rebecca is fabulous

And so she blogs.

2010-10-15T09:07:00.011-08:00

I gave it up. I gave up the blogging. I couldn't tell you why, other than I was empty. I was trying to be fabulous for the ones of readers, and I had nothing.

Maybe one day I won't struggle with an emotional stasis. However, I don't really expect that.

We are in another new city, another new state. I wonder often if we should have stayed in Alaska.

I do like our new city, Owensboro. A smallish urban center in north-western Kentucky. There is a small mall, museums, parks, Democrats. We have a two-bedroom flat in a group of buildings that houses many families. There are bike paths and friends for Violet and Carli. An oak tree beyond the balcony that is slowly turning orange. Three pumpkin patches within driving distance.

The best feature is the distance to school. It only takes 4 minutes to drive to classes; 6 in traffic.

Jason is near the top of his program, Auto Technology. He doesn't take his General Ed Requirements seriously enough, but he doesn't really have to.

I do, though. The nursing program is highly competitive. More get turned away than accepted. The only way to guarantee the spot is a 4.0; so far, my 88% in math is cancelling out my 103% in Psych.

I'll get it, though.

So, we are good. Happy, even. Dealing with Carli's lactose intolerance and Violet's minor sensory sensitivities. Collecting fallen leaves and painting window catchers. Budgeting 3 months of loan money to last 5 months and folding sweaters to earn money for Christmas. Driving through miles of fall foliage and evading conversations with my parents that steer towards politics or gay rights or wine.

And maybe, finding some time, here in my own space.

Fabulous Day 6

2010-03-15T14:24:00.003-08:00

Windblown Sea Hair and a Handsome Husband.

Fabulous Day 5

2010-03-13T06:40:00.002-09:00

My Favorite corner of the kitchen: turquoise breadbox, pink teapot, pear timer.

Fabulous Day 4

2010-03-12T15:49:00.004-09:00

Violet conquers her fears at the playground...and with style.

Fabulous Day 3

2010-03-11T17:36:00.002-09:00

SO. Violet hid my camera. So my documented fabuolous things are postponed. Today's fabulous thing will be un-photographed.

I have finally taught Carli to drink out of a straw. Not only do I not have to worry about having a sippy cup Every. Time. I leave the house, but the muscles used to suck on a straw are the same muscles that help a baby learn to talk.

Seriously. This was the most awesome thing to happen this week.

Fabulous Day 2

2010-03-09T14:12:00.003-09:00

Two beautiful girls in 'party dresses', eating Nutella bread.

Fabulous Day 1

2010-03-08T18:09:00.002-09:00

The view from my favorite chair:

my first completed afghan; boot-cut blue jeans; orange toenails; and artwork by Violet taped to the front door.

so fabulous.

2010-03-05T21:55:00.004-09:00

I am lacking.

I want to be a happy stay-at-home mom more than anything in the world. And I love being with my girls. I got to see Carli's first steps; I get to teach Violet the alphabet. I love being at every appointment, making the meals, giving the baths.

But I have been losing part of myself. Maybe the lack of social interaction is to blame. I left all friends but Jason behind to move here; then, my mother moved to Kentucky, and took the last bit of my sanity with her. I became that person who tells the cashier way too much information, simply because she is the only person I am not related to that I will see for days. I find myself apathetic to how I look, because some switch in my head flipped all my self esteem off.

I changed my anti-depressants. And while I really do love my new medicine, it takes some adjustment time. And in that time, I have had to deal with my ambition being zapped, my energy gone. There are days when I feel like I an encased in a rubber glove, and though I am going through the motions of my day, I can't quite be there, in that moment, fully present. I am removed, watching my day play out on a big screen t.v. Not all the days are like that, and they are lessening; but when they do come, they are disheartening.

The strangest part is that I have a hard time remembering that I was not always this way. That I cared about fashion, that I used a flat iron or curlers every day. That I could carry an interesting conversation, that I didn't feel the beginnings of a panic attack when someone knocked on the door. That I gave dinner parties that people asked to be invited to, that I was someone who people sought out for advice.

I forgot I was fabulous.

I named this blog Rebecca is Fabulous not because I look like Megan Fox or have a sparkling personality or am a trendsetter.

It was because I was well-rounded. I could look at my life and point out the bits that were fabulous. That I could take an ordinary day and make it special. And a little bit of tongue-in-cheek, as well; I am quirky, I am geeky, I am odd, but that can be fabulous.

The thing is, I am still that person. I know that under my lethargy and frustration, I am still the person I was so fond of before. I just need to remember who that is.

So, to that end, I am embarking on Fifty Days of Fabulous. I am setting a personal goal to find and celebrate something in my life that is fabulous every day. Something small, something large, something ordinary, something quirky...anything.

My bloggy friend Jennie sent me a set of champagne flutes for my wedding. They were lovely, and unfortunately met a sad, sad, tinkly demise, but I enjoyed them immensely when I had them. I drank just about anything out of them. They were well-loved.

Anyway, the note attached to them said, "Celebrate every day."

So that is what I plan to do. Find a way to celebrate each day, each detail. Join me if you like.

Violet has short, short hair.

2010-02-26T14:16:00.004-09:00

And I love it. She hacked into her hair one day last fall, and it resulted in a short pixie with longer bits in the front.

She is a beautiful girl, and the fact that she wears pink or purple every day keeps her from being mistaken for a boy. But, truthfully, the style is reminiscent of Justin Beiber; dye it black, and she'd be Pete Wentz.

The pink and the purple is her thing, not mine. She chooses her own clothes, and has since she was a year old.

Violet is a princess. She plays with Barbies. She watches Enchanted and Beauty and the Beast. She is obsessed with Princess Tiana and Dorothy Gale. She freaks over tea sets and cooking instruments; she loves to vacuum and wash the dishes and peel vegetables. She loves to be active and play Kung Fu, but only if she can be Tigress. She is much more likely to make up a dance or a song than kick a ball.

(Though in our house, this has little to do with gender: Jason cleans and cooks as much as I do, and in reality, is much better than I am in these areas.)

Frankly, I feel like people need to get over celebrity kids. Sure, they are adorable, and they have awesome clothes and really cool strollers and look! Tea Leoni wears her robe to drop her kids at school! I am way better than her in my jeans and t-shirt! I even comb my hair almost every day!

I am tired of hearing about Suri's high heels and lipgloss; Violet got these for Christmas, and wore them until she grew out of them. And I am sure that the Sephora makeup Suri gets is a lot less unhealthy than the Dora lipgloss that Violet uses.

I am tired of hearing about Shiloh's identity crisis. Today, Violet is wearing purple striped pants, a pink flowered shirt, pink Dora skater shoes, and a pink velvet sweatshirt. Does the fact that her clothes don't match make me a bad mother? She picked out each item herself. She put it on herself. And when she takes it off, she will put it in the hamper. Shouldn't we be focused more on the fact that Shiloh seems healthy, happy, well cared for? And stylish, even?

In reality, it is none of our business. As long as a child is fed, clothed, sheltered, and loved, then what right do we have to question their parenting choices?

I don't really have a point. I just know that Katie and Angelina sure handle the judgment a lot better than I would.

Carli

2010-02-08T18:59:00.000-09:00

I wake up this morning because your father has plopped you on the bed beside me. You grin, you laugh, you make a beeline for me and cover me with your open-mouthed kisses. The clock says 7:30.

This time one year ago, I was pacing through empty hospital corridors, trying to increase my contractions from the 3 minutes apart they are at. There isn’t a delivery room open yet, and the nurses are skeptical that you are actually coming today. But I know.

I heft myself out of bed and carry you downstairs to greet your sister. You squeal when you see her: she is your favorite person. You spend your days chasing her, mimicking her, trying to steal her Little Pet Shop figures and Barbie shoes. She tires of you occasionally, but never misses an opportunity to tell anyone who will listen about ‘her baby’. We all dress and head to the grocery store. The clock says 10:30.

This time one year ago, I was finally checking into a room. I had been in various stages of labor for about 9 hours at this point, and told the nurse to get the epidural ordered as soon as possible. You dad settled into the couch beside my bed to watch the Powder Puff Girls and lament the fact that he hadn’t bought more tacos on our stop on the way to the hospital. I adjust my bed and think, “This has got to be over soon. Second births are faster. She will be here soon.” Little did I know that you do things on your own time.

Today has passed in a blur. You are so active, so busy, that the days fly by. You started walking in earnest last week, and have already progressed to running. You don’t talk much, but you squeal with joy, you chortle, you snort…you are a little bulldog. Your father let you walk through the store today, and you smiled your huge, gap-toothed smile the entire time. People cannot resist you; I am often told how blessed I am. It is true. Now, I put lotion on your freshly bathed tummy, and give you a raspberry; you laugh, dimples flashing. You gulp your sippy of milk in record time; you know you have precious few moments of play time before bed. It is now 7:30.

This time one year ago, I am finally dilated enough to push. I am only at 9.5, but the midwife is sure that won’t be a problem. And it isn’t. At least, I think it isn’t, until many moments have passed, and I am still pushing, pushing. At one point, my midwife won’t give me a break; I don’t just push through a contraction, I push for a solid ten minutes, grunting, gasping. I ache, I beg Jason to make her stop, but he keeps coaxing me as well. I find out much later that your head was stuck, and you were turning a bit purplish. But your mama’s kegels paid off, and with the help of my vigilant Tanya, and my calm-in-the-storm Jason, you were free. And returning to a normal color. And as is the case with most babies, the rest went rather quickly. And soon you were on my chest, lovely and slimy and squeakily squalling. Gazing at me. And I fell in love.

My life is richer because of you. You make things shiny; you remind us to smile. I adore you, baby turtle.

Broke as Heck.

2010-01-18T10:57:00.007-09:00

A couple of weeks ago, Swistle, whom I love like Diet Wild Cherry

Pepsi (aka LOADS), came out as plus size. There was much controversy, many people cheering her own. Of course, there were a few haters, but it seemed to me that there was overwhelming support. Score one for the big girls!

It has inspired me to honesty. I am quite open about being a bona fide Big Girl, so obviously that is not what I keep hidden. Quite possibly every who has ever come across this blog has been bombarded with me babbling on about being zaftig. The thing I tend to sweep under the rug is the dismal state of my finances.

Part of what drove us from Alaska was the recession. We left before it hit hard, but barely. Jason's job was being eliminated shortly after we left, and the company I worked for was projected to do a fraction of the work it had the year before. We never lived the high life in Anchorage, but if we were comfy. We went to the theatre when we liked; we ate in hipster-yuppie restaurants on a whim, whenever we felt the need for some stuffed french toast or salmon eggs benedict. And the COFFEE. Oh, the coffee. Toasted marshmallow lattes, and triple shot soy iced kaladi's, and chocolate croissant on the side, and a raspberry Italian soda for Violet. Locally roasted specialty beans to grind ourselves for use at home. We easily spent $40 a week on coffee.

I now spend about that on groceries.

Jason has a good job. Just not a well paying job. I stay at home with my girls and pick up tutoring jobs. The cost of day care would well outweigh what I could make on the salary offered to someone who has one year towards a theatre degree under their belts. We are stuck in the vicious cycle of hand-to-mouth, working hard with little reward, and yes, even a little government assistance thrown in.

We live highly budget conscious. True, I have the internet; however, it is a requirement to pick up tutoring jobs with private school kids. Yes, we make lovely, wonderful food - with cheap groceries from discount stores and a lot of help from Food Network.com. Christmas was only possible with careful saving. Even at that, we spent less than $300 in total for presents this year, including extended family.

I grew up poor. Backroads Kentucky, Aldi shopping, missionary barrel poor. My mother made it work; no one would know the lack of finances, no one would realize how below the poverty line we were. She had the touch. She makes everything special.

I don't have the touch. I do better than some, but I fall well below Ma. Jason and I want to do better. We want possibilities for our girls. We want comfort and luxuries and place firmly in the middle class. Which is why we are going back to school.

Which is going to make us even poorer for a while. We have to save the money to get to school, then the money to stay there. We will make it work, because we are that kind of people: we are survivors, strong-willed and ambitious. Eventually, Jason will have his doctorate. I will have my master's.

But in the meantime, there will be a lot of beans, a lot of thrift stores, a lot of making do. And I hope, in the interim, I am teaching my girls something much better, much more important than how to live in the middle class. I hope I am showing them how to achieve their dreams, how to handle obstacles with elan and grace. How to not give up.

Even with a belly full of beans and ratty Salvation Army cardigan.

Watch out, 2010!

2010-01-01T07:04:00.002-09:00

I realize this post is very similar to the one 3 or 4 previous...things I want to be, ways I want to change. However, if I learned anything as a kindergarten teacher or tutor... REPETITION is key. So, without further ado:

2010 is the year I will:

*get healthy. Not skinny. Healthy.

*teach Violet to read.

*finish writing a book. Any book.

*get my hair to its natural color.

*be the best mother and wife I can be.

2009 was a mixed bag. I had some lows - such as staying in bed for weeks after Carli was born, deeply relapsed into PPD, and my parents moving 500 miles away. I had some highs - my gorgeous CJ was born, and I feel like I am starting to get myself back. I had the bittersweet moment of CJ turning 9 months old on the day Max would have turned 1. I had moments when I wondered if my marriage would survive the girl's early childhood. I went to a church that I loved because my parents were there, and hated because so many of the people attending were bigots. I had the joy of leaving that one for a church I love, completely. I have had the privilege of watching my eldest start to turn into an amazing person. I have enjoyed a new freshness to my marriage, where we enjoy, and even SEEK OUT, each other's company.

I suppose a lot of this comes with nearing 30. I have been told by many wonderful woman that a women's thirties are when she comes into her own, when she truly finds herself and becomes content. And I look forward to this. I feel the beginnings of this. Of wanting to be no more that what I am. I know there have been times in this past year I have been less than I could be, when I have not fully realized my potential as a mother, as a wife, as a person. And I am eager to embrace myself this year, to be more fully Rebecca than I have ever been.

Here's to keeping New Year's Day high as long as possible.

Bougie Butts*

2009-12-29T07:50:00.006-09:00

It has been a good 3 months.

My girls are...enormous and brilliant and lovely.

Carli is a first rate explorer: she can make it to the top of the stairs in under a minute - something you realize when you decide to pick up the blocks before putting up the baby gate. She can climb just about anything, and luckily, has learned to back off the couch (bed, table, laundry basket) safely.

Violet is smarter everyday, and so imaginative. She is constantly taking care of her 'babies' (which she has named Sylvia, Gwendolyn, Rapunzel, Batilda), imitating Rachel Ray in her play kitchen. She received her first bike for Christmas, and within 20 minutes was shooting around the lot on her own. She is also currently obsessed with reading her abridged version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe - which makes for a very long bedtime ritual.

Perhaps the biggest change has been one that hasn't happened yet. Jason and I have decided to go back to school. My schooling was interrupted by Violet's conception, and Jason's never really started. The thought of school has always stayed in the back of my mind, but with no real direction. However, after nearly 5 years of discussion, Jason decided he wants to be a veterinarian. I am so happy for him, and completely support this decision; I can't wait to get started.

But it is a real commitment; there are only about 40 schools that offer Veterinary degrees in the country. We want to find a place the girls will be happy, where we can all be happy, for the 8+ years it will take for us to get our degrees. Jason will have to get a bachelor's and a master's, and I will be working full time, and only able to attend 1 or 2 classes a semester. So we are on the lookout for a place that matches our family. Our current leaders are Knoxville, TN (university of Tennessee), and Columbia, MO (University of Missouri). We don't know if we will aim for this coming fall, or wait a year so Violet can attend pre-k here. Big decisions afoot.

So that is what we have been up to. You know, plus Thanksgiving and Christmas and my parents moving to Kentucky and Halloween and homemade costumes and blonde hair and red hair and Violet in the Christmas program and changing churches and joining a playgroup and Carli's month long ear infection that wouldn't die and visiting Knoxville and changing my meds and Violet chopping off all her hair and about a million other things I can't remember right now.

*The term of endearment Violet made up for Carli. Now commonly heard in our house.

Working on That Woman

2009-09-10T08:34:00.002-08:00

2 days after the last post, my mother asked me to help her write her biography.

I have been blogging for over 2 years, and being a Blogger, no matter how small time, has become part of my identity. Being on the BlogHer ad roll has given me a huge sense of pride.

But I need to focus on this for now. I need my thoughts to be geared toward bettering myself, to be centered on my mom's amazing story.

Not to say I won't be here occasionally; blogging is a drug, the therapy that has gotten me through the past 2 years. But I need it to be occasional, not necessary. A writing treat, if you will.

Thank you, Blogher. You helped me realize my self worth, gave me a gentle push on this road I am on now. The road that is long and arduous, but is my silly little dream.

my list.

2009-08-23T14:09:00.003-08:00

The woman I want to be is:

One who sends thank you cards and snail mail.

One who listens to others more than complain.

One who has cool hair, tattoos, piercing, and doesn’t care what others think.

One who does crafts with her kids.

One who smiles most of the day.

One who is actively following her dreams.

One who cleans her house before she goes to bed.

One who wears what she wants.

One who compliments more than criticizes.

One who has fabulous dinner parties.

One who kisses her husband every day for more than 7 seconds.

One who sews and crochets.

One who laughs easily and loudly.

One who loves herself.

One who is always ready for drop-in guests.

One who has solid and quiet faith.

One who accepts compliments gracefully.

One who has a strong family ruled by love and respect, not fear.

One who is a writer.

