Reupholstering is a tricky thing by itself. It's trickier when you run out of staples at late o'clock and the new ones you bought earlier, when the stores were all open, are the wrong size. Tricky compounds when your sewing machine randomly decides to do things that look fine on the top-stictch and after a few inches of stitching you realize that something's wrong so you look at the bobbin thread and it's totally WACKED. And then you mess around with it for twenty or so minutes, throw your hands up in frustration, and move on to stapling with your brad nailer/air compressor setup (this is the next night from the previous staple part so you now have staples). You are moving along nicely and then your nailer runs out of staples which you go refill and discover that the tricky nailer no longer wishes to push out the staples for reasons unknown. Tricky turns trickier still when you wake your husband up (who fell asleep watching a movie on the couch) to see if he can fix the nailer, and he gets as frustrated as you are when he discovers that he has not a clue why the nailer is no longer cooperating.
Then you might just cry.
And then you pull your own trick out of your sleeve by saying out loud to your husband as he journeys back to the couch and the movie, "Maybe the sewing machine just needed a little rest. I'm going to try it again."
Turns out that resting was just the thing for the old Singer.
Off to stitch a little more.
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Burrowing Cry
I keep sitting here, not sure how to start this, so I guess I'll just start.
In the wee hours of the morning (1:00ish?) on September 23rd, my mom, on a houseboat vacation with my two older siblings in Lake Powell, Utah, woke up to discomfort and a voice telling her, "This is a heart attack, you're having a heart attack." She had already thrown up a couple times before she went to bed (thinking she was just sick but actually was experiencing angina) but, as she woke up more and started to try and rouse my dad and tell him what was going on, she began throwing up again.
I wasn't there so I can only convey bits and pieces without much timeline accuracy, but I know that she continued throwing up many, many times throughout the night... 30 or so was a guess. She had intense chest, arm and back pain and it was hard to breathe.
My dad was terrified and felt rather helpless. You see, they were on this houseboat on a night with just a sliver moon that wouldn't even rise until about 5:30am., no spotlight and a VERY treacherous lake, twenty miles from the closest marina and medical help. Lake Powell is full of unknowns under the water. It can be a dangerous lake to navigate in the daylight, much less the darkest of nights with no light on the boat. My mom relates now that my dad was trembling and he tried to hold her and offer her some sort of comfort. I can only imagine the anguish that they were both experiencing. My mom wrote up a summary of events as she remembered them. I hope she doesn't mind if I put some of that here in my own record of things:
"I was pretty freaked out, panic was rampant for a while. [As time passed,]I got to a point that I saw a really cool mosaic of blues & blue-green looking spots that formed a spiral. It moved ever so gently & beckoned me... I thought with great clarity... "So this is what it's like to die from a heart attack" There was no panic at that point. It was a peaceful, resigned, calm place & feeling."
"I don't know how much time passed but I started feeling & then speaking out loud to Brayt "I CAN'T die on this boat" "I can't do that to these kids, my kids & grandkids." I knew with certainty, at that point, that they would heap some kind of guilt on themselves about not doing something different... [so] I knew that I couldn't die on the houseboat. I asked Brayt to give me a [priesthood] blessing. He obliged & then later he felt like he should go consecrate some oil & do the full ordinance, so he did. Then when he said his blessing he stated: "I bless you that you will survive this night". ...[and] something shifted after that. I was in agony for more than 8 hours and I survived the night. I didn't die on the houseboat."
My dad, in the retelling, says that he had so much fear as he tried to do something but felt so helpless. He gave the first blessing without oil because he forgot to bring it, and later felt commanded by the Spirit do the full ordinance (as mom said). As he gave her the second blessing, he told me that he felt the powers of heaven pour into my mom and felt the fear that gripped him relax. He said it felt that it wasn't up to him now. She was held by the Power of God.
Even still, the night was agony. My mom said she kept looking at the sky, hoping to see some light, some signal of time passing. She felt like it would never end. But, as all hard things do, the night finally did come to an end. Morning came and they got her on the power boat and to the ramp at Bullfrog Marina.
Upon arrival, my dad ran up the ramp and found a Ranger sitting in his Jeep. He asked him if there was a Clinic close by.
"Why?" the Ranger asked.
"Because I think my wife is having a heart attack." replied my Dad.
The Ranger asked where she was and my dad pointed to the power boat bobbing at the dock. The Ranger, who happened to be a Medic, jumped in his Jeep, radioed for an ambulance, drove down the ramp, grabbed his bag and ran to where she was in the boat. He, on the bobbing boat, started an I.V. of something, and then the ambulance was there and they were loading her onto the gurney.
She was taken to the small clinic at Bullfrog and was given some sort of pain meds and who-knows-what. In short order, a life-flight helicopter crew arrived and, in Mom's words, "They were the BEST! Light, good energy, competent to the max & the let me joke with them & they seemed to get it! The pilot came in & asked "How do you feel about a helicopter ride?" Me: "That's probably the best part of this whole thing so far!" Pilot (laughing): "Now that's my kind of patient!" Whoosh..... off to the chopper..."
Mom was in a drug induced haze after that. She remembered snippets of things... being unloaded from the chopper... flashes of the Cardiac Cath-Lab... the Cardiac ICU with no familiar faces around... and then seeing my dad (who had driven the five hours from Lake Powell to Provo, where she was taken).... and then my dad walking in the room again, followed by me. My Dad had called me Friday afternoon at about 1:00 to tell me what was going on and that Mom was in a helicopter on her way to Provo. I called Taylor and Lacy, my siblings, and then Dustin. Dustin could tell I was rather shaken and suggested that I call my friend Rebby. Rebby offered to watch my baby Brynja and pick up my kids from their bus stop. I took her up on the offer and was on the road by about 2:30.
My mom was in the Cardiac ICU from Friday until Sunday afternoon. Sunday they moved her to the regular Cardiac Floor (which was bustling and crowded... and her new room we not-so-lovingly called her "Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs" because it was so small...) I stayed in Provo the whole time and was at the hospital all day, every day until she was released on Tuesday evening.
My dad and I took turns being the information liaison for everyone who was calling to inquire and send their prayers and love. She had many visitors and love and prayers being said for her.
Because she went so long without any medical intervention, she did suffer some damage to her heart, but it is improving and she is working to get her heart function back. We learned after her surgery (where two stents were placed) that the problem was in her lateral anterior descending coronary artery. This is the artery that is also dubbed "the widowmaker" because it has a VERY high mortality rate. They tell us that it was 100% blocked by a blood clot that had developed on the stent they had placed there last year. How my mom survived so long with such a thing and how she is currently doing as remarkably well as she is... TRULY a miracle.
As for my own experience and the title of this post... I had NO idea, in the midst of my own hospital "supportive role" experience, how taxing to my own psyche it was. I thought my mom was doing fairly well on Saturday and Sunday, all things considered. And she was. She was not really eating, though, and battling nausea, chest pain (from Pericarditus, they think, but were never sure...) and drug-effects, among other things. It was rough. More rough than I realized at the time. Monday rolled around and she showed such improvements from the weekend that I had a dawning understanding that she had been worse than I knew. But she improved so much on Monday. She started eating more, had less nausea and started walking more with her cardiac therapist. Then Tuesday she was WAY better, even, than Monday. It was an amazing transformation. Her spirits were higher on Tuesday and we got word that she was most likely going to be released that day.
As I, unconsciously for the most part, started to relax about my mom's condition Monday evening and into Tuesday, I began allowing myself to feel my exhaustion. I felt like I had been a piece of cloth that was spray-starched into rigidity for support and suddenly someone poured water all over me, releasing the starch that was holding me up. I was "puddley". I had permission from the universe to be tired and, boy-oh-boy, was I tired. I also felt like I was made of blown glass. All my emotions were suddenly right at the surface, and I would shatter at a touch. I worked at "keeping it together" to some degree for the rest of the day, but all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out in someone's arms.
My dear husband was at home with the kids these five days and trying to work and juggle schedules, etc. He was anxious for me to come home, so on Tuesday night at about 8:30, I left Provo for my trek home. It was late to be leaving, tired as I was, but I didn't want to stress D out any more than he was. As I was driving, my tears, held together most of the day, were bursting to come out. But to drive safely, I couldn't let them come.
I wanted desperately to stop at a friend's house who was on the way home, but the late hour and other circumstances didn't allow it.
And so, I swallowed it.
I know it was a mixed blessing to be able to do that. I needed to not delay my drive any more since I would be home very late as it was, but I also felt like I really needed to cry.
But I didn't.
And the emotions burrowed. They went subterranean and I can feel them there, like a splinter in my body.
Did you ever watch a movie called The Holiday? Cameron Diaz's character couldn't cry, try as she might. I've felt like that ever since. I do cry, just a little bit. But then those tears just dry up as quickly as they came on.
I did get some release yesterday. My mom came over to my house to help me dip pretzels, of all things to do post-heart attack (bless her, but she saved me!). In my gratitude for her help, I hugged her and said my thanks. And I started to cry. She hugged me for a long time. She said sweet-mommy things to the child in me who needed comfort. And I 'got it' in a way I hadn't yet. A new level of settling in. My mom so nearly lost her life. She was spared by the power and grace of God and her own will that made the choice to stay. She was here with me in my kitchen offering me comfort instead of me desperately seeking the slippery peace I would have been had she merged with the blue/green mosaic that was beckoning her on that turbulent night in Lake Powell.
My tears went underground, but my mother stayed, and I will wait patiently and in gratitude until those tears would like to come forth.
I love you more than words can express, Momma.
In the wee hours of the morning (1:00ish?) on September 23rd, my mom, on a houseboat vacation with my two older siblings in Lake Powell, Utah, woke up to discomfort and a voice telling her, "This is a heart attack, you're having a heart attack." She had already thrown up a couple times before she went to bed (thinking she was just sick but actually was experiencing angina) but, as she woke up more and started to try and rouse my dad and tell him what was going on, she began throwing up again.
I wasn't there so I can only convey bits and pieces without much timeline accuracy, but I know that she continued throwing up many, many times throughout the night... 30 or so was a guess. She had intense chest, arm and back pain and it was hard to breathe.
My dad was terrified and felt rather helpless. You see, they were on this houseboat on a night with just a sliver moon that wouldn't even rise until about 5:30am., no spotlight and a VERY treacherous lake, twenty miles from the closest marina and medical help. Lake Powell is full of unknowns under the water. It can be a dangerous lake to navigate in the daylight, much less the darkest of nights with no light on the boat. My mom relates now that my dad was trembling and he tried to hold her and offer her some sort of comfort. I can only imagine the anguish that they were both experiencing. My mom wrote up a summary of events as she remembered them. I hope she doesn't mind if I put some of that here in my own record of things:
"I was pretty freaked out, panic was rampant for a while. [As time passed,]I got to a point that I saw a really cool mosaic of blues & blue-green looking spots that formed a spiral. It moved ever so gently & beckoned me... I thought with great clarity... "So this is what it's like to die from a heart attack" There was no panic at that point. It was a peaceful, resigned, calm place & feeling."
"I don't know how much time passed but I started feeling & then speaking out loud to Brayt "I CAN'T die on this boat" "I can't do that to these kids, my kids & grandkids." I knew with certainty, at that point, that they would heap some kind of guilt on themselves about not doing something different... [so] I knew that I couldn't die on the houseboat. I asked Brayt to give me a [priesthood] blessing. He obliged & then later he felt like he should go consecrate some oil & do the full ordinance, so he did. Then when he said his blessing he stated: "I bless you that you will survive this night". ...[and] something shifted after that. I was in agony for more than 8 hours and I survived the night. I didn't die on the houseboat."
