mama, redux

Happy 2nd Birthday, Asher!

2011-11-24T00:15:00.000-08:00

I'm a couple of days late--his birthday is actually on the 22nd--but I wanted to publicly wish my sweet boy a happy 2nd birthday (this blog appears to be turning into nothing but a series of birthday posts, doesn't it? Will try to post something non-birthday related soon!)

Asher--lover of trains and cuckoo clocks and rocket ships and bed time stories and ice cream and blueberries and spinning and jumping and the letter T and Mama's milk and exploring the world--may you find the same kind of joy in your life as you have given us these past two years. We are so grateful for the wonder you bring to our lives every day.

Happy Birthday, Papa!

2011-10-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to the bravest, funniest, kindest, most thoroughly amazing 92 year old I know. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to be your daughter. Thank you for all you have taught me and continue to teach me about language and life and love.

Happy 21st Birthday, Arin!

2011-10-05T11:39:00.000-07:00

Lifting a bottle of (ginger) beer to celebrate the first day my firstborn can order a real beer. Thank you, Arin, for initiating me into motherhood with the sweetness, intelligence, humor and zest for life that's been with you from the very beginning. I am so proud of you, so filled with love for you, so lucky to be your mom.

cuckoo

2011-09-22T00:32:00.001-07:00

Asher's second love--after trains (he is utterly smitten with anything choo choo related)--is clocks. Cuckoo clocks in particular. Any time he sees a clock of any sort, he shouts "Clock!" with glee. Only he doesn't say the "L", so this can come out sounding a bit funny. He will often yell "Big c(l)ock!" if he sees a large timepiece, or "Dada c(l)ock!" whenever he looks at Michael's watch. Being the loving little guy that he is, he will sometimes blow kisses to clocks, and then loudly say "Blow c(l)ock!" or "Kiss c(l)ock!" Needless to say, some funny looks have been thrown our way.

Michael has been working with him on saying the "L" sound in clock (which Asher says with ease in other words, like "yellow" and "blue"). "Cuh-LLock" he coaches, and Asher will gamely say "cwock" in return. After yet another round of Asher crowing about "c(l)ocks" out in public, Michael told him "When you say clock that way, it means penis." Asher cracked us up by putting his hand on his head and saying "Oh my!" with adorable alarm. He has tried since then to insert the L sound into the word more often (and when he doesn't, he'll sometimes say "Cock--Penis!" with equal enthusiasm.)

Life with a toddler is wonderfully cuckoo. I'll try to do a better job of updating this blog than I have (although I can't promise anything, given the aforementioned cuckoo nature of our lives.)

I've also been wanting to thank everyone who has emailed to inquire about Michael's health. The double vision has not returned, thank goodness, although he has had some other occasionally troubling issues of a neurological nature. No diagnosis at this point, other than possible atypical migraines (which would be much better than something degenerative). He is having another MRI this Friday--please send good thoughts to his brain if you have a chance, and I'll try to keep you posted as we learn more.

Have a beautiful autumn!

Happy birthday, Mom

2011-06-01T18:14:00.000-07:00

Today would have been my mom's 72nd birthday. When I put together this little video for her 70th, I never imagined it would be her last--I'm glad we made that final birthday special for her (my sister assembled a gorgeous photo album of our mom's early years and my dad took us on a beautiful harbor cruise for brunch.) There are so many things I wish I had done differently with and for my mom, but her last birthday was thankfully not one of them.

I love you, Mom. I'm so grateful you were born.

head cases

2011-02-27T00:38:00.001-08:00

As we sat in the neurologist's office on Friday, Michael turned to me and laughed. "All three of us have something wrong with our heads," he said.

Asher's head is healing nicely, but there is still a long red semi colon stretching down his forehead. My own forehead is covered with shingles. And Michael's MRI shows three white spots on his brain, spots of demylenation that could indicate multiple sclerosis, and explain the double vision he's been troubled by most of the week.

"We're head cases," I smiled back, forcing myself to breathe through the fear building in my chest.

It's so wild how quickly life can change, how terms like MS can suddenly become part of one's daily vocabulary. When 2011 began, I said that I was hoping for a nice boring year. Uneventful. No major life changes. Life, however, has its own plans.

Just last week, I was worried about my own vision. One of my eyes was swollen shut from the shingles, lesions dotting my puffy eyelid. My doctor sent me to an opthamologist to make sure that the virus hadn't entered my eye (thankfully it hadn't.) Michael started seeing double a few days later; at first, he chalked it up to fatigue, but it started to get worse, even after a good night's sleep. Double vision has a name that's fun to say--"diplopia"--but the experience, while trippy, is not what he'd describe as fun. He found a picture online that he says captures the diplopian feeling--just looking at it made me dizzy--but after I posted it here, the site took it down and asked people not to link to it. I found the double Obama image above to replace it; it doesn't quite capture the same vertigo, but it's close.

Michael still has a bunch of tests to do, so a diagnosis has not been confirmed yet. Hopefully the double vision will fade away as quickly as it came (just as my shingles are fading away, though not as quickly as I'd like. People still look at me in alarm when I'm out in public. It's been quite interesting to witness the changing landscape of my face--another reminder of how there is so much beyond our control, so many forces at play within our skin.) Whatever the future may hold, I trust we'll get through it with love and laughter and the support of family and friends. Despite all the marks on and in our noggins, we are not truly head cases, not by a long shot. If the last couple of years have taught us anything, it's that we are more resilient than we ever could have guessed, even if sometimes we're a bit shaky on our feet. And all we can do is continue to walk forward, dance forward, together into the unknown.

falling

2011-01-17T23:04:00.000-08:00

Asher had his first serious run-in with gravity today.

We were at an open house for Growcology, a local gardening/arts/sustainability organization. It was a beautiful afternoon--I was feeling inspired as I sat in the barn, listening to speakers talk about ways they want to bring art and music and nature and community together, watching Asher play joyfully with other kids as Michael and our dear friends supervised. At some point, Asher ran down a gently sloped ramp and tumbled at the bottom. It didn't seem like too bad of a fall at first, but when we picked him up, blood was streaming down his face. There was a large gash on his forehead, but it was hard to see it clearly through the bleeding. With our friend Nancy in tow for extra support, we headed off to get it looked at.

The first Urgent Care we visited didn't accept pediatric patients until 5:30; it was about 4:20. We called our family doctor to see if the office could work Asher in before the day was over; they were booked solid, but they told us our doctor would be attending at the Urgent Care we normally use, which opens at 5, so we headed over there. Before our doctor arrived, though, a nurse took a closer look at Asher's head and said they wouldn't be able to do stitches on a baby there because they didn't have a "papoose board" to hold him down; she suggested we go to the ER. Thankfully at this point, the bleeding had pretty much stopped and Asher was acting like his normal happy self again, but the gash was pretty wide at the bottom, and we knew it required attention, so off to the ER we went.

I have never seen an ER so packed before. I have been pretty germ-phobic since Asher's birth, and bringing him with an open wound into a room full of germy people was quite unsettling, to say the least. Michael and I took turns staying outside with Asher while the other waited inside with all of the coughing, seeping Day of the Dead extras. When Asher's name was finally called, only one of us was allowed to go back with him, and because I have built-in food and comfort as a nursing mama, that one was me. We were ushered through the swinging doors to yet another waiting area made out of a tiny exam room, packed with other "Fast Track" patients with various maladies. One fellow, who was there with tingling legs, kept leaving the area and coming back with food he swiped from the "Patients' Fridge", magnanimously handing out string cheese and graham crackers to the other patients in the room. "I'm going to call you the Cafeteria Bandit," said one woman, there to see if her pneumonia had returned, as she gratefully unwrapped her string cheese. It was dinner time at this point, and most people had been waiting for hours. Asher kept tugging at the white ID bracelet they had wrapped around his ankle, but for the most part, as long as I kept singing to him and nursing him, he was doing amazingly well.

We were eventually shuttled to our own exam room, where he freaked out a bit as they cleaned his wound; Michael was allowed to join us just in time to hold Asher down--no papoose board needed, after all!--as they glued and taped his head back together. The doctor said that glue would make for less scarring than stitches. It will be interesting to see how this fall leaves its mark on our boy's sweet skin.

In the car on the way home, I thought Asher would fall asleep immediately, but he was wide awake and smiling, even hiccuping, which has always been a sign that he's having a good time. He weathered the whole incident with his usual good-naturedness; such a champ. He went to sleep after a bath and some playtime, and now we're supposed to wake him every two hours, just to make sure he's responsive, but the doctor wasn't really concerned about any real head injuries. It's just a precautionary measure, one I'm glad to take.

I did not handle the whole episode nearly as well as Asher. Nancy had to keep reminding me to breathe as we went on our help-finding odyssey. I sort of shut down at first--Michael had to keep telling me to put pressure on Asher's wound because I would kind of glaze over and let go of the tissue. Of course I am greatly relieved now--it all could have been so much worse. I honestly don't know how parents handle more serious situations. I have been watching with awe and an aching heart as Emily Rapp deals with her baby son's recent Tay-Sachs diagnosis, writing with such courage and honesty and passion, it takes my breath away. I can't even begin to imagine what she's going through--this scrape nearly did me in. I can only hope I have enough mama courage inside of me to draw upon whenever I need it. And in the meanwhile, I want to keep remembering to enjoy every moment I can with my amazing little guy, with all of those I love--we never know when one of us is going to fall.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T14:31:00.001-08:00

May this be a year of peace, health, joy, love, connection and creative fulfillment for us all!
Thank you (and happy birthday!) to soul-sister Nancy for surprising us with Baby New Year photos of Asher. :)

Happy 17th Birthday, Hannah!

2010-12-27T23:05:00.001-08:00

I love you so much, my beautiful, brilliant, hilarious daughter. May your last year as a minor be full of major creative adventure.

Yahrzeit

2010-11-29T09:42:00.001-08:00

Thank you to my amazing sister Elizabeth for creating a public memorial to mark the one year anniversary of our mother's death. So much to reflect upon, to feel, today.

The piano

2010-11-24T18:48:00.000-08:00

Last year, the house we rented in Redlands came with a piano. We were excited--Hannah had been wanting to learn to play, and we had been shopping for an affordable piano to no avail, so it was great to find a house with one already set up.

Around the time we last saw my mom alive--one year ago tonight--Hannah had been teaching herself to play "Kids" by MGMT. After my mom's death, I couldn't get the song out of my head--there are lines about "making mama so proud" that would bring me to tears, lines about a baby being born that would also move me deeply. The chords of that song reached right into my own heart and plucked some string that reverberated through my whole body.

This summer, I belly danced at the Orange County Fair. My troupe had performed there last year, and my mom had been in the audience--there are photos of her on Facebook still, clapping and looking so happy. While I was backstage this year, "Kids" came on over the loud speakers and I started to cry. My friend Nancy asked what was wrong, and I told her how that song felt so connected to my mom, how I wished she could be in the audience again. "She's here with you now," Nancy said. "She's showing you through the song." After we performed and were walking around the fair, a live band started to play that song; Nancy and I looked at each other, and I so wanted to believe that it meant my mom was there with us as we ate our corn on the cob, drank our fresh lemonade. Later in the summer, when we were shopping in Barcelona, the song came on over the sound system, and I started to cry again. My mom had so wanted to take the whole family to Spain, to explore the roots she had uncovered there. I like to think that this was her way of joining us.

About a month ago, I got a call from my former landlord, asking if we were interested in buying their piano. When we had given our notice, I had asked if they'd consider selling it, but they weren't ready to part with it at the time (it had belonged to the landlord's mother). Now that their own baby was due, they were ready to let the piano go. I wasn't sure at first--Hannah has a piano at her dad's house, where she spends most of her time now, and I didn't know if it would really get played here--but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted that piano. It felt connected to my mom, to the song, to the last night I saw her, to the way she keeps visiting me now. If I was going to have any piano in the house, I wanted it to be that one.

So now we have a beautiful Baldwin Acrosonic piano in our home, and Asher loves playing it (as you can see above). I love the way the sound rings through the house--big and rich, reverberating through my heart strings. It sounds like pain. It sounds like love.

Happy 1st Birthday, Asher!

2010-11-22T21:11:00.000-08:00

One year ago exactly, I was one hour away from giving birth to my beautiful baby Asher. How has it already been a year? How has it only been a year? Haven't I known Asher forever? Time is such a strange thing. Especially in a year like this, the most epic, transformative one of my life.

I love this picture of Asher with my dad over Asher's birthday cake--they've had such a special connection from the very beginning, and this photo captures it beautifully. As Thanksgiving approaches, I can't help but remember last year's holiday; Asher was about 90 hours old, and my dad was 90 years old. The three of us took a nap together, me between them--I have never felt myself to be "middle aged" more powerfully or sweetly than that moment, sandwiched perfectly between someone so new and someone who has seen almost a century of life. Asher's newness has brought the whole family a healing freshness that has helped us weather our season of loss.

Asher, I'm so grateful for your sweetness, your curiosity, your knowing, your humor, your pure, simple, profound love. Thank you for bringing us joy, so much light, when we've most needed it. I love how you've always loved light, from the time you were a newborn and would stare and stare at the light framed in the high bedroom window; I love how "light" is one of your first words now--you radiate it, my sweetie boy. Happy, happy birthday--I can't wait to watch you continue to grow, to learn, to shine.

"It sucks"

2010-10-22T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have been so moved by and grateful for the "It Gets Better" campaign started by Dan Savage and his husband, Terry Miller. I hope it will give countless LGBT young people the strength to get through profoundly difficult times. I wore purple on Wednesday to memorialize the young men who have recently killed themselves and support the end of anti-gay bullying; I wear a lot of purple anyway, but on that day--which was also Michael's birthday (interesting that three of the most important guys in my life have October birthdays! Happy birthday, sweetie!)--it felt especially meaningful. I was purple as Violet Beauregarde, all the way down to my skivvies. I felt as if I was wearing it to memorialize my mom, as well as the young men. I felt as if I was wearing it for everyone whose lives have been touched by suicide.

I wore purple again today--it didn't have any significance when I first got dressed, but now it feels appropriate. I found out today that a friend's father killed himself last night; earlier in the week, I learned a friend from college took his own life. My heart is aching for the families of both men, for the shock and grief and complicated emotions they are suddenly forced to face. I wish I could tell them it gets better--because it does, but then it gets worse again, and back and forth, and nothing is ever quite the same. Maybe a campaign for those who have lost loved ones to suicide could be called something like "It sucks". I think it's important to acknowledge how much it sucks, because it's not spoken about enough. It sucks big time. But you'll get through it. And you'll learn, and you'll grow even though you'll fall apart from time to time. And there will be people to support you, whether they're wearing purple or not. That's one of the biggest gifts I've received through the chaos of my mom's death--the support that's come from sometimes unexpected places. I hope that's what those touched by these recent suicides will find--steady arms to help guide them across newly unstable ground. I am reaching mine out now.

belly dance

2010-10-16T22:42:00.000-07:00

Belly dance is my salvation these days, my creative outlet, my connection to the world. Because of life with a baby, I haven't had as much time to write as I would like (or email--if I owe you an email, please know I'm not ignoring you--I'm just woefully behind.) Somehow, though, I seem to be able to find time to dance.

