From the moment my son got up this morning I suspected it was going to be one of “those” days. It started with hysterics before I was even up for the day. He was in his crib and something just wasn’t right. A blanket in the wrong spot? A hair in his eye? His fifth chakra out of alignment? Your guess is as good as mine. Whatever it was, he was inconsolable.

Then it progressed to his straws. I gave him a hand full of straws yesterday to play with. Straws are interesting, right? We he thought those were the best toys EVER! Unfortunately, Kitty thought the same thing. Every time my obsessive compulsive son tried to arrange them just perfectly, that naughty tee-tat would walk over and swipe them helter-skelter all over the floor, chasing after them like a deranged berserker who is sharp and pointy on 5 of his six sides.

I listened to my son try to reason with Kitty, “Tee tat saw (straw)? Tee tat saw?” then tell Kitty to go away “Up two! Up two! Up two!” in the military style of parenting we employ to get him to march away from the mischief. When Kitty didn’t go away he started to get frustrated, “No, no no!” and when that didn’t work, “One, two, tee!” Yes, my son tried to put the cat in time out. And when that still didn’t work, he presented himself to me in uncontrollable sobs over the injustice of it all.

Then there was the button incident. Who can resist light up buttons. Especially when they make the TV go off and on? After two ear-splitting time outs, I warned him that the next time he plays with the cable box, it was going to be a spanking. Well, after a few minutes of innocent play he wandered over to the cable box and just stood there, looking at me, to see what I would do.

“Zander,” I told him, “We’ve had this discussion already.” And he slowly reached out his hand and just rested it next to the cable box, but not actually touching it and RAISED HIS EYEBROWS AT ME! That’s right, he gave me “the look”. I know it was the look because it’s the same look I give him when he’s about to get into trouble! He was issuing me a challenge!

First, all those interactions with the cat. Then, the raised eyebrows? My child has not only learned my discipline techniques, he’s ADPOTED them! There was something so chilling in that moment it’s hard to put into words. My precious little snowflake is deliberately trying to manipulate the world around him using psychological warfare. He’s like Stewie from The Family Guy! When did this happen? What kind of battles are headed my way? But mostly, do I look as scary when I’m giving him “the look”?

Ranking activities by fondness, cleaning out the refrigerator is right up there with oh, say, getting a rectal exam. I don’t know why this chore is such a pain in my ass, but I absolutely hate this part of the Domestic Goddess lifestyle I have recently adopted. When I married my husband, I think that was actually in our vows. I don’t do dishes by hand, and I don’t clean the fridge. Because. And ever.

Well, until recently, I’ve had a get out of jail free pass. I could hide behind any number of convenient excuses. I worked a million hours a week. I’m busy recovering from giving birth to your heir. Since I’m never home, all that stuff in the refrigerator is yours so I shouldn’t have to clean it. Wait, you expect me to put my husband through college, pay the mortgage, car payments, Net Flix, cheese of the month club, AND do housework? You’ve go to be kidding.

So I’ve been a little bit spoiled and a bit of a princess when it comes to chores. But let’s face it; there are so many reasons to procrastinate.

-Someone might want that 3 table spoons of mac and cheese.
-I’ll probably finish those left overs before they go bad…maybe.
-Its called SOUR cream for a reason.
-Its icky.
-Exactly how many types and colors of mold can you grow?
-If I clean it now, it’ll just sit in the trash all week and make my house smell.
-Good gawd, have you seen my refrigerator?

Well, I suppose there are worse things than having to come down out of my princess tower , don my pink rubber gloves, slide the gas mask on over the tiara, and slip into a chem suit. I can’t think of any, but I’m sure there are. And before someone decides to leave a big steaming pile in my Wheaties, let me just say that this is really a rhetorical statement.

Well, I did it. And it was just as awful as I thought it would be. Jebus, I hate cleaning the fridge. First thing tomorrow I’m going to buy a lotto ticket so when I win I can hire a maid to do it for me. Now that would be one heck of a Christmas gift. See ya next month, leftovers and expired foods, I wish I could say it’s been fun.

Zander and I did yard work today for what I hope is the last time this year. He cried when I threw out the Jack-o-Lanterns that turned into a gelatinous pile of pumpkin goo. He stomped through leaves when there were too few for him to tunnel through. He flung himself gleefully into the shallow pile and then got upset with me when he landed with a thunk on the hard ground. I understand his frustration. We had some great times this fall. I’m sad to see such a wonderful season go, but I’m excited for the holiday season too.

We also went to the enchanted forest at Menard’s. I think Grandma and Grandpa are going to have to come with us for the pure enjoyment of watching him. He was so wide-eyed over all the decorated Christmas trees and lights. He kept repeating “Wowwwww!” and “Yaaaaaaay” in tones that ranged from excited to hushed. When we wheeled past the musical light display, he started getting down with his bad self right there in the cart, arms grooving to the music. He didn’t even struggle to get out of the cart like he usually does. I can’t wait for Christmas.






















Well, my MIL is coming tonight and Z and I have taken to the task of miscellaneous getting ready and making the guest room sparkle. He has a "bucket" of cleaning supplies like rubber gloves, sponges, dust rags, and a water bottle. He's "helping". It's fun watching him help clean. Earlier he emptied the trash bag just so he could sweep everything into a pile then relocate the pile to the living room where he could sweep it up again. But man, sometimes he just cries and cries in a world class fit of baby melt down. It's some unknown frustration and it drives me friggin nuts! Seriously, kid, what's your problem? You want my dust rag instead of your dust rag even though it's the EXACT SAME THING? You found a quarter and now the world is going to end? A piece of invisible something stuck to your finger-hand-nose-foot? A solitary kitty hair is on your shirt? The lay lines not running parallel to your tantrum stopper??? Why, why, WHY are you having an apoplectic fit???

In other related randomness, I found a site of fantastic Thanksgiving printables that will surely be lots of fun.

Many of you are aware of the recent robbery that took place where my family lost most of our precious heirlooms. I am grief stricken and heart broken for our families collective loss. But even before I was given the sage advice to try to look for silver linings, bitter sweet though they may be, they started to emerge.


A box of photos were discovered that no one had seen before. They were my grandmother's photos. She had labeled, boxed, and stored them away so well no one found them even after she passed away in 1997...until now. They are photos of a precious little boy who has been loved and missed.

Even as we are enduring this terrible process of grieving for objects that represented 300 years of family history, and dealing with police, and talking with insurance representatives, there has been not so much of a silver lining, but something to which we can cling. Going through the photos. Although the process and necessity for the task is sad, it also brings back many bright and happy memories.

Memories of me, as a little girl, sitting around the kitchen table down at the farm with my parents, my uncle, and my grandma being told about how the women survived when the men went west during the Gold Rush. Or the story about a Great Uncle who hid in a river under the reeds hiding from Indians but was shot in the cheek and had to cover his cheek when he ate so the food wouldn't come out...or a Great Aunt who was tending her garden when a chain gang went past her house and she heard one prisoner say he would give anything for one of those sweet tomatoes...so she left a few sitting on the fence post for him...and the next time they went past, there was an elegantly carved stone coffee pot stand left on her fence post.

