Just a Little Bit... Would Be Enough

The latest and greatest

2009-09-28T21:39:00.001-07:00

How long since I updated here? Ugh, too long, not good.

Quick bites and bits of me:

I am reminded of why the toddler years drive me crazy.

I am reminded of why I will miss the cuteness and sweetness of the toddler years.

The first-grader is blooming--intellectually, socially, gracefully and verbally. Was it just three years ago she was in speech therapy? Today she correctly used a really big, grown-up word. Gah! I forgot what it was. [smacks forehead]

My fourth-grader presented me today with a decoupage artwork she made in art class from a b/w photo of the two of us that I supplied. We are both wearing bejeweled crowns and she gave me angel's wings, with a poem on the back and a quote from Cicero. Cicero! I spent a whole semester of Latin on Cicero's orations. Oh! she has my heart! I cried.

My husband is better. And every day better. And that makes me better.

I am writing again. For payment. On my own schedule, on my own terms, stuff I like to write. It is good.

It is Fall.

Finally.

I want nothing more than to live in this moment. Stay here. Savor it. Crunch it. And not let it go.

peeling

2009-09-07T23:11:00.000-07:00

there are layers there
thin, like
skin on the onion
not the thick ones
but the nearly invisible
membrane
that might or
might not
show when you peel the brown shell off
that cracks and snaps
dry, brittle.

but the thinnest layer
hides

i just realize it's there
as i pry the outer from the
inner
and it pulls away like
the filmy amnion
from the chorion

but my layer
is more elastic and doesn't break
or shred
or shed
but snaps back
resists the fingernail
hides the underneath
because the layers below
are unripe
immature
undeveloped

hiding.

Love/Hate:Goodwill

2009-04-24T22:36:00.000-07:00

Why I Love Goodwill: $1 Thursdays.

Yesterday I was able to replace most of my shrinking wardrobe for less than twenty bucks. I've been clearing out the clothes that no longer fit. Since giving birth a year ago, I've lost almost 50 pounds (and considering I only put 14 pounds on during the pregnancy, I don't have pre-pregnancy clothes that fit--the last time I was this size was in college and I don't have any of those clothes left, not that I would wear the 15-year old styles anyways). I'm finding it hard to be restrained and blase' about the weight-loss. I am so happy and excited about it I want to shout it from the rooftops, but that would be self-absorbed and rude. So I will mention it here and tell you all that if you comment on it to me, you will make my day and I will walk around for hours feeling the glow of the compliment. It makes the breastfed-allergic-baby deprivation diet worthwhile.

Why I Hate Goodwill: Rude employees.

Yesterday my joy at fitting easily into a size 10 was dashed by a cashier who ignored me when I asked for help at the jewelry counter, then when the baby was done patiently waiting started screaming, the cashier looked at us, stuck his fingers in his ears, shook his head and clucked his tongue. I LOST IT and went off on him. I don't think I have ever before let out that long a string of angry admonishments on a retail employee in my life. But NOBODY deserves that treatment, and we had been waiting very patiently. They won't see me in that location again.

Firsts

2009-04-07T09:56:00.000-07:00

Kisses wake-up.
Sisters hug.
Grandparents call.
Play, nap, eat.
Friends wish happy things.
Homemade chicken soup.
Cupcake and frosting.
Singing.
Candle flickers, "Blow it out!"
A present!
A pirate ship dismantled.
Bath.
Milk.
Bedtime.

The best first birthday ever. I love you my baby boy!

This New Year I Resolve...

2009-01-08T21:26:00.000-08:00

to declutter my home.

Oh, lordy. How did this much stuff end up in this house? Nevermind, don't answer that. I already know.

We have accumulated more stuff here than in any of our previous residences. Why? Because we always moved every three years, and that always forced a big clean-out. Now we've been here four years straight. It makes me want to move again just to clean stuff out. NOT! HA! I am so glad to not have to move, but now I have to clean-out without the assistance of seeing everything as it goes into moving boxes. Moving is great for decluttering because you don't want to have to pack and unpack that unnecessary junk. Taking it to the donation center is more satisfying when the alternative is saving your back from one more box to lift.

In order to accomplish the declutter project, not get burned out or give up, and cheer ourselves on, I've created a plan. One room a month, breaks from the project in June and December (usually our busiest vacation and holiday months), simple guidelines to follow and step-by-step approach to problem areas. I'll post our progress on our fridge and on this blog. If I get behind, feel free to give me a nudge. In the meantime, here's the plan of attack:

Month Room Areas of Focus

January: Kitchen & Laundry -- Cabinets; drawers; counters; tops of cabinets; baker's rack; refrigerator.
February: Girls' room -- Closets; dressers; desk; toy bins; beds.
March: Boy's room -- Closets; dresser; bookshelves; toy chest; boxes; bed.
April: Computer room -- Desks; closets; bookshelves; sewing cabinet; boxes.
May: Computer room continued -- Put in new desks & wall shelves.
June: Off -- Summer break!
July: Master bedroom -- Closets; mule chest; nightstands; boxes; bathroom; underbed storage.
August: Family room -- Bookshelves; entertainment center; china cabinets; linen closet.
September: Living room -- Bookshelves; entertainment center; baskets; bench seat; coat closet.
October: Patio -- Boxes; toy; deep freeze; deck box; side yard.
November: Garage -- Closet; boxes; tools; toys.
December: Off -- Holiday break!

Strategies for Decluttering

If it's broken, expired or used up, throw it out.
What stays, must have a place to live.
What goes, sort into "Sell," "Donate," or "Storage."
Shred or recycle unnecessary paper.

Wish us luck!

Dairy is still not my friend

2008-12-10T10:45:00.000-08:00

So now I suspect that my precious, perfect baby boy is allergic to dairy.

Even though I can't tolerate dairy, I still cheat once in a while. Not often, and I don't fret much over hidden dairy in processed foods like bread. Big doses make me notice the discomfort, but everything takes the "worth it" test -- "Is pizza worth the discomfort?" No; "Is that chocolate brownie worth the discomfort?" Yes. Cheese always loses, chocolate always wins. My friends have probably noticed my hypocrisy, because they try to protect me from dairy and once in a while it's a wasted effort (but I do appreciate the thoughtfulness!).

Now, after a Thanksgiving weekend binge on cinnamon rolls with lots of gooey icing and three regular Sbux mochas, the baby has a red rash on his face that won't go away. It's almost a circle around his mouth and doesn't seem to itch him. But it is bright and angry and scaly, and it keeps flaring up after I have eaten something with dairy -- including pastry, fruit and cereal bars, my own chicken pot pie in which I used 50/50 Butter Blend Smart Balance, and Chocolate-dipped Peppermint Joe-Joes (damn!). Just cutting back hasn't helped much. Since my last known exposure, I have been very careful and this morning the rash is much better. It pains me to see my baby boy reacting to something, to think that we may be dealing with a long-term problem. I hope not.

Oh, and the rash is not the only symptom. Around the same time he transformed from a sweet, happy baby boy to a SHRIEKING banshee. He doesn't normally fuss much, but he tells us with whining when he is wet or tired or hungry. But after the rash started, those discomforts became HUGE ORDEALS that would set him off, reaching decibels that surely could not be measured, rattling my brain and piercing my eardrums. I'm not exaggerating. Really, the shrieking was that bad for about a week. It's better now. Actually, the shrieking is almost gone too. Strange coincidence, eh. I doubt it.

My gut tells me that dairy is the problem. The family, the pediatrician, some friends are not convinced. I guess time will tell.

In the meantime, I will be reading labels more carefully and declining what previously might have tempted me. I apologize in advance for becoming picky!

Busy baby

2008-08-03T11:44:00.000-07:00

In just the last couple of days he learned to:

Roll over
Blow raspberries
Uncurl his hands
Grasp toys
Try to grab his feet
Squeal
Scoot his body across the bed by pushing off his feet
Do push-ups
Suck his thumb

In three days, he'll be four months old! No longer a newborn... wow.

When mama get a freelance job...

2008-07-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

...Baby won't nap...

...Three children's stomachs get mysteriously empty every hour...

...Two young girls empty half a jar of Av0n Cinnamon Chapped Heel Relief cream onto their feet in a little over thirty minutes...

...Baby decides that this is the day to discover the toes on the ends of those kicking legs, learn how to bat at toys, practice almost rolling over, and crack up at hiccuping sister (thus, the lack of napping)...

...Eight-year-old develops taste for "tween" reality shows and gets surly with five-year-old sister who wants to watch Dora and Diego...

...Weary mama stays up 'til midnight with M.E.G.O. setting in...

...Work breaks mostly revolved around food and eating (wait, this was the same when I was in an office)...

...Husband gets orders for a business trip...

...All utensils and most dishes are crusting over in the sink...

...Compassionate friends come by to help out and leave saying, "I wish I could help more." (I wish they knew how a little goes a long way!)...

...Getting dressed in the morning involves picking clean clothes out of the pile in the living room...

...Desperate self-employed mama looks up and asks "Why now?" then calls Grandma...

...GRANDMA ARRIVES! BABY SLEEPS! KIDS STOP ARGUING! DISHES GET WASHED! LAUNDRY IS PUT AWAY! MAMA GETS WORK TURNED IN!

Ahhhhhhh, whew!

Only ten more days to go on this project...

Yeah, I'm a grammar geek

2008-07-16T22:04:00.000-07:00

Your Language Arts Grade: 100%

Way to go! You know not to trust the MS Grammar Check and you know "no" from "know." Now, go forth and spread the good word (or at least, the proper use of apostrophes).

Are You Gooder at Grammar?
Make a Quiz

Moments

2008-07-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

On the way to a summer camp class, right in the middle of the city, we pass a man wearing a cowboy hat. The younger girl starts hopping up and down, pointing and screeching, "MAMA-MAMA-MAMA! LOOK! It's a real COWBOY!" He cocks a grin, and tips his hat at her.

--

The trio returns from grocery shopping. I'm parked under a nursing baby. The oldest enters with a hopeful look on her face.

"Mom, we asked Daddy to take us to Raskin Bobbins [sic] but he said we had to ask you."

"Okay, I'll talk to him about it."

One hour later...

"Mom, did you talk to Dad about going to Askin Robbens?"

"No, but I will."

One hour later...

"Mom, did you and Dad decide-"

"NO NOT YET DON'T ASK ME AGAIN I WILL TELL YOU WHEN WE FIGURE IT OUT."

"Okay."

(I lied. We had already discussed it and planned it for an after-dinner treat.)

One hour later... rain is coming down in buckets.

"Honey, Dad and I thought we would go to get ice cream after dinner but now it's raining too hard. I'm sorry."

"Mom, this rain is freaking me out. I would rather stay home. It's okay."

"We'll go another day, okay?"

"Yeah, mom." Hugs.

Elders

2008-07-07T22:40:00.000-07:00

A popular magazine recently ran a feature on "What We Learned From Our Mothers." Readers were invited to submit items of wisdom, vignettes on the lasting lessons that their mothers gave to them. I pondered the question for days, hoping to make a submission of my own words that were inspired by a positive thing that she taught me through saying or doing.

Grief fills me, for I could not think of even one.

----

"Obsessive compulsive personality disorder (OCPD), or anankastic personality disorder, is a personality disorder that is characterized by a general psychological inflexibility, rigid conformity to rules and procedures, perfectionism, moral code, and/or excessive orderliness."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive-compulsive_personality_disorder

My mother has always been kind of odd. She has been the butt of jokes among family for many years, as well as the focal point of much of my teenage anger and angst. I used to make lists of all the ways I would never be like her. I even pretended for a long time that I was adopted or born from aliens or somehow came from outside the family (never mind the strong resemblances) just to not be related to her.

