Verizon Unlimited Plan: $75, On-Call Grandparents: Priceless

So what would it cost to hire a service to:

1. babysit for 7 hours on last-minute notice
2. mow the lawn
3. chop out bunches of blackberry vine from the spider-infested steps up to our door
4. deliver a mountain of fresh-cut peonies WITH a vase
5. make a mechanic house-call to diagnose, purchase and replace two burnt headlights (Honda= 7, Us= 1)

My parents were generous before Tobias made the scene, but now they are unstoppable. If only we had grown us some littlins sooner.

Shall we even begin to describe our incredibly luxurious stay over MemDay weekend in Huntington Beach with the Jonathans? Can I just say, there is something positively sacred about room service when you have an infant? Not to mention beach access, hot tubs, drinks and meals beyond compare.

His unprecedented (and lets be honest- completely unanticipated) glory does make it somewhat easier to let them spoil us so spectacularly. Grazie!

Fee Figh Foe Fum

The giant is sleeping.




Several times today I wondered what was giving me a headache, then realized he had been growling/whimpering/squirming for an hour straight. We infidels (the linoleum guy and me) made the mistake of interupting his sacred preparations for sleep, so he skipped that nap altogether. That always starts with smiles as he's freed from the bondage of his triple swaddle system but ends badly with teary-eyed writhing. The baby gets cranky, too.

By 2:30 he needed sleep like Kanye needs Jesus, and praise God he finally succumbed.

Days like this are tough because now is the time I should be practicing, reading, cleaning, whatever it is I think I can't do with the nipper around. The problem is that right about now I am wiped out. So then I'm tired AND vaguely guilt-ridden.

If only I had a Mercedes. And a cleaning service. And a nanny with a degree in massage therapy.

Bring out the bon-bons.

Yupping out.

We went to the gym tonight, ate sushi and wine for dinner and spent an evening ordering things from Amazon and watching Nature.

But I have a darker secret to reveal. We test drove a Mercedes last week. Somehow I find the prospect of driving one of those things profoundly embarassing. Silly. If we might someday afford it and J really likes that one, then why not? Part of me literally dreads being able to do it, because I will no longer have an excuse for J. (He'd buy me what I want anyway, but you know what I mean.)

It's not that I think I wouldn't get used to it. It's that I probably would. If we have 30,000 extra dollars floating around (the less expensive versions of this thing were 30,000 less) then I don't think we should be spending them on a label. German engineering my left butt cheek. I can't imagine a Honda/Acura/Toyota wouldn't keep up in that area.

The other day I told some one we really like a particular neighborhood in Portland and she said, Your husband's a lawyer- you can afford it!

This, besides being currently untrue, made me uneasy and proud simultaneously. His job is tedious, demands meticulous perfection & long unpredictable hours and we owe a lot of zeros in student loans, so it better pay well. But does that mean we're required to flaunt it? More to the point, will I be able to resist rampant materialism in the years to come, when we have paid away our debts and are bringing in enough money to show it off?

It's easy to be confident in the image you project when you know your means are average. I never really worried while I was in school about what my purchases said about my beliefs, because for the most part (scrumptious purebred dog excluded) I was kept reined in.

I think I had a form of superiority complex going that told me I was better for not spending on such "ugly" things. It was a point of personal pride that I could find the same style of clothes at the knock-off shops or even Goodwill. Pride, greed, averice, vice. I know what I'm capable of and like chocolate or cigarettes, it's just better I don't get started.

Skip if you like- a post about TV shows.

Having done our bit for the worship team, eaten a lunch we didn't have to prepare and taken a short jaunt around a farmer's market, we came home for a bit of good old fashioned tv lounging.

There has been a whole lot of nothing on lately, so we settled for Honey, We're Killing the Kids. I will admit to enjoying other TLC shows where the absolutely ordinary is celebrated beyond all semblance of reason. Often the subpar is given wild, panty-throwing cheers for inching imperceptable toward satisfactory. Love it.

This show just lowered the bar. The premise is fine, but here's the problem: a grown man is given Mr. Mom duty. That's right- a man living in America in our day & age (Hey- what do you call this decade, the zeroes? Aughts?) can become so utterly out of touch with his LIFE that he will be applauded for staying in with the kids for ONE VERKLARTE NIGHT. What is that wife thinking, raising such a sloth for a husband????

I have to think that J would not let this happen to him. Can you imagine a dad not knowing what books his kids like read to them EVERY night? Even if he ain't doing the Goodnighting of Moons, still- wouldn't he overhear, maybe even join in the cuddle once in a blue one?

But wait- ignore all of that. A new show just came on- Welcome to Fatland- where a resort has made itself comfortable for the morbidly obese. The show focused on a woman who coaches fat confidence and has written several books encouraging people to be happy with themselves at any weight. Fat liberation.

Self confidence, self esteem- how much more blatantly could these things worshipped? At what point was a wrong turn taken such that a health threat as serious as overweight is a source of pride?! Isn't taking pride in something that harms you an unmistakeable sign of self hatred?

Either way, TLC should be called TSC- The Surface Channel.

The last show (because I want to go to the gym now) is The 627 Pound Woman. Ironic that we were proofing vacation photos of us in the ocean that actually made me cry to see my own flabulousity while watching this poor woman's struggle to "feel human again".

On the heels of Welcome to Fatland, this show seemed worthy of Nobel-level praise. I was completely hooked. I literally prayed that she would survive.



Just kidding with this pic. Fun with my swim skirt dealy- looks like a tumor.



The only swimsuit-at-the-beach photo I will be posting on the internet for a while. Wheeee- look at those waves!

Food, glorious, WHAT IS THAT WHERE MY THIGHS USED TO BE???

Why, it's more thigh! More than the eye can behold in one go- you would need the Matrix camera trick to fully appreciate exactly what I have going on heeya.

So I've been considering adjusting my dietary intake. I considered it at Red Robin today with Tobias, where for some reason I thought I better order a substantial lunch because I was subjecting them (a family restaurant with kid's menu crayons) to... an infant! I considered it further when, approximately one hour after RR, I needed a frozen coffee drink buhbuhbuh bad. Tonight at the Rose Festival I considered selling one of Toby's limbs (don't worry, just an arm or something) if it would buy me an elephant ear since we had no cash and are too cheap to use ATMs with extortion fees included.

Seriously.
I am always hungry- not just snack hungry. Meal hungry. With a salad and a beer hungry.
And a bag of chips.

I have heard the whole breastfeeding reasoning, the 9 months on/off excuse. But dewd. A normal (FORMERLY pregnant) appetite does NOT encompass half a tray of Rice Krispy treats in a single sad sticky sitting.

Maybe I'll go back to writing down everything. Maybe I'll check out South Beach. All this thinking... I'm famished, and I have half a bag of marshmallows left.

Lull is a funny word.

So I says to the boy, I says, Hey boy- stop with all that distracting needing of things and daily developments so I can find something to write about. Alas, he listeneth not.

Yesterday he was playing around with his lunch (and oh how that game goes over big in the middle of the yuppy brew-pubs we frequent), so I whinged to J- Maybe he's waiting for pheasant under glass? J, always the bright bulb, fired back, You mean instead of boob under blanket?

I'm redoing my dye job tomorrow. Do you think I'll look trailer-trash in black/blue? Remember the time zone change if you decide to advise me, just in case I do it and you're all, Don't do it- you'll look like shite. And then I'll be like, Damn- I wanted to be original yet classy.

Lull lull lull. See?

Yum!

Minivan convention

I thought the gym would be deserted at 9am. I thought everyone else in the world would be at work and I would have my favorite equipment all to myself. I thought WRONG.

There were thousands of wildly motivated, serious mom-types there. So many with upscale just-so ponytails and matchy-matchy workout wear that there were only two treadmills open despite the two full aerobics and spinning classes.

You would have thought the Kidsworld was holding a rodeo. I glanced past Tobias' room (nine infants there) to the toddlers just in time to see a little flock swirl past led by a wirey shirtless heart breaker- Toby in a few years?

The nannies love T because he's such a calm kid just now. My favorite lady said he just liked watching all the chaos from the play pad today. "He laughs so easily. He's such a good baby." Why yes, yes he is. Clearly, we should pay some one of such insight much much more.

Ooooh, there's one with fewer zeros!

So our friends Barb and Frank (pronounced "Frawnk" because he's all foreign-born and stuff) were here for three days to look for a house. They told me they were looking in a Reesonabul (Margie from Fargo) price range and we tried not to laugh aloud much while they were in the room.

