Things That Make Me Feel Like Less Of A Failure

But first, why these things are necessary. 

I fancy myself a girl scout, although I never made it out of brownies, or daisies or cookies or whatever.  I like to be independent and do things the right way (read, hard way) and don’t need any man to do it for me.  (Unless it has to do with a car or ants, but I digress.)

I learned how to make a one-match fire at girls only summer camp out of grapevine, twigs, leaves, and dead branches.  I got pretty good at it, if I’m remembering right.  But somehow in the last 23 years, that skill has gone dormant. 

Now, when I attempt a fire in our fireplace, it blazes high and hot for all of 60 seconds, when it peters out to nothing and the kids say, “Mama, it’s all done now.  Why is it done?  Can you get it to go longer?”  I imagine myself replying, “It’s done because I SUCK at fire building.  Because all that burned was paper and the kindling.  And no, I’m done with fires FOREVER.” 

#1.  Duraflame.  Magic fire that lasts for at least 5 minutes.  Actually, for 3 hours and the package tells me that it’s even better for the environment than burning real wood and the package wouldn’t lie! 

#2.  Instant brown rice.  Because no matter how long I cook regular brown rice, it never gets past that chewy consistency, when you occasionally bite into a piece that feels like it was never touched by water.  And because cooking regular brown rice takes approximately 90 minutes or something, and I don’t plan ahead that much. 

#3.  Recipes with pictures.  Because they’re automatically shorter and make the whole thing look more manageable and fun.  My all-time favorite recipe with pictures is this one from The Vegan Stoner blog.  Goes well with #2. 

#4.  Jesus.  Bwahaha.  Just had to put the Sunday School answer in there. Seen this?

#5.  Farmers Markets.  Well, this one could go either way.  I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a terrible gardener, so I like being able to get good quality, local produce without watching plants die, or never grow in the first place, in my backyard.  Seriously, what kind of mutant tomato goes from green to brown?  Mine.  That’s what kind. 

#6.  Red-eye reduction.  Because it's just plain disturbing to think you captured a cute moment of your little girl looking at her reflection and then you see this: 

"hehe, look at my funny eyes!"

#7.  Gas tank low level indicator light thingy.  One time I was driving my old Buick LeSabre (I think…again, not too good with the cars) and ran out of gas on I-76.  I hitched a ride with a nice man in a pickup, who took me to get gas at the nearest exit and took me back to my car safely.  I had a good feeling about him, which is why I accepted his offer of help.  Kasey thinks this was a severe lapse in judgment and rolls his eyes when I say words like “intuition.”  He logically points out that if kind stranger was nice enough to drive pretty lady to the gas station, kind stranger should have been nice enough to do it by himself and leave pretty lady safely in the car waiting.  But pretty lady thinks it would have been pretty rude to ask kind stranger to do that.  Thanks to the light thingy, this argument is less likely to come up again in the future. 

How about you?  Got anything to add to the list?  J

Closure, or Foreclosure

When Kasey and I were looking to buy a new house a year and a half ago, we had a budget and a price range in mind that led to looking at a lot of…um, dumps.  We wanted just enough house, just enough to give us more financial freedom down the road and to have a little for the extras in the meantime.  So nothing was off the table.  $40,000 foreclosure with less-than-impressive photos online?  Sure.  $100,000 foreclosure with way-too-impressive photos online?  Sure.  Mold-infested house?  Sure. 

One evening, our realtor led us through five foreclosed houses.  I felt sick.  I felt angry.  I imagined these houses during their greatest years, the years when the families who lived in them were proud of them, put a new coat of paint on, added a sunroom, planted an extra shade tree for the kids out back.  I imagined the houses in more recent years, when the families who lived in them were proud of them but scraping by, foregoing dealing with that leak in the bathroom in favor of putting food on the table, ignoring the crack in the foundation because who has that kind of money, and mowing the lawn when they found the energy after working a double shift. 

