Tuesday, December 16, 2008

time has been whizzing

and I mean WHIZZING by! I can't believe Christmas is around the corner! aaahhhh!

Besides all the normal things going on in this crazy house, I have been working a part time job at American Eagle, just down the street from our house. It is so convenient and if the weather was a tad warmer and I had a bike, I would totally be cycling to work. This job is to supplement our family income and allow me to finish paying for my sewing machine- that glorious machine I use every week. My list of "want to buy" items grows with each paycheck so I have to keep my head on.

This working thing though is tough. I am totally tired when I come home, even if it's only a four hour shift. It sucks the energy out of my very bones and when 6pm rolls around I am ready to hit the sack. The fireman seems to be coping well and enjoying hanging with the kids. They love their daddy and our situation seems to working quite well.

Our house is decorated for Christmas and now I am wondering how to create the magic. I remember Christmas in our house as kids and it seemed to be magical. Was mom baking all the time? Did we watch non stop Christmas movies? Was it the LP records spinning of Nat King Cole Christmas or Elvis?? Was it constant company and long lost relatives stopping by? What was the trick and am I creating magic for my kids?

This time of year can really bog me down. I realize that a love language for me is giving and receiving gifts. And with very little money set aside for giving, the magic isn't there for me. Instead I am worried and stressed. I am trying to figure out ways to make our little money spread. But we are paying for toilet guts and light bulbs, car repairs and medical bills instead of stocking stuffers. I am working on contentment and thankfulness.

I am also toying with starting up a business- a website for selling my crafty items. There are a few very big things I need in order to launch this business, so I am biding time and trying to work out logistics.

Nap time is here and now I am off to shower and get my home in some semblance of order.
Hope your day is warm and full of magic... whatever that is.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Photo Op


We totally took advantage of our friend, Holly, when she came to visit us in Nowheresville. It was so lovely and the weather couldn't have been nicer. And what's even better, she's a professional photographer. So here are some recent family photos of us.
Unbelievable, isn't it?
Thanks Holly.




sweet Poppy

Maggie


Jack-Jack

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

last day

last day here in nowheresville. I am so happy to be packing up to head home, although I know we will have so much to do this weekend. It's Halloween and we are partying with friends. It's also school day on Friday... big day. Calvin works on Saturday and we have an Open House on Sunday.
I can just see the house explosion about to happen. Bags everywhere, kids excited to pull out every toy they haven't seen in 3 weeks, no food to speak of. But I have packed clean clothes to go home with and we have a few left overs I think we will take along for the ride.

We have so many cool friends who are totally on the ball. I look and listen to their lives and feel like I have missed something along the way. People are so pulled together, financially stable, active, pursuing dreams and having fun. I feel like we are stuck in a rut so much of the time. Trying to get ahead and stay afloat in the meantime.

While pondering all of these things, I bake cookies. I have a new favorite recipe, Dark Chocolate Oatmeal. They are divine and I can hardly wait for them to cool before shovelling them into my mouth. I am an eater. I eat to feel happy or just better. I love chocolate and I love underbaked cookies. So today I am self-medicating.

Funny, how I am confessing this today of all days. This morning I had a long conversation (long in 4 year-old terms) with Poppy about "nervous eating". She had recently seen a preview for Chicken Little and she and her sister had been quoting two lines out of the trailer for days, cracking themselves up. I wondered if she understood what she was saying. And no, of course not. We talked about what it means to be a nervous eater, or drinker, or shopper, or anything that might replace God as our sustainer and comforter. She seems to get it more than I do (as I take another bite of chocolate deliciousness...)

Oh- and news flash**** Jack said four words together! A whole sentence!! Wow!!! I thought I would never hear the words!!!!! I quote him, "I saw a truck." Excellent. We are moving forward finally.

more cookies coming out, must run.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Middle of Nowheresville

I am going on day 15 out here in seclusion. The outside world is still jostling along at a very fast pace, and our days are drifting. Time seems to slow here. I look out the window at the water and leaves falling and I feel relaxed and quieted.

I am also ready to crawl back into my nest and settle in. It is difficult to be displaced with small children. We have had a few casualties while here: a broken picture frame, some lamps falling over, drinks spilling, and I feel more anxious than normal since these are not my things.

The stillness and solitude is startling. I realize how loud life can be and it brings me back to my core to have nothing to do and no one to talk to. My cell phone doesn't work out here and I feel bad to make long distance calls. So aside from emergencies, my social life, however small it is, is put on hold.

Could I live out here permanently? I don't know. If I had a cottage to do as I wanted and a girlfriend nearby to visit with and hang with, craft with and school with, I think I could. But I am a talker and with no one over 6 years old, days can become quite lonely. However, I have enjoyed the escape and retreat from normal life and feel ready to tackle the chaos when we return home.

I feel very out of touch with almost everyone. It's been a strange and busy Fall season for our family. My trip to Scotland, homeschooling, teaching art classes, and preparing for craft shows has eaten spare time and sucked away my usual visiting hours and time set aside for hospitality. We rarely make it to church, don't meet with our small group, sleep very little, and still, have a to do list a mile long.

I am looking for ways to simplify, to scale down, to organize my time and build routine. We are a family of sponteneaty and I think that's why I feel out of control so much of the time which leads to feelings of anxiety and being overwhelmed. I am trying to be better at cutting myself some slack. I am working on realizing I do a lot of unnecessary things. So now I need to move into days of structure where I feel a sense of accomplishment, having found time for things that are important.

ideas anyone??

Friday, October 17, 2008

Nashville Star

Here is a huge shout out to my awesome sister, Brooke, who was just named "Best of Nashville" in the children's cake division. She is an incredibly talented artist, extremely hard worker, and devoted mother to a fiesty two-year old, who is teaching snotty-nosed three year olds by day and slaving in the kitchen at night, whipping out amazing and delicious creations unlike any I've seen before.
I always make the mistake of calling her the night before one of the kid's birthdays and asking her for ideas for their cake. She easily tosses out 5 million suggestions and I always end up crying. It is so interesting how some things come naturally to some and so totally disastrous to others.... My kids all beg for Aunt Brooke's cakes and it's difficult to explain why she just can't swing by the party, cake in hand. Oh how I wish she could!

I copied the review/article written about her cakes in the Nashville Scene Magazine:

Best Kids' Birthday-Cake Designer
Brooke O'Dell, Ice This
If you ever have a child in school with Brooke O'Dell's kid, heed this warning: Never, ever go head-to-head with Brooke over a homemade birthday cake. No matter what double-chocolate Diego or red velvet Spiderman you bake, it will not be as delicious or as creative as hers, and will just waste time and egg yolks on something that comes so naturally and happily to Brooke that you should have asked her to make your cake in the first place. Buttercream, fondant and whimsy are the tools of her decadent trade, and the end result is an edible work of art. —CARRINGTON FOX

I can't find the picture of the cake, but you'll know it when you see it. It's a Matisse... yea, that Matisse. The famous French artist who's works sell for millions. Too bad Brooke's cakes aren't selling for millions.... yet.

I love you little sis. Proud of you! Remember me when you are famous!

http://www.nashvillescene.com/bestof/2008/award/best-kids-birthday-cake-designer-87630/

Thursday, October 16, 2008

homemade



I am queen of homemade gifts. I enjoy giving gifts and when I can delight someone with something made by my own hands, it is extremely satisfying.
I recently read a friend's blog who was pushing for a "$100 Holiday", or something similar. It gave me the idea to blog about what I make, or have made, for friends and family through the years. God knows we live on a tight budget. Our gifts are simple and inexpensive, more out of necessity than desire. God also knows the tantrums I have when I wait until the last minute to make everyone in the family a tree skirt... it's not pretty.

So here are a few ideas to "cheap out" your Christmas giving. I hand over these ideas a bit unwillingly. Selfishly, I like to think I am the only one who has had these great ideas. I also like the illusion that I came up with all of them alone. But my good friends know that I am a follower of Martha, an avid reader of craft books and magazines (so much that I actually take photos of pictures in books), a lover of retro things, and shameless copier.
most of these ideas are relatively inexpensive, but require time. I will try to give a ROUGH estimated cost for materials... assuming you have to buy everything.

