so my friend marie (hello there friend!) has "encouraged" me to write some more on my latent blog page. i think my page hates me for ignoring it for the past 7 months but some things just can't be helped. i've been busy. i've been thinking. ...i've been blocked. so i asked my friend marie to help with the blockage. she has henceforth shoved a few stints into the blockage with a few good ideas that read somewhat like this:
-the last few books you read
-what you miss most about Clatskanie
-what you do not miss most about Clatskanie
-if you had a million dollars
-describe most what you love about Olivija
-describe most what you love about Sofie
-what is it like to live in Montana
-if money was no object what would i do for a year
-??? is my favorite character in the Harry Potter series because ???
-this is why i like Facebook
-why is it so hard to find my passion
hmmmmm... all these good ideas... what do you think? the last book i read was Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan. i'm still thinking on that. i miss some good friends and my pinochle club in Clatskanie. i don't miss living across the street from the bus garage. if i had a million dollars i'd be out of debt - for the most part. i love Olivija's sweetness. i love Sofie's curiosity. it's heaven to live in Montana, except for the lack of good shopping. if money was no object i'd have a really nice stereo, in a really nice house with a view, with a nice deck looking out at the view, with a really nice computer in which to blog to my hearts content for a year straight so that my blog page won't hate me anymore. Snape is my favorite character in the HP series because he's so mysterious and damaged - although he really needs to wash his hair. i love facebook because it allows me to reconnect with people that i haven't spoken to in years, and that now i can speak with them without all the pretense of teenage/college angst and that honesty and more truth can be found in those friendships. That leaves me with why is it so hard to find my passion...?
good question, marie.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Sunday, July 27, 2008
I don't know if this will work or not... but here are some glacier pictures...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2005371&l=5a6b1&id=1082162955
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2005371&l=5a6b1&id=1082162955
Saturday, July 19, 2008
With Just One More Surprise
I was holding it together until Amanda's pure voice came from behind and Mary wept and i was surprised by the sadness i felt. the passion was finished the night before and then she came the next morning to find her friend gone. the emptiness was overwhelming for her and we just sat there wanting to go to her to tell her it's all going to be alright, and then He appeared. she called Him "Teacher." I've always wondered at that. Teacher. What exactly did He teach Mary then, and what did that moment teach us? Could it be that with the retelling of this passion that He continues to teach us just through story?
Flathead Lutheran Bible Camp. We went there, the four of us. My older daughter experiencing her first week of camp - the first time away from mom and dad for more than just a weekend spent with grandma. Our youngest just hung around with the two of us (joe and i) - she played mostly in the sandbox and went through outfits like mad. I spent most of the time observing the energy of that place. Gradeschool children to college graduates all mingling together in fellowship and fun. I think learning from each other. I kept thinking of the time that i was their age(s) - having that kind of energy. Now it seems that just watching made me tired... and that somehow i was no longer able to relate. Now i was that old person who was just there and perhaps a little in the way. I was the person that they dreaded becoming. Oh, man, i can't imagine being that old sort of thoughts.
We were talking about that one night in Hagen Hall and Steve said that "old" keeps changing for him... it was always about 15 years older than he currently is. But, he added that he doesn't find it too hard to imagine being 75 and thought maybe he should change his definition. I thought maybe i should try to come up with my own definition of "old." Basically because somehow I don't feel old and yet, somehow i do. I'm conflicted within myself.
So, i've been bumbling around with thought of story, and learning, and youth, and maturity, and haven't been really able to formulate any particular thoughts other then this:
I dont' ever want to be too old to learn from story telling.
I don't ever want to be too old to enjoy the energy of the younger generations.
I don't ever want to be too old to think of myself as unable to relate.
I don't ever want to be too old to be surprised.
What to do about this? Stay young? People have said that you're only as old as you think you are, or how you feel, or something like that... the only time i really feel old is when my knees don't want to carry me up that hill, or when i realize that i just can't run anymore, or when i realize that my parents are in their late 60's and early 70's and i remember when she was 29 and when he turned 40.