Some are silly things, some are very serious things. But they are all things that I want to be said about me.

Chasin' Rainbows

2009-08-20T12:26:00.002-08:00

I went to my doctor on Monday, as my anti-depressants prescribed in Alaska have finally run out. My parents love their doctor, so choosing a new guy wasn’t a problem. Ma came with me to watch the kids and have her blood pressure checked…which is a whole other post about my mom and the sickness she has to deal with and how it is isn’t fair that someone so good and wonderful has to deal with all she does.

This appointment was…different. Usually, I go in, tell them I have clinical depression, they give me pills. So the four of us go back to the room, we weigh, we chat with the nurse, we wait. He came in, he looked at my facial orifices, he asked me what was up, I told him I need pills.

But then he talked to me.

Like, really TALKED.

Asked me how I was doing. Asked about my home stresses. Asked why I thought I was sad.

Asked if I wanted to be happy.

WOW.

Let me tell you, that is a loaded question.

I have had this diagnosis for two and a half years. I know that it is a chemical problem, I know that it is encouraged by hormonal changes. I know this is a physical problem.

But I am coming to realize that I am leaning on it, depending on it as an excuse to not try. To not strive for happiness.

I know that exercise will help me, I know it will release endorphins, will benefit me physically, but also help me feel strong, in control of myself. But it has taken me until now to establish a routine. It has taken an unconscionable amount of time to make myself get off the couch, for my own health.

I know I am too hard on Jason, I lean too much on him, I blame him for too many things. But I do it anyways.

I don’t think that I be able to completely leave medications behind like my doc thinks I can. But I can make myself happier than I am now. Because I sure do cry a lot for someone who is on a steady anti-depressant. So we made a plan.

I have to exercise every morning. With Jason around in the mornings, there is no excuse not to. Today was hard…truthfully, if Jason hadn’t pushed me, I would have skipped it. I was sore and sleepy and grumpy. But now I am glad I did.

I have to lower carb, especially white carb, intake…Doc thinks my body doesn’t like them. (Although I am pretty sure my face does.)

I have to cut out pork. My family had heart disease history, so even though I currently have no cholesterol issues, Doc wants to make sure it stays that way. (sadly, this comes just after I find an awesome garlic lime pork recipe.)

I have to choose to be happy every day. I have to get up, smile, and pray that God helps me make that choice every day.

I have to decide what I want to do with my life. I know this seems strange, but one of the things that makes me sad is not having a dream anymore. Before I got pregnant, I was on a very straight course: bachelors degree (with honors) in theatre, grad school in Philadelphia, a few years in small theatres in New York, then become a professor at a small college. I even had my honors project picked out, lined out. Then I got pregnant, and choosing a profession that pretty much dictates poverty was out of the question. So I have been floundering, trying to decide which ‘normal’ career will make me happy.

I love being a stay at home mom, I adore my kids, and spending every day with them. Bu what is my purpose outside of that?

I want to be a writer (obviously, duh, isn’t that every blogger’s ultimate desire?), but doubts assail me. Something keeps me from taking the steps to do that. Everyone who knows me has heard me talk about writing this book or that book…it has been a long standing dream.

So Doc says I have to believe it will happen. He told me stories of his life, things that made it seem impossible that he would ever get to medical school. But he did, because he worked for it, he never gave up the dream.

So…it is time to grab the dream by the horns again. I have to try.

And my last assignment is to decide what kind of woman I want to be…and become that woman.

I’ll get back to you on that one. I gotta do some research.

Disclaimer: I recognize this is not the path to happiness for everyone. This is just the way I am trying to find my rainbow.

Just the way you are, if you're perfect*

2009-08-12T20:16:00.001-08:00

This subject is so old hat, I am loathe to bring it up.

But, the truth is, this blog is an expansion of my brain. And part of what is occupying my brain lately is weight loss. Though in my head, it is Weight Loss. And sometimes WEIGHT LOSS.

There is a struggle associated with weight loss that has nothing to do with wanting to eat cupcakes. It is the struggle of whether to try in the first place.

Like many women, the desire to lose is constantly wrestling with the desire to have self-acceptance. By going out of my way to decrease my waist size, am I not basically saying that I dislike myself? I tell myself it is all for my health, that I don’t care how I look as long as I am healthy. But I know that part of what drives me is the desire to wear sizes in the teens, to look at the tag on my jeans and not see a 2 followed by another number.

And how awful is it that I initially typed ‘be a teen size’? Like I am not Rebecca, I am not a woman, a mother, a writer, a wife…I am a 22, and that is what defines me the most?

Also, what about my daughters? I put a lot of effort into teaching them to be strong, independent, caring people. I teach them to eat healthy food, how to exercise their bodies. But by being dissatisfied with myself, am I instilling in them societal beliefs that big people have something wrong with them?

So I move forward gently, quietly. Trying not to call much attention to the face that I am dieting. Not saying the word diet. Doing exercises that resemble salsa dances, jumping jacks, things Violet likes to do. We move and sweat and laugh together, as we try to master the moves before us. Projecting a not-quite-true image of self-love so my daughter doesn’t learn that hating yourself is the norm.

The truth is that for most women in this society, at least the ones I am around, hating yourself is the norm. That we tend to have one or two things we like about ourselves, and hundreds of things we don’t. Really, shouldn’t it be the other way around?

I don’t have a delusion that Violet and Carli are going to love everything about themselves. But my goal, what I strive for is that the things they like severely outweigh the things they hate.

Daily we work on it. Daily I tell them the wonderful things I see in them. Daily I tell myself the wonderful things I see in myself, so that eventually the self-love half-truth can become a whole truth. Daily that list grows.

And daily I eke my way to a healthier me, one that can keep up with them each step of the way. My ultimate goal is not ‘Hot Mom’, I have no desire to look like a super-model. I am not even shooting for a single digit size. The ultimate goal is the size 14 I was when I became pregnant with Violet, which was the healthiest time in my life (mostly due to being too broke for groceries and having to walk miles across campus each day. I don’t plan on using this method.)

But for now, my immediate goal is 2 pounds a week, 40 by December 31. I direct your attention to the tiny box on your right, boldly reminding me each time I come to this site that I have WORK TO DO.

Little by little, step by step, day by day.

*Alanis Morrisette, Perfect

Those Days

2009-08-07T13:24:00.001-08:00

Tuesday night, my girls didn’t sleep.

They went to bed at 8:30, sure. Then I cleaned house, folded laundry, did my chores…I went to bed at 12:30.

Carli woke up.

I fed her, changed her, got her back to sleep. I fell asleep about 1:30. Then 2:00 am rolled around.

Violet woke up.

Not from a bad dream, not for any reason. She just wanted to be up.

She fell asleep around 4, during which time I fed Carli another time. I fell asleep around 4:10.

My wonderful husband let me sleep until 11, but I woke up in a mood.

My bad days are few and far between, but when they hit, they are vengeful. And when I have so many good days in a row, like I have been…the bad days are just awful.

I snapped at Jason. I cried into a pillow. I wanted to crawl into my cocoon, like I always do when the bad days come.

It just makes me feel so out of control. My girls aren’t the targets, my husband is. I pick fights. I call him names. I scream at him.

He has been through this enough to know when it is an episode. That it is chemical in my brain, not representative of how I really feel. But he still has the patience of a saint to sit through it.

After he went to bed, my sister called. She took us out of the house, and gradually, my day ebbed away.

I am still a little edgy today, especially when my blood sugar got low, and Jason grabbed my butt in the grocery store. I usually love that, but NOT when I am on edge…

Tomorrow, I should be back to normal.

These days are getting farther and farther away. I just wish…I just can’t wait until they are gone forever.

I hope that it happens. I know it might not ever go away. But I can hope.

Tuesday Night Rocks the House

2009-08-04T18:17:00.004-08:00

My nights are pretty tame. Primetime hits, and I sit on the couch, feeding Carli her bedtime bottle. Violet sits beside me, and we watch whatever I deem safe for her to watch.

Tonight, it was her favorite, America’s Got Talent (love me the guys in the pageboy caps and suspenders…RAWR)…just about the only show I can get her to sit through the entire hour for. Well, the first hour was the one where they pared the contestants down to 40...and I bawled through the whole hour. Then they showed the previews for the new season of The Biggest Loser…and I bawled. (her WHOLE family DIED!!!!) I am fairly sure I bawled through a Sprint commercial. (Their 3G network is SO BIG!)

I need to get out more.

My gypsy heritage affords me many perks…curves no matter how much weight I gain, olive-ish skin that rarely sunburns, the propensity to be the loudest in the room and thus Center of Attention.

However, it also comes with hair. True, the stuff in my head is thick and adorable (I humbly proclaim), but the stuff growing out of my chin is equally thick and not nearly as adorable.

Seriously. I can get up in the morning with nary a hair…and by lunch, my fingers will feel the beginnings of one starting to poke through. And that baby is BLACK and THICK and while that may work for Beyonce, I am not feeling it, yo.

The BEST (insert sarcasm here) is when I am at Target, handing the clerk my debit card, and Jason says, “Reka, you have more facial hair than I do!”

Not that that has happened recently. OH WAIT YES IT HAS.

Carli does not stop moving while she is awake. She hasn’t started crawling, but she can get anywhere on the first floor of my house in less than a minute by rolling her little self at the speed of light. Sometimes so fast she spits up from dizziness.

She’ll climb onto the shelf under my coffee table and sort through my books. She’ll roll under her swing so she can lay on her back and push it with her feet. She makes a bee line (caterpillar line?) for anything Violet leaves on the floor.

Her favorite is the shoes, though.

Living in Canada, then Alaska, for so many years has cultivated a habit of taking off our shoes at the door. This creates a pile of shoes near our front door. Which Carli likes to roll around in.

I came down the stairs this morning (Jason watches the girls when he gets off work so I can sleep till 8), There was Carli, laying on the floor, grin huge, dimples flashing…hugging Jason’s topsider.

That’s my girl.

Good-bye, crappy first half of the year.

2009-08-03T12:45:00.003-08:00

Jason works the night shift at a hotel. He goes to bed at 2 in the afternoon, sleeps until 10, is at work by 11. This is a schedule that works for us as a family: we go to the beach at least once a week, during the day when the tourists are low; we go grocery shopping as a unit; he gets to go do the menial errands, like paying the water bill and going to the bank, without me. I get to take Violet to pre-school story time at the Library without lugging along CJ. I don’t have to drag both girls along with me to doctor’s appointments.

But there are certain things I miss…the main one being primetime television with Jason. Even though his night schedule increases family time, it severely decreases couple time. This leads to watching a lot of America’s Got Talent/Wipout type shows with Violet instead.

In order to still have time to connected, I stay up late on Friday nights. Jason doesn’t change his sleep schedule on the weekends; we found out through trial and error that it just made for a grumpy, grumpy husband. So, Friday, I put the girls to bed and hang out by myself for awhile, until Jason wakes up. Then we watch a movie or whatever TV-on-DVD he is currently hooked on, laugh, catch up on our lives, sans kids.

So, I was up at midnight on Friday, and realized that August was officially here.

The year is officially on its way out.

Thank Heaven.

There have been some amazing things that have happened this year. We have moved to a lovely place where I get to go to the beach for no reason at all. I have a beautiful, wonderful little elf of a new baby girl. I get to finally be the Stay at Home Mom I longed to be.

But, ho-lee. Everything this year has been a struggle. I feel like I have been clawing my way to normal all year. From the reoccurrence of my PPD to Carli puking up nearly everything we fed her to just the one million everyday things that seemed to take over my brain. Nothing tragic, just…hard. Maybe it was the whole Mercury-in-retrograde thing.

But the past month or so, things have started to lighten up. Maybe because my brain is beginning to return to normal, maybe because we are settling into life here. Whatever the reason, I am grateful.

And I am looking forward to fall. It is my favorite time of year…pumpkins and scarecrows and crunchy leaves and the tinge of non-barbecue smoke in the air. Halloween and Thanksgiving. I can’t wait to take Violet and CJ trick-or-treating without having to layer them in long johns. And to have cool nights when I can wear my favorite, 10 year old hooded sweatshirt again.

I am just excited. Something has lifted, and I feel joyous again. Bring it on, last half of 2009.

The Last Baby

2009-07-31T18:36:00.002-08:00

We have decided we are done procreating.

We originally planned to have only one, our wonderful Violet. But as she grew into toddler-hood, I knew that I wanted her to experience having a sister. I have two awesome sisters who I am very close to, and I want my girl to have that experience.

So we decided to try for number two.

(also playing into that decision was the desire to have a kid on purpose. Novel concept, eh?)

We got pregnant right away, the first month we tried. And were so happy. Ecstatic. I bought a heap of onsies to celebrate.

Then, we lost him. Fairly early into the pregnancy, but still. I was traumatized. I spent a week on the sofa, staring at the sky, the TV, my daughter. I decided not to try again. I couldn’t deal with the heartache.

But four months later, completely by surprise, the second line showed up. I threw up. Sobbed. Called my mother. Shook as I told Ali, my best friend. Then I took a deep breath and dove into the pregnancy.

It was hard. Especially the first 20 weeks, when the movements were infrequent and the cheap at-home heartbeat-listening device didn’t work.

We got past it. I made it through the pregnancy that seemed to last forever, though she was born 2 weeks early. (though I did find out I was pregnant at 3 weeks 6 days, so it WAS a long time.)

Then the post partum depression went into full-blown Action. I barely got out of bed for 2 weeks. I lay in bed with a remote and the baby. I barely ate. Jason took care of Violet, and I…descended into my cocoon. I thank God I have an awesome and understanding husband; we gently discussed what was going on and what steps we could take to make things better.

And they got better. I got out of bed. I started interacting with the world again. I started taking the full dosages of my medicine again. And my family bloomed.

We are content. Our little family of four is perfect for us. Violet adores her baby sister, and Carli positively beams at Violet. I love the baby snuggles I get. I love the drooly, open mouthed kisses. I love the downy head and the neck rolls and the arms and legs that never stop moving.

But I am done with pregnancy. I am done with the immobile first months. She is now in the 6-12 month sizes, which means she gets to wear brighter, cuter toddler clothes; my days of pastel one-pieces are behind me. I will never again wait for the first tooth to pop out, or have to constantly support a weak neck, or try to disguise that bald spot babies get from moving their head back and forth constantly.

I am thrilled. Honestly, completely one hundred percent ECSTATIC.

I have been going back and forth since she born, wondering…am I really done? Maybe I need one more. Or maybe even 5 or 6!

Nope.

We were planning our 2011 family reunion, and I realized-I am going to have a 2 year old and a five year old. I will have CHILDREN, not babies, people who can actually, you know, do some things FOR THEMSELVES.

And I love that thought.

I am not really a baby person. I hate being pregnant. I have depression that just loooves to feed off my hormones. We don’t desire to have a boy; Jason is perfectly happy with his two blue-eyed beauties.

I am excited to move out of that trying to have babies/having babies section of my life; to completely throw myself into the parenting my children part of my life.

Jason will be getting a vasectomy (or fixed, as I like to say) sometime in the near future.

Which led to this conversation:

‘So, when I get my thing done, will I still, you know, shoot out anything?’

‘Yes, you’ll still have semen, just not sperm. Did you think you would just shoot air?!?’

‘Well…’

‘Wait a second…can you not say vasectomy???’

‘No! No, no, no, no…it hurts just to say it.’

And that is why I am glad we don’t have a boy.

W.T., or Dubya Tee

2009-07-29T23:51:00.003-08:00

I went home to Kentucky last week.

Yes, I am a down home country girl, born and bred in the blue-grassland. But not the hat-wearing, julep-sipping east Kentucky. The mine-stripped, dying, backwoods west Kentucky.

The town I am from has one stop light. One convenience store that also serves as restaurant and tanning salon. A tiny post office, one lonely baseball diamond.

I attended the elementary school, but by the time my youngest sister was old enough to attend, the community had to close it down. The kids were bussed to a neighboring town.

My street…destitute is the only word to describe it. Our house was one passed down through my dad’s family, old and creaky, but large and solid. You couldn’t say the same for our neighbors. They were living in literal shacks: 3 small rooms made of flimsy wood covered in tar paper. Skinny, mangy dogs roamed the streets; skinny, dirty children did as well.

My parents kept us clean and fed and mannered. I know it wasn’t easy.

We moved to Canada when I was a teen, and the majority of my pre-adult years were spent in a pleasant, middle class suburb in lovely Alberta. I received a great education in a bright, cared-for, well-respected school. There was very little White Trash in my years succeeding that move.

But I always feared that White Trash is what I truly am. I would become the woman with the bleached hair and stale cigarette in a tar paper shack. I wondered if that was my true destiny, if it would one day catch up to me. If my heart and soul didn’t belong in rundown, beat-up western Kentucky.

My trip has assured me I have nothing to worry about. I am not that person.

Because that person isn’t about not having money, about living in a poorer part of town. What really makes someone White Trash is attitude.

Being racist. Telling my sister that you mourn her future hard life with her black boyfriend. Complaining about those adopted black cousins while they are in earshot.

Believing every email forward you get about President Obama being an Islamic non-American who burns flags and eats babies.

Holding grudges. Believing you are a better person than everyone around you, and never forgetting any mistakes they made.

Believing you are the absolute Right, and never entertaining the notion that you may not have all the answers.

I am not that person.

I may wear too much eye-liner. I may have only have clothes that are second-hand. I may make a joke that seems racy or off-center.

