On the Backs of the Angels

My kids

2007-05-29T14:13:00.001-07:00

Eva at a few days old

Gabe, same age

My oldest, silly Allie, in May. She's 6.5, about to start first grade.

Me, Gabe, and Eva in February...4.5 years old

Everyone together in April for Jonah's birthday...

and the happy birthday boy...2 yrs. old

Needless to say, I consider myself a very lucky mom :)

Change of Address

2007-05-12T20:29:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone :)

For various reasons, I've decided to start a new blog in a different location. Anyone who'd like to see it, drop me an email at stacey dot iverson at gmail dot com.

Bye!

Finally

2007-04-19T20:20:00.000-07:00

Maybe you think when it comes to anniversary gifts, anything is better than nothing. I think you're wrong.

Resurrection

2007-04-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

I love Easter. I think it is actually my favorite holiday. And getting up in the dark of night for a long drive on deserted roads was actually a very nice way to start this Easter. I live far enough out in the country that it was almost ten minutes before I passed anyone on the road yesterday morning.

I wish we could have spent more time by the lake, but it was definitely very cold. I don't know why we Minnesotans expect April to be nice- it doesn't ever seem to be, at least not consistently. You'd think we'd learn. But I guess if we didn't have short memories, we couldn't live here, right? No one who can really clearly remember January weather would stick around for a second winter...

The best moment of Easter Sunday for me was standing by the lake as, one by one, the morning birds started their songs. I can't remember ever being up before the birds were singing. It was magical.

It goes without saying that Easter breakfast was excellent. We are blessed with a lot of fantastic cooks at the Porch. On the way home, I stopped by my parents' house, and ended up going out for breakfast with my mom. We don't get to go out by ourselves very often, and it was great.

Going home and taking a nap in an empty house ruled, too. The kids were celebrating Easter with Jeff and his parents.

Two of my very best friends have stepped out of my life for the moment, and I miss them desperately. I don't know either of their reasons, exactly, but I worry about them. I hope it doesn't last.

If either of you is reading this, I am thinking of you. I hope you are ok. I love you.

Dead weight

2007-03-30T12:05:00.000-07:00

It feels like the past week has been busy, but I know that's depression talking. I've been busy mostly sitting around, with some online job applications and childcare searching for flavor. Not the 35+ hours a week of "employment-related activities" I'm supposed to put in. I feel like I'm dragging a load of bricks on my back all day long. Everything just takes so much more effort. The only way I get any housework done is if I just sort of close my eyes and start picking stuff up off the floor- then I'm able to just sort of shuffle along with the momentum.

The good news: I found childcare. There's a single mom who lives ten minutes away who is licensed for daycare. Two kids of her own (3.5 yrs and 3 mos), and one other daycare child (6 mos). So when Allie is there during the summer, she'll have a total of seven. To put that in perspective, Kindercare has seven two-year-olds per teacher, and one teacher to fourteen preschoolers. And I feel extra good about the fact that bringing my kids there will allow her to be home with hers, and maybe even quit her weekend job. She has good back-up caregivers, too, so I don't have to worry about her getting sick. That's all happy stuff. Now I just have to wait for the county to authorize payment. Then I can start job hunting in earnest.

I don't like having to put them in daycare. Not because I don't think Erin or even a center like Kindercare can do an adequate job of taking care of the kids. Mostly, I'm just going to desperately miss them. I'm becoming somewhat jealous of their time already. But my other choice is to do in-home childcare myself, and I just don't think I'm suited to it. I've done it on a volunteer basis, and it's definitely very different from simply taking care of my own.

Allie's class for kids whose parents are getting divorced was over the weekend. I'll have to write more on that later. Jeff and I have a co-parenting class next Tuesday. Our date to go over paperwork had to be rescheduled for 4/12. We came in for the appointment on the 27th, but it turned out that I'd misheard, and our appointment was actually the 22nd. Oops.

I am so sick of paperwork and phone calls and appointments I could vomit. Answering the phone is probably the hardest thing for me to do. With very few exceptions, I just want to hide when it rings.

I feel like such a whiner. Things could be way, way worse.

The worst fifteen minutes of my week...

2007-03-26T18:40:00.000-07:00

would be the time between when my kids are dismissed from their groups at church and when they are all safely buckled in their car seats. Getting them together, ready, and to the van is what might be called an adventure, if your idea of thrills involves simultaneously:

1. hollering at a four year old to, "please come back here, wait for mommy, please wait", while he runs blithely down the sidewalk, now and then stopping and turning around so he can flash you a huge isn't-this-a-great-game grin

2. (and) being hollered at, by a different four year old, "mommy please don't leave meeeeeeee," because she is falling behind as you attempt to catch up with the child from item #1

3. (while) carrying a very squirmy two year old who wants to get down desperately, so he can walk all by his big-boy self...usually right into the street

4. (and) trying desperately to keep the six year old from A) egging on child #1 by chasing him, B) distressing child #2 further by taunting her, or C) jerking child #3 around by the hood of his jacket when you put him down, or toppling him over in the same manner.

Personally, it isn't my idea of adventure at all. I like roller coasters and hiking. Road trips. I don't enjoy herding four wound-up kids down a sidewalk an hour before their bedtime, with a 35-minute drive to look forward to (you all have no idea how long and how loud Eva can scream). But it's worth it, more than worth it, because I am immeasurably blessed to be part of the Porch. They- you- are a second (far more supportive) family. So thank you.

And this week, I discovered that for the price of one cookie from Caribou ($1.50), I can actually get them to all head in the general direction of the car, at approximately the same speed. Bribery, yes, but entirely justified, I think. It's like buying sanity.

A beginning (and an end)

2007-03-12T11:29:00.000-07:00

I served Jeff with divorce papers on Thursday. We're both proceeding pro se (without lawyers), so we're relying a lot on the kind and knowledgeable people who staff the Family Justice Center in Minneapolis. I got the new round of paperwork (another seventy-five pages, bringing the total number I've filled out to around one-twenty) and filled it out that night. So the Marital Termination Agreement (that we will both sign, since Jeff is not contesting anything) and the Judgment and Decree (an identical packet that the judge will sign, indicating s/he agrees with our agreement and formally dissolving our marriage) are finished and awaiting our appointment on the 24th at the FJC to make sure everything is filled out properly and ready to file. Then we each have a mandatory parenting class to help us navigate co-parenting post-divorce, and Allie has a mandatory class to help her learn coping skills and give her a chance to talk with other kids her age about how she is feeling and what she is experiencing. She is also still seeing her psychologist, which is a huge priority to me.

But although this might seem like a lot to someone who hasn't gone through the paperwork and learned the process, it really seems inadequate to me. I would estimate that between filling out all the paperwork and my two previous appointments at the FJC, I have spent less than 12 hours on the divorce. When all is said and done, including the parenting class and the hearing (required because we have children together), the total time spent for me might come to 18 hours. It really seems like it should be a lot more work to end a marriage of nine and a half years. It's saddening that it is so easy.

Whee!

2007-03-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

I tried out snowboarding on Saturday. I went to Welch Village with my dad, mom, Allie, and grandma. Allie's already a pretty accomplished skier, in her second year of lessons. My dad's really good, too. Mom and grandma were just along for the (very, very long) ride.

Anyway, I loved it. I had a lesson, then practiced on my own for another couple of hours. I'm ridiculously uncoordinated, especially when it comes to balance, so I can't say I'm at all good at it- I spent most of the morning on my butt. But it was a blast. It's too bad it seems the season is more or less over, because I'd love to go again.

But my goodness, two days later I am still very sore. I'm going to have to do a lot of biking this summer to build some leg strength and just overall improve my fitness level. I'm definitely better off after losing my fifty pounds of accumulated baby weight, but simply losing weight is a far cry from being in shape. Last time I was at my current weight (1999, yikes), I was definitely more fit.

Ow

2007-03-09T22:36:00.000-08:00

Ever since I blogged last, my brain has been periodically screaming at me to take down my last post. It's too honest. Too messy. Too open to debate, or rejection. The screaming got louder today when I sort of accidentally found two web pages with lists of Porch bloggers, and that I'm listed on both. I don't want people to assume that I'm somehow representative of anything but my own life and experiences, that I'm more than one broken person struggling to make sense of life and God. But so far I have resisted the urge, and my intent is to continue to resist it.

I don't represent anyone but myself, obviously, and I would argue against anyone who said that my circumstances and choices were applicable elsewhere, either in general or in some other specific situation. But I am honestly struggling to come to terms with God as I've experienced Him, not as I'd like God to be. And I'm fighting to accept my life and my choices as they are, not as I wish they were. I need to break my addiction to seeming to have it all together. I need to be honest with others so that I can be honest with myself. Because left to my own devices, I'm perfectly content to have others believe things are fine and I'm doing great, even when things are falling apart. Left to my own devices, I prefer comfort to honesty and security to authenticity.

But when I hang up the whole cloth here, everyone can see the rips and holes, the seams and the jagged edges. It's excruciatingly uncomfortable. And in the end, I think that's a good thing, especially for an approval junkie and perfectionist. I need to realize that it is not a sin to be imperfect, and my pretending I have it all together only puts pressure on others to do that as well.

If this is the only place I can really grow toward being more open and honest about my life, then I'd be a fool to use it to preserve my illusions. I'd also rather not continue to be a cog in the machine that manufactures all the pretense we hand each other on a daily basis.

But oh, it hurts to expose myself this way.

Eyes to See

2007-03-04T20:02:00.000-08:00

I'm not dead yet. (For those of you that are anxious types, that's a Monty Python reference, not a threat.)

It's been quite a year (almost). I haven't had reliable internet in months and months, and things have been so crazy that blogging was the last thing on my mind. But I'm going to try to start again.

Tonight, listening to Jimmy at the gathering was such a hard thing. The reasons we don't see God in our lives...because we don't want to? Oh, yeah. That's my story. I know first-hand what that's like, and I'm starting to think that may be the biggest obstacle to following God for a lot of people. Even most people. So I'm going to tell a little story, and you may believe it. You may think I'm deranged (or worse). But I'll risk it.

I don't have to tell most people that the last five years or so have been very difficult ones for our family. We had twins who were eleven weeks premature, and hospitalized for 6 weeks. We went back to school, and had all the stress and financial burden that brings. We had Jonah, which we were neither planning on nor prepared for. We found out that Gabe fit the criteria for Autism Spectrum, and needed special education preschool. I was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder. And through it all, Jeff struggled with his own mental illness, hospitalization, and trying medication after medication with no lasting relief. We were a mess. But it got worse.

At some point, our marriage went from difficult to unstable to mutually destructive. I don't have a timeline for it; I don't know when things really got unhealthy for us. But we separated last May. Right around that time, God started calling me end our marriage. Out of compassion for both of us. Out of concern for our kids. I won't go into detail here, ever, but our relationship had become a really scary, ugly thing. And at some point, we both became so wounded that it was hard to muster anything at all for our kids. That was agony. But for me, the thought of giving up hurt worse. The thought that God was asking me to get a divorce made sense to me in light of what we had become, and what I believe God wants for us, but I didn't believe it. I outright refused to. Closed my eyes. Turned away.

So I spent most of last year vacillating. Not wanting to give up, but without the strength to go on. Hurting and being hurt. Saying, "Ok, God," then running away, angry and disbelieving. How could God? This isn't how God is supposed to operate. What happened to "'I hate divorce,' says the LORD God of Israel"? I felt incredibly betrayed, and it's a feeling I still struggle with, a year later.

Even knowing how hurtful our relationship was. Even knowing it was affecting our children. Even knowing that God's heart was breaking every day for us. The reasons didn't matter. I had decided how I wanted God to behave, and I was determined to hold God to it.

I prayed about it relentlessly and tearfully. I begged God not to let it happen, to find some other way. I begged God to make our family whole again. And amazingly, God said, "Ok, give it a try". The planets aligned. Obstacles melted away. We began living together again in November. Then God stopped speaking. All through our separation, I had frequent awareness of God's presence. Comfort. Guidance. More frequent and consistent than any other year of my life. And all that disappeared like a match dropped in a puddle. That worried me, but things were going alright, so I pushed it away. When things stopped being alright, God's absence became unbearable.

I spent a few hours telling my friend Michelle the whole story of our attempted reconciliation in January, after three months had passed, and our relationship had become destructive once again. Her response was, "Maybe God isn't speaking because He's already said it."

Ouch.

God let me try to force things to be fixed. He even blessed our efforts- the honeymoon phase was longer and more stable than I ever would have expected. Some good things even came out of those months. But we ended up back where we started.

And so, a month ago, we separated again, this time for good. God said, "Now do you understand? Now do you believe Me?" and internally, I kind of mutely nodded, round-eyed, like a chastened preschooler.

I was dying before, yes, but at least my life felt secure and predictable. Security and predictability are long-standing addictions for me. I think that if it weren't for my children, I would keep fighting to stay blind. But they deserve a mom who will do what she can to protect them, whether or not it makes her scared and sad. They deserve parents who are there for them, even if it costs them each other.

Having eyes to see is not the most comfortable thing in the world.

Offline

2006-05-27T13:43:00.000-07:00

My computer puked all over me today. Took it in to Best Buy because we have a service contract on it, and it's either the power supply...or the motherboard. Yippee. So I may be offline as long as three weeks. And unfortunately, most of my phone numbers and stuff are on that very computer, so I can't call anyone, unless they happen to be in the local white pages I have.

Anyone from SP that needs to get ahold of me, my number is on mysolomonsporch.com. I'll be checking my mail next weekend at my parents' house, but otherwise assume that I won't be getting any email until further notice.

That kid rubbing his face in the sand? Yeah, he's mine.

2006-05-24T21:58:00.000-07:00

We got the results of all the testing and assessments Gabe has had in the past month. He qualifies for special education in three areas: speech/language, sensory issues, and autism. They are trying to find him a spot in summer school, and he'll attend special ed. preschool in the fall. The good news is, it's through the school district, free, and they'll bus him. The bad news is we have to take what we get as far as his schedule...we don't get to pick morning or afternoon or anything like that.

I'm just so very, very thankful right now that he hasn't had any immunizations. I already feel pretty terrible that we didn't have him evaluated sooner...wondering if the autism was connected to mercury-containing vaccines, and thus something that could have been avoided, is the last thing I need right now. I wasn't all that surprised that he fit the school district's criteria for autism spectrum, but adjusting to it has still been a struggle, and has been harder on me emotionally than I would have thought. There's just so much going on right now...and it's just one more thing.

I started reading Raising a Sensory Smart Child, which I "accidentally" found at Barnes and Noble...I was there for a specific book, wouldn't even have gone to the parenting section (which usually just pisses me off, since it's right next to the birth books and they usually have NONE that are any good). I just happened to walk by it, and huh...something that could help me! And I think it will...when I'm ready for it. I read it about halfway through and realized it was just stressing me out. Thinking about keeping a log of Gabe's odd reactions to things, strange patterns of behavior, what he eats and drinks, how much he sleeps...I just can't do it right now. After reading as much as I have, I'm pretty sure I need to do the same for Allie, who we've always known to be hypersensitive to almost everything. And I'm just not up to it right now. The book did have one immediate benefit, however...it inspired me to start massaging Gabe's arms and legs at bedtime, and he's going to sleep faster and better than he ever has.

My soon-to-be-kindergartener

2006-04-28T04:58:00.000-07:00

Visiting her soon-to-be- school. Unbelievable.

The first and only time he will be interested in a card

2006-04-28T04:50:00.000-07:00

Next year, they'll just be obstacles preventing him from efficiently opening his gifts.

Gabe's new truck...er, I mean Jonah's

2006-04-28T04:48:00.001-07:00

There is nothing Jonah has that Gabe can't take away. Especially if it's a truck that makes engine sounds.

But they do look like they're getting along in the picture, don't they? It's an optical illusion. Clever of me, no?

Mmmmm, cake!

2006-04-28T04:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I can't resist

2006-04-23T21:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight, outside Cub, my daughter misspoke just perfectly.

Allie (in cart): Mom! Mom! Can you be pushed?
Me: Only so far, darling.

Bye Bye Baby

2006-04-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

It seems impossible, but there it is. My bear turned one today.

Tomorrow I'll post some pictures of him enjoying his highly-sugared, artificially-colored, refined-flour-based, nutritionally bankrupt birthday cake.

Tonight I'm just nostalgic. And I want to thank everyone who was part of our birth crew-

Rachel and Colleen, who took such good care of our kids that I don't think they realized anything was going on until the next day, when they saw Jonah for the first time.

Lee, for making sure we had everything we needed, and directing traffic.

Sarah and Brynn, the best doulas a woman could want- honestly, how many women do you know who got to laugh (hard!) during late labor?

Rolla, for guiding me through my last pregnancy, and affirming my trust in my own innate wisdom. Sometimes I almost forgot you were there, and in my opinion, there's no higher praise I could offer. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect midwife.

And last, Jeff. Thanks for the last few long, hyper-fast walks around the block, when I'd have a contraction every 45 seconds, and trusting that I wasn't going to end up delivering a baby down at the other end of the block. Thank you for understanding why I needed to give birth at home, and for trusting that I could do it.

Happy Birthday, Jonah. We love you.

I have a good excuse

2006-04-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

Honestly, there's a perfectly good reason I haven't been able to find the time to post. I've been busy listening to this. When I'm not listening to it, I'm singing it either out loud or in my head. Even Jeff likes it- and he's always made fun of me for liking B&S.

If you want it though (and you won't be seeing me anytime soon), download it from iTunes- you get two extra songs. Not the best songs on the album, but still- two extra songs. Nobody does bonus songs anymore, and that's kind of sad. Because you could always feel cooler than your friends if you had the special bonus edition and they didn't. Which might make someone wonder why I'm tipping all of you off about downloading from iTunes...

Wishful Thinking/The Cracks are Showing

2006-03-04T21:53:00.000-08:00

I should have blogged a new post a long time ago (is it "blogged a new post"? "posted a new post" sounds really redundant- oh, the things I waste neurotransmitters on). Apologies. Jeff came home on the 15th. He's attending the partial hospitalization program at the hospital- his sister calls it "day care"- and it is doing him a ton more good than the month in the hospital did. Sad but true.

Post-trauma, we're rebuilding some around here, and realizing that we still have a long way to go toward health individually and as a couple. And as a family, for that matter. As I said, the partial program has been very helpful for Jeff, but I find myself annoyed and downright disturbed at the fact that the idea of Jeff leaving us, temporarily or permanently, has been covered not once but three times now by various staffers in the program. It's not a new idea for us- we'd discussed the possibility of him moving out to try to reduce his stress level before hospitalization became necessary for him- but at times it seems like they are pushing the idea. At least it seems that way to me, and I know Jeff isn't happy about it either. I realize that they are supposed to be pursuing his good and doing whatever they can to aid his recovery, but it honestly seems like they are doing this from the viewpoint that the only good to consider is Jeff's, an idea that horrifies me.

