Yesterday was Son1's birthday. He is sixteen. SIXTEEN. There is so much I could say about this, but I don't think I can put much of it into words.
So instead I will share a poem about him. I actually remember writing it on the eve of his first birthday:
You
Boy
Blue
Beautiful
Were birthed
In ice
Heat
In pain
Pain
You emerged
With my scream
And echoed it
Before your toes touched air
He really did cry before he was all the way out. And really, that is just so him. In fact, I look back on so much about him as a little person, and I can see how his personality was there even then.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
A Metaphor of Sorts, Maybe Mixed
Yesterday was a hard day. Exhausting. Son1's biology class started yesterday, a full week before his other classes. A parent was required to attend the first hour of the three-hour class, and that meant Herman had to go too.That was the beginning of Herman's hard day, in which he was dragged from pillar to post, as my mother would have said. To biology class. To Costco. To the doctor for shots. And then in the evening back up to school with all his brothers for a lengthy orientation. And finally...home for bed.
Late last night after the Herms was asleep, I sat out on the front steps with the husband and the dog...and I needed a blanket. It was like a New England summer night, and this summer has needed a lot more of those. I have experienced many hot summers, all memorable for their own hideous brand of oppressiveness...but this one I will never forget. It is, after all, Son4's first summer, but also the heat felt like a living metaphor.
There has just been so much misery this summer. Sons 2&3 have been out of sorts that this particular summer hasn't been very fun. No beach. Few trips to the pool. That sort of thing. The baby has made many things impossible, but at the same time it's not as if we've been sitting home doing nothing. I wish. Adding to the mix is the fact that lots of long-brewing issues have sort of reached their apex this summer. And then the husband has had deadline after deadline, which is a relief in one way after months with not enough work, but draining for him and makes all of life feel like a pressure cooker. One household item after another has broken. We lived for two weeks without the use of our kitchen sink and dishwasher due to a major plumbing issue, only to find out soon after that we also need a new dishwasher. And let me not forget the invasion of mealy worms (and moths), which arrived months ago in a bag of jasmine rice and flourished in my pantry until I figured out what was going on.
Through it all, the heat bore down on me like some malevolent force; at times it reminded me of being in labor, that sort of inescapable anguish. All you can do is endure.
It is unfortunate how much this summer's oppressive heat felt like a metaphor for life the past few years, but there you have it. It did.
But last night's cool air felt like a baptism. The breeze wrapped around me and reminded me again that, sometimes anyway, things do change.
Late last night after the Herms was asleep, I sat out on the front steps with the husband and the dog...and I needed a blanket. It was like a New England summer night, and this summer has needed a lot more of those. I have experienced many hot summers, all memorable for their own hideous brand of oppressiveness...but this one I will never forget. It is, after all, Son4's first summer, but also the heat felt like a living metaphor.
There has just been so much misery this summer. Sons 2&3 have been out of sorts that this particular summer hasn't been very fun. No beach. Few trips to the pool. That sort of thing. The baby has made many things impossible, but at the same time it's not as if we've been sitting home doing nothing. I wish. Adding to the mix is the fact that lots of long-brewing issues have sort of reached their apex this summer. And then the husband has had deadline after deadline, which is a relief in one way after months with not enough work, but draining for him and makes all of life feel like a pressure cooker. One household item after another has broken. We lived for two weeks without the use of our kitchen sink and dishwasher due to a major plumbing issue, only to find out soon after that we also need a new dishwasher. And let me not forget the invasion of mealy worms (and moths), which arrived months ago in a bag of jasmine rice and flourished in my pantry until I figured out what was going on.
Through it all, the heat bore down on me like some malevolent force; at times it reminded me of being in labor, that sort of inescapable anguish. All you can do is endure.
It is unfortunate how much this summer's oppressive heat felt like a metaphor for life the past few years, but there you have it. It did.
But last night's cool air felt like a baptism. The breeze wrapped around me and reminded me again that, sometimes anyway, things do change.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A Do-Over
About a month ago now, I asked God for a do-over. I'd gotten into a bad place, and trust me, it had taken a long time to get there. But I felt like somehow my head and heart had gotten filled up with a lot of BS about God and the Christian life. Too much teaching, too many books, and not enough of the Bible itself, I think. And I like to read the Bible, so it wasn't as if I hadn't been reading it.
But somehow my head had gotten full of other people's ideas and thoughts about God...and ultimately that had led me to some dark places. Because God didn't seem to me to be who other people made him out to be...and that led me to a lot of pain and confusion. I've been working my way through all of that for a long time, trying to sift truth from untruth...but perhaps because life feels so incredibly overwhelming right now and I can scarcely finish my own thoughts, I felt I needed a fresh start. I wanted to just throw out all the old stuff and start again. Mostly I didn't want to grapple any longer with my lingering feelings of anger toward God for this, that, and the other thing. I suspected it was all a load of crap anyhow. And so I asked God if we could start again, and if he could show me who he is and what it means to follow him and live as he would have me live. I decided the epistles would be a good place to start, and soon I'll probably thrown in Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.
The whole experiment is going pretty well so far, which isn't surprising since I think God really does want us to know who he is and how we can live in response to that knowledge. Here's a verse that jumped out at me yesterday:
"For it has been GRANTED TO YOU on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him but also TO SUFFER FOR HIM." (Philippians 1:29). This feels like medicine for my American-culturized soul.
And this verse caught my eye this morning from Philippians 2: "Each of you should look not only to your own interests but also to the interest of others." It intrigues me that the verse says to look "NOT ONLY to your own interests." Because I have had trouble looking to my own interests.
I think when you're in the throes of motherhood, it's easy to look to the interests of others but not so easy to look to your own. For a long time I forgot that I had my own interests. That I mattered at all in this equation. I completely subjugated myself to my kids and what they wanted. Not that they're brats. They're not. But I got trapped in thinking that what they wanted was far more important than what I wanted, and now I don't think that's the case anymore. I can look to my own interests, and I can look to theirs, though the whole thing can be a pretty confusing process. Not particularly cut and dried. In other words, a lot like life.
But somehow my head had gotten full of other people's ideas and thoughts about God...and ultimately that had led me to some dark places. Because God didn't seem to me to be who other people made him out to be...and that led me to a lot of pain and confusion. I've been working my way through all of that for a long time, trying to sift truth from untruth...but perhaps because life feels so incredibly overwhelming right now and I can scarcely finish my own thoughts, I felt I needed a fresh start. I wanted to just throw out all the old stuff and start again. Mostly I didn't want to grapple any longer with my lingering feelings of anger toward God for this, that, and the other thing. I suspected it was all a load of crap anyhow. And so I asked God if we could start again, and if he could show me who he is and what it means to follow him and live as he would have me live. I decided the epistles would be a good place to start, and soon I'll probably thrown in Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.
The whole experiment is going pretty well so far, which isn't surprising since I think God really does want us to know who he is and how we can live in response to that knowledge. Here's a verse that jumped out at me yesterday:
"For it has been GRANTED TO YOU on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him but also TO SUFFER FOR HIM." (Philippians 1:29). This feels like medicine for my American-culturized soul.
And this verse caught my eye this morning from Philippians 2: "Each of you should look not only to your own interests but also to the interest of others." It intrigues me that the verse says to look "NOT ONLY to your own interests." Because I have had trouble looking to my own interests.
I think when you're in the throes of motherhood, it's easy to look to the interests of others but not so easy to look to your own. For a long time I forgot that I had my own interests. That I mattered at all in this equation. I completely subjugated myself to my kids and what they wanted. Not that they're brats. They're not. But I got trapped in thinking that what they wanted was far more important than what I wanted, and now I don't think that's the case anymore. I can look to my own interests, and I can look to theirs, though the whole thing can be a pretty confusing process. Not particularly cut and dried. In other words, a lot like life.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Yes, for a Change
On Sunday just as we got in the car to leave for church, Son3 said, "Oh, my glasses just broke." Great. He was simply pushing them up, and the arm broke off. Oh well. It was time for new glasses anyway. I asked him about his back-up pair (every 11-year-old boy needs one), and he said, "They're bent and all messed up." Perfect. We found the back-up pair later that day and they were just as he described...and one of the lenses had popped out.
And so he asked for the millionth time whether he could get contacts. He's probably been asking for contacts for two years and we've resisted. He was too young. Contacts can be expensive, and then they become yet another ongoing expense. Just what everyone needs. Then there's the responsibility factor. There's also the issue of his eyes. They have always been sensitive and the source of many freak-outs. “There's a bug in my eye!” “There's dirt in my eye!” Blood curdling screams about the eyes! I figured there was no way he could do it. So we've always said no. But on Sunday, I finally said yes.
We get his vision tested and his glasses at Wal-Mart, so I made the appointment and took him yesterday for the exam. I left the baby with a sitter because I figured the whole process of him learning to put them in and take them out would demand all of my attention. First, we watched a video, and it was then that I began to panic. You have to keep everything so clean! Could he do it? Would he remember all the steps and everything that has to be done? Because I won’t. Not right now. For four days last week I couldn’t even remember that his older brother had lost his toothbrush and needed a new one. Would he be flipping out about his contacts every morning, multiplying the stress of our already stressful lives? I pictured him freaking out and needing help while the baby cried. Ugh. I tried to maintain my equilibrium and tell myself I could do this for him.
After the video, someone came in to teach him how to put them in. He tried and tried. His eyes started to hurt. They got red and irritated and he still couldn't do it. He got frustrated, and he didn't like the idea of how he was going to have to take them out if he ever got them in. He started to say he couldn't do it. The vision tech said the appropriate encouraging things, but I said, "You don't have to do it. It's okay to change your mind. Maybe you're just not ready." He continued to plug away, and then finally said, “I can’t do it.” Again the vision tech tried to encourage him, but I said, “That’s okay, you don’t have to do it. Let’s just get some new glasses.” And he said okay.
Later he said, “My eyes are just really sensitive. I can’t do that.” I said, “I know. That’s why we always said no.” He then asked why I hadn’t told him that and continued to say no, and I explained that he wouldn’t have believed me. Miraculously, he admitted, “You’re right. I wouldn’t have,” and smiled sheepishly.
As a parent you have to say a lot of no’s. At least I do. But recently I’ve had a few experiences like this…where I’ve felt that it’s time to say yes, let them have their way, and in the end they come around to the decision that I was fairly sure was the right one to begin with. And when that happens, it feels a bit like a miracle.
And so he asked for the millionth time whether he could get contacts. He's probably been asking for contacts for two years and we've resisted. He was too young. Contacts can be expensive, and then they become yet another ongoing expense. Just what everyone needs. Then there's the responsibility factor. There's also the issue of his eyes. They have always been sensitive and the source of many freak-outs. “There's a bug in my eye!” “There's dirt in my eye!” Blood curdling screams about the eyes! I figured there was no way he could do it. So we've always said no. But on Sunday, I finally said yes.
We get his vision tested and his glasses at Wal-Mart, so I made the appointment and took him yesterday for the exam. I left the baby with a sitter because I figured the whole process of him learning to put them in and take them out would demand all of my attention. First, we watched a video, and it was then that I began to panic. You have to keep everything so clean! Could he do it? Would he remember all the steps and everything that has to be done? Because I won’t. Not right now. For four days last week I couldn’t even remember that his older brother had lost his toothbrush and needed a new one. Would he be flipping out about his contacts every morning, multiplying the stress of our already stressful lives? I pictured him freaking out and needing help while the baby cried. Ugh. I tried to maintain my equilibrium and tell myself I could do this for him.
After the video, someone came in to teach him how to put them in. He tried and tried. His eyes started to hurt. They got red and irritated and he still couldn't do it. He got frustrated, and he didn't like the idea of how he was going to have to take them out if he ever got them in. He started to say he couldn't do it. The vision tech said the appropriate encouraging things, but I said, "You don't have to do it. It's okay to change your mind. Maybe you're just not ready." He continued to plug away, and then finally said, “I can’t do it.” Again the vision tech tried to encourage him, but I said, “That’s okay, you don’t have to do it. Let’s just get some new glasses.” And he said okay.
Later he said, “My eyes are just really sensitive. I can’t do that.” I said, “I know. That’s why we always said no.” He then asked why I hadn’t told him that and continued to say no, and I explained that he wouldn’t have believed me. Miraculously, he admitted, “You’re right. I wouldn’t have,” and smiled sheepishly.
