Lautaret Bohemiet

the kid has balls (a Valentines Day story)

2012-02-15T15:45:00.000-08:00

I'm going to tell you a Valentines Day story. But before I do that, let me first give you a little peak into our daily lives. Life at the Clear house is divided up like this:

Time spent with balls: 80%
Time spent with everything else, including sleep: 20%

This is something that we've accepted. It is what it is. It is all we know.

This is what it looks like around our house every single day:

Every ball has a particular purpose, and Bennett knows what the purpose is. Basketballs are for hoopin', baseballs are for batting, soccer balls are for kicking, footballs are for practicing fake tackle maneuvers and throwing unforeseen balls with incredible accuracy directly at unsuspecting people's midsections. You get the idea. Other toys are fun too, and they're great for playing, but balls are serious business. Balls are about skill, passion, hard work and focus.

Fast forward to yesterday.

By February 14th, Bennett had received cards and packages from a fairly length list of people: Grandma Rena, Grandma Nancy, Great-Grandma Ella Louise, Great Aunt Melody, Great Aunt Connie. They started trickling in over the weekend, and we didn't fully realize just how much loot Bennett had acquired until the morning of Valentines Day when we laid it all out on the table for him to open during breakfast.

The kid scored big. He made a sweet $15, in addition to stickers, crayons, a car, and some fruit snacks. As he opened his stuff -- all these tiny and adorable little gifts of love -- it occurred to me that there was one gift that was obviously missing: a gift from the little dude's mom and dad. We suck. We suck so hard that there needs to be a new word invented for how bad we suck. We don't just suck because we didn't get Bennett some new little possession to add to the collection; it isn't about that. We suck because, were it not for all of our awesome relatives, the entire holiday would have come and gone and Bennett wouldn't have even known about it. And that's our job, especially mine as a mama: to make holidays special. (And I know what some of ya'll are thinking, but this really isn't about Valentines Day as much as it's just about the principal of the thing.)

When Cam came home, I informed him of our failure, and we decided that on our way to dinner, we should do something special for B. We decided we'd take him to the toy store and let him spend his holiday money on whatever we wanted, and we'd throw in some cash too, so he could get something big, something really special. Something that would make us think of this day, and of how much we love him. Because we've been so broke for most of Bennett's life, we've never really bought him much of anything (and all in all, we're mostly fine with that, because we don't want a house full of crap, and we already know he has everything he needs, and more). We decided that this holiday would be different though and we wanted to make it memorable for him and for us.

He loved the toy store. He went bonkers, running from aisle to aisle wildly, his little brain on complete overload, his little legs just trying to keep up with his own uncontrollable toy-energy.

Rounding the corner at warp-speed...

He took a few minutes to check out some sweet rides (way out of the price-range, but he didn't know that):

He took a few test-drives. He was fairly non-plussed:

We spent about an hour cruising the entire store. He played pianos and guitars. He played with entire train sets, complete with bridges and tunnels and bells and whistles and lights. He sat in recliners just his size. He squished stuffed animals. He rode on tricycles. He skated on skateboards. Basically, he experienced the best of what the toy industry had to offer.

And then he saw this:

And he did this (with every single ball):

And when we tried to encourage him away from the ball section, his heart broke and he began to sob. This was our second time at sucking that day, and we weren't going to double-suck in one day. Though Cam and I had excitedly decided on a sweet car that was on sale for $49.99, Bennett's heart longed for something else.

(Long pause as we scratched our heads and altered between crying and laughing at what we were about ready to purchase.)

As we put Bennett in his car-seat and he gleefully hugged his new present close to his chest, we marvelled at how much money we had saved, and how much time we had spent, and how excited he was, only to come home with...

...another ball: $5.99.

And this, friends, is the true meaning of Valentines Day.

As we reflect on our time spent with Bennett in the toy store and the holiday of Valentines Day, and what it represents, it is clear to us that without even meaning to, we witnessed a great, true, pure and innocent love: the love of a boy and his balls.

sports fanatic

2012-02-10T14:53:00.000-08:00

I am still way too sick to muster up the energy to blog (Doc. said to expect at least a month before this infection dies down and I feel better.) So. For this post, I am relying on the photos taken by the lovely Christi of Camp Kurtz when Bennett and I spent last weekend with her family down in Salem. She has three boys (we all know how Bennett loves big kids) and they play sports. Enough said, right? He was in heaven down there, playing basketball, football, shooting hoops, wrestling, and just being in the presence of big kids. And Christi takes the best photos. The best. It really doesn't matter what she takes photos of. If she takes them, they will rock. And these do.

Bennett and Caden

Watching Max's game, it nearly killed him to have to sit on the sidelines.

As you can see, he takes sports very seriously.
(This is his "I'm terrified a big kid will try to play with this ball" face.)

Very seriously.

When sports are paused, there's always time for a quick finger in the eye.

He has since had a haircut. Thankfully.

Thanks, Kurtz family, for the great day and the wonderful photos!

first official Vlog (video blog)

2012-02-03T19:42:00.000-08:00

Hey friends, I am sick. And tired. (Exhausted actually). I want to blog and write and connect and all that fun stuff, but I am just too wiped out. So, I put together my first ever Vlog (that's the fancy pants way of saying video blog) and, well, here it is. (I will say right here that there is no big announcement, I am not pregnant, there is no real exciting or titillating news. It's just a way for me to post and connect without having to write. So watch if you want to hear what's going on in our lives regarding job, home, Bennett, being sick, more dreadlock judgmentalism, etc.) I apologize that my lips aren't quite moving with the words I'm saying. Just don't think about it too much and it won't drive you mad. I also realized (way too late) that I was on the vertical setting, so the screen is small, which means that, unfortunately, I can't fill up your entire monitor with my face. Huge bummer. Live n' learn. So, with no further ado...

And since I promised to post a "before" picture of my dreads, here it is! Can you believe it? Keep in mind that I never actually wore my hair down (since Bennett) so it rarely (if ever) actually looked this kick-ass.

February 3, 2011

Thanks for listening, friends! xoxo

blogging troubles and other such nonsense

2012-01-24T17:38:00.000-08:00

This has been a crazy week and once again, blogging has had to take a back-seat. But dangit, I have so much to say. Bennett turned 18 months and has been practically sprinting over various milestones. I really want to share those (because some of them are damn hilarious, such as waking on his 18th month birthday, opening his eyes, and saying "Football" [he is currently obsessed with football] before running into the living room, grabbing his football and pointing at the TV in hopes that a game was on at 6am). And at the end of my first 10 days of working out I've lost 9lbs already. Woot. And we've been making Green Smoothies (with mixed reviews, depending on who you ask) and I want to share about that. And we bought a Juiceman but haven't used it yet. And Cam is out of town (again), this time in Florida for a work conference (having a husband gone a lot is hard work, because that means days on end with little or no real break). And everyone in our house is sick (except me, but I can feel it coming on) and Bennett has a double-ear-infection in addition to this nasty cold going around. So we aren't sleeping (me and B), ever. And when we are awake, we are focused on trying to find things to enjoy (for B) to distract him from the pain and agony that is currently his state of being.

And when I do get online, I get sucked in to other people's blogs and don't end up posting any of my own. Reading takes no energy, posting takes lots. Energy is in short supply around here.

Aaaalso, Bennett is addicted to watching "OK GO" videos on Youtube, so if he ever even catches a whiff of the laptop, he's all over that. (His favorite video is posted below, and I suggest that you watch it. It's a real feel-gooder. Man, those guys make the best videos.)
And so, you see, these are just a few of the reasons that I haven't had time to blog.

But!

I will in the next few days. I can just feel it. I can.

p.s. I've received a few emails that people get a blank screen when they are trying to comment, but yet I am getting some comments so it seems to be a problem affecting some people and not others. Weird. If anyone has a solution, I'd love to hear it.

fitness in 2012: juicing, jogging and jiggling

2012-01-18T16:03:00.000-08:00

Warning: If you aren't prone to enjoying listening to a woman go on and on about her weight and what she's doing to change it, I suggest you stop a'reading. If, however, you are looking for some motivation of your own or you have some motivation to spare (by giving it to me!) then please read on.

-------------------------------------------------------------

I am resolved to getting in shape this year. You may remember that last year, I resolved (in a way) to not getting into shape, or at least to not worry about it. I wanted my focus to be breastfeeding (doing nothing to decrease or limit my supply) and spending every waking moment enjoying Bennett and not obsessing over my body. So, for better or worse, that is what I did. And I did enjoy (nearly) every waking minute with the little dude, but here I am in 2012 with a body that now requires a lot of extra attention.

Motivation Factor #2,483: looking chubby while
singing in public at a bar in my hometown in
Whitefish. Not cool, self. Not cool.

For me, getting in shape has a lot to do with how I look, but it's also a matter of practicality (owning a lot of smaller clothing and not wanting to buy new ones), and it's about how I feel. Pesky feelings -- they simply won't allow me to wallow in my own chubby laziness any more. Go figure. My brother says that when I talk about my weight (especially to him, since he's my in-house personal trainer), if a person didn't know me, they would think I was 300lbs. He laughs when I say the "weight is weighing me down in the night and giving me a back-ache". But in my mind, I may as well be 300lbs because my body feels as slow and weak and un-useful as I imagine a 300lb person feels. Though I am only carrying about 30lbs of extra weight, those thirty pounds affect my back, my joints, my knees, my stamina for keeping up with Bennett, my ability to embrace my own body as a sexual and vibrant being, and my motivation to get enough physical fitness for Bennett. Those are some pretty darn compelling reasons to shed this extra weight.

In addition to how my weight makes me feel, being healthy in general is a really big issue for Cam and I right now. Cam has a long family history of somewhat short lifespans. He lost all but one of his grandparents at a relatively young(er) age. His father's stroke last year was a huge wake-up call (for him personally), but it's also really opened his eyes to what his future (and ours, and Bennett's) will look like in terms of relatives. Basically, Bennett won't have many relatives at all on Cam's side of the family. This makes Cam incredibly stressed and sad. We have accepted the realization that due to a combination of genetics and personal life choices, Bennett may never get to know some of the most important people in his life unless some changes take place. Though we can't control others, we can control ourselves, and we are determined to be here for Bennett (and for Bennett's children) for the long-haul.

With obesity and obesity-related illnesses being the leading cause of death in our nation, letting our weight and our health go unchecked isn't simply a matter of personal choice (as many people like to think it is). We are parents now. Our health isn't just about us anymore. I should say here that it isn't as though we haven't taken our health seriously. We are both relatively active, we get outside, we cook meals at home and try to get a fair bit of nutrients, but we've also succumbed (more times than we would like to admit) to the god of convenience and giving in to our own cravings and impulses instead of having the resolve to look at the big picture. And at this stage in our life, the big picture is the picture and we simply can't let ourselves lose sight of it.

For both of us, this looks very different. Cam has always been way more active than me (this could be because he loves every sport imaginable and he loves his guy-time) but I have always been a much healthier eater. Cam had given up soda almost entirely before we moved last April, but with it being readily available here, he has started drinking it again and one of his goals is to cut that habit completely, which I am extremely thankful for. Knowing his family history, I used to feel panic welling up inside of me every single time I watched him chugging a Diet Coke. That may sound extreme, but I don't want to be widowed at 40 any more than the next gal (not saying that soda leaves a person widowed, but cumulative unhealthy choices do, soda being one of them). I am so thankful that Cam cares about this as much as I do. This isn't something we have to argue about (thankfully) and he takes it upon himself to stay very active (which motivates me to be more active) and I take it upon myself to cook healthy meals for both of us (which motivates him to eat healthy). In this way, we are becoming a perfect partnership, which I am also very thankful for.

(Yes, he takes either a football or basketball
with him on walks. It helps him survive being
strapped in against his will.)

The first step to getting in shape (for me) was to purchase a jogging stroller. I did not want to use (or even own) a stroller until Bennett was at least a year old, because I wanted to wear him as much as possible and because I find strollers to be a huge pain in the butt. At nearly 18 months old now, Bennett is way too big to baby-wear for long walks or jogs, so a stroller finally became necessary. He still doesn't quite love sitting in a stroller when we're outside, but if I jog fast enough and/or narrate every single thing we are seeing while we're out, he stays fairly entertained. We have been outside on a several mile walk or a vigorous jog every single day since we got the stroller, which I consider a huge feat since it's been freezing and snowing here.

We purchased the Graco Trekko. I was going for cheap n' easy, and this one has proven to be perfect for us. I can jog up and over curbs with this sucker and it doesn't even phase it. I love it. Cam learned the hard way that if you try to run backwards and jump a curve, it will tip. But hey, I think we all (except Cam) saw that one coming, am I right?

A big part of fitness for both of us this year is about adding to our diets. That's right, we are subtracting pounds by adding way more fruits and vegetables to our diets. I have a list of foods that I am incorporating into my diet on a daily basis. I am limiting useless carbs (though I still get several whole grains a day and fruits), but other than that, my "diet" consists of adding things. I find that if I eat the foods (all of them) that are set aside for the day, I don't have room in my tummy or the desire to eat anything else. By default then, I'm only getting good stuff, I'm full and satisfied, and there wouldn't be room for much bad stuff even if I tried to shove it in there. It's a really hard adjustment getting used to going without a lot of the fluffy filling comfort foods that I love, but the way I am feeling (and the inches I am losing on my waistline) more than makes up for it.

The non-Youtube sensation of "planking"

In addition to walking or jogging every day, I am doing major ab-work (thanks to my brother and his gentle prodding) and arm and booty work-outs inside the house. Have any of ya'll done much "planking"? (Not that kind of planking...) That shizzle is really hardcore. At first, I could only do 10 seconds without stopping. (That could be because the last time my abs got a good workout, I was giving birth.) Now, in just a few days of doing it, I am doing 30-second intervals, and am doing five full minutes a day of ab-planking. I'm all for simple and easy exercises. It doesn't get much simpler than planking. My tummy is smaller, my back feels stronger, my shoulders are getting hella strong, and I haven't been waking in the night with sore back or hips since I started doing it.

So, I'm not doing a strict diet, and I'm not working out super vigorously yet, but even so, I am already down 7lbs since I started about 10 days ago. My energy level is through the roof and I feel lighter and sexier, even though I probably look almost the exact same. Feeling better is half the battle though, right? My goal is to lose roughly 30lbs by the end of April, when we will be going on vacation to a friend's wedding.

And speaking of losing mega-weight, last night Cam and David and I watched the documentary "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead" (after my sister's husband, Jason, suggested it). I highly recommend it as both informative and a great inspirational and motivational tool. Fair warning though... be prepared to want to go straight to the store to buy a juicer if you don't already own one. We are going to buy a new juicer and make a big ol' pot of juice each morning for all of us to share. We figure that misery loves company, and if the juice turns out to be nasty (which it kind of is) then at least we'll all be chugging it together. I'm excited about it though, because getting enough fruit into my family is easy (we are all major fruit-addicts), but getting enough vegetables is nearly impossible and it's something I feel is really detrimental to our health. Once the juicer arrives, I'll let you know how it all turns out.

I would love to hear some health goals and/or tidbits of wisdom that you guys have found to work for you. I am not really interested in extreme diets or fasts right now; I just want real-life, day-to-day, practical ways of living that make for a healthier body. Got any?

friending it up at Beaterville

2012-01-15T18:36:00.000-08:00

Every year I like to select a focus for the year. I guess that in some ways, my focus includes various resolutions of sort, but it's more about being intentional and really doing things on purpose, and with purpose, instead of letting life just happen to me. This year, my focus is my family, my friendships, and my fitness.

My fitness goals and approach are a post all their own, and family, well, that's an ongoing daily focus.

This morning some of my girlfriends and I began the year with the first of many (to come) Sunday brunches. My friendships have always been one of the most important aspects of my life. My friendships are my family in so many ways. This particular group of friends has all been together collectively for eight or so years, but I have known some of the girls for nearly thirteen years. Whether we see each other weekly or if we get so busy that months pass before we are able to connect, we can pick up where we left off. And always, no matter what, there is laughter and love and support. This group of girls is one of the few friend groups I have ever had where I feel like I can be wholly myself, no matter what that looks like. These girls have seen me at my best, forgiven me for my worst, and I love them.

They are wise...

...and smart...

...and hilarious...

...and compassionate...

(Stacy is back there, I promise)

And because there are five of us, we got this cool window table and didn't have to wait as long.

Each one of these girls share all of these qualities and more and I never feel insecure or weak or judged when I am with them. We don't share all of the same beliefs or experiences or worldviews, but we share a deep respect for grace and community. I feel like me -- like a happy, laughing, smiling me -- when I am with them.

First attempt at a group photo:

(... a little too zoomed in...)

Second attempt at a group photo:

Success.

This is a year of really big change for a lot of us, but (for me, at least) there is something so comforting about being around long-term friends like these girls. Investing in myself means investing in my friendships because my life is enriched in innumerable ways because of them.

To these friends and all friends, those close and those far away, those past and those present - I hope that 2012 is a year filled with blessed friendships.

my sister, my friend

2012-01-13T16:37:00.000-08:00

Hello, internet world! I am out of the busyness of laying low, am back in Portland, and am ready to re-enter the world of blogdom. What better way is there to begin 2012 than with an ode to my sister?

My beautiful sister Lori celebrates her birthday today! I am so thankful for my sister and am extra thankful that I just got to spend the last three weeks with her in Whitefish for the holidays. One of the greatest things about my sister is that after having loved on me for the past thirty-three years (I turned that old last week), she will now love on my little guy for the next thirty-three years, and then hopefully for another thirty-three after that.

In addition to being the most kind, loving, supportive, generous, thoughtful, inspirting sister, she is also all of those things as a mother, a daughter, a wife, and an aunt.

Bennett isn't yet old enough to know how lucky he is to have landed Lori for an auntie. Soon enough he will come to understand how blessed his life is now (and will forever be) because she is in it.

Auntie Lori, the nephew whisperer.

I love you, sis.

(And for those who cannot tell which of these pictures are Bennett and which are Ziah, don't be dismayed... they are practically twins, though a year apart. You are not alone.)

Tuesday Tunes "Hallelujah"

2011-12-06T15:38:00.000-08:00

small blogging hiatus (and some other things)

2011-12-03T18:31:00.000-08:00

I wanted to do a quick update to let ya'll know why you won't be hearing much from me this month. I plan on posting a Tuesday Tune (might end up being a Christmas song or two in there) every week, but other than that, I probably won't do much bloggin'. I'm sure this is the most scandalous thing you've heard in ages, so here are all the sexy details of what I'll be doing instead of blogging...

1. I will be keeping up on ya'll's (<-- is that right?) blogs. My internet time is so limited, that often I only get to either read or write and this month, I want to spend some time reconnecting with some other blogs (and return lotso emails) that I have been neglecting.

2. I am making all of my Christmas presents by hand this year, and that takes some serious time. Plus, by the time I'm done sewing for the day, my sad little wrists and fingers hurt so badly that typing is out of the question.

3. I will be spending more quality time with Bennett. He's at the most fun age right now where he's interacting, asking things, wanting to play and be out and be together, and I don't want to let that go by while he seems to be really into it.

4. I am doing make-over (of sorts) on myself, and am finally cashing in on some old gift (some from last Christmas) certificates and cool deals (and an early Christmas present from Cam). So far, I have pierced and re-pierced a few locations on my face (eyebrow and nose -- courtesy of my husband), I will be getting my dreads professionally dyed (remember? I swore I'd never attempt dying my own again... ever), I will be having my dreads re-crocheted, I will be fake tanning (you heard me right) for a wedding I am in on the 17th (my aunt always says, "tan fat looks better than white fat" and she's right), and then when the wedding is over, I will be losing 25lbs (I can't lose it now because my dress has already been fitted to encompass the entire mass of me, as it is currently). A wise woman once joked that "Cam married Julia Roberts and ended up with Whoopi Goldberg." Ha! That woman is right (thanks, mom). So I figure if I am going to look like Whoopi, it may as well be Whoopi circa 1980, right? (And needless to say, all of this vanity takes me out of the house quite a bit as it is, away from my hard-working husband and hard-playing kiddo.)

5. I am making a really conscious effort to spend more time with girlfriends and see them weekly (instead of, you know, whenever) and that has been filling my soul up in a hundred different ways. It also takes me away from Bennett more than either of us are used to, so when I'm home, I don't want to spend my time with my face in the laptop.

6. I am going to be doing Christmas right this year, and that means exposing Bennett to pretty much all of the cool Christmas films... and that's gonna take a while, yo.

7. Cam's grandma will be visiting for two weeks and we will be celebrating her birthday and Christmas with her.

8. We head to Montana the day after Christmas to get all crazy snowy and filled up with family and love and holiday goodness.

So, those are the main reasons why I'm taking just a tiny little break from blogging, except for those ol' Tuesday Tunes. I may hop in here to post photos of my new hair if I just can hardly stop myself. But otherwise, I will be listening and reading more, and talking and writing less.

Tuesday Tunes "Don't Think Twice It's Alright"

2011-11-29T16:20:00.000-08:00

This week's tune is a rendition of an old Dylan standard. We've been a bit too busy (on account of surgeries and other such nonsense) to write and learn new songs this past week, but we'll get back to it in the very near future. Enjoy!

The Future of America

2011-11-28T09:26:00.000-08:00

The past month has been one of many milestones. Our 16-month old little guy...

1. Now says, "Oh, shit" when something goes wrong like breaking a dish or spilling a drink. (And calm down, everyone. We didn't try to make this happen, but the kid lives with four adults.)

2. Now picks his nose and rests his index finger in his nose when not in use.

3. Can toot on command ("toot" means "fart", for the non-parents).

4. Holds his manhood (professional baseball player style) whenever given the opportunity.

5. Can take down other kids (UFC-style) if they steal his toy (and has perfected this skill recently at a birthday party).