The foreclosures told the stories of so many pained lives that ended with walking away from home, leaving it to decay along with their plans to own it.    

Some of the houses were cared for until the end – they were reasonably clean and water damage was minimal.  One former owner put an open cup of baking soda inside a moldy closet to absorb the moisture and odor – futile, but evidence of care. 

Some of the houses were left angrily, with one last stick it to the man hurrah – cigarette butts and broken beer bottles scattered all over the house, too-big-to-move furniture and garbage bags of trash left behind, mystery stains all over the carpet. 

No one plans to foreclose on a house.  We all intend to have real closure:  to pay off our debt, to eventually hold the title, to be good stewards in the meantime. 

How do I bring closure to events from my past that I have no control over?  When too much time has passed and I’ll never see those people again?  When the relationships have decayed for too long and are past repairing?  When I just don’t have the resources to keep making the painful payments?

Maybe foreclosure is the only option left. 

Maybe I have to walk away with the unsettled knowing that I will never have that satisfying ending. 

I want to be the baking soda in the moldy closet kind of forecloser, though.  The kind that doesn’t fantasize about punching that jerk kid in the 7^th grade (what was his name…Jack?  Jeff?) who called me fat.  The kind that realizes that Jack/Jeff probably had some people in his life who were pretty mean to him, too. 

I want to tell that little girl in the 3^rd grade who I made up that mean poem about (“…you’re so dumb, you’re so dumb, you suck your thumb”) that I’m sorry; that I was lonely and scared to be starting a new school and my mean poem had nothing to do with her.  And that I sucked my thumb until I was 7 and was apparently feeling a little insecure about it. 

I want to stare at that last “payment past due” bill without guilt or shame.  I want to make peace with that house and my leaving it, to be able to look back on it and remember playing under the shade tree and reading in the sunroom, along with the leaky faucet and cracked foundation. 

Because, pretty soon, a new generation of homeowners will live in that house.  My kids do now, in fact, dwell in the house made up of all of my old homes, those closures and foreclosures.  For them, I won’t have that one final beer bash, even though it might feel good.  I’ll carefully pour baking soda into that styrofoam cup, put it gently in the closet, and close the door.  

Timshel

"I don't want to diiiiieee!"  Eden cried as she laid in bed last night.

I don't know what prompted these thoughts of death last night... Why do we die?  Will I have my camera and my pointer and my blanket and my Elmo in heaven?  I don't want to get bigger and bigger and then die!

I tried different tactics -- explaining that she'll be happy in heaven no matter what's there, that she's not gonna die for a long time, that dying is part of living -- and then I fell silent.

Because this is not the way it's supposed to be.  Because her fear of death and her longing to live is planted deep in us.  Because as natural as death has become, it was not part of the original plan.

Eden...the garden of perfection, of communion, of the fullest life.  I pray that my Eden will have her fullest life and that she will someday live in the second Eden where death has no place.

Life feels heavy lately.  I feel the weight of 'not the way it's supposed to be' as I hear of cancers returning, adoptions falling through, as I experience my own share of broken relationships and broken people.  I feel seeds of wanting to live a more full life dwelling in me.  Seeds of timshel, of making this life here in the East of Eden as good as it can possibly be.

I think my seeds are sitting in the frozen earth right now, surrounded by the decay and shit that may eventually give them the nutrients to grow.  I am not a good gardener, and I know that not all seeds grow.  I'm praying that my Gardener sees fit to give my family a drip of his grace, that we won't see death for a long time, that our seeds will break through come spring and turn into something beautiful that in turn gives life to something else.

"But the Hebrew word, the word timshel--'Thou mayest'--that gives a choice.  It might be the most important word in the world.  That says the way is open.  That throws it right back on a man.  For if 'Thou mayest'--it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.'

'Thou mayest'... makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice.  He can choose his course and fight it through and win."
     --John Steinbeck, East of Eden

some quotes from today...