As a parent you have to say a lot of no’s. At least I do. But recently I’ve had a few experiences like this…where I’ve felt that it’s time to say yes, let them have their way, and in the end they come around to the decision that I was fairly sure was the right one to begin with. And when that happens, it feels a bit like a miracle.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Too tired for titles
I can't get it together to blog. I think of new posts all the time, but the only time I have to sit down with my computer involves doing actual work. If I'm not getting paid, then I'm pretty much not sitting with my laptop. Okay, sometimes I am. A quick email check, a scan of the day's headlines. Nevertheless, my news addiction is suffering. I'm not sure how CNN.com and the New York Times online continue to survive without their most devoted reader. Guess I'm having some trouble juggling a new baby with the taxi service I run for the three other boys and the editing I do for clients and the planning I have to do for the next school year. Who does this? On second thought, don't answer that. The last thing I need to hear is that there's some mother out there who can seamlessly juggle homeschooling and caring for an infant and working and managing a house.
***
Today I took Son3 to buy new sneakers. Nobody needs new sneakers more frequently than this kid, which is ironic considering that he's the one I always have to yell at to remind him not to run around the yard in socks. Herman came with us on our shopping trip, and at one point I told Son3 to put the paci in Herman's mouth. At that point Son3 sidled up to me and said very quietly, "When we're in public, can you call him by his real name?" I must have looked confused, because he followed that up with, "I just don't want anyone to think his name is Herman."
***
This week I'm thinking about where I was this time last year -- in North Carolina with the boys, visiting my dear friend and her girls. More importantly I am remembering that I was living in the last few days of ignorance. Two days after we returned from North Carolina I made the shocking discovery for the reason behind the dizziness and excessive thirst I was experiencing: pregnancy! Yup. It's been a whole year since that shocking news turned my world upside down. I just wish I could travel back in time and reassure myself. I'd let me know that Herman is simply delicious, that I often feel drunk just looking at him, that he's healthy, sleeps well, and cries very little. All of that might have gone a very long way toward averting the major freak out I experienced. Or maybe not.
***
Today I took Son3 to buy new sneakers. Nobody needs new sneakers more frequently than this kid, which is ironic considering that he's the one I always have to yell at to remind him not to run around the yard in socks. Herman came with us on our shopping trip, and at one point I told Son3 to put the paci in Herman's mouth. At that point Son3 sidled up to me and said very quietly, "When we're in public, can you call him by his real name?" I must have looked confused, because he followed that up with, "I just don't want anyone to think his name is Herman."
***
This week I'm thinking about where I was this time last year -- in North Carolina with the boys, visiting my dear friend and her girls. More importantly I am remembering that I was living in the last few days of ignorance. Two days after we returned from North Carolina I made the shocking discovery for the reason behind the dizziness and excessive thirst I was experiencing: pregnancy! Yup. It's been a whole year since that shocking news turned my world upside down. I just wish I could travel back in time and reassure myself. I'd let me know that Herman is simply delicious, that I often feel drunk just looking at him, that he's healthy, sleeps well, and cries very little. All of that might have gone a very long way toward averting the major freak out I experienced. Or maybe not.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
What's in a Name?
We have never been able to call our babies by their given names. I'm not sure why. It seems they take a while to grow into them or something. We never set out to give them nicknames, but that's what always happens. Eventually the baby nickname fades away though, and our kids become the name they were given. So strange how that happens...how they become their names.
But the baby is not the embodiment of his name yet, and so we find ourselves calling him...Herman. Here's how it happened. Son4 is the squirmiest baby we have ever met. He doesn't cry much, and I think squirming is his brand of fussy. Which is not bad as fussy goes. In fact, if you could order up a brand of baby when it comes time to have one, I highly recommend the Herman brand because he's sweet and delicious and squirming is the quietest kind of baby fussing that there is.
Anyway, Herman squirmed so much that we began to call him Squirmy Hermy. This stuck for a while, and we still refer to him that way...but eventually it just became Herman. Now we say it all the time. When Herman is sleeping, my husband will say, "Where's Herman?" When Herman is feeling sad and fussy, we say, "Oh, Herman..." with voices full of sympathy. I'm pretty sure my husband and I say it every chance we get. I think it somehow makes us love him even more.
But the baby is not the embodiment of his name yet, and so we find ourselves calling him...Herman. Here's how it happened. Son4 is the squirmiest baby we have ever met. He doesn't cry much, and I think squirming is his brand of fussy. Which is not bad as fussy goes. In fact, if you could order up a brand of baby when it comes time to have one, I highly recommend the Herman brand because he's sweet and delicious and squirming is the quietest kind of baby fussing that there is.
Anyway, Herman squirmed so much that we began to call him Squirmy Hermy. This stuck for a while, and we still refer to him that way...but eventually it just became Herman. Now we say it all the time. When Herman is sleeping, my husband will say, "Where's Herman?" When Herman is feeling sad and fussy, we say, "Oh, Herman..." with voices full of sympathy. I'm pretty sure my husband and I say it every chance we get. I think it somehow makes us love him even more.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
In the car...
Tonight Sons 1 & 4 ventured to the grocery store with me. Son4 slept little today, but we had some time to kill before I would let him call it a day by giving him a bottle and putting him down for the night. (Well, maybe not for the NIGHT, but for the next five or six hours.) It seemed like an opportune moment to get some much-needed grocery shopping done -- but I had no intention of doing it alone with the little bugger. I could have done that, but it seemed better to bring someone with me to help with the baby or with the shopping or both. It's not easy to lift a huge watermelon while carrying the baby around in the baby bjorn. I know. I've tried.
So Son1 pushed the stroller with his baby brother while I pushed the cart and tried to fill it with as much food as possible. It didn't used to bother me if I forgot something at the store, or if I had to go there a few times a week. But life's a bit more complicated now. These days I want to fill my cart to overflowing and not go back for a week. And speaking of filling the cart, did you know that a family of five should be able to feed their family (and provide toiletries) for $200/week? I know this from a friend who's being going through a lengthy and painful mortgage modification process and who's had their finances relentlessly scrutinized. Two hundred dollars is a fair amount...but have I mentioned that my kids never stop eating?
Anyway, when we were putting the groceries in the car I noticed the astounding collection of items in there. I confess that sometimes when I'm in a parking lot I peek into people's cars to see whether they're on top of things or their life is as chaotic as mine. So, to make you feel better in case you have a messy car, I thought I'd let you in on what you might see if you were to get in my van right now:
An empty seltzer water can in my cupholder
Germ-X (I'm a big fan)
A pair of sneakers with socks inside them
A baseball bag full of gear
A baseball glove (not in the bag)
Flip flops
Empty resusable water bottles
Empty kill-the-planet water bottles
Pencils
Receipts
A script
A copy of The Hobbit
A Land's End Catalogue
A copy of The Atlantic
A baby blanket
A sweatshirt
Resusable grocery bags (which I always forget to bring into the store with me)
Sunblock (more than one kind actually)
Wrappers of many varieties
And the remnants of a major spill of peanut butter pretzels
Bet you can't top all that! But if you can, please let me know so I can feel better about myself. And now that I think of it, I believe it's time to cure a bit of Son3's early onset of summer boredom by having him clean my car.
So Son1 pushed the stroller with his baby brother while I pushed the cart and tried to fill it with as much food as possible. It didn't used to bother me if I forgot something at the store, or if I had to go there a few times a week. But life's a bit more complicated now. These days I want to fill my cart to overflowing and not go back for a week. And speaking of filling the cart, did you know that a family of five should be able to feed their family (and provide toiletries) for $200/week? I know this from a friend who's being going through a lengthy and painful mortgage modification process and who's had their finances relentlessly scrutinized. Two hundred dollars is a fair amount...but have I mentioned that my kids never stop eating?
Anyway, when we were putting the groceries in the car I noticed the astounding collection of items in there. I confess that sometimes when I'm in a parking lot I peek into people's cars to see whether they're on top of things or their life is as chaotic as mine. So, to make you feel better in case you have a messy car, I thought I'd let you in on what you might see if you were to get in my van right now:
An empty seltzer water can in my cupholder
Germ-X (I'm a big fan)
A pair of sneakers with socks inside them
A baseball bag full of gear
A baseball glove (not in the bag)
Flip flops
Empty resusable water bottles
Empty kill-the-planet water bottles
Pencils
Receipts
A script
A copy of The Hobbit
A Land's End Catalogue
A copy of The Atlantic
A baby blanket
A sweatshirt
Resusable grocery bags (which I always forget to bring into the store with me)
Sunblock (more than one kind actually)
Wrappers of many varieties
And the remnants of a major spill of peanut butter pretzels
Bet you can't top all that! But if you can, please let me know so I can feel better about myself. And now that I think of it, I believe it's time to cure a bit of Son3's early onset of summer boredom by having him clean my car.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Today & Tomorrow
Today I was outside -- not for long, it was sweltering! -- holding Son4 and standing in the shade of the Sycamore tree. He was not having a great day because he just couldn't settle in for a real nap. With this particular baby, that is not an all-out disaster. His version of fussy is simply wanting to be held and have someone hold his paci in his mouth. There's really no screaming and crying involved. So I was standing in the shade holding him and holding his little green paci in his mouth and considering what the heck was I doing with this day anyway? and it just struck me for a moment that my time is so not my own anymore. Again.
A year ago today I could have been doing who knows what at any moment...but right now, at any given moment I am probably holding a baby. And I agree that that is lovely in so many ways. But it's also very different from what I've been doing lately, and it means my life is a lot less flexible. I am okay with this. I really am. Today I am okay with this.
I've been thinking of that verse that says not to worry. Why shouldn't we worry? The funny thing is that the verse doesn't say don't worry because it's a sin, or because God hates it, or anything like that. My little inner-religious-freak child says those are the reasons. But no, the verse just basically says that worry is pointless. God's got it all covered and tomorrow has enough trouble of its own, so what's the point of worry?
It seems that the thing about this baby is that I have to live in the moment. I have to take care of him. Feed him. Change him. Comfort him. All of that happens NOW. There is no putting it off. And so I have to live in today. In this very moment, and I can't really plan anything. And I may think there is a lot I have to do, but mostly I just have to take care of him. And I have to do it NOW.
So this is how today went: Today he woke me at four in the morning to be fed. Today he wouldn't go back to sleep, so the husband held baby boy on his chest, holding the paci in his mouth, trying to get him to sleep, which he sort of did. The baby boy squirmed for a long time, and then he slept. Today he woke up at seven for another bottle. Today we took a walk and he slept on the walk but woke up when we came home. After that he wouldn't sleep and had to be held all day. That's today.
Tomorrow may be different. Or it may be like today. Six months from now will be different. And a year from now most definitely will be. I don't know how I'll do it or when I'll work. I just don't know. But that's not today. Today I fed my kids. Today I took care of two boys who got migraines. Today I didn't try to work. Today I read a book while I fed the baby. Today I prayed while I fed the baby and prayed while I walked with him in the stroller. Today we watched a movie while I held the baby who wouldn't sleep.
I have no idea about tomorrow or all the tomorrows after that, but I do know that tomorrow has enough worry of it's own. And I'll leave that for tomorrow.
A year ago today I could have been doing who knows what at any moment...but right now, at any given moment I am probably holding a baby. And I agree that that is lovely in so many ways. But it's also very different from what I've been doing lately, and it means my life is a lot less flexible. I am okay with this. I really am. Today I am okay with this.
I've been thinking of that verse that says not to worry. Why shouldn't we worry? The funny thing is that the verse doesn't say don't worry because it's a sin, or because God hates it, or anything like that. My little inner-religious-freak child says those are the reasons. But no, the verse just basically says that worry is pointless. God's got it all covered and tomorrow has enough trouble of its own, so what's the point of worry?
It seems that the thing about this baby is that I have to live in the moment. I have to take care of him. Feed him. Change him. Comfort him. All of that happens NOW. There is no putting it off. And so I have to live in today. In this very moment, and I can't really plan anything. And I may think there is a lot I have to do, but mostly I just have to take care of him. And I have to do it NOW.
So this is how today went: Today he woke me at four in the morning to be fed. Today he wouldn't go back to sleep, so the husband held baby boy on his chest, holding the paci in his mouth, trying to get him to sleep, which he sort of did. The baby boy squirmed for a long time, and then he slept. Today he woke up at seven for another bottle. Today we took a walk and he slept on the walk but woke up when we came home. After that he wouldn't sleep and had to be held all day. That's today.