Folks, say hello to the future President of the United States.

These are not traits we have fostered at all. Each one of them took us by complete surprise. I never imagined in a million years that I would have a boy's boy type of little guy. I mean, I simply never imagined. But the little dude... he fills our house with the perfect miniature dosage of testosterone, and makes us laugh every single day.

Bennett's Surgery

2011-11-25T21:27:00.000-08:00

For those who want the short version: Bennett's surgery went well, the doctor removed a Shwannoma tumor (we will receive the biopsy results at the end of next week), and Bennett is recovering fairly well, all things considered.

If you want to read the fuller, longer version (you all knew there would be a longer version), here you go...

Hand-fed home-made
cookies with Grandma

The night before Bennett's surgery, I had the biggest bummer of a conversation with the anaesthesiologist. I had been so excited to talk to her, because in my recollection (as I've had many surgeries myself), the anaesthesiologist goes over the surgery and says a whole bunch of stuff to make you feel better, and to get you calm and relaxed ahead of time. This was not the case, and the anesthesiologist, for the purpose of shortening the word (I swear that's the only purpose) will now be referred to as Eviladyindisguise. (Oops. I guess that isn't shorter at all.) Anyways, Eviladyindisguise called and got right to business, telling me what Bennett needed to do the night before and asking me a few questions. When she found out that Bennett (at 16 months) still nursed, she said:

"Uhhhhhhhhhhooookay."

And when she found out that he still awakens at around 4:30am for milk, she said:

Pre-surgary snuggles

"HE STILL WAKES UP IN THE NIGHT?! Uhhhhhhooookay."

(This was weird to me, because I know friends who have six-year olds who occasionally still wake in the night for a drink of water or to use the bathroom, and I am thirty-two and I still awaken in the night often for a drink or to use the bathroom. I didn't know there was an age limit to waking in the night until she informed me.)

Then she said, very condescendingly (and I am not sensitive to this sort of thing normally so I initially attributed my perceptions on my own stress level):

"Well, YOU KNOW breast milk is a SOLID FOOD and not a liquid, so he can't have ANY BREAST MILK after midnight, but he can have all the water and apple juice that he wants." (The emphasis was hers, not mine. And rrrriiiight. I give my kid freaking apple juice in the middle of the night.)

I was surprised, to say the least, because I don't recall any solids shooting forth from my bosom, but I wasn't in a state of mind to argue, so I said nothing. I was also bearing in mind that the last person you want to piss off is a lady who is going to have the life of your toddler in her hands. She must have taken my 3 seconds of silence as outright defiance, because she quickly and adamantly said, "So since it's a solid, you NEED TO KNOW that for HIS SAFETY, you canNOT give him ANY MILK. Okay? It's for his SAFETY." Got it, Eviladyindisguise. I got it. Since I still nurse my 16-month old, I must be completely insane and incapable of hearing you, and even more incapable of following directions, so thanks for shouting those instructions into my dense head.

Then she asked if I had any questions and (trying to make light of things, as I tend to do) I asked, "Heh heh, any chance you can knock me out too and wake me when he awakes?" to which she kindly giggled and then said, "I've had several kids and it's hard for parents, I know. But trust me. It was WAY harder for ME than it will be for YOU because I know what goes on back there!"

Eviladyindisguise say what?!

Then I said, "Heh heh (nervously), what do you mean 'what goes on back there?' Heh heh, I mean..."

She cut me off and said, lovingly. "Don't worry, hon. No matter what happens back there, he won't remember any of it. I'll take care of him like I would my own."

First, banking on a child not remembering something goes completely against my parenting philosophy. If I believed that, I wouldn't have a moral problem with letting babies cry-it-out, and about a dozen other things that come right to mind. Secondly, I wanted to ask if she would give me her children's numbers so I could call and verify that I would even want her to treat Bennett as though he were her own, but again, I kept my mouth closed.

Then I got off the phone and had a panic attack.

I vented to my mom and brother (Cam was gone) and they did their best to reassure me.

Then I made the mistake of calling my sister, who everyone knows is just a ball of anxious energy, especially when it comes to one of her children or little B. She tried to convince me to cancel the entire surgery and hey, even switch states if I have to, whatever it takes, to make sure this lady didn't touch Bennett. Lori pointed out (correctly) that this was one of those situations where I was going to need to reassure her (and as her gift to me, maybe by trying to calm her down, I would believe some of it and calm myself down too). I reassured Lori by reminding her that Bennett was going to be at the best hospital for pediatrics in all of Portland, and that we had the most highly recommended surgeon in pediatric orthopedics, and that this Eviladyindisguise had been doing pediatric anaesthesiology for nearly thirty years.

I decided to go ahead with the surgery, and so we did.

Bennett having second
thoughts before checking in.

The night fasting was difficult, but I cheated a little (something I didn't tell anyone, including Cam, until after Bennett came out of surgery). I had done my research, and I knew that breast milk digests more quickly than stupid juice, so I felt comfortable that a tiny bit of it in B's system, if it meant him getting a full night's sleep, would not be detrimental. And thank heavens, it wasn't. I stuck to my guns with the 4am feeding and held the little guy as he wept in my arms, not understanding why I wouldn't give him milk. That was hard, but I kept holding him and he eventually fell asleep in my arms until my mom climbed into bed with him at 5am while I got his bag packed for the hospital. (Usually, he can and does sleep on his own at times, but I think we all just sort of wanted to be near him, just in case.)

The time at the hospital went fairly smoothly. He was hungry, but he was easily distracted by the other kids in the play area, the fish tanks, and the fan club that he had brought along with him.

He cried through his exam by the nurse, in part because I think he was just tired and hungry. In his room (which would later also be his recovery room), they gave him an oral liquid sedative that really mellowed him out. The kid was as high as a kite. They said that this would lessen the transition away from us and into the OR, and boy, it did. We all went back into another part of the hospital with him where we got to talk with his surgery nurse, the doctor and then we got to meet Eviladyindisguise face-to-face. His nurse was an older man, sort of a grandpa type, and he was amazing. Nurses really are the best, aren't they? This guy did all sorts of drunk-guy impersonations and had Bennett giggling (as much as a baked kid can giggle). Bennett even handed out a few half-ass high-fives to various staff in the back room.

Telling the big kids how they
should play the video games.

When Eviladyindisguise came in, she did her best to make sure that everyone else felt the same way about her that I had the night before. So. I wasn't imagining it after all. She said a few ridiculous things like, "Did I check... Bennett... yet? You know, you do so many of these each day that you start forgetting who you've seen and who you haven't, and you forget what you've done and what you haven't!" Seriously, lady?! I would like to be really sure, and I mean really sure, that you remember every little detail about my kid. You give him one extra drop of that toxic shit you deal, and he'll die. You give him one drop less than he needs, and he'll be in pain. Don't joke about not remembering my offspring. After I removed my hands from around her neck, I think she got it. (But really, I laughed at her dumb joke and said nothing, again not wanting to piss off the gal in charge of my son's life.)

The terror of Eviladyindisguise was overshadowed (in a good way) by Mr. Awesome Nurse Man.

See? Very relaxed.

The Awesome Nurse spent enough time with Bennett, laughing and high-fiving, that by the time he took him from my arms and carried him back into the O.R., Bennett was totally comfortable and relaxed. It made saying goodbye much easier. I wept as they took him away. We all did a little. How can you not?

We then spent an anxious hour and a half in the waiting area, watching Justin Bieber sing his way into the hearts of a million young boys and girls.

The doctor came in and explained what he had removed. As I said, it was a Schwannoma, which means:

"Schwannomas are very homogeneous tumors, consisting only of Schwann cells. The tumor cells always stay on the outside of the nerve, but the tumor itself may either push the nerve aside and/or up against a bony structure (thereby possibly causing damage). Schwannomas are relatively slow growing. For reasons not yet understood, schwannomas are mostly benign and less than 1% become malignant, degenerating into a form of cancer known as neurofibrosarcoma."

The tumor looked totally standard to the doctor and he is confident that it is benign. However, the one unsettling thing is that tumors of this nature are extremely rare in children and they are extremely rare in the hand. So, there is now no question that Bennett is my son, as I am like the poster child for having extremely rare medical things happen to me. The doctor opted to leave the nerve intact, which means that he got all of the tumor that could be seen, but microscopic bits could have been left behind and so other tumors will most likely grow back in the same spot at some point in Bennett's life. The other option was removing the entire nerve, which would have left Bennett with a numb finger. We are glad he didn't do that. Now we wait patiently for the biopsy results which will tell us that the tumor is benign. That will be a good day.

Bennett's recovery experience was much better (at least for me) than the pre-surgery stuff. They had originally told us that Bennett wouldn't be able to go home until late afternoon after he was awake for long enough to feel like eating. When they let me walk back into the recovery area with him, he instantly reach out for me and signaled that he wanted to breastfeed. The nurse (who recognized the sign) looked at us and I asked if he could have milk. She smiled really broadly and asked if he was still breastfed. I said that he was, and she said, "That's great! You can just nurse him right here, if you're comfortable with it." I wanted to hug her and not let go. Bennett latched on right away and ate like he hadn't eaten in days, though in reality it hadn't even been twelve hours. She said that babies never eat this soon after surgery, so it was a very good sign that he wanted to. She also said that this meant we would probably be able to go home much sooner than we had originally been told.

Multi-tasking: walking and breastfeeding.

They let me carry Bennett (nursing the entire way) through the hospital. We stopped by the waiting area to get Cam, my mom, Cam's mom, and Uncle Dave, and we went into his recovery room where we all waited. It only took about an hour for them to check all his vitals and remove his IV, during which he slept or ate the entire time. I should mention that in recovery, we were told that breast milk is classified as a clear liquid, so Bennett could have all of it that he wanted. (One of these days, the medical establishment will make up their minds, right?) Bennett had no negative reaction at all to the anaesthetic, other than drowsiness. This was a huge relief.

Post-surgery donut.

At one point in recovery, he sat up and reached for a donut, so we gave it to him and he ate the entire thing in about three bites. Then he ate another one. (This was before we read the instructions that said "clear liquids" only for the first several hours. Oops.)

Since coming home, Bennett's pain and discomfort seems worse today (on day #3) than it did on day #1 or #2. He has been a bit more irritable than usual and has been wanting to breastfeed all of the time. He has an aversion to most solid foods. We took him to our friend's house for Thanksgiving and he did well for the first couple hours, before becoming really fussy. He is clearly uncomfortable when the medication wears off, and it makes me so sad for him.

Tonight we took him to a tree-lighting ceremony in downtown Portland and he had a mini-meltdown and cried for about ten minutes straight (I know I sound like an ass for saying that, but ten minutes is a lot for Bennett to cry). We are learning that for this recovery time, he just needs to be at home, so that's probably where we will stay for the rest of the weekend and most of next week.

First tree-lighting ceremony!

(...he got high on pain meds and slept through the whole thing)

Assuming we get great results from the biopsy, this whole thing went much better than anticipated. I know that is in part to the encouragement and support we got. My mom was able to be here with us, and Cam's mom took the day off and came to the hospital as well. It helped for Cam and I to have our mamas there. I mean, we are just grown-up babies too, right? I'm hoping that this is the last surgery Bennett has to have for a very long time. Thanks to all of you who offered so much encouragement! Your feedback and support meant a whole lot to all of us. The little dude doesn't know how lucky he is.

Tuesday Tunes? I am too busy being a nervous wreck

2011-11-22T15:45:00.000-08:00

I figure if there is one day that it is acceptable to break my "song every week" promise, it's today. I'm too wired and full of anxious, nervous energy to even try to sing something (except for nap time), and David is working anyways, so it would be acapella. That's just never a good idea.

In lieu of a Tuesday Tune, I did manage to interview Bennett last night as we were waiting for my mom's plane to land in Portland. He gave a brief statement and then put a quick end to the paparazzi presence in the living room. He doesn't want a big fuss over this whole "minor surgery" thing, so I guess I'll respect his wishes.

Lately Bennett has been really into watching Youtube videos of zoo animals. You have to be really careful when Youtubing ANY sort of animal video, as you'll quickly find that the second or third video down is ALWAYS (not sometimes, but seriously - always) a video of whatever animal you requested doing it. And by "it", I mean having wild sex with no regard for the camera. According to Youtube, all animals are having sex non-stop, all of the time, all over the world. It isn't so much the animal sex that is disturbing (monkeys mate just like humans... really interesting), as much as it is the lewd comments and sound effects that usually accompany the footage. Anyways. I've been on the lookout for cool Youtube videos that can capture Bennett's attention for up to 0:45 seconds at a time (that don't involve animal sexy time), and when I stumbled upon this one, he was hooked.

Here he is, being hooked.

I hope that as the little guy is drifting off to sleep tomorrow in the hands of the surgeon that he is dreaming of something as fun as hot air balloons. And I hope that as I am drifting off to sleep tonight, I am able to picture anything other than tomorrow's surgery.

On Chief Reese and Occupy Portland

2011-11-18T19:24:00.000-08:00

I usually steer clear of topics that are political, primarily because they can be so negative and polarizing. Although this post is about politics to an extent, it's about more than that. I should make a disclaimer here that the Portland Police Chief, Mike Reese, is my cousin. I should also make a disclaimer that I had a huge crush on him from the ages of 6-15 (give or take), and that when I was 11, he once kissed my cheek as he was leaving a family gathering and I didn't wash it for nearly a week (when my mom and Aunt Melody forced me to.) This crush was largely based on Mike greatly resembling MacGyver at the time, and in my mind, MacGyver was (and still is) the man. But you know what? So is Mike.

I promise I am going somewhere with this. (But the views expressed in this blog have nothing to do with Mike and are not his views; they are mine.)

It isn't a secret that Cam and I aren't huge fans of the police. We don't hate them either though. I guess you could say that we find ourselves weary of any person (or group of people) that is given arbitrary power and control over others. (I mean, "we, the people" don't hire each Officer; they are given their posts by other Officers that we also didn't select, and so on...) Power and control are really weird breeding grounds for all sorts of crazy shit. At the same time, however, there have to be people in charge. This is an unpleasant paradox that isn't lost on me. As much as I may not be fan of officers who abuse their power by abusing those around them, I hold a great deal of respect for those men and women who have chosen to put themselves in danger to protect and serve us. (I also hold them to a higher standard, so when they fail, it feels like a failure of the worst kind.) But. It isn't really the police that I distrust, it is the individuals who misuse the authority they are given.

Mike is a seriously stand-up guy. For years, we have felt like Mike would make an incredible Police Chief, because he is just so remarkable. He is hard-working and earnest. He is genuine. He is down-to-earth, mellow, and funny. He is really laid-back, which is a trait you don't often see in people of power. He cares about justice, about having a police force that is honest and ethical and above reproach. And I believe that he sincerely cares about the safety and welfare of those in this city. When he was appointed the Chief of Police by the Mayor, it seemed totally fitting. Despite all of the problems that the Portland Police Department has had in years past, I feel really confident that Mike will do (and is doing) what he can do to correct those grievances and bring change to the force. To top off his lengthy list of qualities, he plays guitar in a rock-n'-roll band, for Pete's sake. He's a great man. But more than that, he is a man. Just a man.

Mike, like pretty much everyone else in this city, is a part of the 99%. The entire police force is a part of the 99%, which is a fact that seems to be forgotten by many.

I am not a sensitive person, but it has been really hard this past week to sit idly by and watch him (and the rest of the force) take a verbal beating by so many Occupiers. I have a few friends who are very public (and vocal) parts of the Occupy Portland movement. And I'm all for what the movement represents! (Although it is bound to go nowhere, it will escalate, and will ultimately disappoint because "gathering" isn't how we change things in our country.) But these friends, like so many others, seem to be misdirecting their anger and rage at the local police, (or more specifically at Mike or Mayor Adams). It's true that the Police have stepped in and are taking measures to bring peace and safety to downtown Portland. For some, this does seem like an assault on people's civil liberties (and maybe it is; I'm not there and I simply don't know).

I have yet to hear two accounts that match up -- on any topic regarding Occupy Portland, even when talking to two actual live people who are down there in it. I've never actually spoken with Mike about any of this. I have stopped watching the news because every few seconds, there is a different person painting a different picture and it's all just too much. The truth isn't being told. Or maybe it is, and this is one of those situations where there are a thousand different truths, depending on where you are standing at any given moment. If an Occupier pees on the street, that may be true. But does it mean that all Occupiers are peeing in the streets? Certainly not. Someone could still make the statement "Occupiers are peeing in the streets!" and it wouldn't be a lie. If an Officer uses unnecessary force and someone witnesses it, this is truth. But if the other 5,000 police are not using unnecessary force, it isn't the whole truth. Some could still make the statement "The police are using unnecessary force!" and it wouldn't be a lie. But it kind of would.

I could talk about the accusations of women being raped down in the park at the movement, or the accounts of the extreme vandalism that has gone on. I could talk about the infestation of filth and disease and chaos that has taken over the area. (Leave it to Portlanders, eh?) I could also talk about the accounts of the 84-year old woman who was pepper-sprayed by police (in Seattle) or the many arrests that have been made, whether warranted or not. The Police are not a welcome presence at Occupy Portland. But for the woman who was raped, I would imagine that they are. For the people that live near the parks, they most certainly are. But that isn't what this is about. The thing is, no one even knows what this is about. At least, no one knows all of it. There is no one person who can see everything. Everyone can only see what's right in their line of vision. And everyone has a point. And everyone is terrified. And angry. And exhausted.

What it seems like everyone is failing to recognize is that, like it or not, we are all in this together. And like it or not, we all have to continue to live with one another, in community, when all of this is over. What is considered a "peaceful gathering" by one person might be a terrifying to the resident who lives nearby or to the worker who has to battle crowds to get to work. What is considered a "right to assemble" by one hundred people is a traffic nightmare to a hundred others. And on the flip side, what is considered "keeping the peace" or "protecting the city" by one officer might be seen as judgment and a lack of compassion and understanding, at best, by others. The Occupiers are being (falsely) portrayed as wayward hippies, rapists, dirt-bags, and homeless people. The police are being (falsely) portrayed as brainless and heartless ogres whose sole purpose in life is to control the hippies and break down morale. At the end of the day, both the Occupier and the Officer simply want to be able to put food on the tables for their families. Both want to be able to feel free and safe. Both the Officer and the Occupier want to know that they can, as individuals and as a nation, survive this nightmare.

I feel like we are in a unique position (maybe it isn't unique at all; maybe everyone else is in this position too) where we are intimately connected to both those in the movement and those on the police force. When you're in this position and you know both of those sides to be remarkable people with a sincere desire to do right, it's really tough. But tough is good. When you do the tough thing, when you are forced to remove the people and biases and stereotypes from the issue, you are forced to focus on the issues. I don't have the luxury of writing off the Occupiers as a bunch of low-lifes. They aren't. They are our friends, our people. They are standing for something, something noble that needs to be stood for. I also don't have the luxury of writing off the Police as the bad guy. They aren't. They are our friends, my family. They are men and women who have a responsibility to follow their orders and deliver peace to the public.

I believe that if you took an Officer and and Occupier under any other circumstance and sat them at a table together with a pint of beer, they would be able to laugh and talk and toast some concept that they both believed in. At what point does one sacred and valid ideal outweigh another? At what point does our ambition to bring change to our country's policies override our ambition to love our fellow man? At what point does our interest in maintaining peace outweigh our interest in being honorable? At what point (now!) do individuals take it upon themselves to step back and re-group, re-focus on the issues and re-define what this is all about? Make no mistake: It is us vs. them. But "them" isn't simply one man, one police force, one mayor. "Them" is an entire legal system, "them" is a way of life that needs to change, "them" is this economic system that all of us have set into motion and approved (with our spending and borrowing and settling and being complacent). "Them" is actually "us". And we all need to give a little.

A little grace.

A little compassion.

A little less braun and more brain.

A little understanding.

Elimination Communication (potty in the potty, yo)

2011-11-18T09:37:00.000-08:00

Bennett has been on a several month crusade against pottying in the potty. It is a bit discouraging since he was going in the potty 95% of the time by 11 months. Watching all of that effort go down the drain (or I should say, go into the diaper) was initially frustrating, but I had to just let go of it. The reason we were doing Elimination Communication was for his comfort (and selfishly, so I wouldn't have to change and wash diapers forever). If he isn't into it, I don't want to force it. I really don't want to make pottying the enemy. So right now, we're letting him take his time, which unfortunately means going in the diaper almost all of the time. Gross! After a year of hardly having to change diapers at all and then now needing to change them all day long? There is no question I will do EC again with the next one, but next time, I will find a magical way to thwart any efforts to thwart my efforts.

And on that topic, here is a little potty video. Happy Friday, everyone!

A trivial thing (music) and a bigger thing (surgery)

2011-11-17T11:28:00.000-08:00

This is what I like to call a wrap-up post. I hate doing this kind because my super-organized brain likes everything to have one purpose and not be all jumbled together. But hey! It's almost the weekend, so time to shake things up a bit. (This disclaimer is about four sentences too long already...)

First, the trivial thing: per everyone's request, lyrics have been added to most of the songs (at least to most of the newer songs). Thank you for the feedback, friends! It meant a lot to us, so thank you for taking the time. And if you haven't taken the time yet, well, do it! We didn't add the lyrics to the two covers that we did, as you internet experts can google them for yourselves. I did, however, add the lyrics to The Waiter, Fighting Utah, It'll Be A While, When Darkness Falls, Burn It Down, and Gone Too Long. I hope that having lyrics sheds light on what the songs are actually about. You know, what songs are about... minor detail. I wonder if anyone will listen to them again and be like, "That is what the song was about? I thought it was about football. I was way off."

