(By the way, see that pink cheek? ANOTHER ALLERGIC REACTION. Enough already.)
Monday, February 25, 2008
Asher has not left Brian's side since he came home today. He's always glad to see his dad, but today he has been especially so. A few minutes ago Brian picked him up and said, "Come on. Let's you and I watch the news like men." So they did.
(By the way, see that pink cheek? ANOTHER ALLERGIC REACTION. Enough already.)
(By the way, see that pink cheek? ANOTHER ALLERGIC REACTION. Enough already.)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
on neighbors
I have a confession to make.
We live in the in-between neighborhood. Four blocks to the east are the cool kids; eight blocks to the west, the crime rate rises significantly. We LOVE our house. We love the other homes and the neighbors, we feel perfectly at ease on our street, and we are comfortable walking in our area. Most of our neighbors are working professionals or elderly. Most have families, most have children or grandchildren, most work in their yards on Saturdays. It's a typical urbanish middle-class neighborhood, in my opinion.
Except for the house next door to ours. It's a Section 8 house, which is a code word for poor. Section 8 is a program that gives people who would normally live in housing projects a way to live in a house in a neighborhood. The primary tenant is Mary, an elderly, benign woman who sits on her front porch and waves when the sun is out. She has no children, but a constant stream of nieces and nephews park in her front yard in the afternoons. Mary's niece, Paula, is from New Orleans and moved in after Katrina. She works the night shift at Waffle House and has chronic back problems that cause a noticeably painful limp.
Here's my confession: I'm a terrible neighbor to them. I have made no effort to befriend them at all, despite the fact that Mary and I are the only two people on the block who are home during the day. Tonight, Paula knocked on the door right at Asher's bedtime. I started not to answer. She knocked three times before I decided I was acting ridiculous - Asher could wait five minutes for bed - and opened the door. "Our power's out," she said. "I need a cup of water and to borrow your phone."
This is the essence of the Christian faith, to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Jesus said that however we treat the least desirable in our midst, we have responded to Him in kind. Tonight I responded grudgingly, nervously. I did not invite her in. I didn't offer Mary a place to stay, even though she's old and frail, and it's cold enough to need the heat on. I brought water and the phone to the stoop. She said thank you without looking at me.
It is to my shame that I have been such a poor neighbor to her. But I see the truth in Jesus' words - I do respond to Him in kind. I'm usually just as bedrudging of my time, of being thrown off my routine, when God asks me to do something as I am when Paula knocks on my door or Mary waves from her stoop.
Tonight I am praying for a more willing heart, toward Jesus and toward my neighbors.
We live in the in-between neighborhood. Four blocks to the east are the cool kids; eight blocks to the west, the crime rate rises significantly. We LOVE our house. We love the other homes and the neighbors, we feel perfectly at ease on our street, and we are comfortable walking in our area. Most of our neighbors are working professionals or elderly. Most have families, most have children or grandchildren, most work in their yards on Saturdays. It's a typical urbanish middle-class neighborhood, in my opinion.
Except for the house next door to ours. It's a Section 8 house, which is a code word for poor. Section 8 is a program that gives people who would normally live in housing projects a way to live in a house in a neighborhood. The primary tenant is Mary, an elderly, benign woman who sits on her front porch and waves when the sun is out. She has no children, but a constant stream of nieces and nephews park in her front yard in the afternoons. Mary's niece, Paula, is from New Orleans and moved in after Katrina. She works the night shift at Waffle House and has chronic back problems that cause a noticeably painful limp.
Here's my confession: I'm a terrible neighbor to them. I have made no effort to befriend them at all, despite the fact that Mary and I are the only two people on the block who are home during the day. Tonight, Paula knocked on the door right at Asher's bedtime. I started not to answer. She knocked three times before I decided I was acting ridiculous - Asher could wait five minutes for bed - and opened the door. "Our power's out," she said. "I need a cup of water and to borrow your phone."
This is the essence of the Christian faith, to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Jesus said that however we treat the least desirable in our midst, we have responded to Him in kind. Tonight I responded grudgingly, nervously. I did not invite her in. I didn't offer Mary a place to stay, even though she's old and frail, and it's cold enough to need the heat on. I brought water and the phone to the stoop. She said thank you without looking at me.
It is to my shame that I have been such a poor neighbor to her. But I see the truth in Jesus' words - I do respond to Him in kind. I'm usually just as bedrudging of my time, of being thrown off my routine, when God asks me to do something as I am when Paula knocks on my door or Mary waves from her stoop.
Tonight I am praying for a more willing heart, toward Jesus and toward my neighbors.
Friday, February 22, 2008
and the winner is
We have a name.
In July, we will have a little boy named Silas James.
Silas means "of the forest," which is not exceptionally significant (although it does have a connotation of WILDNESS, doesn't it?). But we really like the name, and we also like the relationship of Paul and Silas in the New Testament. It seems a fitting legacy for brothers. Silas sounds like a name that could command a room, too. And it seems highly unlikely to me that it will become a girls' name anytime soon, although who can really predict that?
