the timeliness of Listening vs advising

I adore working with teenage girls as a counselor. They have become my absolute favorite because of their motivation (they usually have requested counseling themselves), their honestly, their insightfulness and willingness to hear feedback.
The thing I struggle with the most: parents.
I am a parent, so on some level, I get it.
You love your child wildly and know whats best for them and want them to hear your sage advice because you have been there...
And.

One must listen.

I gave feed back to a particularly defensive and frustrated parent who was certain I would be on her sage-advice team. She was blatently pissed when I noted my observation of her talking over her daughter, not really listening, knowing what was best (which quite frankly the mom was not wrong)...but she did not hear a single word of what her daughter was saying. Advice giving. The daughter just wanted to be heard. to talk out what was in her head. mom did not even have to agree or like it. It was frustrating to participate in, and it shut daughter down. She was not allowed to speak her truth to mom, but mom wanted her to speak her truth to everyone else, to stand up to everyone else. Oh yeah, being bullied might have been a chief complaint. Do you see it?

And there is a time and a place for advice using our adult knowledge to tell our kids what to do and I believe it is a parents job to make the big decisions. Both things matter. But I know that I, as a human, tend to hear advice much better from others who I feel hear me and value me.

Anyway. It was exhausting and hard not to think about after I got home. The idea of knowing that I too, sometimes just want to tell my children how to handle things and teach best practices and preach and teach. But I know that as much as that is part of my job, I need to also create safe space for them to talk and be heard without solutions all of the time.

The next day, as happenstance or fate would have it, I felt put to the test in that area.

My dear sweet sweet Kindergarten son was extremely upset when he came out of school. He had a situation with a friend, where he did not like how it played out and "I never want to play with him again" and other blanket statements out of frustration.

Oh man. Did I want to give some sage advice right then and there.

Luckily I had a little reminder not 24 hours before.

So I listened. I asked open questions and questions to understand what went down better. We explored how he was feeling. We talked about it again a little bit later and discussed what else HE thought could have been going on in that situation. Also how he wanted to handle things at school the next day. Or some options.

But I kept repeating to myself in my head 'LISTEN'

Things turned out fine. He went back to playing with that kid, his decision. He has not verbalized any negative feelings about it since. But this will certainly not be the last time child has trouble to vent about.

I do believe that how we approach this now will guide our communication and relationship in the future. I want him to be able to talk about hard things and hard feelings. I want him to feel safe to talk to me. I want him to learn to problem solve on his own. I want him to feel safe and comfortable to talk to other authority figures about problems. I want him to be able to articulate his feelings rather than act them out in a less than ideal way. And I emphasize LEARN, as it is a process, and I am still learning it now, and thirty-enjfieungnj....

Anyway. This is a reminder for me, to look back on.
To remember, what it looks like when I have seen years of a girl not feeling heard, valued and not feeling safe to talk about or articulate her concerns and feelings to adults/authority figures.

And point my people in the right direction of feeling heard and valued. NOW.

Gladys Margaret

Tonight after I put my son to bed, and I sat near his bed, watching him sleep, my thoughts wandered to my grandmother. The mother of my father. Who passed away just before Thanksgiving this year. She was 91 I think. Gladys Margaret Jordan. (Fronczak) (Overman) (Peckham)
I am not sure why she came to my mind so strongly tonight. But a whole heap of memories came flooding into my mind. So I felt the need to record what I am thinking and feeling about it.

I have strong emotional memories. I am an emotional person and feel strongly. I also have weirdly clear visual memories. And they are tied together.
There is also a saying that goes something like, "you may not remember something, but you remember how it makes you feel." Maybe I will google the exact phrase if feeling that ambitious tonight.

When I consider times with my grandmother, here is what I experience:

- WELCOME: I believe my grandmother had the gift of hospitality. I always felt welcome in her home and in her presence. I looked forward to visiting her, as an adult, as a child. Greeting you with warm hugs with literal arms wide open and big smiles. She would welcome us regularly over the summers, letting our mom drop us off so she could have alone time for what seemed like weeks, and we would all come for every single holiday.  Not once did I ever feel as though I was putting her out or an inconvenience or in the way.

-FOOD: I think this was her love language. She loved to cook and was good at it. She was never satisfied until you had not only seconds, but thirds of dinner. The smell of cinnamon raisin toast in the mornings for breakfast was a staple and still conjures up reminiscent vibes.

-FUN: Time with gramma was so fun. She had a sense of adventure for sure and was hands on and creative. As small children she lived walking distance to the beach and would haul us and our stuff every day the 2 blocks or so to the sandy beaches of Lake Michigan. She did not just watch us, but built sand castles with us, swam with us, sang special songs "over the waves" while we floated together on rafts. Over the years she took us on special outings to the ballet, to Chicago including the Walnut room at the then Marshall Fields. She would have us help her on her garden do sand crafts, play dress up and more. And as adults, visiting her in Florida, she was up for adventures like wine tasting, eating out, museums, theatre, tours, whatever. I want to have her energy when I am in my 60s/70s /80s

FAMILY: Visiting gramma was not ever "just visiting gramma". In our childhood she lived within blocks of 2 of her children, my aunt and uncle and their families. She had friends that would come and visit. She would take us to church. She would be the "day care" for my much younger cousin. Even when she eventually moved to Florida, she was just across the street from her sister. I LOVED visiting her sister when we would go with her to FL. She was involved in the lives of second cousins who lived down there. And my uncle and his wife lived down there eventually too. She always wanted to be close to her family. And when she wasn't physically close, she would call and check in regularly. Besides my sisters, she was the first person I called to tell her about her first Great-Grandchild. Because I knew her schedule, I wanted to make sure she knew in time to share the news with her community coffee group. She was beyond elated.

STRUCTURE: I cannot imagine how hard it was for my mom to raise 3 kids. Alone. So as a mom, I think of just what a relief it would be to have a break and have my kids with family WHO I TRUST. When we visited, gramma had some rules, that while we did not appreciate at the time, I sure do understand and appreciate now. Gramma was a stickler for quiet time/nap time. Mom must not have been because I remember this being a big deal there. Read books. take a nap. Whatever. Just give gramma some peace for a bit!! So we did. we learned to rest. Read. Be quiet. Slow down. She also loved to read books with us before bedtime. She would have no trouble disciplining us if we did something wrong. Nothing physical, but in a way that we knew we disappointed her and would apologize. And learn a lesson. And the wrong would never be brought up again. Her forgiveness abilities were uncanny. I also remember her taking time to sit me down at the piano and teaching me. I had mixed feelings about this, I loved 1 on 1 gramma time and piano, but learning new things is hard and it was not a natural ability for me.

AFFECTION: So many hugs and snuggles. One of my favorite feeling picture memories, is Gramma letting all of us, my sisters and I, all in our matching red and white striped nightgowns, into her her bed when we would wake up super early and just snuggling with us. I am sure there was some reading of the morning paper and its comic strips. Hugs at greeting. hugs at goodbyes. Lots of kisses. Her looking at us with eyes filled with love. I can still feel that.

FAITH: Gramma loved to sing. And she was good. She would cantor for church and sing in choirs. Sometimes when we would visit over the summer she would take us to church and trust us to behave in our seats while she went up to do her song duties. She also gave us each a quarter to put in the collection plate, that we did eagerly. Her faith was strong and dutiful. It was routine. Part of her DNA. She lived a life that was full of LOVE.