Now for the major thing: Bennett's surgery. All the insurance stuff came back early so it's approved and set to happen next Wednesday. Gulp. I feel sick with my stomach over it. I guess I must have been secretly hoping that the surgery wouldn't be approved and that we would awaken one morning to find the lump gone. Why don't things every work out the way I say they should?! Anyways, the one piece of good news is that my mom will be coming to town for it, and we love it when mom comes to town. She'll be here for Thanksgiving too, so that will be fun. Things just seem to go a lot more smoothly when she is around, so that will make the whole thing easier.

But still. I am sick to my stomach. I can hardly stand it. I'm nervous about Bennett needing to fast, because the kid loves to eat -- often -- all day and all night long. This is going to be really tough. And I'm nervous about the anaesthesia so much that I kind of want to puke in my lap. I know it's all going to go just perfectly smooth, fine n' dandy. I still think that I will be a bit of a wreck until it's all over. And it will all be over by this time next Wednesday. I want him to heal quickly. I want him to not remember it, like immediately. I want him to not, at any point, look at me with his "why are you letting this happen to me?" face. Because that face kills me.

(pause for me to puke in my lap)

I want it to be over.

I think that I'll just ask the anaesthesiologist to knock both of us out, and wake us up together. I'm sure they do that sort of thing, right?

(nervous laughter)

(puke)

Tuesday Tunes "The Waiter"

2011-11-15T10:33:00.000-08:00

David wrote this song this week. Being newly singled has given him a lot of extra free time that he didn't have before, so I think we'll be hearing a lot of new songs in the coming months. There's always an upside to heartbreak, eh?

Before you guys listen, I'd like to ask a favor. We would really like to hear some feedback. Since we plan to polish up these songs and record many of them in the near future, it would be really nice to hear what people think of them. I was at a bridal shower this weekend taking photos and someone asked, "Is that the camera you are using for Tuesday Tunes?" and I was like, "WHAT? You listen to those?" and all the girls said they do. But pretty much only my mom and sister ever comment (and sometimes Matt or Shana), so although we can tell we are getting hits from different IP addresses, we aren't savvy enough to know who is listening. But we'd like to! We accept critiques as well, so if you don't have something positive to say, let it fly (gently, of course). We're not sensitive. And honestly, any feedback is better than no feedback. Your feedback on this song and past Tuesday Tunes will help us decide which ones to record (so feel free to give the old ones a listen and let us know which ones you like and which ones are best left to the ol' blog).

If you take three minutes to listen, please take an extra thirty seconds to comment. We would love to hear feedback particularly in regards to the song-writing, since Lil' Dave is putting a lot of time and energy into these.

You'll notice that this week's tune has a guest appearance towards the end. That's what happens when Papa is working and can't watch the little guy.

Steam trains and elephant games

Little girls with fake diamond rings

Are better than those girls with fake smiles

All around this round about

We were kids, we were finding out

I like blue, you like the fall

Let’s be friends

I’ve been waiting tables

Waiting for you to come back home

I was afraid of fables

I was afraid you would leave me all alone

Raining cats and dogs in the park

You and I snuck out in the dark

You held my hand and heart for a while

Fill me in and fill me out

Back porch rain coming down

Hit the roof so hard beat like a drum

I’ve been waiting tables

Waiting for you to come back home

I was afraid of fables

I was afraid you would leave me all alone

Find me out by the river

Waiting for you come back

I’ve been out since September

Waiting for the sun to turn black

New Job for Cam!

2011-11-13T12:26:00.000-08:00

I haven't wanted to mention this yet because I didn't want to jinx it... but after a very lengthy two-month interview process, Cameron has been hired by Lincoln Financial. He is once again employed! And this time, it is with a firm that he loves, and he'll be doing what he loves and is good at. It has been a long six months of not working and was a long year before that working at a job that wasn't what he expected. In some ways it's been good, but in many ways this period of unemployment has been the hardest thing ever for him personally and for us as a duo.

No more of this: playing Wii in the
middle of the afternoon on a weekday.

He starts on Monday. The first few months will be difficult (for me) because he will be working a lot, and that means traveling a lot, and that means that I will be on my own a lot (both day and night with little or no break). But. It is so what we need right now as far as Cam getting to rock what he does best, and as far as actually having money (that green stuff that I'm told causes problems... it'll be nice to find out for ourselves). Rocking what one does and having money are both very important things, wouldn't you say? I would say so.

So here we go!

We have been really blessed by so many of you guys. (I feel like I'm giving an acceptance speech for an award right now). But really, we have. We have received so much support and encouragement. We have received emails about job leads. We have received cards. We have received a lot of "Keep goings!" and "You can do its!" and "You will find the right fit!" ... and all of those things did keep us going and did make us feel like we could do it and did make us believe that we would find the right fit. And hopefully now we have.

Last trip to the Zoo as a
stay-at-home-dad!

Cam is really excited to be back among the working folk. This new job is managing his clients' retirement accounts and involves no cold sales. None. Cold sales are not his thing. They're just not. And yet he has found himself in sales positions before and hated it and has felt crappy about doing that sort of work. Now he gets to do what he does best, which is mess with money and stocks and bonds and retirement data and complicated information that goes over most people's heads. He gets to fly around the country again, which means earning miles which means that we can fly around the world again (eventually... maybe...hopefully...). He gets to meet with clients and laugh and high-five as they share about one another and discuss financial matters. (I mean, I've never met with a financial advisor, but I assume this is what happens?)

Anyways, we're really excited. Please leave a comment and let Cam know how excited you are for him! Even if the comment simply says, "High-five, Cam!" Go on. You know you want to, and he definitely deserves it!

It's Surgery Time

2011-11-12T19:41:00.000-08:00

The waiting room. Fun times!

After keeping tabs (along with our pediatrician) on the growth on Bennett's hand, we decided it would be best to consult an orthopedic surgeon. We decided to go with the specialist that our doctor recommended, and we met him this past week. He recommended surgery. Booh.

He took several x-rays and felt fairly confident upon viewing them that the growth isn't connected to the bone and has not calcified. He does not think that the growth is cancerous. These are all three very good bits of news, yes?

But surgery is a big bummer. Because he's just a little guy, and because operating on little guys is nearly impossible unless they hold really still (which is not going to happen with any toddler ever), Bennett will have to be put completely under. Blurgh. I know this isn't the end of the world, but I'm really anxious about it. I want to be there with him when it happens, but man. The last time (and only time) that Bennett had to be at the Emanuel Children's Hospital was when he was limp in my arms on the cusp of death. To go to that same hospital and watch him go limp with anaesthesia makes me want to cry. I don't want to see him ever go limp again. Not ever.

A real treat: getting to rub the foamy
antibacterial stuff on our hands.

The surgeon didn't really have a recommendation about when we do the surgery. As far as the risks of anaesthetic, they are highest on babies under the age of six months. After that, the risk is basically all the same if a kid is 15 months or 15 years old. So that's good. The reason we are opting to do the surgery now instead of in six months (or longer) is because now the growth is small (growing steadily by the month). Right now, removing the growth will be fairly simple and will be a quick healing process. If we wait, there is a chance that it will require a more extensive surgery and that the healing process will take longer. Bennett has also begun favoring the finger with the growth and not using it or bending it as much. This isn't good. It's clear that the growth is causing him a lot of discomfort, if not pain.

Sometimes he sits on the floor and tries to pull his own finger off. How sad is that?

I don't want him to have to go through this. I know it's just a little thing -- a tiny thing compared to what others have had to go through with their children (a fact I don't take for granted) -- but it's still a thing that I want to be able to protect him from.

He won't understand being held down. He won't understand why we're letting this stranger poke him and hurt him. He won't understand why his hand hurts afterwards. He won't understand any of it. Fortunately though, he also won't remember any of it. Hopefully, he will understand (and remember) that his Mama and Papa love him and that we won't leave his side.

Meeting the surgeon. We approve!

We really like the surgeon who will be operating on Bennett. He was great with Bennett and seemed to really care about him as a little person. He knew who we were when he walked into the room we were waiting in, and he knew why we were there. He was really present, and he took the time to go over our options, the pros and cons, and the possible outcomes. He was very calm and confident and reassuring, and that's what you want in a dude who is going to be chip-chopping into your baby.

Even still, I worry.

As of now, the surgery is tentatively set for the day before Thanksgiving, provided that all of our insurance approvals go through before then. I will be happy to have it over with and to have him pointing happily from both hands once again.

Have any of you gone through surgeries with your little ones? How did they handle the anaesthesia? Any pointers for us?

Tuesday Tunes "Fighting Utah"

2011-11-08T08:21:00.000-08:00

This was a fun one to do. At one point during practice, we were sitting on the couch (David on the couch back and me on the couch seat) and he was bouncing his foot so hard with the music that I was bouncing up and down as though I were on a trampoline. Have you ever tried to sing while bouncing on a trampoline? Yeah, it's really funny.

I played a tambourine on most takes, but then Dave made fun of my playing and I kept losing track of my words because I was too focused on the instrument, so I gave it up. That was pretty funny too.

Almost every run-through of this song had something funny happen. I'm not sure if it was the energy of the song, or if it was just that sort of day. Either way, we had fun playing it. We finally decided just to keep this (giggle free) take, because with the way the recording was going, giggling and all, we knew we weren't going to get a better one. We are also amused with ourselves about how low our standards have gotten in regards to the video and sound quality. And that is also fun.

This is one of Dave's most recent songs (as in, it was written just this past week):

Maybe I could write you a song
Maybe you could write to tell me you were wrong

Maybe someday remember stars shine down Utah was her name
I walk across this red rock ground red blood pouring through my veins
My name you called as we made out, out of time we left that place
Five years have since stained the ground
Five years have since stained my face

And I fight the demons in my head that make it
So hard to keep the fight, so hard to sleep at night
Always I see falling leaves and starlit trees
Everything that we used to be
I fight the demons in my head that tell me
You are gone and I’m alone this house of cards
Has fallen on me

Maybe I could write you a song
Maybe you could write to tell me you were wrong

Maybe you’ll never get my SOS
Baby you’ll never be my second best
All the ways we made it tried it crucified it got back up and
Maybe I’m out of line maybe I’m out of time
Maybe I’m just a little out of my mind
Maybe I need a reason to get by
Maybe I need a reason to get high

pimping things (part II): the ride

2011-11-06T10:36:00.000-08:00

To read Part I in my "Pimping Things" series, you can click on THIS LINK.

Bennett has already attended his first motorcycle race (at Portland International Raceway, with Papa and Will), as well as his first ski show (at Portland Expo Center with Papa and Brian). He's been a busy guy, in terms of adrenaline-inducing sports, thanks to Papa's insatiable need for speed and everything speed related.

"Backstage" with Will at his first motorcycle race this summer:

What was most notable about Bennett's trip to the Ski Expo was that he was able to collect a lot of stickers to add to his sweet ride.

Dutifully collecting...

I'm sure that as he was collecting his stickers, he wasn't really thinking ahead in regards to "pimpin' things", but Papa was (thankfully), so the real fun began when the guys came home and they were able to display their spoils for Mama.

Cam was so proud:

If you say "What?!", Bennett does this:

Oh, the excitement of watching one's ride be pimped!

This is the Mt. Hood side of the vehicle, sportin' stickers from Ski Bowl, Mt. Hood Meadows, Timberline, and a snowboard camp.

The front sports my favorite sticker, because the "Ski The Fish" sticker comes from my hometown of Whitefish, MT. And, I knocked myself out with my own ingenuity by placing the word "shred" on the keyboard.

New: Fischer Skis, Ski Washington, and Powder Highway (Canadian).

The boys brought home so many stickers that even the inside had to be covered. (Because we had to leave room on the outside for some of mama's musical stickers - still to come).

And last but not least, the ride is sportin' several "Merrell" stickers, courtesy of Uncle Dave, who is the Assistant Manager at Merrell at Bridgeport.

That's right, ladies. He's newly singled as of this summer, and he can get you all the Merrell stickers you want.

It may seem a bit extravagant to dedicate an entire post to the art of stickering a toddler's car. But hey, when you live in the Pacific Northwest - in the winter - you do what you have to do to make it through the gloomy days. And just wait. When it's mid-January and the holidays are over and the darkness seems never-ending and you're sitting at home, bored and in need of excitement, you're going to think about this post and these stickers, and you're going to say to yourself, "Man, when is the next installation of 'pimping things' gonna happen, cuz I need me some color." Just wait.

Pumpkin Patch Wrap-up

2011-11-03T12:37:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned on here a time or two before that Sauvie Island's Kruger Farm is my favorite Pumpkin Patch in all of Oregon. What I haven't mentioned is that I haven't actually visited all of the other patches, until now. Now that I have visited all of the other patches (that I know of), I am ready to amend my statement: Sauvie Island's Kruger Farm is definitely my favorite Pumpkin Patch in all of Oregon.

I was going to write a long and funny post about how much some of the other patches we have visited have sucked. But then I read this post and this post of my sister's (and you should read them too if you want to laugh really hard) and I realized that these other patches we visited actually didn't suck at all. They were pretty awesome, in fact, when compared to the sad and pathetic patches my poor sister has visited.

They just weren't Kruger Farms.

Pumpkins laid perfectly in mowed grass.

Kruger Farms is a really natural farm, where you walk right out to the fields where the pumpkins grow and you pluck them straight from the ground. Since this is the main patch I've visited for over a decade, I assumed that all patches were like this. What we are finding at other patches, specifically Bushie Farms and Liepold Farms is that they grow the pumpkins elsewhere and then haul them in on big trucks and set them out in a field. That's really weird, right? So your kid is collecting perfect pumpkins from a patch of grass, and not really seeing how and where pumpkins grow. I don't know. That just seems strange to me. Cam pointed out that the pumpkins at these other patches are nicer, and he's right. But that's because someone else has already picked and sorted through them and laid them in perfectly mowed grass. Weird!

"Did this pumpkin grow here, mama?"

"No, that guy over there set it here."

"Oh, magical."

On the hayride at Liepold Farms, Bennett got a bit bored because they stop the ride to give you a tutorial on how pumpkins are grown. The guy who gave the tutorial was real cute and energetic, but a one-year-old's attention span isn't quite tailored for focusing on biology lectures, so we spent a lot of time looking at these:

Liepold Farms hayride.

There are other subtle differences betwen Kruger and...all other farms. The biggest of which is cash. At Kruger Farms, the only thing you have to pay for is the corn maze and whatever produce and food you buy. At these other farms, they charge you for every little thing. There's just something about hopping on and off a big ol' hay ride at your leisure, for free, whenever you want, that feels so... free. When you've been doing it for free for years and some person comes along and wants to charge you $3 per person, I say to that person, "No, thank you. we'll just walk along beside the hay ride! Ha! Hahahahaha! Take that, The Man." And speaking of not free, at Liepold Farms, they have this odd little play area (kind of like a playground, but with some hail bails strewn about) that you have to pay for if your kid wants to go in there. What?! It doesn't cost them a penny to have that little playground sitting there, and it doesn't cost them a penny to let the poor little children slide down their slide. Why are they charging for it? Don't they know how many parents would sit and have a $7 hot dog and beer if their kid was playing happily on the damn play structure for free? Come on. At both of these other farms, it just felt like they were setting up random little areas and trinkets everywhere so your kid would ask you to buy them experiences or useless crap. There isn't any of that stuff at Kruger Farms. Just a big huge farm where you can walk around (or ride!) for free, while looking at the animals, for free, and spending an afternoon, for free. (Also, the price of pumpkins is $0.30/lb at Kruger and Bushie, but is $0.50/lb at Liepold.)

Here we are, making fun happen anyways.

Bonus! Uncle Dave came to Liepold Farms with us, and he's really funny,

so we had all that extra laughter and entertainment...for free!

Besides pumpkins being out of their natural elements and paying money for stuff, there is just something more magical about being out there with nature, right where all the grownin' takes place, on a farm that has chickens just a runnin' around. At Kruger, Bennett was in heaven. Even a one-year old could recognize the magic there. At Bushie Farms, Bennett did a lot of these faces.

This was his reaction to learning that we had to pay money

for this hay ride... little thriftster.

This was his reaction to finding a random pumpkin placed on the ground...

out of its natural habitat.

This was his reaction as he watched the group of men

unloading a truck full of pumpkins right before our eyes...

The other downside to these other farms? You have to drive all the way to Boring, Oregon to get to them. Yep. Boring is the name of the town. And Boring is the name of the game. We were pretty discouraged to have driven so far, only to discover that we were going to have to pay a lot of money if we actually wanted to enjoy any of the stuff. But don't get me wrong. If you have money, then visiting either of these farms is totally worth the drive, and most kids would probably have a hoot there.

After reading my sister's posts (and settling down from the laughing), and realizing how sad pumpkin patches in North Dakota are, I came to realize that all three of these patches are actually pretty good. And I bet that had my sister been with us, she would have gladly paid any price to see little Zoralee get to enjoy herself.

Maybe by the time Bennett is old enough to really enjoy big kid stuff, his mama won't be such a cheap-o. (I did spring for hay rides at both farms though, so I'm not a total lost cause.)

making art (in life and in marriage)

2011-11-02T12:14:00.000-07:00

Bennett and I have both been working on art these days. For Bennett, art is crayons and glittery glue on paper. For me, art is learning to paint kindness, grace, forgiveness and compassion over the canvas of my marriage.

A little artful illustration...

When you first get married, you and your partner begin with a nice clean white canvas. You lovingly hold the paintbrush together, his hand on top of yours, slowly dipping the brush into the paint, making long, loving strokes of rainbow goodness. You gaze into one another eye's, barely even taking notice of the canvas, and you giggle and kiss one another while this beautiful painting unfolds before you. Your partner adds a dash of green, a color you wouldn't have added yourself, and you sigh lovingly, "Oh, isn't it precious? We are so different. I never would have thought to put green right there, but my, oh my, everything he does is so amazing. I think the green will make our painting perfect." (smooch smooch smooch)

With the passage of a little time, the canvas begins to get a bit...crowded. You both begin using your own brushes, sometimes several at once. You are no longer coordinating colors. You still smile and nod at each other, but your hands are busy painting away. You can't help but notice that your partner is using a lot of green. In these large quantities, it doesn't look so great at all. In fact, it makes the canvas look horrible! Green has lost it's preciousness. You suggest warmly that maybe there is enough green on the canvas, maybe the green should be toned down. Your partner notes that you've never been bothered by the green before. This is irritating, but he's right. In your defense, you never imagined that you would have to learn to accept so much green, or in such large quantities.

A bit more time passes. Here's a surprise! Your partner has done away with some of that old green you didn't like (ahh, love prevails). But wait! He has purchased a few new shades of green to add. What the?! He applies this green as vigorously as the last. Maybe you would have stuck with the simple old green, had you known. He simply doesn't get it.

You nag a bit. He paints more green. You nag some more. The green is getting thick and gooey. It becomes all that you can see, so you stop looking. Now neither of you are even really looking to see what the other is adding, so long as you have your bit of free canvas to paint as you please. Every so often, you take a moment to look at your partner's side of the canvas (yes, now there are "sides") and your face reddens with aggravation. "Green!? For @#$% sake! Must you always use green?" It pains you that he keeps using green when he knows how much you despise it. There is so much of it now that it just looks black. And now he gets it, but he is tired of hearing it, so he pretends that he can't hear you and he paints away. It has begun.

You are sitting on opposite sides of the table now, each painting your own end of the canvas. You are not so much "painting" anymore as much as you are playing a heated game of "paintball". The wounds are piling up. The sores are blistering. The canvas is beginning to look like this.

You get caught in a cycle, a whirlwind of frustration. You take turns trying to improve the painting, and then you take turns hurling more blobs onto it. You can't help yourselves.

More time passes. Time calms things down. You don't even want to paint anymore. In fact, there are days when you feel like if you never see another tube of paint, it will be too soon.

You take a breath. You cry. You talk to people who love you. You extend yourself kindness, as though you are attaching your own oxygen mask in a flight that is going down.

Inspiration...

You look across the table at your partner. You force yourself not to look at the canvas, but rather, to look at him. You look for the things that drew you to him in the first place. They're hard to find under all that green paint, but they're there. You watch the way his hands move with the brush. You watch his eyes dart from side to side as he paints wildly. You remember what it felt like to admire that passion. You see him begin to dip the brush into the green paint, and you begin to sob. Just when you were thinking your canvas still has a chance at looking lovely, he goes for the green paint again. You feel hopeless. But then, he stops. He looks up and sees your face. You don't even have to utter a word. He doesn't dip the brush into the green paint.

He stands up. He walks over to the sink and rinses his brush. He dries it (sloppily, but still). He walks back over to the table and sits down beside you. He looks at your side of the canvas. It has been months, maybe even years since he has really looked at it. He tells you how beautiful it is. He dips his brush into your paint and adds a stroke of your color to his side. You want to be happy, but you bristle just a little. This isn't the first time this has happened, and now there's green paint drips in your perfect tin of white paint. You are about to say something when you remember that saying something has never helped before. You pause and look at his face and see how pleased he is with what he's done. You see that he is trying to fix the painting. He is trying to make it lighter and prettier. You feel a bit more hopeful than you did just moments before.

Our best masterpiece...

It's hard to paint white over green. The green always shows through. It could take a long time to paint enough light colors to really cover over that much green. You're thinking all of these things, but you don't say any of them. You have realized that making this masterpiece requires that you put your whole self into it. Those things have already been said and felt. Now it's time to re-paint. Now it's time to sit on the same side of the table, time to put light over dark, time to be silent and compassionate and full of grace. Now is the time to make art of the heart and mind and hope that it's enough to change the face of that canvas.