But I believe everyone is equal. That if you are going to preach respect for authority, that includes our awesome President, no matter what Rush Limbaugh says. That a mistake is in the past, and it forms who you are in the future. I don’t need to be asked four times in three days if my ‘wild steak is over.‘ Because if I hadn’t run off to Alaska and gotten knocked up, there would be no Violet Lynn, and consequently, no Carli Jay.

I am a left-wing, garage-rock-loving, Sunday School teaching, tattoo adoring, punk rock wannabe hippie, and I am proud.

I may be from a dinky little poor town in Kentucky, but it does not define me as White Trash.

Also, Kentucky makes my allergies act up.

BRB

2009-07-21T21:33:00.001-08:00

Going to family reuinion...first time I will have seen most of my relatives in over 5 years. Am excited. Have to finish packing and sleep...leaving in 7 hours. Maybe shower, too.

*sniff*

Yep. Definitely shower, too.

i let Jason cut my hair.

2009-07-11T19:44:00.005-08:00

gave him the scissors and let him go to town.

told him to just not touch my bangs.

he came up with this:

Sweetney, if you ever see this...it is a form a flattery? cause yours is so cool? and way more awesome than mine anyways? and i shouldn't worry, cause their is no way that you, awesome queen of the cool blogger world, would even see this anyways? but if you do, I LURVE you?

...

2009-07-10T19:41:00.002-08:00

sore.

tired.

5 month old is teething.

3 year old is an anarchist.

head hurts.

rainy days make my joints hurt.

surrendering my bed to offspring and sleeping tensely on 1/4 the amount i need makes muscles hurt.

as does constant rocking/holding of teething 5 month old.

eyes won't focus.

need to clean.

can't move.

need vacation.

or maybe just sleep.

and ibuprofen.

heat.

2009-07-04T17:30:00.003-08:00

It is thick, liquid, sensuous. Heavy. Saucy.

On the Gulf, it is a drier ocean heat, still stifling, but with more escape. Thirty miles inland, there is no way out. The air sits on you heavily, too overwhelmed to move about. It is walking through invisible fire.

It radiates up from the ground, steaming you like so many dumplings. It is tangible, visible in the distance as wavy, psychedelic tricks of the eye.

The saving grace of air conditioning and electric outdoor fans makes one wonder how anyone survived in this heat before electricity. You can understand women having the vapors when they are in this heat, wearing crinolines and petticoats and having only iced tea and rocking chairs to cool them. You wonder how anyone could survive without the crisp, bracing rush that happens when you step inside to a climate controlled room from the outside, where you can control nothing: the bugs, the dirt, the never-ending heat.

But there is something unnervingly sassy about this heat. Something strong, something that speaks of women farming their own food and caring for enormous households while insisting on grace and intelligence. It is impossible to be a wallflower in this heat; it demands you stand up and be noticed. It is not making the best of a situation, or merely existing; it is enveloping everything around it and taking it in, claiming it, squeezing it close.

It is its own entity, a personification that embodies a southern woman. The kind I wish I could be.

It is thick, liquid, sensuous. Heavy. Saucy.

well...

2009-06-27T19:53:00.002-08:00

'can we go to the beach, mom?'

'no, vi. it's night time.'

'well...it isn't windy!'

'can i have a cupcake?'

'i don't have any cupcakes.'

'well... i will just have a little one, then.'

'can i have a drink of your tea, mom?'

'just one, vi, it is almost bed time.'

'well...i will have only 2 then.'

and so on...this is my day.

beach bum.

2009-06-19T19:08:00.004-08:00

Violet was a dyed-in-the-wool Alaskan girl. She was born in mid-April, and it snowed on the way home from the hospital.

She traipsed in furry boots and ski coats and toques. She threw her first snowball before she was 2, she has hiked the Chugach Mountains and petted Iditarod sled dogs. She seemed impervious to cold, lamenting a jacket if the weather was above 60.

I wondered how she would do in the sweltering heat of Florida.

But as I look at her in jean cut-offs and a tank top, ridiculously golden brown, I think I had nothing to worry about.

She refuses shoes unless absolutely necessary; when she does wear them, they are flip-flops, in which she can run like the wind. She smells of sunscreen and sand and little girl sweat, of playgrounds and beaches and sunny, happy days.

She initially shied away from the ocean, but now wishes with all her heart to be a mermaid. She and her father will spend hours wading and floating; he is so patient with her as he gently teaches her to swim in the lovely Gulf. She digs holes for crabs and builds sand castles and fills up her watering can and waters the beach. She searches for stones and shells and whatever treasures the ocean brings her.

If allowed, she would spend every day, all day frolicking along the sugar beaches of this place.

My girl, she is a beach bum.

Violet, sunny self portrait

4 month post, oh, hey, look, it is late AGAIN

2009-06-16T19:50:00.002-08:00

I do love you, CJ, really. But the thing you have to learn about your mother is that she is a bit of a procrastinator when it comes to things that aren't staring her in the face. Like her blog.

You had your well-baby visit today. You are 25 inches long and 13 lbs, 11 oz. Which is about what your sister weighed at this age, but she had a couple of inches on you. I am afraid, darling, that you are going to be looking up to her for awhile.

You doctor was amazed at your muscle strength. You hold your head with nary a wiggle, you try to pull yourself up to sit. You scoot stupendously for a babe your age, and have quite the grip, my dear.

And you are still my bubbly girl. You already babble more than Vi did at 6 months, and you don't care if anyone is listening to you. But if they ARE, you reward them with your huge, open mouth grin. And if they get close enough to you, your growl slightly and attack their face with drooly, mouth-wide-open kisses.

As long as you are fed, you are content. You will hang out on a blanket on the floor, watching your sister or trying to roll over to your toy placed strategically juuuuust out of your reach. Or I will hold you up on your feet so you can dance, and you laugh and laugh and laugh.

We started feeding you brown rice cereal. It is a little early, yes, but it helps you will this slightly (very) gross spitting-up habit you have. Mama got tired of changing your clothes 6 times a day. You love LOVE the cereal. You chase the spoon, you laugh and wave and giggle, and get cereal from your ears to your toes. Sometimes (most times) I end up finding dried cereal in some nook about an hour later.

All in all, we find something new to love about you every day, whether it is your zombie tendencies or the faces you make to make Violet laugh. You are the ray of sunshine in our lives.

You have only been around 17 weeks or so, but we can't imagine life without you.

blerg is all i can manage.

2009-06-13T18:51:00.002-08:00

spent the week volunteering at a junior camp.

my feet look like they have leporsy from the bug bites.

my legs and back and neck ache.

i have an odd farmer's tan.

cj came back with a bug, and has only recently stopped puking.

violet was a camper.

i had no idea a child could be so filthy.

she was the youngest by 4 years.

she joined in nearly everything and had a blast.

I forgot how much i love to go to camp.

I am really psyched i went.

but i am now really psyched to be back in the land of air conditioning and street lamps and target.

and did i mention air conditioning?

Princess Face.

2009-06-06T08:11:00.003-08:00

So.

2009-06-02T19:04:00.002-08:00

Yeah. This weight loss thing. Still kicking my butt.

I know the blame belongs solely to me, and if I really wanted it bad enough, I would do it. I just haven't found the motivation. But I think I am making strides.

See, I had a reward program set up according to percentage of weight lost. But I keep justifying things. Like, if I don't exercise, maybe I'll just eat less later. But I don't, see. I just eat what I would anyways. Dumb, I know. But that is me.

So my new rewards program is according days worked out. Every day I go for a jog, I earn one day towards my prize. They won't be consecutive, but I am aiming for 3-5 times a week. 30 days gets me a new haircut (concave bob!); 60 is my second lobe piercing; 90 is for my conch piercing (a silver ball nestled into the bowl part of your ear.)

I am hoping this will help. Because it really doesn't have to do with my weight. Obviously, the weight will come off with exercise; but I mainly want health. I want to be 50 without diabetes and arthritis. Heck, I want to be 30 without those things. I want to be active for my kids, and when they (finally :) ) move out in 18 years, I want to enjoy my time with Jason. So I need to take steps now.

so, I guess we will see what happens in 30 jogging days.

compassion.

2009-06-01T20:17:00.004-08:00

I used to work for Children's Services. I was merely a clerk, but the unit I worked for saw every case that came through the department. I loved the people I worked with; we were a tight group of 6, and really believed in what we were doing.

The problem was that I had to see details of every horrible thing that came along. I was the assistant for 4 wonderful people that facilitated meetings that decided what direction the cases would take. We didn't make the decisions, just acted as mediators for the people involved in the case. Some wonderful things would happen: parents would clean up their act and, with the help of truly amazing community helpers, were reunited with their kids.

But sometimes, really awful things would happen to kids. We would have to hold emergency meetings to find places for kids who had been removed from horrific situations, find resources for these completely innocent kids who had been subjected tot he worst kinds of abuse. And, though we did a lot of good, I had to leave the unit. When a bad case would come through, I would be affected for days, weeks, not able to get them off my mind.

Today, 2 and a half years later, I stumbled across a story of a girl who was horrifically, ridiculously abused. I couldn't breathe. I turned off the computer, and tried to occupy my mind. Violet and CJ are at my mom's for a couple of days, I couldn't hold them and ease my soul, so I tried reading, watching TV, taking a bath with a new magazine. But I couldn't let it go.

So I went back to the story. I read it all the way through; the abuse was bad, some of the worst I have ever seen. But at the end, I read that the 'parents' are in jail, and will stay there. And though it may make me a bad person, I have to admit, I enjoyed reading that they have had to have transfers because they were getting it as bad as they gave.

But the best part, the part that has balmed my soul, was the people commenting. People as outraged as I am. People petitioning for proper burial for this poor baby who was tortured so. People making sure the 'parents' stay in jail for a long time.

I know that there are more good people than bad. I know that this world may have some hideous people in it, but that they are outnumbered by people willing to sacrifice and work to make sure that children don't have to grow up in a place where they cannot find happiness.

Thank you, general public. Thank you, good citizens, for doing what you can. For being outraged at bad behavior. For reminding me that for every bad person out there, there are hundreds of good people to make the world right. For proving that compassion is not dead, and we are not a culture of people immune to the suffering of others.

Baby Stretches

2009-05-31T17:00:00.002-08:00

Violet has decided we have to call her C. J.
Seems like a spunky name for the spunky girl.
Doesn't that baby belly just. KILL. YOU.

Also pictured: awesome purple nail polish.

Back and Forth

2009-05-29T19:44:00.005-08:00

Having 2 kids is tough.

It really, really is.

One of them is always hungry or tired or dirty or stinky or mad or hyper or puking or happy. There is a constant sucking of your life force as you make sure all their needs are met.

I remember thinking, before Carli was born, that life with one was cake. Sure, there were struggles, but overall, I was able to hold on to myself while still meeting all my kid's needs. Adding one more surely would be cake as well. After all, I had done it all before.

Ha!

Maybe it is because my last infant experience involved 9 hours of day care a day, due to me having to go back to work immediately. This one involves me being that 9 hours of daycare, as well as preschool to Violet. Cook and maid. Laundress and chief errand-runner.

I adore being a stay-at-home mom. This is my dream come true. And I am lucky in that Jason works nights...so we get him for a good chunk of time during the day, before he hits the sack at 2. Meaning I get to sleep a little longer than the girls, thereby taking sleep deprivation off the table. And he is very helpful, and very involved in the girl's days. I get to take Violet to the library without Carli, I get to have an extra hand when cleaning up.

But it does get frustrating. I can't understand why he can't multi-task like I am forced to when he is not available. Both the girls decide they need to scream as soon as he goes to bed. I can't vacuum or do laundry while he is asleep because the sounds would wake him up. And I have to stay up until he leaves, so he doesn't sleep through the alarm, or forget his lunch, or not take coffee.

This whole Family-of-Four thing is incredibly rewarding. I am blessed beyond belief, and there are times when both girls are on my lap, and Violet leans over to give her beloved sister a kiss, when my cup runneth over. I wouldn't change it for anything, and occasionally I think, let's add a few more!

Then I stop being crazy. Because, good heaven above, this is way more work than I ever imagined.

But so worth it.

Sleepytime.

2009-05-26T11:56:00.003-08:00

About nine o'clock every night, Carli starts to get fussy. This signals us to get ready for bed.

I get 2 diapers, a fresh bottle, and both girls; we head upstairs.

The first stop is the girl's room. Violet picks out her jammies...she insists on matching sets. No rainbow shirt with heart shorts...both pieces must match in order to avoid a tantrum. Carli gets a cotton, stretchy romper...usually the same brand every night, as we have only find two places that make them to fit my girls properly. Carli has followed her sister's lead in (thankfully) obtaining her father's tall, slightly gangly, thin, muscular body. Though well fed, the girl's have narrow hips and no butts to speak of. So it is hard to fit her into clothes that are made for babies who are generally shorter and rounder.

We change butts and climb into our jammies in the girl's room; however, we don't sleep there, as Jason is still trying to assemble Carli's crib, and the room currently contains a rickety crib, nails, screw, and tools. And Violet likes to explore when she should be sleeping.

Violet brushes her teeth while I get Carli into her swaddle...she will sleep without it, but not as soundly. I climb into my jammies, which definitely do not have to match, and rarely do. Violet finishes with her teeth, bangs her Diego brush on the sink twice, and puts it in the drawer. She then climbs up into the middle of my bed, beside her dad, who has been sleeping for about 7 hours at that point. Jason grunts and rolls over slightly.

I stick a Christmas movie into the PS3 (Violet demands Christmas and nothing else). I start the movie, grab Carli, and settle into the left side of the bed. I hold my second-born and feed her the final bottle of the night as my first-born lays on her father's chest, and chatters quietly about the movie.

After about 10 minutes, Carli loses suction on her bottle. She stares at my face under hooded eyes, and smiles lazily at me...dimples flashing and soy milk formula drizzling out of the corner of her mouth. I give her one last kiss and lay her in her bassinet.

Violet abandons her father, and curls up to me. She tries to stay awake, at least until the Jack-In-the-Box scene in Elf, before her head tilts towards the headboard, her mouth drops open, and her eyes close. She plays hard, so she sleeps hard as well...one can move her all over the bed without waking her; this is useful, as she thinks the whole bed is her territory.

I lay there with my girls, maybe reading, maybe watching the movie, until 10:15 comes. Then is time to wake Jason for work, to go make his lunch, to straighten the living room for the day and start the dishwasher. A few minutes of sleepy chat, then he is off to work the night away.

Then, the evening is mine. For cruising the Internet, for watching late night t.v., for reading the books Violet helps me pick out on our weekly library trip.

But more often than not, I head back up the stairs and pass out in between my lovely, sleepy girls.

This is why we call her Smiley Jay

2009-05-19T18:31:00.004-08:00

The (belated) 3 Month Post [see also Months 1 and ...okay, okay, I haven't done those and I truly stink at this keep-track-of-your-baby's-milestones]

2009-05-08T10:25:00.007-08:00

My precious, beautiful, sweet angel fairy of a girl.

God knew I needed a good baby.

Your sister can be a bit of a handful. Lovely and smart and wonderful, but stubborn and fiercely independent. But you even help with this...she loves to hug you and make you smile. She wants you, her 'baby stister', to be happy all the time.

And you usually comply.

You have laughed in your sleep from the time you were a few weeks old, your mouth wide open and dimples flashing. Now, you laugh even more when you are awake: when your poppie, my dad, blows on your belly; when your Auntie Mandie makes funny noises at you; when you see your baba, my mom. You are truly surrounded by people who love and dote on you, and you know it. Very rarely are you not wholy content.

And the sleeping...the sleeping through the night...oh my oh my, I never would have guessed. I spent the first year of your sister's life only having a full night's sleep a handful of times. But you, my angel...you go to sleep about 10:30, just as your dad is getting ready to leave for work, and you stay that way until 7 or so the next morning. I don't think you will realize how very grateful I am for that until you have a child of your own.

You have your issues, of course...there are times when you will only be held...mainly when I am trying to clean or cook...resulting in a slightly messy house and some really awful meals, meals that your dad will eat only until his hunger has been relieved, then push away. I wanted to cry the first time it happened, but now, it just makes us laugh.

But you are overall and so completely one of the best babies I have ever seen. You are so truly content and sweet, wanting only a smile or kiss to make you happy. I pray everyday that you keep this personality you have been blessed with.

As for your milestones...I have been taking things a lot easier with you. With your sister, I scoured websites and magazines and doctor's brochures to make sure she was on target (ok, to make sure she was advanced). With you...I am just letting you set your own pace. You hold up your head, and you look people in the eyes. You are trying to sit up on your own, and have rolled onto your belly 3 times...onto your side, many more, but you can't always figure out what to do with your arms. You have teeth buds above where your canines will be, and the infernal, incessant drooling has begun. Your favourite thing is to be held in a standing position, and you will stay like that until whoever you charmed into holding you cramps up. You jabber, especially just after you wake, and it starts off my day with insane happiness. And you have this look on your face all the time, this look that is part surprise, part happiness, and part pure, unaltered sweetness.

I adore you, baby girl.

my first bad comment! YAY!

2009-04-30T11:30:00.004-08:00

okay, okay, okay! this means someone I don't know is actually reading my blog! Validation!

seriously, I am a little too excited about this.

now i must dissect.

