Burps, Bumps, Bruises and Blessings

Roly-Poly Baby

2010-07-09T15:07:00.006-06:00

"Yummy squishy"

"Our tender little lamb sausages"

"My very hungry caterpillar"

"Scrum-didilly-umptious"

"My joy and my happiness"

"Cocolicious"

"Her royal corpulence"

"My little holy roller"

"Pure deliciousness"

Is there seriously anything better than juicy seven-month-olds?

True to form, Coco now is sitting up like a champ, bouncy and happy, with the only movement across the floor consisting of continuous rolling from front-to-back, front-to-back, from one end of the room to the other. Besides trying to one-up each other on the most appropriate nickname for her, we simply cannot stop giggling at or squeezing all that abundant flesh . . .

It's really no wonder the great masters have always included cherubs in artistic depictions of Heaven. They're definitely part of mine!

Summer Rocks!

2010-07-01T15:45:00.010-06:00

With the sudden entrance of what has finally become a sizzling summer, I have found myself caught up in all its respective pleasures--lazy mornings, swim lessons, dressing the baby in nothing more than cotton onesies, the fresh smell of new tomato plants, reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn with the kids, listening to our distant neighbor bagpipe Amazing Grace from his back porch, hot concrete under leathery feet, playing with long-lost cousins, local concerts in the park, watermelon by the bucketload, regular picnics, and lots of dazzling sunsets in the face of balmy wind.

In the process of taking extended family photos on Tuesday night:

I love watching the adults make fools of themselves to get the kids to smile.

My kids have relished in the goodness, and I have in turn savored their enjoyment. Truth is, my biggest goal as a mother this season has been to keep things around here as simple as possible. I have actually planned for us to be lazy, (sans media distractions, of course), so that all the summer magic can happen on its own without "plans" getting in the way. Some days have been more successful than others. . . , We did manage to finally landscape the backyard, and Pearly-Q and I did get away for a short Vegas stint to see Cirque du Soleil, but other than that, things around here have slowed way, way down . . .

It's just one way I love to celebrate all my exquisite freedoms.

Happy 4th of July, everyone.

Graduations

2010-06-12T13:36:00.010-06:00

Bitty and his best friend from preschool, at their very important preschool graduation ceremony. (Too bad this buddy will soon be moving to Dubai!)

This time of the year for any mother can be a bit crazy. It's funny because I distinctly recall how the months of May and June used to be a happy, carefree season in life. Don't get me wrong--I still enjoy the glorious warmth peeking through the clouds, with all the refreshing laughter of flowers and the happy smell of blossoms. It really does feel like a rebirth . . . And yet, ironically it is also the time that so much effort is poured into celebrating progression and all sorts of different graduations. Today we finished the LAST of these--the boys' piano recital. Phew! I guess now I can finally say I have graduated myself--from all the graduations, of course.

Now for a tribute to some of the fun milestones as of late:

Big-O & Bitty finally finished out their soccer season. Big-O in particular knew how to tear it up out there. Pearly-Q and I seriously were constantly amazed by the child's raw talent--something neither one of us will ever be able to take credit for. Check him out:

The Sass completed her first year of dance, (something she has adored). She performed in her recital to "Five Little Monkeys," as what else? Oh, a monkey. Man, did she love to swing that tail!

The piano recital. Ta-da! We did it. Actually, I have to just say right now that this what made COMPLETELY possible by my amazing husband who practiced with the boys every day and attended their lessons every week since Coco was born. He is seriously the man! As a musician who understands how much work this really takes, I have to admit nothing endears me more to him than what he does for our sons in this respect. It is incredible, and makes me so grateful to be married to him.
Do you think they're proud of themselves? They really should be, though.

Coco moved on to ribs. Just thought we'd start her early. (Hey, she's got to cut her teeth on something. )

Our kids officially survived the first six months of having a crazy mother who survived 3 young children & a baby. Though there were some hard days, some holding-on-by-our-fingernails days, and some pathetically ridiculous spacing moments (like missing Big-O's end-of-the-year Kindergarten program), on the whole, our time as a family since Coco's birth has been more glorious than any of us could have anticipated. Our four children have officially become their own tour-de-force. Though they definitely have their typical sibling squabbles, I am amazed to see how much love they express for each other, especially as their mutual love for Coco has literally exploded. Just the other day, Sassy said, "Dad, you know why I love Coco? . . . Cause she's da best!" Fortunately, we all feel the same way.

I mean, who can seriously resist this?

Seriously.

My Notebook

2010-05-22T21:17:00.006-06:00

I cannot believe that it has literally been over three weeks since I have posted anything! Craziness . . . The need to do so has sat repeatedly at the back of mind, and repeatedly it has been shelved because of so many other pressing concerns that surround any typical mother of young children. You know the list:

Laundry
Cleaning
Cooking
Teaching kids to clean
Practicing
Reading with the kids
Getting to all the end-of-the-year school programs
Birthday cards/gifts
Laundry
Weeding/mowing the lawn
Soccer games
Dance classes, Music classes, Chinese classes
Fitting in individual time with each of the kids
Planning out meals
Grocery shopping
Planning out summer schedules
Organizing playdates
Dentist/doctor appointments
Mothers' Day gifts
By the way, did I mention laundry? (Made worse of course by Sassy's insistence on wearing at least three different dresses/outfits per day).
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. (I envision the adults in Peanuts here, cause that's how I feel even looking at this list).

Sometimes what requires my time is enough to make me wacky, and I wonder how to fit all of it in with some sort of serenity. Then, when I allow myself to take a giant breath, I remember that there is indeed someone who has the capacity to help me.

There is a scripture that reads: Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good . . .

I believe that there is more wisdom in that statement than meets the eye.

Think about it. If one truly believes that God lives, that we are His children, and that He absolutely loves us, then it stands to reason that He is indeed willing to guide us in even the tiny particulars.

And with that in mind, lately I have decided to take Him at His word.

For the last couple of weeks, each morning starts off with the same domestic chaos of feeding children, dressing them, overseeing the completion of chores and practicing, etc. But, as soon as they are shuffled out the door or dropped off at school, and I have put the baby down for bed, I pull out my notebook.

"A notebook?" you may ask. "So big deal . . ."

Actually it is a big deal, because that trusty little spiral bound number is where I begin to write and write and write. I list all the items I need to logistically accomplish that day--everything that comes to mind.

And then I start to pray. Actually, like the scripture says, I begin to counsel.

"Is there anything I have forgotten to include on the list?" I ask.

I note the changes.

"Is there anything else I should consider?" I inquire.

Again, I write the response. Sometimes the answer doesn't include just logistical items, but things to consider or ponder upon in my relationships with others as well. . . Particularly my husband and children.

"What items on my list are the biggest priority today?"

I star the items He feels are most imperative.

And so the process continues, while I glean more and more and more information.

Pretty soon I have a pretty good-looking list, with a peaceful picture of what I really need to do that day, and, best of all--the preferred way to go about doing it. Inevitably after a "counselling session" like this, I can expect all sort of magical moments in my day--like the moment I hear that still, small voice in my mind that says, "You have an extra 10 minutes to spare right now. It's the perfect time for you to stop at the store and pick up a gift for Big-O's birth mother for Mothers' Day." . . . "Thank you very much," I say.

Or the moment when I hear, "The kids are doing well downstairs for a minute, now is the perfect time to call the individual I mentioned this morning." . . . "Wow," I think again. Or, "Aren't you forgetting to call and reschedule those appointments?" . . .

And the list goes on and on.

Over and over I am astounded at the degree of help I receive for things that may seem meaningless to others, but are incredibly important to me. In fact, the process is often so personal that it often brings tears to my eyes as I marvel at His awareness of me as an individual, and the love helps center me in a way that nothing else can. As I stop to consider this process, I can say with absolute certainty that God hears and answers my prayers on a daily basis.

And, most importantly, the guidance He is willing to provide is constrained only by my own limited expectations--not His.

Laoshi

2010-04-30T09:04:00.010-06:00

The word "laoshi," (pronounced lao-sure) is the romanized version of the Chinese word for teacher, an incredibly respected and beloved term in their language. Were you to visit China, rather than seeing athletes on billboards sponsoring a product, you would instead observe photographs of well-known professors. To the Chinese people, the regard for educators hearkens back literally thousands of years--something our materialistically-driven cultural could definitely learn from. For our family, the word also holds reverential meaning, as the laoshi for my children has made all the difference in our world.

When I first met Laoshi 2 1/2 years ago, I immediately liked her. Bright, kind, happy, and unassuming, she felt like the perfect person to assist me in my goal of helping my children learn Mandarin. Knowing full well the limits of my own ability to shoulder the reponsibility alone, we quickly arranged for visits three times a week to her home (which is just several minutes away from mine).

Quickly we became friends, and I learned that she moved here from Taiwan 20+ years ago (where she had previously been a kindergarten teacher), and she married a long-time resident of what used to be our "little" town, and then started a family. Unbeknownst to me, I was just beginning my mommy burnout, and the chance to regularly meet with someone and witness a part of myself steadily improving (my language ability), rather than rapidly declining, meant more than I explain.

Each week we drove to her house, and I began to let my hair down as I watched her engage my children in singing, dancing, and playing in this wonderful language. Gradually it gave me permission to play with my kids in a way I hadn't allowed myself at home. (Can you believe I had never played hide-and-go-seek with my kids before I met her? Pathetic.) For whatever reason, pulling away the distractions of laundry, dishes, and cleaning, and placing me in an environment where the whole point was to involve my children in a lighthearted atmosphere in order to learn, allowed me to finally relax and enjoy my kids in a way I hadn't before.

As the months passed, and I began to hear more and more Chinese expressions escape my children's lips, I also discovered how Laoshi's quiet, genteel approach to living affected my soul. Surrounded by horses on own side, cattle on the other, with a large garden and chickens in the backyard, Laoshi lives peacefully. Whenever we enter her home, there is a calmness that I love. I never hear television, radio, or other distractions that get in the way. As part of this, she also has a love for children that is tangible. Her patient understanding of how they think, why they behave the way they do, and how easily they respond to her authenticity moves me, and over the years I have taken quiet notes as to how she approaches her own mothering. Interestingly enough, she also has four children of her own, now ranging in ages from 19 to 11--two boys and two girls--just like me. Each one of her kids is amazing, and I take pleasure in observing how much she savors the opportunity to be their mother.

Thankfully for us, sometimes this spills out in her devotion to our family. Without equivocation, I can proudly say that she is a second mother to my children. (Just the other day, when Sassy got in trouble she sobbed and cried out, "I want Laoshi!" Meanwhile, you should see how the baby lights up like a Christmas tree in her presence.) I relish in the fact that they adore her so much because her uplifting influence on their lives bolsters mine. How many people do any of us know who truly has no guile?

When at look back on my relationship with Laoshi, I often consider the phrase "hindsight is 20/20." Uttered so often, it can lose some of its significance, and yet I feel like it describes so much of my experience up to this point of my life. As I look back upon being guided to Laoshi, I feel more gratitude than I will ever be able to convey to either Diety or human being. Though I initially believed I had acquired a wonderful teacher for my children to learn a language, I now realize that in all actuality Laoshi has been graciously willing to become my teacher.

May God always bless her for being my angel. We love you so much, Laoshi! Xie xie ni!

Ni Hao

2010-04-26T16:00:00.009-06:00

This picture was taken last year at Disneyworld's Epcot Center with MuLan. My kids have only seen that movie in Chinese (many times over, to be honest), and naturally assumed that she would only be able to speak Chinese. (She is Chinese, after all). You can only imagine the look on her face with my three little caucasian children busted out in Mandarin. It made my heart swell with pride.

As most of you familiar with our family know, I am one of those curious mothers who insists are her children sometimes doing strange things. Depending on the day, some would say the constant drive to feed my children fresh vegetables would be enough to qualify for the title, "off-her-rocker." But no, it gets even more bizarre. I have decided that I want my children to learn a foreign language, Mandarin Chinese to be exact.

Now why in the world would a mother of small children ever have the desire to do something like that?

Explanation:

Well, there are a myriad of different pieces that answer this question, actually--the least of which includes the amazing experience Pearly-Q had with learning Spanish as a preschooler. That has, I believe, resulted in his insane ability to pick up foreign languages like nobody's business. (And his accents are awesome, I might add . . . His Chinese sounds better than mine).