You sit quietly, together, and you keep painting...

Tuesday Tunes "It'll Be a While"

2011-11-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

Last night I sat in the rain

And watched your hands wave goodbye

As you held an umbrella so your make-up wouldn't run

I sat in silence as I heard the raindrops make their case

For the people to stay indoors

It'll be a while til I can finally let you go

til I reconcile with myself, and let the river flow

It'll be a while til me hands won't scream to hold you

But know when I smile, I'm finally over you

This morning I woke alone

Check the window, checked the phone

Neither one had changed

Raining Sunday, maybe I could find a better way to change

My ambitions for growing old

If love didn't have to change

Maybe you and I could hold down the rain

Take your gloves off, come inside

Tomorrow yesterday will be two complete days away

Let's just throw it out the door

A Halloween Story: Mr. Clean Does a Gig

2011-10-31T18:23:00.000-07:00

Late this afternoon, Mr. Clean got a call from his manager that a client had personally requested his presence for a commercial gig. Mr. Clean isn't normally one to do house calls, but the economy being what it is, he didn't feel like he should pass up the opportunity. He dawned his most sparkly golden earring, trimmed his eyebrows down to an appropriate size, put on his best "whites" and headed out the door. He arrived at the home feeling nervous (it had been a while since he had filmed a commercial), but excited as well.

To prepare himself mentally for the gig, he chided his manager, "Go on! Punch 'em! I can take it! These things are solid. Solid as nearly a bag of popcorn kernels!"

Still a bit nervous and with no sign of the producer on site yet, Mr. Clean got out his trusty "Hello, Kitty" ball and began a soothing game of throw-n-chase.

The gig was quick to disappoint. Mr. Clean was insulted. "You want me to bend down and, and, and... CLEAN THE FLOORS? Are you kidding me?"

Producer: "Yes, it's a CLEANING commercial. We need you to bend down."

Mr. Clean: "Is this good? I'm kinda bending. I think it's good, don't you? This is good enough. It has to be. It's as low as I'm gonna go."

After being told (yet again) that he would need to bend all the way down and actually do a few scrubs, Mr. Clean had had enough. He screeched this (in so many words) in a high-pitch yelp that startled even himself. "Enough! Stop rolling! I'm calling my (sniffle) manager! Someone hand me my phone!" (Never mind that he had the phone in the last photo. Don't over-think it.)

Mumbling to himself, "I'll just send a quick text to Manager Uncle David...
'Dear Manager, get your $%^@# over here..."

"...or these incredibly good-looking hand-sewn biceps are going to
set up an appointment between you and my @#$%^ fist."

His manager didn't answer the text, so a conversation was had. "That house you dropped me at earlier? Whack-jobs. WHACK-JOBS. They wanted me to... man, never mind. I can't even say it. Just come and pick me up. I'm done. Done. I mean, look at my hand gesture. That's how done I am."

"Get me out of here. And be quick about it."

Oh, Mr. Clean. You are easy on the eyes, but your attitude is...surprising.

And then there's this side of Mr. Clean... but we didn't get to see much of this (thankfully, I guess, since my own toddler hitting on me would have been off-putting.)

It was hard to compete with last year's costume (we are our own biggest competitors, right?), but I did my best. I think last year's wins, but this year's certainly took more effort. Here's Bennett's 2010 costume:

He is such a great sport. Maybe by the time he's 16 or 17, I'll be ready to let him pick out his own costumes. Maybe.

Lautaret Bohemiet (La-tuh-ray Bo-he-me-ay)

2011-10-29T11:49:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that the name of my blog has changed from Clearly Speaking to Lautaret Bohemiet. Naturally, you may now be thinking, "That is the coolest, most gypsy French funky flowy sounding name... but whatever does it mean?"

With mom and dad, Sept. 2000

First, I want to explain why I am doing away with Clearly Speaking. I named my blog when I first started blogging (at a point when I wasn't sure that I would continue blogging) and I was simply looking for some sort of play on my married last name, Clear (which is a very pretty name). That's it. There was no particular reason behind it. No special meaning. And much to the surprise of many folks who come here accidentally, my blog has nothing to do with speech impediments, I am not speaking coach, and I don't even technically speak on here; I write (a thing I do [quite ironically] not always very clearly, as I'm prone to long winding sentences with various sets of parenthetical devices...) The name has driven me bonkers for a while. Some of you may remember when I was first pregnant with Bennett and I wanted to change it then to something that actually related with the heart of the blog, but I was at a loss when it came to other names. Now, two years later, I still want to change it so that it finally represents what my blog represents -- me. So change it is what I did.

My family name is Lautaret. Lautaret is beautiful mountain pass in the French Alps and it's where we come from. When I was twenty-one, I spent a summer touring around the UK, France and Italy. At the end of my tour, my parents, grandparents and my dad's three sisters met me in Rome and together we visited the Col du Lautaret, the place of our ancestors, the place of my family's birth. It was one of the most treasured experiences of my life. On that trip, I was able to spend a lot of precious time with both of my grandparents, which is especially invaluable to me now as they have both passed away. I have a very specific memory of sitting on my grandpa's lap as we crammed into a crowded bus and toured through Rome. It was priceless. Magical.

Grandpa, Grandma, Dad, and sisters Carolyn, Lavonne, Rita

My family is the source of my confidence, my faith, my strength and my humor. The name Lautaret represents all of those parts of me, and of my family.

I have, for quite a while, wanted to somehow incorporate my own name into my blog. It is, afterall, my heritage, even though I have also taken my husband's name as my own (a name that also comes with a great heritage). Lautaret (pronounced la-tuh-ray, or la-ter-ray, depending on how fast we say it or who you're asking) is such a beautiful word, and it's a tremendous part of my identity. I am proud to be a part of the Lautaret family and extremely proud of my heritage, which is a long line of believers, hard-workers, healers, do-gooders, garden-growers, travelers, and live-longers.

I chose Bohemiet as an adaptation of the word "Bohemian", something that describes my personality and my lifestyle over the past fifteen years (or more). I have typically been referred to as a hippy, although that word has such different meanings to different people. I have, for years, strived to live a more natural lifestyle. For a long time this meant commuting to work by bike and eliminating my carbon footprint almost entirely. Recycling. Using no chemicals in my home. Using only natural products on my skin. Putting only natural and organic foods into my body. I never particularly looked like a hippy (for professional reasons), but I have always had a gypsy soul, and I have always leaned towards the natural and the mystic. (Now that I have dreadlocks, I guess I do look like a hippy, so I suppose that in many ways, that word fits.)

The definition of Bohemian that I like the most (there are many) is this one (taken from Wikipedia):

"Bohemianism is the practice of an unconventional lifestyle, often in the company of like-minded people, with few permanent ties, involving musical, artistic or literary pursuits. Bohemians can be wanderers, adventurers, or vagabonds. This use of the word bohemian first appeared in the English language in the 19th century to describe the non-traditional lifestyles of marginalized and impoverished artists, writers, journalists, musicians, and actors in major European cities. Bohemians were associated with unorthodox or anti-establishment political or social viewpoints, which were often expressed through free love, frugality, and voluntary poverty."

Paris, France - August 2000

Gelett Burgess, who coined the word blurb among other things, supplied this description of the amorphous place called Bohemia:

"To take the world as one finds it, the bad with the good, making the best of the present moment—to laugh at Fortune alike whether she be generous or unkind—to spend freely when one has money, and to hope gaily when one has none—to fleet the time carelessly, living for love and art—this is the temper and spirit of the modern Bohemian in his outward and visible aspect. It is a light and graceful philosophy, but it is the Gospel of the Moment, this exoteric phase of the Bohemian religion; and if, in some noble natures, it rises to a bold simplicity and naturalness, it may also lend its butterfly precepts to some very pretty vices and lovable faults, for in Bohemia one may find almost every sin save that of Hypocrisy."

These sentiments resonate with me in many ways, in many deep and profound ways. Bohemianism isn't merely a way of dressing or a style of clothing; it is a way of living life. And it is at the core of how I live my life, and how I want to continue to live my life to a large degree. Bohemianism is a way of thinking. A way of doing. A way of being.

Unlike some stereotypes of the word might indicate, Bohemianism does not mean a lack of roots in the same way that the word gypsy does. (Although a gypsy is a branch of Bohemianism.)

Laren Stover breaks down the Bohemian into five distinct mind-sets/styles in Bohemian Manifesto: a Field Guide to Living on the Edge. The Bohemian is "not easily classified like species of birds," writes Stover, noting that there are crossovers and hybrids. The five types devised by Stover are:

Traveling companions:
Kevin, Nathan, backpacks.

Nouveau: bohemians with money who attempt to join traditional bohemianism with contemporary culture
Gypsy: drifters, neo-hippies, and others with nostalgia for previous, romanticized eras
Beat: also drifters, but non-materialist and art-focused
Zen: "post-beat," focus on spirituality rather than art
Dandy: no money, but try to appear as if they have it by buying and displaying expensive or rare items – such as brands of alcohol

I would classify myself as a combination of Nouveau, Gypsy and Zen Bohemian -- with roots. Bohemianism is not something one stumbles into accidentally; rather, it is a conscious choice. My roots are strong and they run deep. My family will always be the most important part of my life. The way I live my life is also deeply important to me.

That is why the name "Lautaret Bohemiet" is so perfect for this space. It reflects both my deep roots and my free-spirit, for without the former, I would not have the latter.

those who can't paint... sew

2011-10-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

Note: Before you read this post, I must respectfully ask that you not click on these photos to see the items enlarged, as you will surely have zero respect for my sewing abilities. I was going for shabby chic. You can see the threading, which was intentional, but I'm pretty sure that's not how the pros do it.

--------------------------------------------------

This house is the first place I have lived - ever, I think? -- that I haven't painted. I paint places to a fault. Like, sometimes I don't get my deposit all the way back. And sometimes it causes a whole bunch of stress when I'm moving out because I'm working like mad to repaint it how it was before I moved in. And sometimes I paint and then decide one month later that I don't want to live there, and that's a real pain in the bum too (especially for my friends, several of whom have helped me paint multiple apartments).

But never mind all that.

Beautiful pillows =
perfect reading spot for el nino.

Since this is Linda's house and we're only living here for a while, and she will be living here for a long time, it wouldn't make sense for us to paint. (Not that making sense is a priority to me, but you know what I mean.) Even so, my need to nest and create my own space is overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as my love of beautiful fabrics.

Problem? Not enough bright happy colors in the house. Solution? Cover everything in bright happy fabric.

Now, yesterday in the car, David made reference to me being "crafty", which I certainly am not, and I don't consider myself really into making crafts just for the heck of it. When I gasped in horror at being called crafty, he explained, "Well, you have been covering everything that doesn't move in fabric lately..." And so, sure, if that is the definition of crafty, then I guess I am. My crafts aren't usually so much just "crafts", like, you know, Kleenex box covers or crocheted toys or what-not. I like to make things for my home though, things that I would normally have to buy. Lately, those things have involved a fair bit of fancy-pants cloths that I have found at various fabric stores (on sale, naturally).

The first things I made were these sweet ass pillows. I know I shouldn't call them "sweet ass", because my mom prints up my blog posts (as well as my sister's) for our grandma, and I know she has to take the time to edit out the swear words (she doesn't have to, but she likes to. This is a habit she formed when we were children and she would edit our children's books with black marker, crossing out words like "drat!" [I'm not sure why either] and replacing them with softer words like "rats!" Or maybe it was reverse. I don't know. In hindsight, they both seem equally vanilla, but such is life in rural conservative Nebraska.) But sometimes, if a thing IS sweet ass, you just have to call it like you see it. And really, I firmly believe that if Grandma could see these pillows, she would, at the very least, think they were sweet ass, even if she didn't say it. Moving on.

So far, I have made three pillows, and I am working on a fourth. Technically, I didn't make these pillows, rather, I re-covered them, using the original stuffing.

My second project was to sew a cover (in first photo) for the back of this gray love-seat-chair-couch, the back of which is the first thing you see when you walk into the house. I haven't yet covered the entire piece, but I will at some point.

Footstool before.

My third project was to cover this hideous foot stool with something a bit, shall we say, sexier. What is a person if not the owner of a sexy foot stool? Now my mother-in-law is the owner of this sexy foot stool, which I didn't think to ask her if she minded if I covered. I know, however, that she thought the old version was hideous and I assume that she won't mind. It has been covered for four days now and she hasn't said anything, so I'm assuming she indeed does not mind. Plus, now that I know how to do this, I figure that when we move out, I'll let her pick out a fabric she likes and I'll cover it yet again.

Footstool after. Sexy!

Super sexy. Yes?

I love the look and the feel of nice cloth. I just do. I find it to be a great way to change up a piece of furniture or even an entire room. It's certainly cheaper than buying new footstool and pillows every few days. I mean, you guys buy new footstools every few days, right? So you see, look at all this money I've saved by just making one that I like. Doing these projects has really made this house feel more like a home to me, because with most of our belongings in storage, there aren't many things that are truly ours. I love creating, and I love the feeling of working on something for hours, seeing it completed, and then forcing Cam and David to pat me on my back and tell me how awesome I am. It just feels good, you know? Making things, and then sitting back and enjoying those back pats.

But really, even if the boys didn't notice my creations at all (which they wouldn't, without coaching), I wouldn't care, because I feel all warm and fuzzy every time I walk into a room and see them.

Tuesday Tunes "When Darkness Falls"

2011-10-25T03:20:00.000-07:00

This is another song written by my brother long ago. We still haven't gotten our camera fixed (and I don't know when we ever will), but we've decided since these are just practice sessions, the camera quality isn't that crucial.

Please excuse our cameramen, who were absent for the end of the video. When you've got a toddler strapped to your chest, it's difficult to get places quickly... :)

Sometimes I can't speak, sometimes the sun hides

And I can't move my feet for fear I might try

To wash away my sins that cover like a cloak

Sometimes I feel crazy because I'm losing all control

When darkness falls we'll be alright

When clouds roll in all through the night

The storms will melt away in the morning light

And I'll be with you my whole life

Sometimes I cry because it just won't quit

This puzzle in my head, this head that's so lit

Sometimes I feel light like I'm floating away

Sometimes I feel grounded like I'm stuck in my grave

Sometimes you weep because it's just too much

You took one drink but they gave you this cup

Sometimes you roll, sometimes you sink

Sometimes you hold your ground, sometimes you sing

Sometimes we fight, sometimes we dream

Sometimes you're right, sometimes we scream

Emotional Polarity Technique

2011-10-24T15:04:00.000-07:00

Kendra (left) and Amy

I have been wanting to write about this topic for a while (since July, to be precise), but there were a lot of things holding me back. One of those such things was the fact that for me, EPT centered quite a bit around my marriage, which was a topic that (until recently) I haven't felt comfortable or ready to talk about on the blog. Before I delve into my experience with EPT, let me share a bit about it from the perspective of my dear friend, Amy, who first introduced me to it. This is the very condensed version of her story, in her own words:

"Emotional Polarity Technique was developed by a doctor who, over years of practice, noticed a connection between emotional duress and physical ailment. The idea (which is older than dirt, from Chinese medicine) is that emotions take up physical space in the body, and poisonous emotions build up in the body and cause all manner of havoc. Have you ever had a bad stomachache when you're anxious or felt chest pain with pangs of sorrow? Something like that. These emotions—grief, loss, anger, abandonment, bitterness, resentment, and so on—pool in the body and make us sick, physically and emotionally. In my case, the result is depression, anxiety, inexplicable (sometimes severe) abdominal and chest pain, breathing difficulties, allergies, irregular periods, insomnia, and a few other things.

In EPT, the practitioner moves the body's energetic currents through guided awareness, sometimes with the help of magnets, to purge these pools of poisonous emotion. The practitioner uses kinesiology to determine what emotions the body is holding, where it is holding them, and why it began to hold them, and she prompts the recipient toward forgiveness and release in those areas. The process is gentle, visceral, and intimate. It can feel like nothing is happening, or it can cause powerful (but never painful) physical sensations. It can have no aftereffect, or it can incite days of emotional detoxing. It can take only an hour, or it can take months of regular treatment. But when it's over, it's over. You are no longer sick. The depression progressively lessens. You forgive your father. Your gallbladder heals. The nightmares stop, and you sleep at night.

The problem with talk therapy is that you often think you know why you're sad, but you're wrong, and you spend years and years and years and your whole life trying to figure it out and fix it. And then you're old, and you're still sad and sick and don't have a clue. But your body knows. Your body remembers everything that's ever happened to you, and it knows why it hurts. Have you ever gotten really nervous, say, walking into an amusement park, and you tell your mother about it, and she tells you that you got lost for several hours in an amusement park when you were two? Something like that. An EPT practitioner can connect directly with your body to find out what specific thing is ailing you. For me, it turns out that the things I feel the least are the things that hurt the most. Like my father's suicide when I was five, or the time my mother abandoned me to the foster care system when I was six. EPT has stopped bouts of my insomnia short, has made my late-late period start within hours of treatment (more than once), has cut off horrible allergy attacks, has dramatically lessened my social anxiety, has jolted me out of the darkest of depressive cycles. My lower back pain has disappeared. My posture is different. I can do yoga poses now that I couldn't before. My intuition has sharpened. I sing in front of people now. My hay fever is mostly gone."

Amy stole B's heart within minutes

In July, I had the chance to spend some time with Amy and Kendra, while Cam and I were in Indianapolis visiting his family. The entire day was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Though I have known Amy for quite some time via blogland (we have mutual friends in real life), this was the first time that I had ever met her face-to-face, and I was doubly-lucky to get to meet Kendra as well during this visit. Meeting them was the most natural thing ever. It was (as least from my end) as though I'd known them for a very long time. Kindred spirits and all that. We picked right up and dove into very deep and personal conversations, as though we had just been talking about them the day before.

Endless laughs with Kendra

During the course of these conversations, Amy shared straight from her heart about her experience with EPT. Kendra is a practitioner of EPT, and so she shared about the practice as well. It was very interesting to be able to hear about it in such detail from both a practitioner and a patient (is patient the right word?) of the craft. It is the sort of thing that you cannot help but be skeptical about at first. But it's also the sort of thing that no one needs to convince you of. Either you are open to trying it and receiving whatever benefits it has to offer or you aren't. Being open to it is crucial; it can't be faked.

Beginning our session...

Though skeptical, I was totally open to it. I had been having trouble sleeping for months. Sleep has always come easy to me, but this had changed over the summer and I was desperate. I know that sleep issues are often deeper issues than the sleep itself. In order to sleep well and wake up rested, our brains have to rest. If our brains can't rest, we won't feel rested. Knowing this, I figured that I had nothing to lose. With Amy close by (my EPT cheerleader), Kendra and I began my first EPT session, as Cam and Bennett watched and played in the living room. I am sure a session looks different for everyone, and every person practices it differently. Kendra has a very calming, soothing, nurturing way about her. I felt relaxed, comfortable, and drawn to everything she was saying and doing. (There are no photos of the actual session, but it took place right here on this bed couch.)

As Amy mentioned, EPT is very different from talk therapy in that it doesn't rely on you to diagnose yourself. Instead of me rattling off what my problems were and asking her to fix them, she led the entire session by reading signals and responses from my body using magnets, intuition, and basic verbal and physical responses from me.

Though I had come to her with sleep issues, the focus on the session moved towards marriage issues. At this point, Amy and Cam were busy entertaining Bennett, but I knew that everyone in the room was very aware of what was going on. This made me feel a bit uncomfortable because Cam was right there, and I had never talked about my marriage with Kendra (though I wanted to) and I felt nervous about what things my body might indicate. I was scared to have things I felt be put on display, and I was even more scared to open up parts of myself that might make me discover new things. Kendra was very aware of this, I believe, although it was never spoken. She continued the session very tactfully, bringing up a lot of fears and anxieties I have, but doing it in a very gracious, non-judgmental way that didn't feel threatening or embarassing at all. She then walked me through a very long and cathartic series of statements, which I repeated after her. She asked me only to repeat the things that I felt applied to me, and I repeated almost everything except a few resolutions I didn't feel quite ready for. It was very peaceful, very raw.

Her laughter says it all...

At the end of the session, Bennett climbed into my arms and nursed, while the three of us gals talked and processed and laughed and came down from the session. We eventually parted ways, and Cam asked me in the car how I felt. I wasn't sure yet. I didn't feel particularly different in any way, other than wholly relaxed and calm (which I attributed mainly to just being in the presence of the lovely ladies). Several hours later, I crawled into bed with Bennett spooned in my nook, and I fell into a deep, incredible sleep. Neither of us awoke until after eight the next morning. We had slept for nearly ten hours. It was the first time I had been able to sleep like that since before I was pregnant. I can't remember another time I slept like that, to be honest. It was blissful.

My sleep gradually improved for the next few months, which was exactly what I was looking for in EPT. But in addition to that, there were things that we talked about, realizations that I made, that have stayed with me since that first session. I can't claim that I feel like a different person, but I do feel more enlightened about my present circumstance and more aware of the way that Cameron and I act towards one another, especially in regards to the emotions and reactions that lie underneath the surface.

I have not had any follow-up EPT sessions yet, in part because it is hard to find the time and money to invest in it. I certainly plan to, however, at some point in the future when I do have the time and money to really invest in myself and my physical and emotional well-being.

I have this fantasy about one day living in a giant commune filled with light and love, where we live in community and everyone contributes their own unique gift to the house. We cook together, we care for one another's children, we listen to each other, we laugh together, we love. If I could have my way, these gals (and my sister) would be a huge part of that.

There are few people (other than family) that I desperately crave to have involved in Bennett's life as much as these ladies. They are just so full of goodness.

