Carolina Chronicles

A mother's prayer

2010-02-19T10:51:00.003-05:00

There's a well-established tradition in the Orthodox church of praying scripture, such as when we sing Psalm 141 during evening prayers:

"Let my prayer arise in Your sight as incense, and let the lifting up of my hands be as an evening sacrifice."

But in spite of this rich tradition, I have found that my own private prayers (outside of other prescribed prayers that are taken from scripture) are seldom composed of holy writ.

There has been one notable exception to this of late. I quite spontaneously started to pray Luke 2:52 for Ian, asking that, like the child Christ, he would "increase in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man." After all, we have no greater role model, and what mother would not hope these things would be true of her son, especially since so much is rolled up in the phrase "in favor with God."

There's just no improving on God's word, or on the eternal Word of God!

Ian, IKEA, and Peas! Oh, my!

2010-02-17T13:13:00.010-05:00

Ian's recent trips to specialists have given us an excuse to go to a couple of our favorite places: IKEA and Trader Joe's. Mommy and Daddy remember when we used to be able to go on a whim, and not just because we didn't have a baby to think about. In any event, we felt it was important to memorialize this important first in Ian's life.

Here is Ian in the IKEA cart in the IKEA elevator, which Daddy forgot to make go up to the next floor because he was too busy talking about babies with the other elevator occupants. Teeheehee! Ian's not all that enthusiastic in this photo, but that's only because we had yet to visit children's IKEA.

Here, Ian and Daddy are standing in front of an IKEA display.

This was all on Friday.

Skipping ahead to yesterday...

We're all about new experiences in this house, so we had to introduce Ian to peas. We think he liked them pretty well. Mommy likes the little smock/bib from IKEA and wishes we had bought several more of them, since it kept most of the peas off of his clothes! Here's a snippet of Ian eating his peas, good boy that he is.

Also a first, Ian just discovered the dangling banana on his Jumperoo last night while he jumped to the "music" of Olympic Hockey. He was so determined to get the banana that Mommy became determined to get the moment on video. Here it is.

Finally, Ian got a very special valentine card from his Grandma J, and he enjoyed holding it and looking at it. Mommy especially liked the diaper coupons inside. :)

Whatever Ian Likes...

2010-02-16T09:43:00.007-05:00

...Ian gets.

But he also gets plenty of stuff he doesn't like. Such is life!

Here's a little update on Ian's sojourn into the land of solid foods.

Ian seems to think that green beans are yucky. Sweet potatoes are okay. Mommy milk with a bit of prune juice will work when he needs to get things going, if you know what I mean. Rice cereal is boring and tends to stop things up. Pears are yummy. Mix pears and oatmeal, and he just might finish the bowl.

Next up to try? Peas, perhaps.

Ian's first several food experiences consisted of a lot of pushing food out of his mouth with his tongue, contorting his face into grimaces and smearing food all over everything. He seems to have gotten the hang of swallowing it now, when he wants to do so.

Ian has two teeth. The first to arrive is growing in quite nicely. The second tooth has broken through the surface and will shortly be just as lengthy and present as the first.

Speaking of Ian, we are off to see a third specialist today about his flat noggin. The results so far are mixed:

Opinion 1 - Cranial Tech
This company specializes in cranial remolding and has its own proprietary "active" helmet. The therapist we saw said Ian is "definitely" a candidate for a helmet and predicted a 2-3 month treatment time if we start right away. They found that Ian has brachycephaly (widening of skull front to back) and plagiocephaly (flattening of one side of the skull) with mild torticollis (neck tightening). They did a photo study and took manual measurements, but most of the opinion we received was based on one person's interpretation of the situation by simply looking at his head. Their sales pitch is formidable and they make no bones about being the best option. In fact, if it didn't cost huge sums of money we don't have, their sales pitch would have been effective, despite the lack of scientific data, because they manage to make treatment seem quite urgent and almost cool.
Pros:
- they have the best reputation among parents of the major helmet-providers when it comes to results
- because of aggressive treatment, they tend to get the results faster, which means less time for skin problems and other complications of treatment to develop
- their helmets are lighter and less bulky than the other active helmets on the market
- they make a cute calendar of their patients and otherwise make it seem "cool" to have a DOCband (their product)
- our pediatrician recommended them
Cons:
- the evaluation is a one-time deal -- the next visit would be the beginning of the treatment process
- they don't contract with insurance companies, in general, because insurers prefer to work with companies that can provide other orthotic devices, not just helmets
- they don't want to tell you who the competition is so that you can make an informed choice, only that Cranial Tech is better
- their helmets are expensive, and...
- kids tend to outgrow their helmets and need new ones more often because the reduced bulk means less foam to shave away as a child's head grows. This means that parents have to pay twice for the treatment process, once for each helmet
- their closest location is in Charlotte, and he will initially need to make weekly visits

Opinion 2 - Level 4 Orthotics
This company makes all kinds of orthotic devices, hires experienced orthotists and uses the STAR line of products from Orthomerica, which includes both active and passive bands (more on this later). They said that Ian's condition warrants treatment on the basis of 4 measures (placing him on a severity scale of 3/moderate in each category), but on the fifth, which is the most critical, he just barely misses falling in the normal range. In fact, the data showed that my subjective feeling about his severity (I said he fell between moderate severity, unacceptable and moderate severity, acceptable) was supported by the scientific data she got from the scan. This orthotist also disagreed with the torticollis finding, saying that she did not detect any serious muscle tightness or limitations in his range of motion.

This particular evaluation suggests that we genuinely have choices to make, including choices about treating him or not, and much could depend on what natural growth does for him over the next few weeks. The one variable that is hard to control for is what will happen if the child is left untreated. The condition can cause neurological and functional problems, but there is no guarantee that the condition will worsen without treatment. In fact, some research I read last night suggests that there is a 70% chance that his condition would improve or stay the same even without an orthotic, as long as we are diligent about repositioning, especially because an unexpected finding of this particular bit of research is that growth was greater front-to-back than expected, which is good news for brachycephalic babies, since that is the major problem area for them. With Cranial Tech, we were not encouraged to wait and see, but at Level 4, that is exactly what they suggested. One major consideration is that he has little "facial involvement," which means that the flattening in the back has not disfigured his face much. This was all based on data I could see and compare to studies I later found online, which makes it easier to make an informed, rational decision over an emotional one.

Pros:
- they have contracts with all but one insurance company, which means they work with ours
- they use a laser scanner to make a 3-d model of the cranium and to take measurements/ratios, which are then compared to a variety of severity scales (in other words, it is much less subjective)
- they are not all sales pitch, in fact, they told us more about our other options, including the local politics of cranial banding
- they were low-pressure, and encouraged us to have a second free scan after 2-4 weeks to see what natural growth is doing to his head without intervention
- they were very honest about all of the options, and did not want to make a recommendation until they are sure of his need
- kids are less likely to need a second helmet, because the first one is bulky enough to allow for significant growth
Cons:
- this company is also far away - they have offices in Charlotte and Cary that I can take him to, but it is a 1.5 hour drive, at least, either way
- their helmets are bulkier than Cranial Tech's, making them more unsightly and obvious
- some of their staff specialize in cranial remolding alone, others, including the one we met with in Cary, is also a general orthotist, so we'd have to go to Charlotte if we wanted Ian to see someone who only does helmets
- the cost is high for the sort of helmet that is appropriate for Ian's condition

Passive Helmets vs. Active Helmets (Bands)
Passive helmets are mass-produced in set sizes and are shaped like an "ideal" skull with the idea that the natural growth of the skull will cause it to fill in the helmet, helping the skull to take a more normal shape. The cost savings are clear, but the treatment is much less effective. Often babies with passive helmets end up having active helmets later on when the passive helmets do not work.
Active helmets work by placing constant gentle pressure on areas of overgrowth, while relieving pressure on depressions where more growth is desired. In order to achieve this kind of fit, each helmet is custom made to fit the contours of the child. As a result, treatment tends to go more quickly and effectively, but it costs more.

Each type of orthotic is indicated for different conditions. Nobody has suggested that a passive helmet would be appropriate for Ian. If they suggest treatment, they suggest the custom orthotic.

What's next?
We're off to Hanger Orthopedic Group today, so I can add their analysis to this once I know what it is.

Also, I am debating taking him to see a cranio-facial specialist (plastic surgeon) in Winston-Salem who is all the rage in the area. His philosophy is contrary to that of all of the other major orthotic providers, and, from reading the background information on the helmet he has patented, I find his reasoning fairly compelling. His approach is less forceful than the typical "active" band, making the correction more physiologically natural, but it is more effective at addressing root causes than the typical "passive" helmet. He also made his device with the idea that it needed to be more reasonably priced than the custom orthotics that we have been considering. I think if we decide to treat Ian, it would be a good move to have him evaluated by this doctor as well so that we know what his option might cost us, in addition to saving us some time, since he's closer than two of the other options.

A Valentines Letter

2010-02-13T23:20:00.001-05:00

My dearest Nikki,

It's been over eight years since we first met and fell in love, and I'm quite certain I love you more now than I did in those first days. My heart might not flutter and somersault every time our hands accidentally touch as it did then, but I've developed a much deeper appreciation for who you are. You're very selfless, putting my aspirations ahead of your own, and sacrificing your time and efforts for me. You've shouldered so much of the responsibility of running our household, from handling our finances to caring for our child. I want to express to you how deeply I appreciate all that you do and all that you are -- you're my perfect soulmate!

With much love,
your Danny

Remembering Zachary Julian Johnson

2010-02-13T22:42:00.003-05:00

This day, February 13, has come to be meaningful for our little family, because it was the day two years ago that we said goodbye to our first tiny son. He was not with us very long -- I carried him for about 11 weeks, and two of those were after we discovered his heart was no longer beating -- but he had a huge impact on our lives. We mourned his loss deeply then and remember him with sadness even now.

This year, our gift in his memory is to give him a name. His name has already been written in the Book of Life, as are the names of all of the holy innocents, but we wish to inscribe it here on earth, because we are his Mommy and Daddy, and always will be.

So, today we name him Zachary Julian. We selected his names from the names of Orthodox saints commemorated in the weeks surrounding his passing. "Zachary" is for the holy prophet Zechariah, whose prophetic ministry is described both in the Old Testament books of Ezra and Zechariah. His prophecies proclaim the coming, and second coming, of Christ, which is our true and only hope. The name Zachary means "The Lord remembers," which we affirm to be true of all of His children, including our little Zachary; the whole world may forget, but the Lord remembers His own. His middle name, Julian, means "youthful". Julian is also the name of the town where we honeymooned, so it evokes very special memories for us and is a reminder of our love for each other.

Life is a gift, no matter how short, how small, or how insignificant it may seem. Life is something to celebrate... and to honor. So, today we celebrate the life of our little Zachary.

Memory Eternal!

P.S. - Most parents who experience early miscarriage never know why a baby was lost or whether it was a boy or a girl, so we consider ourselves fortunate to know that Zachary was male and why he didn't survive. What we knew within a few weeks of his loss is that he had a condition called "triploidy," which means that he had a full extra set of chromosomes. The pregnancy was further challenged by an abnormal placenta due to what is known as a partial (or incomplete) molar pregnancy. By the time we had the first ultrasound at 9 weeks, Zachary's heart was not beating. While learning about his genetic condition didn't make it any easier to go through the loss at the time (in fact, it even made it a bit more scary because of the small risk of cancer that goes with molar pregnancy), and while it took me almost two years to finally ask about his gender, we consider it a gift now to have anything that helps us to understand him, and his loss, better.

Why name a child who didn't live long enough to be born? We think there are lots of reasons, many of which are articulated on this website: Naming the Child. We believe the site is a beautiful resource for those who have lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth and infant death. We found it just a few days after finding out that the baby we lost was a boy and deciding to name him, which we are sure was not an accident!

The meaning of Mom

2010-02-09T10:20:00.007-05:00

I was still in that murky mist of thought that follows deep sleep when I awoke this morning to the sound of little babblings from the co-sleeper next to me. I rolled over and saw a cherubic face smiling back at me. I could not help but smile myself. It took a few moments before I began to think clearly, and I delighted anew in that smile, because a brief interlude from the nighttime rose through the fog to my conscious mind.

Sometime in the early morning hours I had awoken to a frightened cry. Ian doesn't usually wake and cry in the night, although he sometimes whines or fusses for a few moments, so this was a different experience. Motherly instinct took over immediately, and I reached over to him, lifted him onto my bed where I could hold him, cooed at him and cuddled him and wondered what terror had assailed him in his sleep. He settled back to sleep quickly, so I returned him to his own bed and drifted back to sleep myself, musing on what sort of fears might plague such a tiny child.

Last night I watched part of the PBS adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma. I was struck by one line, spoken by Emma's chronically fretful father: "You do not know what it is to fear until you have had a child." I laughed and repeated the line to Daniel, but not because it was funny so much as because it rings true. I'm sometimes nearly as fretful as that beleaguered gentleman is, but I'm grateful not to know the truth of his words better than I do, because so much of parenting seems to be the struggle between faith and fear -- the one the result of trusting God and his providence, the other a result of trusting (and mistrusting) myself. God has been exceptionally gracious to us, because if the worst things we have had to worry about in 6 months have been a low-grade fever and a somewhat lopsided skull, I have been given the most gentle introduction to motherhood that I can imagine.

I have my moments. I had one a few days ago when I was besieged by the full weight of what it means to have a baby who needs to be cared for at all times. I was angry and frustrated, because I could not do something I wanted to do, and I could not figure out how to make it work out. Daniel was able to participate, and I was stuck being mom. To be fair, Daniel would have been willing to do daddy duty so I could take his place, but I knew how much he wanted to do it, so I felt it was right to give him the opportunity. So, there I was, resenting Daniel's relative freedom, feeling trapped by my own guilt and selfish will, and unable to come up with some way to make my inconvenience disappear. To top it off, I had the presence of mind to be absolutely disgusted by how selfish and unreasonable I was being. It was an awful feeling.

I had to sit myself down and have a moment of reflection:
This is what I signed up for. This just is what being a wife and mother means. It doesn't meant that I never get to do what I want to do -- nothing as dramatic as all that -- but it means that I have the opportunity to sacrifice my own desires to give to those I love. It is a gift, not a burden. It is ridiculous to even want my life to be any other way. After all, if the daily annoyances of not having complete autonomy are the only price I pay for having such a dear husband and son, then my cross is light indeed. The blessings are far greater, even when I'm at wit's end and have run out of "me" to give. That is because the real gift is God's love, and I am asked only to be open enough that I may be a conduit.

Ah, love! I'm beginning to understand more keenly what people mean when they say that they fall in love with someone more every day. There is something so beautiful about watching a helpless infant transform before your eyes into a little person with likes, dislikes, his own sense of humor and justice, and his own mind, which is captivated by the world around him and so open to new experiences. The more I know him, the more I love him. The more I love him, the more I want to cling to every moment and treasure it in my heart.

I heard a radio story on NPR about a week ago about the passage of time, especially how it seems to move so much more quickly as we age. Apparently there are more reasons for this than just our own increasing awareness of our mortality. In short, whenever the mind experiences something new, it catalogs the new information rather thoroughly, so that it merely has to revisit the stored data when another experience of the same type comes along. It makes the experience of youth nuanced, detailed and rich, because everything has the sheen of newness. For this little baby, every moment brings that freshness, and his mind is compiling like crazy. For an older person, who has learned the truth of the assertion that there is "nothing new under the sun," there is simply less to file away about the world, so memories become simpler, and the good old days seem somehow more beautiful than the day-to-day cares of adult life. I suppose this is why travel makes such an impression on us, no matter our ages: we give our brains the opportunity to process something full of new details, and our brains rev up again to capture it all.

How lovely it is to be given the opportunity to watch the world unfold in his life as I near what is likely to be the middle of my own. It gives me a whole new set of moments to catalog, like what it is to see your child taste his first solid food, what a delight it is to observe his raptures with a new toy, and what a thrill it is to do simple things, like watching him take a peaceful impromptu nap on the floor.

These moments are so sweet, yet so fleeting. I hope that my mind will catalog these moments with all of the freshness and importance they have in my heart, because they are, indeed, precious, and they give such rich meaning to my life as "Mommy".

First tastes of sweet potato

An impromptu nap

You say that to all the moms...

2010-02-05T14:45:00.005-05:00

I've made appointments for Ian to see two specialists so that we have some guidance and know whether treating his skull deformity is advised. I have really mixed feeling about this sort of thing. On the one hand, some people believe it is only cosmetic, and if the specialists agree, we will probably leave well enough alone. On the other, there are neurological problems that can result, and the window of opportunity to treat is growing smaller as he ages. I don't like this.

What I do like is the other thing I was told at Ian's appointment on Wednesday.
"Oh my gosh, he's so cute."
And, again
"He's sooooo cute."
The girl checking us in said it about 3 or 4 times before I said,
"Well, thank you, but I bet you see a lot of cute kids in here."
She replied, "We see a lot of kids. You could say that much."
"No, really, he's so cute!"

I think so -- flat, lopsided head or no! It's nice when someone else agrees... even if she does say it to all the moms.

P.S. - I added a couple of photos from his 6 mo. birthday. Poor little guy was feverish and sad and needing extra cuddles. He's doing much better now.

Six month update

2010-02-04T09:51:00.003-05:00

Ian's doctor visit yesterday was rather stressful for his Mommy (and he wasn't a big fan either). Not only did he get his 6 month inoculations and flu shots (the flu shots mainly because there is some possibility of daycare in his near future), but we also got the news that a referral to a non-surgical treatment provider for deformational brachy/plagio-cephaly would not go amiss. The doctor sees a bit of facial deformity, which isn't too bad, but that and the flatness on the back of his head will not resolve on their own. This is after months of doing our very best to keep him from putting pressure on the back of his head, so it is a bit disappointing that we were not more successful. The doctor's informal opinion is that it shouldn't cause auditory or visual problems, but he thinks we'd do well to have Ian evaluated by specialists. The other concern he did not address is whether the deformation is likely to cause other neurological difficulties -- some studies indicate a risk.

So, our poor baby spent the evening fussing and feverish, and we're waiting to hear from the referral specialist at the doctor's office about when we can go get Ian evaluated. The worst part about this is that I know our insurance coverage only extends to about 1/7 of the cost of the treatment if it is determined that the problem is positional, and it's rather costly. I think it will come down to how severe the specialists believe his case to be and whether we can get funding for the treatment. Treatment, by the way, is a helmet that would have to be worn for a few to several months. You can see, perhaps, why this is a rather difficult subject to think about.

In other news, he continues to be growing appropriately: 75th percentile weight, 50th percentile length and 25th percentile cranium, which is pretty much what he has been for the last few visits. He's been incredibly healthy, and I suppose if need for a helmet is the worst of his problems, we don't have much to complain about.

No news yet on the job front... and we're doing well otherwise. Pray for us when it comes time to decide what to do about Ian's skull and, if necessary, how to handle work-related decisions.

P.S. - I have a few pictures from his day to post, but I shall have to add them later, because I believe he has awoken. Time to check that temperature!

Have tooth will giggle

2010-01-31T02:23:00.003-05:00

I remain amazed at how beautifully serene our little guy is. Even though he has clearly been teething, as evidenced by the tiny tooth which now graces the left side of his jaw, he has still been a very pleasant boy. I have noticed a slight upswing in fussiness, but it is hardly worth mentioning. Daniel and I feel so incredibly blessed to have been eased into parenthood by such a gentle soul.

Ian's favorite activities these days are bouncing, bouncing and bouncing. He loves his Jumperoo and his door-hanging jumper. They are a Godsend for me since we've been working so hard to keep him off of the back of his head when he is awake. Having jumping toys means I can put him down while I cook or do other things that don't allow for baby holding very easily and he is entertained. It seems to have instilled in him the beginnings of cause-and-effect reasoning, since he tries to make himself bounce in other situations as well.

Our trip to the grocery store in advance of the snowstorm that came through Friday night comes to mind; he had tired of sitting in the kiddie seat portion of the cart, so I held him over the seat in a standing position while we waited in line. He bounced, with my hands serving as his supports. One nice feature of the bouncing is that it tends to tire him out. By the time we got to the register (someone had coupons and rain checks and I think we were in line for about 20 minutes), he was sleeping with his head on my shoulder. He was so sweet that I (uncharacteristically) asked for help out to the car so that I could leave him sleeping there as long as possible!

Last Sunday Ian also tried to bounce his way through liturgy. I held him to my chest, facing forward, as is his preference, and he rhythmically moved his body forward and back, which was the best approximation of bouncing he could muster with his legs immobilized. I tried to retain both my dignity and my balance as the service progressed and some of the men across from us in the choir shot us bemused smiles. It was rather cute, if I do say so myself.

Ian is still eating nature's best baby food about 95% of the time. I've had to give him formula occasionally for various reasons, and we've offered him some rice cereal at dinnertime, but we're not in any hurry to vary his diet too much. We'll talk to the doctor in a few days when he has his 6 month check-up to see how he suggests we introduce more solids. When we do begin solids, I know I want to make the food myself. It's kind of fun to think about what I can do and which foods I am most anxious to see him try.

The biggest news, in that it could be the most life-changing for all of us, is that I have had an interview for a job that I believe would fit me very well. Working while mothering a small child is not my ideal in a perfect world, but it is a practical choice in the real one, and one that Daniel and I have been talking about quite a lot lately. Our hope and prayer is that we will find a safe, affordable daycare situation and that I will find, if I am to work, a well-paying job that is an excellent fit for me so that my enjoyment of the job will offset in part the sadness that comes when I contemplate leaving my baby in childcare so that I can contribute to family financial solvency. Some of the promising things about this particular job are a degree of flexibility with working from home when necessary, a 35-hour work week, a staff with a fairly large number of young mothers and work that I am confident I can do well.

Prayers are appreciated as we figure out what the future holds. I have taken some short videos to share and will post them soon. Right now, I am long overdue for bed!

Night night!

I don't expect you to understand...

2010-01-12T16:26:00.005-05:00

... but I thought I would share, for those of you who do.

Skip to the next post if you are just looking for a more generic update!

I finally contacted my old OB's office last week to ask for the report that was generated when we lost our first pregnancy. The baby was a triploidy XXY boy, which means he had an entire extra set of haploid chromosomes, a condition that causes profound abnormalities. Triploidy is believed to account for about 17% of miscarriages, and triploidy babies who do survive until live birth do not survive for very long. The longest-lived triploidy child on record lived for 10 1/2 months.

I'm not writing this to be dramatic or morbid, but because this recent decision marks an important change in my heart. We lost him almost exactly two years ago, and quite early in the pregnancy. I knew about the triploidy from about 6 weeks after the sad events, but I did not know his gender. I think it was too painful at first to think of that loss in terms of having lost a son or daughter, however unusual his chromosomes. All of the fears of the partial molar pregnancy and the anguish of the process overwhelmed me, and it was all just too much.

Now, looking back, it seems merciful that he did not live longer, both for his sake and for mine. It's only now I am more grateful for his short presence with me than I am saddened by his loss, and, while I would have loved him and wanted him in any condition, I am glad he didn't suffer all of the agonies of a short life in a broken body.

Now that we know he was a boy, there are new possibilities. We haven't named him yet, but we are thinking about doing that, since we are firmly convinced that any life, no matter how short, is worth celebrating and remembering, even if we are the only ones who know or care about him. We know his gender, something most parents who have lost a baby so early do not know, so I feel a certain responsibility to somehow use and honor that knowledge.

He was a special part of our lives and brought incredible joy for the few weeks he lived in me. He ushered me into motherhood, but left the rest of the job of breaking me in to Ian, opting to take God up on his offer to sing in the heavenly choir.

Not a bad idea, if you ask me.

Remember us?

2010-01-12T11:15:00.009-05:00

Hello again! It has been a long time, as some of you have reminded me. I thought I would actually use this space again today to provide a few Ian updates and photos. With any luck, I will eventually press "publish" and you, dear reader, will see the fruits of my renewed labors.

A lot has happened since I last updated... a Thanksgiving-time trip to Williamsburg, Christmas at home, a visit with the Steve Johnsons at New Years and several new developments from Ian, who seems intent on growing up.

Where to begin? I'm going to buck the wisdom of Maria von Trapp and start at the end, largely because I find it so exciting. Today I put Ian down on the floor on his tummy while I was pumping his breakfast, and when I looked back at him after checking on my progress, I found him on his back. This is huge! A few weeks ago, I "taught" him that rolling over was possible by rolling him onto his tummy with one arm under him and then helping him to roll right back. As recently as last night he could not, however, roll over at will, and he became quite frustrated with his abortive attempts. He seems to have figured it out now, though, because he has managed to roll over entirely unassisted four times so far today, and he can do it when he decides not to melt down instead. I got the fourth time on camera:

Yesterday brought another milestone. We launched a program of eating dinner together around the table, now that we have a sturdy table and chairs and a booster seat for Ian. Those were procured this weekend from a consignment outfit and Target, respectively. The table and chairs are 70s-vintage, solid pieces that have the potential to last another 30 years, and while they perhaps lack a little something in the aesthetics department, they work perfectly for us and the price was right (cheap). Ian's dinner consisted of his usual milk in a bowl with a spoon. He did pretty well with the spoon concept (you might say he's had practice with spoon-feeding at communion at church), but he doesn't really like the experience since it lacks the efficiency of a bottle. In order to not frustrate him completely, after about 15 spoonfuls we put the rest in a bottle and let him finish up the usual way.

(Here we pause for baby comforting and play)

Now, to backtrack a bit. We've established a bedtime routine for Ian--bath, book, bottle, banana brush, blessing and bed (more on the banana brush in a moment)--and he now goes to bed quite nicely at his appointed hour. He usually doesn't even cry if he has his pacifier, and he falls asleep within 5 or 10 minutes. He has a somewhat later bedtime than he will have in a year or two, but it works nicely for us now. We have time together as a family in the evening, then he goes to bed. He sleeps until about 8 am, and the grown-ups, who still go to bed really late, actually have some time to ourselves after he goes to sleep.

About that banana brush... we've had lots of drooling and some fussing that would seem to indicate that some teeth are in the works. No breakthroughs yet. In preparation for the great tooth eruption, we have procured a baby banana brush (a silicone training toothbrush that just happens to be in a banana shape) that we use to get him used to the idea of brushing his teeth. He seems to like it... and it's kind of cute. :)

Ian was baptized in late October during a visit from his Grandma and Grandpa on mommy's side, as well as his two aunties (Erin and Angie), his uncle Jon and his cousins Talia and TBA (who is not yet visible as more than a bump). Ian and Mommy and the rest of the extended family went down to Charleston for a few days, which meant Ian's first visit to another state. The visit was very enjoyable for us! Pictures from all of this activity are on the other computer, so I will try to put them up later. To assuage you, I offer kitty and kiddy napping together. The kitties are discouraged from getting in and on Ian's things, but once in a while the results of kitty defiance are too cute to disrupt immediately.