1. Calorie Free food is NOT food.
DUR! The point of no-cal or lo-cal coffee is so I CAN have oatmeal or a protein shake or bran flakes...something with a load of fiber and some protein thrown in.
2. Sugar-free sweetener is poison.
I use Splenda or Stevia...I am not pouring aspartame on my food here, people.
3. Processed foods are full of trans fats and chemical preservatives = more poison.
1 microwave pizza containing no trans fats? I think I'll be ok.
4. Microwaved food is stripped of its nutrients.
see above. also, the locally grown carrots and tomatoes we ate with it were not stripped of their nutrients.
5. Diet Coke = Aspartame = bigtime poison.
Diet Coke with Splenda=Splenda=haHAAAA!
6. Popcorn is genetically modified; I won't call it poison but I don't trust it either.
Seriously? you must have a ton of fun at the movies.
Summation: You are starving yourself to death, even while struggling to keep your weight down. This is the irony of the "SAD" (Standard American Diet). You get fat and malnourished at the same time. Eventually some virus or germ comes along and your body won't be able to fight it because your natural resistance will be depleted. The best thing you ate yesterday was the chocolate. - assuming you don't have diabetes (yet). I hope you feed your kids better than you feed yourself.

I SERIOUSLY doubt I am starving.

I take a multivitamin every day. If you look through our cupboards, you will find whole grain-high fiber bread. 100% Mango and Tangerine Juice. Organic, locally grown produce...apples and oranges and bananas, carrots and cabbage and squash and celery, at the moment. Nothing containing trans fats or high fructose corn syrup, even though that means my grocery shopping takes longer.

My daughter gets cookies and ice cream, and yes, even occasionally soda. Not every day, but i firmly believe a child deserves treats. But she is just as likely to ask for carrots or bananas. She eats gumbo and curry and stir fry and sushi and her favourite thing in the world is a burrito. How many 3 year old's have a palate that varied?

But as far as the whole tone of your comment, Miss(ter) Anonymous, I believe you may have missed an important point in my post.

The TITLE.

Yesterday, I FAILED at eating. The fact is some days, it is incredibly difficult to eat appropriately. I knew I made bad food decisions. But I made an oath to be honest about my journey here. And I will continue to be. Even when it includes *gasp!* microwave pizza.

TODAY IS FAIL.

2009-04-28T18:43:00.004-08:00

yes, well. um. I've been busy?

The past two days have conspired against me. first was the need for coffee yesterday, only there was no sugar free flavouring...and one can't drink coffee without that, right?

Then i was asked to speak talking to a 6th grade class about life in Alaska, got home an hour after our usual lunch time, and ended up splitting a microwave pizza with Violet (though that ended up being under 300 calories). And though I only ate one serving for dinner, I ate the other serving at midnight while feeding carli.

And today, well. crap. had the no calorie coffee today, but then it went downhill. actually, uphill in the sense that we were given (FREE!) a washer and dryer, downhill in the sense that i hadn't eaten by 1, so had a chocolate bar and a diet coke for lunch. then my perfectly healthy roast and farmer's market veggies turned out so horrific, it could only be consumed with gravy.

I did have light popcorn for snack, though!

erg.

I am living, luckily, with the Scarlett O'Hara motto: "Tomorra is anotha day..."

In the meantime, have a couple of adorable pictures.

256

2009-04-26T05:30:00.004-08:00

I like myself.

Really.

I do.

but...

see, it is not about how i look. frankly, i think i look pretty fab as i am. and my delightful husband loves me no matter what my size.

Right now, that size is 22.

I am a big girl; it runs in my family. As does flirting and laughing loud.

And diabetes. Arthritis. Heart Disease.

Already, my knees creak when it is going to rain. My shoulder becomes immobile if I hold Carli for too long in the same position. I have to have extra cushioning on my bed, because the extra weight puts too much pressure on my bones otherwise.

Since becoming a Stay at Home mom, my fitness has gone downhill. I get winded going up the stairs. I tire way to easily. I sweat (though delicately and in a lady-like fashion) WAY too much.

So I have been trying causually make changes. Slimfast, walks while pushing the double stroller.

But.

I have a weakness for leftovers, as in I will devour the entire amount of leftovers from last night along with my morning shake.

I talk myself out of the girls' daily walks...'oh, we are running low on time, we'll drive to the park this time.'

So I need accountability.

My hope, along with many others who have tried this method, is that by publishing my struggles, by being honest with what is going on under my (adorable) clothes, I will stay on a more straight path.

so...here we go.

April 27th, 2009
256 pounds

Bring on the diet and exercise.

10 weeks and 3 years, respectively

2009-04-22T06:29:00.000-08:00

Cave

2009-04-20T20:17:00.006-08:00

I fell in love with Carli before she was born. The same thing happened with Violet...love was there, was real, and when they finally exited my womb...it was home. It was warm. I know there is but one importance in my life - mothering these two girls.

But for days, weeks after she was born, I was fairly certain I had made a huge mistake.

I didn't know how to pay attention to Violet while I was feeding my newborn. I hated telling her I couldn't do something because her sister needed me more. And the crying...oh, the crying. Even with a good-natured baby like Carli, who giggles in her sleep and wakes up thrilled to see you...there is crying. There is middle-of-the-night screeching for a bottle, there is wailing for a wet diaper, there is caterwauling because she knocked her binky out of her mouth again. Violet had been talking for so long that I had forgotten how to deal with a child who can't communicate. And her crying turned into my sobbing in the middle of the night, begging Jason to wake up and hold her so I can sleep for 20 minutes.

I retreated to bed. Carli and I stayed in bed all day, leaving only to pee or grab a snack...though not often-my appetite was gone. I stared at the TV, I breastfed when Carli was hungry, I changed her diaper, then I fell asleep again. The two of us were averaging 20 hours a day.

Thank God, Jason was home on leave. He cared for Violet during my dark days, he made me take my meds. He asked me whether this was a leave-me-alone cry or a hold-me cry. Because I was crying between every nap.

Returning to my full dosage of meds helped, but only barely. I was still awash in a fog of sadness. After many many long, boring conversations about our options, Jason and I decided to wean off breastfeeding. The (imagined) guilt of taking meds while feeding my girl combined with the flood of hormones required to create the milk on top of the pressure of being the only person responsible for the well-being of my precious new cargo was crushing me.

I realize my choice is controversial. Many women actually experience a decrease in PPD while breastfeeding. Many women feel they cannot bond properly if they formula feed. I just know that this was the right choice for us.

But this is not about breastfeeding. This is about emerging from the cave of my PPD.

It was not immediate. There was a large measure of faking it till I made it. Everyday, I told myself I was a wonderful mother who knew what was best for my child(ren). Everyday, I told myself I was a good wife, that Jason hadn't made a mistake marrying me. And eventually I began to believe myself.

Today, I was on my way to the grocery store. Jason was home with the girls; his new job is a night job that allows us to see him during the days. I thought of how I had left them: Carli on her play mat, Jason and Violet on either side of her, trying to teach her to kick the toys. Carli was grinning, Jason and Vi laughing. And I realized I have everything I could ever want for. Our life is not perfect, and I make mistakes every single day. I won't be happy every day, and there will be times I will forget that moment of clarity.

But today, for about 15 minutes, I was deliriously happy.

Violet's Favourite Subject

2009-04-09T12:58:00.005-08:00

We had our wonderful Casio Exilim point and shoot for nearly 3 years when it stopped being dependable. It lasted far longer than expected -after having it less than a year, we took it to the beach, where it ended up caked with sand. Jason was able to clean it out, and though the power button never worked again, it was quite a fine little camera.

At Christmas, however, we had a hard time taking clear pictures, and finally resigned ourselves to buying a new camera. And instead of buying the made-for-toddler camera we were looking at, we handed the Exilim over to Violet.

We don't edit the pictures...we leave them exactly as she takes them. A little glimpse into the world as she sees it.

And as a proud big sister, she has a clear favourite when it comes to subjects.

A Baby and the Beach

2009-03-28T11:14:00.003-08:00

Carli Jay Hopkins.

Born February 6, 2009.

I KNOW. 7 WEEKS AGO. SHEESH.

She is gorgeous and smiley. She is happy and calm and everything that Violet wasn't in the first 7 weeks. Often I get to sleep for 5 hours at a time, and rarely do I not know why she is crying. She is lovely, and we are so very blessed.

Life has not been all roses, though. I had a serious dip in my depression, even while maintaining my med usage. There were at least 3 days in the first 2 weeks when I didn't leave my bed. I cried. I snuggled with Carli. I snuggled with Violet when she came into my room. Thank God, Jason was home with me; he watched Vi and gently coaxed me out of my hole. I finally broke out, thanks to him and switching to bottle feeding. I know not everyone will agree with me, but the only way i could bounce back was to rid my body of that hormone shift. Carli is doing very well on her formula, and is growing like a weed. And I am happy, and more importantly, out of bed.

We are now in Florida with my mom and dad. Jason has been offered a job here on the gulf, and it looks like Alaska will have to do without us. It is gorgeous here.

I'm back, baby.

PS: Vi loves being a big sister. No attempts on Carli's life yet. :)

Scenes From a Donut Shop, plus Is That A Whale In The Office Bathroom?

2009-01-16T11:04:00.005-09:00

It's a Family Thing...

2008-12-30T11:18:00.002-09:00

There have been some eerie coincidences between my mother’s and mine pregnancies. Our first children, daughters, were born when we were 23, our seconds to be born about three years later. Beautiful blue-eyed girls emerged after about 30 hours of labour; we both stopped dilating at about 6 cm, and didn’t progress until we received epidurals.

I am not sure if it is self fulfilling prophesy or some sort of weird genetics, but I will be prepared in case. *

See, my brother, the second-born, was due in Mid-February…like Carli is. He was a large baby, and measured ahead…like Carli does. And he tried to come in Mid-January, 4 weeks early.

Back then, in the mid-80’s, they stopped labour. He said, ‘All right, if you say so…’ and instead came 6 weeks later…2 full weeks after his due date. And GIANT. He had grown to nearly 10 pounds, with the shoulders of a linebacker; my mother had to have an emergency c-section.

So, last night, at 33 weeks and 2 days, I packed most of my hospital bag. I have clean sweatpants and tank tops for after-delivery, a change of clothes for my lovely husband, and Carli’s coming-home outfit. I have hotel bottles of shampoo and conditioner and lotion and mouthwash and body wash, saved from 1 night in a hotel fancy enough to have Bath and Body Works, not Pert Plus. (Mandarin Ginger! Yum!) I have my list of birth preferences, and my hospital pre-registration is ready to be dropped off. I am constantly running through my brain, trying to think of anything else I might need that the hospital won’t provide… feel free to leave a comment if you can think of anything…

Because, even though I am mentally prepared to be pregnant for 6 ½ more weeks…I am physically prepared to insist they let her come out when she darn well pleases. They see no issues with letting her come after she hits 36 weeks, and I am completely and utterly 100% no holds supportive of that…as is my ridiculously large stomach and my inability to sleep more than 3 hours straight…oh, 3 am, how I wish I did not know you…

So, hold tight for 2 more weeks and 4 days, darling Carli Jay. Once January 18th hits, you just come on out whenever you want. We’ll be ready for ya.

* The real test of these genetics will be in about nine months…when my mother conceived her third. We will be employing heavy amounts of birth control around November, that is for sure…

In Which I Go On About Christmas Far Too Long.

2008-12-19T12:41:00.002-09:00

December has always been one of my favourite months…Christmas was the big event of the year in our house, and though it was never dripping with extravagance, my mother infused the holiday with charm and love overflowing. We would start the traditions after Thanksgiving – putting up the tree while drinking boiled custard, then turning out the lights and sitting in the glow while my father told us the meaning behind the tree – and they continued throughout the month. We would spend days baking kifle and sugar cookies, buckeyes and peanut butter kisses. There would be holiday music or movies on constantly, and we would wear our Christmas-specific clothing until it fell apart.

Every part of our house was decorated…we even had a Santa toilet seat cover. Christmas dish towels and candles and rugs and knick-knacks replaced the everyday ones for the month of December. In any of the many houses we lived in during my childhood, you could walk in and feel warmth, welcoming. Ours was the house you wanted to come to after school and have a hot cocoa and a cookie, curl up on the big blue couch, and while away your afternoon.

I see now the work that must have gone into it all…my mother had four kids and a budget far below average. It must have been exhausting to not only shop, to find presents geared specifically for four vastly different personalities, but to spend your nights wrapping the gifts and hiding them after we went to bed. To find room in a meager grocery budget for butter and milk and eggs to make an abundance of Christmas treats. To make everyone in your extended family feel welcome and loved, and taking the time to fit them all into our schedule. To wake up at 5 am on Christmas morning, after very little sleep, and corral four highly over-excited children around a tree to open presents in a peaceable manner. And to do it all with a smile on your face.

I am striving to make Christmas the same for my daughter. I have fewer kids and more money than my mother, so it should be incredibly easy…but I am not sure I have the same amount of charismatic grace, the same imaginative ease that she does. She tells me it doesn’t come naturally, that it is something you strive towards. So I do. I bake cookies with Violet as she tries to eat the flour. We watch Rudolph and Santa and the Grinch, and the Nutcracker episode of the Wonderpets far too many times. We shop for presents for baby cousins and Salvation Army Angels and Daddy. We decorate wreaths and centerpieces and everything we can get our hands on; we spend hours playing with foamy stickers shaped liked penguins and polar bears and trees. We sing carols and talk about leaving cookies for Santa (he has requested snickerdoodles, apparently), and she wears her Santa T-shirt as soon as it comes out of the laundry.

And it all takes an effort. It requires having, “Tip-toe, Tip-toe, Tip-toe, Mouse King!” in your head at all hours. Burns on your fingers from hot glue guns. Countless trips to the mall to see Santa, without ever being brave enough to do more than wave. Spending more money and time than you anticipated trying to make sure you do everything you can to make the season memorable.

And then she lays in bed, before you shut her door for the night, and she says, ‘Thank you for watching Wudolph, Mama.’ She sings a wordless version of ‘Where are you, Christmas?’ from her beloved Grinch movie. She chatters about asking Santa for a watch and a purse and an umbrella, and how we are gonna bake more cookies the next day. She points out lights on houses as we pass by, and never, ever gets over the wonder of Christmas.

And it is all worth it.

A Kind of Feminism

2008-12-08T15:42:00.001-09:00

I am not perfect.

I cry way too often. Enough that I invest in waterproof mascara. Enough that my husband knows to ask, “Is this an alone-cry, or a need-a-hug cry?”

I lose my temper. Mainly with my husband, when I have to remind him of something for the 87th time, or when he leans toward pragmatic when I want romantic. Sometimes, with my daughter, after she throws a tantrum because I only let her watch 2 episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba; or, heaven forbid, I want to take her out to dinner before SHE is ready to go.

I don’t smile as often as I used to.

I have no head for numbers or space. I cannot add up the groceries in my head; I need a list. I will not be able to figure out if the couch will fit in a new space until I try it. I have NO concept of feet or inches, and have to think hard every time I buy diapers: is she a 4 or a 5?

I hate cleaning.

I am bossy.

I am entirely too judgmental when it comes to grammar and sentence structure.

These are a few of my faults. A small glimpse into the cracks that line my surface. I wish I didn’t have them; I wish I was ever-patient with my daughter and husband, that I could smile constantly and never cry.

But I cannot, because I am human. I am 100% woman, wife and mother. These cracks form the mosaic that is me, and though I will never stop trying to improve, trying to be a more awesome piece of work, I am proud of these cracks. I have earned them.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking I am perfect. I want her to grow up knowing I am a woman. I want her to know, most importantly, that she doesn’t need to be perfect to be a work of art.

Thanks.

2008-11-25T16:42:00.002-09:00

There are no 2 ways around it…2008 has been a rough year. As our lives get fuller and richer, more and varied things come your way.

But this. This is the first holiday season that I feel ready to enjoy since Violet was born.

The first year, I was dealing with undiagnosed Post Partum Depression, and last year, I was struggling with both that and some chronic health issues.

But this year.

I am happy. I am settled. I am content and balanced. And I am ready to give thanks.

I am thankful for my husband, who has seen me through the bad times, and made me laugh. Who can see the humour in a bad situation. Who was strong enough to hold me up when I lost a baby, and lean on me when our daughter went into surgery. Who smushes his face against my belly to wake up baby Carli, just to tell her he loves her.

I am thankful for my Carli, who gave me hope. Who came along at just the right time. Who entertains me on my commute home by dancing along to Christmas carols. Who is the second daughter I dreamed of.

I am thankful for my Violet, who teaches me how to be independent and strong. Who will get up in the morning, and decide that it is a good day to wear the ladybug costume to the grocery store. Who faced something horrific, but got over it and jumped back on the horse. Who is so smart, so sweet…who grabbed her dad’s face last night, studied it for a few seconds, then declared, “You so gorgeous.” Who is creative and lovely and everything you could ask for in a girl.

I am thankful for my mom, my sisters, my dad for calling me, for praying for me. For crying with me on the phone and sending cards stuffed with packets of stickers and candy and Tinkerbell stuff. For listening when I talk, and reaffirming my belief that my child, and, heck, my whole family, is just amazing.

And I am thankful for me. For being able to get back to stasis. For my quirks and my faults and my ability to bake a mean cupcake and sing all the words to the Buffy musical. For my body that carries a baby girl, for my brain that actually enjoys Yo Gabba Gabba, and my heart that loves those that surround it.

Happy Thanksgiving.

All About Vi.

2008-11-17T10:57:00.019-09:00

Violet is healing wonderfully. The surgeon is incredibly pleased with how well her skin has mended. The scars are already faint, and far from the first thing you see when you look at my lovely girl.