It's not necessary to have symbols of a family history. Memories are just as warm. Though, it sure would be nice to have them back. The little things, like the buffalo horns that have a story behind them, or the little leather pouch that is filled with what to an uneducated eye probably just looks like dirt. All those little irreplaceable symbols to which you can look, and remember, and draw comfort, and feel the blood of 300 years of previous generations coursing through your veins.

My most precious possession, besides my wedding ring, is a little charm that my mother gave me on a silver necklace. It's a charm of a thimble. Back when I was in college, it seemed like my world was coming to an end. My grandmother passed away, my sister nearly died in a car accident, my cousin was kidnapped in Russia (wow, it just struck me how unlikely it is that two children from the same family would be kidnapped, an alarming trend) and all of this happened in a 12 month period.

I did what most college students who lacked the proper coping skills and life experience would do in a similar situation. I broke up with my boyfriend, drank excessively, and listened to a lot of music. Among the artists I binged on that year was a Jazz musician by the name of Kurt Elling. I liked him so much I even gave a copy of the CD to my dad for Father's Day. Well, my mom, being far more observant and intelligent than I gave her credit for at the age of 18, took note of my situation. I was inconsolable. Nobody understood, they just didn't get it, if they did, their world would come to a grinding halt like mine had. Knowing words wouldn't help, and knowing legendary arguments would ensue if she tried on any level to spend time or relate to me, she gave me my space. And a gift.

The gift was a little silver thimble on a little chain with a little card that said "I love you." This somewhat cryptic gift made me break down in tears. It wasn't a Peter Pan reference. She was telling me to put my faith in God. She was telling me that she cared. See, her gift was inspired by one of the songs on that Kurt Elling CD. So when I go to the farm next, and see for my own eyes the devastation of home invasion, instead of looking for whats left...I think I'll look for my grandma's sewing kit and a little silver thimble.


Music by Dave Brubeck and Paul Desmond
Lyric by Kurt Elling
Originally titled "Audrey" from the 1954 recording Brubeck Time
Based on the short story, How the Thimble Came to be God, by R.M. Rilke

Once upon a time a cloud (a little cloud)
gathered her friends together and began to say, aloud,
"Friends, we can't find God. Isn't it odd?"

And they all agreed it was very odd, indeed,
to blow about the sky like a brainless seed.
"Something's really gone awry when older clouds oversimplify
when they say that it's just another day.

It's imperative we be somewhat more truly demonstrative
in becoming provocative.
Our parents neglect God, it's true - all their world is askew.

They go about bickering and scheme of possessing things
as though they own us, too, and own all that we do.
Yet they can't understand
just how foolish it is to build a house on sinking sand.

And when we cry
they say, "Oh my!
You'll grow out of it soon
and start singing a grown-up tune.'"

So the clouds made a vow,
since the grown-ups had lost God, somehow.
They would pick something out that would keep them aware
that they could take with them anywhere (like a lock of hair, or a pear)

- not an animal, or too big.
So the little ones looked about and up and down and in and out
and came up with a list:

They had a feather, erasers and string
pen knives and pencils and pieces of things
that they found in their pockets to spare
(and which they began to compare).

But the shiniest object (when looking them over) the thimble was brightest
and so they decided the thimble was rightest
for taking along and for knowing God was staying long and in their every day.

They knew where to find
their peace of mind
playing a game of tag or 'fame'
they simply had to call out the thimble's name.

Then, one day, the smallest
cloud took a big fall and
dropped the thimble from her hand.
And God turned to sand.

Just then, a wise old woman cloud happened along
and she asked the little cloud, "What's wrong?"
And the little cloud replied, "God's gone."

But the older cloud knew right away,
so she said to the little one, "Here's your thimble. I found it today."

I wish we could have met under different circumstances. I am so sorry last week and the week before, you had to get out in the pouring rain to move my garbage can from where the pick up men and wind clearly conspired to place it directly behind your garage door. The additional 30 seconds in your morning routine no doubt caused hair frizz for the entire day. Please stop glaring, I am sorry. I would have moved it myself as soon as the garbage men came except that well...it was pouring down rain. Oh, and if you don’t stop giving me the stink eye…the next time I catch your precious little snow flake (whose ADD and authority defiance issues are legendary in our neighborhood) playing on my son’s swing set, I’m giving her an espresso and a puppy. Now…How ‘bout you come in for coffee and pumpkin bread?

Sweetheart, I love you so very much and I really wish today had gone differently. I wish you hadn’t woken up with your foot caught between the rails of your crib. That really must have been unpleasant and a little painful. I’m sorry that kitty scratched you when you so lovingly flung yourself onto him in a show of affection. I really think it was the fist fulls of fur you latched on to that upset him more than the hug. I’m also sorry you face planted into the kitchen floor when you dove off the arm of the sofa and over the baby gate in a display of suicidal toddler tendencies. And I feel truly terrible that you cut your foot on the glass that broke during your jail breaking excursion into the kitchen.

I understand how a day like today can cause such strong emotions. But honestly, that was really only like 10 minutes out of the entire day, and I’m pretty sure it does not warrant a full day of screams, cries, and world class tantrums. And even if it did, my dear, I was only blessed with a specific amount of mommy sympathy and no matter how much I wish it was endless, it’s about to run out. So, my love, I guess what I’m trying to say is…if I hear one more cry-for-no-good-reason, I’m going to send Blankie to live in the diamond mines of South Africa. Got it?


Well, I entered Zander in the Baby Gap contest. I think it would be really nice if he won. I believe he deserves to win because I'm sure he's the cutest kid EVER! However, I am not going to hold my breath since he was a late entry and there are other kiddos with votes in the thousands. That doesn't mean I'm not going to do my best to promote him!


You can vote every day for him every day. If he wins, he gets a professional Gap photo shoot, a $1000 gift card for Baby Gap or Gap Kids, and a vacation for 2 to see the Lion King in Vegas or New York. Honestly, I'm more thrilled about the gift card than any of the other prises, although the professional photo shoot would be pretty cool as would the free vacation!

Please vote for him here.


Tuesday morning a 50 year old mystery was solved. With the help of some strangers from Colorado, the support of my sister, and a report from the National Transportation Board of Safety, I learned that the brother I had never met passed away in 1993. He was one year younger than I am now when he died. Life is not fair and sometimes it is down right cruel.

Tuesday afternoon, I had the horrible task of telling my terminally ill father the news. I would have given anything not to have to tell him but he was going to find out if I told him or not. I wanted him to hear from a family member instead of a stranger or God forbid, reading it on the CNN ticker (I will not go in to why that was a legitimate fear). It is the worst thing in the world to rob a man of hope. We were all so sure this story would have a happy ending.

For the first time in my life, I find myself having serious faith questions. I never wavered when my father was diagnosed with mantle cell lymphoma. I never wavered when I nearly died after my son was born. I never wavered when my sister nearly died in a car accident or even when my husband went to war. This event, though…it’s too cruel.

Why is it that this cannot have a happy ending? My father held on to hope for nearly 50 years that he would find my brother, who was just a little boy when he was stolen from him. He kept his faith. He never faltered. We searched for years. Thousands have been spent trying to track him down. It is adding insult to injury knowing that in addition to everything else, we were most likely scammed. That parasites just saw an opportunity to make a buck. Why did my father not learn of this before now? Why was he never informed?