My dad, in the retelling, says that he had so much fear as he tried to do something but felt so helpless. He gave the first blessing without oil because he forgot to bring it, and later felt commanded by the Spirit do the full ordinance (as mom said). As he gave her the second blessing, he told me that he felt the powers of heaven pour into my mom and felt the fear that gripped him relax. He said it felt that it wasn't up to him now. She was held by the Power of God.
Even still, the night was agony. My mom said she kept looking at the sky, hoping to see some light, some signal of time passing. She felt like it would never end. But, as all hard things do, the night finally did come to an end. Morning came and they got her on the power boat and to the ramp at Bullfrog Marina.
Upon arrival, my dad ran up the ramp and found a Ranger sitting in his Jeep. He asked him if there was a Clinic close by.
"Why?" the Ranger asked.
"Because I think my wife is having a heart attack." replied my Dad.
The Ranger asked where she was and my dad pointed to the power boat bobbing at the dock. The Ranger, who happened to be a Medic, jumped in his Jeep, radioed for an ambulance, drove down the ramp, grabbed his bag and ran to where she was in the boat. He, on the bobbing boat, started an I.V. of something, and then the ambulance was there and they were loading her onto the gurney.
She was taken to the small clinic at Bullfrog and was given some sort of pain meds and who-knows-what. In short order, a life-flight helicopter crew arrived and, in Mom's words, "They were the BEST! Light, good energy, competent to the max & the let me joke with them & they seemed to get it! The pilot came in & asked "How do you feel about a helicopter ride?" Me: "That's probably the best part of this whole thing so far!" Pilot (laughing): "Now that's my kind of patient!" Whoosh..... off to the chopper..."
Mom was in a drug induced haze after that. She remembered snippets of things... being unloaded from the chopper... flashes of the Cardiac Cath-Lab... the Cardiac ICU with no familiar faces around... and then seeing my dad (who had driven the five hours from Lake Powell to Provo, where she was taken).... and then my dad walking in the room again, followed by me. My Dad had called me Friday afternoon at about 1:00 to tell me what was going on and that Mom was in a helicopter on her way to Provo. I called Taylor and Lacy, my siblings, and then Dustin. Dustin could tell I was rather shaken and suggested that I call my friend Rebby. Rebby offered to watch my baby Brynja and pick up my kids from their bus stop. I took her up on the offer and was on the road by about 2:30.
My mom was in the Cardiac ICU from Friday until Sunday afternoon. Sunday they moved her to the regular Cardiac Floor (which was bustling and crowded... and her new room we not-so-lovingly called her "Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs" because it was so small...) I stayed in Provo the whole time and was at the hospital all day, every day until she was released on Tuesday evening.
My dad and I took turns being the information liaison for everyone who was calling to inquire and send their prayers and love. She had many visitors and love and prayers being said for her.
Because she went so long without any medical intervention, she did suffer some damage to her heart, but it is improving and she is working to get her heart function back. We learned after her surgery (where two stents were placed) that the problem was in her lateral anterior descending coronary artery. This is the artery that is also dubbed "the widowmaker" because it has a VERY high mortality rate. They tell us that it was 100% blocked by a blood clot that had developed on the stent they had placed there last year. How my mom survived so long with such a thing and how she is currently doing as remarkably well as she is... TRULY a miracle.
As for my own experience and the title of this post... I had NO idea, in the midst of my own hospital "supportive role" experience, how taxing to my own psyche it was. I thought my mom was doing fairly well on Saturday and Sunday, all things considered. And she was. She was not really eating, though, and battling nausea, chest pain (from Pericarditus, they think, but were never sure...) and drug-effects, among other things. It was rough. More rough than I realized at the time. Monday rolled around and she showed such improvements from the weekend that I had a dawning understanding that she had been worse than I knew. But she improved so much on Monday. She started eating more, had less nausea and started walking more with her cardiac therapist. Then Tuesday she was WAY better, even, than Monday. It was an amazing transformation. Her spirits were higher on Tuesday and we got word that she was most likely going to be released that day.
As I, unconsciously for the most part, started to relax about my mom's condition Monday evening and into Tuesday, I began allowing myself to feel my exhaustion. I felt like I had been a piece of cloth that was spray-starched into rigidity for support and suddenly someone poured water all over me, releasing the starch that was holding me up. I was "puddley". I had permission from the universe to be tired and, boy-oh-boy, was I tired. I also felt like I was made of blown glass. All my emotions were suddenly right at the surface, and I would shatter at a touch. I worked at "keeping it together" to some degree for the rest of the day, but all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out in someone's arms.
My dear husband was at home with the kids these five days and trying to work and juggle schedules, etc. He was anxious for me to come home, so on Tuesday night at about 8:30, I left Provo for my trek home. It was late to be leaving, tired as I was, but I didn't want to stress D out any more than he was. As I was driving, my tears, held together most of the day, were bursting to come out. But to drive safely, I couldn't let them come.
I wanted desperately to stop at a friend's house who was on the way home, but the late hour and other circumstances didn't allow it.
And so, I swallowed it.
I know it was a mixed blessing to be able to do that. I needed to not delay my drive any more since I would be home very late as it was, but I also felt like I really needed to cry.
But I didn't.
And the emotions burrowed. They went subterranean and I can feel them there, like a splinter in my body.
Did you ever watch a movie called The Holiday? Cameron Diaz's character couldn't cry, try as she might. I've felt like that ever since. I do cry, just a little bit. But then those tears just dry up as quickly as they came on.
I did get some release yesterday. My mom came over to my house to help me dip pretzels, of all things to do post-heart attack (bless her, but she saved me!). In my gratitude for her help, I hugged her and said my thanks. And I started to cry. She hugged me for a long time. She said sweet-mommy things to the child in me who needed comfort. And I 'got it' in a way I hadn't yet. A new level of settling in. My mom so nearly lost her life. She was spared by the power and grace of God and her own will that made the choice to stay. She was here with me in my kitchen offering me comfort instead of me desperately seeking the slippery peace I would have been had she merged with the blue/green mosaic that was beckoning her on that turbulent night in Lake Powell.
My tears went underground, but my mother stayed, and I will wait patiently and in gratitude until those tears would like to come forth.
I love you more than words can express, Momma.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Hi
Sometimes I forget I have a blog anymore.
LAME.
So, this is me saying HI....
This pic was taken in my long-haired days, back in March for a senior project of a cousin? (I think) of my friend. She did some photo project that showed that moms can still be beautiful. It was a last minute-thrown-together-ish thing, but I thought it was fun to have a pic of myself. I don't get them very often as I am usually the one behind the camera.
THE END.
LAME.
So, this is me saying HI....
This pic was taken in my long-haired days, back in March for a senior project of a cousin? (I think) of my friend. She did some photo project that showed that moms can still be beautiful. It was a last minute-thrown-together-ish thing, but I thought it was fun to have a pic of myself. I don't get them very often as I am usually the one behind the camera.
THE END.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Flow
Self-awareness, as everything else in life, has an current, a flow.
At times, all rapids and whirlpools, it carries me faster than I'd choose on my own and often through frightening and dangerous waters. If I let go of my fear, the ride can be exhilerating, though I may come out crying at the end.
As all rapids eventually find a calm, so do my own personal rivers of thought.
Those calm places often look placid and smooth, yet upon submersion I find that the current is stronger than I realized. It is then I am faced with a choice; tread water, swim hard or relax and float and let the current carry me where it may.
There are other times where I stand on the shore and watch the current and wonder at the hinting surface-nuances of the more powerful forces below. I know there are things I'm not seeing or feeling because I choose to stay out of the water.
And there are other times where I walk away from the water all together.
But I know I'll always come back.
At times, all rapids and whirlpools, it carries me faster than I'd choose on my own and often through frightening and dangerous waters. If I let go of my fear, the ride can be exhilerating, though I may come out crying at the end.
As all rapids eventually find a calm, so do my own personal rivers of thought.
Those calm places often look placid and smooth, yet upon submersion I find that the current is stronger than I realized. It is then I am faced with a choice; tread water, swim hard or relax and float and let the current carry me where it may.
There are other times where I stand on the shore and watch the current and wonder at the hinting surface-nuances of the more powerful forces below. I know there are things I'm not seeing or feeling because I choose to stay out of the water.
And there are other times where I walk away from the water all together.
But I know I'll always come back.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Best Laid Plans
Some days don't go how you expect.
Despite actually planning out every meal this week on Sunday night, and despite grocery shopping for all the food for said meals, and despite mapping out the goings-on of the past two days in my head, I still found myself scrambling at the dinner hour, both yesterday and today.
This is nearly unheard of for me, this planning and mapping, and yet I still managed to scramble at dinnertime, just like I do every night.
This week my theme has been inadequacy. I've been chock full, bursting at the seams, with self-deprecating thoughts and feelings. In fact, sometimes my seams did burst. Into tears. Big ones. Dripping-off-your-chin kind of tears. It hasn't been pretty.
I felt those ugly, dark feelings churning as I considered the scramble, despite my planning. I recognized the descent I would shortly make into self-pity and disgust.
And then, magically, I stopped. The black cloud dissipated with a thought. There was something magical in today and that was using some of my gifts to help someone I love. I was simply a listening ear and a few words of advice, but it felt appreciated. And in serving, I felt fulfilled.
Plans were never my strong point anyway.
Despite actually planning out every meal this week on Sunday night, and despite grocery shopping for all the food for said meals, and despite mapping out the goings-on of the past two days in my head, I still found myself scrambling at the dinner hour, both yesterday and today.
This is nearly unheard of for me, this planning and mapping, and yet I still managed to scramble at dinnertime, just like I do every night.
This week my theme has been inadequacy. I've been chock full, bursting at the seams, with self-deprecating thoughts and feelings. In fact, sometimes my seams did burst. Into tears. Big ones. Dripping-off-your-chin kind of tears. It hasn't been pretty.
I felt those ugly, dark feelings churning as I considered the scramble, despite my planning. I recognized the descent I would shortly make into self-pity and disgust.
And then, magically, I stopped. The black cloud dissipated with a thought. There was something magical in today and that was using some of my gifts to help someone I love. I was simply a listening ear and a few words of advice, but it felt appreciated. And in serving, I felt fulfilled.
Plans were never my strong point anyway.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Over It?
I thought I was over my comment infatuation. I thought I was ok. Only 1 comment on my blog post? I'm fine. Life is ok. My self-worth has ZERO to do with my comment boxes on my blog posts. I keep telling myself these things.
I have no one to blame but myself. The grit in my teeth after my hard face-plant off the blogging wagon would be my first clue. But I find myself looking at the 0 comments and feeling crestfallen.
Maybe there's still a part of me that isn't over it.
And really, that just makes me laugh at myself. Big-belly-laugh kind of laughs. HHHHAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!
Let's not take us too seriously, Clancy. Mmmmkay?
Good idea. Let's just love blogging and blog for our mental health and our posterity. Sound good?
Sounds perfect.
(Mental health might be questionable as Clancy and I carry on a conversation, but we never said what state our mental health had to be in...)
Happy, haPPy, hAppY WedNEsDay!
*Post Edit: This is not a request for sympathy comments, much as it may sound like it is. It was really just a laugh-at-my-own-ridiculousness kind of post. Come on, really. Who wraps their self worth around blog comments... HAHAHA!!! (ha) Anyway, this post now has enough comments the self-worth meter is sated. If you are moved to tears and simply must leave a sympathy comment, please search my blog and find some post that has 0 comments and leave a comment on that post. :o)
(You know what's hard to convey sometimes on a blog? Sarcasm.)