When I think about her legacy. I think that if in any way, anyone can remember me half as fondly as I remember her, I will have done well. Her influence reverberates through my being, in how I want to be, how I want to love my kids, how I want to value family, how I want to make people feel in my presence. I have a long way to go, a lot to learn, big shoes to live up to.

Whats funny is I don't think I remember a single physical gift she gave me. Unless those striped pajamas were from her. And I am sure she gave me many. But I do remember her presence. Her spirit. The experiences. The interactions. The moments.

When I think of my own kids having kids, I hope that I can grandmother the way she did. I want to be in my grandchildrens lives. I want my grandhildren to see my eyes light up when I look at them. I want to see them every chance I can get. I hope to live near them. I hope to share all of the holidays with them.  I want to harrass my family and know what they are up to. I want to take my people on adventures. I want to create big visceral positive emotive memories.

Sometimes I think her love saved me. I dont' think I am being overdramatic here. Where would I be without her influence in my life?  We all need as many people to love  us as possible. But she loved big. She filled in gaps. Big gaps.

Gladys Margaret. You were a gem of a human being. Know your legacy lives on. And I look forward to the day when I get to see your eyes light up again and you greet me with those big loving arms and are reunited on the other side.

On Questioning my own beliefs on the patriarchy

My son turns 5 this week, which means he is able to start Kindergarten in the fall. We (hubby and I) have been a little anxious about this for a number of reasons. Some of which are that he is my baby and I will miss him like crazy when he is in school more, we of course want to make sure he gets a good education, we are concerned about the transition (3 days a week 2.5 hours to next year all day every day which seems to be the norm) and we want it to be a good fit for our family.

It is not a secret that we are a religious/spiritual family. So we are also looking into some private schools. We took a tour of one recently, which seemed like a lovely school, and perhaps it is. But I had to ask about specific denominational affiliation and its beliefs. I then looked into it more at home.

Some core tenants to this church are love and hope and faith, but also emphasizes things that make me really uncomfortable. Like only men are capable of leading and a woman should never be in a leadership position over a man. It also teaches itself to be "against" an awful lot of things. Anyway, lets just say that it will not be a good fit for our family.

The thing that bugs me, that really has always bugged me, is this notion about women not being leaders. As a rule. Not a "some women with the gift of leadership" which I could almost stomach. And then often there are affiliated beliefs like how women should "submit" to met, yada yada yada.

I remember having a visceral reaction to these ideas as young as second grade. I went to Catholic School and I was a kid who liked to participate. When it came time to learn about being an alter server, I was told, "no, because girls can't be alter servers." And no one could give me a logical reason why except "that is  just how it is." And I remember crying to my mom at home that night about it. Now, times have changed and the Catholic Church has let up on some things, but IMHO, still has a long way to go.

And dears, I am sorry if you have a conservative view on these things. You have the right to it. I need to explain why I am NOT ok with it. Which is what my thought process is about this week. I want to understand my own etiology on a strong reaction I had to school or a belief, more specifically. I often question myself on my beliefs. WHY do I think this? Does it need to change? I go out in search of articles about things I disagree with so that I can learn about other view points and learn and try to keep an open mind.

And it comes to this. Who knows if maybe there is just this second born child natural defiant  inclination to want to be different or buck the system or do the opposite of what I am told. God knows I see it in my daughter already (who is a second born).
But maybe it comes down to more of my experience. And we all have different life experiences, right. But how do you tell a little girl, or a grown woman at that, who's daddy left them, told them they weren't ever good enough, always chose the easy way out and has anger issues (amongst other things) that men are heads of the household, that men are better leaders, that "God made them that way." It seems that God did not make this man that way. The main "man" I had in my life And the periphery ones were barely a step above in different regards.

The leader in my life was a woman. God made her tougher than shit. She led a family all by herself (with a brain injury at that)after dad bailed. Worked 2 and sometimes 3 jobs. Volunteered, taught CCD, encouraged, loved ceaselessly and annoyed the crap out of me with it, but that is a parents job! Taught me what I needed to know about spirituality, how to love others and accept those who are different than me and to do the right thing.
Now she wasn't perfect, but no leader is without faults. But it seems to me she did a damn fine job. And, wait, she was a WOMAN.
If I was to follow that example of the male "leaders" in my life, because, you know, only men are able to lead apparently, then I would be hurting my spouse, telling my kids that they can do nothing right, I would have probably left by now or have at least cheated a few times at this point. But you know, men have needs.

Do I hate men? Nope. Not one bit. I have fantastic male colleagues in the field, friends, pastors whom I respect greatly. I am so fortunate to have a male partner in my life who is a good, kind, generous, faithful, intelligent man to walk beside and do life with. Sometimes in areas he leads, and sometimes in areas I lead. But we work together, acquiesce to each other, and consider carefully the wants and needs and values of our family. We are a team. Not a patriarchy.

I feel that as a society we are moving in this direction (for the most past). Whatever your thoughts on it, you are entitled to. But I for one, am glad of it. I do not want anyone, based on gender or class or race or religion to be pigeonholed. "this is your role". I don't buy it. We were all created unique and as masterpieces.

My faith is still my faith, which is a relationship with a God who loves. All. Equal.

Peace.

Chicago Marathon: part 1

This is to be a writing on my recent running of the Bank of America Chicago Marathon this weekend on October 9, 2017. However I'm not sure where to start this. Because the race itself and my motivations for running it are 2 completely separate entities. So perhaps I should make this 2 separate posts.

I'll start by telling you that I was really lucky to have 2 people with me on this day, Sandra, my sister Beth and I all met up downtown on Saturday late afternoon so that we could head down to the Marathon Expo at McCormick place so I could pick up my bib number, shirt and all of the rest of the free goodies. I was so incredibly bummed that we just missed seeing my recent life hero, Meb Keflezighi, Olympic Marathoner, war refugee and inspirational human being, appear and speak at the expo. But I'm enough of a stalker that I'm sure that I will meet him someday.

(my personal cheering section/crew. Beth and Sandra)

We made it back to the hotel where we ate, got final preparations in order, race plan and attempted sleep. Its really hard to get to sleep when there is so much to think about. Due to the craziness of the day I knew that I hadn't eaten a ton, which is unusual for me, but knew I'd get some more fuel in the morning (foreshadowing, yes).

Bright and early Sandra set her alarm for 5am and we slowly rolled out of bed, got dressed, stuffed my pocked and gear check bag with almost anything I could need for after the race. As we left, it was still dark and we marched toward the race and the Congress hotel where we would meet the rest of my fundraising team for the 12 Oaks Foundation, use the bathroom, eat some breakfast and meet some fellow runners. Along the way we met some international runners who were trying to find people to follow, and its fun conversation at 6am to learn where people are from, one guy was from China, and this was his 16th marathon but still felt nervous. Another from California who was freezing in the ideallic Chicago running temps. Runners are a friendly and interesting crowd.


After hotel time, Sandra walked myself and the team to the race entrance and wished us luck and gave one final hug. One girl on my team, Marisella was in the same corral as I was and were talking bout some similar goals so decided to try to give it a go together.

The race started at 7am with the elites. However there are 40,000 participants all broken down into waves and "corrals". I was in the very last corral. And we didn't actually start until about 8:40am. It was a long time waiting.

We crossed the start and immediately it was so energizing. We were here. Running the epic Chicago Marathon. It was so easy to just take off. But 26.2 is a long way and I had a plan that I knew I needed to stick to to perform well so I slowed my pace down away from what the crowd was doing. In doing so I lost Maricella almost immediately. So I was in it alone.