Obviously, his has been of foremost importance lately. A doctor in a war zone doesn't tend to people with bruises and scrapes when there are some who have gunshot wounds, and rightly so. But it just seems like they are dwelling on this as a possibility, when he has told them flatly he isn't open to it (incidentally, that's exactly what he told me when we tackled this before Christmas). I wish they would give him the skills and education he needs to better deal with the mess o' stress that is our family instead.

Note to the staff of the partial hospitalization program @ HCMC-
These things probably aren't going to change:
1. Jeff has a mental illness.
2. So do I.
3. Two of our kids have behavioral problems; one might possibly have serious ones.
4. All three of our older kids display, to a greater or lesser degree, either mood or anxiety problems (which is why we have Allie in counseling already, and we're keeping an eye on the other two).

So that's my big beef this week: why are his staff members wasting time on wishful thinking ("if only you didn't have a wife and four kids..."), which is totally unproductive, instead of dealing with reality? It just seems so counter to their job.

***

This reconstructing business isn't easy. To some extent, we have to start from scratch. Jeff is learning how to better take care of himself, which is good, but it's upset our relationship dynamic in some ways. It will all be to the better, but it's hard. I've known him (going on) 14 years, and we've been dating or married nearly the whole time. The things he's learning (like being direct about his feelings) are new- to him and to me. And we're both having to navigate it. So to go back to the example of being more direct, it is healthier for him to be open, but difficult. It's better for me to know how he feels than to guess, but it also brings me to the rather harrowing realization that it feels like a loss of control for me- it feels threatening. Part of me really likes passive Jeff. Repressed Jeff. It's a sad realization for me how the unhealthy in ourselves or those dear to us becomes, over time, so familiar that a change toward integration feels not only frightening but also bad.

At the same time, it is cause for hope. If we have gotten this far, stayed together this long, with everything we've had to deal with (separation, an exceedingly difficult baby, preemies, twins, a pregnancy after we'd decided we were done having children, financial problems, untreated mood disorders), then how much better will we be doing once we start to shed a lot of the junk we're still carrying around from our childhoods?

So to go back to the second half of my post title, there are definitely cracks a'plenty. To extend the metaphor a little- if we couldn't see them, they'd still be there; we'd be in danger of something collapsing without warning and burying all of us. Something did collapse, and it's a wonder we weren't buried. But I guess that the advantage in having our faultlines displayed to each other, and to the world, is that we can see where the repairing and rebuilding process needs to begin.

Cliches have their comforts in a time like this. Amen.

Falling to Pieces

2006-02-10T11:40:00.000-08:00

It's not me that is falling apart- it's Jeff. For the last three weeks, we have watched him bounce back and forth between very good and unbearably bad. He had a good week that got him released from the hospital, then an overwhelming weekend that put him back there. And for the week since, except for one good day, I have watched him deteriorate, literally fall apart before my eyes. That one good day got him a floor pass- he is still using it, but feels that if he takes one step away from the front of the hospital, he will do something irreversible (my pretty way of saying he'll jump off the parking ramp that is conveniently located across the street).

His doctor is becoming part of the problem. Today he reported to her that he was having the urge to cut yesterday. She did NOT take away his floor pass; instead she asked if he was attending and participating in the group sessions (he is) and asked him to write down a list of "good things about himself". For those of you who have not experienced depression, this might seem like a reasonable request, and one that could potentially benefit him. Those of you who have, know that it is a self-defeating assignment. He cannot think of anything good about himself. The best he would be able to do is write a list of good things other people might say about him, and in his mind this will only reinforce the idea that everyone is decieved by his "good" exterior, and that the truth is that he is bad, awful, worthless. If people knew how "bad" he is, they would revile and reject him.

It seems like his doctor is still planning to release him to day treatment on Wednesday. This absolutely cannot happen. I cannot take care of four kids and keep a suicide watch. I have left a message for his doctor to call me, and once I know her feelings about his progress and plans for his course of treatment, I will be placing a call to HCMC's patient advocate. If necessary, I will go all the way up the chain of command. If necessary, I will request that he be assigned a different doctor. If necessary, I will demand a transfer to a different hospital.

He confessed to me today that while he wants to keep living for my sake and our childrens', it is no longer enough to protect him from the desire to die. I have never been so terrified.

Can we play good news/bad news again?

2006-02-08T22:12:00.000-08:00

Good news:

-Jeff is feeling safe enough that he will probably be able to have a floor pass tomorrow. He's been locked in the ward previously (not the case last time)
-for no reason Tuesday night, after a really bad day for both of us, he suddenly felt a lot better (he says it was the long, difficult, but ultimately healing talk we had, but I'm not convinced)
-his doctor is planning a more transition-based release this time, with him coming home only nights at first, then being home all the time, and returning to work last
-I got to see my psychologist today, and talking about all the shit I am dealing with really helped

Bad news:

-we got Jeff's last paycheck last week
-with the transition-release, it will probably be two months or more before we see any work-related income
- DWP (sort of like welfare, but not) will only give us enough each month to cover our house and rent ($700). Food stamps will buy groceries ($700 more), but I have to figure out how to pay for our van, utilities, and household expenses (like toilet paper and deodorant)
-with all that has been going on, I have not been able to apply for Jonah's birth certificate and SS#. Yeah, I know, it should have been done a long time ago, but I lost the paperwork in our move (when he was a week old), and I keep forgetting to get replacements. I can't do our taxes until I have a SS# for him.

I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself right now. And honestly, I don't feel like it's really unjustified.

Well, that was brief

2006-02-05T19:59:00.000-08:00

Jeff was discharged Friday, doing much better, and hopeful about returning to "normal" life. Tonight, he is going back. He feels different than he did going in, but in many important ways, he also feels worse. Whereas before he felt suicidal, we both felt that there wasn't much likelihood that he would make any sort of attempt. As of tonight, my gut feeling is that if he stays home, he might. He concurs.

He feels very internally broken and pretty much unfixable at this point. He is also suffering from a lot of guilt and self-hatred due to what this is doing to us financially, as well as the fact that he is once again leaving me and the kids without a husband and daddy. Your prayers would be very much appreciated.

Hooray!

2006-02-03T00:27:00.000-08:00

Jeff's coming home tomorrow/today! Depending on whether or not you subscribe to my brother's belief that "It's not tomorrow until you go to sleep and wake up again" (I do). It's good news all around- he's doing much better, I got most of the stuff I messed up worked out, and I had a pretty good week, unlike last week (which was horrid, except for the people who helped me in one way or another- Carla, Jenell, Angela, Sara, Brynn, Jen, and Mel, plus our families).

I also got to go for a 2-hour visit tonight, which was so great. I think that besides last Saturday, when he came home for most of the day, I had seen him a total of three hours since he checked in. I saw him more than that when we were separated! It's been really hard on us both. I know this week in particular has been a really tough one for him. Ever since he really started getting better (late last week), he's been really, really bored at the hospital. There is literally nothing for him to do for most of the day, unless he wants to watch TV. That gets old pretty fast when you're in a hospital (speaking from my 6-day hospital experience after having Gabe and Eva). And he's been in long enough that this week it was pretty much just family visiting.

But all that aside, I'm just really glad he's going to be back. His sister, who has been visiting him almost daily (she works across the street) is taking off work early to bring him home (thanks Em! not that she reads my blog).

I saw my psychiatrist this week, and she did increase my dosage after talking to me about how things have been. I almost cried in her office, which was really scary- it is impossibly difficult for me to cry in front of anyone who is not Jeff or my kids, and I'd give almost anything to avoid it. I just can't be that vulnerable with other people. The time last year when I cried on Jeff's shoulder through pretty much an entire SP gathering is the one, huge exception- I felt awful, I hated doing it, hated attracting attention that way (even positive, sympathetic attention is more than I can bear while crying, most of the time). I can still remember how badly I needed to cry, and how completely mortified I was that I actually did it. But anyway. I guess that's just the exception that proves the rule, to be completely cliche.

I'm really good at shooting off on tangents. But right now, the thought that is always just under the surface of whatever I say or do is, "he's coming home!" and that is better news than anyone can imagine. As my very perceptive psychiatrist noted on Tuesday, he's been gone a lot longer than three weeks (did I mention that I love her?).

How to mess up your life

2006-01-25T22:28:00.000-08:00

This is not intended to be an exhaustive list. Use your imagination and you, too can get start messing your life up- maybe even permanently!

1. Get snippy with mother-in-law about how you are not seeing enough of your hospitalized husband. When she defends herself by apologetically reminding you of health issues that leave her easily exhausted and in a great deal of pain, sulk.

2. Cancel plans to see said husband days after making them, due to finding out someone else will be visiting at the same time.

3. Tell husband you've canceled plans to see him, and refuse when he offers to call the other visitor and tell them not to come. Make sure that he cries after he's done talking to you.

4. Feel jealous of everyone you know. People with unhospitalized spouses, people with no children, people who aren't married, people with less kids than you, people whose children appear to behave better than yours, people who get to see your husband more often than you do, anyone he talks to besides you (like, say, his doctor)...pretty much anyone is fair game. Get really angry about how much better their lives are than yours.

5. Feel free to vent the anger that is now a continual part of your emotional life at whoever happens to be handy at the moment...kids, spouse, friends, cats. Again, anyone is fair game.

6. Alternate wrathful explosions with bouts of anguished depression, contrition, and self-loathing. Cry frequently.

7. Increase your emotional sensitivity to the point where a stern look sends you flying from the room in tears. To keep people on their toes, make sure you fly off the handle with them next time.

8. Occasionally, take a moment to project your inferiority complex onto a friend or two- deep down, you know they don't like you anyway. And if they continue to protest that they do, indeed, like you, then you have a convenient opportunity to practice feeling like an ass.

9. Forget to take your medication. It keeps life interesting!

Going Nova

2006-01-23T22:59:00.000-08:00

Many of you probably know that Jeff checked in to the hospital last Sunday (if you didn't, now you do, heh). I've been wanting to post about it for a few days now, but I wanted to make sure I had permission from Jeff first. He's fine with it, so here I am (his comment? "Honey, I'm not sure if anyone reads your blog anymore- you don't post very often"...thanks, sweetheart).

So he's at HCMC being treated for acute depression. Anyone wanting info on calling or visiting, EMAIL me (link on left side). If you just leave a comment, I may never see it. I'm not good at checking for comments at the best of times, and I'm busier than usual right now, as you can imagine.

For now, it looks like he'll be coming home sometime in the first half of February. Which, from where I stand, seems a lifetime away. Last week went well here at home. Since Sunday, not so much (those of you who were wondering when I would turn the focus of this post from Jeff to myself, here goes). Some people have emailed me to check how I was doing, and if you're one of them, I want you to know that when I say I'm ok, I'm not lying. But for me, "ok" encompasses a pretty broad range. Anywhere from "coping well, feeling pretty good" to "not coping well, but managing to keep it together". Sorry if that is cause for confusion.

Sunday all of my optimism and positive feelings deserted me. Most of the day was spent ping-ponging between despair and anguish, punctuated by crying jags. I had visited him twice with the kids along, but didn't get to see him alone until Sunday night, and I think that was part of the problem- I am physically very isolated since we live on the edge of the metro, and am going through what is basically grief, which is emotionally isolating. I am incredibly grateful to Kayla, who came when I very much needed another adult to interact with, who listened to me bitch, uncomplainingly, and who drove me to the hospital so I could have a few precious moments (not the figurines, eeew) with Jeff all to myself. It has been almost 6 years since we have been apart this long, when we were separated in '99...but then at least we got to spend almost unlimited time on the phone (he has no private phone, just the two ward phones that he has to share with everyone else). Kayla also had my back when we returned from HCMC- my parents had been kind of mental about letting me go, and she came in to make sure they behaved themselves on their way out). Thank you, thank you, darlin'!

Today was a bit better, as Jeff got the doctor to agree to the course of treatment he wanted, but it was also another day alone with sole responsibility for four beautiful, sweet, and completely crazy-making kids, which made me want to explode (thus, the post title). I did explode a few times (Gabe and Eva throwing eggs from the living room onto the kitchen floor provoked one outburst). I'm thinking it is an entirely blessed thing that I got stable on my meds before this, as for the past two days I've felt as awful as I usually feel this time of year when unmedicated. It's scary to think of how I'd be feeling without that buffer.

Because we now know that his stay is going to be 3-4 times longer than the 7-10 days we were originally quoted, I'm starting to take people up on their offers of help. We can use just about anything- meals, babysitters, cleaning help (watching the kids while I clean), visitors (both here and at the hospital)...anything. The difficult thing is that I do not drive, so things are more complicated as far as me getting to the hospital or out of the house for a break. Many, many thanks to everyone who has offered.

Our number is in the SP directory if anyone wants to check in with me, and please don't be alarmed if I don't answer the phone or call you back immediately. I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold, and sometimes I'm just not up to talking. But I will return calls when feel up to it, probably within a few hours of the message being left.

I know many people are praying for us- thank you so much. I may feel awful right now, but I feel confident that with the support system we have through family, friends, and SP, that things will turn out ok. And that's "coping well, feeling pretty good" ok.

I have nothing to say

2006-01-14T21:39:00.000-08:00

So Jeff tells me (yesterday?) that it's been about three weeks since I've posted, and I feel very guilty, but at a loss as to what I should talk about. I have this weird thing (maybe a type 4 thing) where I feel like if I don't have anything deep and heavy to say, it's better to keep quiet (in this format, anyway). I find the intimate details of my day to day life fairly dull, so I have no reason to believe anyone else is waiting with intense interest for me to post about it.

I'm up to my maintenance dose (200mg) of lamictal now, and it is working very, very well. So well that the three weeks of sunlessness we all just suffered through hardly registered. Mostly I just felt a little tireder than usual, wanting to sleep in, or maybe take an afternoon nap. It beats not being able to get dressed and being intermittently suicidal, which is how I usually feel during December and January. I'm a bit irritable in the morning and evening, but since I'm not by nature an early riser (my kids are), and evenings here are chaos, I think that's perfectly normal and not a manifestation of mental illness.

Allie got into the magnet school that I wanted for her, and she's very excited about kindergarten. She keeps asking why she has to wait till fall to start. She likes her preschool, though. The other day she dictated a note to me for her teachers. I will reproduce it here for everyone's amusement:

Dear Mrs Rhodie and Mrs Greer,

I like my Christmas present you gave me and I would like another one. I want all four of my teachers to come to school again. When I go to kindergarten, I want all the kids in my class to come with me.

Allie

Part of me loves that she is so direct and isn't afraid to ask for what she wants, and part of me is mortified. But I'm sure they're used to it, and anyway, they love her to death.

Speaking of Christmas, the kids got mostly gifts that I approve of. Jeff will tell you- I am a gift nazi. There are toys that are ok with me, and toys that mysteriously disappear around springtime (I don't throw them away- they get donated to the Lupus Foundation). I'm not a complete meanie- if a toy I hate is especially beloved by one or more kids, I grant an exemption. But it is pretty rare that I have to. Thankfully. We have so many toys as it is (four kids and three grandmas who all go overboard with gift-giving will do that) that I go through every two or three months and get rid of some of them anyway.

Their favorite gifts this year are the Melissa & Doug cooktop set, birthday cake, and pizza party- my mother-in-law bought the first one, the other two they got from us. I'll admit I have a bias toward wood toys (Little People and teethers being exceptions- all my kids play with Jonah's teethers. Go figure). Ok, I'm really just nuts. My dislike of plastic toys borders on the irrational.

But there's also an element of practicality in my derangement. It's not a matter of educational value or noise or replacing batteries or anything like that. What it comes down to is that we don't have a ton of money to spend on gifts for anyone, our kids included. If I'm going to spend $20 on a toy, it better be something my kids are still playing with on Valentine's Day, or I will feel it was money wasted. Ditto if it gets broken a week after Christmas, like the fire truck Gabe got from his great-grandma that is already missing two wheels. And so many of the plastic toys you get at Target or anywhere else feature licensed characters, which, as far as I can tell, about doubles the price, with no corresponding increase in quality. It makes me really angry, so I refuse to buy them, and instead, I buy a lot of Melissa & Doug stuff.

I guess, upon reflection, it's not what the toys are made of that matters to me, but what kind of values they represent. Are they an extension of our throwaway culture's love of passive entertainment, violence, brand names, and flashiness? Then I'll probably hate it. If, on the other hand, it encourages imagination, improvisation, movement, or interaction (even if said interaction ends with one party crying, as is often the case here)...then it's pretty likely that I'll adore it. It's just a sad coincidence that plastic toys are usually of the former variety, and wooden ones almost exclusively the latter.

Honestly, I bet I'm the only person you know who could start a post titled "Nothing to Say" and write this much. G'night.

Human again

2005-12-20T02:01:00.000-08:00

I was abducted by aliens this weekend, and my husband was forced to look after four screaming, demanding children while his replacement "wife" dozed in the recliner, ate soup, and watched television. Then got up once a day to go on a random rampage about how she really shouldn't have to be responsible for chores at a time like this, etc. While doing chores.

Actually, being abducted by aliens would have been better than what really happened...because I wouldn't have had to suffer through it, and I wouldn't have to own up to being the one who went on the random rampages. I actually got strep throat Thursday night. Only fever that night (oh, and puking! can't forget that!), but it was sleep-in-clothes-under-two-comforters fever (tested Friday night as 103+ degrees- eek). Friday morning I had a sore-ish throat that quickly turned into a throat that had apparently been repeatedly rubbed with bits of broken glass, and tonsils so swollen that when I talked, people thought I had a head cold...it was weird. My glands were so swollen and tender that I was actually scared I might have mono- even though I had it more than 10 years ago.

So I went to urgent care and got the swab down the throat (didn't hurt, didn't gag- shocking). Bit of trivia: the rapid strep culture West Health (Plymouth) uses looks just like a pregnancy test...little credit-card size piece of plastic with two windows: the "control window" (those familiar with pg tests will recognize this as the window that just lets you know the test didn't malfunction) and a window that shows a plus or minus- I kid you not. Apparently test manufacturers don't consider doctors any smarter than the rest of us. That came up negative, but the doctor was convinced it hadn't worked right, so she gave me amox. anyway (my mom has since confessed that as many times as I had strep since they came up with the rapid cultures, I always tested negative on them...and the doctor always called back two days later with a positive result and a prescription) (oh, and the overnight test was positive...way to call it, doctor!). Very little fever Saturday night, felt much better Sunday...but still didn't go to church. Who knows if someone else here is going to come down with it tomorrow- I'd hate to be responsible for spreading it. Like my...husband. Who gave it to me. But did not have to suffer the agony himself. Ahem.

Yes, I will be taking every one of the pills the doctor gave me- I always finish my course of antibiotics, silly!

Thank goodness it happened on a weekend (so that Jeff was home). Oh, and that my in-laws were kind enough to stop by Friday and let me nap with Jonah. That was awesome.

Hope all your weekends were better than mine.

&^%#$%#%&@ Classmates.com

2005-12-08T21:33:00.000-08:00

I have a high school friend who apparently wanted to say "hi" to me, so she sent an email through classmates.com. The drawback being that I can't read it without paying for membership, since she is not a paying member. I sent her one back, which she will not be able to read, although the site has kindly informed me that if I were to join, she would be able to read it free of charge. Sweet of them, really.