Combine this with the enormous gift it is for anyone to speak a foreign language and expand their perception of the world, along with the uncanny ability young children have to pick up any foreign tongue when exposed to it, and voila--thus enters into this momma's heart an ardent desire for her children to learn another language.

Incidentally, Chinese turned out to be the language of choice b/c I actually speak it . . . Kids progress much better the more someone speaks to them consistently in the foreign tongue, so I figured we'd better stick with what I knew. That aside, who can fault Mandarin for being an incredibly & important language? Since my LDS mission I have more opportunities to speak it than anyone would ever occasion to guess.

These are the answers I give initially others whenever I get the funny looks about why in the world I would do something like this with my kids . . . all incredibly viable and important reasons that I stand by these 2 1/2 years laters since embarking on this journey. Funny thing is, now that hindsight becomes clearer, I understand so much more about why I felt so compelled to do this. There is much I have to say about this, and I will continue blogging about this tomorrow, because it has much to do with the peace I have found in my life. In the meantime, jia you and zaijian!

Five Months

2010-04-20T15:41:00.005-06:00

Who can resist a roly-poly baby girl who lights up like a Christmas tree every time you even glance her direction?

One who loves to carry on with thunderous, squealy discussions and who enjoys to creating her own unique piglet-like grunting noises?

Whose sapphire baby blues are mesmerizingly pure, and her squishy flesh absolutely delicious. (I know . . . I've tested).

I can't. That's for dang sure.

Consider me officially wrapped around her little finger. . .

Willingly.

By the way, can you tell we're finally over the bias of not smiling for the camera. I think she's figured out it is actually friend, not foe.

The Evolution of a Mother

2010-04-14T16:01:00.011-06:00

Snapshots of the Big-O and me taken on the morning of my law school graduation.

"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy not rich, to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages . . . with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasion, hurry never.

"In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconsious, grow up through the common. This should be one's symphony."
--W.H. Channing

Twelve years ago, at the outset of my LDS mission to Taiwan, I wrote this wonderful quote in the opening folds of a beautiful, leatherbound journal someone had given me. The journal accompanied me everywhere on my mission--through the rain and blazing heat of that island, and through the ups and downs of one of the most pivotal experiences of my life. For whatever reason at the time, Channing's words really resonated with me, and each time I read those words it would cause me to reflect upon what really brought me happiness. It is now interesting for me to consider just how much those words would most powerfully apply to my mission as a mother.

For those of you who know me well, you will also know that mothering for me has brought with it some exultant peaks, and it has also delivered some difficult days of paralyzing darkness. Ushered in with the incomparable miracle of Big-O's remarkable adoption, I was only six weeks away from graduating from law school. Thrilled to have this experience, I rejoiced at the blessing of having the chance to embrace such a beautiful little baby, and though I wrestled with how I was now going to make things work with my new career and my new role as a mother, I felt confident that I would be able to figure something out. After all, I'd felt strongly that I had been guided into the path of pursuing law school, so it seemed to make sense that all of this would synchronize in a way that would make sense.

Well, as the story goes, I became one of those bizarre adoption statistics--where adopting a baby also invites a miracle of conception along with it. Just three months after we'd adopted Big-O, and as I was studying for the bar exam, I couldn't understand why in the world I was feeling such intense stomach cramps. After a couple dollar-store pregnancy tests, and a doctor's confirmation, we realized that I was really pregnant.

It's difficult to explain what I felt at that point . . . I felt both guilt for worrying that our darling adopted son would be shortchanged with individual attention from us, as well as relief for the fact that he would indeed experience the blessing of a sibling . . . I felt great marvel and wonder at the miracle of a previously long-awaited conception, as well being overwhelmed at the thought of having tiny two babies to take care of all at once. I felt both thankful, and bewildered. Between these emotions, the stress of studying for the bar in the midst of caring for a newborn, and the hormones of pregnancy, I cried every night for a month. (Poor Pearly-Q.)

Suffice it to say, I did pass the bar, got sworn in with many of my law school classmates who were more than shocked at my new bump, and faced the oncoming storm. At the encouragement of a wonderful law school professor who became my mentor, I made efforts to pursue personal legal work in estate planning, (I know--useful, but boring), while caring for our son. Soon after, little Bitty was born, and my life was once again transformed. Unfortunately for me, beyond just discovering another little person who would become another center of my universe, I also faced the most horrific recovery (including raging insomnia) that led me down a path of ill health that continued for well over a year, further complicating my abilities to pursue the career path I'd originally intended.

And the story gets more crazy . . . 10 months postpartum I went into a checkup with my fertility doc to try to understand why I was having all sorts of unexplained bleeding. Turns out, my infertility issues appeared to be getting worse, and he recommended that if Pearly-Q and I wanted another child, we'd better try soon since our window seemed to be disappearing . . . I cried all the way home from the appointment. Yet, we couldn't deny that we felt like we needed to have another child, and that in the long-term picture we really wanted another child, and so . . . our darling Sass showed up 10 months after that.

Are you getting the picture? It seems like overnight we went from facing complete uncertainty over whether or not we would be able to experience the blessing of parenthood, to facing life with three children, age 2 and under. . .

I guess its no wonder that right before Sassy turned a year old, I hit a serious wall. It seems that the giant adrenaline rush that I'd experienced since adopting the Big-O finally gave out, and was left with unbelievable exhaustion, and what felt like a complete loss of identity. . . I cringe to think about it now, because it was just that bad. Looking back I think I was probably depressed, and thankfully I did seek out help. Between seeing a counselor, and searching desperately for divine help and guidance, (which often manifested itself in the form of many ministering angelic friends), I gradually climbed out of the cave I had fallen into.

Suffice it to say, many miracles led Pearly-Q and I to the pivotal decision to have another baby. It was no flippant matter, I tell you, to decide to take the plunge again. In fact, it required complete and total surrender on my part.

Uncertain of my own capacities unlike any other time in my life, I moved forward with faith, and one step at a time, I gradually stripped away all the excesses in my life that I could, trying to include things that would add more to who I was as a person--I decided to give birth naturally (in the face of great familial disdain), I put my joyless legal career officially on hold (a true sign of failure to many that I know), I decided to write (both for causes that I believe in and for my own introspection), and--heaven forbid--I even allowed myself to nap every day when my children did (while my household duties lay continually fallow)! With every effort to simplify, I became increasingly determined to savor what I thought may be my last experience with a baby. In short, I made room for the essential quiet space in my life, and this has made all the difference in my experience as a mother.

Recently for my book club, someone suggested that we read a book entitled Mitten Strings for God--Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry, by Katrina Kenison. (I cannot say enough about how much I recommend it as a vital read for every mother that I know.) The book resonated with me on so many different levels, and yet it did so mostly because much of what the author discusses were truths that I had discovered on my path back to joyful mothering. Here are some golden nugget examples, courtesy of the author who is much more able to express much of what I have felt in this last year, and especially since Coco's birth:

"When I clear a quiet space for my family, I make room for our souls to grow."
"When I stop speeding through life, I find the joy in each day's doings, in the life that cannot be bought, but only discovered, created, savored, and lived."
"In stillness, we find our peace. Knowing peace at home, we bring peace into the world."
"In simplicity there is freedom--freedom to do less and to enjoy more."

To say that I have enjoyed this stage of my mothering would be a serious understatement. The kind of soulful transformation I have felt cannot be conveyed, and I cannot express enough gratitude for the change.

It's strange because I often look back at who I was at the height of my "mommy burnout" and I hardly recognize the feelings that I had then. It pains me to think of what I put my husband and children through, and I find it ironically easy to judge how shortsighted I was during that time, (even when this same kind of judgment infuriated me beyond measure during that very stage of my life).

I suppose the best way I can reconcile it is this: I believe that facing those demons allowed me to savor this period of my life that much more. Like a chiaroscuro painting, the areas of brilliant illumination would not appear as breathtaking without the contrast of the shadows behind them. The silhouette emerges when the two forces blend, allowing one to fully comprehend the presence of the other.

I feel like I have finally stepped out into the light, and I must say that I do not believe the sun could ever be more warmly welcomed. Praise be to the Lord for that.

Four Months

2010-04-02T15:00:00.006-06:00

In light of my difficulty in returning to this blog more than once a week, I realize I have allowed Baby Coco's four-month mark to come and go without much notice . . . Shameful, b/c she is one cute baby at this stage, and I'm having so much fun with her, not to mention how much fun her siblings are having fun with her. I can't imagine feeling the kind of adoration on a daily basis that she receives around here. (No wonder little girls often have so much more confidence in themselves than grown women do.)

So, here are a few of the current milestones or items of note for Baby Coco at this point:

She is currently in the 90th percentile for height, and 50th for weight--although you would never guess that with her thigh rolls
She is laughing, squealing, and screeching a lot these days. She thinks she is a real riot, and we all have to agree, actually. She like to even verbally participate in Chinese class with the other kids, and makes everyone crack up at her shenanigans. I believe she speaks perfectly fluent baby Mandarin.
Tummy time is less excruciating that it used to be. She's always had a strong neck, but now loves to look at herself in the mirror while on her belly. After about 10 minutes she starts to tucker out, though.
The child LOVES, LOVES, LOVES to have her diaper changed. Regardless of how cranky she is, if we lay her down to change her diaper, she erupts into instant squealy smiles. I've never had a baby respond this way before.
She's also my only child who has ever enjoyed sucking on her fingers. I constantly try to replace them with a binky, which I think is an easier habit to break long-term. . . But, to no avail. (We did see her do this via ultrasound before she was born, actually).
Coco enjoys standing, and can do so effectively if you hold only one finger.
She just started rice cereal last night, and though confused at first, was determined to make it work.
After much trial and error, she is now sleeping through the night. (Hurray!) Thanks in part to a neurotic eating/sleeping schedule that gradually worked for her, this has been a blessing--especially since now she goes down without even so much as a fuss. In fact, she is visually relieved when I swaddle her to go to sleep. She nuzzles right into her lavendar polka-dotted sheet in ecstasy. It's darling.
We're seeing a bit of stranger anxiety already. My poor mother took the kids the other night, and Coco freaked out. She hasn't spent as much time with her awesome Grammy who works full-time, and did not know what to think of her.
She definitely has the most beautiful blue eyes that I believe are here to stay. They remind me of Bitty's eyes, which one can just get lost in, and their framed by such pretty eyelashes. I think her hair may turn out like Bitty's, too. All her curly dark hair is falling out like an old man, and is being replaced with a light, straight, downy fuzz.
She still nuzzles into my neck and cuddles like a little bunny. Can I just say, moments like that are borderline euphoric for me? I love it.

Since all the festivities for her baby blessing took place on Sunday, I've included some pictures of Coco in her dress. Though she's a real smiler, for whatever reason cameras of any kind consternate/intrigue her so much, she goes completely deadpan. It's a real bummer because I would love to capture her joyful self. Instead it comes across much more contemplative. Oh well.

Sisters. (This was just taken yesterday. I love how sweet Sassy is with the baby. It makes me love her that much more.)

I'll have you know that I have not doctored the color of this picture in any way. (That's all WAY too sophisticated for me anyhow). Her eyes really are this blue.

Loser

2010-03-26T15:26:00.002-06:00

Do any of you out there ever feel like a loser--specifically a loser parent?

That's how I felt last night. Just when there's a part of me that thinks I have actually found a balance in things, inevitably I do something that completely throws off that equilibrium and then I decide that I really don't know anything about anything.

Last night was one of those times. I had a good friend over and as most kids do, my children thought "awesome, Mom is distracted," and decided to start doing things they knew specifically they shouldn't. I was no happy camper, and handled things poorly, which snowballed into an inordinately long timeout, and then a tense dinnertime where my kids continued to protest by claiming they were going to throw up if they had to eat what I had worked long and hard on.

This didn't go over well either, which then steamrolled into the inevitable "I guess you don't need to eat dessert then . . ." Big-O was especially upset, informing me that I was a "mean mom" and that I was "making [him] feel bad." This led to a seriously pathetic discussion about agency, which meant he wanted to discuss the situation even less. Why I was surprised later that he chose to pantry-raid (b/c he was hungry, of course) is beyond my current understanding . . .

Do you get the picture? By the end of the evening I retreated to my room alone with the baby and tried to just stop. Just stop. Waking up this morning I felt even worse and couldn't turn off the tears. I felt such regret over how I made my kids feel, and at how far I fell short of being the kind of mother I'd like to be . . . And, as most of you can guess, when mommasita cries a lot, it really doesn't help things. Even the baby's eyes got big and uneasy at this pathetic display of helplessness.

