Chemical Pregnancy.

hot cocoa therapy.


They call it a "chemical pregnancy", which to me is just ridiculous on some deep down level because those two words just don't seem like they ever would belong in a sentence together. One is so impersonal, and the other is the most "personal" thing I think this world has to offer. They need a new name. Oxymorons don't suit the medical field.

The doc said it could have been a result of the fever that I tossed and turned with for a day or two back when the stomach flu came and steamrolled me a couple of weeks ago. I, however, am convinced that this is what did it.

The week before I had the flu, I just knew I was pregnant. I had allllll the symptoms. And when I looked directly at my own pupils in the mirror, they told me so. I felt... excited. And somewhat unsettled. Am I ready to put on the 'Mother of Two Kids' hat? Why does this hat feel like it will be so much heavier and self-consuming than the 'Mother of One Kid' hat that is currently perched comfortably on my head? Why does it feel like comparing a fancy, stylish little pillbox hat to a gargantuan floppy sombrero? Will I disappear underneath it completely?

Despite these questions, I begin to feel more and more excited with each passing day. Baby names are whizzing through my brain. I'm mentally rearranging the house to make room for a crib. I'm daydreaming about the smells, sounds, joys of a new baby. I go there in my head. Which is 100% perfectly okay and right and good. I do not regret it with any iota of my being.

Then, I get the flu. I'm feverish and sleep a lot that whole day. When I wake up the next morning, something has changed. I no longer feel pregnant.

A few days go by. Still- no symptoms. But, I am late. My hope is still holding on. I take a test. Negative. I take THREE tests over the next couple of days. Negative. Negative. Negative. Now I am... more late. This never happens to me. I am confused.

A couple of days go by, and finally I start to bleed. But it's unlike any cycle I've ever had. Heavier and getting progressively more so with each passing day. Clotting. Nine whole days later, it still hasn't stopped. I am ready for this to be over, but it just won't stop.

So, that's where I am at. I have an appointment on Wednesday of this week to get everything checked out. I am told this will pass soon, that I don't have anything to worry about. Unless the bleeding gets heavier- then I'm to get myself to a doctor ASAP. I may become anemic.

I know this happens alot, that it is completely normal and says nothing about my ability to become and remain pregnant in the future, but I still feel... sad.

I feel silly for feeling sad. It was SO early. This is SO common. I did not ever expect I would feel sad over something like this. I was shocked to discover the distinct bitterness of loss in my heart. I mean, isn't it silly to feel loss? A bit... drama? It was just a tiny clump of cells.

I am mourning the immense possibility that was wrapped up inside those cells.

Also, (what's this?) I am feeling a little bit guilty. Like, if I'd taken more precautions against getting sick, or taken better care of myself, I might be writing a much different post right now. I know this is ridiculous. Yet still... I find these things hiding out in my heart.

So, instead of repressing these feelings, or hiding them from the people I love just because "oh, this happens to a lot of people- no one wants to hear it", I'm trying to ride them out. I'm trying to allow myself to feel them because I know they are valid and important enough to honor with honesty and openness.

So... hello out there. I am sad. I lost something that I loved this week, but I have hopeful eyes set on the horizon. And I've learned something important through all of this as well:

Sometimes it takes a little bit of loss to open your eyes and show you what you have been desperately longing for unaware.

Playing Catch Up.

Ezra honing his tracing skills with the little maze I made for him.

Some things:

• We're meant to have the storm shelter installed in the garage this weekend, but lo and behold! The garage door broke! CRASH! No one can get in or out! Life thinks it's sooo funny!
• Garage door man came out and fixed everything for us. We didn't have to pay a billion dollars for a new one. Life may resume as planned.
• Now the dishwasher sounds like it may implode. Again.
  
• Chris is leaving town tomorrow. I will be left to deal with storm shelter people by my lonesome. I fear the worst... perhaps they will install it upside-down under my watchful direction?
  