Screw that. I put my current email address in the subject line of the email.

back to the drawing board

2005-12-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

excuse the lack of capitalization- jonah has a cold, so there's a lot of late-night feedings to be done here.

things get better, only to get worse again...at least that's how it feels right now. i thought allie was coming out of whatever behavioral fugue she falls into every few weeks, but alas, it isn't so. it's not so bad for me- we have those first two years of pretty much mutual exclusivity going for us, and if it almost drove me crazy, it also means we have near-telepathic rapport. might be because we're so alike, also- although that works against us as well as for us. on the less-helpful end, we both enjoy arguing, but only if we can pretty much grind the opposing party into the floor. as much as possible, i just refuse to argue with her- it's too much like a power struggle. a wise person once told me that you can't win power struggles with children- once you engage in it, you've lost no matter what the "outcome".

so. allie, yeah...jeff is not so lucky. three-quarters of what he says to her she percieves as rejection or attack. the word "fine", in particular, provokes a reaction you would not believe of my sweet little girl. he's trying hard to banish it from his vocabulary; meanwhile, i have a severely anxious and overreactive daughter- make that two of them; myself, who just went up to a slightly higher dose of meds, making me irritable and impatient for a few days; jeff, who is struggling mightily but still feeling like he's losing his mind; and a son who- scout's honor- would drive a substance abuse counselor to the nearest dealer. oh, and one sweet little baby who is growing up far too fast for his poor mommy.

speaking of jonah, he is definitely the prodigy of our family. crawling by 6 months (although it took him another month to really get good at it), pulling himself to standing now, at just under 8 months. and the boy can *stand*- unless gabe shoves him, he's steady on his feet for a good 30 minutes, which seems like an inordinate amount of time to me. he really enjoys walking if you hold his hands, and he uses this really cute marching-band stepping style. he also said his first word tonight ("duh....ck"). it just doesn't seem possible that i'm coming to the point in my life where i will no longer be the mother of any infants. part of me is cheering- no more mandatory 3 am feedings! no more missing concerts because it isn't worth it to introduce a bottle for one night! but part of me is sad, because most of my friends are just entering or preparing to enter parenthood, and while I'm far from done (parenting, that is), I do seem to be done with babies. I love being pregnant, and it's hard to come to terms with never being pregnant ever again.

Notice the caps are back? Jonah finally went to sleep and stayed asleep after roughly three hours of nursing and two failed attempts at putting him to bed. Thank God. The upside was I got to spend some extra one-on-one time with Allie. I walked past her room with Jonah and noticed she still wasn't asleep an hour after I put her and Eva to bed, so I invited her to get up and watch a little TV with me while I nursed him some more. We split the last of the Le Petit Ecoliers cookies (extra-dark chocolate, yummm- another thing she and I have in common), watched a bit of a movie (not Olive the Other Reindeer, thanks be- that's been more or less playing constantly the past two days while Gabe and Eva were sick), then I put Jonah down and carried my big girl to her bed. She's almost too big to carry now, so I am enjoying it while I can. She is so much to deal with right now that the chance to spend some uncomplicated, quiet time with her was really special.

I truly live in an alternate universe

2005-12-02T21:13:00.000-08:00

I just finished a yahoogroups posting where I'm trying to convince a mother of two that she is not a bad mom for encouraging her second child (15 months) to only nurse a few times a day, because she is pregnant and nursing makes her antsy. Her first child nursed to age 2.5, so she is feeling very guilty and upset.

Sometimes I completely forget that this is not normal behavior for an American mother. That if the age of my children at weaning were general knowledge, I would get some surprised looks (at the very least). Our American average age of weaning is 6 weeks or so (largely due to the unavailability of paid parental leave, I would assert), and most babies are recieving at least some formula by the time mom and baby leave the hospital.

The hospital. Yeah. Because that's where you go to have a baby, right? I mean, only a complete freak would do anything else, right?

Sometimes the real world is too much like a slap in the face. I like my alternate universe.

Good things and bad things

2005-11-30T00:34:00.000-08:00

I have a great deal to be thankful for these days, and also a large number of things that are worrysome. The best of the good things is that my mood seems to be stabilizing, and on the first medication I've tried (Lamictal). I've been taking it for three weeks now, and my grossly out-of-control irritability is pretty much gone. I still have mood swings, but instead of switching daily or several times a day, for now I seem to have settled into a pattern where I feel good (but not manic) during the week, and depressed on the weekends. The depression started to appear when I stopped using my light box, but discontinuing that was also what took care of my daily descent into bitchyland (the remaining irritability), so good riddance. And as Jeff pointed out, I get to have my cake and eat it too- Lamictal is only really effective for treating bipolar lows. So I get to keep my hypomanic periods. Unless I should suddenly start to develop mania with psychotic symptoms, hallucinations, or grandiose delusions (which seems unlikely), I'm golden.

Jeff is also feeling better, which feels good for all of us. Things were really rocky for a while- with my mood completely unpredictable, his depressed and highly irritable, and four small children...well, let's just say it wasn't Disneyland. At least not as it's portrayed in the commercials- I've been there and know better ;)

I'm also supposed to be making some lifestyle changes- Making Sure I Get 8 Hours of Sleep Each Night, and No Caffiene After Noon. Obviously, this is a lot harder for me than taking the medicine (just look at the time stamp on this post, realize my kids get up around 9, and do the math). But I am trying. I'm not a person who goes to bed at 9- never have been. That's Jeff. But I'm striving to become a person who goes to bed around midnight. Caffiene is my life's blood in the winter, so that isn't going so hot. I think I'd actually take it by IV if I could. Nah...I know I would.

The worrysome things really aren't so bad when I consider what things were like a few months ago. We have a consultation at our mental health clinic for Allie on Friday to hopefully start the process of getting her help with whatever is going on with her. We are scheduling screenings for Gabe and Eva to make sure they are developmentally on-track (and very likely, we'll discuss behavioral referrals for them). Jeff is missing a decent chunk of work to keep all these appointments, but thankfully a bus driver's schedule is pretty flexible, so it's not a threat to his job- just our finances.

There are more good things, though...I made feta jalepeno dip today, and while it could have used a little more jalepeno, it was still scrumptious. My pumpkin cheesecake for Thanksgiving turned out looking almost professional (and tasting fantastic, if I can be pardoned for saying so). Thanksgiving went great. We had it here, just us and our parents. They brought stuff and I made the turkey, stuffing, and cranberries. It was the first holiday gathering I have completely enjoyed since Allie was born...because since that day, we've been pressured to attend two (sometimes three) different celebrations each Thanksgiving and Christmas, often on the same day. And by "pressured" I mean coerced. But this time, instead of hitting Jeff's folks' house at 11:30, eating, dashing out with crabby kids in tow at 3:30 to arrive at my grandma's by 4 and spend the remainder of our evening trying to protect her 300+ music boxes in their glass-fronted cabinets from toddler hands, we just relaxed the morning away as the turkey cooked, played with the kids, and waited for our parents to arrive. Then a thoroughly restful meal where for once I didn't have to worry what my kids might be breaking, because whatever it was, it's mine and I probably didn't need it anyway.

Sorry that this was kind of an aimless post- I haven't written in a while, so I just sort of hopped around through all the things I felt like talking about.

My Pet Peeve

2005-10-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

I have to write this, because it's been bothering me for years now, but for some reason the last few days it won't leave me alone.

I hate the way we refer to doctors' involvement in a birth in this country. It drives me absolutely batty. And I know I said "doctors", but I mean midwives too, most of them (and most of us) use this terminology and when I'm dictator, I'm going to glare very sternly at anyone who uses it, and maybe make them give me five dollars. For now I'm just going to beg all of you lovely, mindful people to pretty please think about the language we use and decide for yourself if my objections are valid.

Women say in this country "Dr/Midwife Sally delivered my baby". It's like fingernails on a chalkboard for me, people. Like someone peeing in my Coca-Cola.

The problems with this:
1. In most cases, the only thing a doctor does at a birth is arrive in time for the grand finale, coach the woman in pushing (which she doesn't need anyway), and announce the baby's sex (again, unnecessary...I'm guessing most people able to have sex can figure out on their own which one the baby is).

2. Even in cases which require some sort of dramatic intervention (forceps, surgery, whatever), saying that the doctor delivered the baby completely robs the woman of any sort of crucial role in what happened. In this phrasing, the doctor, not the woman laboring, is the star. I always want to ask, "So, what were you doing while the doctor was delivering your baby?" not out of a desire to humiliate, but because I want women to realize that the doctor is there for them. The show can't go on without them.

3. It implies passivity. That birth is something that is done to us, not something we participate in. I think it was Henci Goer who put it like this: "There's a big difference between being the magician who pulls a rabbit out of a hat and merely being the hat." Who wants to be the hat?

4. It's just sloppy English. The word "deliver" (as a transitive verb) has 9 meanings at dictionary.com. Only one (#7) concerns birth. The rest are either nonsense in this context (#1-6, #8), or truly horrible when applied to the doctor's role in birth (#9). There's got to be a better way to say this.

I'm open to any and all suggestions for a replacement phrase. Sadly, I have caught myself saying this from time to time, and it always makes me sad. Because any doctor worth the money knows that s/he's not the magician when it comes to a birth. The laboring woman is. The doctor is more akin to the magician's lovely assistant- sometimes crucial, sometimes clumsy, but always second fiddle. Stand there, look pretty, help me if I need it...good doctor.

Progress

2005-10-16T20:51:00.000-07:00

I'm happy to report some improvement here. We seem to have finally found a med combo that is working for Jeff. That's the first thing, but it's affected everything else. We're getting along better, he and the kids are getting along better. Dinner time is becoming more predictably pleasant, instead of being our daily exercise in falling apart as a family. This is a great relief.

On the less-happy front, I had my first episode of can't-wake-up syndrome today. This is really typical for me in winter, and I was sort of hoping it wouldn't start this year. But, blessedly, Jeff not only ran the household and got breakfast this morning, he also fixed the clogged pipes under the kitchen sink and did the dishes. When I finally dragged my ass out of bed after 11, he told me he'd been hoping to get more done. I was overwhelmed. I still am. For months now, we've been living lives of bare civility and occasional angry outbursts, also occasional affectionate outbursts. Between me being ill and untreated and him being ill and ineffectively treated, things were not going well. But my hope for the future of our family, which never died completely but needed life support at times, is now getting steadily stronger.

It's a good time for it. Because the feeling we've had for a long time, that there is something off about Allie, is getting stronger as well. It's hard to explain to someone who doesn't live with us, because 90% of the behavior that concerns us happens at home, with only our family around to witness it. But here's some highlights:

Allie asked us the other day, out of the blue: "why do some parents hate their children and kill them?"
She has started hitting her siblings again, and seemed poised to choke Eva with a jumprope the other day (put it around her neck and started pulling the ends in opposite directions), although I intervened before the actual choking started
She screams inconsolably when I leave the room until I return
She is becoming more defiant, lying more, and refusing to listen to Jeff or me in most instances
She has out-of-control screaming tantrums, where she is mentally unreachable (but obviously terrified) and cannot participate in calming herself down- we have to wait them out, sometimes for a half-hour or more

She was an extremely intense baby, and she has always had periods like this ("difficult stages" is our family nomenclature), but as she gets older, not only are they getting worse, but they're getting more and more out-of-sync with expected, normal behavior-for-age. She reminds me of my brother, which is a very scary thing. Since her preschool screening was A-OK, I think our next stop is a referral to a behavioral specialist for evaluation. Hopefully they'll take our word for it, because she is still her normal, bright, charming self when not at home. I wish I could see inside her head and know what is going on with her, because I know what a wonderful girl she can be.

The days pass

2005-10-05T20:18:00.000-07:00

I've been struggling, ever since I posted last, with whether or not that last post should remain up or not. Not so much because I swore (I do, occasionally, and we have a rather liberal attitude toward "bad language" in our house), but because I was so open. I have trouble being vulnerable. But in the end, it remains up, and will remain up, because I decided if I can't be honest here, I'm in a whole heap of trouble.

I'm not angry all the time. Right now, I'm not angry at all, just anxious to get started with treatment...to start getting better. Such is the dualistic nature of this disease, I guess. Daily doses of evening primrose oil (suggested by a friend) seem to be heading off my descent into depression for the time being, but I'm wondering if that is also the cause of the low-grade mania I seem to be dealing with on and off. But for now, I'll take the low-grade mania, even though it's only in fits and starts, because I know when I detour into full-blown depression I will slip from finding it difficult to get daily tasks done to feeling overwhelmed at the thought of having to make lunch. It's hard to describe what it's like to be completely paralyzed by contemplating simple, routine tasks- except to say that I dread it immensely, and while I love autumn, winter to me is a sinister season that sucks away everything I am and everything I love, until I'm left with only the memory of life and enjoyment.

But there is a silver lining, even now. Being aware of my cycling has helped me immensely in managing my emotions. It doesn't help me manage my moods, but that's where drugs come in, I guess. To explain what I mean, differentiating between moods and emotion: sadness is an emotion; depression is a mood. Fear is an emotion; anxiety is a mood. This may not be how a psychologist would categorize things, but it is aiding me, so I'm keeping it. A mood, for me, has emotional manifestations (crying while depressed, biting nails while anxious, talking fast while manic), but in itself, it is not an emotion, and it is not necessarily responsive to emotional triggers...petting a puppy probably won't make me happy while I'm depressed, nor will talking about our atrocious financial situation bring me down when I'm manic. The more I think about it, the odder it seems how completely disconnected my moods are from my emotions. And how disconnected my self-perception is from reality (or, if not reality, at least from others' perceptions...but if you tally up enough people's perceptions, and they agree on the whole, I think it's fairly safe to call the sum "reality"). I think part of the reason this diagnosis in general has been such a crushing blow to me is that I'm a type 4. For someone (in this case, a doctor) to tell me that my perception of reality has some serious flaws was basically telling me that I can't trust my perceptions. And if I can't trust my perceptions, what *can* I trust?

So I'm lucky beyond words to have Jeff. For now, I trust him more than I do myself. And thankfully, he trusts me enough to tell me when I'm full of it (like when I question the validity of my diagnosis). A lot of the time, he can see my mood shifting before I can...example: when I'm getting manic, I start to talk pretty fast. And interrupt people. And talk over them. And almost shout (which I don't realize I'm doing). I don't notice the change until I'm literally stuttering because my brain is running so far ahead of my mouth (which is struggling to keep up). He can hear the change in my speech way sooner than that. It sounds like a small thing, but with something like manic depression, even a small warning that a shift is coming can head off a minor (or not so minor) disaster. Oh, I'm getting manic? Perhaps I should postpone that shopping trip until my mood settles a bit (of course, once I *am* manic, convincing me to postpone *anything* can be a major undertaking...which is why I end up scrubbing the bathrooms down at 4 in the morning).

Small victories, but victories nonetheless. It's not all doom and gloom here...but there are definitely good days and bad.

Since I probably won't be posting again before Friday, happy birthday Michelle and Chico!

Thank God, I'm not Crazy

2005-09-30T03:06:00.000-07:00

Or, rather, I am crazy...but not uniquely so. For the past month, I've been confessing to Jeff almost every day that I don't really feel sick. I know what depression feels like, and it's easy to classify that as illness. But I'm not depressed. And I've ranted about how what is pathology for me (mania and hypomania), in people who do not suffer the depressive side of the coin is not considered pathology- and how damned unfair that is. They're not sick- they're your tireless leaders, your undauntable explorers, your unflagging visionaries and reformers. So they came with a thermostat set a little higher than the average- they only sleep 5 hours a night, say, or can come up with fresh ideas for saving the world when everyone around them is dozing off in exhaustion ("It's 5 am? Wow, time flies!"). They're not sick.

It's incredibly. Fucking. Unfair.

******

"I'm honestly not scared - yet - of the diagnosis. It's not a complete surprise. What I am nervous about is the medications...But it's more than that. I don't feel bipolar. Good moods don't feel like mania or hypomania to me - they feel like - good moods."

Quoted from this article, but I could have written the exact same thing. And I think it may be harder for me right now, as someone who has never displayed a lot of classic psychotic symptoms (hallucinations or grandiose delusions) with my manias, to frame mania in terms of illness at all. Yes, I understand this is a progressive disorder, that without treatment, I will deteriorate until I die (from either natural or self-inflicted causes, self-inflicted being more likely without treatment). I understand that mixed episodes, like I have been experiencing ever since my second week of Zoloft- these will become the norm for me. The giddy, pure mania that I'm trying desperately to reclassify as something other than illness will disappear almost completely. But it's not enough. I don't know if "enough" exists to make me comfortable with permanent medicated status. Did I mention that I don't like taking drugs? Not even Tylenol.

******

So, anyway, I tell Jeff I'm not sick. And he always responds with this totally priceless look...it's the look our kids are going to get when they ask if they can stay overnight at the hotel after prom, or have a kegger for their underage friends at our house (ok, so it's probably wishful thinking that they would ask if they could have the kegger). And that helps, because to be brutally honest with you all (and I think I can do that, after dropping the f-bomb on ya), if it was for my own sake, I would not seek treatment.

Oh, ok, I love being in therapy (c'mon, what could be more fun for a type 4 than having someone listen for an hour while I talk about myself and how I feel?)...so I'd probably do that. Mood stabilizer? Forget it. I'd rather ride the waves than blunt them. When I'm not in the thick of depression, it's easy to convince myself that there is romance in the crushing despair. When I'm not in the grip of mania, it's easy to convince myself that it's just Stacey 2.0...me, only better- smarter, more creative, more interesting, more energetic. It's easy to forget the frightening loss of control...the things I have said and done that were an excruciating embarassment months or years later, the risk-taking, the overspending, the frightening rages, the eventual crash-and-burn.

But regardless, I don't have the option of complete selfishness. I have children who need a mom who isn't incapacitated for 1/3 of the year, who doesn't rage without warning, who can provide some consistency and predictability and structure. I have a husband who needs to be able to trust me with the finances, and trust me with myself. None of that is happenin' without a friendly little dose of lithium (or depakote, or whatever they end up picking for me). I love my kids to death, and I firmly believe that that fact balances out a helluva lot of crap they might otherwise carry, but it doesn't cancel out "my mom's bipolar". This is a case where love isn't...can't be...enough. I have to cooperate. Be a good girl. Take my meds.

And I resent it, intensely.

What a ride

2005-09-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

If you all read Jeff's blog, you know that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder a few weeks back. At the time, I was had just started taking a small dose of zoloft for depression, and it made me nuts...I was constantly bouncing from very high to very low, and thankfully, the psychiatrist had me stop taking it right away. Unfortunately, she wasn't comfortable prescribing a mood stabilizer (that's what's generally used to treat bipolar- lithium, depakote, etc) because I am breastfeeding. So while the pendulum is swinging less quickly post-zoloft- every few days instead of several times each day- it's still swinging, and with the year heading toward fall and shorter days, the lows are starting to get lower and longer, while the highs are disappearing completely.