I feel young when i look around the church and see people who have been married for 60 years, when i play board games with my children, when i go to camp and can laugh and sing and clap my hands with praise. When i giggle at Justice Man man man. When i still get butterflies when my husband looks at me a certain way and grins. When i can't help but cry with Mary at the emptiness she faced. When i smiled at her surprise when she realized it was Him and when she called out "Teacher."
Maybe i just shouldn't worry about this. Maybe I should keep listening to stories, and keep telling my own. Maybe I should just take to heart that verse in I Was There To Hear Your Borning Cry... "In the middle ages of your life, not too old, no longer young, I'll be there to guide you throught the night, complete what I've begun. Whe the evening gently closes in and you shut your weary eyes, I'll be there as I have always been with just one more surprise..."
Flathead Lutheran Bible Camp. We went there, the four of us. My older daughter experiencing her first week of camp - the first time away from mom and dad for more than just a weekend spent with grandma. Our youngest just hung around with the two of us (joe and i) - she played mostly in the sandbox and went through outfits like mad. I spent most of the time observing the energy of that place. Gradeschool children to college graduates all mingling together in fellowship and fun. I think learning from each other. I kept thinking of the time that i was their age(s) - having that kind of energy. Now it seems that just watching made me tired... and that somehow i was no longer able to relate. Now i was that old person who was just there and perhaps a little in the way. I was the person that they dreaded becoming. Oh, man, i can't imagine being that old sort of thoughts.
We were talking about that one night in Hagen Hall and Steve said that "old" keeps changing for him... it was always about 15 years older than he currently is. But, he added that he doesn't find it too hard to imagine being 75 and thought maybe he should change his definition. I thought maybe i should try to come up with my own definition of "old." Basically because somehow I don't feel old and yet, somehow i do. I'm conflicted within myself.
So, i've been bumbling around with thought of story, and learning, and youth, and maturity, and haven't been really able to formulate any particular thoughts other then this:
I dont' ever want to be too old to learn from story telling.
I don't ever want to be too old to enjoy the energy of the younger generations.
I don't ever want to be too old to think of myself as unable to relate.
I don't ever want to be too old to be surprised.
What to do about this? Stay young? People have said that you're only as old as you think you are, or how you feel, or something like that... the only time i really feel old is when my knees don't want to carry me up that hill, or when i realize that i just can't run anymore, or when i realize that my parents are in their late 60's and early 70's and i remember when she was 29 and when he turned 40.
I feel young when i look around the church and see people who have been married for 60 years, when i play board games with my children, when i go to camp and can laugh and sing and clap my hands with praise. When i giggle at Justice Man man man. When i still get butterflies when my husband looks at me a certain way and grins. When i can't help but cry with Mary at the emptiness she faced. When i smiled at her surprise when she realized it was Him and when she called out "Teacher."
Maybe i just shouldn't worry about this. Maybe I should keep listening to stories, and keep telling my own. Maybe I should just take to heart that verse in I Was There To Hear Your Borning Cry... "In the middle ages of your life, not too old, no longer young, I'll be there to guide you throught the night, complete what I've begun. Whe the evening gently closes in and you shut your weary eyes, I'll be there as I have always been with just one more surprise..."
Friday, July 4, 2008
4th of July
Here in the valley the sound is deafening. surrounded by rogue fireworkers lighting incredible light shows that we catch a glimpse of here and there - some to our north, some directly above from some guys in the church parking lot next door, most to our west for the shows on Flathead Lake.
We spent the day a lot like we did in Clatskanie... we walked downtown, watched a small town parade (the highlight of said parade being a young boy wearing a superman outfit, strapped to the roof of a car at an angle, and in all seriousness holding out his arms as if flight. Second place, a man dressed as Marilyn Monroe), we hung out in the village for a while looking for some lunch (sat in the Wild Mile Deli for a while waiting for service which we never got), and then we came back home to get some relief from the heat. Took off later for a bbq with Art and Joy and Barbara, later standing on the porch with coffee we watched a HUGE thunderstorm on the horizon. We lit some sparklers for the girls, we drove home looking for fireworks to watch.... and now here i sit. Listening to the BOOMS echoing off the mountains and missing my old home town.