I hate days like this. Granted, I can actually write it about it now at 3:46 p.m. because I have sufficiently stabilized to at least see the computer screen. But seriously, thse are the moments I wonder if I should have ever become a mother--not because I don't enjoy my kids, though. I love that part, and feel blessed to be a part of their lives. The part of me that questions, however, is the part that used to fear myself enough that I questioned what kind of a mother I would become.

All of us have our own personal blindspots--heaven knows I have mine. Just ask my siblings. Having said that, when it came to wondering whether or not I had the kind of spiritual, physical, and emotional capacity necessary to successfully raise children, as a young adult I was keenly aware of my shortcomings and winced when I considered what I could possibly put a child through. This fear was so intense I recall telling Pearly-Q for the first few years of my marriage I really had no desire to become a mother . . . It's hard to imagine that now. Then again, on days like today all that emotional memory creeps up from behind and strangles me, leaving me gasping for air.

I'm sure this sounds so extreme, but for me it has been a defining part of who I am. I laugh to consider how often we assure ourselves that we do not need certain experiences to accomplish what we need to in this life--only to find that those are the exact experiences God intends us to learn from. I am grateful He chose to override my own fear and allow me the challenges presented by motherhood. It doesn't change how terrifying it is for me sometimes, but it does allow for certain rays of light my children present me despite my weakness.

Case in point: yesterday when I sat the kids down and asked whether or not they understood why they'd been subjected to a monster time-out, (we reviewed and they nodded an obedient "yes"), I then asked them if there was anything they needed to say. Whey Bitty stood up to reply, I fully expected an apology. Instead, he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around me, and said, "I forgive you, Mom. I love you so much," and then he sat and held me.

And in that moment, I considered myself so lucky to have children who believe in me even when I don't believe in myself.

Last Glance Back

2010-03-23T16:40:00.013-06:00

Okay, so before delving into the everyday existence of being a mother of four little ones, I wanted to take one last glance backward at the heavenly experience I had in Asia. (Again, so sorry that this is so much later in coming than I'd originally anticipated).

Most of you could probably care less about most of what I describe in my travel over there. I think I'm doing this more for me to remember on the more monotonous days that I have actually been places and seen things besides my piles of laundry and the time-out chair.

Don't get me wrong--I am currently in a very happy space and am extremely grateful that I can be home raising my children. It's just I also happen to be a mother who also has an intense case of Wanderlust, and adores the idea of a grand adventure. Perhaps there are some of you who can relate?

In any case, I hope that some of this proves valuable/entertaining. At the very least, I hope it inspires some of you to dream of seeing parts of the world you may have never thought possible. So, the temples at Angkor Wat were amazing and completely surpassed my expectations. The largest religious structure in the world, Angkor Wat was incredibly impressive and none of these pictures of that monument, or any others will give a enough of a perspective of the sheer size or artistic majesty of the thing. It was amazing . . . even if I was dripping with sweat the entire time.

Here Pearly-Q and I are standing by one of the outer walls to the main temple, the entire perimeter of which contains friezes of the entire Ramayana, the famous Hindu epic. There's a better close up of just a small section below.

These are typical carvings found throughout Angkor Wat. They are called Apsara, or Celestial dancers:

Inside the main temple complex:

A typical Cambodian wedding outside of Angkor:

Angkor Thom:

Pearly-Q has some competition:

This little girl fell asleep in the doorway of these ruins, and in the sweltering heat. She killed me b/c she reminded SO much of the Sass!

This kiddo was enterprising and made his own hat out of leaves.

Harvesting rice:

Fishing purely Cambodia style. These use these special cylindrical baskets to trap fish in the muddy rice fields. I felt like I was in the middle of a scene from National Geographic.

Two typical grandmas in the care of their large family.

These are some pictures from a floating village of about 3000 people that all live out on Tonle Sap Lake. It is a fascinating way of life. All their homes, schools, churches, and even the local gym are located out on the lake. They use the same water for the bathroom, drinking, and fishing.

These little "boats" are a typical sight in the floating village. Notice the boy on the left--he's an amputee--something you see a lot of in Cambodia due to the overwhelming number of land mines left throughout the country since the Vietnam war.

One of the things I enjoy most about travelling now that I'm a parent is how I now notice other mothers and what it is like for them to be raising children in their own particular corners of the world. It's strange for me to think about how little I noticed of it before, but scenes like these astound me now. I can't imagine trying to raise little ones from the hull of a boat, or trying to breastfeed while bailing my boat. Whoa.

Here are some scenes from a huge field of lotuses that we came upon at sunset. Breathtaking.

Here you can see the little hut and family that live in the middle of all these lotuses:

Isn't she just the most darling little mother? She had a great connection with her two little daughters.

These are a fun thing unique to Southeast Asia: a natural pedicure. These fish like to eat dead skin. So, stick your feet in the water with them, and a 1/2 hour later--voila! Hope you're not too grossed out by my feet.

Our last day in Cambodia we got to attend church. The people there were amazing. Here's the daughter of the local congregational leader there: Chetana. Her name means "One with great purpose." I'd have to concur. She's one of the most beautiful and bright women I've ever met. Her English was impeccable!

The young women there at church:

On to China! Here a view of the unbelievable skyline of Hong Kong!

Enjoying the craziness with our new wigs:

It was SO good to be surrounded by Chinese again. I was surprised to hear so much Mandarin. I was expecting mostly Cantonese, so when I could actually understand and speak with everyone it was such an unexpected treat. Apparently people from the mainland have been emigrating to Hong Kong by the droves. No wonder.

Fish anyone?

We visited cultural center on Hainan that is similar to the PCC, but for local Chinese ethnic groups in the area. Pearly-Q enters into a surprise marriage with a local girl. Leave it to my husband to be a willing participant. None of the Chinese men would volunteer, so Pearly-Q got the privilege of doing it with language barrier and all. I could not stop laughing.

Check out these womens' feet as a result of their weaving. They've flattened out on the bottom:
Notice the traditional tatoos all over her face:

Vietnam! This beautiful woman is surprisingly an amputee. I barely noticed due to how capable she was in her work:

Scenes from the local market. . . Duck anyone?

Gorgeous produce. They eat everything so fresh.

As we found out, you can get anything custom made in Hoi An.
Halong Bay:

Sigh . . .

Love from Cambodia

2010-03-15T09:32:00.014-06:00

So sorry I have been this remiss in posting anything about our trip . . . I've been playing serious Mommy catch-up. But, thanks to a little nudging from a friend, I sat down last night and wrote out a monster email to friends & family members who were involved in the most special part of our trip: a visit/mini-humanitarian project with an orphanage in Cambodia.

When we were originally planning on visiting Angkor Wat in Cambodia, we quickly realized that we would need an English-speaking guide and started doing our research on locating one. After looking for a while, we found one that came recommended. His name is Ratanak Eath (for any of you out there who are interested in using his fabulous services).

In online correspondence Ratanak had previously asked us whether or not we'd be interested in visiting an orphanage while we were there to see Angkor Wat. Of course we answered emphatically "yes" and then recommended him to some friends (J&J)who would be going to Cambodia just a week before us, and who would also likely be very interested in something like that. When J&J returned from their trip they immediately called us to update us on the conditions there at the orphanage, and to organize/gather items and funds to assist the children there. Immediately this project took on a life of its own, and within just a handful of days we were ready to fly to Cambodia packed to the hilt.

To give you an idea of everything that took place, feel free to read the letter I sent out to the parties involved:

Dear Friends and Family,

Since returning home from Asia this week, Pearly-Q and I wanted to write all of you who contributed to the wonderful experience we had in Cambodia. As all of you know, J&J visited Siem Reap, Cambodia last month and visited the PACDOC orphanage there. Upon seeing all the dire need amongst those children, they returned with a helpful report about what was needed in addition to what we’d already planned on taking with us when we would visit just a week later. This gave us just days to collect all these items before we left for Cambodia.

Thanks to J&J and to all the generous individuals here that also heard about the needs of these orphans, we were able to collect used toys & clothes, new underwear, toothbrushes, educational supplies/kits, and money for school uniforms in order to enable the children to attend the public schools there locally. With all these items tightly packed for the trip, we headed off for Cambodia on February 22nd.

Upon our first full day there in the country, our guide, Ratanak (the same one who helped J&J) took us to the orphanage to assess the needs. At first we were confused because it did not look like the same building that our friends had showed us in the photographs. Ratanak explained to us, however, that the two orphanages are in different neighborhoods but share resources and are run by the same man, Toun Boran. (Please see their new website for more information about him and the work they are doing there: http://www.pacdoc.org/ I think there are even some pictures of Pearly-Q and me on there).

Ratanak and Toun Boran

We loved our welcome here, as the children lined up in orderly rows to greet us, girls on one side and boys on the other. Their beautiful smiles were contagious as they kept shouting out “hello, hello!”, making us that much more eager to share the items we had brought. Before meeting with the children, however, the orphanage director took great care to give us a tour of this fairly large facility. Besides the typical sleeping quarters and kitchen, the grounds held a sort of gathering area/schoolhouse which contained all sorts of posters/pictures with English words. (Because of Angkor Wat and the increased tourist industry there, being able to speak English is an important skill for any Cambodian to get a decent job.) Toun Boran also showed us that they had built another small area with a computer keyboard to teach the children basic computer skills, as well as foot-propelled sewing machines where they could learn how to sew. (Boran had previously been a tailor by trade). In addition to these useful skills, the children have learned how to weave hammocks, something virtually every Cambodian sleeps in at night. They also had a large garden at the back, along with some chickens, ducks and two pigs. To be honest, the entire operation was extremely impressive since it was easy to see that this man was truly seeking to assist these children in becoming more self-reliant.

After discussing with Toun Boran more of the needs of the orphanage (i.e. uniforms, food, etc.) all the children piled into their schoolhouse, and watched us expectantly as we pulled some of the toys, toothbrushes, school supplies, and underwear for each of the children, taking care to reserve part of the items for the children in the second orphanage that we would visit later that day. We especially enjoyed this as we pulled out all the toys our four kids had previously cleared out of their own playroom with the intent of sharing it with these very children. Items I had before seen played with and then abandoned by my own kiddos were now embraced with such gleeful excitement, I felt like Santa Claus. The sound was deafening, and I couldn’t believe the joy the just even one matchbox car could bring. Who knew?

After saying goodbye to the beautiful children there, we moved on the second orphanage where the children that J&J had previously seen, live. I could NOT BELIEVE how hot their little shack was! Cambodia at this time of year is in the mid-90’s with almost 100% humidity. Add to that a tin roof that attracts the sun, without a smidgen of greenery around it to cool things down, and you get the picture. These poor little kids were literally dripping with sweat.

We quickly pulled out photographs that the J&J had taken on their previous visit and had developed for the kids to have pictures of themselves. As the children gathered there to receive them, however, we quickly realized things were a bit different than we’d expected. Some of the children in the photographs were either in the first orphanage, or not there at all, and most of the children who gathered in there actually were not actually part of the orphanage. Located in a destitute area, the orphanage also assists many other children from the neighborhood, many of whom would not have the opportunity to eat otherwise. This made things tricky, as we had only held onto enough items for the 18 orphans that J&J had previously met with. Because we knew by this point that toys were particularly such a hot commodity and there was now a real limited supply, we had to ask the teachers to separate out the neighborhood children from the actual orphans so that we could distribute things out without things getting out of hand.

As predicted, quite a few of the children were completely naked, and so we were happy to pass out what underwear we could. However, because of the lack of adequate nutrition in that country very few of the children actually fit even the small sizes of underwear or secondhand clothing we had bought with us. We realized we would need to purchase some for the little boys in the local market in Siem Reap. Passing out the toys was again crazy, but we were especially grateful for all the toothbrushes that had been sent as it allowed us to pass out something to all the neighborhood children (30+) gathering at the doorway.

At the end of this day, Pearly-Q and I carefully discussed what needed to happen with the funds that had been sent with us. We felt an important stewardship to make sure that the funds were wisely used. We prayed about how to do this most effectively. Some of the needs were different than we had previously expected. More of the orphans had uniforms than we had thought, although Toun Boran said that they would need uniforms for the next year. He also said that their most pressing need right now was actually rice. For 60+ orphans they were almost completely out of food. Beyond that, we also felt that we wanted to leave them with something that would make more of a long-term difference. We considered whether or not some livestock would be helpful by producing more food--especially protein-- for the children. From what Ratanak explained, ducks actually produce more eggs than chickens and are therefore quite beneficial. So, ducks made the list.