Season is a big influence on when mania and depression manifest in me, although obviously not everyone with seasonal affective disorder should be diagnosed bipolar (you could, however, make a pretty strong argument that SAD is itself part of the bipolar "family"). Pregnancy wields a lot of influence, too- I wonder if a lot of the reason I have been so much "healthier" the past five years is because I have had very stable, mostly uncycling hormone levels thanks to pregnancy and lactation. Which begs the question- does that mean that when I am no longer breastfeeding I will rapidly lose ground to this illness? I doubt that the influence of hormones and lactational amenorrhea on bipolar women has been studied (heads up to any research psychiatrist or psychologist who wants to break ground!), but I think it's likely that they have therapeutic effects. I know that it has been found that buildup of hormones during late pregnancy makes bipolar women manic, and that it usually lasts 4-6 weeks after delivery (then we tank). Jeff's comment: no wonder you feel so good when you're pregnant! My response: yeah, and now that I know that, I don't think I like being pregnant as much as I used to...being in a good mood is a wonderful feeling. Knowing you're in a good mood because you're getting manic kind of kills it, at least for me.

I also think that if you go through my archives, you could probably get a decent idea of where my mood was at by the length of my posts. I don't have the energy to write as much when I'm down (right now I would characterize my mood as "headed down"...but not there yet).

Oh, hey, if anyone needs to get ahold of me, your best bet is to either email Jeff or call our house...I probably won't be checking for comments, and my response time for emails right now leaves much to be desired.

Back in the saddle?

2005-05-19T23:06:00.000-07:00

I can't tell you how much I don't feel like blogging. Yet, I'm also troubled by how long it's been since I last posted. I'm not even going to look at the date of my last post, as it would only depress me. I have plenty of good excuses- Jonah, illness, Allie, Gabe, Eva, moving, unpacking, and Jonah. Yes, he's supposed to be on there twice- poor kid is sick, so he's been on me (nursing or sleeping) literally 21 out of 24 hours each of the last three days, and on top of it, I've been feverish and miserable. Thanks, kids, for bringing home this latest little bacteriological pet.

Speaking of pets, we're about to get more, temporarily. Maddy got herself knocked up about a week before Jonah arrived (we think)...I was certain I had kept her out of trouble when she was in heat, but apparently, I was mistaken. Three of the kittens (available sometime in August) are spoken for, but if you're interested, let us know...we're pretty happy with just one cat. If we get a hankering for more animals here, I've already declared that we'll be getting a pair of rats. But that's a long way in the future- we had a pair when I was pregnant with Gabe and Eva (females, I'm guessing I don't have to spell out the reason a same-sex pair is desirable), but found ourselves completely unable to give them the attention they needed once Gabe and Eva were out of the hospital, and long story short, they were kindly adopted by another couple at the Porch. I think they've both since died- one advantage to rats is that they're a fairly short-term commitment as far as pets go- 2 or 3 years, usually. And unlike most other rodents, well-bred rats (from a breeder, not Petco) don't bite.

I'm still in vocational limbo...I just can't seem to decide what I want to do with myself. Do I go back to school? Find a midwife to apprentice to? Become certified as a doula and pursue that as my calling? I love birth and babies, but more and more of the birth stories that are shared with me are painful to hear- not that the outcome was awful, but the experience itself women too often falls criminally short of what it could and should be. The cesearean rate in this country is approaching one in three- that in itself is criminal. Vaginal birth after cesearean rates (VBAC) - have been dropping for about a decade, and aren't likely to rise anytime soon, since most women choose an OB/GYN as their provider for pregnancy and birth, and their (OB/GYN's) professional organization's requirements for allowing VBAC are such that most women won't meet them (this wasn't a reason that I chose homebirth, but it is a reason I was glad I wasn't dealing with an obstetrician). So I hear these stories, and I grieve for these women who are being subjected to care that is not evidence-based, who agree to procedures that put them at risk when the risks, or even the fact that there are risks, have not been explained to them, when they come out of childbirth feeling that it was traumatic or excruciating or not how they imagined it. There are a few people I can talk to about it, but most of this stuff is so taken for granted that people look at me funny, like, "what's the big deal?"

Suddenly the light bulb is going on...I guess that this is a clue for me that I will be working with women and birth in some form for the rest of my life- I can't think of anything else that upsets me as much, that makes me cry or smile or bitch as often, as this. I guess that means my vocational dilemma is, to a large extent, solved. Now I just have to figure out how I'm going to deal with having my heart broken on a daily basis for the rest of my life.

I've been thinking for a long time that I should do a class at church on childbirth options and sharing stories- most of what American women know about birth is learned from their doctor (who has a vested interest in things being done a certain way) or books- usually the wrong book (yeah, I read it when I was pregnant with Allie, but there are at least a dozen I would recommend over that one for various reasons). So I'm going to do it, sometime. I don't think I want a class so much as a discussion group, though (I think...maybe have a couple sessions of "educational" content followed by an equal number of discussion/debate). My opinions on this are (obviously) very strong, and it's an emotionally charged topic, so I'm going to have to think long and hard about how I can make it happen without driving myself or anyone else crazy.

Enough for tonight. Someday when I feel like it, I'll put up Jonah's birth story. Until then, a big shoutout to the many lovely women who played a part- Rachel L, Colleen W, Brynn, Sarah, and of course, Rolla. I could not have done it without all of you. And anyway, it wouldn't have been as much fun!

Not much to report

2005-04-15T00:38:00.000-07:00

I had a great time with Mel shopping yarn and gasping in shock at some of the kit prices (really, $166 for an afghan kit?). Bought some yarn to make Gabe and Eva winter hats, and now I'm too bored with the idea of making more hats to start them. I really want to try out that crop top pattern!

Sunday through Wednesday I had non-progressing (but nonetheless "real") contractions in the evening. I got in the bad habit of timing them, and thinking, oh gosh! It's going to be today! Then I'd get depressed when it was time for bed and nothing was speeding up. My midwife told me to forget them and go to bed, so I did, and good thing, too...the mild heat wave we've had this week has completely drained me! I did get to see my midwife Monday night for a quick visit, since I missed having her over at 38 weeks. Everything still looks good, and baby is on the big side. How big, we'll know soon enough, I guess. Allie and Jeff and I were all right around 7-8 pounds, but Jeff's sister and my dad were both close to 10, so there is precedent for truly large babies on both sides of the family. I'll see the midwife again Saturday, provided she and her children are all healthy tomorrow (there's been a stomach bug at their house).

Jeff's pick for "labor day" is Sunday...day after my EDD. I'm willing to go along with it- all along I've sort of thought I might start labor at church...as long as we get enough time to make it home (30+ min), I'd be fine with that! Having a baby in the car I'm not so hot on. Sounds fairly uncomfortable.

I'm still feeling inexplicably, inconcievably great...if I knew what was causing it, I'd bottle it and sell it (but first I'd give a big batch to Jenell, Heidi, and Melody- three friends who are pregnant with twins- for free). Unfortunately, feeling so good leaves me with very little to say. I read two books this week, Henci Goer's Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth and another one that I can't remember the authors of...A Good Birth, A Safe Birth. I'd recommend both, although Goer's book I'd recommend with more confidence, as the copy of the other one that I have is 20 years old, and while its research was cutting-edge at the time, I haven't seen the changes I'm sure they've made in later editions. But how could I not love a book with a chapter title like "If You Don't Know Your Options, You Don't Have Any" (my second fave was from Goer's book, the chapter about electronic fetal monitoring is subtitled "The Machine that Goes Ping!"- gotta love a Monty Python reference).

Have a great weekend!

No news is no news

2005-04-07T23:55:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling better. My left hip socket still feels like someone is twisting a knife blade in it when I put my weight on it, but I'm able to avoid putting weight on it enough that most of the time I'm ok. Hopefully my chiropractor will be able to do something about it at my appointment tomorrow (today, I guess...it's after midnight).

I still am having trouble believing I'm a week from my due date. Where did the time go? I won't rant about what a crock due dates are (in my opinion), but since only about 5% of babies actually arrive on the date that they are "due", I'm trying to take the long view and think of this baby as arriving "sometime this month". About 90% of babies arrive within two weeks of their due date (plus or minus- although I only have a week of minus left!), so I figure that's a pretty safe bet. The practical part of my brain (it's underdeveloped, but there) reminds me that babies are much easier to take care of while they remain in utero, and that I should be grateful for every day I don't go into labor.

I missed having a prenatal visit last Saturday for a number of reasons, so I'm looking forward to seeing my midwife again this weekend. And I'm going to the Yarn Cafe with Mel again this Sunday, so I actually have a positive reason not to be impatient for labor! Seeing as the "Cafe" aspect of the YC is a little weak, to say the least (although my mocha was good), we'll be hitting a "real" coffee shop for refreshment first. I'm planning on looking for some yarn to knit a tank top for Allie. The pattern uses intarsia technique, which I have never attempted. It may be a disaster, but in that case, I'll just make the top in a single solid color rather than mess with yarn bobbins and all that. Anyone who's done intarsia is welcome to comment/email tips- I would be grateful.

After the new book I got the other day, I think I'm ready to try double-pointed needles. Although if you saw the stuffed rabbit I knitted for Allie this week, you'd probably wonder if there's something wrong with my eyesight. It's homely. But she loves it, and I love her for that.

Have a great weekend, all.

Errata, random bits and pieces

2005-04-04T22:39:00.000-07:00

OK because I'm A-R and can't let a mistake sit without saying anything:

Gabe and Eva were not in the most uncommon position pairing for twins. That would be transverse/transverse. Transverse/breech is found slightly more often. Knowing what I know, it seems like common sense. But somehow I mixed them up when I was posting.

I wish I could post more often, and read everyone's blogs more often...I think I'm down to checking two on a regular basis (Jenell's because I sympathize- G&E's pregnancy was nightmarishly painful and difficult, and Jimmy's because, well, I was checking it to see if BSU had arrived. I haven't seen much of anyone's blog in the past two weeks.) And then we missed church this week. Maybe that's why I've been so depressed today.

However, we have a new (to us) stove and fridge, and both are hooked up and working. And tomorrow we should find out if we'll be getting a new house. Cross your fingers for us- there's already been an offer made by someone else (and accepted), so the only way we have a shot is if that deal falls through. And somehow I'm just not comfortable asking people to pray that that happens. Que sera, sera, I guess. If we don't get it, at least I don't have to worry about moving this month!

Allie: mommy, it was a little bit Neptune out today...
me : what does that mean?
Allie: well, it was windy. Neptune is a windy planet.

Thank you, Blue's Clues. I should also mention that Allie is teaching herself to read alarmingly quickly. Today she picked up Hop on Pop and read, "Pop no Stop"...meaning she read "on" back to front, but also that she's connected the letter combo "op" to the sound it makes. At least, that's how it seems to me. Honestly, I find it a little frightening. I'm not ready for her to read.

Justice, finally

2005-04-04T22:13:00.000-07:00

The blissful period of this pregnancy is officially over. I'm not quite miserable, but I am getting up at least twice a night, have a backache pretty much constantly, heartburn no matter what I eat, exhaustion, etc. etc. So I have taken the giant leap from feeling guilty for having a painless pregnancy to feeling pretty justified in doing some whining.

I had some prelabor/early labor a week and a half ago, and I'd feel pretty sad that nothing more has happened, except I know that baby turned out of OP position that night (finally! yay!). No more backwards baby. No more worrying about back labor. So I'm left with two worries:

1. that I will start labor with "active", hard labor and find it difficult to deal with, rather than building slowly from "latent" labor
2. that I will not be able to control myself in second stage, will overpush, and will need to go to the hospital for sutures ( I mean, how much of a let down would that be, to make it all the way through, and then have to go to the ER for stitches? ugh)

Apparently my parents think I'm giving birth in the hospital. At least, the word "hospital" came up three or four times while we were together Sunday. Now, I'm certain I told them I'm not (months ago), so I'm not sure how to handle this. For now, I'm sticking with assuming they're just misspeaking, and they already know we're planning a homebirth. My reasoning goes like this: either everything goes fine, and we just let them find out after the fact (when there is no longer any reason to worry), or we transport and end up in the hospital anyway, just like they thought we would be. A bit flimsy, maybe, but I'm not up to dealing with my mother right now. She's already been telling anyone who will listen that I need to pick up my kids less and basically make sure they have to wait for their needs to be fulfilled (more or less arbitrarily, I think), so that they will know that I'm "not at their beck and call". Am I overreacting, or is this her roundabout way of saying she thinks they're spoiled? (For the record, I'm not asking you to judge if they are or aren't- I'm not strong enough for that right now, haha- I just want your opinion of my mother's comment.)

If you've emailed me in the past week, and I haven't gotten back to you yet, I apologize. I'm working my way down the list- gmail unforunately lists my mails from newest to oldest, and so if I don't make it through every stinking one, the same few get left at the bottom again...and again...and again.

a quick post

2005-03-14T22:36:00.000-08:00

I threw out my back pretty good this weekend, so I have to keep this short, or risk excruciating pain when I get up off the chair...

We saw our midwife again Saturday, and she's satisfied that I'm only carrying one. It's a big relief for us. Everything else numbers-wise still supports the one-baby theory, so I'm finally relaxing about this. The phantom kicks I get in odd spots must just be due to the extra room this baby has to stretch out in thanks to the extra fluid. I haven't asked for a size guess yet- I don't know if I will, or if I'll let myself be totally surprised.

This back pain has me in some major stage fright regarding labor. You'd think I'd be over this, having labored twice before without drugs (once against my will, of course), but no. I'm not as keyed up as I was waiting to go into labor with Allie, but I'm still genuinely nervous about it. One thing I'm thankful for as far as homebirth is that I just won't have access to drugs. And I know the idea of going to the hospital for them is enough to get me through the most impossible contraction. Both my hospital experiences with the other two births were mostly pleasant ones, but I really don't like hospitals. At all.

For now, Blinky is stubbornly insisting on remaining posterior. It made it really hard to hear heart tones Saturday- what can you do when you have to listen through the arms baby has crossed on hir chest? And, incidentally, when those same arms are being used to punch the fetoscope at every opportunity? What is it about my body that makes my kids gestate in such weird positions? Allie was actually born posterior, which only happens in about 1% of deliveries, and Gabe and Eva were breech and transverse, the most uncommon position pairing for twins.

This is honestly a most uncooperative child...s/he will probably insist on starting my labor during church, which will mean we'll have to leave early (probably on a night we have story time duty, too) and miss all the fun. I wonder if it would be bad form to grab communion on our way out, even if it's not "communion time" yet? I suppose we could just come home and have toast and grape juice instead...

Have a lovely week, all of you. And go visit the Yarn Cafe up in my neck of the woods...I went Sunday morning with my oldest friend (we're going on something like 24 years- hey Mel!!), and it was buckets of fun.

a reason to be happy and a reason to be in suspense

2005-03-06T23:00:00.000-08:00

For anyone who cares or might be curious, Over the Rhine has a new album coming out at the end of the month. If you preorder it, you get a signed copy and a nifty mystery treat! Last time they did this (that would be the release of Ohio in 2003) I got two lovely stickers, seen here (I know, the link is to some t-shirts, but that's what my stickers look like, ok?). I haven't ordered yet, so if anyone wants to go in with me and split shipping, let me know. The preorder is through pastemusic.com, so you could actually order anything on that site, not just Over the Rhine.

Two free songs from the album can be heard here.

Still no tour date scheduled...this child will be the only one of mine born that did not get to attend a great concert in utero. Allie got to go to Sunny Day Real Estate on their final tour (The Rising Tide), and Gabe and Eva went with me to Over the Rhine's Films for Radio show. It just doesn't seem fair. But then, we don't get out as much as we used to...

Two people asked tonight at the Porch, so in case anyone else was wondering but didn't ask, no, we're not 100% positive there's only one baby in there. I go back and forth on what I think, but Jeff's pretty sure it's one. We'll see, I guess...I just have to hope that the baby (babies?) aren't born on April 1st, or I'm going to have a hard time convincing anyone I'm not kidding when I call. When s/he or they arrive, I'll make sure something gets posted, even if it's only a link to more info on Jeff's blog.

And on another note...

2005-03-06T00:44:00.000-08:00

I'm so happy to see guys commenting on my blog! Not that I don't love it when girls do, but I like knowing that I have guy readers, at least occasionally :)

So much happening...

2005-03-06T00:03:00.000-08:00

I don't know where to start. The big news of the day was that I put Gabe and Eva back in cloth diapers, hooray! They're going to wear a disposeable at night until I figure out a night-time diapering system, but even only using cloth during the day has made me very happy. And my mom said I'd never be able to keep up with cloth diapering two babies!

I'll see my midwife for my last biweekly appointment early this week. Yes, it's already time to move up to weekly visits, which is very scary- everything is going too fast! In about 20 days, I'll be full-term and ready to go anytime. Birth kit is almost completely assembled, and I'll feel better when that's done. Still have to wash the birth pool and clean the house. Ugh. I cleaned quite a bit (for me) today with Jeff gone, but I have half the house *plus* to go. Allie has been helping quite a bit- reminding me to buy things for the birth kit, deciding what stuff can be thrown away, being generally entertaining...actually, all three kids have been really cute, but Gabe's insistence on bouncing on my gigantic belly is wearing thin. Of the three, I think he's the only one who has no concept whatsoever that I'm going to have a baby soon. Or that I have the feeling he's about to become the lone boy in a tribe of girls (since this is our last, there's no chance of a brother in his future if this baby's a girl, as I suspect).

Beyond mundane domestic matters, not much to report. This pregnancy is still idyllic enough that I feel incredibly guilty watching the other moms-to-be at church suffer. The simple fact that I can still comfortably carry a crabby, sleepy, 40-pound Allie from the van to the couch is a blessing I would never have expected to have this far down the pregnancy highway (34 weeks, if you're counting). Especially as enormous as I seem to be.

Still no baby dreams for me. The count for other people's dreams about this baby is one boy dream, one girl dream, one boy/girl twins dream, and one girl/girl twins dream. Can we try for a little consistency here, people? I'm begging you!

the good and the bad

2005-02-14T21:49:00.000-08:00

I finally got to see my midwife on Saturday! Yippee! I was beginning to think she was going to tell me we couldn't work together, what with the number of times I've canceled or rescheduled in the past two weeks.

My blood pressure and other preeclamptic symptoms are back to normal- hooray! Weight- at the doctor Tuesday I showed a total gain of 7 lbs, but my home scale is weighing 4 lbs lower than that- even though it weighs Allie the same (36 lbs) that she was at the doctor on the same scale I used. Huh. Well, anyway, everything is good in that department.

Measuring 32 cm @ 31 wks, which is right on, and for one baby :) Baby is positioned funny- really high (not even a tiny bit engaged, actually anti-engaged if that's possible). Heartbeat could be heard not near shoulder as expected, but near feet. Which caused my MW to poke around all over the place and declare that "it only feels like one baby..." and I would have to agree. Head down, which is good, and still posterior. As long as baby doesn't engage while still posterior, I'm not going to worry about it.

