Five Years

These pictures were taken 5 years ago yesterday.

We had walked from the Nuthaus to Nau's Enfield Drug store for breakfast, but got there too late and had to have lunch. A few things about this day: 1) It was HOT, and we're all sweaty. 2) Mei Li's feet were bleeding because she hadn't realized we would be walking all over creation and had only brought flats (and we still had to walk home... uphill). 3) D was there but I didn't include that picture, since D doesn't like public photos at this stage. 4) My back was in constant searing agony. Bonus for 5) James and I look pretty young, and he looks well-rested (I wasn't sleeping more than a couple of hours at a time because of my back).

It's only in hindsight that I know what happened to my back, but here it is: The weekend I moved into the RV park in Austin, I slipped and fell in the laundry room because water had accumulated in a clogged grate in the middle of the floor. I went down in the splits and my left knee swelled to ridiculous proportions almost immediately, though I didn't remember hitting my knee. That was in mid-August 2012.

It wasn't until December 2012 that my back started hurting. Once again, Khrys and Mei Li were visiting, but this time with Patsy and Kitana. Every time we got into a car, I writhed in a shock of pain. It got worse and worse until I couldn't sleep more than 3 hours at a time because I had to get up and stand up. I couldn't sit normally, either. I stood and I found one of those 1980s ergonomic kneeling chairs. I had sciatica that was excruciating, and lower back pain.

The night these pictures were taken, March 30, 2013, I actually told James he didn't have to marry me if he didn't want to, because I was a different person than he had started dating. I was sleep-deprived. Everything else in my life suffered because of this. I was moody and exhausted and couldn't go on road trips. I felt like my whole life revolved around avoiding pain, which I couldn't, so I felt like a failure. My sweet kid would often ask, when I cried out, if I was okay. At some point, I said, "I'm not. Please don't ask me anymore. Neither of us can do anything about it."

Several months later, I would find that I had a ruptured disc, and after pursuing many treatments (chiropractic, acupuncture, massage), time, gabapentin, and a failed pregnancy healed me completely. I only took gabapentin at night for about 3 weeks, but that allowed me to sleep through most of the night for the first time in months. That, I believe, gave my body the energy to start healing. Then the spike of pregnancy hormones, I fully believe, finished the job. Also, I'm well aware that the gabapentin might have contributed to that pregnancy loss, but we were not expecting to get pregnant so early, not even sure that was a possibility.

By the time we went to Haiti in June 2013, I wasn't too uncomfortable on the plane or in the shuttle van. By the end of summer, I was pain-free. The whole cycle took a year.

I mention all of this in conjunction with our anniversary, because I had an epiphany this week...

The RV park where I lived ended up reimbursing me for my medical costs due to the injury. That was the only concussive thing that had happened to me. It was the cause. But I exacerbated the situation by not listening to my pain, and by "pushing through" to work out.

I remember vividly lying in the floor of the trailer, trying not to half-ass workout components I had done easily for years. Tears would stream from my face as I pulled and stretched, fighting against my body, which was telling me, "STOP IT! This isn't the 'good' kind of pain! You're hurting yourself!"

But I couldn't stop.

Why?

Because I was afraid of what would happen if I stopped.

I was afraid that if I didn't work out, the nightmare would come true.

I would get fat.

And the lesson I'd learned all of my life was that gaining weight was the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to a person.

When I was in junior high, a friend's mom told her daughter and me that we needed to watch what we ate, because her husband once told her that "boys don't want to hold on to no chalk."

How I wish the 14-year-old me had had the confidence and swearing ability to tell her, "Then eff those guys."

Because, seriously, EFF THOSE GUYS.

(Side note: same message for the ladies who won't date someone shorter than they are. Idiots.)

I overheard a guy saying he couldn't date me because I was "too much woman" for him.

I felt like I was a pretty cool chick, but never had a boyfriend, while all of my friends around me did. I was desperate for someone to love me. I dated gay guys, not knowing even if I kind of "knew" because they were the only ones who didn't seem put off by my large physical presence... which, at the risk of being offensive, is really part and parcel to being a "beard."

Then I got married. Twice. When people enter into a marriage, they promise to love each other through all sorts of situations. However, it became clear to me that "fat" was not one of those circumstances.

Both of my husbands had issues with my weight. Neither of them said anything initially, but they both began to treat me with disdain. I could feel the resentment boiling beneath the surface, and confronted them about what was going on. Denial. Confrontation. Denial. Confrontation.

Finally, they both cracked and told me. I was overweight. It was difficult to be attracted to me. I looked pregnant. "Why didn't you say anything earlier? "I was afraid you wouldn't marry me."

I tell these stories together, because they were strikingly similar. They played out almost the exact same way.

In one situation, the guy had a breakdown later in the day of our conversation, confessing that he was afraid I would leave him. I wish I'd had enough gumption to tell him that was it. Or at least to inform him that he didn't have the right to have a crisis of confidence in which I had to reassure him. It was my turn to spiral out of control, and he needed to man up and take responsibility for the pain he'd caused. Instead, we stayed married more than 4 years after that. I developed an eating/exercise disorder, lost a ton of weight, and was pretty dang hot for a few years.

I garnered a lot of attention with my newly-slim body, and after a while, was over being ignored and left alone by the workaholic husband. We got divorced, and a couple of years later, I married my second husband.

After OUR conversation about my weight, he is the one who said he wanted a divorce. I fought against it, as we had a 1-year-old child. I lost weight in a more "healthy" way (meaning I ate more than jellybeans and candy corn and fat free bread with fat free butter substitute and jelly), and kept it off for a long time. We stayed married 9 years after the "you need to lose weight" conversation. Sometimes, he seemed pleased with me, but mostly he seemed to dislike me a great deal. And I always knew I was only a stone or two from losing his affection entirely.

Even my failed attempts at dating after my second divorce reinforced this idea that my natural body was not okay. One guy I tried to date referred to my "weight fluctuations" and how he weathered those, still finding me attractive... when I didn't realized my weight was fluctuating. I had long jettisoned a scale, knowing my relationship with it was not healthy. And I was post-divorce, trying to keep my head above water, so was focused on other things. Apparently he was not.

And a second person I met online told me after our first meeting that he couldn't date me because he wasn't physically attracted to me. I can only assume that this was because I am heavy, since I'm pretty symmetrical and have (or had, when I had the time to "do" it) great hair, and my eyes are amazing, and all of that.

Incidentally, this guy changed his tune after a while, when he got to know me better and realized that my high school self was on to something: I'm a pretty cool chick.

Why all of this, and what does it have to do with my anniversary?

I haven't wanted to have to worry about my weight. Ever. When I worked in an all-woman office in my mid- to late-20s, I saw ladies in their 50s and 60s obsessing over the latest diet, what they could and couldn't eat, how grossed out they were by their appearance. I'd seen the same thing in my first post-college job at a newspaper, but that was young women my age.. I was incredulous that women were wasting decades of their lives focusing on depriving themselves and being negative about themselves. I didn't want to be on that track.

It's taken a long time, but now, at 45, I'm finally 5 years into a life that is giving me the gift of loving myself because I'm married to a man who loves me unconditionally. He loved me when we first got together. He loved me when I was a mess because of chronic, unmitigated pain. he loved me when I had baby brain. He loves me when I'm over-tired and grumpy. He loves me when I'm dressed up or when I'm still in the pajamas I wore to bed two days ago. He just loves me. And knowing that I don't have to be anything I am not to retain his affection has made a revolutionary difference in how I live.

This is definitely a process. I'm only about 18 months out from the time I saw a picture James snapped of me on his cell phone and declared, "If that's how I really look, I should just kill myself now." I'll never forget the shock that flashed across his face. That was the last time I tried to drop weight, and I did so by eating only 1200 calories for two full months and seeing zero difference. I was hungry, obsessed with food thoughts, packing the early part of my day with food and then not being able to eat after about 3 PM, and constantly thinking about food. I knew it wasn't healthy, in addition to not working. I've probably messed up my metabolism horrifically by all of the times I've lost 25-50 pounds (which is probably 3.5 times, and I've kept weight off for five and then almost ten years, but it's always come back).

