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.

Becoming a Dad

It's at least a little funny that right now I am reading a book called Becoming a Dad. It's a slightly Christianese book with a more contemporary spin written by a couple of psychologists. It's a good read, except when they start in with the Find Yourself descriptions (are you a Mr. Nice Guy or a Joe Quarterback? Did your family tell you You Were Loved? Did you Always Get Your Way? etc.) complete with horoscopian predictions of what this will mean in your own parenting style.

I do like the verses they chose to throw in. This one from Deuteronomy 4 reminds me a bit that my whole life up to now does still count for something:

"Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them."

Another translation:
"Just make sure you stay alert. Keep close watch over yourselves. Don't forget anything of what you've seen. Don't let your heart wander off. (I LOVE THAT!) Stay vigilant as long as you live. Teach what you've seen and heard to your children and grandchildren."

I also like that they talk about this whole thing being preparation for a mystery. We really have no idea what the baby will be like, how the birth will go, what he might need, how we will feel.

One thing they talk about a lot that seems unbelievable to me is that new dads often feel left out- that the mom has everything the baby will need. I cannot even IMAGINE doing any single little tiny part of this without J. I would be even more of a crabby wreck, and I don't think I'd even bother trying to hide it. My requirements for housing now absolutely include SHORT commute times, because I am selfish. Some of the time I imagine needing him to do stuff for the kid, but for the most part I want him for me. Me me me me me.

Last night I played for a guy who proposed to his girl at our church- we (string trio) were in the balcony and he had the whole place decked out with candles, stained glass lit and nothing else. They came in and we started Be Thou my Vision while he took her up to the altar and got down on one knee. It was a little like watching a silent film- she even had a cute little flapper-like outfit on. It must have gone well, because they smooched a bit and ran out. Folks at our church like drama, creativity. And, lucky for me, string players.

Here's where I was rudely reminded I am pregnant.

But after that, when J and I were finally driving home we got a little turned around as to where exactly I-5 was. I knew I didn't want to go home through all the little puny towns just south of Portland because I was already exhausted and it was raining hard and I wanted me some cruise control. But of course, we did indeed tour quite extensively through hill and dale, knowing the freeway was RIGHT THERE all along, just past that winery or those Stepfordian developments.

When we finally found a freeway feeder road, J zipped past me (I had missed an increase in the speed limit and was zoning out, which he thought meant I wanted him to lead). Because I am now officially in the ninth month and drunk on hormones, I of course assumed he was annoyed with me for crabbing and for wandering around in the Explorer like a lunatic and started bawling. Nothing purtier than a pregnant lady snuffling along in the slow lane feeling sorry for herself, squeezing all the blood out of the steering wheel and unable to find a comfortable temperature for the heat/AC/heat/AC.

What a dork. Can you see me being somebody's primary caretaker????. Hmph.

They have classes for everything these days...

We are now officially aware that I am an anal nut.

Tonight I have us signed up for a breastfeeding class. I think it's funny that a class is required in this, but it comes highly recommended by every book in the Obsessive Preparations for Parenthood aisle.

See, this way, if parenthood is hard or if I am not suddenly transformed into a perfect person by giving birth, I can at least say I did everything I could to try.

My man- he's a good one, going with me to all of this stuff.

Stud.

Six days later...

And still not a ton to report.
***
We are under seige. Germs and icy roads. My parents are both wretched with yucky viruses and/or bacterial grossness and feel lousy. I have just gotten over a fun two-week cold, but it really wasn't that bad except at night.

***
Today I discovered the kid clothes resale shop and bought a bunch of cute stuff. Not a pastel in the bunch- lots of stripes, several orange items. I think this was the first time I had a good time shopping for His Impendingness. Is that sad? It might have something to do with the fact that I feel as though we might actually be sort of in the realm of readiness now, and shopping no longer presents itself as desperate and futile. J went WITH me and we got a car seat. This made me deliriously happy- wierd, huh.

***
I started reading another Don Miller book- I remember liking Blue Like Jazz and I sort of felt I should read this stuff since it has in part made our new church what it is. It's a very popular, very hip church. The other day after playing a totally not church-related gig (which was packed with folks from the church) J and I made some observations.