Bought a birthing tub...I think I'm going to use it, too! Everyone I know who has used one in labor would never consider any other way, so it's hard for me to even think it won't be great. Now to get my supplies list...then I think we're ready to go (even though I'm not term until Easter, it doesn't hurt to be done early if you're a procrastinator!).

I went out Saturday night with my mother-in-law...it was a lot of fun. I tend to think we don't have much in common, but we had a good time. I found out she is worried about me giving birth outside a hospital setting, so we talked about that, and I'm hoping she's able to let go of some of her worry. Her births were both pretty traumatic, so I'm sure that's part of what's bothering her. Even though my first birth was difficult and second was an emergency, I wouldn't call either one "traumatic", so I feel really blessed in that regard. I don't know if she'll want to see any of the study results I have access to, or if it would help her feel at peace about things, but I'm trying anyway. I have to have a talk with her daughter, though- apparently, she is very unhappy with our choices, and is feeding mom's fear rather than talking to the responsible party (me). I don't understand it, but this kind of "I'll gripe to my mom rather than talk to the person who I have a problem with, namely my sister-in-law" problem has existed pretty much as long as I've been her sister-in-law. 7.5 years, I guess that is. I'm getting a little tired of it. It's hard to accept someone's smiles and hugs when you know that days before they were on the phone attacking your beliefs and choices. It hurts- I tend to forget she can be like this until it slaps me in the face. I know our parenting crops up in conversation from time to time too, and that is my weak spot- even though I have no idea what she said, the fact that she has criticized me for my parenting choices makes me want to cry. It also makes me hope that her children will be devilspawn, but that's only in weak moments.

I'm not a confrontational person by any measure- I actively avoid confrontation, really- but I hate when people talk behind my back. Enough to get in their face a little. So I'm going to try to play nice and write a short little note about how happy I'd be to answer any questions she has. I want to meet this head-on (easy), but I also want to be diplomatic enough that everyone will still speak to me afterwards (hard). Wish me luck

Off quarantine!

2005-02-10T23:14:00.000-08:00

Well, Allie was finally feeling better today- yesterday was the first day all week that she didn't voluntarily take a nap. Unbelievable. I'm getting over the upper respiratory thing I caught, and so are Gabe and Eva. I'm pretty sure Allie was the only one lucky enough to get influenza- none of the rest of us have been half so sick (although I've been twice as whiny!). Jeff only got a teeny bit sick. Lucky. Now I'm wondering if maybe Gabe and Eva are getting their 2 year molars, because all of the sudden, sleeping through the night is just a memory. Ugh.

I'm so glad a few of you are stopping by to comment- it feels nice to be thought of, especially since I've been posting so erratically the past few months. And Rachel- what you said about the water birth that never happened- that's exactly what I'm afraid of. Gabe and Eva were the longer of my two labors, and they clocked just over 12 hours...Allie was just about 8, even though she was stubborn posterior (facing my belly) and ended up being born that way- sunny-side up, it's sometimes called. As far as I can tell, a birthing tub would have to be filled from the kitchen faucet, which would probably take 4 or 5 hours. And I have no idea how we'd keep it warm, in any case. It just seems like so much trouble...

Speaking of posterior babies, I did a belly mapping exercise last night, and it seems that this baby is posterior too, at least for now. If you scroll halfway down that page, and look at the picture labeled "OP", I'm 90% sure that's how Blinky's laying in there (my runner-up is ROP). No wonder my midwife was having a tough time finding heart tones- you usually hear those through the back of baby's shoulder, and there's no way to access any part of Blinky's back! I'm brushing up on ways to change that- I'd prefer not to have stitches this time, thanks.

I bought two new baby carriers- one wrap-style (like this one, but different brand) and one pouch. I wanted something easy for when Blinky is new and needs to be nursed/changed often (the pouch), and something that would go over both shoulders to distribute weight for later on, and for my bigger kids (the wrap- I also wanted something really versitile, position-wise, and wow, despite it being a little goofy to look at, you can use the wrap a zillion different ways!). I had regular slings with my other kids, and I loved them, but because much of the weight is on one shoulder, I always hurt after using them. I've used a Snugli carrier before, and theoretically, it should be comfortable- straps on both shoulders and all that- but it wasn't terribly. And you can only use them till baby is 25 pounds or something! I had Allie (4 yrs, 40ish lbs) in a back carry with the wrap for a little while today, and it worked great!

This week Allie got a new book, called Runa's Birth (warning- if you click on the "US english" link, it just takes you to a PDF of the book's text- if you want to see what the book looks like, check the buttons on the left). She's very, very excited about the baby. She has informed me that she would like to be the one to cut the cord (just like Runa's big sister Lisa in the book). She also told me we should name a girl baby "Dorothy" after the dinosaur on the Wiggles, but that idea I'm not so open to.

I'm pretty set for middle names- most likely Rae or James, thus keeping our single-syllable middle name streak (Brynn, Kate, Dean) intact. We have to give the kids a break somewhere- their last name is 9 letters, and Allie's first name is the shortest with 6 (Gabe's is 7, and poor Eva's is 10). The first names I'm looking at are all 8 or 9 letters. I don't set out to curse my kids, I just tend to like longer, more old-fashioned or unusual names. Although I thought we should nickname Eva "Jelly". I was voted down.

Quarantined

2005-02-05T19:44:00.000-08:00

Well, Allie and Gabe have influenza. Time to put my money where my mouth is regarding that vaccination I refused to get :)

Allie is almost over it- her white count is in normal range, although she isn't eating again yet, and she looks like the walking dead (ok, so she's unable/refusing to walk still, but you get it). Gabe is obviously not feeling too good, poor guy. Those of you who have cared for him at church wouldn't believe this is the same kid- he slept all day, and then slept on his dad for 90 minutes at urgent care. In fact, he's sleeping now! Eva and I aren't sick, and while Jeff felt yucky this morning, he's doing ok now. There's no doubt I've been exposed, but so far I feel fine. Let's hope it stays that way! Thanks to Gabe nursing, I'm sure my body is making antibodies for both of us, so it might be my system will kill it off without me ever knowing I had it. Neat how that works.

We'll miss you all on Sunday. No bringing the kids out till they're better- doctor's orders. Not that we'd want to. Poor kids.

Restless

2005-02-03T23:25:00.000-08:00

For some reason I can't bring myself to settle down and go to bed yet. It's late, and I know we have to get up at 7 tomorrow as part of our newly begun program to get the kids to sleep by a decent hour, but I feel sort of edgy and wakeful. I keep reading blogs or looking at baby carriers online and getting up every half hour to prowl the house a little.

Tomorrow I'm seeing my midwife again. Last time she was here, I had a few of the symptoms of preeclampsia. I'm really hoping they've resolved. High blood pressure in particular is something I've never dealt with before in my life, so it's a little worrisome.

I also discovered that I have an abcessed tooth yesterday. Yippee. It doesn't really hurt, which is why I only noticed by accident. I have an appointment Tuesday to get it checked out and maybe fixed, depending on the time they have available. I have to get a mouth xray, which I know is a pretty minimal danger compared to the risk of allowing the infection to continue and possibly spread, but I still don't like the idea of radiation coming anywhere near me and this baby. Another reason to hope that my blood pressure is down is the long period of time I will be supine in the dentist's chair- which will mean the main artery carrying blood to my lower body will be partially compromised by the baby's weight pressing on it, causing my BP to rise to compensate...really makes you wonder why so many women are still forced to labor and deliver on their backs. I've never had a root canal before, so I'm kind of dreading it, especially because my choice of post-procedural pain relief is rather limited (let's see....tylenol....or, hmm, tylenol? decisions, decisions).

At the same time, I'm excited to have my midwife visit us again, especially since Jeff wasn't able to be here last time. And I'm hoping that this time the baby is better positioned for me to hear hir (that's my intentional attempt at a gender-neutral misspelling there) heartbeat. Last time, I only got to listen to the placenta, which was still pretty neat. Kind of a whoosh-whoosh wavelike sound (it reminded me of putting a seashell to my ear). My friend Reb in TX (the angel responsible for backing the Vecinos booksale/fundraiser) has me half-convinced to waterbirth this time. I know from experience that I probably won't really strictly need it, but I also know that a warm shower has immensely helped me during labor past times, so it might be nice. I just have to decide if it's worth the hassle of setting up a tub or pool and filling it. This is my last chance to try it, so I'm certainly tempted. The drawback would be it would have to be set up in the living room- which could be distracting for me if anyone is messing around in the connected kitchen.

It feels really odd to be talking about this birth in terms of living room and shower. With the exception of the aforementioned Reb, who is having her second homebirth a month or so after I am due, I know of no one else who is not opting to go to the hospital. It doesn't make me angry or sad or anything- I don't think it's a right-or-wrong issue, or that hospital birth is a terrible thing- but my position is sort of alienating. What makes me sad is, I'm sort of locked out of the normal cultural trappings of birth. I haven't had an ultrasound, or a triple screen, or a glucose tolerance test. I get to listen to my baby on a regular old stethoscope, not an amplified Doppler. I don't go to the doctor, my midwife comes to visit me. No one has been less than supportive- that's not what I'm getting at. It's that I wish like crazy I was more able to blend in; be part of the group. I wish I didn't always seem to be isolated by my choices.

I'm sure part of it is just being a 4w5- I think that's kind of a double whammy in terms of living with a certain amount of isolation and social awkwardness (I'm the Bohemian, for those looking to connect the numbers with a title). But sometimes it seems like I'm just programmed to find ways of increasing the awkwardness and isolation. I complain to Jeff sometimes that I just can't do anything in a normal fashion. I'm factory pre-set on "eccentric". And I know that part of me deeply values that- my refusal to pretend I'm like everyone else is a source of great self-worth...and that probably sounds arrogant until you realize that my other choice is to hate myself for something I have no control over- not that liking myself for it is rational, but it is more comfortable. But it's crazy-making too. Try as I might, I suck at chit-chat and other social niceties.

It's not that I want desperately to be like everyone else. I just want to be enough like everyone else that people can tell that I genuinely like them and enjoy their company. Maybe I just need to go to finishing school.

I've been neglecting you...

2005-02-01T00:15:00.000-08:00

You know, I had this halfway-long post written, and I hated all of it. Completely. Buh-bye.

So all I'm going to say for now is, I'm really happy to have made it to this point in my pregnancy- Gabe and Eva were born at 29 weeks gestation, which I am now, and I was a little nervous that I wouldn't make it this far. And I'm really happy to be diaper shopping- we're doing fitteds this time, which are adorable although pricier, and yes, I know most of you are staring at your screens in confusion at this point, but I know what I mean, and I love buying diapers so much that your confusion is really rather endearing. You're cute when you wrinkle your foreheads that way! Here's a dictionary for anyone interested in the joys of diapers that need to be washed. If not, I'm afraid I really don't have much of anything for you...which makes me feel terrible!

I'll find a way to make it up to you. Promise.

Happy New Year

2004-12-31T23:34:00.000-08:00

All the kids are finally asleep. Cross your fingers that I'll finally get to see my midwife for an exam on Tuesday. I need it badly. Now that I'm heading really, really fast toward when Gabe and Eva came (29 weeks- I'm 25, and an average pregnancy is 40), I'm getting antsy. I don't want to go through the NICU again. I don't want to go to a hospital again, unless it's absolutely necessary.

I am hoping that with my holiday slump past and my decision not to return to school for spring semester, I'll have more time to blog. Priorities, right? For the record, though, I just checked my grades- 3 A's and a D (that would be phy. ed.- due to my post-retreat sciatica attack in October, I fell behind in logging hours in the fitness center and never caught up. Oh well). Yay me! Now I'm only 16 credits from my AA!

I don't have much to write right now- the things that have been crowding my mind for the past 3 weeks are, predictably, absent. So read this instead (thanks to Sarah for the great article).

2004-11-16T07:38:00.000-08:00

For the second day in a row, I ended up throwing up my breakfast. I can't figure out why, yesterday I had Cheerios and banana, today I had raisin bran (superstitiously- wondering if having Cheerios again would provoke a repeat). Jeff is giving my body little pep talks, telling it it is pregnant, not bulimic. Apparently, it's confused. The only thing I can think of is, maybe my light box is somehow triggering this? I use it while I eat breakfast- I don't know what the connection would be, but I can't come up with anything else. I have to remember that two days in a row might be a coincidence, not a pattern.

I can definitely tell that the light is working. I feel a bit more energetic, I don't have the urge to nap every day at 3 (although the urge to nap at 10- in my business class- is unchanged), I actually sat down and played playdoh with Gabe and Eva yesterday. I can't remember the last time I sat down and played something kind of messy with them. We have a lot of physical games we play, but nothing arty, which is sad. Allie loves to paint and sculpt and draw- and that's fine, because I don't have to sit and watch to make sure she doesn't paint the walls or eat the playdoh. So I've been lazy with Gabe and Eva because I haven't felt up to watchdogging the process, and I didn't want to end up with blue walls (I already have a pink one, thanks to Eva and Crayola sidewalk chalk).

So much needs to be done to our house- maintenance and renovation. Obviously we don't want to put tons of money into a house that's worth $5K, but it would be nice to repaint the kitchen and living room, and replace the surface of the deck. I just don't know when we'd find the time.

Better Late...

2004-11-15T11:08:00.000-08:00

As promised, some very early pictures of my littlest ones (in more than one way), two years ago. Happy birthday to them! Eva in the NICU (that's my hand)

2004-11-15T11:07:00.000-08:00

Gabe in the NICU

2004-11-15T11:06:00.000-08:00

Here they are now. Yesterday night they both sang along with Irish Blessing at the gathering. Hard to believe.

2004-11-12T07:33:00.000-08:00

I just realized that I shouldn't be here. I'm sitting at the computer station reserved for scanner use, and I have not scanned one single thing in the hour that I've been sitting here. And I used to get pissed off that people wouldn't read signs when I worked in retail! I've just been bitten by the hypocrite bug!

I'm struggling with school still- registration is in two weeks, so I have to decide on classes pretty quick. And I have to decide whether I want to drag my pregnant self out of the house every day in April, or if I want to compromise and take less-than-stellar online courses. I also need to decide if I want to get an acoustic guitar and take a class to learn to play it (I have an electric, but the class teaches acoustic only). Anyone know of a used lefty acoustic for sale? I could restring a righty, a la Jimi, but as Jeff pointed out, that means my pick guard is in the wrong place. Hmm.

I think I don't want to be a midwife today. I think my temperament is just way better suited to being a doula. Unless we move to The Farm, in which case I may reconsider. I just read Spiritual Midwifery again, and am amazed that modern medicine (as is its usual custom in all things) has so persistently tried to treat birth and pregnancy as purely physical states. That is probably my biggest criticism of our culture's birth practices right now. I'll have to go more into that later, because it's time for class, again.

A quick warning: tomorrow is Gabe and Eva's 2nd birthday, so I'll be posting a birthday picture of them then and now. Some people (me before they were born emphatically included) are really disturbed/upset by pictures of small preemies, so I wanted to prepare y'all.

Why I am not allowed to take care of myself

2004-11-10T06:24:00.000-08:00

I finally started using my light box this week. I'm supposed to start around the end of September, mid-October at the latest. Whoops. So now I'm impatient for it to work (i.e. remove my narcolepsy), and I keep forgetting that before I get to "OK" I have to slog back up through the ground I lost by waiting a month and a half too long.

In response to the comment I got two posts ago about winter and depression: yes, I want to eat and eat and eat. And sit at home on the couch, dozing on and off, with the TV on to something mindless while my servants bring me Cheetos and Coke. Ah. I feel lucky, in a completely ungrateful way, that I have a PE class this semester, so that I have GPA pressure to motivate me to work out (if it was for my own good, well...see post title). We don't have cable (gasp! yes, we're taking donations right now! kidding), so I'm stuck with network, but I'm oddly comforted by PBS. I'm a sucker for period dramas and anything with Abraham Lincoln. Speaking of which, tonight is the second episode of Regency House Party, which I'm ashamed to admit, I'm kind of taken by.

I'm still thinking about where my life is going from here. I think it's an artificially imposed decision (good question, Rachel- and thanks, both Rachels), but at the same time, it isn't. If I was planning on becoming a midwife, for instance, I'm in the wrong school. Most CPMs, if they go to school, go to a three-year midwifery course (two years study, one year supervised practice) and then take an apprenticeship. CNMs are different, of course- a BA or MA in nursing plus three years of obstetrical specialization. But they practice in hospitals, and I'm really convinced that I don't want to be part of imposing hospital routine and procedure. I just think I'm too emotionally tied to birth to be a good hospital midwife- if I was just doula-ing, I would be able to grieve with a mom about an unwanted procedure, whereas I think as a CNM, my first priority would have to be keeping everyone safe, and preserving the emotional distance needed to make good, objective decisions.

So here's the rub. Part of me feels like getting an education might be wasted money and effort. If I'm honest, that feeling probably comes from the idea that I enjoy school, therefore it can't be good for me. Something like that. Or I'm going to school mainly out of pleasure-seeking, and I don't deserve pleasure, therefore I must stop. I have a really hard time believing the things that come out of my brain sometimes when I stop and look at them. Despite having a very egalitarian marriage, I still try to stuff myself into the subservient-female role sometimes (and I hope some of you are laughing, because if there's one role I don't fit, it's that one). I don't know why. I suppose that is just the part of evangelicalism I absorbed best- my role as a wife and mother, quietly and steadfastly supporting my intrepid husband as he makes his way through the dark and dangerous world. Yeesh. Yeah, it still doesn't fit.

So I sit here and second- and third-guess myself about my place in the world, but in the meantime, school is fun (for the most part). I just wish that didn't make me feel guilty.

Unresolved

2004-10-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

Academic Armageddon- that's my English prof's title for our final paper assignment. On the surface it isn't bad- 5 to 8 pgs, annotated bibliography with at least 3 print sources. No biggie, I've had to write longer. And there's no topic restriction, which is always nice. Only it's 25% of our grade, so I'm sweating it. I settled on my subject being drawbacks to the increasing reliance on technology in childbirth (hospital birth, but since 90% of people assume that's the only kind in existence, I don't think I'll have to qualify it ;). It's a topic I know a lot about already and have read books galore on, I just have to pull out quotes, essentially, and write the paper itself- my research was largely done two years ago when I trained with DONA (to obtain certification, there's a bunch of required reading you must do). I think it sounds like a boring paper, but I know it's one I can do easily and well. And it would probably be interesting to most people- my familiarity with the subject is the major root of my ennui.

But I wonder. I wonder. I wonder. I keep coming back to midwifery. I read an article in Mothering about a paraplegic woman's homebirth and her midwife's complete confidence in her, and I think I want to do that. I talk to my midwife and think I want to be her. I hear a woman's birth experience, and sometimes I want to find her doctor and beat him/her mercilessly for how she and her birth and her baby have been violated and abused. I think, often, I need to do something about this. Part of me would love nothing more than to love women and catch babies for the rest of my life. To function as a doula in the hospital and a midwife at home. Rolla (that's my midwife) and I are soul mates- I don't usually connect to other women immediately, but I did with her. She seems almost like the mentor I wasn't looking for.

