Rainy Days and Rituals

I'm finally getting to write a post at 9pm...but I'm doing it! I promise no consistency in actual times posted each day, just that it will be done.

As promised, today was full of rain. Not quite hurricane-force, but cold and rainy and windy for sure. Even though I was prepared for it, for some reason I just woke up crabby. It probably has something to do with not going to bed til 1 am...maybe. Last night we were able to go to the quarterly wine club party at Blenheim Vineyards, where we're members. (oh SO fancy, right? ha. It was a gift, and it's the most chill winery I've ever been to. I love it!) Its claim to fame is that Dave Matthews owns it, although he's rarely there. Fun fact: he was there, on Father's Day, and I totally used my baby as a way to meet him. Cute babies for the win! Here's proof:

We decided that this will now be a date night ritual; every 3 months, we go to this shindig and get to feel fancy and drink good wine. Anyway, the winery is about an hour away, and after all the fun of the party we went to Whole Foods to get groceries, so we didn't get home til after 11. Which is exactly when the baby decided to wake up, and not really settle til after 12:30. AM. I don't know the last time I stayed up that late, which is both comical and awesome at the same time. I'm totally OK with quiet evenings at home these days. Mainly because they're quiet.

My crabby self was having a hard time getting out of its funk this morning...between the 3 year old's nonstop talking and the baby refusing to nap, things were escalating quickly to where the whole day could have just gone to the crapper. Instead, I did a lot of inward self-talk (this is not a normal day. You are tired. You're all tired. Their attitudes don't have to shape yours. Etc. Etc.) and jumped in the car to meet some friends at our local children's museum. And on the way, I realized that it's kind of becoming a Friday 'thing' to go there, and I like it. The rest of our week is pretty busy with preschool, Bible study and other commitments, so Friday has become our rest day, our 'fun' day.

I'm big on routine, but am realizing that sometimes those routines have to be extremely flexible with small children. So we have 'days' each week.

Sundays are church and family days, and Sunday nights I plan our week.
Mondays I usually finish up what I didn't get planned Sunday night, (usually due to important things like Downton Abbey), and I try to attend The Motherhood Collective.
Tuesdays are writing mornings for me, school for Graham. It's also 'goat milk day!' (is that weird that it's a thing? It is.) where we go pick up Jude's goat milk and get any chicken supplies, etc. that we need.
Wednesdays are school for Graham, and cleaning day at home. We do the whole house in a day, but we have the WHOLE day to do it, so it's less stressful to me. I also have yoga Wednesday evenings.
Thursdays are Bible Study morning and usually a Target or other 'fun' errand in the afternoon. (library, etc.)
Fridays are, apparently, 'fun'. I love when routines and rituals just organically happen, like going to the children's museum!
Saturdays are usually family outings - sometimes just running errands or going to the market, other times we'll do day trips in our area.

Today, when we came home Jude proceeded to sleep for 3 hours(!!!) so Graham and I watched Frozen (I actually napped next to him and pretended to know what was going on when he'd lean into my face and say 'Mommy, did you see that? That was so funny.') then ended up making a bunch of food. We made bone broth for soup and cooked and mashed butternut squash from our garden to use in place of pumpkin (which I forgot at the store). We then made pumpkin scones (with EGGS. this is big. Food trial for Graham, he used to be highly allergic...so far, so good!) and made dinner for this evening as well. We ended up with leftovers, the beginnings of soup for tomorrow, scones and enough pureed squash for muffins...it got me thinking, maybe Friday afternoons/evenings will be reserved for 'Food Prep' after all our fun! (why Friday is the only alliterated day, I don't know, but for fear of being far more cheesy than this already is, we'll leave it there.)

Rituals are how I keep things 'simple' for us. I'm a planner by nature, and constantly am fighting the tension of that tendency while living in our reality. All of this rambling to say, today turned out OK after all. We giggled and played, there were time outs and tantrums (by all, ha!) but overall, a good one. Here's to rainy days, rituals, and turning the day around! And here's a cute picture of my boys wrestling in the kitchen, because they're boys, and that's what they do.