At first, I only felt how it affected my father. But now that I’ve had some time to think and absorb, there is a definite hole in my life. A void where there had always been hope and purpose, and now there is no reason to keep looking, no hope of meeting my brother, of seeing he and my father reunited, of ever even buying him a beer. I don’t understand how I can mourn the loss of someone I’ve never met, but I am. It’s there, this empty space where my brother was once out there and alive somewhere, and now he’s not.

I find my faith somehow…lacking when it comes to this situation. I’ve been curious on what other people believe. After a few glasses of wine last nigh, I probed my friends somewhat relentlessly on their experiences with the afterlife. Did they believe in ghosts, did they believe in reincarnation (apart from the Christian beliefs), did they think that you might get the opportunity to do it all over again. Would it be possible that somewhere out there, my brother is still hanging around, waiting to send a message to my father, or coming back in the form of a newborn babe.

I find that I want the bible to have gotten it wrong, that we don’t have to wait until we die to be reunited with our loved ones. That there is still a possibility for this story to have a happy ending. I suppose if I were Catholic, I would feel guilty over this. But God and I are tight. He knows I need some time. And I know my Dad’s happy ending went to someone else.

There is divine irony in this terrible story. When I was 16 years old, two years after I stole my first glimpse into a shoebox that was the remains of this other life my father had before my sister and I were born, I decided I was going to look for my brother. There was this new thing out there, called the internet, and maybe I could use it to locate him. So I enlisted the help of my best friend, Jon, and he brought me a list of everyone by that name in the United States and their addresses and phone numbers. I contacted all of them. One was the same age, and many other similarities. They were both C. Brian and went by Brian. Instead of sharing my brother’s birthday, he shared the day but the month was one month earlier. He also had not seen his father since he was five. Unfortunately, the more we talked, the more we learned we were not actually related. His father’s name was Edward and his mother’s name was totally different.

Crestfallen that he was not my long lost brother, but still feeling a sort of shared camaraderie with him, I did what I would want someone to do for my own brother in that situation. With my friend Jon’s help at procuring the information, a list of all of the Edwards in the US that shared the same name as his father and their contact information, I sent it to the other Brian. I included a note that wished him luck. I never heard from him again.

However, a year and a half later, I got a Christmas card from his mother. She included a letter and a photo. The other Brian had been reunited with his father. Their happy reunion occurred a few months before his father’s death. I always thought that story was proof of God’s divine intervention. A butterfly flaps it’s wings in the Amazon and the result is a dying man gets to be reunited with his son before he passes over. Now I’m just filled with the question of why. Why does the other Brian have a happy ending but my Brian does not?

If only I had more courage. If only I’d started my search a few years earlier, maybe I would have found something. If only...If, if, if….why, why, why?


When I was a kid, we had this one old momma farm cat that would go around stealing all the other momma’s kittens. Even at the age of 6 I thought this was curious behavior. She likes having a dozen kittens from several litters crawling all over her? Apparently she did because she would purr so loudly when she was with them and she would smile (yes, cats smile).

Tonight I had my nephew, who is six months younger than my son. He's having his first overnight. My heart mealted like warm butter dripping down fresh out of the oven bread as I watched the two play together. We had a wonderful time tonight. We ate messy meals and gave sticky hugs. We did all the things you're not supposed to do, like blow bubbles in our chocolate milk and play with rubber balls in the house. I loved loved loved the sound of children’s giggles filling up this empty house.

It made me realize something. My sister better watch out—I think I’m about to steal her kiddo.


(Bathtime Buddies)


The following are old blog entries from a source I don’t keep anymore. Mostly they are the baby momma drama I experienced during my son's first year of life. In no way do I expect you to read through this. I just wanted to have everything in one space. Bear with me :)

March 18, 2008 - Bed Rest

Well, my maternity leave started today. And that makes me irritated. I wanted to work up until I had the baby but the doctor put me on bed rest. Apparently my body is "experiencing trauma" which sounds worse than I think it is. See, the baby is taking up a lot of space and hasn’t dropped yet, so he’s pushing on all my internal organs and ribs…the nice thing is that my body is producing this little chemical which makes everything really flexible s
o nothing breaks…but also means I feel like my ribs are inside out and shaped like chicken wings.

I know, it sounds silly. People go to work with rib pain all the time. I tried it on Monday. Well, the thing is, the pain grows increasingly worse with sitting. This is problematic because I sit at a desk most of the day…except when I have to go to meetings or deliver print samples, then I have to walk around…this is also problematic because the rib pain is made worse by these things. We’re not talking small pain here, we’re talking pain that makes you scream (which doesn’t help because it just hurts more and scares the puppy, plus it makes your co-workers uncomfortable, so I don’t recommend it). The doctor can’t give me anything for it. So here I am, three weeks from my due date and starting maternity leave.

You can understand why I’m a little frowny faced, I’m sure. See, you only get so much paid time for maternity leave…even though state law says I get up to 12 weeks, it’s not all paid. I don’t know about you, but I cannot afford to go without a paycheck. The more time I have to take off before this little guy comes, the less time I’ll have to spend with him once he’s finally here! Hence the irritation.

And it’s not like "vacation" because I can’t "do" anything. I tried to shampoo the carpet the other day and was laid up the rest of the night from it. And the carpet shampooer is motorized! It’s not like I was lifting or pushing anything heavy! Grrr. I’m done being pregnant. My husband gets to carry the next one.


April 1, 2008 - Nesting (not an April Fool)

So I always thought "nesting" referred to just getting the nursery ready for the baby. Well that’s been done for a while. I think I was wrong. I was struck down by what I can only describe as an unnatural and urgent need to clean today. I was looking around the house today (which was mostly organized by my standards) thinking, MY GOD! I can’t bring a baby home from the hospital to this germ infested, dust ridden, plague harboring infestation of filth!

This was crazy woman cleaning. So strong was this urge I begged my mom to come down and help me because I was completely overwhelmed by everything that just NEEDED to get done. After I was done with the usual vaccuuming and washing up, I felt like things weren’t organized
enough. So I organized the DVD collection by genra and then alphabetical order...but I couldn’t stop there! I had to organize my scrap booking things, and my sewing things, and my home office things..and take a level to the pictures hanging on the wall and afix velcro to the back of the frame and then to the wall so they would stay straight!

This is not normal! It was girls gone wild with cleaning supplies! Polishing the furniture cleaning. Washing the candle holders and scrubbing down the walls with bleach and water cleaning! I even deep cleaned the baseboards, windows, and doors! Dear GOD, I’ve developed an OCD! Even as I type this I’m thinking about things I forgot to clean and I’m wondering if I’ll be too exhausted to continue cleaning if I run to the store at 11pm to pick up some pledge for electronics! SOMEONE
HELP ME!!!


April 15, 2008 - Zander's Story

Friday April 11, around 8:00 in the morning I was enjoying a nice cup of coffee when my water broke. Quite calm, I let my husband know we were not going to the hospital until I had showered and put on makeup. By the time we got to the hospital my contractions had started but they weren't very regular. The doctor decided at 1pm to give me pitocin.