When they said their agent found thirty listings, we remembered there have been a lot of meth lab evictions of late, and that corner with the prostitution busts on the nightly news might have some vacancies now that business has cooled somewhat.

But. They found a house. In fact, they found TWO they liked enough to haw and hem.

So tonight when I picked J up and his cold had him feeling Meh enough to skip the gym, we went for a little drive and collected real estate sheets. Two places in particular were fun- one pretty much out of our range unless we stop eating or start breaking laws and another we think must have had a murderer-rapist living there it's so comparatively cheap.

I think perhaps this here is the funnest part about house hunting: the initial thrill. Like Jr. High girls flipping through Bop magazine, we can look and idealize and dream. Plus drool- though Toby has done so much of that lately that J and I will just leave that department all up to him.

Eventually, looking at houses leads to Wanting houses. And to Mortgages (mort=death in french). And to J calculating and recalculating, his fingers ticking back and forth in the air while his eyes roll up in his head. Creepy, really. I prefer the 'We're just looking, thanks' stage.

And the Honda has cooperated with our new hobby how? By springing some sort of drool capability all its own, sputtering right on the feet of whoever is lucky enough to be in the front passenger seat when the A/C is running. I wonder how many minor yet expensive problems you can ignore on a marvel of Japanese engineering before it bites you in the a$$. No, really, we'll keep count and let you know when we find out!

Navelation

Here it is- traditional flash swallows around my belly. They're handily covering up some pregnancy stretch marks, but also I just wanted a tattoo. Kudos to Ben Matthews of Tigerlily!

Book Drive

This morning after dropping J off at work, Toby and I saw the saddest sight on the highway. Sadder even than the time there was a cop car chasing some kind of animal (deer? great dane?) slowly down the freeway, three lanes of cars crawling along behind.

Some one dumped a load of hardback books all over I-5 today.

The remainder of the morning I came up with scenarios for how they came to their 10-mile long fluttering demise. Could be a graduate fed up with the years of studying gleefully littered in the small hours of the morning; or a Powell's Books delivery truck rambled along too fast on the bridge above the freeway, toppling precious bon mots to the lanes below; or Luftansa freight forgot to secure a mailbag full of primers for orphans. In any case, it just seemed so banal- such a waste. Unless it was the Book of Mormon or something, but still. Hardbacks!

Check it.

Here's some good readin'- I am enjoying the eentahrnet of late as a nice diversion as Toby had shots and is alternating between mellow and supersonic baby. He's all like, Thanks, Mama, for protecting me from them deadly epidemics- I love you and will gaze sweetly giggling into your eyes now. OR! Yo, beeyatch- here's a 4-wipe diaper and a crying jag to peel paint off the wall as payback for the needles.

You'll have to copy and paste the addresses if you're into that because I'm lazy.
1) Plastic super-heroes doing Yoga: www.yogabeans.com/2006/04/utthita-trikonasana-and-parivritta.html

2) Hilarious talented writer chick (who does drop the f-bomb like it's the blitzkreig, but I swear it's justified, beautiful use of the lingua franca): www.fussy.org

3) If this is the "top-selling artist" in the united states, then the world is and should be coming to an END.
Ohhhhhhh noooooooooo. http://www.artifactsgallery.com/art.asp?!=A&ID=759

4) In this week's Willamette Weekly, I found the best description of the latest action flick we just had to see. "...In a film overflowing with special effects, none seem more special than Cruise's ability to get misty-eyed on command for no apparent reason. For a super-agent out to save the world, Ethan Hunt is a crybaby bitch boy. Mission: Impossible III is more entertaining than it is bad, but also more stupid than it is good."

May 14th, 2006

Tobias, today was for me one of those handful in life you will realize is a gift in itself. Looking back over the last nearly-four months, plus the months before that when we were waiting for you, I see radical blessed jarring wonderful massive change. Today I took a breath or two and stopped to look around a little bit.

This is Mother's Day. I know, it's just a scam for the world's purveyors of cheezy schlock, but it's my first so it felt important. We piled a bunch of baby-goods, the dog, and our Evanescence CD in the car and drove to your grandparent's in Salem for a barbeque. My mom was firing a huge outdoor brick column kiln with her art gang, it was a pristine first hot day of summer and what more excuse do we need to head down there?

You started to fuss some out under the shade of their pines, sort of whining low with your eyes closed and your hands clasped together so I knew you were ready for your nap. Your dad- who is so cute with you, and who you love to follow around with your eyes- was sweet and sat outside the window where you slept so I could go for a run. At this age you are a very easy baby but in a way that's like saying you're friendly for a polar bear, considering the amount of time you require. In fact, you pretty much require all of it.

With this slice of time, I went for a run. The route is one I've run for years; before I met your dad, before I was pregnant, while I was pregnant and now that you're here. As I ran it today I thought of you and what it is like to be a mom. To be your mom.

You are by far and without bias the cutest child I have ever seen. When we are playing and I say Boo you startle with your whole body and then search my eyes while you decide whether to laugh or not. In that moment while you are looking as deep as you can into me and while I wait to be sure you are okay, that you are enjoying our play, I see sweetness so becoming my heart might literally break. I thought about that look as I ran, and I thought about so many of the things I look forward to watching you see for the first time. Laughter is almost always a good choice (except where your dad's jokes are concerned as that might encorage him) and you grace us by choosing it constantly.

There is something about the way you move your hands lately that makes me think you are going to be a very determined individual. Your father and I are stubborn as mules- bronze ones- so this is no surprise, but I secretly love seeing it in you. I know that everyone's infant is fascinated with hands/fingers and their ability to levitate things to the all-important Mouth at this age, but you are set apart. I can tell by the way you make an O out of your lips and stare down with such hopeful intent.

You and I have worked ourselves out a schedule. Before you appeared I thought I was an impulsive person, but now I know otherwise. My proclivity is to break a day into hunks like a warm yeasty bread. Practice, run, nap, web-surf, cook, anticipate your Papa's return. Now it's more like... birdseed, cracker crumbs: big piles of tiny activities repeated until suddenly it's 5:45 and time to go get J from work. Feed, change, play, clean, sleep, feed, clean, placate, entertain. And BAM! months go by.

For the first three months I felt this was really all I did, and I was a little lost in all of it. It wasn't an unhappy lost- more like the times (yeah- plural) I tried to run through the back trails of the Arboretum in Madison and ended up twisting about endlessly among the ponds and trees before sheepishly finding my way home, legs tight and rubbery. Now, though, I think I'm on my way along the shady lanes with you. We communicate, we play, you are still alive and in one piece. (Don't EVEN bring up the whole ear-in-the-strap-clip incident, J.)

I have never been so surprised to be deliriously happy, Tobias. I love being your Mom. Both the job it entails and the relationship we have. I'm looking forward to the revelation of each bit of your personality, so keep 'er coming little man.

Happy Mother's Day, Toby.

We live here, we do.

Today started out exactly perfect. We slept in, by which I mean that the one of us who hasn't grown any teeth yet woke up laughing and decided he and I should hang out downstairs for an hour before getting in another little stolen bit of shut-eye. Once we really got up, we took off on a run with the super high-tech Trek baby jogger. Toblerone donned his sweet blue miami-grandpa hat and rock star guitar look. I noticed some of the lady runners twittering and swooning- we tried not to endanger any of them too much by keeping the shade pulled over his Ridiculously Tobyness.

We went down the hill (it is a real hill, first gear in the Honda like living in San Fran) past the French school's Saturday market and over to the trail along the river. There are always sailboats, hawks and herons. Looking out over the river under the squint-worthy blue, I realized it. We LIVE here. We are locals. I always wondered which part of the NW I would have to settle for. Ha HA! Turns out I got the golden ticket.

We barbequed, we picked up moderately crappy free metal shelves, we found a store with the brand of Japanese plum wine I love above all others.

I still (seriously) have some work to do on the Hello, I'm a stereotypical lonely-tired-busy-nutty new mom thing, and I might need to take a hit out on our neighbors' dog, but I do LOVE this town.

I'b got a cold.

Tobias got it first and kindly shared. It's not too bad, really- I just sound awesome. Like Simon, you can tell whenever I'm alive because you can hear the breathing from ten feet away.

Toby was a clingy kid today, like a chubby little sloth with extra drool. Such a baby. We watched obscene amounts of TV, him sitting back in the rocker in a striking imitation of a WWE fan with a beer gut. That amount of nothing is fun for me for the first part of the day, but by evening I get restless. The cold made me too sleepy to do anything about it, but if I sit on my butt tomorrow I will become No Fun Wife. We're planning to take our cold to the library and see who might benefit from our generosity there.