It's Fall Y'All!

Do you know how many times I've wanted to say that, but don't, for fear of sounding incredibly Northern? Actually, I'll probably just stick with writing it out, because then you can imagine I have an appropriately cute Southern accent, when, in reality, I talk like the people on TV.

If you've read this blog at all, you know my posting is anything but consistent. This month, however, shall change all that! (at least for a month...small goals, people, small goals.) I'm linking with the Write31Days project and posting EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. in October. I know. I'll give you a minute.

...OK. Now that you're settled and anxiously awaiting what I'm going to say for an entire month! (sarcasm)...what AM I going to say for an entire month? Picking a single topic gave me some serious anxiety and writer's block, which is a little bit unhelpful if I have to have content every day. So I chose a broad topic: Simply Living. It's a bit of a play on words...I'll talk about actual simple living; simple whole foods, decluttering like a mad woman, how I've switched to a capsule wardrobe and LOVE it (my dad will never believe me there, ever. I was the one who bought all the things!). I'll also talk about simply living; raising babies and food and chickens, finding unexpected joy and rest in small rhythms and routines, NOT doing all the things. (are we sensing a pattern here?)

So today, in honor of simply living, I'm celebrating fall. It's the first day of October, and after a week of rain we had sun and 80 degree weather yesterday. Tonight is supposed to bring crazy amounts of rain thanks to hurricane Joaquin, (have you seen this meme?? Amazing.)

...but today is just perfectly FALL. Drizzly and overcast, cool enough for a sweater but warm enough for no coat, boots weather because it's wet, and I ate a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup that we had preserved from last year's garden for lunch. I'm also writing and ignoring the fact that my baby is trying to wake up from his nap FAR too early...but I  suppose I should go see about that.

Here's to Fall, to October, to Write31days! Cheers!

(those pumpkins are from our garden!! Eek! Best thing I've grown yet.)

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers" - Anne of Green Gables

Seasons

Tomorrow is the first day of Autumn. (I actually thought it was yesterday and baked pies and bought a new candle to celebrate. Slightly embarrassing, but hey, we all need some extra fall in our lives.)

Sort of on accident, this has become my theme for the year - 'Seasons'. (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 'For everything there is a season') The first year of babyhood is hard for me. There are parts I adore; the firsts, the giggles, the times when they just fall asleep in your arms and cuddle. I don't want those moments to pass. But there are also times I really, really dislike...figuring out food allergies (this is "normal" for us); when they fight sleep and you're basically wrestling a 'ninja octopus' as my husband refers to it; when they're fussy and want to be held and you just.want.SPACE. (like all the time?) Really, what I'm saying is that I'm human. I'm innately selfish and that first year challenges that to its core. And sometimes I fight that challenge, because darn it, let me just stay comfortable!!

Of course, I don't truly want to just stay comfortable; it's just a heck of a lot easier. Then again, I feel the same way about summer. I get all excited for leisurely days and water play and sunshine, but when it comes I'm soon tired of being sweaty, tired of the lack of routine and longing for 'bouquets of sharpened pencils' (if you get that reference we can be friends).

And yet.

And yet, when August rushes in with its schedules and calendars, I get just a little wistful...one more day so we can have a fire pit...one more weekend of lingering and staying up late...one more pool day...one more, one more.

I'm learning, be it ever so slowly, to love the season I am in, for what it IS. The fun parts and the hard parts. Because just as the air now has a nip in it and the leaves are turning colors, each life season too will pass. And I will be wistful at times, wishing for one more, one more.

Anne of Green Gables

I cried this week.