It should be noted that Sandra has run the marathon twice herself and has spectated even more times. Call her a professional at this point. So Sandra gave me some great pointers to begin with, including that the city skyscrapers would mess with my GPS on my running watch and she was right. I could see immediately at mile 1 that time and GPS did not mesh. But thats why we have a plan, right. I knew where I was because of the plan and what my actual pace was and felt great.

Those first several miles I felt awesome. There was so much to see. Take in the beautiful city that I love so much. The spectators and their amusing and inspirational signs. The other runners. I had music and headphones with me just in case, but I felt no need to pull them out because there was so much happening. also monitoring my pace and goals was a full time job that captured my attention much of the time.

Photo from Sandra Wimer
(Feeling great!)

I was so excited to see so many things that first half, as it goes through the loop and north side, which are the areas I'm most famliar with. We ran past the Lincoln Park Zoo and Lincoln Park Conservatory and Nature museum, all which I just brought the kids to about a month before. We ran by a nursing home with all of the seniors waving to us and every runner waving back. We ran by Lake Shore Drive before we turned to head south through Boys Town, always a hoot, and some nice family neighborhoods. Many spectators were handing things out to runners, pretzels, Kleenex (which I so needed!). I avoided many of the water stations as I had my own water, but eventually found someone every few spots to refill it from a jug. I grabbed zero Gatorade that first half, which was probably a mistake.

Around mile 11 I accidentally dropped my pace sheet. I had mile by mile what I wanted each pace to be and where I wanted to be overall time wise. I wrote a few basics on my arm, like those goals, but every 5 miles. So when I realized I dropped it, I panicked a little, but realized that I'd be ok as long as I didn't mind occupying my mind with math. Not my favorite. But whatever. You do what you gotta do.

I was able to see my cheering squad of Sandra and Beth at a few points, mile 1.5, but missed them at the next stop. Saw them again at 12 where Sandra grabbed my arm sleeves, recorded me babbling some nonsense about not tripping over cups and gave me love and hugs.  I was feeling great, hitting all of my paces. THey said they'd see me again around 16.5.


(I get the feeling Sissy had a lot of fun making these signs.)

It was around the halfway mark that I grabbed some extra fuel. But didn't eat it until 14. Until that point, besides breakfast, I'd eaten the dried fruit I had with me and some spectator pretzels. We were headed out to the United Center, which was starting to get into unfamiliar territory for me, and you can't see it because its low to the ground. When it was time to turn around and head back to the city I was still feeling fine and could see the skyscrapers looming before me. I knew those buildings and it created a bit of comfort. Once back near the loop I saw Sandra again who yelled "run faster!". Funny girl.

Around 19 I started to feel weird. A little light headed and some muscle twinges I had never felt before in my legs. It was like little electrical shocks in my upper inner thigh, almost groin area. I knew that was not a good thing. So I backed off my pace a little. I also found a bathroom with almost no line and stopped to use it, since I hadn't used one since before we started. I felt a little better but the twinges came back if I tried to pick up the pace too much. So I tried walking for a short time, then returning to the running.

This is when it became a pure mental game. After 20. I knew I could run 6 miles. I did that regularly during training. But at this point I was tired, but body was acting wiggy, but nothing I couldn't handle, but also visually I was in very unfamiliar territory. Running south, in an area I didn't recognize, away from what I did know. There were some great crowds here with music, energy, and runners I recognized after being at a similar pace with them for a while. I remember clearly one moment where I wanted to walk so bad, but someone's sign was perfectly timed. "Run because you can" which has been one of my things. I can run. I have 2 healthy legs. I have a healthy body. It is not something I ever want to take for granted. So I ran. Another girl recognized my charity, which only 7 of us were running for, because she went to school in Grayslake, where its located. Its funny these little things that keep you going.

I also revamped my goals and plan at this point. I realized I would not get to my A or B goals. but if I still maintained a semi decent walking pace during some walk run intervals I would still be very happy with my finish. So around 21 or 22 I began running for a half a mile then walking fast for .25. Then back on and kept running if I passed a photographer or saw a timing mat that marked your time and reported it to the world.

Strangely I still chose to not start my music. It was all headspace here. And I was also texting Beth and Sandra at this point to let them know what was going on and where I was.

Finally as we turned to head back north and were on Michigan Avenue I felt safe. I knew I would finish. Even if I'd never been this far south on it, I knew it was the homestretch. Everything in me screamed to walk all of it. And I wanted to. But I wanted to finish and be satisfied more.

There was a significant moment with less than a mile left as I just stopped to walk, that I saw that bright pink jacket and Sandras face telling me to move my ass. So I ran. She ran with me for as far as she could before she knew she was going to get kicked off the course. And then the crowd cheers rose up. While there were thousands of people, I saw no one. Only the number signs counting down the meters (which as an American, mean nothing to me. I don't know what a meter is. Only that those numbers were going down). And I knew Beth would be near the final corner and I ran right up next to the barrier until I could make out her loud voice and smiling face and sign. She gave me a high five which pushed me up that final hill.

Photo from Sandra Wimer

I turned, and there it was. The mighty finish line.

For the record. I would like to thank the organizers of the Chicago Marathon for not extending that final stretch. I mean, they could have made it so long and dramatic, changing the course, to run half mile in the heart of the downtown and in Grant park. But no. It was right there. I could taste that medal in my mouth right away. It was the most glorious sight.

And I crossed the finish line.

People told me I would cry. I didn't. I have a problem where I'm not one to cry for myself. However if I see others crying, I will cry to the point of being a hot mess. That long walk back to where you get your stuff and meet your people, I cried with some others. I congratulated everyone. I thanked volunteers I got teary as I imagined the number of people who gave up their time and energy to help with such an epic event. I get teary at the idea that this event brings together people from all over the world to cheer each other on and compete together in the  most friendly of ways. And I LOVE the idea that this is the only sport in the world, where a peon like me is on the same field as the elite professionals (even if they finish 3 hours earlier).

And as an added bonus, I saw my old old College friend Stephen in the finishers area as he was there giving massages with Cortiva.

I never doubted that I would finish. But wondered in the how.

What would the plan be. How well could I stick to the plan. How distracted would I be. What was the self talk going to be. Was I going to give it less than my best effort.

And while I didn't meet my A or B goal, I met goals. I did something hard. I tried hard. I listened to myself. I changed plans. I remained flexible. I never doubted. I had support.

I joke with Sandra how 4 years ago I said "never" to a marathon. And here I am, finishing my second.

Never say never, my friends.

Remain open. Remain flexible. Ask for help and support.

I don't know whats next. I have lots of ideas and plans and goals I would like to achieve. Perhaps some I'm not even aware of yet. But one at a time.

This one is in the books.

Why I no longer comment on weight

The other day I was out to dinner with a group of wonderful interesting and very active women. We chatted about work and running and pets and hometowns. 

During the conversation, one very fit lady commented on how she was "fat". Whether or not she can be considered "fat" isn't even relevant to what I want to say here. But do you know what I said in response?

Nothing. I didn't say a word. No. "Oh you're not fat" or "what are you talking about" etc. I pretended that comment never existed in that moment. Why? Because it never should have existed in that moment. 

Some might say that she was looking for reassurance. For support. For someone to say the opposite of what that voice in her head says. And quite frankly all of that is most likely true. 

I have battled that demon myself. The never good enough one. I've been the one in the past to make such comments about myself. About my body. In hopes that someone would tell me that what I believed about myself wasn't true. 