To make what is already a long story shorter, (I apologize if this is already boring you to death), we ended up purchasing the following items:
- Eleven 50-kilo bags of rice
- Roughly 40 school uniforms
- Mosquito nets
- Toothpaste
- Underwear for very small children
- And yes, 30 ducks. (You should have seen Pearly-Q trying to catch these himself. It was a riot!) Within 3 months, these should produce 200-300 eggs per month, and should also generate more ducks in the future.

Buying Rice in a local market with Ratanak

At the orphanage with uniforms and rice

My new friend Chantra. Doesn't she radiate goodness?

This little guy could not get enough of Pearly-Q. He was so darling.

Uniforms!

New underwear.

We cannot thank all of you enough for your kind generosity. Watching this process unfold within just a few days was miraculous on so many different levels. Not only did people pour out of the woodwork to help, but our funds were stretched in unexpected ways, such as the airlines surprisingly finding ways to save on our very overweight and extra luggage. (By the way, for those of you who provided all the extra toothbrushes, larger clothing and underwear—your items did not go to waste. We found a very small, yet poor village with adults who were thrilled to receive these things. With such small people, most of the grown men fit comfortably in the Size 12 underwear, and it looked like most of them had never had access to a toothbrush).

The people from this little vilaage were so gracious. After we'd passed out our gifts, they presented us with several handwrapped containers of palm sugar they had made themselves--one of their only sources of income.

Yay for Hanes.

This little lady laughed at me when I offered her a toothbrush. "What for?" she asked.

Between this, the food, the uniforms, and other items, we would have been at an absolute loss without Ratanak’s help. He went above and beyond the call of duty to assist us in securing all these things. I can’t imagine of what he thought of these strange American tourists who expected him to help us secure almost 40 uniforms within just two days. I truly hope that he is blessed for his goodness to us.

Most of all, we were most deeply touched by the hand children played in the giving. We literally had dollar bills straight from the piggy banks of children carried over with us to purchase items for these kids. Pearly-Q's 10-year-old niece, MeLisa single-handedly put together 20 educational kits complete with handsewn bags and items purchased from the money she had saved up from her lemonade stand from two whole summers. The most touching moment for me personally was explaining to these children that there were other children their age in America who cared for them, and had done this for them. I wanted them to understand this and to know that someday, when they had the means and the ability, they would also have the opportunity to give to someone else meaningfully. I wanted them to know that one day they could make a difference. Seeing their faces when we explained this was priceless.

Enjoying MeLisa's bag.

"Thank you, MeLisa."

To end this discourse, I thought I’d type up a copy of the letter that Ratanak and the orphanage director gave us upon dropping us off at the airport in Cambodia. (Keep in mind it’s copied verbatim):

Angkor, Siem Reap, Cambodia

Dear Pearly-Q & Curly, [Yes, I've changed names for the blog version]

We are so happy to meet you in Cambodia and would like to say thanks to you and your family and friends whom trying to help Cambodians especially orphans.

Cambodia is a country of warm smile after so many years suffering in war. We try to show our smile and happy with all of you in order to have a brighter future. We strongly believe that your stay with us unforgettable experience and safe to travel back home.

Thanks again for sharing your proterty, strength, and other efforts to encourage the young generation in positive future. We appreciate all your helps. We hope to meet you again one day in Cambodia.

Best regards,

Ratanak and Boran
Love from Cambodia

I'm Back!

2010-03-10T14:57:00.002-07:00

So I don't know if there is really anybody who actually reads this blog regularly other than my beloved husband. But, for those of you who may and have wondered where I've disappeared to, Pearly-Q and I just got home from a two-week trip to Cambodia, Hong Kong, and Vietnam.

The opportunity for this adventure really came out of nowhere, and though leaving a baby so young was not my ideal, it was hard to pass up since it included seeing Angkor Wat in Cambodia. For those of you who are not familiar with Angkor Wat, the ancient temples there essentially qualify as the pyramids of Southeast Asia. One of the temples in particular is actually the largest religious complex in the world, and is still used today by many for religious pilgrimage and worship. The square area of the temples at large surpasses 35 square miles. . . Pretty impressive stuff, and Pearly-Q and I have wanted to see it for years. We figured the fulfillment of this dream would be a fitting celebration for our 10-year anniversary.

In the next few days I will definitely post more about our adventures we had over there. Interestingly enough, I would say our biggest highlight of the trip was not necessarily Angkor Wat, but rather some experiences we had at a couple of orphanages over there. I'm still relishing in the memory as I write this.

In the meantime, I am thrilled to be back home with my kids. Though I'm still readjusting to what's it's like to juggle everyone's needs & schedules, plan & execute meals and cleanup, and do laundry, I am so happy to be able to hold each of my kiddos again, and drink in my baby as much as possible.

It Was Just Snow

2010-02-19T19:19:00.007-07:00

February in the Intermountain West can prove exasperating. Two months past the Christmas season, the general population is anxious for spring to appear since the once-celebrated snow now appears worn and melancholy. Winter this year has made this especially so. Normally a fluffy drift doesn’t feel so frustrating, but lately the moisture has been fickle and infrequent, thus making the wintry chill dull—monotonous even.

Today the afternoon held a welcomed surprise. Much to my satisfaction, a beautiful downy snow began right before our hallowed napping hour, and its deafening quiet perfectly matched the calm in our home. Before long baby Coco stirred, eager for her afternoon feeding. I tiptoed into my room to feed her at my rocking chair adjacent to our French doors which overlook the backyard and the open golf course behind it. As I answered Coco’s hunger I smiled to listen to her tiny gulps, and glanced up at the tranquil scene outside the window. Large and irregular, the downy flakes meandered down gently, and reminded me of pieces of colorless cotton candy.

I paused to consider the wisdom in the snow. None of these flakes seemed to be in a hurry. Dancing to and fro, they ease their way downward, obviously enjoying their happy flight. It made them more beautiful, and I wondered if I could learn something about their approach. It seems that in the past I allowed myself to get sucked into the worldly notion that faster is always better. That philosophy asserts that if we don’t all join the rat race of doing more—more—more in less—less time then somehow we’ve failed. Truth is, it ain’t necessarily so.

Going to law school taught me that lesson. The culture surrounding that industry can be acquisitive and cutthroat. More often than not, attorneys enter the trade anxious with ambitious aspirations, only to find that it affords them little time with their families and if they haven’t daringly fought to protect their personal interests they invariably burn out, wishing for the luxuries of a “slower” profession. Though it took me a long time to detox from that philosophy, I can say I now enjoy the unhurried splendor of some of these quieter moments in my mothering.

As I continued to glance at the snowfall I smiled again and wondered whether or not what they say about no two snowflakes being the same is really true. As thousands of them streamed from the alabaster sky, I questioned whether or not it was really possible that none of them could ever emerge identically. . . So many, and each unique . . .

In that moment, I could help but think that we somehow resemble snowflakes. “God sees us this way,” I thought. We all descend on this earth with our own distinctive blueprint, lovely and picturesque in our own right, hoping to be recognized and loved as such. Looking down at my sweet baby I realized all too easily how obvious it is that a parent can differentiate between all the unique traits of each child, every one with his/her own design and pattern.

I closed my eyes and savored the moment in drowsy silence. With Ansel Adams stillness, I stood in awe of my Creator and my worth in His eyes . . . and for the first time this season, I thanked Him for Winter.

My littlest snowflake:

Post-Valentines Delirium

2010-02-16T16:16:00.006-07:00

So I have been horribly remiss in being consistent on posting much. . . Which completely defies the entire reason why I started this blog in the first place. Turns out, though I used to pride myself on being a “self starter” (whatever that means) in reality I desperately need deadlines, and without them I particularly fail at recording anything of note about my life. I guess I should just chalk it up as another epiphany of motherhood as I discover more shortcomings I never knew I had. Oh well. I know it definitely won’t be the last time, right?

As far as deadlines go, however, turns out I missed another one this weekend: Valentines Day.

Growing up in my house we always received a Valentine from my mother next to our pillow, along with a small gift when we woke up Valentines morning. In it my mother always expressed her sincere love for us, (whether we really deserved it or not). Since becoming a mother, I’ve tried to keep up and expand the tradition, partially as a way make up for my lack of journaling about my kids. In addition to surprising them with a small gift next to their pillow, each year Pearly-Q and I stay up in the wee hours of the morning the night before V-day and write each of our kids a “love” letter of sorts. In it we share our favorite memories of each child from that year, as well as a snapshot of what they are doing in their lives at that particular moment.

It’s a lot of work and at this point our kids are so small they don’t seem to appreciate this effort yet, but we file the letters away realizing that the real enjoyment will come later when they’ve grown and can read about themselves and what they meant to us.

Sadly enough, we missed even our one annual deadline this year. In trying to get ready to celebrate two birthdays at our house, and prepping for other vacation plans, it simply got past us. We’ll try and get the letters done this weekend, but honestly . . . it’s pretty sad. I suppose I should feel better about the fact that I am blogging at this point. Then again, like I said, I haven’t been so consistent in that department either.

Does anyone else struggle with the desire to record/journal the lives of your children better, but just can’t seem to get there? I feel like my life with them is slipping by so quickly, and my memory of it is so fleeting sometimes. I fear that one day I’ll look back and wonder if I can remember any of it, if I was even there . . . I’m sure it sounds a bit melodramatic, but I get concerned sometimes when I repeatedly walk into a room, wondering why I just came in there. Is it the childbirth that does this? The constant keeping track of kids’ different schedules? The aging? I seriously want to know, b/c sometimes this momnesia thing is downright creepy. . . I promise I used to be smart once.

On a brighter note, though my intellectual capacities seem to be challenged, lately I’ve had some wonderful spiritual breakthroughs in my life that have brought me a lot of solace and joy. I plan to share more about it at some point when I can actually collect my thoughts in a more coherent manner and figure out what is appropriate to share. In the meantime, it is wonderful to know that despite my deficiencies as a mother, I am still cherished by a loving Heavenly Father who knows me individually. It is truly what provides me peace.

Now for a few non-traditional V-day photos:

I came out of my room after feeding the baby to discover the natives like this. They informed me they were "exercising."

Nothing makes my heart swoon like watching a good man care for his baby.

Old Ladies

2010-02-08T18:48:00.004-07:00

Not too long ago our family sat down to a typical dinner—especially typical because I kept pleading with my children to eat what was in front of them. Apparently fed up with this, Bitty stood up in his chair, and emphatically pointed his finger in my direction, “You eat your dinner, OLD LADY!”

Pearly-Q and I completely broke into peals of laughter. Where a child at that age had come up with age as an insult to his mother, I’ll never know. Thankfully, it didn’t bother me, and I have since smirked with silent delight whenever I hear the phrase. As a result, whenever I have gone to spend time with my book club I always tell my kids with tongue-in-cheek amusement that I’m going to spend time with “the old ladies.” That way, I figure they won’t realize they’re missing out on anything. The real truth of the matter is, if they had any idea how much fun I have with these women, my kids would beg to accompany me each time.

This last weekend was a perfect example of this phenomenon. For just a few choice days, my book club got together for our 2nd annual retreat, complete with lots of time in the car, sharing music, pampering at the spa, eating good food, recharging emotional batteries, walking, watching movies, laughing, and dancing like what else?—“old ladies,” of course.

Truth is—the time I spend with these women can be magical. Though each of us is so unique and different, we share the common joy of celebrating each others’ triumphs while also mourning each others’ losses. Whether it is weathering the storms of ill health, the challenge of caring for aging parents, difficult marriages/children, miscarriage, infertility, financial frustrations, or just rejoicing in new life, new opportunities, or other healing, we are there for one another. We realize that when one of us is down, there is another to strengthen us—all the time realizing that one day the direction of need may be reversed. This is friendship at its best—a place where appearances, social standing, or material wealth mean nothing, but where character and love mean everything.

At our last breakfast together, a member of the book club said a prayer with something that astonished all of us. She asked that we may “always breathe deeply, laugh loudly, and love eternally.” Astounded by the wisdom of that simple phrase (spoken by an English teacher, of course), I ran to write down her words. I recorded them because I felt it embodied much of what I’d basked in for those few days—the joy of feeling love from so many women that I’ve come to respect.

Women need each other, and when other distractions from the world’s expectations of us don’t get in the way, we can really get down to business and become the people God expects us to be. It’s the perspective that all too often doesn’t come until later in life . . . which means, being called an “old lady” ain’t so bad after all.

