16 May 2008
07 May 2008
Young Women of Character
If by the grace of God, we can raise Katrina to have the compassion and character shown by the young women in this clip, we'll be satisfied.
02 May 2008
"Mama, I'm Nervous About the Baby"
We've been reading How to Be a Baby, by Me, the Big Sister every night this week, by Katrina's choice. We talk about both the baby to come and Katrina's birth a lot--again, mostly at Katrina's instigation. Some days she pats or kisses my (growing! fast!) tummy more than she kisses me. And at other times...
--Mama, I'm still nervous about the baby.
--What are you nervous about, sweetie?
--I don't know.
--Do you have any questions?
--No.
(pause)
--Sweetie, what do you think is going to happen when the baby comes?
--What if I get a trophy from soccer or from doing really good art, and I don't want to put it up high, because I can't see it as well up high, so I put it low, and the baby comes into my room and breaks it?
(Note that she is not currently involved in soccer or in anything art-related that would bring a prize; we have talked about signing her up for soccer in the fall if she wants to play, and about perhaps taking an art class over the summer. So any trophy is purely theoretical on her part.)
--Well, sweetie, the baby won't be doing much moving around on her own for a while. And by the time the baby can crawl or walk, we'll figure something out. Remember baby Taylor? Could she move around and break things?
--No. But what if the baby kicks me?
--I think if the baby kicks you, it wouldn't hurt, because she'll be so small. Did Taylor kick you when you held her?
--Yes.
--Did it hurt?
--(half-smile) Yes!
I laugh and tell her I don't think that's true, and we move on to other important questions, such as how the baby is going to come out and the exact day I knew that the baby was in my tummy, and how did I know that, anyway? Which, ironically, I find much easier to answer than how we will prevent the baby from invading Katrina's room and destroying all of her stuff, both the stuff she has today and imagined, future stuff. Because, really, it would be untruthful to tell her that her young sibling will never get into her belongings or break anything.
Now that spring has finally reached Germany, it is bittersweet. We're in the last month and a half of school, and "Kindergarten graduation" has appeared on the school calendar. I used to think that was a silly thing to do, but in this situation, the kids really are graduating, in the sense that they will leave this school and go on to first grade in a different school. And this year, those new schools will be scattered across the United States and Germany. It will be a true good-bye for most of the kids in Katrina's age-group.
And as we think ahead more and more to the new baby's birth, these months are a good-bye to something else--the current structure of our little family. We've gotten comfortable together these past 5, almost 6 years. Katrina has had the mixed blessing of being an only child--lots of attention, having her own space, not having to share except when friends visit, not getting as much social interaction as she'd like, not needing to learn how to compromise as often as kids with siblings, plenty of one-on-one time with mom and/or dad. Soon she will have the mixed blessing of being an older sister. I think she will probably love and hate the experience in equal measure, with the love winning out, but perhaps not for a while. The age gap will mean she will hopefully be able to understand more about the needs of a new baby and better express her own feelings so we can talk her through the inevitable jealousy and discomfort with change; but it will also mean that her new sister (or brother) will never be a true playmate. I suspect being the object of hero worship is in her future, which has to be good for any kid's self-esteem!
I find myself hugging her a little more closely and often, praying that I'll have enough emotional resources to care for both her and the baby, and just being very aware that we are on the cusp of a huge change. And, like her, thinking a lot about the start of Katrina's life, and marveling anew at the gift she has been and continues to be to us. (As well as marveling that this long-legged, sun-kissed blond, articulate creature could have come from that tiny, squalling, orange-skinned baby!)
So, anticipation, love, saying good-bye and hello in the same breath. You know something, my darling firstborn? Sometimes I'm nervous about the baby, too. But I also know that we'll treasure this new gift from God, because that's what we did with you.
--Mama, I'm still nervous about the baby.
--What are you nervous about, sweetie?
--I don't know.
--Do you have any questions?
--No.
(pause)
--Sweetie, what do you think is going to happen when the baby comes?
--What if I get a trophy from soccer or from doing really good art, and I don't want to put it up high, because I can't see it as well up high, so I put it low, and the baby comes into my room and breaks it?
(Note that she is not currently involved in soccer or in anything art-related that would bring a prize; we have talked about signing her up for soccer in the fall if she wants to play, and about perhaps taking an art class over the summer. So any trophy is purely theoretical on her part.)
--Well, sweetie, the baby won't be doing much moving around on her own for a while. And by the time the baby can crawl or walk, we'll figure something out. Remember baby Taylor? Could she move around and break things?
--No. But what if the baby kicks me?
--I think if the baby kicks you, it wouldn't hurt, because she'll be so small. Did Taylor kick you when you held her?
--Yes.
--Did it hurt?
--(half-smile) Yes!