OK, that's not really news. I still have crazy post-baby hormones so I cry every week, probably more than once. But this week it took me by surprise. Both boys were asleep at the same time (hallelujah!) and I decided to pop in Anne of Green Gables: The Sequel (also known as Anne of Avonlea) while I folded some laundry. The second the menu screen came up and the notes of the familiar music swelled, I literally burst into tears. Like, pouring from my eyes ugly crying. What the crap.

Maybe I should pause here to explain that I grew up on these movies. I LOVED them, and still do. I own the 5-dish extended pack DVD special edition set. Gilbert Blythe could do no wrong in my eyes. I wanted to BE Anne - spunky, independent, nerdy and proud yet still graceful and beautiful. If it was a rainy day, or I was home sick, you could almost guarantee that Anne was on our TV. My middle name is Ann and I remember going through a period where I would practice writing it with an 'e' on the end, because, duh.

So back to me sobbing my little heart out in my living room. At first I assumed it was a wave of some hardcore nostalgia; and it was, to some extent. But as I sat there, I realized I needed that cry, and that I needed to kind of sit in those feelings for a bit. So I did. (praise the Lord the mailman didn't walk up then. Awkward.) It really was a culmination of so many things; things I hadn't really been letting myself focus on.

A) It's the end of summer. That time when it starts to get a little less humid yet is still crazy hot and you want to squeeze every ounce of these lazy days for all they're worth before the fall business sets in. Every year at this time I get incredibly homesick for Iowa. It's weird. I think it's because the State Fair is in August and we usually go visit then anyway...it just makes me long for summer there, for some land and some space and simplicity at its finest...because there really isn't a whole lot around. So when that first picture popped up and there were hay fields, well...forget it.

B) Anne and Diana. Their bond has always baffled and eluded me. I have some close girlfriends for sure, but nothing like that. I've always gotten along better with guys, but motherhood has changed that for me. That being said, making girl friends is still hard, and some days I think I feel that more than others. I AM a lot like Anne (I guess I got my wish??), and like her, sometimes I don't quite 'fit' in with what I guess would be the norm. Although there's really NOT a norm...some days it can just feel like whatever it is, you're definitely not it. Ironically, those days usually align with babies not sleeping well and too many days without good solid conversation...so then it all seems so much worse!

C) Simplicity. Seriously, have you watched these movies? The scenery is just...AHHHH. It's like a visual sigh. I just want to sit in the fields with the cows. You don't even think about the fact that when Anne is holding a dying Matthew, she probably sat in a cowpie. Or that walking through the woods to town would leave you covered in mosquito bites and extremely sweaty. Because it's just so pretty, you get lost in it. And it leaves this longing for that. For more peace, more quiet, more simplicity. (Until you have too much of that, and then you have the problem of point B.) We have an amazing neighborhood that if/when we ever move, I will be truly sad to leave behind. But the part of me that grew up in small towns (so that would be all of me til the age of 19 or so) honestly misses it. Being able to walk out your door and have a view that isn't the city bus driving by. Or having to actually plan to go to Target, instead saying 'I'm bored, the kids are restless, we'll head to Target!' I feel crazy even saying that, because...it's Target, hello.

I think really we've just been in a harder season and sometimes, that just catches up to you. Jim's getting ready for his internship and has 2 more classes til graduation in May. We're parenting a three year old (threenager, anyone?!) We have a baby who has had a lot of health issues for his little life and is currently going through a bit of a sleep regression (read: we all are). I've had some health issues since birth that we're still working on (like the time I had 4 periods in a month. Yes. 4.)

There are a lot of 'reasons' I suppose. But really, I think I just needed a good cry. Sometimes we all do. So if you're feeling like life is piling up, things are hectic or overwhelming a bit, or you just need a break, might I suggest a little Anne? It's cheaper than therapy, won't cause weight gain like chocolate might and is healthier than alcohol (although can easily be enjoyed with a good glass of wine). It just may be the cure for whatever ails you. Thanks, Anne.

