baby cry it out because he wants to be comforted? It's pretty much the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard and I have not taken his advice. I still don't have a solution for the spitting up, but I know it isn't letting him cry. I know that because I am his mother, because he has a brother who also was (is) big for his age, and besides Roy was a big chunker of a baby, too.

That's quite the tangent, but hopefully you'll get what I mean. This whole thing with Simon? I could so easily have taken it as an attack on my parenting. But it's not like that. I mean, maybe the doctor meant it like that, but if he did, I think he's dead wrong. I think letting babies cry instead of meeting their needs is mean and I refuse to do it. (Although we did sleep train Charlie, but to me that was not mean at all.) I don't care what the damn doctor says. Well, I do care, when he gives me good information instead of crap. Ahhh, I should change the subject because I'm getting mad over this.

Another realization I came to this week? It's about this blog. I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed writing these posts every Friday. Committing to posting just once a week has given me a lot of space to think about why I blog and what I want from this.

It seems pretty common to get sucked into caring about how many followers you have, who's reading, blog stats, gaining popularity in the blog world. I'll admit that I've thought about it. I'll admit that over the past year, the amount of comments I get has gone way down, and there have been times when that has bothered me. I took it personally, like I am somehow boring or whiny or too wordy. That is why I really, really, really came close to ending this blog last summer. It's hard, you know? To offer yourself so fully and not hear back the way you imagined you would.

But that wasn't the reason I started this blog. I started it because I was moving away from journaling and still wanted to talk about my life. I love the blogging medium, that you can share pictures and video and songs along with words. It's such a rich experience, to read a blog, if you really think about it. I've put so much time and energy into my blog, and so much of myself. As I've written these snippets of my life since the beginning of the year, I've come to realize that I have stories to tell that are worth sharing, and if I get zero comments or 1000 comments, that simple fact is not going to change. Because I didn't start sharing them for other people; I started my "moment" project for me. And because of it, I have gained clarity and purpose. I feel a renewed passion for this blog. I am not sure if I will blog more often, because gah, seriously, where is all the time I used to have? But I am happy and excited to be here again. If this continues, then I have an awesome idea for blogging in 2012.

It's like I've been cracked open and am a brand new baby chicken or something. Finally, a step backward to what feels real.

And here is where I say thank you. Thank you for reading, for commenting, for being a support system for me. Thank you for giving me a space to be honest about my life. I have been a part of this world for four years now and I have learned so much. I am continually awestruck and inspired by what's out there. We live in an amazing moment in time and I love being a part of it. (And yet I often long to escape it. But that's a subject for another undoubtedly long post, and hey, I actually already have written about this.)

Happy weekend! Thanks for letting me ramble.

Ash Wednesday

2011-03-09T08:01:00.000-08:00

Ash-Wednesday

I

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

II

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying

Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

III

At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.

At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.

At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.

Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.

IV

Who walked between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs

Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos

Here are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing

White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.

The silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word

But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

V

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice

Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.

O my people.

VI

Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

'Ash-Wednesday', from Collected Poems 1909-1962 by T S Eliot, © T S Eliot 1963, Faber & Faber Limited

Roll Over, Beethoven

2011-03-07T12:25:00.000-08:00

Simon rolled over for the first time on Friday! He was very sneaky about it so I didn't get it on video until today.

(If you watch the video below, you will get a bonus: hearing Charlie say "Simon," which is the cutest thing ever.)

The milestones are just as cool the second time around. There's nothing like watching a little blob of a baby gradually change into a mobile crazy kid. I find it interesting to compare Charlie and Simon, because it drives home the point that every baby is different.

Charlie rolled from back to belly for the first time when he was close to 5 months old. Simon did the same at 3.5 months. Typically, babies roll from belly to back first, but not my boys.

Charlie slept through the night for the first time at 8 months old. Simon has already done it three times. (By sleeping through the night, I mean Simon can sleep an eight to ten hour stretch without waking for a feeding. He has yet to go the entire night without a feeding, which is fine by me.)

Charlie laughed for the first time at 3 months old, and it was just a little giggle. Simon has been full-on belly laughing since he was 7 weeks old.

Charlie has cried every single time he has been vaccinated (which, of course, is what I expect. Needles aren't fun!). Simon surprised the hell out of me by not even whimpering when he got a shot at his last well check.

.Ahhhh, I just love watching them grow up.

this moment

2011-03-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

This week has been pretty stupid.

I've been sick for most of it. As of this writing, I have no voice. By the time I went to bed on Tuesday night, it was almost all gone. I'd had a sore throat for days that had turned into nothing and figured my throat needed an overnight break. Turns out it needed more than that. This is day 3 of no voice. And let me tell you, it's really difficult to read your kid a story without one.

Roy's been awesome. He stayed home on Wednesday and Thursday because no way could I handle two kids while feeling like utter crap. (Well, I'm sure I could if I really needed to, but it made more sense to try to get well. Plus I am a wimp. It's true. I am.) I feel really lucky to have that option. I know a lot of parents don't.

So I've been spending a lot of time in bed. I happened to overhear a bunch of giggles coming from Charlie's room on Wednesday afternoon so I had to get out of bed and check it out. Roy was lying on his back on the floor, and Charlie and Simon were both sitting on him. Charlie was "holding" Simon. It was the cutest thing I think I've ever seen, and definitely the brightest moment of this cough-drop filled week.

I just love how much Charlie loves Simon, how he's always giving him kisses and yelling out "Shao may!" when he sees him. Simon is a big time gigglebox, and those two really set each other off. I really love that they have each other.

On a semi-related note, March 2 marked the one-year anniversary of finding out we were expecting Simon. And now we've got this chunky little red-headed guy in our lives. It's pretty damn awesome. Life is good, even when you've got a constant tickle in your throat and have to whisper all the time. But one thing being sick has taught me this time around? Chamomile tea with honey in it works wonders to get rid of that annoying throat tickle. I've been leaving tea bags all over the kitchen like Harry in Sex and the City. I've done the world a favor, though, and kept all my clothes on.

A Bit of Bookishness

2011-02-28T20:16:00.000-08:00

I like books that have been well-loved. Yellowing pages, folds in the spine, a small tear here or there, the previous owner's name written on the inside cover. And the smell of old books has always been a favorite of mine. I don't much care for writing or highlighting in books, because it's too distracting for me when I'm reading - although I do like reading other people's marginalia.

Roy sat down beside me on the couch last night and cracked open his copy of How to Practice. I say he cracked it open because it has so much water damage (from something having to do with our aquarium at the first apartment we shared together) that there is no way that book can be opened quietly. I used to hate water damage but lately I've come to embrace it. Recently my water bottle leaked all over the contents of my bag, and now this book's pages are all wavy. I've forever left my mark on that book. I will always remember how it got water damaged, what bag I was using, what leaky water bottle it was.

I like thinking about the lives of objects and how they intersect with our own. There's much to be learned by what we surround ourselves with and the damages (for lack of a better word) those things incur along the way. One of Charlie's current favorite books lost a page today. But it wasn't any ordinary page - oh no, it was the page that Charlie makes me read over and over again as he says "Guck! Guck!" excitedly. And tonight I plan to tape the page back into the book and for the rest of that book's life it'll have another story to tell: the one about the little blonde-haired boy who loved ducks so much he would always turn back to that page.

Recently I watched two movies (both adapted from books): Into the Wild and The Time Traveler's Wife. I got excited about rereading these books to see how they compared with the movies. I did reread Into the Wild and was reminded why I consider it one of my favorite books. So for a couple of weeks now I've been thinking of my favorite books, and today I decided to go through our bookcase and separate my favorites from the rest. And there are more than I could remember off the top of my head, way more.

My plan is to reread these books to see if they still hold up. I feel a little weird about doing this because some books/movies/TV shows/songs that I once loved don't stand the test of time, and I want to preserve my good memories of them. (I love love loved Cloak and Dagger when I was a kid, but Roy and I watched it about five years ago and were horrified to discover what a cheesy little flick it is.) But still, I want to revisit these books that have stuck with me for various reasons throughout the years. And maybe post about them here. Tall order, considering I am averaging about a post a week these days. Eh, we'll see.

Here are a couple that come to mind that once had a profound impact on me; these have already been reread in recent years:

I Know This Much Is True by Wally Lamb - I read this in the midst of one of the strangest years of my life. I was 21 years old and this story of twin brothers resonated so much with me that I bawled my eyes out during certain parts of it. I reread it just a few years ago, in 2007 or 2008, and while it's still a good book, I ended up getting rid of it. It didn't hit me at that gut level it had when I was 21 and feeling so "untwinned" (a word the author uses in the book).

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes - I had to have been in junior high when I read this book. It's the story of a mentally challenged young man who, by some scientific miracle, is able to become smart and have a normal life. The end of the story, though, is so heartbreaking and hit really close to home. This is another one of those that I reread in the past five years or so, and it didn't sucker punch me like it did when I was super young. Maybe because I already knew what was going to happen.

Four Past Midnight by Stephen King - I very much enjoyed reading Stephen King novels before I became somewhat of a book snob in college. Some of his books, especially the ones written in the 90s, really impressed me. This one was no exception. I loved all four novellas in this book and revisited it when Secret Window came out. Well, my love for that book kind of died when I realized that Stephen King really needs a good editor. Because you know, he just overwrites. Kind of like me and the way I do on this blog. But different, obviously, because he's probably a gazillionaire and we can barely pay our bills.

So anyway, what's your favorite book(s)? Ever reread it/them years later? Are they still your favorites?

this moment

2011-02-25T20:57:00.000-08:00

This is what Simon looks like while he's nursing - he will sometimes pull off and flirt with me. He's totally milk drunk, completely happy. I love this face.

I was bound and determined to breastfeed Simon. After all the breastfeeding disappointment I had with Charlie, I made up my mind that I wasn't going to go through that again. In a sense, it was more important for me to have a successful nursing relationship with Simon than to have a VBAC. You know, if I had to pick one.

We had a lot working against us in the beginning. Since I ended up with a repeat C-section after 30+ hours of labor, I was exhausted after the surgery. Since my bladder was lacerated during the C-section, I was in the OR for longer than a normal C-section would take. The spinal and other drugs I was given made me so groggy when I was in recovery that I at first declined having Simon brought to me - I was so tired I was afraid I would drop him. I later changed my mind, but I couldn't get him to latch on while we were in recovery. So I just held him close and he fell asleep. When we were finally put in a room, I got him to latch. And he pretty much stayed attached to me the entire hospital stay. Even when I couldn't sit up due to the spinal headache from hell, Simon laid across my chest while I was reclined flat and nursed that way. Or I would turn on my side and nurse him side-lying. He was such a great sport and so enthusiastic. It was frustrating at times because I was so exhausted and just wanted to sleep. But I kept on, and my milk came in within two days and in great abundance. I was thrilled.

When I found out I had to stop nursing for a week to go on some pretty hard core antibiotics to treat my UTI, I was devastated. Simon was exactly one week old. I was in the shower, letting the hot water rain down on my lower back to ease the pain of the UTI (pretty similar to the way I spent a lot of time while I was in labor), and all of a sudden it occurred to me that our nursing relationship could be over. Stopping for even a week could have so many different outcomes: He could develop a preference for the bottle or the taste of formula. He could have latch issues. I could have supply issues. It felt like such a slap in the face. Here was one thing, a major thing, that was working out. I didn't want to lose it.

I started sobbing. Even though I hadn't gotten my VBAC, I had never really felt like I had failed until then. It was definitely the darkest moment of my very difficult recovery. I cried for quite awhile; of course my emotional pain was exacerbated by the substantial physical pain I was in. And then I dried my tears, consulted with all three midwives at the birth center plus my doula, pumped out what milk I had to give Simon right then, and started taking the antibiotics. For a week I faithfully pumped during each one of Simon's feedings and dumped the milk right after. (I am beyond grateful that Roy was home to help me, because I cannot imagine how I would have handled feeding Simon, pumping, and taking care of Charlie.) About halfway through the week, I started taking Fenugreek to make sure my milk supply was where it needed to be once I was done with the antibiotics.

When it came time to start Simon back on the breast, he went right back with no problems at all. It was like that week of bottle-feeding never happened. Things have been hunky dory ever since.

I had heard women talking about breastfeeding and how much they loved it, what a bonding experience it was, and how sad they were when it was over. To me, breastfeeding was pretty much solely about giving my child the most perfect (and free!) food available to him. I absolutely did not want to formula feed this time. The bonding feelings, though, knocked me over with their intensity - and still do. Every time Simon latches on for a feeding, I am filled with a happiness so deep that I can only describe it as euphoria. I have told multiple people that it feels like Simon and I are on our honeymoon. As weird as that sounds, it's really the only way I can describe the way I feel about him. It's so raw and primal and fierce.