We try to make it seem as if we belong here and yet we really didn't know what to do with ourselves. We learned where NOT to stand for the parade, we learned where NOT to eat after the parade, we learned where firework displays might be showing but that the really good one starts at 11:00 which doesn't work for little girls who are dead tired and are asking to go to bed.
We used to know what to do. We'd make food at home, open our doors and welcome in any and every one, set up a chair or two in front of our house and watch the parade - bags filled with candy - clowns from Astoria, horses, firetrucks, logging trucks, and usually some old cars. We'd walk to the park, Joe would sing the national anthem, throw an axe or two, we'd go get lutheran pie and talk to everyone, walk back up to our house where people are sitting around on the lawn, on the porch, in our house, eating food, visiting, talking, and being together in a community of trust and familiarity. Later that night we'd carry a few chairs across the street, set up on the corner, and look a bit northwest for the one and only show in town - over the river. knowing that everyone else in town is looking at the same firework display and ooohhhing and aaaahhing in synchronicity
This is what i miss... i miss knowing what is expected. i miss the park full of old cars, the familiar faces that are slowing turning red in the heat. i miss people just showing up with a watermelon or a salad or chips and adding to the already full table full of party food. i miss just being myself, and being a hostess of sorts to the myriad of people that we came to know as our friends.
i realize that some 4th of July in the future we'll realize that we are at home, and we'll know what to do, and we will have some sort of tradition that we've been doing forever and all will be fine. I may still be sitting here in this same chair, listening to the booms... but i'll be ooohhhing and aahhhing with lots of other bigforkers, looking at different fireworks, in all sorts of directions, and i'll find that community of trust and familiarity.
i'm looking forward to that future synchronicity.
We spent the day a lot like we did in Clatskanie... we walked downtown, watched a small town parade (the highlight of said parade being a young boy wearing a superman outfit, strapped to the roof of a car at an angle, and in all seriousness holding out his arms as if flight. Second place, a man dressed as Marilyn Monroe), we hung out in the village for a while looking for some lunch (sat in the Wild Mile Deli for a while waiting for service which we never got), and then we came back home to get some relief from the heat. Took off later for a bbq with Art and Joy and Barbara, later standing on the porch with coffee we watched a HUGE thunderstorm on the horizon. We lit some sparklers for the girls, we drove home looking for fireworks to watch.... and now here i sit. Listening to the BOOMS echoing off the mountains and missing my old home town.
We try to make it seem as if we belong here and yet we really didn't know what to do with ourselves. We learned where NOT to stand for the parade, we learned where NOT to eat after the parade, we learned where firework displays might be showing but that the really good one starts at 11:00 which doesn't work for little girls who are dead tired and are asking to go to bed.
We used to know what to do. We'd make food at home, open our doors and welcome in any and every one, set up a chair or two in front of our house and watch the parade - bags filled with candy - clowns from Astoria, horses, firetrucks, logging trucks, and usually some old cars. We'd walk to the park, Joe would sing the national anthem, throw an axe or two, we'd go get lutheran pie and talk to everyone, walk back up to our house where people are sitting around on the lawn, on the porch, in our house, eating food, visiting, talking, and being together in a community of trust and familiarity. Later that night we'd carry a few chairs across the street, set up on the corner, and look a bit northwest for the one and only show in town - over the river. knowing that everyone else in town is looking at the same firework display and ooohhhing and aaaahhing in synchronicity
This is what i miss... i miss knowing what is expected. i miss the park full of old cars, the familiar faces that are slowing turning red in the heat. i miss people just showing up with a watermelon or a salad or chips and adding to the already full table full of party food. i miss just being myself, and being a hostess of sorts to the myriad of people that we came to know as our friends.
i realize that some 4th of July in the future we'll realize that we are at home, and we'll know what to do, and we will have some sort of tradition that we've been doing forever and all will be fine. I may still be sitting here in this same chair, listening to the booms... but i'll be ooohhhing and aahhhing with lots of other bigforkers, looking at different fireworks, in all sorts of directions, and i'll find that community of trust and familiarity.
i'm looking forward to that future synchronicity.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
kudos to chubby mommies
i'm concerned about that "by polar" watch thing. does the watch keep time one day and is really funny and runs a little fast, and then refuses to keep time the next day - and seems really depressed and angry? hmmmmm
i would so much join the chubby mommy running/fastwalking/srolling club if i lived any where near Bend. i have my own club though. there are two of us (although sometimes we are joined by Syble & Harry -- Harry is an Austrian guy who last lived in New Jersey - can you even HEAR that accent??)
