One Year Later: Remembering Birth

One year ago, around today, I was getting ready to have my second baby. Oh, I’d been waiting and waiting and waiting. Wanting that birth to come more than anything. And you know what? It just wasn’t coming.

 

My due date came and went. Then two more weeks passed by. I did everything I knew how, but my cervix was unbudging.

Acupuncture three times a week and hardly even a braxton hicks. In New Mexico, 42 weeks is as far as you can go and still have a homebirth. Oh, how I wanted a homebirth. Specifically, a homebirth after cesarean. Oh, how I grieved when I had to let go of that. And oh, how scared I was that another hospital birth would mean another cesarean.

My midwife called our local hospital and was told they wouldn’t induce me for a VBAC. It would pretty much be an automatic cesarean. So she called this Doc in Albuquerque who is known for delivering breech babies and other old school things. He said come on down. I was so happy for the glimmer of hope he offered. And so scared. Could I really be going to be induced again? The same procedure that had ended so disastrously last time?

 My dear friend had wise words for me then, about how this was not the same road leading to the same place I’d already been. She said, sometimes life gives us experiences that are remarkably like things we have been challenged by before, only we get to meet them with fresh wisdom and strength. I began to see this journey as one of healing as well as a birth. Whatever lay before me, I would rise to meet it as a love warrior, with an open and courageous heart.

Nevertheless, I whined to the doc, “My cervix is unpoenable!” He looked like a scruffy gnome with his long hair and beard and Navajo bolo. He was unphased. “It might take a few days, but I see no  hurry,” he said. And that was when I knew we were going to be okay (I wasn’t paying attention to the three days part).

It helped me to see myself not as a victim of pitocin, having an especially painful labor due to pharmaceutical augmentation. Instead, I just reminded myself I was in labor. This was my labor. Mine. And nobody said labor was easy (okay, maybe those hypnobirthing people do, but I wasn’t there for easy, I was there to have a baby!).

I stood swaying on my feet, leaning against a hospital table, moaning like a howler monkey. For oh, about 18 hours. Doctor checked me and said “Great news! You’re 3 cm!” And I did celebrate, just a little. After all, my cervix had never been 3 cm open before! But then I started doing labor math and figured out I had about 40 more hours to go, and began planning my epidural. But hey, if you can get through the first three years of motherhood without tv, then surely you can get through a 26 hour labor without an epidural, right? Not to be blithe about it, though, because I surely did scream for it after they broke my water and things got a-rolling for real.

My husband shooed away the anesthesiologist, pulled me back onto my feet, and we got down to the real work of having a baby. It was at that moment the tide shifted and I knew I was going to have this baby naturally, right there on my two feet. And I was so glad that hypnobirthing never worked for me because this was amazing. And harder than shit. I don’t like to curse, but it’s true. Birth is so hard and so so good.

The nurses kept telling me “You’re having your baby!” And I was like, oh, so that’s what’s happening. Because it just doesn’t seem possible that anyone could feel like that and survive. And to think every person ever to live on this planet was brought into the world in some way resembling this–it just boggles the mind. It felt amazing to be a part of all that. I was having my baby!

Things were cruising now. We were in, swept away and carried by the birth. Through transition, my body pushing of its own accord.

Doc asked, could a few med students come in and watch; they’d never seen a natural birth. Ha, this was not the candle lit water birth I’d dreamed of–this was better. It was my birth! Let them come in, I said. Let the whole world witness my might! My husband held me in a supported squat. The doctor knelt on the floor and delivered her onto blankets.

And so Maida was born.

 My child, bringing you into the world was the first gift you gave me.

My heart is full with you!

Notes on the New Year

Hi Friends, Happy New Year!

I’ve missed you. I wish I could say hello here more often, and am glad you come by for when I do.

These days I’ve been:

::Resting. Home from a big family Christmas, it has been blissful to be back in our sweet little house, reclaiming our rhythms. I am so aware these days of how completely this humble space nurtures us.