So I stopped. And I decided I was going to try to love myself and focus on other things. It's amazing how difficult it is to accept myself. I have a photographer friend who has captured a few candid moments between Mal and me over the past couple of years. One was of us giggling and having a good time at the apartment pool. My first reaction to seeing the picture was to pick apart "problem" areas on my body, but I forced myself to ignore that and focus on the joy. And I put the picture away to enjoy when Mal is 10 or 11 or 12, and I know it will just be more precious to me then. Same thing with a picture of my holding his hand, walking him down to the lake. I wanted to think, "That shirt is NOT flattering... I look so short and stocky!.. The rolls!" but again forced myself to see the relationship instead of being vain and making it about my physical appearance.

Because that's the crux of it. My weight loss has never been about health. Most people's isn't. It has been about vanity. About looking good. About earning the male eye of approval.

My husband's eye of admiration regardless of what is going on at the moment has been the catalyst to the greatest strides I've made on my journey to freedom in this area of my life. And I am grateful.

Is It Going to Hurt?

I've signed up for the membership class at the church we've been attending since the beginning of the year (literally; we went the first time on New Year's Day). This is a big deal. I have been invited to leave the last two churches to which I belonged (and left the one before that because of a big split down the middle that was a fight in which I was not involved and did not want to participate).

What does one have to do to be invited to leave a church? In my specific situation(s): carry on with an "unscriptural divorce," and marry an "unbeliever." The situations were vastly different, with the first being "you have to do XYZ and if you do any other letters, you have to go" and the second being, "if you can't trust leadership on this issue, I'm not sure what else we have to offer you." But both hurt.

Am I more rebellious than the average church-goer? Do I not value the guidance of the Lord and wish to obey him? Actually, that second one is a question with which I have wrestled most of my life, and most intensely in the past seven years or so.

I realize that the Bible mentions specifically only one reason, sexual infidelity, for divorce (so when my church offered "physical abuse" as another out, they were being every bit as "unscriptural" as I was, in my view). It also says not to be "unequally yoked" to an unbeliever. It (the New Testament, specifically) also tells women to cover their heads when they pray; and not to braid their hair or wear gold; and not to speak in church, but to ask their husbands questions at home. It talks about how all Cretans are liars and gluttons. And that we should keep the Passover festival. And many people take those literally and observe the commands, while many people are of the opinion that there are things, even in the New Testament (because I'm speaking to Christians, who largely see the Old Testament as Judaic law and history, which does not apply to them/us), that are not literal but illustrative; that are cultural notes not intended to apply widely to all people in all times; or that were included as a personal note from the writer and not a command from God.

So a lot of times, when people who genuinely love Jesus and want to bring God's kingdom to earth, say or do things that they feel justified in doing without compromising their faith, a common question is: If you're going to pick and choose what to believe, where do you stop? And that's a valid question. For everyone. Because we all do it. Every single one of us. I can't tell you which parts of the Bible you should literally apply to your life because I'm not the Holy Spirit. And if there were only one "right" answer to that for everyone, I don't think there'd be a need for the Holy Spirit. Because we'd all just "get" what the Bible meant, and we'd all agree.

But I digress.

My point is that joining a church is an invitation to be hurt, honestly. Yes, it's an invitation to join with others to do some good in this world. I looked carefully before choosing a congregation, and am confident that this is one where I can help make a difference here and now. (Or in a few months/years when Mal will let me do stuff.)

And I don't think the Christian faith should be "easy." But there is "difficult" and there is "something is wrong here."

For instance, when you go hiking, it's not easy. You have to work. You have to push yourself. You have to make adjustments. Sometimes, you think, "Blehh; it's too hard." But you persevere. It's different if you're wearing ill-fitting shoes on the hike, and every step is painful and damaging.

Basically, I want to be somewhere that I can appropriately submit to the church authorities while still being able to make some decisions that might cause tension, without being seen as "in rebellion."

And, heck, in the first instance, my "rebellion" was largely just acting out of a horrible place where I wasn't sure how to proceed. The second time... well, it was just the right thing to do, no two ways about that. I'm more "equally yoked" to my current husband than I ever was to the Christian one... And maybe that *does* say a lot about me. But I'd rather be tethered to someone who has empathy and extends love without judgment than not. *shrug*

Wish us all luck, I suppose?

A Day in the Life

Hi, guys. This is my horse. I'm the one on the horse. That's me, Mal. Pretty cute, right?

I'm twenty months old today, and I thought you might like to know what my days are like. I'll tell you one thing: When I'm in charge, it'll be a lot different. Right now, I'm captive to the whims of my mom, who doesn't like to have as much fun as I do. Apparently, at some point, she tires of picking me up to look at air conditioners. Someday I'll be tall enough to see myself, but you want to know a secret? I'll still ask her to pick me up. See that face up there? She can't resist it. Until her back starts hurting.

So here goes... I usually start waking up as soon as the light starts to peek over the horizon. I require a lot of milk during that hour or two. I'm ready to get out of bed before my parents are, so I crawl all over them for a while, trying to wake them up. Mom sometimes has to go to the restroom before I'm ready to let her go; how rude. Then she heads into the kitchen to start coffee (yuck!) for Dad, so I usually ask for Bee.

Fortunately, my mom knows that "Bee" means what they call the "computer," for some reason. My favorite thing to watch is videos from Little Baby Bum, but I also like Starfall. We can only do Starfall if Mom doesn't have too much to do because she has to press the buttons for me. I try, but when I bang on the keys, it just messes up the screen. Stupid Bee.

After a while, we usually go into my room and I play with my stuff. I have a lot of cool things, and sometimes I just like to take inventory of several drawers or my closet by pulling everything out. Also, there are cool fake food things in my play kitchen, and I quiz my mom by asking her to name them all. Every day. She does it, too! I like to tell her the colors, though. I am not sure whether the corn is yellow or green. Can it be both?

I have a ball pit, a table and chairs -- ooh! If I climb up on the table ("Use the chair, not the cushions!" my mom always says. She can't even handle the slightest goose-egg on my forehead! She should get used to it.), I can see the air conditioners under my window. Whenever I hear the a/c come on in my room, I scramble up and look. That fan goes around and around! Sometimes I see squirrels and bunnies. Sometimes people are walking their dogs.

Also, sometimes in the morning, if it's nice outside, we sit on the patio. I can pull the top off of my sand box now, but I keep forgetting to put it back on and Carol pees in my sand! Oh, and we have these really thick bubbles that don't pop as fast as the ones we had before. I like to chase those down.

Usually, if we don't go anywhere, I also want to walk up to the office before lunch. They have a neat work-out room and a big bowl with hard candies Mom calls "Jolly Ranchers." I get one every time we go, so it's pretty important to go every day. There's also a red felt table with very heavy balls that make a loud noise if you drop them on the ground. They have fun long sticks you can use as vacuums. In back, there's a big pool of water in the ground. I take off my shoes and sit on the edge so I can soak my feet on days we don't swim. There are a lot of air conditioners by the office, so we have to go there, too. They're tall, and Mom has to pick me up or I can't see the fans going around and around.

Words are hard for my mouth. I say "hot" for "hot," "on," "off," and "light." Usually, Mom and Dad get what I mean. I say "hot" a lot when we're walking back from the office, because I want to see all of the air conditioners. I know where they are. Every one of them in this whole complex. There are twelve buildings, and some of the units are hidden behind hedges, but I have seen them. I climb through thickets if I have to. Those things are fascinating. My parents seem to have a weird thing about climbing into bushes outside of neighbors' windows, but come on... they can't even see me, so I don't care.

For lunch, I usually just eat whatever mom is eating, which is usually pizza, plus some fruit. I love fruit. I love all of it. I will eat it all right now. Just kidding I saved you some. But not much. My favorite foods are blackberries, grapes, bananas, fruit snacks (as in "we'd better not run out or there will be scream/crying"), soda (some people think this make my Mom a bad mommy; I think it makes her a GREAT mom. Plus, I think she's just too tired to fight me on that one). I like string cheese, but only if Mom cuts it into chunks. If it's whole, I will play with it but not eat it.

We usually play some more in the apartment before my nap. You never know when I might go to sleep. It could be noon; it might be three. It could be never! Ha ha haa!

We read books I pick out. I usually know within a few pages if we need to abandon it or if we'll be reading it five times in a row. And my tastes change from one day to another. Loved the book yesterday, will fuss if you insist on reading it today. I'm fun like that.