It’s Hour 30 – My Life as a Stay-At-Home Dad (A guest post from my husband)

This is the fourth time I am sitting down to try and start this – which is indicative of my life the past day and a half. It all started Saturday evening… I had gone with my dad to do some work on our family’s cabin when I got a message from Alisha that she was feeling sick. Having come down with one of my semi-annual sinus infections myself, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I offered to come home, and was hoping to finish up the project we were working on before heading back. Well… the project took till midnight and I didn’t get home till 1:30am Sunday morning. Jude (our 29-week old) got up an hour after I got in bed, then we all got up for the day by 7, which means I got about 4 hours of sleep.

Just to give you a picture of the state of our union, both Alisha and I had been out of town this past week; I was at a work conference in DC, and Alisha and the boys headed to the beach with my mom and nieces. Having packed for separate week long trips, our living room was an explosion of bags, suitcases, food, toys, dirty clothes, and the loot from my Ikea trip. Although I have tried to clean up said living room on multiple attempts, somehow it is still a disaster… how is this possible?

In addition, I have been wearing the same clothes since I left the cabin, and my hair is matted (and fairly greasy). I wore a baseball hat when I had to go outside yesterday, but then at one point forgot it and said, “oh well, it is what it is”. 

I have done 125 loads of laundry and 75 sinks full of dishes that seem to magically re-appear whenever I leave the room. This never ending task produces a surprising level of anxiety, and I find myself having a conversation with myself (which may or may not be out loud) how to use the spare five minutes I am not holding our 29-week old, or playing with our 192-week old, Graham. Although he is showing an impressive level of independence today, it is so hard to juggle the time (or lack thereof) I have throughout the past day – has it really only been that long?

When Jude went down for his afternoon nap, I turned on a movie for Graham and crawled into Graham’s twin bed (where I also slept last night – Graham was on the floor) and fell asleep until I heard Jude through the monitor an hour or so later (disclaimer, Alisha is also home, just upstairs in the cave of sickness). Then I had to figure out dinner… a task which seemed impossible. This was also the point at which I realized that all the dishes I did get done, did not include Jude’s bottles which resulted in me spiraling into…

Sorry, now back from a 3 hour interruption. I am now in the 33^rd hour of my new commission. My 7-month old is now asleep again and my 44-month old is watching some weird cartoon on his Leap Pad for quiet time. My living room is worse than it was when I described it above… is this real life?  

I am sitting here trying to figure out what to do now. Do I sweep through again and try to clean this war-zone, do the dishes, do a load of laundry, study for my upcoming Comp Exam, watch something on Netflix, check my work e-mail, or sit in silence? Prioritization gets seriously skewed when you only have an hour or two…

Here’s to all the mom’s out there who do this every day, especially to my wife. How she maintains her sanity, while caring for the children and our home is beyond my comprehension. It’s hard to get outside my day to day life sometimes and experience what it is like to be pulled in different directions all day, second guessing whether you made the best use of your time, got the right things done, said “yes” to your 3 ½ year old a few more times than you said “no”, have revolving tasks that you can never cross of your to-do list, and also manage any level of hygiene or self-care. My 33 hours as a stay at home dad have given me a bit of a new perspective… I get to leave each morning and head to a job (that I love) where I get to cross things off my to do list, close my door if I need to focus, eat lunch when I want, organize my day the way I want, and get recognition and positive feedback for a job well-done. To be honest, going to work is the easier of our two jobs by far. I find myself so thankful today for my wife, and I hope she gets better soon (genuinely, although in a round-about way it seems self-serving).

Jude Denman: A Birth Story or The Day I Pooped on My Husband

Finally getting around to writing this...I'm sure at this point I may leave a few things out, since it's been almost 6 months. 6 MONTHS. What?! Where did that time go? Oh, yes. In the black hole of baby land, that's where. Where days seem like years and weeks seem like decades and months seem like weeks. It's a strange, strange little world. But anyway, here we go...