I have been so proud of her. She didn't mess with the wounds as they were healing, she hasn't expressed any anger or fear towards dogs, she has kept a wonderful, upbeat spirit and outlook through this whole thing.

Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers.

And now, some beautiful.

The first aid tape is over the place that went through her cheek. It still has a bit of healing to do, so we are leaving that one covered for now. The slightly red places on her nose, cheek, and under her eye are the other places where she was stitched. The red on her upper lip is ketchup. This was exactly 2 weeks after surgery. Behold, the amazing healing powers of a toddler.

the cutest pirate ev-ARRRR.

how vi frosts cupcakes.

bowling...her new favorite thing IN THE WORLD.

dressin' up.

see the identical, cheesy, 'ma is making us take ANOTHER picture' grins? like father, like daughter.

Why?

2008-11-11T21:04:00.002-09:00

Why do they put grippie on the bottom of infant socks?

Be Keffel.*

2008-11-06T12:49:00.002-09:00

So, we had a rough weekend, and I only feel now able to write about it.

(Forgive me, Ali, for not calling you about this before posting it. I can barely write it, and I know that your sympathy would make me crack again.)

Saturday night, after a great day of family bowling and cleaning and taking a nap, Violet and I were sitting in the living room, talking about what to make for dinner. We have been living at my in-laws for a while to save money for a house; my in-laws dog, Magic, a black lab, was at the end of the chair. Magic has been around since before Violet was born, and has known and been gentle with Vi her whole life.

Violet was chattering at me, and went to give Magic a hug...and Magic lunged at her face.

She bit my baby's face.

I had her off within milliseconds, and screamed for my husband. We went straight to the emergency room. Violet screamed for a few minutes, but Jason calmed her down. I sat in the back of the jeep by her car seat and we sang Jingle Bells all the way to the hospital.

By the time we got there, she was completely calm; Jason and I were holding it together. She wasn't gushing blood, just oozing, and we were back to a room within 15 minutes. The nurse helped clean off her face, and we could see the marks: a crescent moon under her eye, 2 marks on her nose, one on her upper cheek, and 2 near the bottom. They were already clotting, so they left them uncovered until the dr came in. In the meantime, Violet charmed the registration nurse out of some stickers, a paramedic into letting her play with her stethoscope, and a security guard into playing peek-a-boo.

The doc came in, and felt around her face...there seemed to be no nerve damaged, but one of the innocent-looking ones on her cheek had gone all the way through to her mouth. Which meant surgery.

The plastic surgeon was in a long surgery, so they sent us home to come back at 6 am. They put bandages over her wounds, gave her some antibiotics and Motrin, and away we went.

We didn't want her to freak out when she saw herself, so we kept her away from mirrors. But as I was putting on her beloved Yo Gabba Gabba Jammies, she took off, butt-naked, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. She looked at her face for a second...then started dancing like she always does. My little trooper.

Jason and I made room for her in our bed, and we watched an endless loop of Barney all night. We all got about 4 hours of sleep, then were up for a long day.

When we got there, we found out we had been bumped for a gang member who got shot in the hand. Truthfully, this made me very angry...MY baby didn't do anything wrong, she shouldn't have to wait for an idiot who got himself into a gunfight. But she colored and sang, got her IV like a hero, and before we knew it, we were off to the surgery area. There was a second of panic for her when the bed started moving, but the transporter got Jason up there with her, and they rode down the hall like it was a parade.

When we got to the waiting area, she was a bit frightened of the largeness of the room, but we played I Spy and talked about Christmas until the docs came to do a pre-surgery check. She answered their questions, and let them poke her, and gave them big smiles...they were soon in love with her, too.

They left, and I told her what was going to happen: soon, nurse would come and wheel her flying bed into a room, where they were going to put stickers on her chest and then she was going to take a nap while they fixed her.

They came and wheeled her away, and she chattered with the nurse about care bears as Jason and I bawled as soon as she couldn't see us anymore. But apparently my chat with her was good; as she got into the operating room, She took her pillow and the CareBears blanket my mom made for her ages ago, crawled over to the operating table, lay down, and went to sleep.

She was in surgery for about an hour. The surgeon said there was no nerve damage, and the bite missed her eye completely. He expects the scars to be minimal, maybe even not noticeable when she is grown.

She woke up in recovery moments after we got there, and crawled onto my lap. She asked for coffee, which made everyone around her laugh. Instead, she got ice chips, and fell asleep on my chest again.

She is doing fine now. The swelling is almost gone. She hasn't developed a fear of dogs, though Magic is in quarantine for 7 more days; I am not sure how she will react to her.

And Jason and I are doing ok. The horror of something hurting your baby...is not something I ever want to experience again. But I know now we can handle anything as a family.

And that I have the best daughter in the world.

*This is how Violet says 'careful'. We hear this A LOT now.

Today.

2008-11-04T09:53:00.002-09:00

Princess Nebraska had this quote on her blog today. I think that it is entriely relevant to today's proceedings, no matter your beliefs or leanings.

A belief that we are connected as one people. If there’s a child on the south side of Chicago who can’t read, that matters to me, even if it’s not my child. If there’s a senior citizen somewhere who can’t pay for her prescription and has to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it’s not my grandmother. If there’s an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties. It’s that fundamental belief — I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sisters’ keeper — that makes this country work. It’s what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. “E pluribus unum.” Out of many, one.

Yet even as we speak, there are those who are preparing to divide us, the spin masters and negative ad peddlers who embrace the politics of anything goes. Well, I say to them tonight, there’s not a liberal America and a conservative America — there’s the United States of America. There’s not a black America and white America and Latino America and Asian America; there’s the United States of America. The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an awesome God in the Blue States, and we don’t like federal agents poking around our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States and have gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq and patriots who supported it. We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the stars and stripes, all of us defending the United States of America.

In the end, that’s what this election is about. Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or a politics of hope? I’m not talking about blind optimism here — the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don’t talk about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. No, I’m talking about something more substantial. It’s the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a mill worker’s son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too.

The audacity of hope!

-Barack Obama, 2004 Democratic National Convention

Meandering Thoughts About Depression.

2008-10-31T13:28:00.001-08:00

Every time there is a woman going through depression, I am reminded of my struggle. I think there is some part of mental illness, even Post Partum Depression, that is like an addiction: you have to be aware of it for the rest of your life. It is always a part of you. And you can look back at parts of your life before the diagnoses and see glimpses of it then. It is completely enmeshed with your identity.

Jason can see parts of his addictive nature in everything…his obsession with our budget, his hunt for new foods to try, his tendency to take something and run with it to the extreme.

He can look back at his days as a carver in his early teens, his need for attention, his penchant for doing crazy things to get an adrenaline rush.

I look at my adolescence and remember feeling out of place. Out of my skin. Like I wasn’t really a part of the acceptable world. I constantly strove to make better grades, to be the smartest, since I wasn’t the prettiest or the most clever. I had to be the smart one. I constantly escaped into books and movies and a rich imagination. If I couldn’t be the best at something, like math or 4H or heck, even cleaning my room, I gave up. Sure, there was the standard parental pressure of the 80’s and 90’s on the oldest child to be successful, but my parents were generally supportive. And loved me unconditionally. Possibly even more than that, since they tried for 7 years before they had me. There was just something that misfired in my brain and told me I wasn’t good enough.

I didn’t realize this was an abnormal feeling until diagnosed with PPD. And my therapy sessions revealed that perhaps PPD was more of a trigger, that this clinical depression was lying dormant for MUCH longer. And it made SO much sense. And I was relieved.

But like I said, it is a lifelong struggle. Like Jason has moments when he craves meth so badly that he can taste it, I sometimes long to crawl into my bed and roll around in my sadness. I have to fight my natural instinct, to indulge in my misery, and instead embrace happiness. Not all the time, of course, but there are definite moments.

We both fight these urges, for our girl. She is the one who made us a family. Who forced us to be grown-ups, to pull ourselves up and make ourselves better. She is the light of our lives, and easily the best thing either of us has done. She is the reason I take the little white pill every day, the reason Jason says no.

And we watch. We look for little signs. Does her love for fast rides and daredevil tactics predict a life of searching for the next high? Does the shaking rage when she doesn’t get her way indicate a misfiring synapse? Did she get the wrong number in the Roulette wheel? I mean, she has a mother who is clinically depressed, a father who is a drug addict, she was born on Smoker’s New Year…Is there any hope?

Then I look at her. I watch her hug the dogs, and sing Jingle Bells (the Bing Crosby version), and tell me, “Good night, darling, I love you,” because darling is the term of endearment I use most for her. I hug her, hold her tight, tell her everyday she is beautiful and I love her. And I know that no matter what happens…we will be ok.

She will be ok.

Bring on the Peppermint!

2008-10-24T10:20:00.002-08:00

No Diabetes!

I was thrilled and surprised. After 3 weeks of being given the run-around and being stuck like a pin cushion, I can safely eat the truffles hidden in my desk.

Like most things, though, something good came out of this whole debacle: Jason was been cooking healthy food.

This may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but this is a man who insists grease is more beneficial than vitamins. Who had a 3 day argument with me over whether it was cruel to give our daughter soy milk. Who believes vegetables should be covered in Velveeta.

We have been making gradual changes for over a year…changing our breads and pastas to whole wheat…banishing high fructose corn syrup…trading products for organic versions (have you tried the all-natural Cheetos? NO ORANGE DUST = AWESOME.)

But this…

Jason didn’t know anything about diabetes when we were told I was a candidate. He did some research, and became TERRIFIED. (Dads should Google even less than moms.) He began to fear for the health of his wife and second daughter. He was an emotional mess.

So, he did what he does, what I love him for. He grabbed the freakin’ bull by the horns.

He researched and found Asian food was the best cuisine for people with sugar problems, and has incredible health benefits. He found the best types of veggies to use, the oyster and sesame and soy and chili sauces he would need. He invested in a wok and found the best way to use peanut oil.

He learned how to cook TOFU.

This is something we are continuing though the tests were negative. He has embraced this lifestyle, and we are running with it. Not to say we still won’t be indulging in the rich, caloric food Jason excels at. In fact, one of the benefits of the healthy food is the allowance to continue his Quest to Perfect All Desserts.

We have so much more energy. Our bodies feel less creaky and decrepit. And our girl, who refuses to eat with anything but chopsticks now, who devours tofu and broccoli and carrots, who eats more in one sitting of ‘Chinee Foot’ than she would in an entire day before, will reap the benefits as well.

So this bump turned out to be a ramp after all.

My Original Adorable Girl.

2008-10-10T15:43:00.005-08:00

or, 'Look what I found! '

When Vi was first born, we had this HORRIBLE digital camera we got for fifty dollars. New. But it enabled us to capture a few grainy moments in time with our beloved firstborn.

Then. The computer crashed. With all of my pictures.

I was crushed.

But through the magic of 'websites I uploaded photos to and then promptly forgot about', I have regained some of these lovelies.

Bask in the glory with me. You know you want to!

my violet in a basket

i can still feel her delightful infanty-ness in my arms when i look at this one.

ok, a little devilish. but still my lovely.

i am DYING of the cuteness.

plop. am now dead.

Bump.

2008-10-09T12:21:00.001-08:00

Baby Carli is a big girl.

While we were in the ultrasound last week, Jason kept commenting on how…squished she seemed. How she didn’t seem to have nearly as much room to move around as Violet did. We didn’t think much of it until the midwife said later, “Yeah, that’s a big baby.”

She is measuring at least 1 lb; they would have expected her to be just over half a pound.

So, I have spent this week trying to get tested for gestational diabetes. I have been to the midwives’ office every day this week, only to be thwarted. Monday is when she told me, but I didn’t have enough time to take the test that day. Tuesday, they were closed. Wednesday, I arrived too late to be tested. Finally, this morning at 7:30, they drew my blood.

The results won’t be back for a couple of days.

Really, in the scheme of things, this is a minor complication. Since our diet mainly consists of whole wheat pastas and lean meats, vegetables and organic snacks, I wouldn’t have to change much in the way of food. I have been getting the recommended daily exercise. I have been instinctively doing what the diabetes websites recommend, including protein in the morning and snacks every couple of hours.

I suppose, really, I shouldn’t be stressed about this. A few minor changes, like cutting out the toasted marshmallow lattes and the occasional peppermint ice cream, will rectify the situation.

Its just…another complication. This road to my girl has been rough. I thought, looking at her beautiful little self on the ultrasound monitor, that we were in for smooth sailing.

It could be nothing. The tests could come back negative.

Just another bump in the road.

The Bebe Ninja

2008-10-06T10:00:00.000-08:00

The day I found out your name, there was snow on the mountains. I could see the peaks covered as I drove to the appointment. Though you won’t grow up here, I like knowing that there was something majestic to see the day we met.

My Carli Jay.

My second princess.

Your father and I are both over the moon for you. We can’t wait to hold you, touch you, play with you, stare at you. Your big sister, who calls you Baby Carti, insists you come out NOW, although we really prefer you to stay in there and bake a bit longer.

You, second little girl, are the one we prayed for. Thank you for completing our family.

And once again, Aniticipation

2008-09-30T09:44:00.000-08:00

Thursday.

Thursday is when we find out the gender of my beautiful, hyper little ninja bebe.

I am ridiculously excited, don’t get me wrong; but I am not fraught about the gender, as I was when it was a bebe Violet in my belly.

I don’t know what I would prefer. There is part of me that would love a little boy, a little man to share that bond I hear so much about. A little Jason to give Mohawks to and to dress in little cargo pants. A little male I can teach to respect women and to do the right thing as often as humanly possible.

But there is the other part that adores mothering a girl. Who wants her daughter to have that connection I have with my sisters. Who has a thrill every morning when her daughter picks out her own crazy outfit and gallops around the house, half punk rock star, half fairy princess. Who is teaching her daughter manners and respect, but also how to stand up for herself and take guff from No One.

So, honestly, with every part of my being, I can say I have no preference. That I will be ecstatic no matter the outcome.

Because, for me, this ultrasound isn’t about whether bebe is a Carli or a David. It is about seeing my miracle, my child who I wanted to much, look like a baby. To see the little heart, the little organs, the little brain. To know all the parts are there, to know everything is fine.

I feel the movement. I feel the twirls, the surprisingly strong kicks to my kidneys and ovaries. I have heard the heartbeat, and have seen the bebe on the monitor 3 times. But that bebe, the one that looked like a bean, a gummy bear, an alien…that bebe is so small, so fragile. I have not been utterly convinced everything is ok. I know this is just my brain doing the anxiety thing it does best…but that doesn’t really make it any better.

I have been waiting for this day for 4 months. The day when I can meet my bebe, when I can spend a copious amount of time staring at odd images on a monitor and ask ridiculous questions about the bebe parts. When I can see for my own eyes that this bebe is not only alive and well, but also thriving and healthy.

Only 48 hours and 27 minutes to go.

Do your good deed for the day.

2008-09-19T09:54:00.004-08:00

Cass is donating $9.00 to Breast Cancer research for every comment left on her post.
I doubt any of us has not been affected in some way by breast cancer. My grandmother didn't find hers until it was too late.
Do your good deed and feel good knowing you helped just a little bit.

...Sweet Home

2008-09-18T11:52:00.003-08:00

It is part of our long term plan as a family to move to Florida. Not only to be near my parents, but also because we fell in love with Panama City during our wedding trip.

Most of the time, when I am envisioning our future there, I am going over the things I dislike about Alaska-the cold summers, the long winters, the bad drivers, the isolation.

Jennie asked me today if I would miss it.

I thought of the fall here. The leaves turn gold, and the red berries appear. The air is crisp, no matter if the sky is grey or blue. You layer on clothes because you refuse to take out a heavy coat just quite yet. The weather goes from a steel grey drizzle to a bright blue sky and back again in the span of a day.

I moved here in the fall. I spent my days walking through a patch of trees to get to my classes on campus. There is a smell of wet earth you get only here, a smell that is both putrid and delightful, as if you can smell the earth gaining nutrients. I learned what termination dust, the beginnings of snow on the peaks of the mountains, forebode. I breathed in cool, clean air.

I fell in love with Jason in the fall. We found out we were pregnant in August, and we decided to commit to each other, to find out if we were really the soulmates we suspected we were. We spent hours cooking together, walking together, riding the bus together. We explored each other’s hearts, and liked what we found. We curled up in my tiny apartment with very little real furniture and planned our futures.

Which involved the little babe inside me who was to become Violet. I also spent that fall falling in love with her. Walking through more trees on my way to work, singing to her, talking to her. I was never sure before her whether parenthood was right for me. But this girl, this spark, this little life, I knew this was my purpose. I knew my life was going to be devoted to her from then on.

And this fall. Where I am cozy in my fuzzy shoes and sweaters, planning for this new babe. Where I enjoy many conveniences and luxuries I never would have imagined those 3 falls ago. Where I can look at my husband and daughter proudly, knowing I am doing the best I can for them. Knowing that our hard work and smart living is beginning to pay off as we can see our future plans beginning to come true. This fall, where I take my daughter for walks down safe streets, and her health and vibrancy allows her to run ahead in search of the perfect rock. Where she can recognize the snow on top of her favourite mountain, where she can exclaim over the moose in the parking lot.

I don’t know if I will miss Alaska as an entity. Because all these little things – the stream where we took our first family photo, the park where Violet runs amuck, the sunrises I studied when I was in the throes of depression from my miscarriage – these are things I carry in my heart.

There's this girl I know...

2008-09-11T16:50:00.002-08:00

I met her when she started dating my close friend. Though we have found so many other connections in our lives, I have no idea how we missed each other.

