in which I totally break the rules

Remember chain letters?  Facebook does something kind of like that, only with question and answer games.  And instead of being promised thirty-six pages of stickers when it's over (or any hint of being doomed if you don't participate), it just promises that you'll learn new things about your facebook friends.  They're usually pretty entertaining, although I've never done one myself.  I figure blogging is enough talking about myself for one cyberworld - and twitter and all the sites I use for work.  Anyway, I also get hung up on the part where you have to tag people.  But there have been two I couldn't resist.  I played them but never posted them, and now I'm going to use my blog to exercise all kinds of "self-indulgent drivel" as Simon would say, and post the answers I want to.  

The first asked questions that you answered by the title of whichever iTunes song came up next when set on random.  That was a fun one, but most of the answers I think are only fun to me - after all, these are songs I've chosen because they mean something to me.  The answer to, "What is your life's purpose?", for instance, was The Way I Am and to "What is your life story?" - Made to Worship.  I did NOT like the answer to "What do your parents think of you?" (When Did You Fall) nor the song that will be played at my funeral, Happy Day.  :)  Feel free to refute the former, Mom.

I also couldn't resist the questions that your children were supposed to answer for you.  Some of these were awesome.  John's answers are first in black, Drew's in blue - the same order as their picture above.  (They're 9 and 7):

What was your mom like as a little girl?

A little girl.  Kind, nice.

If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?

An actor or selling books.  Writing thousands and billions of books.

I couldn't believe they know exactly what I do for a job:

Works on a computer, works for this thing to persuade college students to go to these different places.  Works on the computer and entertains people by making them want to go different places like New York, and writing books.

What is your mom's favorite food?

Chicken chimichanga (correct).  Chicken fajita. (close)

What makes you proud of your mom?

She chases her dreams.  That she loves me.

If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?

Bugs Bunny - you're funny and you're smart.  Mrs. Bohon. (I will in the future consider this the identity of a super - like Mrs. Incredible.)

What do you and your mom do together?

We talk with each other a lot.  Talk by writing.

How are you and your mom the same?

Our eye color is the same.  We both love each other.

How are you and your mom different?

She has a job, and I don't.  I'm a boy, and she's a girl - I mean, WO-man.

How do you know your mom loves you?

She tells me that every day.  Because every night she kisses me and says, "I love you."

What does your mom like most about your dad?

He's funny and handsome.  They've known each other for a long time.

What is your mom's favorite place to go?

They BOTH answered, "Mexican restaurants."  Which reminds me that I'm hungry.

***

I am especially proud at how often I tell them I love them and John's completely awesome answer to what makes him proud of me.  The itunes answer to the question, "What do you want right now?" was, Better Life.  There could not be a more inaccurate answer than that.

(Although I do love that song because of how much I relate to it!  Ah, the complexities of any one person.)

I meant to give you a happy post for Monday, but then we went to the dentist

For the first day of Spring Break, I took my children to the dentist.  Worst vacation plan EVER.  

For Jake it was a nice change since he just got to play in the kids room the whole time.  It wasn't too bad for me either; I got to catch up on People after all.  And neither of the boys had cavities, which is very cool.  But then she told me they need sealants - which is just another appointment really, nothing major.  And she talked about the potential orthodontia in our future.  About five minutes before that I had looked up from my magazine and told Jake, "I don't want to be here anymore."  It must have been my subconscious warning me of what was to come.  I made the appointments for the sealants and was then bombarded with questions from the boys in the car about how much braces hurt. 

I was silent for a very long 20 seconds or so.  I had flashbacks to seventh grade when they put my top braces on in two steps and I actually had to go to school with just the brackets glued to my teeth one day - no wire connecting them.  It looked ridiculous and people told me so.  Then I had flashbacks to the pain - oh the pain.  I almost cried thinking of the way it feels when they first put them on you and you feel your head is being squeezed from the inside out by sharp metal.  "It only hurts for a day or so after they first put them on," I told the boys reassuringly, and then the flashbacks to the monthly checkups.  And I was almost crying again.  Dear God the checkups.  The memory of the twisting and tightening of the wires made me squirm in the driver's seat while I tried to figure out how to answer them.  And then the maddening disappointment of getting out of school to ride 30 minutes to the orthodontist and then to get to eat out at a restaurant only to discover you can't eat the food because it hurts too horribly to bite down.  And then the day that I actually had to return to school with rubber bands from the front top teeth to the bottom.  No teenager should have to endure this.  That's what I was thinking in the car while these scenes were bombarding my mind like the memory of some distant torture and my children were hanging on my every word trying to prepare themselves for the inevitable.  

What was I thinking having children?  We barely survive our own little traumas, and then we bring children into the world and have to go through it all over again with them.  The braces, the embarrassments, the unrequited love.