James is a family name. My (adoptive) dad's father was named James, as was his uncle, who raised him after his father died. We really wanted to honor my dad, so, James it is. And if Silas thinks we've cursed him, he can always be Si, or James, or Jim. We're leaving him with options.
I'm off now to eat the milkshake Brian just brought home for me. Blood sugar notwithstanding, every pregnant woman needs a chocolate milkshake every now and then.
In July, we will have a little boy named Silas James.
Silas means "of the forest," which is not exceptionally significant (although it does have a connotation of WILDNESS, doesn't it?). But we really like the name, and we also like the relationship of Paul and Silas in the New Testament. It seems a fitting legacy for brothers. Silas sounds like a name that could command a room, too. And it seems highly unlikely to me that it will become a girls' name anytime soon, although who can really predict that?
James is a family name. My (adoptive) dad's father was named James, as was his uncle, who raised him after his father died. We really wanted to honor my dad, so, James it is. And if Silas thinks we've cursed him, he can always be Si, or James, or Jim. We're leaving him with options.
I'm off now to eat the milkshake Brian just brought home for me. Blood sugar notwithstanding, every pregnant woman needs a chocolate milkshake every now and then.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
names
Let's play a game. The name of this game is, "Name Our Baby." Here are the rules: You put your favorite boy name in the comments section, and I decide if it really is a good name or not.
My problem is that Asher is my favorite boy name, and it's been taken. So now what? How do you match such a good name? The criteria for a good name in the Gates household is as follows: a. the meaning needs to be significant, and b. there can't be three little boys (or girls) of the same name in his class. I was one of TWENTY SEVEN Stephanies in the second grade. I kid you not. Admittedly, there is a blurry line between, "that's unusual," and "poor kid," but it's a line we're willing to walk. Also, we try to give a normal middle name, so that if our children grow up and think we've doomed them, they have an alternative. Asher's middle name, for example, is Paul. If he grows up and thinks "Asher" is ridiculous, or, if between now and then a rash of women name their daughters "Asher" and it becomes inexplicably effeminate, he can choose to be A. Paul. (By the way, this is a pet peeve of mine. Southern parents are the worst for naming their baby girls using somebody's grandmother's maiden name, meaning that it is not uncommon to meet little toddler girls named "Harrison" or "Rivers." Meanwhile, men are the victims of girls stealing boy names, creating unnecessary ambiguity . What's so bad about girl names for baby girls, anyway? But I digress.)
I'm looking for a name that is connected to leadership. When I was pregnant with Asher, I kept saying/thinking that he was going to be an introvert. I don't mean a follower or a socially awkward kid (it's too soon to know that, don't you think?) - I just mean, for Asher, less is more. Grandma and Grandpa in the room watching him play is a blast. But his entire family watching him blow out his birthday candle is stressful. I don't know how I knew that would be true about him before he got here, but I did, and it is. The new baby is going to have the opposite personality. Whereas Asher is a pretty cooperative kid, content to go with the flow and not seeking the spotlight, the new baby's presence will fill up the room. Again, I don't know how I know this, but I do. We'll see if I'm right.
So - think leader, think slightly unusual but not offensively so. What names come to mind?
My problem is that Asher is my favorite boy name, and it's been taken. So now what? How do you match such a good name? The criteria for a good name in the Gates household is as follows: a. the meaning needs to be significant, and b. there can't be three little boys (or girls) of the same name in his class. I was one of TWENTY SEVEN Stephanies in the second grade. I kid you not. Admittedly, there is a blurry line between, "that's unusual," and "poor kid," but it's a line we're willing to walk. Also, we try to give a normal middle name, so that if our children grow up and think we've doomed them, they have an alternative. Asher's middle name, for example, is Paul. If he grows up and thinks "Asher" is ridiculous, or, if between now and then a rash of women name their daughters "Asher" and it becomes inexplicably effeminate, he can choose to be A. Paul. (By the way, this is a pet peeve of mine. Southern parents are the worst for naming their baby girls using somebody's grandmother's maiden name, meaning that it is not uncommon to meet little toddler girls named "Harrison" or "Rivers." Meanwhile, men are the victims of girls stealing boy names, creating unnecessary ambiguity . What's so bad about girl names for baby girls, anyway? But I digress.)
I'm looking for a name that is connected to leadership. When I was pregnant with Asher, I kept saying/thinking that he was going to be an introvert. I don't mean a follower or a socially awkward kid (it's too soon to know that, don't you think?) - I just mean, for Asher, less is more. Grandma and Grandpa in the room watching him play is a blast. But his entire family watching him blow out his birthday candle is stressful. I don't know how I knew that would be true about him before he got here, but I did, and it is. The new baby is going to have the opposite personality. Whereas Asher is a pretty cooperative kid, content to go with the flow and not seeking the spotlight, the new baby's presence will fill up the room. Again, I don't know how I know this, but I do. We'll see if I'm right.
