It can't be so

I have known now for about three months that I would be having surgery tomorrow. And truly, I've known since Keelyn was born that it would happen at some point. But here I sit, with only three hours left of time I am allowed to eat and drink, knowing I might not see Hailey in the morning before I have to leave, knowing Keelyn will nurse just one more time before a 24 hour hiatus, and I am in complete disbelief. It's surreal to think of being unavailable to these kids for an extended period of time, and I just can't really wrap my head around what that's going to do to them. Or worse, what that's going to do to me.

The good news is we are prepared. The laundry is all done. The kitchen is clean. There is a casserole in the fridge for dinner tomorrow night. There is way more than enough milk for 24 hours in the freezer. Thank you, big green pump.

The even better news is that Hailey is prepared. She's way more ready than I am. In fact, she's taking the whole thing in stride. I believe our first conversation this morning went something like this:

Her: Mommy, when is yo surgee?

Me: It's tomorrow, baby.

Her: Oh. So when is Chwismas?

Seriously. I wish I could fit Christmas and this surgery into the same part of my brain. That's my meditation for tonight so that I might sleep. I can see it now... I arrive, and the surgeon offers me sugar plums and paper dolls and a brand new bright red bike with a bell and a basket. Maybe I'll take him some cookies and milk.

I'm just not so sure about this

This is the picture of a girl totally excited about her first ballet class today.
Most of my walking years, right on into college, I did more dancing than anything else. I believe by the time I was in high school, the number of hours I spent in front of a mirror testing the limits of my every muscle rivaled that of a full time job. Many days school and friends came second. Except for the friends who danced, and they were my best friends. They were the ones I shared my life with, my passion, and my heart.

I miss it. I miss the high I got. I miss the opportunity to know myself as well as I did in a dim lit room in my bare feet with some music. I miss the opportunity to be so...me. I want nothing more than for my girls to have the same feelings I did. I honestly don't care if it's through dance, or some other outlet that fills their hearts, but I hope they find it. Since it is what I know, and since my dance teacher now owns a wonderful studio with classes for the tiniest tots, and since Hailey wants to do passe and plie and releve and "bayawina awms" all over the place, we decided to start with ballet.

I wanted to give Hailey every opportunity to love this as much as she seems to want to. For her, that means preparation. We went last week to the studio to scope it out. She sucked in the smell of freshly cleaned floors as we walked down the long staircase to the main level. She marveled at the colors brightly splashed across the walls of each room. She even made friends with an old friend of mine who works there now, and got the insiders' tour of the prop closet. The kid was thrilled I tell you. Thrilled.

She went to bed last night dreaming of dancing flowers and twirling batons. Her brand new ballet shoes, tights and leotard delicately hung on her door ready for morning. When she awoke, it was the first thing she asked about. She couldn't wait to get ready. She couldn't wait to go dance with her friends and practice walking on her tippy toes.

Then it was time for class to begin, and I saw her anxiety take over. This anxiety that is her enemy. This anxiety that we face and conquer together on different levels every day. This anxiety that, today, got the best of her.

She began clinging to me in a way that inspires Velcro. We were vacuum sealed. Her face turned from smiley, rosy cheeks, to pale and alone. Her eyes said overwhelmed like those of a tiny fish watching a shark approach with its mouth wide open. She had nowhere to hide. Her talk of me watching her from the window changed to talk of me standing beside her in class.

Her teacher and I had agreed I would attend the first class to help her adjust. With persistent coaxing and reassurance, I got her to the teacher's lap, where she sat for their opening circle.

"Great," I thought, "she has muscled through the hardest part, and let go of me, now she will see that she can do it, and enjoy herself."

Unfortunately for my little Hailey, this was not the case at all. Over the course of the hour, I watched many times as she excitedly tried to join the class, only to be repeatedly overwhelmed to the point of tears requiring a return to my lap. I was so proud that she kept trying, but sad for her that her emotions continued to get the best of her. In the end, I joined the class myself, and we got through it together. But it left me wondering, as I often do with Hailey...