Yes, this is what going to the dentist got me today.  Not one single pleasant update about Brad or Jen.  Not even the Disney World picture of Tom, Katie, and Suri made up for the trauma of those flashbacks to braces.  If there were ANY way to keep my children from that barbaric practice, I'd do it.  Since I can't, look for two crying people to emerge from the orthodontist's office in a few years - a good looking boy and his poor, sad mother literally feeling his pain.

you can't get anything by this guy

This is Jake (with his cousin Jude on the left), and I chose this picture because it's pretty much the look he gave me this morning (or perhaps himself in the mirror) when plotting his behavior for the Parents as Teachers representative.  

I had imagined the best and worst case scenarios of how he would behave that were well within his range of predictability, and he plopped himself squarely in the worst column.  He basically refused to participate in the game she brought.  And it wasn't that he wanted something else.  It was more like he had us totally figured out and so was not going to let us enrich his life today.  He kept looking into my eyes like he was trying to get me to CONFESS that I was worried about him and brought some other woman over to make him roll squishy dice and count blocks.  "Come on, Mom.  What's really going on here?  I never saw you play dice and blocks on the floor with another adult before."  If we had a code word for run, he was looking for me to say it.  And when I wouldn't, he ran anyway.

But none of that really fazed me considering why she was sitting in my living room with blocks in the first place.  It happened - last week I think?  When I looked up from my computer where I work basically all day, and he was watching a movie - which he does, basically all day - and I never felt more sure of anything than that I wanted to add some stimulation into BOTH of our lives.  I love working from home, and I'm probably far more passionate about it than Michael is thrilled with - because I've never really struck it rich here.  But it's got its downfalls just like anything else, and currently that downfall is the feeling that perhaps I HAVE NO LIFE.

So when the Parents as Teachers girl told me today that the expectation for language is that we would understand 90% of what a child says by the time they are 4, I breathed a big fat sigh of relief.  That might seriously be possible with a child who can pretty much communicate all his desires with a word (or its simpler descriptive friend) at this point and even answer the question, "What is your name?" in a semi-complete sentence.  But the greater thrill for me was the spice it added to our day.  Another face!  New toys!  Interaction from the outside world!  I needed that.  And I feel better for having given it to him.  Even if he did keep expecting the code word. (If only we'd had a code word for Dude, I'm pretty sure we're graded on participation here.  Just play with the blocks already.)  Maybe I'll work on that for next time.

do you suppose Great Wolf Lodge will pay me for this endorsement?

I remember Dad telling me once that kids like repetition.  After being at a water park with Jake for two days, I've decided that is an understatement equal only to, I'm okay with eating chocolate and we sort of have to breathe to stay alive.  I sort of got a clue the first day when the older kids were rarely in the same part of the park for longer than five minutes, most of the adults varied their activity off and on, and I sat watching Jake go up the stairs and down the red slide so many times that I ceased to discern the difference between the slide and the water.  The next day Michael mentioned that he was feeling kind of ashamed that most parents were 

in the pool with their kids while we sat idly by as Jake made a playmate out of his hand.  I am not even kidding.  He talks to his hand sometimes.  He calls it Jakey, asks if Jakey would like to do this or that, answers, yes okay, and then does it.  He also got really tired by the second leg of the second day and wanted to keep playing but could barely hold his head up.  So, I decided to join him.

He held out his hand.  We walked together up the stairs.  He let go, plopped on the blue slide (the second day's riveting variation) and slid down while I descended the stairs on the other side.  Then he held out his hand again, I grabbed it, and we did the whole thing again until I was literally dizzy.  Somehow walking around and around that little routine felt more engaging than just watching him do it.  And I needed some variety by that point.  Plus, he didn't talk to his hand anymore as long as I was holding it.

We were at an indoor water park in Kansas City celebrating my sister-in-law Mary's birthday.  Which is interesting, because I didn't see that girl go down a single slide.  She even told me she's squeamish - the heights, the plummeting from them - all of it.  She has kids the ages of my older two, and one could assume that she chose the location for the uninterrupted rest and reading time that comes with the children being so happily occupied.  Trust me, though, there are much quieter places to read and relax.  Places where hundreds of children don't run around you screaming, shaking water on you with their oblivion and dumping it on you on purpose if you chase your toddler through the jungle gym area underneath the log in which they have been storing it up.  Places where the smell of chlorine hasn't reached toxic levels.  This, I believe, is the power of motherhood.  To find a place thrilling simply because it is that thrilling to your children.  We're going to sleep right upstairs from three giant water slides and the pools and log-climby things and tree house with the giant bucket on top that dumps 1000 gallons of water every 5 minutes?  AND I CAN GO THERE?!  These are not the words of a twenty-five or so (you're welcome, Mary) year-old woman.  They are the words of her children, and therefore music to her ears.  It is so stinking fun to thrill them.

it's February fifth - this is only the beginning

"Well," John Michael said yesterday, "My career as student of the month ends today."  I've never known January to fly before now, but it seems like he was accepting that bright orange cup and handful of restaurant certificates just yesterday.  I guess I need to update my pictures in the side bar.  You should probably expect lots of mush this month.  Not mush as in nothing-much but mush as in, if you think I talk about Christmas magic a lot until the end of the December, just wait 'til I unleash my V-Day love on you.  