Belle of the Ball

2010-01-29T10:01:00.007-07:00

Mornings at our house are full of entertainment. As the baby awakes bright and early at 6:30 a.m. we can already hear the kids playing together upstairs, awaiting us to catch up with them. After Coco is done eating and starting her morning coos (we discovered more dimples this morning, BTW), her older siblings amble in one by one and eventually surround their little sister on our bed. Surrounding their favorite nucleus, they gleefully hover over her with electric excitement.

Fortunately Coco’s neck is pretty strong, and allows for her to look back and forth, back and forth, as each sibling competes for her adoration and well-earned grin. Meanwhile, she holds the finger of one of them in each hand and basks in all the attention. I mean, who could resist?

Lately this whole scene has been accompanied by its own soundtrack. Sassy loves to sing (in her sweetest little voice replete with cracking), “I love you baby, I love you baby, I love you baa—bee soo much!”

Meanwhile, the Big-O croons, “Hello baby, hello baby. We love you sooo—“

Bitty’s version repeats, “I love you, baby. You’re so cute—baby, baby, baby, ohhh!”

Sometimes all these tunes are delivered simultaneously, which at first might seem overwhelming for a newborn. Gleefully however, Coco identifies with the happy noise. After all, it symbolizes all the sweetest cacophony of childhood.

God's Pencil

2010-01-26T15:49:00.000-07:00

For I was hungred and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
-- St. Matthew 25:35-36, 40

Today I feel restless. Incredibly restless. And I feel the need to talk about why.

I know that many of you probably feel like you’ve reached your threshold in hearing about the tragedy in Haiti. . . It’s tough, tough stuff.

For those of you who don’t know me as well, I have a bit of history with the place. During my last year in law school I actually volunteered for a nonprofit that had built an orphanage there, and was assisting them in trying to streamline adoption procedures, as well as begin efforts to possibly build an orphanage and/or facilitate adoptions in China. During this time, Pearly-Q and I were childless and infertile. Not knowing what to do, we thought we would prepare to adopt from either Haiti or China. Subsequently, I was scheduled to fly to Port-au-Prince in order to meet with some of their adoption officials, as well as visit the foundation’s orphanage. Unfortunately, because of civil unrest (practically a way of life for the Haitians), we had to cancel the trip 24 hrs ahead of time.

This devastated me. After years of wanting a baby, I sat in church and wept, knowing that at that moment I could have been in the Haitian orphanage, feeling out whether or not I felt a real connection with any of those children. I knew that if I did, I would then begin down the path to desired motherhood. At that moment I offered one of the most intense, anguished prayers of my life, and pled for the opportunity to be a mother. Little did I know that that very night the Big-O would be born, and that awaiting me within just a day or two I would experience the greatest miracle of my life—when someone would approach me about a beautiful baby boy, and would I be interested . . .? But, that is a different story for a different day.

The point is, I care deeply for the Haitians and their heartbreak. Long before this earthquake hit it was already considered the 2nd poorest nation in the world (Afghanistan being the poorest). So, when I heard about the quake in Port-au-Prince, I shook my head in shocked disbelief—of all the places! It is simply too much to bear.

Since then, Pearly-Q and I have known that we wanted to donate—but where? Having worked with a nonprofit long enough taught me the importance of making sure your dollars go places where they’ll actually make a difference. Not every nonprofit is created equally, and not all their contacts on the ground are reliable—especially in Haiti. The corruption there would make the heads of the Italian mafia spin, and as a result I felt some reserve in giving just any ol’ place. Pearly-Q's company offered to match donations made to the Red Cross, which is awesome. But, I still, for whatever reason felt resistance or difficulty in making the donation there. I didn’t know why, and I had started to feel badly about it.

“Have I become totally callous to the needs of others?” I thought this morning. “Have I forgotten what I have been incredibly blessed with, and have become stingy unfeeling? What is wrong with me, Heavenly Father?”

Then, I got my answer, and it makes me cry to think about it now.

When I went to pick up the Sass from dance class, I noticed people dropping off boxes at a neighboring business, full of all sorts of odd and ends medical supplies and clothing. And then I saw the sign: Healing Hands for Haiti. In all my previous research and work with Haiti, I had heard about this organization before. They provide physical medical help and rehabilitation assistance there in the capital, particularly for those who are disabled. Curious, I went in to ask specifically what was going on with the donations, what the needs were, and how I could help.

Apparently the large medical facility run by Healing Hands, completely collapsed with the earthquake. As a result, the group has been unable to function. Fortunately, the group that I ran into this morning, (the Utah Hospital Task Force), was gathering medical supplies and other items to put on a chartered plane to Port-au-Prince tomorrow, along with 50 construction personnel, 50 doctors, as well as other nurses and medical staff. They will be there for a month while they work to completely rebuild the hospital and get Healing Hands of Haiti back up and running.

Now, if you’re wondering whether or not this is a major need right now in Haiti, read this article off of today’s CNN. It will blow your mind to think of what the Haitians are medically facing right now, and how ill-equipped many of these doctors are who are trying to go down there to help. The need for a decent facility in addition to the medical staff cannot be overestimated. Providentially, in this case the group organizing this effort is incredibly well prepared, and have reliable contacts on the ground with whom they are closely working with . . .

Let’s just say that I found where our money needs to go, and I am once again overwhelmed by God’s awareness of our desires and needs, as well as His ability to communicate that when we sincerely ask. Being led in this way feels beautiful, and it reminds me of something Mother Teresa was known to say:

I am God's pencil. A tiny bit of pencil with which He writes what He likes. God writes through us, and however imperfect instruments we may be, He writes beautifully.

I would never presume to put myself up there with Mother Teresa. The woman was distinguished as a saint for good reason. But, today I can identify with her sentiment. There is nothing more exhilarating that being led by God. The times I have felt that in my life have been the times I have been the most serenely happy. And though right now I come nowhere close to being able to act as His pencil, I hope that perhaps I could at least work as a thumbtack. That would be good enough for me.

Note: For those of you who might be interested in donating to this project, you can do so online, and the gov't will allow you to do so and deduct it off of your 2009 tax return. If you choose to do so, make sure that you follow the directions outlined on the Utah Hospital Task Force website in designating that it goes to their particular group. You'll see what I'm talking about when you get on there. It's an extremely worthy place to send your aid. All donations will go to cover the expenses of the chartered plane, the rebuilding of the medical facility, and basic food/water needs of the volunteers--just what is required to keep this massive project moving forward.

Two Months

2010-01-20T14:50:00.000-07:00

As of today, Baby Coco is already two months old. Sheesh! Where has the time gone? It seems like last night I had just survived her surprise breech birth, and now here she is with eleven pounds of squishy flesh and a smile that could melt the most hardened dictator.

I just came back from her two-month check-up, during which I was “grilled” by the most fantastic pediatrician to ever walk the planet. (I’m only slightly exaggerating.) One of the things I love about her is the fact that she not only checks up on the welfare of my children, but makes sure to ask in detail about how I am faring. She wants to know that mom (and dad) are enjoying this experience, and that we’re taking some self-preventative care too.

Now, there was a time that the answers to such questions would have likely elicited some instant tears. (I know I will eventually blog about that time in my life, but today is not the day.) Happily, today I was able to wholeheartedly smile and reassure her that I am doing well, and that I never thought I could enjoy the first two months of a baby’s life like I have Coco’s.

There are many reasons for the difference this time around, and sometime soon I will share more about this. For now, all I can say is how much I am saddened that two months of Coco’s babyhood have already flown by. Like sand through my hands, I feel like I can’t hold onto it fast enough--but I thank God for the opportunity to try.

Here are some photos from a shoot we did for Baby Coco at only 8 days old:

(Wrapped in the blanket Grammy made her):

Love this spontaneous smile:
Just taken this morning at 2 months old:

Now if I could just hold onto this experience forever . . .

Siblings

2010-01-14T14:44:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I read an article in Newsweek discussing the longlasting effects of siblings. The article pointed out the fact that one’s brothers or sisters actually may have a more pronounced effect on a person’s life than one’s parents. After all, typically siblings survive parents and continue to be a part of one’s life for decades after that . . . Sobering, but true.

The timing and placement of the article came at an appropriate time. I read it in the bathroom (sorry for that happy detail) of my sister’s Portland, OR condo when Pearly-Q and I were visiting. I remember discussing it with her, as it was something I hadn’t considered much before. I don’t see why not. I suppose it points out my own shortcomings in falling into a trap of adolescence and young adulthood where a person often views their friends as being more noteworthy than their siblings. Just as so many wiser adults once predicted, those friendships eventually faded into a pleasant wallpapered backdrop, while the relationships with my mother and siblings took center stage.

I’ve thought a lot about this recently in observing the relationships my children are developing with each other, particularly since Baby Coco’s birth. The boys have always embodied playful bear cubs together. Then when Sassy was introduced to the mix, she added an element of dramatic femininity that makes their dynamic hilarious. (I crack up every time I hear her command her older brothers to step in line.) The truth is, the three of them all came within a 2½ year period, and as a result, play famously together to the point that I’m almost envious of their fun. I rarely have to schedule a playdate, and hearing them refer to each other as “best friend” or “buddy” warms my heart beyond anything I can express.

As Coco entered the picture I wondered how the older three would respond to her. Fortunately, after a few initial bumps in the road, I can honestly say they can’t get enough of her. I’m constantly having to clear air space for her, as they would smother her with affection if given the chance. I often hear one of them say, “I love her so much, Mom, I just can’t stand it!” Last week Bitty remarked, “Mom, I love her so much, I just can’t stop looking at her. She’s just so cute.”

I cherish these moments. I can’t imagine how hollow my ears will feel one day when I no longer hear their constant chatter of giggles and laughter or even disagreements in my back seat, or how much I’ll long to overhear their latest role play or invention in the works.

The other day the boys made “surprises” for each other by “wrapping up” neglected toys in sketching paper, and presenting them anew. I marveled at how excited each of them was about the chance to give the other something. It made me think about how grateful I was that of all the gifts I could provide them with, I had given them one of the greatest—brothers and sisters. I can’t help but desire that they will continue to find surprise and delight in rediscovering their relationships with each other again and again. Because--God willing-- they will have to take care of each other long after I’m gone, and hopefully that's a joyful thing.

Big-O lovingly watches out for his little sister:

The good ol' pirate & princess game:

Bring on the sharks:

There's nothing like Daddy's shoes:

Big brother extraordinaire:

As soon as she started to hold the baby, the Sass declared, "Mom, I think you should take our picture."

Finite

2010-01-08T09:15:00.000-07:00

It always gets away from me—my time as a mother, that is. Every morning I awake with the best intentions. Today I’ll get the laundry done, the practicing done, the cleaning, the cooking, the reading, the grocery shopping, the research for any number of needed items, the bills paid, the office and closets organized, the thank you notes written, I’ll try to actually say a meaningful prayer, and oh yeah, I’ll take care of the baby and manage to absorb and enjoy my kids. (Exhale here). . . If only, right?

Truth is, one of my most difficult struggles with mothering is the wide divide between my expectations of what I would be able to undertake as a mother versus the reality. Think about it. When parenting is at its theoretical stage, (i.e. before that first baby has landed in your home), one has any number of expectations of the experience. Mine included all sorts of glorious ideals: I was going to read classics with my children every day, include them regularly in service projects in order to foster empathy for others, give them access to lots of physical exercise or sports, have each one of them learn a musical instrument, make sure each of them was nurtured individually in their relationships with me on a daily basis, and help them foster a deep love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. And all this was supposedly going to take place in the midst of maintaining some sort of a meaningful career/outlet on the side, having a clean home, and getting enough sleep to look like I at least look my own age. . .

I suppose much of this anticipation evolved from the fact that I used to be capable of accomplishing a lot on my own as an individual. In my former life I used to be a serious musician, and later an attorney. On my own it seemed I could get anything done with just a little concentration and time management. I even used to have the arrogance to tacitly judge stay-at-home mothers of my acquaintance in wondering what it was they did all day.
Oh my, does karma have a way of biting you in the back side or what? Eventually, (and thankfully), I had my own turn with closely spaced little children, struggling health, and all of my previous expectations staring me back in the face . . . Judging me JUST AS I DESERVED.