I know some girls grow up idolizing their mothers--those special women who may have been a master of the kitchen or garden, a muse with clever asides or wise proverbs to pass along, goddesses full of grace or kindness or generosity or wit--but I could never see any of those qualities in her. I inwardly cringe every time she opens her mouth to speak... what kind of ridiculous, infuriating, critical thing will come out this time?

Yet, I have always tried to forgive her. To ignore foolishness. To wish her to be different. To hope that she would acknowledge her pettiness and selfishness, to want to change. To think that maybe I was being too harsh, too critical and not forgiving enough.

A person can be mentally ill and yet fool acquaintances with outward appearances of health and charm. My mother is great at this. She is a master manipulator of people's emotions. Or was. Everyone who knows her well can see through this. The facade is breaking. I wonder what the strangers that she tries to charm see? Do they believe her act? Or do they just see an old woman that is trying too hard?

We just spent the better part of a week with my parents. My poor father, who hides from her most of the day, puttering around outside, taking long naps, ignoring her beckonings on the excuse of his increasingly-profound deafness. My mother, self-described as "particular" about how things are done but is utterly compulsive and demanding, self-aware enough to admit to being "forgetful" but really has large blank spots in her recall of all kinds of facts, dates, events and people.

----

"The DSM-IV-TR, a widely-used manual for diagnosing mental disorders, defines that for a patient to be diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, they must exhibit at least four of the following traits:[1]

-Preoccupation with details, rules, lists, order, organization, or schedules to the extent that the major point of the activity is lost
-Showing perfectionism that interferes with task completion (e.g., is unable to complete a project because his or her own overly strict standards are not met)
-Excessive devotion to work and productivity to the exclusion of leisure activities and friendships (not accounted for by obvious economic necessity)
-Being overconscientious, scrupulous, and inflexible about matters of morality, ethics, or values (not accounted for by cultural or religious identification)
-Inability to discard worn-out or worthless objects even when they have no sentimental value
-Reluctance to delegate tasks or to work with others unless they submit to exactly his or her way of doing things
-Adopting a miserly spending style toward both self and others; money is viewed as something to be hoarded for future catastrophes
-Shows rigidity and stubbornness
It is important to note that while a person may exhibit any or all of the characteristics of a personality disorder, it is not diagnosed as a disorder unless the person has trouble leading a normal life due to these issues."

Of the six italicized items above, the last applies to all things about my mother. Most of all denial that there is even a problem. She won't admit to being obsessive-compulsive--spending thirty minutes to wash two haircombs in hot running water is just making sure they are clean. Two hours loading the dishwasher by scrubbing each dish before putting it in the machine is just being thorough. Applying more ink two or three times over the same words she just wrote on the page (to the point where the paper is embossed with her writing for several sheets underneath) is just making sure the pen was working.

----

"Dementia (from Latin de- "apart, away" + mens (genitive mentis) "mind") is the progressive decline in cognitive function due to damage or disease in the brain beyond what might be expected from normal aging. "
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dementia

The cruelest part is that there is no getting better from this. Years of high blood pressure, a cocktail of competing medications, a lack of hobbies (besides harrassing various medical professionals) to stimulate the brain and previous unaddressed mental issues all add up to the children discussing not if, but how and when and where to move the elderly parents. My dad at 78 is vibrant and healthy, but tired and slow. How long can he continue to care for her, as she gets more and more out of control?

Just a few days ago, her compulsive behavior caused an insult to my in-laws and shame upon me. She has already lost all her friends and is no longer invited to social activities. I am struggling with what to do next. I don't think I can stand to just watch and wait any longer. I feel too young to have to deal with this. My older siblings are reluctant to force any changes yet. Ever since I was a kid, I was acutely aware of how much older my parents were than the parents of my peers. In my twenties, it was less of a big deal, we were finally getting along. Until the decline started (I cannot pinpoint a date, but sometime after my first child was born.) Now it is a huge deal, worse than ever. She totally lacks the will or desire to overcome her compulsive behavior. There is no getting better. Only worse. It can only end badly now.

I wish I knew what to do.

My response to #1 in the babywearing contest

2008-07-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

Just thought I'd share...

Keep trying. Even if the baby fusses the first (or second or third) time in the carrier, don't give up. I introduced my oldest child to a ring sling at five months old. She was bewildered and objected at first, but after persisting and making sure she was fed, tired and calm each time we tried, she soon got used to it and began to get excited whenever I brought it out. Both of my other children were carried from birth, so they too got used to the various carriers quite quickly. When I share my babywearing advice with friends frustrated by a baby who cries when put in the new wrap, sling or tie, I always tell them, "Don't give up. You both will get used to it, and soon learn to love it!"

Memories, new and old

2008-07-05T11:09:00.001-07:00

Fresh-picked cherries, $2.49/lb.
Micro-brew soda, $.99 each.
Shaved ice, $3.50.

Revisiting a favorite roadside fruit stand from your childhood with your kids: Priceless.

Vacation

2008-07-03T15:19:00.001-07:00

So it's just as hot here in our hometown in the California high desert as our new home in central Arizona. We sure didn't come here to escape the heat.

But it has been a great week visiting family and friends. We baptised the baby, enjoyed a nice reception at hubby's uncle's house, spent several days with my BIL and his family, and are now kicking back with my parents, in my childhood home. Tomorrow we will have a barbeque at my sister's house, then see fireworks before getting back on the road to come "home." Even though we miss the people who still live here in So Cal, each visit makes us appreciate our new city even more.

Most vacations, we are rushing from place to place, trying to fit in as many visits to old friends as possible. This time, we are not, for a combination of reasons--high gas prices, baby naps, quality time with just a few people, oh, did I mention the high price of gas? ($4.69/gal here.) With all this downtime, I am reading "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," hoping to be done by the time we get back. My hands are missing hook and yarn, as I am craving something crafty to do. I have a long list of projects in mind for the rest of the summer while the girls are in summer camp.

Reading Kingsolver's book also has my mind imaging a bunch of garden and cooking projects. In the spirit of local flavors, on the way home, we're going to stop here:

http://www.charliebrownfarms.com

I can't wait to get back to my own kitchen (and bed!).

FReakIN HilARious

2008-06-18T13:20:00.001-07:00

I used to play Dungeons & Dragons and I love to cook... if you have ever played an RPG, IRL or online, you'll love this!

http://www.wired.com/culture/lifestyle/commentary/alttext/2008/06/alttext_0618

Butterflies, Part 3

2008-06-11T13:27:00.000-07:00

It was like giving birth all over again. Well, not exactly, but the waiting was like labor and the emerging was full of expectation, anxiety and excitement like birth.

It started on Thursday. I was sitting in my usual spot nursing the baby when I noticed movement in the treehouse across the room. I called to my girls and told them to check inside. They found two new butterflies clinging to the sides, slowly opening and closing their wings to dry them. It had only been six days, so we were surprised but elated that the butterflies were appearing.

I cut a bud from our rosebushes, set it in a cup of sugar water, and placed it along with an orange slice inside the treehouse to feed the butterflies. We watched over the next couple of days as they continued to be "born," dried their wings, and started to feed. By Saturday, all five butterflies were fluttering around the treehouse, literally climbing the walls.

We decided not to keep them captive any longer (well, I decided and had to convince the kids, who wanted to keep them forever as pets). On Sunday, after church, we came home and let them out in the front yard. One by one, they found the door, and went off to explore the world, lifted by a light, cool breeze. There were a few tears after the excitement of the release, but it didn't take long for my sweet girls to ask:

"When can we order more butterflies?"

Enjoy the pictures.

Top Ten Ways I Can Tell I'm Not Pregnant Anymore

2008-06-11T13:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it takes a while for my body image to reset itself. It's just now, at nine weeks postpartum, that I have really started assessing the "new" me. Just a few things that have really struck me as forming the reality that I am officially done* with pregnancy:

10. No more sciatica or hip pain.

9. I can reach the faucet handles on the sink.

8. Sleeping on my back.

7. Stirring the pot at the back of the stove.

6. Saying goodbye (forever) to maternity fashion and rediscovering my regular wardrobe.

5. Getting up to pee only once each night.

4. Shaving my legs regularly again.

3. Did I mention that my back doesn't hurt anymore?

2. Cleavage.

1. Loving this gorgeous baby boy on my lap!

*I have another post composing itself in my mind on my feelings about my pregnancies. More later.

A fine morning

2008-06-04T14:29:00.001-07:00

We spent a lovely morning at the park and library down the street from our house. By the time we got there, it was starting to heat up in the sun, so the girls didn't last long on the playground equipment. Instead, we headed down to the edge of the little lake and watched the ducks while eating a snack in a cool, shady spot. The girls chased birds and played Duck, Duck, Goose (C and I were allowed to not get chosen as the "goose").

We wandered into the library and unexpectedly found our neighbors in the children's section. The kids all read books together and we signed up for the summer reading program (with prizes like tickets to the local WNBA games!). The baby started to wake up and fuss, so we checked out some books and came home for lunch.

We have been trying to conserve fuel and stay home most of the time, but what happens is that they watch too much tv. It was a good change, free, close to home, and just a nice way to spend a mild early summer day!

My camera or theirs?

2008-06-04T14:25:00.001-07:00

These are the types of pictures you get to see on the camera later when you have let the kids snap photos around the house:

Too bad it's out of focus

2008-06-04T14:24:00.001-07:00

Waiting for butterflies, Part 2:

2008-06-04T14:15:00.000-07:00

Finally, they came.

Last Tuesday, the caterpillars arrived in a little cardboard box. The girls were jumping up and down, giddy and excited. We put the little cup of caterpillars on the shelf and watched them grow for a few days, then overnight on Saturday they made their chrysalids.

Yesterday I put them in the pop-up Butterfly Treehouse. The little coccoons quivered as I transfered them. To be sure that they didn't get mauled by little fingers, I did the move before the girls got up in the morning. They were giddy and excited again to see the Treehouse set-up and the chrysalids waiting inside.

Now we wait again, for them to open this time. I hope they all open successfully. From the infomercial, the girls know that butterflies take seven to ten days to complete their metamorphosis. Now E is asking every day, several times a day, "Has it been ten days yet?" So we do a subtraction problem to figure out how many days are left. Maybe they will open sooner than that? We shall see.

Here is the environment with the five coccoons inside:

Waiting for butterflies, Part 1

2008-06-04T14:03:00.000-07:00

Ever since E's pre-K class had a butterfly environment in their classroom this spring, she has been begging to have butterflies for pets at home. I've explained countless times that they don't live with you as pets, but gave in a bought the Butterfly Treehouse at Target (yet another infomercial product that they can rattle off the narration).

The kit was basically a pop-up mesh cylinder and a postcard to mail away for the caterpillars. We mailed it, on the third day after buying the treehouse and listening to her ask, "Can we put our names on it yet and mail it now? Okay, now? How about now?" So we put it in the mailbox, drove home, and when we walked in the house, she asked, "Can we check the mail and see if the caterpillars are here yet?"

Gosh, that was a long week. Everyday, she woke up asking, "Are the caterpillars here yet?" When the mail came, she asked. Each night, she went to bed asking if the caterpillars would come in the mail the next day. What a hard week that was for a five-year-old!