Tomorrow may be different. Or it may be like today. Six months from now will be different. And a year from now most definitely will be. I don't know how I'll do it or when I'll work. I just don't know. But that's not today. Today I fed my kids. Today I took care of two boys who got migraines. Today I didn't try to work. Today I read a book while I fed the baby. Today I prayed while I fed the baby and prayed while I walked with him in the stroller. Today we watched a movie while I held the baby who wouldn't sleep.
I have no idea about tomorrow or all the tomorrows after that, but I do know that tomorrow has enough worry of it's own. And I'll leave that for tomorrow.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Miracle
Six weeks ago yesterday, Son4 arrived. And he is just wonderful. I am smitten with him -- fully and completely devoted to him. The funny thing is, I am not sure I have ever felt this way about a newborn before. To be honest, it always takes me some time to connect with a new baby. Emotionally, that is. But this is different. I feel so much freer. So much less concerned about the practical, caretaking things. So much less worried.
I don't remember whether I mentioned it here, but back in the fall someone told me that the baby could feel how much I didn't want another baby. The person implied that I was damaging the baby for life by feeling my own feelings. Anyway, I told her that the baby would get plenty of love when he or she arrived. And I was right.
An hour or so after Son4 was born, I called my dad to tell him the baby was here. He was overcome. He lives about ninety minutes away from us, and he said he'd leave in ten minutes and drive down to meet the baby. We asked him to pick up the boys and bring them to the hospital, which he was happy to do.
I wish I could show you my boys' faces when they got to the hospital to see their brother for the first time. They were captivated. Elated. After the boys had a chance to meet the baby, my dad came into the room and held him. We have pictures of the first time my dad and the boys held him. And they are wonderful pictures...but in my mind is a better picture: all of their eyes lit up with love and wonder.
There are times when I feel drunk with love looking at this little person. The way he arches his back and stretches when I pick him up. His hands splayed out in front of his face. His big toe, which he holds out from his other toes when he's contentedly drinking a bottle. (The bottles are another story for another post.) His long blond eyelashes. And his lips. I can't even talk about his lips. They are that delicious. They make me swoon.
He's a quiet guy. Doesn't really cry. The boy's name means bringer of peace, and he does feel like a little oasis of peace. It seems he has a little well of the stuff inside of him.
This whole baby thing still doesn't make sense. Why us? Why now? Why do we get this fabulous boy when so many people can't even have one baby? When others suffer with infertility, miscarriages, and stillbirths? Why have we received a gift -- a healthy baby boy -- when we weren't even looking for one? I don't have any answers. I am not in charge.
I do know that I'm not worried about all the things I was worried about before he got here. Once I made my peace with being pregnant, the only thing I could imagine about having another child was having a newborn. I couldn't picture any other phase of life without feeling panicked. And so I stopped imagining those other phases and just thought about a baby. But now that this baby is here, I don't feel panicked about him being a toddler. Or about any of those future phases -- because he's Son4, and I love him to death, and I want to see who he is and love him the whole way through.
For some reason the way this has all played out has had me thinking of a line from an Irish blessing. Here's the first stanza:
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
I knew that my crazy pregnancy feelings weren't the end of the story. But I never expected this. I never expected that this new little fellow could be so wonderful. Really. That probably sounds terrible, and maybe it is terrible...but I just wasn't ready to be a mom again. But now that I am...well, I feel like the road has risen to meet me.
I don't remember whether I mentioned it here, but back in the fall someone told me that the baby could feel how much I didn't want another baby. The person implied that I was damaging the baby for life by feeling my own feelings. Anyway, I told her that the baby would get plenty of love when he or she arrived. And I was right.
An hour or so after Son4 was born, I called my dad to tell him the baby was here. He was overcome. He lives about ninety minutes away from us, and he said he'd leave in ten minutes and drive down to meet the baby. We asked him to pick up the boys and bring them to the hospital, which he was happy to do.
I wish I could show you my boys' faces when they got to the hospital to see their brother for the first time. They were captivated. Elated. After the boys had a chance to meet the baby, my dad came into the room and held him. We have pictures of the first time my dad and the boys held him. And they are wonderful pictures...but in my mind is a better picture: all of their eyes lit up with love and wonder.
There are times when I feel drunk with love looking at this little person. The way he arches his back and stretches when I pick him up. His hands splayed out in front of his face. His big toe, which he holds out from his other toes when he's contentedly drinking a bottle. (The bottles are another story for another post.) His long blond eyelashes. And his lips. I can't even talk about his lips. They are that delicious. They make me swoon.
He's a quiet guy. Doesn't really cry. The boy's name means bringer of peace, and he does feel like a little oasis of peace. It seems he has a little well of the stuff inside of him.
This whole baby thing still doesn't make sense. Why us? Why now? Why do we get this fabulous boy when so many people can't even have one baby? When others suffer with infertility, miscarriages, and stillbirths? Why have we received a gift -- a healthy baby boy -- when we weren't even looking for one? I don't have any answers. I am not in charge.
I do know that I'm not worried about all the things I was worried about before he got here. Once I made my peace with being pregnant, the only thing I could imagine about having another child was having a newborn. I couldn't picture any other phase of life without feeling panicked. And so I stopped imagining those other phases and just thought about a baby. But now that this baby is here, I don't feel panicked about him being a toddler. Or about any of those future phases -- because he's Son4, and I love him to death, and I want to see who he is and love him the whole way through.
For some reason the way this has all played out has had me thinking of a line from an Irish blessing. Here's the first stanza:
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
I knew that my crazy pregnancy feelings weren't the end of the story. But I never expected this. I never expected that this new little fellow could be so wonderful. Really. That probably sounds terrible, and maybe it is terrible...but I just wasn't ready to be a mom again. But now that I am...well, I feel like the road has risen to meet me.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Perfectionism & Self-Reliance
For years now, I feel like God has been working hard at undoing all my perfectionistic tendencies, my religiosity, and my self-reliance. It's a long process apparently, and for quite some time I didn't even know it was going on. Well, I knew things were going on; I just didn't know what God was up to. But these past nine months or so has been like the PhD program for the end to my self-reliance, and it's been...painful. It's not easy to see parts of ourselves die, especially those parts that seem actually useful.
Perfectionism is not necessarily all that useful. It often prevents progress, and I don't think I've found it too hard to let go of. But self-reliance...well that seems like a good thing, right? Be responsible. Do your part. God helps those who help themselves. We believe that stuff. And I'm not saying it's bad. We have to be responsible. We have to do our part. But that whole "God helps those who help themselves"...I think that may be the part that God is looking to kill off in my life, and to do so He's had to practically incapacitate me.
I've not been doing too well the past few days. I've been frustrated by people and things and plagued by the physical and emotional discomforts of the end of pregnancy. But topping it all off is that little voice in the back of my head sending nasty messages. Those messages generally revolve around the idea that our life is so imperfect that we have no place having another baby. Little pieces of life keep blowing up in my face issuing the same reminder. And so I see that some part of me is still pretty uncomfortable with imperfection. And my self-reliant self is angry and frustrated that this little buddy won't leave the womb and enter the world, which would put me on the path to moving on to figuring out how to get back to work in some capacity to help our family financially.
Instead I find myself living in nothing less than complete uncertainty and lack of clarity. And I'm pretty sure that this is exactly where God has wanted me for the past several months. All of the frustration I've been feeling for the past few days tells me that perhaps not much progress has been made in dealing the death blow to my self-reliance. Because now that the end of this pregnancy is near, I feel more energy than I've felt in the past nine months. And I don't think it's just that burst of energy that people get at the end of pregnancy. I think it's me, saying, "I can do this. I don't know how, but I can. I can fix things." And the truth is, I can't.
So I'm swinging wildly between these thoughts and emotions, and you can all count yourselves lucky that you don't live with me. As usual I was up this morning before everyone else, and it was only a matter of minutes before I was crying, flooded with the reality of certain things. And then I read a chapter from Anne Lamott's Plan B: Thoughts on Faith, which I've been reading sporadically over the past few months. And she said this:
"I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me--that the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns."
And that made me feel a bit better. Because I'm the kind of person who likes certainty, and I believe that Anne Lamott (or Father Tom, I guess) is right. Certainty isn't faith. After that, I read Psalm 44. I read a Psalm every day, and then I just cycle back through them when I reach the end of the book. Today's Psalm said:
"It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them."
So again today I am trying to let go of my self-reliance. I will notice the mess and try not to feel overwhelmed by it. I will try to stop telling myself that it's my job to fix everything. That I can do it right. I will wait for God and the light of his face.
Perfectionism is not necessarily all that useful. It often prevents progress, and I don't think I've found it too hard to let go of. But self-reliance...well that seems like a good thing, right? Be responsible. Do your part. God helps those who help themselves. We believe that stuff. And I'm not saying it's bad. We have to be responsible. We have to do our part. But that whole "God helps those who help themselves"...I think that may be the part that God is looking to kill off in my life, and to do so He's had to practically incapacitate me.
I've not been doing too well the past few days. I've been frustrated by people and things and plagued by the physical and emotional discomforts of the end of pregnancy. But topping it all off is that little voice in the back of my head sending nasty messages. Those messages generally revolve around the idea that our life is so imperfect that we have no place having another baby. Little pieces of life keep blowing up in my face issuing the same reminder. And so I see that some part of me is still pretty uncomfortable with imperfection. And my self-reliant self is angry and frustrated that this little buddy won't leave the womb and enter the world, which would put me on the path to moving on to figuring out how to get back to work in some capacity to help our family financially.
Instead I find myself living in nothing less than complete uncertainty and lack of clarity. And I'm pretty sure that this is exactly where God has wanted me for the past several months. All of the frustration I've been feeling for the past few days tells me that perhaps not much progress has been made in dealing the death blow to my self-reliance. Because now that the end of this pregnancy is near, I feel more energy than I've felt in the past nine months. And I don't think it's just that burst of energy that people get at the end of pregnancy. I think it's me, saying, "I can do this. I don't know how, but I can. I can fix things." And the truth is, I can't.
So I'm swinging wildly between these thoughts and emotions, and you can all count yourselves lucky that you don't live with me. As usual I was up this morning before everyone else, and it was only a matter of minutes before I was crying, flooded with the reality of certain things. And then I read a chapter from Anne Lamott's Plan B: Thoughts on Faith, which I've been reading sporadically over the past few months. And she said this:
"I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me--that the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns."
And that made me feel a bit better. Because I'm the kind of person who likes certainty, and I believe that Anne Lamott (or Father Tom, I guess) is right. Certainty isn't faith. After that, I read Psalm 44. I read a Psalm every day, and then I just cycle back through them when I reach the end of the book. Today's Psalm said:
"It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them."
So again today I am trying to let go of my self-reliance. I will notice the mess and try not to feel overwhelmed by it. I will try to stop telling myself that it's my job to fix everything. That I can do it right. I will wait for God and the light of his face.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Waiting
There's nothing like waiting for a birth to give your patience a little tune up. Two weeks ago I went to the hospital on a Friday evening and a few hours later, we were sent home. False labor. It's never happened to me before. I was okay with everything not happening right then, but it's hard on the boys, who just want their brother to get here already. They ask me several times throughout any given day, "Any contractions?" They are driving me nuts.
For the record, I do feel sorry for them. I know it's hard to wait. Sons 1 and 2 were late, so I know what it is to wait. (Torture.) I keep telling them that this is their brother's way of making sure we know it's all about him and not about us, but that doesn't diminish their impatience. At yesterday's OB appointment, we set an induction date. Unfortunately, my husband and I have to be the kind of people who think that things should happen naturally. (Why?!?!?) So, we set the induction date for April 21 -- exactly a week beyond my due date.
It's funny how people, including my sons, think there should be some clue about when labor will begin...but there just isn't. Yesterday my doctor said he really didn't think there was any way I would make it to the 21st, but what does he know? With my first baby, I was dilated six or seven weeks before my due date. The doctors told me he would absolutely come early. Nope. Six days late.
People ask me if I'm walking or doing anything else to bring on labor...and I am not. Because I've tried that in the past and it did exactly nothing. With my first, I logged miles around my Chicago neighborhood with a dear friend who came to stay with us and be there for the delivery. Those miles didn't seem to do much of anything, but it is fun to walk and talk.
Other people say to talk to the baby. To welcome him to the world. We've been talking to this little dude for weeks. He seems relatively unaffected by our pleas to come on out so we can hold and kiss him. Maybe he doesn't like it when we sing that Talking Heads song to him with these lyrics, "Baby, baby please let me hold you..." Maybe he's not impressed with our singing skills.
Maybe he's just super comfy. Whatever the reason, we just keep waiting.