But part of me shoots back that it's escapist. I'm not thinking of becoming a midwife with some political goal or statement in mind, not to protest the system but to support the counterculture that already exists. I'll never be one to march against hospital birth or hospital policies, nor can I see myself calling legislators to get laws changed. I don't even really have a goal of convincing people that homebirth is as safe or safer than hospital birth (even though I deeply believe it is, and there is plenty of evidence to support it). It comes down to preaching to the choir, I guess, and the evangelical part of me says that isn't enough. Lifestyle witness for alternative birth isn't enough. Walking my walk isn't enough. I have to talk the talk; convince people on the other side to come around to my POV; proselytize for homebirth, in other words. But is that even true?

In the past, I've compromised with myself and decided that I'd do something else completely as a day job (usually teaching or social work- apparently I have an obligation complex, sheesh), and be a doula only- in my spare time. As a hobby. The doula role is easier to justify, as in a very real sense it is an activist role- a doula is, at heart, an advocate and servant of a birthing woman, making sure she is as comfortable and well-supported as possible, and communicating the mother's wishes to the hospital staff when she might be too "good" (compliant) or focused to advocate for herself. I have the added benefit, since it is a hobby, of being able to choose not to charge for my services- which obviously wouldn't be the case if I were a doula/midwife full-time. It feels pretty morally unimpeachable. I'm completely addicted to the sense of being morally superior. I hate that.

But it also feels useless. How much spare time will I really have as a wife and mother of four? Maybe this is just another sneaky 4 (enneagram) way of avoiding a decision so that I don't have to worry about making the wrong one. Except.

Except that decision time is coming whether I like it or not. Either I will decide or something or someone will decide for me.

I have a pretty good feel for my gifts, I think. I just wish I had a better sense of my calling.

Ebb

2004-10-29T08:28:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately about the things in my life that are tidal in nature, and how their movements affect mine and vice versa. It started with a comment from Jeff a while back about a certain friendship..."Your friendship is just tidal. You guys talk a lot for a while, then back off and take a break and don't communicate much" (or something like that). And I looked back, and it's true. And not just of that relationship. It's true of my energy level, my need for sleep, other relationships...it's a little alarming, if I think of it in terms of consistency vs inconsistency.

Right now, energy is at low tide. I can hardly muster the energy to make myself dinner, which is saying something when I am pregnant and ravenous (I finally cooked for myself at 8 last night- I made for the kids at 5, and since we don't have snacks, that was my first food since 1). I want to sleep all the time, and it's a struggle every day to make it through the afternoon without a nap. I'm narcoleptic in class, even my English class, which is the one I'm currently living for, as school goes.

Patience is at a low ebb, too. I consider it a victory when I make it through a day without yelling like a fishwife at my kids, or hitting someone- that sounds terrible, but I feel terrible. I don't believe in physical punishment- spanking/hitting/"tapping"/grabbing/pinching- so I die a little bit every time I violate that deep conviction.

I know that a lot of this is just part of my phisiology and psychology in winter- just the lack of sun causes suicidal depression for me for two or three months in a typical year (if I neglect my light box). I know this, but it doesn't help me forgive myself. And I'm beginning to think this inability to deal gently with myself is contributing to or fueling all the other ungentleness in my life- with my family, for example.

Gabe

2004-10-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

I would add this to the post a few back about Allie and voting, but then no one would see it. Anyhow, I forgot way back when to tell everyone that my son, who is not much of a talker yet (a doer, though- whew, yeah)...well, apparently he already has a platform and a book planned. Who'd have known? One day he just walked up to Jeff and spit out the name of his forthcoming book on attachment parenting-

"happy baby...happy you"

Brilliant.

Thanks

2004-10-17T21:34:00.000-07:00

...to the people who reached out in church tonight, explicitly or implicitly, to offer their support during what was a very tough gathering for me.

Yes, I was crying throughout the first half of the service (if you wondered). No, I won't tell you why- there are one or more conversations I need to have before I even consider making the source of my tears public. I may never blog about why, except for the fact that pregnancy hormones are really a pain for me, being that I hate crying in public, and I can usually get away with surrepticiously wiping away a few tears rather than full-on public bawling for half an hour. Jeff said he was proud of me for being real- I'd be proud if I'd had a choice about it, but I didn't (unless you consider I could have chosen to run to the restroom wet-faced, thereby drawing even more attention, which isn't much of a choice. Crying in bathrooms echoes, anyway, and since we were sitting next to the band, I felt more secure staying put). I'd make a longer post, but it's midterms this week and I really need to get my spanish verbs down. Good night.

What ho, pottery?

2004-10-15T09:35:00.000-07:00

Just because I know you're all dying of curiosity about my english prof, I thought I'd let you know that he's got a pottery show going this weekend at the Monticello community center. Apparently he usually has a mixed showing of pots and sculpture, but this time it's pure pottery. I don't know if it's a one-man show or not, but I'm afraid to put his name up here, in case he googles it and finds my blog (but it's Chris Oveson). I'm gonna try to go, but with all we have going on this weekend, who knows if I'll make it. Plus it just kind of seems like an ass-kissing thing to do, so I'm uncertain if I should. Anyone that goes, let me know- I've never been to a pottery show.

can't we just elect someone already?

2004-10-15T07:33:00.000-07:00

Allie and I had a talk about voting yesterday, after another shameless guilt trip on the part of PBS Kids about how kids should make their parents vote (in theory, I agree- but it seems like a pretty heavy trip to lay on a 4 or 5 year old, who may suffer guilt about a parent's refusal to vote for a long time after...ok, that doesn't read like a joke. sigh). Anyway, I reassured Allie that Jeff and I both have every intention of voting before I go to Spanish class on Election Day (do polls open at 7 or 8? I haven't been able to get a definitive answer). Anyone who wants to see the voting guilt trip, tune in to TPT 17 at about 6:28 pm.

Allie: Mom, don't vote for that guy you don't like. (that would be Bush- we watched part of the debates together last week)
Me: No, honey, I'm not going to.
Allie: You should vote for who I'm going to vote for.
Me: Oh? Who are you voting for?
Allie: That girl that is running.
Me: (beaming with pride) Well, sadly, honey, there isn't a girl running. But if there was, I'd probably vote for her. (Of course, I'm not counting David Cobb's running mate Pat LaMarche, but I promised Jimmy I wouldn't vote third party. Resist...resist...)

I love this kid, I really, really love this kid. I feel sort of bad that Gabe and Eva don't get as much type here- I guess it's just that they don't talk as much as Allie. Eva, however, has started doing a really good Allie impersonation- you just have to ask her what movie she wants to watch..."how 'bout.....ummmmm..."

Anyone who likes (or at least isn't threatened by) silent films should dig up a copy of Metropolis somewhere and watch it posthaste. Interesting film. Anyone who has the anime Metropolis (loosely connected to the aforementioned silent film), can earn Jeff's and my eternal thanks and devotion by loaning it to us. You could probably get us to do karaoke or something equally humiliating for it, too. Speaking of film, Jeff and I finished Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind last night...good flick. It reminded me a lot of Jeff and I in less-happy times (adolescence, that is, well, mostly. short version- depressed codependents should not date each other).

Whoa

2004-10-13T11:15:00.000-07:00

Blinky just kicked me. I forgot how odd that feels.

No, thanks

2004-10-07T09:41:00.000-07:00

Anyone want my recommended flu vaccine?

I'm really trying to understand the rationale for stating that healthy women with no risk factors should get the vaccine simply because they happen to be pregnant. I'm supposed to be considered of equal priority with a healthcare worker in direct contact with patients, or someone aged 2-64 with an underlying chronic health problem? I don't get it. I'll probably never get it. It makes about as much sense as routine electronic fetal monitoring and confinement to bed during labor.

2004-10-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

I never thought on posting Sunday night that the next morning I wouldn't be able to sit at the computer for two days. Monday morning I woke up and after I got out of bed, realized that I had injured my back again. Probably all the kid-carrying I did over the weekend. Big thanks to Jimmy, without whose willing arms (and back) I would probably have made things worse by carrying Eva on the way back from our after-breakfast walk. After skipping class two days this week (the very thought of sitting at those desks brought on spasms, although I did manage to make it in for my Spanish exam), and making Jeff come home from work Tuesday, I've learned some useful things about pain:

1. It's worse if you hold your breath (really, I learned this in labor, but I didn't realize it had general application until yesterday).
2. Kisses really do help (thanks, Allie, Gabe, Eva, and Jeff- all of whom gave me extra yesterday).
3. Regardless of how bad sudden movement hurts, your nerves will still react involuntarily to catch a falling child.
4. Tylenol doesn't do squat. And since I'm pregnant, I feel guilty taking it.
5. Grinding your teeth against the pain when you're asleep will provide you with a useful distraction from how much your back hurts when you wake up.
6. Even excruciating, awful pain that makes me cry does not cancel out the great weekend I had. I'd do it again- but more carefully.

Hopefully tomorrow I'll have more stamina for posting- right now my back and I are both tired.

Back soon...

2004-10-03T20:04:00.000-07:00

I was really, really, honestly going to post tonight, then I ended up sitting here falling asleep while trying to check my email- not a good sign. Since my kids are all in bed, I'm going to take this opportunity to sleep as well. The retreat this weekend was awesome fun. Tomorrow I will find the energy for a "real" post. Meanwhile everyone should go bookmark this in preparation for the next presidential debate (and to read up on how the candidates got their facts a bit, um, "mixed up" during the last one).

I'm still doing ok, starting to feel normal again, finally. Although school is taking up so much time that I'm still fighting against being overwhelmed. Somehow, I will get the hang of this. Still no Minneapolis date for Over the Rhine this winter. I'm gonna be really bummed if they don't make it here.

Errata

2004-09-21T11:43:00.000-07:00

Somehow I am managing to keep up. A's on both tests, and hopefully a B+ on my paper on Jungian Archetypes (never read anything about Jung before, but I used this book for research and ended up reading the whole thing 'cause I found it fascinating). Obviously I haven't gotten the paper back yet, but I asked for an A-/B+ (since my simultaneously loveable and evil prof made us tell him what we thought we deserved). Part of me now regrets that I did not ask for an A. Because I think it might deserve it- it's just such a struggle to be accurate and fair and objective about my own work. Especially written.

A belated apology to anyone who read my last post and thought I was angry or upset at being asked about having twins again, or having an ultrasound. I wasn't and am not even a little annoyed, so I'm sorry if it sounded as if I was. I just wanted an excuse to rant about those ultrasound boutiques, which I could go on for pages about. And the overuse of ultrasound in general, especially in normal pregnancy. If y'all haven't figured it out yet, I'm a complete birth junkie. Normal, non-medical birth is one of my great passions. At one point, I was going to train as a midwife- I still might, when my kids are grown and being on call all the time isn't a big deal. So please be patient with me if you're more medically-minded- and please be honest with me if you feel something I say is offensive or hurtful. I can be very opinionated, and while I try to let my acceptance of other paths come through in what I write, for some reason, it doesn't show as much when birth is the topic. I don't want to spend every other sentence apologizing for my views or explaining, either, so I'm taking it on trust that you who read this will love me enough to show me honesty and allow me the chance to ask forgiveness if I hurt you.

OK well, I'm really tired and have probably left the kids as long as I can without disaster ensuing. More later, hopefully. I'm really missing my blog time lately.

In the thick of it

2004-09-14T23:29:00.000-07:00

This has been such a run-ragged week, I don't even know where to start. It's not likely to get better soon, either- I have exams on Thursday (Spanish) and Friday (Finance), and a paper on Jungian archetypes (which I have not started) due Monday. Did I mention that the paper is 10% of my grade? I could just weep.

I'm finally starting to "feel" pregnant, and the tiredness and nausea are subsiding a bit. Yesterday I got an unexpected package in the mail from my yahoogroup buddies Kristin, Kellee, and Bobbi, who sent a bunch of wonderful little things- organic ginger tea (which reminds me, I started steeping a cup approximately 3 hrs ago and never drank it), organic red raspberry leaf tea (yummy), preggie pops- which are little suckers that are supposed to help with nausea, ginger bath salts, talcum powder with ground rose petals in it, a pregnancy calendar, and a gorgeous royal-purple silk eye pillow filled with peppermint and lavender. I've never thought of myself as the eye-pillow type, but laying down with it on my face feels sooooo good, and almost decadent.

A lot of people want to know if I'm having twins again, and if I'll get an ultrasound this time (since I didn't last time). No to both! Unless my midwife specifically wants me to get an ultrasound. I'm not nearly sick enough for this to be another pair of babes, and I'm not big enough either (I was in maternity clothes- for comfort's sake- by now last time). My midwife will be able to confirm that it's a single in another two months or so, just by feel. As far as Allie is concerned, it is one baby, a girl, who will be named Eva "just like the other one". I wonder what she's going to do if Blinky turns out to be male? Ask God for an exchange?

Speaking of ultrasounds...can I just say that I find this new trend of on-demand ultrasound franchises makes me a little ill? ACOG still doesn't recommend routine ultrasound screening of low-risk women (even though the vast majority doctors order them, and most low-risk women get them anyway). It's never been tested for safety in regards to developing babies (I know, no one's complained that it hurt their baby, but how can you find out if something's wrong when you refuse to look?). Get this:

...the American Institute of Ultrasound in Medicine warns that although there
are no confirmed biological effects from prenatal ultrasounds, possible problems
could be identified in the future, especially because these unregulated scans
are longer, use more energy and can be more frequent.
..."Ultrasound is a
form of energy, and even at low levels, laboratory studies have shown it can
produce physical effects in tissue, such as jarring vibrations and a rise in
temperature," the FDA said. Because of this, "prenatal ultrasounds can't be
considered completely innocuous."

Nice. Funny, I don't remember any sort of informed consent happening when I got my early ultrasound with Allie...

Allie started preschool Monday. I'm not sure I like the program, or the teacher's assistant...ok, to be honest, I'm sure I don't like the TA, but it's a completely irrational feeling based on gut only. The program seems too structured for three-year-olds to me. But I'm giving it a chance, because first of all, they're early childhood educators and I'm not, and second, I just naturally resist structure and I have to remind myself that just because I don't like it doesn't mean it's evil. As much as I'd like to translate my preferences into moral law, I'll resist. It's harder than it sounds.

Ahhh I think I'm ready for that eye pillow. And bed.

blehhhhhhh

2004-09-06T23:28:00.000-07:00

I thought I was over morning sickness already, but it is back with a vengeance. Nothing sounds worth eating, but if I don't eat I get sicker. Yippee. At least I'm not barfing. Although I'm still considering pitching a deal to God where I get to only have morning sickness *half my waking hours in exchange for puking once or twice a day. Sounds fair to me.

Everything makes me cry, which made me apparently look really depressed at church yesterday. Shelly (sp? help!) was really sweet and checked on me. Unfortunately I'm not really good at being honest with people. I want to repay their kindness in asking about me by being right as rain. Screwed up, yes. Then as I cried all the way home, Allie told me and her daddy that I'm not allowed to be sad, which made me sadder. I know she only meant that she wants me to be happy, but it felt like a bad echo of childhood. And like maybe I haven't given her the permission and space she needs to feel things besides happy. I really don't want to pass on emotion-stuffing. So Jeff was very patient with her but explained that it is ok for people to feel however they happen to feel. We ended up going out later Sunday night to get me a hot-water bottle, because I had a splitting headache from end of church on, and it was getting worse. Church gives me a headache! Haha. I don't know why, but 9 out of 10 times leaving church I have one. It might be dehydration, which I am trying to fight faithfully (by drinking half-liters of water at least 5 times a day). It might be stress. It might just be that it's been almost 4 weeks since I was last adjusted- going in Friday. We'll probably be getting haircuts as well. I don't really want to cut Gabe's hair- I kind of want to grow his out. Am I a total freak? He's just such a sweet, affectionate, sensitive boy, a crewcut just doesn't seem right (even though, I'll admit, it does look cute). We'll see.

So Allie wants a baby girl. Jeff wants a baby boy. I don't think I really have a preference, but my gut says this one's another girl (did I already say that?).

I should mention, that I definitely won the husband lottery. Not only did he go out in flash flood conditions to get my hot-water bottle, he decided I needed tiramisu when we were grocery shopping tonight. And he admitted to me when I asked for a bite of his chocolate chip cookie the other night that technically everything he has (even a cookie) is half-mine for the asking. I didn't know that. But you can bet I won't forget it!

They Come Like That?

2004-09-06T23:01:00.000-07:00

Or, what happens when you leave the room to make lunch. They find Allie's self-inking butterfly stamp and suck on it, then they climb into a potty box and cover each other with white circle sticker labels.

2004-09-06T22:57:00.000-07:00

Allie in a dirty shirt and her best friend Micka in full princess regalia

the good, the bad, y el feo

2004-09-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

So this has been pretty much the week from hell. Gabe decided over the weekend that he was going to start getting his 3rd and 4th eyeteeth, so he's been waking me up around 3 or 4 AM and keeping me up for an hour or two by screaming inconsolably. I was staying up too late helping Jeff with algebra- midnight or later, when I have to get up by 7 at the latest. I haven't been drinking enough water, so I've had a dehydration headache almost every day. Oh, remember me just mentioning Gabe screaming in the morning? Wednesday morning I was awake laying next to him, trying to talk to him, sing to him, get him to nurse, whatever would calm him down, when Jeff got woken up- not by Gabe, but by a sherrif who had been called to investigate my son's tortured crying. It was a still, foggy morning, and I imagine it carried pretty well- especially when you consider the window was open, and we sleep less than a foot from it. And the fact that houses here are about 10-15 ft apart. The sherrif (and the city cop who joined him) were really nice, and Gabe even smiled for them after a diaper change and some kids' Motrin. But it still made me have a really shitty day. I am always looking for reasons to shame myself as a mother, and this one was first-rate. After I got to English (late), I swear I caught my prof looking at me funny. We wrote an essay in class Monday, and I've been obsessing about it. I started crying while I was writing it (crappy hormones), and a tear dropped on the page and blurred one of the lines. I hope he didn't notice that, or the fact that I was crying to begin with. He probably thinks I'm a fruitcake.

There have been a lot of good things, though. My Spanish class is a lot of fun, and I feel like I'm picking it up rather well. I can actually carry on a conversation in Spanish now, provided I'm only expected to talk about what someone has or is wearning, or how they look. And only in present tense. Well, I guess I can introduce people and produce a little chit-chat, too. I love my English class, too. That's why it bothers me that my prof may think I'm insane. I really love him already, and I want him to think I'm ferociously intellegent and a fantastic writer. Now, if he thinks I'm also crazy, well and good. But believing I'm crazy and an average or just-ok writer, that would suck. I could care less about my Financial Planning prof's opinion- but then, I tend to form really strong attachments to my English profs. I have a long history of it. In Financial Planning, I have to fight just to stay awake.

It has also been good to get out of the house every day. Not that it has given me any more patience for my kids, kind of the opposite. But that is probably more due to exhaustion than anything else. I really like college, a lot. Unfortunately, Allie has been less than pleased at me being dropped off every morning. Then, she's unhappy when Jeff leaves for school and work. This actually started before school did- but then it was just Jeff leaving for work that got her upset. It seems to be some sort of separation anxiety- I didn't know kids could still have that at almost-4. But she's been the exception for all the other rules, I guess- why not this, too? I'm trying not to beat myself up about it being a sign of insecure attachment or something like that. I don't think it is. I think it's just Allie.