I laugh and tell her I don't think that's true, and we move on to other important questions, such as how the baby is going to come out and the exact day I knew that the baby was in my tummy, and how did I know that, anyway? Which, ironically, I find much easier to answer than how we will prevent the baby from invading Katrina's room and destroying all of her stuff, both the stuff she has today and imagined, future stuff. Because, really, it would be untruthful to tell her that her young sibling will never get into her belongings or break anything.
Now that spring has finally reached Germany, it is bittersweet. We're in the last month and a half of school, and "Kindergarten graduation" has appeared on the school calendar. I used to think that was a silly thing to do, but in this situation, the kids really are graduating, in the sense that they will leave this school and go on to first grade in a different school. And this year, those new schools will be scattered across the United States and Germany. It will be a true good-bye for most of the kids in Katrina's age-group.
And as we think ahead more and more to the new baby's birth, these months are a good-bye to something else--the current structure of our little family. We've gotten comfortable together these past 5, almost 6 years. Katrina has had the mixed blessing of being an only child--lots of attention, having her own space, not having to share except when friends visit, not getting as much social interaction as she'd like, not needing to learn how to compromise as often as kids with siblings, plenty of one-on-one time with mom and/or dad. Soon she will have the mixed blessing of being an older sister. I think she will probably love and hate the experience in equal measure, with the love winning out, but perhaps not for a while. The age gap will mean she will hopefully be able to understand more about the needs of a new baby and better express her own feelings so we can talk her through the inevitable jealousy and discomfort with change; but it will also mean that her new sister (or brother) will never be a true playmate. I suspect being the object of hero worship is in her future, which has to be good for any kid's self-esteem!
I find myself hugging her a little more closely and often, praying that I'll have enough emotional resources to care for both her and the baby, and just being very aware that we are on the cusp of a huge change. And, like her, thinking a lot about the start of Katrina's life, and marveling anew at the gift she has been and continues to be to us. (As well as marveling that this long-legged, sun-kissed blond, articulate creature could have come from that tiny, squalling, orange-skinned baby!)
So, anticipation, love, saying good-bye and hello in the same breath. You know something, my darling firstborn? Sometimes I'm nervous about the baby, too. But I also know that we'll treasure this new gift from God, because that's what we did with you.
23 April 2008
I Don't Know Why He Didn't Win PA
Unrelated note: My computer is seriously ill. It makes a sad beeping sound and will not start up. We think the videocard is dead. It will be going back to HP for repair soon. So, if you don't hear from me for awhile (especially on e-mail), that's why. I'm at the library right now, because after only two days, I'm going through Internet withdrawal. Pathetic, I know.
The much-quoted quote from Obama about his Pennsylvania trip (but I couldn't resist anyway):
"You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them...And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not.
And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."
Wow, those people sound really unpleasant. Good thing I don't know anyone in those God-forsaken small towns in Pennsylvania (um, wait...) who cling to their silly religion (like going to church every week? and maybe even like, trying to do good stuff and all? hmmm...) and want to use actual guns to kill innocent creatures (oh, you mean like deer? I seem to remember having a school day off for hunting season. And, venison bologna? Yummy.).
Yes, I remember all of those bitter people just sitting around waiting for the government to save them from their horrible fate. Like, when the paper mill closed? And the town fell through the cracks of the Bush administration, never to be seen again. And...oh, wait, didn't a local group of investors end up re-opening the mill a few years later?
Yeah, I think I'm over Obama. I knew I didn't agree with him on many issues before, but this statement along with the one equating an unexpected pregnancy with an STD, has finished off any illusion that I could vote for him. What really got me about the Pennsylvania quote is the sheer condescension. Like he was slumming for a while and then went to San Francisco to tell the other smart city folk what he had learned about those poor schmucks who don't have the sense to move out of hick country (pause for irony check re: my current whereabouts).
Still, the people Obama are talking about are not familiar to me. There are bitter people everywhere. There are fanatics about religion or guns or anti-whatever everywhere. But I just haven't met too many of them, in small-town Pennsylvania or anywhere else. And the whole story line of these poor benighted towns who are waiting for the federal government to save them just doesn't ring true to what I've experienced. I've listened to plenty of bitch sessions about what is wrong in this or that town, this country, the world, but rarely has the conclusion been that it's the government's job to solve it. (Unless we're talking about things like the war, that is.) I'm not even convinced the government really has the capacity to do much to help the economy. We did that to ourselves, with the crazy lending and borrowing practices, the frenzy to buy over-priced homes, etc.
And I suppose that's where I part ways on much of what Obama and Clinton are saying. I just don't think that the federal government can or should solve many of the problems in our country.
The war, well, that's a whole different post.
The much-quoted quote from Obama about his Pennsylvania trip (but I couldn't resist anyway):
"You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them...And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not.
