On Birth and Hope

This morning I was dreaming of my husband in 9 minute increments. Compulsively hitting the snooze, forcing my eyelids closed and summoning all of my brain power to bring his face back into focus. These business trips of his are killing me slowly and the short weekends home are finishing me off. Another Monday. I will survive.

Our baby is kicking hard now, making my whole belly move. I sat and watched it for a while before getting out of bed and marveled at the prospect of a new life. At how life begins. At how this little person, unknown to us now, will soon have us completely captivated and utterly in love without even trying. 

And how that fact alone gives me hope in the human condition. We may be slaughtering each other in Syria and dragging each other down like ruthless animals in the political arena...but people all around the world today are having babies and loving them. 

Hallelujah for that. And for all of the other people around the world who are overflowing with love and who wish to have babies to shower it upon but can't for one reason or another. Hallelujah for that, too. That love still exists. The pure and selfless kind that people freely give and never get back.

Two precious little babies joined our family this past week. And for reasons only God can explain, one was allowed to live and one was called back home after just two short days. It's got me thinking a lot about hope. About how underneath all of the religious controversy, the who's right and who's wrong, the political incorrectness of it all, lies the real reason religion exists: to give people hope. There is a tangible strength that comes with belief, real feelings of comfort and an abiding peace that comes from trusting that there are reasons, even if we aren't privy to them yet. That there is indeed a loving Father up there orchestrating this whole life experience. Someone who has our best interests in mind. Someone who gives love freely. And we can feel it if we just believe.

Many prayers going up for my cousin Annie and her family as she buries her sweet little man tomorrow. And many prayers of gratitude for another healthy girl born to my sister Kami and her husband. Another Monday. We are so blessed.

Back from the dead

I was well into my 20th hour of labor when I heard this voice for the first time. It was my own voice, but much older, more confident, calm and self-assured. The type of voice that you don't question, just trust. It came at a point when the escalating pain had begun to pop the seams of my concentration. I could feel myself on the brink of unraveling completely. It said, BREATHE AND COUNT. So I did. And then it said, IF YOU CAN JUST MAKE IT TO 20, YOU'LL BE FINE. And when I made it to 20 the pain started to dissipate. And with each contraction it would pipe in, OK, 25 THIS TIME, with the authority of a football coach and the gentleness of a mother. And off I'd go a counting...on and on for hours. Until finally, FINALLY I heard the cry of a baby and buried my face in my arm and thought, holy crap, I just survived that. 

I had a similar sentiment pulling into the driveway a couple of weeks ago. It was late. The end of a Summer-long road trip across the country and back. Me, my cranky, pregnant self and my hyper little two-year old stuffed into the back seat of a Chevy Suburban for days upon days. This was completely voluntary and self-inflicted and let me tell you what...If you would like to know the exact length of your patience rope, as they say, you should totally give this a try. 

So many hours spent in that back seat thinking, I would rather scratch my eyeballs out than play with these dress-up doll stickers for one more second. And then holding her chubby fingers between mine while she fell asleep thinking, what a beautiful, vibrant little soul packed into that perfect little body. And waking up in a hotel room to the sound of her rummaging through the lollipop bag and I'd say, Stella, not right now, and then watch the proud look melt off of her face and a loud, ugly cry take its place. And I'd think, this is exactly how I wanted to start my day. And waking up in another hotel room to the sound of shoes being clapped together inches from my nose. I'd open one eye and say, What in the world are you doing? And she'd say, I just killing a spider or something mom. It's freaky. And I'd roll over and laugh and think, thank you God for a two-year old in my life.

It was the ultimate exodus from the warm, boring little comfort zone I had nestled myself into. And this is what I'm all about. Pushing my limits. Taking myself to the brink of unraveling, breathing through it, and emerging a stronger, more confident person. Someday to become that older, more self-assured version of myself that graciously shows up periodically to help me limp along until I get there.


Our dear friend Erik just completed an exodus of his own. Racing wild horses across the Mongolian Steppe for 10 days. You can read more about his journey here. Beautiful promo video made by Nathan.

