this moment

On my mind tonight is a woman I once knew. She taught Psychology and Sociology at my high school, but I didn't have her for either class. I was a PAL, and she was our group sponsor. She was kind and generous, bold and regal and statuesque. She was never afraid of letting us know exactly how she felt, whether it was her bright smile when she was happy or her fierce glare when we'd disappointed her. I only recall that glare happening once in the two years I was a member of the PAL organization. I still remember how it felt to wither helplessly under the angry disappointment in her eyes.

One time, we had to bring something to class that reflected what was most important to us. I brought a pen and confessed to the group my dreams of becoming a writer when I grew up. From then on, my teacher gave me all the creative writing assignments for our group. After I graduated, she gave me a bookmark and the book in the picture above.

I was one student among hundreds, maybe even thousands, that she'd known in her career as a teacher, and she still remembered my dream.

She died ten years ago, in May 2001, just four years after I graduated from high school. Her breast cancer spread and it eventually took her. I went to her funeral and walked up to see her body, and I still can recall the shocking whiteness of her hair and her hands clutching her glasses in her casket. I remember her in death just as clearly as in life. I don't want to remember her dead. I still don't like to think of this world without her.

I read that Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul book once, and for the past ten years it has followed me from place to place. From Texas all the way to California, through my many residences. It's lived a comfy existence on my bookshelf and was never even opened again until just a few days ago. I picked it up, wondering if it was time to let it go. I thought of her and wondered what she'd want me to do with it, felt guilt at the possibility of parting with something she'd given me. And then I put it in our box of things to donate. It's time for some other fledgling writer to read it. Besides, she gave me so much more than that book.

She believed in me. At a time in my life when people had started giving me the side eye when I announced my intentions to become a writer, she gave me permission to hold onto the dream.

I have never let go.

This week Roy and I had A Very Serious Conversation about just what it is I want to do with my life. I told him that I love staying at home with the boys but that I also really want to do this writing thing. I want to write like a motherfucker. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Well then, let's find a way to make this happen."

It's time to live the dream. I think she'd be proud of me.

this moment

My mother-in-law and I took the boys to Sea World this week. It was a wonderful, low key day, and we all had a great time. Above is my favorite picture from the trip. When I look at it, I know that it is a good picture of who Charlie is right now. He loves animals and is content to watch them for long periods of time. In this picture, he's looking at the "yions" (sea lions).

We didn't see much of what Sea World has to offer, and that was just fine with me. We let Charlie tell us what he wanted to do, and that's what we did. (We got the educational discount rate so the amount of admission was not an issue.) I've been feeling so rushed and overscheduled and overwhelmed that now, all I hear from my body and mind is "slow down." Our weekends into June have somehow filled up, but now I'm thinking of bowing out of some things in favor of some R&R.

For Mother's Day weekend our original plan was to go camping as a family in the mountains. Then we became a little concerned about the cold, so I said I wanted to spend Mother's Day out at the Mission San Juan Capistrano. But I got a killer sunburn at Sea World, and plus I'm just beat. So all I really want for Mother's Day is a nice, long, uninterrupted nap and perhaps a pedicure. I want to spend the day just relaxing. I really have no desire to go anywhere.

It's time for me to get back to the basics. Inside it feels like chaos and everything around me reflects that. So I'm taking a page from the Book of Charlie. I'm going to stop and watch the sea lions. Or, as the case may be, stop and watch the flowers bloom.

this moment

Last Saturday I accidentally ended up at a poetry workshop. I say it was an accident because there we were, minding our own business, having driven down to the farmer's market for our produce and a whole chicken and a rosemary plant (which I cannot say without singing in my head, "parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme"). We then walked to the library for some books; there was a conference going on, lots of cool booths set up in front of the library, and my mother-in-law was there. We all went inside, and I was nursing Simon in the kids section when she said excitedly, "There's a poetry workshop! You should go!"

"Cool," I replied, wanting to check it out but unsure of how to do that at that moment, baby attached to me and all. We talked logistics, I handed her Simon once he was done, and then I ran across the street to where the workshop was. My hair was unbrushed, I had no makeup on, and I was wearing the shirt I slept in the night before. There was a mistake with the program and the workshop was actually almost over by the time I showed up, but the poet running it encouraged me to stay. After everyone else had left, she let me pick a writing prompt from a list. The prompt was from Pablo Neruda's most excellent book The Captain's Verses: "We have changed a thousand times." I wrote for ten minutes without stopping, often surprised at the feeling of tears welling up in my eyes. At the end of the ten minutes, I had a few pages of rambling and a deep understanding of just how long it has been since I have really done this writing thing the way I really want to do it.

It seems that the universe really is trying to tell me something, what with hearing about the publication of my professor's book, serendipitously ending up in this poetry workshop, and then reading this just last night. The voice is telling me, "Write on, sister!" and so this week that is what I've been doing, pure unadulterated untamed writing. Finding the time is difficult but I'm learning to do this writing thing over and over; it seems like the process of learning never ever ends, even though I have been doing this my whole life. I told the poet who taught the workshop that I had been writing since I was a kid, and she said, "I can tell." And I said, "I don't know how not to do it. It's just what I do."