Last Days

2008-05-21T06:43:00.000-07:00

Today is E's last day of Pre-K, and tomorrow is M's last day of second grade. Everyone knows how glad I am to see summer break arrive so that we can stay home more and not have Baby C in the car so much. But I still feel a little sad about the end of the school year.

E has thrived in this class. Her last preschool was in a special ed setting, so that she would get the help she needed for her speech delay. However, she was more developed socially and emotionally than her classmates at that time, since the class was made up of children from 2.5 to 4 years with a range of abilities and varying special needs. She was a leader in that class (which may have given her an inflated sense of responsibility, eh?), but didn't have any close friends.

Moving to the Pre-K class at her sister's school was a big change. The curriculum was more challenging, and she was interacting with her peers. Her speech and language issues have all but disappeared (I can still tell where they reside but others have said they can't)--we haven't even renewed her IEP. Her talents have flourished and she is just about ready for kindergarten at this school. I say "just about" because our school runs the curriculum about a year ahead of other schools. E is expected to know a lot going into kindergarten, and we will work on some materials over the summer to keep it "fresh." She has made many friends and grown very attached to her teachers. It will probably be a shock to go to a different classroom and get to know a different teacher next year. She still refers to her school as her "new school" because this year was a change for her. Maybe when she returns it will sink in that it is no longer "new" to her!

As for moving to third grade, M is both nervous and excited. She wants to be in the same class as her best friend, but she never told me which teacher her friend requested. M talks a lot about third grade, but also said she wants to stay in second. She has had a good year, even though this teacher gave us some headaches. I am so proud of her development. Last year I thought she would never "get" math. Just recently, it has been really clicking for her. She can now do three-digit addition and subtraction in her head and is working on multiplication and division. It is starting to test my own abilities to help her with this math! Pretty soon she will be on algebra and then I will tell her to ask her father for homework help.

She is also a very creative writer. I wonder where she gets it. LOL. I recently showed her a short story that I wrote in second grade. She was amazed... that I was ever in second grade. Too funny.

Her future aspirations have changed from pilot to artist. She loves art class and has asked to join the afterschool art program next year. She also loves sports and particularly soccer. It's the favorite sport of my father-in-law, so I know he will be happy to see her play. Daddy will have to wait for C to have a kid in tee-ball.

So now that we are getting ready for summer, we have so many memories to enjoy of this school year. Bring on the laziness!

Cow's milk...

2008-05-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

... is still not my friend.

My very nice Mother's Day ended on a sour note. A sour stomach, to be more specific.

My girls wanted to make Chocolate Truffles out of the "Shrek" cookbook (yes, it does exist--and some of the recipes are appropriately ogre-rific). Ingredients: dark chocolate, heavy cream, cocoa powder. Even though I knew better, I had to taste the mixture to make sure it was coming out right. What a MISTAKE.

I had been wondering if I should test my dairy tolerance now that I'm not pregnant anymore, which is when I am most sensitive. Well, the symptoms of my continued intolerance are very similar to food poisoning. The baby didn't appreciate me being up all night in the bathroom, especially when he wanted to eat!

Soooo, my friends, if you ever see me putting anything containing dairy products near my mouth, PLEASE STOP ME. Remind me about the truffles. That should do it.

Baby love

2008-04-30T11:15:00.000-07:00

Three weeks old, and he has "woken up."

Looks around at the world.
Gazes into faces held close.
Coos after the bath.
Sucks on his fist for entertainment.
Relaxes on the bouncy seat in front of the open screen door with the fresh breeze on his face.

Mmmmmm, baby love.

She's lucky we don't spank

2008-04-30T11:07:00.001-07:00

My five-year-old is testing me in ways I had never imagined. I knew she was going to be in love with her brother. I knew she would protect him. I knew she has an obsession for all things related to babies. But I didn't know how smothering this would become...

I feel like a broken record, this is all I say, all day long: "Stop touching him." "Leave him alone, he's sleeping." "You can hold him when he's awake." "DON'T TOUCH HIM WHEN HE'S ASLEEP."

Last week she broke the baby swing. Not even 72 hours after I assembled it. The replacement part arrived today. We'll see if it fixes the problem. I might resort to garnishing her future allowance to pay for the replacement.

Yesterday, in the spastic haste that she has developed in order to hurryupanddoeverythingsoshecangocheckonthebaby, she dumped a full cup of cold juice in my lap. Accidentally, yes. But ohmygoodness, it was the last straw.

Deep breath.

On the upside, she loves her brother. She will do anything for him. She is helping change and wash the diapers. She keeps tabs on his every breath, whimper, twitch and flutter. She has calmed down at school and the teachers have praised her for it. She doesn't tire of helping with anything. Yet. {snicker}

Ah, my daughter. If only you would give me a little personal space when I'm nursing the baby, I would be much more patient with you. But I love you through this crazy, nutty, exciting time anyway!

Hooray for breastfeeding!

2008-04-30T11:05:00.000-07:00

From MSNBC.com
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24387268/

Breast-feeding rates hit new high in U.S.
Three-quarters of new moms nurse their infants, at least briefly, CDC says

Baby

2008-04-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

Christian was born on April 6 at 10:53 am, in the water at home. We are doing great--feeding, changing, watching, learning about each other.

The labor was intense. Long. Frustrating. My second back labor, posterior sunny-side-up baby. Foggy, yet some parts were startlingly clear. I am not ready to write the birth story yet. It may take some time. I have to process and figure out how to compose it first. Call me if you want to hear about it. I can talk it through, but not write it yet.

He is perfect. Precious. I am truly unworthy of the honor it is to be his mother. I feel like a first-time parent all over again, but with a certain calm and ease that the first-timers would pay any price to get in those initial weeks.

His sisters are obsessed, to the point of fighting over the amount of time he spends on their laps. E has a devouring fascination with him that she cannot control--I am constantly demanding her to give him space, back off, take her fingers out of his mouth, etc. M is more reserved, but concerned and loving in a tender way that makes me so proud of her. I wonder how long the interest will last?

It is an amazing feeling to have a son. It is still settling in. I always thought I would have all girls. The fortune-teller was wrong. I am blessed with a boy!

Odd cravings

2008-04-04T16:24:00.001-07:00

In the last few days, I've had some odd cravings:

Cherry cola slushie*
Hot roast beef sandwich
Arroz con pollo*
Barbeque

*Fulfilled.

Birth Beads

2008-04-03T18:08:00.000-07:00

I have been blessed many times. These beads symbolize the many blessings given to me by dear friends as I complete this journey of pregnancy on my way to a new phase of woman/motherhood.

Thank you!

Wearing baby

2008-04-03T17:34:00.000-07:00

I've been a ring-sling mama for almost eight years. I started wearing M in a Maya Wrap when she was five months old. Both of my kids have spent as much time in a sling as a stroller (we are equipment hogs). I've even become a distributor for several sling companies, so that I could pay for my own slings through the small profit made by selling them when someone notices the ones I have worn.

When E was a baby, there were ring slings, rebozos and Moby wraps. Now with babe #3 soon to appear, I have been introduced to the myriad of baby slings, wraps, carriers and packs. I am still too intimidated by Babywearer.com to delve into that abyss, but I have peeked over the edge and have seen where it could lead me... and where it has led my friend, JB (shout out to your collection!).

So I have pulled together a little bit of a collection myself--from remnant inventory, requests from family traveling abroad, gifts from friends and one recent purchase.

Here's what I have so far:
My original, first Maya Wrap (in #15 blue chambray)
A FancyBabySling lavender/gold Asian-print ring sling (I think this company is no longer in business)
A Taylormade wine silk ring sling
A Taylormade batik royal blue ring sling
A homemade Mei Tai, have no idea who made it.
A Placid Baby Mei Tai
A Sleepy Wrap in light blue
Two rainbow-on-black rebozos from a street vendor in Guerrero, Mexico
A blue and aqua rebozo from a street vendor in Guatemala.

What I don't have links to here, I will have to take pictures of or show you in person. You'll probably see them in person. Don't hold your breath for me to post pics.

In closing, I am sharing these pictures I took from our vacation to Southern California last summer. We spent the day at Venice Beach, and I was very excited to spot a Latin American family fishing in the jetty, with the mom carrying the youngest on her back. To preserve her privacy, I didn't take pictures of her face (well, actually, she wouldn't turn around at the moment I was snapping these), but I did see that the rebozo she was wearing was knotted in the front near her right shoulder. Notice that the baby is not wearing shoes--he didn't need to, as he was not put down the entire time that I was watching them (a good hour or so we were in the same vicinity).

(NB: I don't plan on wearing my baby in quite that position.)

My little doulas...

2008-04-03T14:17:00.000-07:00

They got really upset last night when they had to go to bed without helping me in the birth tub. Doulamadre was here to give me a pampering session and it was getting late. I was in the tub, let them do some massage and water splashing, but they both cried when they got put to bed before helping me get out. I felt so bad. Tonight, I will get in and relax earlier!

My little doulas

2008-04-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

My girls are natural doulas. The last two evenings, while I was relaxing in the rental birth tub with the jets on, they have attended me every second. They were scooping water over my back, rubbing my shoulders, stroking my hair, kissing me, suggesting that I flip over, adjusting the towel I was leaning on, checking the thermostat every 10 seconds, and basically loving me to death in that tub.

They cannot wait for the big day.

I love them so much.

The $90 Dell Laptop

2008-04-01T19:19:00.000-07:00

Hooray for extended warranties!

Our Dell laptop freaked out and died a couple weeks ago. After a tech replaced much of the internal parts, and after I spent about 12 cumulative hours on the phone with the help desk, they decided it will be better to send us a whole new laptop instead of fussing with more parts expense and tech hours. Oh, and I told the tech today that I'm due to give birth any day and would like to get this taken care of before then. He commented that his wife is expecting their second in July, so he must have felt empathetic towards me and talked his boss into the replacement option... I didn't realize how well that would work! I just thought that the birth card would just get me a tech sent out here to finish diagnosing the problem. Instead, it got me a brand-new laptop!

I highly recommend buying your next computer from Dell, with the extended warranty, and wait until you're due to give birth for it to break.

I swear, I didn't plan it this way!

38 weeks

2008-03-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

We are ready.

March is almost over. All the events I was waiting for have passed. The checklist is pretty much done or discarded. The kitchen is full of food. Hubby's grandma is here to stay through the end of April, helping out with whatever is needed. The birth tub was delivered, filled and turned on to heat up today. My supplies are ready. Everyone has their instructions. My sister has directions to get here from California. My good friend H had her baby and now I have permission to go ahead (she was so worried that I would go first even though she was due earlier... I desperately didn't want to disappoint her!). I've been blessed many times with ceremonies and beads. I got my henna and belly cast. We took family and maternity portraits. All of these things meant so much to me that I almost couldn't breathe until each one was checked off. Check. Check. Check.

Now it's time to wait. Relax. Practice Optimal Fetal Positioning (babe is hanging out OT or OP most of the time now). Tomorrow, start soaking in the tub to enjoy it. Think about maybe making some more freezer meals, if I feel compelled. Try to get the laptop fixed. Cruise through the daily stuff, kids' school and activities. No more events to attend, parties to plan, promises to fret over. Just time to chill and enjoy our last few days as a family of four.

In the last week I gained three pounds. My midwives were visibly pleased (me too!). BP still low and normal. Baby is guesstimated around 7 pounds. Lots of movement and forward kicks, with a big ol' foot often sticking out next to my belly button. More mucous. More contractions some days, fewer others. Sleeping is spotty. Naps are coveted. Ankles are swelling in the evenings. Heartburn is here. It all adds up to being near the end.