$2-3 love sacs (9x7 fabric bags filled with rice, rosemary, and lavendar and sown closed. You can freeze them or heat them in the microwave to warm toes or beds.)
$.50 mini love sacs (same as above except much smaller to fit inside coat pockets to warm up little hands)
$4 bean bag game (fabric bag holding 10 small bean bags- 5 in one fabric and 5 in another)
$3 crayon holders (fabric rolls or aprons to keep crayons organized)
$6 Tutus- little tulle ballerina skirts
$1-2.50 magic wands- dowel rod with a decoration on top or even ribbon attached- decorated however you choose
$10-12 tree skirts- I have done patchwork (great use offabric scraps or felt)
$5-6 table runners- felt with holiday scene- my sister gave me one and I love it!
$2-10 (make a bunch at a time) hair clips, bows, neclaces
$3-12 Books read aloud and burn to cd- give them both. I buy a bunch of books for not much at our local goodwill. Most of them are near perfect shape.
$4-7 paper mache or wooden boxes from hobby lobby- paint them or modge podge them.
$2-3 recycled formula, pringles, peanut cardboard tins... get three coordinating papers, but them to fit three diffent size tins, hot glue them on and label them as "save, spend, and share", cut a small slit in the lid and voila! a great money management lesson for small chldren.
picture blocks- no details on this one as many will get them this year. I will take pictures later of the finished products
$.50 tooth fairy pillows
$2 embroidered tea towels
varies homemade jams, salsas, breads, treats, cookies, breads... anything!
$3-4 bookmarks- pretty ribbons with a silver charm attached.
$5-6 aprons- choose a fabulous fabric and get to cutting. attache ribbon for neck and waist ties.
$2 snow globes- recycled glass jars, small ornaments, water, glycerin, and glitter...

that's all I can think of for now... I know the list sounds overwhelming for those of you who are none-sewers. But, I rarely use anything other than a straight stitch and have never installed a zipper or button hole. More people than you think have a sewing machine sitting idle somewhere in their catch-all rooms and probably wouldn't mind your borrowing it. And most of us have someone in our lives who sews or quilts... raid their fabric scraps and save even more money.
If you don't paint, don't sew, don't worry. You can still use a glue gun and that will allow you to do a ton!

I will try to upload pics of some of these soon. Until then, please share your ideas too. I love a good craft. Felt is my friend- and chocolate too.

update

so many things have happened in the last month. Back from Scotland. wonderful.
completed my first craft show. exhausting. and now I am out at my in-laws house as they have left the country and we are the hired house sitters. very official.

I have been crafting and crafting and as I work, my mind spins. lots to say. my spirit is weary, but in a good way. I have been creating and working and while my fingers are busy, my back aching, I am thinking through what my spirit is whispering in my heart.

I have been brought to my knees many times this last month, over joy and sadness. There is a lot of both out there, swirling and sloshing about. I think of my own sorrows and how it is rooted itself in my thoughts and moods. There are many dark days, filled with unknowns and doubts. I think of what prayers have been offered and what tears have spilled down my cheeks and I wonder where God is when I need Him. So many people have so many opinions: foods to avoid, supplements to take, scriptures to post all through my house and say aloud over Jack; prayers to pray and saints to hang in his room. Thanks for all the advice. But really, I am weary of it. It just adds to my frustration and feelings of guilt. What have I done or not done that would have brought healing to my baby? I know people mean well, but it seems absurd to me to offer advice like this to a mother who has prayed the prayers and read the scriptures and already wonders why I don't hear answers and see wholeness. There are times I wonder if his troubles and God's lack of intervention in the way I request is a test for me, or a punishment. My sins have fallen on my child, unfairly.
This situation recalls the feelings I had growing up. I heard that that my salvation isn't a result of my good works, yet I lived in mortal fear of damnation because of my imperfections. As if my salvation would be yanked from me because I ran a stop sign or called my sister a name. That because I made a screw up, God was just waiting to pounce and throw me into the fire. That I would be punished, even today, for my sins committed yesterday. And if I could pull myself together and live blamelessly, I would be granted favor and rewards.
enough of this for now.

Jack is doing better. He is walking. He is running and he is jumping. He tires on long walks and his feet are stiff in the evenings. He is still highly medicated. He still needs prayers, reminding God of a precious, blonde-headed pistol who needs his body freed from arthritis.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

day o' beauty

the days have flown by...

I began the day with a drink made by my new favorite barista. Of course it helps that it is brought to me at bedside, made to order. I have been waking each morning to daylight peering through the blinds and breakfast in bed. And sweet baby Lewis to greet me with good morning romps and begs for food.

This morning we took off quite early for a bit of relaxation time. We headed north to Peterhead, Scotland, just on the northeastern coastline. We passed through acres of farmland, sprawling green landscape with ancient stone houses littering the fields. It was a wet, foggy morning and it took me by surprise when we rounded a bend and saw the North Sea rolling in. R grew up in Peterhead. I caught my breath as we pulled in and were greeted by an old, brilliant lighthouse just a stone's throw from his doorstep. It was magnificent.
We dropped off sweet Lewis with grandmother and raced back to spa we had passed on the way up. R and I each had a massage, facial, and pedicure, a quick swim in the pool and yummy lunch.

I had warned R that I always, always cry during or just following a massage. And to put if off, I had the facial first and then the massage. But, surprisingly, I lost it following the facial and before the massage...
here's how it went:
I had made it up in mind to take full advantage of this rare treat. I wanted to pay particular attention to my breathing and body. A few minutes into the treatment, I began long, deep breaths. Gradually I put a mantra with each intake and exhalation.
IN relax
OUT goodbye tension
IN relax
OUT goodbye sadness
IN peace and happiness
OUT tightness
IN joy
OUT anxiety
IN grace
OUT failure
IN thanksgiving
OUT loneliness
IN healing and wholeness
OUT regrets
IN friendship and love
OUT grief and pain
IN grace
IN peace
IN love
IN freedom
IN freedom
IN freedom

...and soon these words in my mind became like a fountain, welling from deep in my gut and bursting up out of my head and running down my face and hands. It was like I was a child joyously caught in an unexpected shower and all I could do was smile and close my eyes and live in it, spin in it, dance in it, washing me, cleansing me, filling me. With the exhale I watched from my mind's eye the banners of sadness, guilt, worry, regret, being caught in a fierce wind, pulled from the pole and blown away. I would whisper 'goodbye' to each of the words and return to the fountain.

Bless the poor therapist who walked in on the wreck I had become within a matter of 4 minutes. She left me tranquil and I hit my emotional tantrum. I think I was quick to recover though which I think she appreciated very much.

What a glorious and complex thing our mind is. I was thinking as I lay on the table how she must have thought I was in a coma... so evenly breathing, the hint of smile crossing my lips, so relaxed and still. Serene by all appearances. And yet, inside, a battle was calmly and silently raging. Opposing sides attempting to stake claim on open territory. The dirty and evil threatening a hostile take over verses the sweet and holy seedlings of life, struggling to send roots into our heart's rich, yet uncultivated soil.
I was reminded during the massage that the most relaxing massage motion is the opposing movement of two hands: moving towards tailbone and neck or outward, toward shoulder blades. Likewise, between the warring sides of the heart, in the middle, where you stand and listen or you stand and cover your ears and hum, there is clarity and stillness. There is light. There is healing.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

unreachable

Hey all.
my email is not working properly here so I am using an alternate address... if you want to email me directly try gingeramyteague@gmail.com and I will get it. Since I can't access my email I don't have anyone's individual addresses either. So, KATHY, email me there. OK?
love
A

Saturday, September 13, 2008

take me away

i'm here. i'm safe. i am warm and cozy and gaining weight by the minute.

besides a quick dash to the airport at the last minute and a minor run-in with immigration, i am here, safe and warm. To beat the arrival of Hurricane Ike in Houston, I left a day earlier than planned. Which means I left a whole lot of stuff at home. Thankfully, I made it with clean unmentionables, books, sweaters, and whatever else that didn't make it, can be borrowed from R and R.

