Update on Life, Tumors, Moose Mating Rituals, Airport Insanity, Chemo Sucks and Beacons of Light

Oh my, its been a year since I've written you (almost).  Wow.  Trust me when I tell you, I'm talking to you in my head all of the time and I have the best of intentions to write.

So much has been going and I think it has finally reach such a capacity that I  feel compelled to sit down and catch up with words on a page.  (I spent half an hour breaking in to an old filing cabinet on Tuesday night to dig out my collection of letter writing stationary if that helps put the word 'compelled' in context for you).

Quick Update on Life in General - It ain't bad.

The past year has been pretty amazing.  We moved into what we call "our forever home" on the side of a wooded mountaintop over looking the valley of Park City.  On Saturday, sixteen inches of snow fell.  In September there were moose mating in our back yard.  You can see the stars almost every night.

Emerson started a new school and can now spell her name, count to 16 and identify the entire alphabet.  I hate to brag (kind of) but to be honest, she works hard and she practices these things because she loves to learn.  She deserves the credit.  Her favorite toys this week are some of my left-over yarn and a blanket we break out when winter arrives - a child's imagination is truly boundless when given free reign to ramble wild.

I have started a new job within my company.  As a result of that and some other significant professional changes I am actually loving what I am doing.... (just process that, those of you who have known me for longer than five minutes).  I am re-learning how to play the piano and how to nap. (more on me later)

Hunter has grown his hair out long again and has taken up occasional running.  In my humble opinion, mountain living looks damn good on him.  He lives and dies by ski season and the snowfall totals in Big and Little Cottonwood.  He has seen Phish seven times this year and is learning John Fahey's Christmas album on the guitar I gave him for for our 10th anniversary.

More About Me (and Squishy)!

For so long, I have truly felt as though I haven't had enough writing fodder to justify an entry here.  (Wait until you see the length of this one!)  I mean, there's really only so much you can say about moose mating, though trust me, I was so tempted.  However, there are a few things I'd love to send out to the masses.

Last May, after years of inexplicable knee pain, we discovered that I have a tumor in my knee.  Turns out, the tumor is the result of a condition called P.V.N.S. (I really can't ever remember what that stands for) PVNS occurs in 1 in 2 Million People.  It is a condition that causes chronic tumor growth in the lubricating fluids and tissues of your joints.  The tumors will eventually eat away the joint.  While you would think the ultimate solution here would be joint replacement, the tumors can actually come back and attach themselves to artificial joints as well.  SO.... your best option is to get a really phenomenal oncological orthopedic surgeon and hope that s/he is awesome enough to remove the tumor and then it's gone for many years or forever... Which is exactly what I did...  Because, I mean, less than 5% of these 1 in 2 million people who have this barrel of monkeys shows any signs of tumor regrowth at their 1 year MRI check.  Well fast forward to five months post op (Sept/Oct)- guess who is seriously working the hell out of these odds.  (And I, of course, live in a state with no lottery).  So my tumor is back, this one is actually larger than the first one and I have named it Squishy.  Why not?

So given Squishy's vehement perseverance and the fact that my leg is still recovering from the first surgery, I have started a three month round of chemotherapy in an effort to:

1) Keep the tumor from getting bigger between now and when my leg can handle another operation
2) Try to shrink the tumor so we have a better chance of removing 100% of it and preventing it's return
3) Kill. the. tumor.
4) Any combination of or variation on the above.

This "brand of chemo" is specifically targeted to patients with Leukemia.  It is a daily treatment that, in theory, can be sustained indefinitely.  This drug is traditionally well tolerated with minimal side effects.  I don't really have anything to compare it to but I can honestly say, Chemo. Sucks.

I started the treatments the week of Halloween.  The only way I know to effectively communicate my level of exhaustion to you is to tell you that I did not dress up, hand out candy or carve a pumpkin.  We did take Emerson trick-or-treating.  (and for what it's worth, we did carve a pumpkin sometime last week, it got smelly with a quickness but hey, pumpkins were carved, people)  Point being, so, so, so very tired.

At the start of week two, I had to make an impromptu trip to NC to kick off my new position at work.  One of the caveats with this medicine is that it causes you to retain everything to you put in your body.  The only way to combat that is to practically eliminate your sodium intake.  I'm eating less than 500 milligrams of sodium a day.  Stop what you are doing and go to your fridge or pantry.  Look at the sodium content of anything in there.  Weep with me.

The first thing I do when I get to North Carolina (besides drive past a Bo-Jangles, wailing, and immediately pick up a medium black dark roast from Cup-a-Joe - because coffee doesn't have sodium and God is still good) is head to my Grandmama's house for Sunday dinner.  God bless my Grandmother and her southern cooking.  That house smelled so damn good I practically melted standing in the threshold of the front door.  Sadly, her idea of low sodium cooking, along with every other Southern Grandmother worth her salt (ha. ha.), is to simply not add extra salt from the shaker to the vegetables that have been put up and cooked with country ham and cooked in chicken stock and butter (but Grandmama totally did skip the salt shaker, just for me).  I ate the salad greens and naked roast beef that she made just incase I couldn't eat her world famous chicken cordon bleu and was instead, fulfilled by catching up with family that I haven't seen in over a year.  There is always, always, a beacon of light near by when the darkness starts to settle.  The trick is having the will power to open your eyes.

I was able to spend one glorious night with one of my oldest and best and for several beautiful moments we felt like we were 22 years old, not 32 and the stress and responsibility that comes with that extra decade floated away like smoke drifting into oblivion from the front porch on an autumn night.  When she dropped me off at my hotel, she outfitted me with no-sodium oats, pumpkin butter, fruit, protein bars and all natural pumpkin macaroons (so I could cheat without really cheating) because this is what best friends do.  Again... that beautiful, shining light. So, armed with low-sodium love, I was left to engage the brand new dynamics of a ten-year seasoned career.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  I think I have been back to the corporate office, where I cut my teeth (and contemplated a vein a time or two), twice in 5 years - it is always a bizarre mixture of gratitude to see familiar faces and the twitchiness that comes with visiting a place you have separated yourself from.  Much like going to a dysfunctional family reunion (I would imagine).

I walked in the front door to the office and was greeting by the warm, smiling face of our delightful, deeply southern, receptionist.  She glows with joy upon seeing me and exclaims "JULIE, GOOD MORNIN'!  I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!!!  WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER BABY?!?!?!"
......   .....   .....  ......?

"HEY!!!! I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!!!! NOT IN THE NEXT 10 MONTHS, I CAN GUARANTEE THAT!!!!"

(*SIDE NOTE - I now live in the land of perpetual procreation.  Generally speaking, people in Utah are underwhelmed by your ability to reproduce and quite frankly, I suspect, are secretly hoping that you won't continue to add to our seemingly infinite sea of toddlers...I forget The South's deep desire to see their women happily married and producing rolely-poley offspring to continue on our treasured lineage)

So starts my day.  Within the first 2 hours of my prodigal return, I kid you not, I was asked if I was pregnant again yet or when I planned to be pregnant again no less than 7 times.  These people have never met the one magnificent child I do have.  Most of them probably don't even know her name.  I'm a little befuddled as to why that is the default question and not "Hey, how's Utah" or "So, excited about your new job?" of "How 'bout them Red Sox?".  I don't understand.  I finally found an empty office in which to hide as I started to fade from what I would soon learn was the beginning of a very unpleasant reaction to Chemotherapy.  As I was wilting, a friendly faced popped-in, took one look at me and said "are you okay, you don't look so good?'  I explained that I was feeling very tired to which she responded (you guessed it) "oh wow, are you pregnant?".

Seriously?

So at this point I, drag myself and my newly developed pregnancy complex to the break room where I reunite with all of the IT guys.  As I bid them farewell, fresh cup of coffee in hand, I hear them whispering "dude, how cool is it that she's still super hot?!?!".  Complex averted.  I love you, IT guys.

As the week progressed so did my exhaustion.  By Wednesday I was listening to a chorus of "wow, you look awful" and "what's the name of that cartoon dog with the humongous bags under his eyes?  You look like him".... (Hi Complex.  Back so soon?)