One day, maybe. One day...

Save Your World (my name is Rachel and I am an addict)

2011-10-23T17:43:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered Save Your World products and I am hooked. I'll admit that I only bought my first bottle of SYW conditioner because it was 50% off. And I'll also admit that although I do love the rain forest, I don't lose a lot of sleep over it (I probably should) and of all the places to put my money, it isn't high my priority list. I tend to get more passionate about people-centered organizations for the most part (helping the homeless, hungry, children, sex traffic victims, etc.) so I can't claim any moral high-ground for buying this stuff. Because, well, I'll be honest about something else: the real main reason is I bought it is because I found Ylang Ylang on the indredient list and that's hard to find, and it's one of my very favorite scents ever and I pretty much gobble up any natural product I can find with Ylang Ylang (and yes, Patchouli).

In the photo (pictured right), you might think I am staring off into space because I am enjoying the precious moment on a hay ride with my darling son. You would be wrong. I am hoping my hair gets just a tiny bit dirty on this hay ride so that I have a valid excuse to go home and condition it. (And then, I was thinking about what a precious moment it was on that hay ride with my darling son.)

I bought the Rain Forest Conditioner and I am pretty sure that my hair had an orgasm (What? We don't know that hair can't climax, and there is nothing innately dirty about orgasms) the first time I used it. I typically wash my dreads about every 10 days or so, but since buying this conditioner, I can hardly stand the wait. I mean, I miss the conditioner when I'm not around it. I find that I am conditioning my hair about once a week now, not because I need to, but because I want to. There is a small irony that the folks at Save Your World didn't count on: the fact that more water would be consumed because of the invention of such a delightful product. Sorry, SYW. If you don't want people to use a ton of water, you should make your products suck, instead of making your products be totally addictive. I kid you not: in our lifetime, there will be support groups for Save Your World addicts.

Another reason that I am in love with this conditioner is because as a dreadlock wearing awesome person, people are often smelling my hair. I know. Weird, right? You would think that a dreadlocked person, if stereotypes are correct, would be the one person whose hair you would not want to smell. I digress. Probably a dozen different people have asked to smell my hair, and every single one of them has said (in a surprised tone... it hurts) that my hair smells awesome (take that!) This was both before and after I started using SYW, but I was mixing my own essential oils to get a certain smell, and now this new conditioner has taken my old amazing smell and one-upped it.

I don't know how they did it, but this company has managed to create the best smelling conditioner on the face of the planet, which is great, since the planet will be around longer because of them.

(They did not pay me to write this post. That is actually laughable, that anyone would pay me to write anything. I realize I haven't really written about a product before, but I had to spread the love. Just had to.)

15 Months (for B), and five years (for us), and some thoughts on both

2011-10-21T13:11:00.000-07:00

Today is a big day for our family. It marks Bennett's 15 months of life, as well as Cam and I's five-years of togetherness. (As well as five years of marriage for Melissa and Steve! We met at their wedding and began dating immediately thereafter, like, that very night). This post contains a fair bit of disclosure about my marriage (once you get past the Bennett part), so if you are going to read it, I ask that you be gracious and kind. It isn't easy to talk about such things, and kindness goes a long way.

A bit about Bennett at fifteen months...

Developments:

Is 30.5” tall and 19.2lbs! He is growing at a much faster pace than other babies his age (according to the chart). I attribute this growth to the fact that he is still breastfeed throughout the day and night. It is totally worth the inconveniencethough, to be able to watch the little guy becoming not-so-little anymore.
Says "mama" consistently. (though sometimes to people other than me)
Says "Papa", but sounds more like "Apuh Puh"
Says "Da" when he sees David.
Nods head vigorously for "no" and huge dramatic nods for "yes".
Often says "oh!" (two syllables) for yes.
Finally sits still for books. In fact, loves them. Brings them to us to read all day long. His favorite books are "The Gas We Pass" and "Baby Bear, Baby Bear, What Do You See?"
He has favorite pages in each book (usually pages that involve wild sound effects and/or tickling) and turns to those pages over and over.
Eats off of a plate (at least at the start of each meal).
Has basically stopped throwing food on floor. He now sets it on table beside his plate.
Has learned how to cheat the Jack-In-The-Box by pushing the latch so he doesn't have to wait for the entire song to play before the Jack pops out.
Recognizes the faces of family members in pictures.
Greets newcomers at the door with intentional hugs (especially when Nana comes home from work).
Cries when mama, papa, uncle david or nana leave the house.
Will pick up his foot with his hand and put it in your face if you say, "Can I smell your foot?"
Likes to pretend to smell mama's feet and then say "Aaach!"
Gives kisses, although sometimes not right when requested.
Indicates to me where he would like me to massage him during nursing: the legs, the back, the feet, etc.
Indicates where he has been "bonked" and needs a kiss if he falls or gets hurt.
Has begun bringing me his blanket if he wants to nurse.
Recognizes and points out basketball hoops and balloons wherever he sees them.
Picks up his Bjorn and hands it to someone if he wants to be baby-worn.
Walks to front door and pounds on it if he wants to go for a walk or play outside.

Skills:

Can identify things in books: ball, guitar, window, drums, Zoralee (any little blond girl).
Can point at the living room windows if you say "Where is the window?"
Can retrieve objects such as "get your ball".
Requests TV (music videos).
If not granted TV, picks up remote.
Will nod “no” until you select the video he wants to watch, at which he point he smiles and nods a giant “yes”.
Can use remote to mute, turn TV on and off.
(Yes, those last four "skills" make me very sad).
Can drink out of a cup without a lid.
Can play guitar and piano and drums (not well, but he has the right form).
Can administer a hearty face-slap like a seasoned Soap Opera star.
Can pitch to a batter.
Can now hit a ball if tossed fairly accurately to him.
Can shoot hoops from five feet away.
Can differentiate between his green bat and other bats, and his Cubs ball vs. other balls.
Can imitate papa on the wii board.
Starts his car with the ignition before getting on it.

Loves:

Being outside.
Music.
Dancing.
Baseball.
Basketball.
Skyping.
Music Videos.
Oranges.
Grapes.

Firsts:

Said “papa” and now says it regularly.
Had his first bloody lip (and it was a lot of blood).
Got his first pair of blue jeans (as a gift... we never buy him any clothes, poor kid).
Had his first ear infection (which we didn't even notice because he didn't act fussy).
Got his first (and 2nd and 3rd and 4th) pre-molars. (12 teeth in total now).

Unpleasantries:

Finger: He is going to have to have a minor surgery on his finger to remove a strange growth. We are not thrilled about that. We have been watching the growth, along with our pediatrician, for several months and had decided not to remove it unless it began to grow and/or cause him discomfort. The growth has started doing both, so it must go. I am very nervous about it, and am anxious to talk to the surgeon to see what options there are in lieu of putting him completely under. I don't think I am going to handle seeing him in pain very well. I don't even handle his vaccines very well and always feel incredibly sad and guilty afterwards (though he always recovers more quickly than I do). I will post an update if and when a surgery is scheduled.

Teeth: He may have to have his teeth cleaned at some point, because the iron supplement he had to take for iron deficiency has stained them. That is very sad. We can always opt to not clean them, but the tooth that was exposed to the iron (the most) when he was very young is green, so when he smiles, he looks like a sad little redneck who has never seen a toothbrush (no offense to rednecks). The other teeth that were exposed to the iron early on are darker, and all of his new teeth are white (because we learned about washing them with orange juice after taking iron... but we learned this once it was too late for the early teeth). So, that isn't something we're looking forward to, and we may opt not to do it for a while, but it is something that will need to be done at some point. Or maybe not. I don't know. It's just aesthetic, as the teeth are healthy and the stains will be gone when the teeth are gone, but man. It looks so bad, and people just assume his teeth are dirty. So sad! Does it make me a bad mother to want him to have nice white teeth? Have any of you ever had to have your baby's teeth cleaned this young? It wouldn't be until he is about 18 months, if at all. It is something I have a lot of anxiety about, because I imagine it would be very unpleasant for him, though we would see a specialist who specializes in baby teeth. Should I just leave them alone, for the sake of his comfort, and let people think whatever they think? He will have these teeth until he is in school, until they begin to fall out, and as Cam says, "We don't want Bennett to be that kid." Help.

It is such a joy being a mama to Bennett. I love him more than I have ever loved anyone or anything in my life. I would walk through a rain-storm of frogs and small creatures if I had to, to protect him, to be with him, to give him what he needs. Yeah, I love him that much. He is the greatest mini-man on the entire planet. He really is. And I'm his mama. I watch him grow and learn and play and be and I wonder how I got so lucky. I wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. He is the perfect little son for me. He has my fiery attitude and my heart. He has my loud laugh. He has my love of dancing and music and being free-spirited. Right now, he is comfortable in his own skin, and I hope that never changes. I am so in love with him.

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A bit about us at five years...

Today also marks five years that Cam and I have been together. It has been a crazy five years for both of us, both individually and as a couple. These five years have been some of the best and some of the hardest years of my life. When people say that marriage is hard work, man, they mean it. But the thing is, you can't possibly have a clue what people mean until you are married. And until life throws a bunch of crud at you. And until your marriage really gets tested. For us, there have been a lot of bunches of crud thrown our way, and our marriage has been (and is being) tested all of the time, it seems.

Marriage is one of those things that people just don't talk about much. And if they do talk about it, they aren't always honest (to themselves or to others). I mean, don't we all know couples that seem perfect on the outside that announce their divorce one day, to the shock of everyone around them? I do, I know a lot of those couples. I always wonder how different things would have been if they had felt free to be open and honest about the struggles they are facing. And I think of the people I have known that have committed suicide, and how after their deaths, hundreds of people gathered around to mourn them. I think about how different it would have been for them if those hundreds of people had known how much they were suffering and could have offered their support before it was too late. I don't want to be like that.

Things for us aren't that dire, but I want to be honest about this stuff long before it gets to the point where they are that dire. I want to be proactive. And I want to be real. A lot of the struggles that Cam and I have faced have been the sort of struggles that could drive a wedge between any two people, and so I feel thankful (and frankly, amazed at times) that we are still here, fighting for this -- together.

We have faced two major layoffs for Cam and several years of no or little income for him. That in itself would strain any couple. Trust me.

We have faced several major medical issues (for me) including a major operation, and several surgeries for Cam that left each of us, at various times, medicated, sick, sore, and in debt.

We have faced the death of several family members (mine), and the stroke of Cam's dad, which have greatly changed the landscapes of our families and left us with deep grief.

We faced a challenging year of infertility, which brought with it a side-helping of grief, pain, heartache, anxiety, frustration and doubt.

After becoming pregnant, we faced one scare after another, making it an exciting but scary time. After his birth, we almost lost Bennett, which left us terrified, anxious, nervous, worried and in massive debt.

Those are just the outward things, the things we don't (and can't) control. All of those bring a host of inward reactions to them, the kind that change us and affect those around us. There is so much that is private, of course. So much that takes place between two people that you reserve for your closest friends, or even that you hold inside completely. To say it has been hard is a huge understatement. I am still waiting for that point that long-term couples get to where they say, "Oh man, things were hard, but we made it, and now we are so much better off for it!" Because, uh, that isn't the point we are at right now.

Our last two wedding anniversaries have come and gone, basically unnoticed. In 2010, we barely made it to dinner, where I went into early labor, so it was exciting and amazing, but it wasn't about us, and very little has been about us ever since. In 2011, we were on the road visiting Cam's dad, and we were too exhausted (physically and emotionally) and too broke to celebrate. I now regret this because I think that it is so important to take the time to do that, if not for the celebration itself, than for what it represents.

Add to all of that the fact that we are opposites - in every way. This can make a very exciting and unique courtship, but a very difficult marriage. We process differently. We think differently. We operate differently and view the world differently But the thing is, we are still here, still loving each other and working together to make this thing what marriage is meant to be. Our situation is so unique, because we are both home together all of the time. I recently had a friend suggest that we should do a date night, and I admit, I laughed a lot. Most couples don't get to see a lot of each other, and so they need to carve out time together. We are together all of the time, so for us, carving out time on our own is more important, and we are really focused on trying to do that these days. For Cam, it is getting away, out of the house, to play basketball and be physical. For me, it is reading, sewing, have time to do music uninterrupted. And these things help. They help us to feel more like ourselves, so that we have more to give to each other.

So that is where we are at right now. We are working really hard to renew and refresh ourselves so that we can be better partners to each other and better parents to Bennett. It isn't easy. We have a lot going against us. I have known a lot of people that gave up at this point, or even long before this point. But we haven't. I think this is because we love each other (though I don't kid myself that love is always enough, for everyone) and because we are both extremely loyal and committed.

Maybe this is something that others can relate to. Maybe it isn't. But for us, it is what it is. It is a season (albeit a long one). It's where we are right now. I know there are people who will feel like I've shared too much. I have gone a really long time of sharing not enough, and it hasn't helped and has left me feeling more alone and fake, and I can't do that anymore. Cam has graciously agreed that it is okay for me to share some of this here, on the blog, and I thank him for that.

For me, this is all very weird and hard and confusing. I am simultaneously the happiest I have ever been, being a mom, while at the same time working on the hardest thing I have ever done, marriage. And both are so connected that I can't just focus on the good and ignore the bad. It doesn't work like that. It's all connected.

So today, I say: Bennett, happy fifteen months of life. Cameron, happy five years of togetherness. May our marriage continue to grow and change and bloom into something new and wonderful, just as our son is doing every day -- right before our eyes.

the thing to do is a pumpkin patch post

2011-10-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Kruger Farms at Sauvie Island

Pumpkin patches seem to be the hip thing to post about this week, and why wouldn't they be? Pumpkin patches have it all. And even when they don't have it all, they're still pumpkin patches, right? One of our favorite patches is at Kruger Farms on Sauvie Island. We go several times a year, but always look forward to the fall when the farm comes to life with the pumpkins, the corn maze, the local breweries, fresh produce, and grilled corn-on-the-cob. Now that Bennett is actually old enough to enjoy hay rides and wagon rides and other kinds of rides, the trip to the pumpkin patch this week was even more fun than usual. That's the thing about kids, isn't it? Super fun things like pumpkin patches become even more super fun.

Bennett was recently given his first ever pair of blue jeans.

And why wouldn't he try to throw the first pumpkin he picks up?

The boy is a natural pointer. Does it like a pro.

See? Pointer extraordinaire.

He was lovin' the wagon ride as long as the pumpkins were in there with him.

"Go over there, driver." (said in a British accent... I don't know either.)

"What the what? There is a tractor-pulled giant wagon

and you've got me on this tiny parent-pulled one?!"

Bald is always beautiful. But especially when it sparkles in the sun.

A kid has gotta earn his keep.

Before we loaded the car, Bennett wanted to thoroughly examine the pumpkins.

Silly us. We didn't even think to check out the bums.

Pumpkin patch 2011... a success.

Tuesday Tunes "La Musica del Nino"

2011-10-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

This week's Tuesday Tune is brought to you by Bennett David. He has been playing the piano for hours every day in little 15-20 minute increments. He loves it. He's hooked. You can tell that he actually listens to what he's playing, listens to how the notes sound different from one another, and different as he moves up and down the keyboard. Of course, he has no clue what he's doing and the sound is one that you would expect a 1-year old to make. But hey, to this mama it sounds perfect. And what's cuter than a baby applauding his own musical performance?

(Don't his little bursts of frustration just crack you up? I love that he is easily distracted from his frustration and gets right back to it. And sometimes what looks like frustration to outsiders is simply his singing... Stevie Wonder style. Ahh, little dude.)

there is one kind of hippy i will never be

2011-10-17T13:11:00.000-07:00

WARNING: If the idea or imagery of the death (or even the life) of a small creature is disturbing to you, reading this post is ill-advised.

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I will never be the kind of hippy that safely wraps spiders into a Kleenex before depositing them back into the great outdoors. It isn't that only hippies do this, but your garden variety natural-living-lovin' hippy certainly should.

There are some things I am finally learning to accept about myself, about the world around me. I can't fight it anymore, and I don't even want to try.

All God's creatures? The small ones? Yeah, I don't like them. This dislike (hate is more accurate, but such an ugly word) stems from fear and terror, and not the other way around. Not that it's an excuse. I think everyone already knows that I am terrified of birds. I mean, hell, I've been attacked twice and pooped on three times by various birds/ducks/geese over the years. And many of you might remember the possum incident, and last year's frog incident if you've been reading the blog for a while. (Yes, any encounter with a small wild creature qualifies as an "incident".)

Well, this summer we had another frog incident. And two nights ago, yet another.

The first happened after Bennett's one-year birthday party. It was several weeks later, and I was finally getting around to bringing some of the outdoor fold-up chairs in. I picked up one chair (the kind that goes in a bag, for camping and sporting events and such) and brought it into the house on my way to the garage. I looked down, spotting a giant leaf that was somehow attached to the chair. Then the mother-loving sun-of-a-skunk freaking leapt off of the chair and into the living room, behind the couch. I screamed one of my better "girl dressed in nightgown in basement with a serial killer in the middle of the night in a horror movie" screams, ran through the house towards the front door, snatched up Bennett on the way by, and ended up on the front landing, Bennett in arms, panic attack in chest. I thank my lucky stars that Cameron was home. He was able to capture the frog and release it back into the wild... over our fence and onto the school's property where (cough, hopefully) some unruly middle-schooler found it and dissected it (I feel a little bad for thinking that thought, but not very.)

The second encounter with a frog happened as I was taking the food waste from dinner outside to the compost pile. I stepped out of the front door and saw (yet again), in my peripheral vision, a giant leaf stuck to the side of the house. "That's strange", I thought, "to see a leaf sticking to the side of the house right up here at eye level... MOTHER@#$^&$@!" I ran into the house to begin my panic attack in the safety of my living room. I thought by my reaction it would have been obvious that I had seen a small creature, but my mother in law hasn't lived with me for that long and interpreted my screams as "man on porch with knife" and she darted past me with a mad fury and locked the front door, all the while screaming "What's wrong?! What is wroooooooooooong!?" (You haven't lived until you've seen my mother in law dart). After the dust settled and she gave me one of those "snap out of it!" bitch slaps to the face (not really), I explained what I'd seen, and assured her that if a man was ever on the porch with a knife, I would yell "man on porch with knife!" and run to save my child (and lock the door).

Linda went to the window to examine the size of the frog. She has a different interpretation of how big (or small) the frog may have been, but she was still thinking about that nonexistent man with knife, so her judgment is off. She insists that she has never seen a frog at this house -- ever. And on that point, I believe her. The frogs are here because we are here. And I hate them. And they hate me. There is a reason God used them as one of the plagues. They are vile and nasty little creatures.

Sick.

I don't like birds because they can fly, which I cannot do, and they therefore have an ability to do things to me against which I can't fight. These things could be as simple as grabbing my hat and flying away with it, to more complex and violent things like stabbing my eye with their beaks, flying out of my reach, then returning to do it again. Another thing birds can do that there's just not a good way to combat against is slap with their wings. Have you ever been locked in a small (indoor) room with a scared bird? Well I have (twice in my life, once in Wyoming with a pet bird, and once in Portland with a wild giant blue bird thing). It isn't pretty. Birds are fine from a distant, but that's about it. (Yes, I've hated them since long before I ever watched Hitchcock's film).

If this doesn't totally creep you out,
then YOU are the one with the problem.

The tri-reasons I don't like frogs are obvious: they are small enough to be sneaky, they can hop (which I can do, but not as well or as high), and they can blend in with their environments, twice looking like leaves now (and in the past looking like rocks and clumps of mud). How can I combat that? I can't. If God wanted us to love small creatures, He would have levelled the playing field a bit, which He didn't do. What good is a human brain if we don't have the skills to carry out what we envision?? Sure, I can come up with several ways to outwit a bird or a frog, but I can't do any of them, can I? I would love for nothing more than to be a large flying human that could fly above a bird, dropping the weight of my body onto it, mid-air, thus crushing it on the ground. But I can't do that. And I would love to have heat-sensor vision so that I could detect frogs in my surroundings so I could avoid them. But I can't do that either. I'm not angry with birds or frogs. I don't seek them out to harm them. I just don't know why they're here, and why they continually end up in my space.

Here is a list of other creatures I have had run-ins with:

Deceptively evil.

Grasshoppers (thousands at once swarming over me and my banana-seated bicycle)
Cricket (going into my mouth)
Moth (also flew into my mouth)
Bats (one came into my grandparent's bedroom through the fire place and I was the one to discover it, horrifically, when I picked up a hat off of the floor)
Snakes (multiple kinds and types over the years, including one that got caught and slithered through the spokes of my bike while I was riding down a hill, causing the tail of the snake to whip my shin)
Toads (while camping in the woods, one nearly got into my tent)
Crawdads (pinched my foot in a river)
Fish (bumped my legs while swimming in a lake)
Turtle (it is a myth that they are slow; I have been chased by one, both in water and on land - the same one)
Spiders (I have been tormented by spiders both in real life and in my dreams for as long as I can remember)
Mice (multiple mice, but one in particular named Chevy Van, who my college roommates owned, but that accidentally escaped in our huge house, giving me nightmares for the remainder of our time there)
Hummingbirds (once at my mom's the window near the feeder was open and a hummingbird darn near flew into the screen-less window where I was standing)

There are a few smaller creatures I don't mind:

daddy long-legs (they're so slow and easy to squish)
flies (come on, I'm not irrational)
bees (though I've been gang-stung many times while slip n' slidin' in my front yard, bees ability to fly is thwarted by their desire to sting, making them easy to... squish)
mosquitoes (annoying, but not scary, unless you ask Cam, who believes that all mosquitoes carry AIDS and other such diseases)
most little non-spider bugs (as long as they don't surprise me by hiding in a book or on the edge of my drinking glass).