Until 2008, the last time I had performed as a belly dancer was when I was six months pregnant with Hannah, seventeen years ago. Then, shortly after I separated from my first husband, my incredible friend Nancy invited me to dance with her troupe. It was such a generous gesture--dance was a way for me to work through all the confusion and grief of that time, and find my way back into my body. Belly dance continues to be such a lifeline for me; the women I dance with are, too.

One of my most powerful dance experiences was last weekend, when Nancy and I performed a "pre-funeral party" for the father of a friend; George knows that he is dying, and wanted to host a celebration of his life, surrounded by his many friends and loved ones. It was such a beautiful event to begin with, and the best audience I have ever performed for--I have never felt so much love and joy radiate from a crowd before. At some point, George joined the dance (you can see him above in his motorized scooter festooned with a smiley face balloon); later we invited others to join us, as well, and most people were shy, but below you can see the young man with Downs syndrome who grabbed my hands and led us into some wonderfully spirited twirling.

Nancy had been encouraging me to choose a dance name (hers is Saahira; our troupe is Saahira's Gypsy Soul). I had originally decided upon Ghaliya, which I liked because of its similarity to Gayle, but then I learned that it is also a type of lamb stew, and it didn't suddenly didn't seem as appealing. I ended up choosing Nasheeta, "full of life", the night before we performed for George. I have to say that most of the time I don't feel so lively--I am exhausted and overwhelmed a fair amount of each day--but when I dance, the energy kicks in, and my heart opens up and I feel fully alive, so in that way, the name seemed like a good fit--certainly something to aspire to.

At George's celebration, his daughter came up to us and told us that her dad had wanted the party to be about life and she was so grateful for how much life we brought to the event. It made the name I chose feel all the more meaningful.

Lately, a snippet from a poem by Wyatt Townley has been running through my head--"We are here so briefly, weather/with bones". Why not take that brief time, this transient weather, and dance?

Happy 91st birthday, Papa!

2010-10-11T00:02:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to the most amazing 91 year old I know (it's wild that the picture above--one of my favorites--was taken 41 years ago!) I don't know how I got so lucky to be your daughter. Thank you for teaching me kindness, teaching me playfulness, teaching me goodness (not to mention the proper way to toss a salad) :). I am humbled and inspired by your example, and love you with all my heart.p.s. Your harem sends their love, too. We are all so glad you were able to come watch us dance on Saturday!

Happy 20th birthday, Arin!

2010-10-05T12:02:00.000-07:00

I can barely believe it's been 20 years since I first became a mama. Happy birthday to my amazing son, Arin. May you always be as exuberant as you are in this video (thanks to your beautiful girlfriend Prany for putting it together). I love your zest for life, your kindness, your all around wonderfulosity. Thank you for being who you are--I love watching you soar.

laying Jette to rest

2010-09-14T16:38:00.000-07:00

The real reason for our trip, of course, was to lay Michael's mom's ashes to rest. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a burial as a "laying to rest" before now; when I have seen coffins go into the ground, I've always felt a sense of panic and claustrophobia that had nothing to do with rest. When we scattered my mom's ashes in the harbor, they bloomed and billowed under water, full of motion; I can't think of them resting, per se, because they're part of something so dynamic and grand. But Jette feels at rest, at home, now.

I have never seen such a beautiful cemetery--it felt more like a garden than a graveyard, so green and lush, each family's plot surrounded by its own little row of hedges. Michael tells me that when he visited Denmark as a child, his mother would always take them to the cemetery to visit the family plot; his great grandfather had been the mayor of Struer and has an impressive headstone (which you can see below). The small hole waiting for Jette's urn was surrounded by coral colored roses and sunflowers; it looked festive and inviting, more welcoming than any grave I've ever seen. While there was a heart-aching finality to the burial, there was also a sense of homecoming, of her being where she wanted to be, where she belonged.
Earlier in the trip, we stopped at the amazing Roskilde Cathedral, which was originally built in the 12th century and has been the main burial site for Danish royalty since the 15th century. One of the more contemporary tombs incorporated three sculptures that so perfectly captured the experience of grief, I was brought to tears (you can see one of them behind Michael and Asher.) I was also brought to tears, for other reasons, in the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona, but I'll write about that and more of our trip in another post. If there was a statue above Jette's gravesite, though, it wouldn't look like this. Michael and I have talked about maybe putting a small stone sculpture of a bird on or near her grandfather's stone to represent Jette, something peaceful, something that looks like it's home.

Our journey

2010-09-12T23:23:00.000-07:00

We've been home for about a week and a half now, and already our trip feels like a dream--a dream full of vivid sensory detail that sneaks up on me during the day, nipping at the edges of my thoughts.

It was a beautiful trip, as meaningful and enjoyable as I could have hoped (even with the brain-crushing jet lag.) Here are some scattered memories that I'd like to capture before they slip away...

--Asher's baptism the day after our arrival. I never imagined I would baptize one of my babies, Jewish heathen that I am, but it is a tradition in Michael's family, and we thought it would be cool to honor that tradition in the same historic Copenhagen church where Michael and other members of his family had been baptized. We approached it in the spirit of family ritual rather than religious significance; thankfully the priest understood that's what we were doing (and knew that I was Jewish) and he didn't get lecture-y and dogmatic about it at all. I couldn't understand the service (which is probably for the best) but Michael tells me he asked the babies if they wanted to get baptized in water or Fanta, so it's clear the guy had a sense of humor, too. :) Hannah's job was to wipe the holy water from Asher's head after the sprinkling; she said that she liked to think of it as wiping away the baptism. I must say I was relieved to hear that the baptism doesn't "stick" unless the person is later confirmed; otherwise, as my sister joked, Asher would get awfully lonely in heaven some day. ;) It was actually a very sweet experience; the priest asked the whole family to put our right hands on Asher's head to bless him after the ceremony, and it was a lovely moment of honoring our sweet boy (who was a champ of a traveler throughout our trip.)

(here's Asher getting the baptism wiped off) :)

--The Danish tradition of eating bread slathered with a thick schmear of butter and a thin slice of Havarti for breakfast. I find myself craving it now, but the butter here is nothing like the butter in Denmark, which was so incredibly rich and creamy. They say the Danes are the happiest people on earth; I have a feeling their cows are the happiest, too (despite the whole California "Happy Cow" campaign. I've seen the packed, depressing cattle yards here; those cows have nothing on the cows that dot the Danish countryside.)

--As long as we're talking about food...the pastries. My favorite quickly became the Danish Crown with vanilla cream and thin slices of hazelnut. I tried it in several different bakeries, and do you know where the best one was? The 7-11. Shocking, but true. They had the freshest, yummiest pastries there. Now why don't they carry these at the 7-11 down the street?

--And okay, since we're still on the subject of food...the fruit. Sadly, I didn't get to eat as much of it as I would have liked. We passed many amazing looking fruit markets, and I kept telling myself that I wanted to try the spherical little strawberries (I've never seen anything like them) and the tender looking Santa Maria pears, but somehow it was never quite the right time to pick up fruit. Our first meal on the airplane home featured a fruit plate that had one of those little round strawberries, though, and while I'm sure it was not as delicious as the more fresh ones in the market would have been, it was yummy (best airplane food I've had, for sure.) A funny thing about the naming of fruit...in Denmark, oranges are called appelsin, which confused me on menus. Also, pineapples are called ananas--at a buffet (and wow, the Danes create lots of beautiful buffets), there was a pitcher of ananas juice, and I was surprised to learn it was much more acidic than banana juice would have been!

--My favorite meal of the trip had to be the dinner we had at Michael's cousin's restaurant, Blue Bird, in the Danish countryside. Klaus had taken all the tables in the small, lovely space and created one giant table down the center of the room, then covered it with candles and a gorgeous feast he had made for all of us and some of Michael's other relatives. I felt as if I had stepped into a gorgeous foreign film as we passed large bowls around and clinked wine glasses and communed.

Okay, this is getting long, and I'm tired and there's still so much to tell, so this will have to suffice for now. Be on the lookout for a non-food-related (well, at least lesserly-food-related) post about the rest of our trip soon. :)

Motherlands

2010-08-19T18:16:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning, we leave for Denmark to bring Michael's mom's ashes back to her homeland, and inter her in the family plot. The reason for the trip is sad, but I hope it will be a beautiful, meaningful journey. I am eager to meet Michael's relatives and learn about this part of his history, Asher's history. Hopefully Asher will weather the plane trip, jet lag, etc. with his usual aplomb. Arin and Hannah will be traveling with us, as well (Arin's actually been in Europe since early August, visiting his girlfriend who is studying abroad.)

We are also taking a short side trip to Barcelona, which feels like a way of honoring my mom, as well. She loved Barcelona the one time she visited, and had been wanting to take a large family vacation to Spain to explore our Spanish roots (supposedly her father's family emigrated to Russia from Spain with some time in England in between.) I am sorry we'll be there without her, but I know she'd be happy that we're going at all (even though we're not going to live out her fantasy of trying to reclaim the Bailen Castle!)

I don't know if I'll have a chance to post while we're away, but hopefully I'll have some stories and photos to share when we return on the 31st. Be well!

Annie Oakley and Family

2010-08-13T22:56:00.000-07:00

When Michael and Asher and I were up in Sacramento a couple of weeks ago to promote Delta Girls, we happened upon an old timey photo place. Since Michael and I first met doing a production of Annie Get Your Gun, we thought it would be fun to do a portrait as if Annie Oakley and Frank Butler had a baby (they never did, although they were spouses for life.) Here is the resulting picture--isn't Asher a natural cowboy? :)

First Anniversary

2010-07-19T10:51:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe it's been one year since our wedding--in some ways, it feels like it just happened last week; in other ways, it feels like a whole lifetime ago. So much has happened in this last year, my head spins just thinking about it.

Happy anniversary, my sweet Michael. I look forward to sharing the top of our pear cake tonight (hopefully it will thaw out in time!) and many delicious years to come.

Shadow Dancers

2010-07-16T22:34:00.000-07:00

Some friends used our house for a belly dance rehearsal last week. After we got Asher to sleep, Michael and I came downstairs and added our own little background touch to the dance (I had no idea he was doing this until I saw the video!)You can get a bit of a glimpse of our crazy house in this video in addition to our crazy dancing. :)

pedi-cure?

2010-07-04T23:29:00.000-07:00

Today, I got a pedicure for the second time in my life. The first time was four years ago, when Hannah was about to graduate from sixth grade. She wanted to get a pedicure before the graduation, and when I brought her in to the nail place, the receptionist asked if I wanted a pedicure, too, and I thought, why not?

Today's decision was more pre-meditated. Two people--my sister (who I get to see tomorrow--yay!) and a dear friend both mentioned getting pedicures within the last week; my sister put it in the context of taking care of herself, and my friend said that she felt reborn afterward. I felt I could use a little of both. I definitely have not been focusing on self care since the baby's been born, and I am feeling the repercussions of this deeply. I am tired and achy all the time, and am really not doing anything to remedy the situation. My feet, especially, have been paying the price. Every morning, it takes them a while to get going. They are stiff and sore and heavy, as are my hands when I wake up. This concerns me greatly--I worry about arthritis, I worry about potential loss of movement (although I hope I'll always find a way to dance, to write.) I finally set up an appointment to see a foot doctor in a couple of weeks, but I wanted to do something else to take care of myself, something to thank my body for all it's been doing, my body that feels like an unfamiliar home these days. Something, too, to celebrate Entertainment Weekly calling Delta Girls a "best new paperback." If that doesn't call for a pedicure, I don't know what does.

I was worried I wouldn't find a place open on the 4th, but the first place I called, a place I've noticed a few blocks away, said to come on in.

Soaking my feet in hot water while sitting in a massage chair was lovely. I loved the foot and leg massage. I said yes to a bunch of extras they offered--foot mask? Bring it on. Leg waxing? Sure; my legs, which I only shave sporadically, had grown pretty weedy. The only thing I didn't agree to was eyebrow waxing. Three different women asked if they could do my shaggy, untouched brows. Looking at the thin lines above their eyes, I had to say no.

The pampering brought up a lot of stuff for me. Feelings of guilt, of unworthiness. Feelings of vulnerability, of exposure. Feelings of missing my baby and husband, my big kids, too. And feelings of missing my mom. With the baby, I don't get a lot of time to just sit quietly with my thoughts, and my brain quickly filled with a wild rush of emotion. I thought of how my mom used to get pedicures, how that's something she and I never shared together, since I generally shy away from such indulgences. I found myself wishing that she and I could have gone to a spa together, wishing that I could talk to her about having my second pedicure. Every song that came on the radio seemed to be about missing someone, and each note just about tore my heart out.

The women there took great care of me. When I told them I had a seven month old baby, they turned more tender; my scruffy feet suddenly made more sense. I spent much of the time there holding back tears; I probably should have just let myself cry, but I didn't want to have to explain. As soon as I got in the car and called Michael, though, the tears began to flow.

I know I need to take better care of myself--go to sleep earlier so waking up with the baby doesn't take such a toll, go to the chiropractor, etc.--I just hope I'll be able to do it without guilt. Maybe as my pearly green toenail polish (which looked better in the bottle than on my feet, I must say) starts to chip, I'll remember that I need to do a better job of keeping myself whole.

Hannah took some pictures today

2010-06-15T23:18:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of my favorites. :)

milestones

2010-06-01T15:16:00.000-07:00

Today would have been my mom's 71st birthday. We reached the six month anniversary of her death over the weekend, as well, so it's quite a charged time, full of grief and remembrance. Our own series of memorial days.

It's hard to believe that it was just one year ago that Michael and I made this video to honor my mom's 70th. I'm so grateful that my dad encouraged me and my sister to do something extra special for our mom's birthday (my sister put together a gorgeous album of our mom's younger years.) We took a brunch cruise around the San Diego harbor to celebrate, and even though Michael got a bit sea sick, I remember it as a festive and delicious day. I'm glad her last birthday was a good one.

I have been meaning to write about our new house, and I will with a later post, but I do want to say that every day I feel sad that she'll never get to see it, and every day I feel grateful for the work we're able to do on the house thanks to her thoughtful foresight.

May this post be a virtual candle to honor her birthday and share some of her light.