Used to, when I was a little kid, I didn't like it for my mom even to go into the other room to throw away my diaper, but now it's kind of fun to play by myself. I can pretend I'm cooking something, or that I'm playing a concert with my ukulele and amp. In fact, sometimes I'll leave the room she's in just so I can have some privacy to play. And poop. Not on the toilet, though. I don't like that at all. Well, I like to sit on it because it's fun to throw the toilet paper into the potty. But I don't actually use it in there.

When I go to sleep. I usually stay asleep for just under an hour before I need help getting back to sleep for another hour... Or I might just be awake after that. OR I might nurse for a full hour, fooling my mom into thinking there is more nap to follow. Heh heh.

In the afternoon, I like to watch videos when I'm relaxing, or sometimes, like today, I ask to go to the gym. I can't say that yet, so I just pantomime jumping on the trampoline and dancing to music, and Mom knows what I mean. We communicate great like that. When we go to the gym at 3, no one is there because they're picking up their brothers and sisters from school. I can do whatever I want! Whenever I see other kids on the things I want to use, I don't hesitate to tell them to get off. That makes Mom frustrated, and she keeps saying something about how everyone gets a turn, but I don't believe that's how it works.

When my sister is awake, sometimes she hangs out with us in the living room and I show her all of my neat tricks. She acts unimpressed, but I know she's secretly loving it. She's going to be so proud of me!

I can tell it's about time for Daddy to get home when mom starts putting dinner together. I usually eat some fruit or sample what she's making for dinner because by the time Dad gets home, it's pretty late and I'm running off the rest of my energy for the day.

A lot of times, we go downstairs and walk around to look for my Daddy, like this. <<<That's a video.

My Daddy hurt his feet and sometimes we walk around after he gets home, but sometimes we drive around and I get to steer. I show him the air conditioners, too, since he's not here during the day when I show Mommy. Sometimes we see doggies, which I like, but mostly from farther away.

When we get home, it's time for dinner. I don't enjoy sitting down much, so while my family eats, a lot of times, I'll climb on my slide or play dinner music. After dinner, Daddy and I jam together.

At some point, my mom arbitrarily decides I need to go to bed, and I am not a fan. It takes me a long time to wind down. I usually get out of bed at least once or twice after she lies down with me. The other night, I brought her a purple block from the living room. She didn't want it and tried to give it back, but I wouldn't take it. Instead, I ran back into the living room and got another block. I brought it in and put it on the bed. Then I ran back into the living room and got a third block and put it on the bed. Eventually, I had lined two edges of the bed with more than thirty blocks, running back and forth for each one, before the block box was light enough just to bring the whole thing into the bedroom. Mom helped me clean up the blocks, and I'd used up the remainder of my energy so was able to fall asleep.

I don't remember much about when I'm sleeping, but Mom complains all the time about how I wake up something that she calls "half a dozen to a dozen" times a night. I am not sure she's telling the truth about this. If it were real, why wouldn't I remember it?

Oh, goodness. I didn't even talk about our cats, or how I help Mommy do chores, or any of that. We'll have to save it for another time. That's my average day in a nutshell!

Jumbled thoughts of a tired mama

I might be wrong, but I think my son is out for a pretty good nap. I'd tried to lie him on our bed to put him to sleep in the tiniest glimmer of a hope that I'd be able to get up and get started on this beautiful Wilted Spinach and Mushroom with Bacon and Strawberries salad for dinner, but, alas, my husband was in there on a phone screen when I walked into the house with Mal screaming in fury, so overtired that he wouldn't fall asleep in the carrier on our walk. I swear, James has talked on the phone more in the past 5 weeks of job seeking than he did to me in all of the months we dated long distance.

So, I'm sitting here on the couch, typing over him. And I've thought a lot in the past few days, which I'll basically barf all over this post, in no particular order.

Sometimes, when I slow down, like I'm sitting in Mal's floor and he is doing something alone for a moment, and I can just think... I realize that I'm very, VERY tired. So, mostly, I keep moving.

Because I forget things, I've been reading through my blog from when D was Mal's age. She didn't get her first tooth until she was about the age he is now; he already has 2. She "got" waving at around 9 months, and I had totally forgotten that she didn't really nap more than 30 minutes at a time until she was about 8 or 9 months old, either. So there's hope, maybe, for this chronic case of non-sleeping! He sleeps more than half an hour, but only if I'mrighttheretouchinghim.

I had to stop reading, once I got a bit past D's first birthday, because I found myself settling into a funk. Stuff was super stressful and hard back then, and I kind of started wallowing in that as though it were my reality now, too. One of the things that keeps repeating in my brain is that I'd quoted someone as saying, about reading my blog at the time, "I can feel my brain cells dying, reading about Daphne picking her nose." At the same time, when I go back and read it, I find I'm only interested in the daily record of stuff we did. I don't really want to read about my thoughts on homeschooling or biblical doctrine or the dreams I had. I want to know what we were doing, where we were going, the funny stories about Mackenzie trying to climb into the bathtub with Hannah, or Daphne... well, picking her nose.

I don't write like that anymore. I usually only write when I think I have something to write about. Back then, I tried to capture every day, even in its monotony. If I were doing that, this would be my narrative of this day:

"Mal woke up early and in a good mood. His eyelid wasn't as swollen as I had expected, and it wasn't bruised. It was just scraped and puffy. He seemed no worse for the wear. I got him up, dressed, we hung out a while, and then I put him in the bike seat so we could check out the UT Tower playing 'Texas, Our Texas' live and in person!

"We got to the spot about 15 minutes early, so sat in the grass and enjoyed the cool, moist morning. Mal, of course, ate some leaves and grass (even though I'd brought him puffs), and a very cute long-haired blonde girl came over and told me, 'Your baby is very cute!' Well, of course.

"I was ready at 8, but thought the clock would chime first. It doesn't; it just heads into the song. So I missed the first couple of notes, but want to go back later, anyway, when the day isn't so overcast. It was neat to stand there and hear it, right between the tower and the Capitol.

"After that, we came back home, had breakfast, and Mal took his morning nap.

"I was super excited, because Daphne and I had a date to go to the mall for free stuff. When she got up, we headed over to Barton Square Mall and hit the Godiva booth first. They had their Easter candy on sale 40% off, so I got a bag of egg truffles, and Daphne selected our loyalty club free chocolate, a strawberry truffle.

"Next, we went up to Great American Cookie to use some coupons from a book we'd bought to support a friend's kid's school. We each got a free cookie, then headed to the second GAC to use a second set of coupons.

"On the way, we stopped to look at Hot Topic, and I saw a shirt that would be perfect for my sister: 'I would have picked Ducky,' with a picture of the Duck Man.

"At the second GAC, the cashier turned and asked an older lady, 'Do we take these?' The older lady asked where I got the book. I explained it, and she said it was only for the city where it was sold. I informed her that I was told differently, and she said, 'Well, it depends. We're franchisees, so we can choose to do it or not.' In other words, you're not. But she condescended to take my coupon 'just this once.' 'What about my daughter?' She said, 'I'm really only supposed to take one coupon per person.' Um, yeah. She's a separate person. Look at her, all walking around independent of me and whatnot.

"What was weird is that when we walked away, I'm pretty sure I saw tears in D's eyes. Dude, we got cookies. We won.

"But on the way home, Mal started babbling (this was after he was crying when I first locked him in the carseat) and Daphne turned the music up on the radio. I just started crying. I told her I liked hearing his happy noises, and talked to her a little bit about how sort of difficult our outing had been... like she had only gone because she felt she had to (she kind of did) and how I wish we could have fun together. I realize she's probably exactly like I was at this age. My mom used to come home and tell us, 'I am respected and appreciated at work, then I come home and you treat me like stupid garbage.' I would roll my eyes (internally), but now I *so* get it. I miss my girl a lot. I want to enjoy the young woman I have, but she seems bound and determined to have as little of that as is humanly possible. And it hurts.

"It's difficult to balance my reasonable expectations as a parent, respecting her need to be herself against my fleshly feelings and need for affirmation. Blergh.

"When we got home, Mal finished the nap he'd started in the car, and I ordered pizza for a job. We ate while James finished up a job test thing he'd been working on all morning, then Mal and I went outside to sit on a blanket in the shade and figure out his new car seat. As much as I'll miss his sleeping in the old one, I keep jamming his over-hanging feet into stuff, and every time I put him in or get him out, it loosens the belt because he is SO heavy that it's difficult to lift the carrier straight up and I end up pulling it sideways instead.