This guy she started dating…he was a rock at a difficult time in my life. We met when we were both theatre students at University. He was cynical and smart, and also much more naturally sophisticated than the rest of us at that time.

He found out he was being deployed to Iraq – mere months before his Reserves service was up - within days of me finding out I was knocked up. We both had these huge, life-altering changes happening at the same time; most of the people around us handled us with kid gloves and operated in a state of shock. We didn’t have that luxury-we had to embrace our different situations. We both became bona fide Adults that year, and I know he helped me through that.

He is one of the few people that remember Violet’s first nickname was Worm. He bought her the Curious George books she knows by heart. He thought up reasons for me to get out of the house after my miscarriage. He is one of the most generous people I have ever known.

And he was single. FOREVER. No girl was right for him, and I was fine with that, because I had yet to meet the girl good enough for him.

But he found her on his own.

Now, I am hard to please when it comes to the significant others of those close to me. Both of my sisters and both of my best girl friends have been subjected to tirades about their men. It takes a near-miracle to get into my good graces if you are dating one of my people.

And there were times that I wasn’t sure of Blaze. Wesley is a special guy, one of the best out there. The kind of man I want my daughter to marry. It takes a certain kind of woman to live up to that.

The kind of woman who volunteers at the women’s shelter. The kind who begs to come over for dinner to fawn over your daughter. The kind who puts aside her own pain to help others.

Blaze has a heartbreaking story. Yet she shines with hope. That glimmer, that shine that you get from her words? That is her in real life.

22 Weeks and 5 Days To Go

2008-09-08T21:48:00.005-08:00

"Jason, will you take a pregnant belly picture?"

"Oh, wait, that one has a sweat stain. Take another one."

"No, no, that one looks like I am picking my nose! Take another one."

"Stop taking pictures of Violet and just shoot the dang picture already!"

"Ho-lee. That is one Stepford looking pose. I should have stuck with the sweatstains. I'll just post a picture of Violet."

Embarrassing thing I have eaten this week: Hmmm. Pretty normal stuff this week. Oh, wait, I know! Tortellini in red sauce covered in slaw.

Silly thing I have gotten angry over this week: About 95% of the drivers in Anchorage.

Thing that made me cry this week: My darling, lovely incomparable Miss Ali moved to Montana this week. I know she had to go, but I am one teary mama.

Names we have ‘settled’ on this week: David Carl and Carli Dawn are still the biggies on the table, though Eden and Alison have been tossed around.

Thing that made erupt with laughter this week: ok, so i was making a sandwich with ranch dressing on it, while talking to Jason about our relationship...he was apparently more into it that I was...He said, "well...I love you." and i, thinking of my sandwich to dressing ratio, said, "That isn't enough..." I looked up, and he was STUNNED...when i realized what happened, I so very nearly peed myself with laughter. We were CRYING with mirth.

What is going on with Violet: A frightening obsession with NiHao Kailan. And insisting that new bebe stay in mama's belly FOREVER.

What is going on with the Bebe: Heartbeat of 145, which is what Violet was at nearly the whole time. Stealthy ninja baby swims away very fast, so we didn't get to hear the heartbeat very long. But bebe DID kick Jason's hand last night. Bebe kicks his hand, I STOMP all over his HEART. :)

Pickin' the Bones

2008-09-05T08:47:00.008-08:00

‘We speak now of half-baked Alaska. Having been there, I know its residents are loving people. It's just that to them higher education is learning how to get their pants on over their skis. Even the major cities of Juneau and Fairbanks don't do dinner parties. Know why? Because folks can't spell RSVP. Kill me, beat me, I will never mention the Alaskan grandmother who went on the pill because she didn't want more grandchildren.’ -Cindy Adams, the New York Post

Whoa.

I won’t (today) go into my view of politics (besides to say that even if you adore Sarah Palin, JOHN MCCAIN would still be president. Many people around here seem to forget that.) But this Alaska thing has been irritating me.

It is very cool that this woman who pulled herself up to this position came from our state. It is awesome that she is representative of the average working mom. It is amazing that things like this, to go from the PTA to the potential White House can happen, DO happen in Alaska. I am proud to be from a place where that can happen.

But I would like to point out to the national media and the people in the Lower 48 watching it: we are not all rednecks.

We do not all sit in bars, wearing beer t-shirts and Carrharts, watching Governor Sarah on the Magic Box as she gives a speech.

We do not all carry guns and shoot moose, to then make it into stew to take to the hockey game with us.

We do not all have grizzly beards and wear flannel as we pan for gold, as our dog sled sits idly by.

I came to the University here because at the time, they had a cutting-edge, hands on theatre program. There are 3 community theatre companies that have their own houses, and countless troupes that work out of rented spaces.

We host an international conference every year, where hundreds of playwrights come to workshop new plays, make new connections, and show their work, whether it is on a main stage, a workroom, or the fringe festival.

We have the most coffee houses per capita in the nation, most of them serving locally roasted coffee that makes your mouth water. Even the gruffest sourdough can be found most days with a latte or mocha in his hand.

In order to catch the annual performance of The Nutcracker, (yes, the BALLET) you have to reserve your tickets months in advance. Nearly everyone in town has been at least once. You may see more jeans and fleece than couture and Manolos, but these people will accept you no matter how you are dressed.

Every café or coffee house you go into is plastered with art created by locals. I don’t go a week without an invitation to a new gallery showing. The weekly street market teems with street performers, and even our panhandlers have a witty side.

And we do have dinner parties. Maybe we are all dressed in jeans instead of cocktail dresses, but the food is exceptional, the discussions intellectual, and the games crazy fun. Our thanksgiving potluck last year included a geologist who is now working on a Geoclimate program at Brown University, a writer who spent a year in Iraq in the reserves, an activist for women’s rights, a fisheries biologist, a nurse who is putting herself through school despite working full time and being a single mom, and a women who works to provide healthcare to children in foster care. And I believe all of them could spell RSVP.

Life is too short to...

2008-09-04T14:50:00.002-08:00

meme'd from Jennie of She Likes Purple, who has the best, most beautiful thoughts. mine simply pale in comparison.

…not watch Spongebob with your daughter.
…take your husband’s love for granted.
…not make that wonton recipe.
…eat food that is not delicious.
…give up sweet tea.
…live in a place you don’t love.
…pass up an opportunity to move to the beach.
…use below-par moisturizer.
…dwell on the mistakes instead of the triumphs.
…worry about your butt in a bathing suit.
…not say ‘I love you,’ Every. Single. Day.
…stop cleaning to give your husband a hug.
…not enjoy grocery shopping.
…to waste one day wearing something you don’t love.
…pretend you care about something you don’t give a fig about. (FOOTBALL. I do not even try to stay awake anymore.)
…not use a sick day to spend time with your daughter.
…not recycle. Seriously, people.
…not cry during a chick flick.
…be too careful with love to have your heart broken.
…make plans you will never keep.
…spend time with people you don’t love.
…not stare at the pretty orchid (mountain, sky, grass, tree) for a while.
…not take that delicious nap.

24 weeks and 5 days to go.

2008-08-25T11:47:00.005-08:00

Embarrassing thing I have eaten this week: A cheese and potato sandwich on wonder bread and slathered with ranch dressing.

Silly thing I have gotten angry over this week: Jason cleaning the house while I rested on the couch. I KNOW. I KNOW.

Thing that made me cry this week: Ash’s comment on my last post. Thanks, dearie.

Names we have ‘settled’ on this week: David Carl and Carli Dawn. (Carl is my dad’s name, David is Jason’s dad’s name, and Dawn is my little sister’s middle name.)

Thing that made erupt with laughter this week: Violet referring to every pink pig at the State Fair as ‘Wilbur’.

What is going on with Violet: First ever haircut! (minus the time she got her finger stuck and we had to cut a chunk!) and a Brand! New! Tricycle!

What is going on with the Bebe: After worrying for, oh, ages that I couldn’t feel the bebe moving yet, I tortured the heck out of my uterus. And it pushed back! A little angrily, I might add. Maybe I should chill and wait for bebe to make their own appearance.

a pedestal made of rubble

2008-08-21T11:43:00.002-08:00

If you met my husband at a party, you would be pulled in by his charm. He may sing some karaoke, Johnny Cash or Neil Diamond. He may pull out his mid-90’s dance moves to make you laugh.

If you came to our house for dinner, he would make you something fabulous, like standing rib roast or meatloaf on savory French toast. He would engage you in a Wii competition or try to beat you at a round of charades.

If you ran into him at the park, you would see him pushing his daughter on the swings, chasing bubbles with her, racing her down the slide. He might stop and ask about your child, pet your dog, chat about the weather.

You would never assume he is a recovering addict.

He grew up in a small Midwestern town, where he started smoking by age 9. He comes from a long line of alcoholics, and wasn’t even in kindergarten when he had his first drink of beer.

When I was in middle school, I went shopping, played flute in band, obsessed over Rider Strong. Jason was drinking and smoking pot. He became a carver; he still bears the scars on his shoulders, his feet, a thick, 6 inch line across his thigh. His most obvious scar is the foot long, raised, red slash along his left forearm. He will tell you he was in a car accident, he was burned on a grill; in fact, this is what is left of his arm after plastic surgery to remove the evidence of carving.

I am not sure when Crystal Meth entered the picture. I do know that he went to rehab and it didn’t work. I know that he lived under an overpass for a time. I know that his supervisor at work encouraged it so he could work the 12 hour shifts. I know that each stint of sobriety was short-lived. That he started his last round of using while he was in school to become a drug counselor.

His crash came at a point when he was doing 2 eight balls at a time. His heart stopped. Meth officially killed him. He was dead for 8 minutes, I believe.

The amount of drugs they found on him was enough to put him away for intent to distribute. He told them he only intended to distribute to his own body, but he was still put in prison. This is where he got sober.

He lived a low key life for a while after that. He moved into the basement of a family who were to become his best friends. He took a low-pressure job as a karaoke DJ, and spent his days playing video games and helping to raise his friend’s 3 kids.

In December 2004, 4 years after his last downward spiral, he moved to Anchorage to start a new life. I met him 5 months later, and we have been together ever since.

The addiction will never leave his life. There are times when he is hit with a craving, simply out of nowhere. His memory is severely affected by the drug use; he would not be able to tell you what he had for dinner yesterday. He retains important bits of information by repetition. We have been blessed in that the important things are easy for him to remember…Violet’s birthday is 4/20, she weighed 7lb, 11 oz. Anything else, I am the gatekeeper for.

He will spend the rest of his life as a recovering addict, and it will keep from things…jobs, international travel, the full trust of his relatives, who are always waiting for that descent.

But to me…he is amazing. Strong. Powerful. Gentle, charismatic, funny. He takes responsibility for his mistakes, he has made a new life.

He is my hero.

umm....

2008-08-20T11:09:00.002-08:00

so. Jason got the Sims 2 for his computer. and for mine. so...um...sorry about the no posting!!!! I am building houses for imaginary computer people!!! Be back soon!!!!

I am also working on pretty intense post with my friend, Blaze...hopefully, it will be up soon.

Ok, Thanks! Have to go redecorate my imaginary house now! Bye!

The 100th Post

2008-08-13T11:49:00.005-08:00

I have spent more than a week thinking about this post. I wanted to do something important, something that spoke to me.

Not the flu i had last week. Not the surprise birthday party in the park for Jason's 30th that got rained out. Not the current battle of baby names in the household. And definielty not another rant about the TERRORS of pregnancy.

What speaks to me? What is the best thing I can give?

This.

This is my heart. My love.

My reason for everything.

She gave my life a purpose I never expected. She gives me joy everyday.

My heart lifts everytime I see her. I am so incredibly lucky that I get to spend my life loving this girl.

Cause for Celebration

2008-08-04T10:54:00.002-08:00

It has been just over 8 weeks since I found out I was pregnant again.

THAT was a harrowing day.

We had gone to the grocery store, which I usually love. Yes, I know, weird, but Jason and I love to cook together; we walk through the store and I listen as he dreams up new things. Violet rides in the cart with a plastic car attached or runs just ahead of us, her little arms moving back and forth, her little feet never stopping. She gets adoring looks from other shoppers; she rarely, if ever, has a tantrum. Instead, she just exudes excitement over being in the store. We pick out produce and exclaim over ice cream. She gets a treat. (Not ALWAYS candy…last time, she picked out a toothbrush. I know, weird kid. )

But this time, 8 weeks ago, I hated it. I was irate through the store. I felt the walls closing in on me. I didn’t feel well, and I was completely irritated.

We got home and were unloading the groceries, when Violet hit her head on the door. More accurately, stepped in to the door I had just let go to close. She fell to the ground and started sobbing. I snatched her up and started sobbing. Jason came upstairs to find us sitting in the living room, bawling our eyes out.

He calmed Violet down, but no such luck with me. I finally went to the bathroom, and was struck with the inspiration to use the last pregnancy test in the bathroom. (Yes, there are usually pregnancy tests in my bathroom. When you get surprisingly knocked up once, you get pretty obsessive about knowing the status of your uterus.)

I wasn’t even late yet. My period was due to start the next day, so I was pretty skeptical. But low and behold, by the time I was washing my hands, there were two pink lines. I stopped breathing for a minute, then screamed, “JASON!”

I can’t remember his reaction. I only remember starting to hyperventilate and gag. Then I went into the living room, where he has sprayed air freshener, and gagged for real. I made it out to the porch before I threw up. I was bawling and gasping, a real hot mess.

I never expected to react that way. The two previous times I have gotten positive tests, I was immediately filled with joy. This time, I was overtaken with fear.

It had only been 3 months since I lost Max. I didn’t know how I could go through it again. I didn’t trust that God wasn’t going to take this one.

The first two weeks, I was constantly waiting for another miscarriage to happen. I was not fit for human company. Once I got past the 6 week mark, where I had lost Max, I started to breathe a little easier. We started having tentative discussions about names. I started to look apprehensively at baby gear. I still didn’t take it for granted, didn’t really believe that it was going to happen this time. My ill-fitting pants and burgeoning tummy were saying that all was going well, but my bruised heart was telling me not get attached.

According to my pregnancy calendar, yesterday I entered the second trimester. I am really starting to believe there is going to be a new bebe in my arms come February.

You know what? I think that is a stir of joy I am feeling.

Jill

2008-08-01T23:37:00.003-08:00

I remember the first time I saw Jill.

It was my first week at the University of Alaska Anchorage, and I was attending a theatre major's meeting. The department was small, perhaps only 30 dedicated Theatre majors, which was one of the reasons I chose the school. I was so painfully aware of my shyness at that meeting, sure I was sticking out like a sore thumb. I could be confident and calm in so many other situations, but these were the people I wanted to respect and whose respect i wanted to earn. I was insanely nervous.

Jill was sitting a few rows ahead of me, stroking the hair of her then-boyfriend. Something about her made me want to watch her, made my eye go back to her as I tried to focus on the speeches.

I didn't see her again until the first audition of the year. I was waiting patiently for what seemed like hours, chewing my nails and trying to focus on a British accent that I can only pull off when I am pretending to be a tourist in Walmart. (WAY off topic, but Jason can only sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer with a British accent. Remind me to tell you that story.) Anyways, Jill breezed in, wearing a skirt and heels, was lauded by the director, cold read a beautiful audition, and breezed out.

I was enchanted and terrified.

She was the most natural actor I had ever seen in real life. She had grace and charm, with a dash of skittishness. I once told my Acting TA that I could watch her peel a banana, then probably give her a rousing ovation.

4 months later, I worked backstage on a show she stage-managed. We hit it off. We ran for Theatre club officer together, we skipped Stagecraft together, we laughed, we applauded each other's successes. She directed me in the last show I did before dropping out due to my pregnancy, and was actually once of the first people who knew I was all knocked up.

I was astounded and amazed she thought me to be her equal.

She is tall and fair-skinned, naturally blonde, but also a killer redhead, and smart. Effortlessly cool because she thinks she's not, and sarcastic in the way that you wish you could be.

She has had a bit of a rough year, and now finds herself a single, successful woman who is finding her way through life.

She just started writing a blog. She is more honest and eloquent than I could hope to be. Check her out. I think you'll like her.

Blogging the Recession...

2008-08-01T08:50:00.007-08:00

from Motherhood Uncensored...

"The premise is simple. If you read blogs, then for the month of August, make the "pledge" to click through from your feed reader. No obligation to leave a hilarious comment or send a long stalkerish email (although both, within reason, are always lovely). Just click through and if you're feeling generous, click around.
Just those extra page views can make a big difference for bloggers who could really use the help, or in my case, where page views don't matter so much, a big fat ego boost. "

This year has been tough for me. The miscarriage, lots of sickness, my mom's cancer scare, and not being able to be near my family for some pretty major events...well, this has been a tough year.

I love the idea of just giving a little ego boost to those around you. And sometimes, just knowing people are out there reading your words can be enough.

Let's support each other. Let's blog the heck outta this recession.

BOOK IT. *

2008-07-29T11:19:00.007-08:00

Totally stolen from She Likes Purple.

DISCLAIMER: Um...Looks like I did read a lot of these. But...in my defense...I started reading at age 3, went to High School in Canada (where the required reading list is DAUNTING) and...well...I am a big dork.

Key1) Bold the books you have already read
2) Italicize the books you intend to read
3) Personally added: Notes in parentheses next to note-worthy titles.