My first date with Michael was on Valentine's Day, so February 14 makes me all giddy inside and February in general makes me pretty nostalgic, and 1996 was the best year EVER.  I have all boys, so we don't make our valentines from red construction paper and white doilies like we used to with my Mom when we were little.  Unfortunately, they usually have light sabers or Spongebob or something.  Of course, there was the year John picked the God ones.  Proud mama moments were gushing all over the place the night he filled those out with commentary about the friend whose dad doesn't like him, "So I think I'll give that friend the one about how God is love."  That's very nice, John, and if you'll excuse me I have to go write in your journal how completely awesome you are.

I keep journals for all the boys.  John's is full of super emotional mama trauma while I navigate not-getting-a-puppy-for-Christmas and starting him in public school and apologizing profusely when we added another sibling as if perhaps he wasn't enough all by himself.  Drew's is the future script for a stand-up comedian.  Jake's is one giant love letter as well as a new round of trauma as I try to figure out how to raise the baby of the family without making him one and how to celebrate the heck out of the miracle that is his existence while letting him be his own person.

I started John's journal before he was born.  I bought it while out of town with my family.  My brother told me it was awesome, "I mean, he won't appreciate it until he's, like, 35, but still - very cool."  Now that I have three boys, I'm actually wondering if they'll ever appreciate them.  Do they really want to read about the first time they said "I love you"?  The way I felt about their kindergarten teacher? The little hand motion he made as a baby that looked like he was revving a motorcycle?  I'm not sure.  Their journals might just be for me.  A way to freeze time a little.  Which, if I do right by them, isn't something they're going to want to do with their childhood.  

Except maybe Drew.  He's so going to want to remember the time I was stressing in the grocery store about all the things I had yet to do that night, and he waved the spaghetti noodles at me and said with ultimate sensitivity, "And you gotta fix me some supper, because I'm hungry." 

I'm thinking a movie on a weekday at nap time . . .

Agent Holly:  You will be happy to hear, in the words of Drew shortly before this picture, "We.  Just got.  A Wii!"

So now when I am overcome with anxiety over whether or not I am any closer to beginning an actual writing career, I'll simply pick up a remote and bowl.  I'm really good at the bowling.  Not so much the tennis.  I end up jabbing at the air in front of me as if trying to poke my little Mii into responding to the ball rather than reacting to it myself.  "What does it say about you, though," I asked Michael, "to be good at bowling on the Wii?"  It doesn't seem like something you could put on a list of assets, talents, or even handy little knacks.  It just is.

I drove to my parents' on Christmas Eve.  The roads were covered in patches with packed snow, and Michael was home sick.  I have never felt so happy and so refreshed by a home-going though.  I needed it desperately that day for some reason.  As I drove there alone, I panicked when I realized that I had not yet read the directions for - nor placed in my vehicle - the car escape tool Dad got me for Christmas.  It cuts your seat-belt and breaks your window and punctures your air bag and all kinds of other important things if you have an accident that leaves you trapped inside the car.  I thought how awful it would be to have a wreck on Christmas Eve on the way to his house and not have the safety tool he had given me.  

Now it is safely placed in the pocket of my driver's side door, and I feel so much more prepared for life.  It's nice to have a little bit of Dad's protection beside me in the car as I drive.  Just like it was so nice on Christmas Eve, when the day kept feeling so decidedly un-Christmassy and the boys kept spilling things and I realized I still hadn't bought enough wrapping paper (Wal-Mart again?!), to know that I was going to Mom's just as soon as my work day was over and that she would rescue Christmas from the moment I walked in the door.  I was wrong though.  It was rescued the moment I saw the lights of the little town where she lives.  

We're headed into the second week of Christmas vacation for the boys.  They look so forward to it.  And then sometimes it disappoints.  They get bored and miss their friends and routine.  Jake likes having them around but finds that they sometimes mess with his universe.  They wake up every day certain something exciting will happen, and their faces droop to find me working (what is this strange part of grown-up life that you work on Christmas vacation?!) But I'm going to try and rescue it for them.  I'm pretty sure I can.  I just hope I have enough tools.

the greatest of these

I heard the best phrase earlier this year.  A guest speaker at my sister's church was talking about that famous evangelical phrase, "Love the sinner, hate the sin."  The speaker went on to congratulate Christians everywhere, himself included, because we are so good at that phrase.  Especially the second part.  We're so good at the second part, in fact, that we really don't get around to the first.

His suggestion was to give up the hate.  Just try it.  For like a month or something.  "Love irresponsibly," he said.

How much do I love that phrase?  Very.  I keep trying to think of ways to apply it.  It's a tough one for Christians, because - well - besides the fact that it sounds like a slogan for teen pregnancy - it also flies right in the face of our fear that we could actually love someone right into hell.  Do you know this about us, Person we judge?  We're afraid that if we don't condemn you now, we condemn you forever.  And as for our own self-righteousness - and, Lordy, do we have some - it's not only that we think we can earn our way to heaven (although, I'm afraid that's in there), it's also that we have believed our own purity is the best way to reflect Him.  First Corinthians 13, aside.  ("If I speak God's word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps, but I don't love, I'm nothing.")