Right now, Art and i walk every tuesday and thursday. Art is a non-working-at-the-time Episcopalian priest. his wife lives in the middle of nowhere in california somewhere cleaning teeth for the army or navy or something like that. they offer her a great amount of money for her teeth cleaning skills and keep her there away from her husband and the walking club. supposedly, someday, she will retire from this incredible job and she will join us in our unemployed walking.
Art is one of those people who truly makes me laugh. he is wonderfully irreverant and wholly holy holey. Art is in is 50's and i do believe that my husband might be a little jealous of my walking buddy. maybe i should be more honest here... it's more of a strolling club. there, i said it. we stroll along the river road mostly, and we talk about life in general sometimes in specifics. we laugh at stupid things, and feel uppity in our own little way of solving all of the world's messed up drama. Art is an ex-husband, ex-hippy, ex-surfer, and an ex-californian - and, he knows all about most everything regarding horses. he is a very interesting person and he buys me coffee before we go on our stroll. we are trying to convince ourselves to walk every day, but sometimes we end up going to breakfast at the Echo Lake Cafe instead of going on our stroll.
Joining the chubby mommy running club might be too much for me. i couldn't keep up with fawn, or mizinformation, and certainly not even miss julie.
(refer to http://chubbymommyrunningclub.blobspot.com for this making any sense at all!
I'm a little obsessed about this whole notion of walking and forming walking clubs because if left to my own devises, i would sit on my chubby butt and just write in my blog, or play scrabulous all day. essentially, i walk out of guilt. i walk because i want to be a good example for my girls. i walk because it's making my knees feel a little better. i walk because my puppy needs the exercise. i walk because i want to hear Art laugh. i walk because the beauty of that river draws me in. i walk because it's so intoxicating to smell the earth. Julie, if i lived in Bend i would join your club. i would stroll/walk/run/marathon with you, my friend. thanks for being an inspiration on many different levels.
i would so much join the chubby mommy running/fastwalking/srolling club if i lived any where near Bend. i have my own club though. there are two of us (although sometimes we are joined by Syble & Harry -- Harry is an Austrian guy who last lived in New Jersey - can you even HEAR that accent??)
Right now, Art and i walk every tuesday and thursday. Art is a non-working-at-the-time Episcopalian priest. his wife lives in the middle of nowhere in california somewhere cleaning teeth for the army or navy or something like that. they offer her a great amount of money for her teeth cleaning skills and keep her there away from her husband and the walking club. supposedly, someday, she will retire from this incredible job and she will join us in our unemployed walking.
Art is one of those people who truly makes me laugh. he is wonderfully irreverant and wholly holy holey. Art is in is 50's and i do believe that my husband might be a little jealous of my walking buddy. maybe i should be more honest here... it's more of a strolling club. there, i said it. we stroll along the river road mostly, and we talk about life in general sometimes in specifics. we laugh at stupid things, and feel uppity in our own little way of solving all of the world's messed up drama. Art is an ex-husband, ex-hippy, ex-surfer, and an ex-californian - and, he knows all about most everything regarding horses. he is a very interesting person and he buys me coffee before we go on our stroll. we are trying to convince ourselves to walk every day, but sometimes we end up going to breakfast at the Echo Lake Cafe instead of going on our stroll.
Joining the chubby mommy running club might be too much for me. i couldn't keep up with fawn, or mizinformation, and certainly not even miss julie.
(refer to http://chubbymommyrunningclub.blobspot.com for this making any sense at all!