Ian picked up a new state - Virginia - over Thanksgiving. It was the sort of trip we are almost able to laugh at now, but at the time it was almost more stressful than it was enjoyable. Having a baby who requires tons of gear (much of it milk pumping/storage supplies) made for a stuffed-to-the-gills car, and the site-seeing was minimal just because it took so much out of us to get ready to go for the day, and everything we needed for the day tended to have to be carried with us. Backs groaned and stress grew and unforecasted sleet fell and we had a bit of the sort of luck Daniel's brother Steve seems to enjoy -- almost comically bad. You know what they say, though, "What doesn't kill you...", well, in this case, it just kills your wanderlust for a while. That said, it was worth doing. We now just know what it is like to travel with a baby!

We had a pleasant visit with Dan's mom after we got home from the trip. We didn't do much, but it was much less stressful than the trip, we enjoyed her company, and we think Ian's grandma rather enjoyed Ian. :)

Christmas was quiet at home with just the three of us. It was quite nice. The grown-ups opened gifts in the wee hours of Christmas morning in order to take advantage of quiet time while Ian was sleeping to have Christmas ourselves. Once Ian awoke, we opened his presents with him, which took hours on its own. He was not hurting in the gifts department, and we have lots of people to thank for that!

We had a lot of fun visiting with Steve, Jayne, Thomas and Paul over New Years. Most of the visit was spent in a low-key fashion at our place with the help of Bananagrams and Wii. It is fun to see how Ian's cousins have grown into great young men. Paul especially enjoyed Ian, so it was fun to watch them interact.

A slideshow, which includes video of Ian opening one of his Christmas presents, follows:

Ian has started a once-a-month visit to UNCG to participate in a study on the emergence of hand preference in infants. The first visit was fun, as it just meant play and a $10 Target gift card. The card went a lot of the way towards the purchase of his booster seat.

It's time for Ian's bottle and he has tired of helping me type, so I had best sign off. I will probably add some photos and video later, so check back if you managed to see this in the unadorned version.

Until then, we hope you are all enjoying a wonderful 2010!

Before Ian was a twinkle...

2009-10-11T23:09:00.011-04:00

...in his daddy's eye, Mommy took this picture:
which was originally posted on October 16, 2008, in this blog, a few weeks before Daddy developed said twinkle.

These photos were taken on October 10, 2009:The twinkle now weighs upwards of 13 pounds and makes a rather cute scarecrow, I think.

He also looks rather charming peeking out from the hole in a tree.
Oh, and that Daddy holding him is rather cute, too.

As you can see, we have really enjoyed the farmers' market again this year. Yesterday's purchases ended up in a lovely chicken vegetable soup and a caprese salad. I never knew how much I would enjoy just having the leisure to cook something from scratch. That's what Daniel provided me yesterday after we got home. I had cut the legs, thighs and breasts off of a whole chicken to make another dinner, so I wanted to use the carcass. Stock seemed to be just the thing. That, and I really wanted to make something that would use all of the wonderful produce on offer at the market stands so inexpensively. We made this recipe up as we went along by buying more and more fresh vegetables that seemed like nice additions to the pot.

Chicken and Vegetable Soup
Serves approximately 12 (We froze some for later!)

Stock:
1 chicken carcass
2 carrots, coarsely chopped
2 ribs of celery with leaves, coarsely chopped
2 small onions, coarsely chopped
2 whole cloves garlic
whole pepper corns
salt
about 14 cups of water

Cook all of the ingredients together at a boil for an hour or more, reducing the liquid to the desired intensity of flavor. I used a pot with a pasta insert, putting all of the chicken and vegetables into the pasta insert so that they could be lifted out when the stock was ready. Discard the chicken and vegetables. They will have served their purpose and lost most of their flavor into the stock.

Meat and Vegetables:
Chicken pieces (I used some frozen thighs), diced
Olive oil
Paprika
Salt & Pepper

2 small potatoes, diced
3 small turnips, with greens, diced
6 okra, sliced
1 cup of green beans, cut into 1-inch segments
2 tomatoes, peeled, seeded and diced
1 ear of corn, kernels only
2 shallots, finely sliced
2 carrots, peeled and sliced
2 ribs of celery, sliced
1 bouquet garni, composed of fresh sage, rosemary, thyme, parsley and basil tied up in cheesecloth.
2 bay leaves

Cook up the chicken with some salt, pepper and paprika in the olive oil. Add the chicken, vegetables and bouquet garni to the hot stock and boil gently for about 40 minutes or until the root vegetables are just tender.

Finishing Touches:
Remove the bouquet garni and bay leaves. Add vinegar (we used rice vinegar), salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with fresh parsley, if desired. Serve with a nice crusty bread.

And maybe a nice salad.

Good times, good boys and good eats! Who could ask for anything more?

Soup and Suspense

2009-09-29T10:40:00.004-04:00

The report is mixed today...

First, the fun stuff: We went to the Greek festival on Saturday. The weather has been nice - crisp in the evenings and warm enough for comfort during the day, with showers (and the occasional torrent) from time to time. We chose to eat at the festival and bring home some goodies for later. Everything has been very yummy so far! We also spent a few dollars on a priced-to-sell place mat for Ian that has the Greek alphabet on it. It's never too soon to start him on his classical education, right?

We also went to the farmers market on Saturday, making it a big day from start to finish. Our visit to the market was quick, knowing that we'd be headed to the festival later. The highlight of the market was happening by one vendor at the close of day. She gave us free shiitake mushrooms - as many as we wanted - since they wouldn't keep until her next sale day. We took home about a pound, along with a few veggies and some fabulous fresh bread that we bought.

Life handed us mushrooms and the sky rained down water, so we made soup (but not from rain water). We have a great cookbook we bought at Mission San Luis Rey a few years back featuring simple soups made from seasonal ingredients. We made a mushroom soup finished with sour cream that was quite delightful. We also bought turnips and made a lovely creamy turnip soup. I'm saving up some leeks for a leek soup later this week. I love soup weather!

In the also great column, Ian has largely started sleeping 5-6 hour stretches at night, with an additional quiet time of 4-5 hours after breakfast, at which point Mommy catches a few more winks.

I also have two small contract work possibilities that may materialize in the next few weeks (the sort of thing I can do on my own time that won't be lucrative), and I am able to continue doing a little bit of volunteer work by offering editing that I can do at home when Ian is sleeping or Daddy is watching him. All of this gives me an excuse to talk with other adults and to keep my mind interested in things other than baby poop. I still think of poop plenty - don't worry!

In the not so great news column, we'd appreciate prayers for God's provision, because one of the most obvious sources of what we need has been slashed rather significantly. Dan's pay has been cut. How drastically this will change our lives remains to be seen, but we are certain it will force some decisions we wouldn't have had to make otherwise. Prayers for wisdom in the face of those decisions are also coveted. Here's where the suspense comes in. How our needs will be met is a bit of a question...

That's it for now. I'll try to upload some pictures later on!

Like Mommy, Like Son

2009-09-20T23:34:00.004-04:00

Just few quick words by way of update.

Ian was very good at church today for his second Sunday. He was very popular, too. At one point his godmother-to-be was holding him and said she thought he was trying to sing, because she could feel a sort of growl coming from him. Whether or not that is true, he did fuss just a little - and pretty much always when the choir was not singing. He'd give us about 15 seconds to start singing again before he'd voice his disapproval. It is fortunate that the choir doesn't quit singing very often or for very long in Orthodox services, because it makes for a happy baby. He also waved his hands around quit a lot and really enjoyed watching a couple of the sopranos singing. My theory is that when he does the staring and hand waving, he's thinking about what it would be like to conduct the sopranos himself. He does, at least, have the advantage of drawing the eye, which is at least half of the battle for any conductor.

We've started doing infant massage as part of our nightly ritual. Ian seems to love it. He has also added sleeping longer stretches to his routine. We love that. While it may not count as sleeping through the night, sleep of 5 or 6 hours at a stretch is fabulous!

Aside, and just for fun... people often ask who he resembles. I submit that he looks like his mommy. The top photos were taken in 2009. The bottom photos in 1974.

Yep... he's mine!

A Big Day

2009-09-16T18:29:00.005-04:00

Ian went several places with Mommy today:
1. To see Dr. Henley, who was responsible for the medical portion of Ian's safe arrival in the world.
2. To get weighed at his doctor's office (Mommy had a suspicion that he had outgrown the newborn insert part of his car seat, but, since it is a question of weight, wanted to be sure).
3. To visit Daddy's office so as to be admired by Daddy's coworkers.
4. Out to dinner with Mommy and Daddy (before the dinner rush).

He slept most of the time, so we're hopeful he has some sleep left for tonight.

Speaking of sleep, last night he was especially good. I think he has figured out that when he is in his co-sleeper and the lights are out, he is expected to be sleeping, or at least quiet. I actually fell asleep before Ian did, and he was simply lying quietly in the co-sleeper when I drifted off -- this after he lost the pacifier, so it wasn't just because his mouth was full. Then, he slept for almost 6 hours at a stretch. That was fabulous. We'd like to see more of that! He also went back to sleep after his early morning feeding, allowing me to be in bed about 8 hours, spending several of them asleep.

Back to today...

Ian and Dr. Henley posed for a picture.

And another, when it seemed Ian was less than properly appreciative in demeanor in the first picture.

Ian then went to be weighed. He already weighs 11 pounds 7 ounces! I'm waiting for the pediatrician to tell us to feed him less. Hasn't happened yet, though! In the meantime, we have removed the newborn insert. *sigh* He's growing so quickly!

And Ian decided to show off his work clothes and his intellectual bent (notice the Rodinesque thinker pose) when he went to see Daddy's work. The outfit (a button-down striped shirt - not tucked, for that casual flair - brown cords and white Keds) was a huge hit, and Ian was better dressed for business than Daddy was!

As I said, all of this activity called for lots of sleep for Ian... and it wore me out, as I didn't have the option of sleeping myself while someone pushed me around in a stroller.

So, with that, I sign off from our busy day.

Catching up!

2009-09-13T16:44:00.008-04:00

First off... please notice that this is the second post today. Don't miss the previous one if you want to know about the churching ceremony for Ian and his mommy.

This post is all about long overdue photos. The first several are from Grandma Johnson's visit. We didn't take many photos while she was here, but these precious few were taken toward the end of the visit. We went to the park for a picnic and to feed the ducks (but not the geese formerly known as Canada Geese).
But we also took a few pictures of the Johnson generations.We think she kinda liked Ian. A little.We all enjoyed the visit, but Ian most of all. He was rather spoiled, I think. Almost every morning he got to be snuggled while he took a nap. He seems to really like that sort of thing, and now he expects mommy to follow suit. Mommy obliges him sometimes. He's too cute not to try to please.

Grandma was also helpful around the house - especially when it came to making dinner. We appreciated that more than we can say. She also left a lasting impression on our bedroom... in the form of a big red rocking recliner. It gets a lot of use - especially in the middle of the night when a little cutie requires some cuddling and feeding. The big red chair is perfect in many ways, including the fact that it coordinates so well with another gift from Ian's other grandma - the Hurricanes quilt!Did we mention that hockey season starts in a matter of days?!

Back to the subject at hand... Thank God for Grandmas!

Oh, and thank God for yummy sweet treats. These are the two I have made in recent weeks. The German chocolate cake was a thank-you for Grandma Johnson for all of her help. The coconut cream pie was from scratch and was a belated 40th birthday treat for Ian's Daddy. Yep. We like coconut. Most of all, though... we like a certain super-sweet little boy.
Finally, a random photo I just had to take when I saw it. *grin*

We've been Churched!

2009-09-13T14:36:00.003-04:00

Ian and Mommy got to go back to church today. Ian was perfectly behaved. I mean it -- I don't say it just because I am his Mommy.

During the churching, he was quiet and let Fr. Thomas take him without a peep. He started to fuss a tiny bit at the point that we were finished and posing for photos, but he calmed down immediately when I talked to him and bounced him a little.

He was awake for about half of the service, and didn't fuss to speak of. He sat contentedly in my lap and looked around. The few times he did make noise, the choir was usually singing loudly, so the music covered the baby noises. We're afraid Kevin had a harder time than he usually does keeping eyes on him while directing. It seems someone else was pulling focus. Barb held him for about half of the service and gave him is bottle when it came time for him to eat, and he was quiet for her as well. At the end of the liturgy, we had a prayer service for those who were killed on 9/11. Ian was quiet for that as well. When all of the praying was finally done, Kevin and the choir sang "God Grant You Many Years" to the servant of God Ian and his family. I tried not to cry (too much).

Church people admired Ian plenty, and we came home with more gifts. We stayed for coffee hour, and among Ian's biggest admirers was Fr. Thomas' eight-year-old daughter, who played with him (poking at him and touching him) for quite a while, asked several questions, including "when do I get to come see where you live?" and then announced to Daniel that she wanted to take Ian home with her.

I don't dare hope that every Sunday will be so peaceful, but we could not have asked for a better return to church. It was a blessed morning.

Seen and Heard at Our House

2009-09-09T20:34:00.004-04:00

Here's a sight I saw on Wednesday night when Daniel was giving me a break from baby duty so I could wash Ian's bottles, etc. I thought this was worth committing to digital image:

Other milestones and notes:
-Ian cried his first tears Tuesday after weeks of dry eyes.
-We also had our first visit to the pediatrician due to an "oops" on Tuesday - Mommy misjudged the distance between Ian's head and the floor mat when putting him down to play so that his head bumped the floor harder than intended. He was more startled than anything and calmed down quickly, but Mommy called the doctor just to be safe and we took him in for examination. The doctor said he looked fine, but Mommy felt rather badly, to say the least.
-Ian managed to gain 7 ounces between Friday and Tuesday, weighing in at 10 pounds, 8 ounces. The doctor asked what we've been feeding him. I replied, "Breast milk." Daniel added, "Of course, we threw in some Miracle Grow." The doctor's verdict is that we must have caught him during a growth spurt. He seems to be filling out and adding on a healthy layer of baby fat. Mommy's back has noticed!
- Ian has a very strong neck and likes to exercise it for short periods of tummy time. He holds his own head up when being snuggled on a shoulder or held upright on a lap.

By the way, I must mention how sweet Ian is. He's really not very fussy at all, and he seems content to just survey his world and enjoy a snuggle about 95% of the time when he isn't asleep. I feel incredibly blessed, because this rather gentle introduction to motherhood has been a wonderful gift after a rather challenging pregnancy. Of course, we hope he stays that way, but we'd love him fussy or not! :D

Footnote: the tears and the head bump didn't coincide... otherwise Mommy would have felt even worse!

A New Friend for Ian

2009-09-07T11:40:00.006-04:00

Ian had his first visit with his new friend Oliver yesterday. Oliver was just 11 days old for the big event, compared with Ian's much more mature 34 days. Oliver was over 10 pounds when he was born, so even though he has lost some of his weight, he and Ian are very close to the same size now. Consensus was that Ian is heavier, which I suppose he had a right to be, since he is more than 3 whole weeks older.

Oliver and his family live in their newly-purchased house about 2 hours away from us, so it was a bit of an adventure getting to their house and back now that Ian isn't riding in my tummy. I think we must have packed about half of Ian's belongings, and everything required more thought - including figuring out where and when to try to feed him (we settled on a picnic area outside a McDonalds that we knew about before) and how to manage a trip to Trader Joe's without waking him and dragging him inside (we took turns going in and made two separate purchases).

It was fun meeting Oliver, who is a really cute little guy, and seeing his new house. Since his mommy and I were pregnant at the same time, we had been comparing notes, ultrasound picture and pregnancy woes for months. It was fun to get the products of our labor together in one room. It was also fun for me to realize how individual their cries and noises and behaviors are. Ian and Oliver have crying and fussing in common, but they are each their own little people. It was easy for Daniel and I to pick out which baby was saying what from the another room. Ian stayed awake and alert for most of our visit there.

We got home around 10 pm and were all pretty well wiped out. The best thing that came from that fact was the relatively good night's sleep we got afterward. Ian allowed us to sleep twice in 3-4 hour stretches. We're all still a bit bleary-eyed, but we figure it was worth it. :D

I didn't take any pictures, but I got these three from Oliver's daddy:Comparing Ian's and Oliver's long feet

Ian and Daddy chilling on the couch with Oliver and his mommy.

The two little guys together.

Ian is 1/12 of a year old!

2009-09-04T10:45:00.006-04:00

While the baby sleeps and the repairman replaces our water heater (that's a long story involving blisteringly hot water and then no hot water at all...), I'll take a few minutes to try to update you all on Ian's progress and anything interesting about his parents that happens to come to mind.

First, a few words about the parents, so we can get the drudgery out of the way and get on to the baby. We've just reached the end of a series of longer visits from special folks, including both of Ian's grandmas and Heather and Jeff. We also had shorter visits from Erik and Robyn (who are now enjoying getting to know their own little guy who was born just over a week ago) and from Kevin and Barbara.

We've passed a few milestones in the lives of Ian's parents, including a 7th wedding anniversary and a 40th birthday (Daddy's). Jeff and Heather helped us celebrate the latter, and the former was celebrated quietly at home on the day of the occasion with lovely take-out food from Cucina Bravo.

Now, on to the good stuff!

Ian weighed in this morning at 10 pounds 1 ounce, putting him in the 50th-75th percentile in weight. His height (21.25 in.) is around the 25th percentile, and his head circumference is in the 10th-25th percentile. For those of us who are unfamiliar with what this all means, the doctor was pleased with all of the numbers and said we just want Ian to stay in the same categories relative to himself. In other words, if his head suddenly measures in the 95th percentile, we would be needing to ask why, but being on the low end of the percentile ranking now or having weight and height and head circumference in different percentiles does not cause worry.

Ian got his first Hepatitis B immunization today. He didn't like it. He also didn't like the taste of the wood tongue depressor the doctor used to check out his mouth, but I think it is safe to say that he liked the shot less. Also less than fun was the cauterization of his navel; he has had minor bleeding there, so the doctor removed his scab and applied silver nitrate to the area to prevent further bleeds.

Some of the best news of the morning is that Ian is gaining weight well enough that we no longer need to wake him up in the night to feed him. We can let him sleep, which we hope will mean more sleep for us! He's eating between 25 and 30 ounces of expressed milk per day, and he nurses occasionally with the help of a little silicone shield that helps him to latch. Nursing is still a hit-or-miss proposition, but he has the opportunity offered at least a few times per day.

Ian has been trying out his smile, which his mommy finds very charming indeed. He also has become much more aware of his surroundings over the past week or so, and is starting to enjoy looking at toys, such as the little pull-down bee toy that is hanging over his pack-n-play. He spends some awake time contentedly looking around his surroundings. We also try to give him plenty of time on his tummy. His neck seems to be very strong, and he moves his head around quite a lot to see what he wants to see. He also enjoys "standing" when someone holds him up by his chest. He coos and says something that sounds like "obey" - we think it is an all-purpose command for the adults in his life - and he has quite the range of facial expressions. I find it challenging to capture them all on film, but I do try. He also has a rather amusing habit of opening his hands in the Vulcan "live long and prosper" gesture (with the largest spread between the middle and ring fingers), so we think he may be a born Trekkie. He's got a bit of what the doctor called male pattern baldness developing, so the hair in the front of is head is thinning. We hope it will be a long time before his more permanent baldness kicks in, but he's got a pretty wicked widow's peak at present.

Ian has outgrown his cute little newborn clothes, but that has given us the opportunity to try out his also cute 0-3 months clothes. Most of them fit him well, except that the sleeves all seem a little short. It would appear that he has rather long arms, fingers, feet and toes.

Ian has started sleeping in a co-sleeper at night rather than the bassinet he was using to begin with. Ashleigh was kind enough to send it to us, and it has been great so far. Basically, it is like a bassinet or pack-n-play with one low wall that butts up next to the grown-ups' bed. It is strapped to our mattress so that it won't move, and it gives something of the effect of sleeping together without the dangers of baby in the adult bed. He actually sleeps about 5 or 6 inches below me and just inches away. I like to have him so close to me, because I can simply look over at him to reassure myself that he is still breathing and that all is well and just roll back over and go to sleep without getting out of bed or even craning my neck to speak of. He can look up at me when he is falling asleep, which is helpful, especially considering that he has been known to cry when I leave his sight.

I have been using a Maya wrap to keep him near me while I do things around the house the last few days. In fact, he's sleeping in it now. It's a cozy set-up that makes me feel a bit like a kangaroo. We quite regularly walk as a family in the evenings, and Ian also seems to love the motion of the stroller.

I have several photos that need to go up here, but since I don't have time now and the cable I need in order to download them is upstairs, I will have to add them to another post later. I will, however, try to share a short video in the meantime for Ian's adoring public.

By Popular Demand...

2009-08-11T19:54:00.007-04:00

...a smattering of images from days 3-8 of Ian's life, including his first car ride, walk in the park, bottle from daddy, sponge bath at home, encounter with the feline kind, meeting with his godmother-to-be and some additional cuteness, such as the scrunchy face below.

Quick Update

2009-08-08T21:45:00.003-04:00

As of Wednesday afternoon, we're home. We're enjoying Grandma time while my mom is here in town. As I have explained to those who have asked, having my mom here means that the dishes get done while I stare in awe at the baby, dinner gets cooked while I coo at the baby, floors get swept while I feed the baby, and the baby is tended while I try to grab a few winks of sleep. In other words, we're exceptionally grateful for the help.

Ian is doing well. We've had some significant challenges with the whole feeding routine, but we're learning together and are finding ways to overcome our problems. Ian had lost a great deal of weight over the first few days of his life due to latch problems, but with the help of some changes in our feeding routine, flexibility and a bit of formula, we've brought him back up to what promises to be a healthier weight and he's back on breast milk alone, most of it from a bottle. That was not my ideal. However, I'm quickly learning that parenthood requires one to let go of expectations in favor of realities, using what is helpful by way of freely-proffered advice... and lumping the rest. I am also learning that I need to be gracious with myself. Not living up to my own expectations or that of others is not a failure -- carrying the disappointment of unfulfilled expectations is, because the main thing is overcoming the challenges, not failing to have them in the first place.

Ian has been a very sweet baby so far. He has been very mellow the vast majority of the time, and his Daddy and I are in love with him (and each other)! We think his grandma is quite fond of him, too. I love nothing more than gazing at him (when I can stay awake to do it) and reveling in the wonder that he belongs to us. Daddy has been helping a great deal with feeding and diapering, and he's also beginning Ian's cultural education by reading poetry to him and playing classical music for him. It's fun to watch Daniel settle right in to fatherhood.

I've taken more pictures over the last few days, but I am not quite ready to post them yet... so, with that teaser of good things to come, it is almost certainly time to feed a certain sweet little boy again...!

Eye on Ian

2009-08-04T17:47:00.005-04:00

Ian is going on one day old, and his first 24-hour period outside the womb has been a busy one! His health continues to look good, he passed his hearing screening, he had a visit from Fr. Thomas for a special blessing, and spent time with his grandma. After a very alert night, he has spent a lot of the second half of his first day sleeping. Mommy and Daddy only wish they could have done the same! Mommy is doing well, aside from a very sore back and medicine that makes her very drowsy, and Daddy is getting to be a diaper-changing and baby cuddling pro. Here are a few moments from Ian's first full day.

Introducing Ian Gordon

2009-08-03T20:15:00.001-04:00

Date: August 3, 2009
Time: 7:45 PM
Weight: 7 lbs, 9 oz
Length: 21 inches
Apgar: 9 and 9

About Ian’s name

Ian is the Scottish form of “John” which is of Hebrew origin and means "the Lord is gracious". We chose a variant of John in honor of St. John the Merciful (also known as St. John the Almsgiver), who is commemorated by the Orthodox on November 12.

St. John the Merciful was the Patriarch of Alexandria in the early 7th century, and earned his name because of his reputation for unfailing compassion for others, humility and generosity in his work for Christ through the church. Where his contemporaries saw trickery and abuse of generosity by a man who came in disguise seeking alms, John saw Christ and gave over and over again. With all of the riches of the church at his disposal, he lived simply and gave generously from the church coffers in faith that God would supply what was given away — with interest. When a conflict with a brother priest who had erred and had been disciplined for his shortcoming kept that man from repentance, John left the gifts at the altar, in obedience to Matthew 5:24, and prostrated himself before his brother to beg forgiveness, even though he had not been in the wrong. John’s humble action moved the man to repentance and reconciliation and a restoration of his ministry. John lived mindful of his mortality, and had his own grave partially dug prematurely, asking to be reminded on every great occasion that his grave awaited him and that he knew not the hour of his death (Matthew 25). St. John dedicated himself to Christian education, to the freeing of those in slavery, and to service of the sick and needy. Under his leadership, the number of churches in Alexandria swelled from 7 to 70. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_the_Merciful, http://orthodoxwiki.org/John_the_Merciful)

Needless to say, we would love for Ian to follow in the footsteps of this godly man, as he followed Christ.

Gordon is a family name. Gordon is from Gaelic origins, among others, and one of its meanings is “beloved.”

Ian’s paternal grandfather, who passed away while we were pregnant with Ian, was named Gordon. Ian’s maternal grandfather, Ronald, also bears the name Gordon, but as a middle name. We wished to honor our fathers, both of whom have also dedicated their lives to Christ, by giving Ian their shared name.

Indeed, this child is beloved, and he is an example of the graciousness of God in our lives. We are incredibly blessed.

Reconsidering the considerations

2009-07-31T20:19:00.004-04:00

So, we're about 57 hours or so from our induction appointment, and, as I tend to do before any big life event, I "decided" to melt down emotionally last night and today. As I recall, we got married on Sunday nearly 7 years ago, and on the Friday night previous to the ceremony I flipped out under the pressure. By the day of the wedding I was ready to go, and I hope that by Monday I will be the same! So, while unpleasant, this development wasn't unexpected.

I didn't sleep last night worrying that the induction of labor was the wrong choice. However, what I didn't realize at the time was that the worries I was experiencing were a result of accepting the wrong presuppositions. Basically, I had assumed that the "reasons" we had been discussing as justification for induction were limited to the two on my mind, which were not, on their own, reasons to induce, which made it boil down to an elective procedure. I made this mistake because in talking to the doctor, we had agreed with the course of action he proposed without having heard his reasons for it, which meant he hadn't actually spelled out the case for us, so we just operated on what was in our minds until those reasons failed to justify the action.

Some elective procedures I'm okay with, but not those that take two lives into the balance when nature has been doing a pretty good job of accomplishing the same thing since the advent of humanity. So, I fretted and read and worried and cried off and on for 12 hours until finally, mercifully, had an appointment with our OB just before office closing time.

