tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87408667444458955912024-03-05T16:13:07.803-08:00Schuhtastic!My pants don't fit anymore and somebody stole my cake.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-68369767976268107922014-05-14T21:15:00.002-07:002014-05-14T21:15:29.767-07:00The Universe told me to write...The Universe told me to write.<br />
<br />
"Karla, this is the universe. Start writing."<br />
<br />
Seriously. She sent me a text message.<br />
<br />
That was the latest message. She's been sending me messages for the past few weeks, months, years probably. And lately her messages have been more blatant, more obvious. Less subtle, less casual, less chalk-that-one-up-to-serendipity.<br />
<br />
But even with her hounding, her pushing, her reminders, I've felt stuck and paralyzed. What is it that I could possibly have to say? I think this at nearly every turn. What, what, just what in the world am I going to write about? What in the world do I have to say that anyone else would want to listen to?<br />
<br />
And yet.<br />
<br />
One of the Universe's more obvious messages came through the writer Anne Lamott and her latest Facebook update. She's talking about writing and perfectionism and the voice of the critic, of our parents' expectations, of the naysayers that we carry around in her head. And she says this about her writing:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">"Yet,
I get to tell my truth. I get to seek meaning and realization. I get
to live fully, wildly, imperfectly. That's why I'm alive. And all I
actually have to offer as a writer, is my version of life. Every single
thing that has happened to me is mine."</span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">I get to tell my truth, my version of life.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">I guess that's all there is, really. And I guess that's all that matters. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Since the first day of this year, literally, the message has been hounding me, pursuing me. Write, you have something to say. Write, take note of your life. Write, sort through, work through, your life. Write, you have beautiful stories within you. Write, there are scenes, images, so alive so alive.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">So, I will. I am. I'll try. I'll try to show up. Try to take note. Try to put words to the stills, the images I take away from my days. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Okay, Universe? </span></span><i><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span></i></div>
karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-3114844589161292172012-08-25T21:44:00.001-07:002012-08-25T21:44:11.683-07:00Swimming lessons
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<span style="font-family: Baskerville;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today is Haven’s last day of
swimming lessons for the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly and
with success, she progressed through the first two levels of the preschool
lessons – she jumps in (let’s be honest, it’s a belly flop each and every
time), swims with kicks and paddles, pops her head up to breathe, glides across
the pool in a superman pose, dives down to retrieve a pool toy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She does all of these things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
looks like a wiggly pink fish as she propels her body through the water, more
diagonal than straight, more effort than grace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We’ve had Haven in lessons all
summer long, a half hour every day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
every day part is getting a little long – I’m kind of tired of the rush of
swimsuits, sunscreen, ponytail – but it’s just one of those life skills we thought
absolutely necessary, especially when the grandparents have a pool. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville;">Besides,
I just can’t fathom <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> knowing how
to swim. Something in me feels like it has always known how to swim, how to be
in the water. I remember being in a swim class with my mom at three or four
years old, swimming underwater like a little turtle. I remember following my
older siblings off the diving board into the deep end of the pool, with little
hesitation, knowing that they would be there to assist me to the side, if
needed. And I remember – and love – that end-of-day exhaustion that comes from
spending an entire day out on the water, sunburned and tired, my body still
rolling and swaying as I’d drift off to sleep in my bed. From hotel pools on
road trips to summer swim lessons to days on the lake while we camped at a
state park to the wave pool nearby, I grew up to love the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure if it was the buoyancy, the ease
and glide of swimming, the refreshment of the water, the sun, or the fun, but I
would often giggle, just giggle, for the first few minutes in the water. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville;">I’m
not sure what my children’s experience of water will be like. I grew up in
Minnesota, where you run into a lake at nearly every turn (no lie), where water
is plentiful, and summers are sacred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
kids are growing up in California, in the desert, where summer is nearly
year-round.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ocean swimming is different
from lake swimming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not saying that
one is better or worse, land of lakes or desert (well, not entirely); it’s more
this realization that Haven will not have my childhood. I want her to be
confident and at ease in the water, I want her to find delight in diving into a
pool, I want her to giggle when she jumps in because she just can’t help
herself. And she may – or she may not. Sometimes it is weird to think that she
is building her childhood with a whole different set of blocks than I used to
build my own. I know that sounds obvious, but isn’t that often how we see
things, through our own memories, our own experiences, our own context? This, of
course, extends beyond just my kids’ experiences of water – it’s weird to think
they will not know the luscious greenness of summer, or falling asleep to a
thunderstorm, or waking up to a fresh snowfall, or freeways that are merely
4-lanes or 6-lanes instead of 8-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or
10-lanes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville;">So
maybe California is a good reminder for me, that their childhoods <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> be different from mine. Because,
even if I were raising them in Minnesota, who knows if we’d spend as much time
at the lake or at the pool, camping or waterskiing or traveling? Maybe this is
a good reminder that their childhood experience of water starts now and it
starts at this big aquatic center and at the in-laws’ pool and at our friend’s
pool and at the beach and in the kiddie pools and sprinklers in the backyard.
It will look different than my experiences, my memories, but, so far, they are
smiling and giggling when they are in the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not bad.</span></div>
karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-30105530636428215982012-08-23T14:30:00.002-07:002012-08-23T14:30:22.963-07:00sapphire skythe sun slips away behind us as we<br />
lean into each other near the dance floor.<br />
his beard tickles my forehead,<br />
our hips sway just a little.<br />
we sip our drinks<br />
and watch the bride<br />
hitch up her dress and dance. she laughs, twirls.<br />
the sun, quiet, slides behind a hill.<br />
i press my head into the curve of his shoulder and notice:<br />
where the sun had been there is now a glowing ember.<br />
it does not fade<br />
and the sky around it deepens to a sea of sapphire.<br />
he rests his hand on the round of my hip.<br />
i sway, rest my hand on his. <br />
<br />
<br />
---karla schuh, july 2012karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-8382993519729565742012-02-10T00:08:00.000-08:002012-02-10T00:08:41.101-08:00Today's Run Brought to You By: Kari, Marchell, and Sarah DOh, about a year ago, I told you about my silly notion to get fit by way of Richard Simmons DVDs. I mean, why not? It's fun, I can do it at home, the kids can dance along.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, it didn't work.<br />
<br />
So this summer, I thought I would take up running. I mean, once upon a time, I was a runner. Surely, I could summon that inner runner once again, right? I did a run/walk program for one week during my retreat in Oregon and it was G L O R I O U S. Those minutes that I ran, I ran like the wind through pine-scented forest, pounding the dirt road, steeple-chasing over fallen logs, swishing past dainty hot pink wildflowers, listening for rattle snakes with one ear, Brandi Carlile with the other. I loved it - it reminded me of all that I loved about running and cross-country skiing when I was proficient at such things. Gliding through the woods all by my lonesome, my heart pounding, just me and my thoughts and the repetition of my feet or my skis and poles.<br />