Eden, while saying hi to 'baby Ihsuc' in my belly this morning:
"Baby Ihsuc come out!"
Me: "What is baby Isaac going to do when he comes out?"
Eden: "pay Inna's toys" (play with Eden's toys)

While riding in a shopping cart later in the day:
"Auntie Den (Jen) wuf Inna... Uncle Dosh wuf Inna"
Me: "That's right, they do love Eden. Who else loves Eden?"
Eden: "Inna wuf Daddy."

And while on the changing table getting her pjs on tonight:
"Mommy uh Daddy wuf Inna sooo much!"

This girl's all about love!

Please Knock Before Entering

A couple of mornings this past week, Eden's begun going in her room and shutting the door while I'm in the bathroom getting ready in the morning. She hasn't figured out how to open doors yet though, so after a minute or two I will open the door and check on her and make sure she's not wanting to get out. And after I open the door, she promptly shuts it, as if to say that she needs her privacy.

I'm so not ready for this! Sometimes she acts like a teenager in a 20-month-old's body.

So I decided to leave her alone in there and wait to see what would happen. After about ten minutes, I peeked in to find this:

My baby girl is growing up!

On Hearts and Pink Stuff

Growing up, I wasn't really much of a girly girl. I wasn't much of a tomboy either, but I leaned in that direction. I chose gymnastics over ballet, because I didn't want to wear the fru-fru skirt. I could never get my bangs three stories high like the popular girls in middle school, but didn't really care. I dressed like a frump in high school in the mid-nineties, although in my defense, it was sort of the style (remember baggy flannel shirts, anyone?)

In college, I did manage to learn how to pluck my eyebrows and wear some makeup, but that's where it ended. When I needed a nice dress for some occasion or another, I had to borrow from my friends' closets. I just didn't care enough to have my own stash. And when I actually began to think about things like femininity and womanhood, I couldn't really identify where I settled in. I found myself avoiding things decidedly feminine, although I couldn't really say why.

And when it came to all things domestic - decorating a room or a house, cooking a delicious meal, raising children - I knew that I definitely wasn't 'that' kind of woman. I wanted a career; I wanted a passion; I wanted my independence; I didn't want to play housemaid or pretty face to some guy's 'real' life. I wanted to be, in a word, strong.

Well, ten years later, I've learned that strength looks different on different people. And being a strong woman doesn't have to look like or be defined the same way as being a strong man. I've experienced my share of independence, found my career passion in teaching, and along the way found a guy who wanted to create a life together that was meaningful to us both.

And slowly, I'm learning that it's okay to like pink, if I really like it. And I'm learning that creating a room that is aesthetically moving, or peaceful, or cheerful, is an art and requires thought and effort and creativity. And that making your own bread makes you feel connected to what you put in your body and can make you savor each slice. And that being a mother can elicit passion and appreciation for life and perspective on daily living that just wasn't even possible before.

So this February, when Valentine's Day rolled around, Eden and I went crazy with hearts and pink stuff. She wore her prettiest pink from head to toe, and even wore a barrette in her hair for the first time in her life. (It only lasted an hour, and only because she forgot it was there.)


We played with red finger paints and a heart-shaped sponges, making valentines for grandmas and grandpas.

We cut out heart-shaped cookies and put pink frosting and pink m&ms on them.

And it was fun.

And Eden doesn't have to be a girly girl if she doesn't want to, and my wardrobe is still very simple and doesn't contain much pink.

But if she does want to be a girly girl in her own strong way, bring it on!

Snow Fun

We've had a lot of snow this winter, and Eden's had fun exploring it.

She's learning how to make snowballs...

...with a little help from Daddy, of course.

She's ridden in her red sled...

...with a little help from Daddy.

She loves to 'pay in da noh'!

(Snowdaddy pulling snowbaby.)