I have no one to blame but myself. The grit in my teeth after my hard face-plant off the blogging wagon would be my first clue. But I find myself looking at the 0 comments and feeling crestfallen.
Maybe there's still a part of me that isn't over it.
And really, that just makes me laugh at myself. Big-belly-laugh kind of laughs. HHHHAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!
Let's not take us too seriously, Clancy. Mmmmkay?
Good idea. Let's just love blogging and blog for our mental health and our posterity. Sound good?
Sounds perfect.
(Mental health might be questionable as Clancy and I carry on a conversation, but we never said what state our mental health had to be in...)
Happy, haPPy, hAppY WedNEsDay!
*Post Edit: This is not a request for sympathy comments, much as it may sound like it is. It was really just a laugh-at-my-own-ridiculousness kind of post. Come on, really. Who wraps their self worth around blog comments... HAHAHA!!! (ha) Anyway, this post now has enough comments the self-worth meter is sated. If you are moved to tears and simply must leave a sympathy comment, please search my blog and find some post that has 0 comments and leave a comment on that post. :o)
(You know what's hard to convey sometimes on a blog? Sarcasm.)
Monday, September 13, 2010
Missing Manic Monday: Preview
Sorry I've not been giving a preview of these words on Fridays. I keep forgetting. I've been going out of town a lot and when do we leave? On Fridays. I was sorely tempted to pick a different word today when I saw preview... click on the next word until I found one I felt like writing about. But that was the whole point of using the random word generator... randomness. The thing I liked about Mo's Manic Monday was I had to figure out how to incorporate whatever word he came up with into my blog post. Not pick a word I felt like writing about and go from there. So, I kept preview.
Is it just me or does going out of town stress you out? Here is my normal modus operandi when I'm preparing to go out of town:
For those of you who may be shaking your head in disbelief at my self-sabotaging ways (myself included), I would like to report that, while this has been my *normal* M.O. for most of my life (except the internet part... that particular distraction only showed up in the last five years or less), I am slowly changing my ways. The old Clancy was so dependably late. It was just ridiculous. And, thus, the old Clancy would mentally rip herself to ribbons. The inner critic had a heyday between the time-wasting, messy house, messy car, piles of laundry, and extreme lateness to top it all off. It was a Self-Deprecation Party of epics proportions.
But.
The new Clancy (which is actually still the old Clancy, but a Clancy that is trying everyday to improve herself in small ways and learning to love herself unconditionally regardless of her apparent successes or failures) has, for the last few out-of-town excursions, been ready at a decent time with, at minimum, a partially clean house, or a house at a higher level of clean than she started the day with.
This last Friday, I managed to be ready by about 4:00, which was the time we were slotted to leave. We didn't leave until about 6:00, but this was, in fact, due to Big O Tires and not due to Clancy. We took our car in for new tires, an alignment and a replacement of "sway bar bushings" (whatever those are) and ended up having to replace the "inner tie rods" as well. So, an extra $200 and an additional two hours, we left feeling much safer on our journey to the City of Salt.
I'm so proud of me. :-)
Is it just me or does going out of town stress you out? Here is my normal modus operandi when I'm preparing to go out of town:
- Think about all the packing I need to do. (even if "all the packing" is not very much packing)
- Think about it some more.
- Think about how I want my house clean because who wants to come home to a messy house?
- Friday morning rolls around and I think some more about how I want things clean and what I need to do.
- Do all the laundry I have piled up. For some reason, I feel compelled to have completely empty laundry baskets when I leave town. Although in recent weeks, this has changed because of our new bathroom in the basement. You see, it's half bathroom, half laundry room, complete with a five foot folding countertop. It's amazing! I am suddenly the Laundress Queen Extraordinaire and I do my laundry, folded and put away ALL. THE. TIME. It's simply amazing what a difference a beautiful space does to your desire, not to mention functionality, of keeping it in order.
- Think about how I need to clean out the car before we leave, because who wants to travel in a messy car?
- Get stressed out by all the things I need to.
- "Rest" from all the thinking via brain-check-out, courtesy of the internet.
- Waste too much time online and finally pull myself away.
- Mentally kick myself because I've wasted so much time and I have so much to do.
- Run around like a crazy person trying to get ready. This stage involves a lot of sweaty armpits and may or may not involve *actually* cleaning the car and my house, depending on just how much time got wasted on the internet. (Yes, I just said sweaty armpits on my blog. Uncensored.)
- Leave at least one hour later than I wanted to.
- More metal butt-kicking.
- Fall asleep in car, conditions pending. *This final step has temporarily been bumped from "pending" to "omitted" thanks to the recent addition of one Brynja Leigh to our family. :o)
For those of you who may be shaking your head in disbelief at my self-sabotaging ways (myself included), I would like to report that, while this has been my *normal* M.O. for most of my life (except the internet part... that particular distraction only showed up in the last five years or less), I am slowly changing my ways. The old Clancy was so dependably late. It was just ridiculous. And, thus, the old Clancy would mentally rip herself to ribbons. The inner critic had a heyday between the time-wasting, messy house, messy car, piles of laundry, and extreme lateness to top it all off. It was a Self-Deprecation Party of epics proportions.
But.
The new Clancy (which is actually still the old Clancy, but a Clancy that is trying everyday to improve herself in small ways and learning to love herself unconditionally regardless of her apparent successes or failures) has, for the last few out-of-town excursions, been ready at a decent time with, at minimum, a partially clean house, or a house at a higher level of clean than she started the day with.
This last Friday, I managed to be ready by about 4:00, which was the time we were slotted to leave. We didn't leave until about 6:00, but this was, in fact, due to Big O Tires and not due to Clancy. We took our car in for new tires, an alignment and a replacement of "sway bar bushings" (whatever those are) and ended up having to replace the "inner tie rods" as well. So, an extra $200 and an additional two hours, we left feeling much safer on our journey to the City of Salt.
I'm so proud of me. :-)
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Drafts
I was just in my "Manage Posts" area of my blog and saw a few draft posts that never got published. I can't even remember why I wrote this draft or what the rest of the story was in my brain... too bad... but I thought it was fun to read. Mac was sitting here while I read it and he read it too. My ten year old son pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows and said, "Huh. Pretty good, Mom. I think you should write a book."
I'd love to, Mac. But first, I've just got to get myself writing again.
Here is my never-published draft of something unknown.... I wrote it on June 10th, 2009.
Who's Kate? I have no idea. But I think I'd like to figure it out.
I'd love to, Mac. But first, I've just got to get myself writing again.
Here is my never-published draft of something unknown.... I wrote it on June 10th, 2009.
Kate saw him on the train that day. Cold air rushed past her as the doors opened, carrying the din of the commuters as well as the scent of his cologne. Sam's cologne was, as usual, too strong and she felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and touch him.
He hadn't seen her. Kate's fingers twitched toward him and then fell still as her mind played out the outcome of taking action on her urge to feel that soft spot below his earlobe. Sighing and biting her lip, she attempted distraction by looking out the window at the streak of scenery that flew by the oblivious commuters.
Who's Kate? I have no idea. But I think I'd like to figure it out.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Dots
She's always called it
a constellation.
A mural of her indifference.
Connect-the-dots,
a picture
of the deeper places.
Her weakness revealed
on this map
of her self-inflicted turmoil.
a constellation.
A mural of her indifference.
Connect-the-dots,
a picture
of the deeper places.
Her weakness revealed
on this map
of her self-inflicted turmoil.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Brynja's Story, Part 3
Same deal applies as previous two posts... skip if you don't like hearing crazy (and somewhat graphic) details about labor and birth, cuz here it comes, baby. (no pun intended)
Previously on Clancy's blog...
From Brynja's Story, Part 2
..."You know, I wonder if that membrane is completely ruptured?"
"Huh?"
"When I was checking you, I thought I felt some membrane still covering the baby's head."
"How can that be?" I asked. "My water is broken, right?" Clearly, from all the "gushing" fluids earlier.
She told me that the amniotic sac actually has two layers. The outer one is thick and strong and the inner one is thin and weak and they usually break together. She even told me the names of them, but I don't recall them now. It might have been that just the outer layer broke.
"Would you like me to see if I can break that?" she asked.
"Sure. Yep. Do it." I replied.
So, the nurse fetched her the magic crochet hook and voila! There was still a little membrane left that she broke.
And that's when all hell broke loose....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...So it turns out that hell is a woman in unmedicated labor with a baby that won't descend. But hell broke loose, fo shizzle.
I thought things had been crazy up to that point, but I found out that I didn't even know crazy yet. The second membrane was broken and the time was now somewhere around 6:55pm, give or take five minutes. (I was told this later. Time was completely irrelevant to me at that point.) If you recall, Brynja was born at 7:14pm. This is not an unusual time line for my labors. I have always gone from 7 or 8 cm to a babe-in-arms in a matter of 20 or 30 minutes, if not faster. What was different in this case was what was happening in my body to create this outcome.
In my previous labors, I was present but my body was in control. I just rode the waves and managed the enormity of the pain and the process of birth. It was amazing really. I never realized until just now what went on during those births. It was as if the part of me that makes me ME was separate from my body... I guess that would be my spirit. I wasn't having an "out of body" experience, but I had to get myself out of the way of my body. Does that make any sense? This is hard to explain. To deal with bringing my first three babies into the world, I had to rise above my body and just let it do what it was built to do. It all just happened so beautifully and I got to participate as more of an observer. Not that I wasn't participating.... I was participating as completely as I knew how to, but I didn't have a say in what my body was doing... my body was just birthing that lovely finished product called baby, as it was engineered so divinely to do. I couldn't have made my body do differently if I tried. (Don't know if I was successful at explaining, but I think I've hit the beating-a-dead-horse point in this explanation.)
But for this birth, the baby was not descending right. I didn't and don't know why. There were no answers then and now there's only speculation. Whatever it was, it made things not behave in that perfectly engineered way that allowed me to just ride those contraction waves and watch it all unfold. I had to take control and make things happen.
So, yes. My second little membrane had been broken. I had a contraction or two... maybe. I can't remember exactly, but Helene's report kept echoing in my head.
7 cm.... 7 cm.... 7cm... 7cm... 7cm!!
And then I got mad.
I was taking control and this baby was coming out.
I don't know that I can explain what transpired in those next 10 or 15 minutes, but for my own clarity, I'm going to try. And, to be a little raw here, I'm scared to voice all this. This whole story has been so hard for me to write. Obviously, since it took me three months to finish the first installment and more than a month to finish the second. But writing it all out has also been... what's the word?... healing? Giving closure? I'm not sure, but it's been a good process for me. I've had many strange feelings surrounding this experience and writing is my best therapy.
So, after Helene broke that membrane and I got mad, I remember sitting Indian-style on the bed and going through a few contractions. During those, I remember grabbing the arms of the bed and, with all the energy I could put into my lats, traps and delts, lifting my whole body (except perhaps my legs) off of the bed in some sort of hovering push-up thing. I remember trying to create that feeling in my body of needing to push. I was making some hellish noise and probably striking fear into every laboring woman on the floor. I did several contractions like that and Helene said something to the effect of, "Clancy, I think you should move to hands and knees and try a few contractions that way."
I don't really even remember moving as she suggested, but I labored through a few contractions that way, and she was right. It was the next necessary position to get the baby down and I knew it. I could feel it.
That's when "The Beast" emerged. "The Beast" that had been laying dormant... in the depths of my soul. Dramatic, you say? Yes. Yes, it is. And yes, it was.
