Schuhtastic!

Today's Run Brought to You By: Kari, Marchell, and Sarah D

2012-02-10T00:08:00.000-08:00

Oh, 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.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Here's what happens:

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.

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!)

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!

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.

So, thanks. Thanks for running with me.

Love,
kj

Burning heart

2012-01-10T15:49:00.000-08:00

(just finishing this up now, but I wrote this way back in September...)

September 2, 2011

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm sad to have forgotten this because I love fall. I love that anticipation, the excitement of a new year.

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.

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.

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.

It is Haven's first day of school.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm going to be a mess when she goes away to college.

Declaration

2011-05-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

Saturdays 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.

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.

So, I'm declaring Saturdays as Park Day. She needs to run out the energy. I need the break.

Something in the Wind, Part II

2011-05-04T11:11:00.001-07:00

A year ago was one of the worst weeks 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.

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.

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.

Spring breeze

2011-04-21T09:35:00.000-07:00

(a little late in publishing this...it's from last month)

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.

Courage

2011-04-07T16:12:00.000-07:00

This 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.

Here's a little of what Garrison had to say about the meaning of poetry:

"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."

Eating my cake

2011-03-30T22:18:00.000-07:00

I 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.

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.

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).

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?

Anyway, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to the blog. And happy birthday to some truly delicious cupcakes.

Kindness

2011-03-23T07:22:00.000-07:00

We 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.

And this song resonated with some of what I've found or been thinking about the last few years, too.

With Kindness (by Brian McLaren)

Christ has no body here but ours
No hands no fet here on earth but ours
Ours are the eyes through which He looks
On this world
With kindness

Our are the hands through which He works
Ours are the feet on which He moves
Ours are the voices through which He speaks
To this world
With kindness

Through our touch our smile our listening ear
Embodied in us Jesus is living here
Let us go now
Filled with the Spirit into this world
With kindness

Tired

2011-03-21T22:51:00.000-07:00

If 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.

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.

Honestly, though, I think I could handle change better if I weren't so damn tired.

This too shall pass, right?

A tooth

2011-02-22T21:06:00.000-08:00

(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.)

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.

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.

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.

Sometimes, sometimes, I wish I could stop time.

A mini vacation

2011-01-31T20:37:00.000-08:00

Last 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.

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.

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:

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!
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.
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.
We got all of the laundry done! Yes!
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!

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...

I like to move it move it

2011-01-16T20:52:00.000-08:00

So. 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.

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.

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.

It also, most certainly, solidifies my status as dork in the realm of exercise. So be it.

Spoilers, I love 'em

2011-01-11T21:58:00.000-08:00

I 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.

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.

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!

A few small triumphs

2011-01-10T20:45:00.000-08:00

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.)
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!
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.
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.
I was able to take a shower and get dressed before Haven woke up. Hallelujah.
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.
And we then had a play date with some new friends, one of which Haven kept trying to hug and kiss throughout lunch.
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.
I read a little and napped a little while feeding a sleepy Sebastian this afternoon. Yes!
I made dinner in the crockpot...but it wasn't ready in time.
No worries, I made dinner on the stove.
Haven ate most of her dinner, or at least parts I didn't think she would eat.
Haven was in bed by 7 pm. Sebastian was in bed by 7:30 pm.
Most rooms of the house are picked up (not the kitchen, sorry Aaron).
I had a nice chat with my friend, Colleen.
I blogged. One of my resolutions for the new year. Amen and amen.

New year

2011-01-02T20:49:00.000-08:00

Today, 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.

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!

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.

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.

Happy new year, friends.

Advent

2010-12-16T19:47:00.000-08:00

This 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

One week (and then some)

2010-12-14T20:16:00.000-08:00

(and this post I began about 12.5 weeks ago...sheesh)

Dear Sebastian,

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Such a gift, Sebastian. You are such a beautiful gift.

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.

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.

This afternoon...

2010-12-13T22:50:00.000-08:00

(I wrote this last October, 2009...not sure why I didn't post it then...)

This afternoon, there is the faint scent of hospital soap on my hands. 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.

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. 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. 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. 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.

The late afternoon sun fills the corner of the windshield and I move the sun visor down to cut its brightness. 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. It is subtle, just hand soap, but the memories have piled up. I smell the back of my hand again and then again and now I can feel it. 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. 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.

I hold my hand now to my nose, trying to capture these memories, these sensations, before they vanish once again. Gower, Cahuenga, Universal. I brake for the slowing afternoon traffic as we head into the valley and I am almost nauseous. The memories are palpable. I can feel the details in my arms, in my gut and my chest. 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.

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.

This, this is the scent of my baby’s head.

I float down the freeway, rocked gently by the rhythms of traffic.

Mile Marker 38

2010-10-16T21:10:00.001-07:00

Just 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 haven. And here was one at mile marker 38 on the winding road of my vacation.

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?

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

That was mile marker 38.

Back to work week

2010-06-07T19:24:00.000-07:00

Aaron 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.

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.

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.

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.

So that's where I'm at. At least today.

Something in the wind

2010-05-03T21:09:00.000-07:00

Last week sucked. For many reasons and for more than I really want to write about.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mother's Day

2010-05-02T19:43:00.000-07:00

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.

Bye!

2010-04-27T19:45:00.001-07:00

Haven has been cracking me up this week. There have a been a few times where I've wanted her to do something - or to stop doing something - and she has wanted to continue on with her pursuit. And so she looks at me and says "Bye!" and gives a little wave. Aaron calls it the Talk to the Hand. It's a little like that - she's brushing me off, hoping I'll leave her alone so she can just do what it is she wants to do.

The worst part is that it usually makes me laugh. Not sure that is the best response, but it's really funny!

Bye!

Spinning wheels

2010-04-14T19:28:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in the living room, at the desk, rose-colored pictures of friends on the wall in front of me. It is twilight, the last of the light mixing with the ink of night. Cars zip and hum out on Camarillo. A cricket creaks in the corner; he is here for spring and presumably summer. I have set one song on repeat for the past hour, finding the mellow tune comforting. It reminds me of college, of watching the sun set over the lake, books piled around me, my life deep and intense, or so it seemed. Perhaps I'm nostalgic tonight.

Aaron is still in Santa Fe. He has been away the past few weeks, working on a movie, and has just a bit more to go. I miss him - we miss him, though I'm glad to report that Haven recognizes his picture - and I'm anxious for him to come home. The past month has passed remarkably well with my parents visiting for the past few weeks and helping to keep Haven and I entertained. But the past month or so has been a little melancholy too, I guess.

I have felt rather stuck, or like I'm spinning my wheels, on the verge of moving forward, expending a lot of energy to go nowhere. There are a number of reasons for this. We've had a car situation that is taking seemingly forever to remedy and all the while sucking the money out of our bank account (short story: bought old vehicle out of state and to comply with CA emission standards are having to do A LOT of work to pass emissions and therefore title the car). We readily admit this was a mistake, albeit a mistake that we could not foresee. Mistake admitted, I would like to move on but it seems like there are perpetually five more steps before it is completed. And with Aaron's absence this past month, we've just in general put our life on hold. I spent most of my time with my parents, who were actually staying out in Palm Springs (2 hours from LA, in the desert, where it was sunny and 85 degrees nearly every day, pure heaven for my father). While the sun and warmth and the grandparents were delightful, it was essentially three or four weeks away from our everyday life. I'm anxious to get back in the groove, to connect with our friends again, to catch up on our mundane everyday life again. To sleep in my cold dark cave of a room (ah!). And with this too, our lives on hold, the car stuff, the out of town stints, there has been little room for, well, nesting. Even before Aaron left, the car situation consumed much of our time and energy, especially on weekends, and left little room for much else. We have another baby on the way and I think the nesting instinct is beginning to kick in again - and, again, I feel like it's been hard to move forward on this, on the thinking and dreaming and planning of how to fit a new little life in with our already full life (and apartment). We've had little time to think creatively about our space (can we reconfigure this closet? what should we get rid of? what do we need to get for the new baby?) and I feel that time will run out sooner than we think. I sure wish weekends were three days long.

The last blog entry was about Haven on the verge of walking. I feel a little like I'm on that verge too, or at least I'm hoping so. I'm hoping that movement, walking running soaring, are right out in front of me, that soon my wheels will be unstuck and I will lurch forward (I'd even take lurching right now).

It's been awhile since I last blogged - six months or more? - but I wasn't quite sure I wanted to blog or wasn't quite sure what I wanted to blog about or what direction to take this blog. I didn't really want it to just be pictures of Haven and our happy cheery at home life, because, well, that just isn't me. I also didn't really have a theme or direction - you know, like in the movie "Julie & Julia"? - and I've decided that I just don't have a theme or direction, folks. But I think the writing is helpful to me, I think that the space to sort through, reflect, and report on my life is important for me.

So I think I'm back to where I was two years ago, where the blog felt a little like a letter to my friends, or even to me. There will probably be pictures of Haven, and there will probably be reflections on this job I have right now of being a mom, and I hope that's okay. Because that's where I'm at - and I'm grateful to have you along for the journey. Truly.

On the verge

2009-10-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

For the last few weeks, Haven has been THIS CLOSE to walking. She's been doing an extraordinary amount of running around the table (video coming soon, Eric) and standing all on her own. Gradually, she's begun to push up to a standing position rather than pulling herself up to stand, which requires more balance and more leg muscles. And then, every once in awhile when she was just standing around, she'd take a step or two. Usually, she was distracted, chewing on a toy or some such thing, not realizing she was walking at the same time, and usually she would plop down once she realized what was going on.

We've been waiting for Haven to walk for the past couple months it seems, feeling like she is just on the verge of walking, that she is just THIS CLOSE. And for the past few months, I'd been feeling this great sense of - well, I'm not sure what, but this sense that we - all of us - were on the verge of something big, something momentous. This walking thing seemed different than all of the other milestones we'd hit in the past year, and there have been A LOT of them, seemingly everyday. Rolling over, sitting up, crawling, standing. But the idea that Haven would be walking soon felt like our lives were going to change, that somehow we were crossing a threshold for which there was no going back. It sounds dramatic, and I don't mean it to be dramatic, but I think there's some truth to this, that Haven is moving forward, moving out of babyhood and into toddlerhood, that we are leaving things behind as well as facing new and exciting frontiers.

A couple weeks ago we had a routine NICU follow-up appointment for Haven (the hospital checks in with their NICU babies every few months for the first two years, to catch any physical or developmental delays or issues). In our time with the therapist who does the developmental screening, she made an interesting comment regarding Haven's readiness to walk - she seemed to indicate that Haven might be physically ready (balance, strength, coordination - or whatever it is that goes into walking) but that she might not yet be emotionally ready. I asked about that, because in all of the reading I've done this past year, I'd heard no mention of an emotional readiness for milestones, or for this one in particular. The therapist said that walking is the first big milestone that moves towards independence and that sometimes some babies are maybe a little more grumpy or clingy for a few days when they make this transition. She said, too, that there are some theories that this is repeated at other milestones that continue this move toward independence (first day of school, moving away to college, etc). She said some kids breeze right through it, hardly bat an eye, and others maybe have this little hiccup for a day or two.

I found this really interesting. It helped me see this walking thing as not just a new skill for Haven to master within a certain timeline, because heaven forbid we don't keep up with the Jones's. No, it helped me see this as a developmental step for Haven as a person, as a whole person, that this has just as much to do with gaining balance in her legs and hips as it does with gaining balance in her relationship with me and Aaron. She is learning where her center of gravity is and how to propel it forward as much as she is learning that when she walks away from us we will still be here when she turns around or when she stumbles and bangs her head, she won't be left comfortless. And I think we are learning that delicate balance between when to hold one hand of her hands or two, or when to let go altogether. Perhaps this is a developmental step for all of us, not just Haven, and maybe that's why I've been feeling the drama, the gravity of her first steps so keenly the past few weeks.

Whatever the case, I'm pleased to announce that, all on her own and seemingly overnight, Haven is now walking (I swear, video coming soon). We have crossed that threshold, all of us. She seems pleased to be marching around like a little Frankenstein, arms stretched out in front of her as her legs, all wobbly and gangly beneath, her take choppy steps down the hallway. And I am pleased too, taking it in stride, this little person developing right in front of me.

Talent of the week: Supervising

2009-10-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

Supervising the gardener

Supervising her grandfather while he power-washes the deck
"Grandpa, I think you missed a spot!"

