Perfect 2-yr-old? Yes. : )

Yesterday I had a doctor's appointment and I took Ava (2 years old) with me. It's amazing how much more I noticed my baby's awesomeness when we were out and about. Maybe because I'm aware of the opinions of others, and can kind of look at her through an outsider's eyes, this makes me more attune to all of her cute, quirky, kind ways.

The appointment was quick, and Ava mostly colored. After the appointment, she said 'goodbye' in the way grandma showed her... "See you later! Have a good day! Adios! Auf Wiedersehen! Too-da-loo! Bye! Ciao! ("cow")" Her little 2-year-old pronunciations are so great!
We then went down to the lab and on our way, we passed an 80-something-year-old woman walking toward us. Ava, walking in her jaunty, shoulder-bobbing way, didn't miss a stride as she looked up at the woman and waved, "Hi, Grandma!" and continued on her way. 'Grandma' smiled and said 'hello'. At the lab, I checked in, and then Ava saw the stairs. So, she started climbing. I told her she needed to come right back down, and she did stop at the top and listened to me try and convince her that she needed to come down now. She smiled and sweetly said, "al-vee-shayn" ("Auf Wiedersehen", German for "goodbye"). And then she took of running full speed. How could I be mad? She's so darn cute! When we were finally back in the lab, I told her no more running. She sat for a moment, and then wanted to get up and explore. I said, "Ava, no. You're too fast." So, she said, "I go slow." and she shuffled her feet very slowly past me. I had such good laughs yesterday!

My heart is so full to the brim because of this little girl! She's so kind to others, so smiley, so bright and cheerful. She always has been! Gosh, I love her SO much!

new day

Whew! Ok, so I'm feeling a lot better than I was over the weekend. That was a really rough one.

I, being analytical in nature, am trying to figure out what's made today better. So I can replicate it (silly me; like that'll work). I went to church on Sunday, just for the singing part of things. And though I don't really want to yet make this a habit (see previous blogs), the worship/singing part was really good. I felt a little more reconnected with my Maker.

Also, I blogged (obviously). I felt almost immediately better after that. I guess I really need to just keep writing. To get it all out. Catharsis and all that.

And then there's the unpredictable hormones. I just have to realize I have no control in this area and sometimes the pregnancy is going to kick my butt. It's good to know that the crazed emotions won't last the entire 9 months. This time it was just 3 or 4 days.

Last night nearly killed the good mood I had going yesterday when I talked with a certain family member. I don't know why I try. When she's in her manic, even a simple conversation is ridiculous. Only one of us is actively listening while the other is too much in her own head and problems to really care.

But, then I went and had a GREAT talk with my awesome husband for an hour or so, and felt less like my ideas and feelings were crazy and alien. Thanks, Love.

Today it's snowing, which is just like Wisconsin. At this point, though, we all want spring to just get here. I'm tired of the cold. My spirit is tired of the cold. My bones are cold and need thawing.

15 week low...

I am 15 weeks pregnant today.
The nausea is mostly gone. And last week I had 2 really glorious days of feeling happy and light and ready for anything. It may have been the equally great weather we finally had.

Since then, I've mostly been feeling NOT ready. For anything. I really try not to be a downer, it's so easy for me to be that way, really. But I'm down. I'm feeling crappy about myself. And exhausted always. My 2-year-old doesn't notice, I don't think. It's pretty easy to be pretty cheerful with her. She brings out the joy in me with her happy silly ways. And somehow, I can still be patient with her when she gets angry or scream-y. I put on that mother-y-ness and can patiently discipline. I don't know how this will still happen when there's an infant in the mix and I'm a hundred times more exhausted than I am now. Really, on the days when she tests more boundaries than normal, I do the mommy thing and give the time-outs and the serious, firm eye-contact talks. But then I'm more exhausted and my confidence dips even lower.

I feel like I do what I need to do, but I still feel like I'm treading water a bit. By this point in the blog, my midwife would diagnose me with depression and say it's time for some drugs. It doesn't feel that simple. And I really don't want to expose this tiny baby in me to drugs. Just maybe occasional TUMS.

Thank God for Jer who, on the weekends, cleans and launders, does homework, and basically is two parents to Ava so I can sleep in and sit my tired self down. A lot. Really, I don't think I change one diaper on the weekends. Or wash one dish. And I'm not the brightest light to be around, either. Poor man. I notice I don't make much eye contact, don't really talk much. Lately when he asks if I'm ok, I say things like, "The answer is the same as it's been. I'm tired. I'm pregnant." Or, "I don't have an answer. Stop asking." If I were him, I would ask 'are you ok' all the time, too. I want to be better for him. He compliments me constantly, like always. On my looks, my joy, my mothering...etc. He's amazing for still being so sweet. I guess he just knows me. He knows that I'm hard on myself, and that when I say, "Stop asking," it's not in annoyance at him; it's that I feel bad for acting so depressive all the time, and I don't want to say sad things all the time.