::Resting also my hands and mind. December was low key enough, but still so goal oriented–things to make, to do, to feel. It’s been nice to sit idle, to gestate creativity and action through that stillness. It’s amazing to watch myself go from low inspiration and energy to slowly building until I can’t help myself, it’s time for things to happen again. This post case in point (though it’s taken over a week to complete!).

::Reveling in my new found love of La Dishwasher. Our kitchen sink is totally out of commission since my husband banged on the faucet in a moment of angst (it was leaking) and snapped it straight off. So we now have a hole that water sprays out of, and I load the dishwasher and it is, seriously, a revolution. And amazing to see how much less water gets used, which is a polite way of saying how nice it is to not be washing dishes all day.

::Practicing staying warm, not just with our hats and woolens and slippers (though keeping the kids well dressed is a practice of sorts) but with my thoughts and actions. Meeting my work as mother with tenderness and love, pausing more often to actively cherish the girls and Man of the Place, to let my heart overflow a little bit more through my words and touch. It’s not like I didn’t do these things before, but since I’ve turned up the thermostat (so to speak), I’ve noticed that my older daughter is especially calmer, more secure, and centered. And I’m happier, too, able to meet my day with more cheer and patience.

::Wondering how to be more cheerful and patient when the three year old starts whining and the one year old is crying and we’re all trying to get out the door but I can’t find the keys and my tea spills and then someone gets pushed and…has anyone figured that one out yet?

 

::Planning a deep winter cleaning and organizing and de-cluttering extravaganza. This post at Clean says exactly what I’ve been feeling about this. I’ve made a list of all the places that need to be sorted and cleared, and will dedicate Fridays of my housekeeping rhythm towards those efforts.

::Marveling that not only have I learned to knit and sew (against the odds, people!) in the last few years, but there are many days when my girls are dressed almost entirely in clothes I made…many of them re-purposed out of thrifted tees and woolens. I wouldn’t call it high fashion, but there is something very charming  and old fashioned about it.

::That said, I’m feeling so over knitting!  Note to self: Never knit on less than size 8 (10?) needles. Avoid purling whenever possible. Knit in the round whenever possible. Only two projects at a time, please! No cables, no counting. Ever. At least not until I’m a grandma. Cora’s little maxi dress (above) is about the perfect pattern for me these days. Maida is wearing Swing Thing.

::Feeling grateful for our time walking the land as a family, where our bodies and minds and spirits are renewed and our bonds with each other and our home land can grow stronger. Have you been getting out enough?

::And especially grateful for my community, the inspiration and discoveries I make here in the blog world, as well as the sweet ties growing ever stronger with my real world circle of friends. Especially the ones that gather around a kitchen table one night a week to craft and talk–oh that is my greatest pleasure (and they are on their way over right now)!

::Opening to the unknown life waiting for us to step into it–the discoveries to make, the passions to pursue, the growth that will happen. The books I’ll read, the things I’ll cook, the garden that we’ll grow, the travels still to come, the songs yet to be sung…

::

 Thanks for coming by, all. I treasure sharing this journey with you.

Tell me, what are you doing these days?

Waiting for the Light

I’ve known it was coming. Since September I’ve been preparing. But still, now that it’s here I’m caught by the fullness of it.

Darkness.

Two days of beautiful, much needed rain underscore it. No sun. Dark nights.

I didn’t quite realize how I was feeling till I looked around and saw my house lit up like a lantern.

My husband asked, “Do you think you have enough lights on?” and I was like, “Not even close!”

It’s like being cold but not able to get warm, this longing for light.

And the answer I always find is to stoke the inner fire.

To pray in my way, to write and draw and express some of the soul’s light, to shine it out into the world.

To sing. This song, a lot.

To not turn away too quickly from the darkness, but to give thanks for it, for the way it turns us inward and brightens our spirits.

It’s why we seek to create so much joy and community during this season of light. Our work is all about light making!

It’s coming, friends. Not much longer now and the sun grows stronger, the world reborn.

Excuse me while I go wait by the fire.

::

The never-ending seasons 

that so lightly come and go

Are miracles of wisdom 

no man can ever know.

–JF Wornal

Finding Grace, Going Slow

Simple days, as ever.

Re-reading Mitten Strings for God and Simplicity Parenting.