<br />
It felt so good to think I could do this again! I could capture some of those things that I once loved and enjoyed again in my life! This run/walk app, with that sweet feminine British accent coaching me right along, this could work!<br />
<br />
And then I went back to Minnesota and the glorious feeling went to shit when running (on grass! not pavement!) nearly killed my knees. Poop.<br />
<br />
But somewhere in that glory week, I realized that I enjoy working out, I enjoy moving, and I enjoy having someone tell me what to do and when. And after a month this fall where I just about lost all of my marbles, I decided to return to this small gym in Pasadena that I went to for a bit just before I had kids. This gym offers personal training as well as small group classes called Bootcamp. And I love Bootcamp. It's 45 minutes with no more than a dozen people and it's a mix of treadmill workouts and floor/strength exercises - and someone (the trainer, both of whom are great!) telling me what to do every minute of that workout. I respond well to this. I'm convinced the only reason I ran in high school was because I had signed up and therefore had to be at practice and while at practice really had no choice but to do what my coach said to do. Dutiful.<br />
<br />
I spend about half of the workout on the treadmill, staring out the big windows at the nearby intersection, the San Gabriel foothills, the trees and the bright sun. Or, at night, my own reflection in the windows. And at first bootcamp was agonizing and, because no segment lasts longer than one minute (the sprint or the climb or the crunches or the squats), I'd think "this isn't as bad as a contraction, this is easier than labor, you can do it!" And sure enough, I could. And over time, the exercises didn't feel as much like a comparison to labor, which I think means I'm making some progress.<br />
<br />
And in all of this, in my persistence to show up at least twice a week, the treadmill has become my favorite part, especially when it's just a flat, all out run. Because, you see, I'm not ever running alone.<br />
<br />
Here's what happens:<br />
<br />
Sarah D. Sometimes when I'm scrambling to get my workout clothes on, my shoes tied, clean up the breakfast dishes, make sure Haven washes her hands, change a rather full diaper, fill my water bottle, give a few instructions to whoever is watching the kids, grab my keys and run out the door - sometimes in the midst of that, as I'm throwing my hair up in a ponytail, the ponytail ends up a little higher on my head. I don't notice this nor care until I'm on the treadmill. The high ponytail swings and bounces. It is light, it is joy. There is no stopping it on its mission to swing widely from side to side. One evening when this happened, the swinging ponytail, the joyful, smiling, fun ponytail reminded me of you, of what it might be like to run with you next to me (I realize I've not run with you, and I realize this may not be at all what your running style is like - but it reminds me of you, nonetheless). And so I ran that night, watching the eastern sky fade to dark, watching the mountains sink into the night, watching cars drive stop and start through the intersection. And I felt my legs get tired and heavy, my breathing labor, my arms pump harder to keep up, and my ponytail swinging carelessly to and fro. And I thought of you and your smile, your joy and laughter, your kind and childlike presence, and decided I could run for one more minute, up one more mountain, with you on that treadmill next to me. Since then, whenever it ends up being a high ponytail day, I run with you on my mind, grateful for your presence, even for just a silly treadmill run at a loud-music gym.<br />
<br />
And Kari. Running at bootcamp almost always makes me think of track, of running the half-mile on a black track of chopped up rubber. And nearly always, that makes me think of you. When I run, watching my form in the mirror, keeping my feet light, my stride long, chest high, shoulders down, arms not-flailing, I sometimes see your silhouette in the window too. I can see, remember, your stride, long, strong, long arms pumping, carrying you down the track or across the field (cross-country). I remember the curly q's that developed around the edges of your hair (probably recently dyed, with me, on a Friday night in the downstairs bathroom at your house). I can see your face, serious, determined, focused, spit gathering at the corners of your mouth as you pushed your lungs to their furthest limit. But often times, when I look in the window, I see myself running the last 200, coming around that long corner, seeing the line that marked the straightaway, chasing or being chased, collapsing at the finish - and so often, you are at the finish. You are there for me to drape my arm over, to walk me across the infield. You are there to smile a congratulations, to hug a leg-breaking run. And so, when I run on the treadmill, I'm often running again with you. I stretch out my stride, imagining that we are running sprints and intervals and crazy-all-over-CR runs together again. And it's so fun. (If only I did something that simulated skiing, because that would bring back even more fun memories!)<br />
<br />
And Marchell. As has become obvious, when I do these treadmill workouts, I watch my silhouette in the window and imagine that I am once again at a track meet. Anchor leg of the 4 x 8, pounding hard through that final lap - that final corner, the finish straightaway. In my imagination, it's a cool, cloudy spring day, and it is just the sound of lungs puffing and spikes scratching as I start into that last curve, chasing, chasing, chasing some opponent. My lungs are burning and I want to slow down my pace but then I hear it, I hear you on the sidelines - "Come on, KJ! Let's go! You've got it! Let's go, KJ!" And with that, I push through, pick my knees up a little higher, turn my stride over a little faster (and let's be honest, I'm really just trying to not fall off the treadmill, which is an honest fear of mine). Oh, but I can hear your voice, Marchell; it's distinct. It carries with it this tone that believes, above all else, that you can do it. There's not a hint of doubt - it is genuinely optimistic. Nor does the tone carry the least hint of disappointment. You can do it! Let's go! And if not, I'll still be so proud of you for running your little heart out! And let's be honest again, I hear this voice not only when I'm on the treadmill. It calls out at other times too, times when I most need someone to cheer me on, to help me work through the pain and the exhaustion, your voice comes through again - Come on, KJ! You can do it! I believe in you! <br />
<br />
I realize that these might be kind of silly or sentimental things - I mean, I'm just doing a short treadmill workout! But it feels like such a gift to run with each of you once or twice a week, to be surrounded by women, by friends, that I'm so proud of, so honored to have in my life, both past and present. Women that bring joy, strength, and encouragement.<br />
<br />
So, thanks. Thanks for running with me.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
kj<br />
<br />karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-38904247632814837302012-01-10T15:49:00.000-08:002012-01-10T15:49:12.037-08:00Burning heart(just finishing this up now, but I wrote this way back in September...)<br />
<br />
September 2, 2011<br />
<br />
This morning, after breakfast, I had a lump in my throat. Like I'd eaten something that hadn't quite made it's way all the way to my stomach. It burned each time I tried to swallow more until it dawned on me that this was actually a case of heartburn.<br />
<br />
I guess it's been awhile since I've had heartburn like this and I was a little mystified as to why it showed up after eating a pretty typical breakfast. Hmm...time to find the Tums (which, we can all thank Aaron for insisting that we keep Tums on hand in our household for moments such as this).<br />
<br />
Today is the Friday before Labor Day weekend, the last hurrah of summer. At least, growing up in Minnesota, it was the last hurrah. This is the weekend of one last trip to the State Fair. The weekend of a few more late nights. The weekend of packing, re-packing, and then maybe again double checking the backpack for school. The weekend of choosing outfits for the coming week, those decidedly fall pieces of clothing - sweaters, corduroys, long sleeves - that I so desperately wanted to wear even though the daytime temps would still be pushing 80. It is the weekend of waning daylight - nearly two hours of daylight have slipped through our fingers in the past weeks but it's this weekend that the days start to feel short again. This is the weekend of summer warmth that can still officially be called summer but there is the merest hint of fall in the evening air, in the morning dew. So much anticipation for what the new school year will hold while wishing that the long and easy days of summer would linger just a little bit longer.<br />