Haven developed a talent this summer for supervising work being performed in and around our places of dwelling (our apartment, my parent's house in MN). A keen observer, she has spent many a Monday morning watching the gardeners blow leaves, whack weeds, and trim the grass. Thanks to her careful eyes, they do excellent work. She also used these skills as supervisor to guide my dad through the process of power-washing the deck (in preparation for re-sealing it). She was smart enough to keep vigil from inside the house, letting my dad work up a sweat in the heat and humidity, but she also held my dad to a high standard of excellence in deck washing, quick to point out areas he had missed or could improve. She sets the bar high but only because she wants to see us do our best in life, be it mowing or washing.

Brilliant idea #174

2009-10-19T07:16:00.000-07:00

Nap while the baby is napping. Not after you've washed the dishes, read your email, and scarfed a piece of toast. No, nap immediately. Waste no precious minute of quiet.

Talent of the week: Sorting laundry

2009-10-15T07:22:00.000-07:00

Haven has quite the talent for sorting laundry, if by sorting you simply mean pulling everything out of the laundry basket and disseminating it widely across the floor. Or if you mean crawling into the laundry basket on top of all of the laundry. Either way, her talents are many.

Brilliant idea #7

2009-10-12T07:18:00.000-07:00

Place baby in stroller. Tie beast of burden, er, I mean very large hairy dog, to the front of the stroller in a pseudo-harness-type-fashion. Instruct dog to commence walking, stopping only for necessary potty breaks, and to turn left three times (at appropriate intersections) and then right one time until arriving back at starting point. This allows you, the responsible parent, to relax and drink your morning cup of coffee from the comfort of your couch as well as accomplishing the dog's morning walk and the baby's time out in the fresh air.

Brilliant.

Talent of the week: Entertaining Zoe

2009-10-09T07:17:00.000-07:00

Whether Zoe wants to be or not, Haven is developing quite the talent for entertaining Zoe. It usually involves a lot of shrieking at Zoe, the shriek being some sort of articulation of the word "dog." We think. Other forms of entertainment include: "petting" the dog, using the dog as a step-stool to get onto the couch, kissing the dog, and crawling over, under, and around the dog. Thankfully, Zoe is more than patient. Her reward comes at meal times, when she lays under Haven's high chair waiting for the food to drop. And drop it does.

Brilliant idea #259

2009-10-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

For the crawling baby, attach Swiffer cloths to their knees, legs and hands. Avid crawler = clean floors!

Talent of the week: Reading

2009-10-01T10:07:00.000-07:00

Haven is now an avid reader. She likes to empty her box of books, one by one, and then sits on the floor (or in the box itself) and pages through the books. Sometimes she reads quietly, other times she is pointing out all of the exciting things, like dogs and balloons and, really, who knows what else. I can't really tell what she's saying. When I told my dad about her new knack for reading, he said "She's a true Johnson." At a Johnson family gathering, it's not unusual for at least 25% of the people in the room to be reading. We love to read. I do hope she continues to love books and reading and stories. They make the world a better place, in my humble opinion.

Brilliant idea #493

2009-09-14T13:36:00.000-07:00

Haven doesn't love eating her vegetables, at least not as finger foods. Since she will, however, place anything that she finds on the floor into her mouth, Aaron suggested that we start leaving bits of broccoli and cauliflower on the floor.

I am made for a cooler climate

2009-09-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

This evening the windows are open, the fans are running on low, the back door is ajar. I can hear the ebb and flow of traffic, regulated by the traffic light down the block just as the waves at the beach crash and retreat at the guidance of the moon.

The air conditioner is off.

There is a cool breeze gently rustling the leaves from time to time. Zoe is snoring at my feet.

And I am revived.

To buy or to rent: what say you?

2009-09-10T16:48:00.000-07:00

I know I know. I've been totally delinquent in writing these days, but here's part of what's on my mind: to buy or to keep on renting. Since Aaron has some work right now, we've been pursuing the whole house-hunting thing and it's been a little discouraging. We qualify for not that much money - well, it's a lot of money but not for LA. What we can afford takes us far away from any of the areas or neighborhoods that we like or enjoy, but it could possibly get us a house. Granted, a house that would require some work and a yard that would look like a) a cement slab surrounded by dead grass or b) dead grass. As far as condos or townhomes, what we can afford gets us a two-bedroom smaller than what we are living in now with no outdoor space and most likely in a large complex and includes HOA dues. And takes us, again, out of areas and neighborhoods we enjoy. And not just enjoy, but also takes us out of neighborhoods and areas where our friends live, which means it takes us further away from friends and I already feel a bit isolated being home now with Haven all day.

Admittedly, it doesn't sound like there are that many pro's to buying, at least not in the brief way I've laid it out here, but I also have the message in my head that buying is a good way to invest money, whereas renting is just throwing it away. But do I want to invest in a place where I don't really want to be and in an abode that we'll most likely outgrow sooner rather than later?

I've also really really really been wanting a third-bedroom and to bring home my project table. I'm feeling a need for a space of my own again, to write letters, do crafty things, etc. And it doesn't seem like buying is going to get me that space...whereas renting might, although it would take us up to a higher rent bracket.

So, good friends, if you could all weigh in and solve this for me, I would much appreciate it. I'm going to go take Zoe and Haven for a walk. Haven is FUSSY as she saw no need for a nap this afternoon. Sheesh.

Happy Birthday

2009-08-20T22:50:00.000-07:00

My little Haven,

Yesterday you turned one year old. The day went by without much fanfare. We took a trip to visit my homeopath where you played with a wonderful abacus-type toy (which you loved) and we dined at Boston Market for lunch where you enjoyed watching all the other people in the restaurant more than eating yogurt and we played played played at home and we opened a birthday card from Great-Aunt Maxine and loved on the birthday card until it shred in two and turned on the window fan and turned it off again and on and then off and then on and then we shrieked into the window fan which was terribly delighting so we did it some more and took puppy Zoe for a nice walk in the warm sunshine and ate sweet potatoes with cinnamon for dinner and enjoyed a splish-splashy bath and put on your cute panda pajamas and read a book about puppies and a book about farm animals and then you went to sleep so easy so peaceful.

A year ago, I could not even imagine this day. I could not even conceive that you'd be crawling with ferocious speed and then turning backwards to see whether or not we're chasing you, squealing with glee if we are hot on your heels. Or that you'd be babbling little snippets of mamamama and didididi or waving hello or bye-bye (granted, it's a floppy wave). Yesterday you spent part of your day pulling tupperware lids out of the tupperware drawer and then distributing the lids all over the apartment - so clever, so industrious. A year ago, I could not have fathomed that the little bitty peanut of a baby that was born to us would begin to grow up and develop into such delight. I remain astounded.

From August and Sept 2008

While your birthday itself went by with little fanfare, it did not go unnoticed. I spent the entire day, hour by hour, recalling where and what your dad and I were doing leading up to your birth. Mostly it was a lot of sitting in a hospital bed, watching some Olympics, taking a catnap here and there, eating crackers and juice (supplied by our dear friend BJ), and figuring out how to get to the bathroom with all of the various cords attached (not to mention wrangling the big billowy open-in-the-back (and strategically-in-the-front) maternity hospital gown). Oh, and saying the contractions were really not too bad. Until they were.

So many things about that day still seem so vivid to me - I can remember what I wore to the hospital, the smell of your room as I tried to figure out what to pack in the diaper bag for the first time, where BJ sat in the hospital room, the look in your dad's eyes when I told him I didn't think I could make it - and then your arrival, in what felt to me like such a moment of peace and safety.

Haven Elizabeth. Your arrival into our lives has felt both ordinary and extraordinary - ordinary in that we can't imagine our days without you toddling along, singing to the window fan, kissing the dog, or pounding blocks with such enthusiasm on the coffee table, and extraordinary in that you came from me and from your dad and arrived here like a miracle, with your own little set of features and your own little personality and emotions and already your own little experiences, that we were given you and your life to enjoy and delight in. That just seems amazing to me - and normal all at the same time.

What will tomorrow bring, Miss Haven? Some stair-climbing perhaps? More adventures in finger foods? A nice long afternoon nap? Hugs and sloppy open-mouthed kisses for Mom and for Dad? This has been an incredible year and I look forward to tomorrow. And the day after that and the years to come.

From May 2009

love,
Mom

Home again home again jiggety jig

2009-08-15T11:10:00.000-07:00

We - Aaron, Haven, Zoe and I - spent the last week traveling by car from dear old Minnesota back to Los Angeles with a short layover in Denver. In a station wagon. With a car-top carrier. And did I mention the very large dog who really likes her space for sleeping? And the almost-one-year-old who really really really prefers crawling and standing and exploring to sitting still for more than 15 seconds? And me, the woman notorious for sleeping in the car? Truth be told, the road trip went pretty well considering all of the aforementioned factors. Give Aaron significant amounts of coffee and he can do nearly anything, including drive for incredibly long periods of time. We eventually figured out an arrangement in the car that seemed to work for just about everyone and we made plenty of pit-stops to give Haven the illusion that she really wasn't spending that much time in her carseat and the two day layover in Denver was a delighful break from day after day of driving.

And now we are home and I can't even begin to tell you how thrilled I am about that. It's so nice to be in our own space once again, doing our normal routines, sleeping in our own beds. The entire way home I wasn't so sure I wanted to go back to Los Angeles - I was envious of just about every other place we visited for many many reasons - but oh, it's nice to be home. At least for now.

Back to my roots

2009-07-21T07:52:00.000-07:00

Skills I’ve been brushing up on since visiting Minnesota (thanks to the Minneapolis St. Paul Magazine):

How to tell Ole and Lena jokes
How to talk about the weather (100 degrees = “a little toasty” and 40 degrees = “T-shirt weather”)
How to buy a cabin up north
How to maximize your state fair experience
How to laugh in the face of adversity
How to walk in the skyway
How to give a gift (with a gift receipt, of course)
How to accept a gift (by denying your desire to actually accept the gift)
Bonus: How to make Jell-O

Swings

2009-07-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

The weather has been cool and gray the last couple of days. While this is weather that I generally appreciate, and will probably be begging for come late September in Los Angeles, I came to Minnesota in July hoping for some heat, some humidity, and, most especially, some thunderstorms. If you are from the Midwest, you will remember summer evenings and the power and show of a summer storm, the drama of the darkening sky, the smell of rain in the air, the stillness just before the skies unleash their fury. I’d like a little weather drama, please. Los Angeles provides nothing so exciting (in terms of weather).

This evening, Aaron and Zoe and I took a walk around my parent’s neighborhood, after Haven had gone to bed, after we finished watching a movie and yet still before the sun set. I forgot how long the summer nights are here, how it takes seemingly forever for the sun to slide down the sky and how it seems to do so with such quiet flourish here on the plains. We walked in the cool and quiet of the evening, listening to the junior high kids playing around at the park, watching the younger kids bike, with training wheels, down the street yelling that they’d just seen a cat (I know, so exotic), smelling a backyard bonfire, walking past a little backyard palm-tree-themed celebration. The evening light dimmed with each turn we took through the neighborhood and when we passed by the park on the way home I noticed the last flames of magenta the sun was shooting out in the northwest sky. We stopped at the park and took a spin on the swings, Zoe whining at us to give her a turn too. My hips don’t fit in the swing as well as they once did, but it still felt good to swing, to fly in the cool stillness of the evening.

We walked the long block home after that, with my mother slowing down and waving a cheesy hello as she drove by (on her way home from the grocery store – she had to get bread as Zoe helped herself to a loaf when we were gone yesterday. Rookie mistake). The front yard trees on my street have all grown up and our neighborhood looks older. It’s not changed much, for better or for worse. Perhaps for worse. I spend the walk wondering what it would be like to live here, now, in my 30’s with a family. I don’t know.

I’ve been asked a couple times this week what I miss about Minnesota when I’m not here. Evenings like this make the list.

A new compass

2009-07-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

Last month, Haven and I along with my best friend Joy took a road trip up to the mountains of southern Oregon to participate in a contemplative retreat. This was my third year at the retreat and I love it for more reasons that I can name or for which I even have words, but generally I walk away feeling so revived, so deeply in touch with myself, with the world, with the spirit of god. Two years ago, I felt such a deep sense that I was okay, which is what I needed, and last year I left feeling so deeply connected to the little baby growing in my belly and the image of the labyrinth ended up being a sustaining and empowering image during the delivery of Haven.