• Ezra is on antibiotics due to a recent double ear infection.
• Antibiotics = constant stream of diarrhea = horrible, painful rash on son's bum = no leaving the house ever ever ever. Every time I have to wipe him, I feel like I'm torturing him. This is... how shall I say? Unpleasant. He's going to be on this stuff for TEN DAYS. (Heaven help us.)
• I have been eating poorly and been very inactive lately. I am trying to find ways to remedy this while on Diarrhea Lock Down 2008.
• Ezra has learned all of his alphabet phonics... The 'A' says AH! The 'B' says BUH! The 'C' says CUH!.... He's so smart. Now he's on to sounding out words. Although at this point, he thinks most words say "EZRA!" Example: "BUH... ALL... BUH... ALL... dat say EZRA!"
  
• Chris is currently outside at the top of our 40 foot tree- trimming the branches that were damaged in the storm a couple of months ago. He is using his 30 ft ladder and a full body harness (tied off) for safety. But still... a chainsaw in a tree? I am as nervous as a wet cat.
• I am better understanding WHY I have been having such intense emotions over the past month- and will probably write more about this (very personal) experience later on- when I'm feeling up for it and not knee deep in liquid toddler poo.
• Also on the agenda: Sharing with you all the video of Ezra singing a collection of his favorite songs, (including a little Sufjan Stevens) which I have FINALLY captured on film. This boy has an INSANE ear for melody and pitch... I foresee a vocalist in my future. How lovely!
• Um, that's all for now I think.
  

*End random transmission. Boop!*

Operation: Grow Hair!

OK, since you asked, here's an update on the Operation: Grow Hair! situation.


First, let's do a refresher of how long my hair was when I started this "growing out my hair" bit 14 months ago:

(Look at me... So young! So innocent! So unaware of how sucky growing out one's hair can be! Also: cute hair! Why the eff have I been growing my hair long again?!)


Aaaaaand now here's how long my hairs are now:



...which is pretty great, right? Except I NEVER wear my hair down like this because it feels like a lion's mane on crack- flying this way and that and finding its way into 80% of what I try to eat. So, I daily resort to my staple hair-doo of the moment: The Side Pony.



Here's where I need your help, dear hair help people of the world. I have a friend who is a hair stylist and she's asked me to be a hair model for her, which means HELLO free fancy hair cut! She says she can leave my length and just cut some layers and trim my bangs, but now I'm thinking "Hmmm... perhaps an A-Line cut would look nice?" You know- shorter in the back and sloping to longer in the front? But then I probably couldn't do my side pony anymore. And it might be harder to grow out after that?

I don't know. I need your help. I must know EXACTLY what to do before I get in the room with a pair of scissors- or else, knowing me, I'll suddenly scream, "SHAVE IT OFF !!!" and then I'd have to slink back here and tell you that, um, I "trimmed my bangs" again. And the stylist must have sneezed or something because NOW I'M BALD.

What to doooo????

Finally Ready to Be Okay. (LPA*)

*Loooooong Post Alert

Oh, Lordy Lordy Lordy you guys. It's is 1:30 in the morning and I am supposed to be sleeping but I just absolutely CANNOT because I feel like my life is completely changing right this very moment and the last thing I will be able to do is bed myself back down in the face of something so profound. That would be like trying to sleep on a big comfy bed of crocodiles.

Here are the things that have changed my life in the past few hours. I am realizing that:

1) God really is in control of everything. My life is a bunch of little puzzle pieces that He's meticulously connecting. (This applies to my EVERYTHING. ALL THE TIME.)

2) Despite my greatest efforts, I am not my mother.

Allow me to explain. Here are the recent puzzle pieces that have brought me to where I am now- in the dark office at 1:30AM on a Saturday night.

--A few weeks ago I got this idea while sitting at church. A little idea of something I might organize- a publication of sorts. But the idea was blurry so I tucked it away in my brain somewhere.

--Then, a few days ago, a friend of mine came over and said she'd had a similar little idea tucked away in a pocket of her brain, too- so we started to talk about our ideas and give them a little more shape. This left me feeling *gasp* inspired for the first time in, oh, 987467q8640 (is that a Q in there?) days, and this little burst of creativity and inspiration led me to this little, teeny tiny inkling in my heart: I am right where I'm meant to be.