"James had finished up his test by this time and came out to hang for a while, then he kept Mal company while I put the car seat in the car. It's nice! He's going to be riding in style."

So... see? I believe "blog" is short for "weblog," right? That's what I used to do. Logs. Captain's logs. Star date: every few days from the early 2000s. Sorry if you lost any brain cells to that; someday, I might be happy that I recorded it!

I'm pretty sure Deuteronomy 11:19 implies co-sleeping. It doesn't say, "When you put them to bed," does it? So maybe I am the one growing my kid God's way, Ezzos. Think on that.*

James wants to film a movie trailer for a movie "along the lines of all of the game movies that never should have been made" (think: Battleship, Mario Brothers, etc.): 2048. In his version, it is people maybe dressed in squares hooking up or trying to find each other, etc. In my version, it's like a Liam Neeson vehicle where someone appears to have been kidnapped, but they're really just walking in from the car REALLY SLOWLY because they're playing 2048.

Ooh! Wakey baby. Salad time! Oh, here's a pic.

SWING!

*No shade to people who don't co-sleep. Believe me, I wouldn't if we had any other option that included parental sleep, but we don't. This is part joke, part satire, part justification for my reality.

"Treasure Every Moment"??

Having a newborn baby is exhausting. You hear that, but you don't get it until you have one (although perhaps the first couple of weeks with a new puppy come close; at least Mal won't tear up the couch or poop behind the stove when I'm not paying attention). I don't mean that in a condescending way. It just is.

When Daphne was four days old, I wrote this: "The word 'mommy' means something different to me now. This is not a warm fuzzy term of endearment at this point; it is a hard, dirty, almost war-like appointment. I'm not sure I am mature enough for the task, but no one may ever be until it is forced upon them. I long to pay more attention to my dog. I ache to sing songs to Daphne and to show her things about the world around her. I would love to feel like my 'normal self' for a while. But there is too much to do and not enough time..."

You'll notice that I only had one baby... until love convinced me to have another. I adored D and I love Mal. But babies are DIFFICULT. I am not one who looked back at baby pictures of Daphne and thought nostalgically, "Awww, I miss that stage." I never did. The older Daphne got, the more I enjoyed her.

So... No one is obligated to listen to my complaints about bone-tired weariness. I know it's par for the course, and we're still surviving. But there are two things that people say that make me more than a little bit crazy.

THING NUMBER ONE: "Treasure every moment. It goes by too fast."

Well, I suppose that is two things. To address the first: No. I'm sorry, but we're human and although all of life is precious, none of us treasures EVERY moment. We squander. It happens. When you're with a sick kid in the E/R waiting room, do you treasure that moment? Or do you wish it'd be over with because you'd like to get to the solution? That's how I feel when Mal won't let me put him down, or when he's crying for reasons I can't discern, or when he wants to eat every second of his waking life.

When you have a teenager, if you tell a co-worker, "Last night, my daughter came in and asked her mom and me to turn the channel because she wanted to watch Teen Mom 6, but we since we were already watching NCIS, we told her no, but asked her to sit with us and watch. She screamed, 'You are a couple of fat-ass idiots, and if you really loved me, you would have put me up for adoption!' then she ran to her room, slammed the door, and cranked the radio," no one says, "Aww, well treasure every moment because she'll be moved out before you know it."

Can we please be honest and say that there are parts of parenting that aren't our favorites? Maybe your least favorite is the awkward tween thing. Maybe you hate potty-training. Maybe you really can't stand the terrible twos and have facetiously thought of selling your screaming brat on eBay (when that was a thing). Maybe the teen years make you question your decision to procreate. It's okay. We all have those moments.

For me, it happens to be early infancy. It's just not my favorite. That doesn't mean I don't love my boy, or that I'm resentful or not properly caring for him. For me, this is a means to an end. It gets me from Point A (not having a kid) to Point B (having a child and having the basis of a relationship with him).

Yes, there are many, MANY times in a day when I'm overwhelmed by my maternal affection for Mal. I just stare at his face in wonder. But there are also many times in a day when I'd really like to be able to use the restroom without feeling like there is a timer going. And that's okay.

By the way, a shout-out to a bunch of my friends who are expecting for the first time. Especially if you had to go through a lot to get pregnant or are in the process of adopting, you might be mystified when the time comes that, after you've gotten everything you ever wanted, you are troubled by a fleeting thought of, "Why did we want this so much?" or "Why did we think we could do this?" PLEASE don't let anyone make you feel guilty for being exhausted and being in the adjustment phase. It passes. But it's a real thing. And right now, it's my thing.

Even Mary, the very mother of our Lord, treasured up "these things" and not ALL things. She didn't even have a washing machine for her diapers. I can't imagine.

Part B, the "it passes too quickly." Pppth. Some people look at their kids' baby pictures with semi-sadness, wishing those days back. I don't. I loved the toddler stage, and think pretty much everything preschool kids do is adorable. But I never wish those days back. I certainly don't feel like Daphne grew up "too fast." I mean, yes, I miss the days when she'd hold my hand in public and actually liked to go out with me. But that was when she was 10, and I know that this stage we're in now is a transition. I trust that we will be really great friends when she's an adult. I don't ever wish her younger, and have liked her as a person more and more as she has matured and become more independent.

Time passes exactly the same for everything. There is no "too quickly."

When people look ahead excitedly to their wedding, why aren't they chided, "Don't wish the time away! Enjoy today!" Because being abstinent with you're in the throes of passion is fun! Woo hoo! Well, that's a little silly, but you get what I'm saying.

THING NUMBER TWO: "Forget about chores..."

To the people who have suggested this, I'd like to know: What is your solution? What is the alternative to getting things done that genuinely need to be done?

Believe me, I'm not kicking my butt over the fact that I haven't dusted in more than a month (my sister did a couple of weeks ago, though!). I don't need to wash the windows or sweep the patio or anything like that.

But we only have a limited number of clothes, and when they're all dirty... what? I can only "ignore" laundry so long before we suffer. Same with doing dishes, cooking meals, and going to the grocery store.

I understand that these people probably mean not to obsess over the small things, and to get people to help. I've done both of those things, but there are still things that need to be done. Having an infant doesn't mean I'm not a wife anymore, even temporarily. Or that I can just ignore my older child. This is the first year I've ordered her a cake because I don't have time to make one for her. It's cool, and she'll love it, but I could have made the cake she wanted this year. It wasn't a big deal. I just know I won't have time. (P.S. "But you had time to write this blog post!" Yes, in sentence fragments over days and days; cakes don't work like that when you don't have ample refrigerated storage or ways to keep it from cats.)

So if you say to forget about the chores and by that mean that you are going to take care of them for us, then, by all means, come on over! Bring food (and many thanks to the friends who have; it's been awesome!)! Feel free to vacuum because even that genuinely needs to be done on a daily basis or we end up with cat litter all over the place. (I already did it today, though.)

IN SUMMARY, while I appreciate people's concern for me, advice that is tantamount to "Buck up, sweetheart," isn't very encouraging. I get that parenting is difficult; I've been though this once and lived (and the kid lived! Bonus points!). I get that kids are only the age they are the moment they're that age, and then never again. Well, then, let me say I'm looking forward to the first birthday when, if it's like it was with Daphne (and so far, almost nothing has been, except for Mal's yawn face), I'll have time to make a cake. If you don't like that attitude, then be glad you don't have it. I'm pressing on, loving my baby and trusting that the time investment today will result in relationship soon. But that doesn't mean I have to be in drunklove with every single second. Some of it is tedious and exhausting and I'm just keeping it real, yo.

Do I Actually Have Time For an Update??

You might have noticed my commenting or "liking" something from a few weeks ago on your Facebook wall today. It's because my younger child has, for the second day in a row, been asleep for nearly three hours this afternoon. If this is the new "thing," I'll be super happy! It gave me time to fix breakfast and lunch for tomorrow, and to catch up with some people on social media. Oh, I also got to go to the restroom without hurrying, so that was quite the luxury.