I like the phrase love irresponsibly because it made me question that fear I used to have.  It made me wonder, if I believe I could love someone into hell, did I really understand what Love is?

I don't have this problem, for instance, with my children.  They can lie right to my face, the little devils, and moments later I want to wrap them in my arms and hold them 'til they smell like my shampoo.  I adore them.  I actually have total responsibility for their health, their understanding of right and wrong, and their happiness.  Actual responsibility.  It's in the contract you sign right next to their birth certificate.  I solemnly swear to feed them broccoli, hold their hand to cross the street, and apologize profusely if they point out obesity in the grocery store.  And yet I love them first and foremost without any thought for that other stuff.  It's why I give them cookies at bedtime and let them play football in the yard just five more minutes before they start their homework and strap 'em into mud boots and swimming trunks so they can treat the puddles like they were meant to be treated.

You know, Mom and Dad always used to teach people that disciplining your children is a greater love than spoiling them because it requires a greater denial of self (not to mention the fact that it shows a much greater love for the whole of society upon whom you'll eventually inflict your children).  That is certainly true.  But it's not the willing-to-discipline love that will motivate me when they make decisions I would not have made for them.  It's the cookies-at-bedtime love.  

I don't know, I just think this is the kind of love that would be worth considering with other humans on the planet as well.  I don't know for sure what it looks like.  But I'm pretty sure I've decided it's the way to be.  

And now I've put it out there.  I've taken another guy's words, packed it with my own emotions and agendas and put it out there for the world.  So go ahead, lay it on me.  What do you think about it?

sometimes you get what you wish

To add creativity to my thankful list today, I thought I would include actual quotes from my journals.

October 12, 1995

I really want to love and be loved.

There are all kinds of quotes with Michael's actual name in them - clear back from fifth grade when I wrote about the two cute boys in my class and one of them was him.  Oh the drama as I pined for that boy from that moment on.  We went on our first date Valentine's Day 1996, and we were married August of 1997, the hottest day this side of a sauna, I'm told.  To me, it was perfect.

October 5, 1998

I want to have a baby.

It took me a while to come to this one.  Growing up all I really cared about was getting married and being a mom.  But once I got married, I found that I wasn't in a very big hurry for motherhood after all.  I finally started hoping for it about one year before it happened.  John Michael was born October 17, 1999, the happiest day of my life to that point, and Andrew joined us June 13, 2001.  Being the mother of two very young boys was crazy and trying and some days lonely.  Being the mother of them?  Awesome.

April 3, 1999

Our new dream is for me to work at home.

Check.  I've never made much, but I make a little, and I do it without paying childcare.  I really love that moment after dropping John and Drew off at school when I get to pull right back into my own driveway.  Third to being married and being a mom, I wanted a home that I love.  The house has flaws, but the home is wonderful.

Things went a little dark in June of 2005, as most of you know.  I was pregnant but diagnosed with a rare, aggressive tumor.  And then I wished for this.

July 21, 2005

I don't want this.  I want to live.  And I want this baby.  I want to live to see all my babies grow up.  Please let that be my story.  I promise to be grateful.

My cancer was removed before it spread.  And the baby I was so scared for that day is strolling around my writing space with Captain Jack Sparrow's spy glass in one hand and a chocolate chip cookie in the other.  He also just stole a sip of my Diet Coke.

I'm pretty grateful.

once upon a dentist's chair

I will post a picture when the gap heals a little -  I gotta give the kid a fighting chance for the Gap commercial after all.  But for now, I thought you'd enjoy the story of its removal, William Goldman style.

The surgeon's assistant was an older lady with bleached hair and a white mask "because of her cold".  We'll call her the Albino.  Count Rugen will be played by the nicest female dentist I've ever met in my life except for the really crappy morning she just walked us through.  The nice receptionist nurse named Julie will play a nice receptionist nurse named Julie.  

As we lay Jake in the dentist's chair, which certainly may as well have been a torture machine, they said "Welcome to the pit of despair."  And then they cleared their throats, wiggled his tooth and added, "Don't even think about trying to escape," i.e., the tooth definitely has to go.  Then they stuck him with a needle that I swear on my pretty Apple laptop was one inch square, and he screamed and cried while Count Rugen, the albino, and I held him down and tried to tell him this wasn't as torturous as it appeared.  

Then Julie, who I could not in this moment cheerfully call nice anymore, ripped me out of the room as Jake's eyes rolled around in their sockets and he lost his grip on reality while I lost grip of his hand.  I managed not to cry in the waiting room because of the really nice lady who told us stories and complained about how overbooked the office was that morning as we sheepishly nodded along, a teensy bit aware that our little emergency surgery probably added to the back-up.