This is not a feeling that I have often, so I babied it and gave it food and a warm sweater and then clung to it like it was my last ticket out of GOING-CRAZY-VILLE.

--Then, lo and behold, a new thought popped up in my brain. It said something along the lines of "All of this discontentment that you've been feeling is coming from an impossibly high standard that you've set for yourself."

"Interesting!", I thought to myself. "I wonder where this standard I'm setting for myself is coming from?" Then I ate lots of cookies.

--Then, an amazing thing happened at exactly the right moment. A thing that occurs so rarely in the universe, it is considered an absolute scientific phenomenon.

It's called DATE NIGHT.

--My husband and I dropped off the baby child and drove towards the movie theater. We were going to see Juno. But then, my husband (whom God in all His infinite wisdom brought to me years and years ago so that he could help me not cave in on myself) told me he did not want to spend our precious free time staring at a screen... that he would rather spend that time having actual conversation over a good meal.

Part of me dropped. This meant I would have to, you know, talk about stuff. Outloud. And I hadn't brought any cookies with me.

--We end up at a fancy restaurant that we had a gift card for. Chris shows no mercy. "Why do you think you've been isolating yourself so much lately?"

I fear the worst: Melting into a puddle of messy cry right there on the fancy restaurant floor. AND WE HAVEN'T EVEN GOTTEN OUR BREAD YET.

Instead, I keep it together and I tell him that I don't really know... I just feel like whenever I get a moment to do what I want to do, I can think of nothing but being alone. All day long, I crave these moments. I feel like I NEED them to survive. But, I keep denying myself these moments or I feel guilty because of them... I mean, shouldn't I be doing something more productive with these free moments? When I drop Ezra off at school- shouldn't I be grocery shopping? Why do I (without fail) end up at a coffee shop- staring out the window and getting lost in my never-ending stream of thoughts? Why do I end up wandering through stores or reading or sitting in my quiet house writing? Why can't I just get my butt in gear and go buy bread?

--As I am sputtering talking like this, I start to realize something. I am (and have been) trying desperately to be my mother. Because I respect her with ever fiber of my being. She's organized. On top of things. Productive. Orderly. Task-Driven. And when I don't measure up, when I end up sitting in coffee shops for hours staring out of windows when I should be calling doctors, I feel like I'm failing. I tell myself I am a failure. At life.

My mother is amazing at all of these productive organizational things, because she has had to learn to be. Her mind is sharply brilliant and logical- she is wise and tackles problems with dexterity and a level head. (Whereas I usually take more of the bumbling and ful-a-baloo approach.) When something needs to get done, she does it. This is simple logic to her. And I envy her for her abilities.

Suddenly, while sitting in this fancy restaurant, I realize that maybe... just maybe... I'm wired differently. And, what's more: Maybe That's Okay. (Maybe?)

My family is a perfect split of artists and logicalists. (haha is that even a word? That pretty much PROVES I'm not a "logicalist", eh?) One brother is a starving artist. The other is a successful civil engineer. And I've always felt like I'm somewhere in the middle-- not sure which side of the fence to plant my feet on. And I've seen my parents grapple with understanding where my artist brother is coming from. Because they are more logical and don't understand the 'eh, it will all work out' mentality. So, I've been afraid to embrace the artist in myself. Because I don't want them to worry about me.

At the same time, I know that all they want for me is to be happy. And I AM happy where I'm at- if I could just get myself to accept that it was enough.

What would happen if I stopped putting all this pressure on myself and just started being who I am? I am an artist. I need time and space and quiet to wander through my thoughts so I can write them, sing them, get them out of my skin. I have a husband who takes care of me and understands this part of me better than I do. He sees that the thing I'm struggling against so hard is nothing more than me arm wrestling MYSELF. The Me I Think I Should Be VS. The Me That I Am.

Chris is constantly telling me that he can help take care of the little things. That I don't have to stress so much about everything. He enjoys taking care of me in that way. But something in me won't let him. Something in me says that if I let him help me in these things, I will be sealing the deal forever:

I FAIL AT LIFE. F minus plus plus.