My dad and J are conducting a Craigslist experiment for me this weekend. They're going to pick up some metal shelves I found in the free category and see whether they are worth their price. They are actually driving about an hour from Portland to get them so I'm really hoping they are worthwhile. I am addicted to craigslist. It's fun to see what people are selling, and it's more fraud-proof than ebay because it's all done face to face. A big city like PDX is even better than Madison was for this.

Plus, look at the funny stuff people do without spell check:
Chairy Dressers
Armed Chairs
Cabnets
Sowing Machine

And then there was this, posted in the free stuff:
Kama Sutra Oil of Love original--New! Never used
Well I would certainly hope it wasn't used love oil. I mean, if they went to all that trouble to recover it, they would have to charge something, right?

I like it a LOT.

I happily bought eastmountainsouth, Jack Johnson, and Rocco DeLuca. I am in lust with I-Tunes and plan to take over the world from within its vast infrastructure. More suggestions, I so love them.


Today was brilliant. I had a coffee/mall date with my one Friend, lunch with the hottest guy in two hemispheres, and Toby had such a great time at the gym. There were two chicks playing with him when I checked the monitor and he was sleeping when I picked him up. One of them said he kept laughing with her.

Tonight feeding him while putting him to bed, he kept looking up at me like, Are you still here? Then laughing. Last night as well, he also giggled and pbltpblt'ed himself to sleep.

We have it so good.

Help me out here!!!

Last time I made a request to you, Internet, you came up with some excellent reading material. I bought a bunch and have read about 5.2% thus far. But hey- that leaves me with lots of things to do when I need to do things.

Now I have a new request. I have asked BD this a bunch of times, but I'm going to pester once again anyway:

What are you listening to lately? I need new music. Genre is unimportant. Anything, just some new stuff to hear.

Is it just me or does most of anything on the radio leave the innocent listener unsatisfied? Excepting the kick-ass classical station here, I can't find anything decent. It's been that or talk radio- and Tobias has a strong preference for the classical. Seeing as it is usually just he and I in the car, the radio has helped fill certain gaps in the conversation.

So PLEASE, it doesn't have to be New Music- anything you've been grooving to lately would be most appreciated.

More signs of a good vacation.

Today turned into a bit of a rough day. I think the problem is that I was wanting my life back. I love being a Mom, but I often catch myself trying to find a way around Tobias.

Tiffany and I were talking yesterday about how it’s not that you can’t do the things you want- it’s that you can’t do them in exactly the way you’d like. I can’t set up my stuff and practice for 3 hours, have some lunch, and put in a couple more.

The thing is, I’m selfish and stubborn and that has been translating into me deciding I might as well just not do things if I can’t do them “right”. Why even start cleaning the bathroom if I won’t have time to scrub all the grout with a toothbrush? What point is there in practicing if I’m limited to 15-20 minutes?

I want to enjoy the kid all the time like I do in my better moments. To pick him up slowly, rub his back, catch his eye and make him giggle, watch the ladies smile at him across the supermarket aisle. Instead I’m more likely orchestrating a way to have him continue to ride quietly from chore to chore or entertain himself while I perform some inane task. This is it- the golden time. He will look me in the eye, I can be the center of his world, I can change the way his gray matter squiggles.

Parenthood is such a strange amalgam of intense emotion, physical demands, and guilty attemps to placate, distract and appease.






The wierd knife one and the blue one are from the ferry from Nanaimo to Vancouver. A lovely ride.

Further Vic-pics

Here's what you get when you combine two tired-from-walking of us with an Irish pub in VICTORIA. Yay.

Victor victoria

We are anniversarying in gorgeous Victoria, BC. Yesterday we wandered about, took pictures of anything that remotely interested us (including J with the ferry mast growing out of his head and the flying fish roe I spilled at the Sushi restaurant we fell in love with last night).

Turning on the TV last night we found hockey and today it's men's figure skating. When in Rome, eh.

What does that move mean anyway, where a skaterix (oh excuse me, I mean athlete) holds his open hand up in front of his face and slowly moves it downward, anyway? While wearing turqoise tights with an infinity symbol made of sequins on the ass? My butt is everlasting? There is no end to my buns? Wierd. But yes, if that's what our son eventually wants to do, we'll be out there shopping at the sequined-tights shop with all the other desperately supportive yuppy parents. Do people even use the word Yup anymore? Hmmm.

I am a bit out of it with no little lump of Toblerone along for the trip. I keep acosting people with infants, forcing them to listen to me gush about our left-behindlet. They back away slowly, strategically placing themselves between us and the stroller, performing the old nod-and-smile. I have somehow refrained from grabbing their offspring to hug, rock and smell.

Right, then, tally-ho, cheerio. We're off to get some Starbucks- can you believe they have 2 in one block just like Salem? We'll save a seat for you, Dad.

Great Balls of Fire

My husband, the stud that he is, done won me a t-shirt. It's a purty one, too. You may be wondering, Did he shoot little metal duckies? Did he bounce a ping-pong ball with stunning accuracy into a goldfish bowl? No, fair reader, here I'll tell you the tale of what dragon he conquered just for me.

It was an entire quintuplet order of Great Balls of Fire at Salvador Molly's, that finest of Portlandian eateries. The restaurant is cute. The balls, not so much. They contain habaneros, and a little bit of cheese, but mostly habaneros made into fritters. I tried a small corner of one of my own (a full order is FIVE) but it wasn't fun to eat- it just hurt. Plus, why injest someting so dangerous to your parts that you have to wash up before touching your infant?

But my man, he finished, vanquished, prevailed. They took his picture for the Wall of Flame (I swear it ain't a gay bar) and I got a sweet hot-red tee with neato tattoo style design. Wore it today, in fact, at a barbeque celebrating my dragon-slayer's swearing in to the state Bar.

Slay on, J, Slay on.

Separation Anxiety

We have left our precious little cargo-let with complete strangers for the first time this week.

It was not even an ideal situation, but let me explain before any of the relations have coronaries.

We joined a gym, see. It's a super-posh gym. There's a guy who comes around offering water. There's the largest climbing wall in Oregon, which is a state nutty about climbing. The locker rooms smell nice. Not just inoffensive- actually nice.

The kidsworld part of the gym is really posh, too, with lots of young girls and sweet grandmother types who have been criminal background-checked and such.

The thing is, we walked in to leave him in the infant room and there were already two infants there. Both were screaming their little tiny heads off. I mean, they were crying in a way that Toby hasn't since way back in the day of the circumstrainor. There were two ladies caring gently for them, but still they shrieked, and what did we do?

We left Toby in a swing (another first) and went to work out.

At least, I worked out some, in between checking the video feed from the infant room and hyperventilating and wondering if they would maybe let me put my own monitor on him- you know, one of those helmet-cams like the bobsledders use.

And Toby's reaction? He presented them with a diaper to deal with and then fell asleep in the swing.

We're going back today.

1946-2006

Today was my uncle Tommy's funeral here in Spokane. He was released- and it was a release for him- from this life on Thursday last week, just a few days after we visited.

It was rough in a good way watching the slide show of pictures from his life. One in particular stuck in my mind, though there were a bunch of great ones. In this pic, he's sitting at a kitchen table with an enormous pumpkin, his arm up to the elbow in it, and he's smiling as he nearly always was. Tom was "handsome in a boyish way"- maybe whoever invented that phrase had met him with his twinkly eyes and slightly rounded cheeks.

As he's working on the pumpkin, his son Bradley at about age 8 is hanging on his arm, looking rapturous into the depths of the gourd. It's such a sweet little moment, and I never saw Tom or Candy any other way with Brad. They would drive all day, arrive at our house tired, and still jump up when Brad wanted to go outside or play some ball. Tom would endlessly repeat inside jokes he had with Brad- and for the pleasure of everyone he knew, for that matter.

At the funeral today folks kept standing up to say what a funny, well-liked man my uncle was. Somebody mentioned that Brad needed a special dad to help him with his challenges. Too bad the word is over-used, but Uncle Tom was absolutely special- spectacular, actually. There was another pic of he and Candy with a baby Brad in one of those Olin Mills studio shots, and they are smiling with such unrehearsed joy. This would have been just a few weeks after being informed of Brad's physical and mental challenges, but there they are in relaxed grace.

John Moody came down to do the service, and was so very good. He kept talking about having the faith to entrust loved ones to God. It's hard. I know there's a God, but today I just kept praying, frantic really, that it's all True, and that Jesus has him and it will all make sense in the end. Funny to pray to some one in hopes they are who they say they are...

