Building Blocks and Relationships

It has been a challenging few months.

Marshall is two.

When Jess was born I felt like I lost my best little friend. Marshall withdrew from me and seemed unhappy for a while. Knowing that this is normal didn't take the sting out of it. He and I had been inseparable for almost two years. I left him with other people less than a dozen times in those two years-no joke, so you can imagine our attachment.

His turning two has not been fun either. Again, knowing he is acting normal doesn't lessen the ever changing struggles and stresses of having a child this age.

Forget the "reality" shows that sensationalize hard jobs that people do! Let's see a crab fisherman keep his cool with a tired (because he refuses to nap), hungry (because he refuses to eat), screaming (because he's tired and hungry) toddler who just deliberately woke up the baby after trashing the kitchen you spent an hour cleaning and removing his diaper before releasing the trouser trout to swim on the newly shampooed carpet because company is coming.

But yesterday, I got a glimpse of something

WONDERFUL,

something MAGICAL!

I can see the day coming soon when we will play and learn and talk together. This thrills me! The magic is coming back to the mothering. It is new and different. It is easy to feel the magic with a newborn or a squishy goo-gooing baby, but to have it with a two year old takes work.

We have been playing blocks everyday for a week.

Each day he throws them less.

Each day he creates a little more.

Each day we fight a little less,

and each day a little more light shines on the future.

We are building together-ness.

Important Instructions

     I am so lucky.

I happened to be at Logan's house (brother) when a package arrived from his grandmother who lives in West Virginia. I knew what was in that package. It was unopened and Logan was still at work. Hmmm...

I asked Gabby (SIL) to call and ask if I could open it. His answer was "Yes, and you can have half." I am 10 years older than Logan. Although he is an adult, a married man, and serves in the military, I like to think he is still a little afraid of me and that is why he made this generous offer. But maybe he is just generous. Or, maybe he does not worship the red gold as I do.

Behold the Beefsteak

I do not believe this can be achieved in Arizona. I don't think they can grow like this here. I would love to be proven wrong, wrong, wrong. Until then,  I will have to rely on my luck to get my hands on beauties like these. Either that, or have Logan's mail forwarded to my home every August...

And now for the important instructions:

World's Best Tomato Sandwich

Toasted bread

Miracle Whip (one needs the "tangy zip")

Fresh Ground Sea Salt

Fresh Basil Leaves

One inch thick slice of Beefsteak Tomato

Assemble and enjoy!

Remember to Laugh

     This is what I tell myself everyday as I attempt to be a mother to MARSHALL. His name is in all caps because that best represents him these past few days.  I lamented to a friend that when a baby turns two years old, there should be a special coupon that arrives in the mail for the parents...$5.00 off "Shut Up" Spray and Buy One Get One Free "Sit Down!" and "Quit It!" homeopathic tablets.

     What works best right now is to remember to laugh. Let's see what I laughed at today...

 

    (lipstick)

     I sat on the couch, nursing Jess, thinking how nice it was to finally have Marshall occupied and quiet in another room. Then I realized that silence from a toddler only means trouble. After I saw what he accomplished in less than 10 minutes, I honestly felt it was worth the 10 minutes of peace.

Mangos and Memories

     The mangos have arrived!  A few days ago, Grandma Lovett called to ask if I wanted any mangos from her tree in southern Florida. I didn't hesitate because, well, I am not stupid.

 

     Grandma Naomi Lovett is one of my most favorite people on this planet.  She is a true southern Floridian. This is very different than being a southerner in general. The way a southern woman is typically portrayed  is sugary-sweet, exuding an aura of helplessness and insincerity. This could not be further from the truth. I wish I were talented enough to paint a word picture of her. You would love her as I do.

     I don't often get to see my family in Florida, which is very sad. Although my brother and I didn't live near them after mom and dad split when we were very young, we both have a tremendous amount of "Lovett" in us. I am not talking about looks, we don't look like them at all. Instead, somehow, in our DNA, we were slipped the same sense of humor and splash of "quirky" that you just don't get unless you've spent a lot of time marinating in the sweet, balmy humidity of Homestead, Florida. 

     "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," was a favorite thing for mom to say when I was -no doubt- whining about something as a child. But if wishes were horses, I would ride to see Grandma Lovett. We would sit on the front porch swing and talk about nothing. I would swat mosquitoes and she would probably be grinning so I couldn't see her because mosquitoes know better than to bite her. I'd walk through the house and breathe in as much as I could. There is no better smell than the smell of her house. It must be from the aroma of years of the world's best cooking seeping into the knotty pine walls and wood floors. 