So - think leader, think slightly unusual but not offensively so. What names come to mind?
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
It's a ...
We've had a girl name chosen for this baby since I became pregnant, really. Elisabeth Ruth (Ruth after Granny, Elisabeth after Mikkee Lizabeth and our own Elizabeth in Hong Kong, and also because it means "consecrated," and these two friend's lives have lived up to their name), and we'd call her Ella. If I'm going to be honest, this pregnancy has been SO different and everyone else was SO sure we'd have a girl that I'd begun to think of the little knot in my belly as Ella already.
So we're driving to the ultrasound yesterday and Brian says, "What will we name him if it's a boy?" We talked about a couple of names in the waiting room, and then decided to wait and see if we even needed to pick a boy name before we worried too much about it.
We do.
It's a boy! With all of the chambers of his heart, a fully developed spine, a perfectly sized little brain, and all the little boy parts.
Name to be announced.
So we're driving to the ultrasound yesterday and Brian says, "What will we name him if it's a boy?" We talked about a couple of names in the waiting room, and then decided to wait and see if we even needed to pick a boy name before we worried too much about it.
We do.
It's a boy! With all of the chambers of his heart, a fully developed spine, a perfectly sized little brain, and all the little boy parts.
Name to be announced.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
First -
The neighborhood where I grew up was hit by a tornado today. My hometown, though thriving, is still small. The main road, where Wal-mart is, was hit by tornados, as well as the neighborhoods surrounding it (including my old neighborhood). People were trapped in businesses and homes. There were two critical injuries, though no fatalities have been reported yet. They set up a hospital in an unharmed business for minor injuries, so that the hospital 10 miles away could care for those seriously wounded.
It's an odd feeling, to be so connected to a place and yet unaffected by its downfall. My parents moved five years ago, after my grandmother, who lived down the street, died. Even so, many of our neighbors are still there. So tonight, if you are the praying type, please remember the residents of Prattville.
Second -
A little girl escaped from the nursery this morning and basically ran into my arms. This is noteworthy because I am a stranger to her, and also because she has a disability, and I love children with disabilities. I always HATE when people mention how they love a marginalized group because it feels like its own discrimination to me, to love this group because they share a certain characteristic and not because of who they are as people. I still agree with that logic, but I also still love children with disabilities. I can't describe why, there is no reason. It defies logic, but explains why I LOVED my job in early intervention and how I can miss it, happy as I am to be devoting my time to teaching my own baby. Anyway, this little girl needed a distraction to stay in the nursery, so I sat on the floor and sang nursery rhymes for a few minutes, and a little impromptu circle time ensued. It was good for my soul, in the way that using your gifts and passions always is.
Last -
I have learned something about myself this week: I am a baby about my child being sick. I am usually a pretty matter-of-fact person, which means that, in general, I am also a matter-of-fact mom. I can discipline and say "no" without guilt (so far). I can leave him at grandma's for the weekend, put him to bed awake, and even let him cry for a few minutes, if doing so is in his best interest. But when my baby is sick, all bets are off. I can't stand not knowing why he isn't getting better, and I positively cannot live with myself if I leave him while he doesn't feel well. So reading blogs like this - I just can't imagine it. I am sure that you find the strength to do whatever you have to in life. Still, I can't imagine anything worse. So, again, if you're the praying type, please remember Joseph - and his mom - tonight.
Happy Sabbath, everyone.
The neighborhood where I grew up was hit by a tornado today. My hometown, though thriving, is still small. The main road, where Wal-mart is, was hit by tornados, as well as the neighborhoods surrounding it (including my old neighborhood). People were trapped in businesses and homes. There were two critical injuries, though no fatalities have been reported yet. They set up a hospital in an unharmed business for minor injuries, so that the hospital 10 miles away could care for those seriously wounded.
It's an odd feeling, to be so connected to a place and yet unaffected by its downfall. My parents moved five years ago, after my grandmother, who lived down the street, died. Even so, many of our neighbors are still there. So tonight, if you are the praying type, please remember the residents of Prattville.
Second -
A little girl escaped from the nursery this morning and basically ran into my arms. This is noteworthy because I am a stranger to her, and also because she has a disability, and I love children with disabilities. I always HATE when people mention how they love a marginalized group because it feels like its own discrimination to me, to love this group because they share a certain characteristic and not because of who they are as people. I still agree with that logic, but I also still love children with disabilities. I can't describe why, there is no reason. It defies logic, but explains why I LOVED my job in early intervention and how I can miss it, happy as I am to be devoting my time to teaching my own baby. Anyway, this little girl needed a distraction to stay in the nursery, so I sat on the floor and sang nursery rhymes for a few minutes, and a little impromptu circle time ensued. It was good for my soul, in the way that using your gifts and passions always is.
