Revelling

It felt as if last week flew by, but looking back on it – and realizing I haven't posted in over a week – I realize just how long it was.

Brendan attended Vacation Bible School at our church from Monday through Friday. On Monday, he was really upset and didn't want to go, but the next morning was out of bed and at my side before I awoke, telling me he wanted to go to church school.

I thought I'd get a lot done, having 3 hours every morning to do things, but the time burned by in a flash. The wedding I was helping plan and direct was on Saturday, so I had several things to take care of with regard to that. Our friends Mike and Becca came to town from DC where Mike teaches at American University. They came on Wednesday night, stayed Thursday, then Friday drove to Athens to see Mike's brother.

On Friday, Scott's mom came to town to help with the kids while I was working. Also, because we know the groom's familly, Scott was invited to the wedding Saturday night, so of course, we needed help with the kids then.

Scott's mom left yesterday and Mike returned to the spend a few more days with us, while Becca took a train home to be at work this morning.

Mike is going to play with Scott at his shows at Swallow. I can't wait.

Of course, I'm so exhausted from the wedding that I can barely walk. My legs hurt so bad today. Worse than yesterday. Also, despite having worn comfortable yet stylish shoes, my feet have blisters in four places. I have shin splints, and my thighs and hamstrings are killing me. And, the front part of my foot/leg where the foot connects to the leg. Very strange.

It's all because it was an outdoor wedding in a gorgeous garden at a local hotel. The hotel is at the top of a hill, the garden about 1/4 mile at the bottom of the hill. I literally made the walk up and down the hill about 20 times running supplies down, helping the florist, helping the minister, just getting everything ready.

It was worth it. The day went great. The weather cooperated with a brief rain shower starting just as people were leaving the wedding site. It was over in less than 5 minutes.

There were only two minor problems, but nothing disastrous. The bride's grandmother who was in a wheelchair decided she had to use the restroom 2 minutes before we were ready to start. The wedding site is not easily wheelchair accessible, at least not from the hotel itself. So, I had to run across the street to an office building, see if it was open and ask if we could use the bathroom. Get two groomsmen to wheel her over there, have someone help her, let the wedding party know what was going on. Kind of a pain, but certainly not the worst thing that could happen.

The other thing was that I couldn't get the ceremonial candle lighter (that was way too big) to stay lit. I was re-lighting it for the third time as the mother-of-the-groom was walking down the aisle. Yikes.

It all worked out in the end and was a sweet, lovely ceremony. I had fun and I learned a few things and I would definitely do it again.

Despite what my legs are telling me.

Save Me

Sometimes God or the Universe or Whom or Whatever You Believe In knows just what you need.

After feeling REALLY CRAZY thanks to the ppd for a couple of days, I had a crazy-busy-pretty-okay week that ultimately left me feeling pretty damned lucky. And loved.

I got a lot of support from three old and good friends. I heard from several friends (via e-mail) that I hadn't talked to in a while and ended up being unexpectedly social this week. Social and highly caffeinated. On Monday, I invited my friend Tara over for coffee in the afternoon. We had a really nice time visiting and I definitely feel closer to her. She's a warm and friendly, down-to-earth kind of woman and I just feel extremely at ease with her.

Tuesday was a drag, but I survived. Wednesday I received a spur of the moment lunch invitation from my friend Jennifer when I ran into her at our kids' preschool. We went back to her house and ate a delicious lunch while the kids ate their grilled cheese sandwiches and played outside.

That afternoon my friend Lucy called and invited me to coffee at her house on Thursday morning. We ended up making homemade guacamole and munching and laughing our bums off at our worst parenting stories while our babies napped and our big boys were at preschool.

Then, today I went for coffee with Lucy, Laura, and Stacey. Jennifer and Tara were also supposed to be there, but sick kids prevented them from joining us. This coffee date was the only thing I had planned all week. But, I so needed to be around other people and to know I have friends who don't judge me for feeling blue when I have everything to be happy about.

They're all moms. They get it, having been there or had loved ones who were there.

I am so blessed to have fallen into this social group. There was no guarantee we would all like and accept one another. But it has really worked out well. I think I've found some women who can become lifelong friends.

I am grateful. I am glad.

Hard to Explain

I really need to clarify something.

No one is to blame for post-partum depression. Mine or anyone else's.

It's not something you did. Or said. Or didn't do.

My body has a chemical imbalance. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Life events did not cause my ppd. PPD does affect how I react to things.

Please. Don't blame yourself. Don't blame me.

It sucks. But it is what it is. And I am working my hardest to make it all better.

Tag. You're It

Jen, aka Evilynmo, offered up this little meme today and tagged us all. So, having never participated in a meme via my blog, I thought why the heck not? It's a pleasant little diversion if nothing else. Oh, and by the way, Jeremy, A., and Suz...Consider yourselves tagged.

What were you doing 10 years ago?
10 years ago this month, Scott, our friend J.ed, our puppy Cooper, and I were all moving into a house together. Scott and I had been together 18 months and in that time I had lived in four different places. The last of those homes was with a psychotic roommate who blamed me when her very, very bad dog jumped the fence and got hit by a car.

It felt great to move in with someone I could trust and have fun with, but also a little scary-exciting to think we were advancing our relationship in that way.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Trying to get Brendan potty trained, being about three or four months pregnant with Beckett, and pretty much the same thing I'm doing now. Sad how much life stays the same even when it changes. Or maybe that's good. Who knows?

Five snacks you enjoy
1. Cheese, please. Just about any kind.
2. Hummus with carrot sticks, red bell pepper, and pita
3. Fresh, juicy peaches
4. Rold Gold Honey Wheat pretzel sticks
5. Whole Foods veggie sticks

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to
1. Rockin' the Suburbs, Ben Folds
2. Wayside/Back in Time, Gillian Welch
3. Wrecking Ball, Gillian Welch
4. Silent Night (in English and German)
5.Penny Lane, The Beatles

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire
1. Build a house or renovate a house in the City
2. Fully fund college funds for both boys
3. Do something really nice for my mother-in-law and my aunt and uncle
4. Buy a summer home in Ireland and use it as my summer hub while traveling throughout Europe
5. Donate a chunk to an animal charity of some sort

Five bad habits
1. Procrastinating (I have so many other things I should be doing right now.)
2. Losing my temper/yelling
3. Coddling people I love
4. Being unorganized
5. Wine

Five things you like doing
1. Hanging out with friends
2. Cooking/Trying new recipes
3. Reading for pleasure/Learning something new
4. Sleeping late with nothing to do/Lounging in bed with Scott while we talk and read
5. Making Brendan and Beckett laugh

Five things you would never wear again
1. Maternity clothes
2. Blue eye liner
3. Once I get there, nothing larger than a size 4 or 6
4. Business suits (although I can't seem to let go of the ones hanging in my closet that haven't been worn in 5 years)
5. plaid

Five favorite toys
1. My KitchenAid mixer with all its attachments
2. My Powerbook
3. Video IPod
4. Park swings
5. Fast cars

Kate: Which Classic Dame Are You?

Your Score: Katharine Hepburn

You scored 11% grit, 42% wit, 38% flair, and 21% class!

You are the fabulously quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone. Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like strong women.

Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the
Classic Leading Man Test.

Link: The Classic Dames Test written by gidgetgoes on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Blues for Breakfast

Can I just tell you how sick I am of feeling sad and depressed? Of being on this roller coaster of emotion? It's so fucking annoying to know that I drew this card in life. That for whatever reason my body chemistry simply can't handle the normal changes that accompany pregnancy and that just because I brought a new life into this world I am being punished.

It doesn't just suck for me. It sucks for the thousands of women who suffer from post-partum depression. It sucks for their kids and their husbands and their friends. I'm sure it sucks for those of y'all who read this blog to have to listen to me bitch and moan half the time.

I am sick to fucking hell of feeling this way. I can't imagine what would happen if I didn't have the knowledge, the self-awareness to know this isn't right, the support system and love of a husband who is willing to say, "You're not acting like yourself."

I keep telling myself I should feel better by now, be back to normal, not feel so....worthless. Not feel like a bad mother and wife and friend because I can't seem to shake this, to get it together and keep it that way.

I keep having weeks of welll-being where I feel great and it seems like I'm back to normal, better than ever, even. Then, some curve ball comes flying my way and it's all undone.

I don't know myself anymore and I certainly don't like this person very much.

But I know that's not right. I know, intellectually, that it's not my fault. But, I can't help feeling like a failure despite that.

However, I also know that if you were my friend and you were going through this, I would tell you to be gentle with yourself. To love yourself and ask for help. To find something you love doing and try to do it as much as you can. To ask a friend or relative or sitter to watch your kids and come have a cup of coffee with me or lunch or a movie. I would tell you to find someone to talk to who is trained to help women who are going through this. And I would tell you to forgive yourself for the mistakes you make instead of beating yourself up.