I had thought I would walk away this year with some other profound sort of nugget of wisdom, some life-giving morsel that would enliven me and keep me going for the year to come.

But I did not.

From Road Trip to Oregon

It was a much different retreat for me this year – still good, but different. I’ve been trying to unravel it, figure out which morsels I can savor, what I can write about, what I can share, what life-giving nectar I can keep on sipping. But instead of large, meaty cuts of meat, I instead am picking the meat off the bone. It’s not that there isn’t meat or flavor, it’s just coming in much smaller pieces and with a lot of hard work.

The big difference was having Haven along for the journey this year, which was great and yet hard all at the same time. While I still had the morning silence to myself, the morning silence still involved getting Haven up and ready and out the door to the (very kind and wonderful!) babysitter in time for me to hear the Jubilate Deo of morning prayers AND figure out how to fit in a nap, a shower, pumping, some time to read/write/reflect/be still and, oh, maybe a nice walk, too. Before lunch. I found myself running up against the limits of motherhood that I’ve been bumping up against lately – the diminished flexibility and the growing responsibilities and the (seemingly) never ending to-do lists. I LOVE Haven and, honestly, don’t always mind these new aspects of parenthood, but I also miss some of the old life, and I missed some of the old retreat life too – being able to have long conversations, to eat my food slowly enjoying the company around me, taking a nap here, there and everywhere, going for walks, and having just about no responsibilities for the week.

From Road Trip to Oregon

And so this is why I haven’t written much about the week, because it sounds like I’m complaining about my daughter. I emailed one friend about my experience and he was kind enough to offer this response, which I think sums things up pretty well:

“the crazy thing is that we are hit with a baby suddenly but we don't suddenly forget what life was like without one. and we are so totally overwhelmed with feelings of love and loyalty and yet we find ourselves in an odd place of loneliness and disorientation because our compass from the life before no longer works but we have become so good at reading it to help us navigate life.”

I’m looking for a new compass and the retreat was more of the re-orientation that I’m in the midst of at this point in my life. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it is downright beautiful.

I do not regret the retreat – I’m so grateful to have had a week of having the mornings to myself, for having a week with my dear friends Joy and Colleen, for having a week with people who loved on and adored Haven (particularly the Aunties), for having a week in one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited, to have wonderful conversations, to meet new people and see familiar faces again, to have the space (albeit a little less space than before) to learn more about myself and to foster a spirit of compassion, and to learn once again that god is present to me even in the midst of finding a new compass – these, and more, are things I treasure.

To Oregon. To grace.

From Road Trip to Oregon

Road Trip Completed

2009-06-29T20:42:00.000-07:00

This past week, my friend Joy and Haven and I took a road trip up to our beloved Oregon. It was a beautiful week. I will have more pictures and perhaps more words soon, but for now, here's a little snippet of life on the road. The mountain that comes in to view is Mt. Shasta in northern California. The music is Bruce Cockburn. You can't see it very well, but the shot of the backseat shows a snoozing baby (in the mirror).

The cutest not-flower-girl ever

2009-06-15T21:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, after a number of days of cool June Gloom SoCal weather, we woke up to clear blue California skies. It was a perfect day for a wedding.

Aaron's sister KT married Greggles (he will tell you his name is Greg - don't believe him) yesterday, a beautiful and fun end to a wonderful (and exhausting) weekend. Aaron and Haven and I spent the weekend with Aaron's family in the midst of a flurry of wedding activities. The cake was being made at the house by a college roommate and my mother-in-law's cousins were assembling all of the absolutely GORGEOUS flower arrangements in the garage (Cousin Meg flew out from Virginia to do the flowers for the wedding!). And there were showers and rehearsals and dinners and s'mores and wine and hair dressers not showing up on the day of the wedding and the best bridal party gifts EVER (that's right, the bride sewed a bag for each of her bridesmaid - each bag was different, to match the maid/matron's personality and she only had patterns for two or three of the bags. Did I mention that she made them?!?).

It was a beautiful weekend and KT and Greggles were surrounded by a host of family and friends that love and cherish them deeply, which I think is really what this is about, the community in which we participate, in which we live and move and have our being.

I have to get to bed. We are so wiped out - and I leave later this week for the mountains of southern Oregon. I will be offline for the next couple of weeks, but hopefully once I return I will be refreshed and have all sorts of insightful things to share. Or at the very least, be able to tell you what new tricks Haven is displaying.

Yup. She's going to have a good immune system.

2009-05-29T07:46:00.000-07:00

Evidence of their mutual make-out sessions. I say mutual because, as you will see below, Haven crawls right up to Zoe - mere millimeters from Zoe's snoot - and does exactly what you see in the picture below. Let's just call it asking for a kiss.

Kiss, please?

Zoe love.

How, tell me how, is Zoe supposed to say No to this?

Update on the dress

2009-05-28T21:12:00.000-07:00

I think the winner is dress C - the pink and white frilly poufy one. This happens to be Aaron's favorite dress, too. My favorite is B (blue top, white skirt) but I think I'm going to go with C - how many occasions are there to dress up in frilly poufy dresses?

Dress D ended up being a keeper, too. :) Haven wore it for a bridal shower this past weekend and was pretty adorable in her summer dress. It was on sale! Why not?

Bananas for bananas

2009-05-27T19:22:00.000-07:00

Welcome to mealtime with Haven!

This is a meal of mushed banana,
as well as a little high chair tray for extra flavor.

I think she is quite pleased with the bananas plus tray.

Okay, maybe she is really pleased!
Isn't that the cutest smile ever?

Olivia, this photo is for you.
It's not a good photo at all (Aaron would be appalled),
but she is rather reluctant to let me capture her teeth on film.

Does this dress make me look cute?

2009-05-17T19:27:00.000-07:00

Aaron's sister is getting married next month and Haven needs something to wear for the wedding. I'm in the wedding as a bridesmaid and my dress is a chocolate color. Aaron will be wearing nice brown pants (or maybe his linen pants?) and probably a white shirt. Haven is not in the wedding, so there's not the need to be super fancy - just a little cuter than normal.

So. Here are the options. Please let me know your favorite(s)!

A) White and tan eyelet dress

B) Blue silky top and white tiered eyelet (I think) skirt

C) Little pink dress with red flowers - has the most pouf, is the most dressy/frilly

D) Bouquets of red flowers dress

To get you up to speed

2009-05-14T21:36:00.000-07:00

Haven now has TWO teeth. They are sharp.
Haven is, I think, a beaver in that she chews everything. Everything. I think she fears that if she doesn't, her teeth will get really large and she will look funny and not be able to build log cabins with her teeth.
This chewing thing is not unlike having a puppy again, except that, with the puppy, it was all about protecting our stuff from harm (shoes, furniture, etc) and with the baby it is less about protecting our stuff (though a little bit of that) and more about protecting the baby from outlets and large, heavy, unsecured objects.
Haven sits up on her own really well. My parents were visiting the early part of April and, at that time, I remember that if we sat Haven up she quickly toppled over. But now we can plop her down anywhere and she stays upright for the most part (until she gets bored with her toy and decides it is time to army crawl).
Haven is THIS CLOSE to crawling and, in the meantime, has figured out how to get ANYWHERE she wants. Sheer will power gets her to the dog, sends her under the desk to the computer cords, propels her down the hall to the dog's toy bucket, draws her to the bedroom mirror where she can make out with herself (so much better than making out with the dog).
Haven wants nothing to do with laying still on her back to have her diaper changed.
Haven still has glorious thighs that I think we all wish were edible.

A new day

2009-05-12T13:07:00.000-07:00

This is my first week home full-time with Haven. No maternity leave, no part-time - just pure unemployed, semi-retired, SAHM (stay at home mom). This is has been the best first-week-on-a-(new)-job that I've ever had, though our orientation has involved some activities I haven't encountered in other work: yesterday was spilling the dog's water dish all over ourselves (we HAVE GOT to baby proof the apartment) and today was refusing to cooperate with the diaper change and peeing all over ourselves while I gave in to the squirming and let her twist diaper-less while I got the new diaper ready. That's the third time this week, actually, that we've peed on ourselves during a diaper change. And it's not my diapering technique - it's little Miss Curiosity.

The decision to be home with Haven has been a long time coming and wasn't the easiest decision to make (remember this?). My job provided me with a wonderful community of coworkers and friends and that made it difficult to know whether or not it was time for me to stay or to move on. The very depressing news about the economy didn't really help me in my search for clarity, either (who leaves their job when there is double-digit unemployment in California?), but I also couldn't deny that if and when I stopped to listen, I knew the answer to my question.

And so. Here I am. Running interference between a 9-month-old and electrical sockets (we HAVE GOT to babyproof), running interference between said 9-month-old and our big hairy dog and their little makeout sessions (completely and totally MUTUAL makeout sessions), going for walks, doing dishes, trying to predict just how long this nap is going to be and will it afford me time to eat, switch the laundry, take the dog out to the bathroom, AND a nap, checking Facebook, running to the mall to shop for little dresses for little girls for big weddings, showering one out of every two days, pureeing squash and green beans (cauliflower and yams tomorrow), blogging, making to-do lists, and discovering Haven's tickle spots and listening to her giggle. The giggling is the best part.

It's a little different not having a paying job at an office with cubicles - I feel a little naked - and I have concerns that this new vocation pared with my tendency toward being a homebody will be a bit isolating. Nonetheless, she giggles and so far hasn't asked me about strategic planning, so I think we are good.

Extravagant

2009-05-04T22:26:00.000-07:00

This month in Book Club we discussed the book Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. It was a bit of a slow read at first but I loved it by the end and think I may very well re-read it to soak up a little bit more of its richness. On page 238 there is this tremendous paragraph, a paragraph of love, extravagant love, of the lengths to which we will go for love and forgiveness, the lengths and depths we don't have but will extend beyond for our child. I love the notion of how extravagant this is. From Gilead:

And old Boughton, if he could stand up out of his chair, out of his decrepitude and crankiness and sorrow and limitation, would abandon all those handsome children of his, mild and confident as they are, and follow after that one son whom he has never known, whom he has favored as one does a wound, and he would protect him as a father cannot, defend him with a strength he does not have, sustain him with a bounty beyond any resource he could never dream of having. If Boughton could be himself, he would utterly pardon every transgression, past, present, and to come, whether or not it was a transgression in fact or his to pardon. He would be that extravagant. That is a thing I would love to see.

Unintentional Hiatus

2009-05-03T17:18:00.000-07:00

My apologies, oh faithful blog readers! It seems I took an unintentional hiatus from all things web - my blog, facebook, email - and am playing a little bit of catch up.

So, I'm back. More blogging to come very very soon!

This is little Miss Haven at the beach on a very lovely warm spring day!

Dear friend

2009-03-21T20:29:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about our conversation and wondering if I could have had a better response, wishing that I knew more theology or could speak better about who god is or what our lives are about or why these things happen. I'm no C.S. Lewis and honestly have no aspirations to be and my guess is that you don't want deep book-ish theology right now. But I want to offer you something, even if it's just my own mutterings to myself.

Your situation, it's really really shitty.

And I'm not sure why the shit hit the fan now and not five years ago, and I'm really not sure why it's happening to you rather than your college roommate or anyone for that matter. I don't have the Why's figured out and I'm not sure if I will in my lifetime - the pursuit drives me a little batty and makes me wonder if god is a little monstrous. I don't think god is monstrous.

Last spring, I heard a man address a crowd of soon-to-be grad school graduates. The man was dying of cancer, a battle he'd been waging for a few years which I had witnessed only from afar. That morning, the toll of the battle was apparent. His wife assisted him to his seat at the front of the hall - he was too weak to stand for his address - and his wife was even prepared to read his remarks should he not have the strength to finish. I can't tell you the details of his address - his sermon, really - not for lack of paying attention. I was truly captivated in the beauty of the moment because he talked about that passage in 2 Corinthians, where Paul talks about being hard-pressed but not crushed, perplexed but not in despair, persecuted but not abandoned, struck down but not destroyed. How there is a treasure in all of this brokenness, that there is life in this death, that there is hope that we will not be abandoned, we will not be destroyed. And here was this man before me, too weak to stand, barely able to make it through the morning, battered and bruised from the years of cancer - here was that jar of clay, in the flesh, fragile, vulnerable, broken - proclaiming a hope that can face even the darkest days, that can face even death.