We left the office with a completely different perspective, because what we got in this visit was his professional opinion: that I am at substantially above average risk for adverse outcomes as pregnancy progresses, which means that there is more risk inherent in leaving the baby where he is than there is in urging him out while we know he's healthy now that he has reached a very favorable point in development.

He gave me three medical reasons having to do with my own personal status and health:
1. I am right on the cusp of "advanced maternal age" and the risks that attend it, and there is nothing magical that happens on my quickly-advancing 35th birthday that might not be an issue now.
2. My blood pressure is borderline high, which increases risk to the baby.
3. My gestational diabetes - which can cause premature aging of the placenta, such that it fails to provide adequate oxygen and nutrition to the baby as pregnancy progresses, and which also places me at higher risk of developing pre-eclampsia - is an ongoing concern.
He proviced one reason that is his own selfish motive and not a real reason for us:
4. He would get to attend the delivery.
And one reason that is evidence-based statistical data about fetal outcomes at various gestational ages:
5. Fetal morbidity based on gestational age at delivery decreases from an already low rate at 36 weeks to its lowest at 39 weeks before increasing again at 40 weeks and beyond. This is without regard to particular maternal risk factors - babies born at 39 weeks, for reasons that are not entirely intuitive or clear, just do better.
To these 5 reasons we can add two more:
6. We're both exhausted, physically and mentally, by the pregnancy and its complications.
7. There would be an advantage to getting antibiotics in a timely manner, which is more likely with an induction than with spontaneous labor, given how far advanced I am already at this stage.

None of these reasons is compelling on its own, and even a combination of 2 or 3 is not enough to make it wise; they are "soft" concerns. However, when we add them all up, they spell higher risk that it makes sense to more actively manage, which means there is a medical case for induction, making this a choice, yes, but not a purely elective procedure.

We have heard nothing but good things about our doctor from the nursing staff at the hospital, people in his office, other doctors at the hospital, and even the guy that sold Daniel his suits (his own kids were delivered by him 2 decades ago) at Men's Warehouse, and so when our judgment is wanting direction, it seems like his opinion is worth trusting.

Our choices, he said, are two:
1. Proceed with the induction on Monday
2. Choose not to proceed with the induction - which is fine as long as the baby looks healthy now - but, if I do, I will need to begin twice-weekly non-stress tests immediately to make sure that the baby's health is not deteriorating as he and the placenta age, and if the baby is not born by week 41 due to an emergency or spontaneous labor, induction would become extremely strongly advised.

He explained his professional opinion but he also stressed, quite honestly and supportively, that it is our pregnancy and that the choice is absolutely up to us and that he won't force the issue aside from ordering more tests if we refuse. He then answered my specific questions about the risks and benefits of both approaches for about 40 minutes. He was very straight-talking, which I really appreciate. He also said that if he felt like an induction was absolutely necessary, he would not mince words about that. We have a choice, essentially, as long as the baby looks okay and my health holds up, but we also have and the benefit of his opinions as to why he feels strongly that induction at the gestational age the baby will have reached on Monday is the safer course.

After he did the usual exam, which didn't show any growth of the uterus for the last 2 weeks and showed a lower-than-usual fetal heart rate (still acceptable, but on the slow end of the scale), I was sent to have a decidedly more scientific examination: a non-stress test done at the hospital, which was performed tonight. I had instructions that if it did not look good, the doctor from the practice that is on-call this weekend would order more tests or even deliver us immediately. If we passed the test, on the other hand, then we should be fine until Monday's planned induction, or non-stress test, if I refuse the induction.

Thankfully, we passed, which means we still have the choice, and the opportunity for spontaneous labor in the meantime.

So, after the test, lots of talking and taking into consideration the factors that were presented to us, I'm again feeling more peaceful about the possibility of induction. Hopefully I will now be able to just chill out and accept what may come. I would love to have labor begin spontaneously between now and then (the doctor on call this weekend is my second favorite in the practice, and I would much prefer a more natural process if that is possible), but I also feel like it can be the wise and loving thing to proceed with induction on Monday if it does not. So... it looks like we'll most likely have a baby on his way out sooner than later, and it is a fun thing to contemplate... if also the scariest thing I have faced in a LONG time!

Aside... CA legislation I REALLY hope passes!

2009-07-29T09:45:00.004-04:00

I have read quite a lot about lately about the risks/benefits of fire retardants in baby items. I have come to believe that the benefits do not justify the risks. There is proposed legislation in CA that would change the requirements in CA, which would, in effect, change them for the rest of the US, since manufacturers tend to manufacture to the most stringent codes, which, in this case, would be the codes in CA. I would LOVE to be able to buy products that have not been treated with flame retardants, so I hope this legislation or similar manages to pass. Click on the title of this post to read the LA Times piece that spurred these comments.

The more things change...

2009-07-27T22:31:00.004-04:00

...the more they stay the same.

So, the doctor says, giggling through much of the appointment, that I am at 3-4cm "I can see someone calling it 4cm" and 80% effaced. I think he was giggling during the appointment because I keep coming back to see him in the office instead of just showing up at the hospital in labor like I am apparently supposed to. It's that pesky "in labor" part that is the hang up. It's not for lack of trying. In fact, when he checked me out, I harbored the secret hope that he'd find I was at 5-6cm and would just send us to the hospital. Not that I thought he would, mind you... but a girl can dream.

OBs use something called the "Bishop score" to rate the likely success of labor induction, and the higher the score, the less likely a conversion to a c-section because of failure to progress through labor (keeping in mind that a c-section may still be needed for other reasons). Well, he says, again laughing, as he prepares to leave the room: "You have a very favorable Bishop's score. In fact, it is about as high as it can get for a first-time mom." As Daniel remarked to me on the way to the car, "you always were a high achiever." Yes, that's me... going for the good scores!

They don't ask my name at the front desk anymore. Instead, they just ask who I am seeing today. Mondays are my usual appointment days, but I have been given an extra Friday appointment this week just to see if "anything has changed" before I show up before sunrise next Monday. Before we left, we ironed out a few of my concerns about the induction scenario (like making sure that it is in the written orders I have to take to the hospital with me that I am to start antibiotics 1 hour before they start with the actual induction), so that is comforting.

Many women have an elaborate "birth plan" outlining everything that they want/don't want from the birth experience. It includes important things, usually, like pain relief preferences, and may extend to details like how bright the lights are in the birthing room and what sort of music they want playing while they manage their contractions. I have decided that my birth plan is going to be one sentence (we were encouraged to make our plans clear and succinct): "Talk to us before you do anything to me or the baby, unless one of our lives depends on immediate action, and if I'm not able to make decisions for some reason, please have the discussion with my husband." There's plenty of control-freakishness in the spirit of this plan, yes... but this is from the same person who programs trips down to the hour and minute and writes three pages of instructions for the pet sitters when "please make sure the cats are fed, healthy, and have a reasonably clean litterbox" would probably suffice, so I am feeling like this is a big step for me. The last three weeks have been a rather pointed reminder that I am not in control of when or how this baby comes, but to the extent that I can make choices once at the hospital, I do want to be given the opportunity.

That's it for now. And with that... back to my book while I have the luxury of reading!

The continuing saga of baby J

2009-07-20T17:17:00.002-04:00

We visited the doctor again this afternoon. Things are much as they have been - I'm still 3+ cm dilated and a full 80% effaced and he is at -2 station, which, we are told, is pretty low for not being in active labor.

After talking to the doctor more about my situation, we opted to schedule a date for an induction if I do not go into natural labor in the next 2 weeks. So, on 5:15 am on August 3, if not before, we'll be at the hospital. I'm not a fan of induction in principle, unless a baby is overdue, but the consensus is that I am likely to have a quick labor (I've been instructed multiple times not to dilly-dally getting to the hospital when labor starts), I'm a good candidate for successful induction, and we decided together that there may be some definite advantages for the baby if we induce, because that would mean we can have a better shot at having enough time to get sufficient penicillin in my system to lessen his strep risks before he is born than we might otherwise have with natural labor. So, it's really not about being impatient for him to get here -- although my increasing aches and pains make an earlier than later birth date sound rather nice -- it was a matter of increased safety in delivery if he has not come on his own.

Baby is, as it were, poised at the starting blocks and waiting for the signal to run. As for the grown-ups, we are circling the airport for now, waiting to be cleared for landing. We'll see whether he sprints before the tower gives us the call.

Progress...

2009-07-13T14:13:00.002-04:00

We got to see our primary doctor today again, and we'll see him from here on out. He tends to have a calming effect on me, so I am voting for a Thursday birthday for baby if he decides to come this week, since that is when this doctor is on-call. Thursday would also have the advantage of being after the visit we are expecting from the Bells on Wednesday.

At today's appointment he answered several of my questions and did a quick check of all of the stats. Baby's heart rate was good and came in about 130bpm. My uterus is measuring 36cm, which is just right. He also did a quick check of my cervix, being careful not to disturb it too much so as not to encourage labor. He said the doctor I saw last week tends to be "generous" in her measurements, so he said he would have to see if he thought I was even to 3cm yet. Well, he said he thinks I am at 3, which he then revised to "3-plus" and he said that the cervix is thin, too, at 70-80% effaced, which implies that I have made progress towards active labor since last week. He said he'll see me in a week *if* I need that appointment. Nobody is making any guarantees, but it sure looks like I may not make it to the due date at any rate.

I never really mentioned how the visit with the pediatrician's office went... so, I'll just say that the doctor we met we liked, even though he wasn't the one we had been referred to. We learned that some of the folks from our OB group (ie. doctors and staff) bring their own children to that practice, so I also considered that a good endorsement. I think we'll stick with the office. They have a policy of trying to get kids in with their primary doctor whenever possible, and they have Saturday and Sunday hours for sick visits, which is very convenient.

So... the house is still rather a mess, largely because I keep wanting to tackle new projects. I think, though, that we're nearing the point where simply cleaning surfaces well would be the best use of our time and energy. We'll see what there is energy to do when Dan gets home this evening.

In the meantime, I think I may go make a final splurge for myself since Costco has sets of classic BBC literature adaptation movies on sale for 33% off starting today. We'll just call it something to watch at the hospital. ;)

Update

2009-07-09T15:14:00.003-04:00

I recently received bad news that I consider to be good. I had interviewed for a job a few weeks ago, and I got the rejection letter in yesterday's mail. My *ideal* is being a stay-at-home mom, at least while my kids are little, but I can work and would work if I need to. While I have seriously applied for work every week since October, I have only had one interview and little else that counts as serious interest in me, all of which I have taken as a sign that I'm not meant to be working in the near future. There's no need for me to comment on the state of the economy or the fact that my expertise isn't exactly in high demand in central North Carolina... suffice it to say that, under other circumstances, the fact that I am not in demand might make me feel a little less than confident about myself. I have chosen, however, to see this lack of opportunities as God's will, so it's not so much disapponting as it is something of a relief. I don't have to make a choice about working right now!

The interview came as something of a shock after such a dry spell, and I felt it was important to take the interview and the opportunity seriously, to look at how our lives would be different if I got the job, and to explore it all with an open mind. I did just that and lived with the uncertainty of the possibility for a few weeks. That's why this rejection is good news. I can close the door on this opportunity, knowing that I put my best foot forward when interview time came. I can also rest again in the feeling that the right opportunity has not come along, which means I can continue putting job feelers out, as I need to, while feeling the freedom to return my focus to being a mom when the time comes.

We also got news today that while not good is helpful. I'm becoming more stoic as this pregnancy progresses, because it seems like a lot of the factors that can complicate matters end up being an issue for me and I have figured out that my job is to just do what I can and let God take care of the rest. Talk about a lesson in letting go for the control freak in me... I can't control a great many things about this new life in me, so the more accepting I can be of the way things are, the better. The latest news is that I am in the 15-40% of strep B carriers. The baby could contract the bacteria from me during the birth process (about 50% of babies will) and could become very ill, suffer permanent disability or even die -- if active illness results. The odds of that happening are lower by far than the odds of picking up the bacteria, but it is one more thing to have to think about and another reason to hope that baby holds on for another couple of weeks, because the risks to a baby born before 37 weeks are increased 8-fold. What it means practically is that I will be given penicillin during labor, which itself is a trade-off. It should help reduce the risk of strep B infection, but it also may make the baby more susceptible to E-coli and other harmful organisms. Like I said, the news isn't good, but it is helpful, since I would rather have a positive culture and know what we are dealing with than a false negative, which happens often enough to be a bit scary. If I have a nice quick labor like some of the other females in our family, then the potential exposure time for the baby should be reduced, even if they don't manage to get me on the antibiotic IV 4 hours before I deliver, which is the ideal.

We've been working on getting the house cleaned up little by little, and last night we unpacked the carseat and got acquainted with its workings, since I figure that's one thing we won't want to be working out with a baby in arms. A lot of other things remain in boxes, and I suppose we will either unpack them slowly over the next few weeks before baby arrives, or we may wait (out of necessity born of a sooner-than-later trip to the hospital or choice) until he's here to unpack some of them. We're headed to the last of our regular childbirth classes tonight (we'll go to an optional extra session next Thursday on natural pain control techniques if we are able), and I should find out on Monday if the cramping and contracting I have been feeling this week has moved me any closer to active labor. We're also visiting our very scientifically-selected pediatrician's office (I asked a local mom in a Target restroom who has two kids - one with special needs - whom she recommended, and took her recommendation) this afternoon. I don't really have a backup plan for the pediatrician, so if we don't like the office, I suppose we'll have to go back to square one. I don't want to choose a physician based on a website or random web recommendations, and I don't really know anyone local with kids to ask, so we're going to wing it at first.

Daniel has been finishing up his dental work, so he was half-numb yesterday and is suffering from post-dentist jaw pain. He's doing a wonderful job of being supportive around the house anyway, so I am eternally grateful.

I guess that's it, aside from noting that I am back to sleeping much of the morning off and on because I am just wiped out. Because of my eating and testing schedule, I never have more than an hour and a half to sleep at a time once I get up in the morning, so I suppose I should consider this practice for catch-as-catch-can sleep that will, we hope, become the norm quite soon. Not that we wouldn't like to sleep through the night... we just look forward to this particular disruption. :)

Moving right along!

2009-07-06T18:43:00.002-04:00

News today is that I am 3cm dilated, 50-60% effaced and baby is head down and at -2 station. The doctor believes I could have the baby as soon as this week or next, although we'd all prefer that he holds on until 37 weeks. In any event, she says she doubts I will make it to the due date. I'm also, apparently, the sort of patient who "doesn't need to wait for 2 full hours of contractions" before getting myself to the hospital, because things are "favorable" for a labor that progresses quickly, so after one hour of 5-7 minute contractions, I should call the office and get myself to the hospital with my bag.

Daniel and I were both rather surprised by the news, to say the least. He wasn't expecting any dilation, and I was, more generously, prepared for maybe 1cm. We've been rather giddy since we left the office.

The house is a disaster because of some of the nesting I have been wanting to do, and the sense of urgency we felt last week is growing exponentially. I'm hoping that we are able to get the place cleaned up before I go to the hospital.

Baby is 35 weeks 1 day today, so he would be premature if he came this week. The doctor said there would be about a 20-30% chance that he would require a NICU stay of 1-2 weeks if he is born this week, so we'd prefer that he waits about 2 weeks.

Your prayers are appreciated!

Hospital Tour

2009-07-02T22:07:00.003-04:00

Some thoughts after returning from our childbirth class 4th session tonight...

1. The two babies that were in the nursery when we were taken through the maternity floor were SO cute and tiny! I could have stared at them all teary-eyed all night, but, alas, we had places to go and medical equipment to see.

2. The RN class instructor (the first health professional I have seen since developing the suspicion that baby has "dropped") concurred that it looks, externally at least, like he has, when I mentioned my suspicion to her.

3. I managed the walking tour on my own two feet! Hooray! I had to email ahead saying that I might have need of a wheelchair if my hip acted up. It didn't and I didn't and that was great.

4. We learned a bit about hospital philosophy on the tour, including that they have made a shift toward a more family-centered experience, which means, among other things, that they encourage babies rooming with mom nearly 24/7 after a 30-minute visit to the nursery to make sure that baby is healthy.

5. I'm even more anxious for my OB appointment on Monday, now, after seeing the poster of fetal presentations that increase the likelihood of cesarean section. I would like to know if baby is head down now, because if I had to guess based on what I feel when he wiggles, I would say he may be transverse. My thought at the moment is that if that's true, I'm not really a fan of external version unless it is done in the hospital setting just before birth because of the risks of fetal distress... if they did it outpatient and sent me home I would worry intensely. So, that might be one of the things that would make me think that an induction at 39 weeks (which my doctor has said he would do if I wish) might be a good idea, if I can get a combo deal of version plus induction and be monitored at the hospital so that they can do a quick c-section if version fails or the baby is in distress.

6. When asked to choose which options on the front or back of cards we preferred (one card, for example, had "no medications" on one side and "Epidural" on the other), I discovered that my leaning is toward a more "natural" birth with fewer interventions in terms of medication and invasive procedures, with the exception of constant monitoring of fetal and maternal well-being. Of that medical innovation I am a big fan! We'll see if I still have the "natural is nice" opinion when I am the one in the birthing bed!

Update at Due Date minus 39 days

2009-07-01T16:35:00.005-04:00

Pregnancy has crawled by and flown by. The first trimester lasted an eternity, and now the due date is only a little over a month away and that seems awfully soon. All of the sudden the fact that I will be giving birth in the near future has become quite real. Some of the signs of the end have started to appear:

1. The doctor told me on Monday that if I go into labor at week 35 they will not try to stop it and I will just have the baby. I replied, "But that's next week!" He nodded. I went into mild shock.

2. Sometime between that doctor visit and the next morning I believe the baby "dropped" or at least began to descend. My tummy has changed shape, and I can no longer see my hybrid navel (half innie, half outie) without looking in the mirror. They say this happens in first pregnancy about 2-4 weeks before the beginning of labor, but I may prove exceptional in this regard, too, and stretch it out longer or manage to wind up in labor sooner.

3. About the same time, I started having shooting pains in my right hip, along with the conviction that at the slightest provocation my hip would pop right off of my pelvis. Okay, so that's unlikely, but it sure feels like it when I stand up to discover that it is hip fun time.

4. I have this very urgent desire to do several things before the baby comes, such as going to a movie in a theater (which we did on Monday) and going to a baseball game for a local team (which we have yet to do). In short, I am wanting to do the things I think won't come easily in a month or so, and while I am afraid to buy tickets to anything in advance, if I feel up to a trip out to do anything fun, I've become quite spontaneous about doing it.

5. I've started nesting. I think I have done about 5 loads of laundry and a load of dishes today. I even rearranged some things downstairs to make room for the pack-n-play. This is unusual for pregnant me. Seriously.

6. I have started watching birth-related TV shows like there is no tomorrow. I then cry at every birth and watch another one a few minutes later. *sigh*

7. I'm still following the rules quite faithfully, but I am getting really tired of my gestational diabetes lifestyle and am counting down to the due date with all of the insane fervor of the ice-cream-deprived pregnant woman I am. I don't crave pickles and ice cream, but the ice cream alone would be such a marvelous indulgence... it makes me weepy to think about it!

8. I've graduated to OB visits every week.

In short, I'm fine... if a little worried that the hip issue will make me less mobile in a hurry and a tiny bit concerned about the prospect of preterm labor. I'm looking forward to my next OB appointment, since they will be checking my cervix. I have begun to wonder if I have any other physical signs of preparation for labor, and that will likely tell me about one of the most critical. My blood pressure is also creeping back up a little, so I will be keeping a close eye on that. I'm not feeling too anxious for it all to be over yet since it's really too early for the little guy to make his appearance and that knowledge tempers my enthusiasm, but I am looking forward to the next step in the journey and can see how I will probably ramp up my expectations as the days and weeks pass.

Baby seems to be fine, too. His heartrate is around 130 and he's measuring 1 cm large, which is exactly what he has been since they started measuring. That's a good sign, and that he's not growing any bigger than that may be part of the payoff for my lifestyle discipline. He seems to be a bit more cramped in there, but he can still manage to beat up my insides pretty well.

Yeah... we're looking forward to meeting him... but we can wait a few weeks! :)

Lost Icons, and Unfading Icons

2009-06-26T07:03:00.008-04:00

The AP ran an article this morning on the events that added up to a "bad day" for Generation Xers, the generation to which I apparently belong by virtue of my birth year. It was a bad day because we Xers lost two cultural icons (or three, if you want to count Ed McMahon, whose passing quickly became passe in the wake of the news about Farrah and Michael).

I guess I have my parents to thank for my failure to feel like the world of my youth has begun to crumble before my very eyes, because while they are cultural icons for many of my peers, they amounted to curiosities to me, since my growing up didn't include much exposure to them. Sure, I saw Captain Eo at least a dozen times at Disneyland, and I remember the commercials for Charlie's Angels and the avian-inspired hair made popular by the show's blonde vixen, but the people behind these images remained rather mysterious to me as I never became immersed in their culture.

My appreciation for Michael Jackson's artistry has come only recently, and even then it was a sidebar to the weird news that broke about him, his changing face, and his Neverland scandals. He, love him or hate him, really was the "King of Pop", and he altered the face of pop culture as surely as he rearranged his own features.

I was shocked to read that he died, and saddened in some way that is hard to explain. Farrah's death is similarly sobering. I think it is because I recognize that underneath the hairspray, lights and image, here were two real people who had struggled -- with life publicly in Jackson's case and with death publicly in Fawcett's -- and lost the ultimate battle.

Daniel and I sat on the couch last night watching my belly bounce up and down as a little person stretched his limbs in his rather tight confines. I rubbed the surface of my tummy and remarked to him, "You, baby Ian, will be born into a world without Michael Jackson... a world in which he is only a memory." Daniel added, "and a well-preserved plasticine corpse."

In the end, well-preserved or not, a corpse is all we leave here... outside of our legacies, our offspring and the seeds of the eternal we have planted in other lives, and I derive strength from that thought.

You see, my icons did not die yesterday. They still hang on the walls of our home and church, illumined by candles, linking this fallen world to the imperishable. Culture will pass, and its icons will fade. The light of Christ and the beauty of a life well-lived will not. I hope to be defined by that fact. I may be a part of Gen. X by birth, but I hope to number in the generations of the faithful by adoption. I hope, as well, that these recently departed souls find in death some of the peace that may have evaded them in life.

Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, And Your dominion endures throughout all generations.

Hustle, bustle...

2009-06-25T09:11:00.007-04:00

During my time in Junior High, I was in several musical productions at school. There are two song snippets that come to mind at times like these from those rather silly musicals:
"Hustle, bustle, hustle, bustle, got so much to do... Hustle, bustle, hustle, bustle, will I ever get through...?"
"Hurry, scurry, bother and worry..."
They are different songs from different years, but they both have the same emotional intensity and message -- sometimes we just plain get too busy and find little time to slow down!

We've been really busy lately between events, including a baby shower thrown by people from church, a job interview for me, a wisdom teeth extraction for Dan that slowed him down a bit for a few days, volunteering, and a visit from Dan's mom all in the last 7 days. We have new house guests arriving tomorrow and spending the weekend, so it may be a while before I properly update, but I did think that it was appropriate to say that we're hanging in here.

On the health front, my gestational diabetes seems to be fairly well controlled, with the one exception that I am having some trouble consistently with my fasting levels in the mornings. The values I am getting are just borderline high - still low enough that they won't warrant treatment with medication, but high enough that I miss my target, which makes me want to solve the problem if it has a solution.

I check my blood pressure in the morning and again at night and have been a bit surprised to watch it actually get lower as pregnancy progresses. I have gone from marginally high to perfectly normal (anytime I am not at the doctor's office) over the last several weeks. I also do kick counts before bed, but that's getting harder to do since I so easily mistake kicks for sheep and start to doze. I suppose it doesn't help that my instructions are to lie comfortably in a dark, quiet room... Anyway, nights like last night baby has pity on me and it only takes 2-5 minutes for him to give me 10 kicks. Some nights the process can take about 20 minutes, in which case I have usually caught myself dozing off at least 5 times before we are done, which makes me wonder just how accurate the timing is, since kicks don't wake me - no way, no how!

The nice thing about this phase of pregnancy is that I seem to have no trouble falling asleep at bedtime... and I have started waking up pretty consistently early in the morning when I need to get started on my testing and eating. For a while I was avoiding naps, but I don't think I can anymore. I just make sure I am also walking once or more daily when I am awake to compensate for my naps! The trick is to just make sure I never walk more than about 50 feet from a restroom, since Mr. Wiggles in my tummy has decided to occupy the space that used to house my bladder. So, I exaggerate, but not by much!

It's amazing to think that in less than a month this little guy will be considered full-term, and that it's only 45 days until he's due. We still have plenty to do to prepare for him, but I'm looking forward to finishing up the last-minute details.

I have a few shower pictures that I eventually plan to post, and I have more to say on several subjects, but at the moment I want to go walk while the temps are still in the 70's! So, pardon my hustle as I waddle off...

Yippeeeee!

2009-06-15T15:45:00.004-04:00

No diabetic meds for me!

My gestational diabetes seems to have responded well enough to diet and exercise, so as long as I can keep the numbers under control, it looks like I am an "uncomplicated" case for the present. I am sooooo relieved. I suppose that if this changes in the next few weeks, I will figure out how to deal with it, but it is great to have my work trying to control it pay off this way!

My uterus is measuring about 1 cm large still, and my weight is a little less than it was last visit (2 pounds, I believe), but not so much that they remarked on it. Baby's heartrate was good, and in the 130s, so I actually don't have to go to another doctor's appointment for 2 whole weeks, provided nothing interesting happens in the meantime.

Phew!

Quick update - Gestational Diabetes

2009-06-09T07:50:00.005-04:00

I had another doctor's appointment today, and the upshot is that the doctor says he can't yet decide if I am "complicated or uncomplicated." [The answer seems pretty clear to me... ;)] But
seriously, what that means is that he doesn't think that my blood glucose values over the last week warrant treatment with medication yet, but we are going to revisit the numbers next week to see if I have been able to consistently keep the mostly normal numbers coming. Uncomplicated would mean no medication and "normal" care; complicated would mean medication plus non-stress tests for baby twice per week.

I've had a couple of really good days this week and a couple of days when I didn't meet the targets, but none of my numbers have been ridiculously high. This week has been better than last week, so the trend is towards good control through strict diet and exercise (I'm walking about 1.5 miles or 25-30 minutes per day, sometimes twice per day). I've had "normal" values about 75% of the time this week, and no huge spikes, which should be okay if I can manage to keep the trend going or even improve upon it.