If you were a friend and your wife were going through this, I would tell you to talk to her doctor, to help her out with chores and take the kids so she could have some time for herself. I would tell you to be patient and just let her know how much you love her and how grateful you are to her for having your babies. I would tell you to remind her that she is a good mother and a good wife. I would tell you to get her to laugh.

It's difficult for anyone dealing with ppd, whether it's the woman suffering or someone who loves her and wants to help. I think it's hardest to be the one with the disease however. You're already hurting and then to compound matters, you feel like you're hurting the ones you love.

If, like me, you are going through a period of post-partum depression, know that you are not alone and there are people out there willing to help you. Find a counselor, join a support group, don't be afraid to tell your partner, your friends, or your doctor how you are feeling. There is no shame in going through this. The only shame comes from denying your feelings and thinking you can get through something of this magnitude alone.

Mama, You Been On My Mind: May's Perfect Post

It's no great insight on my part to point out that mother-daughter relationships seem like the most complicated and complex relationships that exist. Having grown up with a mom who was less than perfect, I stand in awe and wonder before my friends who have close and meaningful relationships with their mothers. More than that, I actually envy them.

My mother died in 2001, and in her typical overly dramatic fashion, died Mother's Day week. Her funeral was the Saturday before Mother's Day and I spent the next afternoon going through her house searching for anything that might tell me who my father was.

My mom was my mom and I loved her in my own way. But she was not a woman of whom I could be proud. She was loud, defiant, flashy, proud, mean, selfish, jealous, petty, vulgar, and worst of all, angry. She always put herself first and expected others to do the same. She either could not nor would not negotiate. She could never put her pride aside to either compromise or do something for the benefit of someone else.

She conceived me out of wedlock and when she had the choice of putting me up for adoption or keeping me, she kept me. And by the way, she got pregnant with me while her fiancé was in Vietnam. When he offered to marry her anyway, she refused because she was too proud, taking away any chance I had to have a dad.

All I know about my father is that my mom hated him, and according to her, he asked her to have an abortion. I know that for whatever reason, my mother had so little respect for herself that she never had a healthy or normal relationship with a man. The only two relationships she had, that I was aware of as an adult, were with men who clearly did not care about her.

I've spent the whole of my adolescent and adult life trying to figure out how to be anything but what my mother was. From my perspective, she never cared about anyone but herself.

I don't want to be that person. More and more I find myself feeling angry and jealous and petty and bitter. Where I once felt gratitude and joy and generosity and hope, now I find fear and anger and sadness. Like my mom, I often find myself approaching life from a position of scarcity rather than abundance. I know that there is plenty of love and light and hope and everything I need in this life to go around. Yet, like my mom, I find myself thinking as if I have to scrap and fight for every inch and maybe even take some of someone else's to ensure my own satisfaction.

I never used to be this way and all I can do is wonder how I got here. Well, wonder how I got here and try to craft a roadmap out of here.

I want to be a woman my sons can be proud of. I want to make their lives better than mine. I want their lives to be filled with happiness and joy and hope. I want to overflow with love...not only for my sons and husband, but for my friends, and for strangers, and for the world.

I want to be like this woman, Renratt's mom. More and more, I find myself beginning to look toward other women and mothers as the role models of love and generosity and confidence and goodness and compassion that I want to become and model for my children.

Renratt's post gets my award for May's Perfect Post. It's obvious she shares her mother's beauty and goodness and love for the world.

I am grateful to her for sharing the story of her mother's life. If I can become a fraction of the woman she was, show a modicum of the love she had for others, I can be something more than my mom. I can be someone my sons can hold in high esteem.

Dear Doctor

Earlier this evening while hanging out with Brendan and watching the evening news, a commercial for a drug for Restless Leg Syndrome came on.

Brendan watched the commercial raptly. When it was over he said, "Mommy, when your legs can't rest at night in your bed...you can come downstairs and sleep on the couch with me. And we can watch grown up shows. Or kid shows."

I couldn't figure out if he was being sweet or entirely self-serving.

Awesome/Not Awesome

I didn't get much sleep last night and feel rather grumpy and spacey as a result. All morning, as I attended Brendan's preschool end-of-year musical performance, I found myself rather bitchily thinking, "This is not awesome," much like the Geico Tiny House commercial. Not about the musical performance or the kids. No, that part was adorable. The only way I can sum up my day is with a list so, in no particular order, here are how the various experiences of my day stacked up:

Awesome: Everyone in my house eating, getting dressed, and out the door in under one hour.

Not Awesome: You (Whoever you are!) parking your fucking Honda Odyssey horizontally across three parking spaces in the preschool parking lot the morning of the spring musical and 4-year old graduation. Rude.

Awesome: My kid hamming it up on the front row, singing loudly and animatedly as he made up his own tap dance routine that none! of the other kids were doing!

Awesomer: Our friend Chris recording video of my kid the ham and promising to put it on a disc, just because he thought it was so funny.

Not Awesome: Only getting about two hours of sleep last night.

Not Awesome: Taking forever to pull your minivan straight into a parallel spot with no obstacles and making me wait, even though we're all going to be late.

Awesome: The angry little girl who stood on the front row with arms folded, scowling, through the entire musical performance. That's commitment.

Really Brilliantly Awesome: Sky Blue Sky. Either Way, Impossible Germany, and Hate It Here are instant favorites. Hate It Here is very Beatlesesque. I think Jeremy may have mentioned that, too.

Awesome: Making plans to hang out and grill at the neighborhood pool with two other couples and their kids on Saturday night.

Not Awesome: Wearing a bathing suit five months after having a baby. (Even though I have lost all but about 3 lbs. of the baby weight!)

Awesome, Baby!: Having a minute or two to read stories about good people doing good things.

Not Awesome: Teething.

Not Awesome: Temper tantrums.

Not Awesome: Being woken up 15 minutes into a perfectly lovely nap to clean up spilled milk (and wanting to cry about it).

Awesome: Scott's being booked to play at Swallow at the Hollow.

Also Awesome: Meeting new friends.

Really Not Awesome: A second night with less than three hours of sleep.

Awesome: Two sweet boys both starting the day with smiles on their faces.

Awesome: Feeling loved even when I think I'm unlovable.

Baby, I'm Amazed

Watching the love and friendship between Brendan and Beckett develop brings so much joy to my heart, it's hard to imagine that a year ago I was worried about how Brendan would relate to his new sibling and I wondered if I could love another child as much as I love Brendan.

It's such a cliché, but I do feel like my heart has grown (three sizes, even) since Beckett came into the world. My enhanced capacity to love, not only Beckett and his brother, but others as well, has genuinely taken me by surprise. I am so thankful.

What I really find amazing, however, is the ability of my sons to fall so easily and naturally into love.

When Brendan talks to Beckett or simply sits beside him, Beckett's whole face lights up. He laughs at his brother, much more than he laughs at either his dad or me. And, as I've mentioned before, when he's upset, often the thing that calms him is the presence of his big bro.

Brendan is equally taken with the baby. Yesterday, when he thought I was elsewhere in the house, I caught him having the sweetest conversation with his brother. When I went upstairs, Brendan was playing in his room. After taking a basket of laundry into my room to put away, I came out and found Brendan kneeling beside Beckett's bouncy seat, holding his hand. I stood back to see what was going on and I heard Brendan say, "Beckett, you're my brother and you're my friend and I love you very much. When you get bigger we're going to play together all the time."

I wanted to crumble on the spot, incapacitated by the sheer honesty and beauty of the moment.

And then, Brendan turned around and realized I was standing there. He gave me a huge smile and a hug and was then ready to go play.

I know there may come a day when the love doesn't flow as readily between the two brothers, but for now I'm just going to enjoy each tender moment as it comes and be thankful that I have had the privilege of giving my son someone to love.

We've Been Had

I thought that I had drunk ginger ale before Saturday night. I thought I knew what it tasted like. And for several years, I thought I loved it. Then, as with many before it, this obsession for the bubbly-golden beverage subsided. In times of desperation, it became what I sipped with soda crackers to keep la malaise du matin at bay.

Saturday night, not in the mood for beer or wine, I was left with two choices: tap water or ginger ale. After a couple of glasses of water, I decided I needed something more substantially flavored and opted to try the ginger ale, a brand I'd neither seen nor heard of before.

Whooooooooooooooooooo-hoooooooooooooo-ooooooooooooh!!!! Man alive! That stuff was the best fucking ginger ale I have ever tasted. Pardon my language, y'all. You know I don't cuss much, so if I am I must be serious.

Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale is some serious stuff. Made in Birmingham, and apparently only sold in Alabama, it has a delightfully wicked kick that you just might not be expecting. When they say ginger, they mean it. It was actually spicy. In a very wonderful way. In kind of a...sexy way.

Now I wonder what other little regional delights I'm missing out on as a fan of the carbonated beverage. I've had Sundrop and RC Cola from Tennessee; Cheerwine from North Carolina. I remember a drink called Ski from when I was a kid that I had only ever had in Kentucky.

So, does anyone else have a favorite flavor of coke (or soda as y'all friends from up north like to call it) that I should try if I'm ever in your neck of the woods?