Where is the line between showing her I believe in her by giving a gentle nudge, and showing her I have expectations of her by pushing her off a cliff? Clearly no dance class is worth cliff jumping, and I am certainly not a leave-you-to-fall-without-a-net-and-figure-it-out-on-your-own-because-I-have-expectations type of mom.

I thought this would be good for her. I thought she'd see that she could have fun and do something special for just one hour a week...do something that was just hers. Now I don't know. Do I want something for her she simply doesn't want yet? Was I being naive about things, pushing what I know to be true for her aside in the interest of hoping she'd suddenly run with the other girls and laugh the way I know she wants to? She watches them. She talks about them. She tries to join them. She wants to run with them.

It breaks my heart. B-R-E-A-K-S my heart.

We're going to try again. I want her to know that the way she handled things today was just fine, and I am here if she wants to go back. But just once. Then it's up to her. If she says no more, we will go no more. If she feels more comfortable after another visit, we'll keep trying. As I put her to bed today, I told her I love her, and that I was sorry the morning was a bit rough, but that she did a great job being brave. She looked at me and said, "Next time you can leave me and watch from the window. I want to dance with my friends." I know this is what she wants. I don't know how to give it to her.

Next week I hope she wears this smile again as she slips into her ballerina being, and I hope that smile carries her through. I know it carries me.

A side note on the bloggy stuff

If you happen to subscribe to my feed (Hi, Mom), you know that a few recent entries have come through to you with no text. I was trying to do something that didn't work (sigh). If you didn't figure it out, you can click on the titles of those entries in your email to link to them, or just click here , and you will connect directly to the blog, and can read them sequentially there, back to the last one you got correctly. I'm sorry for that ridiculous run on sentence. I'm sorry I messed up the feed for you. These things happen. Thanks for reading.

Memphis

I saw something today I cannot ignore. It was a 20/20 episode from last Friday night. A story put together by Elizabeth Vargas. I had no idea when I sat down to watch it, I would be touched the way I was. The way I am.

I can't get it out of my head. It's all I can think about.

The infant mortality rate in Memphis, Tennessee is the same as that of some third world countries. Memphis, Tennessee. In the United States of America. Memphis, Tennessee. Part of the great country I call home. This great country currently defending its right to freedom. This great country currently defending its right to the safety of its people. Freedom and safety that only some of us truly know.

Babies are dying in Memphis. Babies. And we are letting them. Every one of us who is not doing something about this is letting them die.

Every 43 hours, a baby dies there.

The saddest part of it is that the babies who live are likely being raised by young, teenage, single mothers. Mothers who cannot find work. Mothers who cannot even provide clean drinking water. Mothers who are our neighbors, not so far away, in Memphis, Tennessee. Mothers who love their babies.

I don't really think this is as simple as breaking down whether you feel this is a social issue, with social implications involving a call for help from government; or whether you feel this is an individual problem, implying that the people of Memphis need to take care of themselves, and take advantage of the things this country has to offer, such as free education, and community resources, such as health clinics and mass transit. Babies are being born. Babies are dying.

I'm sure many people look at this and say they should abstain from sex. That would solve the problem. And while less pregnancies would certainly be a start, it is not the answer. Right now, babies are dying. Right now, women are pregnant. Right now young children are growing up learning nothing more than what they see. Thinking they are worth nothing more than what they see.

These women need education. They need access to birth control. They need jobs. They need help. They don't know how to carry a healthy baby to term. Their often premature babies sit in hospitals for months after they are born, and even if they live through that time, are at high risk for death upon coming home. The homicide rate is so high that many of them will never grow to know their fathers.