Speaking of videos by Nathan...the night we got home he showed me this little number he'd made while we were gone. There's something about a man who has so much creative talent, who can fix a lawn mower, work a tractor AND bake better cookies than I do. All I can say is, I lucked out.

clear as mud.

I drove to Grammie's house this morning a little earlier than usual. She had carpet cleaners coming and wanted me to stand in as her bodyguard since her trusty watchdog passed away last week (15 year old Yorkie, 8" tall. Terrifying if you're scared of bad breath) and since I am obviously bodyguard material. The woman is 92 and has way more sass than I do. And she has a cane. All I could do to defend myself at this point is put someone in time-out.

All of this to say I was in the car early enough to catch Morning Edition on NPR, instead of the usual dreaded Diane Rehm show, whose voice I can only stomach for a minute or two before I start grinding my teeth and banging my head against the window. How that lady got her job I will never know.

Today they were reporting on two national health issues - an outbreak of whooping cough in Washington state, and a drastic increase of allergy cases in children born within the last 5 years. The first they explained is from people not getting vaccinated, and then they went on to say that getting vaccinated doesn't prevent you from contracting the disease, nor does the booster shot that they're strongly recommending everyone rush out to get. The cure? Antibiotics. Five day's worth. Although that doesn't help the symptoms or cure you, necessarily, they explained. Next up, the allergy epidemic. Cause? The verdict is still out, but the expert they interviewed said it is due to our "sanitation-crazed" lifestyle. Too much time spent indoors, too much washing with anti-bacterial soaps, and yes, too many antibiotics. He mentioned how the Amish people have virtually no cases of allergies, and said it's because their kids play outside around animals and they drink raw milk...promptly followed by a warning to never drink nor serve your children raw milk due to the bacteria contained therein.

The segment finished and I sat there thinking, WHAT THE?

Is this the best we've got, people? Our doctors and researchers are starting to sound like our politicians. Scared to commit to one answer. Unable to find solutions. Endless finger-pointing. Arguing circles around each other while getting NO WHERE. Meanwhile we, the obedient robots, unquestioningly follow the vanishing whims of their latest "findings".

I was listening to The Shins while painting Stella's room the other day and heard this line:

Since then it's been a book you read in reverse, so you understand less as the pages turn.

Disturbingly applicable. 

Needless to say we are continuing to tediously plan the details of our future Walden-esque life. Adding: one milk cow.

round 2

On this day in the history of the universe in the wee hours of a rainy summer morning, I slid and screamed my way into this big wide world. I was delivered by my dad and nursed by my mom and brought home to a house full of love and noise and twelve eager hands ready to hold and cuddle and bounce and rock. 

Birthdays always make me think of my family. Three sisters, three brothers and two more added after me. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, in-laws, nieces and nephews, my husband, my child, and countless friends who are so dear to me they might as well be family. I am so thankful to be sharing my life with these people. And so thrilled to be adding another one to the bunch.

Bubbles

More loveliness from Nathan the Schmoe. Wouldn't you love to have a video like this of your own kids? Yourself? Your boyfriend? Your grandpa? Anyone and everyone?


He's got a rare opening in his schedule from 5/28 - 6/8 and a brain full of amazing ideas for more of these beauties. Email him at nbschmoe@gmail.com if this sounds like something you'd be interested in. He would love to work with you. For reals.

If I suddenly disappear.....

...you can find me building a tree house deep in the mountains somewhere near a lake that has an unencumbered view of the sunset. 


I've been reading Walden and it has left in me this residual puddle of angst-y emotions. I suddenly want to sell everything we have and go live off the land in a little shack in Hawaii. I am wanting more juice out of life, you know? More study, more learning, more growth, a more clear perspective of why we're really here. More awareness in the present moment. And less getting caught in the quicksand of consumerism, popular culture, and of using what other people are doing as a gauge of my own success.