There was simply no way to anticipate the realities of trying to get anything done when you’re trying to help other little hands and feet move at any “normal” pace, nor the time it takes to decently and consistently discipline/referee, to even get them dressed, to build in time or plans in order to avoid tantrums , to plan around very necessary naps, or what it feels like when the little folks constantly find ingenious ways to undo your work. (I always tell Pearly-Q it feels like someone keeps hitting the delete button around here). There’s certainly nothing that can prepare you for what it feels like when you have appropriately done all these things, are finally ready to walk out the door (hopefully with at least a little mascara on by this point), and then your baby has a complete diaper blow-out—usually part of it ending up on you. The whole world comes to a standstill, and you essentially start all over again. I mean, yesterday I finally took my first shower of the day at 5 p.m.

I suppose that much of this stems from the fact that we are, I believe, actually eternal beings, with spirits and desires that are greater than our current earthly capacity and are eager to progress as much as possible not only here, but also in the eternities beyond. Our intentions are bigger than we are, and we’re still trying to get our heads around how finite time is here. For as many times as it hits me over the head, it is still hard for me to believe that I really only have 24 hours in each day, and that somehow most of my heavenly intentions are left unrealized at the end of the day. I can’t stand it. Sometimes it makes me mad, (which makes absolutely no sense). Then again, it certainly gives me greater empathy for other mothers, and most especially for my own, which--in the end--makes a lot of sense.

Wonderbaby

2010-01-06T08:49:00.001-07:00

Imagine a sister. A fantastic sister. Someone who you love and admire and appreciate for all that she does to hold the family together and nurture those around her. That's my sister R.J.

Now imagine that that same sister who has been married for the last several years to a wonderful man (Groove), and has been unable to have a child that whole time. It's been hard for me to watch, not because they've felt sorry for themselves, but because I have observed their remarkable talents as potential parents go unrealized thus far. As in most cases of infertility, it has just seemed inherently unfair.

Now envision a miracle--a miracle of grand proportions that enters into their lives. Her name is Wonderbaby.

Wonderbaby is from Western Samoa--where Groove is from. On an unexpected day in May, Groove and R.J. received a call from his parents there saying that they had a baby for them, and wanted to know what they would like to name her.

What the? . . . They had no idea what to think. But, as is often the case with God's hand in things, one thing led to another, and they were on the road to adopting Wonderbaby.

That road had its twists and turns--uncertainty, and a great deal of longing on the part of my sister to finally hold Wonderbaby in her arms. However, along the way, I have been astounded at the phenomenon that has taken place. It has rivaled Big-O's miraculous adoption in its magnitude, and I have often found myself thinking that it is the Lord's international equivalent.

Wonderbaby came home with her parents last night. Her deep chocolate eyes and supple brown skin were almost as irresistable as her huge grin. Wonderbaby's ability to stay contagiously happy in the face of hours of international travel tells you much about her temperament, and I think she's earned her nickname for many reasons. More than anything, my heart melted to see Wonderbaby's magical effect on her mommy and daddy:
It's amazing to consider the healing effect that a baby can have on those around her. In this case, Wonderbaby leaves individuals behind in Western Samoa that will have their souls etched by her magic forever. As a family, we honor these precious people, and thank them for the joy they have brought to another family that will forever be changed by their goodness, as well as by God's unmistakable hand.

Welcome, Wonderbaby, welcome! We couldn't be more excited to love you.

Whisper Sweet Nothings

2009-12-31T17:36:00.000-07:00

If there's anything I adore about having a baby, it is the chance to experience each little nuance of development. With Coco turning 6 weeks old tomorrow, she's now trying to communicate with me. She coos and smiles and sighs--all in her own sweet way. I usually get to chat with her this way when I feed her, or just when we cuddle together.

Today when I was at a doctor's appointment, I was caught up in conversation with my CNM, and Coco tried to get my attention by looking right at me, smiling as bright as she could, and letting out long verbal sighs of delight. Now, there might have been a time in my mothering that I would have more or less ignored her communication, letting it wait until the conversation with my practitioner was over. Not this time. I now realize just how fleeting this stage is, and I immediately turned to smile back and recognize that her message came through loud and clear.

"I love you, too, honey." I responded.

Now for those of you who will be partying it up this New Year, enjoying all the many forms revelry that comes along with the holiday, have a great time and live it up. Enjoy the stage of life that you're in, because each one has its perks. As for me, I'll be savoring the one that I currently find myself in as I quietly coo in 2010 with Coco. I celebrate this new year with new life, and it doesn't get much better than that.

Tired

2009-12-28T07:34:00.000-07:00

In line with the original purpose of documenting my life as a young mother, particularly life with a baby, I would be remiss if I did not include something about sleep deprivation.

There's just no getting around it. For as much as a mother is crazy about her little one, the lack of sleep that accompanies the joyous bundle is something fierce, especially if you have other young children who occassionally decide not to sleep either. Last night was an example of that. Here's the log. (Keep in mind this was all going in the midst of me fighting a new cold Sassy generously passed on):

10:00 p.m. -- Coco's final evening feeding. We're done about 45 minutes later, finally ready to sleep.
2:10 a.m. -- Coco wakes up for a feeding and change
3:00ish a.m. -- Sassy wakes up crying for "Mommy and Daddy." We still don't understand what she wanted.
3:30ish a.m. -- Sassy wakes up again crying for "Mommy and Daddy," and I lay on thick the need for her to really go back to sleep.
5:15 a.m. -- Coco wakes up hungry. I try and hold her off a bit so that we can feed her at her usual 6:30 a.m. feeding to try and get her on a consistent schedule. This ends up her being in bed next to me for a while, as I try to repeatedly replace her pacifier. No sleep here for me, really.
6:25 a.m. -- Finally feed Coco. And, I'm really tired.

Seriously, I don't know how single mothers do it. Were it not for Pearly-Q's help, I think I would flip out. The crazy thing is, for as insane as last night was, compare my shameless photo above with little Miss Bright-and-Bushy-Tailed:

The irony!

The Best Christmas Gifts

2009-12-25T17:43:00.000-07:00

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about gifts lately. When Pearly-Q asked me this year what I would want for Christmas, I was honestly stumped . . . I literally don’t feel like I need anything. As we all eventually figure out, material things (beyond meeting our basic physical needs), really don’t bring happiness. Temporary satiation—maybe—but happiness? Don’t count on it.
Considering all the blessings I’ve been basking in lately as a mother, I honestly couldn’t think of any particular material item I should send my husband on a wild goose chase for. (Now if he were to offer cooking dinner for a straight week, that might be a different matter). As for stuff, though? Nah.

For me, this Christmas, I consider the list of gifts that I’ve been showered with and I can’t imagine any holiday season more resplendent. Here’s just a smidgen of them as a reminder for me in the future:

An honorable, kind, and funny husband who loves me in spite of all my multi-faceted neuroses

Four awesome, healthy kids--Including a darling baby (who just started to cooing at me, actually), and made it through a precarious delivery safe and sound—without having to have surgery, which we’d previously thought was very likely

My health. (After going through a long period of difficult health and severe insomnia, I promised myself that I wouldn’t take this for granted again).

Not having to wear nasty support hose anymore

Food, warm shelter, clothing, education, clean water

And last, but definitely not least:

A Savior. I am so grateful for Jesus Christ and what He does for my life personally. When I am at my wits end with how short my best efforts fall, I thank Him for His remarkable ability to make me whole. I remember His birth with reverence and joy.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

"Shirley T"

2009-12-18T22:16:00.001-07:00

I think I may have come up with a new, more fitting nickname for the Sass. Recently as I got her dressed up for church in her latest Christmas dress, I did her hair with the typical curls, this time with ringlets all around her head. (Hallelujah to the fact that I got at least one child—thankfully this one a girl—with my more low-maintenance curly hair!)

As she got up and ran from me, I remarked to Pearly-Q, “Honey, I swear that Sassy looks just like Shirley Temple.”

To this, he cocked his head to one side and slowly nodded, “Yeah . . . I think you’re right.”
Since that time I haven’t been able to get that thought out of my head, and have started to call her “Shirley T.” When I first used this name, Sassy responded in typical fashion, “I’m not Shirley!”

Then I explained, “Do you know who Shirley Temple was, honey? She was a beautiful little girl, with dark curly hair just like you. She was so cute that everyone loved her.”

Sassy lingered for a moment. Sassy is very picky about labels, I’ll have you know. For instance, we cannot refer to her as cute, or pretty—only beautiful. Fortunately, after much deliberation she finally answered, “Okay, I Shirley.” Yes! Victory!

I, for one, grew up adoring Shirley Temple, just like the generation above me. Regardless of the fact that I did like Sprite and grenadine anyway, I always ordered “Shirley Temple” drinks wherever I went just because I loved the name so much. I still remember watching the old 1939 version of The Little Princess, wishing that I could be Shirley Temple’s character as she wakes up one morning to the surprise satin quilt, beautiful robes, and hot breakfast her friendly Indian neighbor with the parrot has given her. I wanted to be her even more when she throws the big bucket of ashes on the resident snob/bully of the girls’ school where she has become an indentured servant. Call me precocious, but the film conjured all sorts of fun imaginary scenarios that I loved acting out as a little girl myself. I remember thinking how one day if I had a little girl, I would watch Shirley Temple with her, too.

So, in honor of that tradition, last night I picked up a copy of The Little Princess, and watched it with my kids. It was more charming than I’d remembered, and I was struck by just how much Sassy really does remind me of that famous actress. Her pout, giggle, smile, natural charm, and happy-go-lucky air were so similar to my own little girl—not to mention her joy in dancing. I can’t tell you how many hours a day are spent by the Sass twirling, leaping, and posing as delicately as a three-year-old can manage while she listens to Christmas music. (She’ll even dance to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir broadcasts).

Needless to say, Sassy fell for Shirley Temple as much as I once did. I delighted in looking over at her face last night. She was completely mesmerized, and when I tucked her into bed last night, after the initial requirements of kissing all my individual facial features, cuddling in her bed for “ooone minute,” and sharing a story from when I was a “wittle girl,” Sassy asked if she could watch The Little Princess again when she woke up. I happily grinned and nodded. Though there are definite traits I hope Sassy does not pick up from me, (i.e. my temper, potty mouth, or any other number of nefarious flaws I will be working on for my lifetime), at least this is one area I certainly don't mind her taking after me. Long live Shirley!

Freak outs and Epiphanies

2009-12-15T17:56:00.000-07:00

I hate to admit it, but this picture captures part of what I've been feeling lately.

Now that the logistical realities of mothering four children ages five and under are setting in, I have been facing all sorts of new realizations about my shortcomings. I have found that in the midst of managing the chaos, I get more frustrated and frazzled than I would like to admit. Unfortunately, this also means my family ends up getting the brunt of my aggravation as well. Last week I had a complete freakout session when Pearly-Q inquired about why hadn’t put the berries back in the fridge. In my sleep-deprived, deranged mind, I decided to take offense about his “criticisms” of me in the face of me taking on what felt like Mount Everest. Poor guy.

My biggest annoyance has been what feels like the inevitable tendency of everyone around me to ignore what I have to say. Now, I know that most mothers feel like most of their children don’t listen to them, but lately it has felt more uncanny than I can describe. Regardless of the method of my communication—multiple reminders, calmly or not so calmly conveyed—I seem to be resolutely disregarded. Normally I freak out about this, and I have more than once recently. (I am completely ashamed to admit that I called Santa Claus on Bitty this last Friday when he had one doozy of a day. It wasn’t pretty.)

Recently, however, I have wondered whether or not there is something I am doing that is causing this insatiable problem. I am the common thread, after all. And, for as long overdue as it might seem, it has caused some real soul-searching about why my family doesn’t want to listen to me. Fortunately, in talking this out with someone else, I reached an epiphany: perhaps I am not listening to myself. This person observed that I am continually discouraged by the fact that I don’t have enough quiet time to pray and meditate. As a result, I don’t allow myself the chance to consider the various situations in my life, and what I can do to improve on them. I don’t have time to listen to the Lord’s direction, or pay attention to any other cues from my own spirit, for that matter.

This has been a helpful observation, and one which I’m trying to utilize. Easier said than done, I know. But, I’m considering how to allow my soul more quiet moments to . . . just . . . listen. I try to do this most often when I’m feeding the baby alone, (this seems to be the easiest time). In the process I find that I’m clearing the clutter of my own mind, which means that I’m less volatile. Now we’ll see if it makes a difference in how others around me respond . . . I guess we’ll all have to stay tuned.