The babies who live will be raised in this place with no water, no safety, no education. Many of them will be able to do no more than their parents without necessary help. It is not their fault. It is not acceptable. Someone tell me how to fix this. Tell me why this is allowed in our country. Tell me why this is tolerated. Tell me why we turn the other cheek. These are babies. Babies born to children. Babies who are born innocent. Babies who know nothing of the world. And what we are teaching them by doing nothing, is that the world does not care.

These are God's children. Their mothers and fathers are God's children. Tell me why the United States of America lets places like this get to the place it has gotten to.

As I was weeping at the end of the program, my DVR switched back to live television. That's right, my DVR. It switched to none other than a whole bunch of wealthy white men playing water polo. I could have vomited. There I sat. A healthy baby napping on my full belly. A warm blanket across our laps, to cut the cool air from our air conditioner. A large television ten feet across from me in my living room, airing any one of hundreds of channels. My thought at first was that I don't deserve this. My thought to follow was, yes I do, and so do they.

That television in my living room with all its channels and DVR opened my eyes to something today. Something I cannot forget. Something I cannot ignore.

Somebody tell me what to do. I feel so helpless. I have to do something about Memphis. I have to do something for the babies. Please pray with me. May God help Memphis.

my own little March

I am a big fan of non-violence, to say the least. I am a non-violence fan. I'm not really interested in using this as a platform to argue my political beliefs, but suffice it to say, I pretty much never think violence is the best answer, and certainly not the only one. Now I suppose sometimes it solves the problem, but not without creating new ones. I certainly don't claim to be a political expert, I just think we could get more creative most of the time, especially on an offensive front.

It saddens me to see just how much violence creeps into even our nice little community, and I wish I had all the answers. The only answer I do have, is to raise my kids to handle things differently, and to respect their neighbors.

I also don't claim to be a parenting expert, but alas, I am half of what these kids have on that front, so I try. This view on violence certainly affects my parenting style in a very intentional way. We don't watch violent television. Even the cartoons that might have been fine and harmless when I was young. Even though I, and a lot of people in my generation, turned out okay. We know more now. We know they aren't so harmless, and it would be wrong to argue otherwise. We also don't believe in physical punishment in our house. No spanking, no hand slapping. We teach to the best of our ability, to solve problems without being physical, and expect the same from the kids, which certainly is not always the easiest option. But if it's the only one, you find new ways to deal with things. We don't do guns either...not even the toy kind.

So I haven't really talked about it much here for my own reasons, but we are currently taking Hailey to a therapist once a week, where she does play therapy to help her learn to deal with the anxiety she feels in her life. Anxiety which I have touched on here and here . I am careful in what I share about this part of our lives, out of respect for Hailey's privacy, and I suppose also to protect us from the snap judgements people seem to make about things, even when they know very little. Anyway, together through play, we are learning coping mechanisms for different situations. Slowly but surely, we are seeing the benefits for Hailey, and I think that we are equipping her with the skills she will need to participate in the things she wants to be a part of in life.

In the playroom at the therapy office, there is a huge selection of toys. They are all carefully selected to encourage imaginative, open ended play. There happens to be a bright yellow water gun, which Hailey found for the first time a few weeks ago. She picked it up, looked at me, and said, "What's this, Mommy?" Success, I thought. My almost three year old doesn't even know what a gun is when she sees one. I was beaming, I'm sure. She promptly decided it was a whistle, and has used it when we play music there ever since. Victory for us in our attempts to shelter her, and victory for her in using that creative little brain she has atop her teeny tiny shoulders. Also a victory in the humor department, as the therapist and I always get a kick out of watching her blow into the end of a gun to make music.

Today as we were walking upstairs for nap time, we happened through the living room, where the television was on the Olympics. A boxing match was airing. Hailey says to me, "Oh no, Mommy! Them hittin' each other. That not very nice. Them need to say them are sorry." Now, I respect that it is a sport, in which both parties have agreed that it is okay for the other to beat them to oblivion, but isn't that great? If only we could all just give up our pride, and say we're sorry.