There is a breed here, the Pretentious Hippy Front (affectionately known from here out as the PHF- could less offensively be called the Portland Hippy Front) who dominate the scene. To attain PHF-ness, it appears necessary to either pay no attention to your hair (IE, let it grease, dread, or mat at will) or pay a lot of attention making it look like you don't (die it intricately but then cut it in such a way that it looks untouched by adult hands). They are passionate about Christ but like to throw out the worst curse words (like writing them in glitter on stockings on the wall of the gig venue) to prove they understand that Jesus said "shit" and that they are above religiousity. Most of the men have beards and are called Nate, most of the women have neat names and are careful none of the cool stuff they wear matches. I have seen more shoes I like in a church service than in any store on the planet.

Don't get me wrong- we do like it, and them. So far there are lots of these folks who are geniune and sweet and seem to remember us from week to week. Occasionally it just seems we may not be quite cool enough, or young enough, or from-Portland enough, you know? Probably that's because I've been feeling a little frumpy, old and out of place lately. It may be that the PHF is innocent, and will love us and keep us and call us George. Can't wait to see- can't wait to move up there and get into it all seriously.

***
I feel amazing lately. Could just be that non-fat decaf eggnog lattes are in season. There are little arms and legs tumbling around and except for the practice contractions (Braxton-Hicks is just about onomatopoetically the right name for those) during which I could swear he has snuck himself a shank in there, it's not half bad growing a life.

Waiting....

Waiting for the big event now is almost exactly like that time DeeDee Spooner helped me get a loose tooth out in Darcy Elementary in Helena, Montana. She tied a string carefully around my wobbler (she MUST have had younger siblings) and fastened the other end to the bathroom door handle.

It didn't hurt, but it seemed like it was going to.

Waiting for her to count, One Two... was kind of like this. When I think about labor, I feel a little shot fo adrenaline jump around from my legs to my lungs somewhere. When I think about having a kid (like yesterday when I was folding ridiculously small onesies and putting them in a drawer) who depends on me I get a Venti jolt with about 15 shots in it. Also, I think that despite being all cumbersomely bumpy and having every woman in a 50-yard radius smile knowingly at me, I am still harboring a little kernel of denial. Who's pregnant? Yeah well, you're pregnant. Your mama's pregnant.

I'm not sure if I'm nesting or if I'm just indulging every crafty-cleany anal impulse that sprouts in my sleepy little brain stem. Mom and I spent hours yesterday putting up big creamy curtains (which I sewed! I'm a sewer- oh, that doesn't sound quite right...) over the closet in our room. The closet was previously concealed by those bending metal door things which A) are a little noisy, B) had something against me and staying in their tracks and C) protruded into the room when open. So of course that meant they were threatening precious baby-space and had to be dealt with.

I was so overzealously punching holes in cards and paper last night that I managed to break a brand new hole punch and make my right shoulder sore. It might have had something to do with the fact that we were watching Nanny 911 (remember, no cable out here= limited viewing choices) and the dad was a horrible schmoe. Plus they kept showing what kept him away from home (and his SIX kids) every night- the worship band at church! (I am sparing you multiple abundances of exclamation points from here on out, but feel free to imagine them anyway.) Every time they showed him with his group he was literally singing... no.. I can't say... Kum ba Yah. While his bratty little kids at home were acting out in every possible way to get some attention and to show the mom that they would treat her just like he was.

So somewhere in there, I must have over-punched the paper puncher.

I haven't practiced in 3 1/2 weeks. I also have not exercised (other than marathon shopping days with mom) in 2 weeks.

Assign me some rosaries, anoint me with holy water- confession complete.

Merry Kitschmas!

The craft fairs were, as expected, kitschful kitschfests. I took a picture with my phone of a toilet seat cover booth at the high school that had white knit ones with little black poodles embroidered on them. The maker had also displayed a photo of her own real-life poodles. She had them in holiday fabrics. If I was any good at blogger I could get the picture up here.

Another booth consisted entirely of brooms with the handles colorfully painted, right next to one full of crocheted afghans in the full range of 70's colors.

We did get a tree after some confusion and a bit of rain. It's resting in the garage just now in preparation for The Decorating tomorrow. I love that in Oregon you can get a great tree from a neighbor's farm for $15. Watching them harvest the bigger operations with helicopters is kind of cool, too.

Small towns make Christmas even better. Being shaped like a snowman in the middle also helps.

Housewifery

I have no job just now. I'm not a mom yet, though every time the kid decides to press on the exact same spot for an entire morning- not kicks per se, but a methodical bruising of several sections near my ribs (little prodigy already)- I try to convince him to come outside and play already.

Yesterday and the day before Mom and I shopped from dawn to dusk. We have Christmas to get for! Today we're headed to the local high school (Turner, OR- population about 10) for the craft fair, and then maybe to Portland for an outdoor weekly craft market and tonight we're getting our tree. I am living a Norman Rockwell life. Sweet.