Two minutes later (give or take) - and believe me, these were the most expensive two minutes of our lives, the tooth was out.  Soon we were ushered into his recovery room.  The torture here was seriously acute.  "We removed his tooth," Count Rugen said.  And with it we sucked one year of his life away.  So tell us how you feel, Jake.  And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

To which Jake cried.  If you can call it crying.  It was more like his vocal cords were outside of his body.  They were triggered by the slightest word coming from the mouths of any of the three previously mentioned players.  Any time any of them walked in the room and started speaking, the vocal cords sounded an alarm that was a low, crying moan I will never forget.  His arms also seemed detached from his body and periodically rose from it in slow motion.  When the arm pointed towards the door and the vocal cords said, "Truck", we knew the three were starting to reattach, and we'd be able to go home soon.  

I'll get used to the gap.  But let's just say the next time the three boys are alone in the bedroom, and any of the voices seem to be coming from the bunk bed, and there is anything even resembling the giggle of a friendly jumping contest, I'm tearing into that bedroom like a maniac and ripping the children apart like I'm sucking away a year of their lives.

The End.

Teeth and honesty

Tomorrow this gorgeous smile (seen here above the green shirt beneath the blond curls) will lose a tooth.  It happened in a tragic accident involving a bunk bed and an older brother which resulted in a really loose - apparently broken - tooth.  It's okay, he looks almost 5, right?  

NO.  He does not look 5, and I'm completely heartbroken about this in a way you cannot even imagine from someone who has had cancer, survived it, and emerged with all these weighty revelations about the real meaning of life.  Who knew vanity extended to your children's dentition?  It's shameful.  Lance Armstrong would be ashamed of me and probably take away my Livestrong apparel.  

In other news, I've had an attitude breakthrough.  I'm reading Anne Lamott who is all about being funny and honest when it comes to life.  Really, really honest in that way that eventually makes me go, "Okay, seriously, the truth isn't always this true."  So in that spirit, I submit to you this really heartwarming, live-like-you're-dying king of thought I had today when I was feeling blue that no editors have as yet brought me a publishing contract followed by a parade.  I thought about my really cool agent and the fact that she's a real live honest-to-goodness Fifth Avenue New York City literary agent and thinks I'm good enough.  And then I thought about this rejection I got from an editor a couple weeks ago that was so complimentary I plan to frame it and hang it above my desk (not really, it is a rejection after all).  And I thought, between those two things, I'm extremely grateful.  In a very real sense, I've made it.  I mean, those are really thrilling accomplishments (seriously, the rejection said my writing was powerful and would definitely find a home - it was kind), and I can totally live with that even if it's the farthest I ever get.  

Just not if I have to live very long.  (And that's the honest part of which I think Anne Lamott would be proud.)

Wish us luck on the tooth removal and the end of a certain Baby Gap modeling career I'd been banking on.

- Serenity

poetry and prose

Nobody really talks about the baby blues. No one really even mentioned it to me until the few moments after John Michael was born. Then Dad in all his wisdom gently suggested that I not be surprised if my euphoria faded a bit into what was often called the baby blues. I said, "Huh, okay." but inside scoffed that the happiest happy I had ever felt could possibly fade.

It happened gradually but suddenly and lasted only a couple of weeks that felt like a lifetime. I would reach to nurse him and suddenly feel too tired. "I've lost interest in him," I cried, and my mother took him from me and told me not to worry. I felt everything closing in on me. I felt sick and exhausted and told Michael very sincerely that I thought I might be dying. I felt certain I was the only person in the world who could care for that baby but I was far too weak and tired to actually do it. I loved him so much that I sat on Michael's lap and cried that he would grow up even one single day. But one night when I went out for Halloween candy, I felt that although I wanted to return home to Michael, I didn't want to return home to the baby.

That night was pretty much the last of it. It faded more quickly after that without so many excruciating episodes that we simply had to pray our way through. The euphoria eventually returned but was more grounded in reality now.

Two things I wondered then, "I was supposed to be a better person than this," and "Why don't women talk about it?" The first probably answers the second. I was an extremely emotional person all my life and had learned, I thought, to steady them and not ride the roller coaster quite so high or low with passing feelings. So I felt ashamed that I hadn't been stronger when he was born. I got over that eventually, truly believing that hormones do their own thing sometimes, and surviving it really is almost the best that we can do. And I talked with many women in those weeks who had been through the exact same thing. I think the main reason we don't talk about it is because it doesn't happen to everyone. I think we feel that if we suggest it, we will scare them. And if we don't suggest it, maybe it won't happen.

Charity was euphoric in the hospital with Nola Serenity. Giddy, achingly happy. She felt so glad to not be pregnant anymore, so happy the baby is finally here, and surprised - as I think we all are - by how perfect life feels with a new baby. In the first couple days at home she has hit some of those painfully exhausting moments when she wasn't sure she had the energy to do this. I told Mom to tell her it passes. I told her about going to bed early and trying to believe that the baby really will get taken care of even if you simply can't rise from the bed (which I know that she will). And I told her about the long drives that Don and Cheri suggested to us, and which really helped.

But I think Mom knew this is a wave you sort of just have to ride. Mom probably will tell Charity all those things, but she'll weave them in gently as it seems fitting to the moment. Too many solutions offered at once could be as overwhelming as the problem.