Now all I have to do is teach her to apply her knowledge when playing with her sister. Or maybe I should just give Keelyn a water gun.

Moving right along

When my little brother was born, I was about 3 1/2 years old...a full year older than Hailey when she became a big sister. I have absolutely no memory of knowing my mother was pregnant, other than a book about the whole shebang that we read regularly. And I only remember the book because my mom glued two of the pages together so that I couldn't read them, and I always wondered what they said. I can actually remember trying to pry them apart. I now know it was something about how I, as the big sister, might not like my little brother from time to time, and Mom felt it was best that I figured this out all on my own.

So really what I do remember is spending some time with my grandmother. I can even pick out what she looked like at that particular age in my mind. And I remember a whole lot of balloons...one of which crept into the upstairs shower, which I thought was hysterical. Baby brothers might be fun... but moving balloons?,... you can't top that!

I have often wondered what memory Hailey will have of becoming a big sister. Even as an adult, with the constant change that the kids go through, and seeing them daily, it's hard sometimes to picture exactly what they looked or acted like in one particular instance. But I have hoped that she could retain some of the experience. As overwhelming as it was for her, she adored Keelyn; she adored being a big sister.

Keelyn is six months old today. She's a very busy baby, what with all the toe sucking, Tarzan yelling, and eye batting she works into her schedule.
Today, though, she decided it was time to start crawling. You see there was this ball that she really needed, and that was the only foreseeable way to get it. I didn't even see it all happen, as she didn't make a peep. When Keelyn is deep in concentration, she tends to drool rather than grunt. But luckily I caught some of the action, and the camera was nearby.So she's not taking off down the hall yet, and if I'm being honest, I hope that's still at least another month away...but she is rocking around on all fours, and even attempting to pull up on things when she meets her destination.
It is hard to believe that at this very moment 6 months ago, I was holding my new little one for the first time...and I think at about this time she was meeting her big sister. Hailey was the first to meet Keelyn once she was all clean and bundled. She hardly said a word, as she touched her face, and looked at her fingers. Some of it was the nervousness she felt from the unknown, the shock of where I had actually been all day long, and some of it was her true awe, as she realized this was real, and this was hers.

Hailey totally blew my mind the other day, as she randomly started recalling all of the events of the day Keelyn was born like it was yesterday. She picked up a cup she got at the hospital as a "Big Sister" souvenir, and just started telling me about it. She remembers every tiny detail of that day, and the few that followed. She remembers better than I do the day my brother was born. She remembers what the hospital room looked like, who she was with, what she wore, and even told me about a little bottle of lotion she picked up while she was there. Apparently the memory of her sister's birth will be among the first she keeps for the long haul, which I think is really cool.

Hailey remembers those days fondly, and makes new memories as the new days come. Here's Keelyn learning who her big sister is, and making memories of her own. For now, Big Sister is SO FUNNY!!!

Keelyn's Baptism

Today, surrounded by lots of family and friends, in the church where we were married, and wearing the same gown her sister wore two years ago, Keelyn was baptised.

I watched as the little drops of water trickled over her head, and felt as if those drops were trickling from my eyes with the same kind of eternity, overwhelmed by joy and love for this child. What a blessing she is. This day put such a warm feeling in my heart, as we promised to raise her to know God the way we do; to know family the way we do; to know love the way we do; and to know peace the way we do. A beautiful day full of celebration, for a beautiful girl.

On Pumping

I am having surgery in a couple of weeks. Turns out, not all "battle scars" from pregnancy and delivery are meant only for show. Some are meant for invoking continual pain on the Mama, and must be reprimanded by a surgeon with appropriate torturing devices. Don't worry, when all is fixed, I will still have beautiful stretch marks, and about a pound worth of extra skin on my belly to prove I have carried children. (How's that for a visual). In fact, I just took about 5 bikinis, among other things, to Goodwill today. I am, undoubtedly, a mommy.