By Thursday morning my eyes were swelling, my skin was hurting and my feet were itching.  By the time I woke up on Friday to catch my flight, the fun was in full swing.  I looked like I had been stung by a bee and was covered in a full body rash.  You should google chemo rash.  Weep with me.

Given that it was 6:00 in the morning and my only means of transportation was the hotel shuttle, I consoled myself by deciding to travel in my pajamas and to buy some benedryl at the very first airport convenience store I could find.

I breezed through security with blessed efficiency (after all, when one is wearing pajamas there is much less to maneuver) and saw, the true american utopia gleaming in front of me... a huge store marked OVER THE COUNTER PHARMACY.  HALLELUJAH!

(Side note - you would think benedryl would be such a necessity that it would be passed out by flight attendants on airplanes along with peanuts.  People get twitchy when the travel, they get hives, they're surrounded by allergens (see peanuts) and recycled contaminated air.  There are children who need to be drugged, and adults who need to be drugged.  Benedryl can help with all of these things.  Guess what.  They don't sell benedryl in the airport.  I shit you not.)

So, it turns out, after much desperate searching the woman at the OVER THE COUNTER PHARMACY store had some topical benedryl-gel stuff which I bought out of sheer desperation, knowing that it would be no help so ever.  Before she agreed to sell it to me, however, she eyed my pitiful swollen, flaming, itchiness and made me swear to her that I would not drink the topical gel.  How's that for context?

I made my way to the gate and checked in for my flight.  The gate agent looked at me in horror and asked if I was okay, to which I responded, "You know, I could really use some benedryl... I'm having a mild reaction to some medication I'm taking.  Do you know where I can find some?"

Oops.

Turns out the words "reaction to medication" are in the sacred text of TAA Officers under "Emergency Situation".  She, despite my extreme protestations, insisted on shoving me into a seat as far away from any human being as one can get in an airport and calling the airport police.... who called the airport medic team.... who called the Rex Hospital EMS.... who came flying down the jet way in an ambulance, lights, siren, the whole she-bang.  I was gently informed (from a safe distance) that I was going to miss my flight but that I would be re-booked somehow.  I gently responded in-kind by reminding her that all I wanted was a little, tiny, over the counter, benedryl capsule.  She looked at me with tremendous pity.  I resigned myself to the onslaught of uniforms.  Blood pressure, O2 Stats, temperature, death release form, etc. etc. The EMS medic finally opened his medicalcase and says ... wait for it... "Oh no, I only have one capsule left in here, I'm sorry but that will have to get you through (now that I won't be home for another 8 hours... thanks for that.  I make a mental note to re-nig on my promise to not drink the gel if things get too bad.)

I finally made it home 12 hours after my day began and drove straight to the acute care clinic where I was given steroids, PRESCRIPTION BENEDRYL (WOOT!) and thrush medication.  That's right, I forgot to mention that little gem.  Thrush!  Woot!

Over the course of the following week the rash subsided for the most part, the thrush seems to come and go and I've had a few other surprises not really appropriate for public consumption.  All in all, I'm half way through my third week and am grateful for each day that I seem to adjust a little more to my "new normal".  I've learned the hard way that caffeine and chemo don't mix.  Wine and chemo are SUCH A VERY BAD IDEA and not to make plans after 4:00 pm.

So I'm hoping Squishy is getting the message loud and clear and is feeling as uncomfortable as I am.  I'm trying to embrace modern medicine as a welcome necessity because I think that railing against it keeps it from doing what it needs to do.  I think a team mentality verses and adversarial mentality towards the chemo helps.  We do have the same goal, after all.  I'm forgiving myself for letting some things go and I'm learning to being gentle with myself emotionally, mentally and physically.  I'm trying to be better about asking for help when I need it.  I'm trying to take pride in the positive aspects of this new healthy lifestyle - like clear pee that doesn't smell like fresh roasted Sumatra.... what a novelty that is! (Beacon of light, baby!)

So that's the latest.  The reality is, I don't have cancer.  I know it could be be so much worse and is for so many.  This is livable.  It is a massive pain in the ass, it pisses me off, it is, at a minimum, extremely inconvenient and uncomfortable - but it is livable.

I will try to keep you posted on this bizarre road that I'm on so that you can either laugh or cry with me. I'm hoping we'll do some of both together.

Love and hugs and processed foods and cheesy, salty goodness to all!

Julie

Waking up EXACTLY where I don't want to be - the perfect place at the perfect time - for Dylan, Jake, Ann Marie, their Families, Aurora and Newton P. D., et. al., infinity.

This morning I woke up at about 5:30 AM with time to kill in my LasVegas hotel room. 

I swore off of cable TV news and morning shows long ago, primarily in an effort to triage the influx of hysteria into my already overstimulated psyche.   As an alternative, I listen to an internet music provider or my hometown NPR Station, 2,200 miles and currently 3 time zones away.  Over my $34 dollar pair of poached eggs, english muffin and liter of coffee (that’s right, it was 34 dollars, I prefer my eggs poached and I’m going for the full liter with not a drop to spare- you read all of that right – Vegas.) the BBC so eloquently provided the soothing white noise that can only be provided by a British radio news anchor.

All of a sudden, the voice on the airwave was no longer British, she was American. The voice belonged to Nicole Hockley, the mother of Jake and Dylan Hockley of Newtown, CT and she was telling the story of her boys.  Jake is 8 years old and was a student of Sandy Hook Elementary.  He can't sleep at night because he keeps asking when the shooting is going to happen again and no one can really answer him.  His little brother Dylan was 6 years old before he was found shot to pieces, what was left of him was cradled lovingly in his teacher’s arms, surrounded by other children hidden in a school supply closet.

I know that was hard to read, I’m sorry.   It was hard to type.  It was even harder to stop the gut wrenching sobs that had me doubled over out of nowhere this morning as I was eating my breakfast, watching the Nevada sunrise over the mountains on the outskirts of Sin City.  Listening to Nicole, a primal surge of simple shared, human pain just wrenched me out of nowhere and I found myself sobbing with a level of emotion that I have not experienced in recent memory.  

As deeply as I felt the impact of what happened in that small town several weeks ago, as much as I thought I had talked through and processed my feelings and reactions and emotions, with friends, family and the rest of the nation, I was completely unprepared for this innate emotional response to hearing a mother tell the story of her two sons and their teacher, Anne Marie Murphy.

It’s possible that I would have had the same reaction in the sanctuary of my own home in Salt Lake City, (not-so-arguably the nation’s strongest advocate for unlimited access to unlimited weapon ownership).  It’s also possible that I would have had the same reaction on a business trip in, say, Chicago (I believe the Nation’s leader in gun related violence and homicide), which is where I was the Monday after the Newtown shooting.  I will forever remember sitting in my Chicago hotel room, breaking my self-imposed cable news ban, tuned in with rapt attention to CNN’s broadcast of the interfaith service held in Newtown.  I will never forget listening to the local Newtown Rabbi chant, hauntingly, beautifully in a language that I don't understand a song of mourning so poignant that it seemed to be a cry from God himself. But I wasn't home and I wasn't somewhere else - I was here, in Las Vegas listening to Nicole.

I pulled myself together, pushed aside my breakfast, put on my brand new logoed shirt, specifically designed for the SHOT Show, opted for the pencil eyeliner in lieu of liquid, given the circumstances, and went down 22 floors to face somewhere around 70 THOUSAND of America’s most enthusiastic weapons enthusiasts.    There is no possible way for me to convey to you in words the level of inner conflict and self-loathing that I was trying to process between those 22 floors.  When I came down an additional escalator and had a bird’s-eye-view of a sea of human beings being guided by cocktail waitresses holding huge bright orange signs in the shapes of rifle scopes and targets, only those unfortunates who have experienced the joy that is a panic attack will be able to somewhat relate.

BUT HERE’S THE THING!  I spent my day in a section of the show that is exclusively targeted  to active duty law enforcement and active duty military.  8 hours, not one comment on gun rights.  Not one mention of politics, speeches, reactions, NRA, President Obama, liberalism, conservatism, or the Second Amendment.  THOUSANDS of individuals; not a word. This, as the NRA is literally across the hall, simultaneously launching an epic, internationally covered, public relations response to President Obama’s call for weapons reform.  Not one peep. 