<br />
It doesn't feel like that here in southern California. Sure, there's anticipation for the new school year. Sure, the days are shorter here too. But it's blazing inferno hot. And the sun, well, it's different here. The light is different. And the evenings don't hold quite the same promise of coming crisp, cool air that Minnesota does.<br />
<br />
After we moved here, every September, every Labor Day weekend, I'd feel the same sense of anticipation and excitement. My body would crave the September weather of the midwest. I would stare longingly at my long pants and heavy knit sweaters. It knew. My body remembered those deep red 7 o'clock sunsets that burned away while I cracked open my algebra book, digging in to equations and theories that were more familiar a few months ago. My body remembered that, while it felt like sweatshirt weather in the morning, by afternoon it would feel like the middle of summer.<br />
<br />
It took a long long time to forget this and forget I eventually did. I could conjure up the feeling, sure, but my internal calendar had grown used to summer peaking in September and lasting well into October and sweater weather not showing up but for that one day in late January. Jeans you can wear in November but you can still wear your flip-flops then too.<br />
<br />
I'm sad to have forgotten this because I love fall. I love that anticipation, the excitement of a new year.<br />
<br />
But I'll admit, I was also relieved to realize I'd forgotten the first year it happened. The start of the school year was also stressful - what would my schedule be like, where would my classes be, who would be in my classes, who were my friends going to be, who would be my locker buddy, what was my combination to my locker and what if I forgot it (I can't tell you how many dreams I have where I can't figure out my locker combination or how exactly to spin the combo to get it to open. Sheesh.). It was a lot of stress and anxiety, actually, though it usually settled down within the first couple weeks, once I got into the rhythm of things again.<br />
<br />
Even on good years - years where I was excited to go back, had plenty of friends and knew they'd be in most of my classes, felt comfortable with navigating the school and teachers and activities, had a place and belonged - even then, excitement mingled with anxiety.<br />
<br />
So here I am with this lump in my throat, trying to figure out why my regular ol' piece of toast would give me reflux. I ponder this while I brush Haven's hair, while I help her pick out some (matching) clothes, while we brush our teeth, while we wait with a mix of excitement and anticipation for my mother-in-law to arrive to babysit Sebastian...so that Haven and I can go to her preschool for the first time.<br />
<br />
It is Haven's first day of school.<br />
<br />
And so this lump shouldn't be such a surprise to me. My summer in Minnesota this year has retrained my body to anticipate fall, dying light, cool mornings and warm afternoons. My body is ready for the packing of the backpack, new schedules and new classrooms, old friends, new faces, the whirlwind that is the first day, the first week of school.<br />
<br />
And there's a little girl in me that senses this anticipation, knows the appointment that is on the calendar for today, and she is remembering all of the highs and lows of the first day of school. Feeling alone and somewhat lost, even in years where I wasn't alone and knew my way around. She is carrying the weight of all my first days, school, work, parenthood, and there's a lot of excitement, nervousness, anxiety all bundled up in her.<br />
<br />
And there's the me now, the 30-something mom of two young kids, who's a little bit exhausted, a little bit bewildered, and a lot a bit wildly in love. The me now who is wishing that becoming a parent didn't mean a lifelong process of nurture and release, of bringing them close in order to help them fly on their own. Thus far, the releases have been small, incremental, almost a relief - I didn't realize this step would come so soon.<br />
<br />
I swallow the lump in my throat once again as Haven walks into her new classroom with a marked mix of caution and curiosity. My heart burns as I, mustering all the sweetness and joy that I can, wave goodbye. "See you in a little bit!" I lilt, as her new teacher gently guides her away to play with new friends.<br />
<br />
I know that she is safe, cared for, and loved in this new place. I know, too, that it is only a short time out of our week and I'll grow to enjoy the time apart. In the meantime, I'm grateful for my burning heart, grateful that it's just a little bit hard to let go of that which we love. This lump in the throat will subside, I'm sure, but for now it makes me excited for the hug I'll get when I pick her up from her first day of preschool.<br />
<br />
I'm going to be a mess when she goes away to college.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-91230090477729881132011-05-21T09:13:00.000-07:002011-05-21T09:13:12.856-07:00DeclarationSaturdays are officially Park Day. I don't know how she does it, but Haven took FOREVER to fall asleep last night and then was up super early this morning and yet she has more energy than a volcano (and somewhat as explosive). I'm just tired and don't have the energy to keep up this morning. I have no desire to engage with anyone this morning, much less a chatty, constantly moving 2.5 year old.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, my friend Colleen is visiting and Colleen and Haven just headed out to go play at the park/playground. Last Saturday, Julia took Haven to the park in the morning and Tyler and Traci took Haven in the afternoon.<br />
<br />
So, I'm declaring Saturdays as Park Day. She needs to run out the energy. I need the break.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-72774604153345006222011-05-04T11:11:00.001-07:002011-05-10T09:46:58.352-07:00Something in the Wind, Part IIA year ago was one of the <a href="http://schuhtastic.blogspot.com/2010/05/something-in-wind.html">worst weeks</a> of the year. Truly, it sucked. Aaron was out of town for a month. My parents, who can drive me batty after a time, had been in town for almost a month. Our truck-fixing-saga still continued to suck money right out of our savings account. I found out I was having a boy and my initial not-so-happy reaction surprised and shamed me (to note: I LOVE my boy and can't believe I was ever sad about the prospect of a boy. At the time, I knew that I would eventually come around, but in the moment was sad and felt so ashamed of that reaction.). I burned my hand taking something out of the oven. I learned that a good friend was moving to Japan. I was TIRED, so very pregnant tired, and got in a disagreement with my mother-in-law over whether or not Aaron was more tired than I. I'm pretty sure I pissed off my sister-in-law, who then got into a car accident that same day - not related events but I sure felt like they were. Aaron accepted a gig to shoot a music video with two close friends of ours and as soon as the dates were set, I had a break down and realized that all of my energy had been completely spent. This would cut into what little free time/break/vacation that Aaron had had in the last year and I just couldn't keep up on my own. I was a mess and Aaron had to say No after already saying Yes. A disaster. And then, to top it all off, that was the week that Haven decided she didn't want to nap and I so desperately needed her to nap and proceeded to tell her such with a bit of frustrated yelling. Not my finest moment. Such an ugly week.<br />
<br />
By comparison, this one year anniversary week of that sucky week has actually been pretty good. All things considered. Aaron is out of town, again, and this has been our first week without him but I've done pretty well (pat on the back for me). The kids have been in good spirits, the house is in one piece, I've managed to feed all of us with pretty good food, and I've been getting a decent amount of sleep. I realize this won't last forever, but I'm proud of our week. It makes me feel like we can make it the entire five weeks that Aaron will be gone. We may be a little worse for wear in the end, but hopefully not too bad.<br />
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There are winds forecast for this weekend, appropriate for this anniversary. While I (still) dislike wind, it serves as a reminder to me of god's presence in all things - good weeks and bad.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-67813209333738981522011-04-21T09:35:00.000-07:002011-05-10T09:47:46.379-07:00Spring breeze(a little late in publishing this...it's from last month) <br />