I was due on Christmas Day, so we made zero plans, hoping to be back home with a snuggly newborn by Christmas morning. I started having contractions a couple of days before Christmas, but we woke up Christmas morning to Graham saying 'It is really Christmas?? That's SO cool!' And it was, just not as cool as if there had been a baby there too. Although far less sleep-deprived, so that was a plus. It was also unseasonably warm, so we took a couple of walks, hoping to get something (i.e. the BABY) moving. No such luck. We were Skyping with Jim's parents in the afternoon, who had been packed and ready to come for something like 2 weeks. I initially hadn't wanted anyone there until after the birth, but at this point we were all tired, a little cranky and ready for some distraction, so we kind of begged asked them to come, and they hopped in the car and were at our house Christmas evening. It was perfect. We were able to spend a great couple of days with them, and they took Graham all day on Saturday so Jim and I could have time to ourselves.

Yes, Saturday. Christmas had been on Thursday.

We went to the Ploughcroft Tea Room, walking on Blackwater, and to see the Hobbit at an afternoon showing (a movie during the day!!) And still, no baby. I had 2 hours of contractions every day, sometimes in the middle of the night, and each time I thought 'This is it!' But it wasn't. Jim's dad went home Sunday but his mom offered to stay and help with Graham, an offer which we willingly accepted. Sunday or Monday night (I think it was Sunday?) we went to Sam's Club and ran into Lauren (doula/friend/wonder woman) while there. I was having some pretty good contractions and couldn't even walk around without getting tired, so I went to sit in the car; Lauren went home preparing to come back over if she needed to. She didn't.

Tuesday morning (5 days overdue!) we went to the library with Graham while Jim's mom ran some errands. I remember feeling extremely out of it and tired, and eventually just sat down and watched Graham play with some other kids and totally let their mom handle it. I think she may have been surprised when the sad looking pregnant woman stood up and said 'Time to go!' to the little boy running amok. We were going to go somewhere else, but I was too tired, so Jim ran through the Panera drive through for me and dropped me off at home while he and Graham went back out. I sat on our bed with my soup and grilled cheese and started an episode of Bones (I'd been binge watching it lately while Jim did homework. Supportive wife that I am.) I wasn't even halfway through when I just couldn't get comfortable anymore sitting down. I tried standing, sitting, leaning...nothing was comfortable. I immediately did the only thing I knew to do - I jumped in the shower. With Graham's labor, that's where I felt 'safe', so that was where I started this time. Just before getting in I texted Jim and asked him to come home and let Lauren know what was going on. This was around 2:30 pm.

About 45 minutes later, I was out of the shower and Lauren was getting ready to come over. I stayed in the bathroom listening to my JJ Heller Pandora station (random, but it was perfect), swaying through contractions as they got a little more intense. I had the lights off, and when Lauren arrived she and Jim checked on me periodically but let me do my thing. When I decided to come out into the bedroom because the contractions were starting to gain speed, I was surprised that it was sunset and the room was dark. They had started some peppermint oil in the diffuser and the two of them were gracious enough to just sit in the dark for me.  It didn't seem at all odd then, but looking back it was kind of comical to walk out and have them sitting quietly together in our bedroom. We're close like that. Also, sometime during this they were taking bets as to when and how much I would start cussing throughout labor. (kind souls, those two)

I laid on my side on the bed and let my leg hang over to ease some of the intensity, however, it eased it a bit too much and I wasn't really feeling the contractions at all. So I started doing some 'duck walks' to loosen up and continue in labor...it was as ridiculous looking as it sounds, if not more so. Google it. Or maybe don't. I remember having one contraction that hit hard, and Lauren helped me sway into it as I held onto the doorframe of our bathroom.