Eden the Human Salt Shaker

This evening Eden played in her sandbox and got so much sand in her diaper that she looked like a salt shaker when she walked around the grass.

She tossed sand in her hair.

She put a handful of sand in her mouth. I thought, natural consequences, right? She'll learn that sand is not for the mouth and feels gross and won't do it again. Well, two minutes later she was face first in it getting another bite.

What fun!

On Turning 30...

Today is my 30th birthday, and I feel fine, thank you.

Kasey, Eden, and I spent the day together, hiking the beautiful cliffs and crevasses of Nelson Ledges Park, picking out a sparkly necklace, and watching Julie and Julia, a remarkably apropos movie for the occasion. In the movie, the character Julie begins her blog on August 13th, turns 30 in the course of her year of writing the blog, and gets a necklace from her husband to mark the occasion. This of course reminded me of my blog, which I have been neglecting.

I find it difficult to know how to write, not knowing who I’m writing to. And am I really writing to anyone? A blog seems inherently narcissistic, and even more so when it’s first beginning and quite possibly has only one reader – the writer’s mother. But I want to remember these days, and the fleeting thoughts that are lost with time if they aren’t put down in black and white. And I want my daughter to know my thoughts of early motherhood – to be able to read about her life from that perspective when she is older and has children of her own. And I want my friends and family who are far away to be able to see her growing up years.

So I will write, to enjoy life, to keep fleeting moments alive, and hopefully to draw in some reader other than my mother. Here goes…

diaper battles

Eden has decided recently that she does not like getting her diaper changed. No, she hates it.

So she whines when we approach the changing table and then arches her back and sticks her feet to the mat so it's difficult to lay her down. Once she's laying down, she throws her arms over head to grasp the bar running along the end of the changing table, and uses her strong grip to wrench her body over to her stomach. Then she's on her knees, then sitting up looking around. And this takes about five seconds.

Trying to change her diaper while she does this is difficult and, well, messy. We have three changing table covers and we've gone through all three of them in a week. Her changing mat is now bare - it's easier that way.

I've found two approaches that work to get us through a diaper change. The first is to hold her down with one hand when necessary and change the diaper as fast as possible with the other. I'm not such a fan of this option, because I sure wouldn't want to be physically restrained that way.

I discovered the second option this afternoon. If I match her intensity with my own goofy, crazy, brand of happy, she gets distracted and forgets how terrible it is. I sang a rousing rendition of the abc song while helping her throw her legs and body up and down, and it worked. We'll see how long it lasts.

Better the Second Time Around

Eden has been exploring lately the wonders of dropping and throwing her food to the ground. She then quickly peers over the edge of her tray to see where it went. Once she starts doing this, I know she's mostly done eating, so I clean her up and get her out of her chair.

Then the race is on. As I'm getting the paper towel wet to clean off the floor, Eden starts crawling around and eating the food she dropped. Mmmm... leftovers. Some food just tastes better the second time around.

Kiss kiss

Eden's learned how to make a kissy noise with her little lips. It's just plain adorable. Once she got the hang of it, she started stringing a bunch of kisses together and now kisses while she's crawling around, playing with her toys, or looking at us.

Like a friend from church said, eventually we'll have to teach her who she should give her kisses to. But for now, I like that she's an indiscriminate kisser.

Last night when Kasey bent down to give her a goodnight kiss on her forehead as he does every night, she made a kissy noise to him before he kissed her. She didn't even look up; she just knew he was about to kiss her and joined in the affection.

She's a heart-melter, this one.

Little Lady

Little Lady

Grunting, straining, growling

Sounds of exertion as you explore your new strengths

Not yet tempered by labels

-- ladylike, feminine, polite --

Your energy overflows and you are the essence of a

Little Lady

BABY ON BOARD

At one of my baby showers, I received a yellow-triangled "Baby on Board" sign to post in the rear window of my car. I'm not a bumper sticker type person, and I've never been a fan of personalized license plates, but I made the leap and put the sign in my car. After all, my baby's safety was at stake here, right? I knew what this sign would do for us -- it would tell tail-gaters to back off to a safe distance, admonish road-ragers to please find some momentary patience, and give speeders pause.