I felt (feel) this way about Charlie, of course. But it took some time to get there, because in the beginning I felt so disconnected from him. And even though we did get there, I can say with absolute certainty that you can't even compare bottle-feeding and breastfeeding. They are two totally different experiences. And I'm not hating on people who bottle feed. It just makes me sad that so many mothers will not experience the joy that comes from nursing their babies. (Of course, there are some mothers out there who do not enjoy nursing at all. Obviously I am not one of them.)

For years (hell, most of my life), I have not been a big fan of my boobs. In junior high, high school, and my first few years of college, I hated them. I hated being so small. I hated that I didn't have any cleavage. I hated not being voluptuous. Some stupid boy once told me that I wasn't a real woman because my boobs were too small. What an idiot he was. I can honestly say now that I'm so grateful for the pair that I've been given, because they are what's nourishing my son.

It doesn't get more womanly (or beautiful) than that.

this moment

2011-02-18T07:14:00.000-08:00

(a little bit of inspiration for this post)

I'm not big on Hallmark holidays, but every year Roy and I do at least a little something to celebrate Valentine's Day. Now that we have kids, we do a little something for them, too. This year I made valentines for Charlie and Simon, and presented them with those plus two books for Charlie and a hand puppet board book for Simon. My homemade valentines were kind of lame, but I am happy that I did something handmade for them. (I really want to be more of a DIYer.)

I figured I would make a valentine for Roy as well, but come the actual day of, I still hadn't done a thing. I read this post that morning, which inspired me to do something a little more fun. After bringing Roy lunch and getting the boys down for their nap, I got to work. Well, it didn't work exactly like that. I actually considered not doing anything and just trying for a nap. But I forced myself to be romantic. (I'm glad I did.)

I decided to write up five reasons I love Roy, each with a clue to a place around the house. When he got home, I handed him the first reason/clue, and so the mini scavenger hunt began. The prize was a sappy card, complete with three pictures: one of me, one of Simon, and one of Charlie, each of us wearing the heart-shaped sunglasses that I'm wearing in my blog header. I used my little instant camera to take the pictures and went through about three packs of film trying to get each one right. The pictures I ended up with weren't great, but I was running out of time. And since the pictures come out the size of a credit card, Roy can keep them in his wallet if he wants as a nice reminder of us.

After the boys went to bed, we popped a lasagna in the oven and settled down on the couch to watch The Kids Are All Right. It was great, especially because we were not interrupted the whole time. We got to sit and watch a whole movie. Inconceivable!

This quote from the movie jumped out at me:

...marriage is hard... Just two people slogging through the shit, year after year, getting older, changing. It's a fucking marathon, okay? So, sometimes, you know, you're together for so long, that you just... You stop seeing the other person. You just see weird projections of your own junk. Instead of talking to each other, you go off the rails and act grubby and make stupid choices...

Damn straight.

Roy and I have entered into the "marriage is hard" portion of our life's journey together. I can say with complete honesty that our marriage had always been easy, even through all the birth trauma and depression. Adding a second child to the mix has put a lot more pressure on things. It is totally not something that Simon is to be blamed for (imagine blaming a three month old!); it's just that two kids are a whole lot more work than one. By the end of the day we are both so tired. It's hard to connect when you're tired and just want to be alone. But we're working on it.

One of the things that Roy and I have going for us is that we are able to be unflinchingly honest with each other. I noticed over a month ago that I was getting irrationally angry at him all the time. This is completely out of character for me and certainly not something that has ever really happened in our relationship. I was tired of feeling like shit about it, so I brought it up. And just talking about it made it a whole lot better than it was. I know our openness with each other is what will hold us together when things get hard. Because when you start keeping secrets, it's only a matter of time before it all falls apart.

Roy and I took the above photo of ourselves while we were watching the movie that night. We look happy, and that's because we were. Are. Despite the piles of laundry, our empty bank account, the crying children, and the unknown stretching far in front of us, we still love each other. He's my best friend. And as he wrote in his Valentine's letter to me, "it's strange to think of my life as a fairy tale but you have added magic to everything."

Simon 365 (November and December)

2011-02-16T21:50:00.000-08:00

This is a post for my mom, who needs to set up a Facebook account NOW. If for no other reason than she needs to see pictures of her grandchildren.

This makes me realize that the digitizing of everything doesn't always make things easier. It feels like it's a million times harder to get prints of photos than it used to be. I used to just drop my film off and pick it up and distribute the pictures as needed. I kind of miss that. Now it's upload to computer, organize, edit, upload to various websites, back up, and if I'm lucky, blog. There's not enough time left to pick which photos I want printed and then send them out via snail mail to those in my life who haven't embraced the internet. And yet the other day I got an email from Shutterfly offering me 50 free prints, so yeah, that was enough to make me get on it. Those photos are now in the mail to a lucky few.

I've been keeping up very well with my 365 project of Simon's first year. I am very pleased with some of the photos, and some have come out awful. I try to check in camera to make sure that everything looks the way I want it, but sometimes I forget and end up with crappy photos. Here are some of my favorites from the last couple of months.

November:

December:

Today Simon is three months old. I took him to the birth center this morning and we went ahead and weighed him. 18 pounds! Holy crap, this kid is huge. What's funny is that he felt so tiny at birth and his first few weeks with us, much tinier than Charlie ever felt. Now he's just a chubby kid, and I love it.

Anyway, about that birth story. It's coming! I had to go to the birth center to get my midwife's labor notes because I have slept (or not slept, as the case may be) in the last three months, so I need something to jog my fuzzy memory. So I got a labor summary but not really any notes, and the notes are what I need. So I wait.

I have tried to add photos for January about 50 times now, and blogger just keeps telling me "Error 400 Bad Request." Whatever. Here are photos from November and December. Notice Simon looks really small in them. Well, let me tell you that (obviously, since he weighs 18 pounds) he is small no more.

I'll just share my favorites from January once February is over. Stupid blogger.

Happy 3 months, Chow Mein! (Oh yeah, Simon has a million nicknames now. Sigh, Saz, Sazzo, Chow Mein, Baby Noodles. Oddly, we don't ever refer to him as Burt Reynolds.)

this moment

2011-02-11T14:59:00.000-08:00

(inspiration)

The conclusion that I have come to is that I am unfinished. My life is a big goldfish bowl of chaos. Inevitably, I've been feeling trapped.

So the other day we escaped. We piled the boys into the stroller and walked around the neighborhood. Being outside in the world with the sunlight and the trees and the sky and my camera there to capture it all made my heart feel like it was going to explode with happiness. We talked. The boys looked around. Charlie wore his sock monkey hat, and Simon cooed. We returned home feeling untrapped.

And then last night after the boys had settled to sleep, we stood together in the kitchen and talked. And we've got a plan to make things better. It involves some chasing, but mostly just some slow-and-steadiness. And a whole lot of discipline, which is where I usually fall short. But I'm excited.

And part of the plan? I'm going back to school. It's time for me to finish my Master's degree. And I actually believe that I'm going to do it. I'll need lots of walks to help keep me centered, though.

this moment

2011-02-04T21:06:00.000-08:00

(inspiration)

Last week the fates smiled down upon me when Elle Moss randomly picked me as the winner of her 2000 fans contest on Facebook. She sent me a neat little envelope filled with photographic treasures, a few of which you can see in the photo above. They came in on Wednesday, and I was thrilled.

When I come face to face with art that moves me, whether it's a painting or a book or music or a photo (you get the idea), it often serves as a big reality check for me. What am I doing with my own talents? What am I doing that I feel passionately about? Obviously, my first priority is my family, but my own drive to create is not something I ever intend on neglecting.

I made myself a promise that this year was going to be the year that I stopped saying, "I want to get back to writing poetry again" or "I want to learn more about photography." It seems a little silly to keep saying those things when I have the tools (and the vision) at my disposal. Honestly, I think I compare myself too much to others and in doing so I forget that my journey is my own. I can never write or take photos or do anything else like anyone else. Because I'm me. Yes, that is an idea that is verging on corniness. Cheesy or not, it's still something I consider to be true.

Because the art that moves me always comes from a person who has a vision and has enough courage to chase it. And this week I kept getting reminders of it, not just through Elle Moss, but also through The Julie Project by Darcy Padilla, Photo of the Day by Jamie Livingston, and Nox by Anne Carson. Seriously powerful stuff, all of it. It reminded me that I've got my own powerful project that I've been working on here and there since 2003. It may be the best damn thing I've ever written, and yet it may never be read by a wide audience. But fuck it. Fulfillment comes through doing the work, not through accolades and critical acclaim. (I once thought being published would change my life forever. Surprise, surprise - it didn't. I was (am) still the same ol' insecure girl. Not to say I wouldn't gladly accept a Pulitzer...)

I think I'm at the point in my life where I've really realized that the writing career I've been wanting since I was a child may not be something that exists for me. Perhaps it sounds like I'm giving up, but this country lives and dies on the almighty dollar. And you know what? That's not something that is going to change anytime soon - but it's also not going to be the deciding factor in what I choose to do with my life. I'm going to keep on creating, and perhaps someone else will be inspired by what I do.

Yes, all of this did come from a pile of photographs on the floor.

this moment

2011-01-28T14:15:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've made it through a whole month of this moment posts! Ideally, at the end of 2011, I'd like to have 52 of these suckers done. I enjoy them very much. I spend a lot of time during the week thinking about what that week's moment will be. It helps keep me present and centered (not always, but I do try).

I wrote about this briefly, but my word for this year is "moment." (Maybe I didn't write about it. I can't seem to find the post.) I chose that word because I want to live in the moment more, recognizing that all things pass. Seasons change, children grow up, relationships have their ups and downs. And people die. Roy and I took Simon to a memorial service this past weekend - my ex-boyfriend's mother passed away in December after a long battle with cancer. I still remember the last real moment I shared with her years before. Even though it was a terribly hard moment (having to do with the euthanization of a much beloved family dog), it was the last one we shared that wasn't marred by awkwardness. All of us (me, my ex, and his parents) bawled together as we said goodbye to that sweet dog we all loved so much. It was a horrible day, but it was real. I never had a real moment with her after that one.

The death of my ex's mother really has nothing to do with this post - or maybe it does. All moments, good and bad, make up a life. It's that old yin and yang thing.

Here's the yang:

I was terrified of having a second child. Mostly I was afraid of not having enough room in my heart for two kids. Charlie just filled me up in a way that I never could have imagined, and I didn't know what to expect with Simon. It's true what they say, that the human heart is capable of stretching to make room for more. That's exactly what mine did - and continues to do as I get to know this little guy.

For some reason, Charlie and Simon have been taking a nap at the same time each day for the last five weeks or so. This was completely unexpected, and I'm still not sure how it's happening, but I'm thrilled that it has worked out like that so far. Yesterday, though, Simon stayed awake an hour or so after Charlie went down, so Simon and I had some good mommy-baby time together. We don't get a lot of time with just the two of us, which is one of the hard things about having two kids.

So yesterday we hung out in the bedroom, Simon completely naked except for his diaper. I laid him down on this little quilt that my uncle Charles sent to us after Charlie was born. I watched as Simon determinedly brought his hand up to his face, wanting to get it in his mouth but instead bonking himself in the nose. I couldn't help but laugh - and then my eyes filled with tears as it all came back to me, Charlie doing that exact same thing when he was a baby, Charlie wearing that same diaper, Charlie lying on that same quilt. It wasn't that long ago, but I had completely forgotten all those wonderful baby things that Charlie did. What a gift to be reminded through his little brother.

That's the thing about having a second child. It's a chance to do it all over again, to enjoy the milestones, the middle of the night feedings, the simplicity of loving a baby. I don't know how other moms out there feel, but the second time around it's much easier. I'm happy to wake up in the middle of the night for feedings because who knows when they'll end. I look forward to letting Simon sleep on me because some day he won't do it again. I love having the opportunity to smell his head, because one of these days that new baby smell will be gone. Someday I won't be his favorite person. Someday he won't always have a smile for me. So I drink him in, my little Scorpio who has always looked deep into my eyes and shown me the world. It's my second chance, perhaps my last chance, to mother a baby. I don't want to miss a moment.

this moment

2011-01-21T20:34:00.000-08:00

(Thanks, soulemama.)

I so wanted to share a cute picture of Simon this week. He's sorely underrepresented on this blog, and I hate that. But it's going to have to wait.

This week was really hard. Let me go ahead and admit that so far 2011 hasn't exactly been kind to us. Yes, I am lucky to have my two beautiful sons, my husband, my cats, a house to live in, blah blah blah. But life is hard. Sometimes overwhelmingly hard.

This week I had several moments when I wanted to run away and never look back. I wanted to leave it all behind. And by "it all," I mean just that: my kids, my husband, the life I have here. What is strange is that in some ways, the transition from one child to two has been much easier than I thought it would be. Just last Friday, both boys were napping and I was musing on what a beautiful day it was, how much better my postpartum period has been going as compared to last time, etc.