I'm grateful he is a patient and loving God, and I entrust Tommy and the people who loved him to Him tonight.

The purpose of Blife

My good friend, favorite author I know personally and the chick who brought me into this century by introducing me to blogs is quitting hers. You can read why here, at least for a few more days...

Like most blogfolk I've wondered why I write on this thing.

Usually it is, like Tiffany says, my own fascination with all things me. The motivation behind that self-fest is what varies. This year, moving away from my friends, school, work, church, and house has been one of the harder moves I've made. It lacked a little of that sense of adventure you have when you're headed to new career commitments, seeing as my only job now is spit-up collector and cry averter. "Only"- of course I have my Hallmark moments, and I won't bore you with the treacly reasons I love the kid just now. I'll just trust you know that part.

Even though every single thing I post about is some trifle I find related to my own life, I am compelled to look for angles or items I might not have noticed if I wasn't blogging them. I step out of myself, look up from the trail every once in a while. While I hold no delusions nor desires that I will be the next idol of the blogosphere, just knowing people could read me makes that little difference. Like cleaning up the living room floor when the plumber is on his way.

Yahtzee!

Just had to announce, internet. I have a coffee date. A chick from the mom's group last week and I are meeting at Lovely Corporation Bucks to hang out!!!!! (Exclamation point...)

Don't worry, I'll try not to smother, but at least this proves it's possible to find another human- a mother with youngins even- to be chatty with.

I just found an interesting link whilst looking for a fun image for this. Apparently several Starbucks have asked nursing moms to leave, cover up, or go into the bathroom. Luckily, Oregon has a law prohibiting messing with a nursing mom, but still. They also have these lovely huge handicapped accessible bathrooms that NEVER have changing tables. WHY, Mr. Bucks, WHY? You can get posh looking brushed-steel ones like PF Changs, you can get the in-the-wall kind if you're worried about infringing on the spaciousness. What the heck? You're all granola-y and human friendly, why not start branding children as young as possible?

Anyhoo, here's the link.

On a lighter note, here's Xena the Warrior Princess breastfeeding. Woo hoo.

And guess what else!

I'll have to post the real pic in a while, after it's all healed up.

Exclusive! Look upon it and...

...well, reactions may vary, especially depending on whether you are a parent to either one of us.

My husband is the proud sporter of a sweet tat. He sports it!

It's got a celtic cross with knotwork and there's a calf, phoenix, lion and man to represent different aspects of Christ.

It's big! It's bold! It's J's shoulder!

Respect and accolades are due to Ben the tattoo artist at Tigerlilly. www.benmatthewstattoooing.com

feast!

We tried and tried last night to get a shot of one of T's full-body smiles. He does this thing now where he smiles open-mouthed like an ingenue while writhing in joy, his arms shooting all about.

There's another expression he has that I've yet to really catch with a camera, where his mouth makes a tight little "o", eyes look down & open WIDE and head juts back in such a way that all 39 of his chins become visible. It looks like a face a comedian would take years to perfect. He's doing it less often now- maybe it had something to do with trying to focus on stuff.

We went to a reading by Don Miller last night at Powells, but arrived a few minutes late and couldn't see at all and only faintly hear. I did snake my way up to where he was visible (amazing what holding a baby will do for your ability to squeeze through a crowd) and he looks different than I had thought. I thought he'd look more... edgy. I don't know- it just seems that with notoriety and acclaim sometimes people attain a certain snotty air to them, but he hasn't. He looked friendly to me, and read well enough. His new book's about growing up dadless, and I had planned to skip it but now I'm intrigued. I had thought half our church would be there, and maybe they were, but there were lots of folks I'm pretty sure I've never seen. I love the scruffy comfiness of a Portland audience.

A chick walked past us last night following her toddler curly headed girl, who said Hi. Her mom apologized (?!) and said, pointing at Toby, "i miss those days". It just confirms that these are prime times for taking him with us everywhere. He's just starting to make those long yodeling sounds kids do for no reason, and for the most part he'll sit quietly on your lap if he's fed & dry.

I like the attitude that C had in her little-kid days: Look at it all as educating other people about life. If the kid cries, soothe it, but don't enter a hermitage for fear of inconveniencing.

The tough thing is that as a classical musician, you get used to this rigid silence from the listener. In our times, a concert is such a personal thing, between you and the performer. We listen in huge halls with so many others that the slightest noises are to be frowned upon to avoid cacophony. In order to maintain the (artificial?) intimate relationship between the music and the hearer, distractions are outlawed. I wonder what it would have been like to attend an actual chamber music concert in some grand home with Brahms making eyes at Clara Schubert. And Mozart- fuggetaboutit, there would have been extraneous performances of all sorts.

Franchise info coming soon...

I think some one would make a ton of money marketing classes on serious topics (philosophy, theology, history, art) that new parents can BRING their kids to. This morning proved to me that women (it was all ladies seeing as it's a "mom's community") can talk deep schtuff right on over their toddlers. And THEN, my brain cells wouldn't be abandoning ship and I wouldn't feel this urge to run out to Target or ANYwhere I can wheel the babe about in public with other people nearby.

I have realized I am actually quite comfy with the boy as he is just now. These toddlers- I wanted to say so many things to them. Watch out, Quieter, Don't push, Don't sit in Toby's carseat, Stop spitting, Don't put that up your nose. Oddly the moms were able to suppress their urges to say any of these things and continued the discussion unhindered. I, on the other hand, felt like I was watching a movie in another language while trying to read a technical manual and refinance my loans over the phone.

Maybe this is why they develop slowly. This way we have the time to adjust and build the specialized version of multi-tasking required to not go nuts.

Still, I think this would be a great venture. Lectures given by lecturers who don't mind a few screeches and the scent of graham cracker gently wafting from the audience would be wildly popular...with me, anyway.

Kid-friendly Smarts, Lenient Lecturers, Mama's No Dummy. There's got to be a name in there somewhere.

Homesickness

We have returned home. It's not really home yet, actually. It doesn't count until you have unpacked your books, painted the walls and can sit on the carpet without feeling unclean.

I don't know what it is I want. More contact with adult humans, more energy, more practice time. It has been a long time since I felt this kind of uncertainty about my own architecture.

Quicksand and molasses seemed to flow around me each time I went to do something today. The bookshelves were too heavy to move, the kid woke just as I neared my viola, the lawn mower needed both gas AND oil when I had only brought home the gas.

My son is glorious, my husband a joy, my dog a creampuff. I, however, am not exactly sure how I'd like myself to fit in all this yet. Tonight I was trying to explain to J and my jaw just felt tighter and tighter and before I knew it my lip was quivering and the waterworks leaking all about.

I wonder- when I've met the humans, gathered the energy and practiced up, will I feel satisfied?

Travelin' stories

It has been one of those trips you remember and talk about for years already. Seeing Tom was... impossible to describe. I found myself looking at him as an interesting medical dilemna, as The Disease, not my uncle anymore. And in a lot of ways, that's true now. But then he would respond sometimes in such a way that you recognized him.

We've been told now that his diagnosis is not just Alzheimers or might not be that at all, but is instead something called Lewy Body Type Dementia. Lewy Bodies are apparently lesions on the brain where lots of electrical signals get crossed, bunched up and jumbled. The victim has hallucinations, slower movements similar to early Parkinsons and dementia/deterioration like Alzheimers. Apparently diagnosis is rare and involves a lengthy process of elimination. Rico the night nurse seemed sort of jazzed that he was seeing a relatively rare situation.

I would post pictures of Tom with the Elmo toy his son sent for him to have, but at this point, that wouldn't really be a picture of Tom. So I'll find some of those pictures of him and dad when they were rowdy young things (Tom used to say 'Young airmen' in a funny voice when somebody was handsome). He also used to belch My mom and dad, to which his mother would say, "Yes, dear?" This is funnier when you know that they were a fairly fancy Catholic family.

The best part of the past few days (besides the hospitality of S & J) was taking Tom's wife out for Mexican food, beer and margaritas. Dad rewired a light for her while Mom and I got to talk about all sorts of things. I feel like I'm just getting to know her, and she would be a great friend to have even without any family ties. Admiration isn't a thick enough word- can you imagine the strength required to do this? To care for her son, her own health, her husband? She's a pillar.

This morning we woke up in Missoula, ready to see more doting relatives. Mom was so excited to see her family that she and dad both woke up at the butt crack of dawn. I was cranky at first but I'm working on my martyr attitude. Aren't I a joy?

Pics to travel by...