-Let me take this moment to say: if you are having a baby, get.a.doula. Preferably one who will talk sense into you when you need it. Lauren has this uncanny way of being incredibly encouraging while at the same time basically saying 'suck it up. NOW.' It's a delicate dance, one which she has perfected.-

After that contraction, we moved to our bedroom chair. I sat on my knees in front of it and laid my arms/head on the seat. Lauren started using the rebozo, which definitely made things more intense. You should probably Google that one - it's like a large scarf that you rub back and forth on your belly like one of those vibrating exercise belts that were popular in the 80's. Seriously. Anyway...I keep using the word 'intense' - it's honestly the best way I can think of to describe the feeling. It hurt, yes. But the intensity that required all of my focus is what stuck with me. When a contraction started, Lauren would tighten the rebozo around me. After one particularly strong contraction I started to freak out a little. They let me cry and vent and get it out, then once again, it was time to say 'OK. You're going to do this.' I remember multiple times when Lauren would say 'Face that fear. Then punch it in the face.' In between these contractions, I was drinking coconut water and eating energy balls, lovingly fed to me by my husband. (he was there too, I promise!) As each contraction came, I leaned hard into my 'squat' and bounced my way through, basically channeling all of that pain/intensity into my legs. Mentally, I kept thinking of it as a really, REALLY good workout, and repeated 'legs. butt. legs. butt.' in my head. If only I did that everyday instead of eating ice cream at 10 pm...

We had gotten into a groove of this and I felt like I was managing the contractions well. Of course, dear Lauren then had to go and say "OK, I think we need to change it up, so you don't get stuck here." But I LIKED 'here'. I could handle 'here'. Boo. Her suggestion? Walking the stairs in lunges, 2-3 steps at a time. I almost cursed at this point. But I didn't (ha! take that you two). So, we started on the stairs. For each contraction, I would lean in and push into my top leg as much as I could. It hurt like hell at first, but again, the whole 'workout' mental game helped me immensely. I actually remember hearing Graham playing Candy Land with his Grammy and I smiled in the middle of a contraction! I SMILED during a contraction. What was happening?! Shortly after that I had a contraction where I could tell some progress was made, and commented that I was "pretty sure I just dilated a couple centimeters." I had been pestering Lauren for a while about when we may be able to leave for the hospital. While it was going great, I was still hoping for the possibility of an epidural just in case. It was about this point that she agreed we should go and she called ahead to let them know, and to ask for the birthing tub to be set up and filled. She and Jim got everything in the cars while I labored through a few more contractions on the stairs until I felt ready to head to the car.

The car ride with Graham's birth was awful, so I was extremely nervous this time around. Lauren told me I could sit however I wanted, so turned backwards on my knees and hugged the seat, kind of like what I'd been doing in our room with the chair. (sounds kinky. It wasn't, I assure you. Far, far from it, in fact.) I immediately was more comfortable knowing I didn't have to be seated or buckled. Why this hadn't occurred to me before, I don't know, but it hadn't. I had one contraction at the same (insert expletive) stoplight that I had had with Graham. I semi laughed about it afterward to Jim...it was like the light was intent on torturing me. I had a second contraction about 3 minutes from the hospital and knew...I was in transition. That lovely phase where you go from laboring to LABORING, where you get to a 10 and are ready to push. Yes, this happened in the car. We got to the hospital and I was trying to remain calm, so walked into the waiting room and concentrated on another contraction while waiting for Jim and Lauren to park the cars and get me the heck in the delivery room!

We rode the elevator up (why? WHY do you have to get in an elevator?!) and apparently I was calm enough that they thought the triage room was suitable. And I had to do things like pee in a cup and get a wristband and answer stupid questions from a very rude nurse who did not seem to enjoy her job that night (thankfully she was the only rude nurse we encountered!). They hooked me up to monitor Jude's heartbeat and then asked me to get on the bed to be checked. Um. NO. I'm in transition and you want to check me?! I lost my shit at that point. The contractions were awful and I tried to just focus but the lights were bright, the nurse wouldn't move her freaking computer out of the way (so much so that Lauren actually bumped into her not-so-accidentally to try and get her to move out of my way!), and I had bad memories from Graham's birth. He was definitely starting to move downward and I needed support so I literally sat on Lauren's legs while she was standing. And by sat I mean I put all of my pregnant and in labor weight on her and didn't move. Apparently she was shaking but she didn't move, she just stayed and let me do my thing.

