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.

Updates on the Book and a Baby

Well.  I don't like to go this long without a blog post.  I took on some freelance work, which takes some of my extra time.  We had a teensy bit of forward motion in the book front, which took some of my week.  I sang in the memorial service for a great man who passed away.  And the rest of the time, I was doing this:

This isn't the best picture of her that I took, but it's the least dorky of me (since I kept making squishy, pouty baby-talk sort of faces because I was holding all this glorious baby-ness in my lap), and I'm really too vain to choose the ugly pictures of me even for my namesake.  Isn't she gorgeous though?  I mean, that skin!  Those lips!  That hair!  She spent about one day and one night at our house.  (Along with her sweet, cool mama of course), and simply nothing could woo me from her awesomeness.

On the book front, we're working on a proposal to give the manuscript a little extra selling power to the editors still interested.  If someone had told me how difficult it was to convince someone to add your memoir to their already over-published stack of self-discovery narratives, I would have fictionalized the whole thing and made it a great novel instead.  Still, we have interest.  And interest is way down the road towards someday being on a shelf, so it's good.  I'll try and stop by a few more times this week despite my obsession with the proposal on which all my hopes and dreams hang in the balance.  I'll tell you what a wonderful man Keith Lawson was (the previously mentioned memorial service) and what I learned from his life and I'll keep you posted on Jake's antics and the life of a struggling writer.  It'll be great.  In the meantime, feast your eyes on these.

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.

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.

a Monday sort of post

This is a picture of my Dad and brother after graduating recently from the sheriff's academy. I wanted to put it up right then and write this great post about how from my Dad I have learned to never stop asking the question, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Build on the old, by all means - Dad's had a long respected career as a physician - but don't ever think you're done. I admire that.

But I didn't take this picture with my own camera, so I didn't get a copy of it right away and failed to write that masterpiece when it was in season. Now I'm posting this picture because the last post had a picture of my sisters and I wanted to round it out with the brother. Not that he EVER READS MY BLOG. But still.

It was very Mondayish for me today. (My closest family members, the ones who DO READ MY BLOG, have heard that now three times. What can I say? It was the topic of the day.) But it had one really memorable moment. Kids will do that for you.

I have this habit when the kids are scared or sad or worried about something. I remind them of the good thing similar to it and say, "So think about that instead." For instance, "You don't think the time to go swimming again will come soon enough? But you had such fun doing it today . . . just think about that instead."

So today, it got me back. I burned the cookies (not possible with the air bake pan actually, but they were way more brown than I like them . . . especially since I like them straight from the bowl.) Anyway, I said to John when I took them from the oven, "Wow, I am not having a very good day." You know what he said?

"Well. Yes you are. So just think about that."

When you put it that way . . . I'm convinced!

I am SO Blogging That

I joined Facebook a while back, and I would personally like to apologize to college students everywhere for invading your space. On the other hand, to the Facebook shareholders, you're welcome.

(If you're on Facebook and haven't seen me in the "people you may know tool" then be sure to look me up.) I added this application to it called Flair, and I'm kind of addicted. It's the image of a cork board basically on which you can put button-looking things that contain all your favorite things. I have "Mrs. Bohon" on one and "I Heart Boys" (if you're just joining me, that's a nod to all the Y chromosomes in my offspring - not a flashback to junior high), and a black one with the phrase from today's title. I also added this sisters one just today. (You can make your own too! I'm unstoppable!) I've told you before I'm not cool, so it doesn't really bother me that I'm addicted to decorating an imaginary cork board in an imaginary dorm room. It also doesn't bother me that I can't seem to stop adding scenes and quotes from friends. I'll be labeling this post just for fun of course, because my Flair obsession has no meaning whatsoever. It's just that I can't stop doing it and therefore told myself today, "I am SO blogging that."

In video news: Yep, the first Serenity Live video is up and running on several channels online. (See it to the right - they're both the same). Please feel free to comment, but you should know I don't accept criticism very well, or mocking, or random observations of annoying details I perhaps haven't noticed myself. So stick to glowing praise and subscriptions to my fan club - I'm quite accepting of either of those.

In other video news, and with no disrespect to either my company or my awesome camera guy, Tom, or my sound guy, Nathan - you should really check out this video by a guy named Matt -- It has "hell" in the name, but don't let that scare you away even the tiniest bit. It's a beautiful video that might very well make you laugh and cry and repeat the cycle more than once. As soon as I saw it - well, you know what I thought. (Re-insert title here - you got that, right?)

Show Me That Smile Again

Um, Felic? Kirk Cameron wrote a BOOK. Yay! Remember when you told me I couldn't share him with you? He was your crush and thereby could not be mine as well. You helped me find someone for myself in one of those teen magazines. (And I still love you, C.D. Barnes. I thought you were great as the voice of Prince Erik in The Little Mermaid).