Unprompted from Helene, I turned that hands and knees labor position to a crouch position of sorts. I felt like a frog, with my feet flat on the bed, my hamstrings resting on my calves and my hands down pushing on the bed in front of me. I might have been sitting like a frog, but a werewolf might be a better description, noises included. It was guttural, gut-wrenching howls. And roaring. Literally. I was roaring. I'll never forget the first roar that erupted as I forced that baby down. My mom was standing behind me and to my right and as I roared, she laughed. The moment she laughed my head whipped around and I'm sure my eyes were daggers. That's how I felt. She immediately stifled her laugh and stammered, "Oh, it's not funny at all! It just took me by surprise!" I think I took the whole room by surprise. But the intensity of the experience had everyone present aching for me.
I learned later that all those who came to support me were praying. My dad told me that he was praying and imagining himself as a funnel with the powers of heaven pouring down from above, through him and straight at me. He said he was sending every ounce of strength he had into me and my baby. Rebby was pleading for it to be over. Lacy and my mom too. I also learned that my father-in-law, who was hundreds of miles away and knew only that I was in labor, felt like something was going wrong. He prayed all afternoon and evening too. And even my cousin, also miles and miles away, had an intense feeling that something was wrong... a specific thing... and plead with God to "save her cousin".
I say "The Beast" somewhat in jest, but something truly primal was occurring in that room. I was MAKING that baby come down. There was nothing automatic about it like my previous labors. I, along with all the powers of heaven being sent my way, was bringing that baby into this world and I was telling my body so and IT. WAS. OBEYING.
It was truly amazing. And unfathomably hard. I can hardly even remember the exquisite intensity of those 15 or so minutes, except that it was the hardest thing I've EVER done in my life.
I hadn't felt pushing urges, but I was pushing anyway. And pushing. And roaring. And pushing. And eventually, I started to feel pressure! In previous labors, that pressure was the part I hated the very most. Pushing was so hard for me and I didn't ever want to do it because it is the most bizarre feeling in the world. But this time, it was such a welcome change and it meant that the end was near, so I embraced it.
I started asking Helene if she could see a head yet. What I didn't realize was that my frog/werewolf position kept her from seeing anything because I had my back to the bed in the upright position. She told me I could keep pushing that way, but I needed to turn around so she could see. Strangely, after all this madness, I didn't want to push in this position turned around because I didn't want everyone to see my butt. So weird that I cared about that at that point.
So, I turned around, but I semi-reclined on the bed. Actually, I was positioned so strange... I was all crooked at a weird angle, but once I got turned around, I was stuck because the baby was right there and there was no time for anything else.
And, just like everything else about this labor, this part went differently too, but for once, it was in my favor. My other babies I've had ZERO control when it came to the pushing. I wanted that discomfort and strangeness to get over with so badly, I just pushed like crazy and rocketed those babies right out! This time, I was in complete control. Helene would tell me to back off and I would. She tell me to do a little bit of a push and I would. She said to take it easy and I did. It was amazing. All of a sudden, I felt perfectly in control and clear in my head. I had been a crazy-insane basket case for the last seven hours and suddenly I was clear-headed. Amazing.
I eased the baby's head out and as she emerged, I remember Helene saying, "Oh my gosh! Look at that cord around her neck! We've got to keep this baby close.... things are really tight." I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, nor did I care. It was almost over. The rest of her little body was eased out and I had a baby. A big baby. I was overjoyed! I've never been so relieved in all my life. NEVER! It was absolutely amazing. AMAZING!
All that followed happened very quickly...the baby was out and lying on the bed below me and I heard Helene say, again, something about the cord around her neck. I looked and saw it. It was still around her neck and tightly. Helene quickly unwound the cord and said as she did, "Count them: one, Two, THREE, FOUR TIMES!" Brynja's cord was around her neck FOUR times! As soon as she was unwound, they put her right on me and I saw her precious face. And she looked at me.
There is something so magical about that moment. The blood. The joy. The relief. The cessation of pain. The look in that newborn face. Sometimes the bond is immediate, sometimes it takes a little more time, but the wonder! The wonder of that moment is something I'll never get used to. I've been privileged to experience it four times, and it's just as amazing this last time as it was the first time.
She didn't want to cry for us and she stayed purple for a minute or so. I don't remember being scared, but I remember Helene rubbing Brynja and saying over and over, "Come on, baby. Cry for your mamma." And then she did. And so did most everyone in the room.
My first thoughts were that she was going to be heavier than my other babies. She just looked fuller in her skin. At 8# 3oz, I was right. My second thought was the profound relief that it was over. And that feeling didn't go away for weeks. In fact, if I think long on the experience, the feeling awakens anew. That relief will likely be a lifelong thing. Relief that it had an ending at 7:14pm, and relief that she made it here safe and sound.*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*There was a video recorder running there at the end and Helene said, "This girl must have something special to do here. We don't see many make it out with the cord around their necks four times."
In retrospect, I honestly feel as though Brynja's stubbornness to descend into the birth canal in a normal way saved her life. Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about and she would have been fine... that's what my pediatrician seemed to think, but I have very strong feelings that had she stayed long in the birth canal, she would not be here. And also, if I had allowed myself to get an epidural, which I considered when I was in that Jacuzzi, I would not have been able to feel what needed to happen to get her down and quickly, and that would have kept her in the birth canal for too long. I think this would have ended in a Cesarean Section or worse had I gotten an epidural.
I've looked at it long and hard for four months now. I've analyzed and questioned, and that is my conclusion. Maybe someone with more medical background than I would say that I'm wrong and tell me the reasons why, but I would still stand by what I said. I think it all went as it had to. It was for her safe arrival that things went the way they went.
And I'm so grateful.
Previously on Clancy's blog...
From Brynja's Story, Part 2
..."You know, I wonder if that membrane is completely ruptured?"
"Huh?"
"When I was checking you, I thought I felt some membrane still covering the baby's head."
"How can that be?" I asked. "My water is broken, right?" Clearly, from all the "gushing" fluids earlier.
She told me that the amniotic sac actually has two layers. The outer one is thick and strong and the inner one is thin and weak and they usually break together. She even told me the names of them, but I don't recall them now. It might have been that just the outer layer broke.
"Would you like me to see if I can break that?" she asked.
"Sure. Yep. Do it." I replied.
So, the nurse fetched her the magic crochet hook and voila! There was still a little membrane left that she broke.
And that's when all hell broke loose....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...So it turns out that hell is a woman in unmedicated labor with a baby that won't descend. But hell broke loose, fo shizzle.
I thought things had been crazy up to that point, but I found out that I didn't even know crazy yet. The second membrane was broken and the time was now somewhere around 6:55pm, give or take five minutes. (I was told this later. Time was completely irrelevant to me at that point.) If you recall, Brynja was born at 7:14pm. This is not an unusual time line for my labors. I have always gone from 7 or 8 cm to a babe-in-arms in a matter of 20 or 30 minutes, if not faster. What was different in this case was what was happening in my body to create this outcome.
In my previous labors, I was present but my body was in control. I just rode the waves and managed the enormity of the pain and the process of birth. It was amazing really. I never realized until just now what went on during those births. It was as if the part of me that makes me ME was separate from my body... I guess that would be my spirit. I wasn't having an "out of body" experience, but I had to get myself out of the way of my body. Does that make any sense? This is hard to explain. To deal with bringing my first three babies into the world, I had to rise above my body and just let it do what it was built to do. It all just happened so beautifully and I got to participate as more of an observer. Not that I wasn't participating.... I was participating as completely as I knew how to, but I didn't have a say in what my body was doing... my body was just birthing that lovely finished product called baby, as it was engineered so divinely to do. I couldn't have made my body do differently if I tried. (Don't know if I was successful at explaining, but I think I've hit the beating-a-dead-horse point in this explanation.)
But for this birth, the baby was not descending right. I didn't and don't know why. There were no answers then and now there's only speculation. Whatever it was, it made things not behave in that perfectly engineered way that allowed me to just ride those contraction waves and watch it all unfold. I had to take control and make things happen.
So, yes. My second little membrane had been broken. I had a contraction or two... maybe. I can't remember exactly, but Helene's report kept echoing in my head.
7 cm.... 7 cm.... 7cm... 7cm... 7cm!!
And then I got mad.
I was taking control and this baby was coming out.
I don't know that I can explain what transpired in those next 10 or 15 minutes, but for my own clarity, I'm going to try. And, to be a little raw here, I'm scared to voice all this. This whole story has been so hard for me to write. Obviously, since it took me three months to finish the first installment and more than a month to finish the second. But writing it all out has also been... what's the word?... healing? Giving closure? I'm not sure, but it's been a good process for me. I've had many strange feelings surrounding this experience and writing is my best therapy.
So, after Helene broke that membrane and I got mad, I remember sitting Indian-style on the bed and going through a few contractions. During those, I remember grabbing the arms of the bed and, with all the energy I could put into my lats, traps and delts, lifting my whole body (except perhaps my legs) off of the bed in some sort of hovering push-up thing. I remember trying to create that feeling in my body of needing to push. I was making some hellish noise and probably striking fear into every laboring woman on the floor. I did several contractions like that and Helene said something to the effect of, "Clancy, I think you should move to hands and knees and try a few contractions that way."
I don't really even remember moving as she suggested, but I labored through a few contractions that way, and she was right. It was the next necessary position to get the baby down and I knew it. I could feel it.
That's when "The Beast" emerged. "The Beast" that had been laying dormant... in the depths of my soul. Dramatic, you say? Yes. Yes, it is. And yes, it was.
Unprompted from Helene, I turned that hands and knees labor position to a crouch position of sorts. I felt like a frog, with my feet flat on the bed, my hamstrings resting on my calves and my hands down pushing on the bed in front of me. I might have been sitting like a frog, but a werewolf might be a better description, noises included. It was guttural, gut-wrenching howls. And roaring. Literally. I was roaring. I'll never forget the first roar that erupted as I forced that baby down. My mom was standing behind me and to my right and as I roared, she laughed. The moment she laughed my head whipped around and I'm sure my eyes were daggers. That's how I felt. She immediately stifled her laugh and stammered, "Oh, it's not funny at all! It just took me by surprise!" I think I took the whole room by surprise. But the intensity of the experience had everyone present aching for me.
I learned later that all those who came to support me were praying. My dad told me that he was praying and imagining himself as a funnel with the powers of heaven pouring down from above, through him and straight at me. He said he was sending every ounce of strength he had into me and my baby. Rebby was pleading for it to be over. Lacy and my mom too. I also learned that my father-in-law, who was hundreds of miles away and knew only that I was in labor, felt like something was going wrong. He prayed all afternoon and evening too. And even my cousin, also miles and miles away, had an intense feeling that something was wrong... a specific thing... and plead with God to "save her cousin".
I say "The Beast" somewhat in jest, but something truly primal was occurring in that room. I was MAKING that baby come down. There was nothing automatic about it like my previous labors. I, along with all the powers of heaven being sent my way, was bringing that baby into this world and I was telling my body so and IT. WAS. OBEYING.
It was truly amazing. And unfathomably hard. I can hardly even remember the exquisite intensity of those 15 or so minutes, except that it was the hardest thing I've EVER done in my life.
I hadn't felt pushing urges, but I was pushing anyway. And pushing. And roaring. And pushing. And eventually, I started to feel pressure! In previous labors, that pressure was the part I hated the very most. Pushing was so hard for me and I didn't ever want to do it because it is the most bizarre feeling in the world. But this time, it was such a welcome change and it meant that the end was near, so I embraced it.