Last -
I have learned something about myself this week: I am a baby about my child being sick. I am usually a pretty matter-of-fact person, which means that, in general, I am also a matter-of-fact mom. I can discipline and say "no" without guilt (so far). I can leave him at grandma's for the weekend, put him to bed awake, and even let him cry for a few minutes, if doing so is in his best interest. But when my baby is sick, all bets are off. I can't stand not knowing why he isn't getting better, and I positively cannot live with myself if I leave him while he doesn't feel well. So reading blogs like this - I just can't imagine it. I am sure that you find the strength to do whatever you have to in life. Still, I can't imagine anything worse. So, again, if you're the praying type, please remember Joseph - and his mom - tonight.
Happy Sabbath, everyone.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
tis the season
for lists, apparently.
Like Angela, I don't mind occasional memes. I've been tagged (thanks for thinking of me), so here I go.
Seven probably not-so-oddish things -
1. I think most clearly before 9 a.m. I am always disappointed that most of the world is asleep during this time, because 7:30 is when I most prefer to talk on the phone or have an important conversation. I also wake up moving every morning. Back when Elizabeth used to sleep on our couch after driving some OBSCENE distance all day, we would always laugh about how she would start a conversation at night, and I would finish it in the morning.
2. I laugh when Asher cries. It's a bizarre reaction, I know, and I try very very hard not to, but especially if he is mad, it cracks me up. What is this teaching him? Nothing good, I am sure.
3. My toes have an unusual amount of dexterity. As a kid I had a reputation for pinching people with them. Now what's REALLY strange is that I married someone with the exact same toe abilities, so now my finger-like toes aren't even noteworthy. Huh.
4. Way before I became a parent, I preferred to see cartoons or family movies in the theatre. I will also see a good drama, but romantic comedies (with the exception of When Harry Met Sally) make me roll my eyes, and action movies make me want my money back. And I hate horror films. Being scared is not entertainment, in my opinion. I have been known to go see cartoons alone on Saturday afternoons. That makes me sound a little creepy, doesn't it?
5. I prefer plain clothes. No scoops or frills ... in my prepregnancy days (way back when) I owned about nine shirts of the same style in different colors, and three pairs of almost-identical blue jeans. I have never minded jobs that required uniforms for this reason. I mind them for other reasons, but not for the uniforms.
6. I still write and mail paper letters.
And one to grow on -
7. In terms of personality, I am more like my adoptive dad than anyone with whom I share a blood relation. Which is all I have to say to the nature v. nurture debate.
I pick - Nick, Jason, Laura (maybe she'll blog again if I tag her), and ... Valerie. Your turn.
Like Angela, I don't mind occasional memes. I've been tagged (thanks for thinking of me), so here I go.
Seven probably not-so-oddish things -
1. I think most clearly before 9 a.m. I am always disappointed that most of the world is asleep during this time, because 7:30 is when I most prefer to talk on the phone or have an important conversation. I also wake up moving every morning. Back when Elizabeth used to sleep on our couch after driving some OBSCENE distance all day, we would always laugh about how she would start a conversation at night, and I would finish it in the morning.
2. I laugh when Asher cries. It's a bizarre reaction, I know, and I try very very hard not to, but especially if he is mad, it cracks me up. What is this teaching him? Nothing good, I am sure.
3. My toes have an unusual amount of dexterity. As a kid I had a reputation for pinching people with them. Now what's REALLY strange is that I married someone with the exact same toe abilities, so now my finger-like toes aren't even noteworthy. Huh.
4. Way before I became a parent, I preferred to see cartoons or family movies in the theatre. I will also see a good drama, but romantic comedies (with the exception of When Harry Met Sally) make me roll my eyes, and action movies make me want my money back. And I hate horror films. Being scared is not entertainment, in my opinion. I have been known to go see cartoons alone on Saturday afternoons. That makes me sound a little creepy, doesn't it?
5. I prefer plain clothes. No scoops or frills ... in my prepregnancy days (way back when) I owned about nine shirts of the same style in different colors, and three pairs of almost-identical blue jeans. I have never minded jobs that required uniforms for this reason. I mind them for other reasons, but not for the uniforms.
6. I still write and mail paper letters.
And one to grow on -
7. In terms of personality, I am more like my adoptive dad than anyone with whom I share a blood relation. Which is all I have to say to the nature v. nurture debate.
I pick - Nick, Jason, Laura (maybe she'll blog again if I tag her), and ... Valerie. Your turn.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
more of the same
1. You should ask me what has kept me busy this week. A little boy who had an allergic reaction to a cold virus, that's what. His body is allergic to being sick - I'm not making this up. And the lesson I learned once again is that maternal instinct is God-given and every time I ignore it, I regret it. I KNEW I should have taken him to the doctor yesterday morning. But I couldn't justify it, and I'm always trying not to look like the neurotic mother that I am, so I went to work (and he went to his grandmother's) instead. I spent the next four hours trying to undo that decision, unable to get my student's mother on the phone in time for an a.m. doctor's appointment. I really will learn to trust my maternal instinct one of these days. But Asher is fine. Just allergic to colds, that's all. FASCINATING, don't you think?