And then this week happened. It's one week after that beautiful afternoon where both kids slept peacefully while I ate my lunch in solitude. My back is killing me from the very involved way in which Simon needs to go to sleep. I have a crick in my neck from sleeping wrong last night. Roy is sick with a cold. I cannot keep up with the laundry or the dishes or anything else. Our house feels so small and cramped that I truly feel like the walls are closing in on me. I can't hold either one of my children as much as I want to. Charlie absolutely loves to test me and then screams when I put him in time out. Oh, and we are broke. So broke that we are having to make some really hard financial decisions. And all of this? Well, it's taking its toll on our marriage, and while I'm not sitting here telling you all that our marriage is in trouble, the reality is it is so hard for us to connect as anything other than parents these days. Simon is only waking up once a night now, but we are both still so tired. To the bone. It's hard to talk/laugh/spend quality time together when all you want to do is sleep.

I'm kind of scared.

I'm scared that I'm disappearing into this whole motherhood thing and someday there won't be a "me" anymore. That I will end up this mindless Stepford wife who only cares about poop and play dates. That my marriage will dissolve because both of us are so busy just trying to keep up with life and all it entails. There is still so much I want out of life; I can feel myself reaching for it but I can't get my hands on it. And yet I don't feel like I have the right to want more. I have so much already, and people out there are starving, have sick children, have no place to live, etc.

What can I say? I'm typing this in the dark in our small, drafty, messy office, the only place I can sometimes just be, and no doubt my laptop is casting a shadow on my face like the photo above. I'm just full of shadows. I think people look at me and see this happy chick but that's only part of me. I always feel like I'm fighting the dark half of me, and I don't know who's winning - all I know is that I'm tired of feeling halved and conflicted.

I don't want this chaos. I just want to look life in the eye, like I'm doing in the photo above, knowing that I need to calm the fuck down and trust that it'll all be okay. In the meantime, I'm giving into the chaos. Leaving the laundry unfolded, the kitchen dirty, the toys strewn around the living room. I'm shutting down the computer and am going to go hug my husband, because our marriage is where this family starts and ends.

this moment

2011-01-14T12:54:00.000-08:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

(inspired by soulemama)

This is Charlie at 19 months old. Taken last weekend by my friend Christine on our back patio. It's the perfect portrait of Charlie as he is right now, so much a little boy, a baby no longer (but still, always my baby). He loves stealing other people's water bottles, and I simply love his hair. His outfit, which I also love: a Paul Frank T-shirt that he wore to his first birthday party, a pair of blue jeans that we acquired from who knows where, a sweater that was part of our huge Craigslist score, Stride Rite shoes given to us by one of our neighbors, and socks that Charlie undoubtedly used as puppets earlier that day. The water bottle, needless to say, does not belong to him, but try telling him that.

A Musical Education

2011-01-12T15:03:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things to do with the boys is listen to music. While we go about our daily business, we listen to all kinds of things: Roma di Luna, the Amelie soundtrack, The Flaming Lips, Andrew Bird, Tori Amos, Fleet Foxes, etc.

But we don't listen to kids music. I haven't been able to go there yet. To me it's a bit like going over to the dark side, inviting the presence of all these annoying songs into the house. Yes, I know there is cool kids music out there - not to mention all the cool lullabies - but I don't guess that's what I'm really talking about.

When I was pregnant with Charlie, I discovered a free download of this album and jumped on it. My thoughts at the time were "Awesome! Charlie will love this!" And then I had a listen and decided that traditional kids music is not for me. So I avoid it if I can. And perhaps that makes me a bad parent, but I don't care. Charlie and Simon will have plenty of exposure to all those songs as they get older and go to daycare or preschool. In the meantime, they are getting a wonderful musical education through me. They're hearing important and valuable songs (like this one) from all genres of music, and perhaps these songs will continue to swim under the surface of their minds as they get older. That's my hope, anyway.

When we were little, my brother and I loved to listen to my mom and dad's records. And now all I have to do is turn on this song, and I am transported back into the living room of my childhood home. A simpler time. I had no idea what the song really meant, but I loved Kenny Rogers' voice juxtaposed with the popping of the record. (Yes, I am a Kenny Rogers lovin' nerd. I love his beard. I have never tried his chicken, though - have you?) I hear that song now and think of rain and adventure and our big, warm house. If I think about it for a long time, I'm led back to my love for The Goonies, our family dog Pepper, and one particularly muddy patch in our yard where my brother and I played GI Joes.

I just don't have that kind of attachment to the kids songs that I listened to as a kid (this was a favorite album) - I can remember all the words to this album, for example, but they don't evoke the same kinds of fuzzy memories for me. And honestly, I think kids can get just as much out of an adult version of a song like "Puff the Magic Dragon". And I'm selfish. I like listening to my music. I think it's awesome. And if I end up having to listen to "Do You Realize?" on repeat for a whole day because that's what Charlie wants to hear, that's a hell of a lot better than listening to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

I gotta say, though, that after hearing so much about Yo Gabba Gabba, I went searching around the web and listened to "There's a Party in my Tummy." And it was quite cute. And catchy. A little too catchy, because that's all I heard in my head for the rest of the day. I'm kind of glad we don't have a TV.

I like Jason Schwartzman's approach to building a music library for his daughter:

Makes me want to save my pennies for a record player.

Pssst, you can download that Chipmunks album I mentioned above for free right here! You know I did.

this moment

2011-01-07T20:32:00.000-08:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

(inspired by soulemama)

So those are the rules, but rules are meant to be broken, right? This picture begs for a story to be told along with it.

This little guy is my brand new nephew Gus. He was born on January 4, weighing in at a hefty 10 lbs 4 oz, stretching out at 20.5 inches. Gus is the son of my sister-in-law Mandy and her husband Paul. Mandy and Paul waited a long time to bring home a baby, and what can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending - and an even bigger sucker for chubby, adorable little boys. (Those cheeks!) Congratulations, Mandy and Paul!

The Best Intentions

2011-01-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, 2011!! It's a new year, a blank slate (so to speak). I have a lot of hopes for it.

I want to not get pregnant this year. After spending much of the last 2+ years being pregnant, I need a real break from child-bearing.

I want to make our bed every morning. I feel so good when the bed is made. I feel so good when it's unmade, too, because it's so welcoming - but a made bed makes the room feel put together and less cramped.

I want to get our finances under control. We've changed our health insurance plan and paid off one of our cars. These are two big steps. But they aren't enough. I want to learn the art of couponing, develop a budget, and use our tax return to pay down our debt.

I want to stop impulse buying, at the grocery store and otherwise. Last year we did really well with not buying things on impulse, but it all fell apart as Simon's due date got closer and the holidays happened.

I want to read more. I want to read the books that I already have on my to-be-read shelf here. I especially want to read more poetry.

I want to write more. Last year I made a return to journaling and writing poetry, and I want to continue in that direction. I still go back and forth on continuing with this blog. I try not to think about it too much and instead just post something when I feel like it.

I want to take a few appropriate steps back from technology. I want to write more letters and send less email. I want to make phone calls instead of texting. I want to give face-to-face time instead of Facebook time.

I want to take lots of photos. Not just of my family, but of the world around me. I want to develop my photo skills and experiment more.

I want to not compare myself to others. My path is my own; why do I continue to look to others to validate my life and decide my worth?

I want to unclutter our house once again. The chaos of Simon's birth plus the holidays has left us with a pretty messy and cramped existence. I now feel like we have outgrown our little house, but instead of moving to a bigger one, it makes more sense to pare down our belongings.

I want to make family dinner a priority. We hardly ever eat dinner as a family. We usually feed Charlie and eat after he goes to bed. He's getting old enough to notice this stuff, so that means it's time to change our habits.

I want to develop a plan for moving to a place that suits us better. It's time to get out of Southern California.

I want to listen to all the CDs and downloads that I have instead of constantly looking for new music.

I want to breastfeed Simon until at least his first birthday. With how well things have been going, this seems like a very attainable goal.

I want to exercise. I have no goals for weight loss or anything, but I just want to get out there and be active.

I want to spend a lot of time with my little nephew (who is due next week!).

I want to make more time for my friends. I think I'm doing pretty good at this already, but there are still some friends that I hardly ever get to see or talk to.

I want to get my computer organized. It's pretty much been a mess since I was pregnant with Charlie.

I want to go to Texas to see my family. This pretty much depends entirely on our financial situation.

I want to put my passions into practice and work towards making a career for myself. While I may have to get a temporary job waiting tables or something to make ends meet, I don't want to settle on something long-term just for the sake of having money. I think I have finally figured out some big truths when it comes to jobs/careers/vocations, and well, I'm ready to begin exploring my options.

And lastly, I want to learn to live in the moment more. I often find myself wishing away the hard times in favor of easier times, but I'd do good to remember that it's good to "be grateful for this moment. This moment is your life." So that's my word for the year: moment. My focal point, my place of return.

But my first real goal for 2011 is to finish up Simon's birth story and share it with you all. It's definitely time.

Adios, 2010

2010-12-31T14:23:00.000-08:00

It's the last day of a year that surprised me in many ways. I wasn't really expecting such an evolution in my own character, nor was I expecting that positive pregnancy test on March 2, 2010. So I guess it goes without saying that when we rang in 2010, I sure as hell wasn't expecting us to have a second baby by the time the year closed out.

Life is odd.

Back in February, I picked the word complete as my focal point for the year. It was a good choice, even though I didn't finish up my thesis like I intended, and I am still working on seeing myself as a whole person. But something else happened instead.

I had a baby. My second child, a perfect baby boy. My Simon. And yesterday afternoon Roy came home from work early, and we were all in Charlie's room. I was nursing Simon in the glider while Roy and Charlie wrestled and played on the ground, and The Beatles' Revolver album was playing. Just minutes before, I turned on "Be Mine", the song that played on repeat for hours while I was in labor with Simon, and I picked up the little guy and we did the ol' hold and sway. Roy held Charlie and they swayed next to us and my eyes prickled with tears. It was just another dark afternoon in late December but it was also perfect. It was epic in its everydayness. I've been thinking of my defining moments in 2010, and that was one of them. Just being with my family, the family that my husband and I built together. It's not often that I feel complete, but in that moment, I did.

That is what life is like, or mine at least. It's these little, seemingly insignificant moments that I often come back to. Sure, it's the big stuff, too - I will never forget hearing Simon cry for the first time - but it's Charlie's belly laughs, Roy's arms around me in bed at night, the little sounds Simon makes when he's nursing, waking up in the middle of the night to find one of the cats snuggled in bed with us; these are the things that I treasure the most. I wish that I could stop time, bottle the smell of Simon's head, record every single adorable thing Charlie says, but I can't. I can only be there, body, mind, and spirit, and take my mental picture. I want it all to last so badly. But the second the camera in my mind goes "click," it's gone. The moment is gone, and all that's left is a memory.

You've heard all this before. All this sappy stuff about enjoying every moment, never taking anything for granted because you never know what tomorrow will bring, blah blah blah. It's hard not to resort to sentimental cliches when it comes to those I love so dearly because, to put another cliched spin on it, words often fail me. I'm not original or special, really; I'm just a girl who spent years waiting for exactly what it is I have now, and I could not be more grateful. Things are not perfect, not even close. As a matter of fact, there is so much that I would change if I had the chance. But at the same time, so little.

There's more to say, there are always more words, but this time, I'm going to just shut it and wish everyone a happy and safe New Year. Thanks, as always, for continuing to visit me in this space.

Welcome, 2011!

Remember these five things

2010-12-30T00:47:00.000-08:00

We are awake because Simon is fighting sleep tonight. Roy just slipped me his notebook with a list of five things written out on one of the pages.

(I often ask Roy to list five reasons why he loves me. I'm such an attention whore and love hearing what he comes up with.)

Here's the list:

1) You are a great mother of two.
2) You are great at multi-tasking. (Damn right!)
3) You are good at spelling. You'd probably win at Scrabble.
4) You are way more patient than you give yourself credit for.
5) You're cute when you're sleepy.

I'm not sure how Roy wrote out this list while rocking Simon, but that's one of the reasons why I love him.

And I love this list, too.

General Updates

2010-12-28T15:16:00.000-08:00

I haven't had much time to sit down and pound out a real blog post. I've had intentions of doing so, but what can I say. It's the holidays, there's been sickness, there are two kids who need me all the time, etc. But anyway, I thought it was time for an update of sorts.

Simon: Simon is six weeks old today, weighing in at 12 lbs 14 oz and 22.5 inches long. He's up over four pounds from his birth weight and is proving himself to be a quick gainer like Charlie was. He's a big boy, in the 90th percentile for weight, 75th for height, and 85th for head circumference. Simon has been socially smiling since last week but has been smiling unintentionally (that's my guess, anyway) since birth. He is also starting to track objects with his eyes, and he randomly makes little cooing noises. He's been lifting his head like crazy (another thing he's been doing since birth) and in general is just a really wonderful baby. Unlike Charlie, he doesn't have a witching hour where he cries constantly during certain times of the day. Instead, he screams quite a bit in the car (not always, but more often than not). I jokingly asked Roy last night if a screaming baby could cause PTSD, so frazzled was I after a 20-minute car ride in which he screamed the whole time. Despite the screaming fits, he really is a pretty mellow kiddo, and I'm fairly certain he will grow out of the screaming in the car.