In the meantime, I try to distract myself with the little work I currently have. And with doing the things that get undone. And with books. And with the beginning of baseball and soccer season. Today is opening day for Son3's little league. About an hour from now, the little league parade will pass in front of our house, and later today he has his opening game. I really didn't want to miss today's festivities, so I was pretty sure the kid would actually come last night as my kids generally seem to have a penchant for messing up my plans. But I'm still here, so it's game on, and maybe I can go into labor as soon as today's game is over. Or not.
For the record, I do feel sorry for them. I know it's hard to wait. Sons 1 and 2 were late, so I know what it is to wait. (Torture.) I keep telling them that this is their brother's way of making sure we know it's all about him and not about us, but that doesn't diminish their impatience. At yesterday's OB appointment, we set an induction date. Unfortunately, my husband and I have to be the kind of people who think that things should happen naturally. (Why?!?!?) So, we set the induction date for April 21 -- exactly a week beyond my due date.
It's funny how people, including my sons, think there should be some clue about when labor will begin...but there just isn't. Yesterday my doctor said he really didn't think there was any way I would make it to the 21st, but what does he know? With my first baby, I was dilated six or seven weeks before my due date. The doctors told me he would absolutely come early. Nope. Six days late.
People ask me if I'm walking or doing anything else to bring on labor...and I am not. Because I've tried that in the past and it did exactly nothing. With my first, I logged miles around my Chicago neighborhood with a dear friend who came to stay with us and be there for the delivery. Those miles didn't seem to do much of anything, but it is fun to walk and talk.
Other people say to talk to the baby. To welcome him to the world. We've been talking to this little dude for weeks. He seems relatively unaffected by our pleas to come on out so we can hold and kiss him. Maybe he doesn't like it when we sing that Talking Heads song to him with these lyrics, "Baby, baby please let me hold you..." Maybe he's not impressed with our singing skills.
Maybe he's just super comfy. Whatever the reason, we just keep waiting.
In the meantime, I try to distract myself with the little work I currently have. And with doing the things that get undone. And with books. And with the beginning of baseball and soccer season. Today is opening day for Son3's little league. About an hour from now, the little league parade will pass in front of our house, and later today he has his opening game. I really didn't want to miss today's festivities, so I was pretty sure the kid would actually come last night as my kids generally seem to have a penchant for messing up my plans. But I'm still here, so it's game on, and maybe I can go into labor as soon as today's game is over. Or not.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Books & Thoughts
I've read a few good books recently and I'm reading a few others now, and I thought I should pass them along here since I'm frequently begging you all for book recommendations. I recently finished a book titled The Girl Who Fell from the Sky, which was an interesting story about a girl of mixed race growing up in the early 1980s. Lots of insight into the struggle of not fitting in. Can't remember the author's name. I also recently finished The Sacred Echo by Margaret Feinberg, which is one of the most insightful books on prayer and hearing God's voice that I've read. One of her main ideas is that God repeats himself to get our attention, and that is "the sacred echo." But one of my favorite things that she says in her book is that prayer is one part talking, one part listening, and one part waiting. I've never thought of prayer quite that way...that the waiting is a part of prayer...and I found it really encouraging.
I'm currently reading a book called The Lie, which is a story about what happens after one of two brothers is shot and killed on the family's front porch. Cheerful, right? Nevertheless, it's well-written and I'm enjoying it.
But the book I'm most excited is The Jesuit Guide to Almost Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life by James Martin, SJ. After reading the first chapter I discovered that I may actually be a Jesuit. The four "ways" of Jesuit spirituality are:
1. Finding God in all things -- meaning that nothing is outside the reality of our spiritual lives.
2. Becoming a contemplative in action -- meaning that in the midst of our activity we can be contemplative and allow that to inform our actions.
3. Looking at the world in an incarnational way -- meaning that God can be found in the everyday events of our lives.
4. Seeking freedom and detachment -- meaning not having "disordered affections" or being tied down by unimportant things.
Hard to argue with, huh? I've only just started reading this book, but I'm looking forward to the rest of it. Strangely enough, the author was on the Colbert Report last night. Hilarious.
***
On a different note entirely, I was watching the news this morning and I heard that a lot of congressmen and women who voted for the health care bill are receiving threats. One congressman, who is a pro-life democrat, is getting a lot of those threats as a result of his vote. There is so much I could say about this...I mean, isn't helping people buy health insurance actually "pro-life"? I'm not sure when people got such a narrow definition of what "pro-life" actually is. But I just needed to point out the irony of this enraged pro-lifer who called his congressman and said, "You baby-killer motherf***er. I hope you die." That's the spirit, right?
***
Just for the fun of it, I welcome your predictions on when this baby will be born. It's so strange to know that our lives will change so dramatically but not know exactly when that will happen. The boys are asking when. Even my husband is asking if the doctors are making predictions, though he knows darn well those predictions are useless. Yesterday someone at Little League rubbed my stomach and suggested the birth would happen on April 10, opening day. At this point, I am actually hoping for just a few days from now -- Palm Sunday, which I think would be super cool.
I'm currently reading a book called The Lie, which is a story about what happens after one of two brothers is shot and killed on the family's front porch. Cheerful, right? Nevertheless, it's well-written and I'm enjoying it.
But the book I'm most excited is The Jesuit Guide to Almost Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life by James Martin, SJ. After reading the first chapter I discovered that I may actually be a Jesuit. The four "ways" of Jesuit spirituality are:
1. Finding God in all things -- meaning that nothing is outside the reality of our spiritual lives.
2. Becoming a contemplative in action -- meaning that in the midst of our activity we can be contemplative and allow that to inform our actions.
3. Looking at the world in an incarnational way -- meaning that God can be found in the everyday events of our lives.
4. Seeking freedom and detachment -- meaning not having "disordered affections" or being tied down by unimportant things.
Hard to argue with, huh? I've only just started reading this book, but I'm looking forward to the rest of it. Strangely enough, the author was on the Colbert Report last night. Hilarious.
***
On a different note entirely, I was watching the news this morning and I heard that a lot of congressmen and women who voted for the health care bill are receiving threats. One congressman, who is a pro-life democrat, is getting a lot of those threats as a result of his vote. There is so much I could say about this...I mean, isn't helping people buy health insurance actually "pro-life"? I'm not sure when people got such a narrow definition of what "pro-life" actually is. But I just needed to point out the irony of this enraged pro-lifer who called his congressman and said, "You baby-killer motherf***er. I hope you die." That's the spirit, right?
***
Just for the fun of it, I welcome your predictions on when this baby will be born. It's so strange to know that our lives will change so dramatically but not know exactly when that will happen. The boys are asking when. Even my husband is asking if the doctors are making predictions, though he knows darn well those predictions are useless. Yesterday someone at Little League rubbed my stomach and suggested the birth would happen on April 10, opening day. At this point, I am actually hoping for just a few days from now -- Palm Sunday, which I think would be super cool.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Almost Cliche
I'm not sure that I've ever been so full of anticipation for spring as I have this year. I am probably not the only one.
So yesterday, on the first day of spring, we did some some spring cleaning. The two younger boys cleaned under their beds (Yuck! -- Son3 apparently had been storing a bag of goldfish and some pretzels under there). Then they tackled their closet, which looked like one of those imploding, top-heavy closets you might see in a bad sitcom. Their room took...All. Day. Son1 dealt with his room, took out garbage all day long, and helped me too -- with a whole lot of help from his girlfriend. They took furniture out of his room to make way for the crib and waged war against cat hair. (Ugh. Remind me again why we have pets?) And they assembled the bassinet.
I am not quite sure what I did. Helped the boys with their closet. Did a little refereeing. Cleaned old clothes out of my closet, which also happens to be my laundry room. Washed baby clothes and put them away. Asked other people to do things for me. Fortunately, one of my friends actually volunteered to be here, and she's pretty skilled at ass-kicking. She ordered Son1 and the girlfriend around and did lots of heinous tasks that are too much for my body at the moment. I assure you, there are not many people I would ask to vacuum under my bed. (Remember the pet hair! I think it nearly gave her an asthma attack.) You have to rely on someone really non-judgmental for that. Fortunately, she is just the person.
My husband cleaned the garage and his office and moved probably hundreds of books from our house to a pallet he made in the garage. Last night I went to look at the clean garage and passed the many daffodils that some lovely soul planted years ago. Now they are our daffodils, and they have been busy poking through the ground and growing taller for the past week or two. We've all been eyeing them with much anticipation, commenting on their progress. The other day, some buds appeared, and last night, the first one bloomed.
By the end of the day we were MUCH better prepared for this baby's arrival than when we started. I am so relieved. A perfect first day of spring.
So yesterday, on the first day of spring, we did some some spring cleaning. The two younger boys cleaned under their beds (Yuck! -- Son3 apparently had been storing a bag of goldfish and some pretzels under there). Then they tackled their closet, which looked like one of those imploding, top-heavy closets you might see in a bad sitcom. Their room took...All. Day. Son1 dealt with his room, took out garbage all day long, and helped me too -- with a whole lot of help from his girlfriend. They took furniture out of his room to make way for the crib and waged war against cat hair. (Ugh. Remind me again why we have pets?) And they assembled the bassinet.
I am not quite sure what I did. Helped the boys with their closet. Did a little refereeing. Cleaned old clothes out of my closet, which also happens to be my laundry room. Washed baby clothes and put them away. Asked other people to do things for me. Fortunately, one of my friends actually volunteered to be here, and she's pretty skilled at ass-kicking. She ordered Son1 and the girlfriend around and did lots of heinous tasks that are too much for my body at the moment. I assure you, there are not many people I would ask to vacuum under my bed. (Remember the pet hair! I think it nearly gave her an asthma attack.) You have to rely on someone really non-judgmental for that. Fortunately, she is just the person.
My husband cleaned the garage and his office and moved probably hundreds of books from our house to a pallet he made in the garage. Last night I went to look at the clean garage and passed the many daffodils that some lovely soul planted years ago. Now they are our daffodils, and they have been busy poking through the ground and growing taller for the past week or two. We've all been eyeing them with much anticipation, commenting on their progress. The other day, some buds appeared, and last night, the first one bloomed.
By the end of the day we were MUCH better prepared for this baby's arrival than when we started. I am so relieved. A perfect first day of spring.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Mood Swing
Yesterday morning I was sitting with my husband before I had to leave for...yes...yet another doctor's appointment. He had received a facebook message from his aunt and was reading it to me. When he finished, he commented on the way that people of his aunt's generation use facebook. This got me thinking about my mom. I wondered out loud if she would have learned to use facebook in order to keep up with her grandkids. I think she would have, though she would have been utterly baffled by it. I know that her grandkids were the reason she learned to use email.
Anyway, I suggested this possibility to my husband, and he proceeded to do a spot-on imitation of her with with her glasses and the way her hands would have flitted across the keyboard and how surprised she would have been by the whole thing. I laughed out loud, a completely delighted laugh. Son2 walked in the room and said, "That was a great laugh." But by the time he said that, I was crying. Tears were rolling down my cheeks because somehow, my husband's imitation had captured her so vividly. It was like seeing a disintegrating snapshot of all that was so funny and wonderful about her.
So I cried, because she is not here, and we will miss all the delight and laughter she would have brought to this crazy situation -- the birth of this unexpected boy, which will happen within days of the birth of what would have been her first great grandchild (my nephew and his beautiful wife are expecting their first baby just two weeks before ours.) All of that delight will be missing. We will talk about it, I know. We will imagine how it would all be even better with her here, but that obviously falls far short of the reality.
So I sat on the couch trying to swallow my tears and my feelings and forget about it. And then from the other room, Son3, who has been listening to this unfold, pipes up and says: "Was that a mood swing?"
And then I was laughing agin.
Anyway, I suggested this possibility to my husband, and he proceeded to do a spot-on imitation of her with with her glasses and the way her hands would have flitted across the keyboard and how surprised she would have been by the whole thing. I laughed out loud, a completely delighted laugh. Son2 walked in the room and said, "That was a great laugh." But by the time he said that, I was crying. Tears were rolling down my cheeks because somehow, my husband's imitation had captured her so vividly. It was like seeing a disintegrating snapshot of all that was so funny and wonderful about her.
So I cried, because she is not here, and we will miss all the delight and laughter she would have brought to this crazy situation -- the birth of this unexpected boy, which will happen within days of the birth of what would have been her first great grandchild (my nephew and his beautiful wife are expecting their first baby just two weeks before ours.) All of that delight will be missing. We will talk about it, I know. We will imagine how it would all be even better with her here, but that obviously falls far short of the reality.