2. We finally bought an armoire and brought it home today. We're so close to having matching living room furniture I can taste it.
3. Tonight, through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up making throw-together ravioli at the last minute for a couple who came to dinner. It's not the best meal, not the worst, but it is reliable and not out of a box. As we're sitting to dinner I am told she's a chef. In an Italian restaurant. Part of me thought, nice. More frozen ravioli, anyone? The other part of me was relieved I had not known until that moment, when it was too late to care. Throw-together ravioli notwithstanding, a good time was had by all.
4. I have been asked, "If it's a girl, are you going to be done?" more than once. This feels like a strange question to me. My answer - no. BUT. I've been in some stage of prenatal or postpartum care (or trying to achieve one or the other) since 2005. I couldn't be happier to be having this baby. But after this, I'd like my body back for a while. And I'd like to do the same thing two years in a row, something we have not done since 2002 (isn't that odd? We haven't had the same year - with the same jobs in the same town living in the same place with the same members of our family - since we left Montgomery the first time). I'd like to raise the ones we have for a few minutes. So, no, we're not done, boy or girl. But we will be done for the moment. Also? If it's a boy I will not be disappointed. Two boys sound like fun. But it's also a little more intimidating - two boys may be an adventure. The possibility of ALL boys is scary.
2. We finally bought an armoire and brought it home today. We're so close to having matching living room furniture I can taste it.
3. Tonight, through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up making throw-together ravioli at the last minute for a couple who came to dinner. It's not the best meal, not the worst, but it is reliable and not out of a box. As we're sitting to dinner I am told she's a chef. In an Italian restaurant. Part of me thought, nice. More frozen ravioli, anyone? The other part of me was relieved I had not known until that moment, when it was too late to care. Throw-together ravioli notwithstanding, a good time was had by all.
4. I have been asked, "If it's a girl, are you going to be done?" more than once. This feels like a strange question to me. My answer - no. BUT. I've been in some stage of prenatal or postpartum care (or trying to achieve one or the other) since 2005. I couldn't be happier to be having this baby. But after this, I'd like my body back for a while. And I'd like to do the same thing two years in a row, something we have not done since 2002 (isn't that odd? We haven't had the same year - with the same jobs in the same town living in the same place with the same members of our family - since we left Montgomery the first time). I'd like to raise the ones we have for a few minutes. So, no, we're not done, boy or girl. But we will be done for the moment. Also? If it's a boy I will not be disappointed. Two boys sound like fun. But it's also a little more intimidating - two boys may be an adventure. The possibility of ALL boys is scary.
Monday, February 11, 2008
this and that
1. When I was pregnant with Asher, I found this AMAZING Thai dish that involved a peanut sauce and chicken and I never remembered the name of it (my coworker recommended it, and after that I referred to it as the great Thai peanut chicken thing) but I loved it and craved it all the time. Then the coworker that recommended it (and always reminded me of its actual name) moved away and I never remembered how to order it and whenever I tried to describe it to the waitress I was always met with blank stares. Alas, the great Thai peanut chicken thing craving was never satisfied. Until TONIGHT, when I made Carrie's citrus ginger stir-fry without the pepper flakes and discovered the EXACT sauce from my favorite unnamed Thai dish. This is wonderful. This is glorious, even, for a pregnant woman who can't have sugar to discover something protein-based to eat besides (for the love of all that is holy) peanut butter and scrambled eggs. HOORAY for Thai peanut sauce that I can make at home and double hooray for Carrie, who gave me the recipe. This is by far the best recipe so far from my New Year's Resolution. If you want it, email me and I'll share.
2. Angela at Reality Testing said that I should write a post about Sugar, my sister's effeminately male cat, who taunted the ex-police dog in the adjacent yard one too many times and was bitten IN HALF while my dad was on a business trip to France. My dad came home just in time to write a check to the vet that equaled exactly the amount of money he'd made in France. Maybe one day soon we could have a pet story contest and I can tell about Sugar.
3. I am not going to vote for Mike Huckabee, but he's been on tv and NPR all day defending why he's still in the race, and the guy's got some good points. Since when is the democratic process hindered by competition? Also, McCain has won states in the primaries that he can't possibly win in the fall, like California. Huckabee has won the states that are the bread and butter of the Republican party. I may not belong to his political party, but I think he's right to stay in the race.
4. In my opinion, the hardest part about working at home is the thankless aspect of my job. There is no public recognition for staying on top of laundry or having a happy, well-rested baby. In the best possible moment, the most I can hope for is to do it all over again the next day. So when dinner turns out to be the secret recipe I'd forgotten I loved, and Brian says that his job is easier than mine, and that he appreciates the work I did today - it makes my day. A little encouragement goes a long way for me these days.