And that's true. It's just what I do.

this moment

(Charlie in the bathtub, rockin' the 104 fever)

It seems like I have really good weeks, followed by ones that are so bad, they're stupid. This was a stupid week.

(More) sickness! (Extended) family drama! (Old) friend drama! All in all, pretty depressing.

On a happier note, we did have our house cleaned. By a professional. A professional who changed our sheets, emptied our cat box, cleaned our trash cans, and made our house genuinely sparkle. Having someone come clean the house is a gift from my mom, and I love her for it.

But let's talk about the bad stuff, because I just feel like complaining and because I like documenting this stuff. (I won't be discussing the drama for obvious reasons.) My back was bothering me big time at the beginning of the week. (Probably from toting around a 19 lb baby and 30 lb toddler.) We were so sleep deprived because Simon is in the middle of the dreaded four month wakeful period, up at least 4 or 5 times a night. By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was feeling awful, but I truly thought it was just sleep deprivation and muscle tension. (Just!)

Charlie was very reserved on Tuesday, up until the afternoon when he was melting down every five minutes or so for no reason at all. At one point I was holding him and noticed how hot he was. Turns out he had a fever of 104! I have to admit that for one second, I quietly panicked. Just for one second. He's never had a fever that high. My first thought was "let's take him to the ER" but then I called the on-call doc, who reassured us that really young children can actually handle higher fevers much better than adults can. We gave him dinner, a lukewarm bath, and some Tylenol, and by the time bedtime rolled around, his fever was down to 100.9.

That was a long night, with Charlie and Simon both waking up multiple times - Simon had developed a fever as well. In the wee hours of the morning, I began to feel feverish, took my temperature and it was 99.5. The muscle tension had made its way into my ribs at that point - it felt very much like the back and rib pain I had when I was pregnant with Charlie. I was pretty much hurting all over, but at that point I knew I was getting sick and that some of it had to be the dreaded body aches. I did see my chiropractor that morning - my mother-in-law, saint that she is, had to drive me because I was in that much pain.

When I got home I crawled into bed. And only really emerged to help Roy take the boys to the doctor. It was a heartbreaking visit. I am not one of those moms who cries when her kids get shots or things like that. They recover so quickly and never make a big deal about it, so that's probably why. Either that, or I am a soulless demon. But Charlie was oh so traumatized from the beginning, starting with the nurse trying to take his temperature. She couldn't get a good reading because he kept thrashing around and screaming. At one point, he shrieked, "A bear? A bear?", wanting to hold his polar bear BFF. Oh man, it was just so sad. I ended up taking his temperature myself, which went much better. Then, when it came time to weigh him, he was inconsolable. I almost lost it myself and had to make an active effort not to cry. Poor Chuckles.

Simon was much more agreeable, and after ruling out meningitis, the doctor said they probably had the flu. He gave us a prescription for Tamiflu, which we did not get filled. But by the time we got home, the boys had no more fever. Charlie slept pretty well during the night, while Simon woke up a gazillion times. I had my fever off and on all through the night, but by Thursday morning it was gone. As the day went on, my body stopped hurting so much, but my sore throat, which had been mild up until that point, got much, much worse. Charlie was pretty much a mess for most of the day, and I can only assume that he was dealing with a sore throat as well.

I took some Advil before bed last night for my throat, which helped, but I woke up multiple times in the night (thanks, Simon!) absolutely soaked in sweat. It was pretty bizarre. I am not a person who sweats much, certainly not while sleeping. I also had a very strange dream, which is nothing unusual. I dreamt that one of my favorite bloggers wrote a pretty interesting new post. Then I was going down some giant water slide on an air mattress somewhere in Central America. But then I had to go back to my friend's house for some other reason that I can't remember, and then I left again. I got involved with a bunch of people who decided to steal pizza, and we got totally busted by the cops just as we were about to leave in our giant tour jeep. Oh, and I lost my camera. I was seeing all these cool things in Central America and had no way of documenting them. When we got back from our tour, I went to lost and found to see if anyone had turned in my camera, but no luck. My keys were there, though. That's pretty much all I remember of that dream. I woke up thinking about Malibu and how much I would love to take the boys camping there sometime soon. Maybe we'll do that. We deserve something supremely fun after all this sickness crap.

Being sick is depressing. We've had about five bouts of sickness in our home since Simon was born, and I'm really kind of burned out on it. I've never had to deal with this much sickness in such a short amount of time; I can only assume that it's because of the boys, which is fine - being sick is good for their immune system, but blah. It really is not fun at all. I spent several hours on Thursday reading the archives of this blog, which I hadn't read in several years, and was reminded how lucky we are not to be dealing with chronic illness. The boys are healthy; Roy and I are healthy. That is everything.

(PS, This week Simon gave up the swaddle and the swing. He's been sleeping on the floor, in our bed, or in the bouncy chair.)

these moments

Last night I left the boys with Roy and went to go get my hair done. On the way, I listened to Pearl Jam's Binaural album (meh) and while I was there, I read two tattered copies of Poets & Writers magazine (awesome). One of my graduate school professors was profiled in January's issue for getting her book published, and I was grinning while reading about it. She was one of my favorite professors - I interned with her, actually.