I was raised, that whenever I visited my dad, I was weighed. We literally called it "fat camp" when we hopped on the plane, my sisters and I. So much value and importance was put on what that number said. How we looked. What we ate.  Even now in that relationship there is always commentary on "how you look". It's the first thing said. 

And it has always made me uncomfortable. Not in a creepy way. But in a "this is not who I am" kind of way. I wished always to have been commended om my heart or brain or efforts or ideas or laugh or ANYTHING else. 

But you see, this is how it is with women in this world. We are judged on looks. That is what we first see in each other. See in others. How we judge ourselves. 

Never mind that the above mentioned person is a doctor. Or runs 8:00 miles. Or trains dogs. Or is kind and helpful. No. All she sees is thighs. (Thighs that help her run 8:00 miles!) For that is what the world wants us to see and value. 

One of my biggest fears in having children was this: that I would gain too much weight, not lose it and then be unlovable. 

Reading this now, it seems the most ridiculous thing in the world. But I believed it then. 

And then somewhere in between having 2 kids, and maybe after looking in the face of my daughter, who will likely face some similar battles, I stopped. I stopped caring what I weighed. I stopped weighing myself 4, yes,  4 times a day. I stopped worrying about stretch marks. I stopped giving a shit about what anyone else thought. 

And I started putting the effort of my thoughts into other things. Into playing with my kids and encouraging them in areas I thought were important. I started new goals for myself. I started embracing my messiness and imperfections. I started running even more and being ok with whatever my times were and accepting my efforts. I am investing in opportunities I find fulfilling. Including myself. 

I wish I could draw a map on how I got here. And then hand it to you. I have some ideas, cannot fully trace them. But I think it started somewhere in the ballpark of struggle and then gratitude. Gratitude changes a lot of things. And it changes your focus. 

For In the scheme of things. My bra or butt size means nothing. Nothing. Not one thing. It will not be mentioned in any epitaph or obituary. I never saw a tombstone that said "pleasantly plump". And so I will not address it. I will not entertain self-deprecating thoughts in myself or others. They (the thoughts)will be tossed out like the garbage. 

I will not ask you if you lost weight. I will not ask you how. I don't care nor will I comment on if you "should" eat ice cream or carrots or how much of it. I will not correct you if you put your looks down. I will not joke about my baby pooch. (That pooch gave me my 2 greatest accomplishments). 

Instead I will use that energy to address that which has value to me. Everything else. Who you and I are. Who you and I want to be. Our visions. Our accomplishments. Our character. Funny stories. Laughs. Drink coffee with lots of sugar in it. 

That matters. 

That I will discuss with you all day long. 

Missing momma

It used to drive me crazy, how even as an adult, whether in greeting or saying goodbye, she would kiss me on my lips. Never a cheek or forehead. Always the lips. 

Now I would give anything for a sweet momma peck on the lips. 

Sometimes I think I miss her more now that I am a momma myself. I feel like I understand her more. I get some of the quirks and the ways she would annoy me. I also enjoy annoying my babies. 

I think what I really miss, is having someone I can call or ask questions to when I start wondering about my own infancy or milestones or experiences. 

Was I a good sleeper?

Did she nurse, bottle feed or both? 

Did she experience ppd after birth. Or after weaning like I did? Or at all?

Did she and dad argue about names?

Did she miss having her own momma to share these thoughts/feelings/ experienced with?

Did she ever just stare at her babies in wonder too?

What was is like when she had 2 miscarriages? How did she cope?

Was she scared during labor? Was anyone with her?

What did she do when a fever went up?

How did she discipline early on?

What did she do for self care with 3 little littles?

Did she feel guilt over calling a babysitter?

With 1,001 questions, I want to dial up heaven. Have some coffee and a mom to mom chat session. 

I wish she were here to criticize my parenting. 

Or tell me that I will get through the terrible 3's

To compare notes

To beam with pride at my babies. 

The babies she used to harrass me to have. My daughter, who bears her name, has tiny tiny feet like she did. My sons hair is blonde, just like hers. I wish she could see them. Hold them. 

Mother's Day can be bittersweet. It symbolizes both my greatest gift and accomplishment. Yet also my greatest loss. 

It does me little good to linger over what I do not have. I do acknowledge my grief. It seeps into the littles cracks of every day life. It cannot be helped. And sometimes I am sad about it. 

But I must also trust who she raised me to be.  And accept what is. I think she she did well. 

Her legacy lives on in 2 precious faces. 

Until we meet again. 

(From my wedding 10 years ago)

In this moment

Tonight I stood holding my infant in her dark room, rocking her back and forth. Willing her to go to sleep. 

It was my third attempt to put her down for the night. The poor dear has a top tooth that is ready to emerge at any given moment. It also didn't help that my 3 year old was fussing mightily about going to bed. Ah, bed time. There are no words. 

In the midst of it, while patting her back, a moment of clarity emerged. What the experts might call an exercise in mindfulness. An appreciation for the moment. 

I recalled how 4 years ago, I would have lied, stolen or sold my soul for this very moment. To hold a precious one of my own. And to have another the next room over would have been considered above and beyond a blessing. Anything for the right now. 

I thought about how in 10 years my babies will be too cool and too big for this, to be held and rocked to sleep. And 10 years beyond that they will most likely not be under this roof. How in those future times, I would do anything for this very moment again. I will wonder where the time went. 

And so we rocked. A little bit longer. A few more pats on the back. Sniff of the hair. Trying to imprint this feeling, this picture, in my memory. 

To be in this chaos, this home, this very action, this moment is a gift. 

If only I could remember this tomorrow 

Recreating an Audrey Classic

A few days before Christmas, Bill had something lying under the tree for me. This was highly unusual because A. It was wrapped before Christmas Eve and B. We had an almost 3 year old who believed that all wrapped presents were for him. 

My hubby handed me the gift after our son went to bed and stated that I needed to open it early. 

So with curiousity and trepidation I started to unwrap what looked like a clothing box. I was desperately hoping it wasn't a sweater. Bless his heart, he tries with the sweater thing every year. Tries. 

Instead what I found was an office clip board. Attached were about 6 pieces of white printer paper. 

Each page read the following:

1. London?

2. Paris?

3. Rome?

4. Istanbul?

5. 2015

6. You choose

I was rendered speechless. Hubby of course was recording this with his phone. About 5,000 thoughts went through my head at once. 

I finally decided on a "how?" Question. 

I couldn't quite figure out what was happening. How we could afford this. Why this wasn't Ireland, which we have been holding out for one day. 

He put the camera down and explained. Apparantly the week before he was home with the kids watching PBS (not out of the ordinary at all) and they were having a pledge drive. We've been avid PBS viewers for quite some time but have never donated. Bill considered this a good time, plus he'd get some Rick Steve's DVDs to give me as a Christmas present (which I LOVE Rick Steve's and his nerdy little cargo pants and fanny pack)

And by doing so his name was put into a drawing to win a trip through Rick Steve's travel company. 

And a few days later. They drew his name. My husbands name. For a free Flipping trip to flipping Europe!!!!

Ok to one of 4 cities in Europe. The above mentioned ones. 

The urgency was to get the paperwork in for tax purposes done by the end of the year. The paperwork required a notarization of my signature. 

Anyway

So back to how I am going to Europe for free. I mean taxes I guess. But it's all expenses paid. Airfare. Most meals. Lodging. And fully guided by a Rick Steve's approved guide. 