5. I also discovered Bare Naked Granola this week, thanks to a buy one, get one free sale at my grocery store. LOVE Bare Naked Granola. And it only has 3 grams of sugar (to 5 grams of protein) per serving. I know that I could make my own granola, and maybe someday I'll let that be my new meal of the week recipe. But for now, I'm stocking up on a cheap low-sugar protein source that is not (for the love of all things holy, again) peanut butter or scrambled eggs.
6. Sleep is better, thanks for asking. My doctor said I could take medicine for it, but the trick to medicine is the longer you take it, the less effective it is. He recommended "good sleep hygiene" as my first try, and medication if that didn't help. "Good sleep hygiene" is a ridiculous phrase, but it basically means to do the same things for myself that I do for Asher's bedtime. Do the same thing every night, go to bed at the same time, and don't fall asleep in front of the tv. Do you know that it has worked? Not sleeping on the couch is a biggie - when I fall asleep too early, I basically take a nap, and then my body is tricked into believing it no longer needs rest (which it emphatically does). Right now I go to bed at 10 pm, and I do not lie down on the couch before that time, lest I am tempted to doze off. I've slept much better as a result. I still wake up more often than I do when I'm not pregnant, but I've been able to fall back asleep immediately every time. Hooray for "good sleep hygiene." But you seriously need a cooler name.
That's all I've got. Happy Monday everyone.
2. Angela at Reality Testing said that I should write a post about Sugar, my sister's effeminately male cat, who taunted the ex-police dog in the adjacent yard one too many times and was bitten IN HALF while my dad was on a business trip to France. My dad came home just in time to write a check to the vet that equaled exactly the amount of money he'd made in France. Maybe one day soon we could have a pet story contest and I can tell about Sugar.
3. I am not going to vote for Mike Huckabee, but he's been on tv and NPR all day defending why he's still in the race, and the guy's got some good points. Since when is the democratic process hindered by competition? Also, McCain has won states in the primaries that he can't possibly win in the fall, like California. Huckabee has won the states that are the bread and butter of the Republican party. I may not belong to his political party, but I think he's right to stay in the race.
4. In my opinion, the hardest part about working at home is the thankless aspect of my job. There is no public recognition for staying on top of laundry or having a happy, well-rested baby. In the best possible moment, the most I can hope for is to do it all over again the next day. So when dinner turns out to be the secret recipe I'd forgotten I loved, and Brian says that his job is easier than mine, and that he appreciates the work I did today - it makes my day. A little encouragement goes a long way for me these days.
5. I also discovered Bare Naked Granola this week, thanks to a buy one, get one free sale at my grocery store. LOVE Bare Naked Granola. And it only has 3 grams of sugar (to 5 grams of protein) per serving. I know that I could make my own granola, and maybe someday I'll let that be my new meal of the week recipe. But for now, I'm stocking up on a cheap low-sugar protein source that is not (for the love of all things holy, again) peanut butter or scrambled eggs.
6. Sleep is better, thanks for asking. My doctor said I could take medicine for it, but the trick to medicine is the longer you take it, the less effective it is. He recommended "good sleep hygiene" as my first try, and medication if that didn't help. "Good sleep hygiene" is a ridiculous phrase, but it basically means to do the same things for myself that I do for Asher's bedtime. Do the same thing every night, go to bed at the same time, and don't fall asleep in front of the tv. Do you know that it has worked? Not sleeping on the couch is a biggie - when I fall asleep too early, I basically take a nap, and then my body is tricked into believing it no longer needs rest (which it emphatically does). Right now I go to bed at 10 pm, and I do not lie down on the couch before that time, lest I am tempted to doze off. I've slept much better as a result. I still wake up more often than I do when I'm not pregnant, but I've been able to fall back asleep immediately every time. Hooray for "good sleep hygiene." But you seriously need a cooler name.
That's all I've got. Happy Monday everyone.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
new every morning
I have been a grouch this past week. I can blame insomnia, I can blame pregnancy hormones, I can blame change in routine - pick something, I can blame it. But blame doesn't get me anywhere. The short of it is I have not been easy to live with this week, and I haven't enjoyed my own company very much either.
I have come to appreciate (love, even) how succinctly small children express their needs. When a baby falls down, he cries. When he needs affection, he stands .2 inches from your legs and reaches up as high as he can. When he's hungry, he says (or signs) "food please." When he's tired, he finds his blanket and lies down, regardless of how dirty the floor is or how convenient a nap might be. I wish I could recognize my own needs as well as my son knows his.
But I am able to do something he has not yet learned. I can change my attitude. As Georgia's Mom likes to say, I can get glad where I once got mad. I can recognize that my lack of sleep or my hormonal issues are not someone else's problem. And I can choose to enjoy the beautiful springish afternoon in my backyard (high today: 67*). Today is a new day.
Here's to knowing what you need and rising above the moment. I hope you have some sunshine in your Saturday, too.
I have come to appreciate (love, even) how succinctly small children express their needs. When a baby falls down, he cries. When he needs affection, he stands .2 inches from your legs and reaches up as high as he can. When he's hungry, he says (or signs) "food please." When he's tired, he finds his blanket and lies down, regardless of how dirty the floor is or how convenient a nap might be. I wish I could recognize my own needs as well as my son knows his.