Asher, sleeping

2010-05-13T20:48:00.000-07:00

Asher recently started flipping over onto his tummy to sleep. I was worried about this at first--I keep hearing that babies should sleep on their backs to reduce the threat of SIDS, plus the second night of tummy-flipping, we were staying in a hotel with a big marshmallow of a foam bed and I was worried his face would get swallowed up--but my sister assured me that once babies start turning over on their own to sleep, they're ready for it.

I love watching Asher sleep (I love watching him awake, too. I just love watching him, in general.) Since he was born, his arm has been a barometer of the depth of his sleep. He will often fall asleep with his arm sticking straight up, perpendicular to the bed, as if he is hailing a cab. As he descends into slumber, the arm lowers to the mattress, sometimes with such incremental, controlled slowness, it looks like he is doing yoga, or maybe even a Noh dance. It is amazing to me that a baby's arm can have such controlled and graceful movement, especially while it's fighting gravity. Sometimes, though, his arm will drop to the bed with a sudden thud, and the thwack of it will wake him back up.

Now that he is sleeping on his tummy more, the arm-as-barometer isn't happening as often. I'm going to miss it when it's no longer part of his sleep repertoire. It's funny how I'm already nostalgic about Asher's babyhood; I was at a store today and sighed when I saw the three month clothes. It all happens so quickly; I can't believe he'll be six months old soon (and he's already wearing 9 month outfits). My sweet slumbering boy.

My two sons

2010-05-10T23:54:00.001-07:00

Mother's Day

2010-05-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

What a bittersweet Mother's Day this was, so soon after Michael and I both lost our moms. We wanted it to be a meaningful day, so we had our soul sisters Nancy and Jenn and their older daughter Britt, and Michael's sister Mette and her two boys over for breakfast and a tree planting. Michael had dug a 4 1/2 foot hole the day before, and we dropped the placenta from Asher's birth at the bottom (Nancy and Jenn had been storing it in their freezer for us. We originally had it in our own freezer, but Hannah refused to eat anything in the fridge while it was there.) I said a few words about how the placenta had nourished Asher and now it will nourish the pear tree we were about to plant, and thus nourish and mother our new home (and all of us) in the process. Jenn had bought the pear tree for us shortly after Asher was born, and it had been sitting forlornly in a pot in our old front yard for months; it looks much happier now in the soil (which we enriched with the worms and compost from our vermiculture bin.) I hope we'll be able to take good care of it--I haven't had much luck with plants in the past, but this one is very important to me.

Later in the day, Arin came over (so good to be with both my sons--the big one rocking copious facial hair, the little one rocking his first two teeth! My girl was off gallivanting with my sister and her family in Toronto; her flight gets in later tonight--I am excited to see her and learn more about her adventures.) Arin helped me unpack some of my mom's paintings in the basement and we brought the one above up into the living room. My mom had titled it "Death and Transfiguration"; each letter represents a loved one who died (her parents, six of her brothers and one of her sisters, all connected with bloodlines on the canvas, and a young love). I had never noticed before that the letter G, for her mother Gertrude, is covered with gold, metallic paint, while the other letters are all more of a matte mustard color. It felt meaningful to discover this detail on Mother's Day--my mom was very close to her mom and considered her her guardian angel. It makes a lot of sense that she would make her mom's initial shimmer. That glitter takes on extra meaning for me because the book I'm working on about my mom (more in my head at this point than on the page, alas) is tentatively titled Golden--the title has nothing to do with the painting, but now the painting makes it feel even more apt.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you.

RIP Jette

2010-03-22T22:41:00.000-07:00

My mother in law Jette passed away tonight, two days after a catastrophic heart attack. I never could have fathomed that Michael and I would lose our mothers within four months of one another. Both of our mothers could be difficult women, but they were our mothers, and they loved us, and we loved them, even in the midst of complicated relationships. When you have a mom, it's as if someone is standing between you and the cliff's edge; being a motherless child, you have a better view of the abyss. I am grateful we are here to shelter one another, to give each other the love and support and nurturing we need to turn away from the cliff, feel the sweet ground beneath our feet holding us up.

I have to admit, it took me a while to warm to Jette. I adore my former mother in law and miss her terribly, and Jette was nothing like Patricia. Jette could be cantankerous and opinionated and intolerant and fearful, and I often had to bite my tongue around her. But my heart started to open to her over time, especially recently. Jette had really turned a corner in the last couple of months, had started to be more positive and active in her life. She began an email correspondence with me about a month ago, and through those emails, I could see a side of her I hadn't seen before, a lively, thoughtful side--her humor really came through, and her love of language and literature, and her deep love for her family. I am so grateful I had that window into her spirit (although I did catch glimpses of it before. She always lit up around Asher, and he lit up around her, too--he always smiled and laughed when she shared Danish rhymes and songs. And of course she raised a beautiful, wise son.)

Michael has been amazing through this whole painful experience, strong and philosophical and tender, letting himself feel the whole gamut of emotions he needs to process. He feels some peace knowing his mom is at peace now, and knowing that her life ended on a high note. And like me, he is so grateful we have Asher to help us get through this time of grief. After my mom died, a friend told me that Asher was born to be a healer. It certainly feels that way now; he brings us so much joy, even in the midst of the most wrenching experiences. He was like that even before he was born--if I started to feel worried because I hadn't felt him kick for a while, he would give me a good jab, almost as if to let me know he was okay. Of course I don't want to saddle him with the burden of always being there to reassure us--he is here to walk his own path, not bolster ours. I hope it will take him to amazing, fulfilling places. He is four months old today, and has another cold, which is worrisome, but all in all, he is such a robust, thriving, happy, hilarious boy.

Michael said something today about how with our mothers gone, we have to really grow up, to become our fullest selves. A challenge I know we are up to, even though it feels a bit scary, and very sad.

Rest in peace, Jette.

good thoughts, please

2010-03-20T17:26:00.000-07:00

There is so much I've been wanting to blog about lately--my new book (out this past Tuesday), the work we're doing on our new house before we move in, etc.--but I've just been too busy to post. Now I am popping in to ask for your good thoughts. My husband Michael's mom Jette had a heart attack this morning and is on life support now. We are reeling and numb all at once. Thank you in advance for your support (or tak, I should say, in Jette's native Danish.)

Asher

2010-03-15T23:58:00.001-07:00

Until I have a chance to post a real blog, let me leave you with this picture Hannah took of Asher today. :)

safety

2010-03-03T10:31:00.001-08:00

My sister was just in town from Toronto for a few days; it was so wonderful to be able to spend time with her and my dad--our time together after my mom's death was so intense and profound, both painful and beautiful, and we all needed another dose of that communion.

Her last night here, she and Asher and I were driving back from dinner, and my car started to stutter and slow on the freeway. My gas light had been on for a while, so I figured I must have run out of gas (which made me feel like a dodo, especially since my sister had asked if we should stop to get gas at the start of the drive, but I assured her we had enough to get back.) I coasted to the shoulder of the off ramp where the car conked out completely. It was a long off ramp, and we were near the top, so cars were whizzing past us at freeway speeds as they exited, rattling the car, rattling my nerves. Asher was asleep in his car seat in the back, blissfully unaware, while I imagined cars smashing into us.

"We should probably stay in the car where we're strapped in, huh?" I said to my sister, who agreed. A seatbelt might not do a whole lot if a car going 70 hit us while were were parked, but it seemed better than being completely unprotected. I called Michael, who said he'd come get us. Then the hazard lights turned off, and the interior lights started to fade after I turned them on so drivers would be able to see us, and I realized we were dealing with issues beyond an empty tank; I was worried that people wouldn't be able to see the car, so we got out and stood on the edge of the shoulder, which probably made us even less safe. I asked my sister if we should climb down the embankment next to the ramp, but she wisely noted how steep it was, and that it probably wasn't a good idea to pick our way down it in the dark, carrying a baby. Asher had woken up, hysterical, before we got out of the car, but being out in the cool night air calmed him down (of course I worried about him getting too cold after getting over pneumonia--he's doing much better, by the way--but we had a little blanket to cover him up.) We eventually decided it would be safer to just get back in the car and put our seat belts back on, so we did, much to Asher's distress. I sat in the back with him and tried to stretch the seatbelt enough to be able to lean over and nurse him in his car seat, but unfortunately that didn't work.

Michael was taking a lot longer than I expected, and I was getting more and more rattled by the huge trucks barreling past us, so I gave him a call. He had stopped to put gas in a gas can, but something was wrong with the can so he had to get a new one and no one at the gas station was able to open it for quite some time. He was on his way, though, and would be there soon.

It was such a relief to get into his car after he pulled up, but as soon as we started to drive, gas fumes began to choke us. We cracked open the windows, but the smell kept getting stronger. "Do you think it spilled?" I asked; Michael pulled into the driveway of an apartment complex to check. Sure enough, the trunk of the car was full of gas. We got out of the car again and sat on the curb of the driveway as Michael tried to clean the gas out with a towel he happened to have in the trunk. I didn't feel right putting the baby back in the car with the fumes, so we called a cab company, which said they'd have someone pick us up in about twenty minutes. As I huddled on the curb nursing Asher, I imagined I looked like a refugee, but then Michael smiled and reminded me "This is a comedy, not a tragedy" and even though I had been laughing, mostly nervously, throughout the experience, it sunk in that he was right. We would be home soon, safe. This was just a comedy of errors (unless someone walked by with a match near all that spilled gas. I couldn't seem to get my worrying self to quiet down completely).

The cab showed up and my sister and I hooked Asher's car seat into the back and piled in on either side of him while Michael drove the fumy car home. The cab was warm and the driver was nice and my sister and I sunk back into the seats, laughing, and then crying about our mom a little, and soon we were at my house, safe and sound.

I realize how many times I've used the word "safe" above, and how scary it felt to think our safety was compromised. I think about my mom toward the end of her life, when she thought she was being followed, being poisoned, being drugged, being sabotaged, and it breaks my heart to think of how afraid she must have felt. Going through her house afterwards, I found a letter she had written to one of her neighbors when she thought another neighbor had installed some sort of surveillance equipment on their roof to monitor her. "I feel unsafe", she wrote toward the end, and that simple sentence has haunted me. It was awful to feel acutely unsafe for about an hour, but she had started to feel that way all the time. We'll never know exactly why she chose to end her life--her last note to us wasn't suicidal; in fact she was asking for more time to prove her allegations--but I have to take some comfort in the fact that she is no longer afraid.

compassion

2010-02-19T10:47:00.000-08:00

One powerful thing about experiencing personal pain is that it can open us up to the suffering of others (that's the exact definition of compassion, actually--"to suffer with"). I am grateful that CODEPINK let me write this week's alert about Afghanistan in my own voice. You can read it here and hopefully follow the link to write to NATO to ask them to stop bombing innocent Afghan families.

PTSD

2010-02-19T09:00:00.000-08:00

Salon recently ran an essay about a woman's experience with PTSD following childbirth. It was only about a year ago that I realized I had a touch of PTSD myself following Arin's emergency c-section 19 years ago; I used to have obsessive thoughts daily about the c-section and everything leading up to and following it (especially waking up in recovery not knowing if I had a boy or girl, not knowing if the baby was alive, the recovery nurses not knowing, either.) It got better over time, but it was really only Hannah's birth, three years later, that healed that situation for me completely.

After reading my last blog, a dear, wise friend suggested that I might have some PTSD following my mom's suicide. I hadn't thought to label it that, but it makes perfect sense. Her death and all that led up to it were definitely traumatic, and I've had similar obsessive thoughts about it since. Another dear, wise friend told me that I had been blindsided by my mom's death and often when people are blindsided, they become hyper-vigilant, hence my sudden germ phobia. This also makes perfect sense. There is a therapist in Redlands who does eye movement desensitization and reprocessing therapy, which is supposed to be helpful for PTSD (yet another dear, wise friend found this very healing after she couldn't stop thinking about a murder across the street from her house); I may give it a try.

Asher's cold has morphed into pneumonia, which is so scary--in fact, it's one of the things I had been most afraid of. As a writer, I often want to move toward the things that scare me most, but that doesn't mean that I want life to hand me the scariest things! He is doing remarkably well, given the circumstances; he is still full of smiles much of the day, which is a huge relief. We caught it fairly early, so hopefully the antibiotics will kick it in the butt now. The doctor also detected a heart murmur, which he said could be from a small hole between the chambers of Asher's heart. Of course the thought of anything being wrong with my sweet baby opens up a huge hole in my own heart, but the doctor and my dear, wise midwife sister have tried to reassure me that this is common and usually self-healing and I shouldn't lose any sleep over it (unfortunately I already have, but then again, I lose sleep much more easily than I find it). He wants us to see a pediatric cardiologist once Asher is feeling better, and hopefully that visit will set all our hearts at ease. I'm pretty tapped out in the trauma department as it is.

In happy news, it looks as if we're set to close escrow next week. I'm very excited! I so look forward to being in the new place and making it our own, a place of comfort and calm and fun, a house that will embrace us through every season of life.

fever

2010-02-11T23:53:00.000-08:00

Asher has been feverish this week, and I've been a nervous wreck. He's doing okay--the doctor at Urgent Care (the first doctor he's ever seen in his life) thinks it's just a cold; his ears are fine, his lungs are clear, etc. I should be relieved, and a good portion of me is, of course, but I find myself catastrophizing the situation, thinking of all the horrible things that could happen to him. I did this to some extent when Arin and Hannah were little (I remember having awful obsessive thoughts about accidentally stepping on Arin with ice skates when he was a new baby) but it seems worse this time around. I have become a real germaphobe, freaking out inside if someone coughs near him or touches his hand and he puts his hand in his mouth before I can wash it. I want to keep him safe and healthy and happy and it makes me crazy that I can't protect him from everything, that all it takes is a tiny little bug breathed in at a supermarket to wreak havoc.

Of course I realize that this is coming from dealing with the utter chaos of my mom's death (and the weeks preceding it, which were also chaotic and scary as her delusions got progressively worse). I find myself wanting to keep things as simple as possible now. My nerves are still so raw, so blasted open, and I cringe at the thought of any further upheaval (plus it breaks my heart to think of Asher suffering in any way.) I have never been the type of person who wants to be in control--I have always been more of a go-with-the-flow gal--but right now I want to be in charge, be a superhero, keeping germs and other mayhem at bay with the force of maternal fierceness. And I know there is little I can do but remember to wash our hands. We are ultimately so small in the face of the world, a fact which often gives me comfort, but which also sometimes creates a hole for me to fall into.