     This year I will put up some of her incredible creamed corn recipe. I don't remember a meal at her house without this corn. It is a simple recipe: Fresh Corn cut off the cob, salt, pepper, butter and bacon drippings. Can't go wrong with that!

   

Connection

     My adventure today started at 10:15 pm.  I had 20 pounds of peaches to process.  This was another first for me.  I learned so much! I am sitting on the couch with my body sort of throbbing, waiting for the boiling time to be complete. It is 1:00 am. I only canned a little over half the peaches. Tomorrow, if I get out of bed, I will prepare the others to be frozen pie filling.

A few things I learned...

Canning can be done all by yourself,  but should be done in a group of people whose company you enjoy.

There are two categories of peaches. One has the type of seed that is connected to the flesh of the fruit, and the other's seed is not. It would make for prettier canned peaches if you choose the free floating seed. My peaches were not this type, so they look a little abused.

Peaches are SLICKERY once peeled.

In order to place the peaches "cut side down" as per the directions, first, pick them up out of the boiling syrup while they are facing down and then slide them easily into the jar. Don't frantically pick at them with a fork or cuss at them, that doesn't seem to work as well.

      The last thing I learned is more of a reminder. 

It is something I have felt before.

 

When I am engaged in homemaking activities, I feel connected.  

I smell the fruit or the dish soap, I see my hands cutting an onion or sewing on a button, I feel the ache in my back from mopping, or maybe throbbing feet from standing in the kitchen too long, and I feel connected. 

I only feel connected when my heart is open to enjoy the activity 

instead of grumbling about the work. 

  Brief glimpses of women,  that I don't even know, float through my mind. They have done the same thing I am doing - whatever it is  -and I feel that feeling of connection to them. 

This lets me know I am in the right place, doing the right thing at the right time. 

It is a feeling of harmony and privilege.

My Fruit Bat

I can't get my tomatoes in the house. 

 

Marshall (age 2) thinks whatever is in my harvest bowl is lunch. 

  

He ate 12 tiny cherry tomatoes and five "big" tomatoes in one sitting.

 He ate the three-inch ear of corn, too. After all that, he insisted on eating a green bean, but spit it out because it took too long to chew. A few days ago he came in the house with a mesquite pod that he was chewing on. If none of these items are around, he picks at my herbs, crushes the leaves and shoves them up his nose. I tried to teach him to smell the different herbs, but he has his own way of doing things. Little Show-Off!

Whooping Around the Fire...

     That was the expression Mom used today.  

 I did my first waterbath canning just a few hours ago. 

How do Black Forest Preserves sound?

 Yes, "Oooh!"  is right.  

It is amazing what some sugar, cocoa, and cherries can become. 

I called mom to tell her what I was doing because I was so excited about it.  I had no idea how fun and instantly rewarding doing a little home canning could be! She immediately understood.  "My Mom would always be there to whoop around the fire with me whenever I did something like this," she told me. "We would do a little canning here and there and then get so excited as we watched the pints and quarts add up to a colorful display on the shelves."

My memories of mom canning were skewed by the whininess of being a self-absorbed little girl. It would be fun to turn back the clock and savor those days of picking tomatoes as big as a softball in the hot buggy days of summer, putting them in bushel baskets and fighting with my older brother, Walt, over who has to lug them in the house.  We were both afraid of getting stuck helping if we were seen in the vicinity of work. One year, I swear, Mom canned one scrillion-bazillion quarts of tomatoes. I tried to stay far away from the kitchen while she canned. In my ignorance, I thought she must be miserable in that hot steamy kitchen, scalding the tomatoes, burning her fingers as she peeled away the skin and loaded them into jars. But now I know the truth- it was pure bliss- and I missed out on it! Fortunately, it is not too late. Today was the first day of a new tradition. It is hard to explain, but today I changed again. 

Bread Report

I am trying to teach myself to make bread from scratch and by hand. There is a learning curve to this and I am still at the bottom. I love the idea of it though, so I am not discouraged. I have my bread guru, my sister-in-law, Jen, that I seek guidance from in troubled times. Look at this trouble. 

In other words, it was too dense and should only be used as a doorstop.

Jen gave me this great book on bread basics, 

but I'd rather have her here to hold my hand. 