But I am able to do something he has not yet learned. I can change my attitude. As Georgia's Mom likes to say, I can get glad where I once got mad. I can recognize that my lack of sleep or my hormonal issues are not someone else's problem. And I can choose to enjoy the beautiful springish afternoon in my backyard (high today: 67*). Today is a new day.
Here's to knowing what you need and rising above the moment. I hope you have some sunshine in your Saturday, too.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Insomnia is a slow death. Every night I fall asleep relatively easily, wake up sometime around midnight, and am UP! for a few hours. For a few nights my thoughts kept me up. Now I don't know what it is, but I wish it would stop. I know sleeplessness is part of pregnancy, but seriously, I would like to speak to Whoever came up with that plan. In a few months, mandatory sleeplessness will be part of my life, and I will wonder if I'm ever going to sleep more than three hours at a stretch again. Shouldn't I be stocking up on sleep while I can?
After many days of sleeplessness, you can imagine how much fun I am to be around. Factor into that Asher transitioning out of his morning nap, and about 11 am every day he acts the way I feel.
Praise Jesus that Brian is level-headed and home most evenings.
That's all I've got. Happy - what? Thursday, I think - everyone.
After many days of sleeplessness, you can imagine how much fun I am to be around. Factor into that Asher transitioning out of his morning nap, and about 11 am every day he acts the way I feel.
Praise Jesus that Brian is level-headed and home most evenings.
That's all I've got. Happy - what? Thursday, I think - everyone.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
process stories
It's a dangerous thing to process publicly, but in some sense by keeping this blog I've chosen to share more with the world at large than I ever would with a room full of people. Blogs feel intimate but they are not, and that too is dangerous. Even so, NPR once ran a story that said most blogs are read by an average of six people. Six people may read, but six million could. But that's a topic for another day.
I'm really thankful to those of you who have chosen to share so much online, to tell the stories that I would bet most of your friends did not know to a room full of strangers (and potentially a larger room of lurkers). I wouldn't recognize you at the mall, but I know your secrets. Isn't that something? Your honesty has better equipped me to love and serve my face-to-face friends who share similar stories. I've heard theirs in the way your friends have surely heard yours - vaguely, sporadically, awkwardly. You've helped me understand a little more about the things they can't say. Thank you for that.
All of that is a backdrop for this weekend, when someone shared her story with me. I was no more prepared to hear it than she was for it to be true, but I did and it is, nonetheless. I haven't slept a full night since.
And here is the crux of faith in my life - to love and serve others, to walk with them in their suffering as Christ did, and to remember the love and redemptive nature of God, not just in distant, philosophical moments, but in the stories that keep me up at night, too - this is what it means to trust God. For me, this is what faith is. I can choose to ignore suffering, to live at arms length from pain. Or I can choose to forget that God is good and to be overwhelmed by hopelessness. But neither is true to who God is or who I am as His child. My calling is here, in the middle, to acknowledge suffering and God's desire to heal at the same time.
Mikkee, wise soul that she is, often says that anything that causes us to long for Heaven is a blessing. In light of that, the privilege of sharing in another's suffering is a blessing in my life. I long for the moment when there are no more stories to tell.
I'm really thankful to those of you who have chosen to share so much online, to tell the stories that I would bet most of your friends did not know to a room full of strangers (and potentially a larger room of lurkers). I wouldn't recognize you at the mall, but I know your secrets. Isn't that something? Your honesty has better equipped me to love and serve my face-to-face friends who share similar stories. I've heard theirs in the way your friends have surely heard yours - vaguely, sporadically, awkwardly. You've helped me understand a little more about the things they can't say. Thank you for that.
All of that is a backdrop for this weekend, when someone shared her story with me. I was no more prepared to hear it than she was for it to be true, but I did and it is, nonetheless. I haven't slept a full night since.
And here is the crux of faith in my life - to love and serve others, to walk with them in their suffering as Christ did, and to remember the love and redemptive nature of God, not just in distant, philosophical moments, but in the stories that keep me up at night, too - this is what it means to trust God. For me, this is what faith is. I can choose to ignore suffering, to live at arms length from pain. Or I can choose to forget that God is good and to be overwhelmed by hopelessness. But neither is true to who God is or who I am as His child. My calling is here, in the middle, to acknowledge suffering and God's desire to heal at the same time.
Mikkee, wise soul that she is, often says that anything that causes us to long for Heaven is a blessing. In light of that, the privilege of sharing in another's suffering is a blessing in my life. I long for the moment when there are no more stories to tell.
as an aside
In the state of Alabama, 5500 Democrats voted for John Edwards. Roughly 2700 Republicans voted for Rudy Giuliani and Fred Thompson. 700 voted for Richardson. How ya gonna make the effort to vote and then choose a candidate who has dropped out of the race? Don't you want to at least make sure your guy is still running before election day? Nearly 10,000 people voted for nobody in Alabama today.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
very brief sleep-deprived half-formed thoughts on humanity
The whole reason I am online right now is to stay awake until bedtime. I did not sleep much last night, and my pregnant baby-chasing body is protesting fiercely. But if I go to bed too early (6:30 would have been fine with me) I'll be awake for the day at 2 a.m., and that won't help either. If I can make it until 9 p.m., I will feel as though I've accomplished something.