As far as sleeping goes, he's okay at it. He sleeps either swaddled in his car seat (which is odd, considering how much he screams in it while the car) or in bed with us, usually unswaddled. We've tried other things, but this is what works for now, and I'm fine with it. He gets at least one good nap in a day, but like Charlie, he takes a lot of little cat naps here and there. If I'm lucky, I can get him and Charlie to nap at the same time each day, but my own napping abilities have gone down the toilet since he was born. He does pretty well at night, waking up either two or three times. Obviously two is better, but I can handle three, too.

Simon is a champ at nursing. This is something I feel exceedingly grateful for. Formula feeding was not an option this time around. For one, I simply didn't want to do it, and for another, it's so much cheaper to breastfeed. Even though our nursing relationship was interrupted when he was a week old, he went right back to the breast a week later - no latch, supply, or nipple confusion issues at all. I was (am) so freaking happy about that. It simplifies things so much to just be able to whip out my boob and put him on it. No need to make bottles, carry around formula and other feeding supplies in my already stuffed diaper bag, or anything like that. I love it. My plan is to breastfeed for at least a year, and at that point, I'll evaluate and see how we both feel about continuing on into Simon's second year.

Handling a newborn the second time around is so much easier. I'm so much more relaxed and have been able to just sit and enjoy my baby instead of worrying all the time. Every single day is a challenge, for the simple fact that there are two little people to attend to, but I'm doing it and I feel good about how things are going.

Charlie: Charlie is still his adorable and lovable old self. Gaining a little brother hasn't changed that. He's got a great vocabulary and just recently started speaking in understandable two-word sentences. (He was probably doing the two-word sentences before, but let's face it, I don't speak toddler.) He's almost 30 pounds now and is busting out of the diapers that he's been wearing for over a year. (He and his brother are both big boys and will likely stay that way.) At his 18-month well check, the doctor said he looks great but mentioned that one of his feet turns in a bit when he walks. It's nothing I'm really concerned about, but the doctor will check it again when Charlie turns two.

Today I caught Charlie trying to climb out of his crib, so it looks like new sleeping arrangements will be coming in the near future. And speaking of other new things, Charlie has begun acting out a bit in response to Simon now being the baby and probably also because he's approaching the age of two. Lots of tantrums and even some hitting and biting. I still don't really know what my discipline style is, and I haven't developed a consistent way of dealing with tantrums. (Do I ignore him? Tell him to stop? Hold him because it's obvious that he's feeling really upset? Put him in time out?) I'm not a spanker, that's for sure. I have lost it a couple of times and yelled at him, but that doesn't ever feel right to me. I have resorted to saying "No" a lot and explaining that hitting and biting are not okay. Perhaps I should start cracking the "how to deal with your challenging toddler" books.

Despite this maddening (but normal) toddler behavior, Charlie is just so much fun these days. Everything he does (except for the aforementioned maddening toddler behavior) is just so damn cute. He adores his little brother, and I can't wait to watch their relationship grow.

Christmas: Christmas was .... exhausting. We had three Christmases over the course of one day, which is kind of ridiculous. It was a good day but not the shiny sparkly magicfest I loved as a child. But it hasn't been that in years. I think I expected this year to be different because of the kid factor, but no.

We weren't really going to do gifts under the tree this year. Instead we were going to fix up our back patio as a play area for the boys and make Charlie a play kitchen. Both of those things had not happened and Christmas was rapidly approaching. So on Christmas Eve, I jumped out of bed and went shopping. I was bound and determined for us (especially Charlie) to have things to open on Christmas morning. In the end, I'm glad I did that, because it was really fun to sit around and open presents. Charlie didn't really get the concept, and Simon decided to projectile vomit while we were opening presents, but it was still a good time. (The play kitchen has been delayed until Charlie's second birthday, and the play area outside is in progress.)

In the end, if you add up gifts from us plus grandmas plus other family members and friends, the boys got a lot of loot, and now we are trying to figure out what to do with it all. I know for sure we are going to start doing a rotation thing, where we switch out toys to keep things interesting, as well as donating some. My general rule for acquiring new things is when something new comes in, something old goes out. It's easy for me and Roy to do that for our own stuff, not so easy when it comes to the boys. Damn, I hate that Christmas is such a commercial holiday.

Goal for next year: more handmade gifts, less gifts bought from big corporations like Target. I love Target but almost everything there is made in frickin' China. Better yet, I'd like to figure out an alternative to the traditional Christmas gifts. We just don't have the space for all this stuff!

My mom's visit: My mom flew in on the 19th and flew out today, and it was a good visit save for the stomach virus she caught while here. She had full disclosure that the boys were sick before coming, but I still don't think either of us really expected her to get sick. Well, it happened, and I feel terrible about it. We kept her quarantined in the living room for a couple of days, and everything worked out fine, but still, ugh. Speaking of that stomach virus, I still haven't caught it! And I hope to continue to avoid it.

Anyway, my mom spoiled us while she was here, treating us to dinners and groceries. She bought Roy a new battery for his laptop and a new coat, paid for an expensive pair of shoes and haircut/lowlights for me, and treated the boys to the ultimate Christmas gift: a playhouse for their play area outside. Awesome. It was so nice having her here; I loved seeing her interact with the boys. It sucks that she is so far away and that the kiddos get such limited time with her. Perhaps someday we will all be closer together.

Me: Well, I'm doing pretty good. I mean, I'm tired, but overall I'm in good spirits. I lost all the pregnancy weight very quickly and put on my pre-pregnancy jeans once my incision felt healed enough. I'm still not cleared for exercise or anything, and I'm not supposed to be lifting Charlie, but I have no idea how I can possibly avoid picking up my own kid.

The skin on my stomach is still pretty loose, and I have a few more stretch marks, but nothing major. I guess in general, my whole body could use some toning up, but I have made it a goal of mine to stop criticizing my physical appearance so much. After all, this body has grown two perfect little boys and is the sole provider of nourishment for one of those little boys right now. This body handled two labors and two major surgeries and is still kickin'. This body deserves my respect, so I'm going to try my best to stop talking shit about it.

Now that I'm not pregnant, I find myself wondering what the next step is. I didn't realize how much of a holding pattern I was in until I was home after Simon was born and found myself wondering, "What's next for me?" There have been so many changes over such a short period of time, and in many ways I'm ready to just sit back and enjoy and not make any big decisions. But let's face it, there are big decisions to be made. I still have goals and dreams and things that I want to do. While my family is my world, I am still an individual, and I still have this desire to make all my dreams come true. I've got a post brewing about all this, naturally.

In the meantime, though, both boys are sleeping (at the same time OMG), and therefore it's time for me to go take a shower.

Happy Holidays!

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

2010-12-24T22:25:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays, from my family to yours.

It's a wonderful (and terribly complicated, often bittersweet, always confusing, downright strange, but yes, still completely wonderful) life that I've got. Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope Santa brings you a little something special tomorrow.

One Month/Getting Through It

2010-12-16T21:31:00.000-08:00

It so happens that Mr. Simon is one month old today.

It also so happens that at right around 5:30 this morning, Roy jumped out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom. Seconds later, I heard the unmistakeable sound of vomit hitting the bathtub. And then Charlie woke up and decided that despite the fact that it was still dark out, he wanted to stay up. He wanted extra special attention. So did Simon. And Roy needed extra special attention. Super Leslie to the rescue, I guess.

Today wasn't supposed to start out that way. But once it started, it never stopped. Because once Roy threw up, I finally pieced together a couple of things.

1) Charlie threw up three times on Sunday morning and then was completely fine after that. On Tuesday, his poop turned light yellow (not to mention completely disgusting) and has stayed that way ever since. When I called the doctor's office about it yesterday, they said he likely had a bug working its way through his system.

2) Simon began spitting up quite a bit on Tuesday. He also started sleeping in longer stretches and was halfheartedly nursing between sleeps. When I told my midwife about it, she said that he could be gearing up for a growth spurt.

If you add those two things together with Roy's enthusiastic vomiting episode, then you get three sick boys, one of whom is only a month old.

And we all know what that means.

I'm next.

And I hate vomiting. I can't think of a damn person who actually likes throwing up, but vomiting is a special phobia of mine that I've carried around with me since I was a tiny tot. The entire day I've been absolutely dreading what I know is pretty much inevitable. I've even made my food choices based on how they'll probably taste coming up. Except nothing tastes good coming back up.

I am so fucked.

This stomach bug business is the latest in a whole laundry list of challenges that I've faced in the past month:

a long, unmedicated labor that ended in a C-section
a bladder laceration during my C-section
a four-day spinal headache
the invasive blood patch procedure to get rid of said headache
being catheterized for six days
the UTI from hell
being forced to stop nursing for a week (because of the antibiotics for the UTI)
handling a toddler and a newborn on my own

I'm not going to lie. It's been rough. But through it all, even as I sit here in crippling fear of the stomach bug that's sure to make me its bitch, I've been in remarkably good spirits. (Okay, there was that one time when I was sitting on the toilet bawling from the pain from the UTI from hell and swearing to Roy that I would never have another baby.) The truth is I've heard so much shitty stuff about what other people are going through, and I can't help but feel lucky. Christmas (my favorite holiday) is just around the corner, my mom's flying in on Sunday for a nine-day visit, I'm going to meet my sweet baby nephew around January 4, and I have this wonderful house full of boys and cats. (And fish. Roy is kind of obsessed with fish. Our fish are super breeders. They're threatening to take over the world.)

Watching other people go through hell has afforded me the opportunity to really embrace each moment in my own life. (Or at least try to. Sometimes I fail miserably.) I've spent so much time smelling Simon's head, looking into those penetrating eyes, and just drinking him in as he is right now. He's going to change so much in the coming months - hell, he's already officially not a newborn anymore, which kind of breaks my heart. There's a chance that I might never get to do this whole tiny baby stage again, so I'll be damned if I'm going to miss out on any of it.

So that's how I'm getting through it. I'm getting through it with the knowledge that the bad moments pass, and because of that, it's pointless to wish them away. I'm getting through it because there really is nothing like holding my sweet-smelling baby or my hilarious toddler or snuggling up to my cute husband.

I'm getting through it because this is my life. I had to change my shirt countless times today because of all of Simon's spit up. I spent quite a bit of time spraying disgusting poo off Charlie's diapers. I'm spending the night on the couch so that Roy can sleep in comfort, even though my back is fucking killing me and I know the cats will be crawling all over me all night. Somewhere in all that inconvenience and that cat hair and those disgusting bodily fluids, there's a kind of beauty. Subtle, strong. And real.

(Contrary to what I said above, I demand a fast forward button to get me through this stomach bug nonsense.)

PS - Happy one month birthday, Simon, you lovely little Scorpio. (Wish I wasn't so lazy about uploading photos to my computer - otherwise, I'd share some recent pictures.)

18 Months Old

2010-12-09T21:14:00.000-08:00

Charlie turned 18 months old yesterday. Here I am, wondering again why someone doesn't invent a contraption that slows down time.

This past month I've watched my kiddo face a big change - the arrival of his little brother Simon. I wasn't 100% sure what to expect, but I figured Charlie would handle the transition with ease. So far he has proved me right. There have been no real issues so far. Instead there have been some really wonderful moments, where I've had the pleasure of seeing Charlie stroke Simon's ultra-soft hair, give him kisses, and say "Saz?" upon seeing him. It does so much to ease that guilt that I feel at having to divide my time and attention between two kids. I know that I have given each of them the gift of a lifetime: a brother and (hopefully) a built-in best friend.

Charlie continues to amaze me with everything he's picked up, especially all his words. I love that he meows when he comes across the picture of the kitty in his little first words book and that he goes "YOR!" for a lion roar. I love watching him run around the house with his floppy hair and a big smile on his face. I love that he asks me to read his favorite book at least ten times an hour. It just makes me so happy to see him be happy, to watch him grow and thrive.

Roy's aunt posted this on my Facebook wall a couple of days after Simon was born:

I had the privilege of spending time with Charlie yesterday. He is completely amazing and so smart! What a terrific personality he has, he's so happy and self-assured. It's easy to tell when a child has had wonderful parenting. Simon is a lucky little guy too! Can't wait to meet him!

I loved reading that. I love knowing that Charlie is making other people happy - just by being his completely wonderful self. (And frankly, I don't feel that my parenting skills have much to do with it.)

It's hard to believe that Charlie's next big milestone is his second birthday. I'll always hope to stop time (or at least slow it down), but since that is pretty much impossible, instead I will enjoy every moment with my Chuckles. It's not always easy being the mother of a toddler, but every bear hug and slobbery kiss, every smile and belly laugh make it all entirely worth it.