Tomorrow, chiro. Grocery shopping. A long soak. The last day of March.

I feel good. I am ready.

My non-accent accent

2008-03-27T07:04:00.001-07:00

I found this on a friend's blog, thought I would share.

I'm not surprised by the result, considering that I *am* from SoCal (though not a surfer, but my niece is). I'm mostly interested to see the results my friends get, since many of us in Central Arizona are from all over the country.

Let me know if you check it out!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The West Your accent is the lowest common denominator of American speech. Unless you're a SoCal surfer, no one thinks you have an accent. And really, you may not even be from the West at all, you could easily be from Florida or one of those big Southern cities like Dallas or Atlanta.
The Midland
Boston
North Central
The Inland North
Philadelphia
The South
The Northeast
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

37 Weeks

2008-03-23T21:17:00.000-07:00

This week is brought to you by the letters "B" and "H" -- When you think of B&H, think of "Braxton-Hicks."

My uterus is up to something. Taking it's time. But, something is goin' on.

I've been having interesting contractions for a few days now. The Braxton-Hicks are not new, I've been experiencing those since 19 weeks. The new and interesting ones make me hold my breath for a moment--they don't hurt, but they demand attention and make everything inside scooch down and push up at the same time. Then I remember to not hold my breath and I just breathe slowly while waiting for the whole thing to relax itself and be over. Interesting. A little tiring too. I feel lame, too, like "oh, no big deal, just keep going, why are you stopping, why are you going so slow, you're acting like you're in labor already, silly." (Ok, so explain the gobs of mucous, eh?)

It's too early. We/me/baby are not ready yet. But five of these an hour sure make it seem like three weeks to my due date is a realllllllly long time. (I'm not counting/timing these contrax... that's an estimate, that's what it feels like at the most frequent.)

Aside from that, I am feeling really good. The pain and discomfort in my back from the accident is gone. The congestion from the head/chest cold is almost gone. I have enough energy to get through the day--tomorrow will be a test of that, with the girls going back to school after two weeks of spring break. The weather is GORGEOUS and the citrus is blooming. My yard is full of the fragrance of grapefruit blossoms and the windows are open in the house all day. Spring is a beautiful time to birth a baby.

Oh yeah. Birth a baby.

It comes out. I am starting to remember how that feels.

Ah, back to thinking about spring and blossoms...

Check. Check. Check.

2008-03-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

An update on the To-Do List:

~~Four~~ birthday parties. (Three down, one to go.)
~~School carnival.~~
Donation committee. (I've been flaking this one. Oh well.)
~~Dentist appointment.~~ (Survived yet another one.)
~~Haircuts.~~
School. (Daily)
Catechism. (Weekly)
Gymnastics. (Weekly)
Dance. (Weekly)
Swim lessons. (Weekly)
~~Field trips.~~ (I don't have to attend the next one.)
Chiropractor. (Weekly)
Prenatals. (Weekly)
Board meetings. (To be rescheduled, I guess?)
Birth Circle. (This Thursday.)
~~Easter.~~ (It was nice and low-key.)
~~Jury duty.~~ (Didn't have to report, woo hoo!)
Cook & freeze meals. (Still need to do this.)
~~Sew burp cloths, changing pad covers, receiving blankets.~~ (Forget it, we have been given what we need.)
~~Find and wash missing newborn diapers, baby sling, rebozos.~~ (DONE!)
~~Scrub shower and replace curtain.~~ (DONE!)
~~Wash new sheets.~~ (DONE!)
~~Put together birth supplies basket.~~ (DONE!)
~~Assemble bassinette.~~ (DONE!)
Clean house. (Uhhhhh, this is never ever finished... I am almost beyond caring now.)

Wow, it feels so nice to be almost done with March...

11

2008-03-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

This is not a gripe, complaint, brag or boast. It's just a fact that I am trying to process.

For the first time in my life, I am concerned with not gaining weight. I gained healthy, normal amounts with both of my kids--26 and 24 pounds, respectively. Starting this pregnancy at the weight I ended the last one (having actively worked off then passively put back on the same stubborn 30), I expected to tip over 200 for the first time in my life. No big deal, just my expectation.

I never expected to be at 36 weeks with only 11 extra pounds on my body. Actually, on my belly. It doesn't seem to have landed anywhere else. Did my metabolism magically speed up when I got pregnant at 35? Or is this baby growing so voraciously that it is sucking all the nutrition out of everything that enters my mouth?

I think about all those women in the 1950s that were told to keep their weight gain to no more than 15 pounds. They did that by smoking and drinking a glass of wine every night. At least I'm not doing that. Seriously, not even the wine.

The baby is growing fine, my midwives aren't worried, so I guess I shouldn't be either. But hey, I'm pregnant. I'm supposed to worry and obsess and be a loony basket-case, right? No?

Oh. Okay. I think I'll go relax with a glass of soy milk and a doughnut.

36 weeks

2008-03-14T09:07:00.000-07:00

Less than a month to go until my due date. WOW.

I am excited, impatient, ready, not ready, willing to wait longer, not yet nervous, already nesting, scatterbrained, insomnified (if that's not a word, it is now), making lists, checking things off, making new lists, sewing, crafting, coughing, sneezing, breathing in the coming spring, cleaning, organizing, sighing, contracting, drinking tea, talking to the little one, asking "Just wait until April 2nd..."

That's me in a nutshell. It's a beautiful day.

Apology

2008-03-02T15:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,

I'm sorry I've been grumpy lately. There's something about myself that I want to explain, so you will maybe understand me a little better.

To my blog and my friends, I may (okay, not just may, but do) complain too much. Because I can, to you. Overall, this pregnancy has been a good one, since I have nothing bad to report, no complications or difficulties other than some minor annoyances. But it's safe to complain to my family and friends--they know and accept me, they listen and they don't question things like my plans for midwifery care and homebirth.

To the outside world, I have to put on a different face. The rosy, cheerful, "everything-is-great" face. I feel it's my job to project the vitality of pregnancy, the normalcy of natural birth and be a positive influence on their opinions of doulas and midwives. That's why I don't believe in venting to the "public" -- I prefer to educate on a positive note rather than try to prove a negative point.

It can take a lot of energy to do that. When I let it out to you, it's because it gets tiring to handle it all and still show a smiling, "I feel good!" attitude to the world. And I do feel good. Most of the time. I want you to know that. And I want to thank you for making me feel safe about resting my head on your shoulder in those moments that I don't feel so good. Because I appreciate the support. Always.

Love,
Little Bit

Less stressed

2008-03-02T15:17:00.000-08:00

Two days into March now. After having an emotional breakdown the other day (which is sometimes necessary, though unpleasant), things are more under control. The school carnival is behind us. It was fun, I got to volunteer by sitting on my butt in the shade (while helping out the two classroom booths my kids belong to) and hubby with his brother took the kids around to the rides and attractions. We also scored a Baby Basket in the Silent Auction -- it's full of onesies, little socks, wipes, bath stuff, baby books, picture frames and, get this, the wicker basket is the perfect size and shape to pack all my homebirth supplies into. Hey, I'm happy with it all the way around!

The to-do list is also whittled down. I washed the sheets. We ordered the baby's carseat. Today, hubby is shopping with his mom for baby stuff, and I'm home sewing and prepping the birth supplies basket. He said he would assemble the bassinette when he gets home this evening. Now that everything is coming together, I'm feeling soooo much better.

Sometimes the tears of a good cry can help wash your emotional home. How's that for a sappy new saying?

Stressed

2008-02-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

Four birthday parties.
School carnival.
Donation committee.
Dentist appointment.
Haircuts.
School.
Catechism.
Gymnastics.
Dance.
Swim lessons.
Field trips.
Chiropractor.
Prenatals.
Board meetings.
Birth Circle.
Easter.
Jury duty.

That’s just the four weeks of March. And I’m supposed to find time to get ready to have a baby?

Getting ready for baby to-do list:
Cook & freeze meals.
Sew burp cloths, changing pad covers, receiving blankets.
Find and wash missing newborn diapers, baby sling, rebozos.
Scrub shower and replace curtain.
Wash new sheets.
Put together birth supplies basket.
Assemble bassinette.
Clean house.

What was that I was told about enjoying the end of my last pregnancy? HA! WHEN?

Why did I...

2008-02-26T11:16:00.000-08:00

Just spend $50 to order a stroller part when I am trying to figure out how to clothe this new baby on the cheap?

Cuz it's for the stroller I paid $200 for five years ago, and I can't bear to part with it.

When E. was a baby, I found this great deal on a Peg Perego Plikomatic (it was a great deal at the time). This stroller has been through everything with us, it folds up like an umbrella stroller (tho a bit on the chunky side) and has a rearboard step for an older child to hitch a ride. I researched strollers for months when I was pregnant with her... this is what I settled on. So when the seat got a hole, I knew I was going to replace the seat, not the whole stroller.

A bit obsessive? Not more so than the friend who buys a different stroller every three months. (You know who you are.) At least she buys used/recycled in her quest for the perfect stroller. Despite that, she has probably spent more on strollers than I have, and I'm only up to $250. (You know this is all said with love, natch!)

So, anyways, I'll be washing up the Peg (which hasn't been used in a good, uh, year or so) and putting on the new seat when it gets here, all ready for the new babe ride around in style... when it's not in a carrier or sling that is. (Another obsession, more on that later.)

Oh my, this is real! There is a baby on its way!

Five. Cinco. Cinque. Cinq. Öt.

2008-02-11T14:50:00.000-08:00

AnimatedSocialIntenseLivelyEnergetic

Little girl, you are my star. A dancer, chef, socialite, daredevil, rule-breaker, rule-follower, artist, explorer, animal rescuer, counselor, comedian, foodie, fashionista. (What are you going to wear when you outgrow that purple skirt?) Your sense of humor, indignation at unfairness, and emotional intensity keep me on my toes, always wondering what will come next from your amazing brain. Your "imaginary watch" tracks your own special time as if you live in a different continuum than the rest of us. You constantly rewrite your own history through your stories about all the extraordinary things that happened when you "were a baby." I can only imagine what kind of history you will help create for the new sibling you are so eagerly and impatiently awaiting. You are ready to be a big sister, a second mommy to the baby, and knowing you, this little one will worship you (just as you plan for it to).

A born entertainer, you captivate everyone we meet, capture their heart with your antics (which other five-year-old could hold their own in a sushi-eating contest?), then you invite them to your birthday party. The samples lady at Costco was right: you are one of a kind. The world has never had anyone else like you.

Happy fifth birthday, baby.

Lucky me!

2008-01-28T09:58:00.000-08:00

Hubby's grandmother is staying with us this week. It makes me so happy to have her here. She used to live with us when I was working full-time, she took care of my kids and was a huge help around the house. I have really missed her presence, stories and teaching since we moved here.

We share so many common interests, despite the nearly 50 year gap between us. She believes in parenting much the same way I do, she teaches me how to cook the Mexican foods my mother never did, she gently corrects my Spanish, and she shows me sewing techniques that I always thought were too hard to bother with.

My husband and his mom get tired of her stories and the "embellishments" she adds to the retelling of family lore, but it never gets old to me. She may walk slowly, not see very well anymore and forget things, but she has so much energy and patience to spare. I treasure her like she is my own grandmother. The plan is that she will come back and be with us a while when this new baby is born. She is always very busy with her grandchildren--new ones are born every year, numbering more than forty in grands and greats. But she loves my kids with a special, tender love that makes us feel first in her heart (not that it matters, but it does, KWIM?).