Today I slept until 10am (which never happens, but keep in mind it was 4am to my body so it doesn't sound that indulgent, does it?) I had a leisurely breakfast of buttery crumpets and tea, showered, read, cooked, and then had a fabulous espresso and chocolate biscuit.

We are going to the movie tonight. And tomorrow, we are going to a nearby castle for a 'Festival of Pipes'- no silly, not those pipes... bag pipes. kilts. moors. friends. heaven...

I will post regularly and hopefully with pictures. miss you Mr T and wish you were here with a kilt on too.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Jack

Here's the latest...
Jack and Daddy took the trip to Shriner Hospital in St. Louis last week. They hitched a ride with the sweet men from our local Shriner Temple.
Bright and early the following morning, Jack saw an opthomologist and then our team of rheumatologists. Jack's eyes checked out fine- a good thing since the inflammation that comes along with arthritis can move into the eyes and cause serious damage.
The rheumatologists were pleased with Jack's progress. Considering the state Jack was in last Christmas verses now, he almost seems normal. The steroid rounds did their job and helped knock down the swelling and inflammation in his feet and knees. But still, there is lingering stiffness and swelling. We are upping the chemo drug to combat these stubborn symptoms and if a couple of months on the higher dose doesn't work, we will begin steroid injectionis into Jack's feet and ankles.

I am very hopeful that all traces of arthritis will be gone someday soon. It is only occasionally that Jack's limp will reappear and it reminds me that he is unwell. It jolts me back and I catch my breath. I forget that he may be suffering from aches in his joints, possibly on a daily basis.
His vocabulary is slowly increasing and he is delighted when we understand him. He has a sweet, happy heart and loves to play and wrestle. He is such a boy! I love to watch his "manliness" because it is purely instinctual. He is surrounded with girls and dress up and highheels and lipgloss, yet he wants to stomp and throw and pound and make firetruck sounds. I love how his little ears perk up at the sound of the trains and how he runs to the front window to watch the garbage men load the truck. He will yell, "a choo-choo" or "a twuck" from the backseat until he is acknowledged. I love it.

Sweet, sweet boy. So beautiful. So perfect.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

busy signal


I remember a good friend threatening never to call me again if didn't buck it up and get call waiting. She couldn't stand ever present busy signal.

My life has spiraled into busy signal lately. Since returning from our trip, we have been on fast-forward speed.
Here's what's been going on (and excuse me, this will be a run-on):
we are in our fourth week of homeschooling;
our house is still on the market and although I fail miserably most of the time, I try very hard to keep it tidy and clean on a daily, almost moment by moment basis;
I have been canning... peach preserves, blackberry jam, pears, and applesauce and baking bread;
sewing;
preparing for our consignment sale- a HUGE, HUGE, HUGE task,
trying to pull my head together into a gameplan/lesson plan for the art class I am teaching at the end of September;
walking and running faithfully;
going to bed early because I get up at the crack;
cleaning out;
celebrating birthdays;
cooking and cleaning the kitchen, cooking and cleaning the kitchen, cooking and cleaning the kitchen;
and tackling the ever present laundry pile.

What I have not been doing:
blogging,
reading my favorite blogs,
talking on the phone and keeping touch with people,
remembering birthdays,
answering emails in a timely manner,
reading,
picking my tomatoes or watering my garden,
sudoku,
singing,
watching TV (except for Olympic gymnastics),
spending time with friends.

In 17 days I am leaving for Scotland. A trip over seas to spend 10 days with my dearest friend, Rachael. I am giddy with excitement to think I will finally see her house, her baby boy, her life. I haven't been to visit since 2002. Thank you for the gift of time and generous ticket to get away.
Thank you to my sweet fireman for being willing to let me fly away from our nest to a fairy land, far away. I will hate to see it all without you and the kids.

I will enjoy being alone.

Changing subjects now...

I laid in my bed the eve of my last birthday. I cried myself to sleep, swearing to myself, that I would not let another birthday come and go and I would still feel miserable in my skin.
My neighbor and sweet friend and hairdresser, fellow canner and baker, sharer of groceries and garden tips, also became my walking partner, my alarm clock, and in a way, my conscience and accountability partner on this quest for health and contentment with my body. We have been kicking each other out of bed for the last 4 months at all hours of the early morning. Pardon my crass-ness, but as my cousin would say, "it's not the crack of dawn, it's the butt crack of dawn!" And I would have to agree. I am not always Miss Sunshine when we are negotiating wake up times. I try to squeeze every last minute out of her.
Together we have pushed our bodies and helped kick the habit of over-eating and over-indulgence. (OK, as I was writing this I realized what time it was and just called and made our appointment- AND and loser friend that I am, I woke her up. Poor D. I am so sorry for waking you! please don't leave without me!!)
So thank you friend, for working with me. I push and shove and you tell me to buck up when I whine too much. Thank you for giving me a hard time when I eat the bad stuff and for being honest when I ask if my pants are too tight.
So my birthday is still four months away and I have definitely made changes. I am 20 lbs lighter. I am wearing clothes I haven't been able to fit my big fat toe into in over six years. I am a cup size smaller... that's huge. I still have chronic back pain but I think that has nothing to do with weight- more with three back-labor babies.
The scale is stuck for now. I am hovering on the dreaded plateau. But I know I will break through and out of it soon. I can. I will. I must. I want to revel in this new body- and I will.... when 5 more pounds melt away.

I have been thinking of the disconnect I allow myself. The disconnect happens in my heart and creeps into my mind. I push away the hurts and eat myself through them. I shove down the feelings and buy bigger sizes. I stuff my mouth and tummy to take away the emptiness. And I feel relieved for a moment.
I think we all struggle with areas of disconnect. What I mean is this: We go numb. We beat ourselves up over stuff. We live in a state of perpetual regret until we just take the phone off the hook and walk away from our lives. We stop thinking and stop living in the teeny, tiny, private moments.
Don't lose yourself over things. Don't disconnect. BUT don't put yourself out there in situations that influence you to make a big mistake of the whole weekend, the whole whole night, the whole meal. If you are having an issue with saying no to something then just back off and don't go until you feel like you are confident in your ability to say it out loud.
As for the waking up and feeling stupid and regretful, move on. There is something to say for repentance, sure. I think you need to think of life as one series of choices.... and to grow in wisdom you must begin using the beautiful, extraordinary brain that God gave you to make right choices about stuff- ONE choice at a time. Just because you made a bad choice last night, or the night before, or a year ago doesn't mean that you are destined to be screwed up. What is that fabulous thing my friend always says? "your mistakes don't define you" (I will amend that with "unless you allow them to".) I am in control and need to make healthy choices- but just one at a time. If I choose to flagrantly and knowingly, living in the moment, make a wrong or unhealthy choice, so be it... just so that I am making that choice from my gut. Then why regret it? I am making the decision knowing the consequences. I know I am making a wrong or unhealthy choice. This is living. This is staying connected. This is knowing myself- with all of my flaws and ticks and shadows and beauty spots. It's the coasting through the days, the seasons, my life- allowing myself to just "get by". These are the days. Don't shut off your thinking brain, your conscience, your heart. Don't disconnect and allow yours mind and heart to flat line with a busy signal of regret. That is a terrible and tragic waste of beauty and truth.

Thank you friends, who push me to stay connected. Thank you for being persistent and seeing through my excuses. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for telling me to quit being a baby and buck it up. Thank you.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

fresh air

Thank You Jesus for the cool breeze and much needed rain. I have had my windows open for 2 days now and it's August in Oklahoma. The temperature is twenty degrees below average. This is a little unsettling, but I won't dwell on global warming right now... only that for moments, here and there in my day, I can pretend that I am at home in Seattle.

Speaking of Seattle I have not taken the time to write about our trip to the Northwest last month. I haven't for a variety of reasons. I miss Seattle and things Northwest so much that I can hardly wrap my words around my feelings without starting a crying a jag... and since that has been my mode of operation lately, I just couldn't risk it.