I would just like to say here and now to anyone out there if you EVER hear the word pitocin
mentioned, ask for the epidural first! The pitocin made me have continuous contractions, no break in between, and stronger than Mother Nature's version. I waited until I was 7cm and it was about 7pm before I got epidural. I'd like to say it's because I'm a rock star, but the truth of the matter is the anesthesiologist was just that busy (I was 4th on her list). If she had been any later getting to the room, I would have been out of luck! I would also like to advise that if you're EVER offered an epidural, DON'T SAY NO! You know it's bad when your delivery doctor is ordering up more pain meds that you didn't even ask for just to get you through until the anesthesiologist arrives.

15 minutes after the epidural kicked in I was at 10 cm and ready to go...I have a feeling I was past the 7cm cut off when the doctor got there to administer the epidural but she just felt so bad for me she gave it to me anyway. Well, it didn't take very many attempts of me pushing before
the doctor told me to stop because something was wrong. Zander's heart rate dropped after each contraction and didn't come back up. The doctor decided to do an emergency c-section.

I wouldn't have been scared, except they sounded scared. Then the room filled up with nurses and other doctors and five people were talking to me at once and no one would tell me that Zander was going to be okay and I started to get very cold and shake and cry. Everyone was so busy no one except Chris even noticed.

Chris stayed with me the entire time except for a few minutes when they were prepping me in the OR. He held my hand through the entire surgery and I felt them pull the baby out, push on me and things inside of me shifting, but I was not in any pain. I remember the doctor telling me
his umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck twice.

I heard Zander scream and scream and I remember feeling guilty because I thought I should have a maternal instinct to comfort him but all I thought was that it didn't matter what happened to me next because he was screaming so that meant he was okay. It wasn't depression or drama or maternal instinct or sense of accomplishment, just a very strange and detached acceptance.

Chris told me later that they asked me if I wanted to see Zander and I told them no because I was shaking too badly. I remember shaking, but not any of the rest. Chris told me I was shaking so badly in my upper body he was worried I was having a seizure. I remember that Chris told
the nurse he didn't want to see the baby until I had seen him. I also remember the nurses being surprised and getting more nurses to come watch because Zander lifted his head up and rolled over on his side from his belly. I guess it's not normal for newborns to be able to do that. Well, my ribs could have told them how many summersaults he does during the day!

When all was said and done he was officially born at 9:25 p.m. on 4/11/08. He weighed 7lbs 13oz and was 20.5" long. He is the most beautiful boy and a little miracle in every way. His father and I are ridiculously proud!


April 24, 2008

A short but necessary update for everyone who has wondered if I dropped off the planet. After returning home from the hospital April 14, I was readmitted April 16 with the same type of "rib pain" that had caused me to take maternity leave earlier than I wanted. A day and a half after I was admitted and provided the best narcotics on tap to control the pain, the doctors did an exploratory surgery. The surgery was a last resort because they could not come up with a diagnosis.

They removed my appendix, part of my colon, and numerous adhesions that were a result of an unusual condition called Peritonititis caused by an allergic reaction to amniotic fluid. The worst part of the entire ordeal was being away from Zander. But, nine days later I am back at home
with my little guy and very exhausted. I am so happy to finally be here at home and so grateful for the help of the Grandmas. Neither Zander, Chris, or I could have survived this without your continued support.


April 29, 2008 - God Bless Friends

I am truly blessed with amazing friends. Thank you all so much for all the yummy dinners and cookies you made for us along with the well wishes and emails! The meals were especially a big help. Those first few days out of the hospital it was all I could do to take care of myself so those meals were a HUGE help! My mom has been staying with Chris and I and I know she
appreciated not having to cook for me in addition to helping out with the baby! Also a huge thank you to my mother-in-law who stayed with Chris and the baby the entire time I was in the hospital. Your help is so much appreciated! I don't tell you this often enough, but you're all amazing and your kindness is very much appreciated!!!


May 7, 2008 - Hospital Gift Certificate???

So yeah. This morning I had lab work and a CT scan at the hospital. It sucked. The CT scan was with and without contrast, which meant I needed an IV and they were going to inject me with a radioactive dye that hurts so bad you would rather gnaw off your arm than go through that
experience again. Now, there isn't an unbruised vein left in my body. I already knew how much fun the "contrast" was from my previous stay in the hospital, but when I learned I would not be able to feed the baby for the next 24 hrs (a sensitive subject for this momma) I did what any postpartum woman who has been poked, prodded, cut up, and torn asunder would do. I cried. I had a little postpartum meltdown right there in the CT room.

Well, the radiologist must have felt really bad for me because he gave me a hospital gift certificate (I know, right?)! I was all "Hospital...Gift certificate?" *blink blink* and he was like "You can use it for any of our services." He was very enthusiastic about it and acting like I should be super happy...Which kind of had the opposite affect he was looking for because I started crying again. In my mind I was picturing Bob Barker saying "Rob, tell her what she just won!"
with the response in typical game show announcer voice "You've just won $25 off your next CT scan and cafeteria meal!" I seriously questioned the credibility of the hospital. I thanked him anyway, because he seemed to think he was helping, and I left (he was clearly happy to be rid of the ungrateful crazy lady).

In the elevator I actually read the gift certificate. Turns out the hospital has a woman's center...and in this woman's center is a spa...and this spa has services like facials assages. Score!

...poor radiologist...


May 22, 2008 - Baby Momma Drama Update

Well, I had a check up. Things I am officially allowed to do…Lift Zander (but only Zander). This is good because I've been lifting him and carrying him around for some time. I am officially allowed to eat whatever I want. Yay for me because I've been daydreaming about Mondo's Grilled Salmon BLT (without the bacon) for a while now. I am also officially allowed to walk for 10 minutes 3 – 4 times a day. This will be a slight change from my recent habit of thinking I'm better than I really am, going out to run errands, then spending the rest of the day on heavy narcotics because apparently I wasn't as healed as I thought I was. ...But...My FAVORITE thing I'm allowed to do now is take a bath! It's been MONTHS since I had an honest to God soak in the tub with bubbles and bath bombs and candles and relaxing music and I can't wait until I pick up my stuff from Lush!

Things I'm not allowed to do…Lift anything over 10 lbs (except Zander). Walk up steps. Go back to work until further notice. Drive while on pain meds. Throw up (which isn't easy when you have to change some of Zander's blow outs), develop a hernia, or become constipated (these make me chuckle even though I know there would be serious medical ramifications). Finally, I'm not allowed to nurse anymore…I can't say this surprised me in all honesty. Still, I am surprised by the mix of emotions, guilt, relief, and (quite irrationally) incompetence. I know he'll be fine on formula. Obviously he'll be fine, after all he made it the entire time I was in the hospital on formula...And when you're recovering from being cut open five time, having bits and pieces of your body torn out of you, and having your baby pulled from inside your abdomen your body needs good stuff to recover, unfortunately all the good stuff was going into the milk...good for
baby, bad for mommy. I hope this means I'll recover more rapidly now.

It's hard to believe that it's been one month since my brush with death. I think I should be more recovered than I am. Maybe if I stop over doing things and stick to the doctor's plan it will help. But the doctor's plan is so darn...boring! I have a secret suspicion that the bubble baths will help the most. In fact, I think it would be a FABULOUS idea to spend my economic stimulus check on a jet tub. I'm only looking out for the global economy here…It's probably even my patriotic duty. The President wants me to have a jet tub and who am I to argue?