I wonder if housewifery is pronounced funny like midwifery.

Be afraid...

Portland is. They are preparing for a Winter Storm- a Snow Storm. It has been on the news for about 4 days now, dominating. (Yesterday, "Our top story today; no snow in Portland.") Obsession, people.

Meanwhile the midwest looks like it's getting actual weather but of course not much changes or closes there. Out here, even J's office said to check the website and see if he should come in or not. (He gets snow days!!!!)

I like the little newscasters in their brightly colored Columbia gear, hoods tightly squinched around their little faces. They are generally shown standing somewhere with a slight breeze and 40 degree temperatures. I imagine when the cameras stop rolling they remove the jacket and light up a cigarette or something. Cutie pies.

Guess who's back. Back again.

No really, you can all stop emailing, calling and texting my agent- I have returned to Blogger after a brief but unavoidable hiatus. I hate it when blogs I like do this- but in my case, despite the vast unmeasurable silence left behind I just had to go for a while.

We are home now for the indefinite future. I am doing two things.

1. Reminding the bratlet that he is now fully formed (34 weeks) and can come on out any time he likes. Also reminding him that that's my RIBCAGE he's trying to rearrange, if I could move it I would have done two months ago.

2. Christmas shopping. It's not that I'm all Martha Stewarting, it's just that we have to send 90% of our gifts away to folks this year, so it's do or die.

Since I'm not sure anyone on the male half of this family tree has ever or ever will read this, I'm going to jump right in and say it intimidates me to buy presents for them. We've decided on a big number as our Total Present Financial Output Limit, and I'm confortable sticking to that. It's just that they are a gift-card, gift-receipt group- eminantly practical but different than my experience thus far. They generally will KNOW how much we've spent on each of them.

Shopping for me has pretty much always been an exercise in getting the best or most elegant seeming thing for a bargain. I hope I'm not cheap- I like to buy stuff for people, but I rarely get ANYthing full price, and until now I never thought about including gift receipts. If I found a cool something or other that looked new and I knew you liked it- and I just happened to be standing in Goodwill at that moment, then that's what I'd wrap up and give you. If you were R---- and like antique kitchy crap like me, then it wouldn't even need to look new. You know who you are.

So that's my challenge right now- growing baby bits and spending money, yet finding ways to kvetch about it. Truthfully, I'm feeling fortunate about both.

Pregnant quotes.

Takemitsu was such a 60's kind of guy. He liked Buckminster Fuller (I like that name- repeated several times while trying to think of a synonym for "perform" it can become kind of funny), and especially the idea of human cultures coming together to create a "universal egg of humanity."

So since I'll be the USS Miriam when I'm delivering this lecture-recital, I included this quote from Takemitsu about the first time the NY Phil played his stuff:

"When you see the swollen stomach of a pregnant woman, it seems at once both very serious, of course, and yet somehow humorous. So perhaps it wasn't irresponsible of the New York Philharmonic members to burst into laughter at this birth."

The committee will either smile indulgently while inwardly rolling their eyes or just roll their eyes, right?

Inspiring?

Here's the photo that caused the dream that inspired the piece that became the mother of the other piece that is my thesis topic.
It's a Man Ray photo of the shaved head of Marcel Duchamp which Takemitsu saw before writing A Flock Descends into the Pentagonal Garden. He thought it looked like one black bird leading a flock of white birds into a star-shaped garden. He was a little kooky about gardens. I hope someday I will be done writing this paper. Some...day....

Hail Rushmore, reflect upon it.

We went to Rushmore on our trip out here. You can just barely see the four of us- mom, dad, j and me- in the bigger pic. You can also see that when I told J to hold still, he had to put his camera up and work on getting a shot, so you can see his lens and mine. And you can see that he has fabulous thick hair, but that's mine so back right on off, chikas.

After ridding the dang madison (still not sold) house of cardboard and garbage and goodwill items- literally countless trips in 2 cars- we finally got on the road just 6 hours after we had planned.

If we had rented our own recycling/dumpster we would have been fine. But you'd think that two little humans wouldn't need that much space for WASTE.

I'm in the Governor's Cup Coffee shop again. If you are ever near Salem, come here. The guy behind the counter is wearing cat-eye contacts today for halloween. At first glance he looks like an off-duty marine, but then he's sporting these wacky eyes. Kinda cool. Plus the bagel, steamed milk and bottle of water I bought cost less than a single drink as Fartbucks. (But still, God bless corporate America. How else could you count on the coffee driving through Kennewick, Washington?)