I started asking Helene if she could see a head yet. What I didn't realize was that my frog/werewolf position kept her from seeing anything because I had my back to the bed in the upright position. She told me I could keep pushing that way, but I needed to turn around so she could see. Strangely, after all this madness, I didn't want to push in this position turned around because I didn't want everyone to see my butt. So weird that I cared about that at that point.
So, I turned around, but I semi-reclined on the bed. Actually, I was positioned so strange... I was all crooked at a weird angle, but once I got turned around, I was stuck because the baby was right there and there was no time for anything else.
And, just like everything else about this labor, this part went differently too, but for once, it was in my favor. My other babies I've had ZERO control when it came to the pushing. I wanted that discomfort and strangeness to get over with so badly, I just pushed like crazy and rocketed those babies right out! This time, I was in complete control. Helene would tell me to back off and I would. She tell me to do a little bit of a push and I would. She said to take it easy and I did. It was amazing. All of a sudden, I felt perfectly in control and clear in my head. I had been a crazy-insane basket case for the last seven hours and suddenly I was clear-headed. Amazing.
I eased the baby's head out and as she emerged, I remember Helene saying, "Oh my gosh! Look at that cord around her neck! We've got to keep this baby close.... things are really tight." I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, nor did I care. It was almost over. The rest of her little body was eased out and I had a baby. A big baby. I was overjoyed! I've never been so relieved in all my life. NEVER! It was absolutely amazing. AMAZING!
All that followed happened very quickly...the baby was out and lying on the bed below me and I heard Helene say, again, something about the cord around her neck. I looked and saw it. It was still around her neck and tightly. Helene quickly unwound the cord and said as she did, "Count them: one, Two, THREE, FOUR TIMES!" Brynja's cord was around her neck FOUR times! As soon as she was unwound, they put her right on me and I saw her precious face. And she looked at me.
There is something so magical about that moment. The blood. The joy. The relief. The cessation of pain. The look in that newborn face. Sometimes the bond is immediate, sometimes it takes a little more time, but the wonder! The wonder of that moment is something I'll never get used to. I've been privileged to experience it four times, and it's just as amazing this last time as it was the first time.
She didn't want to cry for us and she stayed purple for a minute or so. I don't remember being scared, but I remember Helene rubbing Brynja and saying over and over, "Come on, baby. Cry for your mamma." And then she did. And so did most everyone in the room.
My first thoughts were that she was going to be heavier than my other babies. She just looked fuller in her skin. At 8# 3oz, I was right. My second thought was the profound relief that it was over. And that feeling didn't go away for weeks. In fact, if I think long on the experience, the feeling awakens anew. That relief will likely be a lifelong thing. Relief that it had an ending at 7:14pm, and relief that she made it here safe and sound.*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*There was a video recorder running there at the end and Helene said, "This girl must have something special to do here. We don't see many make it out with the cord around their necks four times."
In retrospect, I honestly feel as though Brynja's stubbornness to descend into the birth canal in a normal way saved her life. Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about and she would have been fine... that's what my pediatrician seemed to think, but I have very strong feelings that had she stayed long in the birth canal, she would not be here. And also, if I had allowed myself to get an epidural, which I considered when I was in that Jacuzzi, I would not have been able to feel what needed to happen to get her down and quickly, and that would have kept her in the birth canal for too long. I think this would have ended in a Cesarean Section or worse had I gotten an epidural.
I've looked at it long and hard for four months now. I've analyzed and questioned, and that is my conclusion. Maybe someone with more medical background than I would say that I'm wrong and tell me the reasons why, but I would still stand by what I said. I think it all went as it had to. It was for her safe arrival that things went the way they went.
And I'm so grateful.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Brynja's Story Part 1
It's been three months and eight days since my baby girl took her first breath and it's high time I tell her story as it is one that needs recording. Childbirth is one of my very favorite topics. I love to hear birth stories, and I love to talk about my own children's births. Not everyone feels the same as I, so if birth is something you'd rather not talk about, or in this case, read about, please feel free to skip this post.
For whatever reason, I did not want to write much during my pregnancy. Perhaps it's because this pregnancy was harder for me than any of my others. I was more sick than I was with Ella and Rohan, but not as sick as I was with Mac. Early in the pregnancy, I was so incredibly tired. I've never been so tired in my whole life. I was ready to go to bed at 6pm every day.
But it wasn't just how I felt physically that made this pregnancy harder. I feel like emotionally, or psychologically it was more difficult than ever. For the last few years I've known there was one more person that was supposed to be in our family, but I was very comfortable in my then-current circumstances in life and I had gotten far enough past the "baby" stage of child-rearing that it was hard to want to start anew with diapers, nursing, binkies, and sleepless nights. I honestly just wanted to be done, but my little Brynja was waiting and I knew it. Dustin knew it too (although he always denied it). Despite this mutual (but mostly unspoken) knowledge, years passed and the time was never right.
But then, suddenly, it was.
And I got pregnant.
Those nine months flew by and suddenly my due date, March 12th, was here!!! ...and then it was gone. I already wrote out some of those feelings previously. It was such a weird time. I had so much anxiety and yet so much detachment about having a baby. I was scared of labor this time. (I always am, but more so each pregnancy.) I was anxious about how my life would change once the baby was born. And yet, it felt like it was never really going to happen. It felt like, despite my ever-growing belly, it was not really going to happen. I wasn't really going to have a baby! As it turns out, I was and I did.
My due date came and went and I, relatively patiently, waited for something to happen. But nothing was despite all the walking and various other things we tried to start labor. I would show up to my midwife's office hoping for some progress with dilation or effacement and I was let down repeatedly. I was dilated to 1cm and "thick". The next week, no change. And the next week, barely dilated to a 2 and still no effacement. Then at almost a week over my due date I was still the same. It was very frustrating. Not to mention the fact that I kept thinking the baby had "dropped" because of the discomfort I was feeling and the fact that people continually told me I looked "lower" than I had been before. But each time she'd check the head position, the baby was still floating around, easy to move, not engaged at all. I only cried a handful of times.
And so, on Friday, the 19th of March, I thought perhaps my water had broken. But then I didn't know and I was left confused. I called Helene, who is my midwife, and she said unless it's "gushing" or consistently leaking not to worry about it. So, I didn't. Dustin and I went and got some food that night and I was sure that the baby dropped as we were out on the town. I was excited to go for a non-stress test the next morning at 10:00 to see if my suspicions were true.
We went to bed that night with no sign of anything happening. I woke up at about 4am and found that my water was definitely broken and was at the "gushing" stage. Awesome. If you haven't had your water break, you haven't LIVED! or something. I've never had that happen before. My water broke with Mac when I was in labor and dilated to 5cm, and Ella and Rohan's labors, my midwife broke my water just before they were born. So, this was new to me. Water breaking with no contractions? Weird.
I figured I'd be having a baby within the next 24 or so hours, so I took a shower! Yes, I took a shower, fixed my hair and put on some makeup at 4:30 a.m. I was going to look "cute" in labor, I decided. Vain? Maybe, but I do get tired of looking like total crap in all the pictures of post-delivery so call me vain if you must. Dustin was up with me and he showered too. As I was fixing my face/hair, Dustin decided he was going to go back to bed for a while and try and get some sleep. I finished my beautification and then puttered around and gathered the rest of my stuff for our hospital bag. It was very weird to be doing that with nary a contraction. Not even a ripple.
I got my bag all packed and it was almost 6am by that point. I didn't want to wake my midwife up unnecessarily early so I decided to follow Dustin's example and try to get some sleep, make-up, fancy hair and all. Into bed I climbed and I was asleep almost instantly.
Rohan woke me at 8:00 with his daily request for a bowl of cereal and the day was officially underway. And oh, what a day it was!
I called Helene, my midwife, and told her I was "gushing" fluid and she told me to eat some breakfast and head on up to the hospital to get started on my antibiotic. I was lucky enough to be Beta-Strep positive for the first time ever, and so I had the pleasure of an I.V. in my arm. I had one previously with Mac, but neither Rohan nor Ella's labor did they require it of me.
I had always assumed I'd go into labor in the middle of the night, because that's what I've done every other time. So, I had arranged for help with my other kids for the middle of the night. I never dreamed I'd have to arrange for my children on a Saturday morning. I made a few calls and got things arranged. We all ate some breakfast and packed up!
It's a very surreal feeling to leave your house with zero labor action and know the next time you come into it, you are going to have a baby in your arms.
So, we dropped our kids off at our friend's house. Rebby wanted to take a picture of Dustin and I, on our way to have a baby.
And there we are! Dustin and his big rarely-seen-in-pictures smile, and me, in all my round, feminine glory. Uh huh.
And off we went.
To be continued...
Part 2
For whatever reason, I did not want to write much during my pregnancy. Perhaps it's because this pregnancy was harder for me than any of my others. I was more sick than I was with Ella and Rohan, but not as sick as I was with Mac. Early in the pregnancy, I was so incredibly tired. I've never been so tired in my whole life. I was ready to go to bed at 6pm every day.
But it wasn't just how I felt physically that made this pregnancy harder. I feel like emotionally, or psychologically it was more difficult than ever. For the last few years I've known there was one more person that was supposed to be in our family, but I was very comfortable in my then-current circumstances in life and I had gotten far enough past the "baby" stage of child-rearing that it was hard to want to start anew with diapers, nursing, binkies, and sleepless nights. I honestly just wanted to be done, but my little Brynja was waiting and I knew it. Dustin knew it too (although he always denied it). Despite this mutual (but mostly unspoken) knowledge, years passed and the time was never right.
But then, suddenly, it was.
And I got pregnant.
Those nine months flew by and suddenly my due date, March 12th, was here!!! ...and then it was gone. I already wrote out some of those feelings previously. It was such a weird time. I had so much anxiety and yet so much detachment about having a baby. I was scared of labor this time. (I always am, but more so each pregnancy.) I was anxious about how my life would change once the baby was born. And yet, it felt like it was never really going to happen. It felt like, despite my ever-growing belly, it was not really going to happen. I wasn't really going to have a baby! As it turns out, I was and I did.
My due date came and went and I, relatively patiently, waited for something to happen. But nothing was despite all the walking and various other things we tried to start labor. I would show up to my midwife's office hoping for some progress with dilation or effacement and I was let down repeatedly. I was dilated to 1cm and "thick". The next week, no change. And the next week, barely dilated to a 2 and still no effacement. Then at almost a week over my due date I was still the same. It was very frustrating. Not to mention the fact that I kept thinking the baby had "dropped" because of the discomfort I was feeling and the fact that people continually told me I looked "lower" than I had been before. But each time she'd check the head position, the baby was still floating around, easy to move, not engaged at all. I only cried a handful of times.
And so, on Friday, the 19th of March, I thought perhaps my water had broken. But then I didn't know and I was left confused. I called Helene, who is my midwife, and she said unless it's "gushing" or consistently leaking not to worry about it. So, I didn't. Dustin and I went and got some food that night and I was sure that the baby dropped as we were out on the town. I was excited to go for a non-stress test the next morning at 10:00 to see if my suspicions were true.
We went to bed that night with no sign of anything happening. I woke up at about 4am and found that my water was definitely broken and was at the "gushing" stage. Awesome. If you haven't had your water break, you haven't LIVED! or something. I've never had that happen before. My water broke with Mac when I was in labor and dilated to 5cm, and Ella and Rohan's labors, my midwife broke my water just before they were born. So, this was new to me. Water breaking with no contractions? Weird.