As much as I try to avoid living the stereotype, DANG does this child need a pile of materialism to make it through a day. More even than a gay man on Halloween in SoHo.

I can't help but pack thirty thousand pounds in fourteen cubic yards of stuff for him. Good thing mom 'n dad are bringing the Jeep.

I have to brag on the spawn for a sec. He made it through an entire movie (IN A THEATRE) tonight without any offensive noises, meltdowns or oozing floods. What a schmooshie chunk of a stud.

Here's a preview glance at the coloration nation. I feel so free, so punk; look upon my Edge and fear. (Am I letting my nerd show again? Dangit...)

On the Road Again

I drove a round-trip total of 90 miles today to walk around Wal-Mart in my impractical new heels and blue hair. There is no almighty Super Wal-Mart with all you need to survive every stage of your life within Portland's city limits. And yet, Portlanders love theirselves some huge Fred Meyers, Targets, and at least 4 enormous malls. Wal-Mart must just be too gauche.

On the spur of the moment, I'm heading to Montana and Washington to visit relations. Lots of 'em are old, and might otherwise kick it before meeting the newest, brightest star in the constellation. I am officially chopped liver now that there is a Toby.

That's part of the truth, anyway. Really, I'm up for a challenge, some spice, a bit of a change of scenery. I would consider a tour with a crappy orchestra if I thought it would get me a hall pass field trip vibe.

Part of our trip will be visiting my uncle Tommy's wife. He is in the end stage of early onset Alzheimers. That is one dirty dark alley of a disease, and I can't believe he is going through it. More than that, I can't believe his wife is going through it. She has MS. Their son is profoundly retarded and has physical problems. And then this?

Tom was my favorite uncle as a kid. He was fun, sweet, boisterous, quick to laugh and slightly baudy. He could belch the entire alphabet- this, in my clan, brought him a certain status. His hugs were some serious loveliness. In my teenage years I thought he was Cool- he drank a little more, swore more and had more mainstream "life-problems" than my parents.

Tom and his wife used to be a volatile couple, and you never knew what to expect when heading out into public with them. They would argue passionately, they would send food back for being the wrong temperature and send secret messages to the waitstaff through their tips. His wife once called me a "little asshole" when she thought a cousin and I had been too noisy. Then, sometime in the late nineties, everything about them seems to have changed.

They softened, smiled tolerantly at crappy restaurants, they mellowed.

Today Tommy is in a hospital bed drinking his meals. Do you understand? This absolutely makes my shortlist of questions on my own personal d-day. I get that there's a fallen world, that we're all doomed. But so much tough stuff in one little family?

Anyway, I know, I know- I'll reread some Yancy and The Problem of Pain, the book of Job. I'm not being completely dark. It's just sucking right now.

Flavorites

In the last weeks I have discovered some lovely things.

One, you can correct (say "correct" with the r rolled like the butler does in The Shining) haircolor that bleeds all over your hair and makes it green instead of supercool deepest blue. Dye, ho, Dye!

Secondly, the funnest place to shop on the internet is Etsy.com. Where else can you commission stuff from folks that high on the hip scale?

Third, punkymoms.com has a couple of good writers, groovy images and interesting links. Just don't buy the essay on autism & vaccinations.

Last and coolest, I can get Toby to smile even when he's crying. It's funny, actually. We laugh at him alot when he's crying- either at his faces or the sounds that come from his widdle soul.

This must be how it happens...

You know how those people always say that you have kids, then blink and they're 18? The past few weeks sort of showed me how that might happen. Except he's still such a total baby. Blink. Still not working...

I dyed my hair blue. I wanted two chunks of blue under the top layer and it's pretty cool that way. Except that, the hair around the blue seems to have picked up some of the dye and is now sort of a peacocky green. But mostly it's cool.

I'm also thinking of getting a tattoo. I am not kidding. Geeky classical musician by day, geeky classical musician with freaky blue-green hair and a tat by night. I got stretch marks, see. A little map of somewhere european with lots of twisty streets has appeared around my navel. It reminds me of these patterns in an old fallen tree we took pictures of on Mount Hood. I am not the kind of girl who bares her navel anyway, making it an eyes-only sort of region. So if I chicken out you will never know, ha-ha, unless you are the 87% of my readership known as "J".

Let's see...

In other news, Tobias has continued to grow. He weighs 15 pounds now- at least, he did 3 days ago. By now it's likely up around 50. Despite this he often requires me to carry him in my arms through miles of Target aisles. He disdains the car seat because he runs the risk of getting Bored there. Apparently, the view is radically different than laying directly in front of me like a prince surrounded by toys and a crazy lady repeating "Doot doot. DOOOt doot doot! Dooooo de doo." while smily wildly and trying to offer the pacifier in a manner deemed acceptable.

We have a similar scenario in the car. All is happy coos or contented snoring while the vehicle is in motion. But God forbid we encounter a red light, an old lady walkering across the street or any other reason to stop for even the briefest of moments. He has this internal sensor hooked up to his Holy Crap alarm, and danged if it doesn't go off daily. J and I both are experts at that most annoying of driving habits where we seem to stop about 15 feet before it's even remotely necessary, then slooowwwly creep forward. The more the car vibrates, the better. Thank goodness it's a stick and has a tranny issue.

As I typed, his royal heiny was cooing and squeeling delightfully ("AhhEEEeeyah...HaiiIIIiii"...and so on.) on his specially designed Gymini baby mat. Operative word: was. I knew we were headed downhill when he started that tried 'n true cry warm-up, " a-HUH!...a-HUH!" with an award winning scowl complete with down-turned drooly mouth.

Now, sadly, I tire of one-handed breastfeeder typing so we'll have to chat more later. Ta-ta. (get it?)

Today: AKA The Very Last Time

..we will ever move without paying whatever it takes to whoever will do it for us.

Let's assemble a fruit basket.

I know a woman named Pear
and another named Apricot.
Gwyneth has introduced us all to her daughter, Apple.


Got any more?

Leader of the Free (flowing) World

A geyser, a rainbird, a showerhead.

Why do you do this, trigger the sprinkler system and then leave the building?

All the world will be saturated, wet, milky scented.

They will look upon my chest and tremble.

Your fingers flexing with restrained benevolence, you smile while your dinner flows around the spout down your several chins flooding the earth and its inhabitants.

You'd think, Tobias, that since you're so danged good at growing it would follow that you'd be proficient at eating as well.

(PS- I promise to stop posting exclusively about momliness soon.)

Now we are six (weeks).

Tomorrow marks the completion of Tobias' sixth week on the outside. I remember looking ahead to this milestone like I was in base camp and it was a staging area for the summit. The summit being all sorts of things:

*sleeping in lengths both generous and nocturnal, lengths allowing me to feel the need to brush my teeth less than 8 times a day, lengths which prompt the phrase "went to bed at...". Hmmm, this is a work in progress, but he's generally throwing me a bone with one long sleep per day and he hasn't slipped backward from the 3 hour minimums lately, so of course I love him more. Sleep = Loved Baby, see.

*personality, interaction. We have a drummer friend from church who said the first few months are designed to help us understand God. You know, pursuing us even though we don't respond with love at first, our needing everything from him, rejecting him blindly when things get tough, crying out in all directions, not knowing what exactly would fix us. Tobias is waking up to himself every day. And you know, it does make it easier to perform these mom-tasks. He now laughs/smiles not only at us but at inanimate objects. He has been testing out his voice- yesterday he made that trilling Rrrrr sound people use as a pick-up in B movies. Men sure start young these days...

*I figured by six weeks I might know what kind of mom I'd be. Hahahaha. Wasn't I cute, silly enormous pregnant Miriam. I still don't really know- maybe by the time he's 18? Maybe by the time he has kids?

*I also assumed by six weeks I'd know whether PPD would be on my horizon, in light of past bouts of mild depression. So far I'm only my average amount of mentally ill.


Mostly at this point I am trying not to be a nervous, tense mom. Tobias is hands-down the most fabulous thing I've ever seen, and every day I have to remind myself to just enjoy him. Drink it all in. It makes crying, squirming, waking-up-early moments so much easier. It makes me feel I'm approaching ready to do the next six weeks- THREE MONTH OLD GENIUS, here we come.

Sling 'em up, boys!

Well, our night out turned into a date night when we arrived at J's friend's place because they're battling pink eye and not up to a dinner night. Honestly, it was lovely anyway. We ate a great dinner and watched Firewall.