I don't know what all that means - again, I'm a little weak on my systematics. But the little I do know seems to indicate that Jesus of the gospels is on the side of the broken, the poor, the people on the edge. And the gospels seem to tell the story of someone willing to wade into all of this shittiness, someone who rolls up his sleeves, gets his hands dirty. Someone who will sit and have a glass of wine with you and let you spew your heart out. There is no wand that waves away the horrible awful pain of grief, of sadness, of anger. I'm not sure how to untangle the mess of despair, of loneliness, of uncertainty. I'm really not even sure if I can tell you how life will emerge from death, especially this particular wound. Who knows how it will heal?

It is my hope - beyond all hope - that comfort will find you, that hope will breathe into your soul, that compassion will wrap its way around your heart.

And in the meantime, you will not be destroyed, you will not be abandoned.

And in the meantime, this is shitty.

2009-03-19T06:01:00.000-07:00

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

late fragment
by Raymond Carver

Just a hint of melancholy

2009-03-18T21:14:00.000-07:00

My hands feel dry, a little crackly. From washing dishes, and I'm too stuck in my chair to get some hand lotion. Haven's Lullaby list plays on repeat - I'm finding solace in the dixie chicks, ben harper, and damien rice tonight.

I don't know about you, but these days I feel like everything is coming undone, that the economic crisis has unraveled not just our economy but so many other things. Rips, tears, fissures, broken people, broken bodies, broken relationships, institutions, the earth. Things fall apart, indeed.

For the first time since Haven was born, I am feeling the loss of time to myself. She is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but I'm craving some space, just a little solace to mend my hands, to feed my soul. And that is the challenge these days - the moments are rare when I feel completely alone, or even if alone, free of responsibility. I trust that this is a phase - that life with an infant is particularly demanding compared to other times in parenthood. But how do I do that now? Even when she was younger, I had long quiet nursing sessions with Haven that allowed me some time to think and reflect. She is now much more active, alert and has finessed the art of nursing to a brisk 15 minutes. How do I make that time for myself - time that is quiet, slow, allows for that space of reflection? Especially now, especially at this time.

Time to remember that not all things are falling apart. There are engagements (yay Olivia and Chris!), there are new discoveries (like left feet and rolling over), there are citrus blossoms, walks with good friends, long conversations, and good food for dinner.

A foot in the mouth

2009-03-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

I'm amazed with the speed at which Haven is developing. It seems like each week, if not each day, she adds a new skill to her repertoire.

Take the progression of hand to mouth coordination. At Christmas time, when we were home visiting my family, she was just beginning to hold on to something if it came in contact with her hand. As the new year started, we watched as she gradually learned how to grab things, usually with both hands. By the end of January, she was pretty well accomplished at holding onto something with both hands and very carefully maneuvering the object to her wide open mouth. In February, she worked at picking up the speed of her hand to mouth coordination and a couple of weeks ago finally showed some interest in the rubber squeaky blocks that my sister gave her for Christmas. She now loves the blocks, loves to grab them with both hands and then just gnaw the squeak out of it. She is also now able to grab things with one hand, rather than having to use both, and she is extremely proficient - and now surprisingly quick - at putting ALL objects into her mouth. Amazing!

Her latest discovery, and most entertaining, has been the discovery this past week of her left foot. It began with just simply finding the foot, grabbing on to it, hanging on for dear life as it kicked away. But I think even more exciting than finding her foot has been the discovery that she can grab her foot and insert it, just like everything else, into her mouth. Such great fun, I tell you!

We are now waiting for her to discover her right foot. Not sure when (or if) that will happen, but I'm sure it will be just as exciting for her when she realizes that she has more than one of these appendages.

First hint of spring

2009-02-24T10:43:00.001-08:00

Yesterday afternoon, Haven, Zoe and I went for a walk around the neighborhood with our neighbor Laura and her baby Everett (Haven is four weeks older than Everett). I'd been struggling with a headache earlier in the day and was craving a nice long nap (which I wasn't afforded by Mis Haven), but the walk seemed to help clear my head and perk me up. Laura was great company - it's nice to have another new mom nearby so we can talk shop. It also serves to reassure me that what I'm going through is quite normal.

As we were coming back toward home, there was a wonderful sweet scent in the air. We looked around and I spotted a citrus tree that was starting to blossom in the yard we had just passed. Oh, I love the smell of citrus trees in the springtime! Trees are starting to flower and blossom - there's a stick tree (meaning, a tree that has no leaves) near our apartment where the blossoms are just beginning to emerge. A few small round buds, a few white flowers - it will be full and beautiful soon. I love springtime in Los Angeles!

Just call me Lightning

2009-02-12T17:50:00.000-08:00

Does anyone remember those things called Rollerblades? I do. My brother had them at our 1990 Johnson Family Reunion and I remember what a novelty they were, how new, and how cool he was zipping around on those weird rollerskates that looked like iceskates but didn't require ice. That was nearly twenty years ago.

I had rollerblades in high school. I loved them because they used the same motion as cross-country skiing, a motion that makes me a feel a bit like I'm flying. I'm sure I was a sight to see when I was out rollerblading - skinny bow-legged legs anchored by big bulky black shoes with wheels, and most likely a bulky baggy sweatshirt to balance out the whole ensemble (bulk-twigs-bulk). Oh, and wrist guards. My friend Marchell insisted that I wear wrist guards, lest I fall and break my wrists. I wore them faithfully, as I'm pretty sure she told me a gory story about someone snapping their wrists.

My favorite rollerblading story is from my church youth group days and involves a slow afternoon, a large hill, and some rollerblades. Our youth group had taken a trip up north to Duluth, a small city on the shores of Lake Superior, to perform a week of Vacation Bible School for a very small church perched on the top of a lovely green hill just outside of town. Duluth, unlike the rest of the state of Minnesota, is in fact hilly and we, at the end of our stimulating puppet-laden day, were waiting to head back to our cabins for the night, loitering around the Big Red Van while a few people finished up at the church. This is when Tim had the brilliant idea to rollerblade down the large hill. Why not? There was time to kill and there were brakes on the rollerblades. Christy and Rachel decided to join in and the rest of us, well, we watched. What would be the harm in cruising down a large hill, down a street that ran perpendicular to the highway? And so they were off. We watched as they laughed and shouted to one another, speeding along the ashpalt, sparks beginning to fly from the back of their rollerblades, their brakes wearing out. Rachel, with laughter in her voice, peeled off to the ditch first. Tim continued about half way down the hill before realizing that, with upcoming traffic, his best bet would be to crash in the ditch as well. But Christy, well, she saw the cross-traffic on the highway and, admittedly, panicked a bit. She was flying down the hill, trying to determine the best way to stop and rather than seeing the soft green blanket of grass to either her left or her right, she instigated a crash-landing right there in the middle of the street, on the rather unforgiving asphalt. In the end, Christy was okay - a leg full of road rash, indeed, but no major injuries. And she had a pretty kickass story to tell, as she was the only one who made it most of the way down the hill.

For this reason, however, I prefer flat surfaces, or brakes, or skis and a bank of snow.

And tonight, I broke out the old rollerblades, the big bulky black ones that say 'Lightning' on the back, and took the dog out for a (reluctant) run around the neighborhood. It felt good to glide again (though I had a hard time convincing Zoe how exhilirating it was). I didn't have my wrist guards (sorry Marchell!) and I'm sure I was still a spectacle - big rollerblades, tiny jeans that I can't yet quite fit back into, big grey sweatshirt from college, and a dog that drags her heels. Yes! Just call me Lightning.

This might show up on trivial pursuit one day

2009-01-31T10:06:00.000-08:00

This is from the little facebook ditty that everyone and their cousin is filling out on facebook. But I like my list, so I'm posting it here as well.

1. I love to iron clothes. I find it very satisfying to smooth out the wrinkles.

2. I have a Newfoundland dog named Zoe, who I think is the best. She's big and gentle and has starred in a (homemade) music video.

3. One of my dreams is to raise Newfoundlands, though I think it would require involvement in the dog show circuit, which I don't really want to do. I basically want to live somewhere a little more rural and have a pack of Newfies. We will have to invest in a turbo-vacuum and super-mop if this dream ever comes true. I'm also not sure if anyone would ever come visit us.

4. I think Warren is a great name for a big dog. It happens to be my father-in-law's name, so I think that idea is out.

5. Despite his lifelong goal to make me cry, and despite the fact that we are SO VERY different from one another, I think my brother likes me.

6. I like my brother.

7. I like my sister, too, which I think is evidenced by my lifelong habit of copying everything she does - the same glasses, the same instrument in band, the same cross-country ski team, and even, just like she did, delivering my firstborn child a month and a half early during the third week of August.

8. When I think of things of beauty, I think of playing the oboe, or cross-country skiing on a beautiful, quiet winter day.

9. Winter is one of my favorite seasons. I think there is something so magnificent about witnessing a snowfall.

10. March is my favorite month in Los Angeles - the hills are green, flowers and trees in bloom, the sky is clear, and the air is warm. It's really lovely.

11. March is my least favorite month in Minnesota. It's cold and gray and cold and gray and soggy. And gray. And cold.

12. And, in case you haven't noticed, I love weather. I attribute this to a) growing up in Minnesota, where the local news weather forecasts are like mini-lessons in meteorology (I know the difference between a bow echo and hook echo on a radar map) and b) growing up in a household where catching the forecast from all three local broadcasts was a sport.

13. I've lived in California for seven and a half years, and while it's kind of growing on me, I still consider Minnesota home.

14. Things I like about southern California: avocados, In-n-Out Burger, Trader Joe's, the fact that it's flip-flop weather most of the year.

15. While I consider Minnesota home, I'm convinced that my soul lives in Oregon.

16. I love Oregon.

17. When I'm overwhelmed, or melancholy, or need some space, I long to be near the ocean and to watch and listen to the waves.

18. In high school, my mom let me paint my bedroom whatever color I wanted, as long as it matched the red mini-blinds and red throw rugs. I painted it mediterranean blue filled with very colorful fish and painted the trim work - all of it! - red and yellow and blue. I wasn't smoking anything when I did this.

19. I just realized that my grandmother's kitchen was once painted orange and then later seafoam green. Perhaps bright colored rooms are part of my heritage.

20. I find dreams fascinating.

21. I like personality profiles. I'm an ENFJ (Myers-Briggs), NF (Kiersey Temperament Sorter), Four (Enneagram), and my strengths are Input, Empathy, Harmony, Intellection, and Adaptability (Strengths Finder).

22. I once thought about being a veterinarian. I also thought about being a feminist theologian. And an English teacher. And a homeopath. And a doula. And a pastor.

23. Two years ago at the Minnesota State Fair, I watched a cow give birth. It was one of the most powerful and amazing things I've ever seen.

24. I love the Minnesota State Fair.

25. This past summer, I gave birth to Haven. It was one of the most powerful and amazing experiences of my life.

26. I love Haven.

5 Months Old

2009-01-22T17:25:00.001-08:00

Accomplishments of the week

2009-01-22T15:58:00.000-08:00

1. Eating salad everyday for lunch for the second week in a row. Miraculous.
2. Mopping the floors for the first time in, oh, 8-12 months. I don't really remember. And it may not sound like a big deal but when you live with a hairy, slobbery dog that can carry upwards of 15 pounds of dirt in her fur at any given time, the floors they get dirty. This week I've been walking around in white socks, marveling at their cleanliness.
3. Keeping my shit together. Aaron's out of town this week and it's just been me and Haven and I've done REALLY WELL. Everyone is alive and kicking, well-fed and in clean clothes. Mostly. I'm rather proud of myself for flying solo. 4 months ago I think I would have had a panic attack at the prospect of me and a baby alone for a whole week but so far so good.

Accomplishment for the Week

2009-01-15T08:57:00.000-08:00

Eating salad. And not just once, but at least 3 times this week. We can credit my healthy eating habits to my foresight: Sunday evening I cut up some carrots, cut up some green peppers and put them in little containers and placed them in the fridge next to the bag o'salad. Voila! Salad in 30 seconds or less!

A Bowl Empty

2009-01-13T18:55:00.000-08:00

This evening, as the sun was setting on a rather warm day, Haven, Zoe and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. It was a perfectly pleasant walk - light but not bright, warm but not hot, easy but not slow. I've been nursing the dull end (hopefully) of a headache all day and it was nice to finally make our way outside for some air and leg stretching. It was just enough.