Suicide of course is an attempt at control. A way of choosing one's own fate. It's been hard today to hear about the suicide of Alexander McQueen (my daughter's favorite designer) especially because he chose the same method of killing himself--hanging--as my mom. I imagine his death was more premeditated than my mom's, which appears to be have been an act of desperation, in a parking garage far from home, but it's similar enough to give me chills (and the fact that he did it so closely after his own mother's death gives our stories a strange connection, as well. Not that I have felt suicidal since her death--if anything, I feel more of a mandate to LIVE, as fully and openly as possible now.) There is so much pain in the world, and ultimately the desire for control leads to more pain, I believe. But how can we not want to keep our loved one's safe? How can we not do whatever we can to keep chaos at bay for as long as we're able? We offer infant Tylenol, offer a breast. We whisper and sing words of comfort. We pace the floor for hours. We wait for the fever to break.

happy baby

2010-02-05T12:36:00.000-08:00

moving

2010-01-12T09:37:00.000-08:00

I have moved three times in the last two years. It looks like we're about to make it four.

This Sunday, we found out that the offer we had made on a house in Riverside was accepted. We were having lunch with my dad in Oceanside at the time, about to bring a U-Haul tuck to my mom's house to pick up the things we wanted to keep before the estate sale. Michael and I had spent several days sorting through drawers and boxes and closets, an experience both painful and enlightening; it felt like an archaeological dig, excavating what remains of her life. I found I was looking for clues, evidence, some hint of when her mind started to turn against itself. I brought boxes and boxes of papers and old photos home with me to do further excavation, further inquiry. I doubt I'll find any definitive answers, but I want to flesh out her story for myself as much as I can.

It breaks my heart to think that my mom will never see our new house; it's a pretty amazing house, much bigger than anything we thought we could afford. It was built in 1939 (the year of my mother's birth, which I find comforting--it makes her feel connected to the place) but was redone in the 70s, and has traces of that decade throughout (including four of those foresty photo wall murals I coveted as a kid; the whole place feels like a ski lodge inside.) The night after we first looked at the house, I had a dream I was in the kitchen there, and received a note from my mom. It was a note from her true self, not the delusional and paranoid person she had become at the end. That felt comforting, too--it also gives me a kind of memory of her in the space. And the fact that we found out about getting the house the day we had the U-Haul truck feels important, too--I was able to take some of my childhood furniture that we wouldn't have kept otherwise, since our current house can't accommodate it. It almost feels as if my mom helped orchestrate the deal; it certainly feels bashert (Yiddish for "meant to be". Another reason it feels this way is because we had been looking for a house to buy in Redlands for months without any luck, but we found this house the first day we started to look in Riverside). Of course we still need to get through the home inspection, etc, so I don't want to get ahead of myself, but for now, it seems to be moving forward. It should be a fun house for Asher to grow up in; lots of space to play and dream.

I'm not looking forward to the actual move, but I've done so much moving recently, I know it will be okay. In December, I realized that I had experienced so many things that are on most people's "most stressful experiences" list since the previous December. Between those two Decembers, I had officially gotten divorced, moved twice, gotten pregnant, gotten laid off, gotten married, given birth and lost a parent. And now we're adding buying a house to the list. I definitely have more white hair to show for all of it, but it's been a good--and nearly continuous--reminder that life is about change, that nothing stands still (but we can still remain standing in the process. And life is full of beauty even in the midst of the most devastating changes.)

update

2010-01-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

It's been seven weeks since Asher was born, six weeks since my mom died. Time has become strange--a crawl and a blur all at once. I often don't know what day it is. We're doing well for the most part--Asher is amazing; he has started to smile and coo and continues to bring us so much joy, even in those moments of heart-stopping grief that have a way of sneaking up on us.

I want to thank everyone for the outpouring of support and love after I announced my mom's suicide; it has buoyed me more than I can express. I owe a lot of you emails and phone calls and Facebook messages; please forgive my lack of communication--it's been hard for me to keep up with everything, both because I have a baby in my arms most of the time and it's not easy to type one-handed (as I'm doing now) but also because I've been in cocoon mode and doing anything beyond nursing Asher and talking with my family and remembering to eat every once in a while has been overwhelming. I'm starting to feel as if the fog is lifting and I'm more ready to be part of the world again (the picture above is from Asher's first outing to a park this weekend), but it's going to take a while to catch up with everything. I'm so grateful that UCLA and Antioch were understanding about my decision to step away from my online teaching obligations this quarter--it was a difficult decision to make (I love teaching, love my students) but there is no way that I could have kept up with the work right now.

There is so much more to share, but maybe I'll wait until I can type with both hands. Please know that I'm doing okay and am so thankful for all of the kindness I've received. There have been many gifts in these last few intense weeks; your support is among them.

Arlene Baylen Brandeis 1939-2009

2009-12-02T14:14:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I am posting such a painful announcement so soon after sharing the joy of Asher's birth. We found out on Monday that my mother killed herself. We are all still in shock. You can see her here holding Asher for the first time. I'm so grateful to have the sweet weight of this warm baby in my arms now--he's keeping me grounded through all the chaos.

Grief, it turns out, is a lot like labor. It comes in waves, completely involuntary. Sounds come out of your mouth that you didn't know you could create. But of course labor leads to beautiful new life, and this--I'm not sure what this leads to yet. It's still too fresh, too raw. I am not ready to share details, but ask for your good thoughts. Thank you.

Asher Brandeis

2009-11-23T17:04:00.001-08:00

Born at home last night at 10:33pm. 7 lbs, 6 oz, 20 inches, and with eyes hungry to take in the world.

starry night

2009-11-19T13:42:00.000-08:00

A couple of nights ago, I woke up to pee (as I do just about every hour) and couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to go outside with hopes of seeing the meteor shower. I haven't been outside at three in the morning for a long time, and it was a revelation. Redlands is darker than Riverside at night (less streetlights, perhaps) so stars are much more visible here--nothing like being out in the desert or the mountains, of course, but all the major constellations were sharp and bright as I stood with my head tipped back, lots of other stars twinkling inside and around them. The silence and the vastness of the night enveloped me; what a relief to feel connected to something bigger than myself.

The end of pregnancy is such an inward-focused time. Life churns along, but it's hard to focus on much else other than the moment to moment sensations--all the twinges and aches, Asher's sweet movements (and the worry when I haven't felt them for a while)--not to mention all my fears and excitement about impending labor and birth. It's easy to feel so vulnerable during this time; that was only amplified when my 19 year old son was hit by a car last week while he was biking. He's thankfully okay--just banged up--but it was a stark reminder of how quickly life can change, how precious and precarious is our time on this planet. Labor and birth bring us right up against that precariousness. My friend and mentor Alma Luz Villanueva wished me a glorious "trip through the center of the Cosmos" and I thought that was a perfect image for birth--we go into the hot molten center of the earth and out into the vastness all at once.

Standing outside in my rented back yard, looking up at the stars, I started to feel more fortified for that journey. It started to feel less about me, about my own little life, my own little fears (that can feel so big) and more about being connected to the greater cycle of life. I didn't see any meteors that night, but I felt like one, myself--something temporary, just passing through, hopefully blazing a little on the way.

a tale of two pumpkins

2009-10-31T22:29:00.000-07:00

The one I carved

and the one I grew.

Hope you had a great Halloween!

layers

2009-10-20T22:41:00.000-07:00

It was very heartening to read this quote from Edwidge Danticat, on how becoming a mother has changed her as a writer: "When your life is layered in a certain way," she said, "you have more in your soul to go to."

As I worry about juggling everything once the baby comes, it's lovely to think of life's new layers in an expansive way rather than a limiting one. More in the soul to go to--I love that.

I added an unexpected new layer to my life today (or at least an unexpected story to tell): I got smacked in the face! Today is Michael's birthday--happy birthday, love!--and we went out to dinner to celebrate. As I was walking back to the table from the restroom, the manager of the restaurant, happened to gesticulate while facing away from me, and his hand flew back straight against my mouth. It was more startling than painful; I thought I was fine, but as soon as I got to the table, I started to cry and then laugh and couldn't stop alternating between the two for quite a while. I felt a bit unhinged--the whole thing was very absurd, but it brought out weird feelings of vulnerability in me. I find myself feeling deeply protective of my pregnant body, so I suppose any breach in safety strikes some primal chord. Eventually I calmed down and we had a lovely dinner, and the manager was very apologetic--he said in his 30 years of restaurant managing, he's never smacked a woman in the face before (a pregnant woman, at that!) He comped my meal, and Michael's birthday dessert, and now I have more in my soul to go to, so it all worked out.

May 36 be the best year for you ever, sweet Michael. You'll have to wait a few weeks for your real present to arrive. :)

white hair

2009-10-15T11:35:00.001-07:00

My recent posts have been about really lovely things in my life, and while I want to celebrate those things fully, I feel a bit disingenuous because not everything has been rosy around here. I have been having a very difficult time with my 15 year old daughter; I don't want to go into specifics out of respect for her privacy, but needless to say, I have been sprouting a lot of new white hair and have been questioning my parenting a lot lately.

Many of my pregnancy books have sections on preparing your older children for a new baby in the house, but those generally talk about how to deal with toddlers. None of them delve into how to balance a new baby and a defiant teenager. Michael and I are taking a class on parenting teenagers once a week (we're the only people in the group also taking a childbirth preparation class once a week!) and while it's giving us some good tools, I still feel lost and overwhelmed. I trust this phase will pass, but I also know I can't just sit back and wait for that to happen. I tend to be such a go-with-the-flow person, but sometimes the flow is out of whack and decisive action needs to be taken; I keep coming up against my own limitations--I am not a disciplinarian by nature, and am having to stretch myself in ways that are uncomfortable but hopefully will lead to growth for everyone involved. We shall see. Any advice and/or commiseration would be well appreciated--it's always helpful to hear from other people who have been through something similar. Thanks!

Remind me to stay away from Indian trains when I'm about to give birth

2009-10-12T21:34:00.000-07:00

See why here (thank goodness those babies survived!)

a tale of two showers

2009-10-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

Asher is a lucky boy to be born into such a wonderful circle of family and friends. I know I'm grateful to be part of such a circle.

I've had two baby showers over the last two weeks--both intimate, meaningful events. My friend Nancy organized a shower/mother's blessing at her home on the 4th; she and the other women assembled treated me like such a queen, washing my hands and feet with rosewater, brushing my hair, massaging my neck, singing to me. Each woman presented me with either a poem or story or blessing; each woman also brought a bead which we strung together to make a necklace that I'll wear in labor so I can feel a circle of women supporting me through the experience. My mom chose a bead with a large hole in the center, saying that it would help me visualize dilating "10 meters"--we all had a good laugh imagining that (and hey, it can't hurt to visualize opening that wide. Michael joked later that Asher would come sailing out in a tug boat!) The women also each brought a candle which they'll light when I'm in labor. You can see everyone's hands on my belly here.

This past weekend, a family baby shower was part of a larger weekend celebration for my dad's 90th birthday. Relatives came in from all over the map; it was such a warm, loving weekend, full of connection and laughter and a reminder of how important it is to spend time as a tribe. It's been quite a while since all four of my dad's kids have been in the same place (along with cousins--some of whom showed up as a surprise--and other loved ones) and it felt so good, so right. We made a plan to get together on a yearly basis, just because, even if we don't have any major life events to mark. I want Asher to know all of these wonderful people and am eager to have this yearly gathering to look forward to; it makes me very happy that in the meanwhile, he'll get to enjoy clothes and books and toys and other goodies chosen for him by family members who are so eager to welcome him into the clan.

My dad (who, by the way, is probably the most amazing 90 year old you'll ever meet) talked about how family was a constant presence when he grew up in Chicago--he had tons of relatives within blocks of each other and they spent much of their time together. Now most of those relatives are gone; he is the second oldest of those who remain. I know he aches when he thinks about how scattered we now are geographically--how hard it is to all get together. When it does happen, though, it is such a deep joy. I found myself crying as I drove away from Oceanside last night; my life feels very quiet and small today. I keep reminding myself that the circle is still there--it's just wider, more expansive, than it was when we were all together. And the love at the center is just as strong.

Wild Things

2009-10-02T12:15:00.001-07:00

Last night, Michael and the kids and I went to a special pre-release screening of Where the Wild Things Are to benefit 826LA. Dave Eggers, Spike Jonze, Catherine Keener and Max Records (who plays Max in the movie) were all on hand to discuss the film--it's always cool to get a behind the scenes look into how something is created (especially something so many years in the making.) The movie was darker and sadder than I had expected, and I found it deeply moving. I know it wasn't just the film that touched me, however.

As I sat next to my beautiful teenage kids--who I rarely get to see at the same time these days--I couldn't help but think about reading Where the Wild Things to them when they were small. Arin will be 19 next Monday, but I can still hear his little toddler voice reading along with me so clearly--he especially loved the part where the wild things "roar their terrible roars and gnash their terrible teeth and roll their terrible eyes and show their terrible claws", and would always say the last line of the book "and it was still hot!" with great relish. It's so wild how quickly time passes, how Arin is a grown man now, in college, with a life of his own; I am so proud of the person he has become (and the person he has always been) but sometimes I miss those yummy toddler days.

Of course Asher was thumping around in my belly as I was meditating on the passage of time, the cycle beginning anew. Much of the movie was about the complicated, often tender, mother/son relationship, and it makes me wonder who this little person is, what our connection will be like. The film was honest about childhood emotions in a way that few movies are--it explored the loneliness and rage and heartache that children can feel so acutely (all beautifully portrayed through Max Records' expressive face) and I felt a stab of what I can only describe as grief thinking about some of the feelings Asher may have to face in his life. I only hope that he will grow up feeling safe and loved, and that even if he goes into those dark places, he will know that he has a family who is there for him, both for solace, and for the rejuvenation of a good wild rumpus.

moving

2009-08-31T07:48:00.000-07:00

This has been such a profound year of change--I suppose it is only fitting that now we're adding moving to the mix. This week, we're packing up our things and Saturday, we're moving to Redlands, about 15 miles away, my old college stomping grounds. There's a bit of a full circle to all of this--I moved away from Redlands when I was 8 months pregnant; 19 years later, I'm moving back to Redlands, 6 months pregnant.

Both moves were financially motivated, in a way--19 years ago, we were evicted from our apartment after Matt was laid off from his construction job and we fell behind on our rent. We moved as much as we could out of the apartment before it was seized and padlocked, leaving things like our vinyl collection (including a Talking Heads album signed by David Byrne) and much of my college work inside, beyond our reach. Michael and I are not facing eviction now, but I have lost my work at UCR due to the economy, and he's received a 10% pay cut, and the rent on our beautiful house in Riverside is more than we can comfortably handle. We found a place that's almost $500 less a month in Redlands--it's not nearly as charming, but it's a sweet little house with a big yard and should be a cozy, affordable place to land. We were actually hoping to buy--Michael's eligible for a no money down VA loan--but the market is so competitive in Redlands right now, everything that's in our price range ends up receiving dozens of bids. There's a chance we'll be able to buy this rental, which would be a wonderful opportunity, but right now, I'm just glad we're going to be in Redlands at all.