These books just make me feel so good when I choose to forgo the many holiday activities going on, to not go overboard with the homemade gift thing, to not stay up till 3 am making an Advent calendar, to not go to the Holiday Faire, and all the many other things I Just Say No to.

Because that means there is so much left to say Yes to.

Yes to having time. Yes to being with my children, unhurried and unstressed.

Yes to walks in the snow.

Yes to letting things grow in their own way–our traditions as a young family, the beauty and meaning we find in celebrating the seasons and their festivals in the simplest ways.

Yes to creating out of inspiration and because the spirit fills us, not a sense of obligation.

~

 Of all the things I might think up to do, it’s what I feel, the richness within, that is most meaningful.

Things take on a depth and richness when I have time to enter them more fully.

There is a space for creativity to blossom, and to be received in a way that bears fruit.

For me, Advent is a time of quiet, and of making.

Keeping the computer off at night, sitting and entering the deeply creative space of crafting gifts. It reminds me of the girls in their play–intent, absorbed, and ultimately being nourished on the soul level. Finding meaning in our work of play and life.

This is grace.

Oh, there is so much to be grateful for!

Take care, friends. Wishing you slow days and nights, quiet joy, and the peace of stillness. What are you saying no–and yes–to these days?

::

PS Along these lines I was recently inspired by this post on Advent from Renee, and this one on Finding Time from Heather.

Letting Go: The Christmas Edition

Earlier this week I wrote my version of “The Letter.”

Maybe you’ve been working on one, too. You know, the letter we send to our relatives explaining, pleading, guiding, reassuring, demanding, that they please just give one present, or a present that doesn’t make noise, or something homemade, or at least not made by a small Bangladeshi girl. We all have our particular conundrums to sort out, and are determined that once and for all we will do it. We will be brave and say our piece and save Christmas from turning into the atrocity we know is coming if we don’t act quickly.

If only everybody would listen to us!

I even sent my letter as far as my husband (it was destined for his family, after all) and he rolled his eyes. He said that maybe it needed a few revisions. We talked about it for a little while. I got sort of excited, threw the word “Crap” around a bit too freely. And then, just like that, it was out of my system. I didn’t want to send my letter anymore.

Here’s what I want to do instead: Control the things I can.

I want to make our advent season as blessed and rich a time as I can. I want to light candles each night and watch Mary make her way on the starry path. I want to celebrate the small, magical feast days of St. Nicholas and Santa Lucia with friends and songs and small treasures. I want to visit the mountains and make wreaths from pine and fir branches. I want creating small, useful gifts to be part of our daily routine, something that brings us joy in both the making and giving.

I realized, with the help of a few friends, that the mood we create in our home is what is most important, not the kinds of gifts our loved ones give us. If I want Christmas to be a time filled with reverence and simplicity, then the way we live, the things we do, the essence of our days will convey it.  No amount of gifts under the tree that I might want to use the C-word on can undo all that. (In fact, maybe, just maybe, that balance is actually exactly what we need.)

I don’t want Christmas to be about this tight knot in my belly worrying about how horrible things will be if I don’t take matters into my own hands. I want to let go of my need to control what isn’t my business. And you might argue that it is my business, and probably you’re right and I’ll regret this. I’m prepared for that and have made my peace. In the end, these are our relatives, our family. They know us and love us and are well aware of our feelings about plastic and clutter and consumerism and all the rest. I don’t need to tell them again. Let them find their own way to give.

And let me find my way to graciousness and gratitude.

::

Since writing this post, I have been filled with doubts: I should do something. Say something. I’ll regret this letting go business. I’m so going to regret this. It’s going to be terrible. I’ll definitely have to send a letter next year. Why don’t they just ask what we want? Why?

And then I find my way back to peace: Give them a chance, they will totally come through. Relax and let go. Every kid deserves a few toys their mother doesn’t approve of. That’s a good thing. How bad could it be? Seriously, is that really so bad? Really?

This is going to be okay.

I can always send the letter next year.

Days of Wonder

The glorious days of Autumn have been full in their simple way.