I outfitted hundreds patrolmen, squadrons, S.W.A.T, and Medics all day long with ballistics protection, soft body armor, hard body armor, tourniquet casings, and emergency response kits  with the hopes of keeping them alive and giving them better tools to help them keep their brothers alive.  Brothers….  Brothers…  There are Jake and Dylan again.   

I spent 30 minutes talking to two adorable twenty-something police officers from Aurora, CO about a piece of $50.00 gear that their departments couldn't afford to provide.  Without thinking, I jumped on the geography of Aurora, given its proximity to UT, before I realized what I was doing.  These guys did not want to talk about the fact that they were form Aurora.  They just needed better functioning gear.  They just wanted to do their jobs.  They just wanted to not be from Aurora.

In Julie’s dream world, the one where its totally cool for me to refer to myself in the 3rd person, I have a pet donkey and live in a 200 year old colonial home on the coast with an unlimited supply of Sumatra coffee, and farm acres of lavender, there are no guns and every decision that we make as human beings, states, and nations is motivated by the furthering peace and love.   Sadly, Hunter can't stand it when I refer to myself in the 3rd person, I don’t think donkeys like cold weather and we just bought a 5 year old house in Park City where the altitude doesn't even let you grow so much as an onion.  Guns exist and so does snow and new construction.  I understand and accept these things, and this is not meant to be my proposal to impose my brilliant liberal solution to this problem.  I don’t use this blog much lately, much to my chagrin, but its name is fortuitous.  This is where I ultimately go find myself – a safe place to wrestle with these Shades of Gray.  In my heart, I know I will never own a gun.  That is a conscious, well-thought out, highly discussed and considered decision that we have come to together as a family for a variety of legitimate reasons that apply to us as an individual unit.  Does that mean you shouldn't undergo the same analysis and be allowed come to a different conclusion?  No, not really – to a point…

I found myself about every hour or so throughout today drifting off with thoughts of Dylan.  And then a young man would walk up to me and ask me very politely to direct him towards a piece of equipment that will better his chances of staying alive while he devotes his energy, time and life to keeping the next six year old little boy and his teacher from ending up in pieces – to keeping all of us from ending up a 30 second sound bite in a never ending news cycle of decimated carnage.  And while I’m trying to be engaging and jovial and informative… while I’m slipping this young man from Aurora (who would rather be anyone than “that young man from Aurora”) a “sample” from the booth display that I know will give him better, quicker, more reliable access to the comparatively tiny little magazines in his standard issue Beretta, the NRA is across the hall arming anyone and everyone as fast as they possibly can with bigger guns and more ammo. 

I’m going to sleep tonight hoping that today, I advised someone in Military/Law Enforcement towards a piece of equipment strong or efficient enough to stand up against the pin that was pulled out of the grenade across the hall by the NRA.  We have, under the same roof, orchestrated heaven for the misunderstood loaners, riled up and teetering on the edge, looking for a deal to purchase via private transaction semi-automatic weapons and at the same time consolidated resources for the heroes who will stand in the line of fire while working to get that same weapon off of the street so that it doesn't do what it was designed to do - kill someone.  These guys shop gear, not because its cool but so they can realize their goal of seeing their son graduate from high school.  I have to imagine that a few of those guys were thinking about Dylan today too.  And Jake.  And Nicole.  And Anne Marie.  And next time.   

More Information on the Hockley Family’s outreach can be found here:  here:http://www.sandyhookpromise.org/

“I Promise to honor the 26 lives lost at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  

I Promise to do everything I can to encourage and support common sense solutions that make my community and our country safer from similar acts of violence.”

Amendment One - Work with me through this one.

I am an unapologetic social liberal BUT… I am doing my best temper that fact for the purposes of a hopefully diverse audience so that I might appeal to you all.  However, at the same time, I realize that this is not entirely realistic.  That said, let's see if we can marry our perspectives for a moment and see if we can find a common ground because this is important.  I believe in the rights of all men and all women of all races, all colors and all creeds to live their lives as they choose.  I believe in the rights of all people to be free to live and to love in the purest capacity they they possibly can.  I believe that this freedom to pursue a truth of spirit and of soul… that this is the ultimate goal for all of humanity - to be true to our most honest selves.  Many people believe in a more rigid, prescribed code that interprets this ethos differently.  It would be hypocritical for me to condemn those whose beliefs and moral codes are in opposition to mine or to try to force my world view upon them given my previous statement.  While I don't personally subscribe to an interpretation of ethics that can be boiled down to a simple right and wrong or sin and righteousness, I acknowledge that that perspective exists and I know that this chasm is great and my words are more than likely not powerful enough to bridge such a vast divide.

So this is who I am.  These are my values.  They are set in stone for me and I can not imagine a scenario in this life that could possibly change them.  There is little chance, no matter who you are or how long I've known you or what life experiences we have shared that they are exactly the same as yours.  Here's the thing;  THAT'S OKAY.  I have this belief structure and it is so important to me that I feel a soul-wrenching obligation to live a life and to raise a child who, God willing, will share and reflect these things that I hold sacred.  I fully expect and respect your right and responsibility to do the same.  Perhaps, with patience and open hearts and love  we will fortify intelligent discussion and rational arguments that will allow us to grow together to be an increasingly self-realized people.  So this is our mantle and we wear it every single day of our lives.  We do this because it is important, it is critical and it is who we are.  I acknowledge all of this.  What I don't acknowledge and what I hope will give you pause, is a need for political legislation to affirm my belief structure.

This afternoon, I spoke to a dear friend whom I love deeply.  This friend is about as conservative as conservative gets.  I typically dance on pin heads to avoid political discourse with this friend because we are so very diametrically opposed.  Going out on a limb, I said, "I hope you will vote against Amendment One" (for those of you reading not in NC, this is  a very high profile amendment that will eliminate rights of same-sex partners and all civil unions).  I braced myself.  This friend responded with something to the effect of the following "You know, this country was founded by the most brilliant minds that have ever existed and the constitution that they created, founded on Christian values of course, is the most amazing document every created.  It is perfection.   I embrace the Founding Father's ideals and I believe that they were Christian men founding a nation on Christian values and they did a damn good job of it.  I am sick to death of politicians trying to corrupt something that is so inherently pure."  

Politically, this friend and I could not have less in common and that's okay.  We agree to disagree, we have lively debate and we respect each other as intellectuals and human beings.  He lives up to his responsibility to live his life according to his beliefs and I try to do the same.  He will likely be voting against Amendment One. 

Here's my point:  I believe in the rights of human beings to love and to live in the best way they they can and advocate for those rights given any opportunity.  From my perspective, God knows this world needs all of the love it can stand, so I will do everything in my power to raise my daughter, who will grow up in an essentially theocratic state which is as conservative as it gets, to respect and hopefully share those same values; That's really all can do but I don't need legislation to tell me that's right for me; I know it in my heart and in my soul.  I don't need legislation to make me feel more secure about my beliefs and I can honestly tell you, no legislation is going to make me feel less secure or doubt what my heart tells me to be true. 

If you are opposed to same-sex couples sharing the rights of couples who have a traditional marriage, that's obviously where your world view has taken you and its unlikely that any statistic or scenario that I could throw at you is going to change that.  Its also your personal belief and not mine.  Obviously that's fine and its your responsibility to live accordingly, to raise your children accordingly, and to make sure that your actions and your contributions to our society reflect that belief structure.  I champion your right to do so.  It is your God given right to exercise your freedoms in this way.  Utilizing this freedom to further restrict the freedoms of others, however is incredibly counter-intuitive.   Trying legislate morality and legislate belief structures is a basic cry of insecurity and frankly, hysteria.  We have so many crosses to bear as human beings.  There are so many people who suffer from hate and abuse and neglect - lets focus on building each other up instead of wasting our time with personal insecurities to break each other down.  