Things have been good. Mal is a good-natured baby, and the biggest issue we have right now is just figuring out what it is that I eat that bothers him. About every other day, he has a one- to two-hour period where he's just inconsolable. I'm not going to post too much about it here, because as much as I appreciate everyone's concern, I've had a whole "too many cooks" thing going on several times during my pregnancy and we're addressing things, so I really don't need any advice... just making the point that other than those times, he's such a fun guy to have around.

We haven't said much about this, either, because I've been very scared to jinx it, especially as Mal sleeps longer during the day, but as much as I want that baby out of my bed sooner than later, I'm LOVING being able to sleep at night with a newborn. Someone at James' office said they didn't believe he had a new baby because he looked too well-rested. That's because Mal sleeps with us, wakes to nurse, and I fall back asleep once he's latched and loaded. He might be awake for half an hour, but is content to look around the darkened bedroom and go back to sleep. I typically head for bed with him around 9-10 PM and get up at 6:30. It's heavenly, even though it's interrupted sleep.

And I'm SO not a co-sleeper, you should know what a compromise this is. I just decided I was going to be a lot more chill with this kid than I was with Daphne. I apologized to her, explaining that the first kid is always the beta test and you do the best you can, and you learn a lot. Hopefully nothing I did with her broke her.

++ truncated due to wakey baby ++

The Birth Story (thankfully, it's a short one!)

After a tense last week, and staring into the eyes of having to go to the hospital for an induction if I didn't go into labor by noonish on Wednesday, September 24, I woke up at 6:00 AM with some lower back pain. I got up, and the pain kept cycling, starting in back and eventually being like a ring of discomfort around my entire lower abdomen.

Since James and I were to be at the birthing center by 9:00, I kept a "journal" from 7:40 until 8:40 and found that these contractions, different than but also including the Braxton Hicks contractions I'd been having for weeks, were coming about every 4-7 minutes and lasting for 30ish seconds. They weren't getting stronger, but they weren't going away, either.

At 9, we walked up to the Birthing Center. Natalie, one of the midwives, gave me a very delicious shake made out of orange juice, ice cream, and 2 ounces of castor oil, just to keep the contractions coming (they did weaken on the way up there, and then hit again pretty hard an hour later). She and Stephanie, another midwife, monitored the baby's heart rate, and then we waited.

I was uncomfortable enough that I couldn't lie down, so spent time on the yoga ball and birthing stool. James' mom and her best friend got there a bit after we did, so we visited and hung out. Then my sister and her two girls showed up, so we had a little party.

At around noon, the practice was in session and women were coming in for appointments. I was continuing to have consistent contractions without too much progress, and thought aloud that maybe they would let me go home to labor a bit. I'd already been told to feel free to move around the neighborhood, so Sarah went on a walk around the block with James and me. It was a gorgeous day!

Mackenzie and Hannah stayed with us most of the day, minus trips to McD's for food, and TJ visited with Daphne at the house. I didn't know it, but my parents had also come into town and were at the Nuthaus with D for a while, as well.

This was good, too... until it wasn't. I spent several contractions on my knees on the yoga ball, then realized that I was progressing very quickly. I was in enough pain that I told Stephanie the thought of an internal exam (which I hadn't had since last Friday when we did the membrane sweep) made me want to cry, but she told me we'd time it so that she'd set up and then I'd have a contraction, immediately lie down, and she'd do it super fast.

I was standing there and had a contraction while she was setting up, then she left the room as that contraction was waning. She came right back, but I started to have another contraction, and during that one, my water broke. I hurried up and lay down, she told me I was at 8-9 centimeters and still had a little way to go, so I asked if we could fill up the tub as I knew the pressure was going to become a lot more intense. Stephanie started the water, said it'd be about fifteen minutes, and I did the next three contractions or so on the birthing stool.

The tub wasn't full at that point, not even quite half way, but I HAD to try to get the gravity away as much as possible. Sarah told me that it was deep enough that I could submerge my belly, and it did feel SO much better.

But also, the next contraction I had was very down low and I could see why women say they feel like they have to use the restroom when they're contracting (I had consumed mass quantities of Castor Oil and did not have this problem).

It was 1:10 when I got into the tub, and it took another 5 minutes or so for the water to fill and someone turned it off. I had three increasingly-intense contractions, yelling out while thinking, "I'm not a yelling person! This is crazy!" And Stephanie would see me tensing up and remind me to relax, so I'd answer back snarkily, "I'M TRYING!" And she'd have to say, "I know. Just reminding you."

Here's the deal: I was only in the tub 9 minutes before I had the baby. I wonder if I'd known that going in, whether it might have been easier not to freak out during the pain. What's funny is that once he started crowning, it wasn't as bad as when the pain was further toward the back. Also, I was very fortunate in that, while my contractions were painful and exhausting, causing me a complete lethargy in my muscles, which were shaking with the strain of supporting myself even while buoyant, after every third contraction, I'd have a minute or so where they would abate enough for me to go back into my "sane" brain and relax before the next one started up.

The WORST contraction I had was probably the 4th to the last. Stephanie was getting things ready as fast as she could; I'd progressed super fast in like half an hour, so she'd run out into the hall to grab something, and I said to James and Sarah, "You need to go get her and tell her he's coming."

Stephanie came back in with a Doppler she could use in the water, and she said she was going to see if she could feel the baby's head. Well, I did not like that AT ALL and started screaming not only "the" word that got the kid in "A Christmas Story" in so much trouble, but "Please don't touch me! Stop it!" Like literally screaming hysterically.

Stephanie got very serious and shushed me. She said to stop screaming because it was a waste, but to keep that in and push it down to help the baby get out quicker. She also told me that I might want to lean back to help the baby slip under my pelvic bone; since I'd gotten into the pool, I'd contracted leaning forward on the side of the tub.

I was skeptical that I'd be able to move, but I did, and was able to balance on the edge of the stair/seat so that there was no pressure on anything sensitive. This is, I believe the second to last contraction.

I could tell (but not see; I had to close my eyes against the pain) when his head came out. I begged James and Stephanie to "take him out, please! Get him the rest of the way out!" but it was already better. His shoulders were intense, but not as bad as the head. The rest of him was no big deal. James got to grab him, pull him out of the water, and hand him to me. Enter Malcolm Khrystopher Gatannah at 1:19 PM on September 24. 2014... after 4 hours at the birthing center and probably just under an hour of what felt like work, but only 10 minutes or so of "I can't control my own actions and sounds and words" labor.

My James was an awesome birthing partner. He was right there if I needed him, but didn't do more than I wanted him to. He asked about everything and listened if I said, "I like that, but not this right now." I couldn't look at his face between my really heavy contractions because he was so concerned. I could see it in his face, and I could hear him sniffing. My sister said she gave him a little reassurance that she knew it was hard to watch, but that what I was doing was exactly right. 

Of note: Mal was blue when he was born, and was wrapped up in the cord (which stands to reason; his heart rate reading was usually somewhere behind the cord pulse), both things that might have gotten him whisked off to NICU in a hospital. But he was fine. His APGAR score at 1 minute after birth was 8, and at 5 minutes after birth was 9. His cord was clamped 13 minutes after he was born, and James got to cut it... but not easily. I guess he really REALLY didn't want to leave his mommy, and we might have gotten him out, but he was still kind of holding on.

We stayed in the water until I'd finished the complete delivery, and then when it was time to get out, James took the baby and I hosed off and was treated like an Egyptian princess. Nikki, a midwife intern and a doula, dried me off while my sister prepared my gown and put it over my head. This morning's after-shower routine by myself was a real letdown after all of that.

We got to sit and hold Malcolm for about an hour before Stephanie did the newborn exam.

Grandma Patsy and Aunt Pat were in and out, so they missed a lot of the more colorful and nudity-filled moments. (Although I suppose they were in the entry of the building and actually probably heard more than they're bugging me about.)

8 pounds, 2 ounces! 21 1/4 inches long. Everything checked out great, the only note on his physical was that he was still blue at the extremities when we left.

First diaper. Much less disturbing than changing him, 'cause, you know, meconium. 

My sister took all of the pictures, and she finally got into one! I'm glad she was there, and not just to document everything.

The birth ended up being everything I'd wanted, and we got to go home three hours after Mal was born. We walked home; James carried the baby and Hannah carried my stuff. It was so nice to start and finish the day at home, and to get to hang out with Daphne for the afternoon and evening instead of being tied up at the hospital for 24-48 hours.