But with the fresh breeze and break in Oklahoma weather, I am feeling a change in mood. We have many things going on in our house. School began two weeks ago and my creative projects have picked up as well. I am trying to carve out time for certain crafts that will be put in a show in October (pictures of finished products will come later.)

Today I need to write about home.
One of the most precious and spectacular blessings we have received this year (or ever, for that matter) was the gift of two plane tickets and a trip to Seattle. With great anticipation, the fireman, baby Jack, and I boarded the planes and travelled all day. As we began our initial descent we flew over the city I caught my breath at the beauty before me. The city lay beneath us, welcoming us home.

We were greeted by some of our favorite people in the whole entire world, John and Ann. I can't believe that I spent the entire week with them and didn't get a single picture of these people who love us as their own. I could write paragraphs on the love I have for J and A. Ann is a gift to our world. She is a beautiful, faithful mother of four. She is a mentor, mother, and friend to me. I miss her all the time. And John- he is gracious, loving, unimposing, and completely genuine. (Thank you J and A for the generous gift you shared with us.)
As we left Sea-Tac, Calvin and I and Ann and John visited about everyday things as if we had seen them yesterday. They pointed out new buildings re-shaping the Seattle skyline and started making plans for our week together. We stopped at a favorite pizza place just a few blocks from our sweet Queen Anne apartment- Maggie's first home. We saw some familiar faces and revelled in being back in our old neighborhood.
Ann and John were house-sitting for friends in Magnolia and after a few quick stops for diapers and necessary Trader Joe's snacks, we headed to the villa.
Did I mention that I love Seattle? I know I bore the heck out of people and I have to reign myself in when I see the glazed-eye expression creep into their faces. But this is my blog and I have the right to write all I want...

Crossing the Magnolia Bridge and looking out over Puget Sound, glancing back at Mount Ranier in his full glory, the 20 or so white sailboats in the blue water and Olympic Mountains as the backdrop, the Port of Seattle with the huge, bright orange cranes, the cruise ships, the Cascades Mountains to the east, and the gorgeous downtown skyline rising in the sunset... I was delirious. I was wearing a light jacket and jeans and felt great- and it was July. I think that something I love so much about Seattle is that just by looking at it, I can pick out what part of town is what. I know where I am almost all of the time and how to get where I want to go. I have favorite hole-in-the-wall boutiques and restuarant dives. I can recall bus routes and find the hidden stairways up the CounterBalance. I love the nooks and crannies. I know my way around, even after being away for so long.

One of my favorite days while there was one of the last. The day was warm by Seattle standards- in the mid 80's with a cool sea breeze. We had eaten a late breakfast with a good friend and then walked into downtown- about 10 blocks. We strolled through Pike Place Market and wandered up to Westlake Center and took the Monorail to Seattle Center. Seattle Center is about 4 blocks from our little apartment so is especially familiar. We walked over to the International Fountain, built in the 60's during the World's Fair. People were everywhere, sprawled all over the grass, picnicing, sleeping, hacky-sacking, juggling, kissing, sunbathing, relaxing... the fountain is just that- a giant, silver dome that "dances" to the music being piped in and broadcast over the loudspeakers. The water spray is choreographed to the tempo. And like a living thing it seems to play games with the crowd gathered to dance in it's sprinkles. Every so often, it will stop spraying and just let the water just run down the sides. I think everyone takes the dare and runs to touch the fountain before it starts up again... and usually it blows it's top just as every last person works up the courage to run for it. I love the screaming and laughing and chaos- the pleasure of being alive and enjoying a beautiful day in a fabulous city.
We couldn't resist letting Jack run through the water- even without a spare change of clothes. Who cares? It was too lovely to let the moment go by with out living in it.
closing for now.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

leftovers


I am not a leftover girl. I have never liked to eat leftovers. I would just a soon let them rot or trash them. I can't explain it- it's just me.
Lately I have felt like all I have is leftovers in my life. I eat left overs all the time, forcing my palate and stomach to accept them in gratitude. But besides food and moving into life, I have what looks and feels and smells like leftovers. I snatch at crumbs in my relationships and schedule. The fireman and I pass in the hallway and often it just feels like we hardly know each other and we are amiable room mates. I get what's leftover after he spends himself at work, with the kids, in the garden, and worrying about all the things to worry about. Most of my girlfriends have kids so the little energy they have when the day is over doesn't amount to much. We all seem to run until we have run out.
I give myself leftovers. I allow my best to be sucked away from me and when the lights go down and the clock hits nine, the energy leftover from the day is spent brushing my teeth and crawling into bed. I have not been reading or writing like usual. I haven't been on the phone keeping up with friends. I haven't been trying new recipes or enjoying the way the sun feels when it hits my skin and warms my insides.
I have been crying. I have been crying a lot. I cry for myself and the mystery of who I am and am not. I have emptied my heart and eyes so often in the last month that I feel like there is nothing left to cry out or about. I have cried in frustration and anger. I have cried because of fear and feelings of abandonment. I cry because I feel taken advantage of and unappreciated and misunderstoood. I cry because I am too tired to give my best. I cry over spilled milk and grocery bills. I cry for my friends and their worries and cry because I feel helpless. I cry because I am lonely and because I am too busy. I cry because I miss seeing mountains and riding buses. I cry in anxiety and stress. I feel so overwhelmed with my to-do list that I am paralyzed to begin.


I am crying over leftovers. Leftovers are just not enough to sustain and satisfy me. I need more and want more. As one of my girlfriends says, "I am a quality-time kind of girl. If you spend quality time with me, you will know me." That's me too.
I want to be bumped up on the priority list. I am tired of leftovers. Give me some good stuff.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

my love


When I think about the love I feel for my children I get choked up. My heart can't help but swell so tight the overflow comes out from my eyes. I would be lost without them. I wouldn't know what true love is.

And this is the hard part.

I try to imagine what they will be like when they grow up and what I will be like when I grow up. I pray that they will make right decisions and good choices. I want their mistakes to be few and inconsequential. I want their lifestyles to be vibrant and rich and full. I don't want them to have to struggle through tough times and heartbreaks. I want to know that they will be safe, always, and completely loved. I want to put them in a bubble. I want to freeze time.

But I can't know or do any of this. I can love them and teach them and train them the best that I can and that's all. My prayers will be offered and my songs sung over them. But life will whisk them away and the only thing left will be our heartstrings and memories.

As they grow and I watch them fall, I will grieve. There is nothing that would make my heart stop loving them. Nothing. Not even for a moment. These are my babies, my gifts, my angels. I will ache when I know they hurt. When they distance themselves from me, I will hurt. I will wonder if I missed something along the way- didn't seize a moment? missed a life lesson? forgot to tell them how much I love them? Because I am human, I will internalize and feel guilt when their life doesn't go the way I had dreamed.

I hope I will be able to gracefully let go. I hope that they will never be afraid of me. I want them near me always and even closer emotionally. I want honesty and openness and acceptance and security to flow back and forth.

My precious ones. Pieces of my heart taken without reservation or choice and walking around in this world. I am amazed by their beauty and intellect. I am overwhelmed by their drama and noise. I love their innocence and creativity and energy.

My babies.

summertime

The heat is rolling in earlier and earlier. My six a.m. walks are becoming increasingly more miserable as the thick blanket of humid heat silently descends, making me sweat and smell. I try to tell myself it will help me flush the toxins and yuck and that my sweatiness is a good sign that my metabolism is kicking up a notch.
But to be honest, I hate the heat. I don't like that by evening I have a headache from squinting all day. It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning and I don't want to leave my house because it's already 85.

I wish it could be spring all year- or go from spring to fall and then back to spring. Extreme weather is just not for me- especially the heat.

On a brighter note, I harvested tomatoes this morning. I hated doing it since they are from the fireman's beloved plants and he is away, but I don't want to risk the squirrels taking off with them. I got about 10 red currant tomatoes, one yellow pear, and two Cherokee Purples. Now what shall I do with them?

The fireman is working 4 days, back to back. That means in 4 days he has worked 96 hours. That also means that I have been a single mom for 96 hours straight. Thankfully, I have had some company here and there and for that, my children should be very grateful. I am just so tired today and wish I could crawl in to bed and be alone.