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I wish I had something profound to offer today but I don't. This has been a good day. Aaron is home and has afforded me lots of time to myself and it's been good. I just had lunch with a good friend, as well as visiting my sweet friend Julia at her office. I also ate a burrito from Rick's and it was good. I'm starting to feel a little more freedom in my days - I can be away from Sebastian for a little bit longer stretches. It's kind of nice to feel like I might get a little bit more time for myself someday.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-44326601487308628862011-04-07T16:12:00.000-07:002011-04-07T16:12:40.235-07:00CourageThis afternoon, I was reading Garrison Keillor's intro to a collection of poems he had put together - Good Poems for Hard Times. The introduction was fantastic and reminded me why we need poets and good literature - good stories - in our lives. And how our lives, in general, are good stories if we bear witness to them. And how, in an age of zippy computers and information overload at our fingertips, the written word can be so refreshing, if we were to just slow down and pay attention.<br />
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Here's a little of what Garrison had to say about the meaning of poetry:<br />
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"The meaning of poetry is to give courage. A poem is not a puzzle that you the dutiful reader are obliged to solve. It is meant to poke you, get you to buck up, pay attention, rise and shine, look alive, get a grip, get the picture, pull up your socks, wake up and die right. Poets have many motives for writing...but what really matters about poetry and what distinguishes poets from say, fashion models or ad salesmen is the miracle of incantation in rendering the gravity and grace and beauty of the ordinary world and thereby lending courage to strangers. This is a necessary thing."karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-37416785517054291612011-03-30T22:18:00.000-07:002011-03-30T22:18:32.735-07:00Eating my cakeI started this blog three years ago around the time of my birthday. And my first story was about how someone stole my leftover birthday cake out of the refrigerator at work...stole birthday cake from a pregnant lady.<br />
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I'm happy to report that this year, I am eating my cake (well, technically cupcakes) and am happily eating the leftovers, which no one has stolen from me. Mostly because Haven doesn't know they exist and Aaron is busy working and can't keep up with my rate of consumption.<br />
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Three years has gone by quickly. I'm kind of amazed by how much has changed and yet how much stays the same (for example, I'd still be upset if someone stole my cake...and my pants still don't fit, at least not all of them and not in the same ways).<br />
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I'm grateful for you, my audience, for allowing me this space to write and reflect. I appreciate your kindness and attentiveness to my musings. And for sticking with me even through blogging droughts...that is, if you are still here? Anyone reading this anymore?<br />
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Anyway, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to the blog. And happy birthday to some truly delicious cupcakes.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-51141110199100655172011-03-23T07:22:00.000-07:002011-03-23T07:22:00.245-07:00KindnessWe sang this song at church a few weeks ago. We are attending a Mennonite church these days, albeit rather sporadically. I've not been terribly excited about church for, oh, the last ten or twelve years for a lot of reasons that I don't really have the time to try to articulate right now. But this church, when we attend, we find to be warm and welcoming - and I find their message to be a little bit more in alignment with what I've been pondering and looking for over the past number of years.<br />
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And this song resonated with some of what I've found or been thinking about the last few years, too. <br />
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With Kindness (by Brian McLaren)<br />
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<i>Christ has no body here but ours</i><br />
<i>No hands no fet here on earth but ours</i><br />
<i>Ours are the eyes through which He looks</i><br />
<i>On this world</i><br />
<i>With kindness</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Our are the hands through which He works</i><br />
<i>Ours are the feet on which He moves</i><br />
<i>Ours are the voices through which He speaks</i><br />
<i>To this world</i><br />
<i>With kindness</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Through our touch our smile our listening ear</i><br />
<i>Embodied in us Jesus is living here</i><br />
<i>Let us go now</i><br />
<i>Filled with the Spirit into this world</i><br />
<i>With kindness</i>karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-38748532531363041432011-03-21T22:51:00.000-07:002011-03-21T22:51:03.913-07:00TiredIf there were a theme to my life these days, it would be simply this: tired. I'm so exhausted and I'm waiting for it to not be this way any longer. I so desperately want more sleep. <br />
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And if there were a secondary theme, it would be: change. If you know me even a little bit, you know I'm slow to warm up to change. So to live a life where some variable is always up for grabs - teething, sleeping, napping, potty training, eating, feeding, growing, cribs, beds - is to feel like there is little stability. It feels like the horizon continually has something new for which I have to prepare. And I'm tired of always getting ready, always making adjustments. <br />
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Honestly, though, I think I could handle change better if I weren't so damn tired.<br />
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This too shall pass, right?karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-11232174642334749402011-02-22T21:06:00.000-08:002011-02-22T21:06:31.493-08:00A tooth(First, an apology. It's my goal to get at least one blog post up a week and I've been off the past couple weeks! I'll keep on trying.)<br />
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Last week, at the end of Sebastian's first real cold (more than just the sniffles), amidst congestion, a rather unhappy sounding cough, and cries that just sounded so very very sad, Sebastian sported his first tooth. Yup, one little razor sharp baby tooth on his lower gums. There seems to be a second one not far behind, its neighbor, and all of this makes him somewhat unhappy. He's not generally a very fussy baby and even with teeth it's not that bad, but you can tell it's not a fun time for him...at least, not when the Tylenol wears off.<br />
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This is also causing some discomfort for me, which I was surprised to realize. The arrival of his teeth, even just one or two, means he is growing up and I'll admit I'm a little sad for this to happen. I know I know it is cliche to say that time is passing so quickly, it's just flying by, blah blah blah. But blah blah blah, it is - and for some reason with Sebastian, his milestones just seem to be coming at me so much faster than Haven's. He's not hitting his milestones early, either - he's right on schedule - but it just feels fast, faster. So when his tooth showed up, I felt sad - sad that we are moving so quickly past the little snuggly lump of babyness with their benign gummy kisses and slobbering. I feel like I'm going to blink and he will suddenly be a little boy, with a big toothy grin as he runs all over the yard, terrorizing Zoe (this assumes Zoe lives forever, because in my mind she does and let's not break that illusion just yet, okay?). Kind of like how Haven runs and jumps and bounces, smiles and cries and speaks complete stories, sleeps in a big girl bed and will one day (soon) pee on a big girl potty - and once, not so long ago, she was this little bitty peanut of a baby that we barely knew what to do with except to keep kissing her soft soft head.<br />
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And so, while I simultaneously wish Sebastian would sleep through the night and Haven would be a little more independent, I also long to hold on to these moments that run through my fingers - moments of baby snuggles and toddler songs.<br />
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Sometimes, sometimes, I wish I could stop time.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-60148570170889469072011-01-31T20:37:00.000-08:002011-01-31T20:37:21.537-08:00A mini vacationLast week, Aaron worked nights all week. It's kind of a rough schedule for him, especially when we are home and doing our best not to bug him (Haven does surprisingly well at leaving him alone...I do more interrupting, usually when my day as a parent is falling apart). Anyway, by the time I get to Saturday morning, I'm a wreck - just kind of done with the week and really needing a partner, but after a week of working the night shift, Aaron is busy trying to sleep. <br />
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So towards the end of last week, in an attempt to avoid a Saturday Meltdown, I was trying to come up with a plan that would take Haven off my hands for a little while. And in the midst of my planning, my mother-in-law called and offered, out of the blue, to take Haven for the night on Friday! Well, hallelujah! Perfect timing, perfect break, perfect perfect.<br />