So I sat on the couch trying to swallow my tears and my feelings and forget about it. And then from the other room, Son3, who has been listening to this unfold, pipes up and says: "Was that a mood swing?"
And then I was laughing agin.
Friday, March 12, 2010
A Great Acceptance Speech
The other night, I caught a bit of the Academy Awards. I turned it on just in time to see the award for best musical score. Well, I think that was the category. I absolutely loved Up! and I was pleased that its score won, but what I liked better was the artist's acceptance speech. He said that when he was nine years old, he found an 8mm camera in his dad's drawer and asked if he could have it. His dad said yes, and he began making movies. He told the audience that his parents never made him feel like the time he spent making movies was time wasted. He said that no one ever made him feel that way. But he also said that he knew that many kids don't get any kind of encouragement for their talents. He stood up there encouraging kids to use their talents and follow their dreams.
His speech brought me joy. It made my husband cry. For real. We have a little filmmaker at our house. Son2 is constantly dreaming up new stories he can tell in short films. He hears music and thinks about what kind of film it could go in and what might be happening at just that moment when the music plays. He astounds me. I didn't know anything about who I was or what I could do as a kid. I feel grateful that my sons seem to have some idea of what they love and what they can do well.
Well, I say that with a bit of a caveat. Because Son2 doesn't think this is a special talent, or a talent at all. He thinks anyone can make movies. He thinks it would be better if his hair was different (more like his brothers'), he was better looking, and he could play sports. There are times when he would gladly trade in his movie-making abilities for those other things. Fortunately, that's not an option. For the record, we think he's cute just the way he is, and we've never wished he could play sports well (except that it would make him feel better). Just a month ago I talked with him for over an hour about this very thing. He was beside himself. He wanted to be a different person. It was heartbreaking.
But on Monday morning we played that Academy Awards acceptance speech for him, and he smiled a certain kind of smile before he left the room...
His speech brought me joy. It made my husband cry. For real. We have a little filmmaker at our house. Son2 is constantly dreaming up new stories he can tell in short films. He hears music and thinks about what kind of film it could go in and what might be happening at just that moment when the music plays. He astounds me. I didn't know anything about who I was or what I could do as a kid. I feel grateful that my sons seem to have some idea of what they love and what they can do well.
Well, I say that with a bit of a caveat. Because Son2 doesn't think this is a special talent, or a talent at all. He thinks anyone can make movies. He thinks it would be better if his hair was different (more like his brothers'), he was better looking, and he could play sports. There are times when he would gladly trade in his movie-making abilities for those other things. Fortunately, that's not an option. For the record, we think he's cute just the way he is, and we've never wished he could play sports well (except that it would make him feel better). Just a month ago I talked with him for over an hour about this very thing. He was beside himself. He wanted to be a different person. It was heartbreaking.
But on Monday morning we played that Academy Awards acceptance speech for him, and he smiled a certain kind of smile before he left the room...
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
High, Low
My thoughts seem pretty disjointed these days. I think about blogging, and then I...don't. So it seemed like the perfect time for High, Low -- the kind of post that doesn't call for thoughts that actually flow together. So here's a few of my recent highs and lows.
High: I got some really cute pictures of the little buddy when I had my latest ultrasound. He looks like Son2, which means I think he looks adorable. Son2 looked at the picture and announced that his brother looks like a pear. Son1 looked at it and said, "He looks like an old man." And I said, "Exactly. That's how your brother looked when he was born."
Low: Still going for ultrasounds every week, and I find the waiting room depressing. So many young, single moms. So many people who make me feel a deep concern for their children's future. Like the couple due any day whose baby weighs less than three pounds and whose toddler runs around the waiting room, drinking some thick pink concoction from her bottle. They call her "Crazy," as in, "Get over here, Crazy." "Don't do that, Crazy." I just want to run out of that waiting room and never look back. I realize this sounds judgmental, but I bet you'd sound the same way if you had to sit in that waiting room.
High: This little dude is coming out soon.
Low: My body has never hurt so much. I literally feel like I won't make it.
Other Low: We still don't have a crib set up...or well, anything set up.
High: There are green things shooting up in my yard.
Low: It's supposed to rain for days, and that means it's going to get really muddy.
High: We've been watching American Idol.
Low: We've been watching American Idol. Is it just me, or is this the least talented group of finalists ever?
High: The little dude supposedly weighs five pounds now.
Low: I've gained more weight so far than I wanted to gain for the whole pregnancy.
Other Low: Everywhere I go, people say annoying things. Why is a pregnant woman's body open season for comments? I mean, if you can't tell me I look great, then just don't say anything. An older gentleman (and I use the term lightly) said to me yesterday in the grocery store, "Due any day now, huh?" I just smiled and thought, "Nope. Due in a month, idiot."
Alright, if I'm being honest, I'm a little more focused on the lows right now -- like the fact that my butt is actually asleep from sitting in this chair too long. The ongoing high is that this baby looks healthy and that we're all excited for his arrival. But the lows keep presenting themselves -- mainly the small physical complaints that accompany the end of any pregnancy, and that seem particularly acute when, like me, you're on the higher end of the age range for childbearing. I literally walk around the house moaning. At times, anyway. So one of your highs should be that you don't have to live with me. Any other highs or lows you'd like to share?
High: I got some really cute pictures of the little buddy when I had my latest ultrasound. He looks like Son2, which means I think he looks adorable. Son2 looked at the picture and announced that his brother looks like a pear. Son1 looked at it and said, "He looks like an old man." And I said, "Exactly. That's how your brother looked when he was born."
Low: Still going for ultrasounds every week, and I find the waiting room depressing. So many young, single moms. So many people who make me feel a deep concern for their children's future. Like the couple due any day whose baby weighs less than three pounds and whose toddler runs around the waiting room, drinking some thick pink concoction from her bottle. They call her "Crazy," as in, "Get over here, Crazy." "Don't do that, Crazy." I just want to run out of that waiting room and never look back. I realize this sounds judgmental, but I bet you'd sound the same way if you had to sit in that waiting room.
High: This little dude is coming out soon.
Low: My body has never hurt so much. I literally feel like I won't make it.
Other Low: We still don't have a crib set up...or well, anything set up.
High: There are green things shooting up in my yard.
Low: It's supposed to rain for days, and that means it's going to get really muddy.
High: We've been watching American Idol.
Low: We've been watching American Idol. Is it just me, or is this the least talented group of finalists ever?
High: The little dude supposedly weighs five pounds now.
Low: I've gained more weight so far than I wanted to gain for the whole pregnancy.
Other Low: Everywhere I go, people say annoying things. Why is a pregnant woman's body open season for comments? I mean, if you can't tell me I look great, then just don't say anything. An older gentleman (and I use the term lightly) said to me yesterday in the grocery store, "Due any day now, huh?" I just smiled and thought, "Nope. Due in a month, idiot."
Alright, if I'm being honest, I'm a little more focused on the lows right now -- like the fact that my butt is actually asleep from sitting in this chair too long. The ongoing high is that this baby looks healthy and that we're all excited for his arrival. But the lows keep presenting themselves -- mainly the small physical complaints that accompany the end of any pregnancy, and that seem particularly acute when, like me, you're on the higher end of the age range for childbearing. I literally walk around the house moaning. At times, anyway. So one of your highs should be that you don't have to live with me. Any other highs or lows you'd like to share?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Ready...
In my backyard I can see some mud and grass. And a huge puddle beneath the rope swing that hangs from our neighbor's giant sycamore. This is the most glorious February mud and grass I have ever seen. It makes me dream of daffodils and crocuses and budding trees. I ache for Spring. I want to walk. I want to take the dog to the park and watch him run. I am ready for new life. Ready to move on. Ready to push this baby out and take him outside for some fresh air, even if I still have no place for him to sleep or anywhere to stash the clothes my friend has generously set aside for him.
I am seeing robins everywhere, and right now it's six o'clock and it's still not dark. Harbingers of Spring.
I am ready for baseball and open windows, even if the street noise where we live is louder than any city street we have ever lived on. I am ready for rain and wind. For March, in like a lion, out like a lamb. For Easter. Renewal. Resurrection. I feel like I too am about to be born.
What are you waiting for?
I am seeing robins everywhere, and right now it's six o'clock and it's still not dark. Harbingers of Spring.
I am ready for baseball and open windows, even if the street noise where we live is louder than any city street we have ever lived on. I am ready for rain and wind. For March, in like a lion, out like a lamb. For Easter. Renewal. Resurrection. I feel like I too am about to be born.
What are you waiting for?
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Wood
We have a wood stove in our house. I've probably mentioned it before. I actually credit the wood stove with preventing me from feeling the low-level anxiety and depression that I used to feel for much of the winter. Somehow, a fire helps to keep that at bay.
But wood stoves are a good bit of work, and we don't even go out and chop wood ourselves. We have it delivered to our driveway...but then it has to be stacked in the woodshed. And that's where the trouble starts. For some reason this brings out a lot of unreasonable behavior in the younger two boys. They have trouble working together, and fight instead. But to be honest, the mere thought of having to stack the wood sends them into a tailspin.
We had wood delivered on Friday. I explained then that sometime over the weekend, it would have to be stacked. Some kind of storm will be here Monday...though (thank God! -- and I really mean that) it looks mostly like just a cold rain. Nothing happened with the wood stacking on Saturday. Everyone was happy to be lazy, and Son1 had his girlfriend over all day. So this morning when I got up, I announced to the younger two that they should expect to be stacking wood this afternoon (their older brother wasn't up yet, or I would have told him too). They went over the edge in about a second flat. Son2 announced: "I hate the wood, I hate the stove, and I hate this house." Okie dokie. "Go to your room," was my response, because a certain someone has an ongoing problem with gratitude and perspective and complaining. I knew he was lucky that his dad wasn't up yet to hear that announcement. Things would have gone way worse for him. Indeed. When I told the husband what Son2 said, his response was, "If I were my dad, he'd have to sleep in the garage tonight. Then he'd be thankful for the wood stove and any roof over his head." Yup. He was not an easy dad to grow up with.
Somehow there's nothing like chores to bring out the lectures around here. Son3 said, "I hate the work that has to be done again and again."
WHAT? "Umm, that's all work, kid. The grocery shopping, the vacuuming, mowing the lawn, and going to work. It all has to be done again and again. That's called life. And when you grow up, are you really going to complain every day that you have to go to work? Get a grip," I said.
How is it that they don't understand this yet?
But wood stoves are a good bit of work, and we don't even go out and chop wood ourselves. We have it delivered to our driveway...but then it has to be stacked in the woodshed. And that's where the trouble starts. For some reason this brings out a lot of unreasonable behavior in the younger two boys. They have trouble working together, and fight instead. But to be honest, the mere thought of having to stack the wood sends them into a tailspin.
We had wood delivered on Friday. I explained then that sometime over the weekend, it would have to be stacked. Some kind of storm will be here Monday...though (thank God! -- and I really mean that) it looks mostly like just a cold rain. Nothing happened with the wood stacking on Saturday. Everyone was happy to be lazy, and Son1 had his girlfriend over all day. So this morning when I got up, I announced to the younger two that they should expect to be stacking wood this afternoon (their older brother wasn't up yet, or I would have told him too). They went over the edge in about a second flat. Son2 announced: "I hate the wood, I hate the stove, and I hate this house." Okie dokie. "Go to your room," was my response, because a certain someone has an ongoing problem with gratitude and perspective and complaining. I knew he was lucky that his dad wasn't up yet to hear that announcement. Things would have gone way worse for him. Indeed. When I told the husband what Son2 said, his response was, "If I were my dad, he'd have to sleep in the garage tonight. Then he'd be thankful for the wood stove and any roof over his head." Yup. He was not an easy dad to grow up with.
Somehow there's nothing like chores to bring out the lectures around here. Son3 said, "I hate the work that has to be done again and again."
WHAT? "Umm, that's all work, kid. The grocery shopping, the vacuuming, mowing the lawn, and going to work. It all has to be done again and again. That's called life. And when you grow up, are you really going to complain every day that you have to go to work? Get a grip," I said.
How is it that they don't understand this yet?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Waiting for Spring
I feel like the snow is serving as some sort of insulation for my brain. These storms and all that they have left behind have made me feel muddled and lost in time. Like my life is in a state of suspension. Which, of course, it sort of is, and that may be why the snow is having such a profound effect.