I figured I'd be having a baby within the next 24 or so hours, so I took a shower! Yes, I took a shower, fixed my hair and put on some makeup at 4:30 a.m. I was going to look "cute" in labor, I decided. Vain? Maybe, but I do get tired of looking like total crap in all the pictures of post-delivery so call me vain if you must. Dustin was up with me and he showered too. As I was fixing my face/hair, Dustin decided he was going to go back to bed for a while and try and get some sleep. I finished my beautification and then puttered around and gathered the rest of my stuff for our hospital bag. It was very weird to be doing that with nary a contraction. Not even a ripple.
I got my bag all packed and it was almost 6am by that point. I didn't want to wake my midwife up unnecessarily early so I decided to follow Dustin's example and try to get some sleep, make-up, fancy hair and all. Into bed I climbed and I was asleep almost instantly.
Rohan woke me at 8:00 with his daily request for a bowl of cereal and the day was officially underway. And oh, what a day it was!
I called Helene, my midwife, and told her I was "gushing" fluid and she told me to eat some breakfast and head on up to the hospital to get started on my antibiotic. I was lucky enough to be Beta-Strep positive for the first time ever, and so I had the pleasure of an I.V. in my arm. I had one previously with Mac, but neither Rohan nor Ella's labor did they require it of me.
I had always assumed I'd go into labor in the middle of the night, because that's what I've done every other time. So, I had arranged for help with my other kids for the middle of the night. I never dreamed I'd have to arrange for my children on a Saturday morning. I made a few calls and got things arranged. We all ate some breakfast and packed up!
It's a very surreal feeling to leave your house with zero labor action and know the next time you come into it, you are going to have a baby in your arms.
So, we dropped our kids off at our friend's house. Rebby wanted to take a picture of Dustin and I, on our way to have a baby.
And there we are! Dustin and his big rarely-seen-in-pictures smile, and me, in all my round, feminine glory. Uh huh.
And off we went.
To be continued...
Part 2
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Crafty
Don't laugh, please. Anyone who knows me knows I am not crafty by nature.
Despite that fact, I've been surfing some little crafty waves in my life. I would just love to add pictures to this post, but alas, my camera just stopped working the other day. No reason. I didn't drop it or anything. It just randomly freaked out. Stupid thing.
It's strange but I've been "seeing" the possibilities in things. I was at a craft store getting some supplies for this project I did with my kids and I saw this shelf on sale....
nevermind.
That was extremely boring and I don't want to write about it anymore.
I just want to write something and I want it to be good. That was not it. Neither is this though. None of this is good writing, but I'm writing something and I'll take it.
I was at Lowe's this evening and I asked one of the workers where something was. She told me and then walked with me for part of the way. She smelled so darned good. I just kept sniffing the air around her. She stopped and helped somebody else and I looked for my items. When I finished getting what I needed, I walked past her again and stopped.
"Can I ask you a strange question?" I inquired of the woman.
She looked dubious. "Sure..." she said. Her tone was anything but sure.
I tried to look reassuring. "Do you wear perfume?"
That was not the question she was expecting to hear. A myriad of emotions flew across her features in the blink of an eye. She laughed nervously. "Yes, I do!"
"What kind is it?" I responded before she asked me if I was a psycho. "What's the name?"
"Skin Musk" she replied and laughed.
I figured I owed her some sort of explanation at this point. I told her how she smelled so darned good and I just kept wondering what it was I was smelling. She was shocked and told me that she was worried because she'd been sweating a lot and she was sure she was just plain stinky. I reassured her that she didn't stink at all, and, in fact, smelled heavenly and asked her where I could purchase this lovely scent.
"Walgreens," she informed me. "Just down the street."
Guess where I stopped on the way home? And guess what only cost me $6.99? I hope it smells as good on me as it does on her. I'll keep you posted. Or not. We'll see.
All in all it was an interesting trip to Lowe's. And, all in all, this turned into a strange post that has nothing to do with the title.
Despite that fact, I've been surfing some little crafty waves in my life. I would just love to add pictures to this post, but alas, my camera just stopped working the other day. No reason. I didn't drop it or anything. It just randomly freaked out. Stupid thing.
It's strange but I've been "seeing" the possibilities in things. I was at a craft store getting some supplies for this project I did with my kids and I saw this shelf on sale....
nevermind.
That was extremely boring and I don't want to write about it anymore.
I just want to write something and I want it to be good. That was not it. Neither is this though. None of this is good writing, but I'm writing something and I'll take it.
I was at Lowe's this evening and I asked one of the workers where something was. She told me and then walked with me for part of the way. She smelled so darned good. I just kept sniffing the air around her. She stopped and helped somebody else and I looked for my items. When I finished getting what I needed, I walked past her again and stopped.
"Can I ask you a strange question?" I inquired of the woman.
She looked dubious. "Sure..." she said. Her tone was anything but sure.
I tried to look reassuring. "Do you wear perfume?"
That was not the question she was expecting to hear. A myriad of emotions flew across her features in the blink of an eye. She laughed nervously. "Yes, I do!"
"What kind is it?" I responded before she asked me if I was a psycho. "What's the name?"
"Skin Musk" she replied and laughed.
I figured I owed her some sort of explanation at this point. I told her how she smelled so darned good and I just kept wondering what it was I was smelling. She was shocked and told me that she was worried because she'd been sweating a lot and she was sure she was just plain stinky. I reassured her that she didn't stink at all, and, in fact, smelled heavenly and asked her where I could purchase this lovely scent.
"Walgreens," she informed me. "Just down the street."
Guess where I stopped on the way home? And guess what only cost me $6.99? I hope it smells as good on me as it does on her. I'll keep you posted. Or not. We'll see.
All in all it was an interesting trip to Lowe's. And, all in all, this turned into a strange post that has nothing to do with the title.
Un-Snap?
I guess that would be sound I heard today as Dustin and I fixed the broken belt on the car. Really, there was no sound to the fixing, I just wanted to synchronize my post from earlier. There were a few sounds, I guess. But I won't mention Dustin's cursing. It just wasn't that nice.
So, Dustin and I didn't take the van to the shop... we fixed it ourselves. That's right, I said we. I totally helped! (It's Shake and Bake... and I hailped!... random commercial line that just popped in my head. Does anyone else remember that stupid commercial?)
Dustin fixing cars himself is nothing new. He's a fairly good mechanic-man. A very good trait, that. But me fixing it with him? New. I was so brave. I put my hand way down inside the enginey area and put the belt in the right place in several spots. I hate engines. I have fears about sticking my hand down there. I remember my ball or toy going under the car when I was a kid... I'd try to coax someone else into going under to get it for me, or I'd get a broom or something to shove it out with. I did whatever heroics I could to get that toy out without having to go under the car myself. I was S-C-A-R-E-D. So, yeah, I overcame some fears today and put my hand right down in those enginey parts. TOUGH Clancy. Dustin was way tougher than me though. He laid down on the yucky road in front of the auto-parts store, got all grimy and gross and stuck his hand in enginey places whilst feeling claustrophobic. (maybe he didn't feel clausto, but I did for him.) So, he wins. But he's not scared of that, so maybe I win, right?
Whatever. And, as it turns out, it wasn't the alternator belt. Well, it was a belt that goes on the alternator, but Dustin said it's called the "serpentine belt". Did you know cars have serpentine belts? I didn't, but it sounds so cool, right?
"I'm going to wear my 'serpentine belt' today."
HA!
So, Dustin and I didn't take the van to the shop... we fixed it ourselves. That's right, I said we. I totally helped! (It's Shake and Bake... and I hailped!... random commercial line that just popped in my head. Does anyone else remember that stupid commercial?)
Dustin fixing cars himself is nothing new. He's a fairly good mechanic-man. A very good trait, that. But me fixing it with him? New. I was so brave. I put my hand way down inside the enginey area and put the belt in the right place in several spots. I hate engines. I have fears about sticking my hand down there. I remember my ball or toy going under the car when I was a kid... I'd try to coax someone else into going under to get it for me, or I'd get a broom or something to shove it out with. I did whatever heroics I could to get that toy out without having to go under the car myself. I was S-C-A-R-E-D. So, yeah, I overcame some fears today and put my hand right down in those enginey parts. TOUGH Clancy. Dustin was way tougher than me though. He laid down on the yucky road in front of the auto-parts store, got all grimy and gross and stuck his hand in enginey places whilst feeling claustrophobic. (maybe he didn't feel clausto, but I did for him.) So, he wins. But he's not scared of that, so maybe I win, right?
Whatever. And, as it turns out, it wasn't the alternator belt. Well, it was a belt that goes on the alternator, but Dustin said it's called the "serpentine belt". Did you know cars have serpentine belts? I didn't, but it sounds so cool, right?
"I'm going to wear my 'serpentine belt' today."
HA!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Bounce
My thoughts are bouncy right now. I'm sitting at the computer at 12:27am and I'm reading various items while I listen to the washer and the dryer do their thing. I can't type fast enough. I'm having thoughts again. Thoughts that I want to share. Thoughts that I want to scribble out with my swirly handwriting. But I'll type instead.
Does anyone even read this anymore? I feel like I've forgotten how to blog.
When I die I want to be buried in a pine box. Like, a homemade one. I don't want thousands of dollars spent on my coffin. Just a simple pine box. Or cremation. That's ok with me.
I dislike cooking bacon. Do you know why? Because I can't stand my house to smell like bacon. And I can't stand my hair to smell like bacon. And let's not forget my clothes. I don't like my clothes to smell like bacon. Bacon tastes good. But the smell clings like the dickens.
I have a smell thing. I can't stand my hands to smell like food, unless it's cilantro. I love cilantro.
Today I put on my blue shirt. I love the color of this shirt.
When I put it on, I smelled the most wonderful smell! I was in heaven. I kept sniffing myself (well, my shirt, really) all day and wondered why I smelled so darned good.
Later I figured out that I wore this shirt last Friday. I had gone to the mall and tried a tester of perfume at The Gap. Guess what? I want that perfume. Bad.
I am not good at mailing things. Just so you know.
Sometimes I want to die when people come to my house. I get so self conscious about every imperfection. If ever anyone goes into my basement, I always ask them before they go down if they will still be my friend if they see how messy and crazy my basement is. Silly? Yes. And there's some sarcasm in the question... but mostly it's a valid fear.
My aim is to have a yard sale on Saturday. I'm excited and anxious about it.
I don't like planning birthday parties for my kids. The hardest part for me is getting out the invitations. I'm really not very good at this facet of parenthood. But that's ok with me. I'm good at the ones that are more important, I think.
I love doing laundry. Don't let me fool you if ever I'm complaining about it. It's very possible that it's my favorite household chore.
I'm trying some generic diapers tonight. Keep your fingers crossed for me and Miss B.
Speaking of Miss B, baby Brynja is precious. She laughed last Thursday and Friday nights. I told Mac about it when she did it the first time and he went on and on about how he just couldn't believe it. How she's growing up so fast. His face showed every emotion and he said, "That just makes me want to cry!" and I could see the tears just under the surface. What a sweet, tender boy. How many almost-ten-year-olds would be so thrilled and emotional about their baby sister laughing for the first time?
I love my life and my bouncy late-night thoughts.
Does anyone even read this anymore? I feel like I've forgotten how to blog.
When I die I want to be buried in a pine box. Like, a homemade one. I don't want thousands of dollars spent on my coffin. Just a simple pine box. Or cremation. That's ok with me.
I dislike cooking bacon. Do you know why? Because I can't stand my house to smell like bacon. And I can't stand my hair to smell like bacon. And let's not forget my clothes. I don't like my clothes to smell like bacon. Bacon tastes good. But the smell clings like the dickens.