I have never left North America. I always regretted my lack of courage and lack of finances in my younger years to dive in and explore foreign lands. 

As you can imagine, I am losing my mind with excitement. 

And after very thorough research on my part, I made a decision. 

We chose Rome, Italy. 

It will be my "Roman Holiday". Just like Audrey Hepburn. Without the being a princess and getting a pixie haircut. 

We go this fall. Without children. After baby turns one. 

Bill wins every argument for the next 5 years. 

Ben and the big guy

Much to my chagrin, the closest and most convenient store to where we live is Walmart. I'm not getting into why I dislike Walmart, but alas, I'm a hypocrite because I find myself there regularly. 

Luckily Ben listens to me pretty well while we are there. It may or may not have anything to do with a Dunkin Donuts bribe. But I let my now 3 year old run free because he always stays in my sight. He loves to look at people and run fast and giggle and point of every Batman or other thing of interest he sees. 

This pointing things out is usually adorable and makes me laugh a little. Until the inevitable little guy observation that mortifies parents and stops them in their tracks. Ok. It did for me. 

There was a gentleman at Walmart the other day who was rather large in size. I don't mean 7 feet tall, but morbidly obese. Walking was obviously difficult for him. I heard other customers commenting under their breath. Judgemental things. I felt bad for him. 

Then my son stops his running and points at this gentleman and yells "big guy!!!" Twice. The "big guy" obviously heard him. The entire store must have heard him. My heart stopped and I was the most embarrassed parent in the world for a split second. Internally I was panicking. "Oh my God! What has he done!" 

It's amazing how fast your brain can flow through approximately 1 million thoughts in the matter of  2 seconds. Luckily One thought included remembering that my son was only 2 and just making one of his observations. This brought my blood pressure down a little. 

And I responded with the first somewhat not horrible thing to say. 

I asked Ben to "say 'hi' to the guy"

And Ben said "hi guy"

And the guys face, whose looked equally as mortified, perked up a little, and waved and said "hi" back to my son. We smiled at each other, the big guy and I, and moved on. 

I have no idea what the guy thought of this interaction. Or how many people remind him of his size on a regular basis. My heart hurt for him afterwards. 

I don't know that I can fully explain why I chose the response that I did. 

I can think of a few intelligent counselor-y answers to explain myself in retrospect. Like I didn't want to shame Ben or didn't want big guy to feel worse or sometimes people feel invisible and want to be "seen" as a person, not just a "big guy". 

But that would not be honest.

In a situation sometimes, you just respond. 

But as I ponder what happened, it does make me more thoughtful of other future such encounters. Ben is 3 now and still very observant. Baby will be doing the same things before I can even blink my eye. 

How do I teach them in simple ways to be themselves, be honest but also honor other peoples existence and feelings. 

These little moments mean something. Even if I don't know how yet. 

My Lord, parenting is a trip. 

Rejection

The other week one of the few shows I care to watch on television came to an end. I liked Parenthood because I felt like I was watching real people, like neighbors or someone I would know , go through real problems, and fight through them, sometimes making difficult or unpopular decisions. No murders or gore or violence or whatever. 

So this week I decided to revisit the shows beginning for lack of interest in anything else to watch. 

Already in the second episode, I found myself really resonating with one issue one character was struggling with. Julia, the lawyer sister, who generally is not my favorite, was struggling with their daughter. Nothing crazy like drugs or acting out, but in a way that I am struggling with my almost 3 year old right now. 

Every time Julia goes to do anything with or for their daughter Sydney, Sydney rejects her and asks for their dad to do it. Tucking into bed, playing with, cutting up food, whatever. 

And so it is in my house. Perhaps it's a phase, and like Julia, I am trying desperately to put up a brave and accepting face. But being continually rejected by the apple of your eye flipping hurts. 

Now I am aware that it is a good thing that my son loves his dad so much. I want them to be close. I know he misses his dad during the day. And we have had big change recently with the new baby. And we also have fun and play together and do projects at home during the day. We hug and help baby and I make sure baby naps and we get one on one time. 

But once his dad gets home, I cease to exist. 

It's been a season of growth for me in this. I usually do not take a rejection or perceived rejection well. Partly my family history includes a bombardment of that feeling. So when rejection happens, it stings old wounds. And I react my either getting on my high horse or running away/avoiding or rejecting in return.  Or something else equally unhealthy or ungracious. 

However these go-to or usual internal responses (which turn into external responses) would have some dire consequences. I cannot run away from or avoid my son. Not do I want to. I love him too much. There is no high horsing or yelling or sarcasm, because he doesn't understand. I don't want to make him feel bad/guilty. I want him to learn to express emotions learn healthier ways to respond to conflict than I did. There can be no rejection/guilt etc in return from me, or else let the cycle continue. 

No. 

 My son is teaching me to accept rejection. Graciously. To love even if it stings a little. To get over myself a little. And to maybe help heal those old wounds. 

I thought I was supposed to be teaching him. 

The smile

This morning baby and I ran a few errands while Ben was at his one day a week pre pre-school program. We stopped at my new office. Then sat at the coffee shop while I did a little work. Finally we took the filthy Highlander to the car wash 

Though cold, it was a beautiful day full of sunshine, and a few other people had the same idea. So we went inside the car wash "reception area" to sit and wait while our car went through the ringer. Apparantly it is a very fancy car wash. 

I took baby out of her car seat since she was awake and we sat  making faces at each other and examining our environment. 

Then an adorable old man walked in. Cane and all. Serious-faced. I watched baby turn her head to see the movement. And her face immediately lit up. She smiled her biggest smile of the day at this little old man she has never seen before. 

That's when I turned my head. I saw the man stop in his tracks. His face went from stern to an even wider-than baby's grin. He commented on how lovely she was and how her smile just made his day. It was so pure and genuine and earnest, how he said it. He also mentioned that at only 10am he was already not having the greatest of days. He then sat an adjacent table and made little faces at her and then made pleasantries with the staff about his car. 

And each of our respective days went on. I left to pick up a can of paint and then my son. Went home, made lunch, prepared everyone for nap time. All vey ordinary for us. 

Obviously babies are cute and people love them. But that interaction has stayed with me today. Something tore at my gut as I thought about how this little 4 month old had the ability to change the trajectory of someone else's day. 

How at such a young age, her life and existence serves a purpose. To people beyond myself and her dad and her brother. And without even trying. 

If her, in her very limited capacities,  than how much more the rest of us. Each of us. Regardless of our abilities/capacities. 

Perhaps I am thinking about and looking into this far too much. 

And maybe not. 

Maybe I myself, should smile such a genuine smile a little more. 

COOKING

I had a little giggle at myself today as I attempted to add a few recipes to a cookbook for a mom's group I am involved with.

I think the idea of a cookbook is a great idea and I love seeing what other people are making for their families and expanding my culinary repertoire.

And well, I just love food.

What I started to notice is that I have very few recipes pegged down to just that, an actual "recipe". I often start from some recipe somewhere, and then modify it or eventually go with what i think i remember it to be and just make it. I think that this is sort of what i love about cooking. I do enjoy cooking. I can experiment a little and go with my gut. I make whatever I feel like. I am not a meal planner in the least bit.  It works for me much of the time. Bill can probably attest to about an 80% success rate.

I think that this is kind of how I do life. its my personality. I just do it. I look at "recipe" or a basic plan or idea. Then I just go with my own flow or flavors. No one can tell me what to do. Not even a cookbook. And so far, it has served me pretty well in many areas.

