autumn entry

I've been in denial that summer is coming to a close--a la the present progressive tense. This last week's unusually warm temperatures didn't help my seasonal confusion either. I think I've been a season behind since June and July were a blur of mid-night feedings and early morning wakings. According to my clock, it's the middle of August.

Meanwhile the leaves on our front trees are half fallen and all but our tomatoes, peas, broccoli, lettuce, and spinach are piled in the corner of our garden in a heap, awaiting the tiller. I don't have the heart to pull the spindly tomato plants yet, and the others are thriving in the cooler weather.

I fear by the time I admit summer is over, I will have completely missed autumn's warm colors and be stuck inside the gray winter. I think I'd like having a winter baby; I wouldn't protest missing February and March too much.

grief's presence

I am presently inept in the presence of Grief. I've had a few run-ins with her lately, and an awkward conversation fumbles back and forth full of starts, interruptions, and red-in-the-face restarts.

She is confident, beautiful, and powerful. Unsure of myself around her, I feel a cowardly inclination to fill the pauses and end up mutely devising appropriate platitudes. What I'd really like to do is create white noise, so the silences don't feel so dead, so cold...so final.

Grief lays me bare, cuts to my marrow. I want to blanket my depravity, but she seeks me out and exposes my hypocrisy. I don't want to be another Eliphaz, Bildad, or Zophar, so I walk alongside her, wondering if my clumsiness will smooth with practice.

cleaning house

Last Thursday my oldest was trying to lure me from my pile of laundry on the floor with a Dr. Seuss book when I spotted a small furry creature make a bolt from our cracked front storm door to the couch. I shrieked (I won't deny it) and called for backup: my beloved with a broom. He propped our front door open and poked the broom under the couch in the direction of our prepared exit. My son's finger pointed toward the door and his verbal "uh-oh" made me confident the mouse exited our home.

Or so I thought.

Except I kept finding mouse droppings behind the couch, then the love seat, by a vent, inside the stove drawer, and then along the back of our kitchen counter top! Tired of cleaning like a mad woman for fear the mouse was a harbinger of my slovenliness, it was time to step it up a notch. In addition to the poison packets (Not to worry, Mom; they were out of reach of little hands), we (read: my dear husband) strategically placed sticky traps behind the stove and love seat and went to sleep disgusted that our house was hospitable to a mouse.

One sleep later, no success, more mouse droppings in the stove drawer, disinfecting. Two more sticky traps under the stove in far superior locations, more cleaning, paranoia. One sleep later, still no success, questioning whether the mouse ventured elsewhere, frenzied cleaning. A little shuffle under the stove this afternoon, success at last.

Wish I were as fastidious about sin in my heart as I was about having a mouse in my house. Vacuuming, sweeping, and deep cleaning the sin out of my life? More like ignoring, hiding, and excuse-making for my heart's filth, the stuff I hide in the back of dark, stove drawers.

good fences make good neighbors

When we planted our garden this spring, the plot wove organically into our backyard. But the probability of little critters feasting and toddler feet trampling prompted a fence weeks after it was planted. Set apart from the lawn with its strategically placed wood stakes and galvanized steel grids, the encompassed garden soon assumed an ostentatious manner; the only society allowed were long-legged benefactors.


Currently the garden is thriving--and sprawling, thanks to the cucumber and butternut squash vines. Instead of insulating the garden bounty, the fence now acts as a defense for the commoner blades of grass, ensuring the lawn has equal access to the sun. On a less Marxist note, the fence also prevents the vines from wandering into the neighbor's yard.

relaxation woes

Cicadas roar. The birds dart around our deck, and the creek babbles lazily through our backyard. Relaxation should drift over me any second as I watch the sun dip below the horizon and take a sip of my half glass of red wine. I look at the wandering potato vine in the flower pot, thinking how next year I should plant one in a larger pot, so it has more room to grow.
Relax.

I try to glide into a calm feeling and lean my head back on the adirondack as I glance over at Olasky's The Tragedy of American Compassion on the small cedar end table.
When is that due again? I should probably get moving on that if I'm going to finish it by the due date...I was going to sew up that pink blanket this week, too. Maybe I'll do that tomorrow during nap time. Wait, I was planning to set aside nap time to catch up on my reading list.

The fog on my wine glass finally dissipates from the thick humidity, and I gather my hair in a ponytail, though it's not long enough and I don't have a holder. Uselessly, I loosen my grip and extend my arm for another sip as our air conditioning unit kicks on, breaking the silence.
I have to remember to drink a glass of water after I finish this--wouldn't want C.A. getting anything second hand during his "dream feed." I shouldn't get dehydrated either.

I wave off the fruit flies before I lift the glass to my mouth, and as the fermented drink washes over my tongue, I come face to face with a housefly--presumably drunk or dead--at the bottom of my glass.
So much for relaxing.

natural induction

It would have been appropriate for me to hang out a proverbial "Gone Fishing" sign over my blog a couple months ago. Since the birth of my second child, I feel like I fell out of the fishing boat and floundered since. I'm coming up for air and hoping to resurface altogether soon. Here's a deep first breath.

I've always wanted a natural labor and birth, and minus the dose of IV antibiotics to temper my Group B Strep, I experienced one almost 2 months ago. Long story short: my water broke at 9:30 P.M. 5 days before my due date, and C.A. was born just under 5 hours later at 2:20 A.M.
Was the pain horrible? Yes.
Did I consider medication? Yep, but by the time I thought seriously about it, it was too late.
Was it worth it? Absolutely!

Having time to reflect, I realize the glaring differences between my labors. I had to be induced with my first because I was 11 days overdue. Though I labored at home some before my scheduled induction, I didn't progress quickly enough after the doctor broke my water at the hospital, so she ordered pitocin. After 2 1/2 hours of vomiting and bed confinement on account of my IV and monitors, I shamelessly begged for an epidural despite my natural labor plan. After resting up, J.N. was born at 5:40 P.M. after 18 1/2 hours of labor and 40 min. of pushing.

My first labor was forced, pushed, and monitored at every step. I was hooked up to machines that measured, poked, and interfered with my body. The pitocin manufactured relentless contractions, and when the doctor informed I was ready to push, she set up a mirror, so I could see the baby's progress. It was an invitation to my delivery, a preview to my body's labor.

My second labor was spontaneous, unforced, and unrehearsed. I was free to walk around and labor in the tub. My contractions were autonomous, varied; after especially deep contractions when I thought I couldn't handle the pain anymore, the next couple subsided in severity and timing. I told the midwife when I was ready to push and knew my progress without a mirror, let alone my glasses. I didn't need an invitation to my delivery because I was hosting the experience.

Though I prefer my second labor experience to my first, the outcome was the same: both gave me an unspoken closeness to my love; both gifted me a sweet boy I cuddled and loved; and both rendered me thankful to the Creator of all things...natural and induced.

spring doings

Spring has been a productive season for our household organizing, planting, celebrating, planning; some might call it "nesting," but either way I enjoyed the extra motivation. Here are some pictures of my most recent endeavors:

My first try at croissants; next time I'll use unsalted butter.


My contribution: picking out the slate, advising on a few tile placements.


Homemade strawberry shortcake with ice cream for my hubby's birthday.


Our first vegetable garden after planting; mulched tomatoes and peppers.


Five bags of rhubarb cut and ready for the freezer.


My suitcase packed for the hospital in anticipation of Baby #2.