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This still meant I had Sebastian on my hands, but let me tell you - going from two to one is a piece of cake. Even luckier for me, Sebastian took some really great naps on Saturday (I have a suspicion this may have had something to do with the absence of his big sister). So while I couldn't necessarily sleep in, I could relax and take a pretty easy pace. It turned out to be a really great and productive day - here are some of the highlights:<br />
<ul><li>I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. This may sound like an odd thing, but when Haven is around, Haven wants to eat whatever you are eating whenever you happen to be eating. This is generally okay, but sometimes I just don't want to share!</li>
<li>I could leave whatever laying about the house. Again, this may sound odd, but each night we pick up the house because when our day starts in the morning, it's off to a running start and if you leave anything out, anything, Haven will find it and play with it. Magazines, mugs, cup of water, the remote, your purse, whatever. She will get into it. So to reduce the number of messes we clean up during the day, we try to pick up at night and put quite a bit of stuff out of reach. So I was thrilled to go to bed on Friday and not worry about the house and to spend my Saturday morning leaving whatever wherever.</li>
<li>I spent a lot of time reading, mostly during Sebastian's naps. But even when he was awake, he requires a much simpler form of entertainment than his sister (for now). And Aaron helped me out a lot by watching Sebastian (once he was done sleeping) so that I could read. And I finished my book - and it was so good. So good. Aaron was also able to sit and read and drink his coffee - I'm pretty sure that was a highlight for him.</li>
<li>We got all of the laundry done! Yes!</li>
<li>We cleaned the entire house - it felt so good to get everything cleaned up and in order and vacuumed and dusted. Dusted! I never dust! And it was so much easier to do without The Great Un-doer following right behind us!</li>
</ul>Anyway, it was a nice little break from toddlerdom. Haven had a great time with her grandparents and we are happy to have her back home. Although, I think I could have used just one more day...karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-87502897406247493012011-01-16T20:52:00.000-08:002011-01-16T20:52:59.302-08:00I like to move it move itSo. I did a workout video this week. 10 minute workout solutions - the perfect amount of time for me. I decided on the Dance Moves Fat Burning something-or-other series and began to follow the instructor. But silly me, I thought it would feel more like dancing. I thought it would feel more fun. Instead, it felt like aerobics, the kind where my uncoordinated self is five steps behind and looks like a certified dork.<br />
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In college, I took an aerobics class with Dottie Haugen, one of the physical education professors. Dottie was in her 60's and had been teaching at my college for quite a few years and she was AWESOME! She had such a passion for physical activity as a way of loving our bodies, as a way of staying healthy in all ways (physically, mentally, spiritually). And Dottie's enthusiasm was contagious - you couldn't help but feel positive and excited in her midst. Her aerobics class was a hit and she just exercised circles around all of us 20-year-olds. But I loved this class because the aerobics routines weren't so complex or challenging AND she used a lot of Christian songs from the 80's and 90's. Now, I don't LOVE Christian music, much less from the 80's and 90's, but these songs were so fun and the aerobics moves were so easy to get, that I could just move. I could just exercise and it felt like dancing. I didn't have to think, just move. I could even sing along. I think I even remember some of the moves to one of the songs (Lift Up the Lord). I'm positive that in this class, I looked, yet again, like a dork. But it was such fun, felt so uplifting, to use a kind of corny word.<br />
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So, after this week's aerobics workout that just felt like aerobics, I went ahead and ordered some Sweatin' to the Oldies. One of my childhood friends had these and we would "workout" to them in 5th grade. And while Richard Simmons is a fruit loop of the first order, I thought this might be as close as I could get to good ol' uplifting, dancing, singing along exercise fun.<br />
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It also, most certainly, solidifies my status as dork in the realm of exercise. So be it.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-20946051693955639462011-01-11T21:58:00.000-08:002011-01-11T21:58:58.481-08:00Spoilers, I love 'emI just skimmed ahead and read the last chapter of this month's book club book (The Brothers K by David James Duncan). And I cried at the beautiful ending.<br />
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Don't worry - I've been known to do this, reading the end of the book first. It doesn't really ruin it for me, especially not this one since I've read it before.<br />
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But it's been awhile and the ending was so wonderful and it reminded me why I love this book so much (which is good, because it was my pick for book club!). Oh, I just want to sit and read and do nothing else for a few days!karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-44477132320388204642011-01-10T20:45:00.000-08:002011-01-10T20:45:34.578-08:00A few small triumphs<ol><li>The rooster did not crow this morning. Amen. Nor did it crow yesterday and, thanks to our landlord's initiative and conversation with the neighbors, the damn bird probably won't crow tomorrow. (The neighbors are keeping him in the basement at night.)</li>
<li>Haven slept past 7 am. And there was much rejoicing! Indeed, the fact that she slept past 6 am is a miracle. I think this is directly related to #1, as the rooster lived right outside her window. Hoping this trend continues - back to a normal wake-up hour!</li>
<li>I didn't wake up swearing. Nor did I wake up at 3:30 or 5:50 or 6:30 am, times when the f-ing rooster has decided that it's morning.</li>
<li>Nope, I only woke up at 2:39 am to feed Sebastian. One feeding, which he had a hard time falling back asleep after...but then he slept until 6:30 am. Amen.</li>
<li>I was able to take a shower and get dressed before Haven woke up. Hallelujah.</li>
<li>All morning routines and timing worked out such that we made it to a music class this morning. almost on time. Much singing and dancing was had by all.</li>
<li>And we then had a play date with some new friends, one of which Haven kept trying to hug and kiss throughout lunch.</li>
<li>Haven missed her nap, which is not a triumph, BUT I didn't LOSE it, which is a triumph and not even of the small variety. Nap didn't happen and the day went forth just fine. I had to take a few deep breaths, but well, that never hurt anybody.</li>
<li>I read a little and napped a little while feeding a sleepy Sebastian this afternoon. Yes! </li>
<li>I made dinner in the crockpot...but it wasn't ready in time.</li>
<li>No worries, I made dinner on the stove.</li>
<li>Haven ate most of her dinner, or at least parts I didn't think she would eat.</li>
<li>Haven was in bed by 7 pm. Sebastian was in bed by 7:30 pm.</li>
<li>Most rooms of the house are picked up (not the kitchen, sorry Aaron).</li>
<li>I had a nice chat with my friend, Colleen.</li>
<li>I blogged. One of my resolutions for the new year. Amen and amen.</li>
</ol>karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-54552575028246621772011-01-02T20:49:00.000-08:002011-01-02T20:49:32.974-08:00New yearToday, I took a two and a half hour nap. Cozy beneath the covers, I drifted off in the quiet of the house with the sound of a gentle rain outside. I could have used about 12 more of those.<br />
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Christmas break is coming to an end and I'm gearing up to go "back to work" (you know, my non-office job with two small tyrants). The past two weeks have been great - we've been able to get a ton of projects done around the house (I think we unpacked a good dozen moving boxes!) and we've been able to enjoy our time together as a family. I feel like I've been able to have a little time to myself and also that I've been spoiled a bit - Aaron has taken both kids quite a bit, to let me sleep in, take a nap, do a little shopping. I'm really amazed at how easy he makes it look to juggle two little ones at once!<br />