I think our baby (yes, I'm 99% sure it's a singleton) is a girl. I've been calling her "Blinky" for no reason, except that tiny embryos look sort of lightbulb-shaped. Poor Gabe. He's gonna be one great husband, growing up with all these women.

Five Good Things (and One Bad One) About Today

2004-08-27T21:22:00.000-07:00

1. I distinctly heard my Personal Financial Planning Prof say the words "minimal homework"
2. There is a usage error on my English Prof's syllabus ("your" instead of "you're")
3. All of my profs have a sense of humor
4. Jeff and I got to listen to The Fire Theft really loud on the way home from my PE orientation, because the kids were at home with grandma and grandpa
5. BBQ for dinner from the Rib Cage. Yummmmm!

The one bad thing is that Over the Rhine has still not booked a Minneapolis date for this fall. Nuts. And I don't have their new live album yet. But I remain hopeful on both counts.

Have a great weekend, all. I'm off to get at least 9 hours of sleep. Jeff is out seeing Stavesacre at Club 3 Degrees.

blogger ate my post

2004-08-26T20:54:00.001-07:00

I really hate internal server errors.

yawn

2004-08-26T20:54:00.000-07:00

I am officially a borderline narcoleptic. I can't carry on a coherent phone conversation, because of my constant yawning. I made it through my first class today- Spanish I- barely. Tomorrow I have Freshman Eng II, and an hour earlier at that. I'm going to die, honestly. There isn't coffee strong enough to keep me awake, and if there is, I'm not supposed to drink it anyway. I took an hour-long nap on the couch this afternoon- with two of my children awake. Luckily I when I woke up, the house was intact and so were their sweet little bodies (and they weren't covered in Vaseline or some other unknown substance either, which was an added blessing).

Jeff needs some algebra help, so I'm off to have some fun. I'm like my calc teacher in high school, who coached the math team (the Park Center Pi-Rats...get it?). I made so much fun of him, because he would almost start foaming at the mouth when he got really excited about a particular principle or problem. He was a great teacher, though. And right now, I am just very grateful that there are people in my life who are filled with passion, even if it is for something I detest (like calc). My passion right now is learning a bit of useable Spanish, and I guess searching for God's voice, which is currently stifled under a pile of busyness.

Anyone want to share their current passion?

blah blah blah

2004-08-25T21:32:00.000-07:00

I am freaking out that school is starting for us tomorrow. Part of it is that I didn't get my driver's license on the timeline we wanted, so Jeff's going to be dropping me off and picking me up for maybe as much as a month, which stinks (I'll take my test the 22nd of Sept). Then there's this big conflict with Allie's preschool schedule- Jeff's in class when she needs to be dropped off, and when she needs to be picked up. Time to call in a favor from the across-the-street neighbor, I guess. At least she doesn't start till the 13th, and it's only 2 days/wk. The joys of living in the frickin' sticks. I can't even get a bus out here- and for a girl started riding the 5 route downtown to meet her mom for lunch when she was about 11, that is crippling (16 years, kids).

My legs are feeling better, most of the time. I was hoping for that, because the thought that they were only going to get progressively worse for the next 7.5 months was excruciating. See, despite what Jeff claims, and how I handle labor pain would suggest, at heart I'm a pain wimp. I cry over stomachaches. I'd cry over my worse headaches, but it makes it worse, so I do my best not to. I really wish I had known about chiropractic when I was pregnant with Allie. That's when the sciatica started. Doctor gave me a scrip for about 10 Tylenol with codiene and told me to only take one when I felt really horrible- which luckily wasn't too often. After I had her, another doctor refused to give me a refill on the prescription, because I was nursing. Um, so it's ok when she's sharing my bloodstream, but after that all bets are off? Whatever. I didn't start seeing a chiro until Gabe and Eva were just out of the hospital. By then I was in pretty bad shape- I ended up immobile on the couch, crying every time I had to change position even slightly (which, with newborn twins, was pretty often). One of the reasons we had decided not to have more children was my back- I was afraid another pregnancy would cripple me. Hopefully, I can just keep things from getting any worse.

But as far as morning sickness and the rest goes, I have an easy time of it, so I can deal with my back. I just have to find a way to tell my chiro that I'm pregnant. She's going to have a coronary.

I still haven't called my midwife. Procrastination is just a way of life for me, I guess.

surprise, surprise

2004-08-21T23:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been thinking and thinking and trying to come up with a way to talk to people about this, but I'm just too...I don't know. Shy? Confrontation-phobic? Whatever.

Anyway, here's the deal. We're having a baby. Again. For various good reasons, this is a shock (to rather understate things). I've run the whole gamut of emotional responses this week- joy, guilt, anger, terror, and a sadness almost akin to grief. I am having a hard time believing it most of the time, although the constant pain in my legs is testimony to the truth of the situation. I want to be deliriously happy, but I know how much my back and legs hurt by 2nd trimester last time, and I only had one kid then. Money, too, is a constant worry. Especially since I won't be working next summer, as I was planning to.

I'm going ahead with school for now, at least the winter term. I don't think I'll make it for spring, unless the profs are generous and let me sling the babe to class the last few weeks- we'll have it sometime in the spring. Fat chance of that (the slinging part). The plan is to welcome this one at home. I just have to double-check everything with my midwife and make sure she's comfortable with my history and whatall. One of the bright spots is, although we weren't planning on more children (and yes, we were taking precuations), for the first time, we did this right and I'm not going to have to deal with PPD and SAD at the same time. Maybe I won't have PPD this time! One can only hope and pray.

A friend of mine, Abby, who lives in Maine, is going to a birth blessing ceremony this weekend for two women who are near to their time...I'm trying to work out if this is something I want to do. The guests are bringing beads with symbolic meanings (one example, someone is bringing a bead with a boat to symbolize a journey, and a clear one for clarity of mind), and a piece of poetry or a quote or blessing.

We have so few positive ceremonies and rituals surrounding pregnancy and birth in this culture- all I can think of is the baby shower. And those aren't really my thing- I had one with Allie, and I got a lot of stuff I really didn't want- a playpen, bottles, that kind of thing ("oh, you'll want to give her a bottle once in a while!" um, no, I really won't- it's more trouble than it's worth!). As far as I know, we in this culture don't have any rituals to mark the loss of a baby, whether early pregnancy, late, or in infancy. Funerals, yeah, if the loss isn't early in pregnancy- but, personally, it doesn't seem like enough, by any stretch. I have more than a few friends who have suffered this unimaginable kind of loss, and it just seems unthinkable- the things they are told, the way they are treated. "Oh, I had that happen once", a fellow patient in the OB/Gyn waiting room told my friend Kristin right after her second miscarriage, as though she was talking about buying the wrong brand of toothpaste or getting stuck in the rain.

Are we so absolutely incompetent when it comes to dealing with any sort of emotional or spiritual pain that when we are confronted with it in this distilled, crystal-hard form, the loss of a child, that we feel we must intentionally trivialize it- because facing it is too difficult? Is it so hard to offer hands and arms for comfort without the burden of our words, which will always fall short, and too often wound instead of heal? I know for me, the answer is yes. The temptation is to talk and talk and talk and talk, because the words provide a distance from the pain. We tell people, basically, to get over it, "oh, you weren't really that far along, were you? It's not like you lost a baby", to get on with things, because grief is a naked thing, and this culture dislikes nakedness (unless you're selling beer). We are so addicted to the quick fix, the fool-proof plan, and emotions are so messy. Grieving people don't play by the rules.

I don't know why I am in such a sarcastic and caustic mood tonight. I think I am just really hormonal and conflicted right now. I am feeling so strongly what Jenell said a few days ago- this is so obviously unfair. And I just don't know how to deal with that. I just don't know. I just know that I'm glad it is the weekend and most people at SP won't be reading this till Monday morning. I'm just not feeling very up to dealing with facing my mixed emotions right now. I'm sorry, everyone.

things i love

2004-08-17T22:40:00.000-07:00

I've decided I need to lighten up a little, for the time being at least. So here, in no particular order, are some things I love (family and friends are a given).

Tami's Soaps- especially Woodstock and Fresh Squeezed
Burt's Bees Bay Rum cologne , especially when I can get it wholesale
cats, especially now that we don't have one :(
browsing in a bookstore or library
midwives
sleeping late (we're talking 11 am, at least)
staying up late (2 or 3 am- thus the love for sleeping late)
math, especially algebra
playing Hi Ho Cherry-O with Allie
Conceptis Puzzles (mostly the Pic-A-Pix puzzles, which I am hopeless at, but enjoy anyway)
The Brick Testament
effortless activism

Hope all have a lovely Wednesday!

in memoriam

2004-08-14T23:01:00.000-07:00

This is Aidan. He turned four a few months ago, making him just a little older than my Allie. He lives in Dublin and is the only child of my friends Jerome and Johanna. Jerome died last September of Hodgkin's disease. He would have been 30 today. Say a quick prayer for Jo and Aidan today if you can.

You know how certain people are so full of life and love and joy that you just can't imagine them dying? That's Jerome. I miss you, my friend.

My inner child

2004-08-12T21:23:00.000-07:00

My inner child is ten years old!

The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether
I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost
in a good book, or giggling with my best
friend, I live in a world apart, one full of
adventure and wonder and other stuff adults
don't understand.

How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla

Thanks to Bobbi at emerging sideways for the chance to muse about my terribly neglected small self.

In lieu of cards...

2004-08-10T22:54:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday, Jeffy! Those wanting to wish Jeff a happy birthday (and congratulate him for putting up with my crazy ass!) should go here.

How is it possible that we're having October weather on your birthday, honey?? Doesn't seem right. I love you always and through everything. I'm for some reminded of the fact that I recovered from Gabe and Eva's birth in the same room at North Memorial in which your mom recovered from your birth- it still seems really weird.

To those brave compassionate souls who have been commenting on my blog: thank you, thank you, thank you. Every word is life to me.

final thoughts on kidd's book

2004-08-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

Well, this afternoon I finished the book, and I find that I'm seeing it a little differently than yesterday. It's hard, because this is so outside of my very limited knowledge of the finer points of Christian tradition and orthodoxy. First off, I think the implied disdain of women who search for feminine expression inside the church is mostly a figment of my overactive imagination. And I think some of the reasons her story doesn't totally strike a chord for me is that I didn't grow up in the church (and more specifically, a Baptist church in the south during the 50's). Some of her struggle I just can't relate to, because I was born around 30 years later. I've never been a pastor's wife either, and I can certainly imagine the oppresion and narrowness of that for someone who feels dissatisfied within her religious tradition. The fact is, I might feel much the same if I was still going to the evangelical church I first "met" God in as a teenager. Maybe the drastic path she took felt like the only one available. Being outside of the evangelical church for so long has fostered forgetfulness about how confining it sometimes felt (I had stopped attending church pretty much completely for 3 or 4 years before starting to go to SP in 2002). The fact that she was willing to sacrifice her marriage to her spiritual quest still bothers me a bit, but I nearly trashed mine for a lesser reason, so.

I still can't decide whether my reaction to her speaking about Goddess is a leftover evangelical reflex or a true line being crossed. When she is talking about the Goddess (or Feminine Divine, etc), from my POV, it really seems consistent with things I would attribute to the God I know, not a separate deity. And her journey seems to have been "ordained" or "blessed" in some sense that I find hard to explain. Maybe it's just a semantic difference, and if she used a different word, I wouldn't have the hangup I do. I don't get the sense that she has returned to the church (or ever will), but she does explicitly forgive the wrongs that were done to her within the church, which is a point a lot of people who leave the church never get to. It still seems like she harps a little too much on the sins of patriarchy to me, but as I mentioned above, that could just be a difference between her context and mine.

I don't know what to think, really. It's an interesting book- not one I'd give to my mother-in-law (who goes to Open Door), but still interesting, and parts of it I really liked. Maybe I'll get ambitious one day when I don't have anything to write about and quote it for y'all.

Edited to add: I'm not suggesting that using God rather than Goddess is always a semantic difference. I'm just pondering that as a possibility in this specific case.

feminine divine?

2004-08-09T22:58:00.000-07:00

For a few days now I've been reading The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd. Now, I'm not recommending it, because to be honest, I'm having trouble getting into it. I should have read the subtitle more carefully, I guess (A Woman's Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine). I guess I'll cover the problems I'm having with the book, and then try to explain why I was interested in it in the first place.

So, she's this Baptist pastor's wife, and grew up in the Baptist church. Over time, she experiences what she terms a "feminist awakening" that leads her first away from the Baptists, but everntually away from Christianity entirely. She starts investigating feminine deities of other traditions, and also mythology. I can't really relate to that- although I do like myth and symbol. She and a friend who shares the journey with her sort of invent rites and rituals to mark significant points in their search for Goddess (which I totally dig- except for the Goddess part). More than once she talks about how we have to shed all the trappings of our patriarchal programming (which honestly made me roll my eyes a little), and if we don't allow our search to take us outside of Christianity (which is a "male" religion), the implication is that we're clinging to the forces that oppress us or it's a knee-jerk reaction of our programming (more eyerolling here). I don't think that every woman needs to do that to find completeness- and therein lies the danger of generalizing our own path into THE path.

Now, I admire her courage to follow her heart, but I can't relate to her faith journey a whole lot. I was initially interested in the book for the title (which one of us girls hasn't been a dissident daughter at one point, if only inside?), and the fact that she had been a writer of Christian inspirational nonfiction. I figured she was someone who might be searching for some of the same things I'm searching for. A balance between male and female, not only within church authority, but also terminology. A way to express faith that is feminine and Christian. I don't want a new God, thanks, I like my current one just fine. I think it's kind of cruel to blame God for the lack of balance within the church, actually. To be fair, she doesn't demonize men (maybe that's why I felt like her blame was on God, by default). And there have been passages here and there that I have loved. Like when she's talking about exploring the feminine dimensions of the sacraments (communion in terms of breastfeeding, baptism in terms of amniotic fluid). Or exploring the role of Wisdom in Jewish tradition, and Sophia/Logos in the NT. But then she just veers off toward the Goddess again, and loses me. It's funny, after I got baptized, I was thinking of rebirth and Jesus' words that we must be born again- and how birth is an exclusively female domain. God as Mother! It helped me feel a little less nervous about the psalm I wrote.

Anyway, I got started on posting about this based on a post of Rachelle's (it's from July 26th, for some reason her whole sidebar of links/archives seems to be gone). Actually, it was a quote she posted from the book that made me want it in the first place, weeks ago. So. It's a lot to chew on, but not as helpful as I hoped. Since I'm being forced to consider a calling to the pastorate (the guy with the gun to my head? that would be my husband), I am kind of mulling over what we as women have to offer as leaders of the church, besides being female (which, in fairness, I think is a lot to begin with). What ways do we hear/see/talk to/imagine God that are uniquely ours? I love Christ's church, and I'd rather contribute to it than leave for any "Goddess".

So, am I just making a big deal out of nothing when it comes to the Goddess? Maybe it comes from having a lot of Wiccan friends. I just don't see Goddess-worship in that sort of form as compatable with the way of Jesus (although I admit to wishing more Christians had that kind of respect for the Earth!). Lay some feedback on me, peeps!

letting go of my "specialness"

2004-08-07T23:03:00.000-07:00

I've been zipping around the Enneagram book that we bought a few weeks ago for the past week or so. I'm reading more than I'm absorbing, but I have still found some useful insight, although it's not the most welcome kind. I'm a four (4w5, to be more specific), as I said in an earlier post, and in some ways, knowing that is encouraging, and in some ways it is really hard. I don't know if this will make any sense to someone who is *not a four, but I'm going to plug away anyhow.

I'm a near-textbook four. One of the ways fours tend to define themselves is by their individuality or "specialness". In healthy circumstances, this can be a good thing. It can take the form of personal expression that is creative and distinct, but universal. I wish I was more like that, more of the time. In my experience, its unhealthier forms take the shape of a feeling of inherent defectiveness, "no one understands", and feeling threatened by others' ideas and advice- part of me wants to go back and rewrite the second sentence of this paragraph, because it sounds too much like the book. I have an intense need to be self-contained and self-sufficient. I withdraw to get attention. It sounds like a bad idea, and it usually is. I remember the heartbreak of my adolescent relationship with my parents- as my brother acted out for attention, and I acted in. I hid, hoping that my mom or dad would notice that I was hiding and come "find" me. In reality, I think they were a bit relieved that I wasn't a big drain on their attention and time. My brother was difficult- unpredictable, physically and verbally abusive, and often out of control. They gave up after several years of hearing why his problems were all their fault (combined with my dad's unwillingness to participate in family counseling).

I dreamed about being adopted, about my "real" family coming to rescue me (textbook four, once again). I started dating Jeff just before my 15th birthday, and he did his best to rescue me himself. I was living with my godparents at the time (my uncle and aunt). I have a few vivid memories of the first few months there- adjusting to people who had clear expectations of my behavior, but who were in many ways no more helpful than my parents. My dad at the exit interview for the home for runaways that I stayed at for a week before moving in with my godparents, responding emotionlessly to a gentle question from the counselor, "I'm not sure I consider her my daughter". I remember breaking up with the boyfriend that had landed me at their house (not Jeff), and sawing the skin on my ring finger open with a butter knife. I remember sitting in front of a full bottle of Tylenol one night trying to decide if it was worth living another day, and when I broke out of the trance long enough to sob to my aunt that I wanted to die, her reply was "don't be stupid, go to bed." And I did, but once again, I had been misunderstood and my pain invalidated.

I've since forgiven my dad; forgiven both my parents. Both of them tried, but life with my brother was like living with the constant threat of nuclear attack- you hunker down and cover your head and wait for the explosion. But I carried the victimhood and misunderstood-ness into adulthood. When no explosion is imminent, I create one. I create no-win situations for those closest to me and use their failure to perfectly validate me as an excuse to retreat into myself. One of Jeff's most frequent complaints is that I expect him to read my mind- and he's absolutely right. Some voice inside says, "if he really loved you, really loved you, he'd just know." Then that message turns to, "he doesn't understand you and he never will. You are different and will never find someone who understands." And that is a lie. It's the same lie I told myself when my parents took three years to notice my depression and get me treatment in junior high, and countless times since. The truth is, no one can understand me when I am concentrating all my effort into being misunderstood. When I refuse to let anyone in.

God's truth is that I am indeed different- and special. But that it doesn't take the form of being irreparably flawed and in need of rescue. My difference does not have to be defined in negative terms- that I'm not like anyone else, that I can't be (outgoing, strong, capable, etc). I don't know what shape my uniqueness and calling takes, yet- but I'm glad to be setting out anyhow. I'm tired enough of repeating the past that I'm ready to risk letting go. What was it Anais Nin said? Ah, yes..."And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. " Part of me instinctively recoils from such inspirational-poster sentiment, but there is truth in it nonetheless.

lucky

2004-08-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my birthday, and I feel very blessed. I can't remember a time that so many of my friends called or wrote to me to wish me happiness. My parents anniversary was also this week (Tuesday), and it is another blessing that I have parents who are still together and love each other after 31 years.