The movie was a good standard action/thriller. The thing is, there were a couple scenes where I allowed myself to be totally manipulated. One showed a mom watching her son experience anaphylactic shock due to a food allergy. This hit close to home since I both know what it would feel like to lose your breath and can now imagine (barely) the horror of seeing that happen to my son. Geez, I hope Toby doesn't end up with any of these ridiculous allergies.
*****
Class at church today was especially yummy. Dan recapped for us, which was even better for me since I had missed 3 classes. We talked about Derk Pereboom's article, "Life Without Free Will". At the end of the discussion, which covered the fact that Pereboom doesn't believe we are morally responsible for our actions, it was revealed he's Christian. He even has another article with the word "grace" in the title which I now really want to get my grubby little hands on. Because wh-huh?!!

*****

I've been thinking more thoughts than these, but it's too hard to think, hold Toby who is having noisy happy dreams in my lap, and type one-handed. We did all get out for a walk where my dad pointed out that we can literally say Toby's ass is in a sling. And who could argue with that?

Saturday night sleeper

***We are going on an adult-style outing tonight, all the way up to the Land of Ports for dinner at J's friend's house. (He has friends.)

***Did you know that babies like to be swaddled up in blankets with their arms down to their sides? No kidding, we wrap him up just like all the baby books instruct and he's out like we've thrown a switch. We even have a pre-made blanket for it with a pocket for his feet and velcro that holds it together. The spell is only broken when he wrenches his arms free and whaps himself in the face with them when some baby reflex causes him to pinwheel them about. I have seriously thought about designing a little baby straight-jacket so he'll stay all cozy longer. Is that so wrong?

***Lately, and maybe always, I'm pretty sure I haven't done anything to please God, but just to make myself feel like a good person. Which has ultimately made me feel like a vacuous person.

He reads me, he really reads me!

I'm so jazzed. The day began with several gifts from my infant son.

Toby must have read my post last night, because he slept like a prince, a king, a prodigy. 5 1/2, 4 and then two 3 1/2's in a ROW! Before this month I had no concept of the difference between feeding him every 2 hours and feeding him every 3. It's like the difference between violin and viola, a glass of water and a milkshake, a forecast of sun breaks vs sunshine.

And J is coming home today. So much goodness. We're breaking out the steaks, so hurry home lover.

Nighttime parenting

Most of the time it's not bad, really. He doesn't cry long, ever. I think his record is abot 15 minutes once in the car seat when he was hungry and needed to be changed.

It's just that in the evenings sometimes (like tonight) he is "fussy". This means he needs to be held and to have you move him into different positions often. He grunts and squirms and tenses his body, but doesn't seem to be in pain anywhere in particular. He doesn't cry with enough conviction to convince you that he's anything but tired and a little frustrated. His voice does that wa-ah-ah-ah sort of thing as his mouth quivers, but his eyes are closed and he's not really that loud.

Why is it that we call a baby who cries "difficult"? The kid has no control, no choice about how he'll react to the first months of life, or how long he'll feel like sleeping.

I want to reason with him and say, Hey, Toby! If you'd just enjoy the swaddling blanket and relax a bit instead of arching your entire being, you'll be asleep in no time. And while you're at it, how about skipping that awake time you had planned for 90 minutes from now and splurge on a whole 4 or 5 hours in a row?

Anyway, I know I can't complain in comparison with other moms who have tough kids. The scariest thought I have is that if he keeps doing this for months on end or if he gets worse and worse, THEN what will I feel?

Baby Jumping

Did I tell you that the day my in-laws met me, they paid for and encouraged J and I to try bungee jumping at Six Flags? (They swear up and down they meant nothing by it.)

Flying through the air with my man, I had no idea the ride we'd be on now. We have just completed four weeks of parenthood, and I would say the two experiences have some things in common.

First of all, we were pretty clueless going into it, and the fear & uncertainty of what it might be like is worse than the reality. I was pretty petrified about these first weeks with an infant, and in truth it hasn't been so bad. I don't know what I'm doing, but the kid is still here and mostly happy anyway. I did try to freeze off his extremities today despite bundling him (see photo!) on a 4-mile walk, but he forgave me.

Both things require a bunch of equipment and take a lot of prep time even for quick rides. Each has led me to be a little bit hysterical. After the jump I was laughing and giddy- after a long fussy night with Toby I managed to hit my own self in the face while laying in bed just as he began making I'm-waking-up noises yet again prompting a short bout of hysterical crying I couldn't have stopped for anything. Nothing like a bit of insanity to remind yourself you're alive.

Both events were also firsts for the sexiest man ever invented. Hey, internet- wish him well this next week, as he's got some big stuff coming up and is diligently preparing.

I'm in a CLASS! For Learning!

I went to class yesterday. My brain, it was in use, the light was on, the generator running.

Our friend Dan is leading Free Will and Determinism and I found it really interesting. He's compiled a bunch of readings (I'm 3 classes behind) and is summarizing the differing views.

His main point thus far has been that what most people really care about when they think of these things is not freedom but responsibility. They want to know if they will be made to suffer just consequences for their actions or if they are absolved due to their lack of true control.

J and I were talking about it in Red Robin after church and one of the questions I have is this: if it is our "sin nature" that leads us to choose evil and to therefor deserve consequences since we did have a choice, and if Jesus was fully God and fully man, did Jesus have a sin nature? Because how can he be both the ultimate good and contain a proclivity toward sin?

Another interesting thing I hadn't heard before was that when you are "making a choice", what you are really doing is examining your inner architecture (determined landscape) to see which choice fits the way you are set up. There is no true ambiguity, only a lack of self-knowledge in certain areas. Some would go so far as to say that the way you are made in the beginning and the things that are allowed to happen to you determine your wiring, freeing you from any real responsibility for your actions.

It was at this exact minute that Toby's digestive tract added his personal comment, providing comic relief to our philisophical jaunt.

What I've Been Up To...

* Every 1.5 to 4.5 hours I am a fount, not of every blessing but of every calorie for our blonde mini growth machine. Mostly, I like looking at his hair and eyes while tickling the soles of his perfect feet and having him hold my fingers. The best is when he dozes off clutching the neck of my shirt.

** Today we rented a place in John's Landing! It's lovely- three bedrooms plus a bonus room, a 2-car garage, dining and living room with gas fireplace. It has gorgeous views of Mt. Hood and the Willamette and is in a cute neighborhood of old craftsman & funky Portland homes. It's on a steep hill full of winding roads walking distance from LOTS of stuff, and (this is the best thing by far) only 4 miles from J's office. I want those two hours back- the commute is sucking big angry sucks right now.

*** Tonight what we did was go to the store. This is an extraordinary accomplishment, with a kid in the carseat and drawing nigh of his fussy time, and me having already made one whole outing today to look at the house. The kid was great and I was... dangerous. See, we put the carseat in the cart, and then I was pushing the cart down the aisles, with the carseat partially obscuring my view. You can see where this is going, no? Right into a huge display of taco spices, a thousand packets and a hundred jars of garlic powder flung across the meat department with an enormously satisfying "thwock" sound.

tv, my old enemy

In my old life, the tube was not a friend.


But today, on Tobias' second lunch break, we happened upon the International Film Channel and one of my favorite films. Central do Brasil is a great movie I had seen about 10 years ago in Tokyo. When I saw it then, it was in Portuguese with Japanese subtitles. At the time, I was doing well with spoken Portuguese and so-so with reading Kanji fast enough to get the plot. I loved it then, but today with English subs I loved it even more. I haven't spoken anything but English for so long, I think I could actually feel my brain reconfiguring. Felt good.

Now, with the whole breastfeeding thing, it seems tv is appropriately called the boob tube. I feel like part of the rest of the world, connected albeit artificially through the live feed.

Type-A Baby

In just one week, you have:
laughed twice

hiccupped a million jillion times

encountered the Circumstrator and survived with fewer tears than your mama

smiled innumerable times- from gas, hearing your dad's voice, having your fat cheeks tickled

peed on the pediatrician

peed on us

peed on your stuffed alligator

outgrown the smallest newborn diaper

gained 7 ounces- for a breastfeeder this makes you the baby who ate Manhattan

made me cry in fear and joy just looking at you

made me already wish for you to never grow, never change, stay right here with me, safe.

made me wish for you to grow strong and leap over your milestones and go out and find God right there with you.

Lewy

For my sister's sweet goofy galoot of a German Shepherd Dog, Lewy:
You were a very good dog. Thanks, kiddo.

I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, affectionate, compassionate, fully armed; I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement, spiritual, bold, And I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet its translation.

-Walt Whitman

The Story

Here's the little guy.