Cowtown

I have a sad confession to offer up. I have an addiction. A very pathetic addiction.

I'm addicted to a child's game. Brendan got a new toy for his birthday called a Webkin. They're stuffed animals and there's a website where you register your adoption of your stuffed pet and it creates a virtual pet for you, as well. Naturally, you have to then do things to keep your pet alive. You have to visit it, feed it, buy it things, take it to the doctor. To paraphrase Harry Dean Stanton in Fire Walk with Me, it's just more crap I've got to do. But fun. Brendan enjoys holding his stuffed frog, who Scott named Jumbo, while we visit the virtual Jumbo online. It's cute. However, the way one acquires virtual money to buy virtual food and gifts for one's webkin is to play video games. Kid games. So, once both boys are in bed, I break out the laptop and start trying to earn Jumbo the big bucks. I am addicted to one specific game, though. It's called Cash Cow. And for some reason, I find it very relaxing. But once I start playing, I have a very hard time stopping. Thankfully, the Webkins site gets shut down every night at midnight, so I'm forced to stop.

Of course, that is if I've gotten to play. The real problem is that when I'm not playing, I'm thinking about playing. I just don't get to play all that much.

C'est la vie.

Sweet Home Alabama

Despite what common folk wisdom might tell us, Scott proved on Saturday night that you can go home again. Not only can you go home, but you and your gifts can be received with joyful and open arms.

On Saturday, Scott played a house concert in Montgomery hosted by his cousin Val.

An amazingly talented artist herself, Valerie lives in a gem of a home, a tiny rustic cabin surrounded by rich and verdant life. Her backyard garden is magnificent and proved to be the ideal spot for a spring evening filled with music.

If beauty be truth as Keats once said (sort of), Saturday night might have been one of the most honest, real nights of my life. It was certainly one of the most beautiful.

About 25 folks or so came to hear Scott play under the stars. Valerie created an intimate and exquisite Southern gothic setting, a charming little Flannery O'Connor cafe with a few tables and antique wooden folding chairs spread about. Candlelight and arrangments of wildflowers surrounded a natural stage on a raised patio at the back of the garden while a colorful rug, handmade from recycled soda bottles added interest. An antebellum gunhouse anchored the background, blue-tailed skinks climbing its aging brick walls while Scott sang.

The audience was warm and open and receptive and appreciative. Made up mostly of Valerie's circle of young and vibrant artistic and activist friends, this was a group who fully enjoyed Scott's music. They especially seemed to enjoy the songs Sorry and Oil, as well as Seven Days and Never Should Have Sung That Song.

I think of the six shows Scott has played since February, this was the best. He seemed the most at ease and comfortable. His voice and guitar playing both sounded great. The audience was, hands down, the best audience yet. There were no cynical scensters. Everyone who was there was someone who came with the intention of hearing Scott play and they were all obviously people who enjoy music.

It was such a perfect, magical night. It continues to get better in my mind as I relive it.

Of course, it could never have happened without Valerie's willingness to offer up her home and artistic gifts. What a girl!

What a guy!

What a night!

I'm just delighted I have the opportunity to know them both and share in the magic.

Hey Good Lookin'

What do I have cooking?

Well, for dinner last night I tried something new. I made chicken shawarma, a really delicious Lebanese dish. It turned out pretty good. I served it with sauteed onions and red bell pepper, couscous, and roasted eggplant. With a hummus appetizer. And strawberry shortcake for dessert.

Yum.

Put a Little Love in Your Heart

How do you raise your children to be like these two? Simply amazing.

Sleeping in the Devil's Bed

For a couple of years now, Brendan's bed has been a box spring and mattress set on the floor of his room.

When we first put him in this big boy bed at the ripe old age of two, we did this so that if he rolled out of bed, he wouldn't have far to roll. Our initial plan had been to keep him in his crib until he was as close to three as possible. Mr. Brendan – independent cuss that he is – decided that he had other plans. Two days after turning two, he climbed out of the crib (on its lowest setting) when I put him down for a nap. That night he was sleeping in his new bed.

At first the transition was a breeze. He hadn't yet figured out that he could just get of bed any time he wanted, so once we put him down for the night, he'd stay in bed until one of us got him up the next day. He'd sit in bed in the morning calling out, Mama. Mama. Maaa-Ma! until I came in the room. This period of transitional bliss lasted roughly a month and then he figured it all out. Since that day our lives have been an up and down battle to keep Brendan in his bed at night. We've stopped short of putting a lock on the outside of his door despite the fact that's what our pediatrician advised us to do well over a year ago. Scott was adamantly opposed. However, I, being the one who had to round Brendan up and take him back to his bed every night around 3 a.m., toyed with the idea.

Over the course of the last year or so, we've looked at a variety of children's beds, trying to find one we liked and could afford. On some level we have been thinking that if Brendan has a real big boy bed, maybe he will take sleeping more seriously and act like a big kid by staying in his bed at night.

IKEA has several cute beds, but the quality isn't there. Even their nicer beds are essentially particle board. And, if you've ever struggled to put together anything you bought at IKEA using one of their loathsome pictographs (words, people!!!!), you know that you probably don't want your toddler sleeping in one of their beds.

Finding a good, solid wood bed for a child is not impossible, but once you do, be prepared to spend upwards of $300 just for something very plain jane.

Thank goodness for yard sales. Some elderly neighbors of ours are moving and are selling a lot of their furniture. I was able to buy a lovely antique cherry twin bed for just $20! It was missing the bed bolts to hold it together, but we went to a specialty hardware store yesterday and found just what we needed. Last night Brendan slept in his new bed and loved it. This morning he told us that it was comfy.

With one exception, he stayed in it all night last night. That's pretty good. Hopefully, it will prove so comfortable to him that he won't want to leave it.

What a Girl Wants

I have been amazed by the sheer volume of commercials touting the perfect gift for Mother's Day. It seems like there are more this year than in the past, most for tacky, expensive jewelry.

Guys, let me tell ya...jewelry ain't what mama wants.

Now, don't get me wrong. A little trinket now and then is nice. But the moms I know would much prefer a little time to themselves. A long, lavender-scented bubble bath with no interruptions. A morning to sleep in while someone else feeds, entertains, and dresses the kids. An afternoon to sit and read a book in a single sitting. The ability to just go for a drive alone.

Of course, a nice dinner with the family, a foot massage or pedicure, a neck and shoulder rub...these would round out the deal rather nicely.

And they're basically free.

No need to get extravagant or spend a lot of money. Just a little love and appreciation.

That's all a mama really needs.

Yellow Leaves

The first conversation of my day went like this:

Brendan: Mommy, what if I were a leaf? And I fell of the tree and floated down to the ground?
Me: I'd watch you float down and be proud of what a beautiful leaf you turned out to be. And I'd miss you.
Brendan: No, Mommy. You're a leaf, too.
Me: Oh. Then, I'd fall off the tree and float away with you.
Brendan: Yeah. I love all the leaf-es...especially the Mommy and Daddy and Beckett leaf-es.

Just remembering that moment is like a big, warm hug.

Happiness Runs

The last week or so has found me in a very strange place mentally. I haven't blogged much because much of what I was feeling was dark. I was in a really scared and lonely place and didn't feel the need to subject the world at large to what was going on. I talked through a couple of things with Scott, with Suzanne, and with Jeremy. I don't know that I found any answers, but I found it incredibly comforting to know that I have people who care about me in my life. I'm lucky.

Obviously, a lot of what was going on with me has to do with the loss of my friend's baby. I keep replaying the moment, six days before Claire died, when I joked with my friend that she had a daughter for both of my sons. Her daughter Emily is just a month or two younger than Brendan and Claire was two months younger than Beckett. Emily and her older sister are both beautiful, but Emily is a real charmer with a smile that lights up the room while her older sister maintains that oldest child seriousness much of the time. I just keep imagining the beautiful, sweet child Claire might have become.

So, that combined with hearing from someone I care about that I'm really selfish and a bad friend, along with seeing a bunch of old college friends, has made me start taking stock of my life and some of the things I'd like to do but haven't yet.

I'm giving serious consideration to running in a half-marathon as a result. Of course, I've only been considering it for the last 24 hours or so after receiving an e-mail about this organization from my friend Susan. Susan suggested that members of our college class run the Nike Women's Half-Marathon in San Francisco together. It just struck me as a really cool goal to set for myself. A place to get to.

The problem is that I do not run. I've never been much of an athlete, but I'm thinking that can change. Maybe it should change.

Any runners out there who'd like to offer an opinion? Any advice on how to get started? Should I try to run with the 55 lbs. worth of kids plus a 20 lb. jogging stroller or without? Am I crazy to think I can start running now when I never have before?

Let me know what y'all think...

April Come She Will: The Perfect Post Awards

It's that time again...the beginning of the month and time for the Perfect Post Awards.

My nominee for April is this post, written by A. at A., Woman of Independent Means.