Three Weeks Old

2010-12-07T23:07:00.000-08:00

It's been a week and a half since I last blogged. I've been caught up in the mysterious surreality that only parents of newborns can truly understand, where it's common to put your baby on the dryer in his car seat in a desperate attempt to get him to sleep, where you resort to singing Britney Spears pop songs in lieu of lullabies. I am tired but happy. I keep telling myself that sleep is for pansies. I'm not sure if I buy that.

I've been listening to Sarah McLachlan's version of Silent Night quite a bit lately, marveling a bit over the serenity I finally feel as a mother. It took me so long to get here, and much of the time, it was like walking through flames, burning away the unnecessary excess in order to really get at that maternal bliss. Except that it's not really bliss; that's just not the right word, because bliss is only part of it. I'm not even sure if I could ever put a word on it. It's complicated. Motherhood is complicated.

Simon is also a complicated little soul; from the beginning, he has had these very alert wakeful times where he has unflinchingly stared me straight in the eyes. I feel a little like he's peering into the deepest parts of me, and it feels good to be vulnerable this way, to not feel afraid. He's only three weeks old, but when I look into his eyes, he feels so much older than that. Yet he needs me in a way that only the frighteningly young need their mothers.

So it's been three weeks since this little man got stuck all posterior-like in my birth canal, and I still haven't written his birth story. I've been working on it here and there but mostly I've had him stuck on my boob, or Charlie in my lap, or I've been asleep (because I am a pansy, apparently). Every once in awhile, I venture out of the house, sometimes by myself, sometimes with everyone else in tow, and the world feels strange and bright. I know things will never be the same again, but that's the thing with kids - they change everything forever, and there's not much to be done about it.

Happy three weeks, Simon. What a perfect little boy you are.

Gratitude, One Day Late (Because It Never Goes Out of Style)

2010-11-26T22:11:00.000-08:00

"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

-American Beauty-

I meant to have a gratitude post all written and posted for Thanksgiving. What can I say, except two certain little someones are keeping me quite busy? And my recovery has been more complicated than I ever anticipated it would be. But hey, that gives me a good excuse to take lots of naps.

At the top of my gratitude list:

1) this guy, because he's my best friend and understands me like no other ever has or ever will

2) and this guy, too, because he's my first born and has taught me humility and grace

3) not to mention this one, because he's my second born and has taught me patience and healing

I am a little awestruck at how lucky I am.

But wait! The list goes on...

I'm grateful for my birth team: midwives Joyce and Lynn, my doula Mandi, and my good friend and birth photographer Becki (who also took the above photo of Simon), all of whom were present through my labor at the birth center. Their patience and support really blew me away.

I'm grateful for the staff at the hospital for taking care of us, especially those who didn't feel the need to lecture me for attempting an out-of-hospital VBAC.

I'm grateful for my mom, who has always been my rock, who is my other best friend, who listened to me wail on the phone the other day as I dealt with the horrible pain of the worst urinary tract infection I've ever had.

I'm grateful for the antibiotics that are kicking my UTI's ass, even though I can't breastfeed while taking them.

I'm grateful for people who perform acts of kindness for those they don't know very well, like the woman who gave us a couple of days worth of her own breastmilk for Simon once she found out I had to stop breastfeeding for a week. Not only that, she brought us some seriously yummy cupcakes as well.

I'm grateful for my mother-in-law, who brought us Thanksgiving dinner last night, watched Charlie the other day so I could go see the doctor, and brought us everything we needed while we were laid up in the hospital.

I'm grateful for Mandy and Paul, who took care of Charlie while we were in the hospital and went out to buy us bottles once I found out I had to start pumping.

I'm grateful for my friend Emily, who brought me pain meds, toilet paper, and pads the other day, not to mention some awesome pot roast.

I'm grateful for my brother-in-law Jake, who brought supplies to us while we were in the hospital and pizza to us after we got home.

I'm grateful for Roy's aunt Ruth, who is coming to stay with us for awhile once Roy goes back to work next week.

I'm grateful for all my family and friends and everyone who has shown us such support and love.

I will never be able to say thank you enough.

The Story of My Second Pregnancy

2010-11-22T21:11:00.000-08:00

It’s true that I didn’t write much about my pregnancy this time around, save for the last few weeks. I did so much of that while Charlie was gestating, and frankly it’s a little tougher to blog that often once the inside baby moves to the outside. This pregnancy was no less of an incredible journey, though. I sit here at almost one week postpartum and offer to you the story of the last nine months.

Some background:

2010 rolls in. After a simply wonderful holiday season, which includes an affirming trip to Texas to see my family, we settle into the new year. I expect things to be better than they were in the summer and fall. Roy and I are both still recovering from the trauma surrounding Charlie’s birth, but I feel that we’ve got it mostly under control. I am wrong, very wrong, about this. In time, I will realize this. But at this time, I pick my word for the year: complete. There are many reasons why I pick it, but the most important one is because I am not deficient and it really is time that I believe that.

The magic of the holiday season wears off, and once again every day feels like a struggle to survive. I love Charlie and don’t know what I would do without him, but I don’t feel like a very good mom most of the time. There are many days when I call Roy crying, and several times he has to come home from work early. I feel absolutely 100% lost.

In February, I hit rock bottom. I still feel so destroyed by the way Charlie’s birth played out. I don’t understand why I can’t follow everyone’s (well-meaning but horribly invalidating) advice to “just be grateful for a healthy baby.” It feels so much more complicated than that. I know I am a lesser mother for not enjoying my son as much as I know I should. It is so difficult because he is the best thing that ever happened to us, and yet I am haunted by his birth. I think about it every day. I begin to wonder if I have postpartum depression.

February 13 & 14, 2010. Roy, Charlie, and I hit the road for a Valentine’s Day trip to San Diego. It is exactly what we need at this point. We have a wonderful time, and I feel light and painless and happy. I love my family and I am a wonderful mom and I know everything is going to be okay. It is during this trip that, quite unexpectedly, our second child is conceived, and we bring home with us the most precious souvenir we could have ever wished for.

Okay, so if we’re being technical, there’s pretty much no way that our baby was actually conceived during that trip since it takes a few days for conception to occur. But let’s suspend our disbelief for a second and just say “awwww” when I tell you that there are actually four of us in this picture:

We return home after that amazing weekend out of our element, and soon things are back to normal. I’m back to crying every day. The feelings of sadness and loss are overwhelming. After a particularly awful day, I decide to see my doctor. It is February 18. My appointment is March 2. I have no idea how I will make it until then.

But I do make it. In the meantime, I start sneezing. I get really congested. Kleenex is my best friend. I visit the bathroom much more regularly than I used to. And then on the morning of March 1, I am lying in bed and I realize that my last period was January 28. I am a little late. I don’t think about this much because of how stress-ridden February was.

I see my doctor’s nurse practitioner on March 2. She is not wanting to give me anti-depressants just yet, which turns out to be exactly the right thing to do, so she gives me a referral to a local therapist. I have an appointment for the next day.

I decide to take a pregnancy test that evening, just in case my new therapist wants to prescribe anti-depressants. I am both shocked and not-shocked to see the test turn up positive. We are happy. We are cautious. We begin to try to wrap our minds around being the parents of two small children.

I am 4 weeks and 5 days pregnant. There is a new person growing inside me. It blows my mind. Roy and I decide that this is our secret for awhile. We need time to process.

I begin therapy and avoid anti-depressants. I hold on tight to my sanity as the first trimester threatens to swallow me whole. I feel physically awful, and that doesn’t help with how emotionally unstable I’ve been feeling. I already know that I want to attempt a VBAC with a midwife outside of a hospital. We decide on a local birth center that I have already toured and whose staff I am familiar with. In no way do I feel prepared to even think about actually having a VBAC, but I know that there is no way I can go back to my OB’s office - or any OB at all. Not at this point.

So we give ourselves over to a whole new way of approaching birth. It feels good, but early on I tell the student midwife, Lynn, that I am afraid. She responds, “There’s no room for fear here.” I don’t really understand what she means. I don’t know how I can not be afraid after what happened the first time. I wonder if women really do approach birth completely without fear.

Our first ultrasound is on April 1. I am 9 weeks pregnant. It is confirmed that there is indeed a tiny little person nestled into my uterus. I tear up when I see the little flickering of the baby’s heartbeat. I am so happy.

I have a follow-up appointment with my general physician for my depression. We discuss my pregnancy and she asks who my OB is. I tell her I don’t have an OB and that I am using a midwife. She says, "Well, we really need to get you set up with an OB. Did you deliver naturally the first time?" I tell her I had a c-section and that I am going for a VBAC this time around. She gasps a little and says, "That's dangerous! You know that, right?"

I respond very calmly, "I know that people think it's dangerous." She is shocked into silence. I am so proud of myself for saying that and so angry at her for being such a fearmonger. I find it completely irresponsible that a medical doctor’s knee-jerk response is to say that VBAC is dangerous. And yet all my research has prepared me to be unsurprised about this.

Even though I know that VBAC is a safe alternative to repeat c-section, I leave the doctor's office feeling incredibly discouraged. So discouraged, in fact, that I am almost ready to cave and go see my OB for the rest of my pregnancy so we can schedule a repeat c-section. But then I realize that my doctor has no idea what is really best for me. Her fearmongering comes from a place entirely different than being supportive of me.

I don’t realize it at the time, but this exchange between me and my doctor is the beginning of something huge. I dare to stand up for myself. I dare to do this because I know what is right for me and my baby. I do not care how many people in white lab coats I have to stare down. I will not put myself or my baby in harm’s way just because it is more convenient for them. I will not be cut open again unless it’s necessary for my or my baby’s health and well-being. I will not let them make me feel broken.

When I have my next appointment at the birth center, I tell the student midwives Lynn and Angela about this exchange between my doctor and me. I tell them how afraid I am about not being brave enough to go through with having a VBAC. Lynn looks at me and then says, "It's not like you'll have the VBAC and then be empowered. Your pregnancy is a journey that will empower you to have the VBAC. You just need the right people on your side, people who will believe in you. Of course, everyone else can believe in you, but it doesn't matter if you don't believe in yourself."

I visit another local birth center because I am curious about how things are done there. It is not a good experience for me, as the birth center does not allow VBACs outside of the hospital and uses really awful fear tactics to discourage me against attempting one. They don’t even have their statistics right. I leave and never look back. Again, I feel very discouraged, but more angry than anything. But I get over it. I feel extremely grateful for the birth center and the midwife I’ve chosen.

I hang onto Lynn’s ideas about empowerment throughout my pregnancy, and as it progresses, as I slowly find my way out of the darkness, I begin to understand what she means. By the time I have fully entered the light of my new self and my new life, I am completely confident in my birth choices. My voice is strong. I am strong. I am a person I have never been before, and in many ways I am the person I’ve always wanted to be. It has taken a journey to hell and back, but it is a journey I would not change.

My tummy grows rounder. I dream of having another little boy. I eat well and rest often and read birth books and online articles. I share my findings with others. I am using my voice because so many women don’t have that option. In the most natural of ways, I become a passionate advocate for empowered childbirth. I have always wanted to do something to make a difference in the world. Maybe this is my way.

Charlie turns one year old. On his birthday, I feel the baby kicking for the first time. As I reflect on both Charlie’s growth from babyhood to toddlerhood and the new life inside me, love overwhelms me. I am the mother of two perfect little souls. I am the wife of the best man I have ever known. In the space of a year, I have touched the very bottom of darkness and then slowly climbed back towards the light. I am so lucky. I am myself.

Later in June we discover that indeed another little boy is on the way, and we are thrilled. We sit down at a table in the Nordstrom Cafe afterwards and discuss names. We narrow it down to two. Later we are driving around and Roy says, out of the blue, “Hey, little Burt Reynolds!” We crack up. It becomes our baby’s first nickname.

The summer hits us hard. We have two very sick family members. Being on one income leads us into extreme financial difficulties. Our landlord is selling our house and we don’t know where we will end up living. Our insurance company begins giving us the runaround for coverage for our out-of-hospital birth. We hang tight in the face of these challenges. We have made it through a year of darkness, and we know we’ll be fine as long as we’re together.

Our brush with near-bankruptcy causes us to reevaluate what we have and what we need. We begin going through our house and getting rid of things that we aren’t using. We begin thinking of things as tiny ways to weigh us down and keep us from living the life we want. We have realized that the best way to lead a remarkable life is to strip away all the extraneous to find the raw and the real lying underneath. Everything begins to come together in a way it never has before. Even when it makes absolutely no sense, life makes sense.

In July we begin our Bradley classes, a 12-week intensive course in childbirth preparation. I pay close attention to what I eat while exercising every day. I practice the recommended relaxation techniques and am able to beat the insomnia that has crippled me for the last three months. With each class, I learn more and more. I feel stronger and more powerful than I’ve ever felt. The most important thing I learn is that we as patients have the right to refuse any procedure. I realize that the medical community only has as much power as we give them.