June 9, 2008 - Baby/Momma Milestones

Child wellbeing comes first. This new daycare Chris and I found will need to have a trial run. If it doesn't work out, I'll need some time to find another daycare. So, today Zander has his first day away from me. I haven't decided if he'll go there for a couple of hours every day this week (read nap time for me) or two or three full days.

Yesterday, just the possibility of having some time to myself made me want to giggle with the deep knowledge that I am probably doing something delightfully wrong (like eating chocolate). This morning, however, was a completely different story. I bawled like a baby and am riddled with feelings of guilt for abandoning my child to the care complete strangers for an entire day! What's worse, when I pick him up this afternoon, it will be to bring him to get his two-month
vaccines! He'll be so happy to see me and then I will betray him by bringing him to his torturer so he can be afflicted with mercury-free physical pain. No wonder he giggles and smiles every time he sees his dad. He's happy to be rescued from me! I'd better start looking for a good therapist now. Clearly this kid is going to need it.


June 10, 2008 Armed and Dangerous

Torturers have known for centuries the best way to induce psychosis is through interrupted sleep patterns (ironic for new mothers, no?) and thus bend the will of their enemy to their own devices. You see…such sleep deprivation is like taking a rag of ether over the face of your little
shoulder angel and tucking him soundly into bed (glad he's able to get some sleep!).

My husband already considers me armed and dangerous because I've had nothing but time and memorized credit card numbers on my hands since March...Well, in my latest moment of late night baby feeding brilliance, I almost bought Aqua Globes from an infomercial. Never worry about over watering again? Go up to two weeks between watering? This is exactly what I need to end my secret shame and (at last) turn my black thumb green! They're absolutely right, I do need this! I need this right now!

Just as I was picking up the phone to place an order that little, clever, rational shoulder angel woke and said..."Wait, put the phone down...you don't even own a houseplant...."


June 12, 2008 - Road Trip in an Ark

My friend Valerie called me today. She's going to be passing through town next week on her way to a wedding in the U.P.. Better yet, if her travel plans and Zander's batism permit, there is a possibility Zander and I may accompany her to those white sand beachesand clear blue waters. I'm excited about prospect seeing old friends, favorite aunts, and in-laws…not to mention taking Zander to the beach for the first time!

I discovered most inconveniently today that every bridge in town has been closed for what
they're calling the 500 Year Flood. Our home is fine…even if it does now contain an indoor pool in the weight room. Once again, we lucked out with falling just shy of the emergency evacuation zone.

The last three weeks, living here has been, I imagine, comparable to going through a Blitzkrieg. Emergency sirens have been going off almost nightly, some times multiple times a day. We've suffered first from straight winds (winds over 50 mph—ours were at 70 mph but just south of us they were measuring at 100 mph) then tornados and most recently with evacuation notices due to flooding. At one point in time, probably only the second time in my life I've ever been scared by a tornado, they actually interrupted the emergency broadcast which was politely telling everyone to seek shelter immediately for a more urgent emergency broadcast. The more urgent
emergency broadcast pretty much said get the f--- down in your basements right the f--- now! That would have been when the EF-5 went through just north of us.

For my Yooper friends who may be unaccustomed to tornados, the rank means friggin' huge—total destruction. There is no classification higer. The estimated wind speed was over 250 mph. The tornado itself was 1.2 miles wide and had a destruction path of 42 miles. It decimated a town to the northwest of here called Parkersberg. Look closely at this picture and notice how the bark has been completely stripped from the trees by the dust and dirt moving over 250 mph through tornado...like a 1.2 mile wide sand blaster. I honestly do not know how anyone managed to survive that event. .

And finally, the earthquake that occurred in Iowa. The epicenter originated in IL, but had over a 250 mi radius. I was in the hospital at the time recovering from my untimely abdominal surgery. The nurses thought I was delirious because I kept asking them to move the fan since it was shaking the bed. They assured me it was no where near touching my bed. Turned out, to everyone's surprise, it was an earthquake.

If this is not a sign of an impending apocalypse, I don't know what is! Honestly, these communities cannot handle much more of Mother Nature physically or economically. I believe my friend Sarah put it best when she said 2008 has been a year to simply endure and then celebrate it's ending.


July 10, 2008 - Quick Update

Sorry for the long silence, this will be a quick update...My father is finished with his chemo for the time being. Thank you for all your prayers on the matter, please keep them up. I am now an official Auntie. My sister-in-law had a beautiful baby girl yesterday morning. My friend Ben is back in the states after a year long deployment to Kosovo and returns to his family tomorrow. I had a wonderful visit over my birthday from my friend Val who now lives in CO, not to mention probably the best birthday ever...my husband took me to the spa, followed by shopping, lunch, and a surprise birthday party! I had my gallbladder taken out yesterday, which I hope will end the trips to the ER. So really, I have a lot for which to be thankful. Again, thank you everyone for your prayers and please keep them coming. I very much appreciate and love you all!


July 28, 2008 - Baby Firsts

I sing to my son all the time. Mostly I sing while he's eating, to try to coax him into a nap. I can't help it. It's what I do. Last night, for the very first time, he looked at me when I sang, his big blue eyes sparkling. He looked at me as if it were the first time he'd realized I was singing and it was just for him…and gave me one of his big toothless grins, and I think it meant "Mama, you're singing!"


August 14, 2008 - My Cup Runneth Over

Diagnosed at stage 4, Dad's cancer is in remission.

Halleluja!


November 15, 2008 - Stress Drama Blah Blah Blah

Let's see…what drama to add to my already drama filled year? Oh, how 'bout my six month old getting influenza A? But no, that's not enough, let's have mommy and baby also get in a car accident on 380 during rush hour…Oh wait, we're still not done! Surprise, your sister is in the hospital. I know you wanted to go visit but darn, the entire household came down with gastroenteritis and it's highly infectious (This was in October. I actually wound up back in the hospital ER with that and my newly healed incisions couldn't handle it. It actually caused a hernia which they were able to detect the following March when I wound up in the hospital in CA with the same thing)! And to top it all off??? DH's got some great job offers…the only problem is
they're traveling positions and the family doesn't get to go with.


December 11, 2008 - Nostalgia

I was reading back through my pre-baby days...it's so hard to imagine life without the little crumb crusher right now. I found this little gem about my husband and wanted to share.

March 27th, 2008...

The nursery is all ready. With such generous gifts we received from the baby shower combined with my husband's thoughtfulness we have everything we need. Chris really was instrumental in getting the nursery put together. He took my registry with him to the PX last time he was there and went down the list.

Crib. His wife wanted a crib. So in efficient Chris logic, he found the crib with the highest safety rating, most features, and best price. It doesn't look a thing like the crib on the registry, but it is a very sturdy and practical crib. Rug. His wife wanted a rug. The one on the registry was this puny little 4x4 bright colored thing that didn't cover any space at all, wouldn't protect the hardwood floors in the nursery (clearly that's the only reason one would put a rug down) and certainly wouldn't keep the little guy's feet from getting cold when he started crawling and walking. On top of all that, it was expensive (because it was a combination play mat / area rug that had it's own little streetscape)! So after looking around for something that wouldn't "clash"
with the royal blue walls of the nursery, he found himself a 12x12 industrial gray Army issue area rug, not only is it practical and won't show smashed in crayon or play dough but it was cost effective too! We will surely get many more years out of it than we would have the little 4x4 rug on the registry. A few of the other items on the registry went the same way.