I'm a little obsessed about this whole notion of walking and forming walking clubs because if left to my own devises, i would sit on my chubby butt and just write in my blog, or play scrabulous all day. essentially, i walk out of guilt. i walk because i want to be a good example for my girls. i walk because it's making my knees feel a little better. i walk because my puppy needs the exercise. i walk because i want to hear Art laugh. i walk because the beauty of that river draws me in. i walk because it's so intoxicating to smell the earth. Julie, if i lived in Bend i would join your club. i would stroll/walk/run/marathon with you, my friend. thanks for being an inspiration on many different levels.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Watching my girls grow up has been fascinating... there are so different:
Olivija:
quiet
introspective
mysterious
devoted
deliberate
cautious
dark haired/brown eyed
Sofie:
loud
gregarious - feigning shyness
extrovert
questioning
present
aware
blonde haired/blue eyed
and there's the question of motherhood...
Motherhood– the Good and the Bad
For years I was certain that I didn’t want to be a parent, because I had heard that we parent the same way we were parented. That scared the bejeezus out of me. There was
no way on God’s green earth that I was going to treat someone else the way I was treated. What would be the point? I was also concerned about bringing someone into this world of eco-destruction, pollution, war, guns, violence, pain, and confusion…how could I possibly
teach my children about nature, beauty, peace, forgiveness, serenity, wholeness, and grace without putting them in a bubble and not letting them experience this world? The thought of it was suffocating. But somewhere along the way my feelings changed. I craved some fresh air and I decided that my biological clock was stronger than the “how-could-I-parent-in-this-evil-world?” issue.
When that decision happened, the getting pregnant thing didn’t. Joe and I started right away and it took three to four years to get pregnant. After many tests, a few surgeries, a lot of pain, and a lot of luck, we were both pretty excited when I finally did get pregnant. I felt that it was a good thing, all doubts left me, everything was falling into place, and I was just beginning to feel that life inside me. I was thinking about nesting and what color I would paint the nursery. Everything was perfect and then, for some reason beyond our understanding, our baby that we worked so hard to conceive was born four months before she was due. I think the first three months of my motherhood experience was a joke…some horrible “test” that God decided Joe and Karina would be “strong enough to handle,” or that’s what some people tell me. The whole thing is now a blur except when I look back at pictures, letters, and notes. People tell me how we looked when they would visit us at the hospital: like death on wheels, in a different world, zombies. As for Joe and me, we were just waiting for our child to die. That’s what they told us would happen. All of the awkward expressions (“sorry,” “try again,” “this must be hard,” “why did this happen?”) and the constant social unawareness of people who would peep into her warming bed and exclaim under their breath “she’s soooooo small” were almost more than we could handle. People reacted in various ways—some too serious, some too goofy, some too chatty, some with silence, some with gifts, and some with invisibility. Not one person congratulated us on having a baby. Not one person. This was not motherhood…this was a test of trying to keep myself pulled together so that I wasn’t weeping uncontrollably for three solid months. And really, I was.
When we brought Olivija home, we were scared to death. It took a 24-hour constant stream of professionals to care for her just the day before, and now it was up to just me
and Joe? Right. Thank God for Olivija’s special nurse Ramona who came to our house that first weekend and blessed us with her presence. She made us coffee to drink and food to eat, and gave us help when we were too exhausted to sleep. With her help we figured we could do this. Olivija slept a lot and I just stared at her most of the day, every day. We didn’t take her out much because we were paranoid about her getting a cold and dying, or someone touching her without scrubbing their hands, or just the hassle of tubing, wires, and machines that monitored her breathing and heart beats. This was not motherhood…this was a feeling of complete incompetence—feeling incapable of feeding and caring for my own child.
Five years later…she lived and we didn’t drop her, or starve her, or drown her, or leave her in filthy diapers for more than 8 hours at a time. People are surprised when they see her because they still expect a sickly looking preemie to look back at them. She has a healing presence about her and she loves to “read.” She’s learning to tell jokes and they are awful and she belly laughs at her own humor. And I look at myself and I don’t see my parents. I look at the world around me and I see nature, beauty, peace, forgiveness, serenity, wholeness, and grace in most everything. I had forgotten that there is such a thing as a miracle. Now I can’t help but recognize that I live with one. This is my motherhood…this is a lesson in humility.