The areas it does not serve me well... there are some things in which you MUST follow a recipe. Like baking. Or organizational and financial life tasks...bills, taxes, assembling a chair. If you do not do it the right way, pay attention, follow directions, you will fail miserably. Like baking a cake. Baking is a struggle for me in this way. I do not follow directions well. There is no room for creativity. And I dislike this.

That is why, when you are me, you marry an engineer.

And this is why our personalities and strengths balance each other out so well. One of the many ways

This is also why sometimes you just have to hunker down, despite yourself, and follow the stinking recipe. Even if it is miserable. Because, well, I would like to be able to afford my house, sit in a chair without breaking it, or eat delicious cookies. It has taken me years to make a decent pie or batch of cookies. Because some things must simply be done correctly.

And so tonight, I did find a few recipes of value to add to the book. Ones that i use over and over. ones that I often modify still. And scorn convention a bit. How to make your own brown sugar. barbecue sauce. snack/granola bars, etc.

Advent with a 2 year old

I've always loved Christmas and Advent and the whole excitement and build up for the holiday. I've been pretty good at doing this for myself. I celebrate in my own rhythm, spiritually physically and just the joy of the holiday. 

There is some stress, perhaps not as most. I don't have the big family to prepare for. I have my 2 sisters over sometime around Christmas. Whenever we can get together. Some years we host a friend Christmas party. Not this year with a newborn. And we go up to the in-laws for everything else. We buy presents and bring a dish to pass. 

This year has brought a new sense of urgency to celebrating the season with intention. For my faith and my time and energy are no longer my own. This time last year my toddler didn't grasp as much. But this year, I know my almost 3 year old is soaking in the world like a sponge. He is paying such close attention to what I do. And he will understand Christmas and Advent in these formative years only as I outwardly present it to him. It's a big responsibility. 

A few days into December I realized I wanted to do an Advent Calendar. Not one of those ones you get for a buck or 2 with the crappy chocolates. We tried that last year. They are no where near as delicious as I thought I remembered as a child. On the contrary they were completely in edible. But I digress. 

So I searched the web, and maybe Pinterest, my arch nemesis, for a cheap and easy,  "I can make it right now " solution to the actual calendar. I made this. 

It progressed into an affair lasting a few days to make because I decided I wanted actual magnetic material instead of a half a pound of tape to keep it all together. But it was still pretty easy. I already had a mini muffin pan at home, construction paper and tape. Which is what it was before the upgrade to magnets and pretty paper. 

To keep it both fun and meaningful, in each day I had a Hershey's kiss (I know, not exactly high quality candy) and a slip of paper for someone/ something to pray for each night in our prayer time. We also read this each night:

Bill questioned the same book each night.  But I said "yes" repetition is how he will learn the story. Maybe in the future we will mix it up a bit. 

I thought it seemed simple enough for a little guy. He gets excited for "Advent calendar" time. 

We've also been trying to be intentional about doing some fun holiday stuff withBen  and the baby. Things we can have in pictures, but also memories we can make and really make it feel like Christmas. 

This last weekend on Saturday we did both a "breakfast with baby Jesus" as well as a live nativity in the evening. One low cost , the other free. I also enjoy looking up such activities to do. 

The weekend before we went to a visit Santa with hot Cocoa at a small country store north of the border. It was awesome. Not only was the cocoa awesome, but we literally had Santa all to ourselves. He read us stories and sang Christmas songs to us. I almost don't want to give this gem of an experience away. But I love this store so much. Google "Hill Country Market " in Salem WI. They also have a killer deli lunch menu. Seriously. And local and organic produce and meat. 

We went to Our towns Christmas parade and tree lighting ceremony. We have dropped off presents for our Angel Tree kids and involved Ben somewhat in that process. We drive through our hood looking at lights. We made a gingerbread house. I love it all. I hope our kids do too. 

Some of my favorite snapshots are:

-Ben calls Santa "ho ho guy" (I have mixed feelings on the whole Santa thing. I don't push it too hard. I really barely mention him. I just allow him to exist)

- while reading the Christmas story he  likes to tell me now what's going to happen next

- every present he sees he begs to open. So everything is stashed in my already disaster of a closet. 

- the way Ben says Christmas tree sounds more like "Chris Chris tee"

- every night this Advent Ben has added "blah" to our prayer requests when asking if we should include anyone else. "Blah" is what he calls my sister Beth. It's more endearing than it sounds. But he thinks of her often. 

How have you made the holidays meaningful for your family, especially in the early years ?

E I E I O

In the life of a 2 year old , there are trends   . There is hilarity, there is frustration and tantrums, there are hours if just sitting on the floor playing with your "guys". 

Trending with Ben lately is his enthusiasm over Old McDonald and encouragement of family participation. 

It started out with us just playing the song here or there on the guitar or piano. And going through the normal range of farm animals. Your horses, goats , cows , chickens etc. 

Old McDonald has evolved in our home to a non-traditional barnyard. 

Our daily rounds of the song have come to include old McDonald having:

-batman (shocking). With a "pow pow" here

- Robin.  Also with a "pow pow" there

- Superman.  With a "zoom zoom" here

- storm trooper. With a "hi. Hi. " here

- Santa clause. With a "ho ho " there

- momma. With a "no no" here

- baby.  With a "wah wah" there

- dad. With a "hi hi " here ( conspicuously similar to storm trooper)

- bad guy. With a "pow pow" there

- George ( as in curious George) with an "oo oo ah ah" here

- Ben. With a "pphhlllt (think the raspberries)" here and there

E I E I O

It cracks me up every single time. 

The balm of gratitude

It's been about 5.5 years since she left this world. And the years before that saw a slow decline of mind and body into a state that was unsustainable. 

Death is difficult, no matter what the circumstances. And no 2 circumstances are exactly the same. Be it the diagnosis, the suddenness (or length) of it's reach, the relationships surrounding the soul. 

For those around the dead or dying person there is a mix of conflicting emotions. Sometimes in the same moments, sometimes fluctuating from moment to moment, or year to year. 

Somehow, in my recent reflections of my mothers death, reflections I too often try to avoid due to the extent of the pain involved, I have begun to find peace 

I don't know how. Or why. Or where this happens. But it's happening. 

Grief is so complex, it is difficult to put into words. Though we try. There are countless books and experts on the subject. Support groups, etc. and no right answers. 

All of this to say that My words here will be a simplification of my heart. 

Why does a good, loving, peaceful and hardworking woman have to suffer and go. A time seemingly cut short. While less decent people live on, continuing to put their 2 cents into the world. 

My anger at the injustice of it had been suffocating at times. My guilt and shame for not having done more to ease that suffering was equally damaging. Sadness at opportunities and blessings that she would never see or realize made me sick. 

I would swollow these feelings like bad food.  And use running to burn them off. And avoidance when I couldn't. 

Little by little I have been working on a thing called gratitude. And I am wondering if this plays a part in my healing. 

During runs, reading, prayer, quietness, my own brokenness of late, I have been able to reflect on what I do have. While it doesn't take away that which is broken, it refocuses my perspective. 

What  am I talking about, right?

Though injured and unable run for a while, I can walk. I am thankful for that. For a healthy child. While on leave and receiving new clients I must refer out, I can refer them to people I trust and have a beautiful reason to be on leave. Though the weather is turning cold, the trees are ablaze with color. 

Can I see the beauty?

Is there beauty in death?

No. 

And yes. 

Which do I choose to focus on. 

My mom's death was unjust. 