I was finally able to get on the bed to get checked since they refused to move me...and when they did I was, oh, you know, about an 8. Yes people. Like I was trying to tell you...I'm Having a BABY! We went across the hall (literally, like 5 steps) to the delivery room, where, the birthing tub was in fact not set up yet. I think there were multiple reasons, many out of their control, but again, I kind of panicked. So I immediately said "I want to be in the tub!" and waddled to the regular tub in the bathroom, stripped off my clothes and practically jumped in. After one contraction in there I felt claustrophobic, so proceed to get back out, but failed to put any clothes back on. At this point, I was in full blown labor land and couldn't have cared less if the President walked in the room. I got down on my knees by the bed and worked through a contraction or two there, all while a nurse was trying to get a blood sample. She was so patient as I was not really helpful in any way...she just kept saying 'Oh bless her heart I've been there.' I love Southern people.

I was going through various phrases like "I don't want to do this!" "Oh my gosh this hurts!" "I want to be done now!" and the like, so after a couple of contractions Lauren had me put one foot on a stool to lean into like I had been on the stairs. (This was maybe 30 minutes max in the delivery room) I put my arms around Lauren's neck for support (yes, fully nude. Don't concentrate on that picture too long) and leaned into the contraction...and my body just started pushing. So I kept leaning in and yelled "I'm pushing!" Lauren almost died, literally, from me pulling her down, so Jim came up behind me to catch both of us, and that's when it happened. I pooped. On his leg. I knew it happened and didn't give a shit (get it? yes, you do.). But I remember thinking "Wow! He is handling that SO well!" because if you know my husband, you would not expect him to handle that well. I was quite proud of him, in a strange way.

The nurse was yelling for an emergency delivery kit and told me she could deliver him there but would prefer if I could get in the bed since babies tend to be slippery. I managed to get on the bed on my knees and they put the back of the bed upright so I could stay kneeling and lean into it. The midwife managed to get there in the midst of this so I just went with my body and pushed when it felt like it. I grunted and screamed and screamed and grunted, but I did have magical minutes...actual minutes...in between pushes. I had heard this happened but didn't experience it with Graham. I was able to just lay against the bed and rest, and when a push started, put all of my energy into it. After a few minutes the midwife asked if she could break my water, and I said no. I expected it to break naturally while pushing like Graham's did, and I remembered how great that felt, so I kept going. But after a few more pushes he just felt like he was sitting there. Just SITTING with this great, horrible pressure and I finally let out a 'WHY THE F*** ISN'T HE COMING OUT?!' And Jim and Lauren literally cheered. "You finally cussed, hooray!" It was just enough to lighten the moment, and in a couple more pushes, he was out...in his water sac!! (it's called 'en caul') That was why he wasn't coming...it was like a freaking water balloon kept going in and out of my nether regions. I don't recommend that, just as an FYI.

The sac broke almost immediately though so I didn't get to see it (sad) but I looked down and there he was! My baby, with a pouty lip and hair and I just got to pick him up and hold him. And hold him. And hold him. I just kept saying 'Hi!' and laughing with relief. I held him for over an hour and it was wonderful (other than the delivering the placenta and getting stitched up and all of that fun stuff). They finally had to take him to weigh him (8 lbs 9 oz!), and I was able to get up and take a shower. Yes people, I walked to the bathroom, took a shower by myself, and got dressed an hour after giving birth. This is what endorphins do to you. If only that was every morning...I was impressed with myself for showering today, a normal Wednesday.