This summer I came home from the contemplative retreat with a ceramic pinch pot called a beggar bowl. I can't quite as eloquently describe the purpose of the bowl as my friend Sarah can, but it has something to do with holding the emptiness of the bowl, as a beggar, and trusting that god will fill your bowl with just enough for the day. Since Haven's arrival, I've held this bowl often and usually my prayer, along the lines of Anne Lamott's please please please prayer, is something of a 'just enough.' When Haven was in the NICU, the just enough came in the form of being able to hold her, having a great nurse on duty, enjoying a night with relatively few alarms, or producing milk. Today, it came in the form of a pleasant walk. This past week, it was all the wonderful people who have watched Haven while I've been back at work.

Last week I was going to blog about my three day tension headache on the eve of my return back to work, but the headache went away and I did my best to let the tension rest. But as much as I try to keep my mind from it, I'm like a moth to the flame and seem rather consumed with trying to figure out what to do with my life, with our lives as a family. Sometimes, which is really all the time, I wish for clarity. And sometimes, which is often, I wish even for an inkling, just some hint of what to do, what I'm called to, what is calling me, what is the best decision. Even last spring, when I was trying to sort out the midwife/doctor/homebirth/hospitalbirth questions, I had a sense that I knew what I wanted, that I just needed to listen. But, for some reason, I don't have that sense now - I feel blocked, or as if there is nothing to hear for all of the straining I may do.

And so the bowl. I think it is time to hold my beggar bowl once again and ask for just enough. And if you are of the bowl holding persuasion, or are a praying type, maybe you too could ask for just enough on my behalf. Or some clarity. Or even a faint whisper in my ear.

Haven is awake.

On the move

2008-12-29T19:49:00.000-08:00

So far, I've really enjoyed our trip to Minnesota. Besides a nice time with my family, opening great Goodwill gifts from my dad and brother, eating lots and lots and lots of sweet treats, visiting with a high school friend that I hadn't seen in YEARS, taking a long nap in the warm winter sun, I've also been enjoying Haven as she continues to grow and change. This week in particular she's been talking up a storm, especially with my mom and my sister. She just talks and talks and squeals and she even let out a few giggles with my mom yesterday. It is so fun to listen to her just chatter up a storm. And tonight, my dad and I were laying on the floor with her while she talked to us and she ever-so-casually rolled toward my dad, just the bottom part of her body. And then she tried it again, and then one more time, and then she did it! She rolled over onto her tummy for the first time! So fun!

This does mean, however, that our days of leaving her on the couch or her changing pad while we quickly run to the other room to wash our hands or grab a blanket or whatever, those days are over. She's on the move, folks. She's now officially on the move.

We also think we can see two little tooth buds on her lower gums (thanks, Jeanette, for first pointing them out) and she likes to eat her hands. And drool. And then drool some more. And then drool yet again. And then talk with her hand in her mouth.

All these changes. I feel like it's all happening so fast - I just can't believe how quickly she is growing and changing. I want to savor it all. I want to not miss any of it. How do you capture and hold all of these amazing things?

A White Christmas

2008-12-25T06:57:00.000-08:00

Winter is one of my favorite seasons - snow and cold and frozen snotsicles, hot chocolate, and the way sun makes a fresh layer of snow twinkle. People think I'm nuts and that I'm not really remembering winter very well, and maybe that's the case. But, well, I think those years of cross-country skiing and broomball at midnight and sledding and ice skating and building snow forts and snowmen and finding places to dry yet another pair of wet mittens - I think all those things made me love winter, shaped my love for snow.

And lucky for me, it looks like Minnesota will be delivering me a pretty nice Christmas gift: a white Christmas. We head to Minnesota soon to celebrate Christmas with my family and I couldn't be more excited. My sweaters and cozy socks are packed and even Haven has a little hat and mittens (and a big fluffy, cozy hooded bear-sack thing-a-madoodle). Consequently, it is also freezing cold there, with some lovely sub-arctic temperatures, but I guess you win some, you lose some. Winter, here we come!

Broken, but not destroyed

2008-12-24T07:20:00.000-08:00

In this season of celebrating a little baby - something so vulnerable, so dependent, so small - I'm reminded. That my faith is in one who is vulnerable and dependent. In one who hurt, who cried, who was human in every little way possible. Who understands all that it means to be human and meets me - meets you - wherever, and has compassion for me - for you - wherever. That my faith is not a way to escape this world, but to enter it more fully.

In this season when so many are hurting, when things are broken in us physically, emotionally, spiritually, relationally, I pray that we are met wherever we are at, at our neediest most painful moments, as well as in our deepest joys. I pray that we feel the promise, the hope, of life even in the midst of death.

May the grace of christmas, may the peace of christmas, may the joy and compassion of christmas be yours this day.

11 lbs. 5.5 oz.

2008-12-04T09:31:00.001-08:00

One of those days (or Annoyed)

2008-12-03T21:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was one of those days, one of those off days.

The day began with Aaron's alarm sounding at 4:45 am. And not only did it sound, but it continued to sound for what felt like days. As soon as the alarm started to beep, Aaron immediately reached toward his nightstand and turned off the baby monitor, because he often - often! - thinks that the baby monitor is the alarm clock. When that did not cease to quiet the alarm, Aaron sprang from bed remembering that he had strategically placed the alarm clock on my armoire so that he would be forced to rise in order to turn off the alarm. He then proceeded to fumble around, groping everything on the armoire in search of the alarm. I was growing increasingly annoyed, knowing that our room was a mess having just returned home from Arizona a few hours earlier but sheesh! not that messy - where in the hell is that stupid alarm? why won't it stop? stop! stop it now! At this point, I manage to turn on my light, thinking that maybe I can begin to help in the search for the unfindable alarm clock. Aaron is still blindly fumbling around the armoire when the alarm clock begins to beep even more rapidly, as if it might explode, but instead just dies, as if to say 'I can't stand around and beep forever!' So.

With the light on, with Aaron's eyes a wee bit open, and with me gesturing with great exasperation at the alarm clock right there at the very very front of the armoire, that is when Aaron admits that he was looking for something the size and shape of the baby monitor. He was looking for the baby monitor, so he could turn it off, because he seems to often - often! - think the baby monitor is the alarm clock.

Now that I'm fully awake, exasperated, and annoyed, I'm also hungry. Waking up at 5 in the morning, I am hungry.

Aaron is kind enough to make me a piece of toast to satiate my very angry hunger, perhaps as a small peace offering, when he comes in to the bedroom to say that he thinks it is actually 4 in the morning, NOT 5 in the morning. He set the alarm clock that we took with us to Arizona, which is one hour ahead of LA. Not only am I awake unnecessarily at 5 in the morning, but it turns out that it is really only 4 in the morning and we will be doing this entire routine again in an hour.

I eat my toast, turn out my light, and go back to sleep, reminding Aaron to turn on the baby monitor again.

Haven wakes up at 4:28 am. And so begins my day, my great day of many annoyances.

I eventually surrendered - to the alarm clock, to the dishes in the sink, to the exploded suitcase in our bedroom, to Haven's short naps, to Zoe's slow walking, to my not knowing what to do with my life - surrendered to the big chair in the living room, Haven in my arms, and episodes of the West Wing playing on the computer.

(And today, not yesterday, but today I think the alarm clock story is funny.)

Turkey Day

2008-11-26T03:06:00.000-08:00

Besides my excitement for eating lots and lots of food (since I've find myself in a near constant state of hungry these days, even more hungry than when I was pregnant), I'm also pleased to look back on the past year and see how much I have to be thankful. Here are just few...

The sound of falling rain and a cool breeze as I fall asleep
Sleep, albeit fleeting
A big, furry dog that gives me unconditional kisses on the chin and in whose neck I can bury my face
A handsome husband who massaged my feet every night of my pregnancy, who rises for every middle of the night feeding (though he's not necessarily coherent upon rising), and who was calm, steady, and excited during the whole process of labor
A beautiful labyrinth in the mountains of southern Oregon, for the scent of pine air and for beautiful roads to walk with beautiful companions
For learning that god's mercy is womb mercy and learning that god is compassionate
For Haven Elizabeth and for being able to welcome her into the world as we stood together in the center of god's mercy, a little scared but okay
For Haven Elizabeth and her to-die-for smiles and her to-die-for chubby little thighs and her to-die-for everything
For friends and for all the ways - too numerous to name - they have loved us and cared for us over the past year

It is late and I need sleep. Happy Thanksgiving to all four of my readers!

My apologies

2008-11-26T03:05:00.001-08:00

It's been a while since I last wrote...I'm sorry. The days just go by so quickly...sigh.

Ode to Arco Barko

2008-10-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

My family loves dogs. Except for a handful of years, we've always had a dog as part of our family. My parent's had two Saint Bernards when they were first married - Bridget and Joshua - big galoots that slept on the bed with them, ate the ready-for-after-church-guests-angelfood-cake, and had a few litters of very cute little puppies. When I was young, we got Tasha, a deep red golden retriever with a small mohawk down the middle of her snoot, and then after Tasha died we got another golden retriever and named her Leesha. Actually, I named her Leesha and I have no idea why.

Dogs have always been an intimate part of our lives - they were the constant companion, the patient hound that let us dress them up and cart them around the yard in a wagon, the sympathetic ear, the mischevious puppy, the squirrel-chaser. When I was home sick from school and camped out on the couch, Tasha would spend her entire day laying on the floor right next to me. When I was sad over a boy in high school, I would bury my head in Leesha's neck and cry while I hugged her.

Now that we kids have grown up, we still continue to be dog people (my sister is allergic to dogs so she doesn't have any in her own home, but I think deep down she still likes dogs). Aaron and I have Zoe, our wonderful and dear lumbering Newfoundland, and since his wedding day thirteen years ago, my brother and his wife have been in the company of dogs - Cleo, a slightly neurotic yet endearing golden retriever and Arco, the most handsome black lab that I've ever seen.

Cleo and Arco were "wild" puppies, with Arco leading the charge. Arco was fast, energetic, and a mighty leaper and Cleo was his side kick. Together they ate underwear, dug up carpeting, dismantled all of the insulation in their unfinished basement and there were many many stories that began with a six-foot fence and ended with my brother running down the street after his dogs. But my brother wouldn't have traded these dogs for the world. Arco and Cleo, especially Arco, accompanied my brother on many of his outdoor adventures - hiking, camping, snowboarding, swimming - and the dogs, wiped out after a day in the mountains with Ellick, loved it, loved my brother.

A few months before my niece and nephew were born, Cleo, devoted to retrieving her tennis ball even in her final days, died of cancer. Arco, a little older now, a little more gentleman than puppy, would be the one to greet the new babies, to introduce them to the wonderful life of loving a dog. In the times we've visited their house over the last few years, Arco is always around - close enough, but sometimes comfortably out of reach (though not always). He's been incredibly patient and gracious with his new family members, but I suspect he spends most of his day simply waiting, watching the door, hoping for my brother to return home from work. Hoping that Ellick will greet him with a goofy chorus of "Arco Barko! Arco Barko!" Hoping for a trip to the mountains, a romp through the snow, a swim in a lake. Hoping to sleep peacefully nearby while Ellick works on his computer or watches TV or holds one of the babies. Waiting patiently, with immense loyalty.

Arco died last week. Ellick and Nicole, realizing that the end was near, hoping that they wouldn't have to make a decision to put him to sleep, sat with him, their dear companion, while he labored through his last few hours. Late in the evening, while Ellick was preparing to spend the night next to him, Arco passed away.

If I remember correctly, Arco was born on my brother's birthday and would have been 13 this December. He lived a wonderful life.

We are dog people, my family. And we will miss Arco dearly.

To Arco Barko.

Actually, KT...

2008-10-17T08:44:00.000-07:00

She does get that from me...

Whose nose is that anyway?

2008-10-15T12:18:00.000-07:00

So. While we definitely think Haven looks like our child, Aaron and I can't quite tell who exactly she looks like. What do you think?

Happy Happy Joy Joy

2008-10-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago this past weekend, I became friends with my best friend Joy. We were sitting on a beach together in southern Oregon - I was freshly grieving the death of a friend of mine from youth group, she was grieving the recent death of her father. She sat on the beach, sculpting some a face out of a mound of sand on the beach, I sat just taking in the enormity, the power of my first visit to the ocean. When I was finally left alone, Joy looked up from her sculpture and said she was sorry about the death of my friend. I don't remember what happened after that, but that is where our friendship started.

