Back to my brother's story.
Christoper always excelled in school. He liked being in competition with the smart kids. He quickly outgrew the high school environment and decided to do his junior and senior year together, enabling him to graduate a year early. He impressed us all with his perseverance and hard work. He took two english classes, several hard science classes, and a speech class at a local university. He studied late into the night more than a couple times a week. By the time May arrived, he had earned the right to say goodbye to Clarksville High early. We were all very proud of him. At the graduation ceremony the principle had each student stand to be recognized for college scholarships received. My chest swelled with pride as the principle said, "Chris Kotter. John Brown University. Excellence in Engineering Scholarship." I felt like standing up and saying, "That's MY brother!"
He decided to attend John Brown University after considering many state schools. This decision made us all happy. Chad and I had awesome experiences at the small Christian school. I can't help but think that our positive stories impacted his decision to go there.
About a month ago, he moved into the dorm. He was giddy, a little self conscious, and all smiles. His roomate is a missionary kid from Brazil. So far, they get along. Once a week or so, I call Christopher to see if he needs anything. He's without a car, and Walmart is not in walking distance from the campus. He usually turns down my offer for Walmart runs, but he always receives invitations for meals out or a weekend afternoon at our house.
When I see him, I can't help but smile inside. He's so grown up. His chest, neck and arms are filling in. (He lifts weights with a buddy.) His voice seems more mature. He laughs like a man -- deeply and with light in his eyes. He is more alive than ever before. His major is Construction Management, which is the same thing Chad studied. They compare stories of profs, projects, and classes. By the time Chris graduates they'll have a lot more in common.
I guess this is the end of my series on my little bro. As I write Part 4, I think of many stories I've left out. In the future I'll revisit the topic and tell stories of him taking a rental car for a hush-hush 100 mph spin around town, band camp girlfriends and other typical little brother stuff.
9/27/2005
9/26/2005
clothes talk
I am tired of all my clothes. I keep buying the same stuff over and over again. I have this desire to dress funky and unique. Something between skater-chick, hippie, and prep. I know; those are opposites. That is one of my problems.
Another problem is that I like simplicity too much. I am drawn to the Favorite-Ts at the Gap. If they are on sale, I buy them every time. My closet has various colors of the long-sleeve and short-sleeve versions. Sometimes I layer them with the short-sleeved ones on top. That is about the extent of my "style."
I see girls wearing layered lacy tanks with sparkly shoes. I like that look, but I'd feel like an alien if I wore it. Which leads to another one of my problems. Confidence. I second guess myself when I try new things. One time in aerobics I tried to be cool and wore something out of the ordinary. I could barely do the steps right, because I was so self-consious with all the mirrors. After that I stuck to grey shorts and big white t-shirts. Borrrrring.
Maybe another one of my problems is that I live in Arkansas. This might be a cop-out, but really... we only have a few places to get stuff. Yeah, yeah, I could order from the internet, but that just isn't the same as REALLY shopping.
Today I ventured to the mall and made myself go into a store other than the Gap. I entered Express, determined to find something different. A nice clerk began talking to me. She was five months pregnanct. We exchanged baby pleasantries and then I began the search. I found several shirts with cute sleeves, a little sparkle and slinky material. Fun stuff. Each time I found an item to consider, there were only Smalls and X-Smalls available. What the hell?! Here I am, excited that my boobs are finally on their way down from a DD. I'm feeling good because MIGHT be able to fit into a Large instead of an XL. Good grief. Are there really THAT MANY tiny people out there? Obviously not, because all the big sizes are gone. Errr. (This is a different subject for a different post... sorry.)
I ended up buying a long-sleeve black v-neck. (50% off for $12.50. Not bad.) Along the neckline are understated sparklies and lace. I plan to wear a black tank underneath for added support and coverage. Soon, when I can fit my wide bootie into my date jeans, I'll have a fun, new outfit to show off. If only there were a store in the mall where we could buy Confidence to finish off the new look.
Another problem is that I like simplicity too much. I am drawn to the Favorite-Ts at the Gap. If they are on sale, I buy them every time. My closet has various colors of the long-sleeve and short-sleeve versions. Sometimes I layer them with the short-sleeved ones on top. That is about the extent of my "style."
I see girls wearing layered lacy tanks with sparkly shoes. I like that look, but I'd feel like an alien if I wore it. Which leads to another one of my problems. Confidence. I second guess myself when I try new things. One time in aerobics I tried to be cool and wore something out of the ordinary. I could barely do the steps right, because I was so self-consious with all the mirrors. After that I stuck to grey shorts and big white t-shirts. Borrrrring.
Maybe another one of my problems is that I live in Arkansas. This might be a cop-out, but really... we only have a few places to get stuff. Yeah, yeah, I could order from the internet, but that just isn't the same as REALLY shopping.
Today I ventured to the mall and made myself go into a store other than the Gap. I entered Express, determined to find something different. A nice clerk began talking to me. She was five months pregnanct. We exchanged baby pleasantries and then I began the search. I found several shirts with cute sleeves, a little sparkle and slinky material. Fun stuff. Each time I found an item to consider, there were only Smalls and X-Smalls available. What the hell?! Here I am, excited that my boobs are finally on their way down from a DD. I'm feeling good because MIGHT be able to fit into a Large instead of an XL. Good grief. Are there really THAT MANY tiny people out there? Obviously not, because all the big sizes are gone. Errr. (This is a different subject for a different post... sorry.)
I ended up buying a long-sleeve black v-neck. (50% off for $12.50. Not bad.) Along the neckline are understated sparklies and lace. I plan to wear a black tank underneath for added support and coverage. Soon, when I can fit my wide bootie into my date jeans, I'll have a fun, new outfit to show off. If only there were a store in the mall where we could buy Confidence to finish off the new look.
9/24/2005
garage sale tidbits
Today I participated in a garage sale with two friends. All three of us are moving within the next three weeks. We each have babies. We wanted to get rid of junk, make some cash, and hang out. I dragged myself from bed at 6am and managed to stumble out the door with a blurry-eyed baby at 6:35. I got a dozen Krispy Kremes on the way (as well as coffee for myself) and arrived just at 7:00. Buyers steadily came and went until 1:00. During these six hours we juggled babies, bartered dollars, and told stories about our rejected possesions. We laughed at people (nicely) and made sure the kids didn't get too close to the street.
By noon, I was zonked. Melody had taken two naps in a $1 leopard print umbrella stroller. I sold two video game chairs, Chad's metal weights, an array of kitchen glassware, full size duvet cover with shams, and two little girl play strollers. I also sold an anitque high chair that I purchased a few weeks ago at a flea market. I snatched it up with high hopes of having a CUTE high chair instead of the monster ones on the market these days. It ended up being ricketty with slick chipped paint and no straps. I'm still looking for the right solution.
Items I was not sucessful at getting rid of where my husband's weight bench and one of those monster high chairs I mentioned already. It came from a neighbor several months ago. It had a cracked vinyl seat. By the end of the sale I had a $1 sticker on it. One lady did consider it for awhile. She said her brother needed a high chair for his restaurant. The girls and I laughed like banchees after she left. I could picture it in a dingy corner of some greasy waffle joint. Just the kind of public chair I'd love to use for my baby!
All in all, I made $65. (Of course if you subtract money from the donuts, coffee, lunch, poster board, huge black marker, and gas, I probably only made about $45. It was worth it for the social time.) Now it's early afternoon. Melody is sleeping and I'm heading to Nap Land myself. Chad is working on the house until dark, so I have the rest of the afternoon to rest, pack a little, clean up things, and perhaps make some banana bread.
By noon, I was zonked. Melody had taken two naps in a $1 leopard print umbrella stroller. I sold two video game chairs, Chad's metal weights, an array of kitchen glassware, full size duvet cover with shams, and two little girl play strollers. I also sold an anitque high chair that I purchased a few weeks ago at a flea market. I snatched it up with high hopes of having a CUTE high chair instead of the monster ones on the market these days. It ended up being ricketty with slick chipped paint and no straps. I'm still looking for the right solution.
Items I was not sucessful at getting rid of where my husband's weight bench and one of those monster high chairs I mentioned already. It came from a neighbor several months ago. It had a cracked vinyl seat. By the end of the sale I had a $1 sticker on it. One lady did consider it for awhile. She said her brother needed a high chair for his restaurant. The girls and I laughed like banchees after she left. I could picture it in a dingy corner of some greasy waffle joint. Just the kind of public chair I'd love to use for my baby!
All in all, I made $65. (Of course if you subtract money from the donuts, coffee, lunch, poster board, huge black marker, and gas, I probably only made about $45. It was worth it for the social time.) Now it's early afternoon. Melody is sleeping and I'm heading to Nap Land myself. Chad is working on the house until dark, so I have the rest of the afternoon to rest, pack a little, clean up things, and perhaps make some banana bread.