I was trying to think of when was the last time I did something alone for me. I will occasionally run to the grocery store alone or pick up a birthday gift for someone. But for me to take off and do whatever I want just doesn't happen. I wish I could have a few hours a week to just sit and stare at the walls- not cleaning or doing laundry. Just sit in peace. I feel bombarded and emptied out. I am spent.

I will close for now. I have so much rolling around in my head I don't even know where to begin. I need to process things, but can't really pull my thoughts together enough to form thoughts or opinions. So instead, I am going to load the kids into the 400 degree car and go for a ride.

Monday, June 9, 2008

freegan followup

So here's the scoop.
We got nothin'.

I can't tell you what a weird excitement I felt all day. I was actually giddy about jumping in to garbage. And then it was such a let down! I didn't cry or anything, but I admit that I felt mildly depressed for a couple of days.
In my craziness I pictured us bringing home more food than we could possibly consume as a family. So much that I could share it with others.
We met up at my house, decked out in camouflage and rubber gloves. I brought along Lysol and wipes. We brought lots of plastic bags and a big stick with a hook on it in hopes it would save us from actually having to jump in to the dumpsters to just shift bags around. We headed straight for Whole Foods. As with all the major grocery store chains, we found that their dumpster actually backs in to their building. Whole Foods does compost all fresh produce and donates left over bread and expired canned goods (that's the good news). So from there we hit restaurant dumpsters and a few small bakeries and grocery chains.
The youngest (and most limber) of our threesome did most of the actual "diving". (If and when we do this again, she is totally on our team again!) Our fearless friend would just hop on in if there was even a hint of buried treasure. I would try to hold up the occasional lid and direct her to promising-looking bags.
We got away with very little mishap, except for a small cut and singed nose hairs. We were offered dinner by a mildly attractive male- which came to nothing since we lamely explained it was a sorority dare.
In the end, we hit close to 25 dumpsters and spent probably $1000 in gas. Our "big score" were three teeny-weeny snack bags of Keebler Pecan Sandies- the 100 calorie diet ones for goodness sake. And they were our of date. As darkness fell we began to feel desperate... so when we found a dumpster full of boxes, we took some. Boxes. Yes, boxes. I guess I can organize some closets or something.

Although the bounty of the evening turned out to be non-existent, it was surprisingly super fun. We laughed a ton and cried together as the disgusting stench hit our nostrils. It is amazing to think that people do this, not as an experiment or adrenaline rush, but out of necessity. As the night wore on and our spirits took a dive, two of us began to complain a little. I was totally hit head on when our third friend quietly said, "hey, if we were homeless and hungry we would be ecstatic about these three little bags of cookies." At that moment I felt a wave of gratitude that my existence didn't depend on regular trash digging. And you know what else? I was also hit with the realization of how many friends I have. I had many phone calls from concerned friends leading up to the evening of scavenging. Were times really this hard? Did I truly need to trash dig to provide food for our kids? Did I need money? I tried to explain that it wasn't out of need, but out of concern for all the needless waste going in to our earth. But that night, as I thought about how thankful I was, I thought of all my friends who would step in in a moment if my motive shifted and we became hungry.
So I take it back. The evening was not bounty-less. Actually, it was overflowing with gratitude and friendship and adventure.
Would I do it again? Absolutely.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

freegan



have I mentioned how much I love recycling? I mean, it is so cool to get super cool stuff for free or next to nothing. I love to thrift store shop and garage sale. My neighbor makes fun of me when he hears I dug something out of the trash or picked it up off the curb. Hey, it's one less thing in the landfill.
So I am beginning a new adventure this week. I have to be honest, I am a little nervous. But times are hard and desperate times... well, you know. So tomorrow night I will become a freegan. I don't know if this is the beginning of a weekly ritual or just a one time deal. Either way, I am going with two girlfriends and we are hoping to score big- and praying for safety and zero smackdown.
It makes me excited to think I could find free food- good food, for nothing. Well, not nothing. I think at first it will be a weird pride thing if I get caught and in trouble for digging in someone's dumpster. But it will also be a sweet rush of adrenaline. And a fun memory too.

I am sure I will write about it, either way. And as to my neighbor... I will try to sneak a bit of dumpster food in to our next dinner together- just to weird him out.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Chapter Four: Never Say "Never"


This is huge. And simple. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it. Don't even think it. Never.

Have I mentioned we are a home-school family? This probably conjures up all sorts of images. I know for me, I thought home-schooling was ludicrous. I remember rolling my eyes when people I knew decided they were going to home-school their kids. What were they thinking? Really? With little difficulty I would pass judgement and swear that I would never, never, never, never home-school my kids. I think I actually said one time, "I have NO time for that."
In my mind, there are certain kinds of people who home-school. And I am certainly not that kind. And there are certain people who claim to home-school and do no such thing. Unfortunately, I think our media latches on to the failures all too often. So our view of kids who are learning at home is skewed. I fell for the hype and planted my feet firmly in the camp of Anti-Home-School. I mean, how could kids who learn at home have any kind of social skills or opportunities for pursuing passions their parents deem as inappropriate or unimportant? Wouldn't those kids be short-changed and too sheltered? How would they learn that the whole world doesn't revolve around them? How would they learn how to take tests and acclimate into a university environment? And what makes these parents think they are qualified to teach their children anyway? I mean, come on people.

And, I am so not in to denim skirts and buns.

So there we have it. Never.

Never, never, never, never, never.

I was not one who desired kids. Kids fell into the group of things that I also had "no time for." I had this picture of myself, married, living a downtown life, doing what I pleased when I pleased. Odd how life works out. And even more of an oddity how life shifts and spins and shakes when a little dumpling pops in to your world and makes you a family, instantly. The fireman and I ran on adrenaline and love for the first few months and our conversations were serious and deep and searching. We relied on our instincts and faith as we parented our baby. We dreamed out loud, together, about what our life should look like and how we wanted our baby girl to see and experience the world. We longed for the day we would hear her first words and the thought of actually carrying on a conversation with her made us giddy. These were days of joy and innocence and dreams and love.

And as our family has changed and grown we have continued the conversations. The difference now is that these conversations must end with decisions, however difficult and dramatic. Our choice to try schooling Maggie at home came with much debate and anxiety. I felt totally incompetent and exhausted, unsure of how I would manage one more thing in my already packed days. I know some people close to us thought we were crazy and foolish and to be honest, I thought the same thing. I dragged my feet and made all the excuses. But, in the end, we evolved into a home-school family. Once again, we are following our instincts and taking steps in faith.
And I am not too proud to admit, the first few weeks were disastrous. Every fear and suspicion was confirmed as, day after day, both Maggie and I became more miserable. I felt tense and she could feel it. I began to dread the afternoons and she knew it. Her excitement soon turned to tears. As weeks turned in to months we began to question ourselves and second-guess our decision.
The fireman would fill in as tutor every so often. But his inability to relate to her level and intolerance for her unfocused and spastic behavior only left him despairing and angry. By the end of his turns, he was questioning if she had some serious learning disability or if she was dyslexic. I couldn't imagine where we would go from here. I felt like we had killed her spirit to learn and we would never be able to create a positive learning environment again. Our good intentions were just not enough to sustain any sort of momentum and I gradually slacked off until it was over. We were done. I couldn't handle it any more. I was tired of feeling frustrated with her and tired of making her feel like a failure.

What was wrong with us? We are relatively intelligent people. We love her and want the best for her. We know what school should look like. Why is this experience so dreadful and different from what we had envisioned? What is wrong with her?

Our Thanksgiving break turned in to a four month hiatus. When someone asked how school was going, I would smile and quickly try to change the subject. There were only a select few who knew the whole truth and how seriously we had failed Maggie. These friends would gently urge us forward, encouraging us to start again, slowly. Our enthusiasm needed to outweigh the information. School time needed to be brief and fun.
Luckily, in Kindergarten, there are few benchmarks to meet. She needed to know how to read. That's it. By the time we decided to jump back in, enough time had passed that I think she had forgotten the traumatic afternoons of the previous Fall. We switched reading curriculum and rewarded her with stickers for attention spans lasting longer than five minutes. She loves nature and art, so we centered the school time around being outside and cutting and pasting. She started feeling successful and I began to see progress. First Grade is just around the corner and our curriculum should arrive this week- and, who knows? Our school year just might start next week.