I'm still feeling ok, but I've been worried about school, because I'm exhausted all the time. Because of Jeff's class needs, I have to take morning courses. I'm not a morning person. To put it mildly. Especially once the days start getting shorter.

It is an intense struggle to write tonight. I thought I had broken out of being depressed, but I think I was fooling myself a little. I tend to think that one good day, or even a good few hours, means I'm back to good, when that is soooo not the case. Sometimes I think that depression is less an emotion and more of an emotional filter- it lets bad stuff sift through (like fighting with Jeff this morning), but keeps good stuff out of my heart (like the TRUTH that people do love me, and I do matter to them- for heaven's sake, they just called me yesterday!). God grant me eyes that see through that filter.

waking

2004-08-02T23:10:00.000-07:00

Thank you all for your prayers and good wishes. I feel like I am past the worst, and moving toward being "normal" again. Just in time for my slow autumn slide into SAD ;) But I have a light box to treat that, so it shouldn't be a big deal.

This has been way too busy a weekend (Jeff's weekends are Sunday/Monday, so those are the days I'm talking about). Barbecue and church on Sunday, and today we scrambled around and ended up going to IKEA for the afternoon, then to my parents' house after. They just opened one here, right across the street from the Mall of America. It would have been a lot of fun, except that Gabe and Eva were overstimulated about halfway through the store, so we spent the last half of the afternoon fighting meltdowns. Found three or four pieces of furniture I'd like, but can't afford. Yay.

I really, really feel like writing more tonight, but we signed up to do a day of Vecinos Summer Day Camp, and it's tomorrow. We have to be at church by the unholy hour of nine in the morning. Which means my wake up call is coming in about six hours. The theme of the day is Faithfulness, so we are going to be doing some fun relay races during the activity part of the time. Wish us luck!

sleepwalking

2004-07-30T00:08:00.000-07:00

I can almost remember a time in my life when I thought depression was a feeling. That it was being sad all the time. Not wanting to smile, crying a lot, acting, well, depressed. I know better now. There are certainly times when depression manifests that way for me, but usually that is not the case. It would be easier by far if it were. Then I'd have a few days of sobbing a lot, and I'd clue in pretty quickly to what was going on. I should clue in to what is going on- I've been dealing with this for over a decade. But it takes weeks, usually, before I realize it.

For me, depression is more like inertia. First I just get tired, and maybe irritable. I start snapping at stupid things, yelling at the kids and Jeff, feeling absolutely unable to drag my ass out of bed in the morning. I start staying up later, because I really need some time alone, which obviously doesn't help the tiredness. And slowly, so slowly I can't even tell till it's really taken hold, all the joy and life just drains right out of me and I end up sleepwalking through my life. When I'm really depressed, I actually cry less, because strong emotion is something I can't access easily. I become a completely cerebral and selfish creature, living only in my mind, which chases its tail endlessly, and existing only to serve my needs, which are mainly to sleep and find excuses to not show up for my life. Now I know that on some level, this is just basic necessity- I'm too sick to live, so I just function until I get a bit better. But I also know that I don't have the luxury of withdrawing completely. I have a family, kids, friends, and a husband who need me. And I know that my withdrawal does not serve the cause of health. I can only get better by letting people help me. Yuck. Have I talked about how I hate needing help?

So thank you, all of you, who have been here, bearing witness, standing with me and standing for me. Thank you Anj, for helping me see that this is a chance to give a gift to my children, who can learn that it's ok to have problems and not hide them. I fear their pain at seeing me in need, especially my oldest, but I am starting to feel that God wants me to allow them to minister to me. Thank you Sarah for coming over so many times these past few weeks, even though it's a long drive and I can't just hang out when you're here. Thank you Rachel. Thank you KP. And thank you all the women (well, mostly women) whose words I read today and came away feeling a bit encouraged and a lot less alone.

Not now...

2004-07-27T01:27:00.000-07:00

So I was reading this book tonight, and there was an exercise in it- the instructions were to tune in to your heart, get a feel for what was going on there, and what things felt like, how they looked, smelled, whatever.

Mine feels insulated. The first thing I thought of was that it was wrapped in some kind of styrofoam-y packing stuff (not the peanuts, but the kind that's sort of like a sticky sheet- ya know?). So I decided I'd better "unwrap" it and find out if there was a reason for the padding, and what was going on underneath it. It's not in good shape. Purple was the first impression I got. Bruised. And bleeding, although from a lot of little wounds rather than one big one. Which just confirms the realization I've been struggling with for a few days now. I'm depressed again. I should have clued in when I started staying up till 3 or 4 in the morning, having trouble sleeping, not wanting to eat, not doing housework...somehow it didn't click. It's been a month since this started. What I fail to understand is how someone so internally preoccupied could miss something like this.

I've kind of been on the run from it, I guess. Refusing to confront it, because being depressed is a damn scary thing when you have three little lives who are dependent on you for most of their basic needs. They need a mommy who feels like cooking and cleaning; changing their diapers and reading them stories. Not a mommy who wants to curl up in bed and cry for a while, then sleep for days. I don't want to be depressed right now. I don't have time. But I guess I don't have a choice, either. And since I don't have the option right now of treating it with therapy or medication, I'll have to do my best to treat it by doing things. Going through old boxes, organizing pictures, mopping my kitchen floor. Which sounds about as appealing as dental surgery without anesthesia, honestly.

In a way, the fact that I have kids right now is a good thing, because I can't become completely preoccupied with my internal life now, when I'm unhealthy. But in a way, it's not good, because they deserve better than I can give them right now. They deserve a Mommy who is at the top of her game.

Procrastinating

2004-07-26T00:51:00.000-07:00

Ok well, yesterday I promised to get back on here and write about the intentional community meeting Friday night, and tonight I still don't really want to do it. But I will, because otherwise I'm going to forget everything of value about it.

It started with a train wreck, which people who know us well, know is completely typical of anything we decide to undertake. I made a dessert, and forgot it. We also forgot hot dogs to grill, and buns. Oh, and snacks for the kids. So we had to stop on the way to buy cookies and hot dogs and buns. I don't recommend stopping for groceries at 6 pm on a Friday. The store is, um, kind of busy at that hour.

So we got there. Late. But only by about 10 minutes, which is amazing, since I was sure Jeff had been in the store shopping at least an hour. We got there, kids got in the pool (and out, and in, and out...), had dinner (fabulous salmon and bread and rice and potatoes and salad). Had dessert. Then Carla put in a movie for the kids so we could talk for a while.

She (Carla) said some really nice things about my writing here, which I think I was kind of brusque about- I don't handle praise well. We talked about parenting, and the book she wrote about it (The Myth Of The Perfect Parent? forgive me if that's off, and email me so I can fix it!!). Conversation was kind of all over the place, it had been during dinner as well. But at one point they started talking about enneagram types and so I got to read a little about those and decide what I was. My memory for details is crap, I am really straining for more of the stuff we talked about, but all I can think of is my impressions (emotional and intellectual) of the night as a whole. I knew I should have written this earlier!

It was really amazing, but it's almost impossible to explain with words. Most everything we did and said was fairly mundane and non-earthshattering, but there was this intangible other in all of it. I was surprised and delighted by the amount of good-natured teasing, and the complete absence of pretense. Looking back, I shouldn't have been surprised at all. There should always be joy in community, or we are doing it wrong! I hope we get to go a few more times. I think I am almost going to regret starting a group of our own, because we won't have any of them in it. It's really tempting to say "forget it" to making our own group and sneakily become permanent (rather than visiting) members of this one. I'm so lazy!

I'm still feeling out this bad few days I'm having. More on that later.

What possible reason?

2004-07-24T12:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I've now gone from being on the verge of tears all the way home last night (and since then) to crying in front of my computer for no reason I can pin down. I mean, I cry easily, but rarely without a reason. Even at my most depressed, I at least have a manufactured reason. This is a little scary. Thank goodness Allie is playing with her friends in the yard, so I don't have to try to explain. Whenever she sees me cry, she tries so hard to cheer me up, that I just cry harder. And I'm afraid she may take my tears personally, like she's done something wrong. I don't want her to internalize that message the way I adopted the idea that I was to blame for my parents' anger and bickering and abuse.

Oh God, what is this about?

enneagram test

2004-07-24T01:22:00.000-07:00

Well, here's one from the same site as before. We were talking about enneagram types tonight, I pegged myself as a type 4, and indeed, that's what I scored as here:

Conscious self	Overall self

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test

and here:

I had a really, really good time tonight, but for some reason it was also a really emotional experience for me, that's something that needs more processing. I'll post about it tomorrow. I should have been in bed hours ago.

2004-07-23T00:09:00.000-07:00

Today was a really great day. I was bummed since Jeff had to leave for work early so that he could meet with Jimmy about coming to see them and the rest of the intentional community group tomorrow night. But then, I was talking to my buddy Sarah on the phone, and she not only offered to come visit and help me make the dessert I was preparing for tomorrow, but to bring dinner, too! Wow, I am loved. It was fun having her here, and I know the kids enjoyed it as much as I did. She even helped with their baths, which is beyond awesome.

We are going tomorrow not to join their group, which is kind of at capacity, but to get a feel for what it will be like to start our own. I guess since we're organizing it, you could kind of call us the "leaders" of the group we're creating. Which should make things interesting, since I've never led so much as a singalong. I'm really excited to get to it, but I'm thrilled that Jimmy and Carla are willing to share some of their hard-earned insights with us. It is nice to not have to be lonely pioneers in this.

But I must admit to being a weensy bit jealous that Jeff was the one who got to go out for coffee! I'm sure he's equally jealous that I got takeout for dinner.

In search of a vocation

2004-07-21T23:54:00.000-07:00

listening to: Jeff comforting Allie

I'm titling this one in honor of Jimmy's fantastic blog, and the fact that he asked the other day what those of us reading were in search of. My sense of calling is currently so ambiguous and elusive that I'm really struggling with the idea of going back to school. I love school, but with all the difficulties it is going to create having both of us take a full course load, it feels like I should have a clearer purpose for going than "because I like to learn". Or "because in today's job market it is important to have a college degree". Gag.

Then I read Jen's post quoting Thomas Merton:

"A man knows when he has found his vocation when he stops thinking about how to live and begins to live. Thus, if one is called to be solitary,he will stop wondering how he is to live and start living peacefully only when he is in solitude. But if one is not called to a solitary life, the more he is alone the more will he worry about living andforget to live..."

It is obvious to me, reading that, that as stubborn an introvert as I am, solitude is not something I am called to. Solitude allows my obsessiveness and melancholy too much rein. I feel called to help people, to counsel them, speak words of healing and truth. To listen to them. To love them. That last part, I think, disqualifies me from practicing psychology.

I feel called to teach. To communicate my deep sense of the love of God for the least of us, and to help us all develop a way of living in response to that love. A way of living that communicates the love of God without a sermon, and better than words ever could. In my experience, learning is a big part of teaching, and I feel called to that too. I'm not much of a lecturer, though. I prefer dialogue. Being the "answer person" tempts me to pride; it also frustrates me. So I don't see being a teacher as my gig, either.

I like to write, but it is something I cannot do without having events and people to feed the writing. If I ever write a book, I guarantee you it will be non-fiction. I love stories, but I can't write them. So if I write, it will be secondary to my "real" job, and probably arise out of it.

Frederick Buechner said something to the effect that your calling is where the world's deep hunger and your deep gladness meet (forgive me for the paraphrase). Jeff has had a strong sense of calling to become a pastor for about a decade now. It's been confirmed by strangers, and as his wife, I've had more chances than most people to see how truly that calling reflects who he is. What I can't see is my calling. And people aren't exactly lining up to tell me, either.

In feeling for the exact shape his calling will take, Jeff has always felt that he would be sort of a sidekick. In a support role is, I guess, a more positive way of putting it. In talking about it one night, I joked with him that we could start a church and he could be my second-in-command. A light went on for him then, and it hasn't shut off since. He says I am called to shepherd a church. It is difficult, to put it mildly, for me to even seriously consider this. The inner voices start clamoring. "Who am I to-? What makes me think-? I'm hardly qualified, as screwed up as I am!" But there is a small part of me that is excited to even consider it. "You mean there's a job where I get to counsel, teach, help people, and love them? This has to be too good to be true."

So I am trying to leave a space for the idea. Because if he's right, I'd hate to let my insecurities stop me from doing the things I love.

I should have been a dancer!

2004-07-21T01:13:00.000-07:00

Here's me dragging my soggy butt out of the water, and Doug laughing at my klutziness. Well, to be fair, he is probably just smiling, not laughing, or maybe he is laughing, but at my idiot decision to wear my shoes and socks in, rather than my complete lack of grace. For crying out loud, I look like I'm about to do that move from Karate Kid! More pics from the baptism service can be found here and here (the latter has a super-cute photo of my Allie, way down at the bottom).

Greed

2004-07-21T00:03:00.000-07:00

If you have some time, I read a really interesting article today on greed. One of the main thrusts of the arguments the author makes is that we need to reinstate the immoral/sinful nature of greed. A lot of my pet issues (the prevalent power of commercialism, the unquestioned right of corporations to exercise power while answering only to shareholders) are things he touches on.

Some highlights:

The evening news systematically distorts normal time. Downtown riots in Seattle are given less than a minute (some of which is the reporter's talking face), shift to shots of a dog frolicking in a fountain, shift to minutes of a freeway chase. The picturesque is pursued, the serious is trivialized.
These are moves in a war against logic. And if you watch television, you are having your thinking disrupted. The busy-ness of rapid shifts of focus, the effervescent color, the edgy, dramatic music, all make it difficult for viewers to build independent ideas.

Make no mistake, this is not an accident. Television is a phenomenon alien to the human brain, and nothing will ever convince me that it's good for us. There have been several studies showing that small children (under 3 years) experience changes in the way their brains are wired and developing as a result of viewing television. Some have hypothesized that TV consumption by the very young may be at least partially responsible for the increasing rates of ADHD and other learning disabilities. It certainly seems plausible. What worries me is that kids start watching TV so young now- before they can even distinguish between fantasy and reality, much less understand the morality and underlying assumptions that individual shows promote. If, as the author asserts, TV viewing makes it difficult to build independent ideas, what are we doing by indoctrinating young kids? For the record, my kids do watch TV. More than I'd like. We steer clear of commercial programs, though.

What about the churches? Their purpose for existence includes helping the weak and needy. Curious for numbers, I divided the number of homeless (conservatively estimated at 700,000 on any given night, 2 million sometime during the year) by the number of Christian churches. This nation is filled with churches: the World Almanac lists over 330,000 Christian houses of worship (61). If each church took in 6 homeless, there would be no more homelessness. (We are taught that God and money don't mix. But actually the struggle between church and capitalism has always been subtle.)

I wish he went into the church/capitalism relationship more. This is something I've been pondering for a while. Most churches I know are at least implicitly pro-capitalism, which I don't see as compatable with a kingdom mindset (although maybe I just haven't heard the right argument yet- I'm willing to acknowledge the possibility, however slight ;o)). How do we fix this? The comment that "God and money don't mix"- who has led us to believe that? Jesus made some pretty harsh statements about money, and his actions don't leave a lot of room for doubt, either (the moneychangers in the temple is what I'm thinking of here). We need a theology that covers even our money and how we spend it.

A practical example- can we justify spending an extra couple hundred dollars to buy optional leather seats when we get a car? Is that what good stewardship looks like? I have dreamed in the past about starting an intentional community of Christians who own everything in common, who eat together, live together, help each other, and pool their funds...up till now, I've concluded it would never work, because sharing money is pretty foreign to Americans. We talk a lot about my money, my taxes, my car...what a revolution there would be if we started thinking in terms of God's resources to further God's purposes.

Baptized

2004-07-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

listening to: nothing, see below
reading: Ray Bradbury, Faster Than the Eye

Well, now you have proof that I was not struck by lightning. No voice out of the heavens either :) Although as Rachel warned me, that water was pretty cold (by the way, Rachel, if you're reading this, I really wanted to say hi when I saw you there, but never got a chance). It would have been a totally perfect day, except that I woke up with a scratchy throat, and since I never, ever shut up (really!), by the time it was my turn to speak before heading out into the water, I was croaky and unintelligible. This is a real tragedy, folks! I can't sing! Believe me, I've tried. Well, ok, on the way home from church I did throw in Concrete Blonde, and was amazingly able to sing even the lowest notes of "Joey" (not totally abnormal- I normally fall between mezzo soprano and alto, although that may be hard to believe if you've heard me talk)...but as soon as we hit the chorus, Johnette went for the high notes, whereas my voice cracked, then gave out completely. It still isn't back. Thankfully, nothing hurts, I just can't talk. So tonight I decided not to listen to music, so I wouldn't be tempted to try singing. Maybe I can pay someone to call Allie every hour or so and remind her that it means I can't read stories either. Make that every 15 minutes.

My registration hold for school is $10 in library fines. Huh. Don't remember any overdue books. I have some more pretty pictures of the falls and of Doug blessing my kids (don't have the pics of my baptism yet), so I'll post some more over the next few days. Allie was awfully cute with Doug- she was playing shy. She wouldn't even say "amen" when he was done blessing her! Poor girl has a lot of me in her. I have trouble with even eye contact, unless I'm speaking to a group. Now tell me that isn't weird- I can't look a server in the eye when I order coffee, but when I'm talking to a bunch of people, it's no problem. So I'm working on that.

2004-07-20T00:34:00.000-07:00

Doug blessing Allie

Passion

2004-07-18T00:41:00.000-07:00

Over and over as I strive to find my place in this world, I am tempted to kill my heart. I've done it in the past. As uncomfortable as the numbness that follows is, it has some distinct advantages over choosing to live fully and love vulnerably. When I silence the compassion within, I am less apt to cry when I read something like this. That story broke last year, and it still haunts me. I can be more gentle and patient with my friends, because inside I am not raging against the things that have hurt them. I don't get all worked up about kids who are starving or babies who are beaten to death. I just breathe, in and out, in and out...and keep my distance from everything else.

Passion is something that I deeply mistrust. In others, and in myself perhaps most of all. Earlier this year, I decided to stop smothering my passion and parade it instead. Transparency. When I embrace the passion that God has given me for people who are broken and people who can't see their own glorious beauty, who don't trust their worth, when I allow myself to cry the tears that they oftentimes cannot, I feel both fulfilled and terrified. The fulfillment, of course, comes from being allowed to work the way God has wired me. The terror is rooted in the fact that at times, it can all but consume me. I love so deeply that it scares me very badly. Patience and moderation are words from someone else's language. And trust is still a risk, even with those I've known for years. There are people I would not hesitate to leave my children with who have not heard a whisper of my heart.

But one baby step at a time, I am trying to change that. I started with two very close, very dear relationships a few months ago. Now I have started speaking here as well. May I have the strength and perserverance to see this journey through to the end. Amen.