My friendship with Joy is one where I'm not exactly sure how or why we became friends. I think if we'd been left to our own devices in our regular college lives, we never would have met or really become friends - we traveled in different circles. But we spent a semester together in Oregon and we connected on that beach that one day and I can't imagine these past ten years without Joy.

We'll be spending Thanksgiving with Joy and Ryan this year, a nice tradition that's developed in the past few years. I spend the fall looking forward to our trip to Prescott, ready for a good dose of fresh air, a rosy-cheeked hike, good food, good friends, and maybe a nap, too.

Joy, I am most grateful for your friendship. Thank you!

Maybe fall is on its way. Maybe.

2008-10-12T10:39:00.000-07:00

It was two in the morning and it felt like ten years ago, me sitting in a little cabin, reading a book next to a wood-burning stove, nodding off occasionally as the chair was so cozy, the blanket so warm, the hat on my head so perfect. The air outside was cold and the wind was stirring occasionally, enough for me to notice its song. It was Oregon, it was fall, and my life was on the verge of changing, radically, quietly.

Friday night at two in the morning, it felt like ten years ago in that cabin. The air was cool (finally!), the wind was stirring, and oddly enough, there was a scent of wood-burning stove in the air (someone in the neighborhood has a wood-burning something in their house - we smell its wonderful essence when the weather cools), and me in a cozy chair, nodding off occasionally, my life having changed, again, radically, quietly. Haven in my lap, her body pressed to my stomach, her breath and mine together.

For some reason, I feel so impatient for fall to arrive this year, what little glimpse of fall we have here in Los Angeles. And this weekend has been a taste of fall. We will be in the upper 80's again by midweek, but at least I had a night, one night that reminded me of a beautiful time and place.

Tally

2008-10-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

This week, I've been:

Pooped on three times
Peed on two times
Spit up on too many times to count

Nice.

Out of My League

2008-10-07T23:40:00.000-07:00

There are some days in this whole new motherhood thing where I feel totally and completely out of my league, where I have no idea what in the world I'm doing, where I wonder who in the universe let us get away with having a child.

Sunday was one of those days. Aaron was working so I was flying solo with Haven and she was not having a good day. There was a lot of screaming, a lot of crying (from both of us), not a lot of sleeping (well, there was sleeping until I attempted to lay her down in her crib), and not a lot of eating (for me - she at plenty). I was tired, hungry and completely and utterly confounded. The screaming was so out of character for her and I felt at such a loss - I felt like everything I tried was failing. She eventually did stop crying (and honestly, it wasn't THAT much crying) and she did sleep. And eventually Aaron did come home, which was a godsend.

But I still feel out of my league. I feel like somewhere in the past week - since she reached her due date? - there's been a shift in what we are doing with her, or more specifically what I have a nagging feeling we should be doing with her. When Haven first came home from the hospital, it felt pretty easy - we saw what they did in the NICU and we pretty much just followed that routine, which looked something like this: eat, then sleep, repeat 8-10 times a day. She had very few, very short awake periods the first few weeks that she was home - which makes sense, since she was technically still supposed to be in the womb. But now it feels different - she's awake more, she's fussy more, she cries/screams more (not a lot, but more) - and I hear things or read things about schedules and routines, activities and development and I'm all What?

This is where I will admit: I have no idea what I'm doing. Or maybe it's more like this: I have no idea what I SHOULD be doing with a newborn. I assume I will figure this stuff out and I assume that a lot of it is about doing what works for me, for us, for our family and I assume that a lot of it is about paying attention to our lives, which I'm pretty good at - but I also carry a lot of doubt in my abilities. If Haven was a puppy, I would feel much more confident. Or so I think - there were definitely days when Zoe was a puppy that I had no idea what I was doing, no idea how to read her signals or how to fulfill her needs.

I don't like the not knowing. It feels very vulnerable. And babies are such new territory for me and it doesn't seem to take much - a suggestion, a passing comment - for me to doubt or wonder or second guess.

So this is where I'm at this week. It's not totally sucky, but it's not entirely comfortable either. We actually had a pretty good day today - and now I'm headed to bed for a few hours of sleep.

Graduation

2008-10-02T09:20:00.000-07:00

Today is Haven's original due date - we now have a full-term baby! Haven is doing very well - she weighs over 6.5 lbs and continues to gain grow steadily each day. She's started to look at us more and is awake a bit more these days, too. She's also cuter than cute and continues to grow in her cuteness as she fills out a bit.

And this week she also graduated from preemie to newborn size diapers! Woohoo! She's also filling out her newborn onesies a little better than before too! All sorts of exciting things in the Schuh household.

Dissipation

2008-10-01T21:27:00.000-07:00

I took a nap this evening after dinner and woke up in the dark. How long had I slept? How late was it? Did I miss a feeding for Haven??

No, it wasn't that late. It was only 7:30, but I guess it gets dark already at 7:30...I feel like summer just dissipated away. I feel like I totally missed what's been happening outside in the world these past few weeks, have missed the passing of a season (granted, passing of a season in LA is pretty subtle - but still!).

Sheesh.

Before 10:30 AM

2008-09-30T16:16:00.000-07:00

I was able to:

Walk the dog (albeit a short walk)
Eat some breakfast (the oh-so-healthy bowl o'cereal)
Take a shower
Brush my teeth!
Blow dry my hair!

Yes! I got one good stretch of 3.5 hours of sleep last night, which makes all the difference in the world! I also managed to find Haven a new pediatrician and get the insurance info all squared away. And eat lunch. And have a friend visit Haven for the first time. So many things we've accomplished today!

Today has been a good day with a newborn...yesterday, not-so-much (so tired! such a big headache!). It all averages out, I guess.

Diapers: Who Knew?

2008-09-24T17:48:00.000-07:00

Did you know that not all diapers are created equal? Aaron and I had always thought the diaper commercials were just marketing ploys, pouring the blue colored water into a brand name diaper to show how much it could hold compared to its competitors. We thought that until last Friday, when we had to use a different brand diaper because we'd run out of our normal diapers and couldn't find them in our size (preemie - up to 6 lbs, in case you are wondering). Sigh. I didn't know.

I thought huggies would be just fine because, well, why not? And besides, they were decorated with Winnie the Pooh and friends. Problem A: these are supposed to be diapers for LITTLE babies, but were significantly wider than our normal diapers. Haven already seems a little bow-legged - we don't need a diaper to exasperate the problem. Problem B: these are supposed to be diapers for LITTLE people, up to 6 lbs. Haven is pushing the upper limit of the threshold, just now weighing in over 6 lbs (Yay!) So if she's on the BIG side for this size diapers, why do we have to criss-cross the tabs over one another, practically attaching each tab to the opposite thigh, in order to keep the diaper on? Problem C: every diaper we put on Haven leaked, due to problems A and B.

So it's true: we will listen to commercials from now on. If you containing waste is important to you, within in reason, then Pampers really ARE better than Huggies.

See what we are learning these days??

Someday I think we'd like to transition to a waste management program that is a little more environmentally friendly, but I'm waiting until Haven is a little bigger and fits more standard baby things (for instance, a rolled up clothe diaper is about the size of her torso - that may be an exaggeration, but I'd like to wait until something like that wouldn't take over her ENTIRE body). Until then, we are polluting away. Sorry, dear environment. We promise to make amends soon.

Pump Session: Gifts, Part II

2008-09-18T23:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Haven,

Last night, we were all out for a walk together as a family as the moon was rising. It was big, golden, and so tangible, almost reachable there above the trees in the neighborhood. I love the moon – I love the silent witness it seems to bear to our nights, some of them dark, some of them bright. Last summer, at the contemplative retreat, the moon sat as a small sliver of light in the western sky just above the pine trees. This summer, at the retreat, the moon was full and bright. At night I would leave my window open for the fresh, cool pine air and each night I would check to see what streetlight was outside my window, only to find the moon instead, shining bright across the mill pond. As we walked together as a family, as the moon rose, I remembered that it was the four-week anniversary of your birth. That means that four weeks ago the moon would have been big and full, just on its way in or its way out, I can’t remember. Did you arrive at the beckoning of the moon? Did it have a pull on you that brought you here early? I don’t know. But maybe.

In Oregon, the full moon also illuminated the labyrinth, the dirt circle of prayer that lay next to the mill pond, amongst the trees and flowers and deer. I carried you on the labyrinth with me this year, we journeyed together in that sacred space. Before we walked the labyrinth, Nancy reminded us that the labyrinth was like god’s womb, that we were held in that space, in that journey, in that circle where we could not get lost, as if in god’s womb, in the center of god’s mercy. A space to be, a space where things did not need to be solved or figured out. And so we walked together that day in June, on the warm dirt, following the sliver stone guides as we made our way to the heart and back. I remember at one point facing east, letting the sun hit my face, raising my hands to the sky, shining you, my belly, to the trees to the blue sky, to the brilliant sun. I was warmed, immersed in that moment.

And so, four weeks ago, as the moon was big in the sky, you were busy making your way to the world and I was scared. This wasn’t what I was expecting for your arrival – I did not feel prepared and was unsure of what the day would bring, unsure of if you would be okay or not if you came this early, unsure of what all this meant. In a moment of rest I began a conversation with you and this conversation turned out to be such a gift to me, to your dad, and hopefully to you. I believe it is what brought you here, into this world, into our arms. I wrote about it in a letter to two very dear friends – it’s the best summary I have of my special moments with you:

When I went to bed last Monday night, I did not think that I'd wake up to my water breaking and that my Tuesday would mean the birth of my daughter - the week has been somewhat bewildering to say the least. My labor and delivery went well - Aaron was a wonderful companion and my doctor, the one I felt so grateful to have found this spring, was truly amazing during the delivery. There was a moment of calm in the early evening on Tuesday, when my epidural had kicked in after a very long few hours of contractions with very little to no break, where I rested and had a long conversation with Haven. I realized that we were both probably scared and weren't sure what was happening, weren't sure how this had become the birth day, and so in my conversation with her we walked over to the OE [Oregon Extension] labyrinth and I told her all about the labyrinth, how it was a space where we could journey, where we were held in all of our fears and joys and sorrows, where it was as safe and merciful as god's womb. And we walked the labyrinth together, carrying our fears with us, understanding that it was okay to have those fears, that we were safe and held. Sometimes we were alone on the labyrinth, sometimes we stopped to face the sun, sometimes we stopped on the little axes at the corners for strength and rest. Sometimes there were others on the labyrinth with us, and I named all of those people to Haven, told her what wonderful companions and fellow-journeyers they were to us.

The conversation began to wind down and Haven's heart rate began to drop and to become a little more erratic, which signaled to just about everyone in the room that she was deeply engaged in my pelvis and probably ready to make her way out. It was time to push. Aaron and I had a few moments to connect, to feel the weight of what was about to happen, and for me to share with him my conversation with Haven. The delivery was a little touch and go at times - I guess when they are this young they can't always handle the trauma of childbirth - but my doctor did some amazing work and I kept reminding Haven and myself that we were sitting in the center of the labyrinth, in the center of God's womb, and all would be well. Next thing I knew, I had a little baby on my belly and she looked at Aaron and I and began to wail, which everyone thought was tremendous that her lungs were working so well. :)

Dearest Haven, may the full moon always pull us into being, may the new moon grant us rest, and may we always remember that we are held so tenderly in the mercy of god’s womb.

(Thanks, Sarahs, for the onesie!)

Sometimes we sleep, sometimes we don't

2008-09-15T20:29:00.000-07:00

Haven has been home for almost two weeks now and we feel like we are getting the hang of a few things. We also feel mystified by a few things, but figure that this will be part of our lives as parents. Do you ever really figure your children out completely? I didn't think so.

We are all doing pretty well. Haven is eating well, breast feeding well, and growing every day. She sleeps pretty well, too. Usually. For the most part. We are a wee bit sleep deprived every morning, but we don't have much to do except take care of Haven, so we are able to find time to rest as needed. (I will note: my last full night of sleep was August 5. I slept for 9 solid, dream-filled hours. Sigh. I assume this won't happen again for a good few years.)