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With the start of a new year, there's of course some looking back and looking forward. I'll admit, I'm not so sad to see 2010 go. While it had some definite joys and highlights (Sebastian!), it also held great difficulty and challenges, challenges I'm hoping to not repeat. The start of this year does feel different than the start of 2010, which makes me hopeful. I feel less isolated and more connected than I did a year ago, which I think is a good way to start. I feel like I learned a few things last year that I'm hoping will set me up to for a new approach in the coming year. We'll see.<br />
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I made a few resolutions for the year to come - they are small and, thereby, (hopefully) manageable. And one of them is to go to bed earlier. So while this isn't the most exciting blog entry in the world, it will have to do for now, while I make my way to bed. <br />
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Happy new year, friends.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-43237581371223298532010-12-16T19:47:00.000-08:002010-12-16T19:47:00.538-08:00AdventThis evening, while rocking Sebastian to sleep, trying to convince him that yes, his eyelids were just that heavy, I sang a little bit of Silent Night to him. A Christmas lullaby. As I sang and rocked him, I was thinking about Advent, the season of waiting, of hope, of joy, and thinking about the Christmas story, a pregnant woman, about to give birth, away from home.<br /><br />I sat there remembering how the last few weeks of my pregnancy with Sebastian were THE LONGEST weeks of my life. He was sitting so low, I swear he was trying to find a way out through one of my thighs. Every movement felt large and cumbersome. Bending was an effort, squatting nearly impossible, and sleep was elusive. My feet were swollen, my hands plump, and I wasn't sure if my pelvis would survive the ever-widening pressure.<br /><br />But more than the discomfort and the exhaustion, I grew so tired of reading signs during those final weeks. Everything - every little thing - was an indicator of labor starting or pausing. I poured over my birthing books and what signs to watch for. Was that a real contraction, or a warm-up contraction? Does it matter that I've dilated? Was that trickle my water breaking or did I just pee myself (sounds funny, but so true, so true)? I slept really well last night, maybe the baby is resting in preparation for the big event. I slept really poorly last night, maybe the baby is getting restless and labor will start today. Or tonight. Just when I thought I should call the doctor, the contractions would taper off. Every visit to the doctor revealed that something was happening, little by little, and every visit felt like labor was just THIS CLOSE.<br /><br />And so, I was thinking about the Christmas story, of how Mary might have felt waiting for her baby to arrive, giving birth for the first time away from home, on the road, on her own (well, I've always been hopeful that she had a midwife in attendance). But more than that, I was thinking about all of god's people waiting, waiting for the one who would bring food to the hungry, healing to the broken, sight to the blind, freedom to the bound. God's people waiting and watching every sign to see if indeed the prophecies would come true, would they ever be saved.<br /><br />And to think that their waiting was fulfilled - in the birth of a baby. A wet, crying, purple and red little suckling. What a crazy story.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-85356310256743095772010-12-14T20:16:00.000-08:002010-12-14T20:16:00.247-08:00One week (and then some)(and this post I began about 12.5 weeks ago...sheesh)<br /><br />Dear Sebastian,<br /><br />As of this evening, you are one week old. It has gone so fast and I'm afraid to imagine how quickly the rest of our days together will go. I didn't think time could continue to march on at a faster and faster pace, but apparently it can.<br /><br />You are just about one week old and have caught a sniffle from your sister. It's inevitable since it's next to impossible to contain the germs of a two-year-old. But she is so interested in you and I think you should prepare yourself for when she is feeling better and has more access to you - there will be hugs and kisses and the counting of your eyes and ears, nose and mouth more than you even think is possible.<br /><br />I've been thinking about the day you were born a lot. You arrived here in a hurry after what seemed like a very long, methodical pregnancy. Your last few weeks in my belly were tiring and somewhat frustrating and discouraging. About twice a week, there would be a night of where you and my uterus would be particularly active, contractions that were noticeable, time-able, and pretty regular...only to peter out just when I was thinking of calling the doctor, just when I thought "This might be it." But no, my body was slowly, carefully working toward birth.<br /><br />To be honest, your birth taught me about surrender, which I'm learning is a theme in my life. The last few days of my pregnancy were crazy-making and in the midst of it I had a moment of clarity. I realized two things. One, that the long days of slow, careful, methodical labor were a gift. A gift in that I had time - time to enjoy your sister and your father, time to reflect, time to breathe deeply, time to rest. This was it - there wasn't going to be some grand spiritual moment at the time of birth. THIS was the moment, the waiting was the moment, and it was to be cherished. And the second realization was that perhaps the waiting was asking me to surrender. To let go the way the labyrinth had asked me to let go, time and time again. To let go and to trust that I would be held, cared for, loved. To let go and trust that I would be held in safety and in peace, as god had met me in that way before.<br /><br />And so for the last few days before you were born, I worked my hardest to see the waiting as a gift and I worked my hardest to release, to let go. I wasn't always good at that - the days were still pretty long and trying - but I had that to carry with me.<br /><br />And then, at the end of a perfectly wonderful day, you decided to show up. Sebastian, your birth into the world was a gift of surrender. There was nothing I could do but holler and fall to pieces and push. There was nothing I could do but follow the cues of my body, the coaching of the doctor and our friends. There were no decisions to make, nothing for which to wait. I simply had to birth you. And we did it. Together, we worked your little body out of my swollen body and what a relief, what a stunning feat to have you, wet and crying, in my shaking arms.<br /><br />Such a gift, Sebastian. You are such a beautiful gift.<br /><br />And even now, as I finish writing this three months after you were born, the moment of your birth, the start of your life with us, fills me with awe, with pride, with love.<br /><br />Thank you. May we always remember god's faithfulness to us in the moments of surrender. May we continue to find the gift of new life in the moments of surrender.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-75339358327163179942010-12-13T22:50:00.000-08:002010-12-13T22:50:00.542-08:00This afternoon...<span style="font-family: georgia;">(I wrote this last October, 2009...not sure why I didn't post it then...)</span><br /><br /><style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }@font-face { font-family: "Big Caslon"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">This afternoon, there is the faint scent of hospital soap on my hands.<span style=""> </span>I exit the parking garage and turn right on Lucas, the shortcut to the freeway, up the big hill and through the light until I’m going down the steep side of the hill, so steep I can’t even see over the hood of the car until, oh yes, there I can see, yes, I’m in my lane, barely, and I’m passing that large school with all of the modern looking architecture and steel and no kids and then, I catch a whiff of my hands again. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I merge left onto the street that I’m supposed to merge onto and take a right just under the bridge, just past the trees, where the sign for the freeway is only visible the moment I am about to miss the turn. There’s that park on the left and the freeway entrance comes up on my right, at the no right on red light.<span style=""> </span>I roll through the turn, the cars ahead of me slipping by on the green light and, with only a brief pause, I too am released into the stream of cars.<span style=""> </span>My foot holding firm the accelerator, I can feel the weight of the car as she gains speed until finally we are coasting, floating along toward home.<span style=""> </span>By the time the hills of Hollywood are in view, Haven is asleep, her head resting to the side, her pacifier resting on her chest.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">The late afternoon sun fills the corner of the windshield and I move the sun visor down to cut its brightness.<span style=""> </span>With an unconscious sweep of my fingers, I brush my bangs off to the side and once more I catch the slightly sweet smell of soap.<span style=""> </span>It is subtle, just hand soap, but the memories have piled up.<span style=""> </span>I smell the back of my hand again and then again and now I can feel it.