She has already been through all the work of perfecting the art of bread-making. She's so good at it, that she could probably make bread out of two gum wrappers and some saw dust. She's the Bread MacGyver.

 

Bountiful Harvest

     I refuse to be bummed out about my pathetic garden.  I guess I should be, though.  We spent several hundred dollars to plant and feed and water it.  So far, I have only harvested a handful of beans, a few pitiful ears of corn and some already bitten or pecked tomatoes. Here is today's harvest.

MMMMM! I could eat for a week on such bounty!

Okay, sarcasm aside, I am actually pleased with my beautiful garden.

 For one thing_ I did it! I planted and tended a garden here in the desert.

 The green leaves of all the vegetables and pretty blossoms of the nasturtiums remind me of my West Virginia home. I love to look out my window and see it thriving and full of life. So really, I have been feasting for months on the eye-candy that it affords.

For another thing, I am learning a great deal. I planted my corn too close. It is a hungry plant.  I didn't assist my summer squash to bear fruit. I didn't tie up my tomatoes in time, and now it is too late. My beans aren't easy to harvest where I put them, so I am reluctant to do it. I planted peas too late and didn't protect them. I have to create better soil next time and fertilize more often. I have to protect everything from all the damn birds, especially red things like tomatoes, raspberries and strawberries. If a plant gets stressed it is more likely to attract harmful insects.If I don't listen to what experienced gardeners say, then I have to find out the hard and expensive way. And finally, there's something with little teeth out there that likes only one or two bites of everything.

"And yet, I am unmoved."  

 I LOVE gardening. I believe that soon I will be very successful with it. 

Master, the Tempest is Raging

     I have been thinking for a while about posting the birth story of my first son, Marshall.  It was almost the polar opposite of Jess' birth.  It was a beautiful and valuable experience that I created for myself.  I, in no way, see it as a "bad" experience, but in the telling, I'm not sure that will be conveyed. 

Jess' birth was a spring rainfall.  It was healing, soothing and gentle.  

But here is the story of the tempest.

     

     When I attended Seminary, I had an excellent teacher the year we studied the Old Testament.  He frequently pointed out and explained  symbolism, imagery and parallels  from the Bible. We talked about Adam and Eve, the Creation, the Fall and the Atonement.  Among many other things, I was taught about the parallels of Christ's Atonement to a woman's giving birth.  I was fascinated! 

   

     I woke  up from my Sunday afternoon nap with mild cramps. After seeing a tiny bit of blood, Kurt called my midwife to tell her. Mom made me a sandwich and started recording my contractions on paper.  I took a bite of my sandwich and couldn't chew it. This should have been told to my midwife immediately, but we were new to childbirth and we questioned ourselves. (Not being able to eat is a sign of the start of hard labor.) The mild crampiness turned into strong contractions within 15 minutes.  There was no time to ease into what was happening. I got into the birth pool to try to manage the pain.

     Right away, I was worried.  My insides were being ripped assunder with each contraction. I was really scared that I would have a long labor...feeling this intense, indescribable pain for 20, 30, or more hours. I had no idea something could hurt that bad and not kill me. (Now I understand that this is not typical of most labors-especially for a first time mom, and fast labors tend to be more intense.)

     Strange things happened in my mind. I began to feel sorry for myself. (BAD IDEA) With each surge of pain I  slowly comprehended that I was utterly alone, that no one could do anything to help me, that I was going to do this all by myself...no matter who was there "with" me. My midwife was almost two hours away. There was no time for her to get there.

      

     I did not feel like I was participating in the labor. I felt acted upon. I felt my free agency taken from me.   I saw some of the skeptical faces of women I had enthusiastically told about my plans to give birth naturally, and these faces mocked my pain. I felt angry. I didn't expect to feel angry in labor. This seemed wrong to me, and so I also felt disappointed.

      From taking Bradley Childbirth classes, I knew I needed to empty my bladder every 30 minutes. A full bladder can increase pain. Increase? The pain could increase? I made three trips to the bathroom. The last time, two contractions came close together when I was out of the water. My husband was holding my hands. I vividly remember my feelings of desperation and despair. I looked into his eyes, no, past his eyes and into his soul. I wanted to climb in them, climb out of who I was, climb up and over and away. I could barely breathe. I tried to breathe. 

     In the Garden of Gethsemane He labored with great agony 

to enable our re-birth.

     His disciples came with Him, but all fell asleep as He suffered. 