I struggle with my lack of patience when she wants me to read just one more book; to eat something other than what I have at hand; to blow bubbles and that would entail that I actually have to get out of my pajamas, get dressed, and go out in the yard; or to play with her doll house where she is the supreme ruler. (She is the supreme ruler of OUR house; she forgets that we were here first.) I struggle with having to get up at 3 a.m. because the dogs
down the road barked and woke her up and now she has to lay with momma and daddy because nothing else will appease her. I struggle with not having time to play golf without finding a babysitter and having the money to pay for both. I struggle with feeling that I am being selfish, self-absorbed, mean, unbending, and envious. Envious that she gets whatever she wants and all I really want is a good night’s sleep. That is the bad.
She has taught me about the mother bear in me and I CAN stand up for myself, and more so I can stand up for HER. She has taught me about patience and about counting to ten before saying something I might regret. She has taught me about the relationship of give and take and that children mostly take because they haven’t yet learned how to give…although, when I need to feel loved, she is right there giving with all her heart. Being Olivija’s mom has changed the way I look at everything. Nothing is the same--everything has changed. And because of this I read another book, I search the cupboards for something else that she is hungry for (or that I convince her she’s hungry for!), I go out in the yard in my pajamas and blow bubbles, I play doll house with her, and do whatever she wants me to do. Because of her goodness and her very being I get up at 3 a.m. and get mad at the dogs and not her. I have not, however, given up the idea that playing golf is possible—I just need to wait a few years until we can take her out and teach her how to play. She has kept me young and filled with hope. This is the good.
The issue of parenting how we were parented is still there…I fight that. I rely on Joe’s parenting techniques quite a bit, and we use his sister’s advice. Joe is a wonderful dad-– something that amazes me daily, because I personally have never seen it in my life. He will
be the one who will bring traditions and family vacations and things like that, of which I have no concept whatsoever. For that I am blessed. We so much want to have another child and I am afraid that it won’t happen—so I guess motherhood has left me craving more of it, I love being a mom, and love the changes that it has brought and continues to bring to my being. I am a better person because of Olivija, and she has become my breath of fresh air.
When Sofie came along we were just complete. Motherhood certainly took me by surprise... and i'm looking forward to the surprises that are yet to come.
Olivija:
quiet
introspective
mysterious
devoted
deliberate
cautious
dark haired/brown eyed
Sofie:
loud
gregarious - feigning shyness
extrovert
questioning
present
aware
blonde haired/blue eyed
and there's the question of motherhood...
Motherhood– the Good and the Bad
For years I was certain that I didn’t want to be a parent, because I had heard that we parent the same way we were parented. That scared the bejeezus out of me. There was
no way on God’s green earth that I was going to treat someone else the way I was treated. What would be the point? I was also concerned about bringing someone into this world of eco-destruction, pollution, war, guns, violence, pain, and confusion…how could I possibly
teach my children about nature, beauty, peace, forgiveness, serenity, wholeness, and grace without putting them in a bubble and not letting them experience this world? The thought of it was suffocating. But somewhere along the way my feelings changed. I craved some fresh air and I decided that my biological clock was stronger than the “how-could-I-parent-in-this-evil-world?” issue.
When that decision happened, the getting pregnant thing didn’t. Joe and I started right away and it took three to four years to get pregnant. After many tests, a few surgeries, a lot of pain, and a lot of luck, we were both pretty excited when I finally did get pregnant. I felt that it was a good thing, all doubts left me, everything was falling into place, and I was just beginning to feel that life inside me. I was thinking about nesting and what color I would paint the nursery. Everything was perfect and then, for some reason beyond our understanding, our baby that we worked so hard to conceive was born four months before she was due. I think the first three months of my motherhood experience was a joke…some horrible “test” that God decided Joe and Karina would be “strong enough to handle,” or that’s what some people tell me. The whole thing is now a blur except when I look back at pictures, letters, and notes. People tell me how we looked when they would visit us at the hospital: like death on wheels, in a different world, zombies. As for Joe and me, we were just waiting for our child to die. That’s what they told us would happen. All of the awkward expressions (“sorry,” “try again,” “this must be hard,” “why did this happen?”) and the constant social unawareness of people who would peep into her warming bed and exclaim under their breath “she’s soooooo small” were almost more than we could handle. People reacted in various ways—some too serious, some too goofy, some too chatty, some with silence, some with gifts, and some with invisibility. Not one person congratulated us on having a baby. Not one person. This was not motherhood…this was a test of trying to keep myself pulled together so that I wasn’t weeping uncontrollably for three solid months. And really, I was.