I've lost whatever groove I had. My days are caught up in some strange, sleepy rhythm despite the fact that we plowed ahead (no pun intended) with school throughout the storms. No matter that the public school kids didn't have school for over a week and will be delayed two hours every day this week. That's too bad, I tell my kids. We have a baby coming. We are wasting no time. Plus, quite frankly, they are driving me slightly crazy with their energy and endless chatter. I can't imagine if there weren't any schoolwork to occupy them for hours during the day.
Nevertheless... I've enjoyed the lazy rhythm of these days. Scrabble and yahtzee and hot chocolate and all of that. But I've been trapped inside while everyone else has gone out to play...and now I just feel lost. How do I organize my time? How do I get work done? Can you remind me? Because I feel like I've forgotten. That and all the other practicalities -- paying bills, planning meals, buying groceries...it all just seems to get done by the skin of my teeth. Did there used to be rhyme or reason to this?
In the movie Elf, Will Ferrell refers to himself as a cottonheaded ninnymuggins...and that is just how I feel.
I am a cottonheaded ninnymuggins waiting for Spring. Crocuses and daffodils and this baby. A little more sunshine and even a soft, warm breeze. And then maybe my head will clear.
I've lost whatever groove I had. My days are caught up in some strange, sleepy rhythm despite the fact that we plowed ahead (no pun intended) with school throughout the storms. No matter that the public school kids didn't have school for over a week and will be delayed two hours every day this week. That's too bad, I tell my kids. We have a baby coming. We are wasting no time. Plus, quite frankly, they are driving me slightly crazy with their energy and endless chatter. I can't imagine if there weren't any schoolwork to occupy them for hours during the day.
Nevertheless... I've enjoyed the lazy rhythm of these days. Scrabble and yahtzee and hot chocolate and all of that. But I've been trapped inside while everyone else has gone out to play...and now I just feel lost. How do I organize my time? How do I get work done? Can you remind me? Because I feel like I've forgotten. That and all the other practicalities -- paying bills, planning meals, buying groceries...it all just seems to get done by the skin of my teeth. Did there used to be rhyme or reason to this?
In the movie Elf, Will Ferrell refers to himself as a cottonheaded ninnymuggins...and that is just how I feel.
I am a cottonheaded ninnymuggins waiting for Spring. Crocuses and daffodils and this baby. A little more sunshine and even a soft, warm breeze. And then maybe my head will clear.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Poets in the Making
I have said before that poetry seems to have left me. I still see life through that lens. The snow. The birds. The dog curled up at the foot of my bed. And yes, the heartache too. But none of it bubbles up to words that pour out on paper.
I am really enjoying a new book I'm reading: Lit by Mary Karr. Karr is a poet, and this memoir, thus far, seems to tell her tale of the struggle to become the poet she always knew she was. It is also about her own alcoholism as well as her mother's and father's -- the craziness she grew up in and ran from, only to live out herself in her own way. I heard her interviewed a few months ago on NPR and knew I had to read this book. Through it all, somehow, some way, she recently met up with God and converted to Catholicism. Here's a quote from the book jacket:
"If you'd told me even a year before I started taking my son to church regular that I'd wind up whispering my sins in the confessional or on my knees saying the rosary, I would've laughed myself cockeyed. More likely pastime? Pole dancer. International spy. Drug mule. Assassin."
It's a long book, and I've only just begun...but I'm enjoying hearing about her journey to prize-winning poet. Which got me thinking about my friend's daughter, who I mentioned months ago.
Last year, as a seventh grader, she had to write some poems for English class. My friend sent me one of them, to get my opinion. It brought tears to my eyes. I was just amazed that this 12-year-old girl had written something so evocative. Her family had recently moved from northern New Jersey to North Carolina, and their new home is so different from their old one. This poem perfectly captures her first home and her family heritage. Happily, I have permission to share the poem with you.
"Where I'm From"
I am from a shack red house in Englewood,
potato chip bags and soda cans in the front yard.
From a huge old tree that stood over the years,
only to be knocked down by the wind.
I am from sweltering summers and freezing
winters, from Bear Mountain and the Bronx Zoo.
From a restaurant business father and an english
teaching mother.
I am from running like the wind, and writing like
fire, from doodling and drawing on gray rainy days.
I am from a line of teachers and mentors on both sides
of the street, and this I will become.
I am blossoming like a pansy in the spring, yearning for
sunshine, needing earth and love to grow.
I am really enjoying a new book I'm reading: Lit by Mary Karr. Karr is a poet, and this memoir, thus far, seems to tell her tale of the struggle to become the poet she always knew she was. It is also about her own alcoholism as well as her mother's and father's -- the craziness she grew up in and ran from, only to live out herself in her own way. I heard her interviewed a few months ago on NPR and knew I had to read this book. Through it all, somehow, some way, she recently met up with God and converted to Catholicism. Here's a quote from the book jacket:
"If you'd told me even a year before I started taking my son to church regular that I'd wind up whispering my sins in the confessional or on my knees saying the rosary, I would've laughed myself cockeyed. More likely pastime? Pole dancer. International spy. Drug mule. Assassin."
It's a long book, and I've only just begun...but I'm enjoying hearing about her journey to prize-winning poet. Which got me thinking about my friend's daughter, who I mentioned months ago.
Last year, as a seventh grader, she had to write some poems for English class. My friend sent me one of them, to get my opinion. It brought tears to my eyes. I was just amazed that this 12-year-old girl had written something so evocative. Her family had recently moved from northern New Jersey to North Carolina, and their new home is so different from their old one. This poem perfectly captures her first home and her family heritage. Happily, I have permission to share the poem with you.
"Where I'm From"
I am from a shack red house in Englewood,
potato chip bags and soda cans in the front yard.
From a huge old tree that stood over the years,
only to be knocked down by the wind.
I am from sweltering summers and freezing
winters, from Bear Mountain and the Bronx Zoo.
From a restaurant business father and an english
teaching mother.
I am from running like the wind, and writing like
fire, from doodling and drawing on gray rainy days.
I am from a line of teachers and mentors on both sides
of the street, and this I will become.
I am blossoming like a pansy in the spring, yearning for
sunshine, needing earth and love to grow.
Monday, February 8, 2010
All that Gets Undone
I am weirdly obsessed with fruit right now, and I have been for the past seven months. Apples. Endless apples. But also grapes, oranges, and mangoes. Every piece of fruit I eat seems like the best fruit I have ever had. In the past month I can't seem to eat enough mango. Too bad enjoying a piece of fruit can't be something I check off the to-do list that grows longer with each day.
I'm having so much trouble accomplishing anything lately that if I felt more energetic, I'd be near despair. Fortunately, I don't seem to have enough energy for despair. So I just kind of wander about my house, noticing all that I should do -- clean the kitchen, put things away, wash more clothes, make some space for the baby -- something, anything. Instead, I often just sit back down and somehow manage to avoid the work that awaits me on the computer. Actual clients who want things from me. I get their work done, but it feels like I just barely do.
Here's the trouble. My drug of choice is usually the drug of getting something done. Let me accomplish something, anything, and I will likely feel a little better. But I'm not accomplishing much these days, and I don't recognize myself. Tonight I had to call my friend, my pecan sandie best friend, to try to restore myself, to find a way to feel like me. Hearing her voice helped.
Because we have weirdly parallel lives and a few of the same frailties, she told me that lately she is consciously trying to spend more time doing things that can't be undone. She says she spends too much time doing all the things that get undone -- namely, the household chores that dog her hours when she's not at work teaching high school English. She says she's trying to take more time for things like laughing with her girls, reading a book, walking the dog, and even taking a nap -- things that she says can't be undone.
After we talked, I ate a mango and read a chapter of the book I've been slowly enjoying lately: Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Enjoying a mango can't be undone. According to the ultrasound I had today, this little dude has gained a pound in the past two weeks. (I won't mention how much I've gained.) I savored the mango and tried to find a way to live with myself as I am right now -- a person who accomplishes much less than usual. I tried not to wonder if I'll ever be myself again. I did wonder how I would ever find the energy to clear out some kind of space for baby clothes and diapers. I thought about the process of partially dismantling Son1's very small room to make way for a crib, because that is where this kid will have to sleep -- in a room with his oldest brother. I thought about the process of baby proofing this very un-baby-friendly house.
I didn't proceed to actually do anything, but I did enjoy that mango and the chapter that I read. Then I played a few rounds of Boggle with Son3.
I expect that sometime in the next nine weeks we'll bring this little fellow home -- it will happen whether I ever actually find a place for the baby clothes, whether my husband sets up the crib, and whether I finish my work. Of course, I may very well get organized and find a place for the baby clothes and diapers, my husband will likely set up the crib, and surely I won't let my clients down. Right? I hope so. Nevertheless, I will keep eating fruit and this kid will keep packing on the pounds, and I expect that won't be undone.
I'm having so much trouble accomplishing anything lately that if I felt more energetic, I'd be near despair. Fortunately, I don't seem to have enough energy for despair. So I just kind of wander about my house, noticing all that I should do -- clean the kitchen, put things away, wash more clothes, make some space for the baby -- something, anything. Instead, I often just sit back down and somehow manage to avoid the work that awaits me on the computer. Actual clients who want things from me. I get their work done, but it feels like I just barely do.
Here's the trouble. My drug of choice is usually the drug of getting something done. Let me accomplish something, anything, and I will likely feel a little better. But I'm not accomplishing much these days, and I don't recognize myself. Tonight I had to call my friend, my pecan sandie best friend, to try to restore myself, to find a way to feel like me. Hearing her voice helped.
Because we have weirdly parallel lives and a few of the same frailties, she told me that lately she is consciously trying to spend more time doing things that can't be undone. She says she spends too much time doing all the things that get undone -- namely, the household chores that dog her hours when she's not at work teaching high school English. She says she's trying to take more time for things like laughing with her girls, reading a book, walking the dog, and even taking a nap -- things that she says can't be undone.
After we talked, I ate a mango and read a chapter of the book I've been slowly enjoying lately: Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. Enjoying a mango can't be undone. According to the ultrasound I had today, this little dude has gained a pound in the past two weeks. (I won't mention how much I've gained.) I savored the mango and tried to find a way to live with myself as I am right now -- a person who accomplishes much less than usual. I tried not to wonder if I'll ever be myself again. I did wonder how I would ever find the energy to clear out some kind of space for baby clothes and diapers. I thought about the process of partially dismantling Son1's very small room to make way for a crib, because that is where this kid will have to sleep -- in a room with his oldest brother. I thought about the process of baby proofing this very un-baby-friendly house.
I didn't proceed to actually do anything, but I did enjoy that mango and the chapter that I read. Then I played a few rounds of Boggle with Son3.
I expect that sometime in the next nine weeks we'll bring this little fellow home -- it will happen whether I ever actually find a place for the baby clothes, whether my husband sets up the crib, and whether I finish my work. Of course, I may very well get organized and find a place for the baby clothes and diapers, my husband will likely set up the crib, and surely I won't let my clients down. Right? I hope so. Nevertheless, I will keep eating fruit and this kid will keep packing on the pounds, and I expect that won't be undone.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Pecan Sandies
When I was a kid, I loved to sleep over my best friend's house. They had a cat and a dog, and their household was entirely different from mine. They also had dessert every night. The thing is that I could have dessert whenever I wanted to as a kid, a million times a day if I wanted, because my parents were desperate for me to eat and gain a little weight. But I wasn't particularly interested in food. Yet dessert was somehow different at my friend's house, because it was something sort of official, like dinner. And I liked that.
Every once in a while, though, there wouldn't be anything good for dessert. Sometimes there were only pecan sandies. I think if I were to eat pecan sandies now, I would actually like them. But at the time my friend and I thought they were gross, and her brothers thought so too. And that is precisely why her father, who did the grocery shopping, bought them -- because he got tired of always having to buy more food. And if he bought pecan sandies, then he could always claim that there was a dessert available...but he also knew that no one would eat them. It's quite a tactic. He found a way to never run out of dessert!
When we were kids, we couldn't understand why he did this. But now it's crystal clear. There comes a point where you just get tired of buying food and having it run out. It sounds absurd, I know. But I ask you: how many granola bars can you buy in one week? No matter the number I buy, they all get eaten -- in three days! So I think, I could just never buy granola bars again and save all that granola bar money. Sometimes the food disappears so fast, It's as if I literally can't buy enough. You can only fit so much food in the cart, and I'm not going to turn into one of those people who uses two carts. At this point, I find grocery shopping to be an exhausting endeavor anyway. I walk through the store having contraction after contraction, hoping they are harmless and not leading me to some crazy early preterm delivery.