There are many, many reasons we home-school. I take great delight in seeing something "click" in her head. I love hearing her sing about feudalism and Hiroshima. I think it's amazing that she can find Turkmenistan and the Adriatic Sea on the globe. I think it is so cool that I can ask her when was the Renaissance Period and who came first in the Protestant Reformation, Martin Luther or John Calvin? I hang up her art work and wish I could keep it all. But aside from all of this, I love being with her. I love that I can see how and when she learns best. I want to answer her questions about how our world works and came to be. I can talk to her about integrity and responsibility and teach her how to crack an egg while singing the sixth chapter of Ephesians. I love that she asks me to do "school" now.
I do want to shelter her. I think her innocence and purity of heart and childhood are mine to protect. I think it's my job to know who her friends are and who her friend's parents are. I want to protect her from the ugliness and dangers of our world and as she matures, give her the skills and perspective to handle difficulties she will inevitably face. I want her to be courageous and wise. I want her to love her individuality and be comfortable with who she is and what she believes to be truth. The sweetness and wonder of youth is easily stolen and replaced with boredom and apathy and stress. This is why I am a home school mom.

I know it's not for everyone and I am definitely not advocating it as an obligation of all parents. My point is this: never say "never." You can't begin to foretell what will tumble and topple the things you think you know.

Monday, May 19, 2008

I'm back

in so many ways.

I am back to the blog- oh how I have missed you.

We are back from a whirlwind trip to the Shriners Children's Hospital in St Louis. Although it can be grueling to sit in the car with a cranky two year old for 16 hours over two days, every mile was worth it to receive a good report. Finally the Baby Jack is responding favorably to his medications. Finally.

We went back to church. In all honesty, the fireman and I were shamed in to it. We have been on a church hiatus for about 6 months, although mentally I checked out over a year ago. I had too much rolling inside of me that all I could do was take a break with hopes that time and distance would take away feelings. My two little girls have been asking for church for weeks, nagging at us to go back. You can only push them away so long before it gets ridiculous. So after a long conversation with them, we started back. Thankfully, I feel better now so the transition is easier.

Lately I have felt like there has been this huge hand on me, guiding me. I don't feel it in the moment, but when I lay down at night and close my eyes, I realize what's been going on. It's like I am a drunk, trying to walk the line, and a friend is beside me, pushing me back on to the line when I fumble and fall over.
I was just reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Interesting read. I think my favorite line was, "God dwells within you, as you." She goes on to explain, "God dwells within you as you yourself, exactly the way you are. God isn't interested in watching you enact some performance of personality in order to comply with some crackpot notion you have about how a spiritual person looks or behaves. We all seem to have this idea that, in order to be sacred, we have to make some massive, dramatic change of charatcter, that we have to renounce our individuality." When the fireman and I go on road trips I always find myself reading aloud. When I got to this part, I was greatly moved. It lead us into a lengthy discussion as to why I found so much truth and meaning in these simple sentences.
For me, always grasping and comparing, measuring and coming up inadequate, I saw that God is not calling me to change my character, my weirdness, my passionate nature. God created me, as me. He asks that I remain true to my nature, living out the best within me in generousity, compassion, and love. He isn't asking me to become something totally different than who I am. Sometimes I feel like a square peg trying to fit into a circle- and it never works out... and all I feel is frustration. But this is some cooky circle I conjured up for myself. I have this list of who I think I should be: a list of the best of the best- pulling from people I know and admire. And I constantly measure myself against others and this crazy, out of control list. And guess what? I never measure up.
So reading this helped me cut myself a break. I have to believe that God takes great delight in me when I am living as me. He created me while I was in my mother's womb and set aside each day for me before even one of them came to be. He chose the angels to be birthed from my body- He chose me to be their mommy. He orchestrated my years and months and weeks and moments. He brought treasured friends to hold me up and push me on. Yes, I think He rolls His eyes at my quirks. And He has to just want to "huck me out the window" sometimes in exasperation. But, at the end of the day, He does quiet me with His love and sing over me while I sleep. Me, as me.

If God had wanted me to be everything on my perfect list, He would have made me this way. "Useful, then, might be to accept how I was made and embody myself fully therein." So as EG says, "It doesn't mean I can't improve myself as a human being, honing my virtues and working daily to minimize vices" But instead of trying to fit myself in to some hole I wasn't created to fill, I need to work on my habits and alter some aspects of who I already am for the better- working within my personality- not the personalities of everyone I know and the stupid list. God must feel insulted sometimes at my ingratitude and self importance. As the most perfect and holy artist, to have me, trying to redo His whole picture.

So I am back to reality... or so it seems.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

rainbows


I am in a funk.

For some reason the rain which usually refreshes my spirit and fills me up a bit is just making me feel really sad. I feel sad and lonely. I feel an emptiness, like I have been away from home for a long, long time. I am sitting here at my desk with the windows open and I can smell, hear, and see the rain. I could just reach out and let it run through my hands. It is beautiful, but in a mysteriously abandoned kind of way; like it could rain forever and wash away the world.

I feel uneasy and aimless. I don't have any real goals. I think about a lot of things but rarely make decisions. I have become a really bad decision maker. I would just rather not have to decide what to cook, when meet up, where to go. I am just too tired to care most of the time.

Have I mentioned that I am mostly grey? I have so much grey hair it's crazy. I look at my roots with dismay and wonder what is going on in my body that I don't know about. What kind of stress is manifesting itself in my bones, muscles, skin, and hair?

I have returned to the old, comfortable habit of living for tomorrows. Tomorrow things will be better, happier, shinier. Tomorrow my house will have sold, my zinnias will have bloomed, my house will be clean, I will be able to afford a break. Tomorrow I will be ready to take care of my body, lose weight, meditate, be still.

I feel like I need a good cry and a soft lap to curl up in. I need the comfort of a mom who will pet me and let me cry it out like am little kid who has just broken her favorite toy. I don't want someone to feel like they need to fix me. I want to fix myself. But I can't fix me today; I won't even try. I just need to cry like I am going to cry out every last drop.

I was thinking of a time when I felt most loved. It was a few days before my Maggie's birth. I was with my Auntie C. I stayed the night with her and woke up to the smell of blueberry buckle fresh from the oven. The windows were open and the Pacific Northwest breeze was making the curtains dance in the sunshine colored room. We ate the delicious buckle for breakfast and then walked a few blocks to her sweet friend's house. I was gently ushered upstairs to her massage room filled with soothing music and gorgeous, crazy sculptures. I quietly undressed and laid on my side surrounded by pillows. The room was dimly lit and I tried very hard to relax. I felt heavy.
My Auntie and her friend came in. They both laid their hands on me and silently poured love in to me. Then the friend began massage work. The pressure of her hands, the stillness of the room, and the quietly whispered words of encouragement and peace, the silent prayers offered for me- it was like I was breathing in pure love. I began to cry. I admitted to my fears of pain and failure. I heard their tender, compassionate groans, "yes, yes, yes", saying that they understood. They called me "brave" and "precious" and "strong". Wherever the friend stood working, my Auntie stood opposite, smoothing, caressing, holding me. They allowed me to cry it out and didn't try to change me. They weren't afraid of me and didn't ask me to stop or hush. I had permission to feel deeply and pour myself out; and I was filling up as quickly as I was emptying.
When the time came, they stood on either side of me and just laid hands on me. I felt the warmth. I knew, in their own ways and with silent words, they were fervently praying over me, interceding for me. And as quietly as they came in, they left me there. I wept. I was flooded with relief and courage and peace. I had never felt so whole and healed.