What do you say when old friends ask what you are up to and all you can think of is laundry and roasted chickens and the new bonnet you started knitting, and somehow, it just doesn’t seem like it will translate? I haven’t tried this yet, but next time I might simply say something like “Oh, just keeping the rhythm,” letting the unspoken “of the universe intact” part be merely implied.

To you I can also add that I’ve been occupied with finding balance in this complicated world, returning again and again to center in the midst of plentiful distraction. Finding gratitude for the great struggles I go through in my ongoing “birth pangs” of motherhood. Just as our children experience tension and disequilibrium in their growth, I’ve learned to see my own hard times as a catalyst for wonderful growth. (Thanks to posts like this one at The Parenting Passageway for bringing me back to myself once again!)

Sewing real jersey woolens and making recycled “sweater pants” is a fine way to stretch my fledgling skills as a seamstress. Thanks to Mama Ash Grove for the inspiration. Also, amazingly, I’ve just found my way back to writing after a long rest. I had to completely let go of my expectations of myself, of the half written novel draft started years ago, of the ordinary moments not celebrated in insightful poems. I trusted that for the time being, my creative work was in the mothering, the homemaking, the singing and cooking and knitting and yes, my journal and this blog a bit. I let go of my identity as a “Writer” and embraced my life as a mother and it was a great relief, a weight lifted from my shoulders. Happily, the two are once again converging as I spend all my quiet moments of late pouring out stories of our days, turning them into something artful that feels soulful and satisfying. Another reminder of the importance of how the fallow times inevitably give way to new growth and fecundity. 

See. Everything ripens in it’s time.In the meantime, I’m really working to bring the last light of the season with its brightly glowing trees inside. To light my inner fire, to blaze the spiritual fire that will carry us into the “season of light” coming round Solstice time. And yes, I’ll be singing and cooking and tending my girls as best I can. Learning just how the waist band on long underwear should be shaped, maybe getting a few lines down on paper now and then, learning (again) to say no to too much “fun” away from home, and hopefully putting the garden to bed with a few thick layers of compost and manure and mulch and a planting of winter rye .

In other words, just keeping the rhythm of the universe intact.

As are you, my friends!

Ordering the Stars: Housekeeping Rhythm

A friend of mine shared this story: She read in a book by a Waldorf early years teacher that whenever the children starting getting too wild or disruptive, the teacher slowly and methodically went about putting the room back together. Folding silks, placing dolls in their cradle, stacking bowls in the kitchen. And the children magically settled, finding their center once again. My friend said that when she read this, she realized that it perfectly described her own state of being–when the house is a mess, she feels impatient and irritable. When it has come back together again, she feels peaceful and easy. I couldn’t agree more!

But where is the Waldorf kindergarten teacher coming to my rescue? Why, up on the fridge in a rainbow colored chart, of course.

That’s right, a housekeeping schedule. For a long time, I was consumed with just the basic daily maintenance of our home: dishes three times a day, sweeping, laundry, tidying up the detritus of an active family. I still do those things day in and day out, but each day there is a little something extra that I focus on.

Monday is kitchen day. Aside from giving extra attention to things that pile up during the week, I set the timer for ten minutes and do a single task like clean the fridge or organize a cupboard. Sometimes I mop, or deal with the mess under the sink.

Tuesday is for the living room and entry way. The special focus of this day is “dust and declutter.” I rove around the house with a wet rag and a box, doing just that. I straighten the bookshelves, tame my knitting baskets, put the cds back into orderly piles. Sometimes I sort the hat bags, sometimes I sweep down the cobwebs.

Wednesday is bedrooms. Usually one needs more attention than the  other, so it gets it. More dusting and decluttering, sweeping the rugs, changing the sheets, putting away any clothes that have been piling up (and getting rid of the excess).

Thursday we do the bathrooms. Sinks, toilet, tubs, mop the floor with a wet rag, mirrors, wash towels. This has been majorly helped by having a spray bottle of vinegar solution and box of baking soda in each bathroom. Duh!  I use old cloth diapers for washing everything down with.

Friday is “studio” day. That would be our huge desk on the north wall of our main living space. I enter receipts into our budget, pay bills, tidy and declutter the mess, straighten the bookshelves and the disaster brewing down below where my fabric and sewing gear is stowed.