And so another boy, who will surely eat a lot, is on his way. I heard some statistic about how it costs over $200,000 to raise a child to age eighteen. I believe it. And that's why sometimes you lose your mind and start buying pecan sandies for dessert.
Every once in a while, though, there wouldn't be anything good for dessert. Sometimes there were only pecan sandies. I think if I were to eat pecan sandies now, I would actually like them. But at the time my friend and I thought they were gross, and her brothers thought so too. And that is precisely why her father, who did the grocery shopping, bought them -- because he got tired of always having to buy more food. And if he bought pecan sandies, then he could always claim that there was a dessert available...but he also knew that no one would eat them. It's quite a tactic. He found a way to never run out of dessert!
When we were kids, we couldn't understand why he did this. But now it's crystal clear. There comes a point where you just get tired of buying food and having it run out. It sounds absurd, I know. But I ask you: how many granola bars can you buy in one week? No matter the number I buy, they all get eaten -- in three days! So I think, I could just never buy granola bars again and save all that granola bar money. Sometimes the food disappears so fast, It's as if I literally can't buy enough. You can only fit so much food in the cart, and I'm not going to turn into one of those people who uses two carts. At this point, I find grocery shopping to be an exhausting endeavor anyway. I walk through the store having contraction after contraction, hoping they are harmless and not leading me to some crazy early preterm delivery.
And so another boy, who will surely eat a lot, is on his way. I heard some statistic about how it costs over $200,000 to raise a child to age eighteen. I believe it. And that's why sometimes you lose your mind and start buying pecan sandies for dessert.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Insomnia and Sarah Palin
Well, it's 5:43 and I've been awake since 2. Two in the morning! I am beginning to agree with the husband...maybe God really is getting me ready for a baby who just won't snooze. But I'll be honest: I hope not. Really. Everyone should hope not. I am more human when I sleep. I found out this week that I'm anemic, and in my mildly obsessive quest for information online, I learned that one symptom of anemia is insomnia, so I am hoping that this lovely iron and herbal potion I am downing twice a day will take care of the anemia and the insomnia.
Yesterday morning I was watching the news and decided that we really have lost our collective perspective. Apparently back in August the White House Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel, called some liberal democrats "f***ing retarded" for attacking the president's health care plan. Now Sarah Palin is calling for him to resign over the use of the word retarded. Umm, really? If we ask people to resign over such things, would anyone be left in DC? And honestly, we don't seem to ask them to resign for lying to us over weapons of mass destruction and taking countless innocent lives, so I fail to see the urgency here. I know, that's a tired old axe to grind. But, right?
Here's my question: can she really not see that Emanuel's use of the word retarded, while in poor taste I guess, is not actually an attack on people with disabilities? Is her mind really that dull? Umm, don't answer that.
I'm sorry, but this woman annoys -- and terrifies -- me. But what scares me more than her are all the people who think they want her to lead our country. This is a person who couldn't even hang in there for her term as governor of Alaska. That there are people who would still gladly elect her to our country's highest office offends me a lot more than anyone's use of the word retarded.
See? I'm a little cranky when I don't sleep.
Yesterday morning I was watching the news and decided that we really have lost our collective perspective. Apparently back in August the White House Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel, called some liberal democrats "f***ing retarded" for attacking the president's health care plan. Now Sarah Palin is calling for him to resign over the use of the word retarded. Umm, really? If we ask people to resign over such things, would anyone be left in DC? And honestly, we don't seem to ask them to resign for lying to us over weapons of mass destruction and taking countless innocent lives, so I fail to see the urgency here. I know, that's a tired old axe to grind. But, right?
Here's my question: can she really not see that Emanuel's use of the word retarded, while in poor taste I guess, is not actually an attack on people with disabilities? Is her mind really that dull? Umm, don't answer that.
I'm sorry, but this woman annoys -- and terrifies -- me. But what scares me more than her are all the people who think they want her to lead our country. This is a person who couldn't even hang in there for her term as governor of Alaska. That there are people who would still gladly elect her to our country's highest office offends me a lot more than anyone's use of the word retarded.
See? I'm a little cranky when I don't sleep.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Books & Movies
Son2 is really looking forward to the upcoming release of the Lightning Thief movie. He's been reading his way through the series throughout the school year, and he's enjoyed them quite a bit. I read the first two (the books were were recommended here when I was begging for book recommendations), and I especially enjoyed the first.
I am just hoping that the movie lives up to Son2's expectations. That book to movie transition isn't always smooth. In fact, I've enjoyed very few movies based on books I love. The Lord of the Rings movies are the most notable exception. I loved The Lovely Bones when I read it, but I wouldn't dream of seeing the movie, and that's usually how I feel about such things. I like to preserve my feelings about a book and not let a movie wreck it. You know?
So, I'm wondering whether you've read any books and subsequently enjoyed the movies...
Sometimes I think that it's just whatever you first experience. A gzillion years ago I saw the movie Unbearable Lightness of Being and just loved it. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it. Then i read the book and didn't love it so much.
Son2 is pretty critical of things. He has strong feelings about music and stories and movies. We would not be surprised if he grows up to be a filmmaker, or at least gives it a good shot. He's always making these goofy movies and posting them on YouTube. More important, he's always dreaming up the next one. He had one cooking in his brain throughout early December, and as soon as Christmas break started, he devoted himself to three days of filming. He played all the parts and did almost all the filming. It was a total manic creative episode. When he finished, he sat down and edited it for hours. The result was his most well thought out and interesting movie yet, though it is a bit lengthy. We were so proud of him.
All of this to say, he loves Percy Jackson and he loves movies, and I hope he's not disappointed.
****
On an entirely different note, I had another ultrasound the other day, and the little guy decided to show me his face, which I appreciated. I brought home the pictures, and brothers 2 & 3 announced that they thought his nose looks awfully big. (In all fairness, it does look like kind of a turned up pug nose.) And I thought, poor guy, not even born and already being criticized by his brothers. Regardless, we all keep wandering over to the refrigerator to sneak peeks at the little buddy's pictures hanging there...
I am just hoping that the movie lives up to Son2's expectations. That book to movie transition isn't always smooth. In fact, I've enjoyed very few movies based on books I love. The Lord of the Rings movies are the most notable exception. I loved The Lovely Bones when I read it, but I wouldn't dream of seeing the movie, and that's usually how I feel about such things. I like to preserve my feelings about a book and not let a movie wreck it. You know?
So, I'm wondering whether you've read any books and subsequently enjoyed the movies...
Sometimes I think that it's just whatever you first experience. A gzillion years ago I saw the movie Unbearable Lightness of Being and just loved it. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it. Then i read the book and didn't love it so much.
Son2 is pretty critical of things. He has strong feelings about music and stories and movies. We would not be surprised if he grows up to be a filmmaker, or at least gives it a good shot. He's always making these goofy movies and posting them on YouTube. More important, he's always dreaming up the next one. He had one cooking in his brain throughout early December, and as soon as Christmas break started, he devoted himself to three days of filming. He played all the parts and did almost all the filming. It was a total manic creative episode. When he finished, he sat down and edited it for hours. The result was his most well thought out and interesting movie yet, though it is a bit lengthy. We were so proud of him.
All of this to say, he loves Percy Jackson and he loves movies, and I hope he's not disappointed.
****
On an entirely different note, I had another ultrasound the other day, and the little guy decided to show me his face, which I appreciated. I brought home the pictures, and brothers 2 & 3 announced that they thought his nose looks awfully big. (In all fairness, it does look like kind of a turned up pug nose.) And I thought, poor guy, not even born and already being criticized by his brothers. Regardless, we all keep wandering over to the refrigerator to sneak peeks at the little buddy's pictures hanging there...
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Right Words
The other night, I could not sleep. When exhaustion drives you to bed by 9:30 but you're awake again by 11, you know it's going to be a bad night. And it was. Apparently it was a bad night for my husband too...maybe because I was tossing and turning relentlessly? He got up before me, around 3, I think. I stayed in bed until 4 and surrendered to the inevitable. That's how we found ourselves huddled by the woodstove around 4:15 in the morning talking about how to negotiate our lives, juggle the labor, help our family and each other survive this upcoming transition.
In the midst of this conversation, he started playing with one of our cats, Smudgie, enticing him with a string. It was one of those surreal moments, being awake so early, trying to figure out life, while the cat rolled and batted and acted goofy. Cats. Lovely creatures without a care in the world, and always good for a little levity and distraction. That morning, the levity brought back a memory.
The summer I was seven years old, I met my epic friend. Our families were at a barbecue, and our brothers introduced us. She was the only other little girl at the party, perhaps the only other child my age. I don't remember. Most of the families there had children my brothers' age -- in other words, not children at all, but teens and young adults. Like me, this girl was the surprise in her family. Her brothers were eight and ten years older than her; mine, ten and twelve years older than me. One of my brothers was friends with one of hers, and they thought we should meet.
The trouble was that both of us were shy, painfully so. So our brothers stood there, telling us about each other, and we stood there, giggling like goofballs, unable to say a word. It looked like this meeting might go nowhere, until I finally piped up and said, "Want to play with the cats?" And that was it.
We've been friends for more than three decades. Through dolls and silly sleepovers, painful adolescent moments, first boyfriends, choir trips and youth retreats, college, life in the city (complete with giant roaches!), first real jobs, marriage, babies, businesses, and more, we have seen each other through. We have oddly parallel lives, and somehow we reflect and interpret reality for each other. She has three girls, essentially the same ages as my boys. Her first, born a month to the day after mine; her last, born six weeks before mine. Well, before this very last one, of course. These days, when she calls, my husband says to her: "So, are you pregnant yet?" Because really, this pregnancy of mine brings us to the greatest divergence of our realities.
I am certain that I have all the greatest friends on this earth, that no one is as fortunate as me in the friends department. Beautiful, wonderful women. Interesting, unique, and true. I don't know what I would do without them. But this friendship is altogether one-of-a-kind, perhaps because neither of us has sisters and we have known each other for so long. For most of our childhoods, she was the bolder of the two of us, and she overcame her shyness long before I overcame mine. But I like to remember that our friendship got its start because I found the words to get it on its way. I would not be me without her, and that our friendship hinges on a cat and her kittens at a summer backyard barbecue somehow makes it all the sweeter.
In the midst of this conversation, he started playing with one of our cats, Smudgie, enticing him with a string. It was one of those surreal moments, being awake so early, trying to figure out life, while the cat rolled and batted and acted goofy. Cats. Lovely creatures without a care in the world, and always good for a little levity and distraction. That morning, the levity brought back a memory.
The summer I was seven years old, I met my epic friend. Our families were at a barbecue, and our brothers introduced us. She was the only other little girl at the party, perhaps the only other child my age. I don't remember. Most of the families there had children my brothers' age -- in other words, not children at all, but teens and young adults. Like me, this girl was the surprise in her family. Her brothers were eight and ten years older than her; mine, ten and twelve years older than me. One of my brothers was friends with one of hers, and they thought we should meet.
The trouble was that both of us were shy, painfully so. So our brothers stood there, telling us about each other, and we stood there, giggling like goofballs, unable to say a word. It looked like this meeting might go nowhere, until I finally piped up and said, "Want to play with the cats?" And that was it.
We've been friends for more than three decades. Through dolls and silly sleepovers, painful adolescent moments, first boyfriends, choir trips and youth retreats, college, life in the city (complete with giant roaches!), first real jobs, marriage, babies, businesses, and more, we have seen each other through. We have oddly parallel lives, and somehow we reflect and interpret reality for each other. She has three girls, essentially the same ages as my boys. Her first, born a month to the day after mine; her last, born six weeks before mine. Well, before this very last one, of course. These days, when she calls, my husband says to her: "So, are you pregnant yet?" Because really, this pregnancy of mine brings us to the greatest divergence of our realities.
I am certain that I have all the greatest friends on this earth, that no one is as fortunate as me in the friends department. Beautiful, wonderful women. Interesting, unique, and true. I don't know what I would do without them. But this friendship is altogether one-of-a-kind, perhaps because neither of us has sisters and we have known each other for so long. For most of our childhoods, she was the bolder of the two of us, and she overcame her shyness long before I overcame mine. But I like to remember that our friendship got its start because I found the words to get it on its way. I would not be me without her, and that our friendship hinges on a cat and her kittens at a summer backyard barbecue somehow makes it all the sweeter.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Classic
Yesterday I started the merry-go-round of testing that will make up the last trimester of this pregnancy. Trips to the doctor's office two or three times a week, depending on the week. If you can believe such a thing.