     He only could do what had to be done. He bore it alone.

 His blood was shed for us, so we could have free agency

 and be redeemed from the Fall.

     My mom recorded that my Bradley teacher, Nancy, arrived at 4:35pm, two hours and 48 contractions after I felt those initial cramps.  She also wrote that I kept whispering " I need a break...please...please...please" and "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." I wouldn't move from my side-lying position in the water. I was afraid to move for fear of losing my mind. I was afraid to lose my mind because I feared it would cause more pain. I was just holding on by a thread. It was more like I was trying to grasp at a rope, only to find it made of sand: it was a cruel joke.

     It didn't feel like my body was floating in the water. I felt like a rock. Barely a sound came out of my mouth, and that seems incredible to me because all I heard was screaming and the roaring, rushing water of the tempest.

     I was in transition. Transition is the "Valley of the Shadow of Death." But I did not feel God. Where did He go? All I felt was black space and nothingness.

I didn't care about my life anymore. I wished for death; death seemed merciful to me. Hope was gone. I floated in blackness.

"My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"    

 Nancy touched a cool washcloth to my forehead and hand. 

     This simple thing saved my life in that moment.  I turned away from the darkness and began to move back to the world. It was like she was an angel whose message was, "Not today...you will not die today." It was time to return and have a baby.

      My body shook violently on the inside. I felt a jackhammer pounding with the next stage of contractions. Down, down, DOWN! These contractions didn't hurt the way the others did. These were almost exciting to feel in comparison. I was still unsure of myself, though.

      The midwife that lived closest to me arrived around 5:30 pm. (My midwife often works with two other midwives.)  She had my husband turn me from my lying position to a sitting one. A gush of blood filled the pool. With the next contraction, I pushed out my baby's head. With another contraction and a slight push, out came my little baby boy. 7 pounds 9 ounces. This was a three hour labor.

     Hope, joy and peace returned in full. 

     But on what shelf in which room had they been put as I suffered? 

Who was the keeper of such a horrible place? 

     It was me, I owned that room. I created it along with the entire experience of this birth. I created my own Gethsemane for reasons that mean nothing to anyone but me.

    I have been taught that we sometimes pass through sorrow so that we may know joy. I have lived that truth. I have fulfilled that principle. 

 I no longer fear the pain of laboring to bring a child into this world. 

It was once my biggest fear.

    More importantly, I no longer fear JOY. 

Jess' Blessing

      His little white blessing outfit was the same one his father was blessed in 35 years ago. My sister-in-law, Jen, crocheted his booties using my Grandma Lovett's pattern. Marshall wore the same outfit for his blessing.  Grandma Brown  made a white blanket that we used for both boys. Our little family is stitched tight!

     Right now, Jess looks most like my mom's family. I see her mother, Ruby,  and father, Benny, in his face the most. I love feeling that connection to my grandparents since both have passed away and I am homesick for West Virginia.

     

     

     

No. 1 Son

Marshall is adjusting really well. The first week was a bit rough, but now he seems to be in love with his little brother. Everyone told me that having two kids is easier than one. I can see how that can be, especially when these two guys start playing together.

In this picture, Jess has the hiccups which Marshall thinks is hysterical.

Comments?

I posted my entries before I enabled the "comments."

Feel free to comment here on previous posts. Thanks!

Home Water Birth

     I had a scheduled prenatal appointment at home a day before my due date. Since my midwife, Stephanie, lives over an hour and a half away, I joked that I would try to go into labor when she arrived to save her an additional trip a day or so later. My previous labor lasted only about three hours, so going into labor while she was already in town was important in that respect, too. Okay, I admit it, I am a baby!  I wanted her there to "hold my hand" the whole time. 

     Steph arrived about 12:30 and we had lunch and a typical prenatal. I DID NOT want her to leave; the thought made me panic a little. The feeling in our home just made me feel like it was time and I would be in labor soon. I asked her about "stretching the membranes". I had heard it was terribly painful. Remember, I am a baby, a whining baby. She said that it can be very intense. She checked my dilation, which was about 4cm, and did a little stretching at my request. It was intense, but not near as bad as I expected. Whew! 

     I started having some mild cramping. The time was between three and four in the afternoon. It didn't feel like the start of my previous labor, so I didn't think it was going to turn into anything. I was wrong. Never had I been so happy to be wrong! After a nice walk around the block with my husband, I knew I was in labor. This was not news to Stephanie. She called the other two midwives to put them on notice, but not to rush over. I was feeling extreme excitement! Soon I would be holding my new baby. I didn't know if it was a boy or girl. I have never felt convinced that sonograms are completely harmless, so I never had any done.