Over the weekend we do some version of a home blessing–vacuum, empty trash, do what was forgotten during the week, and often some bigger organizational work that involves everybody.  Or sometimes we just let things go, secure in the knowledge that it’s gonna get done soon enough.

:: I work fast and try to get the daily chore done by ten. If it’s not in the stars, it’ll happen for sure next week.

::My three year old helps me work while sister takes her morning nap.

::I love this routine because it tells me when to stop. If it’s time for the park, I stop myself.

::People before things. I am getting better and better at remembering this, at letting the house be messy and not falling apart myself. Strange to actually be embracing disorder, but sometimes that’s how we choose joy.

::Simplicity and de-cluttering are my secret weapons. If I am grumbling over picking up the same toys all the time, I simply move them out of our home or into storage. If my bookshelves are bursting and unsightly, if there are too many cups to wash, if the pen cup is stuffed so full it’s impossible to get a pen in or out–get them outta here!

Our house is not super clean, ever. It is a lively, creative space, with lots happening. Every day, though, we give extra attention to at least one part of it, and this makes the whole place feel loved. It is such a balancing act–embracing the abundant messes of family life, knowing how much to let slide, and when to get things back on track. It is an ongoing evolution–one of growing children, parents, and the space that contains us and our days together.

Living on less: life is good

Jumping in with Adrie to talk about living more simply that the planet may simply live. Seems money is on both our minds this week. Her post is here.

A good friend and I often have lively debates about the role of money in living a more environmentally friendly life. Oh how we love to disagree on this! I’m grateful we can have these frank conversations without feeling threatened. And we do influence each other in positive ways. Productive, indeed.

I hold the position that by choosing to live on less money, one has the ability to live far more environmentally. Less money means less buying, especially of new, energy intensive goods (even so-called green products require use of resources). It means less traveling, which is undoubtedly better for the planet. To me, those are the two biggest things we can do to change our carbon footprint.

It also means, generally, more time. When I had a baby three years ago and we shifted to living on one income, I was amazed at how much time I had to live more responsibly. There were the small things, like hanging out the laundry, taking more walks, spending more time at the library. If I had been working, our plastic fast would have been much less successful impossible. I’ve had the time to develop my old time kitchen skills, and to break my dependency on processed, packaged fare. I make most of our body care items, have a bigger garden, preserve food. I’ve had time to learn to sew and to repurpose old clothes into new. Most recently, I’ve joined our community time bank, using time and these new skills to exchange knowledge and labor with others.

Fortunately, I love living simply. This is not a challenging life for me, it is a blessed one I give thanks for every day.

It’s actually painful to me to get new goods. Almost everything in our home is secondhand–given to us, thrifted, scored at a yard sale. We don’t feel deprived! We feel enlivened. The most comfortable chair in the house was picked up on the side of the road. I’ve learned that when I get to longing for something new and wonderful, by de-cluttering and re-ordering my space I actually feel much more fulfilled, satisfied in a soulful way. These days, I seldom even go thrifting.

To be sure, new purchases are occasionally necessary, like the new carseat we just ordered. Most of the time, it isn’t. I want a “new” sewing machine so badly! (Edited 9/14 to add: I had to do it. Brand new and beautiful–green points for local dealer and all metal? Sometimes, one needs the right tools to change the world…) But I know that with patience, something will come along that meets my needs. Or maybe I’ll just learn that I actually don’t need an item, after all. Sometimes, though, I have to make compromises. Just today I went to a really horrible, horrible place to buy Cora some socks. I would love to have a budget for lovely, organic socks, but I don’t. And that is where my friend’s argument begins.

She says, with money, one can buy all local food, all organic clothes. Beautiful, handmade shoes from hippies in Oregon.  A spinning wheel. Eco-cashmere yarn. A hybrid car. All-glass canning jars! An eco-vacation in Costa Rica. One can afford solar panels, one can have a state of the art garden, chickens, a carbon neutral home. Yadda yadda.