Tomorrow is Monday, and I've mostly been dreading Mondays. Being spoiled all weekend, and knowing that it'll end just... sucks. But I make it, and it's good. Ava is awesome. Even at 6:13am.

As I was browsing the 'net' today, I rediscovered some great sites. So I had to post some stuff. For my future self to re-rediscover.







anthropologie.com
Urban Outfitters.

long walk, house smells...

Long walk to church, not to go to church, but hours after the service was over. We walked 30 minutes with Jeremy to a youth leader meeting. I love that he skips church with me and Ava every-other Sunday. Family day. Love it. I skip it EVERY week. I've stopped trying to think how to rationalize this skipping of church. Well, not really. I TRY to stop rationalizing. I've become non-church-goer, and I'm feeling what it feels to be on the outside. Somewhat ostracized, but mostly non-understood, I think. It's strange to others, I think, to know that I'm a Bible School graduate, and formerly very involved, and now not going at all. And GOING is what one does if one is a “mature believer.” It's starting to feel like an experiment on my end, to see how Christians act when one of their own stops getting with the program. But that's not why I don't go... Simply, I don't like the unspoken rules I used to impose upon myself. I want to be rule-free (I started to look up some Scripture – I think it was Galatians or Ephesians that talks about freedom from observing certain dates and rules... and I realized that it's most of Paul's writing that tries to pound into the readers that it's time to be free from Religious rites...etc.). For me, breaking the rules of church has been horribly hard. Lonely. Lots of being misunderstood. I really just want to be able to follow Christ. Not Christians. I may be a church-goer again one of these days. For now, I'm still under some guilt. (And I want to be guilt-free before I go again.) Why else would I explain my absence to the church people as needing to give Ava her naps (which is true, but I could go on our “family Sundays” and have Jeremy be with Ava. Thank you, Ava, for the easy excuse). Part of me likes this breaking away from tradition, and part of me feels like a big fat sinner.

I love Jesus, but want to know Him and love Him more. When I tell my traditional self that “I love Jesus”, it tastes like a lie. For, if I were a real lover of Christ, I would be in church, heading up some programs, reaching out instead of in. There's still so much I don't understand, and I suspect at times that I'm on the wrong track – because it is a lonely track. I feel like a liberal, wishy-washy Christian who doesn't want to commit, and who thinks of Jesus as a nice example. And idea more than a Love.

Anyways, I'll figure this thing out. (Like it's in the brain.)

The 30 minute walk to church, and 30 minutes back was nice. It's sunny, warm, and finally the humidity has settled down after 2 weeks of unbearable wet. I got a slushy coffee thing, and let Ava play in the nursery for a bit. Said 'hi' to some of the regulars. And realized that even when church isn't in service, I feel like an outsider. It's such a strange feeling. I was always in that clique. Not realizing that it was a clique. I guess you don't realize you're in one when you're in one, and you believe you're accepting of others. Believing that and doing something about it are worlds apart from each other.

I listened to Hannah's mix on my phone's MP3 player. So calming. Thought about our town – how it's not so bad. It feels like Oregon today, warm, almost dry, all the plant-life in absolute fullness. I noticed smells of asphalt, hints of an autumn smell, and house smells: rotten wood, laundry detergent, stale cigarettes. I listened to the lyrics and realized, again, that poetry still lives. This thought came when I heard the line: “What I am to you is not real” (Volcano, Damien Rice). Love that. Love.

"Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters"

I'm learning that I can be chubby AND happy. Woah.

I mean, REALLY. I can't believe I can be totally honest and say that. I've let weight issues control my emotions for far too long. It's been keeping me from dwelling in my own life and fully enjoying all of these moments.

I still desire to be healthy and lose some pounds, but it's not an obsession that puts me into depression. At least, for now... This is a journey, after all, and I have been known to regress.

I think I owe a lot of this change to Courtney Martin who says in her book (Perfect Girls Starving Daughters) that there are so many of us - smart, talented, beautiful women who are wasting our talents and genius on our constant thinking about and working on our weight and eating issues. When someone asks, "How are you doing?" Our minds too often go immediately to how much we ate or how fat we feel to answer that question. We say things like, "I'm good, but I'm having a fat day." There are SO many other facets to us and we rate ourselves solely on this food thing. Courtney Martin finally brings light to how extreme and unnecessary it is to live this way. That just because it's been a normal right of passage for girls to go through this obsessiveness, doesn't mean it has to be normal any longer.

Thanks, Ms. Martin. You rock. : )

tired

I forgot how tired feels.

I guess a person can learn a lot when she's way past tired. Like that she shouldn't drive. And that she rambles. And that she can still be happy.