Here's the thing: I am at a point in my life where I have the freedom and ability to explore these things about myself. My house is in working order, my husband is not starved, my boy is cared for, and after all of this, I still find pockets of time to sit and just be. To think and write and think and sit and be. So why will I not allow myself to do that? Why can't I just embrace these times and use them guilt free? Gobble them up like the hungry artist that I am? Why do I keep telling myself I have to have a job? When will I realize that depriving myself of these times is doing more harm than good?

If circumstances were to change, and I were unable to have that time, if I suddenly HAD to be in charge of all the little things, I know I would be okay. I would do what needed to be done (with god's help) and spring to action where needed. I know how and I am a capable and intelligent human being.

But in this season of my life, I am taken care of. And I think that's okay. To rest in that. Chris is my covering. And... for now? I think I've got some writing to do.

I think I'm finally ready to accept these things and move on with my life already. I think I'm ready to pick up the reigns and tell this thing where to go from here.

I think I'm finally ready to be okay.

Contentment.

I've realized that the thing that holds me and pushes against me day after day is not much more than plain ol' apathy. That's my enemy. And if I don't start taking steps to knock the weight of it off of me, it's going to pin me down completely and lay me flat.

How do I stop being apathetic? I pray and I step. Pray and step. Pray and step. Till I'm standing somewhere new and I have no choice but to acclimate to my new surroundings.

But... also? I'm tired of constantly feeling like I'm not doing enough. I haven't had a break from this self-imposed pressure for as long as I can remember being alive. And, heck, maybe by some people's standards, I'm really not doing enough, but I think I'm pretty much through with living by the criteria of what I imagine other people think of when they look at me.

I'm a mom. I'm a writer. I'm a musician. I'm a fashionista. And for now? Stick a fork in me, I'M DONE.

Because, who knows what the future will bring? Fashionably late educations? High pressure careers? Fancy parties? Relentless travel? Non-stop here and theres?

Maybe.

But wait, aren't I forgetting something very important here? Ah, yes... I could be gone tomorrow! How lame would it be if I spent all my todays waiting for them to "improve" into tomorrows already? And then when it was my very very last today, I'd be all, "Well, crap. Should have lived differently." THE END. Roll credits.

I have a feeling that if I don't enjoy what's been put in front of me now, I will kick myself for it later. This doesn't mean allowing myself to hole up in my house all day everyday- fearing the worst at all times. No! This means... grabbing hold of what I've been given and pouring all that I have into it. Being faithful with the small things and truly grateful for the honor of being entrusted with them. Even if the sum of those things seems small to others. There's more beauty in doing one or two things really well than being spread so thin that everything starts to look... economical.

There is a very fine balance between falling into total apathy and "doing" just for the sake of "Hey! Look at me! I'm DOING! Weeee!"

I'm trying to find that magical balancing point in my own life in all of this, and I think that if I'd take a moment to really think about it, I'd see that it's been right under my nose this whole time. Just waiting for me to acknowledge the greatness of this simple little life I've been given.

Lord, smother me with contentment. I want to soak in it like a hot tub until I'm pruned up and (oh, finally!) deep down grateful.

It Could Be Yours!

Just listed in my ebay store:



I'll be posting some more items later today, as well. Check it out!

Wedding Dancers.

I meant to post a link to these pics awhile ago, but I forgot. They are from the wedding we went to a while back- the one that was so much fun I never wanted it to end.

All these photos were taken by a photographer in Seattle named Sarah Rhoads. Check out her stuff, it's absolutely amazing.

Can you spot my handsome dancin' hubby and the little pink & black dress you all helped me pick out?

me, chris, pete, and crystal. CATCHING AIR.


Joel and Chris. Simply amazing.


Chris and I firmly believe that EVERY wedding needs choreographed dances to Michael Jackson tunes.


Congrats again, Dustin and Becca! Your wedding was a blast!

I LOVE the flu!

Hello, world!