Right before Christmas, my mom treated me to a trip to the salon. I hadn't had anything done to my hair since I dyed it pink, and I was in desperate need of something. My hair has gotten lighter and lighter over the years, thanks to various stylists I've seen, and so I wanted to try to get back to my natural color (which is a kind of icky mousy color) so there would be less maintenance. So I got some lowlights. I really did like it at first but after awhile I started to feel really blah about it. So this time I decided to go for some more highlights, plus some red. My stylist also taught me how to make my hair look "beachy" by styling my natural waves. I was surprised at how cute I looked - most of the time I feel like a smelly old hag who is covered in mashed up food and spit up.

I came home a happy girl and was greeted by Roy, who was holding a sleeping Simon. Apparently Simon was not happy that I wasn't there to put him to bed and finally conked out in Roy's arms after screaming a whole lot. Poor little guy. We got Simon off to bed and Roy gave me his anniversary gift to me: a Daytrotter T-shirt! I was stoked. I have downloaded so much free music from that site so I'm super happy that I got a T-shirt to show my support. Bonus: the T-shirt was made in L.A., so we essentially bought local. Big fat yay.

(The picture above is me in my new hair and Daytrotter shirt. I am so happy in this picture because I feel so pretty. Honestly, I feel guilty sometimes for wanting to change my appearance through different hair color, etc. I feel like I should just accept myself as is and that by manipulating my appearance I am just giving into what women are expected to want while also not setting a good example for my kids. I have a lot of Very Serious Conversations with myself about how I should not want to get my eyebrows waxed, but there is no denying that when I look in the mirror, I am horrified by the giant bearskin rugs hanging out above my eyes. I just feel better when my hair is lighter and my eyebrows thinner. I enjoy wearing makeup because it makes me feel pretty. I like having flattering clothes. I can't help these things; maybe I should stop feeling bad about wanting to feel beautiful. I mean, as long as I recognize that true beauty comes from within, it's all good, right? I don't know. I struggle with this - a lot.)

I ate two special St. Patrick's Day cupcakes our neighbor gave us and went to bed. The remainder of the night sucked. Simon was up a lot during the night, and it was a definite flashback to more challenging times. We've had a couple of other difficult nights this week, which is strange because Simon has always done remarkably well at this sleeping thing. Oh well. There's not much I can do about it except hope that this passes quickly. Perhaps we will try some new things if this continues. In the meantime, zzzzzzzzzz.

But then.....



This morning Becki and I hit up the Savvy Chic Kids presale. The sale opens to the public on Sunday, but because I'm a consignor, I got to shop early and bring a friend along. Roy was a saint and stayed home with the kids (plus Becki's son Luke) while we went and dropped entirely too much cash at this most awesome of sales.

Here's what I got (see picture above - cute kid not included with purchase of these items):

an inflatable baby pool
10 summer outfits (mostly for Simon, some new with tags)
6 pairs of shoes
a big ol' bag of Mega Blocks
4 pairs of BabyLegs
4 cloth diapers
1 wool diaper cover
a wooden ride-on toy
a little Ikea chair (My friend, who was a volunteer for the sale, got to shop earlier than me and bought this for me because she knew I wanted it. Yes, I have awesome friends.)
a space-saver high chair/booster seat for Simon
a sun hat for Simon

I didn't deviate too much from my list. I got some amazing deals and I know everything will get used. However, I still feel guilty because I went over budget and I did some impulse buying. It is funny the space I get in sometimes, when I just become a rabid consumer. I try so hard not to be in my day-to-day life and then I go to something like this and lose sight of everything we're working for.

I know that I should not be so hard on myself. After all, buying used is a wonderful thing to do. I think it's that loss-of-control feeling that got to me, but at the same time, I felt absolutely elated to have scored such great deals. I mean, Stride Rite shoes for $5? A wool diaper cover for $8? You can't beat that with a big fat stick.

I'm choosing to focus on the positive. I got my kids some nice previously owned things, most of which they'll both be able to use. Emphasis on the previously owned - the green factor is huge, and that makes me happy. And in order to shop early, I got rid of some stuff we weren't using, and even if it doesn't sell, it'll be donated. It'll never be in my house again.

Happy weekend, everyone.

this moment

This is a blurry cell phone picture of an ice cream sandwich. And if it were anyone else, they'd say, "This is an ice cream sandwich that I ate this week. It was EPIC. The end." But that's not how I roll around here. I say things the long way.

But yes, that ice cream sandwich was epic. Mint chocolate chip ice cream smashed between two homemade chocolate cookies. I wanted to marry that ice cream sandwich. But I didn't. I was too busy chasing my toddler around.

Let me start over.

Roy and I took the boys to the zoo on Sunday. Our hopes that they would nap in the stroller while we were there were dashed. They both just screamed instead. We left the zoo in hopes that they would fall asleep in the car. Charlie did; Simon kept on screaming. We had to pull over into some random LA parking lot so that I could nurse Simon. There was something that looked like a dried turd on the ground near our car. (That is unrelated to this story. It was just something I noticed and that made me want to vomit. Plus I was pulling a Britney because I was barefoot, and who wants dried turd on their foot? I had taken off my shoes and socks, because I don't really like wearing them. I'm country, you know, because I grew up in Texas on four acres of land. But I have never driven with my baby on my lap.)