I begin to understand more about fear and how it can make or break a birth experience. I now understand why Lynn told me at the very beginning of my pregnancy that there’s no room for fear in childbirth. I realize that the fear will probably always be there but it doesn’t have to run the show. I realize just how much it *is* running the show for so many people, and not just in regards to birth. We decide that our life will be different, that we will always listen to our instincts, and that we will approach life unafraid.

I also begin to understand a thing or two about empowerment. Lynn was right. By the time I am very far along in my pregnancy, I am in a completely different spot than I was when this journey began. I am still me, with my moments of crippling doubt and insecurity, but I am also a version of myself that I have never known. I let go easily of negative influences in my life, and I surround myself with the positive. I am happy. I am empowered. I love my baby, and I am ready to birth him with courage and strength. There is no room for fear here.

Towards the end the fear does begin to creep in here and there. I worry about not going into labor soon enough, about all the horror stories circulating out in the world, about failing at my VBAC. There are so many unknowns at this point. It is driving me crazy not having the answers. I am anxious sometimes. Even after I reach my due date, I have contractions that are erratic, but nothing else seems to be happening. I often wonder if my body just doesn't work right. But I force myself to dismiss those thoughts. They do me absolutely no good.

Mostly I am just fine with waiting. I have more patience than I’ve ever given myself credit for. I don’t waste a bunch of time trying to make the baby come. I continue to live my life and I know that he will join the world when he’s ready. He’s healthy, I’m healthy, and we’re going to give him a healthy birth.

And that's exactly what happens. We have a healthy birth, the birth our baby needs to have. It doesn't look or feel at all like the way I imagined. I remind myself that nothing in life ever does. And then I hold my baby boy close and I know that birth is about so much more than squeezing a baby out of one's vagina. It's about giving life to a new and perfect person the best way a mother possibly can. I understand in so many ways now that as fractured as I am, I am also complete. I am myself. My birth experiences have made me whole.

Happy Birth Day, Simon

2010-11-18T12:31:00.000-08:00

Simon Robert (AKA Burt Reynolds)
11/16/10, 4:24 AM
8 lbs 4 oz, 20 inches

This is the only photo I have for now. We've taken plenty, but it's been a crazy 72+ hours. I'll hopefully be able to update soon with some more pictures and a very detailed birth story. You guys know how I like the details.

A few words about the birth: I wish I could say that I did end up with a VBAC, but Simon had other plans. I did go into labor on my own, slept through my entire early labor (about six hours), and then labored for 21 more hours (I think) without meds. I had two pushing stages: the first was two hours and the second was six. It was determined pretty late in the game that Simon was posterior, and while we made every effort to get him into an anterior position, progress was so slow that I ended up being completely exhausted and unable to go on. We transferred to the hospital, where I had a repeat C-section. I was able to be awake for it, which made the experience so much better.

My recovery hasn't been the easiest in the world. My bladder got nicked during the surgery (due to scar tissue from my first C-section), and so I'm still catheterized. We're hoping to get that out tomorrow. It's been waaaaaaaaay too much fun trying to get up and walking again while dealing with a catheter. It isn't a big deal, really, just one of those pain in the ass things. I've also had a major headache for the last 48 hours, probably due to muscle tension/exhaustion/stress. It's pretty much the worst headache I've ever had. So if you combine the sexy catheter with general C-section recovery and the headache from hell, yeah, I could be feeling better.

On the up side, Simon is doing really great at nursing. And emotionally, both Roy and I are doing really well. Even though I ended up with another C-section, I really did give a VBAC my all, and there wasn't a whole lot more that I could've done to change the outcome. All I ever really wanted was an empowered birth, and that's exactly what I had. I have no regrets. I think I kicked ass, actually.

And Simon is an amazing baby. I had forgotten just how sweet and floppy newborns are. He's just wonderful. We're completely smitten.

Thank you so much for all your support and love and good thoughts. xoxo

Mommy's Little Secret

2010-11-14T21:39:00.000-08:00

My mom has always made the best mashed potatoes. I have the recipe and no matter how hard I try, I cannot duplicate her mashed potatoes' level of tastiness. It's one of those secrets she's got.

I have my own little secret, but it's not a recipe. It's what I use to get potential stains out of clothing. I didn't discover this awesomeness until after Charlie was well out of the newborn stage, but I think if I had known about it then, I could've saved quite a few of his tiny outfits from horrible staining. But I'm grateful to know about it now, especially because he is one messy toddler. We're back to going through two to three outfits per day because he refuses to wear a bib during meals, likes to get dirty, and all that other fun kid stuff.

My big secret for keeping his clothes clean and re-wearable is Charlie's All-Purpose Cleaner. Forget all the chemicals in stuff like Resolve - this is a non-toxic solution that actually cleans a whole hell of a lot better. It not only works on laundry, but on pretty much everything else, including things like dentures. It's pretty amazing.

Here's what Charlie decided to do on Halloween: eat some frito pie and then wipe his hands all over his cute little Charlie Brown shirt.

Totally awesome. I didn't have to sit there and stress about it, because I have such a good cleaning solution at home. So he got to be his messy little self and once we got him home and undressed, I sprayed down his shirt with Charlie's All-Purpose Cleaner and started a load of laundry. And his shirt looks good as new, seriously.

I'd recommend this product to every mom out there. No nasty chemicals! Works great! And one jug of the stuff lasts quite awhile! (Yes, I do sound like some weird Martha Stewart wannabe.)

The downside? This stuff is difficult to find in stores, so it's best to order it online. But just think, by ordering online, you're helping support an awesome small business, while also letting toddlers everywhere continue to make giant messes. Yay.

(Order here.)

On Being 40 Weeks Pregnant (Again)

2010-11-13T13:50:00.000-08:00

Here I am again. 40 weeks (plus one day) pregnant. It feels weird to have two possible due dates.

Thursday was a weird day. It started off with a Facebook message from an old high school friend cautioning me about avoiding induction. Yes, it contained a horror story. I know her intentions were good, but it bugged me. It bugged me a lot.

I should mention that the night before, I went out with some members from my moms group. They were, of course, all aghast at the fact that I'm still pregnant. Towards the end of the night I was grilled about when I would be induced. The conversation went something like this:

"So when are you going to be induced?"

"I'm not."

"What do you mean? What's your cut off date?"

"I don't have one."

"How can you not have one? What if the baby doesn't want to come out?"

"He'll come out."

"Well, my son didn't. I made it to 10 cm and was pushing and then they discovered that my pelvis was too small for him to fit through. There's no way I could have pushed him out."

"Uh huh." (said while fighting the urge to roll my eyes)

Here's the thing. I'm not a doctor. I've never pretended to be one. But I have heard this from so many women that after awhile it really does make me want to roll my eyes. How could so many women all of a sudden have inadequate pelvises? While the world has changed a lot, our bodies really haven't. And it's actually really rare for a woman to have a pelvis that is too small to give birth. It is ridiculous that so many women believe they cannot give birth vaginally.

Well, I don't believe it.

So yeah. My headspace was all off Thursday because of those things. But I talked to Roy. I talked to my friend Emily. I talked to my doula and my midwife and my mom. All sane people who support me and don't doubt that I can do this, dammit, and that I don't need drugs to get things going. Having those conversations confirmed my suspicion that yes, I need to drop off the face of the planet for awhile. Or at least just stop going on Facebook. So that's what I decided to do, take a little break from social networking, avoid the negativity, and see how I feel.

I've been off Facebook since Thursday night and am doing a lot better. Obviously I've made the decision to keep blogging, but that's because I enjoy it. (And people can stalk me on here if they so wish. Hi, everyone!)

I don't really mind when people ask about the baby coming. It's human nature to be excited and to want the scoop, and frankly I love that people are happy for us and care about what's happening. I just was getting depressed by the sheer amount of misinformation out there and the lack of faith that people have in a woman's ability to give birth. I get that there are exceptions; I understand that things go wrong; I know that birth is inherently risky - BUT so is everything in life. I'm so tired of the fear and the paranoia. It was really wearing on me and causing me to doubt my body's ability to birth this kid. I hate that, especially because I know that I can do it.

So yes, I'm still pregnant. This may be our last weekend as a family of three, or maybe it won't be. I really have no idea, and I think that's perfectly okay. Now if only the rest of the world felt the same....

Welcome to My House

2010-11-12T20:36:00.000-08:00

A couple of months ago I wrote about our uncluttering adventure. I think I probably made it seem like we live a spotless existence in a very clean house, but actually it's just the opposite. Our house is pretty messy. The only thing that is its saving grace is the fact that we don't have a ton of stuff, but because it is so small (880 square feet), it still feels to me like we have too much.

One of the things on my to do list is to deep clean the house before Burt Reynolds comes. You know, I'm just going to come out and say it. What a joke. It makes no sense to clean when you have a toddler tornado ripping the house to shreds right behind you. It's not just Charlie, though; it's Roy and me, too. We're too tired to clean sometimes. We'll keep our house above a hazardous level, but that's pretty much it. Poor Burt Reynolds!

I thought I'd share some pictures of our house in its current state. Maybe it'll make some of you out there feel better.

Living room/dining room:

(I hate our couch upholstery.)

(The only thing that keeps this room from being a complete disaster is that there isn't much in it. What you can't tell from this photo is that there is peanut butter cereal from Trader Joe's all over the floor, which has been there since this morning when Charlie decided to dump it all over the floor. Someday I would like to get a real dining room table and chairs and put it in this part of the room. We do have a little fold-up table and chairs that we sometimes use. Yes, I realize that we are living like college kids instead of mature adults. But it works - and gives Charlie more space to play.)

Kitchen:

(The counters aren't normally this packed with stuff. Since I am planning on going into labor sometime before the end of 2010, I have a whole stockpile of food to eat in the early stages that's sitting out, waiting to be packed. I also have all of Charlie's snacks out. Okay, and there are some dirty dishes, too.)

(The kitchen floor. You'll notice Charlie's shoes, a whole bunch of cat food, some avocado, and some cheese decorating the floor. Yes, all of this will probably still be there in the morning. Yes, I do realize that I could be cleaning it up instead of writing this blog entry.)

Hallway:

(For now, we're keeping our hamper, which is normally in our room, in the hallway. See how there are dirty clothes on the floor mere inches from the hamper? That's just how we roll around here. It's just easier.)

Our bedroom:

(I never wrote about this, but back in the spring, Roy and I moved Charlie into our much bigger bedroom and we moved into his smaller bedroom. Since then, our bedroom has been the biggest clusterfuck of all time. We just don't have enough room. It looks particularly bad right now, you'll notice. Perhaps it would help if we made the bed.)

(This is the small area at the foot of the bed. Burt Reynolds might sleep here in the pack and play, but we aren't too sure about that. Maybe we'll skip the pack and play and just put him in that cardboard Philips box or our empty laundry basket. This is where I pause as you all dial the number for CPS.)

(Our closet. Do you see Woogas?)

There are a few rooms that aren't shown: Charlie's room (he's already in bed, so I couldn't photograph his room), the laundry room (boring), the bathroom (boring), and the office (boring). I say those rooms are boring because they are mostly in good shape.

There it is, the house where I sit and think up all my genius posts for this blog. It's covered in cat hair, toddler snacks, and lots of little odds and ends that don't always get put up right away, but it's home. And as much as the mess frustrates me at times, it's a sign that our little home is lived in and loved, which is exactly what homes are supposed to be.

And it isn't always this bad. When we do pick up and clean, which we do try to do every day, it doesn't take very much time for our house to look pretty well put together. It also doesn't take very much time for it all to go straight to hell again.

Thanks for coming over! Next time maybe I'll even offer you a seat.

41 Weeks (or 39 Weeks 6 Days)

2010-11-11T05:10:00.000-08:00

Whether I really am 41 weeks pregnant at this point is very debatable, as my first ultrasound at 9 weeks gave me a due date of November 12. According to that, I'm due tomorrow! A woman's body is full of secrets, apparently.

I thought I'd dedicate this post to talking about what we're doing differently this time around. Obviously, we're having a birth center birth instead of a hospital birth, using a midwife instead of an OB, hiring a doula, and going unmedicated, but there's a whole host of other things that we're doing differently.

1) We're going to be old-fashioned and not update the world as soon as I go into labor, nor will we be updating throughout the course of things. We really only plan on telling select family members (our moms) once things get going, as well as our babysitter and our birth team. We may tell a few more people once he's born, but those who do know will be asked to keep the news offline until we have a chance to update the world ourselves. That puts no added pressure on us to deliver the news until we feel ready. And also, I kind of hate it when someone else ruins the surprise. A friend of mine had her baby and didn't reveal the name throughout her pregnancy. Then some moron friend of hers came onto her Facebook wall and was like, "I know the name! It's ______________" after the baby was born, before the parents even stood a chance at getting online. I found myself hugely frustrated on my friend's behalf because it was her (and her husband's) news to tell, not someone else's. I really wanted to hear it from them, not some stranger. Lame.