I know that there were hundreds of people praying for me to go into labor so I wouldn't have to be transported to the hospital for any emergency intervention. Thank you, people! I am SO grateful! Also, Stephanie said he only looked 41ish weeks, which surprised me not at all. It was a great experience all around. I highly recommend Birthwise Birth Center and Family Services. Such great midwives and laid-back but thorough care.

Today when I looked at my delivery progress notes, they were recording everything I ate, the stuff I was saying to indicate my tolerance of labor, etc. But they also did not insert themselves into the delivery in a way that said, "I'm the boss; you're going to do what I say, and don't ask questions." They will tell you as much or as little as you want about progress, they will conduct as many tests as you want, and not pressure you if you decline.

So happy to be home with our family and looking forward to whatever is to come! Mal had a peaceful (except for my yelling, then his) entry into the world, which hopefully bodes very well for his future.

2013 Year in Review

You can ask anyone who's known me for a while: I don't make a big to-do about New Year's Eve. I don't "do" resolutions. I'm typically at home by 7:00 PM on NYE because drunk drivers aren't my favorite. During the decade I spent in Las Vegas, I whiled away precisely one New Year's Eve on the Strip, and that thing is rife with stories, only because they were so awful and exhausting and weird.

Typically, if I make plans to attend a New Year's Eve function, unless it starts by 8:00, I'm probably going to decide at around 8:15 that I'm nice and warm and getting a little sleepy, anyway, and skip it. I had friends of friends invite my family to a really cool ranch party in Las Vegas three or four years in a row, but the party didn't start until 10:00 PM, and by then, if I haven't already started amping up, I'm winding down in a big way.

As far as resolutions, I subscribe to the philosophy that any day is a great day to start a good new habit or to ditch a bad old one. I never want to be among the full parking lot at the gym on January 2. If I ever resolve to do something, I don't want to take it so lightly. And I don't want to wait for a magic date.

For me, January 1 is the next day on the continuum after December 31. You wake up, and nothing is substantially different. So, while I like any excuse to celebrate, this isn't one of "my" holidays.

That said, this year, I am looking back over the past twelve months and am more than a little awed about everything that has happened. This time last year, I was in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend of six months; I was one month into what would be a full-on half-year battle with chronic pain; I was living in an RV, my home for nearly two years, on the east side of Austin... And there's so much more.

So, in no particular order, here's my 2013:

1. I got married! James moved to Austin in early February. He said that he wanted to be in town for at least a month to see if we could live in the same place without driving each other crazy. I might have been driven a little crazy. I was concerned that he might fall in love with downtown Austin and the lifestyle and not be in any hurry to "make it official." But at the end of February, when he'd come over for dinner, he mentioned off-handedly, "I was thinking about when we should get married, and April 1st seems like a good date." If you haven't seen our wedding video, here:



While I think this is the most raw and sincere expression of a love that leaves my man absolutely speechless, our officiant told James that he might want to write "actual" vows. He said that, no matter how "cool" I was, women want something different (maybe "normal"?) for their wedding. I'm so glad James didn't listen to him! James knows me. I knew exactly what he meant. He told me later that he knew I'd write something poignant (and, likely, verbose) and that he wasn't about to try to "compete" with that, so he went his own direction. I love his direction.

As to people who think this is just another weird Austin thing or that we're mocking marriage... Lots of people have fun at their weddings. This wedding was "us." My husband has never been married before because he never met anyone else he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was very serious. I was very serious. But we can be serious in our intent and still have a good time carrying it out. In fact, this is how we live our lives.

Photo credit Alec Hilliard

The past nine months of marriage have been like nothing I could ever have imagined. James and I love and appreciate each other. He makes my life so much brighter, and I try to employ Dr. Laura's advice constantly: "When you wake up in the morning, ask yourself, 'What can I do to make him happy that he's alive? And what can I do to make him happy that he married me?'"

My best friend lives in the same house with me. His company is a pleasure, and loving him is easy. I am blessed, and sometimes challenged, and head-over-heels in love.

2. Chronic pain defined the first half of 2013. The process of trying to treat my back pain (chiropractic, my first involvement with acupuncture, lots and lots of NSAIDS), then getting a diagnosis (thanks to the Volunteer Health Clinic) including my first (and scary!) MRI, to the hopelessness of months of only two hours of sleep at a time, to feeling very much like I was going crazy even to the point of giving my then-fiance an out... I have a much more compassionate view of people who deal with their bodies' unrelenting attack on themselves. It is honestly the worst thing that I have ever experienced, and I'm very sad that it colored so much of both of James' family's visits (for his birthday in December 2012, when it was first starting, and then our wedding weekend). I hate that my daughter woke up so many nights to my crying and felt like she needed to check on me, even though there was nothing to be done for it. But I absolutely adore my family's patience and long-suffering with me. I hope I didn't make it too awful for them; I tried not to. I felt so respected and "heard" by the entirely volunteer staff at the health clinic that it was a blessing to interact with them.

Starting in mid-June and proceeding on to the end of summer, the pain started abating. There are still ways my body tells me not to sit for a long time, but it tells me in soreness and stiffness, not shooting, searing pain. The last time I hurt myself was playing laser tag a couple of months ago, when I accidentally bent over with my left leg hyper-extended. However, a few weeks ago, when I flipped my head over to dry my hair, I noticed that my left leg didn't automatically kick out behind me or fold into my right leg. Testing, I was able to touch my toes keeping my leg mostly straight (it's a little rickety from non-use). Although my disc will always be ruptured, I consider myself "healed" from this episode right now. I am at about 90% of where I used to be, and could probably be closer to 98% if I pushed myself... but having pushed myself on the front end, trying to do push-ups and sit-ups and "bicycles" while I bawled in the floor, and probably making the problem worse... I'm not pushing myself. I'm being grateful for the slow advances in recovery. Unspeakably grateful.

3. The Nuthaus. Living this close to downtown has opened up so many opportunities. First of all, I can either walk or bike almost everywhere. If I run out of eggs or butter or just need an emergency cheap soda, they're all right up the road. If I want nice flip-flops, or fro-yo, or bubble tea, or kitschy Austin weird-wear: can walk. If I want to see what's going on at the Capitol, or enjoy one of the best Indian restaurants in Las Vegas, or have sushi or an incredible pear cider on tap: boom. Done. I can ride my bike to the library, to get the fancy cat food that we have to feed all of the cats because Aish only gets the best but she will eat garbage if that's what the other cats are eating. I rode my bike to the courthouse to file my name change request. I've ridden to book group, to church, mystery shops. We walk to meals, to sight-see, and to run errands.

But there's something else: If you've been paying attention, you know that we see a lot of super eccentric stuff around here. Beyond that, though, living this close to an urban center has given me the opportunity to get to know some of "those people" you might pass in a car and feel sorry for, but not be able to connect with. (Yes, I just ended a sentence in a preposition. To do otherwise sounded awkward.)

Yes, there are the people who have touched us and passed by, like Vanessa and Kenneth, the expecting couple James met when he first moved in. There is the guy playing guitar to whom James stopped to listen, and genuinely chat up, before offering him and his friends dinner. I have to say that in this regard, James is such an example and so convicting to me. He does not see the street people as a group of down-on-their-luck people. He sees them as individuals. People he'd probably like if he got to know them. And he's interested in them and their stories. He's concerned.

We have spent great chunks of time talking to the vendors on 23rd Street. There have been people who want to tell us their stories, even if they aren't asking for help. Our porch is a comfortable invitation, a place to rest. But there are people resting on the steps of the churches on Guadalupe, too, and they want to be heard. Just last night, Daphne and I talked to a couple who said they were in danger of homelessness. The wife had all of the work receipts that her husband had from working for a day labor service. There was one man who told me that the meal from Potbelly and the chat was worth so much more than when people just give him money.

People like that come and go, and it's incredible to get to interact with them on a minuscule level. But there are others we see more frequently.

There's "Grandpa," the man who looks barely older than my own dad, and sometimes not much rougher (though yesterday when I saw him, he had a great bruise over his left eye, as though someone had kicked him when he was sleeping). I know where he usually sleeps, and in the morning, he walks past the Nuthaus to Taco Cabana. He sits in the dining room and drinks a water, then he makes himself a lemonade. I have chatted with him once, and he is mostly "there." He just has that lost look of someone who doesn't have an anchor.