<span style=""> </span>I can feel her head resting on my forearm and the contour of her body up under my breast, resting on my other arm, on my soft belly.<span style=""> </span>I can feel her little leg squirm, I can feel the gravity of her small yawns and the earnestness of her fingers, her tiny delicate fingers.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I hold my hand now to my nose, trying to capture these memories, these sensations, before they vanish once again.<span style=""> </span>Gower, Cahuenga, Universal.<span style=""> </span>I brake for the slowing afternoon traffic as we head into the valley and I am almost nauseous.<span style=""> </span>The memories are palpable.<span style=""> </span>I can feel the details in my arms, in my gut and my chest.<span style=""> </span>In the past thirteen months of reviewing, remembering, reminiscing, telling the story over and over, I have never felt it in my bones like I do now.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">This is what it felt like to hold her, her little body with her cone-shaped head and her paddle-hands and feet. This is what five pounds feels like in a little burrito bundle with IV’s and oxygen tubes and monitor wires draped out the side.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">This, this is the scent of my baby’s head.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I float down the freeway, rocked gently by the rhythms of traffic.</p>karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-34495997228493192312010-10-16T21:10:00.001-07:002010-10-16T22:49:48.632-07:00Mile Marker 38Just about a year ago, we were in Hawaii on a Schuh family vacation - soaking up sun, swimming in warm ocean water, transporting buckets of sand home in the folds of Haven's thighs. I love Hawaii (I call it Land of Never Get Cold) and the easy going pace of our days there (afternoon's agenda: to nap or go to the pool?). We enjoyed a luau with the family, a date night for Aaron and I, some snorkeling, a game night, slow evening meals, laying out by the pool. Haven was a new walker and it was such fun watching her toddle everywhere she could, propelled by the flailing of her arms, with a backdrop of perfect green lawns and soaring palm trees.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodjXx0uDWuy1buFOACx9nck1W5lB47dTD87QKI9O_ZlJF5i-Mw5RdqYIJaXcoa6tlMokW2mYo_h97UZ7McDp6jlJ0PlpnMkzitmqDmlkvla-ztWlEIrhJIPoK1uAsZwL67opAQ9u9qbBY/s1600/110209_0058.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodjXx0uDWuy1buFOACx9nck1W5lB47dTD87QKI9O_ZlJF5i-Mw5RdqYIJaXcoa6tlMokW2mYo_h97UZ7McDp6jlJ0PlpnMkzitmqDmlkvla-ztWlEIrhJIPoK1uAsZwL67opAQ9u9qbBY/s320/110209_0058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528887923792952674" border="0" /></a><br />Our last day in Hawaii, I took an afternoon to myself - Aaron was already home and back at work and I was needing a little space and a break from Haven, cute though she was in her little Hawaiian print sundress. I headed to the north shore of the island where I'd find fewer tourists and the big cliffs and big ocean that seem to feed my soul. As I set out from the condo, I was very deliberate about leaving my agenda as open as possible. My one mandate to myself was to do only that which I wanted to do. I kept asking myself, what do you WANT to do? drowning out as best I could the chorus of shoulds. I should stop at a beach, I should spend the afternoon writing in my journal, no, I should read read read, no I should visit the amazing blowholes along the north shore. I left the clamoring behind as best I could, cruising along, looking for some piece of ocean to inspire me.<br /><br />Just as I got to the start of the north shore, I noticed a number of cars pulled off into a turnout overlooking a small bay. I pulled over, curious about the attraction, and soon struck up a conversation with a tanned, weathered surfer dude who had been surfing that very bay for the past 40 years. In fact, he'd specifically moved to Maui to surf this very spot, Honolua Bay, and had spent a lifetime doing so. We had a great conversation about surfing, big waves, big wipeouts, close calls, the beauty and love of surfing. I don't surf myself, but I have a fascination with it all the same and totally loved listening to this lifetime surfer as he analyzed the waves and the surfers in the water below us. But I didn't want to watch surfing all day, at least not with that many people, and so I eventually continued on down the road.<br /><br />At this point, the highway became a small, winding two-lane country road, cutting away from the cliffs and in towards the green sloping fields, winding its way carefully in and around the little bays and coves along the sea. I loved it. I kept my eye open for a beach that might be good for some sitting and wave watching, but before anything caught my eye I had made it to mile marker 38 and a dirt parking lot with a path that led down to a fascinating blowhole in the cliffs on the edge of the roiling sea. I pulled into the lot, next to pile of broken window glass, with the intention of turning around, heading back to find a quiet beach. But as I pulled in, I realized I'd been in the car for awhile. Perhaps a walk would be good - stretch my legs, take in some fresh air, admire the drama of the crashing waves for awhile.<br /><br />I packed up my little back pack and set out down the path, which was really a number of red dirt paths cutting across the green slope that eventually worked its way down to the sea. The blowhole was actually a ways away, down and around to the edge of the cliffs, to the exposed and battered rocks but the open slopes and big sky and the sound of crashing waves made the walk fulfilling, wherever it led.<br /><br />Along the paths, there were these little piles of rocks, small rock cairns that I assumed had been left by visitors over the years. The dotted the landscape like little statues, not seeming to point to or indicate anything in particular, more like little testaments to the earth or the sky, a witness to the path, to the passersby.<br /><br />As I came down a small slope, I noticed, however, an area up on my right that seemed to be strewn with rocks, flat, close together. As I walked closer, the strewn started to look a little more like a pattern, and that pattern started to look somewhat circular. What the? Could this be? No, who would think of such a thing? But sure enough, as I got closer and closer to the area, it became clear that this was a labyrinth, cut in the grass on a slope overlooking the ocean.<br /><br />My heart pounded with excitement! I had stumbled upon a labyrinth here on the north shore of Maui on my day off. The labyrinth had become such a special symbol to me, a place of meeting god, of being held and understood just as I was, a place of safety. Indeed, a <a href="http://schuhtastic.blogspot.com/2008/09/pump-session-gifts-part-ii.html">haven</a>. And here was one at mile marker 38 on the winding road of my vacation.<br /><br />I set my backpack at the entrance of the labyrinth and began my walk. I could hardly contain myself - I was so excited I could barely find the quiet or calm I thought I needed to walk a labyrinth. I couldn't wait to tell Sarah! And Colleen! And Joy! I walked anyway - who needs a quiet mind when such trying to soak in such an amazing gift?<br /><br />I quickly reached the center of the labyrinth, where there was a rather large rock cairn, an altar, I guess. The center of the labyrinth can represent union with god, which I generally find to be a lot of pressure when I walk the labyrinth. What if god doesn't meet me here? What if there is no dramatic moment or change or revelation that I can carry out of the labyrinth? I'm sure this anxiety is a hold over from all sorts of youth group retreats and rallies that called for some sort of intense spiritual experience at the peak of the event, but despite this lurking anxiety, something always meets me on the labyrinth, somehow. I'm not sure I can describe the ways I've been met - in fact, the saying seems to cheapen the experience a bit - but the labyrinth has offered me many gifts. And this time was no different.<br /><br />Balanced on one of the rocks of the center altar, was a hollowed out coconut shell filled with little tidbits - a lighter, a note, a business card, I can't even remember what else. I could only assume that these were offerings of some sort and felt that I, too, needed to leave some sort of offering. But what? I began to reflect on my deep deep need for control - to have things ordered, organized, to know what's coming and how to perform. To be assured that I will succeed. This had come out during the vacation, where I was essentially alone with Haven and my in-laws - keeping a cap on things was my way of assuring that I looked good, that I had it together, in the presence of family. It protected my vulnerabilities, kept my guard intact. And so I decided that as my offering to the rock cairn at the center of the labyrinth, I would surrender my ponytail holder. I only had one with me and it was awfully windy there on the north shore but the ponytail represented control, keeping my hair intact, keeping it together, out of the way, under control. To do without, to let my hair free, would be messier, harder to control - in fact, impossible to control. I took my ponytail down and set the tie in the coconut shell (of course, I second guessed this, thought I could just THINK about doing it and that would probably be enough).