9/23/2005
update -- the house & melody
We have a lot going on right now. For one, we're building a house. That in itself is a lot. The house will be ready for interior paint in about a week. We've been busy picking colors, facets, lights, countertops, appliances, tubs, etc, etc, etc. The list is long! Now that I can see the house taking shape, I'm excited. Chad has been excited since before the footings were poured. It was hard for me to invision things until recently. Now I'm excited too.
Chad works for a residential construction company, so he knows about this stuff already. His job involves buying materials and scheduling. Thus, he's in his element when it comes to building our own house. He has scheduled things out to the day; of course there have been bumps and mishaps, but for the most part it has been a successful project. They say the devil is in the details, so we'll see how things pan out in the end. Chad plans on doing the trim himself as well as the cedar siding on the exterior of the house. I fear these two projects will take months. The other day I asked, "Have you estimated how much time your projects are going to take?" His facial expression showed me the answer. No. I try not to nag.
I took Melody to the doctor a couple days ago. She's been acting strange this week. Nights have been rough for 5 days in a row. She was sleeping 10 hour stretches with no problem until this week. It has been hard to be up with her again; it reminds me of the newborn days. I remember those first weeks with awe. How did I do it? I remember taking a 10 minute walk and then returning to the house and sleeping for two solid hours...
But back to the doctor visit... her ears, throat, and breathing checked out fine. At the end of the visit the doctor weighed her. She is 15 pounds / 9 ounces. She has gained only one pound in the past two months. (!) Her rank has slipped to the 5th percentile (from the 15th).
Of course I'm worried. I've talked to many people -- other moms, my mom, Chad, friends. They say nice things to ease my mind.
"You feed her often. She's fine."
"She's just petite. It's okay for girls to be little."
"Her motor skills and cognitive development are on track."
"Don't worry about it."
I've been trying to be brave; to not think about it; not let it get to me. But I'm distracted and tired and my mind keeps returning to the issue of her size. I love the way she looks. She has soft, round legs and a little ball tummy. When she's naked I squeal at the sight of her tiny proportions. I'm not alarmed by her appearance. I only worry after we've visited the doctor.
I make ongoing mental lists of high calorie baby food she can eat -- avocado, egg yolk, yogurt, flaxseed oil, banana. She eats all these foods without resisting. However, she only eats a tiny bit of each... maybe a 10th of an avocado or one ounce of yogurt at a time.
We've stopped breastfeeding. For awhile I nursed her at night and in the mornings. Then last week she began refusing. She still cuddles up to me as we lay side by side, in our nursing position. She holds onto my shirt, drawing it close to her face. With her other hand she sucks her fingers. This is the way she falls asleep now. I'm thankful we can still be so close even though she won't nurse. I have mixed feeling on her weaning. Part of me is sad because I planned to nurse until December. I am sad she won't get the nutrition of breastmilk anymore. Another part of me is relieved and happy. I'm feel free! My body belongs to ME again.
Chad works for a residential construction company, so he knows about this stuff already. His job involves buying materials and scheduling. Thus, he's in his element when it comes to building our own house. He has scheduled things out to the day; of course there have been bumps and mishaps, but for the most part it has been a successful project. They say the devil is in the details, so we'll see how things pan out in the end. Chad plans on doing the trim himself as well as the cedar siding on the exterior of the house. I fear these two projects will take months. The other day I asked, "Have you estimated how much time your projects are going to take?" His facial expression showed me the answer. No. I try not to nag.
I took Melody to the doctor a couple days ago. She's been acting strange this week. Nights have been rough for 5 days in a row. She was sleeping 10 hour stretches with no problem until this week. It has been hard to be up with her again; it reminds me of the newborn days. I remember those first weeks with awe. How did I do it? I remember taking a 10 minute walk and then returning to the house and sleeping for two solid hours...
But back to the doctor visit... her ears, throat, and breathing checked out fine. At the end of the visit the doctor weighed her. She is 15 pounds / 9 ounces. She has gained only one pound in the past two months. (!) Her rank has slipped to the 5th percentile (from the 15th).
Of course I'm worried. I've talked to many people -- other moms, my mom, Chad, friends. They say nice things to ease my mind.
"You feed her often. She's fine."
"She's just petite. It's okay for girls to be little."
"Her motor skills and cognitive development are on track."
"Don't worry about it."
I've been trying to be brave; to not think about it; not let it get to me. But I'm distracted and tired and my mind keeps returning to the issue of her size. I love the way she looks. She has soft, round legs and a little ball tummy. When she's naked I squeal at the sight of her tiny proportions. I'm not alarmed by her appearance. I only worry after we've visited the doctor.
I make ongoing mental lists of high calorie baby food she can eat -- avocado, egg yolk, yogurt, flaxseed oil, banana. She eats all these foods without resisting. However, she only eats a tiny bit of each... maybe a 10th of an avocado or one ounce of yogurt at a time.
We've stopped breastfeeding. For awhile I nursed her at night and in the mornings. Then last week she began refusing. She still cuddles up to me as we lay side by side, in our nursing position. She holds onto my shirt, drawing it close to her face. With her other hand she sucks her fingers. This is the way she falls asleep now. I'm thankful we can still be so close even though she won't nurse. I have mixed feeling on her weaning. Part of me is sad because I planned to nurse until December. I am sad she won't get the nutrition of breastmilk anymore. Another part of me is relieved and happy. I'm feel free! My body belongs to ME again.
9/22/2005
my brother, part 3
Back to the story of my little bro...
When my brother was three months old we moved from Texas to California. On the seven day drive he took up most of the car. In the backseat we had a baby car bed which occupied two-thirds of the bench seat. In the front seat a large rear facing carseat sat inbetween my parents. These items symbolized his presence in our family; he was the focus. I remember staring at him as he slept next to me in the back seat. He wore only his diaper as we drove through the desert on Hwy 10. He slept on his stomach; I traced lightly on his soft back, hoping he enjoyed my touch.
We lived in California for 4 years. They were heart-wrenching years of loneliness, isolation, adolescence, and bad clothes. I took comfort in my toddler companion who didn't see lack of style, bad hair, or dorky conversation. During the earthquake of 1989, I was the one who grabbed him as we fled to the hallway of the shaking house.
Christopher had a special way with old people. When we visited my grandpa in the nursing home I crumbled into my dad's arms at the sights and sounds of the ailing, bed-ridden elderly. My brother was three years old and he didn't see these things. He was oblivious to the smells and sadness. He walked the halls with my grandpa; small new hand wrapped in strong old wrinkled fingers. He hummed along in his high-little-boy-voice as my grandpa sang old hymns with his rummbling crackly deep voice. It was an endearing sight.
When Christopher was 4 and I was 15, we moved to Arkansas. A year later he started kindergarden and I made sure my mom bought him cute clothes so he'd fit in. We had more money at this point, so getting him nice things was easier. He named our black stray cat, Apple. He loved to ride in the front seat of the mini-van. Usually I made him sit in the backseat though. He was great at Monopoly at a young age. He had a coin collection. He loved doing outside projects with my dad and saving his money.
When he was eight years old I left for college. While moving into my female-only dorm, men had to yell "Man on the hall" when they entered. We all laughed when his high squeaky voice proclaimed, "Man on the hall!" On my visits home from college I would take Christopher to school in the mornings. On the way, we'd get donuts and eat them quickly as to finish before arriving at the school.
When he was ten I brought lots of friends home from college. We'd spend weekends eating real food, sleeping on floors all over the house, and playing video games, legos, and outside games. He joined in with the big kids and had a blast. My friend Matt told him about cool bands and Christopher immediately spent his money on their CDs.
He was twelve when I graduated from college. Fourteen when I got married. And 18 when Melody came along. Shortly after her birth he called our dear Uncle Jerry and said, "Tell me how to be a good uncle." Jerry's response, "Take her to 7-11 and buy her candy." So far Christopher has been an awesome uncle.
When my brother was three months old we moved from Texas to California. On the seven day drive he took up most of the car. In the backseat we had a baby car bed which occupied two-thirds of the bench seat. In the front seat a large rear facing carseat sat inbetween my parents. These items symbolized his presence in our family; he was the focus. I remember staring at him as he slept next to me in the back seat. He wore only his diaper as we drove through the desert on Hwy 10. He slept on his stomach; I traced lightly on his soft back, hoping he enjoyed my touch.
We lived in California for 4 years. They were heart-wrenching years of loneliness, isolation, adolescence, and bad clothes. I took comfort in my toddler companion who didn't see lack of style, bad hair, or dorky conversation. During the earthquake of 1989, I was the one who grabbed him as we fled to the hallway of the shaking house.
Christopher had a special way with old people. When we visited my grandpa in the nursing home I crumbled into my dad's arms at the sights and sounds of the ailing, bed-ridden elderly. My brother was three years old and he didn't see these things. He was oblivious to the smells and sadness. He walked the halls with my grandpa; small new hand wrapped in strong old wrinkled fingers. He hummed along in his high-little-boy-voice as my grandpa sang old hymns with his rummbling crackly deep voice. It was an endearing sight.
When Christopher was 4 and I was 15, we moved to Arkansas. A year later he started kindergarden and I made sure my mom bought him cute clothes so he'd fit in. We had more money at this point, so getting him nice things was easier. He named our black stray cat, Apple. He loved to ride in the front seat of the mini-van. Usually I made him sit in the backseat though. He was great at Monopoly at a young age. He had a coin collection. He loved doing outside projects with my dad and saving his money.
When he was eight years old I left for college. While moving into my female-only dorm, men had to yell "Man on the hall" when they entered. We all laughed when his high squeaky voice proclaimed, "Man on the hall!" On my visits home from college I would take Christopher to school in the mornings. On the way, we'd get donuts and eat them quickly as to finish before arriving at the school.
When he was ten I brought lots of friends home from college. We'd spend weekends eating real food, sleeping on floors all over the house, and playing video games, legos, and outside games. He joined in with the big kids and had a blast. My friend Matt told him about cool bands and Christopher immediately spent his money on their CDs.
He was twelve when I graduated from college. Fourteen when I got married. And 18 when Melody came along. Shortly after her birth he called our dear Uncle Jerry and said, "Tell me how to be a good uncle." Jerry's response, "Take her to 7-11 and buy her candy." So far Christopher has been an awesome uncle.
9/12/2005
the juggling game
I am not finished posting about my brother, but I am going to write about other stuff today. One of the reasons I've been absent is because I felt constrained to post about him again, and the inspiration wasn't there.
Today has been strange. I woke up early at 6:00. Melody was still asleep and I enjoyed the darkness of the quiet morning. I took care of paperwork while my brain was fresh. I think best in the morning. My motor skills are a different story. As I attempted to make a smoothie, frozen peaches went flying, clattering loudy on the tile floor.
Melody woke around 7:00. We nursed and then walked for a hour. She slouched to one side of her stroller with a duh face as the cracks in the sidewalk rhymically passed. I felt strong and sturdy and walked briskly. The air was cool, evidence that summer is finally saying goodbye.
The rest of the day has been a struggle. I've been on a mission to take care of things. Send my bro-in-law and sis-in law letters with snapshots of Melody. They are both in college and need contact from the outside world. Make bean soup. I've had a bag of dry red beans for over a year. I found them on Saturday as I began packing the kitchen for our upcoming move. I vowed to cook them before we move; today is the day. They are simmering on the stove with brown rice, tomatoes, green onions, corn, and ranch seasoning. I hope it's good, because there's a lot of it.
The reason these things have been a struggle is because I ignore Melody while I work. She watches Einstein, plays on her blanket, claps her hands, and watches me walk back and forth through the living room over and over again. After awhile she gets bored and wants my attention. Most days I gladly quit my chore to be with her. Here is my question: Is it possible to be a good mom AND a good homemaker? I feel like I have to choose. And inbetween these two, I long to find a tiny bit of time for just ME. To read, write, email, whatever.
I'm not complaining... I love being at home. I'm just wondering how to juggle it all. How do you do it?
Today has been strange. I woke up early at 6:00. Melody was still asleep and I enjoyed the darkness of the quiet morning. I took care of paperwork while my brain was fresh. I think best in the morning. My motor skills are a different story. As I attempted to make a smoothie, frozen peaches went flying, clattering loudy on the tile floor.
Melody woke around 7:00. We nursed and then walked for a hour. She slouched to one side of her stroller with a duh face as the cracks in the sidewalk rhymically passed. I felt strong and sturdy and walked briskly. The air was cool, evidence that summer is finally saying goodbye.
The rest of the day has been a struggle. I've been on a mission to take care of things. Send my bro-in-law and sis-in law letters with snapshots of Melody. They are both in college and need contact from the outside world. Make bean soup. I've had a bag of dry red beans for over a year. I found them on Saturday as I began packing the kitchen for our upcoming move. I vowed to cook them before we move; today is the day. They are simmering on the stove with brown rice, tomatoes, green onions, corn, and ranch seasoning. I hope it's good, because there's a lot of it.
The reason these things have been a struggle is because I ignore Melody while I work. She watches Einstein, plays on her blanket, claps her hands, and watches me walk back and forth through the living room over and over again. After awhile she gets bored and wants my attention. Most days I gladly quit my chore to be with her. Here is my question: Is it possible to be a good mom AND a good homemaker? I feel like I have to choose. And inbetween these two, I long to find a tiny bit of time for just ME. To read, write, email, whatever.
I'm not complaining... I love being at home. I'm just wondering how to juggle it all. How do you do it?
8/21/2005
my brother, part 2
The days after my brother's birth were awesome. All three of us - my mom, dad, and myself - were overjoyed. We smiled nonstop and gave him nonstop attention. My dad spent the first hours of Christopher's life holding him in a rocking chair as my mom slept in the recovery room. Hospital policy said I couldn't hold the baby for the first 24 hours, because I was under the age of 14. In fact, I had to stay at least a few feet AWAY from Christopher during this period. My dad's head hung low in front of his chest as he stared at the new bundle. I sat in a folding chair, about 5 feet away, bored to death, willing the hours to pass so I could hold him myself.
The first time I held Christopher was wonderful. We were in a tiny shared hospital room with multiple chairs and a large bed on wheels. My mom was sore and out-of-it. My dad watched intently as I carefully cradled Christopher. I was a lanky preadolescent; uncoordination is a dominant trait in our family. Slowly, I stood up to move to the other side of the room. My dad leaned in, hands ready, nervous as hell. My foot gingerly stepped forward and barely brushed against the bedside. My dad's arms flew out to catch the falling baby, even though nothing had happened. I sighed and said something like, "I'm FINE, dad. I'm fine."
Christopher was a fantastic baby. My mom nursed him every hour and a half to make sure he was "thriving." He began sleeping ten hour stretches at an early age. He rarely cried and was prone to staring contentedly into space for long spells. I enjoyed being a big sister to the uttermost. My first day back at school was fun. The principle announced that I had a new brother on the intercom. Hugh Simpson was my heart throb that year (and the year before -- it was a long crush) and we sat next to each other. Thanks to Christopher, we had our first real conversation:
Hugh: So. You have a baby brother?
Me: Yeah.
Hugh: What's his name?
Me: Christopher Daniel
Hugh: Cool.
Me: Yeah.
(Maybe that explains why I never had boyfriends?) Those of you who read Part 1 of Christopher's story know that his middle name is NOT Daniel; it is Milton. I was embarrassed to tell Hugh, so I made up a different name! It was a spur of the moment decision in the midst of sweaty palms and a wildly beating heart. Maybe if I'd used the real name, it's uniqueness would have sparked a longer conversation. Probably not.
The first time I held Christopher was wonderful. We were in a tiny shared hospital room with multiple chairs and a large bed on wheels. My mom was sore and out-of-it. My dad watched intently as I carefully cradled Christopher. I was a lanky preadolescent; uncoordination is a dominant trait in our family. Slowly, I stood up to move to the other side of the room. My dad leaned in, hands ready, nervous as hell. My foot gingerly stepped forward and barely brushed against the bedside. My dad's arms flew out to catch the falling baby, even though nothing had happened. I sighed and said something like, "I'm FINE, dad. I'm fine."
Christopher was a fantastic baby. My mom nursed him every hour and a half to make sure he was "thriving." He began sleeping ten hour stretches at an early age. He rarely cried and was prone to staring contentedly into space for long spells. I enjoyed being a big sister to the uttermost. My first day back at school was fun. The principle announced that I had a new brother on the intercom. Hugh Simpson was my heart throb that year (and the year before -- it was a long crush) and we sat next to each other. Thanks to Christopher, we had our first real conversation:
Hugh: So. You have a baby brother?
Me: Yeah.
Hugh: What's his name?
Me: Christopher Daniel
Hugh: Cool.
Me: Yeah.
(Maybe that explains why I never had boyfriends?) Those of you who read Part 1 of Christopher's story know that his middle name is NOT Daniel; it is Milton. I was embarrassed to tell Hugh, so I made up a different name! It was a spur of the moment decision in the midst of sweaty palms and a wildly beating heart. Maybe if I'd used the real name, it's uniqueness would have sparked a longer conversation. Probably not.
8/19/2005
my brother, part 1
I've decided to post about my brother. He is ten and a half years younger than me and is my only sibling. He means the world to me, so I thought I'd write about him for awhile.
I was an only child as a young girl and I hated it. Most of the families we were knew had at least 3 children. I was the only, only-child I knew. Each day I'd beg my mom to call a friend to play with me. She'd say, "But we called them yesterday. We can't call two days in a row." The extrovert in me suffered.
When I was five years old my mom got pregnant. She lost the baby girl at 37 weeks. Each March our family still feels the sadness of her absence. We never found out the cause of death. I do not remember anything about that pregnancy or loss. My mom says I came into the hospital room and crawled onto the bed with her. I was crying and said, "I want the baby." She replied, "We'll get you another baby." I shook my head, "No. I want THAT baby." The one thing I recall was being in a dark hospital hallway with my caring Uncle Jerry. He gave me a medium sized stuffed bunny that had a music box inside. I wonder if he bought it for the baby and gave it to me instead?
After the stillborn, my parents didn't know if they'd be able to get pregnant again. Five years passed. My mom suffered with severe chronic fatique during that time; many of her days were spent in bed. I longed for a brother or sister with all my heart.
One day she was sick in bed and I was moping around the house, bored. My dad was in the bedroom with her, and they called me to the room. I sat at the foot of the bed and waited to hear what they wanted to say. My dad said, "You know your mom is sick a lot of the time. Usually we don't know what the cause of her illness. But today we do: She is pregnant!" I gulped in disbelief. A smile spread across my shocked face. An involuntary laugh bubbled from my mouth. As I giggled with delight, tears spilled down my face. It was the first time I cried for happiness.
The pregnancy was long. At the beginning there was bleeding and fear. One of the first appointments was scary. The doctor thought my mom was about 12 weeks along. A nurse listened for a heartbeat and heard nothing. My parents nervously waited, knowing the odds were against them with my mom's history and weak health. The doctor came in to attempt to hear the heartbeat. Nothing. He said, "Let's do an ultrasound and see what happened." My mom and dad began to cry, assuming the baby was gone.
The tech put the ultrasound wand to her belly. Their eyes turned to the screen expecting to see a still figure. Instead, they were greeted with a jumping, moving, healthy baby. They exclaimed with joy and shock. The baby was only 8 weeks along, not 12, which explained the undetectable heartbeat.
I remember the rest of the pregnancy as a long spell of bedrest, nausea and never-ending hunger for my mom. The kitchen was continually dirty; one morning the smell of moldy oatmeal sent my dad into a angry frenzy when he couldn't take it anymore. One day in the fifth month I remember going somewhere with my mom. As I clicked my seatbelt in our massive green Mercury, I looked over at her and smiled. I was excited to be out of the house with her. Until then, she had been too sick to leave the house. In the third trimester I remember her reclining in my dad's big blue chair. He treated her like a queen during the pregnancy, taking care to keep the baby safe. We'd take turns sitting next to the chair on our knees with our ear against her belly, trying to hear the heartbeat. I loved seeing her stomach jump methodically when the baby had the hiccups.
February 24th arrived. I got up to go to school and noticed my dad was in the living room. Typically he would've left the house for work already. I walked to the end of the hallway with a question on my face. He said, "We think today might be the day." I shrugged and turned back toward my room thinking, "Yeah right. She's going to be pregnant forever." I really felt that way. A few hours later I was sitting on the gym floor in PE, waiting for my turn in a game. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar person. I turned and looked up to find my best friend's mom. Her plump face was shining with joy as she said robustly, "It's time!!"
The drive to the hospital was surreal. There was road construction on the way and I wanted the car to go faster. My heart raced and my hands were sweaty as we neared the hospital. In the waiting room I saw familiar faces. Church people. Aunts and uncles. Everyone was jittery with excitement. My mom had a c-section because she'd already had two of them. Behind the doors to the operating room, my dad was dressed in scrubs, head to toe. He actually WATCHED the doctor do the surgery. Instead of being terrified to see his wife cut open, he was fascinated. The doctor even showed my mom's organs to my dad!!!! He saw her stomach, liver, etc. He still boasts that he know's her "inside and out." Ew. I hate that story.
We did not know if the baby was a boy or a girl. My mom was given general anesthetic because her epidural didn't take. The only thing she recalls from the surgery was my dad YELLING, "It's a boy, Alice! It's a boy!" For some reason they had assumed it would be a girl. The surprise boy came out healthy. His name: Christopher Milton.
I was the first one taken to see my mom and the baby. I was ushered into a tiny room where I stood beside a bed on wheels. It frightened me to see my mom half asleep, trying to wake up from the anesthetic. Her cheeks shook as she attempted to smile at me. She was trying to ease my fears, I think. At the other end of the room, my dad held up Chistopher, like Simba in the Lion King. His tiny body was wrinkled and he resembled a frog in shape and color. I felt shocked with awe. I finally had a sibling. My parents could now say phrases like, "the kids" and "both of them."
I was an only child as a young girl and I hated it. Most of the families we were knew had at least 3 children. I was the only, only-child I knew. Each day I'd beg my mom to call a friend to play with me. She'd say, "But we called them yesterday. We can't call two days in a row." The extrovert in me suffered.
When I was five years old my mom got pregnant. She lost the baby girl at 37 weeks. Each March our family still feels the sadness of her absence. We never found out the cause of death. I do not remember anything about that pregnancy or loss. My mom says I came into the hospital room and crawled onto the bed with her. I was crying and said, "I want the baby." She replied, "We'll get you another baby." I shook my head, "No. I want THAT baby." The one thing I recall was being in a dark hospital hallway with my caring Uncle Jerry. He gave me a medium sized stuffed bunny that had a music box inside. I wonder if he bought it for the baby and gave it to me instead?
After the stillborn, my parents didn't know if they'd be able to get pregnant again. Five years passed. My mom suffered with severe chronic fatique during that time; many of her days were spent in bed. I longed for a brother or sister with all my heart.
One day she was sick in bed and I was moping around the house, bored. My dad was in the bedroom with her, and they called me to the room. I sat at the foot of the bed and waited to hear what they wanted to say. My dad said, "You know your mom is sick a lot of the time. Usually we don't know what the cause of her illness. But today we do: She is pregnant!" I gulped in disbelief. A smile spread across my shocked face. An involuntary laugh bubbled from my mouth. As I giggled with delight, tears spilled down my face. It was the first time I cried for happiness.
The pregnancy was long. At the beginning there was bleeding and fear. One of the first appointments was scary. The doctor thought my mom was about 12 weeks along. A nurse listened for a heartbeat and heard nothing. My parents nervously waited, knowing the odds were against them with my mom's history and weak health. The doctor came in to attempt to hear the heartbeat. Nothing. He said, "Let's do an ultrasound and see what happened." My mom and dad began to cry, assuming the baby was gone.
The tech put the ultrasound wand to her belly. Their eyes turned to the screen expecting to see a still figure. Instead, they were greeted with a jumping, moving, healthy baby. They exclaimed with joy and shock. The baby was only 8 weeks along, not 12, which explained the undetectable heartbeat.
I remember the rest of the pregnancy as a long spell of bedrest, nausea and never-ending hunger for my mom. The kitchen was continually dirty; one morning the smell of moldy oatmeal sent my dad into a angry frenzy when he couldn't take it anymore. One day in the fifth month I remember going somewhere with my mom. As I clicked my seatbelt in our massive green Mercury, I looked over at her and smiled. I was excited to be out of the house with her. Until then, she had been too sick to leave the house. In the third trimester I remember her reclining in my dad's big blue chair. He treated her like a queen during the pregnancy, taking care to keep the baby safe. We'd take turns sitting next to the chair on our knees with our ear against her belly, trying to hear the heartbeat. I loved seeing her stomach jump methodically when the baby had the hiccups.
February 24th arrived. I got up to go to school and noticed my dad was in the living room. Typically he would've left the house for work already. I walked to the end of the hallway with a question on my face. He said, "We think today might be the day." I shrugged and turned back toward my room thinking, "Yeah right. She's going to be pregnant forever." I really felt that way. A few hours later I was sitting on the gym floor in PE, waiting for my turn in a game. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar person. I turned and looked up to find my best friend's mom. Her plump face was shining with joy as she said robustly, "It's time!!"
The drive to the hospital was surreal. There was road construction on the way and I wanted the car to go faster. My heart raced and my hands were sweaty as we neared the hospital. In the waiting room I saw familiar faces. Church people. Aunts and uncles. Everyone was jittery with excitement. My mom had a c-section because she'd already had two of them. Behind the doors to the operating room, my dad was dressed in scrubs, head to toe. He actually WATCHED the doctor do the surgery. Instead of being terrified to see his wife cut open, he was fascinated. The doctor even showed my mom's organs to my dad!!!! He saw her stomach, liver, etc. He still boasts that he know's her "inside and out." Ew. I hate that story.
We did not know if the baby was a boy or a girl. My mom was given general anesthetic because her epidural didn't take. The only thing she recalls from the surgery was my dad YELLING, "It's a boy, Alice! It's a boy!" For some reason they had assumed it would be a girl. The surprise boy came out healthy. His name: Christopher Milton.
I was the first one taken to see my mom and the baby. I was ushered into a tiny room where I stood beside a bed on wheels. It frightened me to see my mom half asleep, trying to wake up from the anesthetic. Her cheeks shook as she attempted to smile at me. She was trying to ease my fears, I think. At the other end of the room, my dad held up Chistopher, like Simba in the Lion King. His tiny body was wrinkled and he resembled a frog in shape and color. I felt shocked with awe. I finally had a sibling. My parents could now say phrases like, "the kids" and "both of them."
8/18/2005
frustration turned to peace
We've had a rough week. Melody has been whiny, needy, and not herself. She tries to be happy, but cannot. I can see her pleasant nature being snuffed out by what I assume is teething symptoms. We've had long nights of crying, running nose and wakefulness. It is so sad to see her unable to get good breaths due to a stopped up nose. If only she's breath through her mouth... The problem is, her fingers are usually inside her mouth while she sleeps.
This morning I am dazed and tired. I am finally drinking my coffee. It sat on the kitchen counter for over a hour, ready with soy milk and sugar in the raw. Now it is room temperature. This would usually bug me, but since it's 79ยบ in our house, cooler coffee is okay.
I could not do anything right with Melody this morning. We finally did her two favorite things: an outdoor walk; then a bath. A few times around the block at 8:30am, and I'm already hot and sticky. I'm ready for fall. She calmed down on the walk and then enjoyed the bathtub, until she tried pulling up to a standing position on the side of the tub. Slippery, hard surfaces plus naked, wet baby are not a good combination. She got frustrated when I pulled her away from the edge. We had a full-on meltdown when I finally took her out of the tub.
All of this wouldn't phase me if it weren't for two things: I'm tired and I have a freelance project due soon. I finally got Melody down for a morning nap. I am hoping she's worn out enough to sleep a few hours. (Please. Please. Please.)
Despite my whining, I still think motherhood isn't as hard as I thought it would be. The crying, snot, slobber, poop, night-time care, pick-up-the-toy-a-million-times game, baby gear in every corner of the house, extra laundry, babyfood sneezes.... I used to worry I'd hate all these things. I'd see moms in restuarants unable to eat their food because of the baby, and I'd involuntarily shiver, wondering how I'd cope when it was my turn. The thing that makes all these things okay is the amount of LOVE I have for Melody. Taking care of her is a pleasure, even when it is in the middle of the night. I get frustrated often, but when I stop and really think about it all, I come to the same conclusion every time. It is a delight to take care of her. On our walk this morning I found myself breathing prayers of thanksgiving for such a gift. I am overwhelmed by the blessing and goodness that has come with our strong Melody.
I did not expect this post to end this way... when I started it I was super frustrated and ready to complain, complain, complain. I feel better now. I have a friend who once said, "Writing is like throwing up. I always feel better afterward." This quote applies to me this morning. (Although I'd choose writing over throwing up any day of the year.)
This morning I am dazed and tired. I am finally drinking my coffee. It sat on the kitchen counter for over a hour, ready with soy milk and sugar in the raw. Now it is room temperature. This would usually bug me, but since it's 79ยบ in our house, cooler coffee is okay.
I could not do anything right with Melody this morning. We finally did her two favorite things: an outdoor walk; then a bath. A few times around the block at 8:30am, and I'm already hot and sticky. I'm ready for fall. She calmed down on the walk and then enjoyed the bathtub, until she tried pulling up to a standing position on the side of the tub. Slippery, hard surfaces plus naked, wet baby are not a good combination. She got frustrated when I pulled her away from the edge. We had a full-on meltdown when I finally took her out of the tub.
All of this wouldn't phase me if it weren't for two things: I'm tired and I have a freelance project due soon. I finally got Melody down for a morning nap. I am hoping she's worn out enough to sleep a few hours. (Please. Please. Please.)
Despite my whining, I still think motherhood isn't as hard as I thought it would be. The crying, snot, slobber, poop, night-time care, pick-up-the-toy-a-million-times game, baby gear in every corner of the house, extra laundry, babyfood sneezes.... I used to worry I'd hate all these things. I'd see moms in restuarants unable to eat their food because of the baby, and I'd involuntarily shiver, wondering how I'd cope when it was my turn. The thing that makes all these things okay is the amount of LOVE I have for Melody. Taking care of her is a pleasure, even when it is in the middle of the night. I get frustrated often, but when I stop and really think about it all, I come to the same conclusion every time. It is a delight to take care of her. On our walk this morning I found myself breathing prayers of thanksgiving for such a gift. I am overwhelmed by the blessing and goodness that has come with our strong Melody.
I did not expect this post to end this way... when I started it I was super frustrated and ready to complain, complain, complain. I feel better now. I have a friend who once said, "Writing is like throwing up. I always feel better afterward." This quote applies to me this morning. (Although I'd choose writing over throwing up any day of the year.)
8/17/2005
font hell
I am in font hell. For weeks I've been trying to set up a computer work station at home. (That sounds really dumb.) I have a four year old G4 Powerbook. I love it. I also love designing. What I do not love is computer stuff. I do well with my limited software programs. I learn them well enough to work efficiently. I love key commands and shortcuts. I do not thrive on problem solving.
My latest problems surround the confusing world of fonts. Postscript. Open Type. True Type. Dfont. Unicode. &^#(@! What does these gibberish mean?! Why can't it be simplier? One of the things that is holding me back is I have to use the same exact fonts my vendors use. Even though there are thousands of versions of Caslon out there, I have to use the one and only one they use.
I dream of a day when I have a setup I fully understand. The projects I'm doing are simple, enjoyable, and routine IF I don't run into font hassles, printer problems, operating system glitches, internet woes and unexplainable mishaps. I guess these bumps in the road are what I'm really getting paid for -- I keep telling myself this is a GOOD thing. After all, the only way for me to learn hard stuff is to be forced into it. I will never in a million years say to myself, "Ohh. A computer problem. This is fascinating! Let me see... what is going on here?"
My latest problems surround the confusing world of fonts. Postscript. Open Type. True Type. Dfont. Unicode. &^#(@! What does these gibberish mean?! Why can't it be simplier? One of the things that is holding me back is I have to use the same exact fonts my vendors use. Even though there are thousands of versions of Caslon out there, I have to use the one and only one they use.
I dream of a day when I have a setup I fully understand. The projects I'm doing are simple, enjoyable, and routine IF I don't run into font hassles, printer problems, operating system glitches, internet woes and unexplainable mishaps. I guess these bumps in the road are what I'm really getting paid for -- I keep telling myself this is a GOOD thing. After all, the only way for me to learn hard stuff is to be forced into it. I will never in a million years say to myself, "Ohh. A computer problem. This is fascinating! Let me see... what is going on here?"
8/16/2005
weight watchers and biting
Tonight I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting. I've always considered Weight Watchers to be a good method of weightloss. For a long time I knew it would be my "diet of chioce" if ever I decided to do something like that. It's time.
I was surprised by the large number of people in attendence; there were about fifty people present. The teacher was energetic, informative, and positive. I arrived 10 minutes late and had to squeeze into a row near the front. I felt extremely self consious because compared to the others I am not very big. I was surprised by how much courage it took to simply sit through the meeting. For some reason tears threatened to accumulate throughout the 45 minute gathering. I did not expect this surge of emotion.
I think the points method will help me be aware of mindless eating and empty calories. The first goal is to loose ten percent of one's current weight. That is 16 pounds for me. (I weighed in at 165.) If I loose 16 pounds I'll be at 149, which is close to my ultimate goal of 145. As a nursing mom I am allowed more points. This makes perfect sense, but I find myself resenting the fact that I need to eat more in order to breastfeed. The longer I breastfeed the more I realize how much self sacrifice it requires.
My expectation was to love breastfeeding. Many mothers rant and rave about how awesome it is. Now that Melody has teeth I am tense and nervous the whole time she eats. She bites me about three times a day and it HURTS so much. I yelp a loud "NO" which makes her sad for about half a second. Then she smiles as if to say, "You aren't really mad a me, Mommy... you love me. Remember?" I can't help but gather her tiny body close and smile as if to say back, "Yes. You are right. I love you with all my heart." And that is the reason I keep nursing.
I was surprised by the large number of people in attendence; there were about fifty people present. The teacher was energetic, informative, and positive. I arrived 10 minutes late and had to squeeze into a row near the front. I felt extremely self consious because compared to the others I am not very big. I was surprised by how much courage it took to simply sit through the meeting. For some reason tears threatened to accumulate throughout the 45 minute gathering. I did not expect this surge of emotion.
I think the points method will help me be aware of mindless eating and empty calories. The first goal is to loose ten percent of one's current weight. That is 16 pounds for me. (I weighed in at 165.) If I loose 16 pounds I'll be at 149, which is close to my ultimate goal of 145. As a nursing mom I am allowed more points. This makes perfect sense, but I find myself resenting the fact that I need to eat more in order to breastfeed. The longer I breastfeed the more I realize how much self sacrifice it requires.
My expectation was to love breastfeeding. Many mothers rant and rave about how awesome it is. Now that Melody has teeth I am tense and nervous the whole time she eats. She bites me about three times a day and it HURTS so much. I yelp a loud "NO" which makes her sad for about half a second. Then she smiles as if to say, "You aren't really mad a me, Mommy... you love me. Remember?" I can't help but gather her tiny body close and smile as if to say back, "Yes. You are right. I love you with all my heart." And that is the reason I keep nursing.
8/15/2005
melody
I am realizing that feeling down doesn't necessarily mean I'm depressed. I am terrified of the depression coming back, so when ordinary sadness surfaces, I get scared. The death of my midwife's little girl has effected many people. When I mentioned my heartache to a friend, she said the day the little girl died set the stage for a dark and sad summer. I think she is right.
On a lighter note, I'll update you on Melody. We are still nursing. I received a new batch of domperidone in the mail yesterday. I ordered enough to last for several months. I came close to quitting, but decided to stick it out until she is a year old. To me it is more convenient to formula feed than breastfeed, but I can't deny the joy we share when nursing.
I love the way Melody calms down as soon as we're laying side by side. (We typically nurse laying down.) After she has eaten for awhile she pulls away and looks up at me. Her cheeks are flushed from our combined body heat. She grins with milk-glossed lips and my heart melts. Her eyes are bright with recognition as I talk to her.
Today we had a rough day. She cried a new cry. Shrill. Loud. Demanding. At first I wondered if it was a willful streak annoucing the arrival of a difficult stage. But as the day wore on, she seemed to be disturbed with pain. I cannot not tell if it is teething, growing pains, or stomach trouble. To ease her hard day I gave her two ice cubes worth of homemade peach babyfood. It is her favorite. Other foods she will tolerate are oatmeal, prunes, avocado, carrot, sweet potato and banana. She likes to clamp down onto the rubber spoon with her two tiny teeth. She grins as if it's a trick.
On a lighter note, I'll update you on Melody. We are still nursing. I received a new batch of domperidone in the mail yesterday. I ordered enough to last for several months. I came close to quitting, but decided to stick it out until she is a year old. To me it is more convenient to formula feed than breastfeed, but I can't deny the joy we share when nursing.
I love the way Melody calms down as soon as we're laying side by side. (We typically nurse laying down.) After she has eaten for awhile she pulls away and looks up at me. Her cheeks are flushed from our combined body heat. She grins with milk-glossed lips and my heart melts. Her eyes are bright with recognition as I talk to her.
Today we had a rough day. She cried a new cry. Shrill. Loud. Demanding. At first I wondered if it was a willful streak annoucing the arrival of a difficult stage. But as the day wore on, she seemed to be disturbed with pain. I cannot not tell if it is teething, growing pains, or stomach trouble. To ease her hard day I gave her two ice cubes worth of homemade peach babyfood. It is her favorite. Other foods she will tolerate are oatmeal, prunes, avocado, carrot, sweet potato and banana. She likes to clamp down onto the rubber spoon with her two tiny teeth. She grins as if it's a trick.
8/10/2005
more sadness
I am depressed again. I am still taking my anti-depressant but the past two weeks have been a blur. I do not have an explaination.
I know I'm depressed because I'm apathetic about things that usually matter. I don't care if I quit breastfeeding. The kitchen floor is sticky; I don't mop. I call people to chat thinking it might help. I stare into space instead of making conversation and end up feeling worse. Melody's mild fussiness gets on my nerves. I don't want to go swimming.
I think the sadness began in mid-July when a tragedy occured. One morning at 6:30 I got a call from one of my mom-friends. I immediately knew something was wrong. She told me our midwife's daughter, a five year old, had died the night before. The cause of death: a rare, unexplained reaction to a spider bite.
Our midwife is an amazing woman. She is a strong force of goodwill, kindness, and caregiving in our community. She's a best friend to all her patients. After the last postpartum appointment we're known to go through withdraw because we miss her so much. The news of her daughter's sudden death shocked us all. We immediately began cooking spaghetti, buying flowers, writing cards, praying, etc. Of course none of these things felt like enough. The mother's grief swallowed us because we love her so much.
Since then, I've felt lost and sad.
I know I'm depressed because I'm apathetic about things that usually matter. I don't care if I quit breastfeeding. The kitchen floor is sticky; I don't mop. I call people to chat thinking it might help. I stare into space instead of making conversation and end up feeling worse. Melody's mild fussiness gets on my nerves. I don't want to go swimming.
I think the sadness began in mid-July when a tragedy occured. One morning at 6:30 I got a call from one of my mom-friends. I immediately knew something was wrong. She told me our midwife's daughter, a five year old, had died the night before. The cause of death: a rare, unexplained reaction to a spider bite.
Our midwife is an amazing woman. She is a strong force of goodwill, kindness, and caregiving in our community. She's a best friend to all her patients. After the last postpartum appointment we're known to go through withdraw because we miss her so much. The news of her daughter's sudden death shocked us all. We immediately began cooking spaghetti, buying flowers, writing cards, praying, etc. Of course none of these things felt like enough. The mother's grief swallowed us because we love her so much.
Since then, I've felt lost and sad.
8/02/2005
a fast rundown
A lot has happened in recent weeks.
To summerize:
• I finished a huge freelance project. I feel FREE now. My sister-in-law visited for three weeks in order to help with the baby and the house while I worked. Having her here was spectacular. We got to know each other better than ever before. She was awesome with Melody.
• One of my best friends got married. The wedding was outside on a triple digit day. There were nine bridesmaids and eight groomsmen which made for a large affair. The poor boys melted in their black tuxes under a harsh Arkansas sun. Many friends from college were present. The reunion was fun, although I was awkwardly aware of my excess weight. No one else has had kids yet.
• I had a birthday. I am now one year away from the big 30 mark. Crazy. Chad and I had sushi together for the first time to celebrate. We liked it a lot; my favorite was the crab.
• Construction on our new house has begun. We're building a house in the country. It will be smaller than the one we're currently in. I'm happy about this because right now our meager furniture is swallowed up in this 1700 square feet. The new home will be around 1400. I'm envisioning a more cozy living area.
• I've been trying to spend on solid hour a day cleaning house. I'm excited about this plan. Things are looking more picked up than ever before. I like to do the hour of dirty work in the morning before I shower, if possible. This way I work like a mad woman and don't worry about getting grimmy.
• Melody is 7 months now and has two teeth. She sits up like a champ and loves to say da-da-da and ah-ba-ba. She weighs 14 lbs, 9 oz and is 26 inches long. I am having a blast with her.
Other very significant things have transpired during my blogging laspe. I am not able to list them in a piddly summary. I hope to expound, ask questions, and seek thoughts on the subjects soon.
To summerize:
• I finished a huge freelance project. I feel FREE now. My sister-in-law visited for three weeks in order to help with the baby and the house while I worked. Having her here was spectacular. We got to know each other better than ever before. She was awesome with Melody.
• One of my best friends got married. The wedding was outside on a triple digit day. There were nine bridesmaids and eight groomsmen which made for a large affair. The poor boys melted in their black tuxes under a harsh Arkansas sun. Many friends from college were present. The reunion was fun, although I was awkwardly aware of my excess weight. No one else has had kids yet.
• I had a birthday. I am now one year away from the big 30 mark. Crazy. Chad and I had sushi together for the first time to celebrate. We liked it a lot; my favorite was the crab.
• Construction on our new house has begun. We're building a house in the country. It will be smaller than the one we're currently in. I'm happy about this because right now our meager furniture is swallowed up in this 1700 square feet. The new home will be around 1400. I'm envisioning a more cozy living area.
• I've been trying to spend on solid hour a day cleaning house. I'm excited about this plan. Things are looking more picked up than ever before. I like to do the hour of dirty work in the morning before I shower, if possible. This way I work like a mad woman and don't worry about getting grimmy.
• Melody is 7 months now and has two teeth. She sits up like a champ and loves to say da-da-da and ah-ba-ba. She weighs 14 lbs, 9 oz and is 26 inches long. I am having a blast with her.
Other very significant things have transpired during my blogging laspe. I am not able to list them in a piddly summary. I hope to expound, ask questions, and seek thoughts on the subjects soon.
7/13/2005
dreams vs reality
This morning Melody and I woke up early. I was tired and groggy. She is teething and our nights have been rougher than usual. I turned to see the clock. 6:23. We got out of bed (she slept with me last night) and she was singing her morning song. She is happiest in the mornings. I changed her diaper and put on my knee length Gap camouflage shorts. They belong to Chad, but I recently discovered they fit me! It was great to know I can wear some of his clothes again. We used to switch and trade clothes all the time. My 55 lb pregnancy weight gain changed that fact.
I put Melody in the backpack and leashed the dog. He was sleepy and excited at the same time. I don't think he'd ever been for a walk that early. The air outside wasn't as refreshing as I hoped. The Arkansas July air remained humid despite the early hour. It was quiet and still though. Morning has always been my favorite time of day, but I usually am too lazy to do anything about it.
We walked for thirty minutes. Many cars exited the neighborhood during this time. The passengers appeared to be on their way to work. Each passing car reinforced my thankfulness to be at home with Meldoy instead of working fulltime. I feel so lucky. Our morning walk was a dream come true.
Lately I've reaized something new: I am a dreamer.
I always have an ideal picture in my head of what the future holds. In this picture there are steady things that do not change. The house is clean and extremely organized. Our bills are neatly filed. I am skinny. Unique decorations adorn each wall. Beds are made. Meals are planned and healthy. I exercise regularly and feel strong.
When we were in the process of buying our current house I held these high dreams. Now, three years later, a couple walls have decor that is pleasing to my eye. The bills are paid on time, but a file pile is approaching one foot tall in the spare bedroom. I am slowly loosing weight but the idea of being skinny again feels like a far away thing. The beds are made about 40% of the time.
Now we are in the process of builing a house in the country. I find myself dreaming again. Paint colors from Restoration Hardware, high gloss cabinets, cedar trim, flower boxes, dreamy patio.... I lay awake at night pondering what each room will look like. Lately I've been realizing that the new house will still have a file pile, struggling plants, and makeshift furniture.
Does everyone have this dilemma? If so, how do we jump out of it and make our dreams reality?
I put Melody in the backpack and leashed the dog. He was sleepy and excited at the same time. I don't think he'd ever been for a walk that early. The air outside wasn't as refreshing as I hoped. The Arkansas July air remained humid despite the early hour. It was quiet and still though. Morning has always been my favorite time of day, but I usually am too lazy to do anything about it.
We walked for thirty minutes. Many cars exited the neighborhood during this time. The passengers appeared to be on their way to work. Each passing car reinforced my thankfulness to be at home with Meldoy instead of working fulltime. I feel so lucky. Our morning walk was a dream come true.
Lately I've reaized something new: I am a dreamer.
I always have an ideal picture in my head of what the future holds. In this picture there are steady things that do not change. The house is clean and extremely organized. Our bills are neatly filed. I am skinny. Unique decorations adorn each wall. Beds are made. Meals are planned and healthy. I exercise regularly and feel strong.
When we were in the process of buying our current house I held these high dreams. Now, three years later, a couple walls have decor that is pleasing to my eye. The bills are paid on time, but a file pile is approaching one foot tall in the spare bedroom. I am slowly loosing weight but the idea of being skinny again feels like a far away thing. The beds are made about 40% of the time.
Now we are in the process of builing a house in the country. I find myself dreaming again. Paint colors from Restoration Hardware, high gloss cabinets, cedar trim, flower boxes, dreamy patio.... I lay awake at night pondering what each room will look like. Lately I've been realizing that the new house will still have a file pile, struggling plants, and makeshift furniture.
Does everyone have this dilemma? If so, how do we jump out of it and make our dreams reality?
6/22/2005
a song for my honey
I've felt kinda bad since I posted the last entry about my husband. It was very late when I wrote it. I had been working hard for several hours in a row and was slap-stick-silly. I railed on him pretty hard. He took it in good humor, like usual. He's the optimist in the relationship. I'm the skeptic, known to say, "That's a conspiracy!" more than once on any give day.
Tomorrow I leave for Atlanta for six days, to visit my childhood best friend. We both have baby girls; six weeks apart in age. I'm super excited about the break and am so thankful that Chad is supportive of the trip even though he'll be home alone for almost a week. I've been thinking about him as I pack tonight. (We have to leave the house for the airport in 7 short hours. I'm still packing.) He and Melody are asleep.
There is a song by Coldplay that I love. It's called Green Eyes and it makes me think of Chad every time I listen to it. I've been listening to it a lot lately. Here are the lyrics:
Honey you are the rock
Upon which I stand
And I came here to talk
I hope you understand
Green eyes
Yeah the spotlight shines upon you
And how could anybody deny you
I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Than when I met you
And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Honey you are the sea
Upon which I float
And I came here to talk
I think you should know
Green eyes
You are the one that I wanted find
And anyone who tried to deny you
Must be out of their mind
Cause I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Since I met you
Honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Green eyes
Honey you are the rock
Upon which I stand
Tomorrow I leave for Atlanta for six days, to visit my childhood best friend. We both have baby girls; six weeks apart in age. I'm super excited about the break and am so thankful that Chad is supportive of the trip even though he'll be home alone for almost a week. I've been thinking about him as I pack tonight. (We have to leave the house for the airport in 7 short hours. I'm still packing.) He and Melody are asleep.
There is a song by Coldplay that I love. It's called Green Eyes and it makes me think of Chad every time I listen to it. I've been listening to it a lot lately. Here are the lyrics:
Honey you are the rock
Upon which I stand
And I came here to talk
I hope you understand
Green eyes
Yeah the spotlight shines upon you
And how could anybody deny you
I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Than when I met you
And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Honey you are the sea
Upon which I float
And I came here to talk
I think you should know
Green eyes
You are the one that I wanted find
And anyone who tried to deny you
Must be out of their mind
Cause I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Since I met you
Honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Green eyes
Honey you are the rock
Upon which I stand
6/19/2005
my husband, the sentimental handyman
Lately I have been busy working on some freelance projects for the design company where I used to work. I have a makeshift work area at home in our spare room. My laptop sits on a "Lovefeast Table." (I call it this because when I was a kid our churh had a Lovefeast, ie: Potluck, once a month. Food was piled onto long rectangular tables with fake wood grain tops.) The table is too high for my stationery chair so I've become accustom to typing and mousing with my arms stretched out straight in front of me.
Behind my work area is a full size bed with a twin comforter. Next to that is a wooden bookshelf that Chad made out of scrap 1x4s. He gave it to me as a present my first birthday after we got married. I was sorely disappointed, but he was so proud of the sturdy thing that I didn't show it. Just the other night it came out that I wasn't thrilled to receive the bookshelf as a gift. His face fell and he said like a hurt little boy, "What's wrong with my bookself?!"
My reply, "No, no, no! It's great, just not what I wanting to put in our living room as a newlywed, or what I wanted to get as a birthday present. You did a good job though...." (pat, pat, stroke, stroke)
Chad also made the frame for our bed. We have a TemperPedic mattress (which we LOVE) and it does not need a box spring. Instead it is made to lay on a flat, sturdy surface. We could (should) have bought a box with the mattress to serve this purpose. The box was $200, and Chad decided he would make one instead.
For a year and a half our mattress sat on the floor. No one would have guessed we'd spent over $1000 on our amazing mattress. After awhile I began moaning and groaning about getting up off the floor every morning. We went to Lowes and spent $100 on materials for a homemade frame. Chad used huge 4x4 boards for the posts and partical board for the platform. All the wood remained unfinished. The bed ended up being about 4 feet above the ground. (I'm not kidding.) First we couldn't get up out of bed and then we couldn't get onto the bed! Once again, the construction was sturdy and practical.... but not so pretty.
My dreams of a Martha Stewart home have long flown out the window. That happened one weekend during our engagement when we drove my dad's work van to Chad's home to load up his stuff. We hauled back a king size waterbed (the old nasty 80s kind), assorted swords, hachets, blowguns and a lava lamp. Desperately trying not to be the nagging sort, I nervously chewed my lip the whole 9 hour drive home. Where would be put all his crap? We were to live in a tiny campus duplex so it was not possible to give him the basement for his stuff. I tried to brainstorm ways to creatively make our first home cool, unique and tasteful. My two drawbacks were lack of funds and Chad's awful stuff. He is the sentimental kind, so getting rid of the stuff was not an option. (It was hard enough to convince him that he didn't need every single picture and letter from his high school girl friend -- but that's for another post.)
Almost five years has passed since that long ride from Illinois to Arkansas. I do not have the home of my dreams, but I don't mind so much. There is warmth, fun, laughter, and happiness within these walls. I'm choosing to make these things the important ones, instead of matching furniture, expensive things, and the right color scheme. Maybe someday I'll have the best of both worlds, but for now I'm doing alright.
Behind my work area is a full size bed with a twin comforter. Next to that is a wooden bookshelf that Chad made out of scrap 1x4s. He gave it to me as a present my first birthday after we got married. I was sorely disappointed, but he was so proud of the sturdy thing that I didn't show it. Just the other night it came out that I wasn't thrilled to receive the bookshelf as a gift. His face fell and he said like a hurt little boy, "What's wrong with my bookself?!"
My reply, "No, no, no! It's great, just not what I wanting to put in our living room as a newlywed, or what I wanted to get as a birthday present. You did a good job though...." (pat, pat, stroke, stroke)
Chad also made the frame for our bed. We have a TemperPedic mattress (which we LOVE) and it does not need a box spring. Instead it is made to lay on a flat, sturdy surface. We could (should) have bought a box with the mattress to serve this purpose. The box was $200, and Chad decided he would make one instead.
For a year and a half our mattress sat on the floor. No one would have guessed we'd spent over $1000 on our amazing mattress. After awhile I began moaning and groaning about getting up off the floor every morning. We went to Lowes and spent $100 on materials for a homemade frame. Chad used huge 4x4 boards for the posts and partical board for the platform. All the wood remained unfinished. The bed ended up being about 4 feet above the ground. (I'm not kidding.) First we couldn't get up out of bed and then we couldn't get onto the bed! Once again, the construction was sturdy and practical.... but not so pretty.
My dreams of a Martha Stewart home have long flown out the window. That happened one weekend during our engagement when we drove my dad's work van to Chad's home to load up his stuff. We hauled back a king size waterbed (the old nasty 80s kind), assorted swords, hachets, blowguns and a lava lamp. Desperately trying not to be the nagging sort, I nervously chewed my lip the whole 9 hour drive home. Where would be put all his crap? We were to live in a tiny campus duplex so it was not possible to give him the basement for his stuff. I tried to brainstorm ways to creatively make our first home cool, unique and tasteful. My two drawbacks were lack of funds and Chad's awful stuff. He is the sentimental kind, so getting rid of the stuff was not an option. (It was hard enough to convince him that he didn't need every single picture and letter from his high school girl friend -- but that's for another post.)
Almost five years has passed since that long ride from Illinois to Arkansas. I do not have the home of my dreams, but I don't mind so much. There is warmth, fun, laughter, and happiness within these walls. I'm choosing to make these things the important ones, instead of matching furniture, expensive things, and the right color scheme. Maybe someday I'll have the best of both worlds, but for now I'm doing alright.
6/10/2005
sweetest moments together
This morning I received an email from a friend. She asked me to tell her of some of my sweetest moments with Melody. As I pondered this thought, I came up with a few awesome memories from recent months since she's been born.
• A few hours after she was born we took a bath together. We stared at each other in dim candlelight and started to fall in love.
• At night I would lay on my back and put her on my chest, tummy down. Her tiny body was so light, I could barely feel it. But somehow her little body kept me warm. She would sleep there for hours while we listened to each other breathe.
• From day one I've loved dressing her. If she gets slobber on a onsie I happily change her into another outfit. Fortunately, she does not mind being changed.
• Watching my baby interact with her daddy is amazing. They create this beautiful picture when they're together; the two things that I love the most in this world. Seeing them together is overwhelming and wonderful.
• Watching her roll over for the first time brought excitement and joy that surprised me. I did not know milestones like these would be so precious. After she rolled over, I was happy all day. I told everyone, "She is rolling over now!" It as a declaration. Her new nickname was Rolly Polly.
• Another special thing was when I could tell that she knew me. She would light up when I approached her. She would calm down when I took her from someone else's arms. She looked for my voice.
• Nicknames have always been fun. Some of the most popular are: Sweetcake, Buttercup, Babydoll, Miss Melody, Lovey Dovey, Sweet Pea...
...okay, I'll stop before someone throws up. All that to say, it's been an awesome journey so far.
• A few hours after she was born we took a bath together. We stared at each other in dim candlelight and started to fall in love.
• At night I would lay on my back and put her on my chest, tummy down. Her tiny body was so light, I could barely feel it. But somehow her little body kept me warm. She would sleep there for hours while we listened to each other breathe.
• From day one I've loved dressing her. If she gets slobber on a onsie I happily change her into another outfit. Fortunately, she does not mind being changed.
• Watching my baby interact with her daddy is amazing. They create this beautiful picture when they're together; the two things that I love the most in this world. Seeing them together is overwhelming and wonderful.
• Watching her roll over for the first time brought excitement and joy that surprised me. I did not know milestones like these would be so precious. After she rolled over, I was happy all day. I told everyone, "She is rolling over now!" It as a declaration. Her new nickname was Rolly Polly.
• Another special thing was when I could tell that she knew me. She would light up when I approached her. She would calm down when I took her from someone else's arms. She looked for my voice.
• Nicknames have always been fun. Some of the most popular are: Sweetcake, Buttercup, Babydoll, Miss Melody, Lovey Dovey, Sweet Pea...
...okay, I'll stop before someone throws up. All that to say, it's been an awesome journey so far.
6/09/2005
addicted to lyle
Does anyone else like Lyle Lovett?
Lately I've been addicted to his music. I've listened to Cowboy Man everyday this week. I love his simple lyrics about rodeo life and lost loves. I'm not into country music. To me, his stuff is in another category. It's easy to listen to. Soothing to my soul, somehow. People are still shocked that he was married to Julia Roberts. I understand that he's not the most attractive guy around, but listening to him sing makes me wonder if that's how she fell for him.
If you were to wake up
And I were beside you
Would you gently smile
And whisper my name?
I like cream in my coffe
And I hate to be alone on Sunday
Nobody knows me like my baby
Nobody holds me like my baby
Shoot. If someone sang that way to me, I'd marry him.
Lately I've been addicted to his music. I've listened to Cowboy Man everyday this week. I love his simple lyrics about rodeo life and lost loves. I'm not into country music. To me, his stuff is in another category. It's easy to listen to. Soothing to my soul, somehow. People are still shocked that he was married to Julia Roberts. I understand that he's not the most attractive guy around, but listening to him sing makes me wonder if that's how she fell for him.
If you were to wake up
And I were beside you
Would you gently smile
And whisper my name?
I like cream in my coffe
And I hate to be alone on Sunday
Nobody knows me like my baby
Nobody holds me like my baby
Shoot. If someone sang that way to me, I'd marry him.
6/07/2005
the year of the overalls
A few posts back I talked about being fat. I did not think it would take me so long to loose my pregnancy weight. Many people have a saying, "Nine months on. Nine months off." I can recall even saying this very thing to others after they had their baby. Even though I spouted this advice, I didn't think it would apply to ME.
When I see a mom with a baby, I usually take note of her body. If she is thin I think things like,
"Maybe she has a trainer."
"Maybe she is the nanny, not the mom."
"Maybe she's just lucky."
"Maybe she works her butt off at the gym everyday."
I'm a tall girl. Without shoes, I'm 5' 9". I've been thin all my life. Before the pregnancy I weighted 150 lbs. Of course I wanted to be lighter by 10 or so pounds, but all in all, I was happy with the way I looked. I wore baggy clothes most of the time. Mens jeans, loose sweatshirts, baggy cargos, etc. Wearing things oversized made me feel comfy and wispy somehow. Occasionally I'd wear fitted jeans when Chad and I went on a date. Those times I felt sexy, but uncomfortable. Thankfully, he doesn't care what I wear. He rarely notices if I change something, so I stick with what's comfortable.
I gained 55 pounds during the pregnancy, topping out at 207. (!!!!) It felt strange to be over 200 pounds. At the end of the pregnancy I felt beauitful though. Everything was so round, which was pretty much the complete opposite of my usual body. Even my legs were round! I felt good. After Melody was born, I didn't feel good about the roundness anymore. I wanted it to be gone. I wanted to be one of those skinny moms. I didn't mind being a big pregnany person, but I did not like being a big non-pregnant person.
Melody is five and a half months now. I'm weighing in at 167 these days. I am finally starting to see the old Rebekah behind the round remnants of Pregnant Rebekah. I am thrilled to see her again. In the meantime I've been wearing massive Old Navy denim overalls everyday. I switch the shirts which brings a little variety, but the overalls are a constant. They hide my stomach and butt. These the two areas are the last to return to Normal Rebekah status. Sometimes I stare at my skinny wrist and long for the rest of my body to follow suit.
When I told a friend I thought 2005 was going to be my Fat Year, she corrected me and said, "No. It is simply going to be your Overalls Year." She was right. I doubt I'll quit wearing them until I'm 150 again. Then they will return to the back of my closet and wait for the next post pregnancy year. Next time a friend talks to me about her post pregnancy weight, I promise not to say, "You know what they say! Nine months on. Nine months off."
When I see a mom with a baby, I usually take note of her body. If she is thin I think things like,
"Maybe she has a trainer."
"Maybe she is the nanny, not the mom."
"Maybe she's just lucky."
"Maybe she works her butt off at the gym everyday."
I'm a tall girl. Without shoes, I'm 5' 9". I've been thin all my life. Before the pregnancy I weighted 150 lbs. Of course I wanted to be lighter by 10 or so pounds, but all in all, I was happy with the way I looked. I wore baggy clothes most of the time. Mens jeans, loose sweatshirts, baggy cargos, etc. Wearing things oversized made me feel comfy and wispy somehow. Occasionally I'd wear fitted jeans when Chad and I went on a date. Those times I felt sexy, but uncomfortable. Thankfully, he doesn't care what I wear. He rarely notices if I change something, so I stick with what's comfortable.
I gained 55 pounds during the pregnancy, topping out at 207. (!!!!) It felt strange to be over 200 pounds. At the end of the pregnancy I felt beauitful though. Everything was so round, which was pretty much the complete opposite of my usual body. Even my legs were round! I felt good. After Melody was born, I didn't feel good about the roundness anymore. I wanted it to be gone. I wanted to be one of those skinny moms. I didn't mind being a big pregnany person, but I did not like being a big non-pregnant person.
Melody is five and a half months now. I'm weighing in at 167 these days. I am finally starting to see the old Rebekah behind the round remnants of Pregnant Rebekah. I am thrilled to see her again. In the meantime I've been wearing massive Old Navy denim overalls everyday. I switch the shirts which brings a little variety, but the overalls are a constant. They hide my stomach and butt. These the two areas are the last to return to Normal Rebekah status. Sometimes I stare at my skinny wrist and long for the rest of my body to follow suit.
When I told a friend I thought 2005 was going to be my Fat Year, she corrected me and said, "No. It is simply going to be your Overalls Year." She was right. I doubt I'll quit wearing them until I'm 150 again. Then they will return to the back of my closet and wait for the next post pregnancy year. Next time a friend talks to me about her post pregnancy weight, I promise not to say, "You know what they say! Nine months on. Nine months off."
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