So, after a week of pre labor, lots of fear and anxiety and doubt, Jude Denman Meador was born in 6 hours, at 8:33 pm on December 30th, 2014. And other than a few crazy moments, I would actually use the word 'great' to describe my labor. I didn't think that was even possible, but it is, I assure you. I owe that to a lot of God's grace, a great doula, and a gracious husband who kept a poop stain on his pants all night long.

A Letter to My Sons

My Dear Boys,

Every parent has dreams, things that they wish and hope and pray they will pass on to their children. Habits and manners, memories and ideals, morals and stories. Every parent wants their children to have a great childhood, one they will remember with fondness. I wish these same things for you. 

But lately, there has been so much controversy in our world: unrest, violence, prejudice, name calling, misunderstanding, disrespect, hurt. When I was a child, I think I was shielded more from these things. We didn't have social media. We didn't have the internet. We didn't think about things like terrorist attacks or transgender celebrities and thought that the Civil Rights movement was something in the past. 

Your world is different. 

I can't shield you from all of these things; it's impossible. Nor do I want to. At your young ages now, yes, I shield you from the big problems of the world, but sooner than I'd like to admit I won't be able to. They will be front and center - on a screen, from your friends, on a magazine in the checkout line. And we'll talk about them. It will be hard sometimes; uncomfortable, yes. Most of the time I'll be silently praying I'm somehow making sense without telling you too much or too little. But there is one thing I know I can tell you. One thing that if you remember nothing else, remember this:

A person is always a person FIRST. Created in the image of God, loved by that same God who longs for them to know Him Personally. 

That girl with the skin a different color than yours. That boy who talks a little funny and walks a little differently than you do. That man who doesn't feel like a man and has lived a life of confusion. That police officer who is trying to do their job well, and the one who has blinders on and isn't doing it so well. The blogger who spews out venom in the name of 'conservativism' or the news anchor giving a 'liberal spin' to a story. The terrorist who is so devoted to a false view of humanity they are willing to kill or be killed for it. 

They. Are. People.

Are there maybe sins to be addressed, mistakes to be corrected, honor to be restored and healing to take place? Yes. A million times yes. This does not negate that. Let me say that again - seeing someone as a Person FIRST does not negate any issues that may be there. But what it does is open a door for real walls to be torn down. Not ones we construct in our mind, not an 'us vs. them' mentality, but true, deep down at the core of our being walls. Insecurity. Pride. Failure. Feelings of being completely lost. Abandonment. The types of things that usually only come up in counseling sessions because they're hard and ugly and we don't want to admit that really, we all have them at our core. WE'RE ALL PEOPLE. We all need saving. 

And Jesus? He didn't come saying "Fix yourself so I can save you!" "Stop believing lies before I will be your friend!" No. He said to the worst of the worst, "Hey! I'm coming for dinner!" And he knew them as a person. He got into their lives, into their home, into their world. He didn't sugarcoat any sin issues, but his focus wasn't first on the sin. His focus was first on the person, and in so doing the person saw the person of Christ, and realized what they were not, but what they could be in Him. Because it is 'the kindness of God that leads us to repentance'.  

When we focus first on what is wrong with someone, we focus on the wrong thing. I can tell you full well if a random person comes up to me and tells me that how I'm mothering you boys is wrong, I'm going to write that person off immediately. Who are they to know? If a friend - someone who KNOWS me, the person me - tells me I'm doing something wrong, I listen. We have trust, a relationship, one where honesty is encouraged and hard things are done. And maybe then I change what's going wrong. But only then.

So my prayer for you boys, is that you'll ignore the shouts of social media. You'll ignore the banter of Blue vs. Red or black vs. white. Rather, you'll walk down the street, drive downtown, stop the man asking for change on the side of the road, and invite them to dinner. Spend time with their families. Let them see the love of Christ shining through you and know that something is not only different - but that something is GOOD. 

And I think everyone longs to see a little bit of that good these days.

'I love you and love you, and love you and love you,'

Mommy