      While I was feeling these early contractions, Stephanie noticed I was giving them too much attention. She recommended I let them pass unnoticed for as long as I could. They would intensify, and she didn't want me using up my coping skills on the little ones. That was some of the best advice I had ever gotten in my life. My perspective changed after that.

       I began to have FUN. I helped cut up a tray full of beautiful fruits and veggies for everyone to eat. I made sure I ate as much as I could, too, because I didn't want to run out of energy. I walked around the house, just feeling happy. I sat out under our canopy of desert trees on a big ball, next to my herb garden. When the contractions got more intense, I took a little time to play my fiddle for a distraction. Around 9:30pm, I was finally ready to get in the birth pool and relax.

     The water felt so good! It relieved the intensity of the contractions nicely even though they were stronger. As I floated in the little pool, I was amazed to find that labor could be this gentle. This didn't just happen on its own. I had to willingly take the guidance of my midwife and the reminders of my husband. "Relax" and "Breathe your baby down" were helpful to hear during contractions. Fighting a contraction by tensing up or not actively surrendering to the surge of energy made it worse. 

     Two hours of hard labor passed quickly. I was getting tired as it was nearing midnight. I think this is when Stephanie asked me to get out for a potty break and try to sit through two contractions while on the toilet. I really, really, REALLY did not want to do that. During my previous home birth, I remember two terrifying contractions on the toilet. But deep down I knew it would speed things along and I wanted to be able to hold my baby as soon as possible. A week earlier Stephanie had prepped me by assuring me that anything she asked me to do during labor,  I would be able to do it. I can't remember if she meant physically or emotionally, but for this request, I needed courage in both areas. I did four contractions on the toilet! Yes, I am proud of that fact.

     I practically ran the few steps back to the birth pool.  This field trip did its job. I soon went into transition. Transition is often the shortest stage of labor, but it can be the most difficult. Self doubt lingered around these most intense contractions. Again I received reassurance and reminders. During transition I felt my baby wiggling gently down. This was incredible to me. This baby was working as hard as I was! It helped me bear the intensity to realize this and it made me feel a swell of compassion  and love for this wise baby.

     Then, at last, transition was over. I knew it was over because my breath caught. It is like an involuntary stuttering while breathing. Second stage contractions had begun. These are the "pushing" contractions. Without pushing very much, the baby seemed to move quickly down and I felt it pressing on my pelvic floor. This was so exciting! Soon I would be able to hold my baby! I listened to the instructions given for gently pushing the baby's head out. I felt I had done a good job birthing the head only to find it was the sack of water! Stephanie had to use two hands to break the sac; it was so tough.  Soon, the head was out and I felt it with my hand. Can you imagine how wild that would be? Bizarre and Beautiful. Another contraction came and with it, the baby. This all took about 15 minutes, about 4-5 contractions.

     It's a boy! 12:26am...on his due date. Upon my chest was a wide

 eyed, vernix covered, chubby and squishy nine pound three ounce baby boy. He lifted his head and I could feel his strength. His head seemed huge, 15cm I found out later. The midwives rubbed his back and he got nice and pink quickly. His umbilical cord was fat and short. We waited for it to stop pulsing before his papa cut it. Then, as if on a timer, in walks my two year old son who had been sleeping. Everything was perfect!

 

     That early morning I nursed Jess Valentine for the first time. He latched on like a pro and nursed for about 30 minutes before drifting off to sleep. He looked like an angel and smelled divine! I couldn't dream of sleeping and missing a moment of the magic. Who was this new, strong little person that was entrusted to my care? My life had already been beautifully altered by his presence. His birth was a healing and illuminating experience.  I stayed up all night looking at him.  

     

     

My Rowdy Valentine is here!

     His name is Jess Valentine, but I call him Rowdy. I'm not sure the name will fit, yet, because he is such an easy baby. Before he was born the name fit perfectly! He was very active and especially rowdy every night from 9pm to midnight. So, time will tell if the nickname sticks. 

     Until I have time to type up my version of his birth story, this picture will have to do. Jess is 3 or 4 days old here. I love his smile. When he isn't preoccupied with nursing, sleeping or pottying, he will charm me with a knowing smile. I am in big trouble!