All I ask is that you think about your own responsibility to be accountable for your own morality before you cop-out in an attempt to legislate it for those who dissent.  Minds and hearts will not change.  People will continue to live their lives as they see fit and when its all said and done all that will have been accomplished is an excess of unnecessary red tape, state legal fees, and an era of divisiveness with less and less hope of resolution and reconciliation.  Less love.  More hate.  Please think before you vote for Amendment One.  As a parting note - if you can't get over the gay marriage things, here are a few other points to ponder:   

Turns out my latte is not pregnant. Whew!

So, I'm back on the road and true to form adventure and hilarity are keeping me company on what would otherwise be a very lonely trek across the United States.  I'm used to the security circus.  Enough loops through the hoops and you get the hang of the monkey dance.  Belt off, liquids appropriately sized, shoes off, hole in sock... cold, dirty floor, don't think about it... just keep moving.   I have even procured the mother of all carry-ons.  This thing is a BEAST.  Its a roller bag that converts into a back pack.  It fits under the seat, in the overhead and down the aisle and I'm pretty sure I can get at least 3 days of travel out of it...maybe more.  It has pockets for kindle, ipod, cell phone, passport, chap stick. It even has a detachable clear bag for the infamous 3oz liquids.  To describe my relationship with this bag as a love affair is an understatement.  To seal the deal... FLIGHT ATTENDANTS drool over this bag.  I. Love. This.  Bag.  So, yes, I have no qualms about zipping up to the "professional traveler" line and yes, I'm that jerk who looks at you with total disdain if you forget to take your change out of your pocket.  I am that person. All that said, I experienced a whole new level of violation and intrusion from the FAA today.

My typical routine leaves me 30 minutes for security, 10 minutes for starbucks, 5 minutes for bathroom, 5 minutes to make absolutely sure I'm in the right place and 10 minutes to breathe before getting on the plane.  This morning, my routine was perfectly executed.  I had just wrapped up my 10 minutes of breathing time and was beginning the boarding process when I was stopped by an absolutely ridiculous FAA agent wearing goggles and what looked like a chemistry set strapped to her back.  Let me tell you something.... An FAA agent who looks like she's moonlighting with the CDC is NOT something you want to see ambling toward you as you're about to board an aircraft.  This rogue lab tech approached me, pulled me out of line, and proceeded to- brace yourself- proceeded to give my triple skinny latte a pregnancy test.  Not kidding.  She whipped a little test strip out of her science kit, hovered it over my coffee, "tested the vapors" and then we waited for the results.  Fortunately, for all of us, my coffee was not pregnant.

Really, FAA?  You didn't violate me enough when I came in?  You have to continue to harass me after I have run your gambit and jumped through all of your ridiculous hoops with flawless execution?  Its bad enough that every time I go to the airport I have to leave a half of a pot of coffee on the counter and wait the dark and dreaded 30 minutes before I can throw myself at the mercy of the corporate machine and wait for them to feed my addiction; now I have to worry about not only the proverbial levels of toxicity in my cup-a-corporate but the literal levels of toxicity as well?  Can't you just hang out behind the line and test the vapors as they come out of the drip?  Lord knows, they could use an extra body back there.  

Once we determined that my latte was only harming my soul (and wallet) and was not an agent of death and destruction.  I was allowed to board the plane and am now in lovely Minneapolis.  What a great and underrated city!  Thanks to a shout out on facebook, I was directed to a truly phenomenal local brew pub and enjoyed some exceptional craft brew as well as a moderately life changing almond butternut squash bisque and the best sweet potato fries I have ever had.  I'm staying in the heart of Minneapolis right next to a tiny little coffee shop called Dunn Brother's coffee located in the basement of a stone building built in 1887.  Granted, I walked 4 blocks out of the way in the absolutely FREEZING Minnesota night air to procure this lovely Americano but in the end, I realized that the theme of today penance.  Penance for subsisting on soulless caffeine.

The good news is, I'm pretty sure I'm square with the house.  Cheers to you!

An Appeal to the Angels of our Better Nature - A blog on the Defense of Marriage Act

The planets have officially aligned.  Its Friday afternoon, work was light, Emerson requested a late afternoon nap, and we are having a very rare Salt Lake rain shower that is seriously whetting our whistle for the impending Autumn here in the Wasatch front.  What a truly magnificent start to the weekend... and I'm about to launch into something very ... uncomfortable.

This week, in particular, I've been thinking a lot about people.  And culture.  I've been extremely disturbed by recent political developments in my home state of North Carolina this week.  NC passed legislation that brings the state that much closer to passing the Defense of Marriage Act, which, as I'm sure you know, specifically defines marriage as an institution between exclusively one man and one woman.  As I'm sure you also know, this legislation aims to bar many of our neighbors, friends and loved ones from legally entering into the one of the most basic and true expressions of human love and partnership: Marriage - which  is ideally a loving partnership of two consenting adults who want to spend their lives together loving and growing in unity (and all of the institutional benefits (and drawbacks as the case may be)) that go along with it.  

While, I fear that my feelings on this issue are so impassioned that I will not be able to adequately articulate them on the page, I need to throw this out. I've struggled with whether or not this blog is a waste of time and breath but someone was kind enough to point out to me yesterday that even if it falls on deaf ears, we have a responsibility to check in and be present when we feel things are going off course.  So I write this if for no other reason then, I feel I have a responsibility as a mother, an advocate, and a member of the human race to do so.

The way I see this, the issue breaks down into three pieces - legality, religiosity, morality.  Let's ease into this:

Legality

In its most basic essence, a marriage certificate issued by the State, is binding legal contract between two individuals.  The contract is not signed or sanctioned by the church any more any other legal document -  a birth certificate, death certificate, or for that matter, a state tax return.  I find it interesting that the symbol of our justice system is a blind fold.  When it comes to basic contractual law, on which I am admittedly no expert, morality, religious doctrine, sex, or social status, play no roll.  I'd love to expound on this point but the truth is, from a purely technical perspective, its pretty simplistic.   Questions of personal religion and personal ethics have no place in a legal contract issued by a non-theocratic state and to introduce them corrupts the very necessary black and white (gasp!) protection and responsibility that a contract is designed to provide.

Now the hard stuff:
Religiosity
As much as we'd like to say the bible is clear on homosexuality, the truth is - its really not.  As I am so passionate about this issue, I've spent a lot of time researching this.  Yes, there are two Old Testament passages about homosexuality being unclean: one in Corinthians I 6: 9-10 and one in Leviticus.  The Corinthians passage simultaneously calls out idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, drunkards, slanderers, and swindlers in addition to homosexuals.  Last time I checked idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, drunkards, slanderers and swindlers can all still get married, bless their poor spouses... I'll be honest while I haven't encountered any male prostitutes, I can name pretty much someone in every other category that is legally married in the eyes of the state.  The Leviticus passage (20: 13) simply calls for a man who lies with a man to be put to death.  I ask with a mild attempt at hyperbole, "while we're at, it where do you draw the line at your literal interpretation of the scripture?" 

In the new testament, Paul also mentions the sin of homosexuality in his letter to the Romans.  I could go into the context of Paul's letter to the Romans and explain my understanding of how the politics, audience and circumstance of the time in which he was writing shaped his message, but that's another blog.  The real point is, Jesus Christ, in whom most of the people driving this legislation profess their faith, never mentions the issue of homosexuality in his teachings.  Ever.  Not one time.  He does, however, have quite a bit to say about loving one another, and about treating each other with fairness, and kindness, and humility.  In fact, he built his ministry on these teachings.  He talks about all of  humanity being equal in the eyes of God from the lowliest among us to the most fortunate - the lowliest, in fact, being more favorable in the eyes of God. He talks about forgiveness and not casting stones.  He gives us one of the most simple and one of the most challenging directives ever issued to human kind- Love thy neighbor.   

I understand that faith and religion are very personal things and there are probably no two people on the planet who have the exact same interpretation of their faith.  I understand that people believe what they believe and I respect that very much.  What I don't respect is when others try to force their personal interpretation of what is holy and what is not upon the general population.  What I view as an abomination is people who use faith and religion as a weapon to create hate, to create an "other", and to punish their fellow man. 