I discovered Cameron's book because I you-tubed him tonight (that's a verb now, right?) looking for a certain clip from Growing Pains. I thought of it when we were watching The Truman Show again tonight. See my profound adoration for The Truman Show here. And I had this thought, "I wonder how the idea for this movie began?" It could just be way ahead of its time. I mean, maybe the creator of it thought, someday . . . Reality T.V. How did they know? But then I wondered if it was this: What would happen, they may have thought, if a person reached the age in which you discover the world does not revolve around you, only to discover that the world DOES REVOLVE AROUND YOU? I also think this would be a fun game - watch a movie and try and decide what brilliant what if was asked that eventually led to the movie. But anyway -

This brilliant train of thought - if you're even remotely still with me -reminded me of Mike on Growing Pains. Remember, Felic? When he stayed home sick from school, and Gilligan's Island was on, and he was totally and completely thrown. "Gilligan's Island is on television while I'm at school?!" And, thus, the realization that the world did not actually revolve around him. Something about that episode just rang true in my teenage mind.

There is a great recent video of Cameron on You Tube about his new book. You gotta admit, he's a pleasant guy. And I love stories like this in which a person just says - "God, if you're real, then make me know it." And then He does.

Incidentally, Michael, I love you way more than C.D. Barnes. Although I do know that his full name is Christopher Daniel, and I can still sing the theme song to Day By Day.

and now i've been you-tubed

For all the fans -  Here is the link to our nanoseconds of fame, as Molly so eloquently put it.  I found it by searching for the contestant who auditioned right after our big scene.  We're almost the first thing on the clip, so you can't miss it.  I'm on the left with the long beige shirt.  Charity is the one with all the glee, and my mom is behind her.  Ryan, Charity's husband, is the guy.  

And just to prove that I'm moving past the American Idol thing on this blog, very soon anyway, get this.  This is the actual fortune I pulled out of a fortune cookie yesterday:

It's a good time for serenity - a good book and a good friend.

Fortune cookies love me.  

this is why people get Tivo

My sister was just on national television.  That's right.   American Idol, Baby.  I was looking at my computer screen when it happened, but I caught the last little bit as she was laughing at someone off-camera (whom I know to have been my other sister, and I know this because I was standing right there).  Uncle Rick says I was also in the shot as well as my mom and my sister's husband.  You would think I would be cool about this.  I mean, I'm too old to actually be a contestant, and my sister didn't get to sing for the celebrity judges, and it's reality television after all - not exactly an Oscar moment.  But I'm not cool about it.  I'm completely thrilled and excited.  Eight thousand.  That is the number of people who tried out in Omaha.  One hour.  That's how long the show was tonight.  Seven thousand seven hundred and something.  That's the (approximate) number of other people who did not get through to Hollywood and could have been shown laughing at Felicity's joke (or their own sister's joke I guess) on American Idol tonight, but weren't. (There, Felicity, you see?  You didn't make it on screen but now the masses of people who read this blog are completely aware that you were ALSO THERE.)  (P.S.  "Masses" is a tiny bit of a stretch)  (P.P.S.  So is "tiny").

Charity says she has watched it a few times over now, and suddenly television has begun to lose it's mystique.  It feels kind of like: National television, national television, national television, and cue home video . . .  national television, national television.  

If the writer's strike doesn't end soon (although, I hear the conglomerates did get my letter, since the Oscars are officially a go), then one day probably most of us will have a reality television story like this one.  Getting-to-know-you questions will be like, What's your favorite coffee blend, who's on your iPod, and which reality television series were you on?   That won't really be a happy day I don't think.  

But anyway, this one is.  It's an American phenomenon, and I was a part of it.  These are the moments we uncool people live for.

two minutes

Sisters are happy things. These are my nieces, but there's a picture in our family history of my older sister and I looking kind of like this, only Felicity is pouting BIG time, and there's a couch cushion pulled out behind her from where I have just discovered her Easter candy stash.

When we were in college Sarah Dunn came up with this great concept about Two Minutes. She was talking about the way it feels when someone is right in your face telling you that you messed up in some way or failed to do something you should have, etc. (Telling you in love of course). And then you want so badly to say, "Fine. Now go away - not forever, but for at least Two Minutes. I need two minutes to stop being mad about this, to stop wanting to defend myself and actually deal with it. So go away, please, and give me my two minutes."

I was thinking about that the other day when I was thinking about my blog. My readers might get the wrong impression of me, I was thinking. Because I tend to be poetic and have a beautiful perspective on this messy thing called life. This my friends, is the beauty of writing. Not that I don't have a great perspective on life. It's just that - I don't always have it right in the moment. I need my two minutes. Two minutes to rethink my initial tendencies. Two minutes to turn the traumas into humor and come up with one very big poetic But. (i.e., but I had cancer once, and this little trial doesn't matter as much as it used to). Two minutes to ask myself, "What would Felicity do?"

And that's how writing and Sarah Dunn and Two Minutes all ties in to sisters. Because so much of what I've decided about life is because I think it's what Felicity might decide if it were her.

My other sister tried out for American Idol this summer. She got past the first horrible round in which they narrowed over eight thousand people down to about 150, by our estimate. I was so proud about that I could hardly stand it. She let us tag along to the second round and I was so excited by the mere experience of being that close to television-making, it was all I could do not to go up to one of the red t-shirted people and beg them to give me a job.

And here's the punch line for today. Besides the fact that I really like sisters. Reality TV gets pretty mocked, I know. And in some circles American Idol might as well be called "Let's all break the second commandment." But for me, it's a very happy, very moving memory in my role as proud and adoring sister. And, frankly, I wish I knew more people who had tried it. I wish I knew more people who had tried out for reality television than I know of people with cancer. That's what two minutes has given me on that topic.