This wee baby is SO worth it...

vulnerable. end.

I think my brother thinks I’m way logical. And that he can say whatever thing he wants to me without me getting hurt. I do hold things deep down. I don’t show tears or hurt. I’m not transparent. I have to use words to say what I feel instead of just showing it.

I thought I’d never get married. Boys like vulnerable. A princess in a tower. My tower was disguised as confidence. I didn’t think I wanted to get married. I wanted to be left alone so no one would penetrate my safe fortress. I had heart-wrenching times when my future husband would grab my hand and attempt to pull me out of myself. I didn’t like the light – I wanted my dark and cozy room. I wanted no one to know what was going on in there. I held on tightly to the illusion that I had it all under control. Having someone try to make me leave that safety was excruciating. At one point, I was close to running like Jane Eyre did, through the countryside, sleeping in the fields and starving. North Dakota was one big field, ready to embrace me. Not kidding.

My sister thinks I’m a rock. Or knows that I’m trying to be a rock. We argued a few months ago. She said what was on her mind. I held back, not wanting to screw it up. She said she hated that she could see that I was in a rage, but that I wouldn’t just say what I wanted to say. I wasn’t in a rage. I was filled to the brim with deepest fear. Hating that we were fighting. Hating that I was coming out of my safe little room and having fulfilled what I thought would happen – that I would be awkward and wrong and stupid.

My mom knows I’m vulnerable, but also thinks I’m that logical rock. She shares her deepest fears and hurts with me. She sees on the outside that I can handle it. And then later, remembering that my outside doesn’t always reflect what I’m feeling, she apologizes.
“It’s ok. I’m fine!” Not wanting her to feel like she can’t share with me anymore.

I’m not sure what dad thinks of me exactly. I think if I knew that, I might know myself better. Guessing at what he thinks can be excruciating.

And what do I think of all of them…?
They are diverse, funny, passionate people. Filled with talent and love. All of them. The whole family. It’s considered “broken”, but the pieces that have been added to the family through re-marriage make the put-back-together pottery more beautiful.

vulnerable. Part 2.

There has been hurt and swirling passions and drama in my life. Sometimes it’s been acted out by people close to me. Sometimes by me. It all feels the same. The swirling passions of close friends and family are felt deeply by me at times. Sometimes it’s been overwhelming. There have been sleepless nights. Fitful dreams. Anger. Outrage. Hurt. And joy, too. Less remembered, the joy. It sticks in the heart – the hurt. Like thick pins. The hurt doesn’t have to be pulled to the surface to be remembered.

I don’t have any physical qualities inherited from my dad. Except my knuckles. This always makes me smile. I used to stare at my dad – his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, eyebrows – to try and figure out where I matched him. There was nothing I could see. I think I got his internal traits. A little of his awe-inspiring ability to be calm in almost all situations. To chuckle, even, when things go awry. On Father’s Day a few years ago, all of us kids held my dad’s hand during a church-ending prayer, and I noticed our knuckles. Such deep wrinkles that spread far beyond the hinge in both directions. I smiled and my insides grabbed violently onto the sameness. I’ve always wanted to be like my daddy.

I’ve always known I was my mamma’s. I came from her belly.

I have the same restless passion as mom. The same wild hair and the same desire to be wild. A tendency toward hyperbole (but also a rabid desire to reign that in). A lunatic’s tendency to follow what’s “best” rather than step on toes, but here and there, we both get so pushed into corners following that tendency that we eventually act out. For me, I get highlights or whack my hair off. Last year, deathly scared of being a receptionist the rest of my life, I walked off without giving a 2 week notice. That was extreme for “safe” me. And I never felt so very alive.

With the two parental extremes, I can see why, in my confusion and desire to control my environment, I act a little obsessive compulsive.

And also why they got divorced when I was six.

vulnerable. Part 1.

Perfectionism keeps me locked inside. Unable to speak. Fearful. It is most cowardly that I’m afraid of other people. Of their disapproval or, worse, their teasing laughter. In a movie the other day, a husband said to his crying and jealous wife, “We’re not in high school anymore.” She responded seriously through her tears, “We’re never out of high school.” True. How to break free? I am inspired by uncouth women. And old women who speak their minds. And women who lose weight. And women who are content – business women, housewives… it doesn’t matter. The contentment I find in others, however rare, is amazing. I do have moments of bliss. Not uninterrupted, though. There is in my nature a constant pulling and aching. A passion beneath the surface. It goes unfed – me not knowing what to feed it exactly. So I feed my stomach. And dawdle away the time. At times.

Confused at the raging between the passion and the longing to have peace and rest. Wanting to write thrilling stories and feeling mute all at once.

Baby girl!

Two days after my last post... labor began. And 9.5 hours later, a baby was here! Sounds easy, hey?
She's beautiful. Definitely a future knitter and coffee drinker... unless she's not. That'd be good, too. I hope she's totally confident to be totally herself. Always.