My mom was in town last week and the week before that, which turned out to be an enormous help, especially since Aaron was working those two weeks. I had one afternoon by myself, after she left for the airport and Aaron was finishing up work. Nothing went wrong - really, it was fine - but I do think that baby-tending needs to be a two person job. At least if one is ever going to brush one's teeth.

Since Aaron is home this week, we decided to welcome Zoe back into our lives. She'd been staying with Aaron's parents since Haven was born and, while we've missed her, we didn't have the capacity to take on dog responsibilities in addition to our new adventure. So, Zoe came home yesterday. I think she is happy to be home and extremely curious about the siren that keeps sounding periodically, wondering what animal makes such a noise. She likes to investigate Haven with her big tongue, so there hasn't been much chance for her to investigate. Though she did get a few big licks of Haven's feet. Haven wasn't pleased. We like having Zoe around, but it will keep us busy to keep up with all of our dependents' needs.

Almost time for bed - at least for a short bit!

Finally some pictures!

2008-09-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

From Schuhtastic!

Pump Session: Discharge Day

2008-09-11T22:23:00.001-07:00

Dear Haven,

Three weeks ago today, a post-partum nurse wheeled me out the front entrance of the hospital where your dad was waiting for me with the car. I held my purse in my lap and sat uncomfortably, still sore from the labor and delivery. In the days following my discharge, your dad and I would see this scene repeatedly, a new mom in a wheelchair by the curb, a car awaiting her, a baby in her arms. It was incredibly painful for us to leave the hospital empty handed, so difficult to have worked so hard, to have experienced so much and yet seemed to have nothing to show for it. We felt a little lost at the time, and plenty scared. I was scared that I wasn't pumping enough, wasn't producing enough and that my breasts would shrivel up and fall off and I wouldn't be able to provide you with the one thing I still had that was perfect for you. I think we were scared about what you were experiencing, what all of the machines and tubes, wires and lines, ultrasounds and scans were saying about you, communicating to you. And I think we were sad to leave you in a little plastic box rather than someone's arms. It was such a bewildering time for us.

You are home now, currently sleeping in my mom's arms while I pump just a little milk. My breasts didn't shrivel and fall off and the amazing part of this week is that you've started breastfeeding. Just a little bit but you are getting the hang of it - and I am so thrilled (especially thrilled that I might be able to not pump in the near future!).

I must admit that we are still sometimes scared, and still sometimes bewildered, and still sometimes a little sad that the start of our journey together was a little less than perfect. But it's less scary, less sad, less bewildering when we get to hang out with you. We are so glad that we are now all finally home together.

Pump Session: Gifts, Part I

2008-09-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

This summer, the contemplative retreat in Oregon (you know, right about the time I scratched my eyeball) afforded me the time and space to connect with my pregnancy, with Haven, that the previous weeks of worry and doctor-searching had left little room for. I arrived feeling healthy and energized, with all of this time and quiet to listen to my pregnancy, to just pay attention to what was going on inside of me. I could sit during morning and evening prayers with my hand on my belly and wait for her to move, marveling in the kicks, the flutters, the swirls. I went for walks and hikes regularly during the week, enjoying the fresh air and the sweat and the blood pumping through my veins, enjoying the extra package that I carried on each of those walks. Each morning, I spent some time in the silence stretching, doing yoga, in the sun, feeling the power and life of my body slowly and in sunny warmth. Fellow retreatants rubbed my belly, offered prayers for the little girl I was carrying, and gave Haven tokens, gifts, of love and prayers. In terms of my pregnancy, it was a very special week of connecting with the life that was growing within me.

Prior to the week of the retreat, I'd had a difficult time connecting my pregnancy with God. All of my images of God felt very very male - kind and compassionate, but male nonetheless. But throughout the week, images of the womb, of life, and of birth seemed to come up repeatedly, serendipitously, be it in prayers or lectio divina or the labyrinth. There seemed to be something very spiritual about the womb and birthing. And then, in the midst of connecting to my pregnancy and wondering how God might be connected to me in this, one of the retreat leaders shared with us that in the Old Testament, the Hebrew word for God's mercy toward his people is the Hebrew word for womb. God's mercy is womb mercy, which seems like a decidedly female image of one of God's most powerful attributes - mercy looks like the womb. That did it for me. With all the images of God, whether God was male or female or whatever, God knew something about having a womb, carrying a new life, granting that life grace and protection, sanctuary, nourishment, wonder, and sacrifice.

Family Resemblance

2008-09-04T20:25:00.001-07:00

In order to finish her dinner tonight, Haven had to take a break for a poop. Once that was taken care of, she could finish her bottle no problem.

Sounds just like a certain brother of mine.

We are doing well. I'll update more soon.

She's Home!

2008-09-03T18:29:00.001-07:00

We are so happy!

Pump Session: Isn't She Lovely

2008-09-02T22:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Haven,

Tonight is your two week birthday. Tonight at 9:20 we were busy burping you, coaching you to "burp like Puppy Zoe" (for Zoe knows and always burps after she eats, which signals to your dad and I to reach for a towel and wipe off her big sloppy, flappy jowls before she either shakes her head or wipes it on our legs). Two weeks ago at 9:20, I gave birth to you with all my might and it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I sobbed once I knew you had been born, overwhelmed, exhausted, and exhilarated. I don't know if I have the words really to describe that moment, the moment of a new life's arrival, of your arrival, but what a gift.

Tonight, after you did successfully burp like the dog (well, not quite as big or impressively as the dog, but soon you'll catch up to her), you fell asleep against my chest. Quietly, peacefully. And for as sad as I am that your first two weeks have been spent in an uncomfortable, bland hospital, there was a moment tonight where the quiet little radio in the room was playing Stevie Wonder's song "Isn't She Lovely?" And it felt so wonderful to hold you, breathing together, and think about how lovely, how wonderful you are to us.

Sleep well. Grow big and strong tonight.

Haven Pictures

2008-09-02T10:36:00.001-07:00

A Visit from Zoe

2008-08-30T17:17:00.000-07:00

Since Haven's arrival, our wonderful dog Zoe has been staying at Grandma and Grandpa Schuh's house, hanging out with her cousin Jake (their family dog). She seems to do well there and has a nice little routine that looks something like this: sleep in past Jake's morning walk, breakfast, Tour of the Yard for the morning, napping, inside for the afternoon, more napping, dinner, a walk, and more napping. I think she especially likes the Tour of the Yard portion of her day, where she meanders around the yard, doing who knows what, occasionally snagging the World's Best Pinecone to munch on (though Jake usually takes the WBP from her and munches on it while she searches for the Next Best Pinecone - they certainly get their fiber).

But, we miss our dog. We aren't able to handle all of the walks and maintenance and care right now, with Haven still in the hospital and ourselves just barely keeping up, but we so miss our big cuddly, hairy, slobbery dog. So today, Aaron's sister brought Zoe to our apartment for a day visit and it's been a great day. Yes, she's spent most of her day sleeping and napping in her favorite spots, enjoying the fact that Jake is not a mere two inches away from her at all times, but sleepy dog or not, it's been so nice to have our fuzzy friend in the apartment again. We'll be excited for the day when all four of us can be a family.

Today has been a pretty good day. Aaron and his sister went to visit Haven this morning, while I stayed home to rest a bit more and to get a few things done around the house (like paying bills). Aaron and KT came home with a great report on Haven, saying she was doing well with her feedings and that she'd gained weight and was up to her original birth weight. Yesterday they put her on the light therapy again but today took her off of it because her numbers were back down again. Aaron got to feed Haven and she took all of it and burped well for him and then was awake and alert after the feeding, which is some of our favorite time, when she's looking around and "exploring" as much as one does at that age. It also sounds like they are hoping to wean her off the IV in the next couple of days, if her feedings continue to go well.

A good report and a good time with Haven today. I also got out for a walk with the dog this afternoon - I haven't really been outside much since Haven was born - and I was able to make a few phone calls this afternoon and take a nap. Tonight Aaron and a friend of ours are going to visit Haven together so that I can go to book club - I think being able to be hang out with some friends this evening will be helpful.

So that's the scoop for today. I'll have some pictures to post soon.

Our unexpected journey

2008-08-28T19:04:00.000-07:00

My schedule these days consists of pumping, sleeping, eating, and visiting the hospital, not necessarily in that order. More pumping, less sleeping, and two trips to the hospital a day. Eating is usually done on the fly, as I'm either trying to get out the door to the hospital or trying to get myself to bed for a much needed nap. We are definitely on a journey we by no means could have predicted or imagined a couple of weeks ago.

I'm not sure where to start in updating you or sharing what's going on, but I'll start with this...the highlight of my day, in all of the ups and downs, the triumphs and disappointments, the highlight is definitely any time spent with Haven. We are now able to hold her as much and as long as we'd like when we visit and we take whatever opportunity we can to cradle her in the nook of our arms and watch her sleep (she does a lot of sleeping - apparently growing is hard work). We study her face and stroke her soft little head. We peek at her fingers and rub her toes and marvel at her small little body. I mostly marvel that this small little body was inside of mine until very recently.

But are days are long and short and tiring. I can't really explain the myriad of emotions that I experience throughout the day, but trust me - they run the spectrum. Some days are better than others, some moments better than others, and we are doing what we can to keep our heads above water. Aaron has been a tremendous support and together we are sad and happy and frustrated and joyous.

And Haven, overall she is doing well, and I think overall is making progress. Her eating has slowed down a little over the last day or so and they added a tube this morning to help with that. Watching the nurse guide a tube down my little girl's nose to her belly was NOT a good moment in my day today. But, I think little by little we are getting there. Being in the NICU is the best place for her right now, but it is still tremendously difficult for us to endure...

That's all for now. Off to the hospital for our evening visit.

Baby Schuhtastic

2008-08-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

Haven Elizabeth Schuh is here!

Born Tuesday, August 19th at 9:20 pm

4 lbs 13 oz and 18 inches long

Haven is doing well but in the NICU since she decided to make her grand entrance early. Aaron and I are doing well, overall, but feeling tired and overwhelmed at times. We want Haven to come home soon.

Your prayers are coveted. I'll update more soon...

The Mean Phlebotomist

2008-07-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

I don't much like needles. I don't like having my blood taken. I can trace it all back to a blood test I had done in 5th grade, where the blood-drawer had to dig around for a vein and it took forever and was painful. And the results from the test showed nothing, so they proceeded to do two more tests. Ever since then, I detest needles. I get shaky and warm and sweaty and cold and faint if anyone tries to stick me with a needle - whether it's the poor dentist trying to administer novacaine, or the impatient phlebotomist trying to take blood out of me. When I was young, my mother would call ahead to any clinic or dentist or what have you to let them know that I didn't handle needles very well and that they might want to prepare themselves for some possible fainting.

What doesn't help me at all, when faced with a needle, is to have someone who is mean or impatient with me. If the person with the needle rolls their eyes and treats me like I'm an idiot, I freak out all the more. I KNOW it doesn't hurt - that's not really the issue at this point. The issue is that my body has a response that I can't seem to short circuit. It associates bad things with needles and your impatience or meanness or eye-rolling doesn't help cause.

So.

This is why I put off baby-making for so long. I heard that they want to take your blood. And not just once, but a million times. And then, to have the baby, they want to give you an IV. All of this information was enough to keep me on the pill. But then in January, there I was staring at two pink lines, knowing that someone was now going to want to do a blood test. At least one, if not two, or a gazillion. I would have to gird myself for this.

The first time I went in for a blood test, the waiting room was crowded and the wait was long and I thought "This place is just filled with needles and vials! That's all they do here - fill vials with people's precious blood!" When I was finally called in, with Aaron in tow to provide moral support (and catch me if necessary), I explained to the woman that I don't handle needles very well and that I would need to lay down so as to not faint on her.

And then, miracle of all miracles! She was nice! She was so kind. She, of course, wanted me to lay down. She didn't want me to faint! She would find the arm with the best looking vein and she would use a small needle and she would work as quickly as she could! Oh, and look at her pictures of her dogs on her wall! And all of the crayon-penned notes from the kids who have survived blood tests from her! She didn't think I was a wimp at all - she'd rather know that I didn't do well and work accordingly than have me try to NOT be what I am (afraid and woozy). And you know what?? It worked. It was the best blood test ever. I barely felt a thing, I barely got any of the wooziness, and I was sitting up within just a few minutes (I usually have to lay there for awhile to let my system calm down and recalibrate).