A little voice says simplify, simplify, simplify! And I say, yes, that sounds nice. And then I get distracted by a million things that wouldn't exist if I had heeded the voice in the first place. And not only distracted, but scared. I'm realizing that I'm taking safety and refuge in my possessions. In having a tastefully decorated home, a nice big TV and a cute couch to watch it on. I waste so much brain power thinking about what car I want to buy and will it be big enough to fit the stroller and groceries? 


And what would happen if it all just went away? Would I be able to find just as much satisfaction and joy in life if it were stripped of all of the fluff? I want to get to that point. I want my existence to be grounded in something much more solid and meaningful.


From the man himself:


Let us settle ourselves, and work and wedge our feet downward through the mud and slush of opinion, and prejudice, and tradition, and delusion, and appearance...till we come to a hard bottom and rocks in place, which we can call reality, and say, This Is, and no mistake.


So we took a little walk today. The skies were overcast and the air was wet and a symphony of crickets were chirping in full force. We chased a butterfly and snuck up on a woodpecker and guessed which birds were responsible for which happy songs. We ate apples, barefoot, overlooking a soggy marsh. And when we were done we laid on our backs, the three of us side by side, and we closed our eyes and smelled the pine trees and fresh mud. 


And I felt myself grounded in real life. Just for a minute. 

Nathan Schmoe and his grumpy girls

Grammie, zonked. She is the queen of car sleeping. She puts on her shades, so as to remain inconspicuous, folds her arms and bows her head. One is hard-pressed to tell if she's actually sleeping or deep in prayer. 

Sometimes after being away Nathan comes home on a late night flight, and on such nights it is up to yours truly (with Stella in tow) to pick up said husband from the airport long after the sun and all sane creatures have gone to sleep. And if there's one thing I have learned about my child, it is that she requires the same exorbitant amount of sleep that I do in order to function in any normal way. Needless to say, these late night pick-ups have been pushing our limits and testing our sanity.


So this morning we thought we were scot-free when we BOTH woke up happy after a measly 5 hours of sleep. Tired, sure. But so glad to have Nathan home that sleeping in just wasn't an option. Stella followed him around like a faithful little pup. She watched his face while he talked and after every sentence she'd throw her head back with a boisterous laugh and say, "THAT'S HIL-AR-EEOUS."


That girl.


We decided to take her to see the new sea turtle exhibit at Sea World, and it was on the way there when things started getting testy. Approaching a toll booth we realized we had no cash except a few nickels and an ash tray full of pennies. The cars were lining up behind us and I started barking demands as Nathan tried to quickly sort through the change. "HURRY UP!! COUNT THEM OUT!! PEOPLE ARE WAITING! WE NEED 75!!!" The lady rolled her eyes and in an annoyed, nasal-y voice shouted, "JUST GO ON THROUGH", mumbling under her breath. Stella wanted to watch Jack!...no Elmo!...no Abbie's Flying Fairy School! and kept chucking the phone at the front seat in frustration. We let her eat an entire bag of yogurt pretzels and when they were gone and the whining continued I was about ready to lose it. Luckily Nathan keeps his cool in such moments and kicked it into high gear distraction mode. "Stella, look at that Spiderman billboard! OOh, look! There's an airplane! And a red semi-truck! Your favorite!" etc, etc.


The Turtle Trek was a series of rather anticlimactic aquariums which involved a lot of waiting in cramped quarters with our fellow smelly Sea Worldians. Stella took to balancing on a skinny cement ledge and then throwing herself off of it onto a row of wheelchair bound child haters. They shot her whiskery scowls every time she squealed or laughed or bumped their tire. Stella thought that the highlight of the experience was the 3D movie. Well not so much the movie, but the 3D glasses. When we had to give them back at the end of the trek all hell broke loose.


We drug her all the way back to the car while she wailed, "MYYYYY YELLLOOOWWWW GLASSESSSSSSSS!!!" I heaved myself into the front seat, slipped off my shoes and put my feet up on the dash. Stella stopped flailing as soon as Nathan strapped her in her car seat. We were both asleep before we left the parking lot.


He's REALLY happy to be home.