Hours later, he came home, grinning like a Cheshire cat over what a great job he's done at this "dad thing". He got almost every piece of furniture on the registry. He presented me with each treasure one by one, making a big deal of going over all the features on each one and how they compared to the others at the PX. He put so much effort into this it was really infections. Pretty soon I was smiling like a Cheshire cat right along with him. He was so clearly enthusiastic about
the entire experience that I couldn't help but be pleased and excited for him.


January 9, 2009 - A Big Day

Zander learned to clap today! He spent a good portion of the evening clapping and giggling. What a little cutie pie!!

I also received software training today. Just one more little step and I will be all set up to work from home. I will be doing the legal billing for a law office. Yay! I'm contributing to the family income again! It may not be what I was making at Pearson, but I get to work from home and set
my own hours.


February 17, 2009 - Parallel Dimensions and Toilets

My son’s recently started the habit of putting things in other things. A tennis ball in the dog food, Cheerios in the jack-in-the-box, or fingers in well…anything really. Today he discovered the toilet. There were moments of long silence followed by uproarious laughter (which is usually my first clue that he’s probably getting into trouble) and then a splash splash splash followed by a heart stopping moment of OMG I didn’t close the baby gate!!!

He found the puppy’s Kong and was trying to submerge it in the toilet…except it magically defies gravity and keeps popping up to the surface! The dog was huddled near the bathtub with a forlorn whine at each of his giggles.

I had to explain to my son there is a gateway to a parallel dimension in the toilet that sucks everything down into a land made only of green peas and doctor visits and the things that go there never EVER return? The look on his face looked very similar to this

The answer to the question is not always what you want to hear. And sometimes you wonder whether you were better off not knowing at all. Good bye my brother. You will continue to be in my prayers every night for the rest of this life and beyond.



Chris came home around 1am Thursday morning, adding an extra two days to his normal visit. Z woke up to the sound of our voices and instantly insisted on greeting him. We listened for about ten minutes as he tried to negotiate with the dog. "All done?" he would say, jumping up and down in his crib. "Puh-y, wan get down?" Finally, he heard our laughter, realized we could hear him and his pleadings turned into crib shakes and screams.

His normal mommy-centric behavior curbed with Daddy home meant I could do things that I wanted to do and not have to worry about how toddler friendly they were. We're talking anything I wanted! I felt like I'd just won the lotto! Golden opportunities lay before me with endless possibilities. So, when Chris took Z to the park for a little father/son time...I took a nap, went grocery shopping, and had a bubble bath. Oh, I also had a beer. I am such a rebel!

We went down to the farm for a bonfire. It was an amazing day. Z followed Chris around all day like his shadow, except when he was announcing "Bye-bye!" and wandering off to climb up the grain elevator or play in the patch of nettles and poison ivy. Friends and family joined us. The paintball never quite got off the ground because everyone was too busy sitting around talking and catching up. But the 4 wheeler rides were a big hit with the kids. Especially splashing through the creek and hitting bumps that sent them airborne for a nanosecond, rear ends off the bike, arms cluched in a choke hold around Rob, the driver.


When Rob returned, he held out his arms and said he'd trade me. I looked at my little carameled apple sticky faced boy and thought you've got to be kidding! But he wasn't, he took Z, and let his little grabby paws tangle up his beard and hair and gave me a few quick lessons on where the brakes and gas were on the quad bike. I nearly cackled as I drove away, thinking I could be in Tiajuanna sipping on margaritas and no one would know where to look for me!

There was a bonfire. We touched off a 10 ft tall pile of brush that we had been collecting all spring and summer. We roasted brats and hot dogs and made s'mores. We crunched on apples and carrots and celery. We sipped on 7up and coke and beer and we told stories from 150 years ago about the lights that used to follow the horses through the timber. Spencer, a sage 7 yr old, announced that the lights were a gateway to the other side, and we all agreed that this was probably correct. Or maybe just swamp gas.

My mother is never happier than when she's feeding people and my Dad is never happier than when people are sitting around talking and telling jokes. There was plenty of both this weekend. All in all, it was a perfect Labor Day weekend.

(the moon through the clouds at the farm)

Today I spent about two hours with my son practicing the concept of open and closed. I didn’t set out with a lesson plan and a syllabus. Once my son discovered the old makeup I was throwing away I did what any mother would do and turned it into a learning opportunity. I took the shiny black compact from his tiny little hands, flipped the lid and said “Open.” He was fascinated that there was something in there that he couldn’t see before. Then I snapped it shut and said “Closed.” Predictably, this caused a miniature meltdown until the lid flipped up and I again said “Open.”

From the powder compact, we moved on to the bottle of lotion. From the lotion, we went to the jack in the box. I could tell he’d gotten the hang of this concept because he brought me several toys that could be opened or closed in different ways including a book and a sippy cup. All afternoon we played, my son teetering on the edge of toddler hysteria because open is clearly much more fun than closed.

Then he brought me a new bag of diapers. “Oh-peh.” He tells me as he starts removing a diaper. “No, no.” I told him, “Once this is opened it cannot be closed again.” I proceed to try and explain in toddler terms why it’s a physical impossibility to cram a full pack of diapers back in the bag once they’ve been pulled out. “Oh-PEH!” He insists and nonplused by my explanation, he pulls the diaper all the way out. “Fine.” I agree, “Open.” And I sit and watch in parental fascination as he pulls the diapers out one by one until the bag was empty.

Then he tried to put them back. “Ohs.” He says, trying unsuccessfully to shove a diaper through the narrow plastic opening in the bag. “OHS!!!” He shouts at me as yet another diaper doesn’t fit through the hole. I toss my hands in the air in a universal gesture of hell-if-I-know. He repeats the gesture, dropping bag and diapers and disintegrating into a world class tantrum of floor thrashing, kicking, and screaming incoherently. I realize the only way to fix this is a baby-reboot.

On the way up the stairs, son in arms, I think of a different conversation, one I’d had earlier in the summer. How bad is she? I wanted to know. She’s saving the bath water. I’m told. What? I am shocked and can think of nothing else to say. And she thinks the neighbors are spying on her. I hear this but I cannot believe it. I need to see her to make sure she’s fine. But when I’m there, in her living room, I barely recognize the woman in front of me and it’s clear that she’s not fine. I’d like for you to leave. She tells me and in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability she adds, I just can’t handle it right now. And she gets up and goes into her bedroom and shuts the door. I look to her husband for guidance. Should I stay or leave? What would be better? And I see his eyes turn misty. My heart shatters into a million pieces for this man who is watching his wife slip away from his reach. This woman who one year ago nursed me back to health, lifted my son for me each and every time when I couldn’t, helped feed and care for us until I was recovered, and without whom I don’t know what I would have done. This dear, dear woman who seemed so sure and so strong…

I tucked my wailing son into bed and went back to the disaster area he created in my living room. I sighed heavily and sat down, thinking again of her as I looked out at the mess. Then...One by one...I began the impossible task of trying to fit all the diapers back in the bag.