We are doing much better now, thank you for your well wishes! Chris and Ezra were spared from the flu death, and just got cute little matching colds instead. (Hey... ANYTHING is cute compared to what knocked me over a few days ago. Even snot!) We are all recovering slowly, and I'm even thinking of leaving the house again sometime in late July! (I've been a bit cooped up... a bit stir-crazy... but also kind of enjoying the seclusion and non-stop PJ wearing at the same time. I'm such a hermit.)

The day I was sick, my husband let me sleep. ALL DAY. Also? He took care of Ezra, cleaned the house, did the laundry, put fresh sheets on the bed, researched homeopathic flu remedies, went to the store and came home only to whip me up a batch of the yummiest homemade chicken soup I've ever tasted, and then he took Ezra to the mall so he could run around and play before he came home and put him to bed. (Oh! And I think he also found time to put an end world hunger in there somewhere, too.)

I felt so taken care of and so loved- it almost made the flu enjoyable.

ALMOST.

Thanks, honey bean. You are crazy amazing. (Will you marry me?)

A Story of Epic Proportions.

Chapter One

Once upon a time, the stomach flu is killing me good and dead.

The End.

Wait... He's SHORT?

Ezra's birthday was great fun but not nearly as documented as I'd have liked it to be because (as it turns out) having 15+ children and their moms in my little house was a bit... um... chaotic? Gee... Who'da thunk it?

Here are the three photos I managed to snap of the most special event:

Cupcakes.


Chaos.


Cutie.

Ezra had a blast. (A very whiny "I-want-everything-right-now-don't-touch-my-
toys-gimmie-my-presents-don't-eat-my-cupcakes" kind of a blast.) It was so fun having all his friends over to celebrate, though, and the fact that there may or may not have been FIVE cupcakes leftover for me to scarf dispose of was really just an added bonus.

Our most favoritest neighbors and dear friends brought over a gift for Ezra before the party on Wednesday, and that gift has hardly left the boy's shoulders ever since:





IS THIS NOT THE COOLEST THING YOU'VE EVER SEEN? My neighbor and her mother designed it and made it, because they both knew that at the very moment a little boy turns three, knowledge of all things Super hero falls out of the sky and downloads into their brains by some miraculous, unknown force- causing them to run up and down hallways all day long screaming "I FLY! FWOOSH! I FLY! FWOOSH!"

Ezra loves the cape almost as much as I do.

My latest journal:



Created by buying a cheapy spiral bound notebook and taping some pages from my friend Jeremy's old clothing catalog onto the front with clear packaging tape. I have a feeling this journal is going to hold many good things between its covers. New things.

I took Ezra to a new doctor (LOVE HIM) on Tuesday, and he was able to explain to me more of what Ezra's chest wall deformity really is. (Have I ever talked about this here before? No? Well, his ribs have been silly shaped since birth.) It's some form of Pectus- where his lower right ribs are sunken in due to a cartilage abnormality. It isn't causing him any pain or shortness of breath at this point, so it is just one of those things they'll keep their eye on as he grows. Doc said it would probably get worse before it gets better, but it's not harmful. Just odd looking.

Also, Ezra only measured in the second percentile for height. 2%!! THAT'S REALLY SHORT. I was all, "Um, Doc? My husband and I be TALL glasses of water. How is this possible?" He asked me if I was always tall, or if I had a sudden growth-spurt later on in life. Then I remembered that I was always the shortest kid in my class (do you guys remember lining up for picture day by height?) until about 7th grade when suddenly my arms and legs got so long that I had to wrangle them in to fit through doorways. That's right about the time my gymnastics career took a nosedive, too. I should've been a ballerina. Or a swimmer. Or a coat rack.

Chris said he was never tall as a kid, either, but that he grew very gradually over a very long period of time. He was still growing in college. People ask him all the time if he played basketball in high school, and he always says "No, I wasn't really all that tall back then." and as the people gaze upwards into his face you can almost see the wild look of disbelief in their eyes.

So, we have a short kid. With silly ribs. And a wicked sense of humor. Wearing a star spangled cape.

Absolutely perfect in every way.