I will have 24 hours when I cannot nurse, to allow the anesthetic to leave my system. This means I need at least 10 bottles of milk for Keelyn, 20 if you are me and need to over prepare for everything. I started pumping a few days ago, with my hefty hospital grade pump. Milk is taking over our freezer. Moo.

So here's the joke. Keelyn is apparently going through her six month growth spurt at about 5 1/2 months. I had an idea this was happening when she started getting up an extra time at night a little over a week ago. She was working hard to prepare her cow, I mean Mom, for the extra milk needed in the days to come. Those days would be, like, NOW.

I think I started pumping on about day three of her escapade. I got six ounces of milk the first time. Woooohoooo, you think. And I know, I thought so to. This is easy. Forget you, lactation consultant with the pessimistic attitude who said it would be days, I tell you, days, before I would see anything significant. Six ounces. Milk that!

Except here's what I realized. And I don't need a lactation consultant, or doctor to tell me this...

I STOLE HER MILK.

You see, that was hers, and I stole it. Six extra ounces of milk doesn't just magically appear for the big green pump. She worked hard for the few days prior to store it up. She knew she was going to need it for the oh-so-important growing she had planned for the days ahead, and I ganked it like a silly unmasked bandit at a convenient store.

We spent that whole night awake, she and I. And the next. Nursing nearly every hour, getting nothing, trying to make more...over and over and over. And, no, I did not go to the freezer, and return her stolen milk in the form of a bottle at 3am. These things don't occur to me at 3am. And you are no one to pass judgement, unless you too, were up at 3am. Bless her, she was patient. Bless her, she has enough fat stores to survive for days. Bless her, I think we are finally...one week later...caught up.

Goodnight friends. I see sleep ahead. And milk in the freezer.

Moo. Moooooooo.

Over the river and through the woods

Get this: I went to check the mail this afternoon, and we had only two articles in the mail box. They were both for Hailey. That's right. The only mail we got today was for my two year old.

The whole big kid thing is just hitting me constantly now. I am blown away at the difference between a two year old, and a three year old. She keeps doing all these things that just blow my mind. She's tall enough now to turn on the lights. She can walk in a room and turn on the lights. And she has an opinion on everything. Pretty soon she'll be asking for a cell phone and arguing about curfew. I'm not ready for it now, and I doubt I'll be ready for it then.

When we woke up this morning, she immediately started talking about driving to Nana's house, where she would play, and eat lunch, and take a nap. She's never done this before, but that's what she wanted to do. I'm not 100% sure that when she came up with the idea, she really thought it would play out. For instance, on Friday, she wanted Donald Duck to come over for lunch. So he did. But you know, it was pretend. I think. I also think she really saw him.

Andrew and I have never been the type to pass off the kids, and even if we were, Hailey has never been the type to let us. But today, it was her idea. She wanted to go. We figured it was a good day to give it a try...to make her idea come true. We had a lot of cleaning to do, so she dodged a day full of competing for attention with the mop.

She went to Nana's. Now in the beginning, this didn't seem like such a big deal to me. She's been at Nana's without us before. Most of the few times that she's been away from us, it's been with Nana. So it seemed natural to me. Until she left. I didn't realize it until they were in the car driving away. In the past, we have dropped her off, or left her at home with someone. Either way, we were the ones driving away, leaving her in a safe place. Today, she climbed up in the car, and rode away from us. She rode to Nana's house, for a day of big girl play time, and one on one love and attention she probably needed. She waved through the window as they pulled off. I could feel the lump in my throat growing. It was good for her, but it made my heart ache.

I'm glad she had fun. They even went to a yard sale and picked up some cool new stuff. And they had cookies, and played with toys that were mine when I was a little girl, and took that nice nap Hailey was hoping for. It was great. But she didn't like the Jack-n-the-Box, don't ask her about the Jack-n-the-Box.