(California Academy of Sciences Living Rooftop)

Hi Melissa,

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Emma Williams,
Managing Editor, Schmap Guides
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I’ve said it before, but I really have been so very blessed. So many mothers have to work 40+ hrs a week. So many daughters don’t get to spend so much time with their family when their father is recovering from cancer. I have been so very lucky to have these extra moments and I owe this all to my husband. I knew when I started out on this adventure that it probably wouldn’t last. Such blessings don’t come without a price. I have been, for some time now, waiting for the other shoe to drop and a few weeks ago it did.

Without getting into the nitty-gritty, today I made the decision that my husband has probably been waiting six months for me to make. I told him to find us someplace nice to live in California. I hope and pray and take a leap of faith that we’re making the right decision…that things will be fine here at home while we go off and live our lives. I pray that things will be as they are now or better when we return in five years.

I’m over the tears now of looking at homes half the size of mine with gravel or concrete for back yards. I’ve even resigned myself to the fact that we may have to look at town homes or condos. That wouldn’t be so bad, a play park for the kid next to the swimming pool. I could live with that.

I have had one hell of a time creating beautiful memories these last six months. Drinking coffee with my friend Hiromi in San Francisco. Sipping on champagne and eating crepes for breakfast at my father-in-law’s in the Selkirks. Hiking with my mother up to the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain. Watching my father give my son his first tractor ride. Picking gladiolas with my family in the hot summer sun. Watching the children and the garden grow. I can’t wait to see what dreams will become memories. But for the love of God please let me have a back yard with grass!


(Zander's 1st tractor ride with Grandpa)


(relaxing on the porch swing after a day of canning)


(the home I'm reluctant to leave behind)


(the backyard extends past the swings to the garden shed)


(the living room)


(the nursery - 1 of 4 bedrooms)


(the kitchen)


(more of the kitchen)

Update: After I posted this, I went to bed. I opened the bible and prayed for guidance. The very first verse my fingers fell upon was this -

"Who are you, Lord?" Saul asked. "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting," he replied. "Now get up and go into the city and you will be told what you must do." ~Acts 9(5:6)

I will attend more weddings in the next three months than I have in my life. Let me tell you, this is causing me no small amount of anxiety! Mostly because I will likely see people I haven’t seen in a decade or more. You don’t understand, these are people who have been very important influences in my life! These are people with whom secrets were shared, souls were poured out, and eternal bonds of companionship were formed! There’s Miss Dances on Tables (she and I go waaaaaaay back), there’s Mrs. My Life is Perfect (who has her own line of exercise videos, three children – all natural births – and a PhD thank you very much), we can’t forget Mr. I’ll Always Love You (yeah, it was a bad break up, he cried and I yelled at him for crying), and last but not least Mr. You Lied (and I still haven’t forgotten how he was arrested for soliciting an undercover officer).


Firstly, if I could even find a table I felt was sturdy enough to support my, ahem, womanly curves, I’m pretty sure taking off my bra under my T-shirt and flinging it onto the moose head would be something akin to a bad horror movie. I can see it all too clearly…and in slow motion…myself after tee many martoonies flailing about with Miss Dances on Tables. We’re having a good time, my eye makeup is smudged from the tears of laughter from those “remember when” stories and I’m squinting at my husband in what is supposed to be a sexy bedroom eyes gaze, but it really just looks like I can’t read the happy hour menu. She talks me into going for broke, and in a moment of disastrous decision making, I take off my bra, which would be the kind of white support monstrosity you would expect VW to engineer instead of the barely there VS number one would expect to see. I fling it in a pathetic display of girlish playfulness toward the wall. It goes hurtling end over end toward the moose, people duck out of the way; they scream in terror as one cup completely suffocates the moose head, blinding him from the sight of me still seizuring away to the music, winking at my husband (who is hiding under a table), and completely oblivious to the horror that has ensued.


Mrs. My Life is Perfect then saunters up to me in her 5” stilettos with a patronizing smirk on her face, “Darling, it’s been so good to see you!” she tells me as she hands me her business card, “Call me in the morning, I have a business proposal for you.” I would smile, thinking how cool it was to see her again, and only after I began nursing the hangover the next day would I realize she was calling me fat.


Mr. I’ll Always Love You would join me out on the deck while I cooled off. He’d strike up a conversation that would end with “It was really good seeing you again.” Translation: I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Meanwhile I’m having another display of horrible decision making abilities and contemplating actually thanking Mr. You Lied to Me because, after all, I did start dating my incredible husband immediately after we broke up…but I can’t seem to find him to tell him because he’s sitting at the bar, avoiding the awkward introduction, and quietly thanking his lucky stars for that one crazy night in Tijuana!


Okay, okay, fine. I’m being overly dramatic. Honestly, I’m not that girl anymore (or rarely), so why would I expect them to be the same? I haven’t even over indulged in about a decade (well, in public anyway) so there’s zero chance of any of that coming to pass…But seriously, would it be too inappropriate to hire a stunt double with a PhD in Western Literature and is an aerobics instructor on the side to masquerade as me for the next three months? She can even drive the RX7!


(then)




(now)


Thirty, huh? I contemplate my impending decrepit state fast approaching in the next few minutes. I think back on other milestone birthdays. 10, I had an ice cream cake with a little mint green clad clown on the top. I can remember being little and making the 20 mile drive with my mother to the bakery in Maquoketa where I would stare at a wall of delightful confections and pick out one that wasn’t too expensive or too plain. I loved birthday cakes that came from the bakery. Those were extra special because not every birthday cake did. Not when money needed to be spent on more important things.

13, I had fallen asleep on the floor of my sister’s pink bedroom and sometime in the night had been relocated to my own bed. I was so sure when I woke in the morning I would look like a teenager. My thin, stringy, fly away hair would have turned into a beautiful mane of silken tresses. My scrawny, colt-like limbs would be transformed overnight into the beginnings of womanly curves. When I awoke the next morning I sprang from bed and dashed to the mirror to take my first excited glance. To my disappointment nothing much had changed about my appearance except for a few pillow wrinkles and some bed head.

By the time I turned 16, I knew not to expect dramatic changes overnight. But still, I held on to the hope that age 16 would turn my unremarkable face into that of a great beauty. This had been a magic number as long as I could remember. At 16 I was allowed to have a boyfriend, I was allowed to date and not just go out in gaggles of awkward teenage peers. I was allowed to drive. I was allowed to experience freedoms I had not previously known. Much to my chagrin; that same unremarkable face I’d had at 14 remained until I was about 18 years of age. And that exciting love life I’d been promised…well, I quickly learned that there wasn’t much difference between being alone with an awkward teenage boy or being out in a gaggle of awkward teenage girls and boys. That in fact, sometimes the gaggle was much preferred.

Then there was 18. Jaded by non-instantaneous arrival of breasts for my 13th birthday, and the stunningly average face that still stared back from my reflection I didn’t really have high hopes for 18. I do remember awaking with a quiet sense of satisfaction. I was an adult. My best friend and I celebrated by getting tattoos. I don’t remember if we’d spent long hours planning it or if it had been a whim. But I do remember her shaking and holding my hand, knuckles white, as the needle skidded over her hip bone and at that moment deciding I was not nearly as brave as she. I got mine on my ankle instead.