Mother-to-this-child

2009-12-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

Since Coco’s birth, I have done a lot of thinking about an article that I read over a year and a half ago. Written Dorothy Lee, a well-known cultural anthropologist from the 1960’s-70’s, the essay is entitled “To Be or Not to Be—Notes on the Meaning of Maternity.” In the article, Lee advocates that “maternity is a relationship,” and that when we decide to bring a child into the world, or adopt one for that matter, we have decided to not just add another child to the mix of parenting. Rather, we decide to be “mother-to-this-child,” that each relationship with each child is special, important, and irreplaceable.

Lee specifically states,

“When this is recognized, the mother is helped to sense the particularity of her child, and the peculiar flavor, the peculiar quality of the relationship that she can have with each child. It is good to ‘have children,’ it is good to see one’s self as the mother of children, but it is also necessary, I think, to recognize and to develop the relationship that greets personally the individuality of each child.”

Essentially, when we become mother to another child, in a sense we are reborn in that relationship with another human being. I am a new mother to each new child.

I believe there is so much merit to this. When I contemplate on the various stages of my mothering I consider how telling it is that some of my most difficult stages came when I allowed myself to just “go through the motions,” and didn’t savor the particular relationship I have with each child. It seems so easy to allow myself to get run over by the machine of day-to-day living, and this can overtake the inherent joys that lay beneath the surface. In contrast, the times I gave myself the privilege to put aside the things that really didn’t matter—the checklists, the unbelievable expectations that modern society places on us as mothers, and some of the mundane requirements of keeping house—then I really, thoroughly, enjoyed my experience as a mom.

In light of remembering some of these truths, becoming Coco’s mother has been a beautiful rebirth for me. I feel like this time around I am wiser in my approach, in my expectations. If anything, I am loving the chance to savor her very essence, her personality, and the mystery of all that she is now and will become in the future. . .

And so, with that in mind, here is a short salute to the exquisite rarity that is each of my children:

To the Big-O:

My spiritual giant, who already eagerly seeks learning by study and also by faith. I adore his wisdom, for he teaches me much about what is really means to be a humanitarian.

To Bitty:

Whose capacity to love constantly takes me by surprise, especially when he loves me wholeheartedly in spite of my weakness. And, who invariably can find the funny embedded everywhere.

To the Sass:

The little girl whose passion for life mirrors my own. I cherish my chance to have a daughter whose personality I enjoy so much now, I would have chosen her as a friend in adulthood.

To Coco:

We considered naming her Serena, which would have been appropriate for her personality. She brings great tranquility to my heart, and to our family.

May we all cherish the mystery of the individual.

Mr.Bitts

2009-12-07T17:40:00.000-07:00

If there is something I absolutely love about four-year-olds, it is their uncanny ability to make one laugh by the hilarious things they have to say. Completely in earnest, and unbeknownst to them, they have a way of looking at the world that is so refreshing and fun. Each time they share one of these gems, I try to record it on our white erasable board, (although I'm realizing that perhaps I ought to have a better form of keeping track of them. . . let's hope this is a better forum for that.) Besides, I like to share in the wealth.

Bitty has had some fantastic quotables lately that make me just want to squeeze him. Here's just a few that give you a feel for his wry personality:

After everyone was done showering before going to church Sunday morning, Bitty noticed Pearly-Q's chest and observed:
“Daddy, you kind of look like you have eyes on your pecks.”
Recently when I tucked him into bed for his nap, I nuzzled up to him and nibbled on his cheeks and ears, to which Bitty replied, "Mom, when you nibble on my ear it turns me frozen."
Another tucking in bed moment--this time I was helping him clean out Bitty's nose: "Mom, last night I had some crusties in my nose and looke like Grape Nuts! Did you want to eat them? Hahahahaha!"
When Pearly-Q took Bitty on some "special time" they drove past McDonalds, to which Bitty responded by asking his dad, "What was it we ate together there Dad, that was so yummy with the ice cream and the chocolate?" Dad responded, "Do you mean a hot fudge sundae, Bitts?" "Yeah--Dad, what day is it?" Pearly-Q answered, "It's Monday." Bitty thought for moment and then requested, "Dad, can go to McDonalds right now and have a hot fudge Monday?"

Got to love Mr. Bitts.

Mesmerized

2009-12-04T14:46:00.000-07:00

Ever since Coco was born I have been fascinated by something that has occupied my time with her more than any other activity—I call it the “newborn stare.” Known to new parents everywhere, the newborn stare is more powerful than any addictive drug, and will completely deplete all your time. I am constantly struck by how easily the hours will tick by as one is completely entranced by the precious gaze of one’s newborn baby, without any remote desire to do anything else in the whole wide world. It is as though the world stops altogether, and all you care about is that miraculous moment in eternity. The reason for this, I believe is because one feels that he/she is staring into the eyes of Heaven itself.

I know this sounds dramatic, but it really is true. Whenever I gaze at Cosette’s sweet face, (or whenever I gazed at any of my new babies, for that matter), I feel so close to my Creator. They represent all that is sweet, pure, and innocent in this world, and being locked in their gaze feels sacred, like the purest form of worship. Often I believe this is because these little spirits are so freshly delivered from the Lord Himself, and that being close to them, being in their presence, reminds us of being in His.

I am adoring this experience, and wish that I could hold onto it forever. Perhaps that is why so many new mothers express what seems an irrational, but quite common desire: to have at least a dozen more of these precious little newborns. You would think that having one to take care of in the middle of the night would cure you of your desire to bring more into the world—at least immediately, anyway. On the contrary, however, their absolute innocence makes you hope beyond all hoping that this feeling will never, ever end. If only I could claim ignorance in thinking that it won’t. Unfortunately, after having three other babies I already know better.

In the meantime, I suppose all I can do is try to be as present in the moment as possible--which means that I’d better get back to my staring.

The Nitty Gritty on the birth

2009-11-30T12:57:00.000-07:00

Warning: This entry contains a birthing novel. Sad, but true. Definitely NOT recommended for sharing with husbands or queasy first-time expectant mothers.

Okay, so now let’s get down to business. Why, why, why in the world would I choose a natural birth, and why in the world would I say that giving birth to a breech baby this way was an exhilarating experience? Good question—(one I’ve been asked several times since).

By way of background you really ought to know something about me. I don’t have a good pain threshold. Never have, and I’m afraid I’ve realized that is even truer as I see the inherited one my kids have from me. Every little owie is met with tears on their part, which I recognize from my genes unfortunately. As a result, when I first gave birth to Bitty 4 ½ years ago, I didn’t even question the idea of an epidural. Why would I?

To make a long story short, I could have died during Bitty’s. Because of my scoliosis, where an epidural is placed happens to fall right where I have curvature of the spine (I have a fairly pronounced S-curve), as well radial twisting. Essentially this resulted in what became an inadvertent over-the-top spinal, with 10+ hours of me not being able to breathe normally. Scary stuff—scary and difficult, especially when I had to push him out for 3.5 hours posterior, and the doctor had to resort to forceps to avoid a C-section. Not fun, not fun, especially when it spiraled into a whole host of other postpartum complications that I won’t go into now. (Sorry if I’ve already freaked out someone up to this point).

When it came to delivering the Sass, I felt dualistic feelings about facing another delivery. Because of my history, I was terrified about another epidural, yet I also felt incredibly ambivalent about the possibility of pushing out another baby for 3+ hours. Though I believed in the possibility of being able to handle a typical natural birth, I seriously questioned my ability to so with pushing as long as I had previously. I feared that it would result in an inevitable C-section if I attempted it. Fortunately, I also did my homework as far as anesthesia staffs are concerned, and got a fantastic anesthesiologist up at LDS who could not have been more experienced, thoughtful, empathetic, or attentive. Not surprisingly, I experienced some severe PTSD when he inserted this epidural, but he was incredibly kind and helpful in talking me through it. He repeatedly checked on me throughout that day. (After the baby was delivered, he admitted that it was probably one of the most challenging epidurals he had ever had to place in the history of his 30+ year career b/c of the nature of the spinal curvature and its location). Thankfully, things went much better with Sassy’s birth, especially since I had a nurse that was able to get her turned the right direction.

After the PTSD and forewarning regarding my spine with Sassy’s birth, I seriously considered trying natural birth this time around, but faced the same questions as before. Will I be able to do it if the baby is posterior? Would I have a better chance of her turning anterior with a midwife? Aren’t I kind of a wimp?

After praying and thinking much about it, I proceeded in the direction of natural birth, found a CNM, and took a hypnobirthing class. This was a great move. I was amazed to learn about the power of hypnosis to manage pain, as it has the capacity to help your body release its own natural endorphins. Between trying to regularly practice my hypnosis (which was incredibly helpful with my back pain and dealing with the stress of the pregnancy), and reading a myriad of books that a friend provided as great resources for natural birthing, I gradually became more comfortable with my ability to face an unmedicated birth, and actually looked forward to the experience as a sort of rite of passage—the great equalizer of all women on this earth. And I have to admit, I especially hoped it would provide the speedier recovery I would so need this time around.

In light of my extra amniotic fluid and the risk with Coco’s bowel, my perinatologists didn’t want to allow me to go much past 39 weeks, and as a result we scheduled an induction for the last possible day—Nov. 23rd. Because I so did not want to face a natural birth with more difficult contractions than necessary (i.e. pitocin-induced), the week before the 23rd I did EVERYTHING I could think of in order to bring on the pregnancy naturally. I walked every day, bounced on an exercise ball, jumped on a trampoline, walked up and down stairs for hours, danced like crazy, sat through two very painful sessions of acupuncture, tried acupressure points, drank black cohosh tea—you name it, I tried it. When I went in on the 19th I was dilated to a 2+, 75% effaced, and was at a -1. So, I had my CNM strip my membranes in hopes . . .

Sure enough, on the drive home that evening I felt some regular tightening, which unfortunately subsided by the time I went to bed. These picked up again when I awoke on the 20th. Could this be it? It didn’t hurt like I’d thought they would and was only on the lower half of my abdomen, but did they did seem to come and go regularly. I sent Sterling to work on the premise that I would let him know if things continued or not. He needed to get some things done that morning, so we hoped this would afford him the time he needed. After that I took a concoction with castor oil, hoping . . . By the time I took the kids to Chinese at about 11:00 a.m., the tightening periods were about 9-10 minutes apart, and seemed to be slowing down. I was NOT going to allow this to happen, so I left the kids there with their tutor and went for a walk with my IPOD.

This was fabulous! While in neighborhoods, I waddled in a consistent curb walk, and as soon as I got out of eyesight I wandered into a large field in the middle of several subdivisions. It was filled with golden overgrown grass and the sun was shining. There in the middle of the field I cranked up my Latin music and danced with happy abandon. I could envision the baby descending with my hip action, and I smiled and laughed during the cha-cha, samba, and bizarre personal version of Samoan dancing that would really embarrass me in public. At one point a huge deer stared at me dancing, not knowing what in the world to think of my exuberance. Only when I started to jump towards him did he finally bound out of sight. It was a happy moment as I thought of how excited I was to finally experience this birth and meet my baby.

To make a long story short, we made it to the hospital that day around 3 p.m., were admitted, and got right down to business. My nurse secured a room with a tub, got me a birthing ball, and went over the birth plan with us. The staff there really was fantastic, and I was thrilled I didn’t have to have an IV. I laid down to do some hypnosis and start banking endorphins. Pearly-Q and I then went for a walk around the hospital. At some point in the midst of laboring on the ball, and everything else my CNM showed up checked my cervix. I was dilated to a 6, and was 100% effaced. At that point b/c of all of my fluid, we decided that it would best if she did a careful break of my water to allow things to ease out. (This was at about 7 p.m.) As all this happened, my CNM felt the baby’s head and could feel all of her hair there. She was clearly head-down, as she had been during my ultrasound the day before.

With my water broken, the contractions quickly sped up and became more intense. With my nurse’s encouragement, I decided it was finally time to get into the tub. At that point, I noticed a couple drips of meconium, but nothing to be alarmed about. I was happy to immerse in hot water. During this time I definitely felt contractions, but the water made it so much more doable—more like tough menstrual cramps, really. Pearly-Q was there through this whole time, and rubbed my back as I laid on my side, and then in a hands and knees position to try to ensure the baby eased into an anterior position. After being in the tub for about a ½ hour, I started to sense an encroaching urge to push. It was strange, though, because it felt more like something was only partially pushing down on my perineum, not a full head, really. When I got out to use the toilet, I noticed there was a lot of meconium coming out of me, and I immediately recognized this could be problematic. When we got the word about it the CNM, she immediately sent for NICU staff to be on hand to make sure the baby didn’t suck any of it in.