Tobias Elliot weighed in at 9 pounds and was 21" long. He arrived at 8:59pm on January 19th, a mere 50 hours after labor began just as I was heading out to a rehearsal in Eugene.

We were so jazzed- packing up our stuff and getting ready to drive up to a hotel in Portland, I remember thinking we'd finally know what it would be like. Labor, meeting the kid, becoming irrevocably and forever a muthah.

We arrived at the Hilton, and I was having fairly regular contractions. The midwife on call at OHSU had given us the excellent but almost impossible to comply with advice to sleep until morning and give her another call if contractions came 5 minutes apart for a couple of hours in a row. I didn't so much sleep as sort of meditate, breathing in and out and trying to loosen up all the muscles still within my control.

In the morning we called Mom and Dad to meet for breakfast at Mother's- both because of the perfection of the name and because it's one of those places that makes Portland all Portlandy. Contractions were still coming about every 10 minutes, but most were not too bad and only a few made me really sit still and wonder how I was going to do if they got stronger.

Having eaten and chatted and adrenalined ourselves just a bit, we commenced the Great Portland Walking Marathon of Labor, 2006 edition. For the next 5 hours, we shopped the downtown mall, jaunted (I can make up words now, I've been through labor.) to Powell's Books and back, bopped over to Starbucks, and back to the Hilton where the midwife recommended we sleep for a bit after trying some shockingly unsexy nipple stimulation. At that point I was cranky, tired and felt unhappily like the time I was getting that stomach virus in Pakistan. Timing the contractions became depressing as they came together for the holy five-minute frequency for just about 2 hours and then spread right back on out to 8-9 minutes. They got a bunch stronger but still, they were not measuring up- J put it just so when he said, "Dude, what is UP with your contractions?"

So I decided to call it a night and lay down after Rachael arrived and we put in another mile on the hotel's treadmills. It felt like giving up.

Just then...

I had the worst, longest, meanest contraction ever invented. And then I thought I was going to be ill and then I started full-body shaking so hard even my jaw was jumping. J moved quicker than I have seen outside of the Incredibles. We thought the slow-down was maybe the Natural Alignment Plateau and the shakingness was maybe Transition. It was time to go.

We got up there and of course, I felt better and the contrax slowed down once again. Still, I felt like I should have gotten a prize because I was 5 centimeters and they told me we came in at just the right time. I slept a bit and then there they were again- super long >2 minutes contractions followed by (resting just would have been too conventional) marathons of sickness. Now that I think of it, it really WAS like Pakistan.

This went on for a long while, during which they suggested even more abjectly desexualized breast activities. In the morning they checked me and after 41 hours of labor and a full night of various versions of full-body contractions, shakes and sickitude, I was... drumroll please... still exactly where I had been when we checked in to the hospital. I thought about ordering an immediate c-section or a mallet, either of which would have felt great just fine in comparison.

Now most folks told me about barfing in labor, and the consensus was that as soon as you felt nauseated and got it out of the way, you were headed right on down the chute to pushing. This is what I had in mind as we left the hotel, 11 hours back. There had been no pause in any part of the unpleasantries and as they told me about my lack of progress, they also told me they were worried because I probably had an infection of some sort, and my temperature was bad for the kid. We deliberated a bit, and I fessed up: I was completely worn out. I told J I could have handled EITHER the contrax OR the sickness with no damned progression, but to have it all and then not get anywhere- I was depressed.

I decided to go for the Pitocin to see if it could make the contractions DO something. I got through 2 contractions with it, but the barfing also increased when I couldn't imagine it had any room for growth and I called for the dreaded epidural. They had already given me an IV for fluids and had stuck some anti-nausea stuff, fever reducer and an antibiotic in there for good measure- we were out of other options.

The next part of the day was seriously lovely. I don't mean to sound like I think epidurals are great. I still really wish we hadn't had to take that option, but being able to sleep and to eat ice chips and to chat with people- it really IS priceless.

They finally had me where they wanted around 7:45, and I pushed for just over an hour. My parents, Rachael, two midwives, a nurse, and 3 people from pediatrics were there and seriously sounded like they were watching a great sporting event. I almost started cheering me on myself. They're right about pushing being the coolest part, and feeling good.

When the kid finally arrived, they weren't able to put him on my chest or let J cut the cord like we had hoped because the pediatric group whisked him to the other side of the room. He was purple, but his color improved almost right away and pretty soon he was crying like a pro. After what seemed like forever, J carried him over and put him on my chest, the little beauty.

And that’s the story. That last moment, when the baby is there, the team is cheering, your body is finally done, and the world has been changed forever- it does defy understanding and overwhelm every other thing I have ever done.

Yes!

Water has broken, flooding has occurred.

The kid has announced his impending arrival and I could not be happier. Seriously, yay.

We're heading to a hotel in Portland for the night or for however long it takes for labor to get kicked into gear.

The need to know what he looks like and what I look like as a MOM over rides the fear of pain and procedures.

This better be IT!

Sweeps Week

I'm trying not to get all excited. But today the midwives are going to Sweep my Membranes. (Another excellent name for a band, no? And now, with their hit single Gush, we have the Membrane Sweepers!)

According to the National Institutes of Health archive of randomized studies (excuse me for a moment while I make out with the internet), this procedure is proven to help women give birth without going over 40 weeks AND is without adverse side effects.

In the states it's usually called "Stripping the Membranes" but that's just way too lawn-thatcher Freddy Kruger sounding so I'll opt for the more genteel brit "Sweeping". All it entails is a careful exam of the cervix where the doc sort of runs their finger around the rim to release the membranes from the wall. It's supposed to stimulate the area to produce their happy little hormones, just like the kid's head has purportedly been doing as it whaps up against the backside my most secret of secrets. He is also rather fond of massaging my bladder.

Sometimes it does nothing. Sometimes women notice changes or actually do go into labor within a day or two. It statistically reduces the need for medically intrusive induction (Pitocin, breaking bag of waters, all the way up to c-sections etc).

Wouldn't that be something??!!!???!!!! Progress. Real or imaginary, it's a beautiful thing.

Observed

Pat Robertson is like the Jerry Springer or WWF star of Christianity minus the entertainment value. Actually, of Religiousity- I have a hard time believing he really gets the whole deal and has a God relationship of any sort. I wish so very much that he would just Shut UP.

The books I'm areadin' now are all travelly themed. Bill Bryson's accounts of England and Miller's first book about a long trip in a crappy van. Trying to inspire the kid to head on down the various canals and outlets to join us at his glamorous all expenses paid spa destination. I think if he realized all the facilities and activities available to him on the cruise ship Sundown Acres he'd be here last Tuesday. We have the travel crib, the aquarium bouncer, the glider, changing table, swing, diaper disposer, the carseat and various accoutrements thereof. Not to mention a 24-hour wet bar. What more could a human who weighs less than a pumpkin want?

I was only jealous for a split second when I learned that our favorite writer/thinker and simultaneously pregnant friend looks to be meeting her girl any minute now. Pray it up, internet- at last news she was heading to the hospital.

Happy New Year

Here's my favorite line from the first half of Pastor Rick's sermon on New Years day:

If you have a passion to live as a new creature in Christ, to live in that place of fidelity with God in the midst of a culture that would like to drown you, if you want your heart to be growing and experiencing more and more of the fullness of why you were created (to be God’s), then you cannot neglect the scriptures. You can’t stick them in a dusty cupboard somewhere and just say, “who cares”. Your heart will automatically be attracted to all these other gods. Automatically.

You can listen to his stuff on Imago's site.

You can even listen at the coffee shop downtown while eating a decadent chocolate muffin. You'll feel okay about that muffin later when you walk an hour on the treadmill while reading yet another Don Miller.

Oooh, ooh, and this is the class we're taking in the School of Theology (free classes put on by Imago Dei because they love us): Free Will and Determinism, taught by our friend and cool musician, Dan McKay.

Get a MOVE on.

I've signed up to sub with an orchestra and now it's a game of uterine chicken. The concert is on my due-date, and this at least gives me something formal and scheduley to think of in case the kid dawdles.

I was a champion daydreamer/staller myself. My mom had to come in my room and remind me to put on the other sock and get going many an elementary school morning. It wasn't that I was a slacker. Well, it wasn't just that anyway. I would start to think about something, or get absorbed in a randomly generated memory. A screen saver for my mind.