I have also gained about 3 pounds since last Monday, which is good, since, at the very least, I needed to quit losing weight. Baby's heart rate is good at 140 and my uterus is measuring about 1 week larger than expected, as opposed to 1.5 weeks larger last week, which indicates that he's probably growing at a more appropriate rate.

I had a couple of additional blood tests while I was there (HbA1c and fructosamine) that should give us a better idea of what my glucose levels have been over time. It won't change anything about my treatment now, but it may help point to whether I actually developed the condition earlier than it was detected, for what that knowledge is worth. This was spurred by my recollection that I had complained of some GD symptoms about 2 months ago. They were brushed off by one of the other doctors because I didn't have sugar spillage at that visit. Even if I did have it back then, the lack of diagnosis probably hasn't caused any real harm, but it would let me know if my concern back then was justified, which would give me more faith in my own judgment. So... we shall see how this week goes!

By the Numbers

2009-06-04T13:20:00.011-04:00

I have found for most of my life that if I work hard enough at something I want to accomplish, I can usually eventually achieve it. Of course, it helps that I generally set my sights on attainable feats. I find few things as annoying as circumstances that are theoretically under my control and at the same time not at all under my control.

Nikki, meet your endocrine system.
Nikki, meet your match.

So, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes about two weeks ago now. I had one week to stew in my juices before I received dietary instructions, and then the day after I received them, we were off to spend time with Daniel's family for the memorial service for his dad. (About that... I have pictures that I intend to post and things to say about the trip, but I am not well organized on that front yet, so it will have to be saved for another time.)

The trip was great and I am very glad I went, but it made it nearly impossible to accomplish the blood glucose goals I had been given, in spite of what Daniel would probably call heroic measures on my part to try to follow the instructions to the letter, even though I had little control over my schedule, my location and everything else I had to try to work around. Just to give you an idea of how exacting the instructions are, I have to eat 6 evenly-spaced times (3 meals/3 snacks, snacks are marginally smaller meals, really) with specific carbohydrate counts (adjusted for fiber, of course) approximately every 3 hours. I also have to test my glucose one hour after meals and when I get up in the morning, for a total of 4 required tests per day. As you might imagine, some of my snack or meal times came when I couldn't possibly eat -- I was in a service or on the road in the middle of nowhere, Arkansas, or delayed deplaning because they forgot how to park it properly (no joke) -- in spite of my best planning. Daniel's family was extremely understanding and supportive, but there were limits to what I could manage, even with lots of help.

When I got home and reviewed my chart, it was clear: by the numbers, I had failed.

Okay, so when my numbers looked bad enough that the doctor started talking medicine when I got back on Monday, I was bummed, but I felt I had done my best. We discussed the fact that I was losing weight (not a great thing in the third trimester, as you might imagine) and that I just felt undernourished and was spilling ketones, meaning my body has been cannibalizing itself to get energy. Rather than sending me to get my pills, he gave me a week's reprieve. I was to add some calories somehow and do whatever other tweaking I needed to do, and then come back in a week to show him my numbers, with the proviso that medication seems imminent either way.

On Tuesday I talked to my nurse/dietitian and got her suggestions for where to add the calories. The plan was to add protein all day long and to add carbs to lunch and dinner. Yesterday I got to try the new plan out (plus exercise), and I finally got good numbers ALL day long. I was so happy!

This morning, I woke up and had good fasting glucose levels. I was really happy! Then I had breakfast - the SAME breakfast that has produced good breakfast numbers 3 times in the past, and when I tested after breakfast, my glucose was too high - and not just by a few points!

Gaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!

What's at stake here is medication or diet alone, and, as you might imagine, I think diet alone is a much better way to go when there is a developing baby to consider. The sobering part is that my body may simply be uncooperative such that I have to have medication to make the diet work.

I felt my eyes tearing up a bit when I saw that number on the meter screen, but then I decided to look around online for anything that might give me some clue about why my numbers were so bad under what should have been conditions controlled for success, so that if there is anything I can do to keep it from happening again, I will know what it is. What I find is this:

"The truth about Diabetes is that some days 1+1=2. Other days, 1+1=43. It's best to just be prepared for the unexpected."

You mean I am not in control? No. Not really. The hormones secreted by the placenta, my stress levels, my activity... they are to some degree, but I can only plead with them to behave. I can't control them.

So, I did what I could. I packed up my carefully measured snack (the food scale is my friend these days...), a book, my meter and some water, and I headed over to the Arboretum for a walk, followed by some scheduled reading, eating and relaxation.

Why? I may have met my match, but I intend to keep on fighting the only ways I know how! Perhaps, just perhaps, I can at least make 1+1=3, and squeak by under the limits.

Teenage Angst

2009-05-26T15:24:00.008-04:00

I was killing time on the New York Times website today when I came across an editorial collection discussing whether or not prom should be abolished, given that it has become an evening of excess of just about every sort for hormone-driven teenagers who have not fully developed the capacity for good judgment yet. I'm not criticizing them for it... it's just true that the brain doesn't mature until about the age of 26!

Well, I'm one of the abstainers who didn't go to prom when my day came. As I remember it, in the days leading up to the prom, one young man who was a friend of mine asked me to go as his date. I remember feeling terribly uncomfortable with the whole idea, in part because my parents, possibly in the spirit of the "you can date when you are 35" exaggerated rules they repeated ad nauseam, had said that if a nice young man from Whittier Christian invited me to his senior banquet, then I might be able to consider going... but a prom at my public school? No way, Jose! In fact, just as I managed a date or three before I was 35, when it comes right down to it, my parents may have let me go.

In the end, it wasn't up to them. I declined, and not for the superficial reasons most people probably assumed. My would-be date had what might be called a weight problem; that I could get over, even though I had yet to develop one myself. What I couldn't get over was his volatile temper. I had visions of being in some fabled prom-night situation I didn't want to be in with a date who had a tendency to become explosively angry when crossed. Suddenly the prospect of staying home seemed more appealing than any princess dress, wilted corsage, crowded limo and gaudy hairdo.

My fate was sealed after talking to my mom about the refusal. Mom made a case for putting the feelings of others above my own convenience, which, in this situation, meant that if I had already broken one heart, I didn't need to pour salt in the wound by accepting another. While I am not sure if that is a realistic value to cling to in the real post-high school world, it had its merits in that moment. You see, most of the guys who found me attractive had serious problems, and the upshot of accepting that premise was that I was safe at home while my classmates were up to all manner of nonsense. I simply made it clear that I didn't plan to attend and avoided any need for further refusals.

My, oh, my... yes, there were some doozies among my high school admirers. On the short list of other potential prom dates were the nearly toothless and positively reeking skinny kid who lived in a flea motel and could be found urinating on the railroad tracks in broad daylight, and there was the dark-haired awkward guy who had trouble stringing words together sufficient to communicate is intention to kill himself if I didn't reconsider returning his regard. I suppose I should feel fortunate to have been found desirable at all in that most awkward of barely post-braces life phases, but when the ones who liked me were the broken and the outcast, there sure was a lot of pressure and not a lot of promise. I was not about to take more responsibility for the continued life of the one, and my compassion was not deep enough to overlook the abject poverty and lack of social graces of the other.

There you have it. No prom for me.

I don't regret it for a second. I never have. My only potential prom-related regrets were that the dreamboat dates I would have liked to have snagged had their sites trained on other heights... but that is another story altogether.

Do I think prom should be abolished? Sure. It would have spared me having to refuse my friend and would have saved plenty of my high school acquantainces the indignity of those old early-90s prom photos with dates they would rather forget... not to mention lots of money.

Far from thinking abolishing prom is a bad idea, I would suggest that stopping with prom would be a mistake. Why not abolish high school? For that matter, why not abolish the years between the onset of puberty and the development of the frontal lobes entirely? That, my friends, would save us all a host of indignities!

Perhaps I am just jaded by my lack of prom memories. Perhaps it is all sour grapes for me. I don't know. I'm willing to entertain the idea that I just don't know the magic I missed.

I do know that I finally got my princess dress at my wedding, and eventually snagged my dreamboat and danced with him and carried a huge bouquet and ate dinner surrounded by people I actually liked! Only that party wasn't about vying to be king and queen of fickle teenage popularity: we were the ones with the crowns for the day - no questions asked!

Interestingly enough, this happened the year after my frontal lobes should have peaked, so you might call it one of my first exercises of my full capacity for judgment. I can't help but think, however, that at least some of the right synapses got firing around prom-time after all.

Yeah... you can have prom if you want it. I'll take a good book in my hair-band-poster-plastered disaster area of a bedroom and any other escape you may want to offer me from the foolishness that is teenage life. And for those of you still waiting for those lobes to come ripe... I wish you all the best, and I don't envy you a jot!

Multi-Grain Dinner Rolls

2009-05-24T22:07:00.003-04:00

Well, we are now in the situation in which Nikki needs to keep track of all the components of her diet, primarily carbs, fat, sodium and glycemic index. This is going to be much more difficult for me to get my head around; Nikki has kept track of nutritional information off-and-on for several years. Tonight I tried my hand at a low-glycemic, high-fiber batch of dinner rolls. Here's the recipe I came up with:

Daniel’s Multi-Grain Dinner Rolls

Makes approximately a dozen rolls

¾ cup warm water
1 packet yeast
1 Tbsp sugar
½ cup unbleached flour
½ cup rye flour
1 cup spelt flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 Tbsp vital wheat gluten
1 tsp salt
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 egg, beaten

Mix the water, yeast, sugar and unbleached flour. Let this mixture sit in a warm environment for about 20 minutes, until it becomes light and frothy. (This is the proofing sponge.) Add the remaining ingredients and mix well, then knead for ten minutes or so. Let rise for about an hour. Split dough into twelve equal parts, then split each of those parts into three. Roll each part into a little ball, and place three balls side-by-side into each cavity of a muffin pan. Let rise for at least another 45 minutes. Preheat the oven to 400° F, and bake for 15 minutes.

Approximate nutrition information per roll:
140 calories
3.6 g fat
87 mg cholesterol
220 mg sodium
19 g total carbohydrate
2.5 g dietary fiber
1.1 g sugars
5.8 g protein

Hooray for High Risk!

2009-05-20T18:14:00.003-04:00

Well... not really, but I have landed back in that category again with today's diagnosis: yep, I have gestational diabetes. Apparently I failed the oral glucose tolerance test "spectacularly" and my numbers were "off the charts". I don't know how far off the charts until I pick up a copy of my medical records tomorrow... I requested them so that I can take them with me when we travel.

What all of this means for me personally remains to be seen, but I will have an instructional class next week at which I will get a meter, etc. I suppose I shall have to wing it in the meantime.

*sigh*

Endings and Beginnings

2009-05-18T08:44:00.005-04:00

It is with sorrow mingled with relief that I announce that Daniel's father, Gordon, passed away at 9:40 on Saturday morning after a long struggle with Alzheimer's disease. While it's always hard to lose a loved one, I think all those who loved him are glad that he has been released from his physical and mental suffering. He was a pious man of faith and spent much of his life in service to God and others. He will be missed and is still loved deeply by those who knew him in this life. Gordon passed away about a month before his 50th wedding anniversary, at 79 years of age.

Memory Eternal!

-----

I hope to share more about Gordon after we come back from the services being held in his memory and honor, which won't be for another week and a half yet. Daniel and I have decided to both go after some research and discussion. I will probably be singing at his memorial service. I consider it an honor, even if I am a bit iffy about how well I will do with almost no breath support and with an even more weepy than usual emotional state!

Whether I would go had been dependent on a couple of things, including:
1. whether we could find flights on reasonably-sized planes (most air trips between here and there are accomplished by flying on a puddle-jumper to an airport in a hub city, and then flying on a second puddle-jumper to the destination airport) and anything non-stop.
2. my doctor's input about my ability to travel safely.

Those things seem to have worked out with a bit of creativity. We found a way to make the trip sort of half-drive, half-flight time-wise. We'll drive to a more distant airport that has non-stop flights to an airport in Arkansas, we'll fly a single leg of the journey non-stop in a somewhat larger small plane (60-ish seats rather than 20-ish), and then we'll drive a couple of hours from there. I'm not crazy about flying these days, so the less time we spend in a plane, and the larger the plane, the better in my book. Really, I am just glad to be up to traveling at all. A few months ago I wouldn't have had the physical strength to manage it. I have an okay from the doctor to travel for about 3-4 more weeks, so we'll make it under that wire as well.

We spent a lot of time and energy this weekend working on the house in preparation for baby. I'll share more about that when we have a bit more done, including the delivery of a piece of used furniture we found this weekend to use as a wardrobe for baby. Our main focus was moving furniture and setting up the crib so that the big stuff is where we want it to be when baby arrives. The new set-up will also allow me to start on some of the sewing I want to do for him, such as making a crib skirt and sheet.

I was, thankfully, able to help this weekend with some of the moving and sorting of our things, which was nice. I have a feeling my ability to help will only lessen as the baby grows. As it was, Daniel did the really heavy lifting and worked tirelessly to get things to a pretty "finished" condition. In the end, we managed even more than I hoped or expected, and there are lots of little details to work out and many things we don't have yet, but we're well on our way. Life is speeding up now that we've hit the third trimester. Between doctor's visits, classes and our regular concerns, we've got more to do in the average day and week.

In the process of working on the house I realized I had another real blessing connected with this pregnancy. I usually would have a pretty awful allergy attack with all of the dust that the sorting kicks up. Not this time! I wore a mask for some of the dirtier tasks and while the vacuum was running, but I didn't even have any sniffles - without medication. With all of the pollen in the air adding to the allergy potential, that's nothing short of miraculous!

Tomorrow morning I get to do the 3-hour oral glucose tolerance test, as my screening came back with elevated levels. They weren't high enough to warrant an on-the-spot gestational diabetes diagnosis, but they did warrant a second test. The majority of women who test positive on the screening will not turn out to have a problem, so I can still hope that I am one of the lucky ones that way. It would be nice not to have a new complication now that the old ones have cleared up, especially since I would have to adjust to any new lifestyle changes at about the time we are getting ready to travel. Ultimately, it's not in my hands, so I will hope to face whatever I need to face with a modicum of grace and with faith that God is still in control.

Next Things

2009-05-13T09:59:00.007-04:00

Last night brought us some mixed news. Daniel's dad, Gordon, seems to have passed into the final stages of Alzheimer's and, ultimately, of life. He's not taking anything by mouth, and he didn't wake up all day yesterday, which may be something of a mercy, since recently his waking hours have been filled with signs of suffering. He's in hospice care, and he's not expected to live more than 2 weeks at the very most if his failure to take fluids continues. Considering his long battle with the disease and the fact that he has not been able to live in a way that most of us would consider fulfilling for many months, if not years, his relief from suffering would be a blessing for the family, and for him. Still, it is always so hard to let go. I'm sure the extended Johnson family would appreciate prayers that he will have, as the Orthodox consistently pray, "a Christian ending to his life: painless, blameless and peaceful," if God chooses to call him home in the days to come, and that the family will have divine comfort and peace as they say goodbye.

By God's grace, the news was not all mixed yesterday. I got a clean bill of physical health from the OB, which means that unless I have gestational diabetes (test results are pending on that), I don't have any known complications remaining.

This particular visit was with a young female OB who just came back to work after having twin girls. Last time I saw her in the hallway, she cut a much more rounded figure. I had my usual battery of questions to ask -- ranging from the sensible to the paranoid -- and through the course of our conversation she picked up one of the truths about me: "You've been reading a lot, haven't you?" I assented and then joked that I was just becoming a sort of junior OB in my free time. That was only the beginning.

For instance, she began to tell me that I should be starting to do kick counts, and I pulled out the chart I had been using for the last two weeks to do just that. "Ah, I see you have a chart," she says. "Yes," I replied. "I figured that since I would be asked to do it sooner or later, I might as well try to make it part of my routine before it becomes necessary." Much of the visit went about the same way, until she began to preface much of the information with "Did you read about _____ already?" to which I answered, "Yes."

She said the reading was a good thing as it allowed me to make sure they are doing their jobs thoroughly and well. What a refreshing attitude in a doctor! I think I like her, not the least because, when we were done, she wished "Ms. Junior OB" well.

The visit featured a new experience: the glucose challenge screening. I must say that it was one of the least pleasant things I have gone through with this pregnancy so far. First off, the glucose drink, which packs 50 grams of glucose in about 8 ounces of mouth-smarting fruit-punch-ish liquid was enough to set my acid reflux to high and leave my taste buds feeling wounded. Then there was the hour-long wait, followed by the blood letting, oops, I mean drawing. I have to hope that I don't get a positive result to this test, because a 3-hour test with more of the same (plus fasting and diet restrictions for 3 days prior) would be the next step. Yes, I'm a wimp. But no, I don't imagine this will remain among the least pleasant experiences of pregnancy. After all, I have done my reading!

Keeping the image of future pain in mind is the class we are going to tonight on "pain management options" during childbirth. I would have preferred to wait on this class until closer to birth since I have been staving off the thoughts about actual labor thus far, but considering that the next class is scheduled a few days after the baby is due, this would most likely be a case of waiting too long... so, off we go to ponder epidurals.

Tomorrow night we go to the first of two breastfeeding classes. Daniel is ready for this one. We have a book on the topic that he has made his reading material of choice for the last several days. And, no - it isn't even illustrated. (Can you tell I'm proud of my involved and supportive husband?) For my part, I've been reading novels when not reading up on pregnancy issues. I had the thought this morning that perhaps I should start thinking about reading more about actual birth and newborns and their needs, but I am still stuck in current-phase pregnancy. I happen to like it here for now.

We're debating when to set up the house for baby's arrival. It's no small thing to think about, because it means moving everything in the entire upstairs so that our room (where baby will start out) ends up in what is currently the office/guestroom and the office/guestroom is reassembled where our bedroom is now. I'm not wanting to do it too soon... while I like to be forward-thinking, I'm torn about when is the best time to up-end life as we know it in favor of life as we think it will be. Then again, if I wait until I am about ready to pop, I will probably be much less able to participate in the process physically. I'm sure we'll figure something out!

The encouraging thing about all of these things is that they are in God's hands. While some aspects of our lives will feel a bit up in the air for a few weeks, it's nice to know that they are all planned out rather carefully by someone who knows exactly what He's doing.

In the meantime, I'll keep reading.

*Postscript* (added after the pain management class)
Dan and I learned a lot about medication options in the class, but the best part was when we got a chance to talk to the anesthesiologist after the class. It turns out he really likes the OB group we've chosen and said that while some of the groups have "weak links," he would trust any of the doctors at that office in the delivery room. He also said that my chosen primary OB is very good: "He's a bit old school, but he does not make mistakes." That sounded like an excellent endorsement to me. I'm grateful for the great gyn who treated me and then referred me to such an excellent OB. I'm always pleased when I'm being treated by people who have the respect of their peers.

A New Gig

2009-05-04T17:45:00.003-04:00

Just quickly, for those of you wondering if my job search has yielded anything other than a bunch of resume-wielding emails lost to cyberspace, I did have one very part-time opportunity come up that should give both Daniel and me a chance to do a little bit of contracting over time. There's a businessman in Winston-Salem who has need of writing, editing and web programming with a marketing emphasis, and I happened upon his ad in Craigslist and had a meeting with him last week. I think the meeting went well, considering that he gave me a thumb-drive full of files to edit when I got home. We'll see how it pans out, but it seems promising. It's super flexible, very part-time, can be done from home and has growth potential in the long-term if the business continues to grow, so it looks like the sort of thing I can continue to do even after the baby arrives if it works out well. A little pick-up work sounds nice to me.

In the meantime, I'm still littering cyberspace with resumes and cover letters. We'll see if anything comes up, but my assumption is that only the absolute right job for me is going to hire me after seeing me at this point, since my belly screams the focus of my plans in the near future, and the market is saturated with applicants. It's nice to know that God has provided for us anyway. If I reach the end of this search without a job, I will consider that a sign that my desire to stay home with my baby has been blessed... especially if the bills still manage to get paid somehow.

The Object of Our Affections

2009-05-01T10:47:00.002-04:00

Great news at our ultrasound today (25 weeks 5 days):
1. Everything they needed to measure was successfully measured.
2. All measurements of the baby and umbilical cord were normal.
3. My cervix was a normal length and condition.
And the biggest news:
4. No more placenta previa! The placenta has moved out of the way of the cervical opening.

We continue to be grateful for prayers!

We have another scan scheduled for next week that is a "fun scan". We hope to have more pictures to share then.

Take Me Out to the Ice Rink...

2009-04-27T14:50:00.007-04:00

Well, 5 hours of much-needed napping later, I can officially state that I both survived and really enjoyed our little field-trip to Raleigh and the RBC Center to see a game in which the Hurricanes stuck it to the Devils and the guy in our net got a shut-out against his childhood hockey idol. Wooooooohoo! The game itself was very fun to watch since it went the way we would have wished, and Daniel and I derived special pleasure when the folks running the arena music used both of the songs we had privately declared necessary to the day: Mötley Crüe's "Shout at the Devil" and "To Hell with the Devil," by everybody's favorite Christian hair band, Stryper. Perhaps that was naughty of us to think and even naughtier to admit. Oh well...

Even if the Hurricanes manage to make it into the next round of the playoffs or even further, I think this was it for us, possibly until we have an older infant who is up to long drives and big crowds... assuming we can afford to buy our way into the building at that point! These are my top three reasons for this conclusion:

1. The level of noise in that building is off the charts, and it's not the sort of thing I want to expose baby to repeatedly since I am not sure whether it could damage his hearing or cause other problems in the womb (moms who are occupationally exposed to excess noise sometimes have babies with hearing damage and/or preterm labor); it certainly wouldn't do a newborn any favors. It was hard to tell if the noise really affected him at game time, because he seemed to go through periods of activity and stillness much like he does at any other time and place.

2. It really was something of an ordeal for me to survive the drive and then get to and from the car and to stand and sit repeatedly.

3. The day was a nutritional waste, because arena food is garbage, fast food on the drive is worse, and even the restaurant we went to before the game didn't really have Nikki's-pregnancy-friendly food. It was delicious as only garbage food can be, but it's absolutely not the way I am trying to live these days.
Since this was such a big deal for us and because it's baby's first game (one for the memory books, even though all he is likely to remember is a roar if anything), I decided to so something extra. I don't really fit into my Canes jerseys very well these days, so I hatched a plan to sew the baby's jersey onto the belly of one of my maternity shirts. At least that way HE would be dressed for the game. Better yet, I even pulled it off pretty well. Apparently, those smart enough to figure out what I had done thought it was "the cutest thing ever". I was told that at first glance it just looked like I had some strange apron on, but once other ladies figured it out, they were all smiles and asking me to show my team-spirited belly to their friends. In this way I met a doula and, a bit later on, a labor and delivery nurse, both of whom wanted to know where I was going to deliver. I can safely say will not be locally to them unless something very unexpected happens.

It was fun to be out in a crowd, especially realizing that our current looming health scare, if it pans out into pandemic proportions, so to speak, may make it harder to go to public events without taking on serious health risks. So, we enjoyed what could also be for us one last opportunity to high-five strangers and sit in close proximity to 18,000 other people without too much fear that death is on one of their hands.By the time the Canes had made the formal invitation to a game 7 and sent the Devils packing with their tails tucked, I was very glad that we opted for a local hotel room there by the arena, because even though it meant a very early drive back home and a short stay on a bed that I, while experiencing it in real life, described in a dream as akin to a "slab of concrete," it was really nice not to have to make the amount of driving in one day climb to 4 hours, since the drive is arguably the worst part of it for me. Once we were home, Daniel dropped me and our luggage off at home and went on to work, so I think he may be the worst off of the pair of us. I, for my part, settled down on my layers of memory foam with a couple of cuddly kitties to dream.

Go Canes!

Quick Update

2009-04-23T08:03:00.002-04:00

Just quickly, aside from keeping an eye on my borderline-high blood pressure and my placenta previa, which we hope will have moved up out of the way by my next ultrasound, I seem to be in good shape. Baby also appears to be fine. He has a heartbeat in the 145 bpm range and does plenty of wiggling around at this point. No comment was made by the doctor on my weight gain or tummy measurements, so I assume those are unremarkable. I have gained 1 pound per week, which is pretty much standard at this point in pregnancy, although I can probably stand to gain somewhat less because of my starting weight.

Dan and I plan to make a mini-trip this Sunday into Raleigh for game 6 of the Hurricanes' quarterfinal playoff series with the New Jersey Devils. We have arranged to stay in a hotel within walking distance of the arena if necessary (we can also drive in and park if need be--how much walking I am up to at any one time is unpredictable) since the game will probably be at 7:30 pm (time is still TBA), and we'd rather get up early to drive back to Greensboro so Dan can get to work than make a really long day of it by driving up, watching the game and then driving back late. It will also give us a place to crash before the game so I can rest up for the exertion. This will also test my ability to be away from home for a night, since we'd like to take the "free" 2-night trip we won at Dan's Christmas party before baby arrives but haven't felt I am up to the trip. It's been a LONG time since we've been to a game, and we don't anticipate being able to go next season much if at all, given that we plan to have our hands full. So... count this as one of our last hurrahs for a while.

Let the (Mind) Games Begin!

2009-04-21T07:22:00.003-04:00

I have read quite a lot about women having bizarre birth- and baby-related dreams in pregnancy, but aside from one miscarriage dream that I would classify as a nightmare (to me, a dream is only a nightmare if it bothers me to think about it when I wake up or I wake up in a state of agitation and fear, no matter how frightening or bizarre the dream may seem on the surface) and one bizarre baby-related dream, I haven't really had many. Well, make that I hadn't really had many. Usually my dreams involve an awareness that I am pregnant, but they stop there.

Perhaps it was a bit of undigested Pascha meat, but at 24 weeks on the dot (which was the morning after Pascha), I had what counts as my first birth-related dream or series of dreams. I'll spare you most of the details, but it involved, among other things, finding baby dangling out feet-first, at which point I called a nurse over, suggesting that perhaps the baby was ready to be born, albeit the "wrong" end first. I was quite calm about it in the dream, and upon waking the scenario struck me as amusing more than anything. If this is the extent of the anxiety I will express in my dreams, I have it made -- especially considering that my worry during waking hours is decreasing. I do realize, however, that is a rather big if!

Speaking of anxiety, I still worry a little bit about things I eat that I later discover are potentially problematic (like a dish essentially made with raw egg that I was served at a private home this week... this is what comes of not knowing what is in Greek foods and wanting to be a gracious guest) and I have been keeping an eye on my blood pressure, which has crept up a bit higher while managing to stay below my doctors' threshold of worry/treatment so far, but I don't feel the sort of crippling fear I did for the first several weeks of pregnancy. I think it helps a great deal to know that the baby would have a fighting chance at survival even outside of the womb from this point forward. Of course, I'm anxious to meet him, but I hope we don't for a long time yet! It's really nice not to be worried all of the time, and I consider the time I have without that oppressive feeling to be among the better blessings in my life at present.