There are also a few smaller creatures that I have never had a run-in with in real life, but that if I ever do, I will die from fright:

Splinter = okay in my book

Tarantulas (but I would never [not joking] live in a State where there were tarantulas)

Any spider larger than a penny (I have dreams about larger spiders...weekly)

Rats (except Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles)

Nutria (possibly the grossest creature alive, even more gross than possums)

Anything fast-moving with the added ability to hop, leap or become camouflaged (for obvious and logistical reasons)

I wasn't always such a creature-hater. When my sister and I were small and still living in Nebraska, in fact, we once created a worm hospital wherein we saved worms from the sidewalk, post rain-storm, and taped and bandaged them together and placed them on tiny little hospital beds made of toilet paper. We gave those worms everything we had. What did we get in return? Slimy hands and a bunch of dead, thankless worms. Maybe that's where it all started...

My all-time worst nightmare.

Anyways, I used to feel like I needed to fight this. I would do this by trying to be extra friendly to dogs and cats and other such domesticated animals in an attempt to prove that I am not actually cold and dead inside. But you know what? I don't particularly care for cats or dogs either. Sure, there have been a few that I haven't minded having around, and maybe even a few that I've loved. And if my kid begs and begs, I may one day let him have a dog (I had them my whole life, sometimes as many as five at once, so it's hard to imagine not having them around, not because I love them, but because they seem like a basic and crucial part of childhood), but I will never - not in a million years - ever, not ever, own a cat again. Not ever. NOT EVER.

Or a gerbil.

Or a possum.

So maybe that makes me a bad hippy. I mean, most hippies (man, I love stereotypes) seem to really love animals, like loving them is a prerequisite to hippiness. I'm missing that gene, that loving small creatures gene. But I do have (for the most part) that "I don't want animals to be hurt or suffer" gene. Like, I do care about how they are raised and treated. I do get a little teary-eyed at the idea of a homeless little kitten hiding out under a bush in the rain -- hungry, cold, alone. I do feel like humans need to be aware and have the time and energy to give to pets if they are going to own them. It sickens me to think of dog-fighting or cock-fighting or any sort of animal-fighting. I am not cold and dead inside.

I just really freaking hate frogs.

the fine art of discrimination (dreadlock phobia)

2011-10-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

This past week, my parents traveled from Montana to Washington to visit my aunt and uncle and we met them there for the week. It was a great week. A few of us took turns cooking dinners, we relaxed a lot, ate a lot, visited a lot- that's how we roll. So anyways. While we were there, we took one afternoon and went into the quaint little town of Sequim (where my aunt and uncle live) and did some shop-perusing and antiquing.

Pastors = good example.

Cam and Bennett and my brother and I went into an antique shop, where we were greeted by a very elderly lady, who proceeded to tell Cam how to parent Bennett. It was very cute and funny and we took her (unsolicited) advice with a smile and ended up visiting with the lady for about twenty minutes, at which point my parents joined us in the shop.

We all continued to shop around, all the while visiting with this lady who seemed a bit bored and lonely and very eager to chitty chat. She and I spent some time looking over her antique jewelry collection (more on that later), and then I headed to the back of the shop with my mom while she and my dad visited.

During her visit with my dad, she discovered that he is a pastor. This seemed to please her, as she said something like, "Good for you!" and they kept chatting it up. It was all a very nice, friendly, feel-good experience in a small little town.

David, Cam and Bennett and I left the shop, and then the following (which I am paraphrasing, since I wasn't there) happened:

Lady: "It's hard to believe that your daughter looks like that (referring to my hair), what with you being a pastor and all."
Dad: (chuckling): "Well, you know. They get to a certain age where they do what they want, make their own choices."
Lady: "Well," (disapprovingly) "She has a child now. She needs to set a better example."

When mom told us the story later, we all got a good laugh. I mean, that's what we do. But then... then it started to bug me. We spent probably a half an hour visiting with this lady. We certainly didn't go into that store expecting to chat with a stranger for that long, but we could see she needed and wanted to visit, and so we did. We smiled. We were courteous. We made conversation. We connected. I don't think that most people our age would have taken the time to do that. It makes me really sad that she missed all of that, missed the fact that there were a lot of positive qualities in our interaction -- because she had already made a determination about me because of my hair.

Good Example, baby, Bad Example.

Looking back on our time in the shop, a few other things made sense that we hadn't given much thought to before. For starters, her unsolicited parenting advice. She told Cam that he needed to be talking more with Bennett, who was in the Bjorn, and that when Bennett points at things, we need to name them... which he does and we do ALL. DAY. LONG. Now knowing what she thinks of us because of my hair, it makes that harmless little tid-bit of nosy advice seem a bit more hurtful. She assumed we weren't great parents (which we gathered from her conversation, but we didn't know why). How could we be great parents and look like this? Secondly, she watched pretty much everything I did. Every time I bent over to look at jewelry, she was right there. Right there. Though she was deep into my personal bubble, I took this as a friendly gesture at first. (A confusing and slightly off-putting friendly gesture.) As we thought back on our time in the store though, we realize that the reason she was watching me so closely is because she thought I was going to steal. We could be wrong, but all things considered -- the comments she made, the way she watched me, the things she implied -- she thought that because of my appearance, I must be set on ripping her off.

Dreadlocks = bad example
Loving Child = good example
I guess it's a wash...

Come on, lady! I was dressed nicely. I was showered and clean and smelled normal. I wore jewelry. I carried a cute purse. I was friendly and well-spoken and polite. I had my baby with me, my husband, my parents, for pete's sake. There was absolutely nothing about our time in the store, our actions, or the exchanges that would cause a person to believe we would be a threat or that we were "bad examples".

Ironically, hair is the one thing Bennett doesn't have, so the chances of him being tempted to get dreads are very slim.

What other bad example was I setting? I'll tell you: none.

That is why I am super bummed. I guess what I experienced wasn't really discrimination, because she did let me peruse her shop and she did make conversation with me as I assume she would do with anyone. I was, however, judged. And judged very poorly, at that.

I expect to have certain assumptions made about me because of my hair, some of which are true and some are not: hippy, lazy, free-spirit, earth-child, drug-user, dirty, free-loving, anti-government, anti-war, anti-establishment, anti-shampoo, anti-vaccines, pro-marijuana legalization, has spiders in hair... but shoplifter? Bad example?

Bummer. It bums me out.

Tuesday Tunes "Gypsy Queen" (dedicated to Mental Health Day)

2011-10-11T15:46:00.000-07:00

We were out of town all week and weekend and didn't have a chance to do a Tuesday Tune. But wait! That isn't being very committed to our commitment, now is it? So we decided to whip out an oldie by my sweet thing, Van Morrison. I chose this song because I love it, and because I thought it would be the perfect little tribute to this year's first World Mental Health Day (which was yesterday). It has nothing to do with mental health (in case you're having trouble seeing the connection), but it is encouraging, and encouragement never hurts. Awareness is the key to de-stigmatizing, to health, to wellness. I have several friends who struggle with various mental illnesses, postpartum depression and other such sad things. I have lost those I know to suicide, and many others to sadness and grief that is simply inescapable. This song is for you, friends, because you are all beautiful and perfect creatures, and you deserve a song of your own, sung just for you.

Dance on, gypsy queen

If it's all night, it's alright

If it starts to rain

Keep on dancing in the rain

And if it's all night, it's alright...

household projects: pimping things (cars and heads)

2011-10-09T18:19:00.000-07:00

A point of clarification, before you read this post. When I say "pimping", I am referring to the notion of "pimpin' one's ride", or "adorning something with bling to make it fancy". I am not referring to the criminal act of facilitating the sale of sex. Cam thought I should make this distinction since, as he put it, "some old people read the blog."

--------------------------------------

The theme around our home today has been pimping things. It isn't that we're so bored that we have to find things to do around the house. On the contrary, we had a busy week and weekend in Washington visiting family, and I have a list of projects I would like to get done around the house. (Many of these projects involve the lovely fabric I purchased while in Washington, and part of the pimping process did involve this fabric). However, there are certain tasks that present themselves that demand priority level action. One such thing is pimping a toddler's ride.

Needs new tags...

Bennett has this sweet ride that he got from his Nana for his first birthday. It has it all and it does it all... except look cool. It has horns, a keyboard, a bumpin' stereo system (that Bennett always turns on as background music while he shoots hoops), hidden compartments, a handle for pushin' and pullin', and a nice comfortable seat for chillin'. It became clear to us very early on that Bennett's aesthetic tastes weren't going to be satisfied with the cheesy childish decals, and neither were ours. Bennett wanted something different, something edgy, and we steered him in the direction of bohemian-esque sticker-covered van.

We got the first sticker (pictured above) at Cam's cousin's show when they were in Portland. It fits the back-end perfectly, and because it has the word "damn" on it (from the name of the band), it gives the car an edge that says "Don't tailgate me" without really needing to say it.

So as not to be cornered into any one stereotype, however, the stickers that we purchased this weekend send a different message. The car's second sticker (picked out by me) is the word "LOVE". It says "I'm a free spirit. See the sun and moon? The bright colors? The psychedelic patterns? Yeah, free spirit here." The free spirit element gives a softness to the car and reveals Bennett to be the kind of driver that he is: kind, courteous, stops at cross-walks for pedestrians and doesn't get mad at cyclists when they break the law. It says to other drivers, "So maybe you did tailgate me... but I love you anyways."

The car's third sticker (picked out by Cam) is this chillin' penguin. This is classic Cam because he loves penguins, and he loves to chill. This sticker is located on the seat, under Bennett's tiny little tushy. It doesn't send a message to other drivers; rather, it is a reminder to Bennett that when behind the wheel, it is important to chill, to relax, to stay loose. We feel it's crucial if he is going to be driving that he remain grounded in the life principles that are important and not allow himself to get lost in a world of road-rage. I'm fairly confident that every time he sits on his car's seat now, he looks at that sticker, takes a deep breath, and enjoys the moment. There's room on the other side of the seat for another sticker, maybe one about skiing or kayaking. Together, they would say "I'm relaxed, but I also like adrenaline." A yin-yang sort of thing, see.

Bennett's car is a work in progress. We will probably still be putting stickers on it long after he's done playing with it. And sure. Maybe the car, as a whole, also says, "I have two at-home parents with creativity seeping out of their pours and with plenty of time on their hands." We're okay with that.

B's car wasn't the only thing getting adorned this weekend. In the world of real projects, I've been working on some sewing. Right now I just sew by hand. I find the process to be very cathartic and relaxing. This was the first of three head-band designs I've got floating around in my brain. It didn't work out so well, but that's sort of expected when you're just making stuff up as you go. Making stuff up as I go rarely works out for me, but that doesn't stop me from continually doing it. Next I plan to make a table-cloth to fit our tiny kitchen table, some throw pillows for all four couches, a couple tops, and maybe a skirt or two. Most likely, I will end up ruining a whole lot of beautiful fabric (on account of that whole "making it up as I go" habit) and then using it for dish rags or cloth wipes. But hey, if that happens, those will be some really lovely dish rags and cloth wipes.

I wore this head-band to church this morning, and though it's just a basic head-band, I half expected someone (most likely a stranger, because we don't go to church very often) gasp, "What ARE you wearing on your head? That is the most hideous head-ornament I have ever seen! Take it off! You're scaring the children." And I was prepared to say, "I know. Isn't it awful? My sister made it for me and I'm going to see her later so I felt I had to wear it." Those are both lies, but there are certain times (like this one) where lying is acceptable, right? Lucky for me (and Cam, who blushes even at the prospect of lying), I didn't have to lie because no one said anything about my head-band. I guess that means I can wear it again sometime, and also that I will only need forgiveness for thinking about lying, since I didn't actually end up doing it.

The ultimate day in pimping things is going to come if I can ever get Bennett to wear the head-band while on his hot ride. Don't get your hopes up though, because that isn't likely to ever happen.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's post, where I tell the harrowing tale from this weekend of being discriminated against for having dreads.

101 Reasons to Breastfeed

2011-10-06T09:37:00.000-07:00

Last week, I wrote several posts about the wonders of milksharing. I didn't focus much on breastfeeding and why it matters to me, so many of you may have been left wondering why I care so much about milksharing and breastfeeding, and why I find breast milk to be so necessary for our little ones.

To read about the wonders of breastfeeding, in honor of Canada's National Breastfeeding Week, click on THIS LINK. Fellow doulas, friends, sisters, mothers, aunties, grandmas... this is a great resource to print up and pass along to mamas and future mamas who are trying to make decisions about breastfeeding (or who are already breastfeeding and need the encouragement to keep going!) Thank you, Mothers of Change, for passing the link along.

Sidenote: If you were unable to breastfeed your little one (or chose not to for personal reasons), this sort of information isn't meant to make you feel bad or guilty, or like a failure. We all face obstacles in our mothering journeys and sometimes they are insurmountable. The intent is to help inform, educate and equip so that we can move forward with a handy arsenal of information at our fingertips to share with others. It's never too late to bring about positive change!

If you have never tripped on acid... Yo, Gabba Gabba!

2011-10-05T06:08:00.000-07:00

Although I have never tripped on acid (my mom is so relieved right now),

I am guessing it would feel something like watching this show:

Until watching Yo Gabba Gabba! I couldn't even imagine what a drug-related trip would be like. I mean, getting high is relaxing (and can be hilarious), but it isn't trippy. After watching Yo Gabba Gabba! I now feel like I have officially tripped. My eyes and ears were like, "What?!" And my brain was like, "What?!" and Cameron's brain was like, "What?!" and Bennett's brain was like, "What?!" And then we all stood up and danced uncontrollably for roughly 45 minutes in a total out-of-body sort of way before falling on the couches like, "What?!"

And then, suddenly and without explanation, I wanted to throw a party in my tummy and eat vegetables, so yummy, so yummy, a party in my tummy. And I didn't want to leave those carrots out of the party, even though I don't much like carrots. And folks, a red skin-tight jump-suit has never looked so rockin'.

This guy has the most fun job in the world:

And let's be honest: he's probably the most fun person in the world. He'd have to be.

Tuesday Tunes "Burn It Down"

2011-10-04T06:00:00.000-07:00

This was written by my brother, David. I apologize for the poor quality of the film/sound. Our camera is broken and this cheap replacement isn't great. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

This house has too much space

The halls and walls sweat your face, yeah

This house has too many rooms

Windows and doors remind me of you, yeah

This bed smells like you

One side is cold one side blue, yeah

This view is too surreal, no one around metaphor my feel, yeah

Burn it down

This sky is way too bright

Wish it was dark, fit my mood just right, yeah

This cloud is way too light

Wish it would generate some rain tonight, yeah

This picture and this frame

Into the fire and I feel the same, yeah

This field has too much grain

Planted together all we reaped was shame, yeah

Burn it down

Your love was way too cold

The more you gave, the more I froze, yeah

Your love was way too cold

The more I gave, the more you stole, yeah

Burn it down

Burn it down and start again

dreadlocks at 8 months, and reflections on parenting

2011-10-03T12:56:00.000-07:00

Front: seven months.

Today marks the eighth month of my dreadlock journey. The last two months have probably been the most difficult, in terms of changes and maintenance, but they have also been the most rewarding. Ah, such is life. After two months of work and effort and disgust and adoration, I am finally at a place where I am loving on my dreads for how they are, not for how I want them to eventually be. The changes that have taken place between the 7th and 8th months are pretty profound, in part because of the natural progression of the dreads, and in part because of some kick ass maintenance sessions (one with Stephanie) with myself, good music, uninterrupted hours, and a few colorful spools of thread. I took photos of my dreads at seven months and more yesterday at eight months, so that I could document the drastic changes that have taken place recently.

Front: eight months.

I have said before that my dreads parallel my journey as a mother, and that is more true now than it ever has been. Before becoming a mother, I had so many ideas of what motherhood would be like. I had ideas about the child(ren) I would have, ideas about the kind of mother I would be, the father Cam would be, the way we would navigate all of this. I had ideas about how my friendships would look after having a child, and ideas about how family relationships would grow and develop now with a little one on the scene. Nothing is like the idea you have in your head, because there is this little factor you simply cannot account for: the baby. The little person. Nothing is a lesson in how little control we actually have, if not motherhood. Dreads are the same way. I conceived Bennett and I got dreads.
That is essentially where any solid control I had over these two endeavors went out the window.

Back: seven months.

My motherhood journey has been surprisingly easy. I thought. I think. I am not really sure, actually. I feel like it has been easy, at least easier than I imagined. I am coming to learn that some of this ease that I perceive is simply my personality. I have had comments from people that they would find certain things about Bennett, or about my parenting style to be difficult. (For example, Bennett's little temper tantrums that are frequent but short-lived, like 15 seconds. I find these to be hysterical, but others seem a bit stressed out by them. Or the fact that I still nurse a lot in the night because we co-sleep, whereas most people are enjoying full nights of sleep at this point). These things aren't said in a negative way at all, and I don't take them that way; they are just observations that others have made. What I am learning from these observations is that in motherhood, just as with most things, I am prone to not think things are stressful, maybe even when they are. It isn't that I'm some zen-like goddess of patience, it's just that stress isn't my normal response to things. I may feel overwhelmed occasionally, or a bit sleep-deprived, bummed out, or even sad or mad at times, but I just don't often feel very stressed. I have found that this translates into me feeling like (and saying) Bennett is a really easy baby, when to others, he actually may not be. Sometimes I feel like a liar when we're with friends and he acts kind of crazy and they give me a weird look like, "This is heavenly little Bennett?" and I think, "Yeah, this is

Back: eight months.

heavenly little Bennett, being a little boy, expressing unhappiness. It doesn't bother me, so..." His little guy mood swings are sometimes a source of anxiety and stress for Cameron and David, where I don't find them bothersome at all. I see them as a normal and healthy part of Bennett learning to communicate and express his emotions, good and bad. Of course, I also have the solution to most of Bennett's problems (breasts), which makes soothing him an easier task for me than it is for them.

Sideshot: all the different lengths.

My dreadlocks mirror this not-too-stressed attitude (I should say goal attitude). I am at the point where dreads begin to get really loopy and lumpy and crazy and chaotic, a point where people often give up and throw in the towel. Though it bothers me at times that they look crazy, and though it is more effort than I imagined it would be keeping them tamed, they don't stress me out. They are getting shorter as they knot up, which seems like going backwards. But I knew this would happen when I signed up for them. Simultaneously, it seems like Bennett is going backwards so much of the time in terms of his attitude and choices. We get to a point where he has learned not to throw his food on the floor, then baam! Platefuls of food on the floor. Sometimes the backwards momentum is reeling, and unlike my dreads, I did not know I was signing up for this. But like my dreads, I knew that I was signing up for a wild card and I would have to learn to adjust to what comes my way.

I am my own hair-tie.

Before I became a parent, I think that I believed that a big part of the game plan was learning how to get Bennett to a certain point, a certain set of actions or responses or behaviors. I do not see it that way anymore. Sure, I want him to be a well-behaved, respectful and thoughtful little guy. But I now see my primary goal as a parent to be learning how to get my reactions to a certain point, a certain behavior. I want there to be room in my life, in my brain and my heart for him to be fully who he is, not just a reflection of myself. With patience and temperance, I want to facilitate a space where he can grow into a little guy, a little guy with the confidence and self-awareness to be who he is meant to be. The same goes for my dreads. Though it is tempting to want to reign in every loose hair and unwelcome loop, I would be insane to actually believe I could succeed at that. Instead, I am finding joy in learning how to respond and react to them as they develop at their own pace (with a fair bit of guidance, of course... for both the dreads and Bennett).

Another lesson I am learning about being a mother, (which is one that comes fairly easily for me with many of my friendships and family members, and seems fairly impossible with other friendships and family members), is loving in spite of imperfection. I don't have a problem loving people in spite of their imperfections, necessarily, but I do have a hard time accepting those imperfections, especially when they affect me or others that I care about. I have a hard time offering unconditional support, and it is one of the qualities in myself that I most strongly despise. I have never worked on anything in my life as hard as I work on this. It physically pains me, and keeps me up at night when I see people being self-destructive, hurting themselves or others, making foolish choices, being unwise, being arrogant, or even just acting in ways that are counter to what they want to get out of life. I have such a hard time keeping my mouth closed and accepting these flaws in others, without trying to fix them, save them. Over the past year, I have worked really incredibly hard at this. I work really hard at keeping my mouth closed at such instances, which I now manage to do most all of the time, and I work even harder at letting my heart and mind reflect that acceptance internally. A huge part in weeding this character flaw out of myself is because it is an ugly trait that I do not want Bennett to experience and that I do not want him to inherit. As silly as it may sound, my dreads are a daily tangible reminder of this. They remind me to be the kind of woman that I want and need to be. Parenting was the catalyst for this, dreads are the reminder.

Bennett at the Barley Mill.

Parenting has taught me that in all situations, no matter what, I have to do what I feel is best for myself, my family, and for Bennett. I have to do what works for us. It doesn't matter if others do it differently. It doesn't matter if others think they do it better. It doesn't matter if others scoff, or think less of me. What matters is that I am wholly authentic and true to my instincts when it comes to Bennett's health and well-being. My dreads are most definitely a lesson in having thick skin, a lesson in learning not to care what others think. The parenting choices I make are often choices that those on the fringe make. They certainly aren't mainstream choices. Some of them are, but may of them are not. So although the majority of parents cannot relate to them (in terms of sleep, prolonged breastfeeding, discipline, etc.), there are a growing number of like-minded parents who think the way I do and parent the way I do to a large extent. It's a small minority, but it's a strong minority. Dreadlocks are much the same. The majority of people do not like them (I'm guessing, or more people would have them). They make assumptions about dread-heads based on stereotypes and generalizations (many of which are, admittedly, true). But there is a small percentage of the population who like dreads, who find them to be beautiful, unique, natural. I am okay with this. I love some of the dreads that I see, and I hate some of the dreads that I see. I know enough now to not make any assumptions about the people wearing the dreads, solely based on their appearance. Some of my very best friends parent their babies in totally different ways than I do, and I don't care. It doesn't make me think less of them or love them any less. I have friends who aren't a fan of dreads, but they love me for who I am and they support me and my wild hair choice. That's where it's at, folks. Loving. Supporting. Even amid our differences.