Are you circumcized?

Yesterday at Imago was excellent. We learned several things.

They do communion every week.
The kids ministry is amazing- lots of science and art projects and a very enthusiastic director.
The pastor here has got stuff to say.

He spoke about Romans again, starting with 2:17 about the Law and who has it and circumcision, both literally and figuratively. I love these passages because my Intervarsity bible study did them and we had several physicists who doubled as budding theologians leading it who really prepared every week. The discussions were not of the surface, they tried to explain several different views and since it was also my first real study I asked a lot about the nature of God and our relationship to him. I never felt they gave the Christianese answer.

What I loved about Pastor Rick's schpiel yesterday was when he started talking about how for the Jews, this outward sign of circumcision- given to Abraham as a mark of love- became instead an "I'm safe from Hell" pass. It should go from inner reality to outward sign, but they began going only as far as the outward display, relying on that alone.

Paul's point was that you are a "Jew" if you are inwardly- no matter your race, appearance, lack of other jewish things. This relationship is open to all mankind but it's for God alone.

And here's where it got even better: he started answering the "so what" question in our lives/times.

Religion can be just as dangerous as straight-up immorality.

Here's some tokens of it- in place of circumcision, these determine today in our religion whether you're in or out:
Have you prayed the sinner's prayer? Rick led tons of people in this who had never been and never did go to church or talk about God stuff afterward. Like the words themselves are magic- outward sign of inward nothing.
Are you "SAVED"? Focus on this puts our attention on the next life, not on the difficulties of living this one in a true relationship with God.
Do you know your Bible? Knowledge of the bible's great- with the purpose of knowing God. This one spoke to me, because I can so see myself feeling like I know some Greek root of something, or some cool interpretation of a verse and just deciding I've got that part "down"- no need to check in with what depth of knowledge God actually wants for me.
Do you take communion every week? Is it a hoop, a display, a sign your faith is all done?
Are you being busy for Jesus? This one has gotten a little more attention lately even in the more Dobson-y circles. Jesus doesn't want you busy- he wants you attentive to Him, which sometimes might mean lots of stuff on your plate- but not because it looks good, and not because then you're safe.

All of these have one thing in common: the aim is to keep you safe from God.. As in, I'm saved, I tithe, I'm busy, I know me some Greek: God can't touch me- I've done all the religious tasks and am in the clear.

Rick's answer to this kind of thinking was a simple concept, difficult for me to achieve. Honesty.

That includes prayer for God's work in your life- even when that might not be safe.
Maintaining focus on your purpose in life- to know God.
Asking constantly, "why would I rather have X than you?"

This changes every single one of the religious dangers into beauty and creates an honest journey.

Saturdays are for lazing.

I love Saturdays. J's home (but I can work around him) and there are as of yet no obligations here. We have plans to go to a park. That's it!

Takemitsu research actually happened this morning (that's like 3 days in a row- a new record) and I have some hope of actually writing this thing.

It's a little overcast today, but not pouring. The light is luminous on the trees leaves, which have turned and are falling into a mess on my parent's yard. One linguistic difference we noted in news weather folk is that they say "today we'll see some cloud breaks" rather than the "partly cloudy" we're used to. Emphasize the positive, good ol' northwesterners.

I'd post more of our trip pictures, but I'm at home now and the computer will basically grind away for a few promising minutes and then flip me off if I even try it. Maybe we'll spend some time in an internet-capable cafe today. The Cup (mentioned yesterday) is my dad's haunt- on weekend mornings it's packed full of runners who go from there to Minto Park which is a gorgeous place right on the Willamette river. If we go, we'll walk and then sit in the car & drive from the park and most likely also sit and eat cookies as big as our heads.

It's sort of a bifurcated group- those who run and take up very little space on the chairs and those of us who... don't. For now. But I'm much better about all that today. I did a prenatal yoga video yesterday and the 2nd and 3rd trimester models were actual people with boobs, bellies and everything. I felt better just looking at Britta and Poppy (hey, Betsy- another Poppy!) in their body suits.

Things we like about PDX- PICS!!

Simon and The Belly (looks a bit apprehensive, doesn't he?)

Bar-code rock on Mt. Hood

Holey Mt. Hood

Peas in a Pod.

Last weekend we went to Mt. Hood. Our top choices were Astoria and Hood- see, Goonies was filmed in Astoria and parts of The Shining were filmed at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood. Astoria, however, is quite a drive and Mt. Hood is only an hour or so from Portland so it won.