I have a smell thing. I can't stand my hands to smell like food, unless it's cilantro. I love cilantro.
Today I put on my blue shirt. I love the color of this shirt.
Later I figured out that I wore this shirt last Friday. I had gone to the mall and tried a tester of perfume at The Gap. Guess what? I want that perfume. Bad.
I am not good at mailing things. Just so you know.
Sometimes I want to die when people come to my house. I get so self conscious about every imperfection. If ever anyone goes into my basement, I always ask them before they go down if they will still be my friend if they see how messy and crazy my basement is. Silly? Yes. And there's some sarcasm in the question... but mostly it's a valid fear.
My aim is to have a yard sale on Saturday. I'm excited and anxious about it.
I don't like planning birthday parties for my kids. The hardest part for me is getting out the invitations. I'm really not very good at this facet of parenthood. But that's ok with me. I'm good at the ones that are more important, I think.
I love doing laundry. Don't let me fool you if ever I'm complaining about it. It's very possible that it's my favorite household chore.
I'm trying some generic diapers tonight. Keep your fingers crossed for me and Miss B.
Speaking of Miss B, baby Brynja is precious. She laughed last Thursday and Friday nights. I told Mac about it when she did it the first time and he went on and on about how he just couldn't believe it. How she's growing up so fast. His face showed every emotion and he said, "That just makes me want to cry!" and I could see the tears just under the surface. What a sweet, tender boy. How many almost-ten-year-olds would be so thrilled and emotional about their baby sister laughing for the first time?
I love my life and my bouncy late-night thoughts.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Grumble
We've done one lesson. ONE! And already he's in his room because I'm angry at him for his stinky attitude. Mondays suck in many worlds, but none more than homeschooling. For me, anyway.
My method of coping with the bad attitude is to send him away from me or go away from him myself. I tell him that I'm not going to sit here and fight his bad attitude when I have plenty of things that need doing in my world. (laundry, dishes, showering, nesting, etc...) So, here we are... he, in his room, and I, blogging about it all.
It's amazing the difference attitude can make. I watch him when his attitude is good and he's amazing! He picks up concepts quickly. He laughs and has fun. He answers his school-questions with quick repsonses, making it clear that the concept is absorbing right into his brain.
But.
When his attitude is poor, like it has been this morning, his brain is like oil and school is like water. They just repel eachother. Concepts do not penetrate. Even concepts that he already knows that we're reviewing... they must not be able to get out through the barrier he's put up. His only focus is on being grumpy, not on learning anything or even just speaking something he already knows.
GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
As his "teacher" it's infuriating. As his mother, it's even worse. You know that your kids don't do this to their teachers at public school. (Maybe some kids do, but I know from reports that Mac was nice, respectful and hard working at school, if a little rambunctious.) Because I'm his mother, he "acts up" if he doesn't feel like doing what I tell him. And I, being his mother, deal with these flare-ups with varying degrees of self-control. Like I said, mostly I just send him away. Other times I yell at him a little. Other times, A LOT. I have refrained from yelling for the most part today.
Even when we have days like this, I'm so glad that he's home with me. Is it a sacrifice? Yes. I am rather tied down during the day and my schedule is rather dictated by his school. I don't get so much "me" time as I used to, perhaps. But, whenever I think of the alternative, of sending him back to school, I am so grateful that he is here with me where it is safe to have some volatile feelings now and then. I still love him at the end of the day, no matter what. I can't explain it well, but I know that this is an important thing in his life right now. To have him home with me, his mother, who loves him more than anyone, who will support him through these sassy, stinky-attitude times. Even if it means taking a few deep breaths and steeling myself for another Monday homeschooling morning.
My method of coping with the bad attitude is to send him away from me or go away from him myself. I tell him that I'm not going to sit here and fight his bad attitude when I have plenty of things that need doing in my world. (laundry, dishes, showering, nesting, etc...) So, here we are... he, in his room, and I, blogging about it all.
It's amazing the difference attitude can make. I watch him when his attitude is good and he's amazing! He picks up concepts quickly. He laughs and has fun. He answers his school-questions with quick repsonses, making it clear that the concept is absorbing right into his brain.
But.
When his attitude is poor, like it has been this morning, his brain is like oil and school is like water. They just repel eachother. Concepts do not penetrate. Even concepts that he already knows that we're reviewing... they must not be able to get out through the barrier he's put up. His only focus is on being grumpy, not on learning anything or even just speaking something he already knows.
GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
As his "teacher" it's infuriating. As his mother, it's even worse. You know that your kids don't do this to their teachers at public school. (Maybe some kids do, but I know from reports that Mac was nice, respectful and hard working at school, if a little rambunctious.) Because I'm his mother, he "acts up" if he doesn't feel like doing what I tell him. And I, being his mother, deal with these flare-ups with varying degrees of self-control. Like I said, mostly I just send him away. Other times I yell at him a little. Other times, A LOT. I have refrained from yelling for the most part today.
Even when we have days like this, I'm so glad that he's home with me. Is it a sacrifice? Yes. I am rather tied down during the day and my schedule is rather dictated by his school. I don't get so much "me" time as I used to, perhaps. But, whenever I think of the alternative, of sending him back to school, I am so grateful that he is here with me where it is safe to have some volatile feelings now and then. I still love him at the end of the day, no matter what. I can't explain it well, but I know that this is an important thing in his life right now. To have him home with me, his mother, who loves him more than anyone, who will support him through these sassy, stinky-attitude times. Even if it means taking a few deep breaths and steeling myself for another Monday homeschooling morning.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Crush
Weekday mornings around my house typically go like this:
Dustin is up really really early (like 4, 5 or 6 a.m., depending on the day) and I am dead-to-the-world asleep. He wakes Ella up at 7 a.m. He helps her get ready in whatever form she needs help (which isn't much). He comes in our room at about 7:30 and says to me, "Tag, you're it," and kisses me goodbye. I tell him to drive safe and he leaves for work (and starts my car for me on his way out, bless him). Then I get up and take Ella to school at 7:45. It's a pretty good arrangement for me as waking kids up in the morning low on my list of favorite activities. (so is getting into a cold car on an Idaho winter morning...)
Lately, rather than what he normally does at work, Dustin has been doing surveying. He's been working with a guy named Jeff and they've been working close to where we live. So, instead of the 30 mile commute in the mornings, Jeff has been picking Dustin up at our house. This translates into him not having to leave at 7:30, but leaving when Jeff comes to get him, anywhere between 8:10 and 8:40 a.m. Which also translates into Dustin leaving me asleep (or me laying in bed listening to the household while I'm sort-of awake) and taking Ella to school. It's been wonderful. I feel like I'm on vacation if I don't have to leave my house in this snowy, cold weather to take my little Ella to school. And, Dustin likes to take Ella to school as he rarely gets to. And Ella loves it too because it's novel and special for her daddy to drive her to school. So, I'm pretty much saying we're all in love with this little temporary arrangement.
On Monday, after taking Ella to school, Dustin asked me if I would get up and come and snuggle with him on the couch while he waited for Jeff to get here. I agreed. I came out and just laid my head on his shoulder for over a half an hour while he rubbed my feet. It was so great.
Jeff arrived. Dustin got up, kissed Rohan, Mac and I goodbye, and headed out the door with all his cold-weather paraphernalia in his arms, boots, bibs, coat, and hat, not to mention his lunch and a big jug of water (for hydration in the sub-zero weather we've been blessed with!).
As I watched him walk out of our house, watched him move with his arms full, preparing to go to yet another day of work in the bitter cold , watched him put all his gear into the truck, followed by his lunch and then sit himself down and shut the door, I felt like a high-school girl. As I sat there watching him trudge off to his frigid work-day, I said out loud to myself, "I have a crush on Dustin!", which made me giggle a little bit, but mostly I just sighed with contentment. How cool is that that my husband of eleven and a half years can still make my heart skip beats and feel all fluttery? I love that man of mine. Even when he, upon my mentioning that he could use a haircut, informs me that he's going to let his hair grow until spring... ALL his hair (meaning his already long beard too)... I still love him even if I roll my eyes a little bit.
As I was writing this post in my head I kept thinking of that David Archuleta song, "Crush". I had to look up the lyrics...
Why do I keep running from the truth
All I ever think about is you
You got me hypnotized
So mesmerized
And I've just got to know
Do you ever think
When you're all alone
All that we could be?
Where this thing could go?
Am I crazy or falling in love?
Is it really just another crush?
Do you catch a breath
When I look at you?
Are you holding back
Like the way I do?
'Cause I'm trying, trying to walk away
But I know this crush ain't going away.
While those lyrics, in their entirety, don't necessarily apply to my current circumstances, they were entirely applicable back in 1997. And I never dreamed just how far "this thing could go" between he and I. It gets better every day, every year and I'm sure, every decade.
Clancy + Dustin = TRUE L♥VE
Dustin is up really really early (like 4, 5 or 6 a.m., depending on the day) and I am dead-to-the-world asleep. He wakes Ella up at 7 a.m. He helps her get ready in whatever form she needs help (which isn't much). He comes in our room at about 7:30 and says to me, "Tag, you're it," and kisses me goodbye. I tell him to drive safe and he leaves for work (and starts my car for me on his way out, bless him). Then I get up and take Ella to school at 7:45. It's a pretty good arrangement for me as waking kids up in the morning low on my list of favorite activities. (so is getting into a cold car on an Idaho winter morning...)
Lately, rather than what he normally does at work, Dustin has been doing surveying. He's been working with a guy named Jeff and they've been working close to where we live. So, instead of the 30 mile commute in the mornings, Jeff has been picking Dustin up at our house. This translates into him not having to leave at 7:30, but leaving when Jeff comes to get him, anywhere between 8:10 and 8:40 a.m. Which also translates into Dustin leaving me asleep (or me laying in bed listening to the household while I'm sort-of awake) and taking Ella to school. It's been wonderful. I feel like I'm on vacation if I don't have to leave my house in this snowy, cold weather to take my little Ella to school. And, Dustin likes to take Ella to school as he rarely gets to. And Ella loves it too because it's novel and special for her daddy to drive her to school. So, I'm pretty much saying we're all in love with this little temporary arrangement.
On Monday, after taking Ella to school, Dustin asked me if I would get up and come and snuggle with him on the couch while he waited for Jeff to get here. I agreed. I came out and just laid my head on his shoulder for over a half an hour while he rubbed my feet. It was so great.
Jeff arrived. Dustin got up, kissed Rohan, Mac and I goodbye, and headed out the door with all his cold-weather paraphernalia in his arms, boots, bibs, coat, and hat, not to mention his lunch and a big jug of water (for hydration in the sub-zero weather we've been blessed with!).
As I watched him walk out of our house, watched him move with his arms full, preparing to go to yet another day of work in the bitter cold , watched him put all his gear into the truck, followed by his lunch and then sit himself down and shut the door, I felt like a high-school girl. As I sat there watching him trudge off to his frigid work-day, I said out loud to myself, "I have a crush on Dustin!", which made me giggle a little bit, but mostly I just sighed with contentment. How cool is that that my husband of eleven and a half years can still make my heart skip beats and feel all fluttery? I love that man of mine. Even when he, upon my mentioning that he could use a haircut, informs me that he's going to let his hair grow until spring... ALL his hair (meaning his already long beard too)... I still love him even if I roll my eyes a little bit.
As I was writing this post in my head I kept thinking of that David Archuleta song, "Crush". I had to look up the lyrics...
Why do I keep running from the truth
All I ever think about is you
You got me hypnotized
So mesmerized
And I've just got to know
Do you ever think
When you're all alone
All that we could be?