In the post, A. describes the remarkable journey from dreaming a child to nurturing it as she celebrates her sixth anniversary as a mother. I believe her description of her personal journey to and through the process of birthing and breastfeeding two children holds a very valuable lesson for anyone who is a mother, wants to be a mother, or loves a mother.

Motherhood is a blessing. But it is a blessing that requires commitment and self-sacrifice which often goes unnoticed and unrecognized by society and even by the people around us. While motherhood often exposes us to challenges we never considered, it also holds the promise of great personal accomplishment as we surmount obstacles and achieve goals we never realized we had set for ourselves. Rather than downplaying those accomplishments as women (especially mothers) are wont to do, it is important to acknowledge, recognize, and celebrate those personal successes just as we would celebrate the achievement of goals in other realms of our life. Important to our own self-worth and important to other mothers everywhere whose work is often overlooked and under-appreciated.

Fair play to you, A....for your personal accomplishments and for helping the rest of us realize that the goals we set and reach as mothers (even the goals we didn't realize we had) matter as much as other accomplishments.

You can check out all the Perfect Post nominees over at Suburban Turmoil or Petroville.

Live Through This

Early Friday morning, the beautiful 2-month old daughter of one of my friends died of SIDS. Claire was one of the sweetest little babies I've ever known. The fourth child, third daughter, she was loved, not only by her parents, but by all of us who have had the opportunity to know her family. They're really an amazing family.

The entire weekend was awful for me. It was my 15th college reunion and even while I was with my college friends, catching up, laughing, smiling, talking, drinking, I felt like I might just collapse from the weight of this pain and my guilt at any moment.

How? Why? It doesn't matter. The death of a child always seems tragic. But a baby, so innocent and pure and healthy. There's no way to make sense of it, but I think it's just so incomprehensible that something like this could happen. And no one knows what to do with it. How to act or be, what to say. What can you say?

I feel guilty and angry and so, so, so sad for my friends.

I Had a Real Good Mother & Father

So, after writing my earlier post and getting my fears out in the open and out of my system (for the most part), I read this post over on A.'s blog. I'm certainly not as extreme as the parents described in the article, but I definitely have my moments of overparenting as evidenced by, oh, about half the posts on this blog.

Like A., I, too, read every parenting book I could get my hands on and wondered how anyone could not have an opinion on certain parenting issues. I don't really care what anyone's opinion is, necessarily, but I do feel like a certain amount of thoughtfulness should be applied to parenting. Unfortunately, for me, I feel like I went too far, weighing every decision like my child's life (and my reputation as a parent) depended on it.

Having Beckett has definitely mellowed me. I don't have time to weigh each and every choice I make. Sometimes I have to give Brendan cold cereal for breakfast. Sometimes he watches too much t.v. Sometimes he stays up too late. But I'm not beating myself up for those choices any more. I don't even feel like they're mistakes anymore. They are just a few options among many.

As I've said before, most of the parents I know are just trying to do the best job they can. It has taken me a while to get here, and I'm sure I may backslide, but for now at least, I feel like we're doing okay. Brendan may never have taken a single Gymboree or Kindermusik or other class. But he's happy. And he has a fantastic imagination and wickedly funny sense of humor.

Now, if I can control my impulse to project onto my boys the qualities that I admire and which drive me, we may just be okay after all.

Dizzy Miss Lizzy

Do you ever have so much going on (in your life, in your head, in your heart) that you just don't know what to write about or where to begin?

That's kind of...No, that is how I feel right now.

We've been so busy and active the last few weeks. Scott's music. I've had a freelance project or two. I'm still working on the wedding I'm directing in June. I'm trying to figure out what to do for childcare this summer so I can work while Brendan's not in preschool. My 15-year college reunion is this weekend and I kind of forgot about it. I knew it was coming, but it snuck up on me.

I'm also trying to convince myself that sending Brendan to a public 5-day pre-K program in the fall is the right thing to do even though I want to keep him a baby, my baby, for as long as possible. I feel like 5-day public school will be the death knell for his innocence. I sound like a snob, but I really don't want my baby being exposed to a bunch of ruffian bad boys and I think that's what most boys aged 5-12 tend to be. And those are exactly the kids he'll be around at public school. Brendan is sweet and thoughtful and sensitive and I don't want that taken away from him, nor do I want him bullied for having those traits.

The other option is to keep him in the private preschool where he is now for pre-K. I guess I should do a pro-con list. Our neighborhood school really is excellent. I guess I'm just being a worried, overprotective mama.

And in other news...Both the boys have been super cute and sweet. Beckett really is taken with his older brother. It's absolutely the sweetest thing I've ever seen. If Beckett is crying and I can't get him to settle, Brendan will say, Maybe he wants me. And lo and behold if that baby doesn't stop crying and break out into the biggest grin you've ever seen when big brother comes around. I love it. It really is so beautiful to see the love growing between the two of them. And it makes Brendan so happy to think that he's responsible for helping make his brother happy. Who knew?

For the most part, things are good. There are a couple of things I'd love to talk about, but just can't. I can't put that much of myself out there right now. Maybe someday.

This is How It Goes

Scott played his last show for a few weeks last night at Inman Perk, a coffeehouse in the Inman Park neighborhood. His show was great; he played two songs he hadn't played live in 10 years and sounded great. His harmonica playing was fantastic. The only issue was the actual space. It's not entirely conducive to good listening, the floor space was weird. I don't know. I guess I need to figure out what I'm doing in terms of booking for the next round of shows and check places out a little more thoroughly. The next show is a house concert and I'm looking forward to that one. But, as far as last night goes I'll just chalk it up to a learning experience.

It just had the feeling of a weird night for me. Or rather, it was a weird night.

The group of friends who came out to see Scott play was interesting. Scott's cousin and her husband; an old co-worker of Scott's and his wife; a former bandmate and wife; plus two of Scott's current friends from work. Oh, and Scott's friend Mark. It was pretty cool to have such an interesting mix of people brought together. As always, it was great to see folks we haven't seen in a while. But it was also a little stressful bringing such a diverse crowd together. You never know if people will click or if it will be silent and awkward. Fortunately, no fist fights erupted and everyone seemed to enjoy his or herself.

Today was rough. I was tired and weepy for no obvious reason. I guess it's hormones. I don't know what else it could be.

Oh, but tomorrow is another day. Let's just see how it goes.

Funny How Time Slips Away

It's a little crazy to me to think how quickly the years have flown by, but Scott and I have now been married seven years. It really has flown by. I feel like we just got married, although our lives are so completely different than they were when we were getting married. The things I worry about now so different than the concerns I had back then.

Our actual anniversary fell on Easter Sunday. Not exactly the best time to celebrate an anniversary, so we went on Saturday night instead. We spent the weekend with Scott's mom and she kept the boys Saturday night while we went to a Montgomery Biscuits game. That's right. The best name in Minor League baseball. Ever.

Had it not been 20-some-odd degrees outside that night and blustery, it would have been grand. As it was, it was still pretty fun. Scott's brother has a few connections and so we ended up in the Mayor's box with seats adjacent to the swanky enclosed box. One of the other city departments was borrowing it that night, so there was no fancy food, but that's just as well because as we discovered, they actually serve my favorite food...biscuits. How awesome is that? The Montgomery Biscuits have chicken biscuits at their games!!

Of course, they have the more traditional baseball fare of hot dogs, brats, peanuts, popcorn, cracker jack, etc. But I was pretty happy with my chicken biscuit.

And with my honey. Despite the cold weather and very strange company we had a good time. In fact, we've enjoyed so much one-on-one time lately between our NY trip, our anniversary date, and Scott's gigs that I'm starting to feel human -- and, perhaps more important -- like a woman again. Having kids is great, but I didn't realize it meant sacrificing all the great things about why you got married in the first place. And I think we are both realizing now that you don't have to. It doesn't make you a bad parent to pay more attention to your marriage and a little less to your kids. In fact, I think if it makes your marriage stronger or reinforces it against the forces of life, then it makes you a better parent. I think it's also important to give your kids a sense of what makes a happy marriage and spending time with your partner is pretty high up there.

I've never really understood couples who never did things together. I'm not advocating spending every minute with your partner; you'd have nothing to contribute. But we know couples who never do anything together, but are constantly going out with friends. I think we both do a couple of things a month in the evenings solo or with friends while the other cares for the kids and until recently when we found some decent sitters, it was pretty depressing knowing that the one evening a month we could spend away from home we'd have to do without each other.

Thankfully, we seem to have crossed some hurdle in finding reliable sitters and getting Scott's mom to work with us to keep her grandsons. Hopefully I am not jinxing us by writing about it.

Wild Night

And I wonder how it is that this girl ended up on drugs. Seriously, some people should never become parents and I think this girl's mom and dad probably belong in that category. Idiots.

With a Little Help from My Friends

When I set out to write a blog, my only real intent, or rather the foundation of what I was doing, was simply to have an outlet.