The baby has become quite an active little guy. I discovered a few days ago that I can see some of his kicks right through my clothing. His favorite thing is still using my bladder as a trampoline, but he occassionally flips over and gives the top of my uterus a good thrashing. As of yesterday, Daddy Daniel has felt one kick, he thinks... but baby has an uncanny way of knowing when Daddy is watching or resting his hand on my belly and he immediately stops his acrobatics when he figures it out. We have discussed the need to establish a code word or something that means "he's kicking, come feel!" utilizing only writing or gestures that baby can't see or hear, because I would swear he knows when I am inviting Daniel over verbally if I didn't know better. I am thankful that his kicks and punches don't keep me awake yet, because, as it is, I have a very bizarre sleep schedule and covet every minute that I am able to rest peacefully, since I know it may be my last opportunity for undisturbed sleep for 20-odd years or more.

I go to the doctor today for my next regular check-up, so we'll see if I have been gaining weight at the proper rate and if the top of my uterus is where they expect it to be. Next Friday I have a follow-up ultrasound to determine the location of my placenta, which we hope will have migrated in one piece up and away from the cervical OS. The following week we have a "fun scan" scheduled, which is baby's first real photo shoot. It is an optional ultrasound (as opposed to the rest of them I have undergone with this pregnancy) with the aim of getting some good 3-D scan photos and even some 3-D video of our little guy before he becomes too squished in there to pose for the probe. Sometime in the next month they will begin to test me for gestational diabetes and other possible complications. I'm hopeful that there won't be any new ones, but I suppose we'll cross those bridges when they begin to loom.

I'll update with doctor's visit information when I have some to share. I'm very grateful for all the prayers and encouragement I receive. In the meantime, I need a nap. We'll see what nonsense my brain gets up to this time!

2009-04-16T21:08:00.005-04:00

Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross.
Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross.
Today He who hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the Cross.
He who is King of the angels is arrayed in a crown of thorns.
He who wraps the heaven in clouds is wrapped in the purple of mockery.
He who in Jordan set Adam free receives blows upon his face.
The bridegroom of the Church is pierced with a spear.
We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ.
We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ.
We venerate Thy Passion, O Christ.
Show us also Thy glorious Resurrection.

13th century icon of the Crucifixion from St. Catherine's Monastery on Sinai.

Incense hung in the air tonight, as the lights were put out, the kneeling faithful held single glowing candles to combat the darkness, and the cross was carried around the room. I began to cry as the image of Christ's passion was made present. Then Christ was hung aloft on the cross before the altar -- the final, perfect sacrifice, and we came to present our candles and gifts of flowers while the chanters sang of Christ's suffering. We bowed our bodies before him, the living God, who, by his voluntary death, has robbed death of its victory and the grave of its sting, loosed the captives, freed us from sin and restored all of creation.

This is a video from another Greek Orthodox parish last year. The moment I speak of begins at 1 hour 30 minutes in the video, which can be reached by moving the slider at the bottom of the player. In this video, much of the chanting is in Greek, but the chanting beginning at that point is the text that begins this post.

Blessed, No Matter How Big

2009-04-13T10:32:00.004-04:00

Palm Sunday was really neat. The church was packed, as was the choir loft. The choir swelled to about 21 people. Mind you, this choir can fill the room with the more usual 8-10 people, so the sound was huge, and I loved it! I also loved knowing that I probably couldn't be heard even if I belted the music out. That's really nice when at least some of the music is brand new most Sundays.

As we were filing out of the church, we were given blessed palm crosses by the priest. Well, bits of them, anyway. There were so many people there that by the time we meandered out (the choir members are usually the last to leave since we sing while other people are walking out) Father had resorted to cutting the palm crosses up. Daniel got 3/4 of a cross, and I got a little segment of palm about an inch or so long with Father's apologies and his promises to make more crosses next year. As he put it: it's blessed, no matter how big it is!

After church, there was a free luncheon of fish, potatoes, fruit salad, a sort of dairy-less coleslaw and assorted beverages. We sat with an Ethiopian couple who have two adorable little girls (4 years and 11 months) and happen to live right up the street from us -- literally on our same street. I hope we get the opportunity to get to know them better. I think they usually attend the Ethiopian church in High Point, but they do come to the Greek Church for some services. It was nice to meet an Orthodox couple with young kids, since it doesn't happen too often for us here.

After church we also received an invitation to join a choir member's family gathering this next Sunday for Pascha dinner. That was really nice -- and unexpected. We probably would have been having a rather quiet Pascha at home with something easy to cook. Now, instead, we'll have to have pleasant company and leg of lamb! (I think we'll live!)

I think I counted 17 services at church this week for Holy Week. We've missed one last night already, and considering that Daniel looked more zombie than man this morning after a very rare-for-him fitful night, I have a feeling we may miss tonight's service as well. Ah well, be that as it may, I think we will still have reminders aplenty that we are looking towards the cross and the glorious resurrection this week, whether or not Daniel appears at a chanter stand and I appear in a pew.

We'll be making a special effort to attend all of the services towards the end of the week, and Daniel has taken Friday off from work to that end. We'll also be attending on Wednesday night for sure, as our bishop, whom we have yet to meet, will be present for that service.

The time away from church will hardly be wasted, though... while at home, we're going to be spending time working on learning some of the 60 or so pages of music (some of it in Greek) that will be sung late this week with settings that are new to us or just modified from what we are used to singing. That learning itself is an undertaking, especially since the choir only rehearsed some of it, of which most was sung through only once at our single holy week preparation rehearsal. That's no big deal for the majority of the choir members, but for a newbie, it means a whole lot of music that has to be learned in a huge hurry, especially since much of the music will be sung after midnight on Saturday when the brain cells are not typically at top form and when the other aspects of the service will be overwhelming the senses.

Another lovely little surprise this week came from our Russian-Jewish neighbors. They gave us a baby-themed "your first Easter" card with best wishes and congratulations for our whole family in heartfelt broken English. It was one of the sweetest Easter greetings I have ever received, and it was also a good reminder of something I believe anyway: this really is our baby's first Easter. At this point, he can hear, and he eats whatever I am eating. He'll be at whatever services I attend. He'll be experiencing at least part of the feast right where he is.

Most of all, the joyful truth of Pascha and Christ's triumph over sin and death is a promise for our unborn child as much as it is to any of us who happen to have already been born. We must not underestimate that. After all, St. John the Baptist leaped in the womb when the Virgin Mary came to visit. Perhaps it is a bit like Father said about the palms... we are all blessed, no matter how big we are.

We're Getting There... Just a Week Behind!

2009-04-09T15:17:00.008-04:00

I suppose when your church, for all intents and purposes, remains largely unchanged for centuries, which indicates its resistance to change, it is forgivable to get to Easter a week later than the rest of the western world, right?

I found this video a few months back and decided that I would post it for Pascha, but I will do so now for those of you who are going to get there before we do.

This song was written and performed to raise funds to rebuild a medieval monastery. Translated, it proclaims:

People rejoice, all nations listen:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Dance all ye stars and sing all ye mountains:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Whisper ye woods and blow all ye winds:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
O seas proclaim and roar all ye beasts:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Buzz all ye bees and sing all ye birds:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
O little lambs rejoice and be merry:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Nightingales joyous, lending your song:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Ring, O ye bells, let everyone hear:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

All angels join us, singing this song:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Come down ye heavens, draw near the earth:
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Glory to Thee, God Almighty!
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!
Glory to Thee, God Almighty!
Christ God is risen! Let us rejoice!

Shouted:
Christ is risen! Truly He is risen!

Do This! Don't Do That!

2009-04-01T12:53:00.007-04:00

I want to do pregnancy and birth "right." This means that I do plenty of reading about what the experts say -- enough reading to make me think that while I need to eat, I must avoid eating any number of things; I need to sleep, but not too much; I must take vitamins, but I need to avoid too much of certain ones; I need to take 5 classes and read 10 books and choose between things that my grandmother never had to think about, let alone her mother or grandmother.

And to think that live babies came into the world before we knew of the harms (caffeine exposure, saturated fat) and benefits (happier babies, lower risk of dangerous pre-eclampsia) of chocolate in pregnancy! Then again, if my grandmother had been Chinese, she may have been tempted to rub a cooked chicken tongue on her new baby's lips to make it a good talker. Or if she had been an Aztec, she may have been horrified to view and eclipse, fearing that it would produce a cleft lip in her child.

We know better than that. Information is a good thing. Isn't it?

For someone like me who is prone to over-thinking and worry anyway, I'm not sure the proliferation of "wisdom" in the information age is an unqualified benefit. My very busy CPA father offered to come unplug my internet connection as soon as tax season is over, since I keep reading scary things that cause me to second-guess. His point is a good one: I need to just do what I know is right and trust God with the rest.

I've been working on that... really! Actually, the last few weeks my stress has been lessening. Each day brings us measurably closer to the point at which the baby would have a fighting chance to survive if he arrived on the scene unseasonably early, thanks to modern medical advances, and that is reassuring to me. It also helps that I am finally feeling quite a lot better physically, except for the worsening reflux and hip pain, which mostly bother me at night.

Ultimately, it helps that I realize that as careful and vigilant as I might be, I cannot control what will happen. At this point I bring to mind the carton of pistachio ice cream that I had a taste of several days ago, before pistachios became the latest villain in the salmonella saga. I don't even eat ice cream as a rule because I am trying to be good. Daniel offered me a bite of his. I took it. Nobody told me not to eat pistachios. Now they tell me not to, when it is too late to go back and undo what I did! (By the way, I read a moment ago that another size of the particular brand we have in the freezer has been recalled!)

I'm pretty sure that our ice cream is untainted, but that little carton of creamy, nutty goodness represents something much bigger: until I am omniscient, try as I might, I just cannot do everything right, because we humans will always have to rely primarily on hindsight. I suspect that really accepting that fact is the beginning of peace, so that's been my goal. It's not a bad one, I don't think.

Still, other questions loom. Will I have to have a c-section? Will I want to use painkillers in the birth process? What about the vitamin K shot for the baby, or the whooping cough vaccine for me? Assuming an uncomplicated pregnancy, will I choose induction of labor in week 39 to have the doctor I trust present, or will I take my chances on the doctors and let nature take its course? Do I need to write a birth plan? What about circumcision? Should I hire a midwife in addition to relying on a doctor, given that the doctor is rather important with my present complications? Should I use cloth diapers or disposables? If I can't breastfeed, what formula would be best? Would I have other options? I'll stop there... for now to ask just one more question: What happened to a mother suffering through a "lying in" with a midwife at home, and then lifting her child to her exhausted breast?

Knowing more is great! I mean, considering that placenta previa can cause fatal hemorrhage in a mom, and knowing it is there can save her life, I'm glad to know that I have it so that my doctors can save my life if it comes to that. But I also feel rather lost sometimes in the bewildering maze of what we think we know.

If pressed, I would tell you that I am glad to live now and to know what I know. I think.

*sigh*

In closing, I offer some rather brilliant social commentary on childbirth and modern medical culture from the inimitable Monty Python.

Musician Man

2009-03-29T12:34:00.009-04:00

I had to suffer though approximately 36 husband-less hours this weekend. It will happen again, too. It's kind of a big deal, since we can still count our nights apart as married folk on two hands. Beyond that, pregnancy has taken it out of me, Dan helps me hold it together mentally and physically with his kind and calming presence. This absence, however, is the price I pay (mostly gladly) for having married a musician who is picking up the axe again in preparation for a couple of live gigs. Truth be told, I really like to see him perform, and if practices away from me are part of the deal, then I suppose I'll figure out how to live with this every 2 weeks or every month or so.

This particular band project started in 1991 -- well before Dan and I met -- at Biola. The collaboration between Daniel and Jeff has been consistent in the intervening years, and the fact that they are both in the Carolinas now (Jeff in South, Daniel in North) has made the prospect of actually performing again a possibility. The duo have picked up additional musicians (local to Jeff, in this case) and their mostly recording project is becoming something a bit more again.

This arrangement has several benefits for Daniel:
1. Excuses for road trips, which he loves
2. Being a performing musician again in more than just a church choir capacity
3. Male bonding
4. Inspiring new admiration in his wife

The major benefits to me are having a husband who gets to pursue a hobby he loves and the opportunity to go fan-girl on him when I see him with his guitar. I've always especially loved his musical talents, and seeing him perform is a rare treat. In fact, while I have done some of the photography for one of their albums, I have never seen this band perform! I will probably go watch them practice one of these days when I am feeling up to the travel. I am told that both practice CDs and video were made at this session, so I look forward to reviewing them at the very least.

Dan's back safely and enjoyed his time with his newly enlarged band very much. I look forward to seeing what they can do.

With that, I will wish Jeff, Dan and collaborators well, and I invite you to get to know their band, Writ on Water, if it is new to you. And, for fun, I'll throw in a candid picture of Daniel and Jeff from Jeff and Heather's last visit to our neck of the woods.

Embracing Strangers

2009-03-27T08:41:00.007-04:00

I went to church on Wednesday morning to observe the feast of the Annunciation: that glorious appearance of the Archangel Gabriel announcing the imminent Incarnation of Christ. That tells me a couple of things.
1. Christmas is 9 months off
2. Lent is about halfway gone
and
3. Greece is still free of the Ottoman Turks.

Okay, so I admit that my awareness of #3 began this year.

As I was leaving church, one of the lovely "yiayias" (grandmothers) of the church invited me to come to lunch at her house that afternoon at noon. I agreed, not realizing that what I had been invited to was actually a rather sizable party. Once I got there and was introduced to all of the others present, I quickly came to the realization that I was quite possibly the only non-Greek in the house, and I was unquestionable the youngest. One of the major challenges this fact produced from the beginning was that I would have some difficulty remembering names. I get from them a lot that they can remember my name because they have a sister/cousin/daughter/etc. named "Nikki", but I can honestly say that I have never before met an Evagelia, Panagatitza or Soteria, so I am at a bit more of a loss to make name/face associations, unless they mercifully tell me that I can call them "Bessie" or "Eula" or some other somewhat less challenging name.

What I encountered at this party was a larger slice of the Greek community in northern central North Carolina, as some people had come from 40-45 minutes away to be there, including a priest and his wife from another Greek parish. The focus of the day was two-fold, because it was Annunciation and Greek Independence Day. Apparently Independence Day was quite purposely chosen to be associated with the Annunciation. While I don't fully understand why that is, it's quite clear that the promise of good things to come is very strong in both celebrations.

The party itself was amazing. The hostess managed to make food appear as effortlessly as if she was waving a wand, and little yiayias made sure I had plenty to eat. "Eat more, Nikki," was possibly the most common thing I heard (that I could understand). The food was wonderful, and since I had decided to simply accept hospitality without questioning everything as is my wont, it was only after I had tasted the fish roe dip and decided that it was good that I was told what I was eating and decided that I might not have tried it if I had known!

People were very accepting of me and very hospitable, apologizing when their English/Greek conversation tipped to the Greek side and occasionally offering an explanation of what was had been said. There was also a water toast offered at my table to the my health and that of our baby. Also, the hostess added to the lusty singing of three Greek songs that were sung before the main courses (two of them from the church service of the day and one that I assumed was the Greek national anthem or another patriotic song) "America the Beautiful," reminding us all that this is our country now, and that it is, indeed, beautiful. The vase in the kitchen was decorated with both national flags.

It was such an amazing experience, in that I was clearly an outsider, and yet I was embraced by their community even outside of the church walls. I have a theory: Daniel did much of the work to this end by doing some beautiful Greek-language byzantine chanting in a recent church service. One woman present told me that she had taxed her non-Greek husband with the fact: "See! He learned to chant in Greek, and he's not even married to a Greek!" Ah, the many talents of my husband... and the kindness of these lovely people. I contrast this with the question I had been asked once before at another Greek church: "You're not Greek, so why are you here?" While some people did want to know how I came to be orthodox, they didn't make me feel at all that I was less welcome for having been given a Greek name without the Greek parentage!

What better day for accepting others? This was the day on which God announced his intention to draw all of creation to Himself anew. It was the day that Mary embraced the Son of God, who, while being flesh of her flesh, was coming to into the world in an entirely new way - God and man. He, who would come unto His own and be rejected, she cradled in her womb. Strangers would embrace Him as she did first.

As I was leaving, I thanked the hostess for her hospitality. I really felt that the invitation had been emblematic of acceptance that went beyond anything I had expected when we first darkened the doors of this church. She said in reply, "I'm happy you could come. You and Daniel just fit right in from the very beginning. Not everyone new does that." I smiled and replied. "Ah well, you may just make me Greek yet!" In truth, in spirit -- she might!

Today marks the crowning of our salvation and the revelation of the mystery before all ages. For the Son of God becomes the son of the Virgin, and Gabriel proclaims the grace. Wherefore, we also cry out with him, "Hail, O full of grace, the Lord is with you."

Spring is busting out all over!

2009-03-22T21:23:00.002-04:00

And so is my waistline...
...but for the very best of reasons, I think.

My Favorite Song

2009-03-19T14:20:00.009-04:00

"My favorite song is one I'm singing"

I got to thinking about singing when one of my Facebook friends posted a lament of the loss of folk music and "group sing". He was referring to silly, jubilant or patriotic songs that people might sing in public places, but he also included churches in the decline of group sing. The seventh inning stretch song is just one barely surviving example of group sing music (both sacred and profane) that survives, but Americans are put to shame by international "football" fans in the sports singing arena. Churches still sing, but most of them are abandoning the old feeling of gathering around the piano (as used to happen in homes, as well) in exchange for (often beautifully orchestrated) ensemble music that leaves the congregation in more of a receiving posture than a giving posture when it comes to music, unless they happen to be gifted enough to be on the stage.

No offense, Mom and Dad, but I remember how sad I was to discover that the hymnals of my childhood had given way to powerpoint slides with lyrics for Christmas Carols and rather inventive chord progressions at the last service I attended at the church where I grew up. I couldn't even sing in the parts I had sung almost since infancy because the songs had been reworked so that the old harmonies didn't fit with the new polish. If there is one thing that was amazing about growing up singing hymns from a 4-part book that goes beyond the great old hymns themselves, it has to be that singing in church gave me my most lasting musical education and instilled in me the love of singing and comfort with song that has taken me so many different directions in my adult life. Church singing gave me something many of my non-churched peers didn't get anywhere: a voice.

I can't point the finger backwards without taking issue with what I also see in some Orthodox circles. Music plays an enormous role in Orthodox worship, but the degree to which the congregation is encouraged to sing in Orthodox parishes is as varied as the parishes scattered across the United States. One of my sadnesses at our current parish is that they have gorgeous service books with the music for the services available to everyone in the building, and I didn't know this (since nobody was using them) until I joined the choir and talked to the director, who had spent years putting the book together, not so it could gather dust in the pew racks, but so that a singing community could be established. I can still sing. I traipse up to the choir loft and participate there, but I miss the sort of parish where everyone sings the services, and I find when I am not in the loft, mine may be the lone voice quietly singing along downstairs so as not to stand out.

I appreciate the well-polished sound as much (if not more, perhaps) as just about anyone. I glory in the chance to actually participate in making music that orderly, beautiful and disciplined, but I'm not sure that performance has any place in church. In fact, I don't think it belongs. What does belong is the prayerful, joyful noise of a community of praise. I don't mean that church choirs shouldn't practice, because awful singing from the song leaders is distracting at best, but I do mean that singing ought to be for everyone present, and, ideally, instrumental support should be just that, when present - support of the voice lifted in song. Perhaps it is no mystery, then, that I would be beguiled by the idea of Sacred Harp.

Sacred Harp is a tradition of singing that has been around since the 18th century and still lives in many communities - especially in the rural South. I titled an earlier post this week "Awake, My Soul" (which my mind fills in with the words "and Sing!"), not having any idea that the phrase was the name of a documentary film made exploring the living history of shape-note singing which came into full bloom in this part of the country. This community sing art form is so raw and vibrant -- and forgiving of voices, musical skill and personalities.

Daniel and I have both read a bit about this exuberant and primitive music, and we discovered today that there is an active group meeting once a month about 40 minutes from us, and another meeting twice a month about an hour away. I'd love to go sometime. In the meantime, I'd like to share the trailer for the documentary in hopes that this strange and wonderful music might touch another heart or two.

The quote at the beginning of the post? well, that's my favorite quote from the trailer... probably because it's exactly how I feel about 98% of the time. I wish everyone could know that joy. At the very least, I hope my child will know it.

Great Expectations

2009-03-16T10:55:00.004-04:00

The long-awaited ultrasound this morning revealed that we are expecting...

a boy. :D

Looks like the family guesses turned out to be right. We're thrilled, of course, as we would have been to be shown any healthy baby, but it was fun to have my "feeling" confirmed.

Awake, my soul.

2009-03-13T08:13:00.010-04:00

I found my soul…
deep in slumber in a cold, dark place.
Surrounded by a slick black shell
encasing it from the beginning.
There it lay, far from the warming
light of the Sun,
content to shiver and sleep.

Until one day
I watched as warm rays
penetrated the darkness,
and water poured from Heaven
mixed with oil.
First softening,
then cracking,
then washing away the coffin walls,
and freeing a tender shoot
to wend heaven-wards in its search
for warmth and light.

I saw its weak and stooping back,
time and time again
--buffeted by winds,
swarmed by gnats,
nearly trampled underfoot,
choked by weeds--
droop from lack of sustenance,
and fall to the earth.

Each time,
I saw the gardener,
hands scarred by a life-giving tree,
clear the brambles,
water its withering roots from His veins,
and lift the arms of my soul anew.
So that it could reach again for heaven,
head bowed in gratitude.

I found my soul at last,
its face warmed and radiant,
unfurling petals of purest gold,
revealing in its upturned face,
the unmistakable likeness
of the Sun.

Sunflower image in the public domain.

"It is not he who begins well who is perfect. It is he who ends well who is approved in God's sight." - St. Basil the Great.

"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them." - Genesis 1:27

"But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin." - 1 John 1:7

"Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God." - Hebrews 12:1-2

"By your endurance you will gain your lives." - Luke 21:19

"The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light." - Romans 13:12

Cookies and Lent

2009-03-10T12:52:00.017-04:00

Yesterday I went to church to help a bunch of Greek ladies (and one gentleman) prepare Kourambiedes, which, for those as uninitiated as I was, are essentially a sort of shortbread cookie made with plenty of butter and even more love. The cookies will eventually be sold at next fall's Greek festival, and these dedicated people have already been baking for weeks.

Many of these ladies have been at this task for 40 or more years, and the art has become a science. I'm clearly not Greek and had to look up Kourambiedes on the internet to have any idea what was to be baked, so I fell into a different category altogether. It turned out, however, that didn't matter; They all embraced me into their well-established fold and allowed me to participate in the process.

Once we had worked out that I had a Greek name, "Nikki", and that my husband was the man who directed the choir the week when our regular choir director was absent, and that we are expecting our first child in August, I was shown where to find my apron, I washed my hands and I was put to work.

My first job was to cut huge blocks of butter into sixths so that the industrial mixer could more easily incorporate them into the dough. The ladies were almost done with that process by the time I arrived, so I only cut up one batch of six pounds. There must have been twenty batches or more.

My next assignment was to stand at a huge metal table in the sprawling kitchen (which, when I admired it, was proclaimed "too small" - "You should see the kitchen at the parish in Winston-Salem," I was told...) and cut circles of dough with little round metal cutters. I was fairly sure I wouldn't mess this task up too badly, but I still approached it with a bit of fear. I left the dough patting in preparation for cutting to the expert women who had been doing it for decades. The dough had to be just right - and the only accurate measure was a practiced eye. Once I had cut the cookies, I lined them up precisely on a baking pan in nine rows of six and collected the scraps so that the next flattened batch of dough could be prepared by experienced hands.

In the process I learned a few Kourambiedes secrets, though I got the feeling I only scratched the surface. At home, some of the women cut the cookies with drinking glasses (or whatever comes to hand) into crescent shapes rather than circles. However, there is more to know that varies by locale and home.
Local custom when baking festival cookies is threefold:
1. Never break the cookies.
2. Never sample the cookies.
3. Hide whatever cracks cannot be avoided with a generous layer of powdered sugar.
One lovely younger woman explained the rules to me, telling me that she had broken rule number two by sampling a cookie the first time she helped and had received a stern reprimand. Now she knows better and was willing to help others avoid learning the hard way.

I, on the other hand, must have come on just the right day. One cookie of thousands had been proclaimed smashed, and I was allowed to have a little nibble. The cookie was delicious (probably because of its decidedly non-lenten butter), and I proclaimed the cookie's virtues enthusiastically when all of the ladies asked my opinion.

It struck me that ultimately these people were all laboring together in preparation for a feast, much in the same way the church labors together towards the resurrection of Christ. There was order and planning, and everything was done "just so". We were making cookies -- as perfect, sweet and uniform as possible -- for the thousands of people who will swarm the church for the festival - our guests of honor, much as we work to perfect our hearts together during lent to receive the resurrected King of all.

Any one of those present could have made cookies at home alone. They all could have brought the finished product to church on the day of the festival. They could have labored in solitude, and the cookies would, I am sure, have been lovely. But they didn't. Each of them sacrificed his or her time and energy and schedule to do this work together, which allowed for a beautiful uniformity in the finished product, not to mention unrivaled efficiency and building of relationships. The process is perfect: they have figured out what works, and they do it -- together. All of us were needed. Those who had done the work for years were there to show the way; those who were newer to the fold were there to learn... and perhaps, someday, to teach.

I tend to resent order and imposed rules. I really, really like to do my own thing my own way. Every once in a while, however, I am reminded gently of why my own thing my own way isn't the right approach. This time, the reminder came in the form of a lenten kitchen that exemplified the beauty of order and laboring together. My part was small and my understanding incomplete, but there was a space at the table for me. For example, when one tray of cookies came out a bit more brittle than desired, I joked that perhaps that was the result of my inexperienced hands "touching them the wrong way." The answer I received was that it would be great if a hundred people would come touch the cookies the wrong way. What mattered was that I was there.

It's not much different in the Church. When we labor together to create a sweet offering for our Lord, it matters first and foremost that we are there. We come, all of us, with our limitations and distractions, but just as we will all be invited to the feast whether we have come at the last hour or the first, we are invited to participate in the preparations, for the sake of our own souls and for the encouragement of others. Much like this well-ordered Greek parish kitchen, the Church in her mercy offers us guidelines for our festal preparations. She says, in effect: "There's room for you at the table. Come and participate. It doesn't matter if you don't know how to do it... if you keep at it, you will learn. It matters only that you are here. Simply come, participate, and try not to break anything. But don't worry, your faults and shortcomings can be covered with a generous layer of sweet grace."