Back to the story. Simon was very happy to be held and nursed. I think he was just lonely. Since the car wasn't moving anymore (good grief, these boys are particular!), Charlie woke up and was not a happy camper. Once I got Simon all snuggled back in his car seat again, he wasn't a happy camper either. We drove for awhile, listening to their protests, and then decided we all needed to get out of the car for awhile. We stopped in one of my favorite little towns. Charlie needed a diaper change, and Simon needed to be fed (again). I sat in the driver's seat nursing Simon while Roy sat in the passenger seat and changed Charlie. People walked by and were staring at us. My boob was hanging out and Charlie was crawling all over the place, pressing random buttons, without pants on. Roy and I couldn't stop laughing.

Finally we got Charlie back into his pants and Simon into the Ergo. Charlie immediately took off down the sidewalk, Roy chasing after him. I was trying to find my shoes and after rooting around in the car for awhile, discovered that I couldn't reach them because it would be too difficult to perform those kinds of gymnastics while wearing Simon. Roy came to my rescue, handing Charlie off to me. Charlie was very absorbed in a leaf he picked up off the ground but then all of a sudden went tearing down the sidewalk. I chased him down the street in my bare feet, Simon bouncing along in the Ergo. I must have been quite a sight. All I could think was, "Five years ago I bet you never would have guessed your life would be like this."

Charlie was retrieved, my flip flops made it safely onto my feet, and we hit up the little ice cream shop for a snack. That's when I got the epic ice cream sandwich, which I immediately began eating as soon as we went back outside. It was awesome. Pretty squishy. I was having a hard time eating it because Simon was crying and I was trying to comfort him at the same time. I pretty much shoved it into my face as fast as I could. Then I had to chase Charlie down an alley. I was holding my hands in front of my face because I know I had ice cream and chocolate all over it.

That wasn't the end of our Claremont adventure. I decided I wanted to go into the awesome music store. I really really really wanted to browse. That's what music stores are for! However, I had to settle for a 10 minute visit during which Charlie ran out the door repeatedly. Only to be brought back inside by Roy, screaming. (Charlie was screaming, not Roy.) I was holding Simon, who was drooling everywhere, no doubt. I asked Roy if he wanted me to handle Charlie for awhile, and he said, "Sure." I took another look at my screaming child and said, "Eh, nah. Let's get out of here."

And so we did. And again, we couldn't stop laughing. Later on, Roy said, "I think it's awesome that we're those parents who are laughing while their kid is screaming."

Me, too.

This week I realized that I have come into my own as a mother of two. Up until now, I've kept the outings to a minimum because I was too scared to handle two kids in public by myself. But this week alone, I took both of them grocery shopping, to campus, to two friends' houses, and to the music store. This is huge for me. And it feels good to not stress so much over the logistics of it all.

But it's not just about the outings. It's so much more than that. It's this feeling I have when I go to bed at the end of the day. I know I give them my best every single day. I may not be the best mother in the world, but I am exactly the mother they need me to be. I don't care if they scream in public (well, obviously it would be nice to avoid it), but if they do, I don't believe it's a reflection of my parenting. I faced a lot of disapproving stares this week, particularly at the grocery store when Simon started crying hard because he was hungry. But babies cry, you know? It's what they do. It's how they communicate. And it's not fun to hear, ever. But it happens. All the judgy looks in the world aren't going to change that.

We took Simon to the doctor for his well check about a month ago, and one of the questions I asked was about how much he spits up. Simon spits up a lot because he nurses for comfort quite a bit. He's ingesting all this extra milk and as a result I get to change my shirt five times a day. He won't take a pacifier so when he is fussy and can't be distracted or comforted any other way, the only option really is to stick him on my boob. Problem solved. Anyway, I asked the doctor about the spitting up, just to make sure that it wouldn't cause any problems, and we got into a stupidly familiar conversation about how Simon is eating too much and that is why he weighs so much. (If you click on the link, you'll see that he told us the exact same thing about Charlie, only Charlie wasn't spitting up a lot.) I asked the doctor what to do and he told me that we needed to let Simon cry instead of letting him nurse for comfort.

That pretty much goes against all my parenting philosophies. I mean, really?! I'm supposed to let my three-month old baby cry it out because he wants to be comforted? It's pretty much the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard and I have not taken his advice. I still don't have a solution for the spitting up, but I know it isn't letting him cry. I know that because I am his mother, because he has a brother who also was (is) big for his age, and besides Roy was a big chunker of a baby, too.

That's quite the tangent, but hopefully you'll get what I mean. This whole thing with Simon? I could so easily have taken it as an attack on my parenting. But it's not like that. I mean, maybe the doctor meant it like that, but if he did, I think he's dead wrong. I think letting babies cry instead of meeting their needs is mean and I refuse to do it. (Although we did sleep train Charlie, but to me that was not mean at all.) I don't care what the damn doctor says. Well, I do care, when he gives me good information instead of crap. Ahhh, I should change the subject because I'm getting mad over this.

Another realization I came to this week? It's about this blog. I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed writing these posts every Friday. Committing to posting just once a week has given me a lot of space to think about why I blog and what I want from this.