Today Charity sent an email that literally glowed with happiness. Nola is sleeping beautifully, and I know that with every hour of sleep, Charity's nerves will improve. I don't think she would like my sharing anything but the happy thoughts right now. But since she doesn't read blogs, I thought I'd risk it. I know from experience that when you write about your low points to good, kind people like those who read my blog - the next day is very often better. I couldn't help but take that chance for her.

It's funny. Almost all of us know exactly what it's like to cry half the night because the baby is. We know that exhaustion is so dramatic those first few days that it hurts. We know these things. But still we feel giddy when someone joins the ranks. I guess it's because we know the beautiful parts far outweigh the ache.

dear mr. president

I don't know about my strongest McCain-supporting friends, but I feel very peaceful today. McCain's speech made me sad for him. Charlie Gibson set it up by saying that McCain was a wonderful human being, "And I know his speech will be extremely gracious." And it was. I thought it was beautiful, and I felt for him and for his avid supporters. Then I couldn't wait to hear President-Elect Obama speak, because I knew it would be hopeful and uplifting. I have to say I was surprised at his reserve. I felt he was deliberate about not setting himself up as "our savior" as so many critics have accused him. His speech was also gracious, and it was honest about the work ahead.

It was other people's words that actually moved me more. It is impossible not to feel proud of my country when I hear someone like Donna Brazile say that Barack Obama will be inaugurated on steps that were built by slaves, men who probably never could have imagined that a black man would ever be taking the oath of office on the structure they built. I feel very moved by that just as I feel moved by the hope our president-elect has inspired in people across our nation and the world.

But there was one person I was worried about today. This is my sweet John Michael. You may know him as my oldest, the boy whose birthday I call the anniversary of my motherhood. The one who thinks donuts are too sticky and who once ironed a pair of shorts. And he believed in McCain. He got this passion all on his own. As you know, I wrestled with my voting decision almost up until the moment I walked into the booth, so I certainly wasn't feeding him any propaganda. Michael decided a bit earlier than me, but was hardly campaigning for any candidate either. John heard about the candidates at school and made his choice. Some of my readers won't understand this, but we're talking about a 9-year-old boy who just received his first hunting rifle for his birthday, so gun control issues were important to him. The second issue, I'm not sure where it came from - but put them together and he believed that Obama meant to take our guns away and make boys and girls go to separate schools. I can't think for the life of me where that second idea came from, and I've assured him it's untrue - as is the first.

Still, though, like my 7-year-old, they just had a fixed idea that as Drew put it, "John McCain just seems wiser." So when John came to me this morning and asked excitedly, "Who won?", all that hope talk and look-how-far-we've come stuff went right out of my head as my heart ached for a little boy who can't even vote but had learned to care. I was so proud of him for forming his own opinion and for standing by it despite plenty of voices around him suggesting otherwise. And I was sad for him.

So, Mr. Obama, you move me. You've raised a lot of hopes in this country and abroad. But I'm afraid there's a very big task ahead of you for my heart. I'm so proud of my little guy for embracing so thoroughly the beauty of the country in which he was so very lucky to be born. Please don't let him down. In four years, I hope he's more proud of it still.

Our Halloween

What we have here is a soldier, a boxer, and a cowboy.  The boxer has ROCKY stitched in gold on the back of his robe.  And in keeping with our love for movies, the soldier calls himself Sergeant York (with a machine gun?  Okay . . . ), and the cowboy is Woody with a beautiful stick horse named Bulls-Eye whom we  forgot to include in the picture.

Also, I've had a couple people ask:  I was really boring with the Halloween treats and just did chocolate chip cookies.  The parents in Drew's class provided plastic gloves with candy corn in the tips (for fingernails) and popcorn in the rest to look like a creepy sort of hand.  They also had fruit shishkabobs on little ghost toothpicks and sugar cookies shaped and iced like jack-o-lanterns.  I told you I wasn't the right person for that task.  

BUT, I made up for it with my presence.  I was the only parent at John's party, and I was so happy to be wanted there.  (He's not too old!)  So I got to hear with my own ears that his classmates think I am a wonderful cook, and they loved the cookies.  I told them I did it with the help of Pilsbury.  Of course, only the teacher knew what that really meant.

I went to Drew's as well.  (Me and my cups.  I got that sign-up sheet right at least.)  And his letter home this week said, "Dear Mom, Did you see Jake do the limbo?  Also, where did you go after I went to specials?  And I had fun . . . because you were there."  (Ellipses his - that kid is a writer, I tell ya).  

Wishful Thinking

It's parent-teacher conference time again.   And besides all the wonderful things I heard about my son (she'd like to clone him - our parent-teacher conferences for that kid are really fun), I also learned a crazy thing about myself.  Apparently at the beginning of the year when we were checking out John's classroom and tucking his brand new pencils into his desk - apparently that day I also signed up to bring treats to the Halloween party.  I italicize treats because the fact that I signed up for that task is critically absurd.  