It was also beautiful. 

I can't tell you the number of times she spoke of her own longing to see her mother again. Some 50 years passed away. I close my eyes to picture what their reunion might have looked like. 

How many people can you name that accomplished most of their life dreams? And by the age of 60. Or long before. She did. Her simple dreams of having horses, raising kids, pursuing art. 

She held no bitterness. Had no relationships that she did not try to repair. No worldly regrets. 

Her faith was strong. She wasn't afraid of what was next. She had peace about it. She didn't fight death. Only the limitations of not being able to be productive. 

I am filled with happy childhood memories while in her charge. 

Aren't these things beautiful. It has a thread running through them of peace. And I feel like that is what we are all longing for. 

If she had peace about it, why shouldn't I one day? 

And I speak of it as "one day". I am not there yet. I don't know if I ever will. And I think it will be a daily commitment to try. But is that not also what she would desire for me? 

I am making steps. And it feels a bit lighter. 

Anger can be a heavy load to bear. 

Can gratitude be one of the things we can use to ease that burden? I am beginning to believe so. 

Precious moments

Confession time:

I can't remember a whole lot from when Ben was a newborn. 

It was only 2.5 years ago!

Regret: 

I wish I would have taken more time to document/write down what every day was like. What we did. What my favorite little moments were. 

Together Bill and I can remember a few things, and provoke each other's memory. 

We remember freaking out the first few days when we thought he wasn't getting enough to eat. 

We remember how completely flawless his skin and complexion were immediately after birth. 

We remember how when he fussed, he only wanted to be walked around. He would not tolerate Sitting or rocking in a chair (which was awesome at 1am)<-add sarcastic font. 

I remember trying to take thousands of pictures to hold memories. 

But I wish I would have written more feelings and moments that film will never capture. 

I was thinking about all of this today after I put Ben down for his nap. This usually starts my quiet baby one on one time with Jillian. My favorite time with her these days includes one of two positions. Each we are sitting in the beloved recliner chair. 

The first she is laying on my chest. We are belly to belly and she is lifting her head and just staring at me or looking another two feet up at the collection of shiny running medals. 

The other she is sitting against my knees( my knees are up) and we again are just looking at each other. This eye contact. Where I feel like we are studying each other's faces and getting to know each other. 

I want to remember these moments in 2.5 years, As currently they are my favorite. 

I want to remember other such little moments as we go along. 

Moments and feelings like:

My pride as Ben says "hi baby" and strokes her head. Or how he makes grocery shopping easier than it should be for a mom with a newborn and 2.5 year old. Or the pleading look he gives me as he asks for permission to eat the cookie he is reaching for. Or the simultaneous adoration and frustration I feel at his "1 more book" request for the 10th time before bed as he holds 6 of his Little People who he is taking to bed with him and I just laugh cause it's so insanely cute. 

I want to learn to embrace the joy in these small moments now, in the middle of the chaos and Legos under my feet. 

I don't want to look back and not remember. It feels like I am missing out. Even though I was there. 

I am considering documenting some of that here. In this blog space. As a place to come back to and read. To remember. To refer to on rough days. And smile. (Which is one reason why I document rougher times as well). 

However I am aware of what happens to some of my best laid plans. 

Passing like memories. 

I miss being pregnant

I sit in my recliner chair In awe that in addition to my sweet Ben, We now also have a beautiful healthy 6 week old daughter. 

She lays now on the same stomach that carried and grew her for 9 months. We spent so much time waiting and in anticipation, labor came and went, quickly, and now she is here to stay, on the outside. 

There is much to do and keep up with now with 2 babies. I'm trying so hard to be mindful of the moment and the present gift of these 2 children sitting before me each day. Much of the time I feel I am awed by them. 

But I also have this weird feeling, I didn't have it after Ben...

But I miss being pregnant. 

Perhaps that sounds odd, I am so very glad that she arrived. Or counterintuitive. Or maybe it's my raging hormones. Or the idea that it's possible that this is my last (this discussion one way or the other has not happened yet)

And Keep in mind I have relatively easy pregnancies (don't hate). 

Specifically, here is what I miss:

- I miss the anticipation. That feeling that every moment you know that you are working towards something monumental. Eyes focused on due date. And that person you are going to meet. It helps tremendously that I have each time chosen to wait until their birth to find out the gender. There is so much to look forward to that day (except the pain)

- I miss the easy conversation that would ensue later in pregnancy, when obviously showing. It was something to talk about. And one of the few times I found myself less awkward talking to strangers (this time). People are genuinely interested and happy for you. Again, not knowing the gender changes the conversation. No wishing for the opposite gender or completing the family with one of each talk. Just "I don't know" which has different follow up questions like "what do you want?" ( to which I either tell the truth or reply "human" jokingly).  All speculative talk or a "good for you"

- I miss the doctors appointments. Weird, I know. But maybe it's because everything was healthy (I can't imagine the dread if it wasn't) and I loved the praise of being healthy and having a healthy baby and excitement of hearing the heartbeat. It helps that I have a phenomenal doctor and I love the friendly staff. 

-pregnancy has helped me with my body image. During pregnancy I feel pretty and glowing and have learned to accept my body (more) and all it's flaws through this miracle. (Thanks Angela for the reminder of this!!)

- I miss the excuses. Like " oh Jenna is crabby today, well, she's pregnant, it's ok". Late? Forgetful? Or feeling too tired to do something (even if I'm not)- it's a great excuse people buy into for poor social behavior. Granted, having a newborn affords you some of those same rights. But after a few months, I'm actually accountable for myself. 

- I'm just going to say it, no lady business to worry about for 9 months. And in addition, since I'm nursing, it may not return for a while. With Ben it was another full glorious year. 

- naps. I've never been much of a napper. It feels inefficient when I have a million things I want to do. Though I enjoy naps. Pregnancy is the perfect excuse and no one questions it. I have only napped once since she was born. 

Now, there are many details I certainly do not miss. The heartburn, weird cravings, the failing bladder, the compromised blood oxygen levels, etcetera. But for me they pale to the joys. 

Has anyone else ever felt this way?

And in my weakness

Today I talk about the one down side of this birth. 

While I was blessed with a beautiful and healthy baby on Tuesday night, 9/9, the enormity of that blessing is not lost on me, I had a rather scary after effect of giving birth to a big baby. 

Here is what happened. 

After less than 3 hours of birthing, I was feeling pretty good. Even the next day, I was walking around the hospital, trying to keep my legs moving and alleviate some boredom. The next day, Thursday, I woke with some soreness in my pelvis and upper legs. Nothing crazy, I just attributed it to the fact that I had just used to muscles so intensely 36 hours ago. And like after a hard workout, they say you feel it most 2 days later. I was discharged Thursday morning with just some muscle soreness. 

However as the day went on, the soreness intensified. And by Friday morning, I could barely get out of a chair, much less walk a few steps to get to the bathroom. Any movement that required my pelvis (which is most movements) was incredibly, immobilizingly painful. I could not understand what was happening. 

So the first thing we did is what every doctor hates: I googled my symptoms. It took us through a variety of terrifying scenarios. We knew we should probably seek some actual medical advice/intervention. It took most of the the day Friday, but I finally called my doctors office. Of course the office was closed. But I could have the doctor paged if I wanted. I didn't. 