When we brought Olivija home, we were scared to death. It took a 24-hour constant stream of professionals to care for her just the day before, and now it was up to just me
and Joe? Right. Thank God for Olivija’s special nurse Ramona who came to our house that first weekend and blessed us with her presence. She made us coffee to drink and food to eat, and gave us help when we were too exhausted to sleep. With her help we figured we could do this. Olivija slept a lot and I just stared at her most of the day, every day. We didn’t take her out much because we were paranoid about her getting a cold and dying, or someone touching her without scrubbing their hands, or just the hassle of tubing, wires, and machines that monitored her breathing and heart beats. This was not motherhood…this was a feeling of complete incompetence—feeling incapable of feeding and caring for my own child.
Five years later…she lived and we didn’t drop her, or starve her, or drown her, or leave her in filthy diapers for more than 8 hours at a time. People are surprised when they see her because they still expect a sickly looking preemie to look back at them. She has a healing presence about her and she loves to “read.” She’s learning to tell jokes and they are awful and she belly laughs at her own humor. And I look at myself and I don’t see my parents. I look at the world around me and I see nature, beauty, peace, forgiveness, serenity, wholeness, and grace in most everything. I had forgotten that there is such a thing as a miracle. Now I can’t help but recognize that I live with one. This is my motherhood…this is a lesson in humility.
I struggle with my lack of patience when she wants me to read just one more book; to eat something other than what I have at hand; to blow bubbles and that would entail that I actually have to get out of my pajamas, get dressed, and go out in the yard; or to play with her doll house where she is the supreme ruler. (She is the supreme ruler of OUR house; she forgets that we were here first.) I struggle with having to get up at 3 a.m. because the dogs
down the road barked and woke her up and now she has to lay with momma and daddy because nothing else will appease her. I struggle with not having time to play golf without finding a babysitter and having the money to pay for both. I struggle with feeling that I am being selfish, self-absorbed, mean, unbending, and envious. Envious that she gets whatever she wants and all I really want is a good night’s sleep. That is the bad.
She has taught me about the mother bear in me and I CAN stand up for myself, and more so I can stand up for HER. She has taught me about patience and about counting to ten before saying something I might regret. She has taught me about the relationship of give and take and that children mostly take because they haven’t yet learned how to give…although, when I need to feel loved, she is right there giving with all her heart. Being Olivija’s mom has changed the way I look at everything. Nothing is the same--everything has changed. And because of this I read another book, I search the cupboards for something else that she is hungry for (or that I convince her she’s hungry for!), I go out in the yard in my pajamas and blow bubbles, I play doll house with her, and do whatever she wants me to do. Because of her goodness and her very being I get up at 3 a.m. and get mad at the dogs and not her. I have not, however, given up the idea that playing golf is possible—I just need to wait a few years until we can take her out and teach her how to play. She has kept me young and filled with hope. This is the good.
The issue of parenting how we were parented is still there…I fight that. I rely on Joe’s parenting techniques quite a bit, and we use his sister’s advice. Joe is a wonderful dad-– something that amazes me daily, because I personally have never seen it in my life. He will
be the one who will bring traditions and family vacations and things like that, of which I have no concept whatsoever. For that I am blessed. We so much want to have another child and I am afraid that it won’t happen—so I guess motherhood has left me craving more of it, I love being a mom, and love the changes that it has brought and continues to bring to my being. I am a better person because of Olivija, and she has become my breath of fresh air.
When Sofie came along we were just complete. Motherhood certainly took me by surprise... and i'm looking forward to the surprises that are yet to come.
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