This still happens from time to time when I'm doing something inane like driving or taking preliminary exams for my doctorate. I somehow started to think about the time in my freshman year in Texas when I overslept and had to make a mad dash to get on the airport bus with the orchestra for our tour of Spain. A friend of a friend had to scream across campus with me and my ridiculous luggage in her convertible. Have you ever had hundreds of people watch your awkward bed-head self wrestle way too much junk toward their impatiently idling bus? Most of my memories of Texas are vaguely uncomfortable in a similar manner. Freshman years do tend to suck, right?

Importance Part II

The midwife today said, "perfect weight gain, perfect tests, perfect preggo!"

I only got a little lip gloss on her shoe when I bowed down & kissed it.

But then she also said I should "savor these last minutes with the baby tucked in safe and snug". And I should focus all my extra-nesty attention on minutes alone with J. She told me she's been married 33 years, and her kids have just finished growing up and she's officially alone with her husband for the first time in the past 30. "It's WONNNderful."

It's easy to appreciate the other person in a marriage well without distractions. The challenge is gonna come with the non-alone, stressed, unselfish multitudinous decision-making years ahead. Years filled with travel cribs, car seat bases, sickly powdery-smelling bums, bad parenting, good parenting, and all stops in between.

The blessings are overwhelming; the more potential, the greater the guarantee of falling short. I mean I guess I can't be wronger than wrong, but it's just so easy to forget what's important.

Importance

Still here, still huge, still reading.

I found 3 Nouwens, 4 books of poetry, and 1 by this guy who spoke at our church called Decision Making and the Will of God. Amazon's sending NT Wright and Kierkegaard. I'm finishing Through Painted Deserts, and will probably move on to the next Don Miller when I'm done. I like him because of the stuff he likes.

Funny- he talks about being impressed that Clinton remembered the name of a waiter in Aspen a year after meeting him. I remember walking down the street in Aspen into the sun, seeing all these guys in nice dark suits. I thought it was a wedding party, and nearly bumped into one of them as he was turning his head to do some window shopping while still walking forward. We both stopped and sort of did that back & forth-ness. Turns out the suits were secret service and the guy was of course C himself. Never was a huge fan of the guy, to be honest, but brushes with famous people still make you feel important.

My sense of importance is messed up. Miller uses the example of the life-boat economy: Constant evaluation of yourself and those around you to assess who gets to live, who gets dumped is pretty much how we live our lives. We want to prove our importance in any of the ways we can conjure. Generally for me that doesn't include a relationship with Christ.

This importance thing- I think the baby coming challenges my sense of it because I had planned on having a cool career to define myself. I've got the studly husband, I contribute to a church, I now live where I've always wanted to, I've finished all the degrees I can in performance. The next step was to get a job so that when people ask, I can tell them how much I belong in the lifeboat.

I know, I know. Having kids- it's what continues life, it's this amazing thing, and when I look into his little eyes I'll know that was what I'm here for. When I think about my own parents, and how they've lived and taken care of their kids, I guess they did always make me feel like the most important thing. They have their own stuff, and even that I have looked at as lives lived to be my examples. It's hard to imagine myself able to happily relenquish my imaginary reasons for being for anything. God, kid, marriage, humanity. It only took 32 years for me to notice this.

Happy...

...Birthday, Carole!

I know you might not see this until tomorrow, but thought I'd post it on the right day, anyway. I was aiming at today for the kid's arrival, but it's just not looking good. He better at least appear in the same month as you.

Wishing you a week of all above zero, a great time out with friends, and a spectacular year! Love you.

Just because...

Dad reminded me today about the motorcycle he had when I was a kid. So I thought I'd post it- his was turqoise. And it explains a great pseudo-swear in our family.

Request.

Hiya, internet.

I could use some assistance. Parenting books are lightweight, poorly organized and full of grammatical and spelling errors. And I'm done with all the ones that looked any good at all.

I want books to read, or authors. I'd like some theology, pithy novels, history, social commentary, I don't know... stuff that rattles around the brain after the covers are closed.

Please- my brain is turning to mush, and I'm not even to the sleep-deprived dairy cow phase yet.

Season Seven

Buffy was given to me for Christmas. All of season Seven. Yesterday I got my order of cute-but-not-cutesy iron-ons for spicing up the kid's onesies, so I had some crafty time to put in.

Buffy got me through the wedding invite making, too.

I didn't expect this season (the last) to be as good as it is. I can't believe past Buffy folk like Alyson Hannigan and Seth Green are on such crappy shows now.

Anyway, see you at the end of disc II.

Soggy Ending

2005 is almost kaput. It has been quite a year, if I remember to straighten up and look back over it- most of the time I sort of feel like I'm trudging ahead, letting my eyes roam only over the next few steps ahead. If you do that while hiking, your neck gets sore and you miss all the good scenery.

It looks like New Years Eve will be a soggy one here. It may in fact be quite similar to the time I was visiting Grandma English and we watched the ball fall on TV. I say we, but she had dozed off in her chair.

Things are flooding all around here- I find that oddly exciting. It's mean of me, really, because I know if we didn't live on top of a hill then I'd be worrying like the folks around us must. A few miles down the road there's the little sad town of Turner. It features a train track, several stuffy pubs, two run-down mini markets and all of it tends to flood. There's a huge Tabernacle church building- pretty, really- and already the entire lot it's on is a lake.

Something about water overrunning boundaries makes me feel all biblical. The bridges around here are low and quaint- mostly cement with neat shapes cast in them, from earlier times. Since it's an agricultural area out here there are probably more chemicals being washed around with the silt than can be counted, but it LOOKS like nature gone wild. Everyone is talking about winter of '96, when the floods were the worst and bridges were washed out entirely. Mom and dad were surrounded by flooded roads- all 3 routes between them and town were covered.

Despite the chance of getting socked in, I am still taking herbs and pumping whatever I can get out of my boobs. Even in '96 they were able to get out because they drive big rigs, so I refuse to let up on my labor quest. It seems somehow appropriate to labor in a deluge.

Purpose!

I have found it. I will do everything I can (don't remind me it's not much) to get the kid ready to pop on out. I've bought the breast pump (there's two potentially hot words you can combine to take the sex right out of them), the double-blind scientifically tested herbs, the treadmill (thanks J!) and the gym membership with a pool included.

It's hard not to get my hopes up or to get dismal.

Right, then. It's about time for my morning nap. Someday soon I know I will look back on this freedom and curse my ungrateful little taking-for-granted self. So let's savor- c'mon, Simon. We'll stack up a pile of frivolous parenting books & pillows and listen to the rain fall outside. Maybe we'll even go wild and hook up the old pump, lulled away to the land of nod by its peaceful zzzt zzzt-ing.

Ogre-iffic

Hello, my name is Miriam and I am a raging hormone-aholic.

Yesterday I wanted to get out of the house. So we went birthday shopping for a certain sister and also Christmas gift exchanging. And then I realized that wasn't what I wanted to do. Have you ever seen a toddler ask for and recieve something, only to shriek Noo-o---ooo? That was me.

It is a very strange thing to go from school/work/practice/church/things to do with friends any day of the week to.... Salem. And I like Salem, and my parents are amazing and gracious and kind as always. (Here comes the dreaded However) However, I am going nuts.

I have no friends, and no prospect of encountering any, and sometimes (yes, like now) I fully and completely indulge in self pity. No wonder I am so ready for the kid to arrive, just to have a purpose. Normally I would look at the situation, come up with some solutions, start to DO something about it and buy myself a Starbucks. There just really isn't much I can figure to do just now, except... what was it other people have.... Patience? Yeah, learn that.

Veni, veni Emanuel!

Merry Christmas!!

Wishing you and yours the best evening and warmest time.

Playing in church yesterday we had a great time with the band. Mom and Dad drove up (first time they've heard me play for ages, and J ever!) and the service included tons of little kids with candles. That way we get the thrill of wonder- wondering if any of them will set any one on fire.

None were ignited, and Rick gave an excellent message- I like him more and more, and respect his depth of knowledge. We also went to Mom & Dad's church and got to say Hi to Pastor Moody.

Our tricky present wrap jobs worked and there were real surprises all around. J got a little keychain baby that poos gel when you squeeze it, courtesy of his Dad. Huge an extravagant gifts were spread liberally about, and we all feel blessed (not to mention fed) into a state of grateful shock. Lovely!

Sweet love to you all, internet people.

Whinging.

Less than a month. A day less than four weeks.

Milk purchased now expires right around my Estimated Due Date.

Things that take 4-6 weeks to arrive would not be here by then.

If I started a Write a Book in 28 Days! course, I wouldn't quite get to The End.

I'm trying to encourage myself, because I really can't believe I've ever not been pregnant, or ever will be done being pregnant. 40 weeks is longer than it seems. About 27 days longer.