Money isn't the only reason we're moving. Hannah goes to school in Redlands, and the commute is half an hour each way, which means that I'm in the car for about 2 hours every day that I drive her. This is not something I wish to continue once the baby arrives. So it will be much much easier for her to get to school after we move--she can even ride her bike--plus, she'll be closer to her friends, which is so important (and will probably be even more so when there's a baby in the house.)

I've been in nesting mode but have resisted nesting here, since we'd been hoping to move before the baby is born. It will be lovely to be able to settle into the new place and start getting ready for the birth and beyond. As we looked at houses, one of my main questions was "Can I imagine giving birth here?" I'm happy that we've found a home that seems like a great place to begin this next phase of our adventure.

sleep deprivation

2009-08-27T10:09:00.001-07:00

I understand now how sleep deprivation can be used as torture.

I have never been a good sleeper, but somehow I have been able to get by on little sleep over the years. Waking up every hour to pee during this pregnancy leaves me pretty exhausted in the morning, but I have been able to push through it and function pretty well. This week, though, I hit a wall. I was up most of Monday night, having strong Braxton-Hicks contractions; I've been having more of them lately, and they were feeling more intense than usual. I got myself into a bit of a tizzy that night, worrying that I was going into preterm labor, so between the anxiety and the contractions and the constant peeing, I got maybe an hour or two of sleep at the most. Tuesday, I was a total wreck. I was pretty much in tears the entire day, aside from moments when I pulled myself together enough to get some work done. I cried when I wasn't able to nap. I cried throughout my prenatal checkup, even though it ended up being reassuring--my cervix was tightly closed, not thinning; the baby's hearbeat sounded good; aside from being a sleepless wretch, I was healthy and not in labor. I cried on the way home, unable to stop the flood, even though I felt deeply relieved. And later that night, when, after a series of miscommunications with my daughter, I had to shop for camping supplies after 10pm, and the only place that was open was a WalMart--which I normally boycott--20 minutes away, I lost it. I was so tired at that point, I could barely keep my eyes open as I drove, plus I was sobbing, and once I stepped into WalMart all red-eyed, I was completely overwhelmed by the florescent lights and the rows of gaudily colored synthetic fabrics and my own moral distaste at being there, and I could barely move.

Fortunately, I was finally able to reach Michael by phone--he had been at a rehearsal--and he drove out to the store to join me. I sat on a bench in a daze while he knocked items off of Hannah's list and did whatever he could to get me to smile. When I got home and saw that Hannah hadn't done what she had promised to do to prepare for her school camping trip, I lost it all over again. Michael gently led me to bed, where I wanted to be able to just fall into oblivion, but instead I kept crying, softly but insistently as Michael tried to comfort me. And just as I thought the tears were subsiding, a giant wail ripped through me. Suddenly, all sort of inhuman sounds flew out of my mouth--I felt like a wild animal as I cackled and squalled and keened, totally out of control. I've never felt anything like it--it was as if some pocket of grief and pain opened up inside me and came rushing out through my throat. I could almost see it leaving my body, like a fire breathing dragon. It felt wonderful and horrible all at once, cathartic and terrifying. Afterwards, I felt much better and was finally able to sleep. I'm still exhausted, but I feel like a human being again; a sense of calm has returned to my center. I'm not really sure what happened that night, but it was clear that something needed to be released.

I'm taking calcium and magnesium now at bedtime, which is supposed to help both quiet the contractions and quiet the mind; hopefully it will do the trick. My mom asked if there was anything she could do to help--I told her she could hit me over the head with a frying pan, but surprisingly she won't take me up on my offer. Last night, I actually had a three hour stretch of sleep--the longest uninterrupted span I've had in a while--and even though I was up for a couple of hours in the middle of the night, I slept another couple of hours after that, so I think I'll be fine for the day. Hopefully whatever demon I unleashed Tuesday night is gone for good (maybe I had been briefly possessed by an evil spirit in the Miley Cyrus section at WalMart; it seems plausible--that store has some nasty energy!) I hope everyone out there is rested and refreshed; I hope one day I will be again, too!

flying

2009-08-21T10:23:00.001-07:00

Last night, I dreamed that I was on a plane with Asher, who was in my arms, maybe a month or so old. I was having a bad allergic reaction to something on the plane, so the flight attendants put me on a ledge outside the door, thousands of feet above the earth. I had to hold on to a railing with one hand and Asher with the other, and at some point I wasn't sure I could keep my grip on either one, with the cold wind whipping around us. I started to bang on the airplane door with one of my feet, yelling "Help! Let us in!" thinking that allergies were a much less worse fate than plummeting to our doom, but I was told they couldn't open the door mid-flight. They would, however, make an emergency landing in Finland, where we could get on another plane. The dream is a bit fuzzy from there, but I remember how good it felt to put my feet on solid earth again.

Flying while six months pregnant was much less fraught than the dream, but it had its moments...my legs swelled up like water balloons on both flights, even though I drank a lot of water and tried to get up and walk around a fair amount (easy to do, since I had to use the restroom about every 20 minutes, thanks to all the water, and Asher using my bladder as a trampoline.) I've heard women talk about their ankles disappearing during pregnancy but I had never experienced that before, other than on these flights (and a while after landing.) It's a very strange sensation. And Asher either really liked or really hated the sensation of take off and landing, because he kicked like crazy when the pressure changed.

Our honeymoon/familymoon was wonderful, though, full of good food, good theater (from Billy Elliot on Broadway to the most charming and brilliant one man show at the NY Fringe Festival), good people (I wish I could have seen all my New York friends while I was in town, but our time was so packed, it was impossible to fit everything in. I'm grateful for moments with my brother and sis-in-all, as well as my agent and my editor at Ballantine, all of whom were wonderful.) We had our own little apartment in the East Village, one of 20 vacation rentals owned by a non-profit organization that feeds the homeless in the area, so it felt as if we were really living there, not just visiting. I miss being able to walk down the street and pick up Himalayan food or Jewish deli or the most amazing vegetarian Thai food I've ever tasted (spicy watercress "duck", hello! And lychee rice pudding brulee, made with coconut milk...heaven.) We had a chance to explore so many different parts of the city--I feel as if we got a good, thorough taste of the Big Apple (Michael had never been there before, so it was a great introduction for him, and Hannah and I got to see a lot of the city that we had never experienced before.)

We had a couple of scary moments--we got fake mugged after bowling in Harlem (not something we expected to do while we were in town, but my brother was shooting a show for AMC there and used us in the background as extras.) We had just gotten into a cab to head back to our place when a guy flung open the driver's door and shouted "Give me all your money!" Our hearts were pounding like mad until (and for quite a while after) the driver started to laugh and told us the guy was his brother. Not a cool joke. And in another cab ride, a drunk and very belligerent guy started to punch the car as we were stuck in traffic, and then started to assault our driver through the open window. Michael said "Hey, man, there's a pregnant woman in here", and then the guy started to scream at and lunge toward Michael's window (proof that not every one defers to the sanctity of pregnancy--or reason, for that matter.) Aside from these moments, it was a fun, delicious, satisfying trip. I'm glad we were able to get away before the baby comes and travel will be more complicated (although hopefully we won't ever have to cling to the side of an airplane!)

off to the big apple

2009-08-10T18:16:00.001-07:00

We're about to head out to the airport (hopefully they'll let me fly with my big belly--I keep thinking about that scene in Away We Go where they don't let Maya Rudloph's character fly, even though she's only six months along--just about where I am now.) I'm not sure if I'll have a chance to blog on the road; if not, see you here when I return!

Since the link I tried to share to the wedding photos didn't work earlier, I'll leave you with a few family shots. The first is my family (my kids, my parents, my sister and her family), the second is Michael's family (his siblings, nephews, parents and stepmother, plus our sweet flower girl, Lily), and the third is everyone together, along with friends who were part of the wedding.

Have a wonderful week!

not swine flu

2009-08-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

A couple of days after reading how swine flu is particularly devastating for pregnant women, I got sick. Of course, I imagined it was swine flu, and I was going to end up in a coma and spontaneously abort and experience every other horrendous known complication and some that haven't been recorded yet--ah, the morbid imagination of a pregnant woman! Thankfully, I just have a particularly nasty cold that morphed into an even nastier sinus infection. I haven't been this sick in a long time. Michael was really sick, too, but is a couple of days ahead of me in the infection-cycle and is doing much better now, so I have hope that I'll be feeling fine before our honeymoon (which will really be more of a familymoon, since Hannah is going to join us. We're going to New York from the 11th-16th. Since we first met doing a Broadway musical, albeit a community theater version, it makes sense that we should go to a real Broadway musical--in this case, Billy Elliot--to celebrate!) Part of me is enjoying the illness-imposed downtime--life has been so hectic lately, I think my body was telling me it was time to take it easy for awhile--but I would enjoy it a lot more if my head wasn't throbbing and leaking.

Before I got sick, Hannah and I went to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater in LA to see some sketch comedy. I was in line for the bathroom before the show started, and overheard a couple of women in the audience talking. One of them said, "If it's a boy, his name will be Asher", which blew me away. I almost turned to them to tell them that the baby in my belly is named Asher, but didn't want to seem like the creepy eavesdropper that I am, so I just kept it to myself--and then tried not to seem like a creepy eavesdropper when I realized that Mad Men's Elisabeth Moss was standing right in front of me in line. Her sweetie, SNL's Fred Armisen, a featured performer in the show that night, came up and gave her a kiss and looked at her with such love in his eyes, it made me very happy for them both; they seem like such a sweet couple. According to stories online, they're engaged, but it looked like he was wearing a wedding ring. Anyway, that's enough gossip mongering and namedropping for now. Back to good old fashioned names...

Hearing about this other potentially impending Asher, I wonder whether there is going to be a sudden wave of Ashers in the world. When I named Hannah, I never imagined there would be a surge in Hannah popularity (I was very surprised to find three Hannahs at storytime at the library when she was a toddler). According to a baby name website, Asher was the 206th most popular baby boy name last year--not too widely used--but it has been rising in popularity since 1990, so we shall see if our Asher is one of many in the sandbox.

Speaking of which, my eyes feel like they're full of sand, so I should sign off and rest my non-swine-flu-infested body a bit more. Hope everyone is staying healthy and happy!

wedding poetry

2009-07-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

You can see the poems we incorporated into our ceremony over at my other blog, Fruitful.

L'Chaim!

2009-07-27T00:19:00.000-07:00

So much has happened since I last posted. I've been wanting to blog about all of it, but haven't had the time or the energy. I don't really now, either (I should be asleep!) but thought I'd give you the basics.

One big thing: I found out that the person squirming around in my belly is a boy. So lovely to be able to talk about him as "him" now, to be able to call him by name (we're going with Asher, which means happy and blessed in Hebrew. Hope you don't mind having an Asher on the West Coast, Deborah!) He's been very active lately--he often presses against my hand when I touch it to my belly, like a little dolphin surfacing for a treat. My sister was present at the ultrasound, which made it even more special. I didn't find out the sex of my other babies before their births, so this was a very new experience; I sort of expected the big reveal to happen at the end of the appointment, but almost immediately, the technician said "I see outdoor plumbing." You can see that cute little plumbing, along with what I assume is a cute little tuchus and some bright dots of sit bones, here (please forgive me for posting this, Asher!) Asher gave us a good look at his anatomy, since he was folded in half, his feet up by his head. I can't wait to see that sweet little body in person!

Another big thing: I got married on the 19th! It was such a beautiful day--I am still in awe of how everything came together (thanks to the generous, creative help of our family and friends.) We wanted to avoid the whole wedding industrial complex, so the wedding was very personal--almost everything we incorporated into the ceremony, from our clothes to the rings to the wreath on my head, was handmade, mainly purchased from artisans through Etsy.com. We supported local businesses whenever possible (the dinner was catered by the Indian place where we have lunch on a regular basis, and the beautiful cake, studded with marzipan pears, was made by a woman who runs a business out of her own kitchen.) My mom made a gorgeous table full of appetizers, my niece Mollie baked most of the Danish wedding cookies, my sister braided the hand-fasting cord, and our friend Nancy really made the space beautiful, through fabrics that she brought from home and ones that she helped us find in the LA garment district (she even made the bag for the glass that Michael stepped on at the end of the ceremony). Her wife Jenn was a fantastic help, as well, taking me to pick up the chuppah with her Jeep, and helping me select and pot the plants for the centerpieces. Our friend Sabrina made my beautiful necklace and the matching ornaments to weave around the stems of our toasting flutes. Michael's family was amazing in helping us both set up and clean up (as well as hosting the rehearsal dinner.) Our friends Kris and Karen provided stunning music for the ceremony (plus Karen and her jazz ensemble rocked the reception) and our friend Susan was a graceful and wise officiant. In my sleepy state, I know I'm neglecting to acknowledge other people who made the event so smooth and joyful, but needless to say, I'm grateful for every single person who put their hearts and hands into making last Sunday such a meaningful day. It was a truly communal celebration. And a sustainable one--we used all biodegradable plates, cups and utensils, and had favors studded with wildflower seeds that guests could plant in their own gardens (we have a few left if any of you would like me to send you one--just let me know.)

Michael and I surprised everyone by doing part of a song from Annie Get Your Gun, the musical where we first met and became friends, during the ceremony. It was fun to give everyone an unexpected show (we didn't give any clue of it during the rehearsal the night before.) I love how the ceremony incorporated music and poetry along with Jewish, Danish and pagan tradition, plus food (my kids and niece and Michael's younger siblings passed around the Danish wedding cookies and sparkling pear cider during the "cakes and ale" ritual). A glorious day altogether (Asher seemed to like it, too--he gave me some serious thumps during the ceremony!)

There is so much more I could write, but I need to stagger off to bed. For now, I'll leave you with a link to a slide show that Nancy put together of pictures from the day. Enjoy!

breaking open

2009-07-08T08:32:00.000-07:00

At the closing conversation of the Antioch residency (which, as always, was so rich--inspiring and energizing even as it was physically exhausting) I mentioned how moved I am by how people at Antioch are so willing to break themselves and their work open again and again. It takes bravery to step outside our creative boxes, to move toward the things that scare us, to be ready to let go of ideas (and often whole drafts) that we've become attached to. I watch my students do all these things, and learn so much from them in the process.