2) We are not allowing visitors at the birth center. We had people in the waiting room (and sometimes in the L&D room) while I was in labor with Charlie, and while I so appreciated the support, it was a stressor, especially because our moms had to see me in such a state of terror and vulnerability. That was not something I ever wanted or anticipated. From that experience, I learned that people will show up unless you tell them specifically not to. So this time around, we're telling everyone to stay home and wish us good thoughts from a distance. Once the baby is born, we won't be at the birth center very long afterwards anyway, maybe six hours or so. We'd rather spend that time bonding with Burt Reynolds and hopefully taking care of basic needs (like eating and sleeping) than trying to play pass the baby.

3) We plan to really limit visitors for the first little while after Burt Reynolds is born. (This, of course, all depends on how we're feeling.) In my ideal world, we will have several days to ourselves, just the four of us, where we can just all hang out and get to know each other. Then after that initial bonding time, I'm thinking we'll allow one visitor (or set of visitors) a day for awhile after that. I don't know, I really have no idea how this is going to work out or how we're going to be feeling at this point, but this time around I feel so hugely protective of our bonding time. I also really want this breastfeeding thing to work, and the less people around to make me feel uncomfortable while I'm doing it, the better. (Another lesson I learned at the hospital with Charlie!)

4) People who do come over to see us should be prepared to earn their baby time. With Charlie, I felt like I just had to pass him around to others, and I also felt I had to entertain our visitors. This time, we will request that people bring food, help around the house, help with Charlie so I can get the hang of nursing Burt Reynolds, etc. We're really going to need whatever people can give. Roy's aunt is even going to come stay with us for awhile once Roy goes back to work full-time.

So that's my list. I suppose I sound like a control freak and maybe even a little bitchy, but that's not really my intention. Nothing really felt right after Charlie was born so this is my attempt at a different outcome. I don't think any of our guests were actually expecting us to wait on them, but it was just difficult to voice what we needed. My views on a lot of things have changed in the past year and a half, and this time I have no problem with letting people know exactly what I need, whether it's to be left alone, to come over, to help with the house, whatever. It really is less about pleasing others and more about making it through what will probably be a really rough transition for us. I think the first time around we just had no idea what to do or what we felt or anything. It was just such a huge change, combined with such a deep level of trauma, so we were just going with it.

I won't lie, though, I am hoping for a blissful postpartum period where we just all kind of sit around and drink in the perfection of our new family. The reality, though, is that no matter how well the birth goes, the newborn period is quite a challenge, and if you add a toddler to the mix, it should be very interesting.

So here's to being 41 weeks according to my last period, or 39 weeks 6 days according to my first ultrasound! We have no idea when this baby is coming, and that's actually fun. Yes, there are times when I am completely over being pregnant. But I am in a very good place, both physically and emotionally, and I know this time of waiting is so short in the grand scheme of things. I'm enjoying my time with Charlie and Roy, my warm baths while drinking an O'Doul's at night, my books and music, my relative freedom, my sleep at night, and my naps during the day. Burt Reynolds is going to turn our comfy little world upside down. I'm enjoying the (relative) silence before the chaos really begins.

And can I just say how freaking glad I am that I went with a midwife for this pregnancy? If I was with an OB right now (generally speaking), he or she would be breathing down my neck about the fact that I haven't popped out this baby yet. This is exactly why we have shelled out a good amount of money: to give birth when my body is damn good and ready. Too bad our insurance company doesn't see eye-to-eye with us on this issue. Oh well, that's another subject for a quite depressing post.

(Edit: I am seriously considering going underground for the rest of this pregnancy. If I do this, I think I'll schedule my posts here and leave the rest of the online world alone. People haven't been too bad with the "baby? baby? baby?" stuff, but to be quite honest, I got a Facebook message this morning that made me go "WTF?!" Perhaps I've made a mistake in being kinda sorta vocal about my plans for an out-of-hospital birth without the typical interventions.)

Untitled Freewrite

2010-11-10T15:58:00.000-08:00

(an unedited meditation on an anniversary of an end and a beginning, which will probably make sense to no one other than me)

On this day that made me a veteran
(one day too soon)
all those years ago,
this day that spawned a monster,
left me walking in the rain,
searching for my twin,
searching for the end
to the beginning of the end,
with only song lyrics and poetry
and blindness to guide me,
it's been 13 years
and for so long
the emptiness enclosed me,
enfolded me,
and I couldn't breathe
too deeply
for fear that I might find you there,
child of mine,
clinging tightly to my insides
and whispering,
"Mama, mama,
you are safe."

Pumpkin Patchin'

2010-11-09T21:39:00.000-08:00

Roy managed to get the Friday before Halloween off, and we finally went out to the pumpkin patch. We'd been planning the trip for the beginning of October, but it kept being put off for one reason or another. So glad we finally made it, and on a weekday to boot. It wasn't crowded at all, thankfully. This grouchy pregnant woman hates crowds, even when she's not pregnant.

Nice haircut, Chuckles.

The trip to the pumpkin patch was the leash's maiden voyage. We put it on him in the parking lot because he did not want to be held or hold hands. He had no issue with wearing it but insisted on holding the leash himself. So much for it being an effective tool for toddler wrangling. We were going to take it off of him once we got into the pumpkin patch, since it wasn't very crowded, but he ended up wearing it pretty much the entire time.

People can hate on the leash all they want, but he looked damn cute in that little monkey backpack.

We basically took a few photos at the photo opp sites and then went straight to the petting zoo, where we were greeted very enthusiastically by a herd of goats. Seriously, our cups full of feed were gone in about five seconds, and I was afraid for a split second that Charlie was going to get trampled. The pics below were taken after the dust had settled.

The picture below is my favorite from the day. I love how engrossed he is while looking at all the animals. And oh, that slobber under his bottom lip. Love it.

I love this llama, too.

And these pumpkins.

We hit up the corn maze after the petting zoo. What a clusterfuck. I was so grouchy at this point from being on my feet that we cut our time in the maze pretty short. I traded in the rest of our tickets for a couple of packages of orange and black Mardi Gras beads for Charlie. It was time to hit the dang road.

Before we left, Charlie picked out a little pumpkin for himself, as well as a decorative gourd as a reminder to us all that it's fall, fuckfaces. (Seriously, click on that link, it's hilarious.)

And that was our morning at the pumpkin patch. Totally not something I'd recommend for a woman at 39 weeks pregnant, but we still had fun. And both that little pumpkin and that awesome gourd are still sitting on the kitchen counter, looking so festive I can hardly stand it.

My 17 Month Old

2010-11-08T20:12:00.000-08:00

I am lazy and just reposting what I put on Facebook a little bit ago.

Charlie turned 17 months old today. It marked the end of our last month with just the three of us. In celebration, Charlie did lots of cute things. He gave a mannequin a hug, gave me a bunch of kisses in the middle of the grocery store, and learned how to make his sock into a puppet. Love this kid.

Jackie's Strength

2010-11-07T20:24:00.000-08:00

I finally finished my birth playlist. I knew when I started this massive project that it would take a lot of time and thought. Music means so much to me - it was one of the hardest things about planning my wedding because I just wanted it to be perfect. I left absolutely no music choices up to the DJ; that's how important the music was to me. I feel the same way about my birth playlist. So for the past few months I've been brainstorming music ideas and thinking about what I want to hear during Burt Reynolds' birth.

I now have a birth playlist that is twelve hours long and contains 157 songs. It's not perfect, because my music collection is spread out over two computers (one of which died a long time ago - thank the gods for my external hard drive), my iPod, and hundreds of CDs. I have big hopes and dreams of getting all my music into one place someday (hopefully on a huge honkin' iMac with a sweeeeeeeeeet hard drive), but for now I have to work with what I've got. The good news is I can access all of my music if I want to - it's just that some of it didn't make it onto the actual playlist.

Anyway.

The other day I was driving to see my chiropractor and "Jackie's Strength", one of my favorite Tori Amos songs, came on. I found myself in tears, and you may recall that I had a similar experience with another one of her songs near the end of my pregnancy with Charlie. It's like I was hearing the song for the first time, and in a totally different context.

You see, I love this song. I've always loved it, ever since it was released when I was a tender young 19-year-old. But the other day when it came on, it was like I got punched in the stomach. At 31 years old, I finally heard this song's message. It spoke to me of love, of loss, and of strength. It showed me how lost I was after Charlie's birth, how I had no idea who I was anymore, and how I gradually found my way back to the light and to my new self. It showed me that if I dig deep enough, there's a wellspring of strength inside that I often don't remember exists.

In the video for "Jackie's Strength," the bride in the video comes face-to-face with her former self. I know this is what will happen to me on the day Burt Reynolds is born, that I will once again be faced with the woman I was, her fear, her helplessness, her anguish. It won't be easy. I'll want to yell at her and tell her how stupid she was, how she should have known better. But instead, I'll have to reach down deep inside me and forgive her. Showing her this act of mercy is the best way I can think of to let her know that I love her and that it's time we move on, together.

Needless to say, this song made it onto the playlist.

Currently Enjoying

2010-11-06T03:31:00.000-07:00

-these two songs (often on repeat in my car)

-this book (currently reading)

-this book (finished a couple of weeks ago, and one of my favorites of the year)

-and if there's time before Burt Reynolds is born, I've got this book on deck

-this season of this show

-this amazing, all-natural, all-purpose skin cream (which I am using as a moisturizer and I love it)

-this blogger's 30 Days of Truth

-this camera (I can't really say I'm enjoying this, since I don't have one. But I want this camera so bad. It would be the perfect - and expensive - replacement for my crappy little point and shoot + little video recorder, both of which I keep in my bag. We can't afford it. A girl can dream, though, right?)

Tell me what you've been enjoying lately. Books, movies, TV, food, etc. (I could write a whole post on food I've been enjoying lately.) I want to hear it. I don't need more things to add to my list, but I want more things to add to my list.

Happy Saturday!

You know you're old when...

2010-11-05T08:13:00.000-07:00

...you buy a Fisher-Price stove from your generation at a consignment sale and it's labeled "vintage."

I had this same little stove when I was a kid. On some websites, the whole set goes for over $100! I'm pretty sure I had the whole set, too, which looks like this:

I spent $5 on the stove. Someone suggested that I sell it on eBay but no way in hell will I do that. It's too much of a treasure. And Charlie loves it. He loves it when I make the bell ring. I must confess, though, that sometimes he leaves the burners on and when I catch a glimpse of them all red, it freaks me out for a split second. I am losing it.

Speaking of toys, I posed for my 40 week belly photo on Charlie's little buddy Luke's trike:

Lookin' a little puffy there. And yet I can't be that damn puffy if I'm sitting on an almost two-year-old's trike at 40 weeks pregnant. And how ridiculous is it that I'm wearing shorts in November? It's been in the 90s here this week. I'm dying.

And since this post needs to be even more random, we're using this tutorial to make Charlie a play kitchen for Christmas. It should come out looking kind of like this:

(photo credit)

Obviously, we'll do different colors and all that. You can see some more play kitchens that were built using this tutorial here. So cute! I am so excited about this. I think Charlie will love it. We're going to add some play food from Ikea as part of the gift. I just hope we don't get too overwhelmed with Burt Reynolds and don't have the time to make it. We've already started getting the supplies, though, so we're committed to making it happen.

And just for grins, here's an absolutely adorable photo of my kiddo, taken yesterday:

And that's all for this completely random and probably very uninteresting update about toys, my gigantic stomach, and my kiddo. I'm such a parent.

Stick a fork in me...

2010-11-04T05:54:00.000-07:00

...because if you do, it might induce labor and then we'll finally get to meet this kid.

So, yeah! Today is my guess/due date. I can't believe this pregnancy is almost over. I can't believe that if you put both of my pregnancies together, I've spent 81 weeks being pregnant since September 2008. (Well, technically August 2008, I think.) That's a good chunk of time (duh) and frankly my body is going to need a long break after this. No more kids for awhile. I'm looking forward to thoroughly enjoying my two boys, and maybe we'll add on one more when the time is right.

I'm feeling much better than I was the other day. (Your comments did much to brighten my spirits - thank you!) My midwife told me at my appointment on Tuesday that having those kinds of meltdowns is good because 1) it's good to get all of it out of the way before I go into labor, and 2) it's a good indication that things are happening and my body's getting ready. Love her!

I've not having internal exams this time around, because I want to avoid the anxiety they caused me the first time around. So I have no news on that front. Burt Reynolds has dropped, though, and my bladder has noticed the difference. So has my stomach. I've been eating ravenously like I haven't eaten in weeks. I'm having Braxton-Hicks contractions pretty much all day every day, which is another good sign. Burt Reynolds is in the LOT (left occiput transverse) position, where he's been for the past couple of weeks. This is what that looks like:

It's not a "bad" position for him to be in, but it's not exactly where we want him. We want his back facing the front of my pelvis. (Please and thank you, Burt Reynolds.) I've been doing some things to help him into a better position, and if that doesn't work, then here's hoping he'll get lined up on his own while I'm in labor (which most babies do).