***********************

1) Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
2) The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien (Um, sorry in advance, but can we say WORDY?)
3) Jane Eyre by Charlotte (DELICIOUS.)
4) Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling (sadly, sadly addicted.)
5) To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (would like to name my child Scout, but Demi and Bruce STOLE IT FROM ME YEARS BEFORE I WAS OF CHILD BEARING AGE.)
6) The Bible
7) Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
8) Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell (ADORE Orwell.)
9) His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman
10) Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
11) Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (My favourite book from the time I was 7 until I discovered A Tree Grows in Brooklyn at 21.)
12) Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
13) Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
14) Complete Works of Shakespeare (Not my fault. Theatre major.)
15) Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier
16) The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien
17) Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks
18) Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger (Though it makes me think of “The Good Girl” more than the book…)
19) The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger (Slow going at first, then I adored it…)
20) Middlemarch by George Eliot
21) Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell (actually…embarrassingly…I am obsessed with the book and movie…I collect Gone with the Wind memorabilia…)
22) The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
23) Bleak House by Charles Dickens
24) War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
25) The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams (My ex was obsessed…)
26) Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
27) Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28) Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck (um...I didn't like this. Sorry. The Turtle chapters got to me.)
29) Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
30) The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
31) Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (Oprah made me do it. And, I gotta say…BORING.)
32) David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
33) Chronicles of Narnia by CS Lewis (ALL of them)
34) Emma by Jane Austen
35) Persuasion by Jane Austen
36) The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by CS Lewis (One of the books I read to Violet in my Belly.)
37) The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
38) Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres
39) Memories of a Geisha by Arthur Golden (So heart-breaking.)
40) Winnie the Pooh by AA Milne (I think this would be good to read with Vi to the New Bebe in my Belly.)
41) Animal Farm by George Orwell (one of my favourites of all time…)
42) The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown (Angels and Demons was better.)
43) One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44) A Prayer for Owen Meaney by John Irving
45) The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
46) Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery
47) Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
48) The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood (I read the Robber Bride and Alias Grace a whole bunch of times...that should count...)
49) Lord of the Flies by William Golding ( DESPISE this book. The first time I ever hated something that was required reading)
50) Atonement by Ian McEwan
51) Life of Pi by Yann Martel
52) Dune by Frank Herbert (Jason makes me watch the RIDICULOUSLY LONG MOVIE, I should totally get credit for that.)
53) Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons
54) Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
55) A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth
56) The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57) A Tale Of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
58) Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (Read in conjuction with 1984, not for credit. JUST BECAUSE.)
59) The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
60) Love In The Time Of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61) Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (The only reason I don’t despise Stienbeck)
62) Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (creepy, dude. CREEPY.)
63) The Secret History by Donna Tartt
64) The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
65) Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (BORING.)
66) On The Road by Jack Kerouac
67) Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy
68) Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding (This made the list? Seriously?)
69) Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
70) Moby Dick by Herman Melville
71) Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens ( one of the first books I ever bawled through. I read when I was 8)
72) Dracula by Bram Stoker
73) The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
74) Notes From A Small Island by Bill Bryson
75) Ulysses by James Joyce (Strangley enough, I was inspired to read this by George Clooney.)
76) The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (Dude, I was angsty, and I even thought this was DEPRESSING. Well-written, but DEPRESSING.)
77) Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome
78) Germinal by Emile Zola
79) Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
80) Possession by AS Byatt
81) A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens (LOVE LOVE LOVE.)
82) Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell
83) The Color Purple by Alice Walker (CRY CRY CRY)
84) The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
85) Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert (Um, I tried. Nope.)
86) A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
87) Charlotte's Web by EB White (I have been thinking of reading this with violet...but it seems kind of...morbid.)
88) The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom
89) Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Read when I was 10. Liked Encyclopedia Brown better.)
90) The Faraway Tree Collection by Enid Blyton
91) Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
92) The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93) The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks
94) Watership Down by Richard Adams
95) A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
96) A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute
97) The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas (Aramis, my heart be still.)
98) Hamlet by William Shakespeare (The Taming of the Shrew is better.)
99) Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
100) Les Miserables by Victor Hugo

so...50 out of 100. Not bad, I suppose. I am surprised, I always feel so less well-read than everyone else around me.

*Anyone remember this program from elementary school? You read so many books and they gave you a free personal pan pizza coupon form Pizza Hut? I was drowning in personal pan pizza coupons....

One of the ways having a daughter brightens my day...

2008-07-28T22:26:00.008-08:00

how can you be grumpy after watching this?

By the way, my ma does not have cancer! Thanks for all the well wishes and prayers.

She has been diagnosed with something called Histiocytosis, though we don't know the extent yet. Any info any of you have is more than welcome.

I spent 2 weeks on edge, waiting to hear the results, but holding it together. When I found out, I cried, got a fever, then slept all afternoon. Then I got up, picked a fight with Jason, cried some more, then fell asleep again. Apparently, I handle a crisis well, but after the crisis is over, WATCH OUT, HERE COMES THE CRAZY. Luckily, the next morning I was back to normal.

Ma and I have a close bond...actually, the four women in my immediate family are all very close. Ma is the matriarch, I am the crazy one, Mandie is reliable and hilarious, Bethany is a bit of a diva but also very big-hearted. I speak to one or more of them at least twice a week, despite the 3,000 mile gap between us. I want to think of this as a natural bond; but the more I see of other women and the women they are related to...the more I think we must be unnatural. It is not the norm for four highly-charged and passionate women to be so close.

We do all work to stay close, to stay involved in each other lives. But we are very lucky to have a mother who encouraged and fostered our friendships.

Though I will love my bebe-in-baking no matter the gender, I am hoping for another girl. I want my daughter to have the built-in support system I have been blessed with.

cherish her.

2008-07-24T23:26:00.004-08:00

A woman on Oprah, victim of horrific abuse, made a comment about always knowing she would leave a man for hitting her, but that she didn't realize that by that time it was too late.

I live in a state with some of the highest rates of crime against woman in the country. I know too many women who have been abused. I know women who have been nearly killed, who have been strangled while pregnant, who have permanent scars from the men in their lives.

Why? I wish I knew. I wish I could take every ounce of domestic violence away. I wish my daughter didn't have to grow up in a world where this is so commonplace. How am I supposed to protect her? How do I teach her to know which partner will truly love her, and which one will shred her dignity, her mind, her body?

It seems to start off so minutely. Just these little jabs, this slow pecking away of self esteem, imperceptible to the naked eye. Snide comments about looks, intelligence, talent, common sense, housekeeping habits, anything. Slowly escalating to outright insults, name calling, blatant condescension.

He makes you feel as though you have brought it on yourself. He is a manipulator who makes you think it is all your fault. He makes you feel that everything that goes wrong in his life is at your hands.

I know this firsthand. I was in the place where I was made to feel low. I was made to believe I was nothing and deserved worse. I literally lost all of myself, and thought there was nothing in me worth loving.

I was lucky. When he threw the shoe at my head, I ended it. I was able to go to my parents. I was able to get out.

It was a long recovery. I didn't date for a year, trying to find myself. Through friends, family, faith, and soul searching, I had regained most of my former self by the time I met my gorgeous and loving husband.

But I know so many who are not so lucky. Girls who believe the man who could do this to them could really love them. (they can't.) Who believe they will get better on their own. (they won't.) And who truly think that they are at least partially to blame. (they aren't.)

I want so much for them. I want to give them strength and power. I want to give them a place to go. I want to take away the hurt and restore the confidence. I want them to be the people I know they were before.

I want them to be healed so I can have hope for my daughter's future. I can only instill so much in her, I can only go so far.

At some point, I will have to let her go and let her fly.

I am terrified by this thought. Chilled to the bone.

My dirty little secret.

2008-07-24T12:01:00.002-08:00

I hate pregnancy.

Not something you expect to hear from someone who yearned for another child. Nor from any mother, really. We are conditioned to believe that pregnancy is magical and we glow and rainbows shoot out of our butts.

And it is magical. Let me just say up front that I am Astounded (capital on purpose) by the things my body does to sustain this life. I am so very grateful to be nourishing my next child, to be the haven where the bebe develops.

But I am tired of this process I have barely begun.

There is no glow. There is SWEAT. Because even if you feel like you are chilly, you are sweating through the ‘clinical strength’ deodorant and the cami you have to wear to keep your belly from hanging out and the shirt over that and the sweater you wrap around yourself, cause gosh darn it, it is CHILLY. And it SMELLS.

The thick, lustrous hair is a lie. It just looks thicker because of the knots between the layers. That is not shine, that is grease.

Clear skin? HA! My bacne and zit on my NECK (WHAT?!?!) mock that notion.

You notice I waddle? That is because the hormones are loosening my limbs for my hyperactive bebe to expand its living quarters and knocking my hips out of place.

That knowing little smile? Just means that you should move out of the path to the toilet because I am about to hurl.

I am tired of being unable to get comfortable. Of getting up in the middle of the night to pee. Of not being able to eat anything. Of wanting to vomit at the most inopportune moments. Of losing my patience. Of being worn out. Of taking half doses of my anti-depressants, and worrying that the little bit I am taking will forever damage my child.

I am jealous of women who do this effortlessly, who can breeze through pregnancy like a little blip in the road. My body looks like it should be built for babies, but it takes pregnancy hard. I wonder why I seem to struggle so much through something that is a natural event that millions of women endure. I feel like I am not the strong woman I know I am.

I want coffee and sushi and midol.

But more than that, I want my baby. I want my daughter’s sibling. I want to kiss it and love it and know that it is ok and not worry that the heartbeat stopped or I did something wrong I never knew about and there will be no more baby.

This growing babies business is tough.

*I mean no disrespect to those women who are having a hard time getting pregnant. I AM grateful for this pregnancy, and I KNOW how lucky I am. Just a vent, ladies!

The Grumps.

2008-07-22T15:41:00.002-08:00

I feel like crap. I can barely keep anything down, my back aches, my hips ache, I am tired. I think I need to get my wisdom teeth yanked soon, and I want nothing more than a cup of coffee and a handful of ibuprofen. But instead of whining, how about listing some things I am grateful for?

A February due date. I love that my next child is going to share my birth month. Valentine’s day is my second most favorite holiday, and I have visions of heart-themed birthday parties.
Reaching the 10 week mark. Making my way out of the single digits was cause for celebration.
A husband who makes geeky smart jokes and just assumes I know what he is talking about.
Even if I don’t.
A daughter who can not only tell me when she has an ear infection (“I have owie in my eaw, Mama.”), but also does not scream at the doctor trying to make her feel better.
A daughter who has never given me a hard time about taking medicine. At this point, I just hand her the squirter and she gives it to herself.
A Monday afternoon on the couch, watching Spongebob with my girl.
A husband who doesn’t make a mess when he pees. I never knew what a problem that was till reading truemomconfessions.
Two best friends willing to do anything to make this time easier for me, whether it is cleaning my house or letting me sleep on their shoulder, or yelling at my hubby for not pampering me.
Rainy days. I love them, I really do.
My ma who makes me laugh. And my sisters who do the same thing. No matter what is going on with them…like my mother’s current screenings for cancer, or my sister’s car accident, or my other sister’s complications from a tonsillectomy…we are those people who laugh through grief.
Soda. You make my tummy happy, though you also make me fart.
My life. My wonderful baby, my one on the way, my fabulous husband, my girls, my family, my everything. And also, lying on the couch all night while Jason does all the housework.

just some thoughts.

2008-07-16T14:11:00.003-08:00

There cotton floating through the air.

I believe it is the traveling seed of a tree here, maybe a cottonwood? When it is time for pollination and growth, it frees itself from its home and dances away.

It does not seem to rest. It falls in a floaty, lazy way toward the ground, then is caught by a slight upwards currant and goes racing back to the sky. It circles around you as you walk, surrounding you like so many fairies.

And just when you think it has come to rest - on the ground, on a bench, on a car - the slightest breeze comes along, more gentle than you or I would even notice. It is off again.

Days like this, when the sky is gray, the workload is high, and my focus is gone, I long to be one of those pieces of cotton.

Whaaa...? O, yeah, I haz a blog.

2008-07-02T14:38:00.003-08:00

oops.

been a long time, eh?

*sheepish grin*

Sorry about that!!!

Some news with me:

Violet goes in the potty for M&M's. When we told daycare she was ready to start using the big girl potty, we were informed she had been 'doing that for awhile'. Apparently, she figured we could wipe her bum till we thought of an appropriate bribe.

It is sunny and above 60 degrees for the Third! Day! In! A! Row! Which means it will rain all over us at the parade on Friday.

I am glad to say I missed the whole Fussy/Fussypants blog fiasco. I am no longer in middle school, so it would have given me a headache to participate.

I think that is it. except, OH YEAH! I am all knocked up. :O

I found out 3 1/2 weeks ago, and immediately vomited. Then had a nervous breakdown. Trying to carry another child shortly after losing one to miscarriage is difficult, harrowing. I never expected that. I was a complete and utter wreck for a little over 2 weeks. I could not bring myself to announce till just now. But I have seen the sac. Next week I will see the heartbeat. I have gotten past the stage I was at when I lost Max.

I am due on Valentine's Day. Keep me in you prayers.

Daddy

2008-06-16T09:40:00.001-08:00

I had no idea what kind of father Jason would be.

I knew he was a man who conquered an addiction to meth and alcohol.

I knew he was a man who traveled from the small town in Iowa where he has always lived to Alaska, for the sole purpose of improving his life.

I knew he was a man who was charming and funny, sarcastic and adorable.

I didn’t know he would cry when our daughter was born.

I didn’t know he would change as many diapers as I have.

I didn’t know he would let me sleep in on the weekend, and take care of the
baby all by himself.

I didn’t know he would stay by my side through nearly a year of postpartum craziness.

I didn’t know he would dote on Violet’s every action.

I didn’t know he would allow himself to be wrapped around her finger.

I didn’t know he would be as upset about shots as she was.

I didn’t know he would dance around the living room in princess dress-up with her.

I didn’t know he would teach her the alphabet song.

I didn’t know he would become such an amazing father.

I love you, Jason dear. Happy Father’s Day.

Sweet Morning

2008-06-12T08:44:00.001-08:00

We are housesitting for my in-laws this week. On top of a gigantic house with a gigantic plasma tv, there are also 2 dogs and Kittyco.
(Kittyco went to live with grandma when the Evil Landlord declared pets were EVIIIIIL.)
Magic, dog number 1, is a female lab mix; a super playful 10 year-old puppy with bad paws and a gentle demeanor.
Chewy, dog number 2, is some kind of small husky type mix thing, a male; a bit crotchety and whiny, also 10 years old, and a complete attention hog.
In the mornings, Violet like to maintain a running conversation with the dogs while I am getting her ready.

I thought you might like a sample.

“Chiaw, Chewy!” (Chill, Chewy.)

“Magi saw siwwie!!” (Magic is so silly.)

“Chewy, no go ouwsigh!” (Please stay in the house, Chewy dear.)

“Magi gif kisses!!” (mother, Magic is showering me with affection.)

“Chewy, eat breffist!!” (Chewy, please eat your breakfast.”

“Magi likes breffist!” (Magic seems to be enjoying her morning kibble.)

“Mama, Chewy up furiture to giff kiss!” (Mother, darling, Chewy climbed up on the couch, the furniture, if you will, to give me a delightful kiss.)

“Kikco, I wuv YOU!!!” (Kittyco, I love you!!!)

Then she kisses both dogs (Magic she grabs the side of her face and plants one on her nose; Chewy gets a more sedate peck on the neck), waves goodbye to Kittyco, and heads off to Daycare.

Jen

2008-06-02T09:22:00.003-08:00

I met Jen when we were placed together in student housing at the University of Alaska Anchorage.

Our other two roomates were athletes: one was the gymnastics co-captain, the other was the freshman cross-country star. Jen and I were decidedly un-athletic, and though all 4 of us got along, we two forged a friendship that has has lasted years.

She was in the audience at every performance I gave. I was there with ice cream when Dave left for Seattle. She and I scored the two highest grades in our American History class (aced!), despite skipping quite a few classes.

And she was there when I had to drop out of school to provide for an unexpected pregnancy. I was there to load boxes and move furniture when she finally left her ex. She was there when I found out I had PPD. I was one of the first who knew her son had a hole in his heart.

She has been around longer than my husband has. She knows my moods and understands the swings. She is brilliant and hilarious and crazy and silly and ambitious and fun and I am so very proud of her.

Happy 25th, Jen, my Gweinveire vanAlvinslavin. Here's to the next quarter century together.

selective hearing

2008-05-28T08:33:00.003-08:00

'Violet, pick up your toys, please.'

'Huh?'

'Pick up your toys, please.'

'Huh?'

'I know you heard me. Please pick up your toys.'

'Huh?'

'Violet, I know you can hear me, I know you can understand me. Please pick up your toys!'

'Huh?'

Pause.

'Want a cookie?'

'COOKIE!'

Things I Love About Me.

2008-05-13T15:38:00.001-08:00

•I have never made it through anything by Franz Kafka. Therefore, I have no idea what ‘Kafkaesque’ means.
•I cannot stand angsty teen music.
•I love female singer-songwriters. With the exception of Beck, this is the only kind of music I buy. My last few cd’s were Jenny Lewis, Alanis, Ryan Adams (who is merely a female singer-songwriter with a penis.)
•Sometimes this includes country music.
•I love to read glurge.
•LOLcats Crack. Me. Up.
•Sometimes I sleep in an extra 20 minutes cause that sleep is more important to me than showering.
•We watch Hannah Montana.
•I adore designer imposter sunglasses.
•I run any scented product by Jason before I buy it. I have 1 perfume (Very Irresistible by Givenchy) that we both approve of.
•All my other products smell like fruit: pomegranate body spray, body wash, and lotion; tangerine shampoo; coconut conditioner. My aim is to smell like a tropical fruit salad.
•I nearly always claim it when I fart.
•I cannot stand Alaskan winters, but the summers almost make it worthwhile.
•I hate camping.
•I abhor fishing.
•Shopping is my favourite sport.
•I love my husband for not caring about the ball game.
•I really and truly believe my daughter is the most beautiful creature on the planet.