Oh, and we are eating sopes tonight. YUM.

Did I tell you that I'm lucky?!

Pregnancy update

2008-01-18T09:31:00.000-08:00

Well, I guess I should post an update while I'm still pregnant... because if I procrastinate any longer, it will be April and baby will be here!

That's how fast it seems this pregnancy is going. I can't believe I'm already in the third trimester. Time needs to slow down (really slow, because I don't want to turn 36 in two days, nope, don't wanna). I'm enjoying it, for the most part. I love being pregnant, I love the feeling of blossoming and growing a baby. I'm lucky in many ways -- I don't tend to gain a lot of weight, I don't really crave junk food (don't have that much of an appetite, really), my blood pressure is good, I don't get a lot of swelling. So I don't have many complaints, especially since I've been seeing a chiropractor consistently throughout this pregnancy, so the lower back and lower abdomen pain I experienced with my two girls is under control. So is the heartburn (although it's still early for that, I know it's coming).

One thing that is bothering me is the regularity of Braxton-Hicks contractions. I get them frequently, when my bladder is full, when I don't drink enough water, when I move too fast, when I walk too far. So annoying.

The other annoyance has been my OB/GYN. I'm planning a homebirth, so I have been seeing both the OB and a midwife. I started with the OB for the purpose of sustaining this pregnancy--after three first-trimester miscarriages, I wanted to make sure that I am able to carry at least one more past my "danger point" of 9 weeks. The early blood tests suggested low progesterone levels, so I went on a supplement until 14 weeks, then weaned off it. Both the midwife and OB agreed that I could do co-care... but the OB's office has hassled me at every visit to get a pap smear. I have declined every time, but they won't leave me alone about it. There are other tests coming up that I want to decline--GD and GBS--and I don't want to be hassled for those either. So now I have to get the nerve up to call the OB's office and dump them. Or at least thank them for their help and let them know (nicely) that I'm not coming back. As a doula, I don't want to burn any bridges, ya know?

So far the plans for the homebirth include a birth tub, my midwife, my doula, a few other close friends and family members... and that's about it. All the other plans are unformed in the swirling clouds of the nether regions of my brain. In some ways I feel disconnected from the birth experience because I am not placing expectations upon it... I am so open to whatever happens that I don't feel the need to plan it out. I just know that the birth tub will be here waiting, that my labors have been long and painful in the past, and that I want to just relax the baby out. How's that for a birth plan?

What else is there to say about the pregnancy? My girls are impatiently ecstatic. My preschooler asks me every day if my tummy is big enough for the baby to come out yet. My seven-year-old talks to the baby and gives me neckrubs. This child, girl or boy, is going to have many mothers, including its two sisters.

Girl or boy? Gosh, after "What's your due date?" this is the next most-asked question. I simply say, "It's a surprise." The reaction is pretty split: either, "Oh my gosh, I don't know how you can stand not knowing, I would have to know!"; or "Good for you." I prefer the latter. We have definite predictions around here--hubby and preschooler both think it's a girl, my older daughter and I both think it's a boy. We'll see.

That's it for now, I'll post another update with more info later.

I feel so lame

2008-01-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

I am officially sucked in. I have cowed to the media hype. I have become a cog in the machine that is Disney's Hannah Montana.

Tonight I bought advance tickets to the nearly sold-out movie showing of "Hannah Montana & Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert Disney Digital 3D."

Ugh. Help me.

Ironic?

2008-01-08T10:16:00.000-08:00

I got a new label maker for Christmas. I can't wait to use it! Now I can mark all the storage bins, tag drawers, organize clutter into neat(er) homes. But I have to wait. Why? Because hubby misplaced the brand-new pack of batteries that we bought to load into all the portable, battery-powered Christmas gifts.

SIGH!

Class and privilege meme

2008-01-02T13:44:00.000-08:00

I found this at Katie Allison Granju’s blog. It’s originally from What Privileges Do You Have?, based on an exercise about class and privilege developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. If you participate in this blog game, they ask that you PLEASE acknowledge their copyright.

Very interesting food for thought… those that apply to me are bolded, my comments italicized.

1. Father went to college
2. Father finished college
3. Mother went to college My mom claims to have gone to college, but it was a one-year secretary trade course. That doesn’t count in “my” world.
4. Mother finished college
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor Two uncles and several cousins in Mexico are physicians.
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
9. Were read children's books by a parent.
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18 One year each of ballet, tap & jazz dance.
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively.
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18.
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs. I paid (and am still paying) for my college education.
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs
16. Went to a private high school
17. Went to summer camp
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels I can only remember two trips that involved hotels. All the rest of our very few vacations were spent sleeping on someone else’s floor.
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them. Does it really count if it didn’t run and took two years of weekend sweat to get running?
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child.
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home
25. You had your own room as a child Only because my siblings all moved out when I was 5.
26. You had a phone in your room before you turned 18.
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course.
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school.
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college.
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16 My first flight was at age 7 to visit my brother at college. My second flight was at 15 when I went by myself to visit my mom’s friends in Mexico City.
31. Went on a cruise with your family.
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family.
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up. Hmmmm. I experienced museums on school field trips and while visiting Mexico City. My parents never took me themselves.
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family. I was quite aware. My dad was always being laid off from his job and we didn’t have central heat. I was told to bundle up and not use the space heaters.

I'm not tagging anyone, but if you decide to do this meme, please let me know!

Update after the gripy whiny post

2007-12-22T09:17:00.000-08:00

So yesterday after crying and moaning, I called the closest

and they had the

in stock! One left in the store! On the CLEARANCE rack!

Woo hoo!

They put it on hold at the customer service desk. Hubby went to the store after work, found it, bought it, and brought it home.

Now all I have to do to get my money back for the late shipping one (twice as much online as in the store), is to refuse the delivery when it arrives.

First, though, I will make sure the one from the store works.

Ah, relief! Christmas is saved!

(And no, my daughter has never tasted a margarita. She just wants to make colorful slushies.)

Gripe. Whine. Sigh.

2007-12-21T10:22:00.000-08:00

My older daughter asked for this for Christmas from the man in the red suit:

Since I couldn't bring myself to buy my seven-year-old a margarita machine, I found this:

and ordered it from this website:

because they were the only ones that had it in stock.

The order was placed on 12/15/07. The order confirmation stated "Expected Delivery Date: 12/20/07."

HOWEVER, they did not ship until 12/19/07.

Today, the shipper:

tells me this:

"Tracking Detail

Your package is on time with a scheduled delivery date of 12/27/2007."

So I called:

And got off the phone with a headache after dealing with a complete be-otch who demanded to know what I expected her to do since the package was now in the hands of the shipper and they couldn't expedite shipping at this point.

@#$% ^$#%$!

Now, I have to go to:

in person to try to find it!

Sigh!

Thrifting, crafting and gifting

2007-12-15T19:33:00.000-08:00

Today, my dear hubby took the kids to his parents' house and I stayed home to work on Christmas. This year, I am staying out of the mall and giving from the heart -- handmade gifts for most of the family.

I got up early this morning to meet my good friend Michelle at Goodwill for 1/2 price Saturday. I found some awesome stuff... including decent amounts of fabric for several projects and cute, sassy t-shirts for making tote bags (thanks to Marie for the inspiration). I came home with a big ol' blue IKEA bag full of stuff for only $22. Gotta LOVE it!

I spent my entire afternoon and evening at the sewing machine (just stopping long enough to eat). Put music on and sewed sewed sewed. The finished products? Six aprons finished aprons, plus cute matching gift bags that stitched up quickly from the scraps. Check 'em out.

Three aprons.

Detail of first three aprons. Three more aprons. Detail of three more aprons.

Finished gifts in their little bags.

Seven

2007-12-12T08:24:00.000-08:00

I had to beg for a tag on this meme. I don't usually do these (the last one is still in my draft folder from months ago), but this one immediately made me crave writing a response. Here goes:

The Rules are as follows:
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Doulala placated me with the tag, but I had to go to Brooke's blog to get the rules. Not that I mind, it's a great timewaster to discover new blogs by backtracking.

My 7 Random Things:

1. I was a debutante. Yes, I joined that ultra-snooty, coming-of-age ritual usually carefully limited to the country club set. My mom has always been good at ~~denying~~ hiding how poor we were. One of her ways was to socialize much higher than we could afford, yet somehow she managed to scrape together the entry fee, have my enormous white dress made, pay for the portraits and buy the tickets to the formal Debutante Ball where I was presented along with 21 other 18-year-old girls. I think that was my last act of giving in to my mother's wishes.

2. I went through a punk phase. My mom hated it. No wonder she was so eager to get me into the Debutante program. It was probably either that or finishing school.

3. I entered two beauty pageants. Won the "Miss Congeniality" award at both. The underlying meaning of that prize is "Here's something we can give to the one person who sucked at all the other pageant elements so that everyone goes home with a trophy." Can you tell my mom was desperate to live vicariously through me?

4. I had extreme stage fright until I was 25. So how in the heck did I manage to get through pageants and presentations? I really don't know how, but I do remember flubbing all of my speaking parts and not being able to see the audience because my eyes were watering from terror. I blew every oral report and speech class from elementary school through college. My knees would knock, my voice would fall to a whisper and I would cry. Every time, I would cry. Finally, I just decided I was over it. When my college roommate and I started a magazine after graduation, I got up to speak at a press conference, spoke clearly and confidently into a microphone for the first time, and haven't had a problem with public speaking since.

5. I identify myself as a 5 on the Enneagram Personality chart.

6. While I have always considered myself a very accepting person, I have very little patience or tolerance for anyone wallowing in self-pity. I seem to have lost my empathy for their emotional struggles. I tend to react with a "fix it and get over it" attitude, but I try not to let that show. I apologize if it did.

7. I have a terrible memory. Some things stick, some things don't. I have worked on it, improved it in some areas, found it getting worse in others, and am overall perplexed by how random my recall can be. If you ever remind me of something that you told me, please don't be offended if I have forgotten!

Now I tag Heather and Michelle B, because they are the only other two bloggers I know that I don't think have done this meme.

"Second breakfast? Elevenses?"

2007-12-09T20:20:00.000-08:00

I must be a hobbit.

I would eat breakfast three times a day if I could. Then I would eat the rest of the regular meals, because I couldn't give up lunchdinnerbedtimesnack either.

I must realllllly be pregnant.

Now I don't have to cook breakfast all day long to enjoy it. I can just pull up this blog: http://www.simplybreakfast.blogspot.com/ . Wow, the pictures are so good that my cravings are practically satisfied, and with fewer calories too.

I actually made myself oatmeal twice this week, motivated just by seeing it on her table.

(Oh, and I watched Waitress today... now I want to bake some pies. Note to self: buy pumpkin.)

The Tooth Fairy Must Be Plotting Against Me

2007-12-08T18:03:00.000-08:00

E. lost another tooth today.

Yes, another. And no, a new one did not magically appear in its place (one can hope, can't they?).

That makes three missing teeth, right in the front, two on top and a new vacant space on the bottom, with at least another one to go before the bottom pair can grow in. I have these horrifying thoughts that soon I will have to chew her food for her, like a mother wolf for her cub. I may resort to putting her dinner in the blender, or make her live off yogurt and bananas.