I confess that I would love some of these things. Minus the vacation and the car. But I also love the challenge of making my own clothes, of having to grow as much food as I can, of making what I have be enough. Of just…going without sometimes. Yet I can sometimes slip into a deprivation mindset, and it’s good to remember that sometimes buying a really high quality, natural lipstick is…good for the earth!

In the end, it all comes down to consciousness. One can be wealthy in every way, but impoverished in an envronmental ethic that leads one to use money irresponsibly. I’m so grateful to those whose resources allow them to live that good green life! Yet, I’ve learned that one can also be “poor” and living in a very simple, very conscious way (rather than an all big-box all the time way, which is often the stereotype).

What’s your experience with the old “your money or your life” debate? How much IS enough? What have you learned to live without? to provide for your family? to scrimp and save till it’s yours? What is truly necessary?

Ordering the Stars: Home is the Heart

Here is our family’s “mission statement.”

What we strive to practice daily, as best we can.

Whenever there is a lot going on, when life is overly full or times are tense, this is how I find my way back to center.

I’m getting ready to share a bunch of stuff on rhythm and housekeeping and the like, and it’s good to pause and breathe, to give thanks, and to stay connected to what spiritual homemaking is really all about:

Love.

And all her many faces.

Growing into Motherhood

Has anybody else been following the beautiful series over at the Parenting Passageway of women’s stories of growing into motherhood? They are just filling me up with encouragement and appreciation–sustenance for this incredible journey of raising small children, and being transformed in the process.

I’ve been a mother for a scant three and a half years. My journey has taken me though a harrowing birth and a healing birth, the blissful times  of tending an infant with my heart and arms and breasts, and the confusion and anger and lack of understanding I felt when my sweet baby started having tantrums! biting other kids! shrieking at strangers in the grocery store! It was then that my real growth started happening, when I actually began to grow into a parent, and not just a mother. The birth pangs of that still-emerging parent continue, but I have learned to welcome them, to dive into them with the same gratitude I learned to feel for the contractions that brought my daughter into the world.

In the spirit of this journey, I thought I’d share a little story.

The other day I read this sweet interview about mindful parenting. At the end were 12 really wonderful exercises for mindful parenting. Great! I printed them out, put them up on the fridge, consulted them often, and proceeded to have the worst day of mothering in recent memory. I was yelling and irritable, impatient, and totally out of my center. Or maybe that should be totally self-centered. I knew it and still felt powerless in the face of it. Though I laugh ironically when telling friends the story of my attempt at mindful parenting, I really don’t think of it as a failure. Sometimes we grow the most from the hardest moments, from seeing the worst in ourselves.

My friend Adrie, whose beautiful story of growing into motherhood is at Carrie’s today taught me to think of mothering as practice. “Practice, and all is coming,” she learned as a student of yoga. My job is not to be a perfectly mindful mother, or any of the other ideal standards I might hold myself up to on a given day. It is simply to practice. Practice being mindful, practice speaking gently and holding my center in the midst of a three year old storm, practice keeping my home orderly in a genuinely cheerful way,  practice being kind to my husband instead of always right, practice keeping my heart open and present to the small and large tasks of raising two small children. Practice love.

As I practice, I develop self-discipline. With luck, that practice turns into a striving for self-awareness, then greater empathy, then emotional presence. And on and on as new skills are integrated and adapted as needed.

In the Steiner inspired book Natural Childhood by John Thomson there is a wonderful breakdown of the parent’s journey as we learn to relate to our children. Imagine it as a stairstep, in which we go through these different levels:

Unconsciously unskilled–you don’t know you don’t know.

Consciously unskilled–you know you don’t know. (This is the most frustrating step!)

Consciously skilled–you know you know.

Unconsciously skilled--you don’t know you know.

As you practice these skills, you move up the stairs. But it’s not always linear; on a given day I might be on any of these steps. Sometimes it’s two forward, one back. Ultimately the hard days are the best practice. They ask us to put all of our will and determination and prayer into our mothering. Into our lives. But as we strive, we grow. And that is the gift our children give us.

Practice, friends. All is coming.

::

What have you learned from your time practicing motherhood?

::

ps, no infants were harmed in the above photographs!