There's another man we call alternately "our neighbor" and "crazy guy," because he has two different personalities. When he's lucid, he's friendly and wishes us well. He will say, "Jesus loves you," and if you say, "Thanks," he'll usually stop and say, "Seriously. I mean it. He really does." He doesn't think we're taking it seriously enough. Other times, he's back in the alley, swearing at someone we can't see. Or at life. Who knows? Recently, he seems to have acquired a wheel-chair bound friend. Now, sometimes he'll be hollering and cursing, but still carefully pushing his friend.

And there's also a very sweet old lady who isn't homeless. She lives somewhere down the street from us, though I don't know exactly where. But she walks all the time. She has a walker, and her hair is always in a perfect bun. It might be 49 degrees outside, windy, and sprinkling, and she'll have on her shawl and plastic rain hat, walking with her walker. I officially met her about a week after James moved in, when I was working at the Nuthaus and saw her standing on the sidewalk, looking at the house. She said that she was so glad to see people living in these long-vacant properties. We haven't had a chance to chat again, but every time I see her, I feel like we're... well, neighbors.

Sometimes it's heart-breaking to see life as up-close as we get to see it living here. But I love it. I don't want to be blind. I want to know. And, if I can, I want to help. Even if that just means sitting on the curb with my arm around a girl I don't know, while she works through a panic attack. I love the Nuthaus.

4. The Pregnancy. Almost immediately after James and I got married, I got pregnant. Obviously, it didn't result in our having a baby, but I credit the pregnancy hormones with pushing forward my pain diminishing. When I found out that I was pregnant, I weaned off of the Gabapentin and Naprosyn as quickly as I felt was safe. And even though I'd found both to be a miracle for which I'd been desperate a mere two or three weeks earlier, I didn't need them anymore. When I was pregnant with Daphne, and again this time, my asthma abated. My mom has a friend whose intense rheumatoid arthritis goes away when she's carrying a baby. I am certain that I was pushed forward months of recovery time due to the brief influx of hormones.

5. Four Awesome Organizations. This year, I had the privilege of bumping up against four organizations whose work I so earnestly believe in that I'm trying to help in the small ways I have available to me. I want to share what they do with others, too, in case anyone else is moved to pitch in. These are also in no particular order:

Help One Now
James and I traveled to Haiti with Help One Now, and I can't even begin to describe what an eye- and heart-opening trip that was for us. Help One Now has been working in Uganda, Haiti, and Zimbabwe for some time, and they're just kicking off work in Ethiopia. The cool thing about Help One Now is that they don't go in and try to assert their presence or their way of "fixing" local issues. They work with established leadership, people who live in the countries, and who are already doing their part to tackle a problem that they see.

In Haiti specifically, we got to meet three such leaders. The first was Jean Alix Paul, a pastor/businessman at whose home we stayed. An orphanage, a school, a children's home, and a business incubation program are all under his supervision... and I think he probably does a lot of other stuff about which I have no idea. Also, he and his family and household graciously host visitors to Haiti. In 2014, the visiting teams will stay in a guest house closer to work sites, a project Jean Alix has also overseen.

The second was Pastor St. Cyr, who had a church and school in the urban city of Port au Prince before the 2010 earthquake. After that disaster struck, he planted a church in the biggest tent city, a place of otherwise darkness, where children were at risk for trafficking, where the was violence and desperation. He made it his goal to hold worship services every single day, to have some hope and singing and light in the makeshift neighborhood. Since then, he has build a much safer church building than the one damaged in the earthquake, and has been able to move the school there. They are very close to opening a medical clinic in the same building.

The third pastor we met was Gaetan Alcegaire. He moved back to Haiti (having come to the US with very many opportunities to work) specifically to start an orphanage on some family land. Immediately, the children came. For a long time, every day, all day, his goal was to find enough food to feed his kids. After the earthquake, things became even more desperate, and American groups would come, promise help, and disappear. Through a partnership with Help One Now, Pastor Gaetan has built dorms for his children, with whom he was sleeping outside under tarps because he explained that a shepherd doesn't leave his sheep. He has built a two-story school building that now houses 400 children, including all of the kids in his home as well as children from the surrounding area, many of whom cannot pay the $25 a year fee to attend. They are not turned away.

The children at Yahve Shemma, Pastor Gaetan's home. They had never
had pizza before and weren't sure what to do with it. Also, they are taught
not to eat with their hands, but to use utensils. Whoops! We meant well. :)

These three men all work in and around Port au Prince, Petionville, Guibert, and Kenscoff. There is a newer initiative in Ferrier, an anti-trafficking house where children who are basically caught at the border, as they're being attempted-smuggled out of the country. We sponsor a beautiful 8-year-old girl who was a house slave, and has probably lived a harder life in her 8 years than I have in my 40. It is my hope that they can find her family, and that she is able to get an education and grow up knowing the love and security that kids deserve. If you're interested in helping sponsor an orphan or at-risk child, or a teacher (remember those kids who don't have the ability to pay the fee for their schooling?) you can find out how here.

Homes 4 Vets
We first encountered Homes 4 Vets at a re-enactment event at Camp Mabry. This group seeks to provide housing and job/life training for homeless veterans. The details of the program are on their website. They have just submitted the paperwork to become a 501(c)3 charitable organization, and need $6 million to start on the rec center and infrastructure. They need $23 million to build out the whole community and to put all of the program into place.

They chose the dome shape for the single-family properties because of the durability of such structures. After the rec center and single-family domes go up, they have plans for family housing, four sets of townhouses each with a common courtyard and playground accessible only to the residents from those houses.

The residents will have two years to complete job training and life skills training, and the board plans to use their contacts to help them find employment.

It's an ambitious plan, and it's been started and is spearheaded by a retired dual-service Veteran, a young architect who caught the Veteran's dream, and the owner of a construction company. Since that time, a CPA has joined the board, and these four men are pushing forward this ambitious program. I'm excited to see what happens! If you know anyone in central Texas who has land they'd like to donate, or if you'd like to donate funds or time, let me know and I can pass your information along to them.

Rework Project

The Rework Project is also a local service to the homeless and those transitioning out of homelessness. The "Reworkers" learn wood-working skills by building and selling five awesome products: bird-houses, tree swings, huge tabletop Jenga-style games, bean-bag toss/cornhole games, and my favorite, picnic tables. They will personalize these to your specifications, and even with customization, they are incredibly affordable. Especially the picnic table!

The Reworkers learn how to and then build these products, then they are able to keep the majority of the profits for themselves. If you'd like to read one of their success stories that it near and dear to my heart, go here, and scroll down (better yet, just read it all) to the part about Anthony. Anthony isn't just the guy who lives in the same RV spot where I used to live. He's in our small group, and I consider him to be my friend. I'm so proud of Allison and of him and of this entire program.

Having lost 100% of their funding for 2014, Allison had to decide whether to pack it up or try to raise the $40k that Rework needs herself. In under a month, they've already gotten $36,000. If you can help, either in a one-time gift or a monthly contribution, go to here.

Mobile Loaves and Fishes
When I lived in the RV park, I saw Mobile Loaves and Fishes trailers. They also sponsored one community barbecue. Other than that, I didn't really know much about them until this year. They serve the street community extensively, with food, clothes, and shelter. Their most recent project here in Austin is best explained in this video.



Included in that video is a gentleman named Glenn who is familiar to me from church and Rework, too. Also, Anthony (mentioned above) has been doing a lot of work at the garden (included being stung right in the face by a bee; I guess that's part of it: beekeeping) and learning to can to use any bounty from the garden.

When James and I got married, we donated the RV to Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I hope it's going to be used in this community! Also, I did a dunder-headed thing and never got the trailer re-titled in my name, so they're having to do all of that, and they're so gracious about the whole thing.

So, basically, my life has been enriched a great deal by knowing that these four organizations exist. I mentioned Volunteer Health Clinic above, and that's one that actually benefited ME. I couldn't have afforded the MRI I got on my own. It's awesome to me to know that there are people who care, and who are out there doing the stuff, and who love and want to bring the marginalized into the circle of light most of us occupy.