The dentist that examined her last week commented that he expects her bottom teeth to come in first, and later the top teeth, one of which has been missing since she was 16 months old. He was also shocked to see that her six-year molars have emerged. Already. She is 4 1/2. Just four-and-a-half.

E. also needs a major cavity repaired, which will require sedation and a stainless steel cap on a baby molar. I asked when that tooth would naturally fall out and be replaced. The dentist quickly replied, "Those molars come in at age 9." Then he thought for a moment, and said, "Although, on her, it could be as early as seven."

This kid's teeth are on overdrive, and now I find out that my husband went through a similar rush to get his permanent teeth. At least there is an explanation for it--genetics. I also have a feeling that there is an explanation for why all of a sudden she has four cavities, when earlier this year she had none. You see, she only just weaned a couple of months prior to the previous dental appointment. It is a little solace to me that maybe the amazing powers of mama-milk protected her teeth until then, and now without that protection her teeth are finally showing a similar vulnerability to nasty bacteria that the rest of us have.

At least she doesn't have the fear of dental work that her sister and I have. The tooth fairy must be sympathetic to her after all.

(Oh, and please don't ask her if she all she wants for Christmas is her two front teeth. She is so used to living without them she couldn't care less. All she wants for Christmas is a Care Bear.)

The Most Awesomest Pumpkin Pie!

2007-12-07T20:12:00.000-08:00

Here's the recipe for my pumpkin pie that was soooo good, I made four of them in the last month, just because. Well, it was Thanksgiving, and we did celebrate with three, yes three, dinners, but I would make this pie any month of the year now. I just finished the last bite of the last pie last night, and I am already itching to make another one.

I follow the basic recipe from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything (my faaaaaaavorite cookbook, everything comes out good from that book). You know, classic pumpkin pie -- with pre-baked crust, eggs, milk, pumpkin puree, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, sugar. BUT, and this is the key here, I substituted Silk Pumpkin Spice Soy Milk for the milk ingredient. OH MY GOODNESS... delicious, moist, smooth pie that made me happy happy happy. I used a vegan frozen crust from Whole Foods, and voila! Finally a pumpkin pie that is dairy-free and easy on the tummy. I LOVE IT!

I must make another batch before the seasonal soy milk disappears from the shelves. I might just make ten pies and freeze them, one for each coming month of the year until the Silk is available again!

Procrastinating

2007-12-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

I've had lots of thoughts on stuff to post on my blog... photos of craft items I've made recently, an update on the pregnancy, pictures from the ultrasound, the recipe for the most awesomest pumpkin pie I've ever made. But today I just have to put up a little ticker in the sidebar of my homepage. I saw it one someone else's blog and had to have it for mine. :)

More posts later. I promise.

Synonyms we regret

2007-10-29T17:10:00.000-07:00

A car-ride conversation with my second-grader:

Second-grader: [In a tough voice] "Don't put the boot in my glute! [pause] Mom, what is a glute?"
Me: "Well, it's another word for butt-cheek."
SG: [Cracking up] "Butt-cheek?"
Me: "Um, yeah. It's short for gluteus maxiumus, which is Latin for butt."
SG: "So what's the dance word for glute?"
Me: "Booty."
SG: "Hip-hop?"
Me: [Giggling] "I think it's trunk."
SG: "Rock?"
Me: [Sighing] "Ohcomeonnow!"
SG: "What IS it?"
Me: "Well, it's, um, ass, but that's a grown-up word and you shouldn't use it!"
Preschooler: "Mom, what's an ASS?"
Me: "It's a butt, but don't use that word!"
SG: [Laughing loudly] "Okay mom, we won't say ASS! [Tough voice again] Don't put the boot in my glute! Don't put the boot in my glute! Ha ha! GLUTE! HAHA!"

Because I don't shy away from controversy...

2007-09-12T19:20:00.000-07:00

Here's a compelling video on the Nestle Boycott.

She's a giver

2007-08-22T10:06:00.000-07:00

My wunnerful prethcooler is thuch a giving perthon. She shares eferyfing with her momma. Including her head coldz.

A Conversation

2007-08-17T07:37:00.000-07:00

Stomach (to me): "Eat. Now."
Me (to stomach): "What? We just ate two hours ago!"
Stomach: "Eeeeeeeeeat."
Me: "Okay, okay. What do you want?"
Stomach: "Beef jerky."
Me: "EW! Too salty!"
Stomach: "Jerrrrrrrrky. NOW!"
Me: "Okay, okay! Here's the jerky!"
Stomach: "Mmmmmmmm"
Me: [gagging] "You happy now?"
Stomach: [rumbling] "I think so."
Me: [belch] "Ugh! Too spicy!"
Stomach: "Then what did you have to go and eat jerky for?! Sheesh!"
Me: "You wanted it!"
Stomach: "Yeah, whatever. Oooo, look over there!"
Me: "What?"
Stomach: "Apple strudel!"

Mary Mary Miss Contrary

2007-08-13T08:53:00.001-07:00

Every word I choose
is the
wrong one.

I cannot speak
except to
deceive
argue
dispute.

Am I nothing but
a cliché?
An adversary?

Is my very soul
distilled
down to a single
abhorred
memory?

My words are left behind
meaningless
dismissed
reduced

like a forgotten sauce
left in the pot
too long, crisp
and unwanted.

Baby steps

2007-08-11T18:10:00.000-07:00

One day at a time. That's all I can handle. Focus on the now. Eyes down, one foot in front of the other. Don't think. Don't contemplate. Just go from moment to moment to moment and if the minds jumps ahead, make it land on the idea of what should happen (not what shouldn't) and use that to manifest/build/create the positive future that lies ahead.

I am never satisified. Even when things go well. I must change that and enjoy life as it is and as it is coming.

Introduction

2007-08-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

I am in pieces.

He came to me
in a dream.

Taller than I.
Familiar.

He embraced me,
and spoke,

"Don't worry.
Everything will be
as it
Should.
I will take
care, of us
Both."

My fractured fibers
(nerves)
knit together.

2007-07-17T09:56:00.001-07:00

In the spaces between words
there is a gulf
wide and deep,
broad waters
uncharted
where emotions
sink
and shiver.

What is the difference?
I mean
what does it matter?
What I say and what
I do
are the same thing.
Aren’t they?

There is a place
where I can float

(peacefully)

buoyed by
uncertainty
anchored by
questioning
waiting for
the one
answer.

A little bit of cleaning... goes a long way

2007-07-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

I just finished cleaning my bedroom, for the first time, oh, since we moved here. I've vacuumed in there before, changed the beds frequently of course, but I don't think I've ever dusted it or removed much of the ever-accumulating junk.

It was time to reclaim the room as a calm, peacful, inviting sanctuary, rather than just a place to sleep. I decided to remove all the kid-stuff and did a methodical clear-sort-purge routine on each piece of furniture. There was junk piled on every nightstand, dresser and bookcase in there. Whatever doesn't belong in that room left, and what stayed behind was dusted and put into place.

I thought about putting a mood-enhancing tabletop water fountain in there, even got it out of the box, then discovered when reading the directions that it must be cleaned weekly or the pump will get clogged up. Forget that. What goes in must be low maintenance. I want to simplify!

Now that I am tired and need a nap, I shall retire to my room, a haven of rest and relaxation. Nite-nite!

Off track

2007-07-10T08:01:00.000-07:00

At the trailhead
I pause
to examine two arrows
feebly nailed to an ancient post.

One points in the general direction of a roughish
path barely discernable
amongst the bramble

the other resolutely
precisely
angling
to the direction of a worn,
well-marked trail.

Instincts are silent.

I take the clear way, not wishing
for stickers in my
socks.

The walk is long
steep
wearing
despairing

there is no end

there is only dust
miles thick
from the shuffling
of feet before mine.

Rain falls in big weeping
drops

each falling into the thirsty dust
no trace of moisture left
they evaporate just as
they dent the surface.

I took the wrong path.
Unknowingly.
It is too far
to turn back
now.

Mute

2007-06-30T18:07:00.001-07:00

When I open my mouth,
what do you hear?

Are my words as mangled and
torn

as the heart
from which they come?

Do they sound as distant and
shallow

as the soul
or the mind
or the senses

that project them?

Tell me,
is my sentiment as thin
as my translucent skin

as wavering
as my softened spine

can you even tell
that I am crying
out
below the surface
steeping my lungs
slipping into the murky
shadows
deep
beyond
reach?

Litterbug

2007-06-30T17:22:00.000-07:00

I am not a confrontational person.

My husband would disagree with that, but in general, I do not like getting into face-to-face arguments or debates. I do much better at proving my point on paper than in person. I tend to withhold comments, often lacking the "right" witty thing to say in retort or as a snide aside.

Today I saw something that struck me so fiercely I was moved to "speak."

I waiting in a left turn lane to enter the parking lot of the library so I could return a book. The man driving the blue Kia in front of me lowered his window and tossed a couple of used paper napkins out the window. Now, being a little bit of a conservationist (or wishing that I really was), I was annoyed, aggravated and incensed at this man's disregard for the planet. We both turned into the parking lot and I struggled with the urge to stop him and say something, versus the nervous fear of confronting him. The fear won, I entered the library, put my book in the slot and thought that if I passed him outside I would say something cutting and witty.

He was too quick for me, and had entered through another door.

Disappointed, I went back to my van. I pulled out of my parking space and looked at his car, debating on the idea of leaving a note (much easier than making eye contact). Then I noticed it.

An empty fast-food bag shoved under his little car.

I pulled into the next parking space, whipped out my pen and notepad from my purse, shakingly scribbled a note, got out of my car, grabbed that Taco Bell bag, and put the note and the bag under his windshield wiper.

That ought to teach him.

Except my note was nasty. I wrote, "Do you think this world is your trash can? Next time put your trash in the bin, you lazy, filthy slob."

Am I a bad person? No really, am I?

I think my karma is tarnished with this one.

Mending

2007-06-25T06:38:00.000-07:00

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
You roll outta bed and down on your knees
And for the moment you can hardly breathe
Wondering was she really here?
Is she standing in my room?
No she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

--John Mayer

I've always known exactly what sex my children will be. Even those that I lost early, their gender was clear and known to me. Hubby and I never wanted to know the baby's sex ahead of time, so during the ultrasounds we asked the technicians to not reveal anything. With both of my girls (the only ones to grow large enough in the womb to have the mid-pregnancy ultrasound), the tech said, "Oh, well, the legs are crossed so I can't tell anyways." Whether or not that was true, only she knew, but it was a fitting excuse to keep us from changing our minds at the moment and finding out something that we really didn't want to know.

We didn't need to know anyways. We both felt from their presence who they were, and what, though that was incidental. Neither of us has ever expressed the overwhelming desire for a boy, or a girl. We always say, "We don't care what it is, as long as it's healthy." We have been blessed with two healthy, female children. What more could we want?

My father-in-law is descended from not-too-ancient royalty, a family stripped of title and land by the Communists, yet not stripped of pride or memory. Even the family name is in dispute, unusual for its origins and yet a time capsule of each past era that has worn it, through battles, capture, prisons, victories, liberations and freedom. This family that has had many strong and notable ancestors in their part of the world has descended by generations into a present standing of four granddaughters and one grandson (who doesn't have the last name his mother--our cousin--did). My father-in-law wants nothing more in this world than to have a grandson to carry on the family name.

So what more we could want would be to have another baby, a little boy to love and teach and grow into a smart, strong, sensitive (like his father and grandfather) man.