Morality:  
There's a fine line between religiosity and morality.  When I say morality I am specifically referring to the argument that homosexuality is a "choice" or that it can be "cured" like a disease.  To be honest, I don't really understand how this argument is the slightest bit relevant.  I quite frankly view it as a cop-out and a distraction that people hide behind so that they don't have to address more difficult questions.  I disagree with these perceptions of homosexuality (as does science) but I also always come back to the question of "does it matter?"  In a free society, whether an individual chooses to share their life and love with someone of the same sex or of a different sex should not make them more or less entitled to the same rights as every other citizen in the United States.

So there's my 2 cents, my soap box if you want to call it that.  I know that it might not line up with the ideals of 100% of my readership, but I hope you will respect my need to speak out on an issue that is incredibly important to me and I hope that you will take the time to consider a different perspective on this divisive issue that, in one way or another, effects our human conscience.  Whenever I think about this issue, I always hear the below quotation from one of history's most admirable leaders spoken in another time but a time also wrought with difficult questions of unity and freedom and equality:

"I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stre[t]ching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." 

~Abraham Lincoln

We've done it before and I hope as a nation we can again find the strength and courage to appeal to the better angels of our nature.

Beannacht

I was fortunate enough to encounter this blessing/poem last night which, as I understand it, is an old Celtic blessing that has been revised by John O'Donohue (whom I had not heard of until this poem).  Regardless, I found it to be incredibly beautiful and was moved by its simple rhythm, emphasis on natural strength and beauty and the sense of stillness and peace that it seems to communicate.  I hope you enjoy!

Beannacht

("Blessing")

 

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

 

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

 

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

 

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

 

~ John O'Donohue ~

 

(Echoes of Memory)

This life... so far... THE ESSENTAILS

So, I seriously wrote the best blog the other day.  It was my "come back blog" if you will.  It was an ode to Emerson's 15 month birthday (so it was several weeks ago), but it wasn't really about Emerson, it was a list of things I've learned about myself over the past 15 months.  I wrote it on a flight to somewhere.  I'm sure it was to the East Coast, as that's where I've spent most of my summer and it was a rather lengthy and well thought out blog, which requires several hours of uninterrupted focus which, lets face it, is only available when I'm encapsulated in a vessel with no child, vacuum (yeah I don't really spend that much time with the vacuum), or Internet connection (read: work email).  So I wrote it and then I wanted to spend some time editing it and then my hard drive crashed in an epic sort of way… and now its gone.  Frankly, I hadn't planned to recreate it but… look what I did:

1.  You are the sum of the parts that are formed when you're not paying attention
This parenting thing, man - seriously, its no joke.  I find myself saying, sometimes apologetically, the following words "I'm doing the best I can, there's really no instruction manual for this".  What I'm finding though, is that the most important aspect of parenting is not so much your cumulative approach to discipline, or what you allow your child to watch on TV, or whether you breastfeed for x number of month/years or whether or not you let your child "cry it out" or "co-sleep".  Its what you do on a lazy Saturday morning.  Its how you shape your family dinners.  Its bed time stories, lullabies and goodnight kisses. Its going for a walk around the block when you don't have the energy for the orchestrated play date (I'm so bad at play dates) .  Where am I going with this?  I have come to realize I can analyze and second guess those big picture parenting decisions and read all of the books that I want to, but where I am really driving home my hopes and expectations for my daughter and for my family is during the times when I'm not necessarily thinking about it.  It really is the little things, not the big things, that set the tone of this life - that define our value structure.  I'm not saying I have figured this out or that I have answers, in fact, I'm saying that I haven't and that I don't - BUT…. what I do know for a fact is that a 9 a.m. pajama dance party to the Allman Brothers and Van Morrison laced with maple syrup, black coffee, and bare feet is as important, if not more so than how we approach any of these other big picture parenting decisions.  Granted, it can't be all fun all the time - obviously.  Sometimes the little things are the things that you let go, its an argument with your partner or spouse that you pass on because in the scheme of life, it really doesn't matter.  Its making the decision to pass on that extra hour of work even though you really need to put it in.  Sometimes, its the decision to put in for the extra hour for the sake of sanity.  Its declaring, "today is going to be a movie day because I just don't have it in me for anything else".  It's dragging yourself out of bed to volunteer when you all you want to do is stay in pajamas and have breakfast.  The point is, for what its worth, there's truly not much in the life that can't be fixed by banana pancakes, good music, and fresh air.  The point is, this world can be overwhelming and can absolutely bleed you dry and if I can raise a loving human being who is grounded enough to value the simplicity of a Saturday morning, well then… its a small thing, but I'll count it as a win.

2.  Plugging In.
I mentioned volunteering.  Obviously, the week of Emerson's birth is burned into my brain.  One of the things that happened that week was the gulf oil spill and several coincidental subsequent local oil spills in local parks and wild life refuges.  It was a very emotional time for me as you might imagine, and bringing a new human into this world that seemed to be drowning in the residue of assault left me feeling this massive sense of responsibility.  Here I was, in my rocking chair, shielded by lullabies, warm and comfortable with more food and clothing for my healthy child than I knew what to do with.  For the first time in my life I felt the true meaning and frankly the true weight of being "blessed".  That feeling was heavy because it came with the weight of fortune in the face of the people around me who were hungry, cold, sick, suffering.  I felt a sense of obligation that I have never before felt in my life.  It was so overwhelming it was almost paralyzing.  Since then, I have become a regular volunteer at a local food pantry.  Its a very small thing (on my behalf - the pantry itself is a PHENOMENAL resource).  I try to volunteer every other Saturday morning for a few hours.  To be frank, I started volunteering here as a response to this new found sense of obligation.  Since then, the pantry has become a service to me.  The Saturday mornings that I drag myself out of bed and into the shower instead of lazing around and having breakfast with my family are painful… until I get there.  What I have found is that I get as much out of those Saturday mornings behind the line of the pantry as anyone on the other side of the counter.  I am a part of my community.  I am a part of this world.  I am better for it, my perspective changes, my world view is altered, I am grounded.  I am a better person and a better mother when I plug in to my community.  What's crazy is, it has very little to do with having or not having or volunteering and charity - its all about plugging in and experiencing the world around you in the best way that you can.  


3.  Be true to who you are, not who you think you should be
This is probably the most difficult.  It seems like the moment you announce that you are pregnant you become public property.  Suddenly strangers on the street feel perfectly justified in telling you what you should and should not do for the health of yourself and the health of your baby.  There is a never ending stream of spoken and unspoken judgement that doesn't appear to end once the child is born.  Example:  How much weight you gain, whether or not you advocate natural child birth, breast feeding, length of maternity leave, decisions about child care, baby food, discipline, potty training… it. is. un. believable.  I have decided the following: Almost every mother you will ever encounter is doing the absolute best that she can.  Support her.  I made the decisions that I felt were the best for me, my family, and my baby and I feel good about them.  I have to remind myself of that somewhat regularly though, not just for peace of mind, but to keep myself from slipping down the proverbial rabbit hole as it were.  For example, I chose to maintain a job that has me traveling away from home about 50% of the time.  This is can be incredibly difficult for me and for my family BUT - this job also allows me to work from home and keep a flexible schedule.  I also (yeah, I'm going to say it) enjoy travel.  That does not make me a bad mother (I say that more for me than for you).  The truth is, I need a change of scenery sometimes.  I need 4 hours on an airplane to read a book or write.  I need 3 hours in a car to listen to guilty pleasure music, get lost, and take pictures of fields of wild flowers or pretty barns… because this is who I am.  Its tough, because who I am doesn't always jive with what is ideal for my family but I feel like if I chip away at these things, I'm not jiving with my family anyway.  These things are difficult to balance and I'm still figuring it out myself but one thing I do know is that I'm a better mother, wife, and person when I'm being honest with myself… and that's the best I can do.