It seems pretty common to get sucked into caring about how many followers you have, who's reading, blog stats, gaining popularity in the blog world. I'll admit that I've thought about it. I'll admit that over the past year, the amount of comments I get has gone way down, and there have been times when that has bothered me. I took it personally, like I am somehow boring or whiny or too wordy. That is why I really, really, really came close to ending this blog last summer. It's hard, you know? To offer yourself so fully and not hear back the way you imagined you would.

But that wasn't the reason I started this blog. I started it because I was moving away from journaling and still wanted to talk about my life. I love the blogging medium, that you can share pictures and video and songs along with words. It's such a rich experience, to read a blog, if you really think about it. I've put so much time and energy into my blog, and so much of myself. As I've written these snippets of my life since the beginning of the year, I've come to realize that I have stories to tell that are worth sharing, and if I get zero comments or 1000 comments, that simple fact is not going to change. Because I didn't start sharing them for other people; I started my "moment" project for me. And because of it, I have gained clarity and purpose. I feel a renewed passion for this blog. I am not sure if I will blog more often, because gah, seriously, where is all the time I used to have? But I am happy and excited to be here again. If this continues, then I have an awesome idea for blogging in 2012.

It's like I've been cracked open and am a brand new baby chicken or something. Finally, a step backward to what feels real.

And here is where I say thank you. Thank you for reading, for commenting, for being a support system for me. Thank you for giving me a space to be honest about my life. I have been a part of this world for four years now and I have learned so much. I am continually awestruck and inspired by what's out there. We live in an amazing moment in time and I love being a part of it. (And yet I often long to escape it. But that's a subject for another undoubtedly long post, and hey, I actually already have written about this.)

Happy weekend! Thanks for letting me ramble.

this moment

This week has been pretty stupid.

I've been sick for most of it. As of this writing, I have no voice. By the time I went to bed on Tuesday night, it was almost all gone. I'd had a sore throat for days that had turned into nothing and figured my throat needed an overnight break. Turns out it needed more than that. This is day 3 of no voice. And let me tell you, it's really difficult to read your kid a story without one.

Roy's been awesome. He stayed home on Wednesday and Thursday because no way could I handle two kids while feeling like utter crap. (Well, I'm sure I could if I really needed to, but it made more sense to try to get well. Plus I am a wimp. It's true. I am.) I feel really lucky to have that option. I know a lot of parents don't.

So I've been spending a lot of time in bed. I happened to overhear a bunch of giggles coming from Charlie's room on Wednesday afternoon so I had to get out of bed and check it out. Roy was lying on his back on the floor, and Charlie and Simon were both sitting on him. Charlie was "holding" Simon. It was the cutest thing I think I've ever seen, and definitely the brightest moment of this cough-drop filled week.

I just love how much Charlie loves Simon, how he's always giving him kisses and yelling out "Shao may!" when he sees him. Simon is a big time gigglebox, and those two really set each other off. I really love that they have each other.

On a semi-related note, March 2 marked the one-year anniversary of finding out we were expecting Simon. And now we've got this chunky little red-headed guy in our lives. It's pretty damn awesome. Life is good, even when you've got a constant tickle in your throat and have to whisper all the time. But one thing being sick has taught me this time around? Chamomile tea with honey in it works wonders to get rid of that annoying throat tickle. I've been leaving tea bags all over the kitchen like Harry in Sex and the City. I've done the world a favor, though, and kept all my clothes on.

this moment

This is what Simon looks like while he's nursing - he will sometimes pull off and flirt with me. He's totally milk drunk, completely happy. I love this face.

I was bound and determined to breastfeed Simon. After all the breastfeeding disappointment I had with Charlie, I made up my mind that I wasn't going to go through that again. In a sense, it was more important for me to have a successful nursing relationship with Simon than to have a VBAC. You know, if I had to pick one.

We had a lot working against us in the beginning. Since I ended up with a repeat C-section after 30+ hours of labor, I was exhausted after the surgery. Since my bladder was lacerated during the C-section, I was in the OR for longer than a normal C-section would take. The spinal and other drugs I was given made me so groggy when I was in recovery that I at first declined having Simon brought to me - I was so tired I was afraid I would drop him. I later changed my mind, but I couldn't get him to latch on while we were in recovery. So I just held him close and he fell asleep. When we were finally put in a room, I got him to latch. And he pretty much stayed attached to me the entire hospital stay. Even when I couldn't sit up due to the spinal headache from hell, Simon laid across my chest while I was reclined flat and nursed that way. Or I would turn on my side and nurse him side-lying. He was such a great sport and so enthusiastic. It was frustrating at times because I was so exhausted and just wanted to sleep. But I kept on, and my milk came in within two days and in great abundance. I was thrilled.

When I found out I had to stop nursing for a week to go on some pretty hard core antibiotics to treat my UTI, I was devastated. Simon was exactly one week old. I was in the shower, letting the hot water rain down on my lower back to ease the pain of the UTI (pretty similar to the way I spent a lot of time while I was in labor), and all of a sudden it occurred to me that our nursing relationship could be over. Stopping for even a week could have so many different outcomes: He could develop a preference for the bottle or the taste of formula. He could have latch issues. I could have supply issues. It felt like such a slap in the face. Here was one thing, a major thing, that was working out. I didn't want to lose it.