We took all the back roads- and I was really helpful with telling J where to go at all times.

The drive really was beautiful. I missed the smell and light from those huge forests of pine. And climbing in elevation- what a thrill compared to Wisconsin. (sorry wisconsin)

There will be pictures here shortly. I have to drive to civilization this afternoon in order to upload things. Done! The Governor's Cup Coffee shop is the best. There is a huge machine actually roasting beans next to me and something else smells a bit cinnamon-y, but not too much. Lovely!!

On a brighter note, the septic tank people are coming in about half an hour. Joy!

blahhhh and woe

I am finding myself without much to say. Unusual for me, I know.

I'm here at my parents' house- they are out of town for another 10 days or so and have been gone a week. J is gone for about 12-13 hours a day. I have a lot to get done; 2 papers and a lecture recital, plus preparing (yeah- right- prepare for that...) for a new human being to arrive in a few months.

I had a not-so-great couple of visits to the Midwives clinic at OHSU. It is a really cool program, reknowned and all that, and I really like the doc I've been seeing there. The problem is that I think I'm gaining weight too fast. Last week she said I was right within the range pounds-wise, but when she measured the bump- okay, mountain- she said it was large for gestational age. So this week we did the glucose-tolerance test and some other blood tests to see how things are, and I had also gained another 3 pounds (IN ONE WEEK!) and was measuring even bigger.

The sick thing is, I find myself hoping something comes up positive because then I'm not to blame.

Losing control is what becoming a mom is about, at this point. So my weight is sort of the symbol of all that, and I can't seem to stop feeling embarrassed. Yesterday some one asked when I'm due and I lied and said, "in a month" just because I didn't want him to think, wow- she's huge.

Weight and my self-image are so closely tied, it's hard to separate them, even for something as obvious as pregnancy. The midwife says not to diet, and I'm trying to eat well- like I did before- but it doesn't seem to matter.

We've been looking at apartments and houses in Portland just to see what's available. I don't know now whether I want to move away from Mom and Dad's before the baby comes or not. It would be nice to have decorating/nesting to do and to start trying to meet some people, but that would mean living really on my own every day, without my mommy.

I think some of this has got to be hormonal.

OH- perfect timing, the doc's office just called and said I passed the tests and am normal. So what do I do? I choke out, "thanks. Bye" and burst into tears.

I feel like a jerk- shouldn't I be all, wow- there's life growing here, gift of God, blah-blah-blah?? I am excited about this kidlet- I just don't know what anything will be like and I've got a bit of culture shock. I don't want to be a weird depressed huge pregnant juggernaut of a person.

Plunging into Dei.

The word "plunge" is looking entirely too strange on the screen.

Anyway...

We checked out Imago Dei last night. I think I expected NOT to like it, because... it's famous and young and could be pretentious. It's definitely very hip. Rachael would have loved the clothes on at least 60% of the chicks there, and that's very high for a Rachael.

The worship was good- they had a sort of rock/bluegrassy feel and did 3 great hymns. One of them they did in 4/4 instead of 3/4, which ironically was exactly what I had wanted to try on our last day of worship at Blackhawk. Because we were in the sanctuary that day the idea was shot down as too radical. This place, though, is like the Cafe at Blackhawk on steroids. White girls with oddly tasteful dreds, little kids in stripey tights and lots of carefully aged dark denim. Not a hugely diverse population, but we went to the 5 o'clock- probably the service favored by college brats.

So there was that hymn, just the wacky way I like it, and then in the sermon (seems the wrong word in this context- need something hipper) "Pastor Rick" played my favorite Sara Groves song, about the troubled girl laying in her backyard wondering if there's a God. Then the kids ministry must have gotten out because all these young hot things went and got their Gap-ad cute kids and brought them back to the service. I swear every one of them was smiling and adorable. It was a younger, gooder Bedford community.

We talked to the worship guy after the service and they do it differently than Blackhawk. (We knew we were leaving something unique and amazing, but different can be good...) They have 4 teams whose members don't really change and they rotate through the month. We've got our names on the list.

There are two things about this church that impressed me- on paper, anyway. One is the School of Theology they have where you can attend classes for free, and they even have daycare. The other is that beauty, art, and creation are a big part of their thing. Before going there in person I thought maybe that was for show- look at us, we're so cool we can even make God art- but I really got the impression they want the whole creative God, creative people thing.