Brian and I had an interesting conversation over lunch about unintended consequences. We act and react, and if we're lucky, we will come to understand our own motivations in time. We were talking specifically about how anger follows dissatisfaction and insecurity follows doubt, and if you think it through you can follow the progression of emotions, but the reactions are usually not conscious. I don't mean to imply that we have no control over our reactions, because of course we do. But even if I learn to react differently, the fact still remains that I had an initial emotional reaction apart from my consciousness of it. I guess it's good that we have the ability to automatically react, though. Like breathing, if we had to understand every motivation and choose every response, we would suffocate before we ever finished making a decision to accept air into our lungs. I think it speaks to our ability to adapt and survive.
This, and a conversation yesterday afternoon, and observations from an afternoon meltdown with Asher, have reminded me again of the breadth of human potential. It's staggering to consider the ability to do harm or good that each of us carries.
That's all. Sweet dreams everyone.
Wait, one more thing. I think more people ought to have the name "Plaxico." NOW I'm going to bed.
Brian and I had an interesting conversation over lunch about unintended consequences. We act and react, and if we're lucky, we will come to understand our own motivations in time. We were talking specifically about how anger follows dissatisfaction and insecurity follows doubt, and if you think it through you can follow the progression of emotions, but the reactions are usually not conscious. I don't mean to imply that we have no control over our reactions, because of course we do. But even if I learn to react differently, the fact still remains that I had an initial emotional reaction apart from my consciousness of it. I guess it's good that we have the ability to automatically react, though. Like breathing, if we had to understand every motivation and choose every response, we would suffocate before we ever finished making a decision to accept air into our lungs. I think it speaks to our ability to adapt and survive.
This, and a conversation yesterday afternoon, and observations from an afternoon meltdown with Asher, have reminded me again of the breadth of human potential. It's staggering to consider the ability to do harm or good that each of us carries.
That's all. Sweet dreams everyone.
Wait, one more thing. I think more people ought to have the name "Plaxico." NOW I'm going to bed.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
missing
Asher cut three teeth in ten days. That's the first thing I'd like to tell Granny, if I could.
The coat she bought for Asher's birthday fits just fine. The little blue fleece lining is cute, and he tolerates the hood surprisingly well. That would be next.
And how I made her cinnamon rolls for Christmas, and they turned out pretty well, all things considered. How Asher played in the laundry so that I could finish kneading the dough; that would make her laugh.
He still points to her picture and asks about her, in the way that he knows how. We still talk about how much Granny loves him.
She would want to hear all of our stories. She would laugh and tell me how Linda Joyce cut all of her teeth in six months, boy and how. She would put a wallet of Asher and his dad playing guitar on her night stand.
Oddly, I haven't grieved over Granny. I saw her nearly every week that we lived in the same area for the past ten years, and aside from a teary graveside service, I never cried. I just miss her. There are a dozen things I want to tell her and can't. And though our family is moving forward, someone is still missing from the dinner table. Today Granny has been on my mind.
The coat she bought for Asher's birthday fits just fine. The little blue fleece lining is cute, and he tolerates the hood surprisingly well. That would be next.
And how I made her cinnamon rolls for Christmas, and they turned out pretty well, all things considered. How Asher played in the laundry so that I could finish kneading the dough; that would make her laugh.
He still points to her picture and asks about her, in the way that he knows how. We still talk about how much Granny loves him.
She would want to hear all of our stories. She would laugh and tell me how Linda Joyce cut all of her teeth in six months, boy and how. She would put a wallet of Asher and his dad playing guitar on her night stand.
Oddly, I haven't grieved over Granny. I saw her nearly every week that we lived in the same area for the past ten years, and aside from a teary graveside service, I never cried. I just miss her. There are a dozen things I want to tell her and can't. And though our family is moving forward, someone is still missing from the dinner table. Today Granny has been on my mind.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Who's handing out prizes around here? Because I'm ready for mine.
I made stuffed flounder tonight with my very own recipe that I invented myself, along with oven roasted sweet potatoes and cole slaw. And it was GOOD. If there's anyone dying to have a recipe for stuffed flounder I'll be happy to pass it along. As long as, when you cook it, you have a moment of silence in my honor.
Happy Friday everyone.
I made stuffed flounder tonight with my very own recipe that I invented myself, along with oven roasted sweet potatoes and cole slaw. And it was GOOD. If there's anyone dying to have a recipe for stuffed flounder I'll be happy to pass it along. As long as, when you cook it, you have a moment of silence in my honor.
Happy Friday everyone.
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