I look back on that girl - and just shake my head.  I know what she was thinking, the silly thing.  This is the year I'll change.  I'll be super involved.  I'll find a way to volunteer at the school despite the fact that I can barely get my work-at-home hours in just taking my kids to and from.  I'll read every paper carefully and never throw away anything important (aside:  I cannot find my password to check their grades online), and apparently I'll learn my way around the kitchen and grow a new personality in which I don't save crazy tasks like classroom treats until midnight the night before.  (Aside again:  Cookies for John's birthday treat?  Bedtime.  Night before.  Pillsbury Ready-to-bake.)

She showed me that reminder somewhere between "I want to clone him" and "Here's his reading score".  I did keep listening, but I kept one eye strategically scanning that sign up sheet searching it for my name.  Surely she was wrong.  I wouldn't have signed up for treats.  I'm the cups and napkins girl.  I'm really good at cups and napkins.  But there was the proof right in front of me.  Maybe I read it wrong or skipped a line or something.  But no, I think it was that first idea.  I signed up for treats like the person who buys the smaller size and vows to diet their way into it.  I think I was telling myself to step it up.  So now I'm furious with myself as any normal person will be at their motivator now and then.

It's not that I never enjoy making special things in the kitchen for my family.  It's just that I know my limitations, and Halloween treats for twenty 8-year-olds is way over my stress threshold.  Darn that first-day-of-school feeling!  Stick a new box of crayons in my face and suddenly I think I can take on the world.  Or, you know, popcorn balls.  Is that a Halloween treat?  I don't even know.  

Road to Publication: Slow Going

I added a new label for the blog called "Road to Publication" and tacked it onto a few of my previous posts. As an aspiring author I love to read about how other writers made it to the big time, i.e., a book on the shelves, as we say. Now, frankly, it's not been a very successful week for me. A couple of editors have already passed on the book, and I'm having serious doubts about its place in the publishing world. But as Felicity pointed out today, rejections are part of the journey. Every author has them somewhere in their past. And as much, much, more fun as it would be for me to wait until I'm an actual author and then look back and tell you the story, I figure it will mean even more if I document it along the way. So that's what that label is all about.

Now, the moment in my day that made up for this very slow and tear-filled road:

From Drew: Mom, I hope my daughter grows up to be like you someday. Because I can't imagine any person who would be more helpful to the world.

(I am not even kidding, People. Get yourself a 7-year-old immediately).

Waiting For You

An empty bassinet waiting in the corner of the living room, the tiny sweaters we saw at Baby Gap, the crib I slept beside each night - this weekend was packed with new baby goodness and anticipation.

I never knew for sure if I had a very strong bent toward mothering a baby. I knew I wanted to be a mother, but I think it was more of an expected part of my life than a passionate dream. And babies in general had never really done that much to stir my heart.

But after having done it three times and found my greatest happiness ever in its many ups and downs, I feel beside-myself giddy for Charity and the achy-wonderful that's awaiting her.

This is the very time of year that I was nesting for my first baby. He was due nine years ago today. All those sweet empty things waiting for his arms and legs - like the crib and cradle and bunting - crowded all throughout our tiny apartment.

This time of year is the anniversary for that happiness. It's not that I've forgotten the midnight feedings and baby blues and (regrettable) stress over whether or not I was doing nap-time correctly and feeding him at the proper intervals. It's just that the happiness so far exceeds these. I know Charity will have her moments, her tears, her own regrettable stress. But she will also have those moments where she will know she never truly lived before them.

I would never tell someone who cannot conceive that they cannot truly live. And I would never tell someone who has made the choice not to have children that they are wrong. I'm just saying that I really agree with the person who wrote a thought like this, which Charity recently read: Babies are such a cool way to start people.

Journey Stuff

In book news, my agent is submitting my manuscript under the title, The Thank You Room. Don't get attached, as editors sometimes change these things as well. But that's the best news - some more editors will be looking at it soon.

She sent me a note today about some of the editors who will be considering it, and she referred to it by its initials. TTYR. This is my new mantra. I figure I'll say it over now and then like a prayer, willing this book into publication existence. TTYR. While performing the sign of the cross. I know this is wrong. And I know it actually crosses the border of sacrilege. And I know that I should be praying for His will and not my own. But I just have one thing to say to that. T-T-Y-R.

Thankfully I'm off to Omaha this weekend for my younger sister's baby shower. That will be the perfect distraction. After that, my agent says I should invest in a Wii.

Did I mention the list? She sent me an actual list of the editors who will be looking it over. Rejections have to be, like, what - ten times as tragic at this level? I'm sure I'll be able to get back to you on that.

In the meantime, I'm going to revel in the journey, right? And also read the memoir by Lynne Spears, mother of Britney and Jamie Lynn. Awesome Thomas Nelson sent me a copy to review. The offer was open to anyone. I figured since three of my top labels are motherhood, Hollywood, and faith - it was kind of in my genre. If I like it I'll put it next to the ones by Tammy Trent and Brooke Shields - a celebrity memoir I really loved - and I'll tell you all about how refreshing and thoughtful it is. If I don't like it, I'll put it next to Sydney Poitier's, which disappointed me.