I will say that being Facebook friends with some of our new Haitian friends is a little surreal. The other day when one of the pastors "liked" my post about the entire Firefly collection being on sale for $5 on Amazon.com, I felt like I needed to explain that I hadn't bought it myself... But then maybe he's a Firefly fan. I have no idea. But sometimes, it throws into stark relief the contrast between what occupies our day-to-day lives. And yet, because of Help One Now, we are friends. He can message me when he needs prayer for something. I am honored to be on the fringes of his life and the lives of others I admire. It is an inspiration to be in the orbit of these people who are serving orphans, and the homeless, and Veterans. It is an honor.

6. Life as Usual. Then there's the every day stuff, and that's just about as incredible as the extra-ordinary stuff, too.

First there's my job. Yes, I'm an insurance agent (with Hejny Insurance Agency). Yes, I find that every bit as funny as when I was a property manager. No, I don't think I'm awesome at it, but I can administrate stuff, and people seem to like to talk to me on the phone. Moses and Lisa offered me a job, and a spare office for my daughter to do school, at a time when I desperately needed an income, and was trying to figure out how to keep from sending Daphne to school (I don't think that there's anything wrong with school, and it might be an option in the future; but I didn't want my divorce and financial issues to force my hand). THEN when I wanted to move to Austin, they let me stay with them, working remotely... even though, technically, my job was, um, reception. So. I'm continually grateful for how they've accommodated my "special needs" time and again.

Then there's my daughter. As she matures, I see her becoming this young woman who both amazes and terrifies me. I think that it's probably normal to feel like you're "losing" your kid sometimes. And I am. She doesn't think what I think just because I think it and wish she did. She's becoming this person who is totally separate from me, and I am excited to see what she does with her life. She is clever and talented. She is a born leader. She is so much more secure than I was at her age. I love her with everything that I am. (And, yes, there's also an "everything" for my husband. Love is pretty awesome like that.)

And also, there is a group of  friends from church who have really lived out what it means to be community to me this year. We've had game nights, and shared meals, and evenings out, and birthday parties. We've laughed and cried together. We've shared concerns and hopes and ideas and pop culture. I've been confronted and counseled and supported and encouraged... and it's been fun and hard and purposeful. It's what this is supposed to be like.

D and I re-started BSF this year, and she's already made a new friend we're supposed to get together with this week. I'm still doing mystery shopping, and we've gotten to putt at a sports club, play laser tag, go bowling, see movies, eat at an awesome local sports bar a whole lot, and have all sorts of fun in exchange for paperwork. I'm comfortably settling back into Astro-owning. And all of the "normalcy" is pretty great.

Suffice it to say, 2013 has easily been the best year of my life. I'm eagerly looking forward to 2014. Hope you are, too.

Writing again! What I learned (again) about discipline...

In what Dr. Horrible would categorize as a "crazy random happenstance," (which it actually wasn't at all; my husband was a very important conduit) I had the opportunity to write a script potentially for use in a live show in the style of an old-fashioned radio drama. After working on it for a week, I finally submitted it and found out a couple of days ago that it's going to be used. I was also asked whether I could do at least one more: There are to be four shows in all, and my first submission was a Thanksgiving-themed sketch.

During the writing process, I learned (or relearned) a couple of important things.

The thing that I relearned was something about perseverance. I haven't written a script in about two and a half years. This was to be a 10-20 minute-long episode, so it felt luxuriously long compared to the 7-minute shorts to which I had been accustomed. Thing is, I was used to having a brainstorm session with at least two other people first. When I walked into writing with a framework, it was usually easy for me to fill in the gaps with dialogue or jokes or whatever was appropriate.

Building an idea from the ground up was more difficult. I mean, I can get an idea and write. That's largely what hobby writing *is*. It's another thing entirely to say, "You have a deadline. Now think of something clever. Go!"

Uh.

Crickets.

I came up with two basic scenarios: One for Christmas (at a bus stop) and one for Thanksgiving (in the hall of an old house, family members waiting for the bathroom). I ended up going for the Thanksgiving script first, even though I set up files for both, because I figured that I could introduce several characters and maybe by the time I'd done that, I'd have some momentum and could complete an actual story arc.

I was wrong.

Although I had nothing about which to write, I made myself sit down and do something whenever I had the chance. I managed about four pages this way, then ran out of steam. I had in the back of my mind that somehow the door was going to end up locked with no one inside, and they'd have to problem-solve how to get it open. There is some room for comedy there, but the whole thing was so domestic and familiar, I felt like I needed something a little out of the ordinary to happen to shake it up.

One of the elements I'd included, thanks to a suggestion from my mother-in-law, was two cousins sitting on the roof throwing Halloween candy at trick-or-treaters. I ended up having to switch that out with another tradition in order to make my eventual story work, but I think that idea of a past connection in childhood finally sparked the idea that came to me in the shower last Sunday morning.

I'd gone to bed, planning to mull it over while I dozed off, but had crashed instead. The idea came after a good night's sleep, and I laughed at it. It was so not at all where I'd planned the story to go. It had become a fantasy, which wasn't my intent in the least. But it was going to work, and almost on the heels of the idea came the ending that made the whole thing even better.

I smiled all through church and itched to get home and write.

Even then, though, when I got home, it took James setting a timer to force me to sit down and just go. Once I started, the thing wrote itself. It bulged at 16 pages, when I'd only wanted it to be 15, but I kept it as short as I could and still have it tell the story that had come to me out of somewhere to which I don't have conscious access.

So the lesson here, which I've known and of which I need to be reminded constantly, is that, in order to be a writer, you have to write. If I'd waited for my story to come to me before I'd been willing to sit down at all, I don't know that I would have had this idea. But because I forced myself to just pound out some words, I had a beginning into which the middle and end happened to fit perfectly. I had a cast in place, and they already knew their parts.

What I ended up with was still a domestic comedy, with a little impossible thing thrown in that makes it pop. I was happy with it, and would have been even if they'd elected not to use it. The act of writing again... It's what I'm supposed to do. It's just confirmation.

The other thing that I learned will be in a second post, after I've read a little and napped a little. So stay tuned!

Happy Austinversary!

(I have to give credit for coining "Happy Austinversary" to my husband, who wished me this as he left for work this morning.)

Today is the anniversary of my first full day in Austin, Texas. On August 13 of last year, Daphne and I woke up, make sure everything was packed in the car, including the cats, retracted the RV slides, and caravanned from Sherman to Austin with the guy I'd found on uShip.

Several people told me at the time that I was "brave" for heading out on my own, but I certainly didn't feel very brave.

Truth is, back in May, when I first set my mind to leave Sherman, I was very certainly running away.

I overheard the stalker telling someone that I was moving away because of him. That was untrue (although it has been nice not to have to worry about his showing up on my doorstep when something hits him the wrong way). I was running away from situations I couldn't right and that were continuing to cause pain for myself and for people who cared about me. I was running from the pain of seeing relationships I'd had dissolve around me, and things I never dreamed I'd lose fading away. I was running, mostly, because I knew that if I stayed in that place, I would keep banging my head against the same walls and nothing would ever change. I'd believed, early on in the process, that time would fix things. It turned out that time was actually amplifying many of the problems, and the only resort seemed to be to go.

However, something happened between May and August. I had to stay in Sherman because I'd committed to a summer play. And during that "lame duck" time, I happened to go up to Tulsa to visit James. Obviously, we ended up dating, and over those two months, I began to hope again. I began to see the move not only as escaping an unbearable set of circumstances (don't get me wrong: several of those were direct results of poor choices that I made), but as running toward... a new day, a fresh start, a life that would be free of the baggage that surrounded me in the small town where it had all happened.

By the time Daphne and I pulled into the Royal Palms RV Park, I didn't feel like we'd finally gotten far enough away... I felt like we'd finally come home. That very weekend, we started attending the church where we have begun to make a family. (Also that very weekend, I fell in the laundry room, which probably exacerbated my spinal injury, but life happens no matter where you are.)

Over the past year, I have made way too many trips to Dallas, handled the stress of a long-distance relationship very poorly (actually, handled the stress of a close-distance relationship equally badly), visited the Texas coast with my favorite people in the world, gotten married, moved into the city center, gotten reacquainted with baking, visited another country and met some incredible people, and have had so many amazing "new life" experiences that I am overwhelmed by the blessings of it.

It has become very clear that Austin is my town. There are so many opportunities here to meet people, have amazing experiences, not to mention that my sister and her family are here. I am grateful for my new start, and I am looking forward to seeing what the next year brings...