WARNING: Unless you live a life of ease with no responsibilities whatsoever, do not get pregnant in your forties. Just don't do it people! Not only do they tell you scary things and require insane amounts of additional medical care, you will be exhausted. Trust me, I know. Pregnancy is way harder this time around.
Every Monday until this guy's birthday, I will go for a biophysical profile (BPP), which is a fancy term for an ultrasound where they measure certain things -- mainly (I think) fluid levels as well as the baby's muscle tone, growth, and practice breaths. On Thursdays, I will go for non-stress tests, hooked up to the monitor that you wear during labor that measures contractions as well as the heartbeat and who knows what else. Every other Friday I visit the doctor. It feels like a bit much. C'est la vie. My husband says I should be grateful for good medical care. I am certain he is right. I'm working on the gratitude thing, trying not to fret about the time that all of this takes.
The important news is that this little fellow passed his test yesterday with flying colors. But what made the whole thing just a classic representation of my life is that the ultrasound tech couldn't get any pictures of his face. Instead I walked out of there with a picture of his forearm and a very powerful-looking fist as well as a good shot of his butt and well...yes, his balls. If I'd had any doubts (which I really didn't) about his gender, I don't anymore. This one is all boy, in personality and more.
WARNING: Unless you live a life of ease with no responsibilities whatsoever, do not get pregnant in your forties. Just don't do it people! Not only do they tell you scary things and require insane amounts of additional medical care, you will be exhausted. Trust me, I know. Pregnancy is way harder this time around.
Every Monday until this guy's birthday, I will go for a biophysical profile (BPP), which is a fancy term for an ultrasound where they measure certain things -- mainly (I think) fluid levels as well as the baby's muscle tone, growth, and practice breaths. On Thursdays, I will go for non-stress tests, hooked up to the monitor that you wear during labor that measures contractions as well as the heartbeat and who knows what else. Every other Friday I visit the doctor. It feels like a bit much. C'est la vie. My husband says I should be grateful for good medical care. I am certain he is right. I'm working on the gratitude thing, trying not to fret about the time that all of this takes.
The important news is that this little fellow passed his test yesterday with flying colors. But what made the whole thing just a classic representation of my life is that the ultrasound tech couldn't get any pictures of his face. Instead I walked out of there with a picture of his forearm and a very powerful-looking fist as well as a good shot of his butt and well...yes, his balls. If I'd had any doubts (which I really didn't) about his gender, I don't anymore. This one is all boy, in personality and more.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Tears
Historically speaking, I haven't been much for crying. Years can go by. I can be sad, upset, or depressed, but the tears don't really come. Sometimes, yes. But more often than not...not.
But this pregnancy has changed all of that. I started crying before I even knew I was pregnant. I couldn't figure out what exactly was wrong with me. And then...well...then I found out. So now I am undone by things, big and small. I cry and cry. One of my dear friends says that she is grateful to this little fellow for enabling me to cry. She suggested that perhaps when he grows up, he will be the kind of person that others will feel safe to cry with. A lovely thought. I hope he is that kind of person.
I really love Guster's music, and the other day my husband realized that the song "Two at a Time" is a song referring to Noah and the flood. He showed me the lyrics and played the song. Here are a few of the lyrics:
Once upon a time,
For the Lord the skies they parted;
So a few must die
To bring us back to where we started.
CHORUS:
Two at a time,
Two at a time,
Two at a time,
Two at a time,
Do what you're told.
Each and every kind were gathered up,
This tiny boat - the future of the world.
For those that drowned, it made no sense;
They should have known, because we told them so.
I listened to the song and read the words...and cried. I'm not even sure why. Except for the fact that it had been a terrible week. I was feeling vulnerable and tired, and those lyrics broke my heart somehow. I thought of those animals, innocent of the wickedness that plagued mankind, and how they had to die anyway. I thought of the way that God devised a great plan -- the future of the world in a tiny boat. A great plan, yes, but loss and death were an inescapable part of it.
Suffering, loss, and redemption, an endless cycle, and the tears just kept coming.
But this pregnancy has changed all of that. I started crying before I even knew I was pregnant. I couldn't figure out what exactly was wrong with me. And then...well...then I found out. So now I am undone by things, big and small. I cry and cry. One of my dear friends says that she is grateful to this little fellow for enabling me to cry. She suggested that perhaps when he grows up, he will be the kind of person that others will feel safe to cry with. A lovely thought. I hope he is that kind of person.
I really love Guster's music, and the other day my husband realized that the song "Two at a Time" is a song referring to Noah and the flood. He showed me the lyrics and played the song. Here are a few of the lyrics:
Once upon a time,
For the Lord the skies they parted;
So a few must die
To bring us back to where we started.
CHORUS:
Two at a time,
Two at a time,
Two at a time,
Two at a time,
Do what you're told.
Each and every kind were gathered up,
This tiny boat - the future of the world.
For those that drowned, it made no sense;
They should have known, because we told them so.
I listened to the song and read the words...and cried. I'm not even sure why. Except for the fact that it had been a terrible week. I was feeling vulnerable and tired, and those lyrics broke my heart somehow. I thought of those animals, innocent of the wickedness that plagued mankind, and how they had to die anyway. I thought of the way that God devised a great plan -- the future of the world in a tiny boat. A great plan, yes, but loss and death were an inescapable part of it.
Suffering, loss, and redemption, an endless cycle, and the tears just kept coming.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Sleep
I've always been someone who could sleep. I've also always been someone who can get up early and actually feel awake. Both are a blessing. But in the past month in particular, sleep hasn't been going so well. I often wake up at three in the morning and find I just can't sleep. I try so hard not to let my mind wander to things it shouldn't...namely, all the things I'm worried about...and I often manage to push those thoughts aside, but still it takes forever to drift back to sleep. I try to pray. And I do, but my mind wanders and my body sends me little annoying updates. My back hurts. I have to go to the bathroom. Again. I'm thirsty. Again. I have to roll over. Again. Too bad I'm trapped between my husband and the dog, and the blankets feel like tethers. The baby kicks. Again and again. And I wonder whether he's actually nocturnal and will be awake through the night after he's out here with us, breathing air. I wonder.
Eventually I either realize that I will not be going back to sleep, like tonight (or, I guess, this morning), so I turn off my alarm and get up. Or at some point I realize that sleep may come, so I turn off my alarm to avoid being awakened in an hour or two. Either way, it's no good. The day will be disrupted in some way or another. More things I simply cannot control. This seems to be the lesson that life offers me. I'm not sure whether it's the lesson I'm supposed to learn.
But what does all of this really mean anyway? This baby is an awfully good reason not to sleep. I know. And I can get up and get a glass of water. I can work. I can turn on the news, as I've done this morning, and see just how fortunate I am.
Haiti is a disaster. Pat Robertson says that in the 1700s the Haitians made a pact with the devil, and that's why their lives are such a disaster and they suffer so unspeakably. I have no idea whether any of that is true. But I know that Haiti is the most desperately poor country in the western hemisphere, and I'm pretty sure they need help and compassion instead of some finger-pointing at their ancestors. Ugh. Why can't Christians ever keep their mouths shut and just let their compassion and generosity do the talking? Like that quote attributed to St. Francis: "Preach the gospel at all times. Use words if necessary."
Eventually I either realize that I will not be going back to sleep, like tonight (or, I guess, this morning), so I turn off my alarm and get up. Or at some point I realize that sleep may come, so I turn off my alarm to avoid being awakened in an hour or two. Either way, it's no good. The day will be disrupted in some way or another. More things I simply cannot control. This seems to be the lesson that life offers me. I'm not sure whether it's the lesson I'm supposed to learn.
But what does all of this really mean anyway? This baby is an awfully good reason not to sleep. I know. And I can get up and get a glass of water. I can work. I can turn on the news, as I've done this morning, and see just how fortunate I am.
Haiti is a disaster. Pat Robertson says that in the 1700s the Haitians made a pact with the devil, and that's why their lives are such a disaster and they suffer so unspeakably. I have no idea whether any of that is true. But I know that Haiti is the most desperately poor country in the western hemisphere, and I'm pretty sure they need help and compassion instead of some finger-pointing at their ancestors. Ugh. Why can't Christians ever keep their mouths shut and just let their compassion and generosity do the talking? Like that quote attributed to St. Francis: "Preach the gospel at all times. Use words if necessary."
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Time Is Short
This morning it hit me that this baby is coming. Soon. For so long it's been out there in time, a date far in the future. Now, not so much. This little dude is coming. It doesn't matter what's happening in our lives, or how ill prepared I may feel, or that we'll just have to wedge him and his crib in somewhere. He's not interested in or bothered by the obstacles or our own state of confusion. In thirteen weeks or less, he will make his grand entrance and we will feed him and rub his little back and sniff the top of his little baby head and fall in love.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Men of Gondor...
We were watching Return of the King yesterday. The extended version. I took a half-hour nap during the movie and still saw most of the important action. There is so much in those stories to chew on and contemplate and inspire, but this is what particularly struck me yesterday. Hopefully you'll forgive me if I get any of the details slightly wrong. I love Tolkien more than many people do (Really...Tolkien is Son2's middle name) , but my mind is not exactly a steel trap for all the place names and such. My husband's is. I don't understand how he remembers it all, but then again, his psychic space isn't quite as hijacked by schedules and appointments and medication dosages and social security numbers. So he can better remember the details of the Lord of the Rings and other stuff that I have no room for.
Anyway. In this scene of Return of the King, the battle for Minis Tirith has begun and the good guys are completely outnumbered, waiting for reinforcements. It looks like all the forces of hell are arrayed against our friends. Gandalf is standing with the men of Gondor, trying to steady their nerves because the steward of Gondor can't be bothered to do so. (He is busy planning his suicide and his son's death because he has lost all hope.) But the battle is on and something is battering the gates of the citadel, and clearly that something is about to break through. There is nothing the men of Gondor can do to stop it. So Gandalf says, "Men of Gondor, no matter what comes through that gate, stand your ground."
On the second day of the new year, that line rang true. There are good years and bad ones. I feel more hopeful at the beginning of this year than I have in the past few. Some things have shifted for me recently; I really didn't expect to enter this year with this little ballast of hopefulness. Yet I have, and I am grateful. But I know others who are now standing their ground, and my heart goes out to them.
I know these battles always come at us unforeseen. Things grow dark in our lives, and then darker still. Sometimes the very best you can do is stand your ground. You go on, somewhere well past hope, somewhere well past what feels like hanging on, but by grace you don't turn back or run away or do what Job's wife advised: curse God and die. Sometimes you can stand your ground so long that if it feels like you're not standing anymore and you wonder if you ever had any ground to begin with. But you did, and you do. Hope often arrives at the darkest moments, but not before you think you've already experienced the darkest moments. In the movie, a flower blooms on the barren white tree of Minis Tirith while the battle rages on. No one knows it's there, but that doesn't mean hope hasn't bloomed.
Anyway. In this scene of Return of the King, the battle for Minis Tirith has begun and the good guys are completely outnumbered, waiting for reinforcements. It looks like all the forces of hell are arrayed against our friends. Gandalf is standing with the men of Gondor, trying to steady their nerves because the steward of Gondor can't be bothered to do so. (He is busy planning his suicide and his son's death because he has lost all hope.) But the battle is on and something is battering the gates of the citadel, and clearly that something is about to break through. There is nothing the men of Gondor can do to stop it. So Gandalf says, "Men of Gondor, no matter what comes through that gate, stand your ground."
On the second day of the new year, that line rang true. There are good years and bad ones. I feel more hopeful at the beginning of this year than I have in the past few. Some things have shifted for me recently; I really didn't expect to enter this year with this little ballast of hopefulness. Yet I have, and I am grateful. But I know others who are now standing their ground, and my heart goes out to them.
I know these battles always come at us unforeseen. Things grow dark in our lives, and then darker still. Sometimes the very best you can do is stand your ground. You go on, somewhere well past hope, somewhere well past what feels like hanging on, but by grace you don't turn back or run away or do what Job's wife advised: curse God and die. Sometimes you can stand your ground so long that if it feels like you're not standing anymore and you wonder if you ever had any ground to begin with. But you did, and you do. Hope often arrives at the darkest moments, but not before you think you've already experienced the darkest moments. In the movie, a flower blooms on the barren white tree of Minis Tirith while the battle rages on. No one knows it's there, but that doesn't mean hope hasn't bloomed.
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