We got a lot done here in the absence of incessant toddler demands, but we missed her. I am so glad to have her back, and to know she's right across the hall going to sleep as I write. In her bed...where I can hear her breathe, and watch her dream for as long as I want.

She still needs help brushing her teeth. She still needs stories before bed. She still needs to know that when she calls for us, we will come. She still needs us, but it's a little bit less every day, and lately it seems things are changing at lightning speed.

Blog Redesign

Lots of templates to try, many that don't work out. Many that throw the pieces of this blog around like confetti on New Year's Eve. The confetti lies on this here URL until there is time to clean up and toss it again. One of these times, it will land perfectly...with ample tweaking, stretching, recoloring, reassembling, redirecting, removing, and maybe some regretting.

It's a live, slow process. Like a snail. Moving across the street. Not sure which direction will get him there the fastest. "The straight line, THE STRAIGHT LINE," you tell him, but he doesn't understand English, because, after all, he is a snail. It's coming. The website will look all pretty for you soon enough. For now, at least I am writing in English so you have something to read. I could be writing in snail.

And around and around we'd go.

One day we'll go cruisin'

Her: Where my pretend car? You see it?

Me: It's pretend? I guess it's where ever you want it to be.

Her: I not see it!!!!!!!! (frustration growing) Where is it??????????

Me: Um, well, if it's pretend, maybe it can be right here.

Her: No!

Me: What does it look like, I'll help you look.

Her: All different kinds of colors, and it has wheels that go 'round and 'round. (almost in tears from the frustration)

Me: Oh! I see it. Right there! You wanna go for a ride?

Her: No, that not it! Where is my pretend car??? Ahhhhhhhhhh!!! (total melt down)

Maybe I missed something.

Flash Forward

Confucius says:

It's gonna be tough during the teenage years...
Truthfully, the glare might need a little tweaking to involve less smile, and the earrings are huge, even for a teenager...but she's pretty much got it down. Can't you just hear her: "Mo'Om!!!"

The presents present it.

Today, Andrew and I have been married five years. I think at this time five years ago, I was getting my hair done, hanging out with some of my very best friends, looking forward to a lifetime with someone I love...and really a lot of unknown. That's what it's all about for me. Trusting that even the unknown will be fine with the right person.

For us, the unknown has become a family of four...in way less time than either of us ever imagined, I think. I certainly never considered that on our five year anniversary, we would be planning to order food in, and eat together at home after we put the kids to bed...looking forward to an excuse to turn in early and leave the laundry for tomorrow. But it's great, and we love our life together with our girls. I don't think either of us entered into this with a timeline. We just had a general idea of what we wanted our lives to look like over time, and thankfully, our path has matched our dreams.

I'm not going to go into much more than that about us...I just wanted to highlight something about Andrew I think is wonderful, and illustrates one of the many reasons I love being married to him.

We get presents from his clients...for our girls.

I think that's amazing. Gifts come for them every once in a while. From all sorts of clients. This speaks to his character a great deal, I think. That he allows his clients to see him as a person, and that they bond in a way that shows them he cares about his work, their needs, and the overall experience they have when they hire him. It also shows how important his family is to him. Clearly he talks about his daughters a lot. Enough so that clients fall a little bit in love with these two girls they don't even know. Enough that they feel compelled to send a gift to brighten their days. Enough that they know a gift for the girls is the best thank you they could give to him for a job well done. He attracts good people. Good people hire him. Good people like him. He is a good person.

Of course I've known this all along. That's why I snagged him. But I thought I'd share a glimpse in celebration of today.

Andrew, I know sometimes you don't see that. I know sometimes life caring for two girls and a wife who is too frequently demanding of too much is difficult. I know your job is beyond stressful, and you work hard to give us the life that we imagined five years ago. But you do it. And you do it well.

Happy anniversary. I can't wait to see what the next five years will bring.

Love you.