I recently finished a good book. There a was chapter that made me think of this experience. Traveling Mercies. "'Traveling Mercies,' the old people at our church said to her when she left. This is what they always say when one of us goes off for a while. Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound." Anne Lamott goes on to write about the death of a friend. "I walked in to their houe at nine, into this wooden palace as familiar to me as my own childhood home, the walls covered with framed photos I've been looking at for thirty-some years... Bee's eyes were red from crying, the brown irises clouded with sun damage from our tennis years. We walked hand in hand down the hallway to where Mimi lay asleep on her bed, breathing in the loud labored way that means the end is near. Bee and I talked for a moment, and then she sat in the chair beside the big bed, holding her mother's hand, and I lay down beside Mimi, because she was the most gregarious woman I've ever known, flamboyant and loving as the Broadway stars she loved, and she seemed a little lonely. Bee held Mimi's hand to her face and her chest; I stroked Mimi's shoulders and smoothed her hair. We talked to her the way you talk to a sleepy child too troubled to fall asleep. We whipsered that we loved her. We told her over and over that we would stay with her as long as she needed but that when she was ready, we were also willing to let her go. And that she was safe, with God here now on this side, and in a moment with God on the other. Traveling mercies, I whispered in her ear. We said prayers softly...and we lit candles, and held Mimi lightly so she could take off when she was ready. The space between each breath became longer and longer, until an hour later there was all space, and she died... It was just such a blessing to have been there helping Bee bathe her mother's body with beautiful soaps, smooth her skin with lotions, working as thoroughly and gently as Mimi must have done forty-three years ago, when Bee had just been born."

I wish for a bed of hands and whispers when it's my time to leave this world. Until then, I want to love deeply with my words, my hands, and my heart. This love- it's the rainbow in our gloomy, soggy world.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

the unexplained: part 2

so the limp has gone away.....

Not sure why or how. I have enjoyed two days of watching Baby Jack run like mad through sprinklers, fields of clover, and my back yard. He is unstoppable and maniacal. I am surprised by his energy bursts and his inevitable crashes.
He comes in waves. I guess with a disease like this, and necessary meds, I have learn to live in the peaceful moments and tirelessly tread the rough waters of the lows.

I was listening to my friend talk about her new baby, how easy and congenial he is. My spirit took a plummet as I remembered Baby Jack as an infant. There just wasn't a sweeter baby. He was content and peaceful and easy going. He was a great sleeper and eater. I don't remember ever complaining about him- maybe I did, but I really don't remember anything but sweetness. I could have just eaten him.
So listening to my friend brag on her baby made me ache. I was overwhelmed with all the feelings I have about Baby Jack. He is so frustrating and wild. He is defiant and his behavior is embarrassing. Some days I just want to get away from him. I am worn out with being rammed and pulled on. My legs are bruised. I feel layers of guilt about how I feel. I don't want to not want to be with him. I want to be patient and long suffering and loving. I want self control and tenderness. It seems the only time I can croon over him is when he is asleep. He is still. His breathing is even and rhythmical. He looks so precious and whole.

My sweet, sweet Baby Jack.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

day twelve

Bagels and cream cheese for breakfast.


Chicken Salad Sandwiches with celery, fresh thyme and oregano, parsley, mayo and pecans.


romaine salad with olives, hard salami, provolone, parmasan, oil and vinegar. I made my garlic toasts, bruschetta and crostinis. It was a perfect meal.

day eleven

fireman away again... monotonous isn't it?

For breakfast we had oatmeal muffins again.


For lunch, neighbor D and I ran to Chipolte. I love the carnitas burrito with guacamole. And it's enough to share...


My girlfriend invited us for dinner and oh was it yummy. Soup, salad, and bread.

day ten

We had peanut butter toast for breakfast with strawberries. I love strawberry season!
For luncn, we made one of our stand by, warm weather lunches... tuna pasta salad. We use penne pasta with celery, almonds, tuna, grapes, and mayo with salt and pepper.

Dinner is one of the fireman's favorites and it's also super economical.
Beans and rice with homemade pico and guacamole with chips.

day nine

Sunday morning breakfast. What better way to start the day than Cracker Barrel? I know, I know. It's awful. It is carb heaven and I have to admit I love it.
I tried the Strawberry Pancakes- they were good, but would definitely go with my usual Egg Sandwich on sourdough next time.
Here's the aftermath... (and yes, it's shaky.... morning coffee had kicked in)


We didn't eat lunch today. With a huge breakfast, we were able to last until evening. We hosted our small group from church and made an Apple Crumble with Blue Bell Natural Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. Does life get any better??
No pics- it was too crazy with a million people in the house to feed.

Barn Raising


"On an otherwise ordinary night at the end of September, some friends came over to watch the lunar eclipse, friends whose two-year-old daughter Olivia had been diagnosed nine months earlier with cystic fibrosis. Now, out of the blue, the family has been plunged into an alternate world, a world where everyone's kid has a life threatening illness. I know that sometimes these friends feel that they have been expelled from the ordinary world they lived in before and that they are now citizens of the Land of the F*#@ed. They must live with the fact that their younger daugher has this disease that fills its victims' lungs with thick sludge that harbors infections. Two-week hospital stays for nonstop IV antibiotics are common. Adulthood is rare.

Watching Olivia watch the eclipse of the moon, I suddenly remembered New Year's Day, seven months ago, out at Stinson Beach with Sam and Olivia and her family. It was one of those perfect northern California days when dozens of children and dogs are running on the beach and pelicans are flying overhead and the mountain and the green ridges rise up behind you, and it's so golden and balmy that you inevitably commit great acts of hubris. Olivia seemed fine- happy, blonde, tireless. Just a few days before, her parents had taken her to the doctor for lab work, because her colds were always so severe. But she didn't have a cold on New Year's Day.
Then two days later he called with the news that she had cystic fibrosis. Now, seeing her the night of the eclipse, her upward gaze of pure child wonder, I find it both hard to remember when she wasn't sick and harder to believe she is.

At first, after the diagnosis, we were almost too stunned to cry. Olivia's family has a tribe of good friends around them, and everyone wanted to help, but at first people didn't know what to do; they were immobilized by shock and sadness.
By mid January, though, I had a vision of the disaster as a gigantic canvas on which had been painted an exquisitely beautiful picture. We all wanted to take up a corner or stand side by side and lift it together so that Olivia's parents didn't have to carry the whole thing themselves. But I saw that they did in fact have to carry almost the whole heartbreaking picture alone. Then the image of a canvas changed into one wall of a barn, and I saw that the people who loved them could build a marvelous barn of sorts around the family.
So we did. We raised a lot of money; catastrophes can be expensive. We showed up. Sometimes we cleaned, we listened, some of us took care of the children, we walked their dog, and we criend and then made them laugh; we gave them a lot of privacy, then we showed up and listened and let them cry and cry and cry, and then took them for hikes.
We kept on cooking and walking the dog, taking the kids to the park, cleaning the kitchen and letting Sara and Adam hate what was going on when they needed to. Sometimes we let them resist finding any meaning or solace in anything that had to do with their daughter's diagnosis, and this was one of the hardest things to do- to stop trying to make things come out better than they were. We let them spew when they needed to; we offered the gift of no comfort when there being no comfort was where they had landed. Then we shopped for groceries. One friend gave them weekly massages, everyone gave lots of money. And that is how we built our Amish barn.
Now eight months later, things are sometimes pretty terrible for them in a lot of ways, but at the same time, they got a miracle. It wasn't the kind that comes in on a Macy's Thanksgiving Day float. And it wasn't the on they wanted, where God would rach down from the sky and touch their girl with a magic wand and restore her to perfect health. Maybe that will still happen- who knows? I wouldn't put anyting past God, because he or she is one crafty mother. Still, they did get a miracle, one of those dusty little red-wagon miracles, and they understand this.
(That night, the night of the eclipse) We stood outside for a while longer, talking out this last flare-up, how frightened Sara had felt, how tired. And I didn't know what to say at first, watching Olivia go chasing after the big kids, coughing. Except that we, their friends, all know that the rains and the wind will come, and they will be cold- oh, God, will they be cold. But then we will come too, I said; we will have been building this barn all along, and so there will always be shelter."