In this kitchen, grace and generosity carried the day. I left with two carefully wrapped cookies that were presented as a gift for me to take home. I'm here to tell you that those cookies were divine.

I still have no idea how to make Kourambiedes, other than it takes a whole lot of delicious yellow butter, much sifting of flour and a generous helping of powdered sugar. Perhaps, if I persist, year after year, my understanding will eventually be made complete. I do know this much, though: when the day for the festival feasting comes, I will have the joy of partaking in and sharing the labor of my hands. I hope, likewise, that when the day of the Paschal feast arrives, my incomplete, imperfect spiritual preparations will add to the joy of the feast we will enjoy together. I know that however well or ill prepared I will be when I arrive on that day, through the grace of Christ, there will be room for me at the table.

Holding my Breath

2009-03-03T14:32:00.008-05:00

I'm not sure if it's my penchant for worry, the hormones raging through my system, my past miscarriage or some combination of those and other factors, but so far I would have to say that pregnancy has been a bit like holding my breath for several months at a stretch. I imagine it would be a little bit different if I didn't have known complications that limit my activity or, perhaps, if I had a job to keep my mind on other things. As things are, however, I feel like 80% of the time -- when I am alone at home or awake in the night -- I have nothing in the world but this baby and my own thoughts, and since my thoughts don't tend to be unflaggingly positive, it's a whole lot of work to avoid sinking into something akin to paranoia and despair.

Truth be told, I live for the moments of reassurance that come from good doctor's visits (that are all too few and far between for my tastes) and spend a fair amount of down time (of which I have plenty) waiting to feel a movement or to become convinced by the whispering reassuring voices in my head that I should worry less and believe more, and ignore the insistent voices that argue to the contrary. Perhaps this is a reflection of my spiritual health -- more faith = less fear -- or perhaps it's just part of the experience for me at this otherwise very quiet time in my life.

It's so hard to at the same time fall madly in love with this tiny little person and to be desperately afraid to get attached. It's too late for that already, but perhaps you know what I mean. I'm thrilled to be carrying this child, and my heart is overflowing with love for it already. I simply wonder why I can't rejoice in every minute the blessing is in my life without wondering when it will be snatched away. It doesn't seem right or fair to feel this way, but I have not figured out how to banish my worries and cling to hope.

My husband, who gave me some really adorable sports-themed baby things for Christmas, promptly hid them away in his closet when he realized that my reaction to the items was less enthusiastic than either of us would have liked. He did this because he's sensitive to the fact that I was worried about this baby in those early scary days. Fact is, I am still not ready to make our home look like it will be inhabited by another little person in about 5 months. He's been very good about just supporting me where I am, but I still feel like something is wrong with me.

One of the ways this all manifests is in my reluctance to plan too far in advance or to even buy anything for the baby. I finally broke out of that a little bit this past week by deciding that it wouldn't hurt to have done some of my research when the magic moment arrives (time TBA) that it's okay to start planning and buying in earnest. I went to Babies-R-Us after a reassuring doctor's visit and walked the aisles taking notes on what sorts of things I would like to have in the house for baby. Then, this weekend, we had a real adventure: we went to the zoo, aka IKEA in Charlotte, and while it wiped me out for a few days, we did manage to do what I had wanted to do - price and touch the cribs and other baby furniture they offer.

We're not rolling in the dough these days, so I find my wants are really fairly modest. I know many people in our lives will probably be happy to give us baby-related gifts, but I am looking at the baby-stuff acquisition project as a chance to decide what we would *need* if we were reduced to buying it all ourselves. I think that helps with focus in a sector of the retail world that peddles cute and cuddly to the exclusion of good sense. If I can manage to focus on function first, perhaps we can enjoy the frills a bit more when we add them on top. It helps to know what function costs so that I can spot a deal. My momma taught me that much!

There are two consignment events happening this month, and I have decided that they are good opportunities to quit fretting and start getting positive. Would it kill me to buy a couple of gently worn generic onesies? Would the sky come crashing down if I dared to pick up a used crib or other bit of baby furniture? There is the real concern that buying consignment means I can't take it back if I discover I don't need or want the item, but that's hardly a reason to wait until I have a squealing babe in arms to start buying items said squealing person will need. If we don't need them, someone will, and I am sure I can come up with a solution.

Let's get real here. Even if the sky did come crashing down and one of my worst-case scenarios became my reality ... I'm smart enough to realize that there isn't a causal relationship between buying baby things and tragedy. The only causal relationship of note is that of God's hand in everything that happens in life, and my need to trust him that whatever he has in store. You know... He *may* just bless us with a healthy baby! I wish I could get that through my head... or at least just muster trust sufficient for each day as it comes, because when it comes to holding your breath... you can only do it for so long without killing something in yourself.

Let it Snow!

2009-03-02T08:18:00.005-05:00

We'll call this my first "real" snow at home. It's not the first time snow has fallen where I live, but it is the first snow thick enough to stick around inches deep, to cause that lovely sinking crunch under my shoes and to turn the world uniformly and gloriously luminous white during the daytime and eerie gray when night falls. We've had 3 or 4 flurries this winter, and we had a few light snows last year when we were living a bit east of here, but none of the storms has been as beautiful as this one.

As you may have seen in the news, much of this coast has had a rather unseasonable snow after a somewhat unusual winter. The storm followed a much-needed and record-setting rain that ought to help with drought conditions here. The snow topped off the dampened ground after several days of warm flirtation with springtime, during which the first shoots of daffodil and other bulbed flora poked up vibrant green fingers from the earth. Now those same shoots are under inches of powdery white and I hope they won't be worse for their temporary icy cover when it comes time to bloom.

If I were a bit more adventurous and had more energy (or if Dan had gotten a "snow day" from work so I would have had company), I would have gone to the arboretum a few miles from here to take photos of the ice-blanketed world in a more expansive and natural setting. As it is, I decided to take the pictures I could take from inside (or just a few steps outside) of our dwelling this morning, which gives you a sense of what I see when I simply step to the window to look outside.

I did put the cats on leashes (one at a time, of course) and put them outside to explore a little, since snow is a pretty new experience for our California-transplant cats. I wouldn't say that the kitties "liked" the snow, but they did tolerate a few curious moments of paw freezing and frigid air sniffing before whining, crying and hissing (MooMoo) or looking longingly at the door to the house and darting in as soon as it was cracked open (Monte). Both of them do enjoy the altered view from the safety and warmth of the upstairs windows, so we'll leave their appreciation of the wintery world at that for now.

Truth be told, I could probably enjoy a bit more snow than we get here, but the merely scattered snows are part of the reason we were drawn to this part of the country. Sure, we get to contend with oppressive heat and humidity during part of the summer, but we also get to see the leaves change and fall from the abundant trees in the autumn, we experience the riotous colors of springtime and we revel in the occasional day like today when the world is blanketed in jewels -- with all the giddy excitement of a long-anticipated Christmas morning and without the hassle of weeks upon weeks of icy roads and shoveling walks. In contrast to California's eternal summer or the frozen landscapes of the white North, we central North Carolinians get to taste all four seasons, albeit in a "lite" form.

I love it! I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank God for Little Things...

2009-02-23T20:32:00.004-05:00

...especially the first gentle pokes of tiny little person.

Baby J quickened today (at 16 weeks, 1 day), as I was reading in bed on my side after a nap. Since (s)he did so about an hour and a half before a visit to the OB, the doctor confirmed from my description that what I think I felt probably was baby. We also got reassurance, thanks to fetal doppler, that Baby J's heart is still thumping along at a nice clip. I had prayed for an earlier-than-later quickening so that I would have that periodic reassurance, and it would seem my prayer has been answered. Apparently most moms whose wombs have not been stretched by previous births often don't feel anything until 20-22 weeks, so I feel very fortunate indeed. We're very much looking forward to seeing baby J again via ultrasound in about 3 weeks. Perhaps we will find out at that point which personal pronoun applies. :D

Driven to my Knees

2009-02-16T16:54:00.006-05:00

Fear, or love? I am not sure which motivation is stronger in my life. Sometimes I think it just depends on the day.

Whatever the case, I found myself sitting and talking to our local priest yesterday about some of my recent struggles, and when he asked about my prayer life, my answer was a bit unusual - even for me:

"Let me just explain it this way: I often wondered what the concept of women being saved by childbirth could possibly mean. I think I have developed a personal theory about this over the last several weeks. I've already felt so overwhelmed by love and concern for this tiny person inside of me, that while I am not particularly disciplined about when and how and what, I am praying much more often these days. At night, I pray specific prayers, but I also find myself praying extemporaneously throughout the day. I can only imagine how a mother's love grows and intensifies, and how this desperate longing for safety and protection of another life grows, when she has given birth and has a child in her arms."

It's true, I think... at least in my life. If I find salvation - I mean genuine transformation of my life, not simply a hope that God will keep on forgiving as quickly as I keep on sinning - then I can see how motherhood will be a huge catalyst.

The last year has been characterized by sorrow, anger and apathy, for the most part. It's not that life's circumstances warranted that, really. We've had real difficulties, but I am reminded daily that others suffer much more than I do - and often with a great deal more grace. I am very blessed in many respects, and I know it. I'm also, though, not a person of great faith. I find myself, in moments when I am honestly contemplating my spiritual self, having to repeat the same old refrain: "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!" And, honestly, sometimes the unbelief wins in my heart.

Nothing has moved me to prayer and towards spiritual things more than the recognition that I cannot focus exclusively on myself, or even my marriage, anymore. At this moment, a little person depends on my body for its life -- my body, which is the temple of the Holy Spirit. A little person will depend, Lord willing, on my life and example, for spiritual, moral, physical and every other kind of health for many years to come -- my life, which is likely to be one of the most prominent exemplars of Christianity that this child will encounter from the moment it takes its first breath of air.

No pressure.

In the face of it all, I don't know what other response to have, other than to fall to my knees, either literally or figuratively, and pray that my own life can be redeemed, and that this innocent will be sheltered and protected in spite of the failings of its mother.

Theologians can tell me what salvation through childbirth really means Biblically and practically. My heart tells me that this is the day of salvation. Now is the acceptable time... to be driven to my knees.

I love you, too.

2009-02-14T08:25:00.011-05:00

The last couple of months have moved us into a different sort of relationship at home - one that is hard for both of us in several respects. I like to be pampered as much as the next person, but I hate to feel inept and needy. Lately, I've experienced more feelings of ineptness than entitlement. I have become needy in ways I have not been before and don't like at all, and Daniel has picked up a great deal of the slack in our lives, while providing our income and maintaining a largely uncomplaining attitude.

All of this has required sacrifice and compromise from both of us, though. He cooks meals for us both to exacting dietary standards and makes sure I have what I need from day-to-day, and (at least as long as we don't have company coming) I live with the house being more or less disastrous. I also decide that something less than perfection is okay in many areas of life, and that if neither of us can get to it (the list of things I cannot do because of lack of strength or physical limitations is astounding), it doesn't need to be done. He shows me his love in hundreds of (sometimes unpleasant) ways -- from cleaning the cat box, bringing me books to read, and picking things up for me when I drop them, to making a circuit of the grocery store at a snail's pace with me on my more adventurous/independent days, sitting with me to combat my loneliness, and listening to my saved-up thoughts for hours when he'd rather be asleep. I, for my part, am learning day after day to be increasingly grateful for his untiring patience with me and willingness to sacrifice his time and energy for a woman who seems to me to be almost nothing like the vibrant, independent person he first fell in love with. We're both having to find new ways to interact and find closeness with each other, and we're both having to sacrifice desires that we haven't really been asked to sacrifice since we got married.

Some days, it's not easy. Some days, I resent it, and while he doesn't complain, I would be surprised if Daniel didn't have his moments, too.

Still, isn't this struggle just what marriage is about every day? Sacrifice and gratitude. Patience and serving, and, sometimes, being served and being grateful.

When I thank him, he usually replies one of two ways: "I love you," or "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in your current condition." Both are true, but the first seems more relevant to me and the second usually provokes giggles.

Frankly, I don't think I ever imagined having someone in my life who was so self-sacrificial... which may show just how short I have fallen of appreciating and truly grasping Christ and His sacrifice: either I fail to see how intimately connected to me His sacrifice is, or I fail to understand that His sacrifice simply is the most perfect expression of love. Indeed, if I did comprehend it enough to express appropriate gratitude, I am sure I would get the same reply: "I love you." And, to the extent that my current state is one of grace, forgiveness and blessing, it goes without saying that if it were not for Him, I would not be in my current condition.

I came across this blog post - Love in the Time of Prostate Cancer - a few days ago. While my physical challenges are nothing to what the author is experiencing, I found his message about marriage to resonate with me in this period of my life. Changes in circumstance have a way of changing our perspectives.

Perhaps more than ever, I can say to my Valentine this year, "I love you, too."

I only hope he knows it, and that this realization won't be lost on me when I regain my strength and am tempted to forget just how much I need him.

Carried to Castles of Gold

2009-02-11T13:28:00.011-05:00

In two days it will have been one year since we finally lost our first child to miscarriage. I say "finally" because this was the point at which we decided with the doctors that my body was not going to expel the baby on its own, and surgery was necessary. We discovered later that surgery had been the only real option because of abnormalities of the placenta, but we didn't know that at the time. We only knew that it had been nearly 3 weeks since the baby had stopped growing, and that my body had yet to let go. That child, though tests revealed it to be imperfect, was wanted, and its loss was heartbreaking. According to what we know of genetics, this particular child could never have lived (indeed it had stopped living by the time of our first ultrasound), but that didn't matter to us one bit. It would have been about five months old today, and as the anniversary of its loss draws near, it's hard not to mourn all of the losses that attend a miscarriage -- the dreams, the expectations, the hopes -- all over again.

Months later, I remember waiting with Daniel at my gynecologist's office in a hallway, pregnant for the second time, and desperate for good news in the first ultrasound that we awaited in just a few minutes. I saw two young women come down the hallway within a few minutes of each other: each admitted for "post-surgery" consults. (The nurses were not as discrete as they may have been, I think.) Both girls were pretty, carefree, and looked to be about 20, maybe, and they both had come in alone. It suddenly occurred to me that they had probably had elective abortions, and as quickly as the thought crossed my mind, I felt as if every emotion I was capable of experiencing had welled up and threatened to choke me. Here I was, desperately wanting a child I couldn't have, while other people choose to destroy children who would, in all likelihood, be healthy, perfect children that someone would love dearly even if their mothers' lives didn't have room for them.

This isn't to say I don't understand what moves others to make that choice. When our culture is two-faced about the unborn, it's easy enough to choose whichever belief system suits your circumstances, especially if you have not been given reason to believe that some things are more important than others. I mean, a fetus of the same gestational age is a "baby" to a woman who wants it, and "product of conception" to a woman who doesn't. If you think this confusion doesn't make miscarriage rather more difficult to experience honestly, then try talking through tears to the distantly nonchalant medical professional who, for the sake of his or her own conscience, must think and speak in latter terms and, when it is your baby unmoving on the black screen, reverts to talk of embryos and fetuses with studied medical detachment.

Our culture as a whole simply does not value life that hasn't started breathing air rather than amniotic fluid, and so it sets up this dilemma of "rights" that seems somehow compelling in an arena from which certain realities and viewpoints are barred. In truth, I have a great deal of compassion for the women who find themselves in the position of feeling they must make the choice that our culture offers them. I mourn, however, the fact that our culture is so duplicitous as to make that choice seem to be without consequence or importance beyond that of one person's right to order her life as she wishes without the intrusion of what amounts, by this way of thinking, to a tumor.

Something I read recently in Sigrid Undset's Gunnar's Daughter - a saga in Icelandic style but written by a Catholic woman in 1909 - dealt with a strikingly similar issue of life, in the context historic clash between Christianity and paganism in Scandinavia. It's not a new question, really, this question of life. It comes down to worldview. This story that Undset shares makes it plain just how radical Christianity with its respect for vulnerable life must have seemed to the Viking world.

I wish to share and episode from the book here, condensed. Let me preface it only by saying that it was apparently quite common to "expose" unwanted children to the elements to let them die after birth. While the fact that the children in question have been born alive may push the argument to another level even in our cultural framework, if, as most Christians believe, life is sacred from conception, then the problem is really the same at any stage.

A Christian priest named Eirik tells the story of a woman, Tora, who was seduced and bore a child, and "to hide her misfortune she cast the child into the sea." She later married, had children and lived a respectable life until she became deathly ill. She believed herself to be dead, though only in a swoon, and she could hear her children crying for her. All she wanted was to be allowed to return to her crying children. Instead, a man in a black cloak led her towards a castle of gold through a dark valley that, at first glance, looked to be full of little lambs:

"But when she came nearer she saw they were little children; there many thousands of them; they were quite naked and newly born, but their faces were old, and some were bloody and horribly mangled, and some were wet. They tried to climb out of the valley on both sides, but they rolled back again at once, for they were so small and weak. This seemed to Tora such a sorry sight that she began to weep; she asked him in the cloak what it was and how the poor little things had come there. 'Their parents have left them here,' said the man. 'They willed it so.' 'I can never believe it,' said Tora."

Tora ripped her own clothing to cover as many of the children as she could, until she was quite naked herself, while the children swarmed around her and asked her to carry them out of the valley so they could see the world. Tora explained, tearfully, that she simply wanted to return to her own children and she pressed on.

She reached the water in the valley, in which children were shivering neck-high. Moved with compassion, she gathered as many of them as she could, until she could carry no more. She could not make it out of the valley herself, let alone carry the children with her. Her knight offered a solution: he would carry her or the children, and he asked her whom she would have him take first. There were thousands of children, and more arrived every moment, so if he were to take them, she may be left to wait a very long time indeed, but she told him to take the children from their suffering, and she would wait as long as she needed to wait for him to return to the cold, desolate place for her. He then revealed to her:

“'It is your eldest son, Tora, who is now lying next against your breast--all these are children who have been robbed of life before they could live in the world or learn the way to my house.'
“Tora fell on her knees and asked in terror: 'Who are you, chieftain, and what is your name?"
“'Christ is my name,' said the King. And now a radiance went out from him, as though a sun had risen upon the valley, warming all the children. But Tora had to shut her eyes before the glory of it. And when she opened them she was at home, lying in her bed.”

When she awoke, she confessed her history, causing such anger in her husband that he threw her out of the house in the middle of the night. She ran to the shore, thinking that her sin was so great that she didn’t deserve to live. Once there, she was drawn by the cries of a tiny abandoned male infant, which she nursed and fostered.

From that moment, she dedicated her life and what riches were hers to taking in and caring for any child that was unwanted, and she lived simply off the earth. When Christians came to evangelize the area, they were surprised to find that she already knew the Lord by name and worshiped Him. She and the children were baptized, and when she died, she was called holy.

I thank God today that he does not abandon the little ones, but carries them to Himself and, in this parable, His castle of gold. I am also grateful for his mercy and forgiveness and power to save in the face of even the most grievous of sins. Even so, I cannot help but mourn all of the little lives that are lost, whether by the wise hand of God or by human hands that know not what they do. Most of all, I praise God that, to the best of our knowledge, this child now in my womb is healthy and continues to grow. As He well knows, if this child is not destined for this earth, it will not be because we chose it to be so.

Lost

2009-02-09T14:01:00.011-05:00

By now, I suppose these weekly poetic forays need little introduction. Just know that this, too, is the result of a poetry challenge asking participants to describe a moment in time using "Once upon a time" or other fairy tale language. The prompt also urged the writer not to fear the dark or the light subjects: simply write truthfully.

The Dangers of Sitting

Once upon a time,

There was a young girl

Who lived in ignorance of

What it really meant

To lose –

Not just for a day,

Not just for a season,

Not just for a year or two –

Someone who was, to her,

The earth and sky and sea.

Then one bright October day,

She came home from school,

Tired, sweaty and smiling,

And found her mother and father,

Faces grave.

They asked her to sit on the soft floral couch,

So they could tell her that Granddaddy

Had fulfilled a life-long dream:

He had finally seen the Panama Canal,

Risen slowly through her mighty locks,

Told his true love he was ready to go home,

And, within a day or two,

Sailed from the sea into eternity.

There she sat, hands sweating,

Numb, confused, disbelieving,

Backpack abandoned on the floor,

Wishing she could stand up again,

And run from the knowing

That came with the sitting.

Wishing she could somehow go back –

Just a day,

Just a season,

Just a year or two –

And, clinging to his familiar hand,

Anchor him to the earth.

Lost

Once upon a time,

On a bitter November afternoon,

I saw your smiling faces

Through the grime and din of the subway.

You, the

Loving mother

Devoted father

Sister

Brother

Only child

Wonderful friend.

Your smiles surrounded me,

And all of us engaged in the

uncharacteristically quiet bustle

from dark place to dark place

aboard the stinking, screeching trains

tunneling through the dirt.

Your eyes greeted me at every turn.

As I hugged my bag closer to me,

And tugged at my suddenly too-hot scarf.

I burned to look at you, to stare.

But I was strong, I didn’t cry,

I simply watched you watching me.

That is… until I saw that one –

The single face among the myriad faces

plastered to every column,

every wall –

The one with a joyful red scrawl:

“Found!”

I saw that one and could no longer ignore

What all of your unmarred faces cried:

“Lost!”

All of you are lost.

You, the

Loving mother

Devoted father

Sister

Brother

Only child

Wonderful friend

Last seen in the vicinity of

Two tall towers that once stood

Proud vigil over the streets

of a city that promised the American dream,

and witnessed the nation’s nightmare.

For those of you who are interested, one of my complete poems from last week and a snippet from another was featured at High Calling Blogs.

The photo at the top of the post is a double-exposed gem we found when cleaning out my grandparents' house a few years ago. It features me, young and contemplative, and my grandfather. He passed away when I was 16, so this ghostly composite must have been at least 6 or 8 years old when the moment described arrived.

Name that Neurosis!

2009-02-08T00:05:00.010-05:00

I think I may have finally figured out the *real* reason why I chose to be a philosophy major in college: I have this desire to conquer the entire world of thought, and I had already mastered the irrational, which left me with a gap in rationality that UCLA philosophy professors endeavored to fill. Okay, so maybe that reasoning is a stretch, but I really am quite good at irrationality. I have it down pat. Rationality? *sigh* Not so much.

I find the rather incredible mix of emotions plus hormones in pregnancy polishes my already refined irrationality until it fairly shines. Tonight I frantically looked up everything I could find online and in my Mayo Clinic pregnancy book about my favorite pet fear terrible pregnancy outcome of the moment. I seem to be a very quick study when it comes to seeing something that could happen, discovering that I have one rather weak risk factor somewhere in my medical history, and then deciding that my whole being must be consumed by fear and worry that the I will be the 1-2% exception to the healthy pregnancy rule. I don't think this is entirely on the level of "normal" anxiety. I really do think I am exceptional in my ability to embrace the improbable.

In all seriousness, with all of the joys and expectations that this pregnancy has brought, it has also brought new opportunities to expect, or at the very least seriously fear, the worst.

Poor Daniel, caused to sit on the toilet and listen while I cried and worried aloud in the shower, offered some really sage advice: "Oh love, you need to let that go." I stopped scrubbing long enough to pull back the shower curtain and reply, "You know what you are asking me to do?" The implication, of course, was that he would get further asking fish to fly. At least there's one species of fish that does achieve a fair approximation of aviation. He also offered some more advice -- you know, realistic alternatives to crippling worry -- that was quite practical and helpful, but I don't want to recount it here, because it will only make my irrationality more plain, and I still have sense enough that I prefer to preserve a shred of dignity.

In a moment of dazzling lucidity, I told Daniel that my fears may actually be rational - I just don't know yet whether they are or not (even if the odds of my fears being grounded are slim). When the worst happens, it will prove my fears rational. Hmmph. He replied that I was talking nonsense (in so many words) and countered that no, the feared outcome coming to pass would simply mean that my still quite IR-rational fears would be realized, not rational.

Darn.

This is part of why I married him. He won't let me talk myself into irrationality without at least acknowledging it for what it is. I just happen to find it annoying. For those keeping score: Daniel 7, Nikki 2.

I also find it annoying that I suspect that 80% of tonight's outburst was a particular moment of hormonal surge or pregnancy wackiness. I had passed a very fun day with a pregnant girlfriend (spent entirely in hours of conversation in our living room), and then I had dissolved into an anxious puddle almost as soon as she left. There was no discernible reason for this particular mood swing... well, no reason that someone like Daniel would accept. The other 20%... that's the part I am hard-pressed to change, because the day I stop worrying, you should probably order a casket.

The crisis passed, we watched the Hurricanes kill the Phoenix Coyotes 7-2 (restoring my faith in the gods of hockey) and I headed upstairs with the conviction that the baby and I might both live to see another day after all. (If we were very lucky!)

All I can say, right about now, is thank God for a very patient, gracious husband. That, and thank God that He is a patient, gracious God who is actually in control of all of the circumstances -- even if I should find it distressing that this fact of God's control makes my worry amount to weakness, if not a full-on a lack of faith. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Right? Well then, if my shred of remaining rationality demands evidence, perhaps the part of me that is so suggestible as to believe that if there is a 1-2% chance that something bad will happen to someone, that someone will be me, then it shouldn't be so hard to come up with a bit of faith, right? Certainly I don't hope for the worst, and I could sure use some assurance, and I dare say that there's more evidence for God's hand in my life than for many of my fears.

A little faith. I think I will work on that next... as soon as I finish obsessing on irrationalities. After all, it's the only rational thing to do.

Seeing the Detail. Writing it Down.

2009-02-04T15:40:00.008-05:00

Not to denigrate poetry... but I had the feeling today that since I had "nothing better to do", I might as well try another of the poetry challenges laid out in author L. L. Barkat's blog. I still don't "like" to write poetry, and I still don't think I do a very good job of it, but far be it from me to decide that just because I am not master of something, I cannot try it; I lived that way for too many years. Life is too short.

So, for this challenge, to "see" and write, I have made two offerings. One is sentimental, the other was painful to recall and possibly more painful to write. I'll start with the bad, and then move to the better... at least in terms of what I can only imagine will be the general response to the subject matter - no guesses about the writing. I gave myself a new guideline this time: that is, one of the poems needed to be relatively short. The first one below is the result of that limitation. In both cases, the challenge was to start from a given line and then "see" the detail when writing. I'm not sure I did a great job of the latter, but the former was a piece of cake. Ah well... I have to start somewhere!

A Question for the Man on the Highway

I close my eyes and I can still see
through the gray-lit darkness of a starless California night
and the ubiquitous streaks on my windshield,
your elongated shape taking recognizable form in the lane
imperfectly revealed by the distant white glare of a streetlamp.