4.  Love Yourself -
 Sense a little conflict in #3?  Yeah, balance isn't easy or intuitive.  I'm a work in progress and I'm more ok with that now that I ever have been.  There are so many things I wish I was better about - I wish I did more exciting things with Emerson, I feel like we should spend more time going to parks and the pool and the zoo.  I wish I made more time for exercise.  I wish I had more self discipline.  I wish I could stay up later.  I wish I could for once in my freaking life beat Hunter and scrabble… The list… is… long…  The truth is, Emerson and I have fun dancing and walking around the block.  I'm exercising more now than I ever have in my life.  I've made a lot of progress with the self discipline thing and you know what, indulgence is a part of life.  I get up a 5 a.m. so that's something and, well, Hunter has it coming.  Its like the little voice in my head that is always nagging me has been given a megaphone.  I read this great book though called "My Stroke of Insight" which explains that voice in a very physiological way.  It also explains how that voice is controllable and that its presence is component of the left hemisphere of our brains and that we voluntarily let it into our thoughts or make the choice to quiet it.  Since reading this book, I've gotten much better and telling that little voice to stuff it and choosing to focus more on my progress and achievements instead.  Its a daily battle, but its at least its an active battle and not a passive assault.

5.  Frustration -
My hesitation in publishing this the first time was, I don't want to this to read "preachy".  Like I've got it all figured out.  I wish I could communicate how far from the truth that is.  I see, in an abstract way what seems to be workable for my family and what doesn't but implementing it and remembering it every day is another matter entirely.  I find myself more and more frustrated as this journey continues and I'm trying to figure out why.  Is it just because I'm tired?  Is it because its impossible to be all things to all people all the time?  Is it because I don't make enough time for myself?  Is it because I don't make enough time for my family?  Is it because I sleep too much?  Don't eat well enough?  Do we have too many pets (trust me, with 2 dogs and a cat, you think these things!).  Another dynamic is that I spend A LOT of time in my head, working from home tends to make you excessively introspective.  I was bouncing this off of an incredible friend who knows me inside and out earlier tonight and his response was simple.  "Write".  Duh.  This has always been my outlet, my forum, and my connection and without it… well… that's a big void.  So here I am.  I've recycled the lost blog as true to form as I can get it.  A "state of things" if you will.  So I hope this will be a jumping off point.  Winter is just around the corner here in Salt Lake City and a beach combing southerner trying to navigate 3 feet of snow is always good fodder if nothing else.   Thanks for your ear, for your time, and for your support.  That said…

6.  You -
if you're reading this, any sanity that I've found in the past 17 months is attributed in no small part to you… my friends, my family, and even my network of people who I haven't seen in years but have shared kindness, experience, and encouragement.  Its true, it takes a village and in this day in age, its a big, scattered, hodgepodge village, but a village all the same.  Thank you.

Mother Daughter Bonding Time - (or "Oh lord, help me... when does your father get back!?!?!?")

I know I have so neglected Shades lately.  My goal was to keep this from morphing into a mommy blog by creating a separate blog for our daughter, Emerson, elsewhere. However,  I have discovered, for the first time in my life, compartmentalizing is no longer an option.  I'm not saying every post will be adventures in motherhood - but its without a doubt the most all encompassing role I have ever held so you're just going to have to grip the handlebars and work with me on this completely insane course onto which my life has veered.

Hunter and I have spent the past four months positively desperate to get Em into a routine and now that we're there, we both looked at each other last night, exasperated and agreed that having every single moment of your day budgeted just completely sucks.  Now, I will admit we do have about 4 or 6 moments that are not scheduled or consumed.  We use these moments to close our eyes and catch our breath or lean up against a wall and take a 30 second nap.  We occasionally splurge and try to get through 15 minutes of The History Channel's Pawn Stars (the only TV show we have the mental capacity for these days) and I do try to get in a few pages of reading before losing consciousness at the end of the day.  Just in case you're wondering - I'm re-reading the Harry Potter series.  Yep, that's right.  I'm pretty sure this is the 4th  time I will be reading the entire series.  Harry Potter is comfort food in the Best household.  Pure-T Comfort Food  (Though I will say, Ghost Written by David Mitchell may have to intercede between The Prisoner of Azkaban and The Goblet of Fire).

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining.  This has been the most amazing and magical four months of my life.  Every single day this beautiful little girl does something new that just takes my breath away.  She makes a new connection, she gets her hand eye coordination controlled enough to reach out and pet Bodhi, her giggle gets a little more defined, she wraps her little arms around my neck and squeezes with a soft little 'coo' in my ear.... and I will tell you, each of these tiny little milestones leaves me just completely breathless and fighting the urge to go out and buy a celebratory red velvet cake (we celebrate with red velvet in this house - we cope with chocolate in any form).

Last week, Hunter took a much deserved mini-vacation; (Don't worry - my turn is coming... oh yes... one day) a road trip with his friend Jon with the ultimate destination of Telluride, CO for a two day Phish concert.  I was kind of excited about kicking back and just relaxing with Emerson.  I scoped out all of the parks I wanted to visit, I got a good bottle of wine before he left, I went to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for a few recipes that I've been wanting to try.  I figured I could knock the recipes out during her 3:00 nap, take a stroll to the park before bed time and then spend my evenings after putting her down kicking back on the patio with a glass of wine, catching up on long over due phone calls.  It'll be fun!

(Every time that overly enthusiastic, excessively perky voice in my head exclaims "It'll be fun!" I really should just go get in bed and hide under the covers.  Why haven't I learned this?  It's my inner voice for crying out loud?!?!)

Let me just break it down for you like this.  The minute Hunter walked out the door - the child started teething.  At least I think she's teething?  She's producing about 2.5 gallons of drool a day and gnawing on her fist like a fried drumstick from Mama Dip's Country Restaurant.  (Has anyone else noticed how food oriented this blog is?)  Maybe its not teething and is some sort of new personality quirk.  If so... we'll love her anyway.  So as soon as Hunt walks out the door Em begins to teethe which made her usually sunny disposition a little ... shall we say... cloudy?  Stormy? Torrential? Gale Force? Category Five-God Save us All-Hurricane?  Okay, she wasn't THAT bad but she was less than beaming.  She also decided that she was completely done with the 3:00 nap that she has taken every single day of her life.  (That blessed nap that allows me 45 minutes to transition from work to mama with just enough grace to pass muster.  Good bye grace!  There goes those recipes I wanted to try.... fortunately I had enough bread to get me through these tenuous four days with sandwiches.  *Glances sideways at spoiling tomatoes*)

Around this time, the dishwasher also quit.  Well, it didn't so much quit as it flooded the kitchen.  At first I thought it might have just been Emerson's drool, but after further inspection, it was definitely coming from the dishwasher.  I know this because you can turn the dishwasher off and the encroaching river of water would stop.  You can't, however, turn Emerson off and make her encroaching river of drool stop.  We would later find that we somehow burned a hole completely through the base of the dishwasher's tub.  How did that happen?  You've got me.... I'm mystified.  (By the way there goes my evenings with a glass of wine and a phone call - its hard to talk on the phone and wash dishes at the same time and that's about all I had the energy for at this point.)

So - screaming, teething, sleepless child... CHECK!  General need for a snorkel... CHECK!! Broken coffee maker... CHECK!!!

"WAIT!?!?  WHAT'S THIS??? BROKEN COFFEE MAKER!??!?! NO!," you exclaim.  "Surely you jest!," you cry out.  "Not the coffee maker!!!!!!!  Anything but the coffee maker!!!!," you wail. (You don't mind if I dictate your end of this conversation do you?)

Yes, the coffee maker just added insult to injury.  It didn't just break, it would take two agonizing hours to brew 4 of the 12 cups of water I put in the hopper.  Like a slow, cruel, torturous taunt of coffee that came out the consistency of what I can only imagine would be equivalent to these tar balls we hear so much about.

Woe. Is. Me.

PS:  As a post script, I should let you know... I survived and Emerson won't remember it.  Hunter returned home to an exhausted but functional family, a new dishwasher should be installed by the end of this week (meanwhile we've switched to disposable EVERYTHING because WE'RE THAT LAZY) and my savior of all things caffeinated walked me through a do-it-yourself emergency maintenance on the coffee maker that, all told, was truly the crux of my survival...  live to fight another day my friends!