Another interesting factoid: my midwife has told me to expect a labor similar to that of a first-time mother. Since my body wasn't really ready when I was induced with Charlie and since I didn't make it all the way to 10cm and pushing, I can expect this labor to possibly be long. I'm hoping it won't be because my mom had quick (and natural) births. But there's a reason why giving birth can be like running a marathon - you've got to be prepared to be in it for the long haul.

So I have no idea when I can expect to go into labor. I've been doing a couple of things to possibly help: drinking red raspberry leaf tea (not consistently) and taking evening primrose oil. The tea is supposed to help tone the uterus while the primrose oil is supposed to help the cervix get all nice and effaced. I have no idea if either one is actually working. I've also been doing some walking, but I haven't been going overboard with it because I don't want to tire myself out.

I've decided that if I hit 41 weeks, then I'll do some acupuncture to hopefully get things going. The acupuncturist was trying to talk me into doing it over the weekend, but I really want to wait because 1) it's expensive, and with our crappy ass insurance, it's not going to be covered, and 2) even though it's a natural induction method (and not something like Pitocin), I really want to give my body every chance to do its thing on its own. The good thing about acupuncture, though, is that it won't induce labor unless your body is ready for it. So it's not like I'd be forcing it into something it doesn't want to do yet.

We're pretty much all set around here. I still have my to do list that I'm plugging away at. I'm hoping this weekend we'll just stay around the house and clean clean clean. I don't think we'll ever really be "ready" for such a huge transition, but all we can do is prepare as much as we can.

We're really excited to meet our little guy. Everything is going to change once again, which has caused me so much apprehension for pretty much this entire pregnancy, but my love for Burt Reynolds outweighs any fears I have. I know everything is going to be awesome. (It just might take awhile to get there.)

I want to close this post with a little something my doula said in a message that recently passed between us. It made me so happy to read.

I am SO proud of you! You have made such smart decisions to set yourself up for an awesome birth. It does my heart good to see a woman (and her awesomely supportive husband) making educated decisions and not accepting the status quo. :)

Reading that made me realize that I am also proud of myself for all the hard work I've done to make this birth into an empowering experience. Now I just need to let go and realize that this birth will be what it needs to be, that Burt Reynolds will end up with the birth he needs to have (whether it's a VBAC or a repeat c-section). It's almost like planning your wedding. On the day of, you just have to stop trying to control it all and enjoy what happens. So that's my goal: to enjoy the ride.

Homemade Haircut

2010-11-03T21:41:00.000-07:00

I have a new friend named Emily. We met through the moms' club I joined a couple of months ago. She and I just clicked - we both use cloth diapers, are into natural birth, and have a similar world view. I find her insanely interesting and think she should be a character in a novel. Her house is lovely because it's lived in and imperfect, and also because art covers the walls and there's a swing hanging from a ceiling beam in her living room. And I adore her parenting style, which I like to call "free range." This is not a mom who obsesses about germs and milestones and all that other helicopter-y type stuff (even though her first daughter was a preemie born at 25 weeks). This is a mom who says "oh well" when she sees her youngest eating dirt and lets both of her kids play naked in the backyard. Mothering seems effortless and natural to her, and I dig it. It's refreshing to hang out with someone who isn't afraid to let her kids enjoy life.

I am not a particularly anxiety-ridden person, but I spent the majority of Charlie's first year worrying a lot and overall just feeling like I wasn't doing a good job. It feels good to say that I now feel pretty confident with this mothering stuff, and I see a lot of "free range" tendencies in myself now, which makes me feel good - I think this was how it was meant to be all along. Everyone has their own parenting style, but being so anxious was exhausting for me. I'm glad I've moved past it and am not worrying about every little thing.

Anyway, last week Emily and I gave Charlie a haircut. I didn't see the point to taking him into Supercuts to pay for an uneven haircut, which is pretty much what we got the first time. So we decided to avoid a meltdown and gave him an uneven homemade haircut. No money spent, and he got to enjoy some cookies while it happened. Emily did the front, which is horribly uneven (but terribly cute), and I did the back and sides (which are also horribly uneven but terribly cute). I'm really surprised that it doesn't look awful. I think his cute face is probably the reason why.

Here he is before:

And here's an after shot (taken several days later, but you can see how wonderfully uneven the haircut is):

The best part of the haircut was probably a moment when we were sitting on the floor, a tangle of children and covered in cookie crumbs. Emily said, "Here we are sitting in a pile of crumbs and hair." And yep, that's pretty much what motherhood is like for me. If it's not crumbs and hair, it's goldfish crackers and peanut butter. And I love it.

(PS - I am unofficially participating in NaBloPoMo. I love doing this every year, but since I'll be popping out a babe sometime this month, I can't really commit. But I'm going to try to post each day until I just can't anymore. So maybe if I disappear then you'll know that I done went and had myself a baby. But in all reality a missed post could just mean that I was really tired that day. I'll leave you guessing. How fun that will be for you!)

Marvin the Martian

2010-11-02T18:44:00.001-07:00

My sister-in-law Mandy is pregnant!

I've been meaning to write about this here but for one reason or another, the post never really happened. Well, today, two months and two days out from Mandy's due date, I'm making it happen. We've got a little nephew on the way! And we are so excited.

(We have no idea what his name is, but Mandy and Paul call him Marvin the Martian.)

Mandy and Paul's road to becoming parents has been a difficult one, and I don't want to go into a lot of detail here - but it's one of those stories that makes you grateful for all you've got. The day I found out they were expecting a little boy, I cried like a weird pregnant chick. I'm so happy for them, so in awe of happy endings.

I can't wait to meet ol' Marv in January! Burt Reynolds is going to be so stoked to have a cousin so close in age. And I bet Charlie will be, too. I can't wait to see our pack of boys roughhousing together.

(The picture above is a belly comparison, taken about a week and a half ago when I was 38 weeks and Mandy was 29 weeks. Her stomach totally dwarfed mine until I pulled up my shirt to reveal the huge naked belly.)

The Three-Days-Shy-of-40-Weeks Meltdown

2010-11-01T20:44:00.000-07:00

Today it happened.

I had my very first "oh-god-I-am-so-sick-of-being-pregnant" meltdown. Ever.

I wasn't expecting that to happen. I fully expect to be pregnant for two more weeks or so. As far as discomforts go, I'm doing really well. Minimal swelling, minimal heartburn. I haven't gained too much weight, my appetite is great, my back isn't really bothering me. Yes, my pelvis is sore, and I do have to pee a lot. I could be getting more sleep at night but the lack of sleep is almost always counteracted by really awesome naps during the day. I'm actually doing remarkably well considering how far along I am.

I was on the phone with my mom earlier this evening, feeling groggy and out of sorts, and all of a sudden I just started crying. The words just began pouring out of me.

I'm so tired of being pregnant.
I'm so tired of wondering how this birth is going to go.
I'm so tired of our really shitty financial situation.
I'm so tired of thinking about our unresolved insurance issue.
I'm so tired of thinking how difficult it will be to have two children.
I'm so tired of not having any clothes that fit.
I'm so tired of feeling ugly and huge and frumpy.
I'm so tired of not knowing what to do with my life - or rather, not knowing how to make it happen.
I'm so tired of waiting.

It really is the waiting that's killing me. The unknown. And then I look at the messy house and the laundry that needs to be folded and the phone calls that need to be made and the bills that need to be paid and the child that needs to be fed/changed/held/read to/put down for a nap and I feel so lost and tired down to the very depths of my bones. I don't know why I want to hurry up and stop being pregnant because it's not going to get any easier once Burt Reynolds is born. Maybe I'm just ready to meet the little dude who's making my hormones go absolutely crazy.

I don't know what else to say. I'm having a momentary lapse of sanity and a really tough night.

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-31T22:09:00.001-07:00

Yeah, I couldn't get a good picture of Charlie this year. The kid just doesn't stay still. I love that about him.

It was a wonderful Halloween, and after all the events (and perhaps due to this giant tummy I'm sportin'), I'm exhausted. I'm hoping to get a good Halloween post up sometime this week, but yeah. I'm lucky to blog once a week these days.

It's less than two hours before midnight, so it looks like Burt Reynolds is indeed going to be a November baby. I was kind of hoping he'd come in October, but I'm not at all surprised that he's choosing November. I'm good with November. Whatever he needs.

Happy Halloween, all! Hope you had a good one.

Happy Pregnancy Moments

2010-10-24T06:27:00.000-07:00

You know, this pregnancy has been super stressful. Because if it's not one thing, it's another. And some days I'm not sure how I've continued to hang onto my sanity. Maybe I've learned a thing or two about letting go. Or maybe I've just got awesome and supportive people in my life.

Speaking of awesome and supportive people, a couple of weeks ago Roy, Charlie, and I headed over to my friend Becki's house for a BBQ with a few of my good friends. When we got there, we were surprised to see that it was actually a party for us (a sprinkle, if you will, because we already had a baby shower not all that long ago). Roy's family was there, too. I was completely and totally touched by the gesture. And yes, I was surprised! It was a very low-key gathering with just a few gifts. All in all, a perfect afternoon.

Here are a few pics from the day, most of them courtesy of Becki, and in no particular order, because seriously, particular order just takes too long sometimes:

Us with Roy's family

My mother-in-law gifted me a Ju-ju-be bag that I'd been coveting for months!

Charlie and Luke (Becki's son) have it out over fridge door rights.

This is probably Charlie asking to be picked up.

Opening gifts

Helping clean up after the party

Me and my boys

Me and my girls

Someone's eyeing the cupcakes!

And now, for more photo goodness! Becki, who is a budding photographer, took some maternity photos for us about a month ago. We went to our wedding venue, and while it was as lovely as it was when we got married, there were bugs flying around everywhere. And then the security guard told us they'd found a deadly rattlesnake in the area we were shooting just a few days before. Sigh. So we hightailed it to a park closer to home, but we spent a lot of time sitting in traffic while trying to get there. I am super happy with the photos we got, though. Here are a few (okay, a lot) of my favorites:

Nice, yes? I love them and am so glad to have these. Thanks, Becki!

One thing this photo shoot made me realize is that our days of low-maintenance photography are over. It's pretty hard to get a toddler to stay still for the camera. But Becki did a great job, and honestly, I do love candids (some of which I've included here).

Another thing is the comparison of my belly between the maternity pictures (much smaller) and the sprinkle (freaking huge), even though the two events took place less than a month apart. It's amazing how much growth happens in such a short amount of time.

And lastly, even with how over-the-top crazy this pregnancy has been, I know I'll look back on it with fondness. There are just too many good things about it to let the stress completely overshadow my happiness at having Burt Reynolds join our family. I treasure every kick, every middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom, every box of Kleenex I've gone through (thanks, pregnancy congestion!), every Braxton-Hicks, every sleepless night; these things will be mere memories in just a few short weeks. (Well, not the sleepless nights...) But I can't wait to meet our boy.

(Me, 38 weeks pregnant)

Due Date #4

2010-10-18T19:55:00.000-07:00

I had my 37 week ultrasound today, and in addition to some avant-garde footage of Burt Reynolds (we saw a cross-section of his stomach!), I was granted yet another due date: November 6.

Based on my last period, I am due November 4. This is the date I tell everyone when they ask when I'm due.

Based on my first ultrasound at 9 weeks, I am due November 12. (I have heard that early ultrasounds are often the most accurate.)

Based on my 21 week ultrasound, I am due November 1.

This just goes to show that a "due date" is just an estimation. Assuming all stays low-risk, Burt Reynolds will be picking his own birthday. As nature intended. Huzzah!

According to the ultrasound, Burt Reynolds is already 7 lbs 4 oz. However, ultrasounds are notorious for being off when it comes to weight. So who the hell knows how much he weighs at this point?

Another interesting thing: we got to see a close-up of his beating heart, and it looks just like a little cartoon character jumping up and down inside an enclosed space. It was pretty much the cutest thing ever. Well, almost the cutest thing ever. Check out Burt Reynolds' nose and lips. Methinks he looks a lot like Charlie did in utero.

Anyway, I'm going to be 38 weeks on Thursday. I don't feel like I'll be going into labor anytime soon, but I know that doesn't mean anything. I'm not having internal exams done this time around, so the state of my cervix is unknown (and it's not like it really matters anyway).

Whatever happens, our bags are packed, the infant car seat is installed, we went ahead and bought a new stroller (but it was on sale!), his clothes and diapers are washed and put away, his quilt is done (well, sort of), birth plan is written, blah blah blah. There are still some last-minute things I want to get done, but for the most part, we are ready. And so we wait. (And maybe while we're waiting, Burt Reynolds will grow a mustache.)