Now and then, I get insecure*

2008-05-12T16:44:00.006-08:00

A friend told me I looked fabulous today. I shrugged it off.

Of course I don’t look fabulous.

I am fat.

I am not, ‘oh, hai, I am a size 14 and can still shop in the regular ladies’ section’ fat; I am a bona fide size 20 with more than 1 chin. I am legitimately plus size.

But wait.

I am lovely. I am wearing white and denim with silver touches today, and feeling quite boho. My hair is pinned up and styled in my favorite punk-meets-secretary updo. My eye makeup skills get better with age, and my lip gloss is Sephora. My skin has an olive undertone, and despite some stray hairs courtesy of my Gypsy ancestry, is quite clear, and, well, glowing.

I accessorize religiously. I shop for clothes like an Indiana Jones expedition. I embrace colour and style, and gigantic shiny earrings. I am usually the best dressed person in a room, as I pride myself on finding the perfect outfit for every occasion. But I always have that little tiny SIZE ISSUE in the back of my mind.

I have come a long way in the past year, as far as accepting my size, and loving myself. I eat healthy foods, I maintain a level of activity, I take my vitamins, and I love my body for being healthy.

But just today did I realize I could love it for being fabulous.

It doesn’t matter what size I am. I don’t have to shrug off compliments. I don’t have to wonder if the men who hit on me are chubby chasers. I don’t have to feel I am cheating Jason out of a thin, gorgeous wife. He has a zaftig, gorgeous wife.

I AM fabulous, thanks very much.

*From "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilerra.

Donna

2008-05-09T08:58:00.001-08:00

My Mother…she is an amazing person.

There were four of us growing up. Now, with only one child, I wonder how she did it…how she managed to make us all feel like individuals, how we never felt lost in the crowd. Each of us was so different, and she managed to encourage that, help it grow. She didn’t put us all in matching outfits, even for Easter or family portraits. Even with their meager salary, she made sure we all got presents unique to ourselves; we were all allowed to pursue our different interests. And when you have one theatre kid, one football kid, one cheerleading kid, and one EVERYTHING kid…that can be a lot of events.

Every opening night I had, I got flowers. The first play I did after moving to Alaska, my ma mourned not being able to see it. When I decided to quit teaching kindergarten to go back to school for the ever-useful theatre degree, she supported me. When I had to drop out and work full time due to an unexpected pregnancy, she sent me maternity clothes and called me nearly every day.

When I had been in labour for hours on end, with a cervix that got to six centimeters and said, “hey, this looks like a nice place to stop,” she called me from the airport in the midst of the 20 hour trip to be by my side and said, “hey, I know you wanted to do this naturally, but babe, you need to get an epidural,” resulting in the most wonderful feeling of my entire life…RELIEF FROM FRICKIN’ CONTRACTIONS. And oh, yeah, the eventual birth of my glorious daughter.

Months before that, when they told me I had a high chance of cervical cancer and was being labeled a high-risk pregnancy, she cried with me across 3,000 miles of phone line. When the chance dwindled to nothing, she again cried with me, only this time with relief.

And only a few months ago, when I was on my way to the hospital, she calmed me down and told me she loved me. And then, hours later, when I called to tell her Max was gone, she cried with me again…she gave me the words of comfort that help me to this day: we don’t know the reasons why he was taken, but God does. This may seem a bit simple and trite to some of you, but it made me able to do the only thing that got me through: say, “Ok, God, he is in your hands now. You better take care of him.”

She is my comfort. When I am having a rough time, I imagine being enveloped in her hug. I remember sitting in her bed, watching the Food Network. I feel her hand on my head, caressing my hair. I smell her mix of Victoria’s Secret lotion and vanilla perfume. I hear her giggle – not the one she does politely, but the one where she cannot contain herself, and her eyes get big and her mouth gets tiny, and then she snorts. I inherited that laugh. I inherited her thighs, her arms, her chin, her shapely ankles, her smile, her sense of humor (fart jokes NEVER get old), her love of books, her compassion, her toes, her Gypsy heritage, her belief in eyeliner, her ears, her nose, her entertaining gene, and her ability to flirt her way into getting what you need.

Everyday, I look in the mirror and see more of her. And I am thankful.

Weird.

2008-05-05T16:10:00.002-08:00

My baby sister graduates from high school this week.

I wish I could be there. If there was any way to beg, borrow, or steal the money to get down to Florida for the event, I would take it. But the worst part of living in Alaska is the horrendous flight prices during tourist season.

Bethany is a diva, a cheerleader, a singer, and has been homeschooled for the past year. Any gift suggestions?

what do you mean, diva must run in the family?

guffaw.

2008-05-02T09:30:00.002-08:00

There have been a couple of points in my life when I have lost the laughter.

I don’t notice it. Like most things Depression related, you kind of assume everything is as it always was. I laughed on the inside a lot…didn’t people know that?

Last night, as on most Thursdays, the incomparable Miss Ali came over to watch The Funniest Show Ever Made. I cannot for the life of me remember the exact moment…maybe it was when Stanley said “Did I stutter?!?!”, maybe it was the stick figure anti-smoking commercial, maybe it was something, anything Ali said…but I laughed. Loud. Unstoppably.

Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed if not for Ali looking at me with an utter sense of relief on her face. My biggest worrier, my staunchest supporter…she was waiting, hoping for the laugh to come back.

It came back. I am holding on to it dearly.

Maxing Out

2008-04-25T15:27:00.001-08:00

It is no secret that I have been taking my miscarriage hard. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Max. I guess I never really thought it would happen to me. I made one healthy baby with almost no effort on my part, why should another be in any way difficult?

I have been sleeping a lot. I have been yelling a lot. Mostly at Jason, because Violet is my beautiful baby, what if she is the only one I ever have, I cannot stand to see her sad, don’t make me discipline her! In fact, about the only time during the day I come close to happiness is the time between getting home from work and putting her to bed. She is the only thing that can make me laugh.

Everything is hard. I have put on make-up once this week, which is unheard of in my world. The last 10 years, I have not left the house without at least eyeliner. There is a pile of clean clothes on my bedroom floor that I lackadaisically sort through to find something, anything to wear as I drag myself through the day.

But I didn’t notice. Maybe I chose not to notice. A lot of women have miscarriages, and they can totally handle it, right? They can manage to get through their life without falling apart and bawling twice a day and having panic seize your chest because, look, there is a pirate and I wanted to decorate Max’s room with pirates, or, hey, this sounds like JLo and didn’t she just have a son named Max, and hey, it is Thursday, and I would be 13 weeks along now, and here come the tears.

But my lovely Jason pointed out that, hey, dude, I already had a chemical imbalance. I am still a victim of Post Partum Depression, and y’know what? This JUST MIGHT be affecting that.

And, gracious, lady, my body just went through a pregnancy. Albeit a short and unsatisfying pregnancy, but one nonetheless. And there are all these hormones flying around my system that need some help to get back to normal. That there are some physical side effects that go along with this grief of losing a child that I never even got to kiss.

I spoke to my doctor and upped my dosage of antidepressants. Sure, this is not the direction I hoped to be going a year after starting them, but by golly, I sure can focus a lot better.

It still hurts. I am still crying as I write this. But it is getting a little easier.

A Violet Celebration

2008-04-24T09:56:00.004-08:00

Tada! I am 2.

Banana Chocolate Cake with Peanut Butter Frosting.

She only ate the frosting.

Hayden devoured it, though.

Clean-up time. This was definitely one of her favourite presents; even though she greatly enjoyed tossing every item of clothing she got all over grandma's living room. She also got a box full of princess costumes from Aunt Mandie and Uncle Kendall, which she later put on. EVERY PIECE. all at once.

(In our defense, she loves to vacuum. She helps when her father does it. I rarely clean. She also has toy trucks. I swear, we are not sexist.)

I cannot believe my little girl is 2. The last 2 years have flown by, angel child. I love you utterly and cannot imagine a life without you. You really are my sunshine, you make every day special for me. I am so proud to be your mama.

The only thing I have to say about this.

2008-04-18T14:56:00.002-08:00

I just found out about this story. (She actually faked the whole thing.)

But what I have to say is this. Taking herbs to force your body to eliminate a pregnancy is not a miscarriage. Not even close.

A miscarriage is what happens when you discovered you were pregnant, thought about your future child, bonded with it even, and then had that stripped away. It is what happens to you afterwards, the guilt and the pain and the mourning.

By even calling what she pretended to do a miscarraige is insulting.

So much more than pink.

2008-04-16T09:17:00.002-08:00

An extremely talented blogger whose posts I am addicted to wrote today about her friend having a baby girl. As she expressed her own desire to have a baby boy, I was struck by how different people are meant to have different genders.

Jenny Jenny Jen Jen, my best friend, has a wonderful son. He is bright and energetic and smiley, and all covered in boyness. She adores and dotes on him, and when I see how close they are as mother and son, I get a tiny craving for one of my own.

But my daughter…she is the craziest adventure I have ever been on.

When you find out you are having a girl, the first thought that comes to mind is the dresses…ALL THE PRETTY DRESSES!!!...and the hairbows and the ballet slippers, and omigoodnessgracious did you see those polka dot tights and I want to paint big flowers on her walls and call her princess and the pink HOLY CRAP I WANT TO DROWN IN PINK!!!!

There is so much more than that, though.

There is the first moment you realize she can stand up for herself, and you have a surge of pride, and a quell of hopefulness that maybe, just maybe, she will keep that through her life, and never have to deal with the abuse so many women do.

There is that moment when she grabs your make-up brush and uses it correctly and you realize she has been watching you, every minute, and wanting to be just like her mama.

And the moment when she exhibits that streak of independence, and you know that when the time comes, she will be able to take care of herself.

And the dancing. I love LOVE the dancing…

This girl…she is the light of my life. I have no doubt that I was meant to mother a daughter. The intricacies of womanhood, the adventures and power that come from your sheer femaleness…there are so many things I can’t wait to teach her.

My girl…she is amazing.

Apparently, Alaska didn't get the "Spring is here" memo.

2008-04-09T09:13:00.002-08:00

http://www.adn.com/news/alaska/story/370261.html

yup. snow. a LOT of it. and no school or business closures.

i mean, c'mon, if you are going to dump crazy snow all over my April, at least make sure it is enough to get me a day off.

A Black Tuesday.

2008-04-08T11:30:00.000-08:00

A very nice man in my office had a son a little over a week ago. They brought him into the office today to meet everyone. He is sweet and tiny.

And he is not mine.

I try to keep a brave face on the outside, I coo and tickle with the best of ‘em. But I also mourn. I mourn my baby boy that I will never hold.

I mourn the ultrasound I was supposed to have last week. I mourn the double stroller we had picked out. I mourn the maternity jeans I had already bought.

I mourn all the milestones I was supposed to have with my Max. His first smile, his first giggle, his first poo, even. Would he have been a ham from the start like Violet was, or would he have been more subdued? Would he have wanted to snuggle constantly, or would he have demanded his own space? Were his eyes blue like mine, or hazel like Jason’s? Was his hair gypsy dark like his mama’s, or was he meant to be another blonde baby?

I know all things happen for a reason. I know there is a reason Max couldn’t stay with us. There has to be. I have to believe that.

But sometimes that doesn’t cushion the hurt. Sometimes I have to feel the pain. I miss my baby boy that I never got to hold.

Just Cuz.

2008-04-06T22:32:00.009-08:00

Sorry, Mr. Kitty Fantastico. She just loves you SO much...

I know Easter dinner requires ham, but this is a little much...

This is March? This is ridiculous.

These last 3 are from a trip to the park on an unusually warm spring day.

As in 45 Degrees.

We thought it was downright balmy.

Fever...in the morning, Fever all through the night.

2008-04-03T13:55:00.006-08:00

Violet started rasping sometime early last week. She normally has a roughish sort of voice (roughish for a toddler; we are not talking Kathleen Turner), but this was reaching Janis Joplin-like proportions. We went to the doctor, but they said there were no antibiotics we could give her; the virus was there, but it had to run its course on its own.

Her first year, Vi was on antibiotics about once a month. She was prone to painful ear infections, as well as respitory colds. Largely, this is because she was in daycare from the time she was 6 weeks old. [I interject here to say: No, I did not dump my baby in a child care center so I could play career-woman. Keep your judgements away from me. We were poor and struggling and rather than let my daughter starve or let her live on the street, we opted for food, shelter, and daycare.] [yes, I have had to defend my decision, why do you ask?]

When she was about 5 months old, her regular doctor was unavailable, so we saw one of her associates. This associate was apparently not prepared for the wiggling, and scratched her eardrum while checking it out. She didn’t tell us, she just let us find out when Vi turned her head and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHE IS BLEEDING FROM HER EAR. This closely rivaled the time when she took a medicine that, when combined with the iron in her formula, turned her poo blood red and smelling of iron so we thought FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHE IS BLEEDING INTERNALLY for Scariest Moment In My Life So Far.

So, she is quite used to feeling sick. She normally powers through it with barely a change in her routine, maybe a slight fever that keeps her out of daycare, but usually nothing contagious. She still eats and plays and laughs and mischief-makes.

On Sunday, though, when her fever reached pinnacle, she was a different girl. She lay on me, watching HGTV, for hours; she even drifted off a bit. Vi hasn’t taken a nap with me in 8 months. She never let Purple Care Bear go, and barely said a word all afternoon. She only wanted to get some love-radiation from her mama.

I have written before about a recaptured memory of my mother, of sitting on the couch in my pajamas, watching tv and smelling of fabric softener. I wonder if Vi will recapture this weekend when she gets older. Will she remember feeling safe with Mama? Will she recall the scent of coconut in my hair, or the comfort of my arms around her? Will she recall the truth that she is My Daughter, the bonding we have as it is driven home that she is my responsibility, my life, my offspring, and I am willing to do anything for her?

She is better now, by the way. Back to school, demanding Blue’s Clues, and emptying every drawer in her dresser. I love it.

Sweet flower, I love*

2008-03-20T10:52:00.002-08:00

Violet loves her pink striped tights. She wears them with her big snow boots. And usually a well-worn t-shirt.

That is the clearest picture I can paint of my daughter.

She is a princess who insists on having her toenails painted when I am doing mine. She plays with barrettes and tries to make my hair pretty. She loves a pretty dress and a flouncy skirt, and insists on choosing her own clothes. Hairstyles don’t last very long with her, because she spends so much time reaching up to feel how pretty she is.

But she jumps from the furniture. She wrestles with her father. She loves nothing more than spinning in the desk chair or being thrown in the air. She can throw a ball farther than you would think, with a shout of “Datch!” She has a toy truck she loves to ram into the entertainment stand, and headbangs to her father’s music.

She carries around a doll while she plays on her “electric guitar”. She loves to help her father do the dishes and cook; she chases the cat around the house and tackles him with a hug.

She can smack fairly hard, and bites like a champ. But her kisses are the sweetest thing you can imagine, and her hugs could initiate world peace.

She has these enormous violet-blue eyes, and a pointy little chin; a dimple high on her left cheekbone, and curling dark blonde hair. Strangers cannot resist saying hi to her, smiling at her, and she blows them a kiss and makes their day.

She says, “I love you, Mama,” and always thanks you. She knows you have to say please to get something, and is obsessed with her toothbrush. She roars like a lion, and is the cutest baby elephant you have ever seen. She cannot pass up a dog, no matter the size, and is very good about letting us ask the owner if she can pet it. She runs around like a madman and sleeps with a purple Care Bear.

My daughter is a vision of opposites. She is named for not only two strong and brave women, but also a flower that is both beautiful and hardy. She is the adventurer, the charmer, the puppy, and the princess all rolled into one gorgeous package. I am so lucky to be her mother.

*From "The Yellow Violet" by William Cullen Bryant.

Doing OK.

2008-03-13T19:36:00.004-08:00

Writing about my miscarriage is not something I am sure about yet. First of all, there are so many wonderful people I know in the blogiverse who are either pregnant or trying, and the last thing I would want to so is scare them, to discourage them for the most beautiful thing that could ever happen to them. Second, I am not really sure how to express what I am feeling correctly.

Know that I am not angry. Know that I am quite sad, because this was a child I lost. I lost my son. I may not have had much time to bond with him, but he was mine, and I love him. But also know that I have a beautiful daughter that gives me a giant hug when things are really bad. Like just now, when she climbed over my desk chair to get to me.

Maybe someday I will write about it. Maybe someday it will make sense. But for now, this is what I focus on.

Max

2008-03-12T00:40:00.002-08:00

We have had the name Max picked out for our son since I was pregnant with Violet. When I found out that both Christina Aguilera and Jennifer Lopez named their sons Max, though, I was having second thoughts. We debated names from Gunner to Wyatt to Dean, all with keeping Max at the forefront of our minds.

Saturday night, I had a dream. I saw my son, and he looked at me. "Don't worry, Ma," he said. "And my name is Max."

And so his name is Max.

I had a miscarriage Tuesday morning.

Max is in your hands now, God. Take care of him for me.