My brain does this thing where I am terrified of over reacting. I need to be "strong" and tough things out without complaining. There's a history behind it. It is enormously ridiculous. The very idea of calling and asking for intervention brought me to tears, far more than the pain did.  I have realized in retrospect if I saw this happening to anyone else but me, I would demand that they seek medical help. (And yes, Bill had been encouraging me to do so. Sadly he also knows that pushing  me too hard to do anything exacts the opposite response)

Luckily, The next day my sister, my mother in law and sister in law came over to visit the new baby. And were more than a little disturbed that I couldn't move and that I hadn't actually spoken to any medical professional. My mother in law didn't want to leave until she knew I had spoken to my doctor. Finally I called. And had the doctor paged. And he called me back pretty quickly. 

I told him what was happening. Practically in tears (which he later told me freaked him out more than anything cause he had never seen me complain or cry, not even during child birth ) and went through many questions and symptoms with me to narrow down the issue. It became clear quickly that somehow my pelvis was injured (probably due to the speed of delivery ). Possibly separated. 

He gave me a prescription for pain and we scheduled an x ray for my pelvis. 

And so for a few days, between an engineer and a therapist, we problem solved, cause that's what we do, on how to get me around the house, much less to the x ray and dr appt. Bill has been awesome through this. Taking extra time off and always making sure I am comfortable and have what I need. And very patient through a stressful time. Those around me who knew have been incredibly supportive. And in that I am blessed.  some amazing friends helped out tremendously with meals, giving us a wheelchair to borrow, visiting, and performing other seemingly minor tasks, that were otherwise impossible for us. 

And somehow after talking to my doctor, asking for help became slightly easier. I stopped freaking out about being weak. And got into "how do we get through this" mode. 

It also helped when we got some answers. There was a possible minor separation in the pelvis, it was not obvious on the xray, and usually they are. He said maybe very minor. But that even if it was major, nothing different could be done to heal it. Just time. He then assured me that it should get better sooner rather than later. 

He explained that it was probably baby coming so fast and furiously. There was almost no time for my ligaments to properly expand. A little damage happened, and then like a bruise, it took a day or so for swelling to start. The swelling then hit my nerves. Thus creating the pain. 

And he was right. Every day I have slowly gotten better. It started with just being able to transfer from the wheelchair to the toilet with less or without pain. Then I could take one or two steps without crazy pain. The most exciting thing was managing in the kitchen on my own. 

Now I can walk around without any assistance. I am off of any pain medication. I still have a limp and/or Frankenstein walk, but I can walk. And I am told that I can expect a full recovery. And if not, we will look at some pt. 

Now, I realize things could have been so much worse. I have heard horror stories of horrible injuries to babies during birth. Or blood clots or bleeding out in mommas. Or actual severe pelvic injuries. 

And I am very lucky. But it was very scary. 

And I have learned that in weakness/ brokenness I am strong. Not because I am tough, but because I have to reach out to those around me. Because those are the times when God does his greatest work in humbling me and changing my perspective and growing me. 

And in the end I have a beautiful and healthy baby girl. And I will be back to normal at some point. 

And It will make whatever my fitness goals for next year that much sweeter. 

A Birth story

For 3 weeks my body had been ready to give birth. Being at least 3 cm dilated, 80% effaced and baby super low. For 3 weeks I insisted upon waiting for my body to flip the switch, imagining it would be any day. And it just wasn't coming. 

Finally , 2 days before my due date, my doctor invited me to come to the hospital the next day to have my water broken, knowing I still wanted to wait for nature to take it's course. He left it up to me. 

That next morning, after some quiet thought and prayer, told myself "what the hell. Let's do it" I knew we wouldn't use drugs unless necessary. So we called doctor up and he brought us in to have this baby! And my sweet Ben got to have his first sleepover at the neighbors. 

At 4:15pm, after being checked in and changed into the very attractive hospital robe, they broke my water. Which feels like nothing more than just checking dilation. They also informed me that I was already 5cm dilated at this point. Bill and I laughed and watched the monitors, and the clocks, guessing how long this would take. I optimistically guessed baby #2 would be born around 9pm. Bill guessed around midnight. The doctor came in several times to talk us through what to expect and to check in. 

We had an awesome nurse, Kate who was friendly, kind and explained everything that she was doing and tolerated my never ending list of questions with great patience and joy. Her shift ended at 7pm and verbalized her disappointment that she probably would not see the end of this birth. She loved the surprise of not knowing the gender or the name. 

About a half hour later, I started to note the contractions. And how quickly they were coming closer together. 10 minutes. Than 8. Then 7. Then 5 minutes. Then the intensity grew and I knew that we were getting somewhere. And fast. By 6:15 I had to stand and get out of the bed. They came to get me some sweet adult diapers so water wouldn't get all over the floor, since it had been broken and all 2 hours ago. I just needed to move my body differently in an attempt the relieve the intensity of the contractions. However, this probably had the opposite effect, due to gravity. Bill said it hasn't been more than 10 minutes when I asked for the nurse to come in and check my dilation. She came in, and I was now at 8 cm. she went and informed the doctor. Soon, the contractions were nearly unbearable, and were right on top of each other with virtually no relief, but I knew the end was near. 

Within another 10-15 minutes the nurse checked again, and I was at 10, and barely able to hold the baby in. The nurse then ran for the doctor. 

Luckily all of his stuff was set up, since they know his routine. And it seems as soon as he walked in and put his gloves on, that they were telling me to push. Kate and the doctor gave me directives, and after one big count to 10 push, they told me to stop. Doc asked me to look at him, which I was not happy about cause usually it's for him to check in and see how I am, and all I wanted was this baby to be out. To my surprise, what he wanted to show me was my baby's head. It was already out. The nurses all gasped, exclaiming how big the head was. 

After that we did some small pushes, doc explained that it was to get the shoulders out, which is the hardest part apparantly. After that it was 1, maybe to big count to 10 pushes, and baby was born.  No more than 5 minutes of pushing. And I swear to you, that there is no greater physical sensation of relief, than that last moment of push. When baby is out. 

Right then, I was waiting for someone, esp my husband, to tell me the gender. There was literally a minute of everyone looking at each other, seeing who was going to make the announcement. I think Bill was just bewildered for a moment. And finally, they told me that I had a little girl.  I was surprised, I really expected a boy, but in no way was I disappointed. I had a little girl. 

The official birth time was 7:01pm. Just at the end of Kate's shift. She stayed a little longer to help, which I was grateful for. And before she left, she asked, and was the first one to do so, what her name was. We told her "Jillian" with pride, and she gave me a hug, congratulated us, and went home. 

I got to hold and nurse my baby as soon as she was weighed and checked out. ( like 5 minutes later). It was wonderful. She did, however weigh in at 9 lbs 9 oz. on 9/9. (Glad she didn't wait until 9pm!) 

I could not have asked for labor to go any better or faster. 

However there were some unexpected consequences to that, of which I will write about in another post. But this is one of celebration.

In the next few hours, reasonable calling hours, Bill and I enjoyed the process of calling and telling everyone our news. Most of which were surprised, because they knew we had just gotten there a few hours before. 

We were also glad that we went in when we did. If we had waited another week, for my body to flip the switch, it's possible we would have had a 10 lb + baby. And that might have been far too large for my hips/pelvis. 

When we told Ben on the phone, over at our neighbors house, he apparantly ran over to the other kids, pumped his fists in the air and exclaimed "baby!"  And he has maintained his excitement over her since. He gives her hugs and kisses and pats her head so gently. He is such a sweet brother. 

And here is my baby girl today, a week later. 

Welcome to the world, Jillian Mary Burris. We are very happy to have you.