The last couple of years have broken me open in so many ways, and it's been terrifying and destabilizing and exciting and grounding all at once. I find myself doing things I never ever imagined I would do in my lifetime--getting remarried so soon after a divorce (not to mention getting divorced in the first place), having a baby 19 years after my first, etc. It hit me a few days ago that I had seen myself as a mother of two ever since I was a little girl--I had always said I wanted two kids, even when I was very young. It's a bit weird to shift my identity to encompass being a mother of three now. Strangely, over the years, many people have told me they thought I was a mother of three and expressed surprise when I said I just had two kids--I have no idea why; maybe they saw this future baby hovering somewhere around my head. Now that this baby is a reality, I am having to expand my idea of who I am, what the shape of the rest of my life will be. And I hope, like my students at Antioch, I will approach these changes with openness and bravery and curiosity, not to mention a good dose of humor.

parting shots

2009-06-18T09:31:00.001-07:00

I'm about to take off to teach at the 10 day Antioch MFA residency, but thought I'd leave you with some images from our aforementioned garden. Here you'll see one of our green zebra tomatoes. Michael took a bunch of photos of the various fruits and veggies growing in our yard and set up a Flickr site (click here to view all the pics. You'll see that it's labeled as "Michael Brandeis' Photostream"--that's because he's taking my name.) :)

If I can post during the residency, I will. If not, have a wonderful and delicious 10 days!

full time

2009-06-07T10:03:00.000-07:00

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I don't know how pregnant women can work full time. Michael teased me about this a bit, since I work more than full time--I guess I should have qualified that I meant working full time outside the home. It's hard to gage how many hours I actually do work per day, since it all kind of flows together--right now, I'm teaching at two universities (most of the work is online for Antioch, other than the residencies in June and December), writing for CODEPINK every week, copyediting one novel (my copy edits arrived from my publisher one day after I turned in revisions for another novel to another publisher), trying to get some fresh writing done, plus trying to have a life outside of work (which right now includes planning a wedding.) I often begin working as soon as I get up, and am up working until 1am--of course I'm not working every hour in between, but my day always features a constant weaving in and out of work. It is all stuff that I love and I'm grateful to have every opportunity that's been presented to me, but I don't always do a good job of juggling everything, or keeping clear boundaries between work and life. I'm pretty sure I've blogged about this before, so forgive me if this is repetitive, but it's something I return to again and again; I often have spans of time (such as right now) where I feel like I'm not doing enough in any sphere--I'm not doing enough as a mother, as a partner, as a daughter, as a sister, as a friend, as a writer, as a teacher, as an activist, as a human being, even as a blogger--I feel so stretched thin, as if there's not enough of myself to give to all the people and things I love. But of course even as I'm feeling pulled like taffy, I am growing fuller and rounder every day; I well with joy when I think about meeting this baby, but I worry that if I'm overwhelmed now, what will happen when a newborn is added to the mix?

My plate will be a bit less full when the baby is born--UCR can't bring me back next year because of the budget crisis, and I'm going to take a term off from Antioch after the birth--but money is an issue, so I'll be teaching online for UCLA, promoting new books, etc. The calm pool at the center of me trusts that it will all work out, that my life will expand to hold everything that needs to be taken care of, that support will be available when I need it, but the whirling part around that still center can't help but worry. I worry that I won't be able to give myself over to this baby as fully as I did when my older kids were born. I hear a lot of moms who had kids many years after their firsts say that they were much more patient with the babies they had later in life, but I worry that I'll be the opposite. When Arin and Hannah were little, I completely surrendered to motherhood (to a fault--letting them pull my hair because I figured it must feel really satisfying to them, that it was something they needed to express and experience, and I held back expressing my own discomfort in the process); I wrote, but there wasn't an urgency to it--I mostly just wanted to be available to my kids and was happy to write whenever I found a spare moment or two. I want to be available to this baby, too, of course, but I've grown more protective of my time, and know that I'll have to find ways to carve some for myself and my work (and say no to the hair pulling!) I've never been good at creating boundaries--I have a feeling that it's something I'm really going to have to learn to do this time around. That in itself may become a full time job!

super-heating

2009-05-30T11:46:00.000-07:00

Every few months for the last 13 or so years, I've had strange bouts of intense abdominal pain and vomiting. I wrote about this on my other blog, Fruitful, after I was hospitalized for a particularly nasty episode last October. We still don't know the cause, although I recently had a negative test for porphyria, a condition I was originally diagnosed with when I was 19. Whatever the root may be, it's a thoroughly sucky experience. But now at least I have a new way of dealing with it.

I was up most of last night with doubled-over pain, cold sweats, etc. I have a couple of medications that can take the edge off, but I found conflicting information online about whether or not they are safe during pregnancy--a bit scary, since I had taken one of them during my last episode, when I was newly pregnant and didn't know yet--so I decided to avoid them for the time being. I tried deep breathing to get through the pain, telling myself it was good practice for labor. I even tried blowing raspberries, which iconic midwife Ina May Gaskin recommends, especially during the pushing stage (I am totally digging her book, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, by the way--if you are pregnant and only want to read one book, this is a good one!) I finally started to throw up around 5am. After the sound woke Michael, we decided to call our midwife, Karen, and see what she thought about the different medications. She assured us that one of them appeared to be safe during pregnancy, but then she also offered a non-medical option, as well.

We had mentioned to Karen that one doctor had thought these episodes might be the result of abdominal migraines, so she suggested we try an old migraine remedy: super-heating the hands and feet. She said it helps redirect blood flow and can provide relief. So Michael ran hot water in the tub and I sat on a towel on the edge of it, hunched over so both my hands and feet could be immersed. It was a bit uncomfortable, so Michael put an upended drink bucket in the tub and I sat on that instead. At first my belly griped at being folded over, but the hot water on my hands and feet was nicely distracting, and then eventually relaxing, and before too long, I was able to stumble back to bed and sleep for a few welcome hours. I am pretty wiped out now, and have a bit of residual unrest in my belly, but overall I feel so much better, and I didn't even take any medicine.

I was already happy about our choice of midwife, but I feel even more pleased about it now--Karen has such a wonderful mix of compassion and knowledge (plus she's an activist who helped lobby for legalization of midwifery in California.) If she can help me so thoroughly over the phone through one of these episodes, I know she'll be a superstar at the birth.

napping

2009-05-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

I am usually on campus at UCR from 10-2 on Tuesdays, but yesterday I stayed a few extra hours so I could attend readings by graduating seniors from the creative writing department (you did a great job, everyone!) Afterwards, I told a couple of my lovely students that I had stayed past my "pregnant lady naptime"--I usually crash after I come home from campus (I honestly don't know how pregnant women can work full time--those four hours at UCR, as enjoyable as they always are, tend to slay me). One student challenged me to blog about napping--I was too tired to write anything when I got home (sorry, Brian!) but I'll try my hand now.

In my normal, non-pregnant life, I am not a napper. I am not much of a sleeper, in general. Sleep and I have always had a complicated relationship. Sometimes I could nap if I was sick, or on the first day of my period, but for the most part, sleep has eluded me during the day. Napping while pregnant, however, is a different story entirely. Especially this time around.

I still have a complicated relationship with sleep--namely, I'm not getting enough of it. I often stay up too late, and when I do fall asleep, I wake up every few hours (sometimes every other hour) to pee. I know this is preparing me for the baby, for all those nighttime nursing sessions, but it's hard to appreciate that when I wake up feeling like a zombie. Napping is often essential.

Just as hunger is different while pregnant--often a sudden, roaring thing--tiredness is different while pregnant, too. It sweeps over me like a sand storm, hitting me with an almost violent force. If I resist it (which I try to do too often) I start to feel as if my whole body is going to shatter. And when I give in and lie down, sleep tends to overtake me quickly. It's like falling into a deep dark hole, one that can be hard to climb out of. I wake up groggy and disoriented, and often wonder whether the nap helped at all, but once I'm up for a few minutes, the fog clears and I feel refreshed (or at least less tired than I had before the nap.)

When Arin and Hannah were babies, I was never good at following the wise "nap when they nap" advice, even though neither of them slept much during the night (hence neither did I.) I have a feeling that when this baby comes, I'll be much better at napping along with it--these older bones need more rest than they used to. Then again, maybe I'll be back to my old resisting sleep tricks--baby naptime is always such a good chance to get stuff done, and I always have so much to do. But if those naps hit me like a locomotive the way they have been lately, well, I won't be able to do anything but give in...

joke time

2009-05-26T12:57:00.000-07:00

I saw this joke on Jennifer Weiner's blog (submitted by her mother's friend and book club member, Lynne Hawkins) and had to share it here:

With all the new technology regarding fertility recently, a 65-year-old friend of mine was able to give birth. When she was discharged from the hospital and went home, I went to visit:

"May I see the new baby?' I asked

"Not yet,' she said 'I'll make coffee and we can visit for a while first."

Thirty minutes had passed, and I asked, 'May I see the new baby now?'

'No, not yet,' she said.

After another few minutes had elapsed, I asked again, 'May I see the baby now?'

"No, not yet,' replied my friend.

Growing very impatient, I asked, 'Well, when can I see the baby?'

"WHEN HE CRIES!' she told me.

"WHEN HE CRIES?' I demanded. 'Why do I have to wait until he CRIES?'

"BECAUSE I FORGOT WHERE I PUT HIM, O.K.?!!'

I've gotten more forgetful lately, but hopefully won't ever get that forgetful in my "advanced maternal age"! I have to say, seeing news items about pregnant 66 year olds is making me feel like a spring chicken in comparison (even though technically, I am still considered an "elderly gravida.") I'm feeling less nervous about the pregnancy and forthcoming birth in general now, probably because I've passed the 12 week mark, and also because we finally have found the midwife we want to work with (more on that later, but suffice it to say, she's wonderful.) Now, I really need to get back to work (if only I can remember what I'm supposed to be working on...)

burgeoning

2009-05-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

I have always had a black thumb. I love plants, and long dreamed of having a lush garden, but somehow had never been able to translate that into reality. Years ago, when my kids were little, we had a plot in the community garden at Family Student Housing at UCR, but our patch never really took off. I think we grew one anemic watermelon and a couple of stunted cucumbers, but that was about it. Thankfully our neighbors were generous, letting us pluck their candy-sweet cherry tomatoes (especially delicious when warm off the vine), and giving us baskets of squash and eggplant.

This spring, Michael and I decided to try our hands at gardening together. We attended a class on edible landscaping, did a bunch of reading, talked with friends who were also planning gardens. It was exciting to see how many people we knew were making this leap into growing food--we even found out that the people who moved into my last house started a local organization, Growcology, dedicated to educating the public about organic gardening and sustainability. One dear friend used being laid off from her teaching job as an opportunity to follow her dreams and start her own regenerative gardening/permaculture business. I love being part of this upswell.

We planted corn, beans, peas, lettuce, eggplant, peppers, honeydew, cucumber, loofa (which I had always thought was a sea sponge, not a gourd!), pumpkins, sunflowers, onions, and four kinds of tomatoes (like the true writer geek I am, I chose two of the varieties of tomatoes based on my books coming out next year--yellow pear tomatoes for PEARS and Abe Lincoln tomatoes for MY LIFE WITH THE LINCOLNS.) Some we started from seed, others from seedlings from the nursery and the farmers' market. It was right around the time that we were doing all this planting that--unknown to us--the baby was conceived. It feels fitting that the baby began when so much other life was germinating around us.

Not all the seeds took, and some of the plants withered quickly in the sun, but many others have taken root--the stalks of corn are growing tall and sturdy, the peppers and eggplant and peas are blossoming, and we've already been able to harvest some of the lettuce. Onions that we had given up on started to push through the soil weeks after we expected them to--some cucumber plants popped up weeks after their sister seeds, as well. The tomatoes are especially exciting, the vines tall and shaggy and full of green fruit. The green zebra tomatoes were the first to start burgeoning, and it's been so lovely to watch them grow rounder and fuller as my belly starts to get rounder and fuller, too. It makes me feel part of something bigger than myself--part of a deeper cycle. Such abundance!

egg and cheese

2009-05-19T06:53:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get on laughing jags, totally slap happy, hard-to-stop fits of giggles that make me feel slightly insane, but are also incredibly cathartic. I remember freaking out a classmate in high school when we were having a study session together because I wrote down "weaky" instead of "weak" and I couldn't stop cracking up. It seems to be happening more often lately--perhaps it's hormonal?

Here is the latest thing that has had me laughing for two days, even in the midst of my concern about the spotting (I had trouble falling asleep last night because I couldn't stop convulsing with laughter. I think Michael was quite worried about me, actually--he looked a bit alarmed when I woke up this morning and started giggling afresh.) I doubt it will seem as funny in cold black type, but here goes...

I was talking to my sister a couple of nights ago on the phone; we often talk about food, so I mentioned that I had made latkes for dinner. She asked if I had served them with sour cream and applesauce, and I told her how Michael had been unable to find organic apple sauce at the grocery store, so he had come home with a jar of baby food organic applesauce. Except I didn't say "jar of baby food"--I said "food of baby jar". And I didn't even notice what I had said until my sister and Hannah both pointed it out to me. And then the hysterics began. My sister said that she was sweating, she was laughing so hard, and my stomach was hurting from laughing so hard, but it felt so good--after being so worried about a different part of my belly, it was wonderful to take the focus upwards for a while.

After we started to regain our senses a bit, my sister told me how when she was in town recently, she and our mom were talking about the process of making babies. "All it takes is an egg and cheese," my mom had said by accident. And of course the hysterics bubbled right up again. Now the words "food of baby jar" and "egg and cheese" keep popping into my head and I dissolve into laughter. I'm sure it's one of those "had to be there" things, but if you run into me and I start giggling like a fiend, you'll know why....

baby's first portrait!

2009-05-18T22:31:00.001-07:00

It is so amazing to realize there is a face inside my belly. How wild is that?!

I went in for an emergency sonogram today because some spotting started up again yesterday, along with some weird feelings of pressure. My kind family doctor ordered the ultrasound after we weren't able to get an appointment with an OB. As I mentioned before, I never had an ultrasound with my earlier pregnancies, and I wasn't able to see the screen when I had an ultrasound three weeks ago, so this was my first experience actually seeing life move around inside me. I was filled with relief and awe as the heartbeat came into view, as the technician (who was also incredibly kind) pointed out elbow and stomach and chin and foot on the grainy, shifting screen. We got to see the baby stretch its tiny legs, and turn around so we could see its sweet spine.

The technician asked me to pee before she switched from the abdominal ultrasound to the (shudder) transvaginal one. As I walked to the bathroom, I had the strange sensation that I had left the baby in the testing room, that the baby just existed on the screen. It took a moment to remember that the little squirming creature was actually right there, inside of me, coming along for the ride.

Later, the technician showed us an image of the baby's face--you can see it here (as a photo of a photocopy, so not the clearest image, but doesn't it look like the baby is grinning?) Somehow seeing the face made something shift in me. I suddenly let myself be happy. I've been happy about the pregnancy before, but it's been a guarded happiness, a cautious happiness. I've been so nervous about losing the baby, I haven't let myself be fully happy about the baby. But seeing it float around, seeing its heart beat, seeing its little face, filled me with a true, deep happiness that lasted for hours. Of course something could still happen, but I'm grateful that I was able to let myself be taken over with the wonder of this new life and let fear fade away, at least for a while.