I started sobbing. Even though I hadn't gotten my VBAC, I had never really felt like I had failed until then. It was definitely the darkest moment of my very difficult recovery. I cried for quite awhile; of course my emotional pain was exacerbated by the substantial physical pain I was in. And then I dried my tears, consulted with all three midwives at the birth center plus my doula, pumped out what milk I had to give Simon right then, and started taking the antibiotics. For a week I faithfully pumped during each one of Simon's feedings and dumped the milk right after. (I am beyond grateful that Roy was home to help me, because I cannot imagine how I would have handled feeding Simon, pumping, and taking care of Charlie.) About halfway through the week, I started taking Fenugreek to make sure my milk supply was where it needed to be once I was done with the antibiotics.

When it came time to start Simon back on the breast, he went right back with no problems at all. It was like that week of bottle-feeding never happened. Things have been hunky dory ever since.

I had heard women talking about breastfeeding and how much they loved it, what a bonding experience it was, and how sad they were when it was over. To me, breastfeeding was pretty much solely about giving my child the most perfect (and free!) food available to him. I absolutely did not want to formula feed this time. The bonding feelings, though, knocked me over with their intensity - and still do. Every time Simon latches on for a feeding, I am filled with a happiness so deep that I can only describe it as euphoria. I have told multiple people that it feels like Simon and I are on our honeymoon. As weird as that sounds, it's really the only way I can describe the way I feel about him. It's so raw and primal and fierce.

I felt (feel) this way about Charlie, of course. But it took some time to get there, because in the beginning I felt so disconnected from him. And even though we did get there, I can say with absolute certainty that you can't even compare bottle-feeding and breastfeeding. They are two totally different experiences. And I'm not hating on people who bottle feed. It just makes me sad that so many mothers will not experience the joy that comes from nursing their babies. (Of course, there are some mothers out there who do not enjoy nursing at all. Obviously I am not one of them.)

For years (hell, most of my life), I have not been a big fan of my boobs. In junior high, high school, and my first few years of college, I hated them. I hated being so small. I hated that I didn't have any cleavage. I hated not being voluptuous. Some stupid boy once told me that I wasn't a real woman because my boobs were too small. What an idiot he was. I can honestly say now that I'm so grateful for the pair that I've been given, because they are what's nourishing my son.

It doesn't get more womanly (or beautiful) than that.

this moment

(a little bit of inspiration for this post)



I'm not big on Hallmark holidays, but every year Roy and I do at least a little something to celebrate Valentine's Day. Now that we have kids, we do a little something for them, too. This year I made valentines for Charlie and Simon, and presented them with those plus two books for Charlie and a hand puppet board book for Simon. My homemade valentines were kind of lame, but I am happy that I did something handmade for them. (I really want to be more of a DIYer.)

I figured I would make a valentine for Roy as well, but come the actual day of, I still hadn't done a thing. I read this post that morning, which inspired me to do something a little more fun. After bringing Roy lunch and getting the boys down for their nap, I got to work. Well, it didn't work exactly like that. I actually considered not doing anything and just trying for a nap. But I forced myself to be romantic. (I'm glad I did.)

I decided to write up five reasons I love Roy, each with a clue to a place around the house. When he got home, I handed him the first reason/clue, and so the mini scavenger hunt began. The prize was a sappy card, complete with three pictures: one of me, one of Simon, and one of Charlie, each of us wearing the heart-shaped sunglasses that I'm wearing in my blog header. I used my little instant camera to take the pictures and went through about three packs of film trying to get each one right. The pictures I ended up with weren't great, but I was running out of time. And since the pictures come out the size of a credit card, Roy can keep them in his wallet if he wants as a nice reminder of us.

After the boys went to bed, we popped a lasagna in the oven and settled down on the couch to watch The Kids Are All Right. It was great, especially because we were not interrupted the whole time. We got to sit and watch a whole movie. Inconceivable!

This quote from the movie jumped out at me:

...marriage is hard... Just two people slogging through the shit, year after year, getting older, changing. It's a fucking marathon, okay? So, sometimes, you know, you're together for so long, that you just... You stop seeing the other person. You just see weird projections of your own junk. Instead of talking to each other, you go off the rails and act grubby and make stupid choices...

Damn straight.

Roy and I have entered into the "marriage is hard" portion of our life's journey together. I can say with complete honesty that our marriage had always been easy, even through all the birth trauma and depression. Adding a second child to the mix has put a lot more pressure on things. It is totally not something that Simon is to be blamed for (imagine blaming a three month old!); it's just that two kids are a whole lot more work than one. By the end of the day we are both so tired. It's hard to connect when you're tired and just want to be alone. But we're working on it.

One of the things that Roy and I have going for us is that we are able to be unflinchingly honest with each other. I noticed over a month ago that I was getting irrationally angry at him all the time. This is completely out of character for me and certainly not something that has ever really happened in our relationship. I was tired of feeling like shit about it, so I brought it up. And just talking about it made it a whole lot better than it was. I know our openness with each other is what will hold us together when things get hard. Because when you start keeping secrets, it's only a matter of time before it all falls apart.