I love being a mom. It makes me want to be so much better than I am. I want to be healthier, for Bennett. I want to be happier, for Bennett. I want to be more loving, for Bennett. I want to be stronger, for Bennett. I want to exude wisdom, strength of character, integrity, empathy, compassion, love. Peace. I want to give him the best me that I can. I want all of these things for myself, but I'm more motivated because he exists. My dreadlocks remind me of that. Always work. Always try. Never stop. Never quit. Don't give up.

For a quick video link of the dreads right before I blunted and knotted the ends, click HERE.

Marlene's Story as a Milk Recipient (for WMW 2011)

2011-10-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

In honor of World Milksharing Week, I wanted to share the story of my good friend, Marlene and her little babe, Drew. Their story is nothing short of miraculous, especially when you hear how dire things were before and how incredible they are now.

Marlene first heard of milksharing on a facebook link. She contacted me within moments of posting the link and wanted to know how milksharing happens, how much it costs, and how something this incredible could exist right in our own city. She was, in a word, ecstatic at the possibility. She was shocked that it was free. She was amazed that there were women out there who were willing to be so generous and so giving -- even to a stranger.

The process for Marlene has been simple and easy so far. I was able to give her 50oz of Amy's milk. She then got on the facebook page of Human Milk for Human Babies, where a mother gave her 200oz. On the facebook page of Eats for Feets, she connected with a mama who was able to give her 100oz. Within 24 hours of even hearing of milksharing, she had enough to feed her little babe for several weeks! By the next day, she was in contact with another mama who was able to give her 300oz. This is the sort of thing that gives me goosebumps, the sort of thing that makes me want to cry, to jump up and down, to hug strangers in line at the grocery store and flash peace signs at the maniac with road rage in the car next to me. This is the sort of thing that makes me totally blissed out. So imagine how Marlene feels.

To fully understand why this is beyond amazing, let me tell you a little bit about Drew (10 weeks old) before he received the donor milk. This came from an interview with Marlene this afternoon.

Before donor milk, Marlene and Shawn tried five different kinds of formula and spent hundreds of dollars. It didn't matter what kind they bought or how much they spent; the results were the same. Immediately following a feeding, and sometimes even during, Drew was fussy. He cried and grunted in pain, and threw up everything that he ate. Marlene describes this as projectile vomit, not the innocent little baby spit up that many of us are used to. He had horrible diarrhea, resulting in what seemed to be very painful and smelly bowel movements, and he had very painful, bleeding diaper rashes. He woke up every two hours during the night, for what Marlene assumed was hunger, so even at 2.5 months, Marlene was waking consistently all throughout the night to feed Drew and then experience the same pattern of fussiness and painful stomach aches. In addition to these symptoms (as if they weren't bad enough), Drew was constantly congested and stuffy, especially after feedings.

After Drew's first bottle of donor milk (his first bottle!), he smiled, cooed and played happily. He was instantly at ease, and it was clear to Marlene that it was the milk. His sinuses were clear and his breathing was easy. She became fearful that she would run out of the donor milk before she could get more, so she mixed his second bottle with formula and within moments he was once again congested and struggling to breathe. He began crying, and once again, Marlene knew it was the milk - with the added formula.

Here is where it gets good.

Before bed, Marlene gave Drew two bottles of donor milk, and he slept from 7pm until 3:30am. He had never done that before, and he has now done it every night since. It didn't take many nights of this blissful sleep of her happy baby for Marlene to decide "Never again. No more formula." I encouraged her to give him what milk she had and not to worry about running out. (I know, firsthand, how scary it can be to worry about running low, or running out of donor milk). I felt confident that if she could come into 600oz in just a few days, she would find more!

In addition to now sleeping through the nights, Marlene said the following:

Drew with his papa!

"Drew is like a completely different baby. He used to, well...not smile (Marlene's husband, Shawn, yells in the background) 'Grimace! He used to grimace all the time'...Yes, that's it. He used to grimace all the time, like he was in pain. And now, he smiles. All the time."

Drew no longer throws up. He has the occasional baby burp with milk spit-up, but no more vomiting - ever. He breathes easily, as though breathing and congestion problems had never even existed! His poops seem to be normal and do not seem to be causing him any pain at all. His diaper rash is gone. Totally gone, not a hint that it was ever there. No rash. No pain. Just perfect little baby buns.

Drew isn't the only one who has reaped the amazing benefits of donor milk. Though Marlene isn't drinking the milk, the fact that she is able to give Drew breastmilk instead of formula has played a huge role in Marlene's peace of mind. Being unable to breastfeed one's child is devastating, and Marlene was no stranger to this feeling. She described for me how she would weep when she had to give Drew formula because she knew it wasn't beneficial for him, and she wept more when she saw the pain and agony he was in. She felt hopeless, full of despair and like a failure. She is still having difficulty with her own milk supply, but that doesn't stop her from putting Drew to the breast, something she said is still very enjoyable for both of them. I applaud her for sticking with it and still taking the time and energy to enjoy some of the other benefits that breastfeeding has to offer, even if it is not Drew's sole nourishment. Though nothing can take the place of being able to breastfeed one's child, Marlene says she now feels free from the guilt and worry of feeding Drew formula. She can rest well at nights knowing that her little babe is resting well, and that he is getting everything his body needs.

I ache for Marlene that she is not able to have a perfect breastfeeding experience, because she so very much deserves one. But I also rejoice with her that she has discovered the joy of milksharing. As a recipient of such a miraculous gift, the sense of peace, love, gratitude and indebtedness is simply overwhelming. It is such a beautiful way for women to love on other women and babies. I am proud to be a part of it, and I am so glad that my friend is now a part of it as well. I am so proud of her and other mamas who will drive across town, any distance, and spend any amount of time to track down this precious liquid gold for their little ones. It is humbling to be a recipient, but it is for our babies that we do it. It is an amazing and selfless act, both to give and to receive.

More on World Milksharing Week

2011-09-28T09:36:00.000-07:00

I have been encouraged by how many women haven taken an interest in the topic of milksharing this week! It's only Wednesday of World Milksharing Week, and there are already so many great stories. The most rewarding part of this week (for me) is that a girlfriend became aware of milksharing after reading my son's story and we are now on our way to finding a donor for her son. She is devastated to have to supplement him with formula at only 10 weeks old (I know the feeling), and he is not tolerating the formula well. When she read about milksharing and discovered that it was possible, she wept with hope, relief, and exhaustion. I am meeting her this afternoon to give the rest of the donor milk that was given to Bennett that he did not use. (The thought alone gives me goosebumps... Amy's gift just keeps on giving!) I am also hoping that (with Amy's help) we will be able to track down a donor for her in the Portland area. I am optimistic. I so want her to have the same gift that was given to Bennett and me. (Sidenote: if anyone reading this is a donor in the Portland area, please let me know!)

I have had several friends share their past struggles, lamenting how different things would have been for them had they known about milk-sharing. The good news is that they are now becoming informed (and can inform others) so things can be completely different with their future babes. I hope that WMW does not become a source of sadness or despair for anyone because of past choices, and that instead, it becomes a source of optimism and hope as we look towards the future.

To read more inspiring stories, here are a few links.

At Breastfeedingsymbol there are a bunch of great stories of milk-sharing, written by both donors and recipients. Check them out!

As I mentioned in my last post, Mothers of Change has several stories and links to stories posted as well!

Even if you are no longer a breastfeeding mama, or if you never were or never will be, by spreading awareness about milksharing, you could change a life. If you could hear the sobs of relief of a mama who is given donor milk, you would do all that you could. Since sobs are hard to communicate via the internet, take a moment instead to read the stories. If one inspires you, share it! Link them on facebook and blogs. Help spread the word so that mamas in your area can become a part of milksharing!

Tuesday Tunes "Misery"

2011-09-27T06:03:00.000-07:00

So this particular take is a blooper reel - for real. We decided to keep it though. The ending makes us laugh so hard every time we see it that we simply couldn't get rid of it, even though:

1. The sound isn't that great
2. We sing out of sync a time or two
3. I am dressed inappropriately (again, sigh)
4. I have a scratched eye and am wearing my non-fitting glasses
6. My glasses are taped together at several points... and I can't see in them
7. I messed up some words
8. David was a bit pitchy
9. We messed up the ending beyond recognition
10. Bennett unexpectedly started the song for us
11. I do not know the words
12. This was originally just a practice run, but David didn't end up having this Tuesday off as he normally does, so...

All that being said, the ending is what we have now learned is a typical exchange for David and I. Mind you, we have been siblings for as long as he has been alive (25 years, precisely) and we are now living together again as adults, so the following things aren't really that uncommon, although they are entertaining:

1. We both say a bunch of gibberish that we evidently both understand
2. We finish one another sentences even though we're not actually saying any sentences
3. We are in complete agreement on all three points being made, though it may seem to an outsider that not even one point was made
4. We evidently do this sort of thing a lot

I love my brother. He wrote this song, and here it is:

You can also watch the fuller video that my siblings made (without me, because I was in Portland and they were not) a couple winters ago for a video competition. It's quite stellar in a low-budget sort of way, if I do say so myself. And certainly, their ending is a bit more polished than ours. When we record in January for real, the final version of Misery will be somewhere between these two versions...

World Milksharing Week (tales from a recipient)

2011-09-26T18:00:00.000-07:00

It is World Milksharing Week!

In the final months leading up to my son's birth, I had done quite a bit of extensive research on breastfeeding. As a doula and a natural childbirth advocate, breastfeeding has always gone hand in hand with those ideals, and there was never any question that I would breastfeed my son. As my pregnancy progressed, I had a bizarre intuition that my milk-flow would be a problem. I can't say why I had this feeling, because my mother, aunts, grandmothers, and sister had all breastfed without a hitch. My breasts had not grown much, the coloring hadn't changed, there was no leakage, and I was unable to hand express colostrum. I was reassured by friends, family, and my midwife that all would most likely work out well and that my body would do what it was meant to do when the time was right. Even so, I was anxious enough about my future milk supply and the fear of even potentially needing to use formula, that I stipulated in my birth plan that I would like Bennett to receive milk from my sister or my good friend Amy if any problems should arise with my own milk supply. I also insisted that should I be incapacitated for any reason, my sister be allowed to nurse him.

Breastfeeding Bennett on Day #2.

Bennett's birth happened at home -- peacefully, beautifully, and more magically than I ever could have imagined. Within moments of his passage earth-side, he latched on and was nursing. He continued to do this non-stop for the first two days of his life. It was, in a word, blissful. He was healthy and active and colorful and perfect. He was peeing and pooping right on schedule. By his third day, however, Bennett had dropped a significant amount of weigh, which quickly became terrifying because he was not quite 5lbs at birth and had very little reserve. In the early morning, he became still, and although I cannot explain why, I knew instinctively that he was having a blood sugar crash. My sister tried to nurse him, but he was too weak. My husband rushed to Amy's house, where she had colostrum on hand in her freezer. He stormed through the front door with that life-saving goodness, and as my parents, my sister, and my brother stood around our bed praying fervently, we syringed as much as we could into his tiny mouth. His color quickly came back for a short time, as we gathered our things and consulted both our midwife and pediatrician once again on the phone.

In another terrifying moment, Bennett's lips turned blue before our eyes and we knew that we were losing him. I held him to my chest in the backseat of the car, and at the instruction of both of our health care providers, we went straight to Emanuel Children's Hospital. The doctors said that the colostrum I had given him at home could have saved his life. It was not enough to bring him back completely, but it made a huge difference in his sugar levels during a very crucial time.

What was happening, we later learned, is that I was not producing anything. No colostrum. No milk. Nothing. Though Bennett was diligently sucking, nothing was happening. The hospital informed us that he would be staying in the NICU for at least a week and that he would be given formula through a tube. This was unacceptable to me. I knew how negatively formula impacts infants, specifically infants with low birth weight. Fortunately, we live in a very pro-breastfeeding city and we were at the most pro-breastfeeding hospital in that city. They offered us donor milk through the tube, but said that it was very expensive and the cost was usually prohibitive. I didn't care. I knew that no cost could possibly be more than the value of my child's health. Bennett did receive human donor milk during his entire stay in the NICU. The total cost (of the milk alone) came out to $7,600, for nine days worth of milk. We will be paying for that milk for at least another year. Totally worth it.

Throughout our entire stay in the hospital, I was with Bennett the entire time and nursed him as often as they would allow (every three hours, including night times) for the entire nine days. My milk did begin flowing, but it was very slow and insubstantial. Though I knew I wasn't yet giving him all that he needed nutritionally, the bonding time we shared through nursing during those first few weeks still had an immeasurable impact on both of us. When we got home from the hospital, Amy had graciously offered to donate her oversupply to us, as much as we needed. This is a gift for which we will be forever in debt. With the use of herbs, diet, Domperidone, pumping and constant nursing, I was slowly able to increase my supply while supplementing Amy's milk as well.

Amy donated her milk to us for nearly six months. Because she was a nurse, a fellow mama, a health-conscious person and a good friend, I wholly trusted her milk. Our milk-sharing arrangement was made easier and simpler by the fact that we were friends. We liked to spend time together when we could, and we usually talked or texted every day, so it was easy to incorporate milk discussions into our friendship. For us, this aspect of the sharing process was fairly simple (though I know the pumping and storing and transporting was a much greater responsibility on her). If they came for dinner, they usually had a small cooler pouch of milk in tow! If we went there, they sent us home with a bag full. I never took a single bag that I didn't feel deeply, eternally grateful for. She was literally giving life and health to my son, and peace of mind to me.

First month breastfeeding exclusively
after 6 months of milk-sharing!

As a new mother (sore, exhausted, and run-down from caring for a now weak and sick child) and a last-minute, unexpected recipient of donor milk, I had no idea how to tread the waters of milk-sharing. It was completely uncharted territory, and I had never known anyone else who had done it before. It wasn't as though I could call up a girlfriend and ask her what her arrangement was with her baby's milk mama. There were times when I was getting low on donor milk, and I felt a bit awkward asking for more. Amy always made me feel very comfortable though and made it clear that she was delighted and honored to care for us in this way. We had a lot of positive support during this time. Though most of the people in my life were supportive, we did face a fair amount of scepticism over our choice to use donor milk, as opposed to formula. No amount of scepticism ever made me waiver in my decision, however, and Bennett's daily growth was a sign that this was working. We were doing the right thing. Within a few months, he caught up in weight to all of our friend's babies, most of whom were at least 2.5-3lbs larger than him at birth. There was never any question in our minds that milk-sharing was a life-saver for us.

In January, my milk simply picked way up in volume, right around the time when Amy was going to be pumping less. It was perfect timing. Our milk-sharing relationship came to a very natural end. Since then, I was able to breastfeed Bennett exclusively. He now eats food as well, but at fourteen months still breastfeeds avidly as his primary form of nutrition.

My experience as a milk-sharing recipient could not have been better. To read about the experience from the other side (a donor), you can check out Amy's post on her blog. She has some great ideas and advice for mamas who might also like to donate their milk. My advice to any mama who is struggling with a low supply (or other breastfeeding issues) is: don't give up. If breastfeeding your little one is difficult, don't give up. If it is impossible, consider using a donor. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

For even more posts on World Milksharing Week, visit Mothers of Change!

first rainstorm

2011-09-25T16:52:00.000-07:00

True to form, the moment that Fall was declared on the calender, it began to rain -- no, downpour -- in the Pacific Northwest. As always, it was beautiful. Bennett watched it from the window on and off for hours, forgetting about it for moments at a time, only to be lulled back in by the unusual sounds of rain falling along the rooftops, the street, the cars, the trees... he was digging it. I threw on Papa's shirt and we ran out under it. The rain didn't disappoint him.

Still giddy: post-rain, pre-bath.

This is the sort of stuff that makes being a parent so fun. Every little thing, big or small, is like a stinking huge deal to these little ones. Every moment is a chance to see things through a new pair of eyes. Every mundane activity becomes fresh and alive when you've got a child who is living it all for the first time. I love fall in Portland. I get out the Van Morrison, the sweaters, the fingerless gloves, and I get into a groove, a calming down from the summer groove. Winters can wear on me a bit though. When I don't see the sun for long bouts of time, it gets to me. In a bad way. I have a feeling this winter will be different, but it's up to us to make that happen. I want to find little rain boots for Bennett. And a rain coat. And heck, maybe a rain hat too. Bright yellow. And I want to enjoy this fall and winter like I never have before, through his eyes, through his experiences. In January, if I begin lamenting the long winter, please remind me of this, because I'm sure I will need it.

If I'm honest, I must admit that I am not quite ready for Summer to end. Today was a great reminder for me though that my life is about different seasons now, and I'm in an incredible one, regardless of what the weather is doing.

The Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band

2011-09-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

This week we (finally) had a chance to see the band of Cam's cousin, Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band, while they were in Portland. Cam's cousin is "The Reverend" (not really a reverend) and his wife Breezy plays the washboard (an instrument my brother and I are currently in search of for me to learn!) and another cousin (of theirs, not ours) plays the drums. They tour all over the world, and make it to Portland at least once a year, but we have never been able to catch them. And howdy, were we glad we did. It was, in four words: incredibly riotously freaking entertaining. I know, I know. To use the word "entertaining" to describe a musical show seems like it would be obvious, as musicians are, by their very nature, entertainers. But I have been to a load (seriously, a load) of concerts in my life and have been surprised to find myself bored at many of them. If one finds themselves bored at a Big Damn Band show, one must be in need of new brains.

It was all very interesting to me because physically, Cam and his cousin are very similar. My sister had even noted that a month or so ago while watching their YouTube videos, how much Josh (The Rev) looks like Cam in the eyes, the nose, the cheeks. The whole time I was watching them, I couldn't help but feel like I was watching a jollier version of Cam. However. They could not be more different in personality. Cam is as mellow as they come. That cannot be overstated. The Rev is... the opposite of "as mellow as they come." The opposite. I imagine he has his own windmill behind the stage, spinning like crazy and crazy, somehow inputting energy directly into his being. And it's not just while he performs; it's afterwards too, when he is talking to people. He has a voice like a booming revival-esque preacher from the 40's. The name "The Reverend" could not be more fitting for him. He is my kind of people, really. He and his wife just seem like such fun-loving, inspired, hilarious people.

Anyways, it's interesting how that works, with family. How you can come from the same gene pool and be so incredibly different. Yet, I'm certain that if we spent a lot of time with them, we would discover some pretty major similarities, such as love for family, and knowing about our ancestors, and being tuned into our roots and all that. Cam is really into his heritage, and where he comes from and so is Josh, who actually incorporates a lot of family heritage and pizazz into his albums (including an old family recipe for Persimmon Pudding).

I was noting to my brother later how I feel like Breezy (his wife) and I kind of even look similar, and David said, "Yeah, if you covered up some of your boobs maybe". That kid. I guess I was showing a bit more cleavage than I meant to, but in my defense, they started out being tucked away and just came loose with all the dancing. And besides, I was out on the town, at Dante's (which is a musical venue as well as a Burlesque showplace), so I think my amount of cleavage was fitting. And anyhow, all eyes were on the band because, as I said before, they were really entertaining. Really.

It was such a great night to be out. Awesome little Bennett slept the night away in the car outside the bar while Cam, Linda, David and I took turns sitting with him in shifts. He fell asleep at home and woke up at home and still has no clue that he spent a wild evening parked outside of Dante's in downtown Portland.

If you find yourself curious about what incredibly riotously freaking entertaining looks like, then watch and learn, my friends:

It was a Tuesday night, but the bar was full and the folks were a'dancin'. It was one loud and action-packed Tuesday night. If you ever have a chance to watch them when they're in your city, do it. But only if you want to dance. And smile. And have a lot of damn fun.

a day in the life of a 14 month old

2011-09-22T16:41:00.000-07:00

Bennett turned 14 months yesterday. When I have the time, I'll write up a proper post about all that he has been up to (including some photos of his crazy huge pre-molars he worked so hard on), but for now, this will have to do.

If I were forced (at gunpoint, maybe?) to find one word to describe him, it would be active. And athletic. And adorable. And kissable. And fast. And funny. And goofy. And determined. Oh shoot, I couldn't use only one word if I tried.

Tuesday Tunes "Gone Too Long"

2011-09-20T14:47:00.000-07:00

My brother wrote this song several years ago when he was living down in Oklahoma City in the back of his pickup truck (by choice). He was rebelling against his school's policy that living on campus required the (outlandishly expensive) purchase of a meal plan which consisted of horribly unhealthy and untasty options. But he couldn't afford to live off campus. Because of his stand against the man, the school eventually begged him to come back to campus living and even changed their policy. Sure, some of the family were a bit worried for his safety because of his living arrangements while in the pickup, and sure, there were times he was frozen into his pickup during ice storms and friends had to come and chip the ice away so he could escape. But all was well, because in those times, he had opportunity to write a whole bunch of songs. This song has nothing to do with meal plans, or rebellion, or ice storms, but it does make mention of the back of a truck... so now you won't be confused.