The doctor wanted like five more blood tests (that may be an exaggeration) and as long as I went to see the Wonderful and Kind Phlebotomist (WKP), everything was fine. I would smile, I would laugh, I wouldn't faint, and I would be in and out in no time flat. Everything was fine, until last week. When I saw the Mean Phlebotomist (MP).

I didn't think it would be so bad to not see the WKP - I thought, I've been fine the last few times, I'm doing so much better at this, how bad can it be to not have WKP draw blood?

How bad can it be? Bad. The photo is seven days post-blood draw and that's the biggest bruise anyone I know has seen after a blood test. MP was terrible. I'll spare you the details but she was mean and, frankly, unskilled. Lots of jabbing, lots of movement (I felt every vial change) and not much sympathy.

If there's a next time, I will only go to WKP. I've also considered finding out if WKP administers IV's and if so, if she can attend my labor for that purpose only. It probably doesn't work that way. My hope is that I can get away with no IV - or that I end up with WKIVP (Wonderful and Kind IV Person).

Clear skies

2008-06-19T22:04:00.000-07:00

In Los Angeles, every once in awhile comes a crystal clear, see-for-miles-on-end kind of day. We had such a day on Memorial Day weekend, when our friends Joy and Ryan were in town for a visit and decided to do a short hike up on Mulholland Drive, just west of the 405. The storms and cool weather had cleared out and polished the view on all sides - rain clouds to the north made for a dramatic view of the San Fernando Valley and her mountains, downtown Los Angeles stood tall and bright to the east, and to the south we could see the glittering ocean, the beaches, and even Catalina Island. It was a spectacular day. A treasure of an LA day.

It was a lovely weekend with Joy and Ryan. They really wanted to go to the beach during their visit, but it was just too cold and Ryan doesn't like to be cold (I don't either). Ryan also doesn't like to go for walks, but we had promised him special treats if he came with. I don't think we followed through on the special treats, and I don't know we'll be able to coax him along again, but at least it was a beautiful day.

(that's Joy and Ryan running down a hill)

Pregnancy: Week 25

2008-06-17T22:04:00.000-07:00

Six months?! I'm already six months pregnant, which means that I'm about 60% through my pregnancy. Well, this is certainly going along remarkably fast.

Aaron and I have been working like mad to sort, toss, organize and create space in our apartment for a baby and baby stuff. I cleaned our files (why did we have that file with the one piece of paper in it that meant nothing?) and organized our photos (wow - I've just never had good hair), while Aaron hung drawers and shelves in our closet (which may or may not have involved some sawing of wood) and sorted through camera and film gear. We are soon to get rid of our TV! Which means we'll have some room in the living room for the computer. And sometime this summer, I will relinquish my wonderful desk that Aaron made me to his parents, on long-term loan. I'm having trouble parting with this last one, as it represents my space, physically and emotionally. I'm not sure all the ways that this baby will change us, change our lives, but I'm pretty sure it's going to change things. And part of that means not always having my space - both physically and emotionally. To giving up the project table, even only temporarily, represents this shift. Not necessarily bad, but change nonetheless.

I'm feeling good and enjoying carrying around this little girl inside of me. Aaron seems to be enjoying her too lately, feeling her kick more often, talking to her, and connecting. I hope he sees some promise in all of her kicking for a future life in soccer.

Any ideas for names?

Pregnancy: Week 24

2008-06-13T18:25:00.001-07:00

Ugh

2008-06-13T17:58:00.001-07:00

I scratched my eye today. Don't even ask me how because I can't believe I didn't BLINK in time. Okay fine, I was untangling a rope, the end of it (with the plastic tape on it) flipped up and hit me in the eye before I had time to blink. I didn't blink. I thought our reflexes were supposed to be fast enough to prevent these sorts of things?

I went to the eye doctor and it is indeed scratched, right in the center of my eye. Part of it is superficial (nearest the center of my eye) and part of it is quite deep (further out). The deep part will most likely scar, which could create vision problems depending on how the scarring shapes up. I realize that scars can be cool, but a scar on the eye means no one can see it but me. All the time.

So, here's to speedy healing as I sleep and rest. Here's to not much effect from the scarring. And here's hoping for no headaches the next few days.

Update, Sat AM: Apparently, sleep really is a good healer and eyes heal quickly (I should have remembered this from eye surgery). My eye feels MUCH better this morning and my vision seems fine or better, at least. WooHoo!

On a better note - I head to the mountains of southern Oregon tomorrow morning for a week-long contemplative retreat. I'm so excited. There aren't even words to tell you how excited. I often joke that this is where my soul lives - in the Northwest - and I'm only partly joking when I say that.

Fresh mountain pine air - here I come.

Pretty Girl

2008-06-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

After a long hard day of swimming in the pool and playing with other dogs, Zoe got a bath, thanks to our friends at doggie day care. This is no small feat, as our 105 pound bred-for-water-rescue galoot doesn't like to get her pretty little feet wet. Since it's such a big job, we revel in the loveliness that is our clean dog - soft, shiny, fluffy, and smelling so very wonderful. When I walked in to pick Zoe up from her day of hard work, the girls at day care squealed when they saw me and said "She has bows in her hair!" Indeed, she has bows and she is very very cute. Perhaps even cuter than when she wears her pink bathrobe.

Pregnancy: Week 22

2008-05-28T13:34:00.001-07:00

I met with my new OB today and everything about the experience - EVERYTHING - was totally different from my experiences with my former doctor. I left this doctor's office feeling relaxed, informed, happy, and like this is a person I can trust with my body, my baby, and with the experiences of pregnancy and childbirth. The new doctor is wonderful!

This week I suddenly feel big - not that I feel fat or that I'm self-conscious - more that my belly just grew big this week. It's more noticeably out there, more in the way of everyday functions like bending at the waist (you should see me at yoga) or sleeping. I'm also feeling the baby kick, swish, flutter, and swim all the time these days. Aaron was able to feel the baby last week and it's now a morning ritual for him to lay with his hand on my belly while we are all three waking up. The movements are bigger and more definite (and not yet uncomfortable).

And, from the ultrasound this morning, it looks like we are having a GIRL! (Well, most likely a girl - it could also be a boy whose hiding or whose parts have not yet descended to where they are supposed to be.)

What a day! How fun to finally feel like I'm enjoying my pregnancy!

That's a Wrap!

2008-05-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

Movie-star sightings are a part of living in Los Angeles. I've seen Eric Estrada at our local grocery store from time to time. John C. Riley once shopped at the retails store where I used to work. And, thinking she was reintroducing herself to a former work colleague of her husband's, a friend of mine very warmly exchanged hello's with Minnie Driver at the local coffee shop that we frequent. Oh, and the El Pollo Loco commercial guy visits our dog park.

They are around, here and there, and pretty much they are normal people. Grocery shopping, out with the dog or kids, grabbing a cup of coffee. And generally, they are nice - they'll acknowledge a smile or say hello.

My husband works in the film industry and, because of that, he sees stars much more regularly than I do. And because he sees them regularly, works with them day in and day out (and when I say work with, I mean they are on the same set), he tends to see them as fairly normal - they are just people. He also gets to see the range of human behavior and the range of star-behavior, some succumbing to the lure of stardom more than others. He's met some people that have been really cool, really nice to the crew, and he's met some people that spend 20 minutes trying to decide, with their personal assistant, if they want their milkshake NOW or if they want it later, or if maybe they should get the milkshake now and put it in a cooler so they can have it later, unless of course later it is too melted and soupy and the assistant will then need to go get a new milkshake for them later. Seriously. 20 minutes.

So we see movie stars as a pretty, normal regular part of life. I'm sure that I pass more famous people than I realize, purely because I don't always know or recognize those who I should be admiring. And though we aren't often star struck, it's not to say that I'm completely normal, open, or myself when I do encounter those who are famous.

Last night, we attended a wrap party for the movie that Aaron just finished working on. The party was at a fantastic club in downtown Los Angeles - The Edison - in what used to be a power plant. They kept much of the original machinery and inner-workings of the power plant, which is awesome, and the decor and atmosphere were amazing, too. I don't frequent clubs, but this was a pretty nice place. We milled about for a while, chatting with some of Aaron's coworkers, some familiar, some new to me. In general it was a nice evening, with a mix of less-fancy, fancy, and more fancy people. Loud music, drinks, fun and festive people.

Now, the main actor in this movie was Will Smith, and during the entire shoot, I envisioned Aaron having a conversation with Will that would go something like this:

Aaron: Hey Will! How's it going?

Will: Great, man. How are you?

The conversation would continue, would somehow come to the topic of dogs, our dog in particular, and Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer. In addition, they would touch on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, the song Summertime and it's significance to my high school days, and MIB. And then...

Will: Hey, why don't you and your wife come over to our place for dinner sometime? And bring the dog!

Aaron: Great!

That didn't happen in all 10 weeks of shooting. Aaron was apparently really busy and didn't have time to have this conversation.

As we walked into the wrap party last night, I had this conversation tucked in the back of my head, wondering if the opportunity would present itself for ME to have this conversation with Will. Sure enough, as soon as we walked in to the club Aaron said that Will was here. Since we were still in the foyer, I wondered what sort of magical powers he had to sense Will's presence. Aaron looked over his shoulder and nodded towards a man I assumed was a bouncer - "That's his bodyguard." Strange, wouldn't the bodyguard be NEAR his client? Aaron corrected himself - "That's one of his bodyguards. You'll know the other one when you see him."

The evening went on as mentioned above, milling, drinking, talking, laughing, but no Will (we walked through the entire place just to see). As we were getting ready to leave, Aaron calmly mentioned to me that he spotted Will on the other side of the club. Here was my chance! Here was my chance for Will to see what great people Aaron and I are and to invite us over for dinner! It would be swell! I would be witty and interesting! This will be great!

As we snaked our way through the room, we eventually came to a cluster of people laughing and talking and merry-making. Aaron pointed me directly at the cluster until I realized that I was looking at Will Smith. Once I saw Will, the question was whether or not I wanted to go say Hello to him. Despite my brave visions of a witty conversation and an invitation to dinner, I was now very much shy and very not sure of what I - little old me - would have to say to HIM. Why would he want to meet me? What do I say? I really love your work? I think you are great? Thanks for not being an asshole on set like other movie stars my husband has had to work with?

It took about ten minutes of moving closer and then moving further away, and then closer and then further away, before I finally decided that I should say Hi, when else would I have this opportunity. And, it would give me something to blog about.

So, we did it. I can't really re-capture the conversation because I can't remember much of it. I was NOT witty nor interesting, but Will Smith was amazingly nice, friendly, kind, and gracious. And fun. He recognized Aaron, was interested to meet me, and was just plain nice. Did I mention how nice he is? Because he's nice. I don't know how he does it - I'm sure he spent the entire evening meeting people he doesn't know, taking photos with them, and all the while doing so with ease, with fun, and as if he's genuinely glad to meet you.

There was no invitation to dinner - my friend Jeanette says it's probably only because his schedule is really busy right now. But I shook his hand, said hello and a few other non-interesting things.

And he was nice. So normally, genuinely nice.

Pregnancy: Week 21

2008-05-19T21:50:00.000-07:00

That is me. Gazing at my belly. The photo was taken a week ago (at 20 weeks) and, I promise, I've grown since then. I like my growing belly - both Aaron and I are astounded at how quickly my body is growing and changing, right before our eyes. I'm still amazed, too, that there is a baby inside of me, another human being. Early this morning, just after Aaron came in to the bedroom to kiss me goodbye, the baby started moving and swimming and fluttering all about. I lay in bed for awhile, on my side with my hand on my belly, enjoying the confirmation that all is well.

I'm feeling good and energetic these days, for the most part. Aaron finishes work the end of this week (the current project he's been on) and we are both looking forward to a respite, more time together, more time to actually connect and to connect with the pregnancy. I feel somewhat overwhelmed with the large Preparing For Baby To Do List we (I) have created, but also have a sense that we'll get done what we get done when we get it done - and the baby won't really know (or care) if we've organized our files or not.

After a hot, hot weekend, this day is finally cooling off and I enjoy the breeze coming in the window. My feet and hands are warm and thick from our walk with the dog (which we did well after dark, after the temperature dropped) and I'm ready to go read for a bit and then head to bed. It's been a good day (well, except for the part where I tried on maternity swimsuits, but I haven't been that covered up in a swimsuit since I moved to Los Angeles - it was unnatural).