Awakening

Hey there!  First of all, welcome to any new readers who stumbled up on Shades of Gray via Casual  Kitchen and Cheap Healthy Good.  My blog on breaking the cycle and raising a daughter with a healthy body image is definitely one of the most intimate and poignant pieces I have written in a long time and it moves me deeply to see that it resonates with so many others.  It sounds like more and more people are working diligently towards adjusting their mentality on this issue.  My hope is that if we stay committed, we can be a generation of healthy women raising a generation of healthy daughters, emotionally and physically.  Thank you for sharing your stories and struggles with me, you are beautiful and thank you for stopping by.

There has been so much on my mind these past few weeks since Emerson was born that I need a few days alone with a coffee pot and a keyboard to make sense out of it all.  Unfortunately, those days are a little more difficult to come by lately.  Most days, by 3:00 p.m. Em and I have both grown a little weary of the rattles and bells so we load up in the car and take off for a driving exploration of Salt Lake City.  We put on some Iron and Wine, Em finally succumbs to a nap that has been waiting in the wings for hours and I drive aimlessly, acquainting myself with the hills of Deseret and writing blogs in my head.

I have found since having Emerson that my tolerance for Cable News has gone from minuscule to non-existent and yet I spend hours, upon hours picking and choosing my way through the New York Times on my blackberry in the dark of night and wee hours of the morning... kind of the equivalent of poking one toe at a time into the water until you think you can handle the temperature.  Its been a completely new experience to have the combination of immobility (while nursing Em) and seemingly endless amounts of time, darkness and silence with which to digest this world in which I have actively chosen to raise a daughter.  However, at the same time, cradled in the safety of our rocking chair, shielded by our lullabies, the madness of this very same, often broken world seems so very removed and far away.

It started with the oil spill.  I believe Emerson was born on day 5 of the spill.  I'll be honest, we had other things on our mind and had no concept of the magnitude.  Who did?  When we came home, while we fiercely cradled our own little tiny, fragile miracle in our arms, the news in Salt Lake was consumed locally by the tragic and brutal death of a 4 year old little boy.  I couldn't handle it.  I was forcibly banned from all news outlets for several days. Then, the oil wasn't going away and the Dow dropped below 10,000 for the first time since February.  Then the oil was getting worse.  Then.... facebook changed its privacy settings.  Facebook changed its privacy settings and the world stopped and wrote about it.  This was when I started to tune back in.  My "blog in my head", as I was tooling around the grocery store to kill time with a sleeping baby, consisted of:

 (abridged), "Hey!  DISCRETION!!!!!!!!  If you're not comfortable with your parents, grandparents, teachers, or bosses reading it, don't send it out into the ether.  Put some clothes on, expand your vocabulary, and if you must talk about last Saturday's debauchery, either pick up the phone or, if that's too much human contact for you, send an email to your 20 closest friends."  I was irritated and I don't think it was hormones.

So, my frustration with facebook's privacy policy dominating the news cycle during a period that seems to be of "Darling, you were born on day 5 of the worst man-made disaster our planet has ever known significance" got me thinking (though, yes, I was following the story on facebook... privately):   At some point we must come out of the bubble.  To really seal the deal, there was an oil spill of 500+ barrels about 2 miles from my home that has poisoned every natural water source in my immediate vicinity (you might not have heard about it, but that's over 25,000 gallons of oil in my little creeks and rivers).  For lack of better terminology, the chickens have come home to roost.

The pelicans and geese are dying, people hurt children, families fear about putting food on their tables and this morning, the state that I now call home, paid 5 individuals to shoot a man to death for crimes committed over a quarter of a century ago.

Here we go again, what do we do.  Do we pace the nursery, wringing our hands?  Do we talk over coffee about how distraught we are about the fact that our babies might never sit for hours in the tidal pools of southern shores watching the tide magically bury their little legs with sand?  Do we sleep even less; agonizing over injustices, terrified in quiet places of our minds of faceless, invincible enemies?  Yeah, a little.  I don't know.  What else is there?

I think step one is to pop the bubble and keep singing but stop hiding behind the lullabies... try to find a way to balance functionality and awareness?  Autonomy and activism?

It's a process.... it will take some time, at least for me at this juncture in my life.  That said, I think I can start by opening my eyes, talking... educating... writing... initiating a dialog and amongst us, maybe we can change something, do something.  I'll be honest, I truly believe that together, you and I, the two of us,  WE really can change the perspective from passively reactive to passionately proactive., and if nothing else modify the generation that we are raising to simply be better than... to be greater than....

All that said, let's start by opening our eyes, then our minds, then our mouths, then our hearts.  One day at a time.

So very much love,

Julie

Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Emerson Gray Best

Oh my dear god in heaven, where do I begin!?!?!  I have SO much to say and so little time with which to say it!

So, I gave birth.  I guess I could start there.

Emerson Gray Best was born on April 25, 2010 at 11:42 p.m. after 18 hours of labor, 13 of which were UNMEDICATED which was NOT BY CHOICE, ACCIDENTAL AND UNINTENTIONAL.  When it was all said and done, however, the epidural did eventually arrive and her actual delivery was probably the best experience of my life.  After a day that was wrought some stressful and fearful moments... and... well... pain... lots and lots of pain.  When it came time to her actual delivery, we were all very relaxed, excited, and having a great time.  In fact, Emerson was literally laughed into this world.  I can't think of a better way to enter this mad mad world than coming into a room full of warm, sincere, laughter.

Of course, she is beautiful and perfect and amazing.  She has reddish/blonde hair (My mother calls it 'golden')... truth be told, it is the color of a wheat field at sunset - seriously... it is.   She has the fairest skin I have ever seen on a child and her eyes have decided on deep, deep blue.  She turns us both into little puddles of melted love every time she does this little 'coo' thing after she sneezes, her favorite thing so far is a toss up between dancing with her daddy and playing with her hands, and the other day, when I accidentally almost cut her little finger off trying to clip her nails, I had to resist an urge, the likes of which I have never experienced, to punitively throw myself down the stairs.

Emerson's first 72 hours were spent being monitored closely in the nursery while she recovered from an extreme case of hypoglycemia and being monitored for other possible issues such as polycythemia (an excess of red blood cells), and a possible infection.  It was the most intense, emotional, terrifying 72 hours of my life but ultimately she turned it all around.  Because of the rocky start, it has taken us a very long time (over a month) to recover her birth weight, but we finally turned that corner last week and she's back up to 7 lbs 5 oz.  Of all of the weight issues I was concerned about dealing with, I didn't expect to a) have to deal with them immediately upon birth and b) have the to attack the challenge of helping my daughter GAIN weight.  That is just so not how we do things where I come from.

In these first five weeks we have had lots of visitors and more to come and while it can sometimes be a little stressful packing 5-6 people, two dogs, and a cat into a sleepless house with out a true guest room, the joy of being able to share her with our loved ones is so very great.  I mean, really, its hard to get the full effect if you're not cuddling up to her, breathing her in, and covering that little fold in her neck with kisses while she nuzzles up and sticks her tongue out at you.  Just sayin'.

So this is my gushy, I have the most magical daughter on the planet blog.  Don't get me wrong... there have been so very many challenges that would have made for some incredibly entertaining, a little more sardonic fodder and I'm sure there will be more to come.  Spending 5 weeks of your life forcibly homebound and topless (and NOT in a fun, 'I've been drinking tequila' sort of way) with the most psychotic sleep schedule known to man makes for some good reading material.  It has taken me 5 weeks to get through this blog, so i don't know when I will write again, but I hope to make it a little more frequent.  I feel like in July, when I return to work, there will hopefully be time for me to resume regular posts.  However, for now, I will leave you with this cherubic face and I am going to go cuddle up and take a nap with my sweet baby girl.

A Final Post Before the Big Day - Maximum Capacity

So..... the gestation continues.  I thought I would check in with everyone once more before the big day.  We have an induction scheduled on Tuesday and have a busy weekend of sleeping as much as humanly possible, going to movies, and eating warm meals outside of the confines of our home planned so its possible that I won't get a chance to check in with you again until after we're officially *gulp* parents.