It's all wrong. You are out of place between the reflecting stripes
on the still-warm asphalt, your dark-panted leg twisted,
your arms akimbo, your foot in a posture no ballerina would dare,
your unmoving face melting into a luminous pool
on the pocked black earth.

I am in motion, yet you remain unmoved
I see the lights draw near behind and beside me,
help arriving, flashing a warning it is too late for you to heed.
I hear the wailing siren and grip the wheel until my knuckles blanch.
My eyes blur with salty wetness, you hear nothing, see nothing.

Which of life's curves so tangled your mind
that you chose to wring the life from your body tonight,
in the middle of Highway 10, just east of Los Angeles,
where I, young and carefree, on the way to laugh and dance,
would find you lying still, grow suddenly old and weep?

-----

Never Out of Mind.

I close my eyes and I can still see…
home.
It isn't so far away, it lurks just out of waking sight.
It's there, unchanged, as it was, right now.
Do you see the huge magnolia overhanging the busy street,
dropping its curious seed pods and fragrant blossoms,
on the dandelion-dotted grass.
There’s the avocado tree prostrate in an invitation to climb,
and the roses Dad cultivates and aphids devour?

Do you see me, small and unkempt,
brown hair ratted and blue eyes glistening,
lying in the itchy Augustine grass?
Dwelling in mansions of old sheets and imagination,
splashing in a creaking plastic pool,
or reading in the shadow of a tree until the sun sinks out of sight?
I see it. All of it.

There Sparky still frolics, an exuberant streak of gold in the yard.
There Benjamin rat plays tag with Abby, a little gray dog whose
enthusiasm for life outstrips her ability to understand it,
while a snake lies curled and still in his glassy home,
tree frogs escape from their confinement,
and a toad croaks his sad longing for the stream of his birth.
Watching them all, monarch and matriarch,
Heidi still pants and paces, head-aloft.

Do you see the sheet mansions giving way to a dream?
The best playhouse anywhere:
tall, and carpeted, with real windows and walls.
Granddaddy's strong hands pour the concrete,
form its wooden frame,
and run the wires that bring light into darkness.
I'm there, pressing my fingers into the fresh cement of the step,
never dreaming that the "little house" would stand
while Granddad would fall.

I can see the old cinderblock wall,
leaning towards me,
pushed by the reaching, sinister oleander.
Summoning my courage,
I clamber over the top, to fetch a beloved toy
and relieve my stomach of its skin on the way down the backside,
I cry and shriek as my mother dresses my wounds
and make silent plans to try again next week.

Later I tip-toe figure-8s through the tiny "big" house we shared,
evading my mother's sight as I couldn't her sound.
I lie on the old brown carpet,
and watch a baby rabbit, name starting with “P”, take tentative leaps
and nibble of pale ruffled lettuce;
By day I play in the closet, or worry a baby sister
At night, I watch for the shadows to enliven my room,
and huddle under the covers - out of sight,
or play the piano in the darkness,
until the demands of sleep are louder than music.
I hear muted voices through the newsprint walls,
and listen to the rumble of my father's sleep.

Though the wall be torn down, the big house remodeled,
while the mansion sheets and plastic pool molder mile-deep in a landfill.
Though the animals be still and the "little house" be reduced
to its foundations.
It's all there. All of it.
Ask the roses that still bloom,
and the aphids that still feast on their sweetness.
Ask the seeds of the dandelions that wage unrelenting war on the lawn,
floating, like the children of the house,
to greener pastures where they can put down new roots
in the glow of the sinking sun.

I can still see it,
every blade of grass,
every ray of light,
every faraway moment
that shapes my sight today.

Prayers for Baby (and for Mommy)

2009-02-02T15:08:00.008-05:00

I have a very predictable bedtime ritual these days. It involves lots of extemporaneous prayers for my own health as it pertains to that of our little baby, and especially for God's protection of this most precious little gift He has given us.

So far, so good.

The extemporaneous prayers are great - allowing me to fill in whatever specific thoughts and worries I may have as I go, and most nights I drift off to sleep with some prayer or another half-spoken in my heart. When my mind is too disordered to formulate complete thoughts, I meditate on the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. That prayer has had particular power in my life some dark moments. Among other things, I have found that saying that little prayer will dissolve nightmares when I achieve consciousness of my dreams enough to pray. It is meant as an aide to the Biblical injunction to "pray without ceasing," which is possible if we teach our hearts to pray. I'm a very imperfect practitioner, but I do find that sometimes I become aware that I am praying it only after I have begun.

For all that, I had begun to look for some established prayers to use as well. Extemporaneous prayers are all about me, in many ways... my worries, my hurts, my gratitude, my wants, my will. One thing I like about more formal prayers that have been in use for centuries and across the globe is that those careful words make it all less about me and teach me the mind of the Church about my wants and worries. They let me know that I am not alone in my worries and fears. They allow my mind to find focus in ordered words - my mind that is so prone to worried wandering.

One would think that, since the Orthodox have a rich tradition of formal prayers, since the marriage service is full of admonitions to bear Godly children, and since childbirth is how we all got to be here, there might be quite a selection of topical prayers on the subject. If there is, I had trouble finding it. I finally found 3 prayers today, which was a great boon! I have chosen to share two of them here:

O Sovereign Lord Jesus Christ our God, the Source of life and immortality, I thank Thee, for in my marriage Thou has blest me to be a recipient of Thy blessing and gift; for Thou, O Master, didst say: Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth. I thank Thee and pray: Bless this fruit of my body that was given to me by Thee; favor it and animate it by Thy Holy Spirit, and let it grow a healthy and pure body, with well-formed limbs. Sanctify its body, mind, heart, and vitals, and grant this infant that is to be born an intelligent soul; establish him in the fear of Thee. A faithful angel, a guardian of soul and body, do thou vouchsafe him. Protect, keep, strengthen, and shelter the child in my womb until the hour of his birth. But conceal him not in his mother's womb; Thou gavest him life and health. O Lord Jesus Christ, into Thine almighty and paternal hands do I entrust my child. Place him upon the right hand of Thy grace, and through Thy Holy Spirit sanctify him and renew him unto life everlasting, that he may be a communicant of Thy Heavenly Kingdom.

Amen.

O All-Merciful Christ our God, look down and protect me, Thy handmaiden, from fear and from evil spirits that seek to destroy the work of Thy hands. And when my hour and time is come, deliver me by Thy grace. Look with compassionate eye and deliver me, Thy handmaiden, from pain. Lighten mine infirmity in the time of my travail and grant me fortitude and strength for birth giving, and hasten it by Thine almighty help. For this is Thy glorious work, the power of Thine omnipotence, the work of Thy grace and tender-heartedness.

Amen.

I wonder if I could sleep at all if not for the priviledge of taking my thoughts and worries and hopes, as the old Baptist hymn says, "to the Lord in prayer."

P.S. Another thing for which to be grateful: the OB office called today to let me know that all of the bloodwork they have done to date is fine - among other things, I don't carry the cystic fibrosis gene mutation, and the baby does not appear to be at risk of having any of the trisomies.

13 Weeks and Growing

2009-02-01T17:32:00.012-05:00

Barring vitamin trouble, mercury poisoning or the thousands of other things I am tempted to worry about almost constantly, Baby J has reached 13 weeks of gestation as of today. He or she posed for some photos on Friday, at 12 weeks 5 days, and proud Mommy and Daddy are excited to share the pictures with our small blog-viewing public.

But first, some background.

Ahhh - they joys and trials of pregnancy. Just when I talk myself out of one neurosis, I find reason for another.

Today, it's that my prescription prenatal vitamins have been recalled. That's not news one wants at a time like this. I *did* have sense enough to research the whys of the recall in order to avoid a meltdown, and I discovered that the reason is rather benign: some pills may be oversized in certain lots. I don't think my lot is affected since this is a rather visible flaw, but I sent Daniel back to WalMart pharmacy to make sure that my pills were not from the recalled lot anyway. WalMart didn't know... but they gave us a new bottle with non-affected vitamins for Dan's trouble. This is not one of the times in my life that gambling seems attractive.

Friday my neurosis was just how much king crab leg I ate on one of our very, very rare restaurant visits. We had a gift card, and I wanted crab. I knew it to be low mercury and fairly safe, but I didn't know they had brought me 20 ounces until I had enjoyed every one of those ounces thoroughly and then thought to ask, just out of curiosity, how much crab they brought me anyway. Who feeds you 20 ounces of any meat!? So, Friday night was spent, in part, researching probably mercury levels in king crab legs, shelled weight of meat (since my portion was 20-ish ounces with shell) and the possible mercury consumption based on the two combined figures. That took more work than I expected, but the numbers produced by a handy calculator I found online indicated that we probably escaped harm - even after I added to my weekly seafood menu some shrimp and salmon for good measure. This mommy-to-be will probably not crab binge again for a very loooooong time.

----------

Week 12 was rather difficult for us. On Sunday night one week ago, I started to pass a frightening quantity of red blood and clots. The bleeding came at scary timing (don't get me wrong, it is always scary), because apparently miscarriages are most common during the weeks when the mother would have menstruated: weeks 4, 8, 12 and 16. When I began to bleed on day one of week 12, I was very afraid that we were about to become an incidence of the statistic. I called the OB on call and was told to just wait and see if the bleeding got worse or if any other symptoms developed (cramping, etc.), in which case we'd be sent to the hospital. We are grateful to report that the bleeding lightened up considerably within 3 hours, and stopped completely within 36. I called the OB office during office hours the next day and arranged to go in to have them check me out. They didn't find active bleeding, and everything looked okay, except that my cervix is a bit irritated. They checked for baby's heartbeat with a portable ultrasound, and we got to see him or her, albeit rather blurry and indistinct, bopping away in there with a good, strong heartbeat.

I had a first trimester ultrasound scheduled for Friday already (the stated purpose is to screen for Down Syndrome, which we would have done only for the sake of information, and which is why we hesitated to have it done), and although I had been on the verge of canceling it when I went in on Tuesday, the doctor who checked me out said that she thought it might be a good idea to have that more-detailed ultrasound on Friday so that we could also see if there was any visible reason for the bleeding.

The ultrasound proved helpful. Not only did it produce really great images of our baby - complete with brains! - but it reassured me a great deal and revealed a couple of things that I would not have otherwise known. One of them is that I have what is referred to as a marginal placenta previa. This means that the placenta has attached low enough in the uterus that it is bordering the cervix. This could be a problem if it remains in that location as the baby grows towards term, but, the likelihood is that the placenta will move up as the top of the uterus stretches away from the base. Worst case, the placenta doesn't move up, and I would require a c-section and somewhat closer monitoring towards the end of pregnancy for any bleeding that would indicate a problem. The placenta is, however, well-attached and has normal vascular activity. The Sonographer was unable to find any evidence of blood clots or pools that would explain my recent bleeding. This may mean that the clot/blood pool (subchorionic hemorrhage) that was visible in an ultrasound at 6-ish weeks has healed, which is great.

[Aside, I have to wonder if the placenta previa explains the bleeding. It can cause bleeding, usually much later on (keeping in mind that the condition is usually diagnosed several weeks later), which is red and painless, just like what I experienced this past week.]

Bleeding like this is labeled a "threatened miscarriage" by the medical community, which isn't the most comforting choice of words. We have, however, gotten past week 12, and we're hopeful for a quieter week 13. As you may imagine, the myterious bleeds are still a cause of concern. As the doctor put it, "I hope that was just a freak occurance and that you won't have further problems." We hope so, too. We'd appreciate your prayers to that end.

In the meantime, I am trying to keep myself pretty low-key in terms of excitment and activity. The bleed came just about the time I decided that I was fine, so I may have overdone it - if overdoing it means just doing things around the house and occassionally venturing outside. *sigh*

And now, as promised... our little trooper!

Poetry Moved

2009-01-31T14:04:00.004-05:00

A snippet of one of my poetic forays showed up here at High Calling Blogs. Does this mean I've been published? ;)

Coming soon... an update on our "baby J", who, as of yesterday, seems to be doing quite well... Praise be to God!

Of Poetry and Memory

2009-01-27T23:49:00.002-05:00

Another blogger has challenged her readers to participate in a "great poem caper". I don't fancy myself a poet, so I probably wouldn't have been too tempted to try it (since it involves posting my "poetry" publicly)... except that she happened to provide just the right prompt.

This morning I started to read "England, England" by Julian Barnes, and the first few paragraphs captured my imagination. In them the author discusses one woman's well-warranted mistrust of memory:

A memory now of a memory a bit earlier of a memory before that of a memory way back when. So people assertively remember a face, a knee that bounced them, a springtime meadow; a dog, a granny, a woollen animal whose ear disintegrated after wet chewing [...] They remembered all this confidently, uncontradictably, but whether it was the report of others, a fond imagining, or the softly calculated attempt to take the listener's heart between finger and thumb and give it a tweak whose spreading bruise would last until love had struck -- whatever its source and intent, she mistrusted it.

That fluid aspect of memory absolutely fascinates me, and I have to wonder which, if any, of my memories are uncolored by what I know now and who I am now. Since I spent time thinking about memory this morning, and found this challenge tonight, I decided to give it a go. Why not? With any luck you won't remember them anyway!

I chose option 3, which was to take a first line and run with it. Oh, and, in true Orthodox fashion, I wrote not once, not twice, but three times.

If memories were sparrows...

If memories were sparrows…
They’d feed on seeds of love,
Nest in sturdy, sun-warm branches,
Content to glean life from dirt.

If memories were goslings,
Unruffled by fear’s winds,
They’d float freely and weightlessly,
Winging back to heart’s true home.

If memories were falcons,
They’d spot the smallest good,
Hold it fast with iron talons,
Ever vigilant and brave.

If memories were ostrich,
With strength they would endure,
They’d run life’s long miles unchanging,
Rooted with feet on the ground.

If memories were peacocks,
They’d capture in their plumes
All that’s light and all that glistens,
Vibrant, beautiful and proud.

If memories were penguins,
Plunging into icy seas,
They’d weather tide and undertow,
Find sustenance and succor.

If memories were songbirds,
Their gift soft, lilting strains,
They’d bring the heavens down to earth,
And lift to heaven the broken.

If memories were feathered,
Prey to pride and ego.
We’d cage; we’d clip their spreading wings,
We’d mute their truthful singing.

---

If memories were sparrows,
I’d shun the fancy songbirds and flashy waterfowl.
I would scoff at the showy peacock and silly long-necked heron,
Eschew (I would) the glowing colors of the flamingo and the glum scowl of the vulture.
I’d sniff at soaring hawks, at chattering nightingales, and shush the bright canary.
Then I’d scatter the choicest seeds far and wide
For those unassuming brown birds, the innumerable sparrows,
Every one so like the others, and yet so distinct and powerful,
gathering at the feeder of my heart.

---

If memories were sparrows,
Life would be simpler.
Sparrows can be captured, cataloged and caged.
While they, like any living thing, would change as they aged and would eventually die,
They would retain their nature through the changing,
As our bodies reproduces our fingerprints and every cell, our DNA.

If memories were sparrows,
I could selectively breed, choosing, of course, only the most robust and pleasant.
I release the defective birds to oblivion in the world and erase their records in my logs.
I could feed and nurture my favorites, and keep them always before me.
I could mercifully end the suffering of the damaged, broken specimens to promote happiness.

If memories were sparrows,
I would not have to be changed by them.
I could leave them behind when I wanted to escape, or move to a clime where they cannot thrive.
I could neglect them, feed them cold French fries – they wouldn’t complain.

If memories were sparrows,
I would be free to be me without feathers and droppings.
Ah… but then who would “me” be?
A tabula rasa? The happiest of souls?

If memories were sparrows,
Carefully culled and groomed,
Would I cling to the birds of destruction, death and despair?
Would I choose to enshrine in my heart the bloody memory of Christ?
Would I look at myself and remember my sins?

If memories were sparrows,
Death would be simpler.
It would come to me, silent, comfortable, and welcome, as I would be ensconced in my aviary of pride and aversion to suffering.
And only in eternity would I have to remember.

Mews and Musings

2009-01-27T08:36:00.001-05:00

Week 12 of our pregnancy has rolled around, and I roll with it, from one side to the other in the night, with all the tenacity of a hen on a spit and the effectiveness of a pallid pancake flipped repeatedly in a too-cool pan. I'm trying to teach myself to sleep on my left side before the necessity of a swelling belly forces the issue, but I have met with only scant success, accompanied by newly-sore hips. God bless the doctor who told me both that my nighttime self-torture was unnecessary for the present and that the right side was as good as the left; God bless him, but I am nothing if not persistent, and so I flop repeatedly most nights, marking a physical boundary between bouts of strange dreams.

Lost in the nightly shuffle is MooMoo, my once-faithful mewing belly warmer. For a while she just scolded when I disturbed her rest, prompting me to whisper little apologies in my half-sleep, but about 2 weeks ago she grew weary of my tossing and decided to sleep next to Daniel. Apparently he wasn't a much better solution, because she has since given up on the humans altogether and has reached a tenuous peace accord with Monte. I wasn't there when they drew up the treaty, but I imagine the document commemorating the concord would read something like this:

"We the cats of the house, in order to form a more perfect night's sleep, establish purring and ensure domestic tranquility... do agree not to reduce each other to shreds of fur, to tolerate occasional furtive butt sniffing and to sleep together on the futon, provided that neither one of us creeps closer than 14.5 inches in proximity, except to execute the aforementioned sniffing when sanctioned by an excess of curiosity and when not impinging on the personal comfort or perceived safety of the other."

And so, while I generally don't get up to check on them in the middle of the night, I can see them in my mind's eye as surely as if I were there observing: Monte an extra-large black Bundt cake with a head, and MooMoo a furry, dark, dainty loaf of sweet bread, sleeping contentedly on their disheveled new bed of choice. One of them will have established a claim on Daniel's jacket, and the other will settle for the blanket I use to keep myself warm when sleep evades me and I give up on finding it, but they will both be there in some softly snoring configuration.

At first I was a little bit sad. I had grown so used to MooMoo's soothing presence at night, but then I realized that this arrangement is actually ideal. Assuming that our little princess cat is dethroned in about six month's time by a crying, wriggling, cooing, wrinkled human infant, MooMoo's days on the bed (and in our room) are numbered anyway. It's better this way: she preserves the dignity of self-will that is essential to the feline, and I toss unfettered under the suddenly lighter covers.

Our mostly cat-free sleep comes to an end about the time my need to answer nature's call outweighs my desire for a warm bed. With my first stirring comes the thump indicating that Monte has dismounted the futon, with MooMoo slinking silently behind. For a while, Monte will be content to pin Daniel's chest to the bed and demand a few caresses which he rewards with voluminous purring. But then he grows restless and begins his ritual morning trampling. If he starts his "wake up the humans" routine too early, he often finds himself unceremoniously dumped behind a closed door. If, however, he times it right, he's rewarded with breakfast, so most mornings it must seem worth the gamble.

After breakfast, which MooMoo sometimes shuns, the cats enjoy a little stare-down on the stairs. MooMoo perches at the far end of the top landing, and Monte crouches at the opposite end of the second step down, where they sit for several minutes. I confess that I don't know what this accomplishes, but it is apparently as important as all of the other rituals in their lives, such as the nightly chase that thunders through the house.

I see in the cats the importance of order and predictability in everyday life. Cats are unsettled by the most innocuous of changes, for better or for worse, and they crave the comfort of knowing what to expect from life. I'm not much different, really. I find changes in my life and body to be somewhat rattling, even as I embrace them.

Our own lives have grown quieter and the cats have adjusted their lifestyle to match. I think, perhaps, we humans talk somewhat less than we used to. However, we tend not to waste words, and I dare say we understand more. Some things don't need explaining, like why we both cried the first time we saw that Gerber commercial in which parents proclaim their commitment to their unborn or newborn babies. Some things have grown in significance, like the pleasure of a good back-scratch or, for Dan, the bliss of a few moments in which I make no demands. Other things have begun anew, like the nightly anointing of my head and belly with oil that helps me to remember in whose hands and by whose mercy all of us have our being.

Mostly, whatever the changes, we're just grateful for the blessing of life... divine, human and feline. That, and we cherish the fleeting memory of an undisturbed night's sleep!

The Audacity!

2009-01-12T13:15:00.008-05:00

I've read two of Yann Martel's books now, and each time he had me hooked in the introduction. It's probably because he has, in both cases, started by going back in time to his expectations and mindset as a college student studying philosophy. From there he talks about his journey as a writer and how he came to write the book I held in my hand. In both cases, I felt that there was something about him that was just like me, except that we come from different cultural backgrounds, genders, countries of birth and life experience and have almost nothing, really, in common. Just philosophy and writing. Of course, the writing link is tenuous at best: his writing has been critically acclaimed and translated into several languages, while mine wasn't skillful enough to save me the indignity of a lay-off from a publication that can hardly claim literary distinction among its merits. Basically, I read his introductory words and become convinced immediately that we have everything (and nothing) in common. Former philosophy majors that we are, I'm fairly certain that if Mr. Martel and I ever actually discussed the matter, we'd both be rather comfortable with paradox. It's just about all the major leaves one with... so why not embrace it?

Daniel and I were talking last night about my writing while waiting for sleep to overtake us. I had made it about 3/4 of the way through the newest Martel intro and again had that distinct feeling that I must write, even if it is for an audience of none. I told my sleepy husband that it was a pity, really: I have all the time in the world to be creative, and not much energy to do anything else, and yet I have no idea what to write. I have no shortage of life experiences to begin from. I've traveled some, talked to hundreds of people, I have known loves and losses and if anything I feel like I am already bursting with inspiration. How, though, to pull from 1000 ideas just one to make my focus? I have no idea. Well... I know what will happen well enough. It could be scripted. I'll eventually, Lord willing, have my hands full with children, and then I will know exactly what to write... I just won't have the time to commit it to screen or paper.

I know part of what holds me back, and I told Daniel so. Until I battle that demon, I will continue to think about writing and limit my words to the mostly polite boundaries of my blog space. I know that if I do write someday, I wouldn't know how to do it without exploring parts of human experience that are impolite, if not insidious. I would probably shock and dismay people who would prefer to think of me as a nice Christian girl who couldn't or wouldn't think up such things, because "nice" Christians seem to behave as if the sinful nature we all share does not bear uttering, because uttering is akin to glorifying. I don't mean that my deepest desire as a writer is to create salacious texts that have no value beyond the prurient, rather I am uncomfortable with the idea that to write about human failings with honesty is to first find those failings in my own heart and life - if not in full bloom, in seeds of thought. They are there, without question, but I sometimes feel that I must keep up the facade. I'm not a "nice" Christian girl; I am a highly imperfect person who struggles, and I could be nothing less as an author. I wouldn't know how to create characters without making them deeply flawed. No devotionals, inspirational works or simple moral tales for me. But what else is a Christian to write? I want to write fiction, and to write powerful fiction is first to write truth. The truth is that humanity is imperfect... not beyond the reach of redemption, but in desperate need of that redemption.

Minutes ticked by. Daniel eventually succumbed to the wiles of sleep. I, however, lay awake, tying to find some way to be comfortable on my left side and contemplating my myriad different muses. It occurred to me at some point that the this whole desire to write is rather audacious. It assumes that I have something of inherent importance to say. Of course, nobody is obligated to read anything I may pull together, but by bothering to make it public, I am saying that my thoughts, my creations must be shared. Surely our Creator gave us the creative instinct, and, in one sense, at least, man was create to share His creation. What, however, can I possibly say that hasn't been said? What can I knit in words that won't have the must and texture of recycled fragments? Why bother?

Honestly, I don't know. I think, thought, that I'm just audacious enough try anyway. Only time will tell.

Thank God for Books

2009-01-10T12:44:00.008-05:00

I have spent so much time reclining and almost completely sapped of energy lately that I have renewed my commitment to an old passion for books. Even new-to-me books have the comforting power of old familiar friends, and they allow me to break free from the wasteland that is TV and the tedium of my life of late.

This really is a revival of an old love, too. I have several memories of my stolen moments with books. One night, when I was about 15, I stayed up until 3 or 4am to finish the Oedipus Cycle. It was a pleasure read that I had found in a used book bin, and I don't think I had a single friend at the time who would have understood that choice. I also remember reading Nathaniel Hawthorne in a lawn chair in our tiny garden outside, surrounded by Dad's lovingly-tended flowers, and protected from the sun by the wall of the "little house" and my ruffled blue umbrella. Then there were the times I turned down invitations to social times with friends. I don't remember if I was entirely truthful about why each time, but often it was about a book that had dragged me in to its web of words. Fast forward to my tumultuous, confusing and exceptionally long-lasting college years, and you might find me spread out alone on a blanket at the Huntington Library gardens or sharing my lunch and my book time with the forward squirrels in the UCLA Arboretum. On my few and far between visits to the beach, you could find me avoiding the sun in my tent or under my umbrella, book in hand. On our visit to a state natural area last year, Daniel and I dragged books and towels with us so that when we had tired of walking and talking, we could lounge by the river and bathe in the dying embers of the sun while listening to the voices from other times and places in our books.

You may notice a theme here... me, books, outdoors. Perhaps that is why, when I am as shut up as I have ever been, books are so comforting. Their often musty pages evoke the natural settings that I have so often shared with books. I haven't had energy enough to even sit out on our porch to read, so the power of a book to transport me from my present setting has been invaluable.

What do I read? Anything, really. Emphasis on British and Scandinavian novels. In the last week or so, I have finished Possession (by A.S. Byatt: an amazing book that defies my powers of imagination to come up with an explanation as to how one person could have brought such a tale to life in all of its complexity and detail) the Forsyte Saga (an 870-page old library edition printed in 1924 that Dan bought for me from a local used book seller - the only copy of a book by John Galsworthy sold in the memory of the shop's owner), Gunnar's Daughter by Sigrid Undset (a fictional story of a 10th-century Norse woman told in a style reminiscent of Icelandic Sagas), The Age of Innocence and The Buccaneers by Edith Wharton, Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South, and I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree (the memoir of Schindler's List Holocaust survivor Laura Hillman). I'm nearly finished with Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera and I gave up on page 50-ish of The Book of Runes (when I discovered definitively that the author's aim, rather than explaining the historical usage of Scandinavian runic, was to create a new method to resurrect the runes as an oracle along the lines of I Ching or Tarot and when my patience for that sort of silliness ran out). I have a pile of other books that I will eagerly devour when I have finished these, compliments of the people who sent me books for Christmas and Daniel, who has made periodic visits to the used book store and our storage unit to keep both of us in books to read.