It's been nearly 3 weeks now. My days are full of nursing, changing diapers, and being in awe of my tiny girl. The nights are also full of the same. It's hard at first to wake up to feed and change her each time she stirs, but I sit right up, and I'm ready to go. In the dim nightlight-lit room, I sit cross-legged on the bed and watch quietly while she slurps up her meal. She doesn't cry much. Just enough. Sometimes she just wants to be snuggled, which is just fine with me.

What a sweetie.

blogging trouble

Blogging. *sigh*
What the heck.

My emotions are having a hard time with this blog thing.
There are so many things I'd love to write freely about, but people will read it! I mean, maybe only one or two people will read it, but still...!
And to just write about safe things like knitting or the weather... that's just... not really open and honest - the way writing should be.

I'll figure it all out one of these days.

lack of sleep, coldness, knitting at church, and cake

Last night was my first really sleepless night since my belly has gotten this big-ly pregnant. I think I might have dozed off at about 4am. I wanted to sleep in, but I also wanted to go to church. So, I got up at 9ish and didn't dress nicely - it being the Sunday before Christmas, I'd usually pretty up. Jeans with the crazy stretchy waistband, and a long sleeve comfy chocolate brown tee. Pony tail.
I started my car 2o minutes before leaving - it whined in protest because it is below zero degrees today. Ouch to the lungs when breathing.

I sat in the nursing mother's room at the back of church. The glider rocker is far more comfy than the church chairs. And besides, I wanted to knit. I actually was able to soak in the sermon better with my hands at work. In college, one professor said that doodling in your note's margins can actually help students retain the lecture and focus better. I guess that's what knitting does for me. Jeremy was running sound in the little room next to me, so I wasn't neglecting him while he sat among the other peeps or anything.

It was good to see all the people. Especially B- and C-. Hugs all around!

After church, I went through the drivethru at DQ to get the 2-for-2.22 burger thing for our football-day lunch. And, as I approached the little speaker, I found that my window was completely frozen shut. Awesome. Hmmm... what to do. I pulled forward and just had to keep opening and closing the door enough for my arm to reach through. The coldness outside swept into the car each time I opened the door. My arm froze off and then thawed each of the 3 times I had to reach out.

It's 6:00pm now, and I'm getting ready to venture out again. Jer is over at the church to help the youth do a little play. He's the dad. : ) I guess he only has like 4 lines, but I want to go see him - and the youth too, but mostly to see him. And eat cake. There's going to be cake.

The hat

Well, here's the slouch hat...! I'm not sure if I LOVE it, but it turned out pretty close to what I thought it would. Now to make a matching scarflet....

My bday

Last week was my birthday. 28.
On Friday, my mom took me and my Jer, and my 7-yr-old brother out for dinner.
Me and mom had a small argument - not something too fun on a birthday. But then, it got better on the way home when my little brother threw up all over the place! Poor kid. I've never heard anyone throw up so much. Seriously. And the smell was awesome.

Gross, I know, but you weren't there to really get the full effect.

We stopped at a gas station, stripped off his clothes and shoes in the freezing weather, and bundled him up in a woman's black and pink polka-dot robe my mom had in the trunk. Mom and Jer cleaned up, trying to beat the weather as it first froze a smear of ... "hurl" to the window. I sat inside with the miserable boy until the cleaning was done.

So, that was it. My birthday!

Jer did try to make up for it a little a couple days later by taking me to Taco Bell. Yummy and cheap! Thanks, Jer!

slouchy hat day and Ted Dekker

A blog. I get all nervous and writer's-blocky when I think about blogging. Hopefully as I practice, I'll become more free and open. So, here goes!

I keep seeing these awesome slouchy beret-type (but slouchier) hats for sale and on people's heads.

I decided that I need one.

So, today I took myself and my 7-month-pregnant belly out in the snow and bought some yarn. There's a fabulous yarn shop in town called The Knitting Room. I love it there. LOVE. But I rarely buy anything - too much money. Instead I drive the extra 10 minutes and go to WalMart or Joann's. Someday, when I'm rich, I will only buy beautiful alpaca wool, Noro, Debbie Bliss... it'll be great being a millionaire.

Back to the hat... I'll be done in a couple days. We'll see how it goes... If my head is the right shape for such a hat.

The other thing I'm finishing is Ted Dekker's new book - Sinner. Excellent. I'm finishing tonight, and can't wait to see the ending Dekker spins. It's not much of a "spin" though. So far, much of what's happening in the book could happen. Limiting freedom of speech for political correctness - passing laws quickly in the face of national crisis; laws that americans wouldn't have agreed to in times of peace. Wait, we've done that. It's really an awesome book - like all his others! And a lot more exciting than it sounds.