Let me tell you, the sheer anticipation of the past two weeks from the moment the doctor announced "You're technically considered full term, you can have that baby any time now!" has been.... man, I don't even know if there are words.... torture doesn't cover it.  I distinctly remember a few days ago being plopped in a heap on the couch, staring at the wall, brooding silently, trying to communicate via telepathy with this child to convince her to be born (without sounding like Mommy Dearest).  I looked up and realized that Hunter was staring at me as though I were some sort of agitated fatally venomous snake (you know, one of those snakes that has swallowed a moderate sized mammal and has a massive bulge 8 times the size of its head half way down the length of his body).  So I took this moment to try to explain to him what I was feeling....

"Imagine if.... you knew you had to take your board exams.... and you had been studying for the better part of the year.....  and they were going to come and get you to take the test on any day at any moment but you didn't know when.  So you just keep studying, because you want to be prepared, but at the same time, you know you need to relax, but at the same time, you know its going to be perfect hell and you want to get it over with so that you can move of with your life and enjoy what comes next, so you just end up being pissed off and crazy..... Only its worse than that."

I personally thought that was a truly brilliant analogy, but I'm pretty sure he glazed over half way through and didn't hear the whole thing.  He does that a lot these days..... I can't say I blame him.

So yeah, we've really just been doing a lot of sitting around and waiting, trying to distract ourselves from the fact that we're waiting.  I've been trying out all of the old wives tales and have been through two boxes of Raspberry Leaf Tea and an entire bottle of Primrose Oil.  I've walked waddled an average of 2-3 miles a day... I'm not going to lie, on Sunday I even jumped up and down for a few minutes.  According to my dr. all systems are a go, the only hold up is the baby.  Imagine, Hunter and Julie would have a stubborn child who is determined to do things in her own right, in her own time, on her own terms.   Wow, when you put it like that... I guess I can wait a few more days and sit back and be proud that our daughter is already well schooled on digging her heels in.

I will leave you with a few pics and thank you for all of your excitement, enthusiasm, and well wishes.  We will be in touch with as many people as we can between the 27th (induction) and 28th (b-day!).... (unless, of course, she decides to make her debut over the weekend.... but I'm over holding my breath... no really... I am.  Seriously.)  So much love to each and everyone of you!

Below are some pics of the nursery, me at maximum capacity and the cat (Sidha) trying to help me by attempting to hatch this baby.

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock

Sorry its been a while since my last post.  I've been very busy basking in the absence of my flesh-eating-virus.  That's right, ladies and gentleman.... rash free for a week!  You just have no idea.  I will never take for granted having functional skin again.  For a while there, we were contemplating having to raise our daughter in a leper colony... it was traumatic... but we survived.  In order to overcome the rash, however, I ended up having to take a low-dose round of steroids.  You will recall, that BEFORE the rash and steroids my darling bambina kicked so aggressively that she dislocated my rib (on more than one occasion) and earned the name "Bone-crusher Moon-pie Best".  (In my opinion, 'Bone Crusher' is a great compliment to 'Moon Pie' and should keep her out of any trouble on the playground).  So, I will admit, now that she's been subjected to a two week round of Prednisone, I have some concerns about birthing a female version of The Hulk and having to open a separate savings account for anger management classes (and/or bail) in addition to college tuition.  I guess we'll see!

In other Moon Pie news, we had an ultrasound a two weeks ago in order to get a more accurate idea of how she's been fairing with the GD Dilemma (for those of you just tuning in, 'GD Dilemma' is code for the diagnosis of Gestational Diabetes).  There are two main concerns with GD: 1) That we'll end up with what is fondly referred to as a 'mega-baby' (as you can imagine, this makes for a complicated and less than fun delivery (and a bit of a complex as well, I would imagine)) 2)  Blood flow will be inadequate to give her what she needs (obviously, decidedly uncool).  Both of these have been pretty stressful concerns as you might imagine.  The latter we check twice a week, and we're all good on that front.  Now, after our most recent ultrasound, she looks like she's right on track in the size department as well.... Somewhere between 5 and 6 lbs with 4-ish weeks to go.  I'll take it!

So, for those of you who have been concerned about the multitude of maladies that have made up trimester 3, (*KNOCK ON WOOD*) things are looking up and I'm enjoying the last week or two before the bell rings for the next round.

As far as preparations are concerned, Now that I'm not writhing in discomfort for the first time in two months, I'm really just kind of hanging out and waiting.  Waiting, anticipation, baited breath, patience, holding my horses.... not so much my thing.  Not really my forte.  I have other strengths.  To put it kindly, waiting makes me a little irritable and unpleasant (of course, being nine months pregnant probably makes me a little irritable and unpleasant as well) But WAITING.... oh, waiting makes me very very Type-A.

So here's how it goes, I'm a little limited when it comes to being able to do things like, mount shelving, install window shades or pull mutant weeds from the back yard.  In fact, I have found that I am most effective at the following:
1) incessant list making:

• Lists of things to get done before Moon Pie arrives (please see above reference to shelving, shades and weeds... because the baby is going to care about the weeds) 
• Lists of things we forgot to get in preparation of Moon Pie's arrival (WE DON'T HAVE BABY NAIL CLIPPERS!  WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!?!?!)  
• Lists of things that I need to take with me to the hospital (Chapstick - do NOT forget chapstick ... because I'm sure there's a major shortage of Chapstick at the hospital) 
• Lists of things that I want knock out before my mom arrives: (get hair highlighted, touch-up nail polish, get a new tube of lipstick and clean out linen closet....) 
• Lists of things we can do when Hunter's parent's arrive (.... um .... play with the baby? this list needs help) 
• Lists of foods that I plan to eat post delivery (Pie Pizza, Banburry Cross sour cream/sour cream chocolate iced donuts, Hunter's mashed potatoes, Mama's banana pudding, a chai latte with extra chai, a cherry mochaccinno, omg... wine... I almost forgot wine.... and... ) ... I'm willing to delay the post-pregnancy shape up a week or two to celebrate being diabetes free... though watch me end up in a damn sugar coma... 

 You get the idea.  You can see how, with the exception of the last, glorious list, this could make one maybe a twinge loopy.  Especially since I've not really been in much of a position to accomplish anything on any of these lists (okay, that's not entirely true - I did mount shelving and clean the linen closet this weekend).  

2) Incessant laundry

Y'all, I have found true catharsis in laundry.  It started with the flesh eating virus when I went on a mission to drench everything we touched in bleach at least every 24 hours and never really let up.  I have found that laundry is a completely manageable chore in my condition, as all I have to do is waddle around the house with arm fulls of clothes and deposit them from point 'A' to point 'B' with a pit stop on the couch in front of the Food Network for a brief stint of folding..... and the best part..... how awesome is it going to be to come back from the hospital to all clean clothes/sheets/towels/anything else made of fabric?  How long do you think that will last?  2... maybe 3 hours??  What a grand 2-3 hours, though!  No, the point is, it makes me feel productive as I've felt pretty useless of late.

(Just in case you've grown weary, here comes a rant.... continue on at your own peril)

Now, in reading this, I'm sure some of you are thinking.... "Nesting".  Let me tell you a little something about "Nesting."  Maybe its just me, but when someone accuses me of being afflicted by "the nesting instinct", the only overwhelming instinct I have is to punch them in the nose.  I don't know why it makes me so incredibly hostile.... but it does.  Here's the thing... when you're days away from embarking on the biggest, most significant, most anticipated, most terrifying and wonderful event of your life thus far, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be organized and prepared. Also, what better way to take your mind off of things than to scrub your floors with a toothbrush (if you're in to that sort of thing - I prefer the less extreme version: fold laundry in front of Food Network).  Also, after having been extremely restricted due to sheer girth for the past several months, anyone would start go a little stir crazy and let me tell you, the public does not appreciate you going out on the town to blow off some steam in your 9th month of pregnancy!  At this point the world pretty much sees you as a grenade with a loose, dangling clip and does not appreciate the potential that you might explode in their presence.  So, you say "Cute.... she's got the nesting instinct!" (*twitch*) I say "just stand back, she's uncomfortable, nervous, and bored out of her skull.... someone slide her some earth-friendly, all purpose cleanser and offer her a donut".