Where this thing could go?
Am I crazy or falling in love?
Is it really just another crush?
Do you catch a breath
When I look at you?
Are you holding back
Like the way I do?
'Cause I'm trying, trying to walk away
But I know this crush ain't going away.
While those lyrics, in their entirety, don't necessarily apply to my current circumstances, they were entirely applicable back in 1997. And I never dreamed just how far "this thing could go" between he and I. It gets better every day, every year and I'm sure, every decade.
Clancy + Dustin = TRUE L♥VE
Monday, January 11, 2010
And How About....
.... some more happenings? Because I'm sure you've just been DYING to know what it is that I've been doing with myself. Well, you see, a few days after Christmas I had a Dr. appointment for the little child growing in my body. (midwife appt, but you get the idea) At this lovely appointment, I had the joyous pleasure of taking my "glucose tolerance test" which (for anyone who has not had the JOY and pleasure of this) is a test where you drink this stuff that's basically like the syrup that they hook to a pop machine BEFORE it mixes with the bubbly carbonated water. Can you say NASTY? Ick.
Guess what? I failed it. Turns out the highest your blood should go from drinking the nastiness is about 40. Well, my little blood sugars were up at 55. I was not happy. Especially because I got to go back and do the in depth test.
"In depth" means that you have to come to your appointment fasting (which means as early as possible in the a.m., of which I am not so much a fan), get your finger lanced to check your blood, AND then you get to drink the sugary nastiness AGAIN but this time on your fastingly-empty stomach. BARF. Literally. I almost did. In fact, just writing this is making the muscles at the back of my jaw clench up and my saliva run. I decided to chug the last little bit of it because I thought it would be better faster. It did get it over with, but it did almost come back up. But, I managed to keep it down. (GO ME!)
SO then, after you almost barf, you get to sit there and wait for an hour for your blood to do whatever it is your blood does with sugary nastiness. Then a different finger gets bloodied and they test that. Then you get to sit there for ANOTHER hour and they bloody yet another finger.
So, yeah. It's pretty much a party. There was three good things that came of it.
1) Turns out, I do not have gestational diabetes. Hip-hip HOORAY!
2) An "in depth" glucose tolerance test makes for good reading time for any new, large books you might have gotten for Christmas! (which I just finished last night and I think I'm grumpy today because it's over and the author opened a big old can of worms in this book and left it completely open with all those little worms writhing in the can and then had the nerve to END the book! AND it's probably going to be something like three years before she'll come out with the next book!! Grrowl.)
3) Since my Midwife's office is in the same city as my husband works, I got to go break my barfy fast by having lunch with my sweet Dustin! That never happens because he works about 30 miles from home. By the way, Great Harvest's Turkey Pesto sandwich is really good. You should try it.
So, there's another snippet of happenings in Clancy's life.
I'm down to 8 1/2 weeks left of pregnancy. THAT is trippy. I'm on the Dr. appointment fast track... we're now going every two weeks to see the Dr. (midwife) and that only lasts for a month and then it's every week until the baby is born! Where does the time go? I'm not really ready for a baby, I'm pretty sure. But that's another post for another day.
Over and out.
Guess what? I failed it. Turns out the highest your blood should go from drinking the nastiness is about 40. Well, my little blood sugars were up at 55. I was not happy. Especially because I got to go back and do the in depth test.
"In depth" means that you have to come to your appointment fasting (which means as early as possible in the a.m., of which I am not so much a fan), get your finger lanced to check your blood, AND then you get to drink the sugary nastiness AGAIN but this time on your fastingly-empty stomach. BARF. Literally. I almost did. In fact, just writing this is making the muscles at the back of my jaw clench up and my saliva run. I decided to chug the last little bit of it because I thought it would be better faster. It did get it over with, but it did almost come back up. But, I managed to keep it down. (GO ME!)
SO then, after you almost barf, you get to sit there and wait for an hour for your blood to do whatever it is your blood does with sugary nastiness. Then a different finger gets bloodied and they test that. Then you get to sit there for ANOTHER hour and they bloody yet another finger.
So, yeah. It's pretty much a party. There was three good things that came of it.
1) Turns out, I do not have gestational diabetes. Hip-hip HOORAY!
2) An "in depth" glucose tolerance test makes for good reading time for any new, large books you might have gotten for Christmas! (which I just finished last night and I think I'm grumpy today because it's over and the author opened a big old can of worms in this book and left it completely open with all those little worms writhing in the can and then had the nerve to END the book! AND it's probably going to be something like three years before she'll come out with the next book!! Grrowl.)
3) Since my Midwife's office is in the same city as my husband works, I got to go break my barfy fast by having lunch with my sweet Dustin! That never happens because he works about 30 miles from home. By the way, Great Harvest's Turkey Pesto sandwich is really good. You should try it.
So, there's another snippet of happenings in Clancy's life.
I'm down to 8 1/2 weeks left of pregnancy. THAT is trippy. I'm on the Dr. appointment fast track... we're now going every two weeks to see the Dr. (midwife) and that only lasts for a month and then it's every week until the baby is born! Where does the time go? I'm not really ready for a baby, I'm pretty sure. But that's another post for another day.
Over and out.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
And One More Time
Mormonwoman.org has been kind enough to publish this post that I did last year about my church Christmas program.
Rereading that post makes my eyes smart with tears with the remembrance of that overwhelming day. I am grateful for my calling in my church as choir director. I've been known to whine a bit because I've been doing the same thing for close to five years, but I really love it. I should just keep my mouth shut about it because it fulfills me in ways I forget to remember until I'm actually doing the job of leading those willing and stalwart members of the choir.
We had our Christmas program just two days ago and, while it was not as thought-out as last year's program, I was very pleased with the way it turned out. Last year I arranged to have choir pieces, a vocal soloist with a violin, an INCREDIBLE piano solo, organ/piano duets with choir and congregation singing, a vocal trio and some children singing. It was quite the array and quite the program. This year I have just been too busy with homeschooling, pretzel-dipping, pregnancy-exhaustion and general Christmas mania and I didn't get the chance to find performers for some of the music that I wanted performed in smaller groups or solos. Nonetheless, the songs that were performed were BEAUTIFUL and my stress level was much lower this year, an element for which I am grateful. That may have something to do with the fact that I did last year's program as well as our Stake Fine Arts Night in May... I'm getting some experience under my belt, which allows for lower stress during such an event.
To any who participated in the program who might be reading this, THANK YOU! Emily, thank you for augmenting Away in a Manger with your violin and thank your husband for playing the piano. Diane... I don't think you read this blog, but I'll say it on here anyway... my gratitude for you knows no bounds. You did the very most in the whole program, as you played in every song and with nary a word of complaint! I realized the other day, that you've been playing for the choir far longer than I've been choir director! I have no room for complaint! THANK YOU!!!
The end.
Rereading that post makes my eyes smart with tears with the remembrance of that overwhelming day. I am grateful for my calling in my church as choir director. I've been known to whine a bit because I've been doing the same thing for close to five years, but I really love it. I should just keep my mouth shut about it because it fulfills me in ways I forget to remember until I'm actually doing the job of leading those willing and stalwart members of the choir.
We had our Christmas program just two days ago and, while it was not as thought-out as last year's program, I was very pleased with the way it turned out. Last year I arranged to have choir pieces, a vocal soloist with a violin, an INCREDIBLE piano solo, organ/piano duets with choir and congregation singing, a vocal trio and some children singing. It was quite the array and quite the program. This year I have just been too busy with homeschooling, pretzel-dipping, pregnancy-exhaustion and general Christmas mania and I didn't get the chance to find performers for some of the music that I wanted performed in smaller groups or solos. Nonetheless, the songs that were performed were BEAUTIFUL and my stress level was much lower this year, an element for which I am grateful. That may have something to do with the fact that I did last year's program as well as our Stake Fine Arts Night in May... I'm getting some experience under my belt, which allows for lower stress during such an event.
To any who participated in the program who might be reading this, THANK YOU! Emily, thank you for augmenting Away in a Manger with your violin and thank your husband for playing the piano. Diane... I don't think you read this blog, but I'll say it on here anyway... my gratitude for you knows no bounds. You did the very most in the whole program, as you played in every song and with nary a word of complaint! I realized the other day, that you've been playing for the choir far longer than I've been choir director! I have no room for complaint! THANK YOU!!!
The end.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Nerd Alert
I've spent the last two hours of my evening studying HTML code. I'm obsessed! I can't tell you how insane I get looking at those codes and not knowing what they mean!!! I'm taking an HTML "class" that I found on the internet. I basically have to read through it and figure it out, and I love it.
LOVE IT, I tell you.
I wish I could stay up all night and study. But, understanding all those tags does take some brain power and my brain, apparently, shuts down at midnight because at 12:02 I realized I could no longer focus on what I was reading. :-(
As my brother, Zandy, used to always say to me when we were young, "Nerds die twice."
I guess I'm gonna die twice then, because I am a nerd for sure.
LOVE IT, I tell you.
I wish I could stay up all night and study. But, understanding all those tags does take some brain power and my brain, apparently, shuts down at midnight because at 12:02 I realized I could no longer focus on what I was reading. :-(
As my brother, Zandy, used to always say to me when we were young, "Nerds die twice."
I guess I'm gonna die twice then, because I am a nerd for sure.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
iTchY
Do you ever have one of those days where you're all agitated for no particular reason? Or there may be a reason, but you're not sure how that reason could make you agitated like you are?
Today is a day like that.
Today itches me. Today feels like my clothes feel lately... bunchy, tight and uncomfortable. Today I've ventured out to run a few errands. I talked to people. I saw some people I know. They asked me about my baby... "Are you having a boy or a girl? When are you due?"... those kinds of questions. I felt like I was standing outside myself and watching myself answer in a nice cheerful-bordering-on-sugary tone, "Oh... we didn't find out the sex of the baby. We are going to let it be a surprise." and "I'm due in March..." They then responded in equally near-sugar tones about how fun that will be. All of this occurred without incident, but in my mind all I wanted to do was scratch at the discomforts of my day... walk away from those questions and those people... tell them they were irritants and to not ask those "conversational" questions that they didn't seem genuinely interested in, just asked them because my baby bump was the most obvious thing to talk about. Clearly, I had no tolerance for them today. Or, I did, as long as I could exit my body while I answered them.
I can't name why, but I am looking forward to this day being over so I can get out of my irritating clothes, put my PJs on and go to sleep.
And hopefully wake to a non-itchy state of mind.
Today is a day like that.
Today itches me. Today feels like my clothes feel lately... bunchy, tight and uncomfortable. Today I've ventured out to run a few errands. I talked to people. I saw some people I know. They asked me about my baby... "Are you having a boy or a girl? When are you due?"... those kinds of questions. I felt like I was standing outside myself and watching myself answer in a nice cheerful-bordering-on-sugary tone, "Oh... we didn't find out the sex of the baby. We are going to let it be a surprise." and "I'm due in March..." They then responded in equally near-sugar tones about how fun that will be. All of this occurred without incident, but in my mind all I wanted to do was scratch at the discomforts of my day... walk away from those questions and those people... tell them they were irritants and to not ask those "conversational" questions that they didn't seem genuinely interested in, just asked them because my baby bump was the most obvious thing to talk about. Clearly, I had no tolerance for them today. Or, I did, as long as I could exit my body while I answered them.
I can't name why, but I am looking forward to this day being over so I can get out of my irritating clothes, put my PJs on and go to sleep.
And hopefully wake to a non-itchy state of mind.
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