I found motherhood so isolating and life-changing (duh!) that I had to find a way to explore my own essence, the little bits and bobs of who I am that come to the surface through personal writing. I realized that the hopes and dreams of the life left unrealized, along with the frustrations of the life I chose, were grinding me down and somewhere along the line I just didn't feel like me anymore. Hell, I didn't even look like me, but it took me three years to realize that. Blogging gave me a way to draw my own map out of the darkness, a light to shine on the parts of me I'd just as soon keep hidden so that I could scour them clean, repair them, or cast them aside.

At some point, I realized that there were other women out there who felt in ways very much as I did. By blogging I was not only adding my voice to the chorus of joy and woe being sung by countless other mom and dad bloggers, but I was also giving a voice to those not yet ready to share their own experiences.

In reading other blogs, I found hope and encouragement. At times I've read things that broke my heart, others that made me laugh out loud. Many, many blog entries have made me pause to appreciate this life of mine and the many blessings in it, while others have made me yearn ever more for the freedom I gave up to become a parent. The one thing the blogs I enjoy most have in common is the way they make me feel connected to humanity as a whole.

I know. It's crazy. A little mawkish, perhaps. But honest and real.

When I read that A.'s children aren't sleeping either, it allows me to see that I'm not the only one and serves as a reminder, that like millions of mothers before us, both she and I will survive this time in our lives as difficult as it is. And when I see Evilynmo's list of the seven songs she's currently into, it gives me a peek into the life and interest of someone else and opens my eyes (and ears) to new possibilities. It's the same way I feel when I read cable & tweed. I may not listen to half the stuff I read about or go to any of the shows listed, but reading the blog keeps me aware of all the possibilities and who wouldn't want to do that?

Where am I going with all this?

When I first started to write, I often wondered what the hell I was doing. I wondered if anyone would ever read what I wrote and if they did what they would think. I wavered between thinking it didn't matter what anyone thought and actively hoping someone, anyone, would read my blog and react positively to it.

Right now, a friend of mine, who writes a killer blog is thinking of dropping it because he's not sure that it's relevant or that anyone will want to read it. Other friends suggested that his interests are too specific and only people interested in the same stuff would want to read it. At least that's what I took from the e-mail he sent me today.

The thing is neither of us knew the other had a blog until yesterday. I sent him a link to my entry about my NY trip because I was short of time, but wanted to share what happened with him. In turn, he told me about his blog and what's going on.

I think it would be a shame if he quit blogging. Of course, he may convert it all into a web site that is less personal and more focused on his musical interests and that's fine. I just would hate for him to be discouraged and think it's not worth blogging because someone thinks his interests are too narrow.

That's such a big part of why I read blogs. I love taking a peek into the lives of others and seeing how they're not only similar to mine, but different. It makes life far more interesting and rich and varied. I was so happy to read Jeremy's blog and get a peek into what he's reading and listening to; hearing stories about his son.

This was a long and roundabout way of saying thank you to all the wonderful bloggers that help me keep it real even if they don't know they're doing so. And an even longer way of saying to a friend that what you're doing really does matter.

Words

Many moons ago, I wrote about some of Brendan's cuter malapropisms and unique word creations, my favorites being rainbrella (umbrella) and piratescope (telescope).

Today, he sprang a new one on me...detectafying glass for magnifying glass. I think it's awesome that the words he makes up really get to the actual use of the item or what he perceives as the use. Pirates use telescopes. Detectives use magnifying glasses. You use umbrellas when it rains.

He's very practical that way. Or literal, I guess. He also just told me, in reference to Porky Pig, that Porky sounds like a name for a porcupine. Of course, he also calls the Tasmanian Devil the Great Devil, which, for some reason, I find very amusing. Maybe they have it all wrong in the Middle East and we're not the Great Satan after all. They've got the wrong guy...it's him they're after.

Black River

Scott on Upper West Side
Originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

Here's one of Scott outside Z's apartment. Her street was lined with trees covered in white lights. It was like a fairyland.

It reminded me, for some reason, of the first line of Scott's song, Black River.

I think this song might have been Scott's greatest success of the night as several people commented on how pretty it was.

Knoxville Girl

Chris playing Knoxville Girl
Originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

I'm putting up some more pics from Friday night. Here's one of Chris playing Knoxville Girl while Scott and C. look on.

Scotch and Chocolate

Scott and Chris playing
Originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

Where to begin describing one of the best nights of your life?

Maybe at the beginning?

Our original reason for traveling to New York this past weekend was to attend a dinner party hosted by our friend Z.

Z. is an old friend of Scott's from college, actually an old girlfriend. And a really amazing person. She's smart, beautiful, works for a prestigious magazine, and travels among New York's most urbane, sophisticated circles.

Z organized a dinner and music night for Friday evening and we couldn't pass up the opportunity. It was a unique opportunity for us to mingle with a host of individuals from the art world including photographer Dudley Reed, the painter Steve Ellis (who is also one heck of a guitar player), along with half a dozen or so other editors, gallery owners, and random famous people.

The focus of the night was on good food and great music featuring the playing of Grammy-award winning mandolin player and Nickel Creek member Chris Thile; his girlfriend C, who has the voice of an angel and plays ukulele and banjo; Scott, who played several of his new songs; and Steven, who has an extensive knowledge of American bluegrass and traditional music.

Scott and I were the first to arrive at Z's. We came bearing a bottle of Bowmore Darkest Scotch and visited with Z and her beau, W., an architect, and very good cook.

Soon the other guests began to arrive and we all began shuffling around trying to find a place to land. Scott and I ended up in a corner, opposite the front door, talking with Steven and W. about Chapel Hill, New Orleans, and, naturally, music.

We soon realized what a great decision it was to bring the Bowmore instead of the typical bottle of wine. Everyone who came in expressed curiosity about it and ended up having a glass. Including Chris Thile.

When he came in the room and was offered a glass of Scotch, he got excited and said that it was one of his favorite single malts. He was the only one who had heard of it, and as it turns out, is quite the Scotch afficianado. He gave us a quick lesson on Islay Scotch and then we settled in to talking about everything from root canals to religion.

I was a little surprised that he sort of locked in on Scott and me right away. Then, it dawned on me that we were the youngest people in the room, other than Z. and Chris's girlfriend, C.

So.....after talking and enjoying a delicious supper of chili and salad, Z. asked the musicians to gather their instruments and get to work playing.

And play they did.

It was easily, hands down, the best night of music I've ever heard in my life.

Steven played first, playing a Robert Johnson song. Then Scott played his song Vampire. Chris jumped in and played mandolin on both of them.

Ultimately, between the four musicians, over twenty songs were played, more than a couple of hours worth of music with only a 5 or 10 minute break in between. Chris and C. sang and played a cover of The Decemberists, Yankee Bayonet. I thought my heart might just disentegrate from the sheer beauty of their harmonies on the song, not to mention Chris's delicate playing.

C. also played one of her originals that just really blew me away. Her voice is really magical and I feel honored to have had the opportunity to have heard her in such an intimate setting.

And, God! Hearing and seeing Chris play like that and on Scott's songs, too! Wow! Words can't do justice to what an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experience that was. There was just something chemical going on between the two of them. Chris really seemed to enjoy playing along on songs he had never heard before and which weren't nececssarily easy songs to play.

I am still having chills when I remember his performance on Still Life, especially when he and Scott harmonized.

Oh! And then, there was the Bach piece he played. One of the most moving experiences of hearing classical music I've ever had in my life. I hope he records it some day, because unfortunately, it has already begun to fade from my grasp.

Really, really, really just one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. I was so proud of Scott and the fact that Chris genuinely liked his songs and enjoyed playing with him. On one song, he said, Killer chorus! And at the end of the night, he told Scott that it had been a great experience to play with him. Naturally, Scott said the honor was his.

I'm still kind of stunned by the whole thing. Mostly by the fact of what a stand-up guy Chris Thile is and what a lovely person his girlfriend is. They may be the two sweetest people I've ever met. Not to mention two of the most talented.

I'm thrilled to have had the opportunity to be there with Scott as he had the chance to play with them. They all put on a terrific performance. It was hard to believe Scott had anything left the next night, but Saturday's performance might have been even better.

I'll write more about that later.

19th Nervous Breakdown

Well, last night was amazing, but I don't have time at the moment to share all the rich and glorious detail. I will write a longer post later.

Right now I'm hanging around the venue where Scott will be playing in less than one hour, while he and our friend Chris are off buying a new microphone cable.

I'm excited, but nervous. I don't know why I'm nervous when I'm not the performer, but I am. At the same time, based on Scott's talent and skill, I'm certain everything will be fine. Especially if last night's performance gives any indication of things to come.

Spiritual Regeneration

It's no great revelation that beautiful art of any sort can lift your spirit, even turning a bad day into a great one.

I recently discovered an artist online whose work really moves me. She's a collage artist who creates the most amazing pictures from torn bits of paper. Pretty cool stuff.

I'm linking to her new works, but I love her abstract and conceptual pieces as well.

Check her out....

Eileen Downes.

Hope you enjoy!