Bad Mother: an interview with Ayelet Waldman

2009-05-13T09:14:00.000-07:00

Mama, Redux is certainly no Fresh Air or Today Show, but we all have something in common: we scored interviews with Ayelet Waldman!

I've known Ayelet for around six years; we met at Readerville, a lively (and at times life saving) online forum for readers and writers, and became friends sharing stories about thrush and purple nipples. The first time I went to her house, she was tethered to a breast pump--a pretty much constant state of being for her those days, as her baby Abe was having trouble nursing due to a malformed palate. Ayelet chronicles this trying period of her mothering life and explores everything from girls' Halloween costumes (sexy witch or cereal box?) to her painful decision to terminate a pregnancy after learning the baby had a rare chromosomal abnormality, in her kick ass new book, Bad Mother.

Bad Mother: A Chronicle of Maternal Crimes, Minor Calamities,and Occasional Moments of Grace, is a swift, nourishing read--funny, honest, moving, galvanizing. Using the controversy involving her infamous New York Times essay about loving her husband, author Michael Chabon, more than her children, as a launching pad, Ayelet delves into why we as mothers can be both so hard on ourselves and hard on each other (when Ayelet was on Oprah, a woman even lunged at her, saying "Let me at her!" Toward the end of the show, though, Ayelet had opened most of the audience's eyes to the true heart of her essay: children will eventually grow up and leave the home, but the relationship with one's partner will ideally last a lifetime and needs to be made a priority). The book raises important issues about feminism and motherhood and ultimately makes it clear that we as mothers need to give ourselves and each other a break.

I'm so thrilled that Ayelet was able to take a moment in her crazy schedule and answer a few questions, especially for a blog with an audience of dozens instead of the millions she's become accustomed to of late. :)

G: It’s been quite a month for you…Fresh Air! Jamming at the White House! I've been so excited to see the attention you and your book have been getting. How are you and your family holding up? What have been the highlights (and lowlights, if any) of the last couple of weeks? And did you get to talk mothering with Michelle Obama?

A: Alas, I got to say about a word and a half to Michelle. Most of which consisted of me blathering on with tears in my eyes about how proud I was to have them in the White House. Very original. She's never heard that before. Oh the Power of Words.

My kids are just about sick to death of me traveling, freaking out about getting my picture taken, etc. My baby (six now) wants me to stop getting my hair blown out, but how the hell am I supposed to trust my curls to behave? Can't frizz out in the East Room.

G: Why do you think mothers can be so hard on ourselves and each other? What do you think it will take for our culture to shift toward being more supportive of mothers, in general?

A: It will take a monstrous change in society. Women are anxious because of the way our society is structured. For things to change we need to basically become Sweden with 16 months paid maternity leave, reliable and inexpensive child care, less of an emphasis on excessive accumulation of wealth. Work needs to be a place you can leave at 5:00 without sacrificing your ambitions. And men need to shoulder half the responsibilities of home life.

Don't hold your breath.

G: I’m curious to know whether you see any parallels between writing and mothering. I know I often feel as if I’m not doing enough in either sphere. As a writer, have you experienced any of the same feelings of guilt, unreasonable expectations, etc., (not to mention outside judgment) that you have as a mother? If so, how do you work through that (and how do you suggest other writers deal with similar feelings?)

A: Wow, I've never thought of that, but it's so true! I beat myself up about my work almost as much as I beat myself up about my mothering! I have no good advice. I NEED good advice.

G: You do a beautiful job of infusing politics into your writing, both your novels and your non-fiction. I’d love to hear your thoughts about how writing and politics (and mothering) intersect in your life.

A: Politics pervade who I am and what I do. I really do believe in that old saw "the personal is political." Who our president is changes my experience of the world, it shapes the lives of my children. How we treat one another in society is reflected in how we treat one another in our families. It's everything and everywhere.

Plus, I have a really really big mouth and I like to air my point of view as loudly as possible.

G: I so admire your honesty in this book. Is there anything that you find yourself shying away from in your work, or have you given yourself total free reign as a writer?

A: I would never say anything ugly about my husband or my children. I've read essays in which the authors blast away at their spouses. I'd never do that.

G: Any final words of advice for mothers out there (especially mothers who write)?

A: Make the time for your work. Even if it's only an hour a day. Carve out a space, force your partner to help you, and if you don't have a partner, beg, borrow or steal the money to pay for a sitter. The biggest threat to a writer's work is her life. Life sucks up all the air and unless you force yourself to find a tiny bit of breathing room, you'll never get anything done.

* * *

Thank you, Ayelet, for your generosity and humor and insight. I know that your book is going to help mothers (and mother writers) relax, to let go of ridiculous expectations we carry around for ourselves and one another so we can remember to take a deep breath and appreciate this wild journey. Enjoy the rest of your own adventure as your book zooms around the world!

Mother's Day

2009-05-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

Pregnancy brain strikes again! I thought for sure I had already blogged about CODEPINK's Mother's Day plans, but it appears that I have not (perhaps I got confused because I'd written several action alerts and a couple of failed op-eds about the weekend event and must have figured I had written something here, too.)

I really wanted to go to Washington, DC for the Mother's Day weekend to join my CODEPINK sisters for the 24 hour peace vigil in front of the White House--an inspiring schedule full of storytelling and music and poetry, along with education and discussion about how we as women can most effectively say No to war. I was especially excited by the idea of the peace cozy--we set out a call for women to knit pink and green squares that, when stitched together, would ultimately spell out "We will not raise our children to kill another mother's child" at the White House gates. As you can see from the picture above, it came together so beautifully (and epically! I think that it's going to end up in the Guinness book of records!) I love thinking about hundreds of women all over the world sitting at home or with circles of friends, knitting these individual squares; I love thinking about how their hands, their hearts, their voices are now woven together into one gorgeous, powerful, object, one "cozy" that speaks to our desire for a more peaceful future for every single one of our children. Unfortunately, I realized I couldn't afford the time or money to travel this weekend, plus I was a bit wary about flying in the first trimester (thankfully the spotting has stopped, but I still feel vulnerable). Even though I wasn't there, it makes me so happy to know how my CODEPINK co-madres gathered to honor the original intention of Mother's Day and raise awareness about alternatives to war.

Plus, it turns out I had one of the best Mother's Days ever. Certainly better than last year's, much of which I spent crying about my divorce. What a difference a year makes! I went out to brunch with Michael, my kids and my parents, along with Michael's mom and sister and nephews. Afterwards, my parents went home so my dad could continue to recover from his cataract surgery (which, much to my relief, went incredibly well), and the rest of us went on a spontaneous trip to a nearby "family fun" park for mini golf and laser tag and other assorted amusements. It was such a treat to see my kids having so much fun--they spend so little time together these days since my son lives with his dad, and is so busy with college, work, cycling, etc. To watch them play together like they did when they were little was good soul food for me (although I have to admit I got a little queasy when I watched them on the tea cup ride--they made it spin faster than any teacup I've ever seen before! Arin said he felt as if he had entered some vortex to another world. They were a crazy blur. We actually had to pick up Dramamine for Hannah on the way home, but she said it was worth it. ) I had to sit out the go carts and laser tag and teacup because of my "condition", but I had a fabulous time. The kids and Michael and I capped off the holiday with a rousing game of Scrabble once we got home. A truly beautiful day all around. And even though I didn't use the day to work for peace, I felt peace in my family, in my heart, and I know I can tap into that in my future peace work.

I hope all mamas out there had an equally wonderful Mother's Day! So wild to think that if all goes well, I'll have a five month old next Mother's Day...

preggo shuffle

2009-05-09T16:51:00.000-07:00

In a scene in Away We Go, Maya Rudolph (who was wonderful in the movie, by the way, and so funny and lovely in real life) is watching an old Kathy Smith pregnancy video. It cracked me up because that was the tape I worked out to so earnestly during my early-1990s pregnancies. The "Preggo Shuffle" at the center of the tape--Kathy Smith's lame attempt at rapping--was always cringe inducing, but I used to sing along to it anyway (and tried to in the theater, but Hannah shushed me with horror when I gleefully started to chant along with "You get much more from your pelvic floor when you pass on the bagel and do one more kegel!") I have to say that seeing this video makes my first two pregnancies seem much longer ago than anything else has!
I picked up a prenatal yoga dvd recently--I have yet to use it (hopefully soon!)--and wonder if it will look as dated in 19 years. Somehow I think yoga has a longer shelf life than pastel-unitard-ed aerobics, but we shall see...

away we go

2009-05-08T08:24:00.000-07:00

Last night, Hannah and Michael and I drove into LA to see a pre-release screening of Sam Mendes' new film, Away We Go, as a benefit for 826LA, the wonderful community writing center inspired by Dave Eggers' 826 Valencia in San Francisco. There are now 826 offshoots around the country, offering free writing workshops and after school tutoring for kids, often fronted by cool, quirky shops--a pirate supply store in SF, a time travel shop in Echo Park, etc. I taught a Writing from the Senses workshop at the original 826LA in Venice a few years ago, and Hannah has taken a couple of classes there, so we've experienced the power of 826 first hand, and were happy to be able to support it through this event.

The movie was written by Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida, and stars John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph. All of the aforementioned people (plus Catherine O'Hara, who plays John Krasinski's mom) were present for a panel discussion after the film. Michael got to the theater--a great vintage Egyptian-themed movie house--early (we took separate cars so Hannah and I could stop in some vintage stores in LA before Michael had to leave work) and was able to grab a spot near the front of the line, so we ended up with first row seats. Not the most comfortable for movie viewing--we had to slouch with our heads tipped back to be able to see the screen--but amazing for the panel discussion afterward. We were so close to everyone, we could have played footsy with them (and in fact, at some point, much to our amusement, Catherine O'Hara dove off her chair and lunged between Michael's legs! We weren't sure what was going on at first, but then she picked up his 826LA flyer, which had fallen to the ground, and used it as a fan for the remainder of the panel. When the discussion was over, she very sweetly thanked him and returned the flyer. Plus I caught John Krasinski--who seems like a real sweetheart--checking out my daughter, which I admit was a very strange feeling!)

The reason I'm writing about the film on this blog instead of my other more general one is because of the film itself. Away We Go is about a couple expecting their first baby; they travel around the country during their 6th month of pregnancy, trying to find a place to land and raise their child. It is a charming, moving film, full of humor and heart and some of the sweetest, most honest depictions of relationship that I've seen on screen in a long time. The movie explores (and pokes gentle fun at) the parenting spectrum--everything from holier-than-thou continuum parenting to not-so-benign neglect--and beautifully captures the confusion and hope and fear and joy of a couple on a life-changing journey toward parenthood. It felt like the perfect movie to see both as a pregnant mama and mama of a 15 year old girl (Hannah loved it. Plus, she has been reading Dave Eggers' book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, this week, and was excited to be able to get it signed. And the fact that John Krasinski checked her out--well, that's something she said she'll tell her grandchildren about!) Michael loved it, too--it's definitely not just a chick flick. And it delves with open eyes into some painful issues (especially losses such as miscarriage and the death of parents and abandonment) along with the cute stuff.

Away We Go will be released (in just a few cities, I think) on June 5. I highly, highly recommend it. You can watch the trailer here:

racks

2009-05-04T08:47:00.000-07:00

I'm a big fan of word games--Scrabble and its off-shoots, especially (even though my son always kicks my butt; I swear, he should enter the Scrabble tournament circuit!) I always have a few Scrabble or Wordscraper games going on Facebook--it's like my non-coffee coffee-break. Moving letters around seems to help me cut through the haze of pregnancy brain (or, as my sister calls it, placenta brain) but sometimes the fog takes over, anyway.

I was recently playing Wordscraper with a friend who is also pregnant. On the chat that goes with the game, she had posted "My rack is like Old McDonald's farm." I thought she meant her breasts were growing barn-animal-like because of the pregnancy, so I posted something like "Mine is more bounteous, too, although I started out small garden variety, so I'm not close to farm proportions." It wasn't until a couple of hours later that I realized she meant her rack of letters held something like EIEIO, and she probably had no idea what I was talking about. I couldn't stop laughing the rest of the day--it makes me wonder what other things my hormone-addled brain has misinterpreted!

awesome

2009-05-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

It was so wonderful having my sister here--a too short, but deeply sweet, visit.

On her flight to California, she was seated next to a guy who worked in defense sales; she said it was wild to have creation and destruction represented in one row. He was a bit taken aback when she told him what she did for a living; he couldn't seem to understand why anyone would want to have such a job (she's actually wanted it for a long time--when she was little, she said she wanted to be the "doctor who pulls the babies out"!) After a while, he turned to her and asked in hushed tones if it was normal for him to look at his wife differently after witnessing her giving birth.

"Do you mean because it was so awe-inspiring to see your wife do something so powerful?" she asked.

I'm sure that's not what he had in mind, but he said "Um, yeah."

She said "I'm sure you didn't know her body had that kind of power. It's hard to look at someone the same way when you've seen them do something so incredibly awesome."

I love how she reframed his question; I hope that her words helped him see birth and his wife in a brand new light! My sister is so amazing--she definitely helps me see things in fresh, clear ways. I'm so glad she'll be back in July; otherwise, saying goodbye would have been much more difficult.

BTW, Michael and I were supposed to meet with the local midwife yesterday, but he came home from work sick and didn't want to expose her to anything. I'll let you know how the rescheduled visit goes next week...

two videos

2009-04-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

It's video day over at Mama, Redux--I just had to share these two YouTube finds.

The first one comes via my sister. It's a mattress commercial from Spain that features a beautiful, powerful home birth. Can you imagine if such commercials were shown in the States? It would revolutionize how birth is viewed in this country--it would help our culture see home birth as something natural, something normal, something safe and loving. Not that I expect that to happen any time soon, but at least we can circulate this through the blogosphere and open a few eyes and minds and hearts:

The second video is a little ditty called "Pregnant Women are Smug" by one of my daughter's favorite bands, Garfunkel and Oates. While I have to say these adorable singers don't speak for me, it's a nice reminder to not take myself too seriously (or smugly!)

heartbeats and drive throughs

2009-04-24T17:50:00.001-07:00

I had my first prenatal check up today. It was a very bizarre experience--I had used midwives with my first two pregnancies, but because of my age and because of some concerns based on my previous birth experiences, I (despite my truest inclinations) thought I might need to be more medically monitored this time around. My family doctor, who I trust, suggested a local woman OB, and told me that patients he has sent to her love her.

I did not love her.