Blackhawk was not esthetically pleasing. I have my doubts as to the new Blackhawk achieving that goal. It's just not a focus for them- and I'm sure there are other things they did well that this church might miss, but Dang! It's nice to see these things valued here.

So we are going for it. Why shop around further? The pastor was intelligent- not a hugely intense message, but a good "unpacking" (that's Christianese) of Romans, which by the way was what Pastor Chris was preaching on Jonathan's first day at Blackhawk. He had good ideas and I liked his illustrations. Like Chris, I did sometimes wish for a little more meat packed in to the time spent, but his theology is sound, he preaches from the bible and I am looking forward to what he's got for next week.

J and I were thinking afterward that corporate gathering is really not where we should expect to get our study anyway. It might provide over-arching interpretive spins and occassional morsels of deep study put in by the pastor, but its main purpose seems to be coming together as a body meditating on the same passages and publicly worshipping God. The serious consistent study part is our job.

So, looks like we go to the Blue Like Jazz church. That still grates on me- and I even mostly liked the book. I guess it's a superiority & individuality thing. I promise to get over myself any second now.

October the 17th

We are tucked in to my parent's place surrounded by fields of cows, rolling hills covered in hay and old oak trees. From where I'm sitting I can see 10 of my Mom's bird houses, and the little valley below their land is blurred with smoke from the neighbor's fall burn piles. Actually those are a little smelly, but don't let it ruin your mentally idyllic image.

Simon's curled up snoring on the office chair next to me- we went for a long walk this morning, the four-mile route up to Lloyd (as we've christened him) the Llama's field. He makes me hold the chair so it doesn't swivel when he jumps in or out.

J is up in Portland, working his first day at Sparkler. It's not really what the firm's called, but a mashing together of bits of parts of the name. He called me after driving the hour up there this morning to say he was walking in, and about to hit the Starbucks in the lobby. You have to hand it to Portlanders and their caffeine habits- they take it very seriously. He looked so hot in his dark suit this morning- even Dad noticed and joked that he "cleans up well".

Yesterday we were in Seattle at the Pikes Place Market and bought fish from the fish throwers. There's a famous seafood place there where they throw the goods back and forth when they're purchased. The guys were great- personalities like characatures of friendly fishermen. The lady in line in front of us was a nut-job proseletizing with Christian tracts and harassing the one Asian guy, screeching, "Buddha can't save you- Jesus can!!!!!!" She creeped me right out, and them too. When she moved on, the guy confided he's a devout catholic, and we fessed up to being Christians- but apparently not her brand. I think she was just a psychotic who happened to fixate on religion. Wonder if she saw that VeggieTales video about the fish-slappers in Ninevah and confused that with the fish-throwers of Seattle. Odd.

Gillian Welch was a great show. Crystal Ballroom's a neat venue with a floor that bounces when people move around and old fashioned decor with funky Venician glass chandaliers. They played two guitars, sometimes also a banjo and harmonica, for close to three hours with a twenty minute break. We were in the front row, tapping on the carpeted stage and drinking in every single thing they did. I like them even more now- they sound exactly as good as they do in studio recordings. I want to be a groupie. (Or is that how you spell that for the fish?)

So many fun things happened in the last week. We saw Rachael! and Tim (her Very Serious Boyfriend)! and we broke the Explorer's $2500 tranny! and the movers laughed at our snow shovel! and people now smile knowingly and ask me how I'm feeling! and my favorite pregnancy skirt is getting tight! and I broke a bra! Geez!

Arrival!

We have arrived in the great Northwest.

It's beautiful here, and our stuff is all ready to be loaded into storage from the truck. We made it in one piece, visited so many generous relatives I'm afraid to start thanking them because I'll be sure to leave one out.

We are going to a concert tonight. A NON-CLASSICAL concert involving no one I know personally. Yep, Gillian Welch is in Portland, at a cute-looking venue called the Crystal Ballroom. See, this town is being good to us already. We thought a trip to Nashville would be required to see her/him, but nope! I realized I don't think I've ever really been to a legit concert (rock! or rock-like!) ever.

I'll post more from the trip with pictures. We have to go to wireless friendly places because mom & dad's place is out in the dial-up-only boonies.

Lasts...and firsts.

We are packing. Now, most people would think well, yeah- you move in 3 days. But those who know us well are singing hallelu. We will actually prepare for this move. There won't be drawers full of stuff and boxes half jammed with things falling out.

We have labels. That's how serious we're taking this whole thing.

All of the junk- it should really just go away in a nice shiny truck like this one.