New York, New York

So, we're going to try this out of town thing again...

Our friend Chris asked Scott to come play as the inaugural performer for an acoustic music series at CRS, a spiritual community arts center founded by Chris and his partner, Yasuko. Scott will be playing at CRS on Saturday night at 8 p.m.

Can I just say how excited I am?

I think there are a few of you out there reading this who live in New York or nearby who might be interested in seeing Scott play. Please come. You can order tickets online through the CRS web site. And if you're not in New York but have your peeps up there, let them know, too. The more, the merrier.

Road to Joy

This weekend was one of those busy, crazy, hectic, joy-filled weekends that leaves you both a little empty-sad and relieved when it's over.

On Saturday, we had Beckett baptised at our church. It was a little strange. My favorite deacon performed the ceremony, but it still felt rushed and sloppy, where Brendan's -- held during a mass and performed by our priest -- seemed magnificent.

It makes me extremely sad that the priest at our church has decided he has no time for children or their concerns and that baptisms, one of the most beautiful and basic of the sacraments, is treated almost as an afterthought.

Still, Beckett, borne of an act of love and joy, received an act of original blessing. and has begun his walk of faith. I hope that I can instill in him a love of God and a belief in the miracles that surround us. I pray he finds great joy in this life. Joy in the smallest things, as well as the great moments of life.

I hope Beckett knows the kind of joy and love and pride I felt Saturday night watching his dad play and sing before a packed house at our local coffeehouse. He was brilliant. Just brilliant. He played for almost two full hours. It was actually the first time I had ever seen him perform live. I mean, I've seen him play at parties at our house, at weddings and rehearsal dinners, at events for just family and friends. But, I'd never seen him play an actual show for paying (or tipping) customers before. It was very cool! And, very hot!

I also hope he enjoys a loving, joyful relationship with his godparents...his Aunt Kimberly, Uncle Greg, and our friend J.Ed. They are all such unique, special people and we are blessed to have them be a part of our lives. Kimberly is sweet and gentle and loving in her own, special way. Greg is charming and kind of funny. J.Ed is smart, and funny, and kind. Like I said, they are very special, unique individuals who will bless our child in their own ways.

Mostly, I really just hope he knows love. With enough love, I believe anyone can find their path in life and walk in the light.
With enough love, anyone can find their own road to joy.

Heroes

I'm not sure that it would be an exaggeration to say that the doctors and nurses who treated Beckett in the ER on Friday saved his life. I know they told me that if I had not brought him in when I did he would have stopped breathing. Pretty scary.

I'm thankful it's over, but the whole experience made me see how lucky I am...how many truly wonderful blessings there are in my life, my sons and husband chief among them.

It also made me deeply appreciative of the fact that I live in a city that boasts not just one, but three, children's hospitals. Amazing.

I guess technically, now, there are really just three different campuses belonging to the same hospital, Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. However, each facility began as a unique children's hospital or medical program in its own right. Egleston was your basic children's hospital that was founded by a wealthy man who was his mother's only surviving child, his four siblings succumbing to early childhood diseases. Hughes Spalding was a hospital for the children of African-American families who could afford to pay for healthcare; and Scottish Rite began as a rehabilitation facility for children of all races whose families could not afford long stays in other hospitals.

Few places actually even have a dedicated children's hospital, leaving kids to receive treatment from doctors and nurses who aren't always trained to treat their small patients.

Both of my boys have been treated in the Egleston ER now and Brendan has had surgery at Scottish Rite. I can't imagine their having to go through that at a hospital catering to adults. It's such a scary thing, yet all the caregivers at Children's really are focused on helping the children through the process. And their parents as well.

I don't think I dealt with one person, from the intake coordinators to the doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists, who was impatient, short-tempered, or ugly. I certainly have met doctors, nurses and others like that in the hospitals I've been in as a patient. It was so calming and refreshing not to have to deal with anything extraneous when my son was sick.

I hope we never have cause to visit Children's again. But, I'm very glad to know it's there. I'm also glad to know that it's there even for families who cannot afford routine healthcare. We're very fortunate to have insurance; not everyone is. And for those families, Children's provides close to $80 million a year in medical care that it doesn't recover.

When she was sitting with me in the ER the other day, the hospital chaplain suggested I remember the words of the hymn, What a Friend We Have in Jesus as a comfort while sitting with my sick child.

I say, what a friend we have in Children's.

Mysterious Ways

What a very long week it was and most of it for naught.

My mother-in-law has never kept Brendan overnight. That was all about to change last weekend, but, alas, it was not meant to be.

My mother-in-law works at a school and was or is on spring break this week. She offered to watch both Brendan and Beckett so that Scott and I could have a very much needed weekend away. I made last minute travel plans to a resort on the Outer Banks, scheduling a romantic couples' massage in a spa overlooking the Currituck Sound. We were looking forward to the nine hour drive so that we could talk and listen to music without interruption. I was looking forward to sleeping late and for two days not having to do anything for anyone else but myself. And really, mostly, just looking forward to talking to my husband without having to stop every five minutes to say, Please, say excuse me. or No, not right now. Please wait just a minute while I talk to your dad..

We had made all the arrangements and were so excited. All I had to do on Friday after dropping Brendan off at preschool was come home and pack our suitcases. One for us, one for the boys.

But there it was...that nagging wheeze that Beckett has had off and on since January. He had a little bit of it Thursday night, but Friday morning it was so loud I could hear above the car radio. And he just didn't seem like himself. My hungry little caterpillar only took 4 oz. of his bottle when normally he wants a full 6 oz. on top of nursing.

Mother's intuition said I should take him to the pediatrician just to be sure before leaving him with my mother-in-law for the weekend. So, after dropping Brendan off, I popped into the pediatrician's office. It's right around the corner from the preschool. I asked the nurse to listen to him and five minutes later we're in the exam room. The doctor comes in listens for a minute and tells me I will not be going on vacation after all. Two breathing treatments later and the doc is telling the nurse to call an ambulance to come take my little guy to the children's hospital. Whoa! This was not what was supposed to be happening!

They were supposed to tell me I was overreacting and that he was fine!

I talked the doctor into letting me drive Beckett the 10 min. to the ER. We were there until 3 p.m. when they finally admitted Beckett to the hospital. He had four breathing treatments in the ER and was put on oxygen. They could never get his blood oxygen level to stay above the 80s without oxygen. The wonderful ER doc told me that if I had waited just a few more hours to take Beckett to the doctor that I would have had to call 911. It was all very scary.

Of course, my initial reaction was disbelief and I'm sure the doctor thought I was a terrible mother for asking him if he was sure we wouldn't be leaving and that I wouldn't be taking my trip. The first trip alone in 5 years. The last time Scott and I took a trip alone together was to NYC in May 2002 and Brendan was conceived on that trip.

In fact, I know the doctor must have thought I was a terrible person because despite how nice and consoling he was to me, becasue he did have the chaplain come in to talk to me....a woman much younger than myself with no kids who had the audacity to ask me if I was mad at my baby for getting sick!

Now, they may have had her come in because of the seriousness of the situation. Scott and I were at one point discussing whether or not we should have a priest come from our church to baptise and anoint Beckett. But, it felt like they had her come in to talk to the crazy lady who was disappointed that her trip was ruined.

Still, I wasn't angry at my child and can't believe someone would think that. I was angry at the nice Presbyterian chaplain for suggesting that and angry at God for his terrible sense of humor. In hindsight, though, I realize that God may have actually used this to save Beckett and his brother from something even worse.

After spending Friday night and most of Saturday in the hospital, Beckett was able to go home Saturday night around 8 p.m. He was doing much better, but we are having to give him breathing treatments at home every 4 to 6 hours.

When I called my mother-in-law to tell her we were going home from the hospital, she was in tears from pain. She has kidney stones and was in such acute pain that she didn't remember talking to me when I called her yesterday to check on her.

I am terrified to think what could have happened if Brendan and Beckett had been in her care. I'm sure she would have probably called my sister-in-law to come help her, but you just never know.

It sure is strange, though, that this respiratory virus kind of came back out of nowhere, optimally timed to keep us from going out of town.

Very, very strange.

There's Always Someone Cooler Than You

So, while visiting Keziah's blog, I saw her Visual DNA and was intrigued. Naturally, I had to get my own. Here it is:

Read my VisualDNA™     Get your own VisualDNA™

I'm surprised at how accurate the analysis is. It's just a fun little thing to do. Of course, it really bugs me that none of the apostrophes show up in the text. What's that all about? Is someone apostrophobic?

Ghost World

I haven't blogged much about this because it's such a personal issue (as if breastfeeding isn't?). That said, I kind of feel like I need to mention this, even though I feel much better today.

Beginning at about four weeks post partum, I started having some serious emotional issues. Emotional as in I couldn't stop crying and felt crazed. I felt as if my world were caving in. The baby was fine. He was great. A sweet and gentle little soul who was, and still is, really, easy breezy. We had no trouble with sibling issues, although Brendan did suffer a stomach virus the second or third week of Beckett's life.