Roy and I took the above photo of ourselves while we were watching the movie that night. We look happy, and that's because we were. Are. Despite the piles of laundry, our empty bank account, the crying children, and the unknown stretching far in front of us, we still love each other. He's my best friend. And as he wrote in his Valentine's letter to me, "it's strange to think of my life as a fairy tale but you have added magic to everything."

this moment

(inspiration)



The conclusion that I have come to is that I am unfinished. My life is a big goldfish bowl of chaos. Inevitably, I've been feeling trapped.

So the other day we escaped. We piled the boys into the stroller and walked around the neighborhood. Being outside in the world with the sunlight and the trees and the sky and my camera there to capture it all made my heart feel like it was going to explode with happiness. We talked. The boys looked around. Charlie wore his sock monkey hat, and Simon cooed. We returned home feeling untrapped.

And then last night after the boys had settled to sleep, we stood together in the kitchen and talked. And we've got a plan to make things better. It involves some chasing, but mostly just some slow-and-steadiness. And a whole lot of discipline, which is where I usually fall short. But I'm excited.

And part of the plan? I'm going back to school. It's time for me to finish my Master's degree. And I actually believe that I'm going to do it. I'll need lots of walks to help keep me centered, though.

this moment

(inspiration)



Last week the fates smiled down upon me when Elle Moss randomly picked me as the winner of her 2000 fans contest on Facebook. She sent me a neat little envelope filled with photographic treasures, a few of which you can see in the photo above. They came in on Wednesday, and I was thrilled.

When I come face to face with art that moves me, whether it's a painting or a book or music or a photo (you get the idea), it often serves as a big reality check for me. What am I doing with my own talents? What am I doing that I feel passionately about? Obviously, my first priority is my family, but my own drive to create is not something I ever intend on neglecting.

I made myself a promise that this year was going to be the year that I stopped saying, "I want to get back to writing poetry again" or "I want to learn more about photography." It seems a little silly to keep saying those things when I have the tools (and the vision) at my disposal. Honestly, I think I compare myself too much to others and in doing so I forget that my journey is my own. I can never write or take photos or do anything else like anyone else. Because I'm me. Yes, that is an idea that is verging on corniness. Cheesy or not, it's still something I consider to be true.

Because the art that moves me always comes from a person who has a vision and has enough courage to chase it. And this week I kept getting reminders of it, not just through Elle Moss, but also through The Julie Project by Darcy Padilla, Photo of the Day by Jamie Livingston, and Nox by Anne Carson. Seriously powerful stuff, all of it. It reminded me that I've got my own powerful project that I've been working on here and there since 2003. It may be the best damn thing I've ever written, and yet it may never be read by a wide audience. But fuck it. Fulfillment comes through doing the work, not through accolades and critical acclaim. (I once thought being published would change my life forever. Surprise, surprise - it didn't. I was (am) still the same ol' insecure girl. Not to say I wouldn't gladly accept a Pulitzer...)

I think I'm at the point in my life where I've really realized that the writing career I've been wanting since I was a child may not be something that exists for me. Perhaps it sounds like I'm giving up, but this country lives and dies on the almighty dollar. And you know what? That's not something that is going to change anytime soon - but it's also not going to be the deciding factor in what I choose to do with my life. I'm going to keep on creating, and perhaps someone else will be inspired by what I do.

Yes, all of this did come from a pile of photographs on the floor.

this moment

Wow, I've made it through a whole month of this moment posts! Ideally, at the end of 2011, I'd like to have 52 of these suckers done. I enjoy them very much. I spend a lot of time during the week thinking about what that week's moment will be. It helps keep me present and centered (not always, but I do try).

I wrote about this briefly, but my word for this year is "moment." (Maybe I didn't write about it. I can't seem to find the post.) I chose that word because I want to live in the moment more, recognizing that all things pass. Seasons change, children grow up, relationships have their ups and downs. And people die. Roy and I took Simon to a memorial service this past weekend - my ex-boyfriend's mother passed away in December after a long battle with cancer. I still remember the last real moment I shared with her years before. Even though it was a terribly hard moment (having to do with the euthanization of a much beloved family dog), it was the last one we shared that wasn't marred by awkwardness. All of us (me, my ex, and his parents) bawled together as we said goodbye to that sweet dog we all loved so much. It was a horrible day, but it was real. I never had a real moment with her after that one.

The death of my ex's mother really has nothing to do with this post - or maybe it does. All moments, good and bad, make up a life. It's that old yin and yang thing.

Here's the yang:



I was terrified of having a second child. Mostly I was afraid of not having enough room in my heart for two kids. Charlie just filled me up in a way that I never could have imagined, and I didn't know what to expect with Simon. It's true what they say, that the human heart is capable of stretching to make room for more. That's exactly what mine did - and continues to do as I get to know this little guy.

For some reason, Charlie and Simon have been taking a nap at the same time each day for the last five weeks or so. This was completely unexpected, and I'm still not sure how it's happening, but I'm thrilled that it has worked out like that so far. Yesterday, though, Simon stayed awake an hour or so after Charlie went down, so Simon and I had some good mommy-baby time together. We don't get a lot of time with just the two of us, which is one of the hard things about having two kids.