When she came into the room, after Michael and I had been waiting for over half an hour in the exam room--me in the broad-shouldered paper get-up they had given me that looked like some sort of Star Wars Empress costume--she shook my hand, but didn't even acknowledge Michael's presence. Her whole visit was curt and impersonal; Michael called it a "drive through exam". She did an ultrasound without telling me that's what she was about to do--I was open to it, even though I've never had one before, but it would have been nice to have been informed first; it took her awhile to find the baby--so nerve wracking--but eventually, she said "There's the heartbeat." This was a huge relief, of course, but she didn't turn up the sound so I could hear it and she was standing between me and the monitor, so I couldn't see anything. When I tried to sit up to get a look at the screen, she said "You can't see it" and turned the machine off. I imagine she meant I wouldn't be able to identify the images, but it sounded as if she meant I wasn't allowed to look.

Another frustrating thing--she told us that the two local hospitals where she has privileges wouldn't let me have a VBAC, even though my second birth was a VBAC (my son was born by emergency C-section). If I want to try for a VBAC, she'd have to refer me to a doctor in Loma Linda. It makes me so upset to think that women have no choice regarding VBACs in local hospitals; I'm not sure who to talk to about this, but I am definitely going to find out.

I'm glad that we went this morning--it was good to know the baby's heart is beating and to hear that the doctor isn't concerned about my spotting--but it was discouraging to know that this is the current standard of care. Michael said that the experience was even worse than the time when he went to an urgent care center with a bad respiratory infection not that long ago, and they gave him a brochure titled "I Have a Cold Just Like Mommy and Daddy"! Today's appointment definitely helped me realize that even though I have concerns, I don't want to medicalize this pregnancy and birth unless it proves to be absolutely necessary. Of course this something I knew intuitively, but I had been listening to my fears instead of that deeper place. I guess this is where the trust I talked about in the last post comes in!

After we got home, I called a local midwife and made an appointment for this coming Thursday. She talked to me over the phone for almost half an hour, and as she spoke about her practice and encouraged me to ask questions, I felt my whole body relax. This is the kind of care I was hoping for--personal, patient, the kind of care that honors a woman's journey toward birth and doesn't just treat her like part of an assembly line. Of course if there are complications, I will turn toward whatever help is needed, but for now, I feel like the right decision is to stay as far away from hospitals as possible.

My midwife sister is coming into town tomorrow (YAY!) and will be returning just about every other month through this pregnancy for various family functions (and hopefully for the birth!), so I know that I'll have the best adjunct care imaginable. I am a lucky mama indeed.

Egg, Nest, Trust

2009-04-20T21:36:00.000-07:00

Our friends Nancy and Jenn hosted a beautiful solstice ritual in late March, focusing on birds as the central metaphor for spring. As part of the event, they walked around the circle with a stack of Bird Signs cards; we each drew one and then looked in the companion book to see what our specific card meant. I closed my eyes, let my fingers fall upon a card and pulled it from the deck; when I opened my eyes, I realized I had drawn three cards instead of one. I started to put two back, but Jenn smiled and said, "That means you're supposed to have all three."

It turned out the three cards I had chosen were Egg-Birth, Nest-Grounding, and Quail-Trust. Several people laughed and said "interesting", as if they knew something I didn't. Of course now I know I was pregnant at the time, but I had no clue then; it seemed somehow people were picking up on it, though. A couple of weeks later, when I told Nancy the news, she said she wasn't surprised, based on those cards.

I've been having some light spotting lately--nothing major, and according to everyone I've consulted, perfectly normal, but it's still very scary. I've been so focused on what the Egg-Birth card represents and am realizing now that I need to dig deeper into those other ideas that presented themselves to me. I need to find more grounding to help process the fears swirling around inside, and need to trust that my body knows what it's doing. That whatever happens--positive or negative--the nest of my body will support me through it, as will all the people who have already given so much support and love on this unexpected journey.

reading (breeding) material

2009-04-17T16:23:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant the first time, I couldn't read enough about pregnancy and childbirth. I had stacks and stacks of books, everything from the ubiquitous What to Expect when You're Expecting to Spiritual Midwifery (parts of which were hilariously dated--I remember a caption under a photo of a newborn that read "What a little stoner, so fresh and new"--but I loved the book; it was filled with good, reassuring inspiring information. And I was tickled by how the midwives in the book called labia "flaps.") I lent the books to a pregnant friend years ago; that friend moved away and sadly I never saw her or the books again. I may try to replace a couple of my favorites (I especially miss A Child is Born, a book I grew up with; it's so cool to be able to see the different stages of fetal development. I think I'm at the stage where the baby looks a bit like a tiny frog.)

So far, I've only picked up two belly-related books--one on vegetarian pregnancy, and one about pregnancy and beyond called My Mother Wears Combat Boots: A Parenting Guide for the Rest of Us, by Jessica Mills. My daughter saw me reading the latter, and had a good laugh. "I don't think you're exactly the right demographic for that book, Mom," she said. She definitely doesn't see me as a hip mama.

I felt myself get a little defensive. "The author's a touring musician and activist," I said. "I'm a (sometimes) touring writer and activist. I wanted to see how she balances everything."

"But you've done this all before," she said. "You know how it works."

I'm not sure I do. When Arin and Hannah were born, I had begun to publish in journals, but hadn't established myself as a writer yet. I didn't have to worry about book tours/teaching/etc. I had the luxury of being at home with them full time, writing when I could, not having to worry about any external obligations. This time around, I'll have two books coming out within months of the birth, I'll be teaching online within weeks of the birth, I'll be juggling the needs of a newborn and a teenager, etc. I'm not sure a book has been written about all of that yet. But it does help me to read how other women navigate their own lives as mothers and artists, and I am always grateful to learn from women who can help me understand what's going on in my body and what I can do to nurture the life growing within me (in this regard, it also helps so much to have a midwife in the family who I can call whenever I have an urgent question. And of course, now there is the internet, which didn't exist when I was pregnant before--but that's a whole other post.)

I'd love to hear about your favorite pregnancy books--there are so many new ones out there now. Which have you found most inspiring/informative/relevant?

The green slime is here

2009-04-16T16:25:00.000-07:00

This morning, my toast looked like it had snot smeared on it. Or some sort of bilious goo. Toxic slime, perhaps. A little green, a little gray. Not the most appetizing looking breakfast, but it actually turned out to be quite tasty. Enter hemp seed nut butter into my life.

My sister, a midwife in Toronto, recently recommended hemp oil as a good vegetarian source of Omega-3s. She told me to avoid flaxseed oil (the main go-to Omega-3 for vegetarians), since it's been known to cause pre-term labor. I had been feeling good about my decision to drink Omega-3 fortified soymilk, but when I looked at the label, of course it contained flax. So now I have a jar of nutty, oily green-gray goo in my fridge and some little black Omega-3 capsules made of algal oil that create some strange-tasting burps, but hopefully will help build the little one's brain.

I was glad to find this green slime poster (from the year of my birth, no less) but I think its grammar is going to drive me crazy. Shouldn't it be "The Green Slime IS Coming"? Either way, the green slime is here and it turns out to be not so terrifying after all.

Pregnancy Anxiety Dream #5

2009-04-16T06:48:00.001-07:00

The actor/comedian Eugene Levy tells me that he impregnated me in my sleep and the baby is actually his. I decide that if this is the case, I can't actually go through with the pregnancy. I don't want a baby that looks like Eugene Levy. Eugene Levy does, however, offer to give me half of his vast pinball earnings.

Needless to say, I am very happy to see Michael when I wake up.

Burrito lust

2009-04-14T10:45:00.000-07:00

I had forgotten how hungry a pregnant woman gets. Even when I'm not pregnant, I wake up hungry, but now hunger is a whole new beast--a ravenous, gnawing thing.

When I was pregnant the first time, I craved egg and bean burritos; I made them on a daily basis, sometimes in the middle of the night. When I was pregnant the second time, I craved bean and rice burritos from "In An Out Burrito", a little storefront down the street from us at Family Student Housing at UCR; there was some spice in the burritos that my body desperately seemed to need. I haven't had any consistent cravings with this pregnancy yet--just the insane hunger (which co-exists with a pretty much constant, low grade nausea). Yesterday, though, I craved a bean and cheese burrito from Bakers, a local fast food chain, so intensely, I thought I might die if I didn't get one. In a cool synchronicity, when I picked up Hannah at school, she asked if we could go to Bakers on the way home--I love that my girl and I were on the same wavelength. The burrito was just as satisfying as I knew it would be, in all its cheesy fast food glory. I don't know what it is about pregnancy and burritos with me, and I don't know if this will be an ongoing craving, but man, my body is not shy about asking for what it wants.

Pregnancy Anxiety Dream #4

2009-04-14T07:56:00.000-07:00

I am a spectator in this one, not a participant, but that doesn't make it any less horrible:

I am at an ice cream shop in some Latin American country. A woman is there with her husband and a friend and is laughing about a bullet that has ricocheted into the shop and has pierced her spoon. The pink plastic spoon is trickling blood, like a stigmata, and the woman is laughing and laughing at the sight. Then the friend asks about the woman's baby, and the woman begins to look around, frantic. Her baby is nowhere to be seen. And then the ice cream shop keeper tells them that it was the baby who had been shot, not the spoon, and that the baby had died. "They wrote TRANQUILO on his arm before they took him away," he says, and the woman collapses with grief.

Not a great dream to wake up to on my birthday, but I suppose it's always good to remember how fragile life is, how easily it can be taken away. I never had postpartum depression, per se, but I remember being unable to stop crying a few days after Arin was born because I couldn't bear the fact that this beautiful baby I had brought into the world was going to die some day. It broke my heart beyond belief. I kept thinking about Rilke writing about how each pregnant woman carries two fruits inside of her: a birth and a death. I just wanted the one fruit--the juicy new one.

In the midst of my melt down, my ex-husband Matt brought me over to Arin and made me put my hand on his new little body. "This is his arm," he reminded me, "This is his leg. He is here right now." I was so grateful to be brought back into the moment, in all its sweetness.

And that's all we have really, this moment--which is what I want to savor on my birthday. And I want to acknowledge that other scary fruit, the one that is seeping into my dreams, the one that threatens to overwhelm with its scent of ferment, but I don't want to give it power over me; I want its presence to help me appreciate the fresher fruit all the more.

Time travel

2009-04-11T20:11:00.001-07:00

One thing that's vastly different in this pregnancy is my sense of time.

When I was pregnant the first time, I couldn't imagine actually having a baby, being a mother. I was so into the experience of pregnancy, it consumed me completely; of course I knew a baby was the end result, but I couldn't visualize it. My body couldn't imagine it. All it knew was being with child, and that was a different experience every day as my body and the baby grew. I was living in the shifting, changing moment, with no idea about what was to come.

Of course we never truly know what is to come, but by the time my daughter was born three years later, I could remember what it was like to hold a newborn, to breastfeed, to watch a baby learn to sit up, crawl, walk, talk (each new stage such a revelation.) But I couldn't see beyond three years old; I had no idea what it would be like to have an older kid.

Now I've been through the whole journey, seen my first baby grow all the way up to a gorgeous mustachioed college man, seen my daughter blossom into a gorgeous young woman. And while each child is different and I know this baby will take me down unexpected paths that I can't begin to fathom now, I know now what it's like to see the journey through to adulthood. I know the baby stage goes by in a blink. I know all of it goes by in a blink. It's kind of terrifying, really, how quickly it all goes. I hope that keeping this long-view in mind will help me appreciate each fleeting moment all the more (and will get me through times that seem interminable while they're happening, like teething and potty training.)

My dad is going to be 90 this year, and was telling me recently how he just can't believe he's as old as he is. His mind just can't seem to process his age. I feel the same way--how is it possible I'm almost 41 when I feel like a 10 year old inside? How is it possible I have such grown up kids? Time is utterly confounding; we are totally at its mercy--it shakes us off so easily, like old clothes--but I find I don't want to fight it. No Botox or plastic surgery, or any of those measures people my age use to stave off its relentless jaws (at least that's how I feel right now; time has taught me that minds sometimes change in surprising ways). Right now, I just want to slow myself down enough to enjoy time's passage. I imagine a baby will help me do that and turn time into even more of a blur all at once.

Pregnancy Anxiety Dreams

2009-04-10T11:28:00.000-07:00

As a 40-something pregnant woman, I find myself feeling so much more vulnerable than I ever did when pregnant in my 20s; I know there is a higher risk of miscarriage at this age, a higher risk of other complications. I'm trying to not live in fear--my friend Nancy who had her second girl at 42, 19 years after her first daughter was born, tells me how that sense of vulnerability during her pregnancy opened her up so profoundly, and I want to let myself open, too, instead of curling into a tight little ball, worried that every little twinge spells disaster. The fears are definitely manifesting themselves in my dreams, dreams that crack me up when I think about them later, but that terrify me while I'm inside of them...

Pregnancy Anxiety Dream #1

On my way to a frozen yogurt place with my daughter and her friend, somehow I get my arm stuck in a jar of caramel sauce. When I pull my arm out, sweet and sticky, the momentum makes me stumble, and I end up sliding across the entire length of a parking lot on my side, coming to a stop only after hitting my head on a parked car. A woman with a clipboard bends over me and starts talking as if nothing strange has happened; I wake up yelling "I'm pregnant! Call an ambulance!"

Pregnancy Anxiety Dream #2

I am sitting in my car at a gas station when two men, one Russian, one American, walk up to my window. They ask for money because they want to get something monogrammed. When I tell them I have no cash, the Russian man yanks my locked door open and lunges toward my belly. My whole body is fizzy with adrenalin when I wake, gasping.

Pregnancy Anxiety Dream #3

I am performing with an improvisational dance group, and everyone starts slithering around on their bellies like snakes on the stage, then slithering over the lip of the stage into the audience, so I do it, too, but I can feel the ground poke into my belly, and I know that I've hurt my baby irreparably.

I imagine the dreams will get only stranger as the pregnancy progresses--I'll be sure to share the weirdest ones with you here.

Welcome!

2009-04-10T10:03:00.000-07:00

This blog marks the start of a brand new adventure. I have two kids with my ex-husband--an 18 year old son and a 15 year old daughter; two weeks ago, much to my amazement, my boyfriend and I found out I am pregnant. I was 21 when I learned I was pregnant with my son; I will be 41 next week. I look forward to sharing the journey here, chronicling the differences between pregnancy in one's 20s and one's 40s, between 20th and a 21st century new motherhood. Some of the differences are pretty clear already--I was in college when I first found out I was pregnant; now I teach college. I still had baby fat on my cheeks when I was pregnant the first time; now (horrors) I find I am developing a wattle along with a baby bump. Another thing is crystal clear: maternity clothes and baby gear are so much cuter than they used to be (and so much more expensive! I hope I'll be as lucky with hand me downs this time around.)

Thanks for joining me on this wild and unexpected ride--I'd love to hear from you if you've done a second round of parenting later in life, yourself...