Eventually, when I had my melt down and ended up so sick a few weeks ago, my doctor prescribed an anti-anxiety medicine. It seems to be working or did. However the last several days I've been very emotional again. Yesterday, I felt as if my body were an empty shell and I (my soul or being) was floating outside of it, watching all that was going on, but not really feeling anything at times. When I did feel as if I were present, all I could do was cry. I was also very anxious and stressed out. Brendan wanted to climb on me while I was working on my computer and I had to tell him to get off of me because having anyone touch me made me feel like crawling out of my skin.

I know that when a baby is weaning your hormones can get out of whack again. I wonder if Beckett's little nursing strike initiated that process.

Speaking of which, we saw his pediatrician yesterday. She is one of the leading breastfeeding advocates in our area (won't give out formula samples or coupons, etc.) and she thinks it's time for me to give it up. She told me that she thinks I need to stop for my own sanity, that the hormonal changes caused by breastfeeding are not good for me and that I just need to make the decision to wean and get through the difficult emotional phase that accompanies it.

I don't know how I feel about that. Maybe that's why I feel so empty.

Rufus Is a Tit Man

Beckett, however...not so much.

It's hard for me to believe that this is happening already, but sadly, my baby boy seems ready to wean. He'll be three months old in two days. It's too soon. I'm simply not ready. But he is, pulling away, struggling, getting angry and frustrated each time I put him to the breast. For the last three days, every time I've tried to nurse him he has given it a lame, half-hearted effort, nursing but a few minutes before patently rejecting me and the nourishment my body offers up.

Before having a baby, I never realized what a complex, challenging, and emotional act breastfeeding could be. I had never known anyone who breastfed their babies or if I did, I never paid much attention. When I got pregnant, I read copious volumes on breastfeeding. I received instruction from our doula who even brought a doll for me to practice with. I thought nothing could be more natural than a mama nurturing her tiny babe with her own mother's milk. And, of course, I believed that breastfeeding was the right and only way...everything I read said so. Everything I read said what a terrible mother I'd be if I gave my child formula.

Of course, it probably goes without saying that I had trouble breastfeeding Brendan. He couldn't latch on, I wasn't producing milk. He became jaundiced and the pediatrician had him on formula before we even left the hospital. We struggled for 12 weeks of me feeling like total shit because I was a failure as a mother. At least that's how I felt because my body wouldn't do the one thing I thought should come so naturally. And the La Leche League told me so. Not in those exact words, of course. Actually, what the LLL representative told me when I called for advice was You're poisoning your baby by giving him formula. The alternative? Not give him anything other than the tiny bit of milk I was producing and eventually my milk would come in.

Finally, on the day he was baptised, the day he turned 12 weeks old, Brendan flat out refused to take the breast again. I was a little sad as it was a bit of a surprise. I was committed to continuing to try. But, after the long struggle, it was also a bit of a relief. I still felt like an abject failure at mothering, but at least it was over.

This time the breastfeeding has gone smoothly and been a joy despite the fact that I have had to supplement. This time the problem wasn't that my body didn't cooperate, but rather that we just had a very hungry boy whose metabolism required more nourishment than I could provide. We made it for two full weeks before adding formula to our routine. Beckett has nursed well and seemed content up until this week. Now, here we are, right at 12 weeks, and the little man suddenly seems to look at me the way I look at Brussels sprouts.

I feel like I gave it my best try this time and unlike with Brendan, I am planning to try nursing him one last time, a chance to say goodbye to a ritual, a gift, that has meant everything to me. I no longer feel like a failure as a mother and I am grateful to God and my baby for giving me that.

Still, knowing he's my last, it would have been nice if he could be my baby just a little longer.

That Party

You know....The Ultimate Blog Party over at 5 Minutes for Mom. Drop by, listen to some tunes, meet some new friends, say hey to your hostesses with the mostest, Janice and Susan, and visit for a while.

You can check out the best mom-owned stores, a vast array of mom blogs covering wide-ranging lifestyles and interests; get tips on organizing your home and life; and much more, of course. You can even add a link to your own blog if you like.

So, come on. What are you waiting for? Join the partay!

Xmas in February -- The Perfect Post Awards

This month, for the first time, I am participating in the Perfect Post Awards, put on by Lindsey at Suburan Turmoil and MommaK at petroville.

The purpose of the PPAs is to recognize all of the fantastic writing being done by bloggers across the Internet. The idea is for each participant to choose the one post that most moved her or him the previous month. It can be a post that made you laugh out loud, made you cry, moved you to action, or got under your skin in some way.

My selection for February's Perfect Post is The Maggie List, over at championable.com.

I think there's so much snarkiness out there on the Web (and the world in general) and it just gets old. I really get sick of cynicism and sarcasm and everyone's efforts to be the coolest kid in school. It's just really nice to see someone being honest and sincere, talking about real feelings, and appreciating the gifts that have been given to him.

The way Rich talks about his wife Maggie in this post made me so happy. It made me stop and think about all the really wonderful things my husband does and is and helped me remember just how lucky I am to be loved and to have someone to love.

It would be nice if we never needed to be reminded to appreciate the good things in life, especially the good people who love us no matter what. But sometimes we need a little nudge. And I thought Rich's celebration of his love for Maggie was just a really perfect reminder for the rest of us, and the perfect post for the month when we celebrate love.

Solitude Standing

Wow! I can't remember the last time I experienced this... Practically alone and relaxed in my own house, listening to music of my choosing at this time of the evening. This is generally the most stressful part of my day...the getting dinner, getting boy ready for bed, adults trying to talk to one another about their days and relax, time of day.

Scott's working late. Brendan's fed, bathed, and in bed (almost asleep, I think!). Beckett's napping peacefully after not napping all day! I have a pan of penne al' arriabata with sausage simmering on the stove, garlic bread in the oven, and a salad with a lemon and olive oil dressing on the table. I'm sipping a glass of shiraz and writing. My house is mostly clean. Not perfect, but better than it's been since Beckett was born. It's all good. Mostly.

I do hate that Scott is having to work late for him. He's been working incredibly long hours as his team gets ready to launch a new product.

But, I am thankful to have this moment of peace and calm for myself right now.

They are few and far between.

Girl Blue

I never even realized I wanted a daughter until I heard the words It's a boy!. The first time I heard the words, when I was pregnant with Brendan, I was elated. I knew I wanted my firstborn to be a boy no matter what.

Still, I came home and took the little blue dress my mother had saved all those years out of my cedar chest and sat on the floor and cried, knowing in my heart that it would never be worn again.

Almost exactly one year earlier I had lost a baby, having a miscarriage at just 10 weeks. My doctor performed a D & C and sent the tissue off for analysis to determine what had caused the miscarriage. One of the things we learned was that this baby had been a girl. Apparently, the girl of dreams I didn't even know I had.

When I got pregnant last year, my hopes battled against one another. On the one hand, I had never really visualized myself having a daughter. I'm not really a girly-girl, and my own relationship with my mother was a roller coaster of angst that always left me envying the relationships my friends had with their mothers. When I saw myself with a child, it was always a sweet, loving little boy. But, usually only the one. Yet, there was some sense there of wanting to experience raising both sexes. This, despite the fact that I hate Barbie and princess stories, and the whole nine yards that's wrapped up into having a girl these days.

But when I again learned I was having a son, I was happy. Really happy. Happy that Brendan was having a brother. Happy that I had experience with a son. Happy that I didn't have to start from scratch. But, at the same time, I was heartbroken.

Sons really love their moms in a way that daughters never will. But daughters need their moms in ways that sons never can and I'm never going to know that.

I will never get to decorate a room that doesn't involve planes, trains, automobiles, diggers, bulldozers, insects, lions, the Atlanta Braves, Falcons, or sports in general.

I will never experience dance lessons. Or help my daughter learn to wear make-up. Or hear about a first crush.

I will never help my daughter pick out a prom dress. Or buy children's shoes that are any color other than white, brown, red, black, or grey, or used for any purpose except to learn to walk or run up and down a field or (hopefully!) basketball court. If I'm lucky, I can get them both into a pair of saddle shoes at Easter. Just for something different.

I will never help plan a wedding for my daughter. I will never get to see her try on a wedding gown for the first time or have anyone to wear the wedding gown that still hangs in my closet. I will never put the pearl necklace I wore at my wedding around her neck.

I'll never get to see Scott whisper sweet, funny, words of wisdom to his only girl just before he walks her down the aisle.

My daughter will never call me and ask me what to do about a colicky baby or ask me to be with her when she has my first grandchild.

The best I can hope for is that my sons marry girls who like me and invite me to be a part of their lives in some way.

Good luck with that.

(And all of this just because a friend had her fourth baby last week. The third girl. Named one of the perfect beautiful names on my short list.... Clare.)

Reasons Why

After 2 1/2 hours in the ER at the Children's Hospital, Scott asked Brendan who his valentine was. Without missing a beat, Brendan gushes Mommy!, looking at me with his big, gorgeous blue eyes and smiling a smile that could melt Antarctica. Then, he runs over and gives me what he would characterize as a ginormous hug.