21? I don’t remember much about my 21st birthday. I have a few fuzzy memories of outlandish dancing, groping my best friend on a dare, and my sister, the supposed DD, driving down the wrong side of the street and having to jump the median. I don’t remember particularly looking forward to 21 though. Perhaps I did when I was 19, but by the time I turned 21, I didn’t really find going out drinking all that fun anymore.

25 was hard. That was half way to 50. I remember telling my sister (and believing it) that there was nothing to look forward to after 25 until you turned 60. My insurance rates went down at 25. And I remember looking at pictures of me when I was 21 and thinking (and believing) that youth was wasted on the young. I’d never approved of my body, or thought of myself as particularly attractive. I was a fool. I only lacked self confidence.

Now, in just a few minutes I will be 30. One foot in the grave, really. Oh, I don’t mind much. I don’t honestly think my breasts will shrivel up and fall off at the stroke of midnight or that my face will crack into a million wrinkles (even though my younger friends assure me of this certainty). My best friend from back home asked me if I thought I would cry. I don’t think I will. It would be different if I weren’t so happy with where I am right now. Luckily, I am blessed. I have a wonderful husband, an amazing son, and more family than I know what to do with. I have accomplished a lot in terms of career, family, and religion. I’m quite satisfied with my life. So tomorrow, when I wake up…I don’t think I’ll look for signs of decrepitude. Instead, I think I’ll be productive, and take my son for a walk to the park, and go visit my family, and thank God for thirty years of blessings.

(I rode an elephant today. What'd you do???)

“Congrats Mom!” I chimed into the phone, “How long have you been married? Thirty-four years? Thirty-five?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I haven’t had my coffee yet.” She tells me in annoyance, “Wayne, how long have we been married?”

“How old is Melissa?” I hear him yell in the background.

“What?!?” My mother yells back, “It’s our anniversary, not her birthday!”

“How old is she?” He hollers again; this time he sounds annoyed. From the sounds creaking I can tell he's sitting in his chair in the parlor.

“Thirty!” She shouts.

“Twenty-nine!” I correct indignantly.

“Close enough.” My mother scolds.

“Wheeeell let’s see…” my father drawls out, “That makes it we’ve been married twenty-eight years!”

“Wayne!” I hear my mother’s scandalized tones followed by my father’s mischievous cackle.

Then I hear his voice fading in song, presumably as he fleas my mother's admonishing gaze, “Oh when I was single my pockets would jingle. I’ll never be single again…”

Less than a year ago I was a Project Manager on a multi-million dollar contract. I oversaw the creation, duplication, and distribution of 750 different media and 13.5 million pieces of printed documentation. I would travel 2000 miles in one week, walking into locations I’d never been before and wielding all the confidence and authority that came with my pre-motherhood position.

Now, my job is to make my son smile, and to teach him about the world. And apparently to make jam. I’m still learning how to be this paragon of motherhood. But sixteen cans of homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam and one son sticky with strawberries from head to toe later…I just might be getting the hang of it. I don’t need VP recognition for this job. The enthusiastic clapping of my son’s sticky palms is satisfaction enough.


(toast and jam is the best)



My dearest Zander,


You are one and how much I love you! I love you all the way from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes, which just happens to be from the crook of my arm to my knees. You cannot imagine the fierceness with which I love you. You began as an extension of me and gradually grew apart and seperated into your own little person. Now I look upon your face and my heart warms, swelling with pride.


You are one and you are the very best of your Daddy and I. Your dad wanted so much for you to have my eyes, and you have them along with the dimple on my chin. You have your father’s smile right down to the tiny gap in his front teeth. You have your father’s cheeks and strong jaw line. Already so many family members and total strangers have remarked at what a good looking man you will become, so evident even at a year old.


You are one and you smile and dance throughout the day. Every day, you explore the house and backyard as though you’ve never seen them before and you endlessly jabber to the kitty or the doggie. You squeal with excitement as you watch the world out the window. You love to watch the dogs walk by or the squirrels scamper and play. You love for me to sing to you when we ride in the car and when I stop you ask for more and even sing along with me. Every emotion you feel shows on your face from confusion to concentration or glee to distress.


You are one and when you are upset, you present yourself to me and fling yourself backward upon the carpet in a half suicidal baby meltdown, yet I can easily persuade you that all is fine in the world. A kiss and cuddle do the trick most of the time though some times a song is needed. If it was a particularly enthusiastic display I may have to resort to graham crackers and milk, but you love to smile more than you like to cry. So, it never takes much to make you sing again and dance. And I am breathless with delight watching you transition from baby drama to bubbling over with joy.


You are one and you are so sweet and caring. You share your bottle with your cousin just to comfort him when he cries. If the bottle doesn’t work, you’ll even share your blankie. You wander up to me many times throughout the day to give me a hug and to receive one in return. You cannot let the morning pass without giving a hug and a pat to the doggie or your Teddy or your Blankie. You show us all you love us in a million tiny ways.


You are one and your favorite pastime is to make us laugh and smile. Whether it’s Daddy or Grandma and Grandpa, you delight in our laughter as much as we delight in yours. You’ll babble a funny story or make funny noises to get my reaction and interaction. You’ll dance the way your daddy taught you for your own delight, but when I applaud, you clap too and laugh and dance again with more enthusiasm. Even when you throw your food on the floor just to see if I’ll pick it up for you, you do it to share your curiosity and joy and don’t understand why it doesn’t bring the same reaction from Momma.


It won’t always be this simple between us. I will no doubt embarrass you when you get older and you will eventually grow up and not need me as much (my heart breaks at the thought). But for now, you are one and you stretch from the crook of my arm to my knees. And I will hold on to you. And I will tell you about all the things you could become later because right now you are my little one. So, my future president, rock star, band geek, quarterback, chess club guy, I will hold you and sing to you as we rock. On the outside, I will love you from the crook of my arm all the way to my knees. On the inside, I will love you with all my heart and soul. And I will hang on to this moment forever.


All my love, always!


Love,

Momma

(This is my RAAAWRRR face)



I tried to share in the magic of Fourth of July sparklers with my son. Our conversation, if baby babbles were English, went something like this -

Me: Look Zander! This is called a sparkler! And we're going to stick it in the ground a safe distance away and light it!

Z: That's nice. Put me down.

Me: Here we go! Are you ready???

Z: Ooo a pine cone!

Me: Isn't it pretty sweetie?

Z: I have a pine cone.

Me: Now it's time for the glow worm! Isn't that amazing?

Z: (patting my leg and holding a nature object up to me) Mom, have you seen my pine cone?

Me: Maybe you'll be more interested in the whistling sparkler. Let's try that one.

Z: (in a sing-song voice) pine-cone-pine-cone-pine-cone...

Me: (puts whistling sparkler in the ground and lights it)

Z: Holy SHIT Mom!!! What the hell was that??? Pick me up! Pick me up! Pick me uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!



(Zander and the Pine Cone)

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It is always the way; words will answer as long as it is only a person's neighbor who is in trouble, but when that person gets into trouble himself, it is time that the King rise up and do something.
- Personal Reflections of Joan of Arc

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