Several weeks ago, at one of my darkest, most frightened moments, the book I picked up was my maternal grandmother's old Bible, given to her by her children when it appears that my mom, at least, was as yet unable to write her own name. Zipped up in its pages were a few scattered bookmarks and scraps of her life and reminders of her faith. I looked through the inserted relics before reading several of the Psalms and some favorite passages from the Old testament and New, and I felt myself growing more calm, and better able to pray, which meant that I could eventually sleep. Grandma was, if she was nothing else, a prayer warrior. I remember thinking when she passed away, "who will pray for me like she did? No one." I can still see her on her knees in the small hours of the morning, lifting up all of those she loved into God's hands.

I'm grateful for the power of words to transport, to comfort, to inspire... and I am glad that God committed his love for us to writing through the voices of the many men who wrote the Book of books. And I am glad that God has given us the ability to keep on writing about the things that thrill, motivate, move, comfort and scare us, because I have found in books, in these lonely, isolated days, connections to divinity and humanity that I have sorely missed.

9 weeks and counting...

2009-01-04T15:51:00.003-05:00

Just a quick update for those of you who may be wondering how things are going... and who may not have seen this on Facebook.

We had an ultrasound on Friday with our new OB. He said everything looked encouraging, that the heartbeat was "plenty fast enough" and that, as long as the baby keeps growing as expected, he wasn't too worried about the little bit of bleeding in the uterus (probably coming from a spot where the placenta failed to completely fuse to the uterine wall). It was so fun to see the baby moving around and to hear the little "steam-engine" heartbeat (to quote Dan).

The doctor is a senior citizen who has been at the business of babies for a LONG time and has the deep low drawl of a Southern gentleman. He was simultaneously no-nonsense and in possession of a sense of humor. Dan and I both really liked him.

Among the surprises of the day, baby looked to be about 3 days larger than the original estimated due date would indicate, so we have a newly revised (sooner!) due date of August 9. Either way, this baby is apparently determined to arrive at the hottest, most miserable time of the year! The other interesting tidbit is that the doctor thinks I may need a c-section when the time comes. That is one bridge that we won't be crossing for several months, but it doesn't concern me too much either way. (One thing that wasn't surprising is that baby has a tail. Even that seemed somehow adorable.)

The doctor told us that a good ultrasound at this stage means that the likelihood of miscarriage, while it never drops to zero, is greatly diminished. Given the bleeding I have experienced, the doctor did encourage me to keep my activity to a minimum, so I will still be keeping to bed and chaise much of the time until I am told to do otherwise.

As always, we appreciate the prayers, happy thoughts and encouragement that so many of you have offered (and would ask our prayer warriors to keep at it)!

Two Hearts... Make that Three

2008-12-19T16:43:00.003-05:00

I've been a bit quiet lately here, and, as usual, it is not without cause. I've essentially spent the last several weeks moving between my bed upstairs and my chaise longue downstairs. I do sit here at the computer some, but much less frequently than I have before. That is because, as some of you closest to me know, and as others may have guessed, we have once again been blessed with a tiny little person who, for the time being, has taken up residence in my womb and, in the process, has thrown my life into a complete tailspin. Today we had the pleasure, for the first time, of both hearing and seeing its tiny heart beating - we were able to see the heartbeat on Tuesday as well. We're about 6 1/2 weeks pregnant, and we've decided to share the news a bit more widely than we have until now, both because we believe that even the newest, most fragile life is worth celebrating and because we'd like to know that people are praying for us. We are thrilled to know that all of the diagnostics so far have shown a healthy baby that is growing as expected and whose size and heart-rate are good.

That said, nothing with me is ever uncomplicated, including, apparently, pregnancy. Our first pregnancy ended early this year - the baby had survived until 7 weeks, and we found out at 8 weeks that it was no longer developing due to a highly unusual complication. I had a molar pregnancy (also known as trophoblastic disease), which meant that the placenta was irregular. Ours was a "partial" molar pregnancy, which means there was a baby (as opposed to complete molar pregnancies in which there are only abnormal placental cells), but it had 3 sets of chromosomes rather than 2, apparently resulting from two sperm fertilizing the same egg, though nobody is sure why this happens. Even if the baby had still been developing when we got the diagnosis, it almost certainly could not have survived until birth, but by the time of our first ultrasound, the end had come. I had to have surgery to be certain that the uterus was clear of abnormal tissue. There was also some concern that the irregular placental cells could regenerate, which might require chemotherapy to treat. All in all, it was a sad, scary and difficult time for us. We needed to wait several months before trying to conceive again, and I had to undergo testing to make sure the placental abnormalities did not recur.

By the grace of God, we conceived immediately when we were ready to try again, and this pregnancy is much, much healthier by comparison. We have, however, had news of a different sort of complication this time that does not necessitate quite so grim a prognosis. The ultrasound revealed that I have a small blood clot in my uterus that could pose some threat to the baby. There is nothing that can be done about it except to wait and see what happens. My body my reabsorb the clot, and it may become dislodged and pass. To the best of my understanding, the largest danger lies in more uterine bleeding (like the bleeding that produced the clot), which is something I cannot control beyond limiting my physical activity. The doctor has ordered me to do nothing strenuous and not to worry. I can handle the first part, the second is a challenge.

We would very much appreciate your prayers for the health of mother and child (and Dad, who is picking up the slack in our lives), but mostly for peace. God is much bigger than blood clots and our worries, and I, especially, would do well to remember that. I suppose it goes without saying (but humor me and let me say it anyway) that we consider this pregnancy, clot and all, to be a huge blessing, and we would very much like to be blessed with a healthy baby several months from now. For now, we're thrilled to have 3 hearts beating in our home.

Calorie Conundrum (a.k.a. why eating healthily is a pain in my stomach)

2008-12-03T14:32:00.007-05:00

After recovering from a Thanksgiving food coma and then a visit to the doctor on Monday, I decided, with the doctor's encouragement, to upgrade my diet. This means that Dan's dinners get an upgrade, too, since he'll eat what I eat. I'm basically focusing on simple, organic foods (if it has ingredients I don't recognize, I don't want it going in my mouth), whole grains, whole fat dairy (except for ice cream and the like), lean meats, fruits and vegetables to a greater degree than I usually do.

However, I have almost immediately encountered the annoyance I always have with healthier approaches to food - when surviving on veggies, fruit and whole grains, it takes so much dang food to make up my minimum calorie allowance that I find I can't eat everything I am supposed to eat in a day. Starving myself won't help matters, so, as has happened in the past, I find myself cramming food in my mouth at bedtime and spending a few hours a day trying to figure out how to balance everything day-long without come up wanting. I also spend much more time in the grocery store reading labels, which tries Dan's patience when he is kind enough to accompany me to the store.

Of course, the one thing I still need to remedy is sodium intake; sodium lurks everywhere - which I will eventually do by replacing some of my favorite packaged foods with home-made, but I figure I can take it one step at a time. I just had to complain about it.

And here, as homage to diet as it was, are pictures of our Thanksgiving feast sans the from-scratch pumpkin and pecan pies Dan made. I was very pleased with the food, overall, and I was even better pleased with the company. Among other things, I was very glad of all the help I had from Heather when it came to making the food and from Jeff and Daniel when it came time for clean-up!

Pictured are the turkey with vegetables and stuffing, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce from fresh cranberries, creamed corn from my Grandfather's recipe, mashed red potatoes, sweet potato casserole with pecan topping, gravy, Dan's freshly canned hot pepper relish, Boston canned brown bread and yeast rolls (and the butter and wine, of course).

Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T00:10:00.007-05:00

We walked into a Food Lion on Sunday last, past the old man waiting for his wife on the bench just inside the door, past the lottery machines and a display of store brand soda, past a pile of pale green rectangular boxes. It was time to buy the last few provisions we needed for our Thanksgiving dinner, and I had coupons and a carefully prepared list at the ready on my utilitarian brown clipboard. Unemployment has brought out the bargain-hunter side of me, so I split my grocery trips between the Food Lion on one corner and the Harris Teeter on the other. Time is in greater supply than money, and in this way I can stretch the food dollars without adding much to the gasoline tab.

Food Lion is the unfashionable store; the grocery store of the everyman -- the first one in a fledgling town and the one that claims the less glamorous clientele once the glossy chains move in. It isn't the scrubbed-clean mega-market with shining displays of organic produce and high-end specialty foods; Instead, it boasts a comparatively impressive display of Hispanic foods and a meager smattering of representative items from each category of item you might expect to find in a grocery store.

We walked through the aisles and picked up about $50-worth of food from the list -- well, it was generally sold for more than that, but sales and coupons knocked a great deal off of the cost, and I was having fun thinking of the money we weren't spending. Cream soup cans and toilet paper and other necessities piled up in the cart, and we made our way to the line, passing cart after cart filled with cascading Banquet frozen entrees and the various pork products that seem to be the store's mainstay, along with the tell-tale traditional foods of the holiday.

One of the most shocking aspects of life in the South for the Southern California girl in me is that nobody seems to be in much of a hurry here -- ever. I watched a man at a tire shop earlier this week patiently approach the young man at the front desk to inform him that the repair job he had ordered was still not done properly... first they forgot to rotate the tires, then they didn't check the pressure, and the list went on. Still, the man, clearly frustrated but always polite, simply waited until the job was done right and chatted with me about hockey in the interim. It was that or watch a particularly insipid Judge-Somebody-or-Other show on the TV in the corner of the waiting room. We both chose sociability, and patience, over the voyeuristic pleasure of watching people humiliate themselves on television. Waiting is just what we needed to do, and far from being weird, being neighborly is encouraged.

The lines in the Food Lion are another chance for the exercise of patience, or reflection, or catching up with an old friend who just happens to be in the next line, or a friendly exchange with the decidedly-unstylish, probably overweight and pimpled checker. In this case, while I waited for my shot at the rotating belt counter top, I chose to ponder the huge water bottle on the end of the counter that was filled with miscellaneous small change and bore a hand-written sign: This Thanksgiving will be difficult for all of us. If you can spare anything, we'll make sure it goes to the needy of our community. I looked at the meager offerings in the jar, and at to my cart as my mind wandered up the street and into our refrigerator where our turkey was thawing. I bought it early in the season while smallish birds could still be found. I realized then that even though I was jobless and our shopping was budgeted rather carefully, I didn't have to worry about whether or not we could pay for this food. Not one bit.

I thought back over the last year -- the miscarriage, our job losses, the move I didn't want to make, all of the uncertainty about the future -- all of the things that scared and pained me. Then I looked at the selfless, kind husband who had agreed to accompany me to the store when I know he would have rather been almost anywhere else. I soon found that my eyes were starting to burn. There was this amazing feeling that washed over me, something I had never felt so clearly. It was gratitude. I felt so incredibly blessed, because through His mercy God has seen to it that we haven't have to worry about the basics of life through any of it, and I have love and family and friends and health and so much to be grateful for.

When it was our turn to check out, the checker looked at the box of store brand stuffing (backup in case my scratch stuffing doesn't work as planned or something to add to a future dinner in a hurry) and sweet potatoes and other goodies destined for our table, and she reminded me that I had forgotten the turkey. I smiled and thanked her and told her I had one thawing in the fridge.
Then the checker turned to have a quick exchange with the box boy about the pale green boxes we had passed in the front of the store. "Have those been purchased?" he asked, motioning to the large pile that formed the display. "No," she replied, and she straightened the box in front of us and asked us if we wanted to buy one for five dollars. I looked at Daniel and he shrugged. "Yes," we said, and she thanked us asked the box boy to fetch a replacement from the big pile and added our one box to a very small pile behind the counter. The box contained name-brand thanksgiving fixings sufficient for one person for one meal. Suddenly another feeling washed over me... shame. Ours was such a small gesture, such a tiny offering that doesn't begin to address the real need of those in my neighborhood. I had an urge to buy the whole pile, but that was checked by the reality that we cannot afford that, as much as I would like to.

My imagination started working. Who would get that small box? How would they feel to open it and eat the contents? Ashamed? Grateful? If so, perhaps we shared in the same feelings as well as the same humanity and the same geographic region. I was ashamed as I looked at that five-dollar box and thought of the hundreds of dollars I spend in ways I can't easily account for when so many go hungry around me. I was grateful that there was something I could do at one of the leanest times in our lives together that would fill another belly for one special day.

We walked back out, and the old woman joined her husband. We grabbed our bags and packages of paper goods and waited for a man, and then a woman, to come in out of the cold. We set off through the bracing wind to fill our car with good things, and I fought back tears as we started the short drive back home in relative silence.

I don't know how to say thank you. I don't know where to begin. I do know that this Thanksgiving, my heart is as full as our small family table will be, and I am truly grateful.

Wunderzeit!

2008-11-25T10:19:00.004-05:00

A Double EP is being released by Daniel's long-time musical collaboration, Writ on Water, today.
I might add that today just happens to be the anniversary of the day that Daniel and I met, and it is my patronal (St. Katherine's Day) so it is a special day for us on many, many levels.

I continue to be amazed by the accomplishments of the man I have been fortunate enough to share the last seven years with, and I am grateful to get to see on a daily basis what so many people don't: that he has incredible talents that largely remain hidden under a bushel because of his failure to mention these things to anyone. So, while he won't crow about this latest accomplishment... I will!

For the uninitiated, Writ on Water's music is informed by a Christian worldview, but it appeals to a broad audience. Listeners trying to put it in a genre may label it with terms like "shoegaze," "post-punk," "space rock," "experimental" and "darkwave" (terms which I confess not to understand, but pass on for those of you who may). Don't let the words scare you... the music itself is a peaceful, yet energetic, tapestry of sound infused with a great deal of love.
The private "release party", a.k.a. Thanksgiving dinner at our house for the two of us and Jeff (the voice and main creative force of Writ on Water) and his uber-lovely wife, Heather, will be held on Thursday.

I would invite any of you who may be wish to experience Writ on Water's musical output to visit the links at the beginning of this post.

I, with the uniformed mite, ask WHY?

2008-11-21T10:52:00.007-05:00

Why the UC Regents should reconsider that enrollment cut...

Based on the following gem, from a comment, on an article, on the enrollment cut, by the UC Regants, from the US News and World Report site, about which I care as a UC Alum:

"The uniformed mite ask WHY?"

I suggest that the knead four hire education is grater then ewe mite think. As an aside... I love a mite in uniform.

P.S. It snowed last night!

P.P.S. The terribly awkward structure of the above sentence beginning "Based on..." was intentional, too. I haven't completely lost all sense (just almost all cents).

P.P.P.S. Okay... I will stop now.

From the Archives of our Lives

2008-11-12T10:47:00.005-05:00

We had a wonderful visit from Steve, Jayne, Thomas and Paul (Dan's oldest brother and his family) several weeks ago, but it just happened to coincide with my work situation taking a left turn, so while I have had photos and things to say about it for a while, I never managed to do so. It's long overdue by now, but I will hope that "they" are right when "they" say, "Better late than never!" Unfortunately, I seem to have lost more than half of the photos from that time in the intervening weeks. I had, for instance, some really cool shots of our nephews hanging about in treetops like monkeys, but I have not been able to locate them. *sigh* I do, however, have a couple of the photos I took back at the house (after the boys went and got sunburnt at the nearby water park). The less camera-shy members of the family appear somewhat more often than the rest of us. I, for instance, never handed the camera over to anyone else, so I just don't appear at all!During their visit, we went out to eat quite a lot... in fact, I think we did more eating than anything... which was great, since it allowed us to try some of the restaurants we had not yet been to. We also went to Old Salem (which took much more time than anticipated) and did a few other things around town. I managed to cook dinner one night, but it wasn't one of my more shining moments. :) There were plenty of fun moments, including the time when a young girl tried to pick up on Paul in the local Fuddruckers, where the burgers are enormous and the clean-up staff ask for tips in not-so-subtle ways. Back to Paul's admirer... I won't repeat what her friend said in response since it was shockingly frank, but the admirer managed to tell Paul he was "hot" straight out. I, of course, found this to be delightfully funny. I can afford to find it amusing since I am not the mother of teenagers. Speaking of teenagers, Sonic seemed to be a favorite destination for the visiting family, so trips to get drinks and munchies were frequently on the agenda. I didn't object to that either.

Wherever we were, there was an abundance of silliness. I attribute most of it to the boys of the family. I am sure that Jayne and I always comported ourselves admirably. I'm quite sad not to have some of the other photos to share that would have captured even more of the levity, but these few shots will provide a peek at the Connecticut clan's visit to our spot on the globe. While this is arguably *not* the most exciting place to be, we hope they will consider coming again.

Where We've Been (There's No Place Like Home)

2008-11-08T12:59:00.008-05:00

I have been MIA for a while, but that mostly has to do with the move we just completed. We moved into the house we'd already been living in. Sounds strange, perhaps. We had intended to move elsewhere, but when we gave notice here at the temporary furnished housing, our landlord made us an offer within 5 minutes that we, well, couldn't refuse - a very significant reduction of our rent, and the opportunity to move our own things in. So, last weekend, he moved his things out, and we moved ours in. Many many thanks are due our friend Erik, who came and helped for the weekend, allowing us to be completely unpacked and settled by the end of one week!

The majority of my time has been spent packing up the landlord's things and unpacking ours. When not doing that, I have been couponing (got to love $220-worth of groceries for $118, though I am determined to do even better), job hunting, budgeting, changing our address and doing a variety of other home-related tasks, including things I haven't done in ages, like ironing shirts for Dan, cooking dinner every day and baking sweet goodies for him to take to work. All in all, I have been more busy than I was when I was working full-time. It's been a good busy, though, and I feel the healthiest and most content I have in a long time, in part, I am sure, because I seem to run up and down the stairs in here a few dozen times a day! I am a domestic goddess, until I am called upon to do something else... and dare I confess that I kind of enjoy it?

We still have some kinks to work out when it comes to sorting out life as it will be now, but I'm feeling much more settled and happy than I was for a long time. In the good news department, MooMoo recovered well after having almost all of her teeth pulled (she now has only one fang, poor dear), Daniel was hired permanently at his new job with a possibility for a review and raise in three months, and we think we can scrape by with things as they are if need be. More money would definitely be handy, though, so perhaps those of you inclined towards prayer can pray that we find another source - work for me, a raise for him or whatever is needed.

Here's a slide show of our new digs - it's a 2 bed 2.5 bath townhouse, for those of you who haven't seen it. It's complete with such budget-conscious items as $1 garage sale curtains and a tablecloth re-purposed as a "headboard"! (As an aside, We decided that the initial investment would be worthwhile in both energy savings and eco-friendliness, so we've put energy-efficient bulbs in all but about 4 or 5 fixtures and lamps in the house.) While it would be lovely to be able to replace some things (my desk, for example, is a $20 folding table from Walgreens) and there are plenty of things on my "someday..." wish list, I have been pleased with the way things have turned out, and what I didn't have to spend to do it!

Finally, what post would be complete without plenty of cats? Here are assorted kitty pictures taken this morning... Monte LOVES the roses Dan bought for me, as you can see. I don't have the heart to tell Monte that they weren't for him.
I'm going to try to backtrack a bit here in the next few posts, because there is plenty I haven't written about, including visits from loved ones and other of our recent activities. Stay tuned, as I hope to get going on the blog again now that we have a comfortable place to live and a semblance of order and serenity in our lives.

Local Color

2008-10-16T11:06:00.007-04:00

Fall has many charms, and several of the more tasty charms are for sale at the local farmer's market. This one has absolutely captivated me. It's quite large and quite diverse, with local products featuring prominently in the offerings, which I like very well, indeed. I like to support the local economy, and I like to be as close to the source of the food as practical. Here are some highlights from the market.

First, my sweetheart in a house made of pumpkins.

Taters, sweet and otherwise.
Some of the many varied pumpkins for sale.

Apples, apples and more apples!
Apples aren't the only cider-fruits round these parts.
Colorful blooms.
Green pumpkins.

Of course, there are other forms of wildlife in town... some that are just as native as well, I am.

Napping red wolves.
Kitties!!!See ya later alligator, and after a while crocodile.
And my favorite, a cute little Wallaby that let me pet him and nuzzled my feet.
Isn't our world amazing and beautiful!

A New Season

2008-10-11T09:24:00.009-04:00

These days, few things make me quite so excited as the beginning of the NHL regular season. I'm glad to have somewhere to invest my nervous energy and something to follow with interest that has the potential to be quite positive. We decided to go to the opening game of the Hurricanes' '08-'09 season last night, and we were delighted to discover that we could make it to a 7pm weeknight game on time from here when traffic and weather permit, though we plan to do that very seldom indeed. The journey also had the advantage of taking us by a gas station selling 87 for $3.17 per gallon. At home here, it's more like $3.60+ these days, so that was another pleasant surprise.

In other good news, the Hurricanes won, it was the fullest house I have seen in the 11 months I have followed the team and, aside Dan's from missing most of the second period haggling with an RBC Center employee at the ticket window who appeared to be trying to make a spot in the hall of incompetence for herself, we had a nice time and managed to get home before midnight.

As an aside, Dan has decided that earplugs are in order for him at all future games, which was a valuable observation. His hearing has suffered some over the last few months/years, and all of the arena noise is just too much for him, even though there's nothing like a live game and he loves that part. I'm somewhat more compassionate than I might otherwise be to that particular situation because I have a mother with hearing loss whose experience was shared with me some growing up. In fact, I learned enough from mom that I was able to recognize some behavioral signs of Dan's hearing loss before he recognized what was happening and his doctor actually caught the physical fact in testing.

Also aside, a consequence of the ticket window fiasco was that once I went back to the ticket window with Dan to have them fix the overcharge and the wrong seats (among other things), we decided to get some food, and when we headed back to our seats, Senator Elizabeth Dole happened to be right outside the door we needed to go through to get back. She was kind enough to shake our hands and greet us kindly before moving on. It may have been a photo-op, but we had no cameras (only incredibly overpriced Hardee's food) at hand, so you'll just have to take my word on that one.

I'm the last person to find politicians awe-inspiring, but she is a history-maker (the first female senator in NC) and a long-time civil servant who served with five presidents and ran for first lady, so to speak, so given a chance to shake her hand, I will take it.

All in all, it was a fun evening. I'm very grateful for fun times like this one that we get to share. Perhaps it can mark the start of a new season in our lives with more to obviously celebrate... (and I do mean more than just a new NHL season)!

By Divine Appointment

2008-10-08T12:41:00.005-04:00

I thought I was going to see my doctor for the follow-up after a skin biopsy. That's what I had in mind... Well, that and asking the doctor if we can start trying to conceive again, since he had done a series of tests to determine my baseline health. I guess you could say that a lot rested on this appointment. However, according to a black woman named Jennifer from Ohio that I met in the waiting room, that was only one of the appointments I was meant to keep today. She says I had an appointment with her as well, only God had arranged this one.

I had arrived at the doctor eager to get the whole business over with. While I am getting quite used to the sort of exam that this office specializes in, I have never gotten used to the indignity of them. I checked in and looked for something to read to pass the time. Thankfully this office has a variety of magazines, unlike the office in Raleigh where I went through the majority of my short pregnancy and post-miscarriage care. That office offered reading choices for two life-events only: happy pregnancy and happy menopause. However, in this office, the smallish magazine that caught my eye was one called Miracle, which happened to be about achieving pregnancy through infertility treatments. I flipped through it, and looked despondently at a chart demonstrating the relationship between rising age and failing fertility. This month I turn 34, and the point at which pregnancy is attended by additional counseling about all the things that can go wrong is one year away. I soon discovered that this particular "miracle" booklet amounted to nothing more than fancy pharmaceutical literature, but it was enough to make me wonder as I put it back on the table if I would be devouring it in a year or two, hoping it held answers we desperately wanted.

My name was called, and, after a routine collection of specimens, I was ushered by a nurse into another waiting room. A tall, neatly groomed black woman sat down across from me. We smiled, and I made a passing remark about how we had made it to the second waiting room, which is always encouraging. She laughed and chatted a little bit. She was here, she said, because she had miscarried a few months ago, but she was now pregnant again. I smiled and congratulated her, and then I told her about my own miscarriage in February. She looked at me and, in dead earnestness, told me that I was going to have a baby. "How can I know this? I don't even know you? All things are in God's hands, and you are going to have a child." She then got up and laid her hand on my shoulder and told me she would be praying for me long after I had forgotten about this day. By then, I had started to cry quietly. "Don't be afraid. You must not be afraid, and never question God's ways. You do believe in Him, don't you?" I said yes. Her name was called, and she disappeared into the back of the office with a final few words of encouragement.

A few minutes later I was called back to the exam room. My eyes were still moist, and the nurse asked if I was okay. I told her I was and that I had just had an unusual - not unpleasant, just unusual - experience with another patient in the waiting room. I had a lot of time to think while I waited, draped in a paper blanket, for the doctor to come check the biopsy site. Most of that time I prayed silently and cried a bit more. It's an emotional day today, and that little impromptu laying on of hands was all it took to help me find my crying place.

The doctor exam was unremarkable, except that he couldn't find the biopsy spot, it had healed so well. He told me we can try to get pregnant, and wrote me a prescription for prenatal vitamins. So far, so good.

As I left, I met the same woman in the back office hall. She said, "Looks like we're on the same schedule," and we walked out together. She told me that there was such a thing as anointing, and that she was passing it on to me. We chatted a bit. She told me I would have news that everything would be fine by Christmas, and that when I got the news, I would remember that there was a black woman named Jennifer in this doctor's office that had encouraged me today. She told me that God had arranged it so that we would be there together and meet. At that point I couldn't help but laugh. A few days ago the doctor's office called and told me they had to reschedule my appointment by about 40 minutes, so I came in later than was my usual preference. I came in when Jennifer did.

I couldn't help but think of another strange encounter in a hospital hallway when my dad was desperately ill in the ICU. We weren't sure (and the doctors weren't convinced) that he was going to live, but a blond woman in the hallway of the ICU told me that my Dad would walk out of the hospital. I remember clinging to her words, hoping that even though the encounter was exceptionally strange, that her words were somehow true. He was wheeled out of the hospital, as are all patients, but Dad recovered after more than one close call and figuratively, if not literally, he did walk away.

The part of me that isn't entirely jaded, that part that isn't completely cynical, that part wants to believe that Jennifer from Ohio was in fact keeping her divine appointment with me. Because while I am still not sure that it's entirely rational to believe anything this gentle stranger said to me, there was a confidence in her words and her eyes that could have persuaded me of almost anything. I've been pretty hopeless lately. It's been easy for me to lose sight of the good things in the midst of all of my worries. If Jennifer persuaded me to have hope again, after a difficult molar pregnancy, job losses, a traumatic move, a skin cancer scare and months of waiting in what has felt like limbo, then perhaps there is something of God's hand in hers on my shoulder. Jennifer could be an angel, she could be a charismatic person with a strong conviction of God's workings, she could be almost anyone or anything. I believe that she is a woman who kept a divine appointment to encourage a stranger. God bless her for that... and, you will forgive me, won't you, if I cling to a hope that she also turns out to be a prophet?