I wept when I read this chapter from Anne Lamott's book, Traveling Mercies. Her incredible gift of writing resonated so deeply within me. She is writing exactly how I feel when I think of the loving shelter our friends and family are giving us through these last months. Oh, that I was that gifted to be able to articulate the feelings swirling in me. I know that JRA is not life threatening. I know this. But everything has tipped and shifted and my feet haven't quite landed in a spot where I know what to expect.
So I want to say thank you, dear ones, for holding me up when my legs and my spirit give out. Thank you for extending grace when I totally flop as a person. My world has shrunk and swollen and blurred and the constant, the saving force, has been the mercy extended and love shown.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

i am me


I am a mother,
daughter,
sister,
friend,
wife.
I am wife to the fireman.
Wife- companion, partner, lover, helpmate.
I am a novice gardener.
I love harvesting and eating fresh herbs and tomatoes.
I am thrilled when I can cut my own flowers and have them in vases throughout the house.
I am a cook.
I am an apron-wearer in my kitchen.
I love to eat.
I start a diet almost every Monday.
I quit dieting by Tuesday.
I love to shop Farmer's Markets and eat vegetarian meals from the bounty of my garden.
I love to eat fresh peaches and feel the juice drip down my chin.
I love Rainier cherries and Honeycrisp apples.
I am a cheese and dark chocolate lover.
I love the feel of crisp sheets off the line in the summer.
I hate the intense heat of summer.
I love my bed.
I love to nap.
I rarely take a nap.
I paint my house in vibrant colors.
I love the smell and feel of newborn babies.
I wish I could relive the moment of pushing a new baby in to the world whenever I wanted.
I love shopping in office supply stores.
I am a bargain hunter.
I get a rush from getting a good deal.
I am an artist.
I sing.
I want to be in a band.
I paint.
I am a reader.
I wish I could sit and read all day.
I love used book stores.
I am a good friend to a few and acquaintance to many.
I love girlfriend time.
I love to be touched.
I wish I could have a massage every week.
I am thankful.
I wish I had lots of money to give away.
I am a hard worker.
I am hard on myself.
I am a traveller.
I want to travel all over the world.
I want to pick olives in Provence, France.
I want to smash grapes in a vineyard in Italy.
I want to go the opera in Vienna.
I want to drink a Guinness in Dublin (again).
I want to play the drums and tap dance (not simultaneously).
I am an Apple Computer kind of girl.
I want to make out with my computer.
I am a PBS junkie.
I would totally throw my underwear at Frontline. (stole that line)
I love to laugh.
I love to dance (in the privacy of my own home when no one is around).
I listen to all kinds of music.
I hate rap.
I hate local weather forcasts and their drama.
I am phobic about lots of things:
someone sneaking up and scaring me when I am in the shower
that when I vacuum, someone is going to come at me from behind and scare me
that when in a public bathroom, someone is going to reach under and slash my Achilles Tendon
that a tornado is coming after me
that baby Jack is going to break my nose or teeth
that when I shower during a thunderstorm, lightening will strike my house sending electricity through the shower head and electrify me
my car going off of a bridge and I will have to choose which child to rescue from their car seat and save
that sharks are after me- (yes, even in swimming pools)
someone is going to be hiding under my car and slash my Achilles Tendon (what is it with the Tendon??)
I am a free spirit deep down inside.
I am in bondage.
I am trying to break the bonds holding me down.
I love to shop.
I hate buying jeans and swimming suits.
I have a love/hate relationship with my body.
I finally like my curly hair.
I only wear comfortable shoes and good bras.
I love art deco jewelry.
I don't own a diamond.
I love history.
I am a writer.
I am a story teller.
I am not a joke teller.
I am a teacher.
I teach reading, writing, geography, history, music, bible, science, math, art, and Latin.
I don't touch bugs.
I love that my kids all have my same birthmark on their foreheads.
I love hearing my eldest belly laugh.
I love to hear the middle sing.
I love to see my Baby Jack asleep.
I love to go on dates.
I eat my steaks mid-rare.
I expect the best from people.
I don't like free-loaders.
I want to be disciplined.
I am a giver.
I want to live close to the ocean and the mountains.
I am an old house lover.
I love red and turquoise together.
I drive with my windows down, sunroof open, and music cranked.
I am a foreign film watcher.
I wear big jewelry.
I am hippie-esque.
I love picnics and outdoor theaters.
I am a roller coaster rider.
I am an open book.
My face turns red when I am mad.
My eyes turn dark when I am tired, sick, or sad.
I cry regularly.
I am a believer.
I am a dreamer.

I am me.

Monday, April 28, 2008

open mouth, insert foot

I have this uncanny ability to say inappropriate and ill timed sentences. I kick myself for it. I feel really bad about it. I don't want to be the girl that people avoid because something ugly and hurtful pops out. And I don't want to always feel tense and unsure, fearful of the involuntary words slipping past my monitoring system. I don't remember being like this before. I always considered myself as tactful and reassuring. But recently, I feel like I need to apologize to people before I even venture in to conversation- just as a precautionary measure.

Ug, I could just wash my mouth out sometimes.

I have been feeling like a bad friend lately. I don't feel like I have enough energy to go around or time to share with the people that really matter. I can't get on the phone for more than 5 minutes without someone under 3 feet tall requiring my urgent and necessary attention. I am pulled emotionally in all directions and it is exhausting. I am afraid of what people must think of me.

I feel very distracted. I know it's normal and I should cut myself some slack. I have been up to my ears in projects and have a very needy and temperamental toddler now. He is so very demanding. I am not sure how to deal with him effectively and most nights I crawl in to bed feeling guilty and depressed. I am not equipped for this job. This child challenges what little I thought I had figured out. I am not sure how to discipline with love and grace when I am losing my mind and my patience.

I am reminded of his illness with each of his uneven steps. The sound of his labored gait is a dead give away and my heart aches to know if I am doing the right thing by him. I wake up each day saying, "today will be the day that I don't lose my temper." But more mornings than not I am crying before I leave the bed. He is crazy and out of control. He uses his body as a ram rod and his head as a sledge hammer. I feel physically abused by the way he throws his weight around. He doesn't necessarily do it out of meanness- just wildness. Oh how I wish I could tame him- if even a bit.

The limp is still there and now it's progressed in to something a bit scarier. He is dragging his foot and it's back to the odd 45 degree angle. I roll this around and around and feel the anxiety and frustration pounding in my skull. I wish he could talk and explain it all away. I want him to tell when and where exactly he feels the pain. I want him to tell me when he steps in a hole and twists his foot, just aggravating the problems that already exist. I want to be on top of his illness, one step ahead.

But instead, I am floundering around, stressing about tomorrow, wishing I could control my temper. I wish I could just close my mouth and put one foot in front of the other.

Day Eight


another day of the Fireman being away. Wow these days are so long when he is gone.
So, in order to help me survive the day, I baked Oatmeal Muffins with strawberries and lots and lots of butter. I need baked goods to help me through the stressful days.

I admit, I was a bad mommy for lunch and we just skipped it all together. I think we snacked on white bean dip and carrots, grapes, animal crackers, cheese, and popcorn. We also went to visit a friend and it helped me get through the lonely day.
Which brings me to dinner. I didn't have the heart, or time, to cook. So we stopped and got Quesadillas from Taco Bueno for dinner.

Day Seven

Friday mornings are our busiest. We are out the door by 8:40 to get to school on time. The kids had bowls of puffed wheat and strawberries with milk.
Lunch was a huge Mexican potluck- tacos, dips, chips, salads, and lots of desserts.

For dinner we shared a meal with our neighbors- Grilled Bratwursts with saukraut and mustard, oven roasted potato salad with bacon and rosemary, cabbage salad, cheddar cheese, and crusty bread. Oh- and a delicious blackberry crisp. This is a picture of the aftermath.

Day Six


Scrambled eggs, bacon, and whole wheat toast with butter and my homemade peach preserves.


Oh my, delicious, delicious, delicious. I love Reuban Sandwiches.

I will have to come back to dinner- what did we have??? I think we just had popcorn, apples and cheese- a standby dinner.