When I got out of the tub and onto the bed I tried to do more hypnosis, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with the surges severely intensifying. In the midst of all this I requested my CNM check me, as I could feel pressure down below. At that point I was almost at a 9, and she encouraged me to push against her in order to help things move to a 10. As I did so, I tried to stay on my left side as that’s what felt most comfortable, and that’s how I preferred to push the baby out. However, she insisted I move to my back with my hips up a bit. I protested to this, as it made things much more painful, and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t heed what I said about all of this. From this point, things got really crazy, really quickly. .

Before I knew it, and in the midst of blinding pain that I struggled to breathe (or rather, whimper) through, there were people pushing my body into a hips-up position, and they were telling me to hold my own knees. I told them strongly that I could not do this, as I could barely focus on my breathing, and I didn’t know what else was going on. I didn’t want to labor in that position as I was afraid it would result in a greater chance of tearing. For whatever reason, no one was hearing what I was saying, and any previous focus I had before seemed obliterated by all the commotion that ensued. I remember only bits and pieces of this whole time, as the pain was incredibly intense, but I do recall an OB getting into Pearly-Q’s face and asking him what birth this was for us, and what size our babies had previously been. When she asked this, I remember wondering how big could this baby’s noggin really be? Then I looked to my right, and someone was sticking my hand with a needle--something I’d explicitly not wanted.

“What are you doing?” I asked in the midst of the crazy pain.

“I’m giving you an IV,” the nurse replied.

Though up to that point, I had definitely screamed (during which my girlfriend assisting me ordered me to “pull it together”), this time I let out a huge scream of pain—one which Pearly-Q insists the entire labor and delivery floor must have heard. I told them that something when I pushed simply didn’t feel right. It wasn’t until this point that someone said, “You’re having a breech baby!” This threw me for sure, and I had a moment of panic at the thought, wondering if they were going to pull me into a C-section or not. At this point, there were roughly twelve different faces above me—I looked at Pearly-Q, and he seemed as uncertain as I was. I also remember glancing at my girlfriend, and when she, along with the rest of the staff told me to push, I trusted what they had to say and did what I could in the midst of those insane circumstances.

“Push, Curly, push!” (although I have to admit they did use my real name).

Easier said than done—I could barely concentrate on any breathing in the midst of the mayhem
and the sheer volume of everyone’s yelling. In addition, beyond the pain of each intense contraction, pushing without their aid hurt even more. All I remember is thinking that there was no other way but through this, and I gave what I had. Thankfully, even with what I was able to give to all of those faces looking down at me, things did move quickly and within a few minutes I pushed out the baby’s bottom and legs---this felt gigantic—so much so, that by the time I got to her head, it felt like a relief in comparison.

I remember hearing them saying, “You did it!” at which point I glanced down and saw them hold up my blue little baby as the NICU staff rushed her over to a table. Apparently, at this point one of the nurses (the same one who got in my girlfriend’s face and ordered her to yell at me to push) threw up her hands and yelled, “Mothers rock!” I remember hearing my friend say to me,

“You did it, Curly! Oh my gosh, you just delivered a breech baby!”

I remember just feeling emotionally stunned/shell-shocked, as I was trying to process all that had just happened within a matter of minutes. It was hardly the delivery I had envisioned, but I was done with the pain, and the baby was here. . . Little had I known until that point that Coco had been in distress, which is why they made the decision to get her out quickly with a vaginal birth. (Apparently they would not have had me try this if she had been my first baby). When she first came out she received an Apgar score of 4, then later 6, then later 10. The cord had been wrapped around her neck on the descent.

Later when I found out I had barely torn and would not need stitches, it was the first time in my life (particularly when I understood the risks to the baby) that I was grateful, wholeheartedly grateful that I had given birth to Bitty posterior. He had literally paved the way for his little sister.

Soon, Pearly-Q was able to bring the baby over to me. She was so cute and alert, and in my mind did not look as I had fully expected based on her previous ultrasounds. Rather, she looked more like a mixture of all three of her older siblings. She was so alert and sweet as she looked up at me in wondering silence. I, along with everyone else, was still coming down off the adrenaline rush of everything that had just taken place, but I was trying to absorb this moment as well.
Since that time, I have been so grateful that I did a natural birth. Besides enjoying the most fantastic recovery, one which allowed me to get up bathe the baby just a couple of hours later, I have also felt invigorated by the experience. Rather than facing a debilitating fear of spinal anesthesia and all its risks for me, I instead feel like I conquered something incredible. Not only did I give birth naturally, but I pushed her out bum-first, for pete’s sakes. I did it! Sure, it hurt like nobody’s business there in those last 15 minutes, but I feel like I managed the pain incredibly well up to that point, and I survived difficult circumstances only to have an immediate recovery afterwards. I faced something I didn’t think I could do, and went even beyond those expectations. I never have to worry again about the unknown in childbirth, as I feel I have now traversed that path. Beyond that, I feel like it has resolved so many of the feelings I had about my first birth experience, especially in light of the fact that it actually aided in the safe delivery of Coco.

So, there is Coco’s birth. . . Phew! Lots to say, but now it is recorded. And, if you’re still reading up to this point, I know you are a woman who has already given birth. Nuff’ said, right?

Breathing through a contraction:

Pearly-Q offers his loving assistance. What a great husband.

My wonderful girlfriend who came to help:

Sweet success:

Joy and Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T11:24:00.000-07:00

After a long of week of trying to encourage her own entrance into this world, Baby Coco joined us this past Friday at 8:28 p.m. The much anticipated natural labor went pretty smoothly until she threw us some twists and turns—literally. On the way out Coco decided last minute that she’d like to enter breech (bottom first). Like I said, this baby has always liked to move!

I’m planning on writing more about my memories of the labor and birth, if anything for my own benefit later. Even though people are horrified when I tell them about the breech part, the whole experience was actually incredible. My labor was great and I’m so glad that I did it unmedicated—for a whole myriad of reasons. If anything, it has completely resolved the unsettled feelings I had about the difficulties I faced with Bitty’s birth, and has made me realize that I am a stronger person than I had once thought. Besides that I have been astounded by how much better my recovery has been. I was able to actually bathe the baby that very night—something I’ve never been able to do with my other babies because I was so zonked afterwards.

Enjoy the pics. (You’ll all thank me, by the way, that I refused Father Pearl’s request to include pictures of the afterbirth/placenta. While some of us who have had kids before might find that fascinating, I thought I’d spare those of you who haven’t made that journey yet. I don’t want anyone puking as a result of reading my blog).

Fortunately for me, I had a good friend accompany me at the birth, which means Pearl and I actually got some pictures together.

Sisters--Coco and the Sass.

This picture absolutely kills me:

Bitty and Baby:

Big-O warms up to baby

Baby #4's Pregnancy

2009-11-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

Note: The baby was born two days ago on the 20th at 8:28 p.m. However, I wrote this post several days before and wanted to share it before we post all the details about the birth along with pictures here soon---

I have long disallowed myself the opportunity of actually sitting down to write about my experiences in the last while. It seems like it’s not a luxury I can always afford myself since there has been so much to prepare and get ready in anticipation of this next baby’s birth. Even though I’m coming up to the end of this baby’s time in utero, I can still hardly believe that we’re about to have another child.

Today Bitty asked with desperation if he could look at some pictures of himself when he was a baby. After getting his practicing done, I obliged, rummaging through the pathetically organized stack of photographs in our chest in the family room. I came across not only pictures of him, but Big-O and Sassy as infants as well. So adorable, and so tiny! I know I’m literally around the corner from holding another one (even one of my own) in my arms again, and yet I can hardly believe it. It seems like sometimes I’m just barely getting a hold upon how to take care of the three kids I have—keeping up with their activities, figuring out what kind of parenting/discipline they need, and juggling individual time with each of them. How I’m going to balance everything with a newborn, I simply have no idea. I think I’m really just proceeding forward on not much more than faith.

Having said all that, I must say that I have been amazed by how much more connected I have felt to this baby than I have the others in the past. I know a large measure of it has been a result of all the extra tests & ultrasounds we’ve had as a result of my extra amniotic fluid and her enlarged bowel. They’ve given us some amazing looks at her, and already I can see her resemblance to Sassy. She has fat cheeks, full lips, and a lot of hair. With all the extra fluid, she moves A TON! I am not remotely joking when I say that if feels like she often rearranges my insides. The evenings are by far her most active period, where I can not only feel her kicking under my ribs on my right side (she’s given me an internal bruise there), but I can at the same time feel her moving around down in my crotch, as well as other parts of my belly. Sometimes during these evenings, I am amazed at how much my belly resembles moving jello, so much so that a person can literally see it from across the room. She reacts to loud noises a lot. (I literally jumped out of my seat when we went to watch Star Trek). I’ve noticed that she really responds to voices, particularly Dad’s as we talk after putting the kids down for bed. Already, I feel like I have a sense of her bright personality, and I am excited to become better acquainted with her.

In talking to the Pearl (a.k.a. Dad) recently, I commented to him that it is crazy to think that this child that we hardly know will soon become yet another center of our universe, a child with whom we are desperately in love and eager to love and protect. I look at how much I adore my kids and it’s amazing to think how the human heart is capable of loving each additional child with just as much fervor. I feel so extremely blessed to be able to become a mother again, and hope that somehow I will be able to ably meet the challenges inherent to having four children ages five and under. Sometimes I feel so weak and inadequate. In truth, I have never appreciated the grace of the Savior more than in my mothering. I simply could never do this with Him and the reassurance that I can be forgiven for all my crazy mistakes I make as a wife and mother--on what literally feels like an hourly basis.

My Darling Kindergartner

2009-11-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

Ever since I remembered my mother sobbing on the front porch on my first day of kindergarten, I think I’ve realized that it is indeed an important milestone. After all, through the years she’s talked about what it felt like to watch each one of us make that first crucial step in our lives. As a result, I’ve wondered with great anticipation what it would be like sending the Big-O to school for the first time. I thought about the day beforehand a great deal. (Ironically, the morning of his first day we were late and didn’t get to savor the moment as much as we’d like). However, each day of dropping him off at school since has made me think about this stage of his development over and over again. His dad and I both have the same emotional response each time we drop him off, watching him roll his little Buzz Lightyear backpack over to the kindergarten playground, with a tangible spring in his step, and a big smile on his face while he turns and waves back at us several times. It is the most bittersweet emotion I have ever felt. I am so thrilled for him, for how much he adores school, knowing how much this expanding his world and his mind which he so enjoys feeling grow. In the same moment, my heart feels torn apart by the realization that his baby/toddlerhood is truly over, and there’s much that will never be the same again. The thought ties my stomach up in knots even now.

It’s become a joke in our house that I constantly order the kids to “Stop growing!” They always laugh and insist that they will keep growing, regardless of what I say. With my personality being the way it is, I feel despair that there truly is nothing I can do about it. In moments like these, I try to remember some advice that Susan (a dear friend from the canyon) shared with me. She has four grown children of her own, and she said that she and Don just tried to focus on enjoying every stage that their kids were in to its fullest. If their children were small, they would enjoy that stage to the utmost. As their kids aged, they sought to suck the marrow out of each emerging phase of their development.

There are times that I wish my difficulties in raising the three kids when they were really little didn’t get in the way of me doing just what she talked about. Sometimes I think I allowed part of it to pass me by in the midst of my desperation and self-pity, and I mourn the loss of that. At the same time, I know I’ve had some incredible moments with all of them in their early years, and I try to now focus on the joy of the present moment. Much of that with my cute kindergartner has been priceless. I have to record some of those choice moments:

I’ve LOVED witnessing his breakneck progress in learning to read. He gets so excited, that he literally bounces up and down and giggles as he puts letters and sounds together into something meaningful. It reminds me so much of how much I loved (and vividly remember to this day) learning to read

He doggedly learned to tie his own shoes, even before his cast came off his broken arm.

He lost his first tooth last week, and couldn’t wait for the tooth fairy to bring him a book

He’s happily learned how to empty out the dishwasher and do the dishes, as well as vacuum. It gives him such a sense of confidence, and I cannot believe what an enormous help he is at only 5 ½.

Yesterday when I picked him up from school he immediately announced, “Guess what, Mom! I saw my friend Eli was kissed by a girl! I’m real. It’s true. She kissed him on the nose! Hee-hee-hee-hee.” Oh, boy.