So yesterday we hung out in the bedroom, Simon completely naked except for his diaper. I laid him down on this little quilt that my uncle Charles sent to us after Charlie was born. I watched as Simon determinedly brought his hand up to his face, wanting to get it in his mouth but instead bonking himself in the nose. I couldn't help but laugh - and then my eyes filled with tears as it all came back to me, Charlie doing that exact same thing when he was a baby, Charlie wearing that same diaper, Charlie lying on that same quilt. It wasn't that long ago, but I had completely forgotten all those wonderful baby things that Charlie did. What a gift to be reminded through his little brother.

That's the thing about having a second child. It's a chance to do it all over again, to enjoy the milestones, the middle of the night feedings, the simplicity of loving a baby. I don't know how other moms out there feel, but the second time around it's much easier. I'm happy to wake up in the middle of the night for feedings because who knows when they'll end. I look forward to letting Simon sleep on me because some day he won't do it again. I love having the opportunity to smell his head, because one of these days that new baby smell will be gone. Someday I won't be his favorite person. Someday he won't always have a smile for me. So I drink him in, my little Scorpio who has always looked deep into my eyes and shown me the world. It's my second chance, perhaps my last chance, to mother a baby. I don't want to miss a moment.

this moment

(Thanks, soulemama.)



I so wanted to share a cute picture of Simon this week. He's sorely underrepresented on this blog, and I hate that. But it's going to have to wait.

This week was really hard. Let me go ahead and admit that so far 2011 hasn't exactly been kind to us. Yes, I am lucky to have my two beautiful sons, my husband, my cats, a house to live in, blah blah blah. But life is hard. Sometimes overwhelmingly hard.

This week I had several moments when I wanted to run away and never look back. I wanted to leave it all behind. And by "it all," I mean just that: my kids, my husband, the life I have here. What is strange is that in some ways, the transition from one child to two has been much easier than I thought it would be. Just last Friday, both boys were napping and I was musing on what a beautiful day it was, how much better my postpartum period has been going as compared to last time, etc.

And then this week happened. It's one week after that beautiful afternoon where both kids slept peacefully while I ate my lunch in solitude. My back is killing me from the very involved way in which Simon needs to go to sleep. I have a crick in my neck from sleeping wrong last night. Roy is sick with a cold. I cannot keep up with the laundry or the dishes or anything else. Our house feels so small and cramped that I truly feel like the walls are closing in on me. I can't hold either one of my children as much as I want to. Charlie absolutely loves to test me and then screams when I put him in time out. Oh, and we are broke. So broke that we are having to make some really hard financial decisions. And all of this? Well, it's taking its toll on our marriage, and while I'm not sitting here telling you all that our marriage is in trouble, the reality is it is so hard for us to connect as anything other than parents these days. Simon is only waking up once a night now, but we are both still so tired. To the bone. It's hard to talk/laugh/spend quality time together when all you want to do is sleep.

I'm kind of scared.

I'm scared that I'm disappearing into this whole motherhood thing and someday there won't be a "me" anymore. That I will end up this mindless Stepford wife who only cares about poop and play dates. That my marriage will dissolve because both of us are so busy just trying to keep up with life and all it entails. There is still so much I want out of life; I can feel myself reaching for it but I can't get my hands on it. And yet I don't feel like I have the right to want more. I have so much already, and people out there are starving, have sick children, have no place to live, etc.

What can I say? I'm typing this in the dark in our small, drafty, messy office, the only place I can sometimes just be, and no doubt my laptop is casting a shadow on my face like the photo above. I'm just full of shadows. I think people look at me and see this happy chick but that's only part of me. I always feel like I'm fighting the dark half of me, and I don't know who's winning - all I know is that I'm tired of feeling halved and conflicted.

I don't want this chaos. I just want to look life in the eye, like I'm doing in the photo above, knowing that I need to calm the fuck down and trust that it'll all be okay. In the meantime, I'm giving into the chaos. Leaving the laundry unfolded, the kitchen dirty, the toys strewn around the living room. I'm shutting down the computer and am going to go hug my husband, because our marriage is where this family starts and ends.

this moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

(inspired by soulemama)



This is Charlie at 19 months old. Taken last weekend by my friend Christine on our back patio. It's the perfect portrait of Charlie as he is right now, so much a little boy, a baby no longer (but still, always my baby). He loves stealing other people's water bottles, and I simply love his hair. His outfit, which I also love: a Paul Frank T-shirt that he wore to his first birthday party, a pair of blue jeans that we acquired from who knows where, a sweater that was part of our huge Craigslist score, Stride Rite shoes given to us by one of our neighbors, and socks that Charlie undoubtedly used as puppets earlier that day. The water bottle, needless to say, does not belong to him, but try telling him that.

this moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

(inspired by soulemama)



So those are the rules, but rules are meant to be broken, right? This picture begs for a story to be told along with it.

This little guy is my brand new nephew Gus. He was born on January 4, weighing in at a hefty 10 lbs 4 oz, stretching out at 20.5 inches. Gus is the son of my sister-in-law Mandy and her husband Paul. Mandy and Paul waited a long time to bring home a baby, and what can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending - and an even bigger sucker for chubby, adorable little boys. (Those cheeks!) Congratulations, Mandy and Paul!