<br /><br />I walked out of the labyrinth, actually a little calmer than I had started, my hair whipping around my face. When I got to the entrance again, I wasn't quite ready to leave the labyrinth yet. So I stood at the entrance and practiced some of the tai chi/body prayer moves that I've learned at the contemplative retreat over the years. My back was to the sun and my shadow stretched out perfectly in front of me as I looked out over the brilliant blue ocean. I moved slowly, gently, watching the dance of my body in the shadow before me. It was glorious.<br /><br />And then, I kid you not, as I was doing this, a full rainbow appeared over the ocean directly in front of me. A HUGE rainbow stretching out in front of me as I prayed slowly in the sunshine of the labyrinth. It felt so over the top, so extravagant! The moment felt like more than a moment of serendipity - this felt like a gift. Indeed, it felt like Jesus had called up the day before and said, Hey, do you want to go for a walk? Meet me at mile marker 38 and we'll walk. It'll be nice.<br /><br />That was my day. The North Shore. A labyrinth. A rainbow. I had listened to myself, careful to do only what I wanted, and was met so profusely in that moment. I had made an offering, a piece of surrender, and was given a promise wide and beautiful.<br /><br />That was mile marker 38.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggB0_lg55LvPKrU6UHLwXBr7C5-uAbxUQ2guv93vNlVq71EdAudk3aGUQxVt2_6A13oE4QRakDcTW-fBDJjluRAckjqFeqC7A1QTdO9tyCdYK8NLDyEeeZpIyOAHiDcSnNvsGO2IWjp2Jz/s1600/110409_0029.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggB0_lg55LvPKrU6UHLwXBr7C5-uAbxUQ2guv93vNlVq71EdAudk3aGUQxVt2_6A13oE4QRakDcTW-fBDJjluRAckjqFeqC7A1QTdO9tyCdYK8NLDyEeeZpIyOAHiDcSnNvsGO2IWjp2Jz/s320/110409_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528887067693736338" border="0" /></a>karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-66867637535098235642010-06-07T19:24:00.000-07:002010-06-07T19:44:55.157-07:00Back to work weekAaron started back at work today and I'd have to say that Haven and I had a successful day being back on our own. Let's hope there are more of these to come.<br /><br />Aaron was off for almost a month, but two of those weeks were without any work at all - and it was great. It was so nice to have him around, to spend time together as a family, to get some things (A LOT of things) done around the apartment, to get away for a nice weekend celebrating our upcoming anniversary, and to hang out with some dear friends to top it all off. We got a lot done in terms of prepping for baby #2 and I think I feel sufficiently ready - well, if one can ever be ready. There are some little things to do these days, but I definitely feel like the BIG projects are done. And this actually makes Aaron's return to work feel not so bad - I know our weekends can be spent doing fun things as a family or a couple or whatever, but we don't have big projects looming over our head, threatening to consume our weekends. I feel some ease looking ahead at the next couple months.<br /><br />With that said, my main task these days is putting in place some support systems for myself. I realized this spring that the film industry schedule is quite taxing on me now that I have a toddler and will soon add a baby to the mix. I reached my limit, oh, about the last week of April, about the time of that awful windy week. Or maybe it's that I learned that I had a limit, I couldn't continually say yes and take everything on myself. So, I'm trying to ask for help. Setting up someone to come watch Haven one or two afternoons a week. Perhaps finding someone who can come one evening a week. Trying to set up some regular weekend date nights for Aaron and I in the next couple months. And, my favorite, soliciting my friends to be my Dinner Buddies - people willing to enter the end of day chaos and help me feed Haven and myself (and them of course) and get Haven bathed and to bed. Some dinner for the buddies, an extra set of hands for me, as well as some companionship and conversation. I think one or two buddies a week would be a great help and people are starting to bite. <br /><br />The support is coming together in fits and starts, but I actually feel good about admitting that I need help and support and then working to find it. It's not an easy thing to ask for, but I think I realized that the alternative - isolation and desperation - aren't really easy things to live with and aren't good for me or my family.<br /><br />So that's where I'm at. At least today.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-53142654810882368832010-05-03T21:09:00.000-07:002010-05-03T21:09:00.304-07:00Something in the windLast week sucked. For many reasons and for more than I really want to write about.<br /><br />The week ended with very strong winds and I generally do not like the wind. It is my least favorite weather element, ask anyone (well, anyone who knows my deep love for weather).<br /><br />But a couple of years ago, Aaron's grandmother passed away in the middle of the night, in the middle of a windy, fire-breathing night. Sleeping in the guest room at Aaron's grandmother's house, I woke in the middle of that night, to a fierce rush of wind. The wind woke me, I would later piece together, at the exact moment that Grandma died. It was too coincidental to think it just the wind, not something more. For the rest of that year, it seemed to be fiercely windy on days of great remembrance of Grandma. And, however odd this will sound, it felt like somehow god was present on those days, in the wind.<br /><br />And at the end of last week, my friend Sarah told me the wind was reminding her of the night Aaron's grandmother passed away. I hadn't thought of that myself, but it was such a great reminder - and on top of that, it was so sweet that Sarah had remembered that moment herself.<br /><br />And then, out of the blue, one of my best friends from high school wrote to say she was thinking of me. And then another friend did the same thing. And then an old coworker wrote on my facebook wall to say that he missed me and hoped I was doing well. And then another old coworker wrote to say she was thinking of me and missed me. In the span of about two days, two days at the end of an ugly week, two days of crazy-ass wind, I'd had so many out of the blue "just thinking about you" messages from friends.<br /><br />It was as if the wind, the powerful whipping wind, had carried pieces of me and my wounded heart to the hearts of my dear friends. Sarah had reminded me that god was present to me once in the wind. Perhaps god has come near again, on the wings of the wind and the internet.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8740866744445895591.post-77423179819681357852010-05-02T19:43:00.000-07:002010-05-02T20:15:56.783-07:00Mother's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySsu1VD31gsNmz_zfMPuCVyBxO1gupQgk5b2HWNDUNNcLrmmiuvjTh_NMsF1Egg8UlfOkiXGaOhaTPyjDy90wf4X6vl_wS0g7WqmeTH6II93cPVhv5x5vFo3fX68g7O6iaRPa_N_zOvYb/s1600/Smelling+roses.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySsu1VD31gsNmz_zfMPuCVyBxO1gupQgk5b2HWNDUNNcLrmmiuvjTh_NMsF1Egg8UlfOkiXGaOhaTPyjDy90wf4X6vl_wS0g7WqmeTH6II93cPVhv5x5vFo3fX68g7O6iaRPa_N_zOvYb/s320/Smelling+roses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466874520182780322" border="0" /></a><br />Today was my Mother's Day. Aaron is working next Sunday, so we thought we'd celebrate today (and by we, I mean I). It was mostly just a regular laid back sort of weekend day, a little quiet, a little sleepy, a little sneezy thanks to these gawd-awful allergies. This afternoon we made a visit to Huntington Gardens, where Haven had miles and miles of lawns and gardens to stretch her little chubby legs. The roses were in full bloom and Haven also enjoyed stopping to smell the flowers, as we've taught her to do on our neighborhood walks. She knows to pull to flower close to her nose and give it a big sniff - I was just glad she didn't pull any flowers off of their stems, which has maybe happened a time or two at her grandmother's house. Huntington also has a children's garden, completely with little fountains in which to splash. And splash she did. It was a great outing and to top it off we stopped for dinner on the way home at Paty's Diner in Toluca Lake, which I like precisely because it just feels like a diner and it feels a little small town, which doesn't often happen in LA. I had a breakfast sandwich and a cinnamon roll, Haven had a grilled cheese, and Aaron had a Reuben and an Arnold Palmer. We took Zoe for a nice evening stroll after dinner, with twilight sun and cool spring air. My evening is now mine - to blog, to write a few emails, and then maybe even read before bed. I'd say a pretty nice Mother's Day and a pretty nice end to the weekend.karlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05077070413448632562noreply@blogger.com2