My first child was a boy. He came to me in a dream, in the blue sky, in the rush of winds around me when I would go on walks around our condo where we lived at the time. I knew I was having a boy, without any need for confirmation from a ultrasonic window to his environment. But he left me at 9 weeks, just long enough to have bonded himself to my heart. When he left, I felt the sheet of his soul that had enveloped me, protecting me, tear away from my skin, leaving little bits behind stuck to me and taking little bits of me away with it, as it was sucked into the void. I was alone again, so so lonely for that week of pain, then the week of emptiness that followed. My son, the only one so far, was gone and I was left, drained and bleeding.

With a little apprehension (okay, a lot) and lots of placating reassurrances ("don't worry, it won't happen again, it was a fluke"), I got pregnant again two months later and met my first daughter on her due date. Textbook. She was there to show me, "This is how it is supposed to happen, Mom." My beautiful, my sweet, my sensitive daughter who lets everyone into her heart and cries uncontrollably at sad movies, she is my rock and my roots. She revealed herself to me in a sunset the week after we passed the earlier milestone that had me holding my breath for almost two months. One evening as I got home from work, a reflection in the second-floor condo window caught my eye and I turned to the west. Pink-lemonade stratus clouds shot from the horizon to over and above my head. The ribbons of light seemed to reach towards me, stretching out their gentle and airy fingers to touch me. She was there, safe inside me and yet speaking to me from the outside. My girl, my girl.

My stubborn second came wished for, wanted, but not obediently or easily. The positive test was elating, but the memory of the boy weighed me to the ground. At six weeks, when I started spotting, it was as if my heart had leapt into my throat and jumped out onto the floor. I was nauseous, and didn't know if it was from the hormones or the fear. I went to the doctor the next day, and they confirmed a heartbeat and admonished me to rest for a few days in the hopes that the bleeding would pass. It did. She was resolute and stayed. She also deceived me. She told me of herself in a dream, but my waking feelings were conflicted. I allowed myself to listen to the family members who examined my belly for its shape, pointiness, height, breadth and announced it to be a boy. Instead of convincing me, she led a tease inside. She let me vaccillate between convictions, and finally she wrote her birth story as a lesson in extremes. Born on the day of the worst storm of 2003, she is a tempest and a jester, a confidante and a lunatic. I love her with a love that I have never felt for anyone else, ever.

Last summer, I let myself feel things that did (and still do) give me shame. We weren't careful, we weren't planning, and I missed my period. For the first time in my life, after eighteen years of careful birth control and even more careful conception, I was unexpectedly pregnant. The timing was bad. The situation was bad. That my husband was working out of state and we didn't know what was going to happen with our future was bad. I was happy, hopeful and overwhelmingly, distraughtingly, scared. I had a hard time bonding. The voice inside was small and quiet. "It will be okay. We'll figure it out." My girls, unknowning yet full of intuition, one day tossed pennies into a fountain and wished for a baby sister. It was to be. I was shocked. They told me what we were having, without having even been told that another was coming. Another girl. The fourtune teller was right.

But not.

One morning I woke up feeling strange. Not feeling pregnant anymore. The day before, I told a close friend, finally ready to start sharing the news and facing the questions, like "How will you do it with two kids at home and a husband out of town?" After telling her that day, I felt my stomach ease and attributed it to relaxing of the nerves. By the next day, I knew that it was over.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The giving up is the hardest part
She takes you in with your crying eyes
Then all at once you have to say goodbye
Wondering could you stay my love?
Will you wake up by my side?
No she can't, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

If I hadn't taken a test last month, I wouldn't have known I was pregnant. If I had been only relying on morning temps, I would have seen my luteal phase temp drop on the day of my period and have thought that the strange signs of the last few days were PMS. But I did test, three times in fact. I did know. And I did miscarry, again.

Where there is defeat, there is also solace. At least it was early and I didn't experience the pain that I had before, last year and seven years before that. But the solace is meager and shallow. Now there are more losses than gains. More angels than children. More fear than confidence. Less time. Less time. Less time.

Mortality is a really hard concept for me to grasp. To accept. I worry too much about dying before I've served my purpose. But I try to be a good Catholic. I say my Hail Marys from the deepest parts of my heart. My soul loves Jesus. The parts of me that are empty, are filled with the words of the bible. One of yesterdays readings at Mass was Psalm 139:

You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother's womb.
I praise you, so wonderfully you made me; wonderful are your works! My very self you knew;
my bones were not hidden from you, When I was being made in secret, fashioned as in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes foresaw my actions; in your book all are written down; my days were shaped, before one came to be.
How precious to me are your designs, O God; how vast the sum of them!

I have always loved this psalm. It first touched and filled me at a retreat after my first miscarriage. It is the beacon sent out by God's lighthouse when I am on the sea of uncertainty. More than anyone else, He is the one who knows me and guides me.

The Gospel was Luke's story of the birth of John the Baptist. Elizabeth named him, and by a miracle at that moment, his mute father regained his speech and confirmed his name. It is an amazing passage, full of wonder and foreshadowing. You can read all of yesterday's readings here: http://www.usccb.org/nab/062407b.shtml

The homily is what really got me. The visiting priest spoke of knowing yourself, who you are in this family of the church. He gave us an acronym: J.O.Y. "Jesus first; Others second; Yourself, third." Who have I been thinking of so much lately? Myself. Jesus first, others second. Hard to do.

He talked about abortion and NFP. How contraception and birth control are examples of putting yourself first. How if we put Jesus first, NFP is easy and normal. How children are to be welcomed and God's will allowed to be done.

Well, HERE I AM, DO YOUR WILL!

It was another moment where that diseased thought comes up. That double-edged question, "Why me? Why not me?" The one where I can't help wonder, "Why are so many babies being born to people who don't want them, and why can't someone like me who wants one, have one?"

The priest challenged the congregation to pray on these words before they challenged him with their opinions on abortion and birth control. He said he knew there were people who disagreed. I wanted to stand up in church and shout, "I AGREE. HERE IS SOMEONE WHO AGREES! WE WANT A BABY! WE ARE TRYING NATURALLY!"

I kept my seat. And listened. As he spoke, I watched this family two pews in front of us. The mother was there with her four children, one who I taught as a sub in the religious education program and two who I have baby-sat in the church nursery. I noticed them, recognized them, smiled and waved when they recognized me. The youngest, a two-year-old boy named Randy, patted his mother and lifted his arms in the "uppy" sign, and she lifted him in her arms. He laid his head on her shoulder and gave me the most contented smile, blissfully happy and calm to be in his mother's arms.

I melted from that smile. And suddenly, something opened up in my heart. A feeling entered, and I realized that what was holding me back from really grasping this desire, from letting go of my worries (do I really want another needy baby? what if it's not healthy? what if I'm too old? what will happen to my doula business?), that my biggest obstacle was that I was set upon having another girl. I have been wanting another girl. I have been afraid to be the mother of a boy. It has been easy to claim to have had a son, even though he was lost yet feel his presence around me, and be somehow, strangely satisfied with that.

I am a girly mom. I love their clothes and shoes and toys and sassiness and spunk and sensitivity and joy. I love how they come to me and I can tell them how to grow up a girl. I have always wondering how I would handle having a boy. Boys are so hard. Boys grow up and get into trouble and forget important things like birthdays and calling their mothers. Boys are rough and endless mysteries to me. I am married to a man who I love, yet to have a son like him? I wouldn't know what to do.

So my epiphany yesterday, after all this angst, is that to open myself to having another baby, I have to open myself to having a son, and mothering a son, and giving my heart out again. Little Randy's smile told me that he loves his mama more than anything in the world. I had forgotten about that, that boys are mama's boys. That no matter how many moody fights you get into with your daughters, that boys will always honor their mothers.

I have to let go of my expectations. Of conditions. Of saying, "As long as the baby is healthy. As long as it's..." What would it matter what the gender? Or if we have a baby with Down's? What is the point of saying "As long as" when it doesn't matter what happens? Everything else--gender, chromosomal makeup, whatever--doesn't matter. So what if I have six years worth of girl clothes in the garage saved for the next girl. We get rid of them. Oh well. No more conditions, no more asking for specifics.

Maybe this was what God was waiting for me to realize. Maybe not. But hopefully, this little bit might be enough.

Rim

2007-06-23T08:17:00.000-07:00

How far?

How far is it to the top,
a small voice asked.

This canyon is deep, we have descended
as far as we can
go.

It is as far up as down,
the other voice answered.

But farther is the way you must go,
the closer is
unscalable.

Grief can not make you any lower

than lying down
flat.

I am prostrate in
the sand
the walls rise
above
stretching
craning
the edge out of my reach.

I do not want to climb.

Carry me out. Pour me down.
I am out of trying.

2007-06-23T07:48:00.000-07:00

Time is the enemy.

deceitful
spiteful
teasing
callous

The lover waits patiently,
spends the hour
watching the shadows bend,
her paramour
comes late,
exalts her for
waiting.

My Beast

2007-06-10T22:22:00.000-07:00

How do you not compare yourself to others?

In reading Shape of a Mother today, I found a recent entry from a woman at 37 weeks bearing her third child, from twelve pregnancies. Nine lost children. Nine. She certainly deserves a lot more pity than me. Yet I wanted to weep, and not for her.

Nine. I can barely handle three, and those weren't as bad as for my niece, who lost two, including a stillborn at 23 weeks and a molar pregnancy at 10 weeks. She nearly had to go through chemotherapy for the resulting tumor, but it resolved in time. She now has a two-year-old daughter and no more plans for children. She's not even thirty yet.

Since last August's miscarriage, two feelings compete within me about having another child--the desperate fear of another loss, and the desperate want of another pregnancy. The second has been winning, the voices inside saying, I need to grow another child. I need a homebirth, MY homebirth. My children NEED to number three. My girls need another sibling--one each is not enough.

I visited Jacksonville eleven years ago this month. I was treated to an expenses-paid trip for niche-market editors, by the Convention & Visitor's Bureau, to entice us to write about their destination in our publications. (We were publishing Latina Bride then.) They took us to a popular beach festival, Fiesta Playera. I paid a fortune-teller five bucks to read my palm. I sat in the white tent, nearly fainting in the heat, missing the girl's words (she couldn't have been older than 19) for trying to catch the breeze sneaking in through the flaps. What do I remember from that ten minutes? That I have a short life-line, broken and feathered, telling of future illness and early demise. And oh, "you will have three children, all girls."

I have lived my life since then all hung-up around those words. How silly of me.

Paranoia feeds on the littlest details. Big deals don't mean much--they are too obvious, too loud and verbose when speaking to dark minds. No--subtle trends, false starts, small aches, tiny incongruities, pale hunches, ignorant slights, these things are what feed the monster of the deep, the lurker in the dark, the hulking sulking waiting breed of fear that hides behind rational feelings with its mouth wide ready to devour them and leave just fear and the urge to flee in its place.

The easy way would be to say that I'm done. No more pregnancies. No more miscarriages. No more... tears... hope... butterflies... babies... children...

What would be left? Disappointment. Fear. Pain. Failure. Broken-ness. Regret.

So I pull together every ounce of resolve, apply a numbing salve, drop the trap over the cave, shush the voices and follow the path on my palm, to try again.

I beat my fist
on my chest

the hole made there
weeps
moans

a voice cries out through it
NO!
No more!

How could I feel my
stomach in my throat
when all inside
is empty?