Somehow, that makes it all good.

Big Brother

Yesterday did not go quite as planned.

We spent three hours in the ER at Egleston Children's Hospital so that we could learn Beckett has a cold. News we've known for over a month now.

I took him to his pediatrician yesterday because he was wheezing. His doctor has always told me that if the child is wheezing or pulling in at the rib cage when he breathes, you should bring him in. So I did. After examining him, the doctor decided to do a breathing treatment. Nothing changed. She told me his lungs sounded terrible and she wanted him to go to the ER for a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia.

The whole process was actually much smoother than you imagine going to the ER will be. There was one thing that impressed me more than anything else about it all, though, and that was how well both boys did.

During the breathing treatment at the pediatrician's office, Brendan asked me if Beckett was scared and then proceeded to hold his baby brother's hand for at least five out of the ten minutes he had to wear the mask. When I sang a lullaby to comfort Beckett during the treatment, Brendan joined in, making up his own words as he sang along.

Scott met me at the hospital, originally planning to take Brendan home, but he was so well-behaved that the two stayed, adding comic relief to what would otherwise have been a long and boring process.

Brendan did so well and was so patient waiting that the nurses and technicians were jumping over themselves to give him stickers and little gifts. And he was such a sweet big brother that he asked his dad if he could share his stickers with Beckett.

I never knew or imagined that love between siblings was so organic and would come so naturally to a child. But with Brendan it has just blossomed ever so magically. I can only think of one moment of jealousy from him since Beckett was born. Otherwise, he has been sweet and funny and helpful as much as a child his age can be.

I am in awe of their love for one another. We're starting to see how Beckett reacts to his big brother...ocassionally annoyed by having someone touching him and in his face, alternately amused by his brother's antics. In fact, Beckett laughed at his brother, out loud, for the first time on Tuesday night. I didn't get to see it because I was out meeting with a client, but Scott got to see it and told me about it yesterday.

It's all very cool. Being an only child I had no idea how this whole sibling thing works. I've seen too many siblings who don't get along and wondered what the magic secret to loving siblings is. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe it just happens. Maybe, like with any love, it's chemistry. I don't know. But it sure is cool to see it blossom before your very eyes.

Shot of Love

Valentine's Day has never been a huge deal to me. I'd much rather celebrate my birthday or a friend or loved one's birthday or an anniversary of a special occasion.

Scott and I have always done small, sweet things for each other on Valentine's Day, the grand gestures reserved for occasions unique to us and our relationship. Like last year, when on the 10th anniversary of the day we met, he recorded a version of my favorite Beatles' song, Michelle, and gave it to me.

On our first Valentine's Day, when we'd been dating slightly less than one month, Scott brought me three yellow roses in a small vase along with a mixed tape of music he felt passionately about: Allen Toussaint on one side and Blind Willie McTell on the other. I loved it! It stands out for me more than any other Valentine's Day gift I've ever received or given. In fact, I can't really remember any others even though I know lots of other sweet things have been done for me on Valentine's Day along the way.

Still, music is so much a part of our relationship and when he shares music with me, it's...well, it's the thing I love most. It makes me feel a part of him because music is not merely a part of Scott's life or somethign he does, it is simply who he is...an amazingly gifted musician.

He's been in various bands for a long, long time, singing and writing really great songs the whole time. Right now he's working on an album and it's really great.

Anyway, my plans for sharing music with him this Valentine's Day got shot down, but I hope the fact that I don't have a gift for him is made up for by this...

Yesterday, I took a CD to a local coffee house that has music on the weekends and now Scott is booked to play there next month. I'm excited! Obviously, this isn't a gift. It is something Scott earned by virtue of his talent and the work he has put into creating new music. It was also something I wanted to do to be a part of this exciting, creative process. It took me way too long to get around to doing it, but I'm glad I did.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all! I hope everyone feels loved today! I love you all!

The Shape I'm In

If I ever doubted the connection between the body and the mind (which I didn't), I would now be completely convinced that the two are inextricably linked. Of course, I have long understood how the two are intertwined, but because I generally use my powers for good and not evil, it hasn't really been an issue for me.

Unfortunately, caught in the snare of postpartum depression, my addled brain has been stuck in a negative cycle, fixating on one negative issue after another: I'm old. I'm fat. My life has no meaning. I thought I'd be fulfilled as a mother, but I'm not and therefore I'm a terrible person. My life is slipping away from me while my husband is embracing his life and making amazing things happen. .

My thoughts swirl in a massive tangle of fear and anger. And then, with no warning, I'm knocked totally off my feet by the worst illness I've had in over ten years. As someone who rarely gets sick, it was quite a shock. I kept thinking I'd be better in a day or two. A week later, Scott and I were discussing who we could get to come help take care of me and the boys because I was so sick. At the doctor, I was diagnosed with the flu, a sinus infection, an eye infection, and naturally, an outbreak of fever blisters just to put the icing on the cake.

I wanted to die. Already depressed, being sick felt like the nail in my coffin. It's so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you can barely lift your head. And for someone like me who can fight through anything... It's really unnerving to feel so weak and desperate.

I'm mostly well now. I've been on antibiotics for 10 days now. My doctor also prescribed something for anxiety. He thinks that having a newborn and not getting enough sleep, not eating well, and having so much on my mind did my immune system in.

I can't really tell a difference yet. Maybe a little. Things don't seem quite as dark and dire. I am still having trouble getting everything done. We still don't have a schedule or routine established. I still feel exhausted. And like a failure as a wife and mother. And I do feel like I'm having a midlife crisis.... Who am I? What is my purpose in life? Have I screwed everything up?

But, I am trying to break free of my negative thinking, to focus on positive goals, to love my adorable new baby and be present for him and his brother and my husband. I keep waiting for the moment when I'm going to snap free and feel genuinely happy again, when life is fun again.

It's coming. And boy, am I ready.

Lost in Space

I'm still not used to the fact that we are now a family of four.

Today, I got our new insurance cards in the mail. When I opened the letter, I was confused as to why four cards fell out. Fortunately for me, the first one I picked up had Beckett's name on it, so the issue was resolved rather quickly.

Who would have thought it would take this long to adjust?

Today is the Greatest

Well. Actually, Saturday was the greatest.

Saturday was my birthday. And it started off not feeling all that special at all. But, because I have such a thoughtful, amazing, totally awesome (that phrase should tell you how old I am!) husband, it turned into a really delightful day.

I have had a lot of bad birthdays in my lifetime, or at least a lot that started off rough. I've had many that started off in the most pathetic manner you can imagine and turned out to be really fantastic. I've actually probably written about it before. When I was a kid, I never had a party. Not once, until I turned 18. That year, I planned my own party. I invited four or five of my closest friends to my house, we ordered pizza, and played Trivial Pursuit. Whoo-hoo.

So, let me just say that I am a big fan of the turnaround just because I've experienced it often enough to know that what starts off as a mess can end up being beautiful. Still, I never expect it.

Saturday really just seemed like any other day. I took Brendan to his friend Joseph's party that morning and was planning on my in-laws coming to keep both boys for a while Saturday evening while we went out. Originally, they were going to spend the night meaning that Scott and I could stay out as late as we wanted. I planned to invite some friends to go to dinner and out dancing or to a show with us. Then, on Tuesday, Scott's stepmom called to say they had to leave our house no later than 10 p.m.

Okay. So, no show, no dancing.

By Friday, I was feeling pretty bummed about the whole thing. Happy that we'd get to go out, but accepting that it couldn't be anything special because of the limited time we'd have to celebrate.

Well, leave it to Scott to make it one of the best birthdays ever.

He took on a full-fledged shopping spree. We went to Lenox Mall and he gave me three hours to go to any clothing store and buy anything I wanted. I had trouble engaging in the process. I took my time. I looked at price tags and tried to be conscious of the cost. But still! It was so much fun and such a sweet thoughtful gesture.

I got a gorgeous A-line wrap dress at Ann Taylor (my all time favorite store!) that Scott picked out for me. It's the perfect thing to wear to Beckett's baptism. I also got a very feminine sweater and a sharp wrap blouse that I can't wait to wear. I need to lose a few more pounds before it looks perfect, but what a great incentive to move quickly on that front.

I also got a softy-soft sweater from The Gap, some sexy heels from 9 West, a blouse, a book, some Aveda Comforting Tea, and Aveda Hand and Foot Lotion.

It was, hands-down, one of the best birthdays ever. Not because of the clothes. That wasn't the real gift, though it's a luxury I appreciate deeply. It was awesome because I got to spend it with Scott who acted as my personal shopper and focused solely on me for the three hours we shopped while he helped me pick out things that flattered my body and indulged my desire to feel like a beautiful, sexy, complete woman and not just a sweatpants-wearing, minivan-driving mama.

I am a lucky, lucky woman to be loved. In this way. By this man.

37 rocks.