Then I had a baby.

And I realized what that sign really means.
- Get out of my way - I've got a crying baby in my car!
- Don't honk at me when the light turns green - I'm trying to give her a toy.
- Don't call the cops if I swerve a little - I'm reaching back to try to comfort her.
- Park a little farther away - I've got to open the door as far as possible so I don't bump her head putting her in this seat.
- Give me a wide radius - I may be a little distracted.

It turns out the sign is more of a warning to others of the hazardous new mom driving with an infant in the car. No one's honked or cursed at us (yet), but I'm sure I've gotten several head shakes and stares of wonderment. So the next time you see one of those signs in a car window, steer clear, for your own safety.

The Dryer Sheet

About a week ago, we had a strange, partially sleepless night with Eden.

A typical night looks something like this: Eden goes to sleep in her crib around 8, then wakes around midnight to be fed again. She joins us in bed for the night at that point. (We did not set out to be cosleepers. After two and a half months of the up and down all night routine, patting, shushing, falling asleep while nursing sitting upright, we realized that we had a girl who did not fall asleep or stay asleep easily. We brought her to bed out of desperation and have all gotten more sleep since.)

So, on this particular night, when Eden woke at midnight, she would not settle down and go back to sleep while nursing. She just seemed restless. She squirmed, rolled over, sat up, kicked her legs, said "at" with great enthusiasm, crawled. We tried nursing, patting, helping her find a comfortable position in bed, but nothing worked. So we moved to her room.

We tried rocking, laying her in her crib, changing her diaper, patting her, shushing her, nursing in the rocking chair, but nothing worked. We thought maybe teething was making her just uncomfortable enough to keep her awake, so we gave her Tylenol, which we rarely do. Didn't work. Back to our bed.

After two and a half hours of our best efforts, Eden sat up beside me, leaning back against my legs. She was so tired she was bobbing her head and listing around, almost falling over in her sleep-deprived stupor. She leaned farther and farther back, kicked her legs, but just couldn't fall asleep. Finally, nestled in the crook of my arm with her head on my pillow, she fell asleep. At 3am. After three hours of being awake.

I hate mysteries like this. If Eden is waking at night, or upset during the day, or cranky or whiny, I like to know why. I like to know why so I can fix it, or at least understand it.

Eden woke at seven, and we went to her changing table for her usual morning diaper change. And then I found it - The Cause of The Sleepless Night: in the toe of her footed pjs was a dryer sheet, balled up, but still big enough to make an incredibly sensitive little girl like Eden annoyed enough to stay awake for three hours. A dryer sheet. Poor girl. She was trying to kick it out, crawl away from it, but it stayed with her.

This week as I folded her laundry, you better believe I checked for dryer sheets.

The Present

I am learning these days to enjoy the present moment...Eden changes so fast!
She used to like being held up on my shoulder looking back; now she twists herself around to see what's going on in front, and soon she'll be wanting to get down and explore things herself.
She used to stop nursing and look up at me with a playful smile; now she keeps nursing while reaching up and feeling my face with her hand, and soon she'll not want to stop long enough to nurse.
She used to require 30 minutes of walking and rocking to fall asleep; now she only needs five minutes of rocking, and one day she won't need to be rocked to sleep at all.
Her quickly changing nature is both encouraging and sad...it's good to know that what might be trying or difficult now will probably soon pass, but it's also sad no longer seeing certain cute expressions or having quite as much cuddle time.
Above all, she reminds me to delight in the present!

Little Pumpkin...It's Eden's first Autumn!

Grandma and Grandpa Lee carved a pumpkin using Eden as a model. She is fascinated by the trees and changing leaves in our yard and neighborhood and stares up at them on walks.