Mom's closet(s)

2007-06-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

So we came home from California with a vanload of vintage (read: 60s & 70s) clothes from my mom's closets. She has seven, yes seven (7), closets full of clothes in their three-bedroom home, and sending several big bags of clothes with me barely made a dent.

Some of the stuff is not even fit for rags. I was taking everything she pulled out just because her closets desperately needed the culling. But some.... wow. I think some vintage resale stores might be interested in authentic old school tees and shirts like Disney, Izod Lacoste, and Wonder Woman, to name a few.

Does anyone know of good, local stores to take this stuff to? I was thinking of Buffalo Exchange, not sure where else that takes funky, eclectic, vintage.

Your suggestions, please?

(un)Fair

2007-06-08T16:09:00.000-07:00

It's the next to last day of our vacation, and the surrealism of life floating around me is starting to disapate, floating and falling on me softly like ash descending on the valley below a blazing hillside. The reality of the early miscarriage last week feels ephemeral, postponed, delayed into an entraped and suspended state of being, like a moment caught in a bubble that pops and splatters just outside your reach, denying you the sensation of the tiny, filmy spray.

But fancy descriptive words and complex similes are not enough, not real, not fitting. The real feelings are as sharp as the edges of the bits of seashells we found on Venice Beach--ragged and tricky. "It wasn't a real pregnancy." "It was over before it started." "At least you already have children." "Other people have more miscarriages and never have a child." "At least it didn't go any further if there was something wrong." "Other people have preemies who suffer pain and disability their whole lives." These voices (in my head) tell me how lucky (or unlucky) I am. I listen. I hear. I am numb, but I still hurt.

Five pregnancies. Three miscarriages. Two children. Thirty-five years. Advanced maternal age. Do I qualify as having secondary infertility? Why do I have to? What if I don't?

Venice Beach

2007-06-04T22:10:00.000-07:00

We spent the day on Venice Beach today. The weather was about 70 degrees. I'm so glad I brought sweaters from home b/c we used them! The sky was overcast with a thick marine layer near the coast. Inland, the air was clear, hardly a hint of smog over LA. The girls went crazy running around in the sand, digging with rocks and finding shells. We spent some time chasing waves--my little Aquarius was so enamoured with the ocean that the chill of the water didn't even bother her.

After brushing off the sand and changing clothes, we headed over to the Boardwalk and strolled down Venice Pier. I told my family stories about how my dad used to spend his afternoons fishing off that pier when he was a kid. We watched surfers and wakeboarders roll around in the breakers. The girls had gotten their sweaters wet, so hubby and I gave them ours. One guy walking towards us stopped in his tracks, pointed at my little one and cried out, "She looks like E.T.!" We all got a great laugh out of that!

Without my sweater I was freezing cold. I thought of my friends at home in Phoenix and wished some of the coolness eastward. Did you feel it?

We stopped in Starbucks one block from the beach. E, in all of her friendliness, spotted the hottest guy in the coffee shop and flirted with him in her four-year-old way.

A friend from my old job met us at the beach for a quick rendez-vous, and we had dinner with another friend and her boyfriend. She's expecting a baby in August and they had all kinds of questions for me. I will miss that birth but another close friend will be there and they promise to call me right away.

It's hard to be back home in California and get such small amounts of time with friends and family. We passed by our old house and it set my older daughter off weeping. She still has memories of it. What a bittersweet trip. I both love and miss LA, yet some things quickly remind me of why I don't miss it all that much.

Full Circle

2007-06-03T22:43:00.000-07:00

How many people find themselves being presented, at age 35, with the pink-slip to their first car, the one that they helped choose, fix up and learned to drive on almost 20 years before?

I did. Today.

We were at a party at my sister's house, a going-away party for her son's best friend who is moving to Oregon with his wife. My nephew's friend, A, had bought my old '68 Volkswagon Beetle from my dad after I abandoned it to him in college. This Bug had a leaky sunroof, a home spray-can paint job that rubbed off with every wash and a heater that never really worked. The wipers had two speeds: slow and off. The radio rarely got any stations in and the entire headliner was missing.

A had bought the car for a dollar from my dad. I thought it was cool that he was going to fix it up better than when I had tired of it. It leaked oil and ran through brake fluid. It ran, sounded and coughed like a Bug. I drove it for five years, bent the bumper, dented the fender, ran it out of gas and pushed it out of traffic myself too many times.

Unfortunately, A's plans for it never materialized, what with his busy schedule and lack of funds. So it sat for a while, sad and neglected. When my hubby had heard that A & his wife S were moving to Oregon, he planted the germ of the idea--"Sell it to me, I'll restore it."

Today was the farewell party. A & S are leaving in two weeks. We happened to be visiting SoCal this week and were glad to see them before they go, since who knows when we will see them again and they are good people.

Hubby said, "A wants to talk to you." I was surprised, then there he was with the Certificate of Title in his hand. "The Bug is yours again. Here's the pink-slip. I've already signed the back." I was flabbergasted. Completely shocked. I now re-own my first car. "How? What? Why?" They revealed hubby's suggestive questions, the day's earlier cash exchange of two dollars. With a sly smile, A boasted, "I doubled my money!"

And we paid twice as much as he did, for a car that doesn't work, no engine, replaced doors, the fenders in the front seats, and plans to restore, rejuvenate and revive an authentic gem that hopefully will be my daughter's first car in a few years, when it will be unique and cool to have a classic Bug that coughs and sputters and whirrs and skates down the road.

Errata

2007-06-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

Latin in title of "Infectum Opus" was corrected.

Removed a comma from "Helpless."

Score: Grammatical OCD, 2. Me, 0.

Tick Tock

2007-06-03T22:23:00.000-07:00

Mother's hands.
She always took good care of her hands.
Nails perfectly filed.
Smoothed by Yardley's,
Protected
from

dirt
grime
hard work
stubborn cans

these hands of hers never did more than
she would let them.

Shit! she cried.
I broke a nail, she
complained.
(She was standing next to me
washing a pot at the sink
in my sister's kitchen,
caressing it clean in her
compulsive way)

Do you have scissors? she inquired of
everyone at the party
To trim my nail?

My dad produced something to clip off the broken
bit.

OUCH! She screamed! You hurt me!

Pouting, she turned to
me.

Don't you have scissors?

Clippers yes, mom. I have clippers,
and I produced them.

But I need scissors!

What for? Can't you use clippers?

No, she responded
flatly
smallishly.
I've never used them. Only
scissors

(I remember her nail scissors,
I know where they lie in her
bathroom above
the toilet,
I used them yesterday to snip a tag off
a gift she gave her granddaughter,
my child.)

Here mom, let me.
I take her hand, turn it over, find the split.
Sternly I say
Now don't move!

And I trim her broken nail
in the same way
I trim my daughters',
she looks up at me,
gratitude in her eyes for the first
time
of my life and

time

moves
on.

Infectum Opus

2007-06-02T22:07:00.000-07:00

A poem started,
rhythm considered,
rhyme pondered,
stanzas metered.

The play's first scene blocked out,
understudies rehearsed,
actors performed.

The novel's plot outlined,
the epilogue signed,
first chapter written.

A symphony's opening movement composed,
cymbals clashed,
trumpets shouted,
cellos moaned.

Then the poet rubs out the verse,
the playwright crumples the page,
the author puts down his pen,
the composer hears a different note,
leaves the work,
and starts over again.

Coming soon...

2007-05-21T07:10:00.000-07:00

TEASER: I am working on the story of a client's recent birth. It will be posted shortly.

The Baby Dance

2007-05-19T21:00:00.001-07:00

My temps have been wacky, but I think they are finally shifting. Hubby is worn out from all the activity of the last week... he is begging to be let off the hook!

Here is my chart... what do you think?
http://www.fertilityfriend.com/home/13cab

Don't Go Out in a Cheap Bra

2007-05-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to share, thought you all might find this funny...

http://breastfeeding.com/reading_room/cheap_bra.html

I (Heart) Goodwill

2007-05-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I like shopping. I like to shop. (See Retail Therapy links to the left.)

But, on a budget, I have learned to get creative. Gone are my days of lunch hours at Macy's. So long to the $300 binges at Robinson's May. I no longer look at even the Clearance section on Gap.com -- sigh.

But, I can justify the savings (and recycling) of visiting a few yard sales and Goodwill stores each month. And, I found that Twice Az Nice in Chandler has my kind of fashion, for which I can trade in the stuff that no longer fits!

So, to gloat, here are the spoils of my recent "personal maintenance sessions":

Red I.N.C. Sweater + French Cuff khaki skirt = $12
Coral floral Eddie Bauer skirt = $5.99
Green Self-Esteem top + green Style & Co. skirt = $8.49
Red b.i.y.a.y.c.d.a. top + floral Bandolino skirt = $14
Forest green J.Jill shorts = $5.99 (not shown)
Pink embroidered silk I.N.C. top = $4.99 (not shown)

If you don't care about brand names and all clothes are just clothes, go ahead and write me off as shallow. If you know how nice wearing good brands can make you feel, then go ahead and be jealous!

P.S. I won't be telling which Goodwill I shop at. HA!

Vote in the Blogger Choice Awards!

2007-05-08T20:50:00.000-07:00

One of my favorites, Hathor the Cow Goddess, is up for awards in several categories, including Best of Parenting! Vote for her, or nominate your faves!

http://www.bloggerschoiceawards.com/

Blogging is bad for eggs

2007-05-08T14:15:00.000-07:00

Note to self: Never leave eggs boiling on the stove while updating new blog.

Window

2007-05-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

It took only a moment –
she had asked me to unplug
the clock to ignore the hours –
the look, the sway, a brief
shake of the head,
a deep breath.

Repeat.

Won’t it stop, she asked.
Soon, the midwife answered.

She sank into a curl,
molding herself around the baby belly.

Silently her womb squeezed and
she roared the baby out.

A deep breath,
A humbling cry.

We look for the blank clock
and note the timeless
child born
at the first breath
of the newest dawn.

Thirst

2007-05-07T23:23:00.001-07:00

What if I could break the clock,
peel back the face of
time
let spill those moments
unseen
unheard

catch drops of an alternate past
and drink new memories from
my palm?
Could I quench my
wonder? Last

I tried, a friend I once thought
wise
said,

Only the bitterest are heavy enough to catch,

The sweetest, the lightest
floated
out
too quick
dissolved.

Helpless

2007-05-07T23:19:00.000-07:00

Each bit of news is worse
than the last.

Lesion.Frontal lobe.Intubated.Surgery.

deeper
deeper

They say,
once you hit bottom
the only way is up.

bottomless

They say,
what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger.
or something.

sinking

I hate those words, she says.
What words,
I ask.
All of them.

the sky
falls away

I want to tear
at my eyes
hair
clothes
bash my forehead
on the desk.

slipping

Don’t waste time with
stupid words
asking why
saying sorry
or something.

Sound doesn’t carry
that far

down.

Poems

2007-05-07T23:16:00.000-07:00

I'm just awake enough to create my new blog, but not lucid enough to compose something new and insightful (I can feel the expectations rising already). So I'm going to put up some of my recent poetry, shared here with the world for the first time. For the record and all future compositions, all content is owned, copyrighted and controled by ME, don't even think of copying/pasting/taking credit. Write your own snazzy stuff!

Just a little bit... would be enough

2007-05-07T22:58:00.000-07:00

Just for today, just a little bit of

quiet
patience
joy
time
accomplishment
thanks
pride
rest
congratulations

would be enough.