So that's my Friday post. Kind of a hodge podge. Sort of like Jake's new bedtime routine. He suddenly graduated from getting out of bed and lying on the floor. Now he stays in the bed but he wants the door open and he calls me into the room at least three times for various things - the dog, the blanket - get the cat off my dresser - stuff like that. Then the last time he calls me in, he asks me to close the door. I do. And then I don't hear from him again until morning. Since he finally eased out of that last routine, I think I'll just enjoy this new one. It's kind of fun really. And that's my new thing - enjoying the ride.

TTYR.

Pajama Day

Yesterday my 8-year-old went to school wearing pajama bottoms. He meant for me to double-check the note and back him up on it. But I didn't. I figured it's homecoming week, so it probably makes sense. Plus, this is John Michael we're talking about. He doesn't really get that kind of thing wrong.

But on the way to school, the fact that I couldn't absolutely confirm that it was pj day kind of started to get to him. He grabbed his flannel leg with his fingers and said, "Man, I hope I'm right about this." Welcome to Monday, Buddy. And apparently to upper elementary. And to life.

~~~

He was right about it of course. But you know I would have whipped that car around in a heartbeat if we hadn't seen at least two kids walking into the building with their own versions of flannel. He may be old enough for "Man, I hope I'm right," but he is definitely too young to have to be wrong all day long about something as flamboyant as pajama bottoms.

John's little moment with the pj's evoked such empathy in me. I could literally feel his pain. I think it's the feeling a lot of us will have in the voting booth this November. The way we feel when we make a job change or move.

I feel it with an intensity that can only be described as wonderful but excruciating pain as we make decisions about our children. School, church, sports, television, video games, bed times, dessert. Every little thing I decide for them. I don't know which is worse - the fact that the feeling never goes away, or the fact that the reason it doesn't is because every now and then we actually will be wrong. We'll be shouting at them through a bull horn some well-studied decision, and all the while we're standing there in our pajamas.

Poor kids. They have no idea how hard it is for us to figure this out. How hard it is to protect them and guide them and shower them with affection they know they can count on no matter what else happens - all while actually trying to get out of the way so that God - as I believe it, and even life itself, can do its work. And every time we step in, and every time we get out of the way, we'll be thinking one thing. Man, I hope I'm right about this.

These are the only clothes good enough for this face

Traditionally, you give the bride and groom a gift at their wedding.  I know this - thus the "Live, laugh, love" picture frame I gave at the shower and which, fortunately, the bride told me she loved.  But at the actual wedding, I'm afraid those two busy souls gave me the gift.

Lest this "Do I look alright?" straightening of the tie pose doesn't convince you that I got the better end of this ring-bearer deal . . . then the last picture will.  That's where he spent the entire ceremony, rather than up front as he should have.  Thankfully, his older cousin held the pillow with the rings.  Jake probably would have eaten them along with the chicken nuggets I used to bribe him earlier in the evening.

I get these pictures forever.  Burned into my memory the delicious imagery that makes people say, "I didn't even know they made them this small."  I mean, those are real live cuff links in that toddler-sized cuff, people.  

The bride was beautiful too, and I did take pictures of her.  Maybe when I pass them on to her, I'll at least be returning her gift a little bit.  Until then, I'm just going to keep enjoying mine.  Thank you, Riki - and especially Justin for putting in the initial request for this little guy to participate.  Thanks for giving me the chance to finally wrap this little gift the way my adoration for him deserves.  I'll love you forever for it! 

girl with the pink umbrella

I don't know about where you live, but where I am today it was nasty, ugly, gloomy rain all day long.  Those descriptives are probably only because we're working on the roof right now.   If it were finished, I probably would have said cozy.

I've been sick-ish - as you know - and felt much better today, so despite my descriptives I was actually in a shockingly cheerful mood.  Sort of.  Not a typical Monday anyway.  And on my way to pick up the kids from school, I saw this young woman walking in the rain with a pink umbrella and the pink fitted rain coat to match and white rain boots with some cute pattern on them.  I watched her walk toward me, then past me, and then away from me (the pick-up line is loooong) with that adorable splash of color like a ray of light in the whole world.  That's what I thought of her.  And I also thought, I am so blogging that.  And I wondered if she knew how thrilled I felt by her shiny pink self in this ugly, cloudy day.  

I had a great evening then.  Went to a PTC meeting, which is kind of over my head sometimes, and I always want to giggle when people "make a motion" for things even though I know we were all just boiling macaroni and wiping cheese from our children's faces just moments before we threw ourselves out the door for the meeting.  But I always feel so proud to be there.  And then I talked for almost an hour to one of those people you wish you'd known all your life, which was cool too.  But THEN - 

I came home and got the life squeezed out of me from three little boys who you'd think hadn't seen me for a week.  And I was so moved and happy and reminded yet again what matters most in my little life.  And I was thinking - it wasn't all that cloudy today after all.  It was like one HUGE pink umbrella.  

(photo by plain.ethos on Flickr)