As I was breezing through his musical archives (which are quite extensive), I was drawn to this one for several reasons. The first reason was because it is one of his simpler songs, so it was easier for me to learn it and adapt it for my voice with just a few days to prepare. The second was because I really liked the lyrics, the imagery. So, with no further ado, here is a simple little ditty called "Gone Too Long" by David Lautaret.

Dim light shines on photographs

Frames capture times past

When two hands still happy lay entwined

Days I still remember some

Where people gathered, voices sung

A chorus snowy trees sing harmony

I've been gone too long

Cold air rushes swiftly by

The daylight fades to night's disguise

A fireplace keeps half of me still sane

Not tonight no firelight

There'll be no warmth in here tonight

The back of a truck is a dark lonely place

As I lay there freezing cold

My mind shifts to times of old

When songs were sung and living was a tune

And though I'll never hold your hand

the picture shows a solid man

Who did all that he could do for you

first kiss

2011-09-19T18:04:00.000-07:00

I knew this day would come, but I didn't know it would be so, uh, French. And I hoped it would be later rather than sooner, but he is my son, afterall.

Oh, man. I totally know what she's thinking. There's no time for a breath-check, so uh, I'll just, uh, look to the side...

(There are no photos of the actual kiss - for two reasons. First, my camera kept dying. Secondly, truthfully, it kind of made me gag, which made me laugh, which made me gag more, so getting a good photo was really difficult. And sure, you wouldn't think a sweet innocent thing like a first baby kiss would make a person gag, but they were kind of drooly and snotty and anyone who knows me knows that I have an extremely sensitive gag reflex. Gagging aside though, it was very precious. Bennett was done after one, but Elliot really wanted to perfect the whole process.)

"Thanks, Elliot. That was quite good, actually. I'll have my mom call your mom."

Ahh, refreshments! Bennett had never had his own popsicle before, so he wasn't really down with the traditional way of eating it...

Emerson and Elliot giving Kalle a kiddo-sandwich.

Playdates, man. Never a dull moment!

breastfeeding in public: the beach

2011-09-16T10:22:00.000-07:00

Last week when we were at the beach, we ran into a few friends who we know through my brother. We all set up sort of near one another and did our beach thing. My beach thing, of course, included breastfeeding. A few tid-bits about the day: It was hot, so nearly all the gals at the beach were in bikinis. Skimpy bikinis. I was wearing Capri hipster pants and a tube top. I also had an umbrella over me to shield Bennett from the raging sun. These things are important, because they add to the hilarious outrage of it all. (Photos shown are from a different day at the beach, where there was no one around, so I was much less inhibited).

Later that evening, we were home watching a movie when my brother came home from hanging out with his buddies, one of whom was at the beach with his wife and another buddy. While my brother and said buddy were hanging out, the following conversation happened. Naturally, my brother (David) thought it was riotously funny (I've said before that we aren't easily offended and we really enjoy a good chance to laugh) so he was anxious to share it with me.

Friend: So, yeah uh, man. Uh... your sister was totally, uh... well... breastfeeding at the beach.
David: Yeah. She does that, she breastfeeds Bennett. (Casually responding, but also noticing friend's discomfort).
Friend: Yeah, so I was with another buddy, and he was really uncomfortable. I mean, her boob was all out there, like... breastfeeding.
David: Huh. Really? Like, did you see her nipple?
Friend: Well, NO.
David: Oh, did you see a lot of her boob?
Friend: Well, no.
David: Was Bennett's head pretty much covering her entire boob?
Friend: Yeah, totally.
David: So your friend didn't actually SEE her boob, but he felt weird just because of the act of breastfeeding?
Friend: Well yeah! Totally. But don't say anything to your sister.
David: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

(They proceeded to have a little talk about it, and then David proceeded to poke jokes at this friend for the rest of the night. A good time was had by all.)

David came home and told us the story. True to form, we had a really good laugh. I am pretty confident about the whole breastfeeding thing and know that it simply needs to be done when my little dude is hungry. But. The whole thing was made very ironic by the fact that literally hundreds of breasts were almost fully visible all day long (playing volleyball, swimming, bouncing around... have I painted a sexy enough picture?), but these (young, childless) guys were uncomfortable with my breasts being used in this functional, necessary, non-sexual way. And they didn't even see my breasts!

This entire exchange didn't offend me or particularly bum me out until I started thinking about it from another perspective. I am a pretty confident woman. I don't know where I got it, but it takes a lot for things to phase me, even public scrutiny or embarrassment. After this exchange, though, I started thinking about how much negative hype there is around public breastfeeding and how militant and polarizing the whole topic has become. I started thinking about all of the women who are new at it, or insecure, or who have been harassed publicly or given dirty looks, etc. I started thinking about how they would feel if this had happened to them. They probably would have felt humiliated. Humiliated for simply feeding their child? This isn't OK.

I don't hold these particular young guys responsible for this at all. They're young guys. They're dudes. They don't have babies and they simply can't understand the complexities that enter into an equation like this. I hold our culture and the stigma surrounding breastfeeding responsible. I hold anti-breastfeeders responsible. And I hold the militant breastfeeders responsible who widen the gap in a non-loving way, rather than bridging the divide with truth, grace, compassion and love.

I try to be very respectful when I breastfeed. I do not cover up (because Bennett has never tolerated a cover), but I do try to be as modest as possible, both for my comfort and for the comfort of those around me. I don't make a big scene about it, although admittedly, sometimes Bennett makes a big scene about it by popping off and exposing a quick flash of full boob (it happens, right?!) When I am feeling extremely uncomfortable for some instinctual reason (whether the issue is my comfort, Bennet's, or a 3rd party), I quietly go to another place. Being uncomfortable makes me more defensive and prone to being sensitive. I do not want Bennett exposed to that anxiety and those negative feelings. When it comes to breastfeeding, my number one priority is feeding or comforting Bennett. My secondary responsibility is normalizing breastfeeding for others so that women can begin to feel more free to do it wherever they need to. I take both of these responsibilities seriously and I hope that with time (and the great efforts of so many mamas across the globe), breastfeeding will become as natural and normal to everyone as it is to me.

I had a good laugh at our beach experience, because laughter is how I handle things. But I don't want other mamas going through that, especially if it would inhibit them from future breastfeeding. If you are a breastfeeder (or future breastfeeder), take heart. The majority of encounters I have had while breastfeeding in public (all over the country) have been positive. Though I must note that courtesy and respect for others foster the same from others. If you are a non-breastfeeder, or even a non-parent, be gentle with breastfeeding mamas. Know that we are not trying to offend you. We are not all trying to merely make a stand or further an agenda. We just love our babies and want them fed and well. And to both sides of the gap, be kind to one another. It goes a long way towards positive change.

Tuesday Tunes "Long Ride Home"

2011-09-13T17:13:00.000-07:00

As a part of my attempt to re-emerge as a bit of my former self, I have begun getting back into music. It has been years since I have performed publicly (and may be years before I do again), but I have always known that at some point in life I would make the time to make music. The time has come to bring music back in my life in a meaningful way. In January, my brother (shown on this video) and my sister and I will be gathering up North to record an album of original songs. It's something that has been lingering in the air for years but never manifests itself because of time, energy, physical distance and the presence of an increasing number of children in our lives.

To prepare for January, David and I have committed to making music together regularly and recording at least one song every Tuesday, primarily as a motivating tool to get us back into our groove. I will post the song here on the blog, rain or shine, well or sick (as is the case today). This week is a cover of Patti Griffin's "Long Ride Home". My voice is weak and haggard from about five years of serious neglect and killer head cold, but it felt good to be making music again in this very simple way...

Be gentle, oh listeners. It's been a long time.

explosions in the sky

2011-09-13T13:07:00.000-07:00

On a cold November night years ago, while driving through the snowbanks between Anchorage and Homer, Alaska, I was introduced to the most musically intoxicating sounds my soul had ever felt. The sounds gripped me in this raw and powerful way that music sometimes just does. It wasn't only because I was having a magical night with a magical person; it was so much more than that. There are snapshots in your life, maybe a dozen, maybe less, when you have an intensely visceral and unforgettable series of moments, moments that stay with you and don't let go - ever. Moments that change you in a huge but subtle way that is so deeply internal that no one except yourself would be able to discern it. This night was one of those snapshots, one of those series of moments. I remember everything about it, every detail. The beer bottle tops fastened to the dash board of the Subaru. The way the moonlight and headlights reflected off the snow, making it seem both blindingly dark and bright all at once. I remember peeing on the side of the road, how cold it was, and how warm it felt to get back into the car. I remember the stars. The smells. The sounds. And the music. Ahhh, the music, the backdrop of everything beautiful in this life.

Since that time, I have had a wild love affair with Explosions in the Sky. There are only a handful of musicians who can stop me in my tracks, time and time again. Only a handful whose power isn't lessened by repetition. Only a handful that wield the power to take me back in time, or forward. Only a handful with the power to freeze time altogether and allow moments to linger. To ease pain. To heal wounds. To comfort.

I have been going through some stuff over these past few months. Life stuff, marriage stuff, friendship stuff, love stuff, loss stuff. It is stuff that I would be transparent enough to share if only it were simply about me. But life stuff and marriage stuff and friendship stuff is about others too, and so I am forced to be considerate and private, because that's the right thing to do. Though to me, doing the right thing feels stifling and dishonest. Not talking about the entire and whole me feels inauthentic. I don't like frauds, pretenders. But there is so much we can't put out there, isn't there? It isn't fraudulent, it's just respectful. Odd that those feel like the same thing. There is so much we can't just say, because life is about others too, and others matter. My life on this blog feels so one-dimensional, because that one beautiful dimension is what is easiest to talk about, what is appropriate to talk about. But it's only one dimension when I am many dimensions.

Maybe it isn't that I am going through stuff as much as it is that I am emerging as myself. For so long, I was so busy adjusting to being a wife, then being pregnant and being a mama. My life as a thinker and feeler and wanderer was placed on hold and I didn't feel free to foster those parts of myself for fear that they could undo me. Time is passing though, and I am coming to life. I am feeling more like myself as an entire person, not only myself as a mother. This isn't simple. Or easy. Or fun. But it is so important for me to do, and it is so life-giving.

This week, right as I was wading through some heavy inner conflict and turmoil, Explosions in the Sky put out this video. I watched it, and I wept. And then I watched it more and wept more. Every so often, I sit down to watch it again. Sometimes Bennett cuddles in my arms and he watches it too. He smiles at the creature. He is so beautiful and innocent and full of love. He watches me cry and he kisses me, smiling. He points at the screen and smiles. He loves the music too. When I watch this, I feel both fully alone and fully held all at once.

I know that this music won't move you in the same way it moves me, but it will surely move you in some way...

Be comfortable, Creature. (<--click)

pool party with some big kids, Frenchman's Bar, and advice please?!

2011-09-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

If you heard the sweet singing voice of a 1-year old ringing over Portland this weekend, it was Bennett crooning "Heaven, I'm in heaven...!" as he joyously attended his first impromptu pool party with some big kids. The day started with a BBQ with Cam's buddies (Brian and Liz) and their boys (Reed and Brooks). That was pretty fun. But then it took a turn for the awesome when we headed outside and Bennett discovered this...

A conundrum: big kids and water vs. basketball...

Things got a little wild in the pool with the big kids,
so Bennett decided to create his own pool with a bucket.

Water was a definite theme for the weekend because the temperature in Portland crept up to 100 and getting out of the heat was a priorito numero uno. We spent Saturday at Frenchman's Bar in Vancouver with our friends, Katy and Adam. None of us had ever been there before, but I'm always up for finding cool spots in the Couv since, technically, right now, I (cough) live here.

This bottle was emptied and filled with water. I swear.

"What the WHAT?! This cooler has speakers?! Man, turn it up!"

The day wasn't all perfect. Bennett had to practice one of his less favorite skills: watching while other people play with balls. Here Papa and Adam schooled some folks in the fine art of beach volleyball.

For Bennett's sake, I am ready for this heat wave to be over. We have been spending way more time indoors than we normally do because it's just been too uncomfortably hot to be out for long periods, especially long walks. We have noticed a really big (unpleasant) shift in Bennett's personality in the last few weeks, and while we can't be sure, we attribute some of it to cabin fever. On days that we don't go outside much, he is moody and throws mini-tantrums and is just, in general, miserable. When we're outside, he is a completely different person and very closely resembles his old, chipper self.

Part of this may be that he likes to be on the go all the time and being outside gives him the space to run everywhere. Part of it just may be the energy and boost he gets from the sun. We also wonder if the sunshine is actually the cure, or if it is just enough of a distraction that he is able to table his negative emotions for the short-term. We don't really know. And we don't really know if that is all that's going on with him or if there could be something else as well. Teething again? Getting sick? Premature teenage rebellion? We are working really hard to get to the bottom of it, but so far, if being outside is an instant fix, we're all for it. And as always, I welcome any feedback or advice. (Like, have any of you ever had a 1-year old that entered the "terrible twos" a year early?)

flashback to Chicago

2011-09-09T18:51:00.000-07:00

I am just finding the time to post about our trip to Chicago two weeks ago. I posted a little blip about the Cubs game, but that was just one small part of our time there. The most notable thing that happened while we were there was getting a text from my cousin, Taylor (who is from Washington State) saying "Hey, your mom said you're in Chicago. Dalton and I are driving through in an hour." Taylor is in his third year at Adelphi University in New York and Dalton is beginning his first year at AU as well, so they were on a cross-country road-trip together as they headed off to college. We made plans to meet at the Buckingham Fountain and ended up spending the next two days together, giving them a full tour of the city.

It was totally unexpected and really fun. When they first arrived, they headed straight for Bennett, who didn't even take notice. Of course he had no idea how random and out of context it is to run into our cousins in Chicago. It seemed perfectly normal to him, so he just breezed right on by them as though they'd been with us all along.

Before we met up with them, we had some time at the fountain. Since Chicago was in the throes of another heat wave, everyone was inside and we had the fountain almost entirely to ourselves. We let Bennett run around and linger near the big fence, which we quickly discovered he could squeeze through. Right as we had our cameras perched for a photo, he snuck through and ran straight for the fountain. He would have made it, were it not for Cam's animal-like leap over the fence. Luckily, no one was (badly) hurt (Cam semi-badly hurt his ankle) and no one was arrested.

Breaking through...

For dinner we ate in Greek Town. Cam and I were on a budget so we ate the cheapest things on the menu and stuffed ourselves on free bread and our huge (but cheap) meals. The things we liked were cheap anyways, so we really didn't feel bad about what we ordered. Until... Taylor and Dalton ordered a five-course Greek feast. We were done with ours while their courses were still coming. For some reason, this made us all begin giggling and carrying on uncontrollably. At one point, another course arrived and I said to Taylor, "You really are an ass" and boy, we laughed some more. I guess you had to be there. It was just very very funny. That's one thing we do a lot with these particular cousins...we laugh. Lots.

We spent the night at the Congress Plaza Hotel, which was also really fun. It is this really old, famous, creepy, haunted hotel right in the heart of downtown. Certain rooms are sealed off because of ghosts, and it is rumored that in certain hallways, you can hear the giggling of two little girls, and if you enter the Ballroom, it isn't uncommon for a phantom hand to touch you on the shoulder and a phantom voice to whisper in your ear. So anyways, things of that nature were what made it all pretty fun, quite a bit more so than if we had just stayed in your every-day-unhaunted sort of place. The hotel staff (of course) insists that the joint isn't haunted, but for all we know, they were ghosts too, and ghosts are hardly top of the list of trustworthy characters. The ceilings in each room were 20' high and our room (the cheapest one they had, which was actually really cheap) was like a mini-castle: a bare-bones, poorly decorated mini-castle, but hey.

Cam made the unfortunate mistake of leaving his alarm set from the day before and it awoke all of us at 4:15am. Because this was his error and because I am not much one for awaking early, and because Bennett IS one for awaking early and decided 4:15am was the perfect hour, Cam was sent away with Bennett. Taylor and Dalton and I slept soundly for several more hours while Cam took Bennett on a middle-of-the-night tour of the city. I am actually a little bummed that I missed it because it sounds like it was quite wonderful, and I do love being in cities while they're still asleep. The following photos are ones that Cameron took during he and Bennett's early morning outing...

First stop, the Cloud in Millennium Park (we call it the Jelly Bean). Cam showed Bennett where President Obama gave his acceptance speech and Bennett burst into applause! (Okay, the applause part didn't happen, but I'm sure he would have if he were old enough to know how monumental it all was.) I've never seen a photo of this when there weren't scads of people swarming around it, so this is pretty sweet.

...reflections in the Jelly Bean...

Cam captured this beautiful photo of the fountain, being still...

After we joined Cam and Bennett, Taylor took off for the Art Institute and the rest of us spent the morning and early afternoon at North Beach. Now Bennett has swum in both the North and South ends of the Chicago-bordering Lake Michigan. When asked which beach Bennett preferred, he said that he liked the South Beach because it is in Papa's old neighborhood, but he personally felt safer and enjoyed the backdrop of the North Beach more. The kid knows his beaches.

A quick pre-swim nap...

Spotting a dog, down yonder on the beach...

Forgetting the water and heading towards the dog...

On a mission...to...the...dog...

Mission accomplished.

Meanwhile, a forlorn and heartsick Dalton stares stoically at the waves,

thinking of the love he left behind in Washington State...

Ah, Chicago. You steal our hearts every time.

today while Skyping with Zoralee

2011-09-09T14:39:00.000-07:00

On the Portland end: me, Cam, Bennett, David and Erin
On the North Dakota end: Lori, Zoralee and Ziah

While killing time as Lori got Ziah pottied and settled...

David: Zoralee, what have you learned lately?
Zoralee: (short pause): Hm. Well, I learned how to climb mountains.
Me: Seriously? And what else?
Zoralee: I have learned how to be gentle with Ziah.
All of us: And what else?
Zoralee: Hmm... I've learned... I've learned... how to Skype!

That kid. For reals.

trip to the beach, take 1 and take 2

2011-09-07T16:21:00.000-07:00

Over the extended weekend, Cam and I and my brother (and Bennett, of course) took a little trip to the lovely Oregon Coast. It was 90 degrees here in Portland, so we expected a warm day at the beach. Wrong. We first went to Seaside, which isn't our favorite beach, but it has some fun kid's stuff. It was freezing. As soon as we pulled over the hill towards town, the thermostat on the car dropped by nearly twenty degrees in the span of a couple miles and our entire car was engulfed in low blinding clouds (whereas we had driven for over an hour in nothing but sunshine). When we stepped out of our cars (in our shorts and skirts and summery weather gear), we all had a good, sad laugh at our own expense. What fools to not google the beach weather before we left home!

We redeemed the time in Seaside by doing a little of this...

Bennett wasn't thrilled while on the actual ride, but afterwards, he couldn't stop watching it.

After accepting that Seaside was a depressing bust, we decided to head up the road the eight miles to Cannon Beach so Cameron could have some of his favorite clam chowder at the Driftwood Inn. Would you believe that as we headed up the hill and back down towards Cannon Beach, it was totally hot and sunny? Go figure. That's the Oregon Coast at its finest. We ate and headed down to the beach for several hours of complete blissful beachy relaxation. (By "relaxation", I mean taking turns frantically running after Bennett and his giant ball across the beach and into the ocean, but you get the idea...)

Best of friends: boy, shadow and ball.

I don't know why I'm leaning over like a little old lady.

But I decided to post this shot anyways. You know, keepin' it real.

After Bennett's 7,832 swim, he was finally ready to snuggle up with Mama

while Papa and Uncle Dave bogarted his ball.

One last swim with the ball...

And a (much cherished) second round of cuddles with Mama...

Headed back to the car in Uncle Dave's arms...

Tip: If you want your child to fall asleep at 6pm and sleep through the night, simply take them to beach on a cool day, let them swim and run and swim some more (repeatedly) until this look of exhaustion (pictured above) takes over their face. Once you have achieved desired look of exhaustion, place baby into a car seat and wallah!

a friend on any sunny day

2011-09-05T16:05:00.000-07:00

Bennett, meet your shadow. Shadow, meet Bennett.

Bennett's discovery of his shadow came at just the right time. You see, Bennett loves older kids. But older kids (especially those playing in parks who are not even aware of Bennett's existence) don't always have the time, energy or desire to play with a random baby. This is something that is (thankfully) lost on Bennett, and doesn't seem to dampen his spirit a bit. Older kids in parks are elusive, like a Leprechaun at the end of the rainbow. But Bennett is perfectly happy to spend his days at the park chasing after these little leprechauns, even though he rarely catches one. Fortunately for him, he is around cousins or other friends with older kids just enough to keep the fire of desire lit, but unfortunately, he doesn't know the difference between actual friends and random kids in a park. I always hoped he never would know the difference, that he would continue to consider every person he meets a friend.

Today at the park, a group of kids showed up, all in one family. Their ages ranged from 3 to 12 (I'm guessing). They ran around, to and from trees, playing chase. They were never really near us, but were close enough for Bennett to see them and take chase, trying to join in. When this didn't work, he ran and picked up his ball, tossing it repeatedly in their direction. They ran and ran and played and played, and I don't think they ever even noticed Bennett... or his ball. For the first time, he seemed to realize he was being ignored. It killed me.

Here he is, looking on at the older kids.

This is why discovering his shadow was such a welcome event. The only bummer about his shadow is that we don't get to see it much in the Pacific Northwest from about October to March... but maybe he can find some actual big kids to play with during those months.

I love that Bennett is such a loving and kind little guy. I love that he is so playful with everyone he meets. I love that he never turns away from people, that he knows no stranger. I love that he is energized and delighted by people, and I hope he carries this quality with him throughout his life.

Here's a random photo of Cameron at the park today, looking handsome: