tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48823600145769400902024-02-06T21:45:48.527-08:00Estranged"Mother, don't worry, she's got a garden, we're planting it together"Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-41670434808758779522015-11-21T11:48:00.000-08:002018-09-17T11:49:13.322-07:00Regret, RegretDarling Soji,<br />
<br />
It's about 2 AM on November 21, 2015 and I have all this restless energy and racing thoughts, so I figured I might as well begin your birthday letter now.<br />
My sweet baby. One year ago right this minute you were sleeping gently in your cozy tight water bed inside my belly, my heartbeat and blood thudding all around you. You shifted with my movements and were maybe dimly aware of my shrill bleating voice. Was it comforting, back then? Haha. I was 8 days over my "guess" date and a little dismayed because people from my birth team were going out of town for Thanksgiving...but my water broke right when I woke up, and I was jolted into birthing you, suddenly and wildly. Even though labor was fierce, I was relieved it was happening and so excited that the long expectancy was finally over and I could begin my new life with you in our family. I promise, our greeting was as joyful as it possibly could have been. We sang to you, when you were born, I cried the most pure, clean love to you straight from the open core of my being. Chai and Sparrow gathered around me and marveled at you. Chai was so excited to have a brother. Jon was so relieved you were safe and healthy. Sparrow doula'd me while I was in labor and greeted you so calmly and sweetly. Her shift from being the youngest was mostly gentle. She accepted and loved you but also didn't give up her place. You were surrounded by love! My friends and sisters were there. They love me and Jon, they love Chai and Sparrow, they held a place for you even though we didn't know you yet. You were so beautiful to us. We loved your soft, wrinkly skin and your cheeping cries and the gentle weight of your new little body--just made!--in our arms. We sang, "If I had words to make a day for you, I'd sing you a morning golden and true."<br />
<br />
I'm hurting tonight because I don't think I really had these words for you, not during this entire year. I didn't sing you a morning golden and true. I feel you came to us the most innocent soul, just expecting love, and I haven't been there for you the way I would have wanted to be. I've always disliked memes and obnoxious platitudes about ignored third children and I wanted to give you everything; all the energy, hope, love and focus that I had. I don't know what it's like to come second, third, fourth, etc. I'm an oldest child and my hardships are different. Sojourn, I am so sorry that you came to a burned out mother who tripped over a new pregnancy before she had straightened up fully from the last one--twice. It's not your fault, it's not your fault. You deserved the absolute best of me every second of your life. You deserved my joy and not my stress. You were just all so young, and even disregarding my selfishness, it was so hard to have enough of me to go around. I don't expect you to understand that, and even expressing it feels like placing my burdens on you. Your only task is to be a child, to just be loved and cared for. I'm grateful for so many who swooped in and loved you fiercely (Mary especially) and took time to tickle you and make you laugh when I was rushing to feed you so I could move on to the next thing on the crushing list of the bare minimum I can never seem to keep up with. You ARE dearly loved. I have so many friends, your aunts and uncles, who reach for you every time they see you, who have cradled you and rocked you to sleep. You really haven't wanted for affection (I tell myself desperately hoping it's true). I just wish I'd had hours and hours to just adore you and look into your eyes, memorize your tiny hands. It hurts to realize how much less I recorded about your days and doings than I did before. I'm so sorry. I realize I'm doing what I dislike so intensely, making it about me when it should just be about you, but I didn't feel I could speak to you today on your first birthday without acknowledging that I wish your first year had been so much more than it was. I hope we will have a long time to be close and closer. I want this second year to be different. I want to pour my energy into connecting with you and learning about you.<br />
<br />
I wrote this a couple of weeks ago: "My little boy's hand. How exquisite he is. We heard him crying after American Beauty and the monitor must have become unplugged because he was weeping heartsick and whimpering as if he had given up. I ran to him and called, My darling, my darling! I am so sorry. These first lonelinesses, I am causing them. How it must comfort his dear heart to lay next to me. He doesn't know how young and inept I feel, I am the center of warmth and light. My sweet little boy. He talks to us already and has started bathing and playing with the big kids. So much in one year. I can't wait to know him better. " <br />
<br />
Poj, you've changed so much since you were my Very Quiet Cricket, since you lay so softly by my side during those first few weeks when I was so sick. You've been resilient and adapted to being in our family. You don't like being left out, you're always hobbling after the other kids and barking at them to include you. When anyone goes outside and doesn't take you with them, you swiftly pull yourself up to the window and bang indignantly against it. You talked the earliest out of all my children. You say several words clearly, "Mama, Dad, up, go" but your body language and noises are just as clear. We never have to wonder what you are trying to express. It has always been obvious to us that you are very, very bright. You seem older than you are sometimes because of how well you communicate. You are an early riser! Which also makes you different from the others. I used to get them to go back to sleep by just nursing for hours and thus sleep in as late as I wanted. Not with you. Once you're awake, you quack, grunt, or screech at me to get me up, too, and you pat my face vigorously and pull my hair. You are so eager for the day to begin. You have so much work to do. You are very quick-moving and determined. You are never still. You are committed to exploring, and cover a lot of ground. When we go to the park or anywhere outside you usually ingest dirt and rocks at some point. You seem like you know what you're doing.<br />
<br />
It has been wonderful to see your relationship with your brother and sister develop. They've always loved lugging you around and adoring you, but in the last 3 or 4 months you've been old enough to play with them and be where they are. My favorite thing ever is when they create a baby role for you in their pretend games. "...and Poj will be the baby." Chai loves you so much that he often smashes you or hugs you a little harder than you like or pats you very emphatically on the back. When I remind him to be gentle he says, outraged, "I was just doing billa-billa!" (his name for when he feels overwhelmed by affection). He loves to roll over on you; sometimes you like it and sometimes you scream. But you do love Chai, I can tell. And Sparrow, too. She is often our companion in bed in the early morning, and you have the sweetest interactions as you greet each other. You sigh and pat her and say "Ahhhh deb deb" and she grins and chuckles and says, "Oh, Poj. Oh, Pojourn." And you embrace her in your thrashing, head-butting way. You are a love. You are our little love. As Jon says, "He likes to be active ON you."<br />
<br />
You are very funny. We enjoy you enjoying things. You love to lay down on a soft blanket on the floor and move your arms and legs, feeling the texture. One of my favorite things about you is the little sigh you give right when you fall asleep and let me go. Jon says, "He falls asleep quite sweetly once he finally gets there, once he stops thrashing."<br />
<br />
What comes to mind when I try to think about my favorite moment with you (besides watching you play with the other kids, which is lovely because it happens almost daily) is a few weeks ago, Jon took C and S to lunch and you and I were home alone. I turned on "Somewhere Only We Know" and slow-danced with you. You just cuddled up to me while I swayed and I felt so full of love for you. I told you I was sorry that things were so intense and chaotic, and that I loved you deeply. You<span id="docs-internal-guid-3a1252f9-297f-007f-2f52-f946be4d1891"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> clung with glee to my neck, tightened your busy little arms. I leaned into you and I told you, “You are my darling, my darling.” I held you safe. I loved him. I need to take time to connect with my boy. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span></span>Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-55253736251532012782015-06-07T07:59:00.000-07:002015-08-13T08:02:56.413-07:00One in the meadowDear Chai,<br /><br />You are four today, and the biggest guy in town! I kept looking back at you today when we were driving to Ogden and noticing how bright your eyes are. You have an anticipatory face...you look forward to things so intensely. When we give you good news, you gasp and clap your hands. We’ve been counting down to your birthday for weeks and it’s finally here! You went to the ranch in Wyoming alone with Daddy this weekend. He wrote me that when he put you to bed you told him, “My gosh, I can’t believe I came here! I’ve never seen this before!” He said, “I’ve just been in awe of our Chai, Rachel...he is judicious, rambunctious, wild and kind! I’m missing you a lot. I wish I could talk to you.” You woke up to balloons and they made you feel so joyous that you jumped off the couch over and over again and asked for your best running song.. (You also love “Say Geronimo” and don’t understand why I can’t always find it on the radio). You were so excited to see Sparrow after a few days away and kept hugging her. I picked you up in my arms and took you into the kitchen and told you where you were born, how I lifted you and rejoiced over you, and then we walked to the couch and cuddled there and talked about my first experience feeding you and how excited I was to meet you. You LOVED it and I loved that you loved it. I hope that connection we have of me giving you life is something we can always appreciate in some form. <br /><br /><br />We celebrated you with a Big Dog Party in Ogden. I had planned games for all the aunts and uncles and it never quite got off the ground, but we had a shaving cream fight, you were the junkyard master in Car Lot and called forth the long-necks and t-rexes and tagged them all. Everyone enjoyed you so much. You played on the playground with Sparrow and Akane and you held Akane’s hand and announced that you were going to marry her. You ran and slid and jumped and danced under the parachute. Grandma Lolo made you spiderman cupcakes and you got a double-sided superman/batman cape and water toys for the splash pad! Doug and Emme also gave you another vase that Doug had sculpted to hold your “collections” since you broke the other one. We had a birthday wishes circle for you and you asked that we sing Tender Shepherd. Some of the wishes were about learning a lot in school and making new friends, Daddy wished for you that you would always tell us how you are feeling. I wished that your friendship with Sparrow always be strong, even if it changes forms. <br /><br /><br />Chai, it was so fun to watch you open your presents and be so happy. You are constantly voicing your thoughts, which maybe in a narcissistic way reminds me of myself. I see you engaging with the world in such a social and physical way and I love that you don’t hold back! Nothing has yet taught you that it doesn’t all belong to you. Although I hope that as you grow you understand the need for sharing space, for empathy and for letting others have their turn to speak and shine, I think your sense of your own magnificence is so beautiful. You are a vibrant, loud, and vivid person. You are fierce and have wild dreams and expectations that are sometimes crushed. I know that I yelled at you and scared you more this year than any year before and I am so sorry about that. It was a hard year with a new baby and you and Bahbo are still so young. I would have remained more with you than I was able to. I want to be a soft and safe presence in your life and no kitchen disaster or even precious broken things are more precious than you are. I know this, yet I still lose it, yet you still love me. The other day I was putting Sparrow in her bed right after I had yelled at you both and you told me, “Mom, I’ll always forgive you.” I asked you how you knew about forgiveness, and you said, “Because I know love. And I’ll always forgive my family.” It was such beauty to the ugliness I had thrown out. I want to be so much more careful with you. I regret that I haven’t found the time to write down every word you say. I like the songs you sing to Sojo about him being the little bro and you being the big bro. The other day you jumped on our bed in the morning and cried, “Oh, I couldn’t wait until morning came so I could see all of you again!” You are creating a world and a life and I am in awe of your quick mind, sharp memory and loving heart. You tell us how you feel, even the things that later people might teach you are unacceptable, and I am so glad you do. I hope that never, ever stops. You are constantly running up to me and saying “I love you so so so so so so MUUUUCH!” and throwing your arms around me. You love to help Daddy with anything and you trust him. He makes you feel safe. You call for him at night and he helped you when you were sick and vomiting this spring. I love that your father has always been a nurturer to you and that you see him as someone from whom you can receive that gentleness, affirmation and affection. You are SO loved and have some privileges from being the oldest, like the attention and focus of your aunts and uncles, getting Moh so much of the time, and your relationship with your grandfather Jay, that make me so grateful you got here just in time. You have a special playful relationship where you dictate the adventures and he willingly, patiently follows. You love your friends and superhero stuff and you often talk about being a good hero or a bad hero. I’m often quoting you on facebook and Laura says we should make a meme just for you called “Emotionally Intelligent Chai.” Everyone knows this about you--you express yourself well, creatively, and delightfully. You are funny and silly and sweet. I love the freckles on your nose and I love how seriously you take yoga at circle time at night. love reading with you! Some of our favorites are “all the world” (you love to point out you, Bahbo and Sojo) and “The Journey” (the girl with the red crayon). <br /><br /><br />You laugh for joy and it is holy to witness. Your laughter belongs to you and is internally felt and you don’t need to wait for anyone to share it or provoke it, it just spills out. You bring so much fresh delight to my life. You are protective and loving to your sister and Jon always says you are “thick as thieves.” You do often get into mischief together and it’s frustrating but sweet to see you plotting and whispering and running around together. I feel grateful that you are such good friends now, because no one knows what will happen tomorrow, and you will always have this time and this sweetness as a baseline for moving forward, your first best friend in your own home. <br /> Chai, I can’t believe you are four! I can’t believe it’s been four years since I snatched you out of my midwife’s hands and howled and wailed at the early morning. You were so tiny and new, you filled up my entire world and heart bigger than anything I could have imagined. We fell asleep on the couch and bleated together for food. I had to get up and stagger to the kitchen to make my own, and slowly you learned milk. I was just a little girl learning, but I was there for you, I cradled you and you threaded through all of my thoughts. I love being your mother. It’s strange that already now you don’t need me in the same way, my role has shifted from caring for you with my body to making you food, planning activities and taking you on adventures. You run ahead. You will always run on ahead, and I know this. But I remember being the first one to hold you. I am so lucky to know you. There is so much ahead for us to embrace and endure. This may be one of the first years from which you retain some memories. It’s weird that the dawn’s early light of your life is just mine to recall. I will hold it close for you. Thank you for a wonderful, robust year. We both had some growing pains, me in my soul with yet another tiny baby pushing me to subtract and divide, and you in your legs that I rubbed out at night. I’m excited for FOUR and everything you will see and all we can see through you. I love you, my beautiful boy, my little son. <br /><br />Love, your mother, RachelRacherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-66633512271756008712015-01-25T23:39:00.001-08:002015-01-26T10:03:03.058-08:00Why we named our baby Sojourn<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(this song is great with this post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_iY2RQWNzM)
The story of choosing the name of our baby isn’t complicated. Jon just suddenly said it, maybe the second or third day after the birth. We had some girl names prepared that made our hearts sing, but none for a boy, so we took it slow. I was curled up with my laptop, having resorted to baby-name websites, and Jon was listing ideas as they came to him. I suggested Soren (after Kierkegaard) and that made Jon think of Sojourn. I loved it right away and we plugged it into the equations we were working out of possible first and middle names, and eventually we solved for X and Sojourn was it! I really have no business using math metaphors. I just wanted to explain the context of why I love the name Sojourn, and share the narrative connected with it, which is one tiny piece of the much larger story of how we moved through a transition of our faith. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It came to pass a few years ago that my ideas and experiences caused me to question the gospel of Nothing Lost. This was never something I sought out or desired, but enough religious certainty had melted away that eventually I had to consider and confront my own mortality in a way that I never had before. Even as a child I was plagued by existential questions--"What if things change? What if I lose you? What if something bad happens to someone I love?" and I was gifted with confident reassurance like a calm hand on my forehead. I could keep everyone I loved, forever. I would exist, forever. Everyone who left found themselves in a place of beauty and healing. All pain had meaning, and there was no lasting cruelty, just trials we didn't understand yet. I clung to these ideas, believed in them thoroughly, rejected any challenge to them, pitied those who did not have my knowledge. But eventually, I no longer felt that my sense of joy and comfort at the prospect of continued existence, and devastation at the idea of Ending, had any bearing on objective reality. I grasped for reassurances that at one time would have seemed silly to me--what about near death experiences? Wasn't it a scientific fact that a human body weighed less after death, which could be implication of an eternal soul? I told my brother that I no longer believed I could receive an "answer" to a prayer about something as cosmic as life after death without feeling that my own hopes and desires would drive whatever feelings arose. How could I confidently trust that warm, pleasant feelings had any bearing on what existed externally of my own mind? This piece of my shifting faith terrified me. Suddenly the prospect of death opened up like a yawning hole in the floor in front of me, a horror. I remember laying between my two children, hands on their sleeping heads, and shaking and sobbing with the pain of my fear of losing them. I forced myself to imagine it, to feel the weight of the possibility. How could it be, how could it be? How could I feel so much and just go out like a light at the end? How could it be real that I might never live in my body again? I lived for a few weeks with this new sheer terror under my skin. I heard clients' stories and tragic news articles with more solemn ears. Questions I'd had resolved for decades and would have considered spiritually immature now floated up and were knocking at my brain. Why suffering? What is the purpose? How could human beings bear the devastation of loss? I told Jonathan how desperately I was seeking to feel comfortable again. "I feel like I've burned down my home, the only house I've ever lived in, and now I'm just wandering in the cold. And any other house, I could just burn that down, too." We were at a stoplight, he gazed out over the steering wheel, then turned to me. "Maybe we were never meant to live in houses. Maybe we were meant to explore." Between the bars of that metaphor was where I found the relief I was seeking--acceptance. Acceptance of the I Don't Know, holding space for hope, for mystery, but also for a possibility of a final parting, no unified purpose or plan for all the peoples who have ever lived. Rather than life becoming meaningless, as others had predicted it would if my faith changed, it was as though every thread of my existence and my conscious self became so much more dear and precious. An affirmation drifted across my awareness somehow and I think of it often "Accept that the present moment is all you will ever have." the practice of mindfulness I studied and worked on with clients became more than a coping mechanism, it was a deepening that showed me how I could more richly appreciate my life, more fully be "in" my life and "with" those around me. I began to feel the beauty of impermanence. One of my therapist mentors told me in the first months I was hired at the FSTC that the secret to happiness is three words, "Be Here Now" (also a Mason Jennings song). I have learned so much by attempting to live by those three words. I am my most grounded, most giving, most deeply loving self when I am able to be fully present in my life, recognize every moment as a sojourn, a short stay, and live it while I am living it. I can think of no reason that living mindfully and giving the present moment what it needs can be harmful in the event that we do continue to exist. Either way, our sojourn here on this "pale blue dot" is all we have for certain, and no one ever knows how long they will have before the seasons change again. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The word "sojourn" reminds me that we are all strangers in a strange land, explorers, dwelling in a place for a time, then moving on. Childhood, the golden summers, the playing pretend under the trees, the dawning awareness, the loneliness and raw throat from yelling and running in the backyard--childhood is a sojourn. High school was a sojourn, the slow unfurling of courage and learning how to talk to other people. Sojourns, the short months I lived with roommates and companions, the four months I spent in Romania. Each apartment was a universe for awhile, the doors and rooms that held our conversations, our inside jokes and our resentment. I have sojourned through relationships, through classrooms, through jobs, through heartbreak that I was sure would burn forever. It did not. I hold friends in my heart with whom I now have little in common, but our time sojourning together bonds us. Pregnancy is a sojourn through an in-between place, from one steady shore to another. Even though it doesn't seem possible, my time raising children is a sojourn...even the brief time that they glow at their certain ages...the sojourn of two years old, the sojourn of three. A sweet stay, a bright day, feeling the sun of this stage on my face. My little boy's name reminds me to be conscious of the kaleidoscopic beauty and pain of every moment. It is always shifting, we journey on. I am grateful to be flanked by fellow travelers who I love so much. A few weeks ago I shed tears over our sojourn with two children coming to an end. Jonathan held me and told me, "We'll have a good run, you'll see..." I wrote those words on my wall. That is my hope, to have a good run. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I held my dear baby tonight and kissed his little hands. I tried to focus on each of his fingers, one at a time. I thought how amazing it is that his tender little hand will grow to be as large as his father’s.
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he is old enough, I will read him this poem, and tell him that I was asking the question voiced in the last lines when we chose his name.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-a84ad6d3-2530-41e7-8e6c-f1b9350dceee" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Summer Day </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">--Mary Oliver</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who made the world?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who made the swan, and the black bear?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who made the grasshopper?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">This grasshopper, I mean-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">the one who has flung herself out of the grass,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't know exactly what a prayer is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">which is what I have been doing all day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tell me, what else should I have done?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tell me, what is it you plan to do</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with your one wild and precious life?</span><br />
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-51123414538998337732014-12-29T13:55:00.000-08:002014-12-29T17:20:42.259-08:00Karma Police: The Birth Story of Sojourn<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One month ago I was laying in bed with a tight round drum of a belly, snuggling a sweet Sparrow and her far-flung limbs. 41 weeks, 1 day, and every morning waking up with a strange delight that I made it through another night still pregnant. I didn’t mind going “over” and despite my many despairings earlier in the pregnancy, I felt peaceful about relinquishing a year to change and finding a new rhythm. I loved the extra week I had to enjoy both of my already-born babies and to glory in the anticipation of meeting Baby Tarzan. I even got an extra week of work in! I was laying on my side cradling these two babies, one outside and one within my body, when I felt my water gently break. It was around 7:45 AM. The first thought I had was a pinch of disappointment that I was starting out with waters broken, but it also felt good to be waking up with fresh energy after a whole night of sleep. I sprang from my bed and dashed to the bathroom, crowing to Jonathan that something was finally happening. Getting up and moving caused more water fall, soaking my basketball shorts, and almost immediately I had a very sharp, jagged contraction that made all the weeks and days of gripping my tightening belly during a practice surge and declaring, "Oh my! That was a hard one!" seem like a total joke. When it's real, its unmistakably real. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remember leaning over the bathroom counter and groaning, thinking I had to get my contacts in and find pants and text everyone! It was like one of those "choose two" diagrams. So I opted for contacts and texting, first apprising everyone it would be "Sometime today probably" and telling Katie to "get ready casually" and then shortly after revising the message to "if you want to be here GET HERE NOW!" There is some total silliness here that I wish were not part of my story, but I kept having to delete old texts out of my mailbox so I could read new ones, which was taking me forever because of course there are those texts I don't want to part with, so I was scrolling back through months of old texts so I could delete them and read my new messages, and meanwhile the surges were already rolling in and slamming me and I felt impatient; couldn't my body appreciate that I had to take care of some ward business before we moved on to the main speakers? I was using all my brief in-between surges time to text and I still hadn't found any pants and this became more and more distressing to me as I realized people were almost going to be there, and I didn't want to spend the next potential many hours pantsless. My phone kept chiming with messages and distracting me. It was absurd. I finally texted everyone one more time, a message I thought was clear and instructive, explaining that I couldn't find any pants, and to text Jon. I had meant to text Jon if they had any more questions, but hilariously, a lot of people took it to mean that Jon wasn't home and I needed his help. To find pants. Ha! So some of them began helpfully trying to locate him and inform him of my problems. “She needs pants, Jon! She can’t find any! Where are you?” I ended up just putting my wet basketball shorts back on, because I am hardcore, just like the pioneers. </span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I needed to be in my body and just with my body and stop trying to manage anything else. As soon as I tuned in I was surprised at how spicy the surges felt already, and I regretted my water breaking and removing the cushion that softened the edges. What I remembered from my surges during Sparrow's birth was this delicate crescendo, like a musical scale of building pressure, a sharp, shrill peak and an ebbing away with kind relief. Instead of a musical scale, these surges felt like gut punches of peak--peak--peak--like someone leaning on a truck horn, blaring. In a physical sense, it felt very loud, in my body. I remember trying to quiet my mind down, keep my body still, accept these sensations, but they seemed so strong already that it was difficult for me to connect with them. Part of me wanted to wiggle away and avoid them for awhile longer; not yet, not yet. Another wise part of me remembered that there was no way out but through, and I told myself, you can do this. (“It’s a unix system...</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know this.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”)</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;">PHOTO CREDIT: Katherine Loveless </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Katie arrived and I wandered out to the living room to greet her; tried to talk with her but I had mostly already gone under and I’m sure it was a pretty spotty conversation (heh). Chai woke up during this time and came out full of cheer and wonder when we told him that Baby Tarzan was coming today. He cupped my face in his tiny hands and told me he loved me, rubbed my back. My sweet boy! I always have a soft heart for my children, but when I’m in labor they just melt my soul and I want to cry warm buttery tears of pure love for their innocence and kindness. I know that sounds gooey, but it’s really how I feel towards them. They tenderize me with their tenderness. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Richelle and Shanlee were there with their serene excitement and began the comforting bustle of setting things up. Richelle checked on the baby's heart rate and explained she didn't feel the need to check me because I seemed to be laboring well. A few more gut-punch surges and I moaned that I thought I would get more of a break in between, and asked to be checked. 7. 5. Katie cheered for me. I started to feel perplexed about where my support people were; I'd made it this far completely untouched. I felt disoriented and confused. I wanted Jonathan to come be close to me, I wanted the fearsome swelling pressure in my pelvis to go away. I was annoyed that the vacuum cleaner was in the middle of the floor and I disliked seeing it there whenever I opened my eyes. They told me that the birth tub wasn't ready and they weren't sure it would be in time for me to have the baby; I said in that case I wanted to go labor in my room and started to make my slow way there. The surges were so fierce. I remember hanging onto the back of the couch and swaying my hips, and the midwife's assistant Shanlee came and pressed on my back, and it felt so merciful! I managed to walk into my room, arms wrapped around Shanlee and Jon, and when I got there I dropped to my hands and knees during a surge, and remained there for the rest of my labor, just collapsed on the floor between the wall and the bed. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFU36dFW9alLglLn9HWU12KbCPypCMmZuvtyF_iraEN4685b_1AoUFkrfchBwtixBUZQ5cSoZqELmi0EBdiwiMJcFFX9WsXIQzmdI0DHo0Wu8ePIgbt4G9Q_hbwynQqtI5Xp3fulrV7BMf/s1600/Sojo015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFU36dFW9alLglLn9HWU12KbCPypCMmZuvtyF_iraEN4685b_1AoUFkrfchBwtixBUZQ5cSoZqELmi0EBdiwiMJcFFX9WsXIQzmdI0DHo0Wu8ePIgbt4G9Q_hbwynQqtI5Xp3fulrV7BMf/s1600/Sojo015.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sparrow had been sleeping, tilted forward with her mane of wispy hair face down on the pillow, but my moaning and humming woke her up. She was a little distressed and called out for me. I remember seeing her face pinched with worry to have all these strange people in her room, but she slipped off the bed and into my arms and I sat up against the wall and held her and submerged myself in that insistent tightness. Mary and Diana were suddenly there, and their presence made me feel like a bright light had turned on. I was comforted just seeing them. My dear friends and sisters were floating in one by one. Kayte was near my face, such a warm and graceful presence. Laurel hugged me when she arrived and even as deep as I was, I was so happy to see her! She was tearful and told me she had been sobbing in the car on her way to my house because she was afraid I would have the baby before she got there. I'm so glad that didn't happen...I still have an ache in my heart from missing the birth of Laurel's daughter, the only chance I could have had to support her as she has done for me so many times. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Magical doulas, knowing hands, they pressed against my knees and even at that awkward angle it relieved so much pressure! I felt like a broken doll whose limbs had come off and they were pressing them back into the joints. It was lovely, and I held my sweet girl against my belly; she was the perfect size to give me some counterpressure against my abdomen. I was so grateful for her gentle resting there. She was utterly calm and seemed to understand some kind of solemnity about what was happening, she just clung tightly to me and whispered, "Mama. Mama. Baby?" and patted my belly and snuggled me. Those moments are so precious to me. Whatever happens in the rest of my life and my relationship with Sparrow, if I never have another little daughter, if she grows up and despises me for awhile, whether or not I ever hold her while she has her own babies, we will always have that unbelievable pocket of time when she loved me and I absorbed her kindness with my wide open raw heart and it was so terribly sweet. My life, what an incredible piece of life to experience. I remember my sister Diana exclaiming, "I am never going to forget this! She is so beautiful!" Sparrow was somber, and tender, and just rocked with me.
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was locked into labordrive by then. I held onto my girl and smoothed her hair and her face over and over again and when the surges came I just tried to sink into them and let them be what they needed to be. No resistance, just acceptance, just surrender. In my mind, I told myself, let them be, let them come. Sometimes I felt like vocalizing through them and sometimes it felt okay to be still. I let every surge show me what was needed to work through it. At some point someone gently moved Sparrow away to get her ready to go to her grandparents' and they helped me change into my skirt, which seems simple but in active labor that many movements can be overwhelming. Standing and moving my legs and then sinking back down took a lot of energy. Richelle (or someone) let us know that the water wasn't getting warm enough for baby and we wouldn't be able to use the tub. I was going to have a "dry land" birth. I remember feeling a little crushed that I wasn’t going to get to birth my baby next to the orange wall of my prophetic dreams, but it was all right; the creation of that space was still full of magic and healed me when I needed it. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I crawled forward and collapsed on my hands and knees again and my doulas circled around me. One of the things that touched me so much, looking at the photographs later, is that at every point of my labor there is a circle around me--whether it's one or two people curled around my body or six or seven performing those merciful acrobatics, I was completely cradled by these women. They are so powerful! Every single one of them believed in me, every single one of them brought an energy of confidence and joy. I felt encircled by their laughter and open hearts; I could feel them melting at my childrens' sweetness, feel them aching with me, especially those women who understand the poignancy of birth, I could feel empathy from their hands, strength from their muscles. I realize that my experiences giving birth are probably the times I have been most able to release my concerns about reciprocity and social balance and just accept touch and holding and rescue, maybe that is why those moments are so dear to me, it's not a natural space always in my life. Such kindness! Everyone deserves such kindness. I needed every single touch, every single hand. They talked to me, vocalized with me--which always makes me feel absurdly and childishly special--and laughed at my “labor jokes.” I wish I could remember some of them.
<span style="line-height: 1.15;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="line-height: 1.15;">I remember being there on my hands and knees and seeing Sparrow's dear little feet in front of me, as she hugged me, rubbed my neck and patted my head. She was my Littlest Doula. The pressure in my belly and pelvis was tremendous, this heavy pressure that sagged and stayed between surges. I tried laying on my left side, which I've never ever done in labor before, to see if that felt better, but it made me feel confined and a little panicky. My body wanted to be upright and grounded. I twisted a piece of my back in trying to get up and clever Moh and Laurel or Laura rubbed it out. I asked if there was any way someone could support my belly and some lovely gracious person found a rebozo. Oh sweet rebozo! They took turns standing and pulling up while the others squeezed my hips, pressed down on my shoulders and back. They had hotpads on my back and cold cloths on my neck. I was still present enough to describe and ask for what I needed. Such is the skill of my doulas that there were whole increments where they were working with such precision and energy that they took the entire brunt of a surge away. There were whole delicious spaces of 20 or 30 seconds I felt completely normal--even while experiencing surges. </span>
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Even with all the support, it was a fierce labor. I could feel every surge so hard in my belly and my hip bones. At one point I vomited in an act of desperation. I murmured, "I can't" and Laurel told me, "You </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">are</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">." I kept breathing, kept hanging on. I was missing Jonathan. I wanted him close to me and I could hear Chai squawking and I felt impatient. They kept holding up a water bottle with a straw in it but the straw was tucked too far down for me to drink. The surges were so ragged, and so rough, at some point I asked for another check and Richelle declared that I was complete. What?" I said. "How can that be? Don't I still have to go through transition?" "You already did!" Everyone rejoiced but I was despairing because I didn't feel like pushing at all and I was still tensing my body against that enormous swelling pressure. I pushed slightly hesitantly just to see what it felt like, if I could help my body along, and pushing felt so wrong and awful. So there wasn't anything to do but wait. Finally, finally, Jonathan came in the room and he said "Hi Racher" and I bleated "Hey, Jon," and I remember people laughing at this casual greeting in this dramatic scene. But I didn't feel casual and I didn't feel histrionic, I just needed him. I put out my hands and he dropped to the ground near my face. I grabbed his hands and squeezed and squeezed and he let me do it as hard as I needed to, and it was simple but it helped me so much.
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="line-height: 1.15;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="line-height: 1.15;"><br /></span></span>I felt suspended, it was so hard to stay there, knowing I was close but having to endure being on pause until it was time to move on. I kept saying, I don't feel pushy, I wish I felt like pushing. I blew air out slowly and suddenly remembered my playlist. Someone ran to turn it on. We listened to the first four songs, I'll never forget. Coldplay's The Scientist was the first song, and is connected to some deep hurt for Laurel. She said "This song pwns me" and she cried there at my side, wiping away her tears while she continued rubbing my back and stroking my hair. I said, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you. Her pain and my pain. There was nothing to do but be in it. I remember Diana saying blithely, “This is a perfect song for birth! ‘It’s such a shame for us to part.’” The next song was The Mother We Share (Chvrches) and then Karma Police, which filled the room with some kind of fresh, confident energy. Everyone asked if they could sing and I said, please, please do! While I was making this playlist and for the days before the baby was born I felt like I was craving Radiohead like some women crave food, the songs were physically nourishing to me. I murmured and mouthed the words while everyone belted them out. “This is what you get!” That song carries just the right attitude for the emotional space I was in. I loved listening to Jonathan sing, "I've given all I can, it's not enough..." "For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself..." Letting myself focus on the words grounded me a little bit. I think singing at births is so powerful because it's simultneous support and self-expression. Holding the space can feel so heavy and it helps release tension and lets the birthing woman hear your voice and feel so aware of your presence. It was good and even though I was in such a physically challenging place of waiting for the baby to move down, it was one of my favorite moments of my labor! I told everyone that Karma Police was the theme song of this baby's conception. </span>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-a84ad6d3-8fd9-1372-bb6d-19d03cac120e"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next song was "No Surprises," which is a pretty cynical song to be born to, although the line “this is...my final bellyache” is pretty great. At some point I tried pushing again and felt that familiar but still shocking sliding, widening feeling of the baby sliding down. Warm, insistent, relieving. It was so vulnerable to be pushing out a baby with everyone clustered around my body, no water to shield me. But I also felt comfortable enough (and ready to be done) to do it! I felt like an animal. A purposeful, quiet animal. I felt steely and determined, quiet and blank. I told myself I would push through a count of ten in my own mind no matter what it felt like and then I would pause. I got the head out by the count of seven and took a rest to breathe; I heard gasps and cries of “Slow down, slow, slow, slow!” </span></span></div>
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Then I pushed again for less than ten seconds and felt the baby's slimy floppy body move through me and drop and then I was free and I came back to life! It was such a sudden shift to be sprung from that deliberate, shuddering place into soft rosy euphoria. I heard a creaky little cry, I sat straight up and was instantly flooded with giddiness and joy. I don't remember reaching for the baby but I must have, I remember hugging them close and crying "Oh, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">my baby, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have another beautiful baby! </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">" I feel like I must have been shaking, I saw Laurel and Laura holding each other tightly and both crying, I was holding the baby already wrapped in a towel and I asked if everyone had already seen the baby's sex and they assured me they had not. I leaned over to take in this new little person. I touched their tiny fingers; "nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands." In that moment just beholding that little face, I couldn't tell whether this baby was a son or daughter. My heart was pounding, I was nervous, I was meeting such an important new person. A new soul! A new soul was there in the room with us. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObjZvFk4NzoSBy3s1BdQubTRYp0bRLJYkYpDp0wFla1rhedDX6PdU8zUw1VVVax1XZAzSXhkFo_aYjscMjAeev6yqr-XEr8RmBRU7Mr3fffh6ULZP9wpOJNhKyAfFeZrAZV-z8N64Lct_/s1600/Sojo130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Tinos; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObjZvFk4NzoSBy3s1BdQubTRYp0bRLJYkYpDp0wFla1rhedDX6PdU8zUw1VVVax1XZAzSXhkFo_aYjscMjAeev6yqr-XEr8RmBRU7Mr3fffh6ULZP9wpOJNhKyAfFeZrAZV-z8N64Lct_/s1600/Sojo130.jpg" height="640" width="486" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOZX40YBoJUmZ0tBFUKVH9Lb2gMKEJhs2BXr6aRhmxT3Xmz9_2bPNrkTnbRnmCHsqwRJTqBYNqGCZ8Rtym-vJHzRvkyOdcJFRcGv0KWft_Jh5hUZPkgXlBY1wjxrHnlbbWqGdWsW8u3Td/s1600/Sojo135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Tinos; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimOZX40YBoJUmZ0tBFUKVH9Lb2gMKEJhs2BXr6aRhmxT3Xmz9_2bPNrkTnbRnmCHsqwRJTqBYNqGCZ8Rtym-vJHzRvkyOdcJFRcGv0KWft_Jh5hUZPkgXlBY1wjxrHnlbbWqGdWsW8u3Td/s1600/Sojo135.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">Someone was exclaiming they had no idea I was pushing and someone else was saying, "That's how she always does it." I said that I like to be a stealth pusher and not tell anyone what I'm up to so I don't have to manage their expectations, I don't have time for that. Jon crawled over closer to me and we embraced, he kissed my face. I asked for Chai and Sparrow to be brought back in, and they were so beautiful to me, my little sacred children of my body. I kissed them and kissed them and showed them the baby. I felt dizzy with not knowing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had decided to wait a few minutes before checking the gender of the baby. I had a conversation with my supervisor at work about the expectations and assumptions we all make base on perceived gender, and she had told me about a couple who chose to wait awhile even after birth before checking the baby’s sex. They spent some time interacting and getting to know the baby just as a new human and not as a son or daughter with gender informing their perception. They even wrote a song called “the first five minutes of life” and sang it to the baby. I loved this idea so much and had talked to my midwife about wrapping the baby in a towel immediately after they were born (providing there were no complications), so we could welcome this new person mindfully and when we felt ready. We decided it would be fun to sing to welcome our baby, and I spent months teaching Chai the song from Babe at bed-time so he would be all ready to sing to “Baby Tarzan.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“If I had words to make a day for you, I’d sing you a morning golden and true. I would make this day last for all time, then bring you a night deep in moonshine.” I rocked with the baby and my doulas sang with me, then I pulled back the towel and in a heart-thumping second understood that it was a baby boy who had been my Very Quiet Cricket all those months. I felt a quick pinch of loss for the dream girl-baby possibility (as I would have for the dream boy-baby if it had been a girl) and I said, “It’s a boy! Chai...Chai, you have a baby brother!” I cried. It’s too astonishing of a feeling to suddenly not be pregnant anymore, to hold a child you created in your arms, to be in the presence of such powerful newness. It’s brutally beautiful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.3999996185303px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The hours after my baby’s birth are so warm in my memory. My friends and sisters climbing on the bed with me, talking and laughing, processing the experience. He was born at 10:28 AM, making the total labor from first surge to the placenta being delivered a little under 3 hours. He weighed 8 lbs 2 oz (my tiniest baby, and my latest baby!) and his aunt Diana cut the cord. I felt delighted, and relieved. I wanted to talk about how rough and all-encompassing my experience was, I wanted to talk about all the women who have ever lived who have given birth, how I worried and ached for them, and I wanted to explain how my heart was exploding with love. Laurel, Laura, Mary, Diana, Katie, Kayte, Sarah, you are and always have been so dear to me. Thank you for being connected forever with this sweet day. Thank you for holding and creating sacred space, for singing, for your comforting words. I heard or felt every one. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is overwhelming to give birth three times in less than four years. I know I'm far from the first to experience so many pregnancies in quick succession, but it has taken a lot from me. I also know how lucky I am. I feel so grateful to have three healthy babies. I don't want to take it for granted. I don't want to pretend that I'm immune to devastating experiences. I don't know why we have been so lucky and why each of these times I got to wrap my arms around a healthy, squalling infant, but I honor all those women who felt every sensation that racked my body, some for so much longer, and without kind hands on their backs, and never got to hear a cry, never got to feel the relief because even after all that enormous work their bodies were flooded with panic. I thought of the women who are abused while giving birth, who birth with injured bodies, who are insulted or shamed or alone. I felt humbled to the core of my soul that my body had worked mercifully, for the kind humans who flocked to me and threaded their fingers through my hair, pressed with all their strength on my heaving body. There was a rock of horror I didn't fall off of, I was held, I was cradled, I was honored. I believe every woman who goes through this process deserves that, even if they would feel overwhelmed by the phalanx I had in that tiny space, too many hands, I believe everyone deserves gentleness at that time. And my heart was pierced for those who didn't experience gentleness, but the opposite. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I talked with Katie about the photos she took...I told her they have a National Geographic feel, probably because we actually are creatures being photographed in our natural environment. They are different from my other homebirth photos, more chaotic, all this sheer emotion and intensity smeared against our wall in this tiny space, my kids wearing motley clothes, the hair I slept in. Everything about it was sudden. There is something glorious about capturing the unpreparedness of that day. There was nothing posed or staged, just this collapse into the labor that completely captured me and the good souls who swooped in to help carry me through, and then at the end we met this baby who lived in me an extra week and hopefully will be with me and Jon in all of our days of this sojourn together. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were unprepared from the beginning to accept this new life. I never thought I could possibly feel good about it. But just like his birth, I worked very hard, I went through something transformative, and I was healed and uplifted by friends swooping in to hear me and support me I am thinking of so many, but especially of Sarah and the blessingway/kitchen remodel she organized. It changed my heart from famine to feast. I also realized (again) during this pregnancy that Jonathan is my truest friend. He knows me, and he accepts me. I love my newborn son. He is Good. I love my life even in this time of transition. I feel very young, and very old, very strong and very human. “How strange it is to be anything at all.” </span><span id="docs-internal-guid-a84ad6d3-8e26-6772-73b2-223a1b2e3cf5"></span>Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-21604125881506538602014-09-04T16:44:00.000-07:002014-12-29T13:48:50.212-08:00Your ex-lover is deadI am constantly thinking about whether Tarzan is a boy or a girl. I'm
glad I don't know, I'm not sure what I'm hoping for right now. I love my
little son and daughter so dearly and I hope to feel the same way
someday about this constant presence pummeling my belly. Today was
Chai's second day of preschool--so far those mornings go so smoothly; I
get him up and he's excited and cooperative and I feed him and we talk
in the car on the way, I hold his hand and he beams at Miss Tina. It's
such a positive thing for him, he loves showing us his papers and art
when he comes home, and no potty accidents so far! And what a lovely
boy, cooing, "It's my mom!" when I picked him up and telling me "A
story, too," when I asked him about everything he did. He is so bright
and articulate and expresses his feelings so well. I love the extra time
to snuggle Sparrow and hang out with Jonny while Chai is at preschool
and I just hold and kiss my girl while chattering at his back. Despite
my many dolores, things have been so sweet with Jonathan. I think Recent Happenings have made us cleave more deeply together
in some ways than ever before--we also spend so much time trying to work
into the little headspace of how it happened, and how can we avoid it?
No one knows how they will feel in 8 years, 20 years, but we are hoping
that being honest will help. <br />
<br />
Efficiency was my name, variety was my name
today--I gave the kids lunch and took them to Doug while I went to
report to a CFTM. On the way home I
stopped at the creamery on 9th for brownies and noticed happily that I was
pained not at all to recall that histrionic goodbye in the
corner of the parking lot while his mother watched with cold eyes. I
didn't belong with them, although at 18 I desperately wanted to be the kind of
person who did. My freshman year: brownies, grape juice, taquitos, the
perverse bliss of $4 appearing per day on my ID card and all this
freedom to eat hideously. Jealousy and misunderstanding and listening to music all night long. I don't miss that piece at all, I'm glad it's
over. <br />
<br />
I took the kids to the splash pad and marveled at how much I
really do love to watch them play. They are so fascinating and sweet to
me. Chai tends to flock to other kids and instruct them "Friend? Friend?
Come this way" and Sparrow wanders around, dreamy in her own world.
Every once in a while their paths cross and they hug. They squeeze each
other several times a day and Chai says things like "this is my sister!"
I love them together. We came home and I saw Jon had left me a note on
the door...he loves me..."I don't think that will leave." My smile
almost split my face off and I ran back to the car to tell Chai about
it, "He loves me! And I love him, too!" He had cleaned the kitchen and I
took that in with such relief and joy. Sometimes Jonathan is just so
good, so good to me, I feel I don't want for anything in the world. I am
so well-befriended and so kindly partnered. I am lucky! He is more than
I was ever wise or creative enough to yearn for. Even our vicios are at
home, maybe too at-home, with one another. Doug and Emme came to the
farm with us and the sun was in everyone's eye and we had ableskivvers
and eggs and talked conspiracy. It was so warm
and comfortable and nice to just be us. I said I was feeling better
about dying eventually and Doug said he was feeling worse...I'm most concerned with
my own consciousness and if I ease out of the genome eventually, that
doesn't bother me so much as having a good long time being sentient and
experiencing what I can. Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-88337834830197710542014-08-22T16:42:00.000-07:002014-12-29T13:49:37.845-08:00OH, the very young!I have to say I have been feeling more hopeful lately. I'm not sure
where it is coming from, but Jon has been a star and his kindness just
pulls so much glory out of everyday life. It makes such a difference to
me when I feel wanted, when I feel like I mean a lot to him. We spend
hours in irate rants about the horror of what has happened to loved ones, we beg each other, let's
always be honest, please tell me if/when you have feelings for someone
else. It took so long to get the kids to go to sleep tonight. Earlier I
took them to the playroom at FSTC, and it started out lovely but when we
had to leave, Chai's brain melted and he roared and screamed his
displeasure and Joy was in the lobby talking to a board member, and I
was sore embarrassed. Then he screamed all the way home. I feel badly
when I try to have fun with them and it seems like the leaving is so
devastating that it negates any of the good bonding from the activity in
the first place. Craig Wilson has forsaken us. We're still tripping
around all the junk in our house and constantly reassuring each other it
will get better when the basement is done...we loved to ask our Sparrow
questions, like "Are you my lady? Are you very nice? Are you very
kind?" She will sweetly reply "Uh-uh," or "Yeah" and if we ask why, she
will say, "Cuh!" She is so adorable with her trompy little run and her
attentive cradling of her baby. After yelping "Meee! Meeee!" whenever
she wants to be included in anything, she will ask "Baby? [coming too]?"
We've been sleeping together like two little peas in the cutest pod;
her arm flung across my chest and me always kissing her face and hair,
saying my baby, my baby, my very good lady. I love it when Chai
sometimes wants me to snuzzle him, too, and he'll yell, "I just want you
for a little bit!" I want to always go to them. I was watching Anne of
Avonlea tonight while Jon was playing and he kept laughing bc he said I
was exactly like her..."You are some kind of archetype," he says. It
made me so happy. Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-8364875581391926062014-08-16T16:41:00.000-07:002014-12-23T15:20:37.156-08:00Stars that clear have been dead for years, but the idea still lives on<div class="text">
I was stunned to see our beautiful cat laying on the rocks in
permanent pause, her brown eyes open and still. She was stretched out so
perfectly, no blood, nothing obviously damaged, I kept blinking and
wishing she would transform into an anonymous raccoon, not our sweet
kitty. This is the second time I felt that cold shock go over me when we
lost a beloved animal, the first time was our lovely engagement bird.
We never understood why it died. It was such a sudden stop. When I told
Jonathan, he cried and kind of collapsed into my arms. "This is so sad,
it's too sad!" We both cried all the way to salt lake, and talked about
all the animals who are neglected and abused and treated cruelly. Jon
decided to be a vegetarian in honor of Amber and then ordered sausage
patties for breakfast. It was good to see Adam and Amy. Their
experiences dovetail in such a nice way with ours. Amy brought us a card
and told us she was pregnant. Upon finding out, she immediately sat
down and wove a tapestry. We told her this was a very ancient thing to
do. I really like them and wish they
lived closer. I asked Jon when we were alone in the car if he thinks
there is anything we can do to lessen the strain another baby (Oh, God,
WHY?) will have on our relationship. He said he thought setting regular
bedtimes would make a big difference, so we could have time alone to
connect. I agree, but I want to help him understand the thousands of
other pieces, like taking time to hold hands, pointing out the good that
the other does, especially when they're handling something stressful,
using soft voices and validating during a disaster and not just after,
eye contact, expressing affection verbally, sleeping in the same
room...our relationship really is the most important in the world to me!
I would do anything to save it and strengthen it, but our current
reality shakes me and makes me feel doomed to wrath, to moving farther
apart. That's not what I want, but I have a hard time believing we can
be focused enough to resist natural decay.<br />
We came home and packed
and sprinkled holy water on our pretty kitty, told her we had loved her
and would miss her. Jon kept putting off taking her away, so I finally
did it. It felt so wrong, like she was just any other thing. Her eyes
were closed by then. Jon kept saying of Sage, "I'm all she has left in
the world." Chai suggested we "wait a few minutes until she comes alive
again." <br /><br />We drove up Cottonwood canyon and it was so gorgeous, the
mountains and trees feed my soul in a way I couldn't receive when I was
younger and they were associated with cold and forced hikes and the only
glory was the beach. I associate canyons with falling in love with
Jonathan and the security of being wanted. <br />
We met up with
the Science Twins and their parejas and walked around the glowing lake.
Abby was very attentive to Chai and it was so easy and summery and
fragrant. We spent the night talking around the fire, about the family, about what will happen, about
how the stars we can see are already dead. We
watched a Lion King VHS with a preview for Angels in the Outfield and I
was like 1995 was 5 minutes ago! But no, it was almost 20 years ago and I
don't understand.</div>
Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-43899680547942213602014-08-14T16:39:00.000-07:002014-11-26T11:11:00.422-08:00Maybe this time it's differentWe've been married four years ago today, and I was right, it was better
than 3 in every way! I feel part of me resisting accepting the reality
that we couldn't be together last night because we were too exhausted
after having to woo sweet Sparrow to sleep (on the living room floor, so
it's not like our standards are super high) and getting up at 7 to
search for Chai's bottle because the little Lord wouldn't accept the
smaller one. When I think of all the babies
that have crashed into our lives in such a short time, I am amazed that
we have done as well as we have, that we ever think to drop kisses on
each other's faces or snuggle forward or back. When we climbed back in
bed this morning after convincing Chai to take the smaller bottle, we
talked for two hours about this icy dark tragedy. I told him I'm afraid of what could happen to us. I
think four years ago Jon would have earnestly promised me that he'd
never go, now he says, we never know what will happen, but that he has
hope because we talk and are willing to feel our emotions. The
understanding and fevered insight we've held through this whole ordeal
is a warm and kindly hand in the abyss. I worry for my friend, that she
will be confused and hurt. I still feel angry for the deception,
possibly the continued deception. Such destruction for two families. It
terrifies me. It seems like such a brutal coming of age, so different
from the soft autumn folklore I was introduced to. I can't remember our
beginnings without remembering all of them, no matter how rotted and
explicitly disappointing it became. Jon arranged for the Stranges to
watch the kids while we went to Happy Sumo. I felt so light while we
were there. I kept looking at him and thinking, he likes me, he chose
me, I've had his babies/I'm carrying his child. When I can stay with it
our intimacy feels so amazing. I told him I love him for having a brain
that pulls things apart.For some reason, I woke up this morning
(27 weeks) feeling one thousand years pregnant. I'm starting to need
more support for this heavy bubble, for my fragile birdcage pelvis. It
didn't help that I slept for about four hours. I dragged myself through
the day just aching for sleep and still managed to feed the kids, read
and look at baby pictures with Chai, clean out most of the car and the
bathroom counter. I wish I were more patient with the kids. I hover
between being loving and screaming lately. Sometimes I connect so hard
with my gorgeous, bright boy, and he will tell me he loves me and other
times I can't handle the "why" for everything I ever say. Sometimes I
can't get enough of Sparrow's blue-eyed stampeding and her wanting to
always lay close, pat my chest, cradle her baby. I take them to the park
and affirm and narrate. Other times I just want to lay on the floor and
pass out. I want them to go to sleep for hours and just leave me alone.
Looking through Chai's baby pictures with him today made me feel two
degrees warmer toward the idea of having another baby. "Mom, I have to
say why. Because I do." Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-82345926359682163592014-07-28T16:34:00.000-07:002014-10-02T00:07:39.566-07:00King of the Carrot Flowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">This morning Chai came up to me, beaming, and told me, "Mom, I love your heart. And I love Sparrow's heart, and I love Daddy's heart!" Work was gentle and facebook was dull. I have a new child client who is speech delayed and indiscriminately affectionate. I remember times when I didn't notice that, children seizing my hands or climbing in my lap just felt so good to me. I'm happy to get to know and work with him even though I'm weary of play therapy, I feel so badly for children who are scarred by inconsistency and shame. In the evening the rain cooled the angry earth and when we walked to visit the horses I could smell every plant on the street. We went to the park and I felt like running in the field (not very far because my pelvis is a delicate cage, I can tell it's eager to twist with a little more weight on it) and stood in the clover circles and Chai and Sparrow chased me. I made them crowns of clover and they looked so beautiful in their tangled wild baby hair. I wanted a rich black and white picture. We lay on our backs and watched the gray clouds moving, Sparrow climbed all the way up the ladder apparatus and is fearless on the slide. Chai told me he was Captain Hook and that we had to stay on the ship so he could take our orders (pirate cheeseboogers, pirate tacos). We sang "Pirate mokey, pirate mokey, just for you, just for you," and practiced swinging on the big swings. My friends really are gone, they're not part of my life the way they were. But most of the time, I still feel happy. Chai was explaining to us in the car, "Remember when I was a baby, and I played by the bridge, and you were holding me, and Sparrow was taller than me?...but Baby Tarzan doesn't drink milk because he isn't born yet. He's still in your belly." Do you think it's possible that maybe at least part of it will be nice?</span></div>
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<br />Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-56919849652101713252014-07-26T16:33:00.000-07:002014-10-02T00:00:17.273-07:00You have shown me the sky, But what good is the sky To a creature who'll never Do better than crawl?<div class="text">
I
have mixed feelings about Aldonza/Dulcinea. I see the insinuation,
which I'm sure my grandfather loves, of the effect is can have on people
when you see them "not as they are but as they may be/should be." Such
elevating treatment maybe helps some people aspire to make needed
changes or improve their quality of life. I'm sure my grandfather would
state that this is how the Savior sees us, in our potential, not in our
current reality. But it was difficult to watch how much this disturbed
Aldonza. She keeps admonishing Quixote to "see me as I am!" At one point
she begs "Won't you look at me, look at me, God, won't you look at
me!" and Quixote continues to cover his face and plea with her never to
deny that she is his lady. I also felt sad that the storyline reflected the virgin/whore complex so literally--Quixote describes her as "sweet lady, fair virgin!" to the obscene delight of everyone at the inn where she is prostituted. Why couldn't she not be a virgin and still be of worth, still inspire a knight to noble deeds (also problematic)? There is some bitterness in the viewer recognizing that no matter how flowery the speeches made to her, she will never be high born, she will never be "pure" in the sense that he believes she is. I can see how there is something sweet about
his insistence that she has value even when she is bitterly spitting
that she is nothing ("born on a dung heap to die on a dung heap") and her
eventual shift to believing in a higher way of life, seeing the beauty
in the world and in herself, is touching. But she also shares with him
her own raw, violent story, and she truly had some ugly things happen to
her that he completely dismisses and is unable to hear. He invalidates
her lived experience, and that was difficult to watch. I understand that
his madness and inability to integrate reality with his delusion is
part of the profound theme that the play explores, but I wish it could
have been possible for Aldonza to be seen as a whole person, seen and
heard, and still told she is worthwhile. That Quixote could have endured
hearing her story and told her, your sexual history doesn't matter, I
still see you as Dulcinea. What happened to you wasn't your fault and
it's not who you are. Those are the words I would crave from a Savior...not someone with his hands over his ears.<br />
<br />
Hoy dia...oy, dia! We left and I immediately missed the
sun-spun angels. I can't ever let go and relax completely no matter how
much I wanted to get away beforehand. But is there anything more lovely
and more temperate than walking in the SLC Farmers Market with Jonny and
picking out soap, inhaling rosemary and lemongrass? Sawadees
for lunch and we talked about "getting organized." The immediate
changes are to do grocery shopping once a week and plan it out, each
cook twice a week, clean the kitchen on the night the
other cooks. When the basement is done we want to have a tech room and a
toy room, never-to-be-seen-again this time. Those changes will come
hard for us, but the way we've been is costing us so much money, energy,
and time. I told Jon I'm scared about our relationship and he said the
same thing as always, we should do more dates but no babysitters. I
suggested we make the effort to carve out the time even if we don't
leave home.<br />
<br />
We
stopped by Daniel's and met a squalling Samuel who triggered me. I don't want to
do it. I just don't. I cried and Jon said he'll do whatever he needs to
do, "raise it as his own," whatever. I don't need to search far for
stories of more desperate situations than mine. I mean triplets, Gaza,
watching your children starve, having your children be tortured in front
of you. But I still feel such pain and resistance welling up in me and
worst of all I know it affects an innocent child and very possibly even a
fetus, so during this time of gestation, even my feelings aren't
completely mine, I need to calm down and work through my anger and
disappointment so the quiet cricket won't be poisoned by the salt of my
wrathful blood. It is a complete invasion with no privacy and of course I
don't want to hurt a baby, but part of me sees it all as submission
this time. Submission to extra-concentrated motherhood, submission to
losing more of my mind and my time with the sweet kids I already have,
because that's what I'm supposed to do, who will do it save I? Jon
reminded me that the baby didn't ask for this. I know, I know! but that
doesn't make it easier. We are always so gentle when we get to be alone
together. We touch each other and lean in. I miss the time we never had
and the time we never will have.<br /><br />
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-55640716370867086242014-07-22T16:29:00.000-07:002014-10-01T23:53:40.353-07:00Third eye blindTonight I watched their blond little heads bob in the sunlight streams
while they ran through the sprinklers. Then we painted, and they boldly
mixed and swirled, and Chai told me "This is a painting of WIND!"
Earlier today I talked to Frimet and told her my story--much less
intense than the rigidity of Hasidim but still, we both realized it was
something like it--and I told her about how good exploring has been for
me and how it has helped me recognize what I truly want out of life and
allowed me to release so much that sat on my desperately trying chest
for years. I am excited to hear more from her--this woman who also
birthed her second child (a daughter) on a cold January morning, who had
an arranged marriage at 18, who shaved her head for her patriarchy. I
am really excited about writing a piece for the Forward, even though
Naomi warned me about trolls, just to be able to be involved and to
write something seems so worthwhile. Naomi is so sweet and encouraging.
Most definitely my exodus has brought us closer. After the call with
Frimet Doug and Emme took the smalls to the dinosaur museum and Jon and I
went to check out our Quiet Cricket. It meant so much to me to have
Jonny there and to be able to spend a few minutes alone. He got teary
when the technician let us hear baby's heartbeat. It was fun not to just
see the baby but to see through the baby! The chambers of the heart,
the pocket of the brain that stores spinal fluid. I don't know them,
right now I just know where is blood pumping through a one-pound system
and a cute little arm tucked up by the face and I'm so sad it's
happening so soon. I wish so much I had been able to space babies out
better so I could enjoy them more. It is exciting, though, the unknown
and a new thing struggling to survive, resting its feet on my cervix.
Please please please be safe, and grow strong, and come gently, and be known to us.<br />
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known to us. Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-57667367896363371642014-07-20T16:22:00.000-07:002014-09-28T00:47:18.923-07:00"Each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
All of us are languishing in our house without AC, stripped down to our underwear, hugging with sticky skin, but Jon is languishing a little harder. His morale is very low (he says he stopped existing a few weeks ago) and just like the verse in Ecclesiastes, when one is weak the other is strong. I feel infused with new energy and I feel my time of confinement is over. Yesterday, I realized there was no fear in me, and that there may be torches lit on the mountain but no army to charge down. I'm free. I've been making food and planing activities. I feel more confident that I have something to contribute even if I am not endorsed by everyone. I'm getting excited for the summer healing circle, which thing I never would have supposed. I am going to worry less about how many and just hold the space for any who need it. Christina is going to help me hang lights in the trees. Jon and I drove around Hobblecreek looking at pavilions. Kelly's Church is the one! It was so beautiful and holy up in the canyon with the smell of rain rising and looking for places to create a circle within the trees. Jon reached over and squeezed my leg and was enjoying my excitement and my teasing him. I'm so glad we're together! The kids mercifully fell asleep in the back (poor things, it is too hot within and without sometimes) and we put them gently to bed with the the rain padding outside, and watched a movie. Sparrow toddled out shortly and sat between us, sweet-legged, twisting to lean on me. "MamaDaddy," she babbled. She kept asking for water, which she calls "Larrrgheddy" in kind of this gargling voice like she is speaking through a bubble. She wore an elastic on her wrist and it made her feel pretty, she kept twisting to look at her arm. She is so open and unconsciously lovely! She loves to be centered in my lap and to pull my face down to hers and tell me, "Mahmee." Why is she so dear? She's started saying "No" all the time also, which has leveled up her sass exponentially. I love July, love falling asleep on the couch watching shows with Jonny, I love my beautiful children! Chai told us today, "Wait, guys. I have to talk to you about ghosts. I have to talk to you about Olaf."</div>
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<br />Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-61718186412905244222014-07-14T16:22:00.000-07:002014-11-26T11:01:29.930-08:00But nothing happened. Not a sound.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Early mornings are my time with the quiet Cricket. Sparrow lays next to me, clutching my arm, sucking down milk while we wait suspended in our hot bubble of a room. The fan gives us a sleepy reprieve even though it's too loud and harsh. It feels so good to get any air at all. I count the months every morning, as if they'd suddenly be different. I feel some of the anticipation of opening a present. I feel a creeping horror when I imagine Sparrow's heartbreak, the short space of my arms already filled, walking around jiggling a warm lump instead of being able to sit and talk, the aches of lying on my side all night, the bleary rapid aging of never sleeping, the exhaustion that leeches my energy so I'm no good to anyone, brainless, charmless, doughy, empty. I guess not having friends this time will make it easier. I remember the condemnatory words, hum them in isolation, and it burns. But then I ask myself if I want to be bullied, if I want to be controlled, if I could have just snapped my fingers and gotten over it, easy hurdle, right? What's another one? Last night Sparrow smashed her bottle in my face when she lay down next to me and I wailed "Why did you hurt me?" Please don't hurt me!" and she sobbed and sobbed with her huge elephant tears. She has such a tender heart, like I do, and I think I scared her. Afterwards I comforted her and told her, it's okay, it's okay. I made basil pasta with vegetables and we ate dinner together, said our prayer, listened to the Christine Jessop podcast (love!), Jon told me about talking to his parents and the eternal gulf. We will each always think it's the other's fault. Jon says he needs to learn how to speak a different language; I think that it doesn't matter what language you speak if no one believes you have anything worthwhile to say. </div>
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-20721398135124735542014-07-13T16:17:00.000-07:002014-09-28T00:26:07.188-07:00"Rene and Georgette Magritte in The Car after the War"It was a stiff ten hours in the car today, wasted sunshine, the horrible
density of fast/junk food. I cried at the end of Middlesex when Tessie
asks if Callie will be able to have children. I have become so much more
sensitive to narratives of aging and decay, of the vulnerability and
inevitable pain of having children. This trip to Mexico, even with the
uglier moments (the way I never quite feel connected and am left with the sour taste of overshare in my mouth) felt like a honeymoon with my children. I felt so
bursting with love for them. I couldn't take my eyes off their sweet,
funny faces. They are both so charming and kind and sassy. Sparrow's
word for snuzzling and our relationship right now is "Mommybaby!" She
loves to pat my chest and then lovingly lay her head on me, My darling,
clever lady came home with a few more words, "Moh," and "No" more
frequent than before, "Jesse" (I don't know if that one will stay) and
"MeeeEEE!" My parents' relationship with my children is the best thing
about my parents' relationship with me right now, easily. That was why I
cried when my mother brought out the chile rellenos, beaming at my sister's brilliance in making them (that, and I cry at everything
lately). Chai called to me from his seat, "When are we going to get to
Mexico?" and he cried when we explained that we were going home.I miss
being there already, even though sometimes it felt so good I couldn't
take it in I loved sitting next to Jon in the car, and holding him, and
kissing his face, and whispering sexual things in his ear ("No, mah
Racherr! You're being ignorant!") He told me this afternoon that he
loves that I'm sexually inappropriate. I feel torn up, petulant, and
smug about the loss of the friend group. One piece I'm struggling with
is how to un-entwine this man I adore so much from his folkloric past
and from the tribe that exists to honor that history and their shared
connection. It was always something that both attracted and repelled me;
the friend group has given me so much fun and blissful belonging and a
sense of coasting on their intellectual superiority, but I'm spat out
(some of them likely feel that I've spat them out also) and it has made
me realize how much they really are constantly present in the fabric of
our lives, and how many empty pockets exist now for me that I can no
longer access. I feel my convictions are just but that doesn't make
feeling left out any easier It's hard to have Mary and Jon both in and
so in that I can't just ignore it completely. I wish I could find
something that would help me differentiate, a relationship or project
completely separate from Jon that is as fulfilling and absorbing as his
friendships and incessant activities are for him. I don't think it is
likely.<br />
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-40032992184065841792014-07-11T16:15:00.000-07:002014-09-28T00:11:54.417-07:00You can't remember, you try to feel the beatWalking on the beach here, listening to music is like a sacrament, it was so cleansing, like keeping a promise to myself. I need to get back in touch with that ritual. I listened to the music of my Golden Age, 2003 to 2009. The songs from those years (including my mission years which were spent in a feverish addictive longing for "apostate" music) still speak truth to me and carve out memories with every note. The song I love most now is "Eet" and I love humming it as I'm wandering around here, "You can't believe it..." that loss, that freedom. The walk, though! Gave me so much clarity, I stayed even longer than I needed to because it felt so good. It helped me feel at home again in my body for a few minutes, reset my careful and worried mind. I walked past the body of a twisted pelican with white eyes, as I stepped closer, the eyes changed to red and it suddenly reared up, gawky neck height, stiffening, immobile. It must have been injured somehow because it couldn't fly away. I felt disrespectful for intruding on its pain and I whispered that I was sorry. When I came back, I told Chai about the bird and he retold the story "The celican had white eyes, and then, all of a sudden, they were red!" He asked to go see the dead celican over and over again until Lolo finally took him. He has been reminding me so much of myself on this trip. His imagination, his storytelling, his magical voice, his indefatigable energy, his innocent expectation that everyone loves him ("Hey, it's me, Chai! I'm here!") and everyone here does. Natalie and I are the only ones of our generation who brought children and watching all the younger cousins I don't know very well play with Chai has given me such a soft heart for them. They chase him and play hide and seek and monster and pass him around at the pool and catch him when he jumps off the wall. He and Sparrow are both so beloved and people coo and aww at them everywhere they go. It's very affirming to be able to share this sweet piece of my life with my relatives, who I really do love, but who I feel must be disapproving of me.<br />
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Last night my mother and grandmother were in charge of dinner and it was a Mexican feast as in days of yore. It felt so good to be there with the blue and peach streaked sky, everyone merry in their family t-shirts eating rio and enchies. Sparrow and I wore our rainbow dresses and everyone loved them. I love my little girl! This vacation has made me recognize how obsessed I am with my little family. I love spending so many hours with them, love how happy the sea and sky make them, love how Sparrow falls asleep in the waves and in the pool, love how Chai runs around so fearless and delighted. I have fallen asleep during every movie we've watched here, and last night when Jon finally urged me to go to bed during Memento, I climbed in next to Sparrow and saw her gorgeous face on the pillow, and I felt overwhelmed with love for her. I kept kissing her sleeping forehead and whispering, "My little girl, my little daughter, I love you so much." She is so dear. Jon and I took the traditional sunset kissing picture today. It's our third Mexico together. He wore his best backwards hat in homage to 8th grade eroticism. He doesn't connect with pining music like I do but he is my best Jonny and I am so glad we are together because he argues with my mother about moral relativism and kisses me so sweetly on the forehead. I feel so connected to him, lately. Like Chai says "Remember when you were a baby and daddy was too and Sparrow was taller than me?"<br />
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-7143749495432397702014-07-10T16:12:00.000-07:002014-09-27T23:43:39.270-07:00And I was a child, and she was a child, in the kingdom by the seaToday, July 10, I am 22 weeks pregnant. Usually this is my favorite "size" and when I feel the most attractive with a baby bump, before the flesh slides around all the rest of my bones, but it's different here in Mexico because I slip on a skin-tight suit every day and see this bloated belly that everyone else presumably believes is empty, I can't suck it all the way back anymore, and I can imagine the way they feel sorry for me, the conversations they might have about how Natalie bounced right back (Lorraine body) and Rachel didn't (lazy body, fighting against her genes). My mother took a picture with me in the background that looked so distorted from my perception of myself (which somehow remains optimistically positive) that it sickened me. I have to be honest that I wasn't in great shape before I even got pregnant, but waddling around in this bulbous body, when I am supposed not to be, embarrasses me. It feels like I am taking on the physical form of what my family believes me to be, weak, undisciplined, silly, sloppy. I still prefer that over telling the truth, though, which would affirm their suspicions in other ways. I don't want to hear it, I want to keep it from being thought as long as I can.<br />
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Yesterday at the market I was talking to a kind family who lovingly admired the babies and one woman put her hand on my belly and asked me "Otro?" and I wanted to tell her, open up to someone I knew would be warm and happy and then never see me again, but I saw some members of my party watching, so I shrugged and shook my head. "No esta llena," she confirmed. But it is! I feel badly for denying my little one, but at the same time, h/she will belong to us and doesn't belong to the world, and somehow that feels good, too, to keep our little secret close to us.<br />
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I talk to the kids all the time about Baby Tarzan and they kiss and rub my belly. Even Sparrow says "Baby!" now when she pats me and Chai has conversations with me about how baby Tarzan will be "so, sooo cute" but he may hurt him if Tarzan plays with his tools. He asks if baby Tarzan will come out my butt, or my "bagina." I tell him and he says thoughtfully, "I think your butt, too, though." He's not totally wrong. :) Yesterday we were cuddling and he said "I don't want Baby Tarzan to come out." I told him we have awhile before that happens...but how can I not feel the same? My heart just aches for my sweet baby girl, too. She has no idea, she will be blindsided, I don't know how to maintain our sweet symbiosis. I have loved it so much ever since we stopped nursing. She loves to touch my nose, her nose, my ears, her ears, my eyes, her eyes...her place of peace is on my lap making faces with me. Her little arms are constantly reaching for me and she knows just how to tuck her head under my chin, fold her arms under her body and lean in and rock...I just want to keep rocking her, I just want to keep balancing the hours between these two. I want a natural, gradual shift in our baby dream world that is instigated by her growing and not being "untimely ripped" away from me, like Chai was. It hurt him, it hurt him deeply, and I can never deny that. Sometimes I marinate in this perspective and then feel jolted out of it when I read a story of tragedy and loss and consider that never-ending missing. Hopefully, that fierce hurt won't be the end, and we can continue building and creating and loving each other as we all suffer through the winter. It's just hard on this end with nothing but a hidden goldfish bowl and quiet nudging to imagine the beauty and good that may come forth. <br />
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Mexico is always a dense cluster of feelings for me, embedded with some bitter and spicy nostalgia of this beautiful ghost self wandering around listening to her headphones, pining, pining. Those feelings clutch me worst at night and when I see my Grandfather walking painfully from the condo to the pool, to the wall, making his rounds, greeting everyone with the same story. He is revered, but it is more difficult to deeply connect with him than it used to be. For me, at least, I feel so aware of the shadow unfurling at our feet that I feel silenced. I also feel like my goodbye, my piece of honoring of what we have shared, has to come in the form of the final poem. It's a quest I need to complete, but I feel woefully inadequate. I know he will be appreciative and kind of whatever drivel I dribble, but I want to do better than that, I want to know in my heart that I created something real, captured some magic and that he felt it. But time is running out. <br /><br />Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-11178846931214101232014-06-23T14:03:00.000-07:002014-09-28T00:27:57.985-07:00May your memory move us forwardChai climbed in bed with me at about six in the morning and I was so dreamily sandwiched between him and Sparrow. I'm in love with their warm little bodies so trustingly flung and pressed. I love that they want to be close to me in their sleep. I love that Chai always murmurs "You okay, mom?" I tell him I love him over and over and I feel it heals us a little from me yelling at him yesterday and trying to be fierce. I almost couldn't go back to sleep, not just because they had commandeered both pillows, but because I felt so giddy over how dear they are right now and what a "songs of innocence" piece it is to have tiny sweets that climb in bed with me and cuddle. Right now they are playing in the fan--Chai told me "It's pouring out wind, and we get ALLLL windy!" <br />
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My relationship with Sparrow has been thriving so much this month. She only occasionally cries to nurse, now, and she will snuzzle me in bed and fall asleep leaning on my chest. I love her so much and I'm so glad
that we pushed past that rough patch because now that there is no
assault on my nipples, her wanting to be close is just really loving and
kind. She says more words, "bubbles" and "baby" and and "kay-ay" sings
"Mommy. Mommy,. Mommy!" We sing it to each other. She helps me looks for
Chai at the park by shouted "Cha! CHAAA!" They have such a beautiful
relationship and love to be around each other. Chai likes to be
instructive and Sparrow is happy doing his bidding most of the time.
Yesterday I lay back on the bed and showed them the hard little 19 weeks
bump (that's beginning to kick hard enough I can just barely feel it)
and we talked about Tarzan and Chai said gleefully "Is he going to come
out your butt?" I said, "Out my vagina!" and Chai said, "I think out
your butt, too." He's not wrong. I can't come up with any affirmations
about the lines of doubt and doom are so clear in my mind. We can't
afford another child. Our relationship can't afford another postpartum
so close to the last one. I don't want to do this to Sparrow. These are
the words that keep revolving, that steal a little bit of my joy in
June.<br />
<br />
Last night Jon and I went to the Ordain Women vigil in SLC. It was so
interesting to see the internet greats wandering around in person and it
made me happy to see many friends from different parts of my life (Kayte
and Sara the Vranes, Dorothy, Christa, Mary Kremer, etc). I crept
around like a loser fangirl trying to touch John Dehlin's garment and
finally succeeded in extracting virtue from him when Jared introduced us
(At that point, although I'd been trying to meet him all night, I was
like, Oh Jared really, you shouldn't have!). Some parts of the vigil
really resonated with me (repeating the names of women and saying "May
your memory move us forward", Janice Allred's sign, "we asked for bread
and they gave us a stone, we asked to minister the bread and they stoned
us", Kate Kelly's father declaring "I will not be silenced because my
daughter, Kate Kelly, has committed no sin!") and others ("I will not be
silenced because my Heavenly Parents don't want me to be!") left me a
little cold, because I feel like people are still just creating God in
their own image when they insist that God is a feminist, pro LGBT rights
rockstar and Heavenly Mother makes contact por doquier. There may be
something, I think I even hope there is a benevolent presence in the
universe, I wish so much that Jesus is real, but I just don't find it
useful to insist that the reality is a progressive God that is more
appealing because it seems like it's just casting your values upon a
mirror like everyone else does.<br />
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I liked being there with Jon. I
love being alone with him, even though I ruined the drive up with angsty
wailings about the future (we decided later I was just hungry). Jon is
always so kind to me. He is my best friend. He is
tender and sincere. I want to recognize and feel more how good he is
instead of being dour. I want to be present, but I'm struggling with
feeling so sad that our little world is ending. After the vigil
disbanded we went to Aristo's and sat on the patio and ordered
spankopita, gyro sliders and salty purple olives, hummus, cucumber
yogurt and garlic spread. It was wonderful and we had a good talk about
the friend group. Jon says I need to get in touch with the part of
myself that does ugly things, that could do the worst things, recognize
my shadow is just as alive as anyone's. I said I could understand the
behaviors and wanting something so badly, even at someone else's
expense, and the lying about it, but not the flaunting about lying. He
pushed me farther and I acknowledged there is a part of me that could do
that, too, that might feel superior and even want to punish the people
in my life for their blindness. We talked about how a part of my feeling
I can't revisit the relationship the way it was, even though I miss it,
was the urgency from everyone else to just get over it, the
invalidation. No one said "That makes perfect sense that you're not over
it yet, in fact it's weird that we all are!" I also feel very justified
in taking a stand against the coercive aspect to this. I don't think
it's healthy or safe, even though it's the most fun thing even
sometimes, and I do miss it, I don't miss it as much as I thought I
would. Anyway, that's enough friend drama to last a whole summer. It's
kind of nice to have time to go to the park and reflect on what my
identity is becoming. Right now I am deriving a lot of satisfaction from
taking the kids to do fun things--it really is magically fulfilling to
be at Art Days or the park or the splash pad with them. It makes me feel
like I'm a good mother and helping them have a good childhood. <br />
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My boy, my boy! My beautiful, clever curly boy! It's another sweetly sticky marvelous June and you are three years old! It seems so far away, that day you came into the world! I remember the letter I wrote you on your first birthday was so tender, simple, and sweet; a balloon in the back seat, cuddling during the frisbee game. Your third birthday was so bursting with energy and activity that it will be hard to remember everything we did, all the funny, charming things you said. You ran into my room this morning calling, "It's me, it's me!" I congratulated you and you cried "It's not my boithday yet!" (I think you thought it would be your birthday officially when we went to Wheeler farms to see the pigs. Which you seemed to remember brilliantly. All week whenever we reminded you that your birthday was coming up, you added, "and pigs, too!") I explained that your birthday was ALL DAY and that I was so proud of you and you suggested that we sing the happy birthday song, so we sang together several times. You and Sparrow both clapped at the end. You were just beaming. Later you took to your bed again and I found you there with an entire loaf of broad under the covers. You were taking a bite out of each slice and then putting it back. I don't know why you suddenly decided bread was okay, but it's just evidence of your obvious maturity. Daddy took you outside to the sandbox while I revised plans and hurriedly decided we'd have a picnic instead of getting "cheeseboogers." On our way into the store, you requested I hold you, and I had you and Sparrow both in my arms and a sweet older man gave me his cart. We told him it was your birthday and he patted you on the head and said he hoped you had a wonderful day. You asked to ride on the fire truck like you always do, and I thought I would buy you a ride for a birthday treat, but then the machine ate my change. Luckily, you were excited to sit on the truck anyway and didn't seem to notice.<br />
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You sat so quietly and patiently in the car on the way to thanksgiving point; you peeked behind the shade cloth covering your window. We had an exquisite picnic outside the museum of natural curiosity, and my favorite part was watching you be so excited to see your uncles, aunties and grandparents. They love you so much, and you will always be so special to them no matter what happens, because you are the first nephew/grandchild with whom they ever fell in love. Your grandmother had brought "monster" cupcakes with googly eyes and smiles. You cupped a blue one in your hands and ran around beaming. </div>
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You kept darting out across the lawn and chasing Tanner and Chris. We sang to you and you opened your presents; sand toys for Mexico, an inflatable pool from Mary and Brian, silky Chinesey "Hugh Hefner" pajamas from Diana and Chris, TWO tool sets from Mommy Lolo. You immediately sat down, opened the box and began your carpentry as if you'd just been waiting for your tools to arrive and now you had to get to work. We all laughed at how matter of fact you were, and Mommy Lolo was so pleased that you enjoyed your presents so much.<br />
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You were a resplendently happy boy at the museum, too. We held hands across the suspension bridge, you threw carrots and potatoes into rabbits' mouths with your crazy uncles, explored the water room deliberately and joyfully (you were soaking within two minutes), climbed in the jungle gym with Doug, went on the slide with Aunt Moh, and sat in the cockpit of the plane with Lolo. The museum was busy and loud and there was so much to do. You ran around and threw your whole heart into all you did. I had fun climbing the hanging bridges with you! They made me a little nervous but you were fearless, quick and daring. Doug asked behind me "Do humans learn to be afraid if no one tells them they should be?...look at him!"<br />
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We found Discovery Gardens and the Noah's Ark splash pad and you and I climbed around on the rocks together. I love playing with you! I remember last summer when we were there with Brenda, I was aching to follow you and run around next yo you, but I couldn't because Sparrow was so small and needed me to hold her. This time she was sleeping and Lolo was holding her.)<br />
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At one point you ran away (there are always some birthday hijinks!) and I was searching for you in the gardens, starting to get worried that you had gone back inside the museum. I heard a child's voice singing Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques...over and over again, from inside the little cave. I called your name and you stopped singing and answered "Yeah?" I said, "What are you doing?" and you shouted, "I'm Frere Jacqu-ing!" I seized you and hugged you and loved you and we ran back to play in Noah's Ark for a little longer until you got your blueberry lips and we finally went home.<br />
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You decided to play with your tool kit instead of taking a nap, and then later in the evening we went to see Grandma and Grandpa and Grandma had so many gifts for you, it was like you were at a wedding reception! Seriously...you got dinosaurs, and cars, and a new dump truck...and a bunch of other toys I quickly confiscated to save for the car trip to Mexico. You kept shouting "thank you, Grandma!" Your favorite of her gifts were a pair of binoculars. You demanded that Grandpa get his binoculars as well and the two of you went out on the porch to test them out. I got a sweet picture of you both looking through them. Chai, your relationship with your grandfather Strange is stunning. He is a remarkable person, just like Daddy he is different from other people, and I hope you get to have him in your life for a very long time. I kept telling Jonny, what a day, what a day our Chai is having! We went back home to meet Doug and Emmy and we all marveled at how calm and lovely your mood was at that late hour, with no nap, until eventually around ten something caused you to weep and fall apart, so Jonny carried you to bed (for the first time) and after a few more pop-outs (all involving the tool kit) you finally feel asleep. I went in to visit you and kiss your sweet face and I asked you what your favorite part of your birthday was, and you cried, "Tools!" All afternoon you kept asking "Would you build with me? Do you want to play with me?" and when we did you would take away whatever tool we picked up and gently remind us, "that's mine." I think you just wanted a witness. You snuggled with me before you fell asleep and I kept kissing your head and telling you that I was so proud of you, you had grown so big. You would say, "Oh, thanks, Mom!" Right now you are so boisterous but so loving at the same time. Jonny and I talked about how the year Two is over and we can't say you ever went through anything like the terrible twos. We just genuinely enjoy you so much. I feel very lucky and grateful that I've been able to celebrate three perfect, sweet anniversaries of the day of your birth with you now, and that they have all been joyful and uncomplicated. I don't know what will surprise us in the path ahead--maybe one of your birthdays you will feel expectations and disappointment, or someone in our family will be terribly sick, or your social situation will be complicated, or you will feel sadness about another year passing for some reason. Maybe none of those things will ever happen and every birthday you spend under the sun will be a sunburst of June love and a joyful celebration of the life of one of the sunniest boys to ever live. Let me tell you with a surety, you make us so happy, and however your life unfolds, these three sweet simple years will always belong to all of us, under our skin, a bright beginning. You are a person I am so glad and grateful to know. Thank you for bringing us so much fun and happiness. I hope three will be kind to you and full of all the growing you are longing for. I love you my beautiful curly guy.<br />
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-13100009339370181482014-05-31T21:24:00.000-07:002014-07-19T21:26:03.573-07:00And the days come to you like sailors<div style="padding: 0px 0px 29px;">
On the night before my birthday, I dreamed that my brother Doug shot a deer in a stall. The bullet landed in the deer's stomach and turned it a horrible, sloshing, magenta/red. The deer started thrashing and panicking, trying to get away from the agony of the wound. It upset me so much to see its suffering. I thought it would die soon, but it went on and on, making awful noises of pain and jumping and writhing as if it could escape its own body. In the dream, it occurred to me that I could relieve this deer from its pain if I could separate its head from its body and cut off its connection to the wound. In my mind, this was the most merciful act I could perform. But the head, once severed, did not die; it became calm, peaceful, and happy. It would snuggle up to me as I held it, look at me with grateful eyes. I developed an affectionate, nurturing relationship with the deer's head and in my dream there was nothing macabre about it. I would take it in the shower and tuck it in at night. I remember being surprised that it was still living, and expected it would die soon, but I was glad it had escaped the awful deadly wound even if it didn't have a "whole" life anymore. Eventually, the deer's head changed into a child's head, a little blond boy. I continued to take care of it but this made me feel a lot sadder about its situation and the inevitability of its demise. I asked someone if there was a way to keep a child's head alive indefinitely, and they told me, I could put it on a plate of vinegar and oil, and it would live for two years, but "that's no way to live." <br /><br />This dream has really struck me. It feels like it must be so heavily symbolic. I think Doug's presence is a symbol, also, especially because it would be so out of character for him to hurt any animal. Jon thought Doug could possibly represent negativity and the feelings of futility that are "poisoning me" lately; I told Jon I thought that Doug could represent science, and genetics, and the dream is indicated that the baby I will have will be severely disabled in some way, and I will care for a partial, damaged child without a functioning body, with great affection and kindness, but knowing its life won't last long. Jon says he hopes not, but he thinks that's a valid interpretation.<br /><br />Birthday. The most unsullied parts were when I took the kids to the splash pad. I love being in the sun and the sweet heavy summer exhaustion that comes over us afterwards. Chai still runs away and doesnt always respond to me when I ask him to come back, but his journeyings seem to be much more contained and he doesn't run out to the road as much. He is more interested in interacting with other kids--today he adopted a family and was just chilling with them on the steps. He loved their baby and when her brother picked her up, he cried "You can't just take her from me!" It's so nice! Sparrow is also exploring a bit more with her trompy fat legs. She is so adorable in the sun with her dignified glee and he little bobbing ponytail. I love my little sweet fresh face girl and her loving hugs. This summer is a thousand times better than last summer (which makes me agonize over the possibility of how wretched next summer will be). Well, we went to the park, enjoyed sunny days, and then the kids slept while I spent the afternoon reading about #yessallwomen and the horrible sexual abuse cases within the church. It makes my head spin and crushes me how many children have carried/are carrying this burden. It is beyond what any reasonable human being could be expected to endure and yet it happens ALL the time. <br /><br />Thirty is just a day older than yesterday. I'm not sad about that. I'm wearing some heavy emotional chains for many other reasons. Jonathan continues to be my constant. I feel I can depend on him no matter what. He creates such a steady, safe space<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino Linotype, Book Antiqua, Palatino, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 31.279998779296875px;">.</span></span></div>
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-6591669600296508512014-05-15T14:41:00.000-07:002014-07-19T21:15:29.290-07:00A ream of paper and an apple core<div class="text">
I have two weeks left of being 29. Are you kidding
me? Life is going to happen...it's on! I don't know about a career.
Everything I find myself dreaming of (MA in gender studies at U of Austin, PhD in counseling psych, stocker at Walmart)
makes less sense than staying where I am, powering through to get my L. I'm so close to my
thousand face to face hours, how can I speed up the other 3,000? I had the best day with Sparrow. She is
just darling and even though I'm still having anxiety if I let myself
think about how nursing feels, I have fallen back in love with her. She
is my stinkable cozeable nubbly glick, my dainty cluck. We took a bath together, she followed me
around cooing and hung onto my legs, she gently touched my nose and
wanted to bite my fingers, she murmurs "Mama. Mahmee." I hummed into her neck and made her laugh.
She is so special and dear. I went to Scera park to see my friends and it felt good to be there. I
still don't want to speak about my Very Quiet Cricket.<br />
I want
Jonathan...he is gone on a survival trip for 5 days and I miss him so much. I thought it would be a good use of time
to watch all the romcoms that Crystal has on plex, but all it did was
give me all kinds of feelings and I have no one to talk to or snuzzle
with. Just a few more days...this is the longest we've ever gone without
speaking since we began speakng. I hope he is safe and stays safe. It hurts to miss any days
with him. My biggest dreams now are to have a beautiful life and travel
with him and always be in love. I truly do love him. </div>
Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-20215642628290488022014-05-13T14:23:00.000-07:002014-07-16T14:40:41.807-07:00The Very Quiet CricketI want to find out the baby's gender at birth. It's one of the only aspects of this unexpected pregnancy that gives me genuine anticipation. I like to ask Chai if we should have another boy or another girl. He keeps telling me I should have two more boys. I asked him what we should name them and he said "Tarzan." I said "We can name one Tarzan, but what about the other one?" and he said "Tarzan, too!" We've started talking occasionally about Baby Tarzan in my belly. "It will grow and grow," I told Chai, quoting Dr. Seuss. "Oh, wow!" he says. Sometimes he puffs out his own stomach and declares that he has a baby, too. Other times he decides he wants to remember being a baby and he curls up in my arms and uses his baby voice and requests "milk from breasts." <br /><br /> My baby is a Very Quiet Cricket. I'm almost 14 weeks, and I really can't believe how silent and gentle this pregnancy has been so far. With the other two I was never really sick, but noticed there were a few weeks when smells and memories of smells distressed me and the queasy came easy. Nothing this time, not even any fatigue. I feel stunningly normal. I want to knock on the door and ask if h/she is really in there. The only signs are my thickening belly and my very, very soft heart. So much of what I see and hear stabs me with poignancy, I can tell whatever hormones are conspiring in my chemistry have turned on my tears full blast. I cry at descriptions of great kindness as well as great suffering. I cry for little children and the elderly. I cry for anyone who feels disappointed or lonely. Even though it's heavy, I like these mighty emotions, they feel just, and they make me feel connected to the Quiet Cricket. Maybe h/she will have a heart like my heart. Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-715010514032867612014-05-09T22:25:00.000-07:002015-01-07T20:05:54.880-08:00"We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful."Before it disappears into forgetting I need to write about the night I came home from New York. Jonathan filled up my whole world again so suddenly and I felt so relieved to be back where I belonged, and a little shy in the car as we were driving and I was trying to tell him, stilted, about our trip. When we got home I saw everything was so clean and lovely and there was a candle burning and a plate of cookies on the table (sweet Mary!). When we were finally home he dropped to his knees and held my waist and looked so eager, he said wistfully, I need to be with you, I missed you. Sometimes it makes me cry just realizing how much of this sweet life that I always longed for is an absolutely rarity. Of course the sharp and disillusioning moments still come, but in all of humanity with all the turmoil and agony of all the generations and cultures, how many individuals have really truly felt loved, and felt safe, and felt understood by their partner? I feel dizzy with this most delicious slice of privilege and so sad that in so many ways it can't last, won't last, but I love it now and I want to fill my arms and my heart with him forever. Ann Druyan was right, mere chance can be so kind. The most wonderful and fulfilling time in my life is when we're cuddling and watching shows and talking. I am so happy with Jonathan that it sort of buffers the general sense of depression and cynicism I feel creeping into the other aspects of my life. Lately I feel like withdrawing from everyone. I used to so look forward to girls nights and activities and would be seared by burning FOMO if I couldn't go, but now I feel very ambivalent, more than ever a sense of going just to support rather than enjoy. I am tired of the expectations and the misunderstandings and the shallowness and the tiresome cognitive distortions. I'm tired of my work as well and can barely stand to be there, but I can only see unpleasant ways my life would change if I would ever leave. I can't even think through the scenario in my head of confessing my condition. I'm too angry, I'm much more comfortable staying in denial. I don't want to buy a minivan, I don't want to have more children than arms. Although maybe it doesn't matter, as they get big and eventually you hold them one at a time anyway, if at all? I don't want to hear anything from anyone (that about covers it). I'm struggling with Sparrow right now. I want to have a sweet relationship with her but her constant whining and begging to nurse makes me feel so trapped and seems to take up absolutely all of our time so that there is no space for bonding in any other way. I feel disappointed about that and a little like a failure. I'm sure it affects her adversely to have me feeling like I want to hide from her. It's not just that nursing is painful, but also her pinches and slaps and tweaking and scratching of my breasts drives me so crazy I don't know what to do. Lately she will let me go if I ask her to. Part of me was remorseful about the probability of nursing ending when I went to New York, but part of me was so relieved! And that part is achingly frustrated right now. How can I bond with my little daughter? I need new ways to connect with her because she's not an infant anymore. It's just easier with Chai right now--wild, brilliant Chai! He took two pieces of broken hanger tonight and declared that he made a flamingo, and he pointed out a leaf on the floor that looked like a violin. He put letter b's and d's on his long-neck's necks and called them swimsuits. He is always asking "Will you play with me?" and "Come in my room?" We went with Moh to see the horses and cows and I asked him if I could hold his hand and he said "yeah ya can, sure!" Tomorrow we're supposed to go up for Beav's farewell. I don't know what I wish for, for anyone, anymore. I think what holds steady is that I don't believe anyone is in any way unworthy. I miss JesuCristo and the sense of fore-ordination and destiny to move things in the world ("We all want to pull the sword out of the stone and have it be us"), and I'm sad there seems to be a barrier between me and so many people I used to be close with. One other piece I should mention is that I've been thinking about the Rust Cole quote in True Detective about committing the heinous sin of becoming a father/parent and part of it resonated with me--I love my children so deeply and would never regret their existence, but now that I don't think I'm volunteering up my eggs for righteous spirits who will be lucky enough to come to a gospel home instead of touching down in some 3rd or 4th world, it seems heavier, creating something where maybe it never existed before. There is a world of pain to perceive and feel. There are joyous moments but there is so much bad news to be broken, so much heartache. Before, I saw having children as a necessary part in my eternal progression and as a favor to others, a way to serve, creating a body which would eventually allow them to be brought home to God. I guess many of my reasons for wanting a smaller family now are reasons my younger self would have considered very selfish, but I also know she wasn't capable of really understanding. It was a feat, what my mother did, it was a superhuman feat of strength and I want to spend my days differently, I want a more manageable family life and I want time to be with my lover. I want to be close with a few instead of semi-close with a hoard.<br />
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Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-27098804067589781372014-04-01T22:11:00.000-07:002014-07-15T22:15:57.172-07:00Love is the best endeavor waiting in the lion's maneI love to play lions with my dear little boy. Sometimes we growl at each other and I try to eat him and he throws a net on me, and sometimes he is a tiny baby lion who wants to be made cozy, and I make him a bed of grass and tree stars. Tonight he told me over and over, "I love you, Mom!" I am so lucky to hear it! Him just smiling up at me with his sweet sleepy face is perfection. He sings itsy bitsy spider and we watched the lone dinosaur song and he and Sparrow rode around and my back as he bellowed "Dinosauuuur!" He had his first swimming lesson today and he was so excited. We called Sparrow the naughty baboon because she kept scratching him when he was a lion. She is a little duck and some kind of savage cavegirl and exactly like herself. She is so communicative for a nonverbal individual. I painted Jon with a paintbrush while he was playing games and I made this amazing zucchini pasta that was so spicy and oniony. It was a good day. Trying not to think about the Third Seed. Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-20064783578515666082014-03-18T22:07:00.000-07:002014-07-15T22:25:30.626-07:00That's me in the spotlightI am dreaming of a world where I don't have to betray my baby and break her heart in November. I cried so ugly the other night and named all the naked, floating, hideous things in my heart. I'm realizing how angry I feel that my body will eventually shout this news and everyone who sees me will feel they have the right to interpret what it means, to judge me. Jonathan pointed out that the man gets no visible affects of a pregnant partner, it's the woman who is looked at as trashy, disorganized, irresponsible, overwhelmed. I have a block solidly placed against acceptance and every time I think of making Sparrow a middle child this creeping horror spreads over me. I guess I turned three right before my sister was born? (Third child). So this happens, I'm just following the pattern my genes and maybe my unconscious beliefs about families have set for me. But I just wanted so much to go to the beach this summer and enjoy my sweets without this being all everyone sees, talks about. I've tried to think of ways I can minimize it or ignore it, not give it away to everyone like they think is their right. I feel very defensive of my lack of autonomy this time. I do not want anyone at work to know and to have to deal with their subtle urging for me to quit again. It will alienate me even further from my friends who don't have kids and who are baffled by how many I've acquired in such a short time. It made me feel so good that Jonathan was able to get this. He said "It's not fair, what an awful thing to have to carry." He also told me it scares him when I get really angry because he is so disillusioned by all the relationships in his life but he believes our closeness is real, and when I get really upset and dismal it makes him worry. I love him so much and I fell in love with him as in times of old when I felt he could hear me. He is the most important person in the world. I love his heartbeat and his arms and shoulders and his voice, especially in the morning and when he sings, I love the way his hair smells, what he finds funny and how he tells Chai "cow stories" at night. He is an idyllic father, to me. Maybe I shouldn't be so sad...it will be another lucky baby. I think of all the pain and disasters, getting the news that my husband or one of my children has died (or worse seeing it) and I think how everything would change, in my mind. I would be so grateful for this last piece of Jonathan. I would be so grateful for another little one coming to be in our family the way our family should have been. Right now "should have been" is my every day life!Racherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05550643362484121433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4882360014576940090.post-72445751611007164682014-03-12T21:55:00.000-07:002014-07-19T21:11:58.516-07:00Pretend all the good things are for you.<br />
"Hail to those who will come from the sunlight that surrounds you." This is the phrase I'm repeating today. It will be a new friend. The universe will make room. This morning I took Sparrow into Chai's room when he called for us and laid her on the bed with him. He cackled and squeezed her, kissed her face while she squealed and beamed. He pulled up the blanket and said "I want her to be cozy with me!" Someday, someday, maybe they all will be like that. 3 so close. I know we can make it work and eventually, a long long long time from now it will feel right and fun and free again.<br />
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