And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."
Wow, those people sound really unpleasant. Good thing I don't know anyone in those God-forsaken small towns in Pennsylvania (um, wait...) who cling to their silly religion (like going to church every week? and maybe even like, trying to do good stuff and all? hmmm...) and want to use actual guns to kill innocent creatures (oh, you mean like deer? I seem to remember having a school day off for hunting season. And, venison bologna? Yummy.).
Yes, I remember all of those bitter people just sitting around waiting for the government to save them from their horrible fate. Like, when the paper mill closed? And the town fell through the cracks of the Bush administration, never to be seen again. And...oh, wait, didn't a local group of investors end up re-opening the mill a few years later?
Yeah, I think I'm over Obama. I knew I didn't agree with him on many issues before, but this statement along with the one equating an unexpected pregnancy with an STD, has finished off any illusion that I could vote for him. What really got me about the Pennsylvania quote is the sheer condescension. Like he was slumming for a while and then went to San Francisco to tell the other smart city folk what he had learned about those poor schmucks who don't have the sense to move out of hick country (pause for irony check re: my current whereabouts).
Still, the people Obama are talking about are not familiar to me. There are bitter people everywhere. There are fanatics about religion or guns or anti-whatever everywhere. But I just haven't met too many of them, in small-town Pennsylvania or anywhere else. And the whole story line of these poor benighted towns who are waiting for the federal government to save them just doesn't ring true to what I've experienced. I've listened to plenty of bitch sessions about what is wrong in this or that town, this country, the world, but rarely has the conclusion been that it's the government's job to solve it. (Unless we're talking about things like the war, that is.) I'm not even convinced the government really has the capacity to do much to help the economy. We did that to ourselves, with the crazy lending and borrowing practices, the frenzy to buy over-priced homes, etc.
And I suppose that's where I part ways on much of what Obama and Clinton are saying. I just don't think that the federal government can or should solve many of the problems in our country.
The war, well, that's a whole different post.
17 April 2008
Hi, There.
Um, yeah, like, I'm back. What with getting ready to go to the States, being in the States, getting back from the States, and taking a little side trip to Euro Disney, just haven't had the time or brain power to blog. And even if I had something to write, my little one has renewed her obsession with Webkinz and has been on my computer at every opportunity.
This morning, Katrina not only read her homework but used her two Webkinz (a stuffed pink pony and a smaller stuffed white unicorn) to act out Harriet Tubman's flight to freedom. (Harriet Tubman for a five year old: "Harriet wanted to be free. She ran in the dark. Men with dogs chased her. She ran in the creek. The dogs couldn't smell her. She hid with friends. She ran and ran until she was free.") The white unicorn was Harriet. The pink pony was the dogs. She paused after each sentence to make one or the other talk. High voice: "I'm running in the creek!" Shaking pink pony: "Ruff, ruff, I can't smell her anymore!" Who needs Uncle Tom's Cabin when you have such a stellar dramatic interpretation at your own kitchen table?
In other news, baby is doing fine. I'm at 22 weeks and had a doctor's appointment yesterday. Everything looks good, and I got to see the little one sucking her thumb and hiccuping on the sonogram. Yes, her. At least, that's what the sonogram shows (or, rather, doesn't show). She is now in a transverse position (lying horizontally across the uterus), which is the exact same position Katrina was in from this point to the end of pregnancy. So getting a lot of kicks on the right side. A LOT. And getting stronger. Another "very active" baby. You mean there are other kinds? Since having Katrina, I do get amused at the assumption that boys are higher energy than girls. Because, my word, it's hard to imagine a toddler boy being any more active than my daughter was. Now that she's older, I do see a difference in her being more verbal than *some* of the boys. But at two? It was off to the races.
That's about it for now, except for me whining about the weather. It was 35 degrees this morning. We had rain and hail yesterday afternoon. Last year at this time it was 70 degrees (which, admittedly, was highly unusual for Europe in April). I want it to get warm! WAH!
This morning, Katrina not only read her homework but used her two Webkinz (a stuffed pink pony and a smaller stuffed white unicorn) to act out Harriet Tubman's flight to freedom. (Harriet Tubman for a five year old: "Harriet wanted to be free. She ran in the dark. Men with dogs chased her. She ran in the creek. The dogs couldn't smell her. She hid with friends. She ran and ran until she was free.") The white unicorn was Harriet. The pink pony was the dogs. She paused after each sentence to make one or the other talk. High voice: "I'm running in the creek!" Shaking pink pony: "Ruff, ruff, I can't smell her anymore!" Who needs Uncle Tom's Cabin when you have such a stellar dramatic interpretation at your own kitchen table?
In other news, baby is doing fine. I'm at 22 weeks and had a doctor's appointment yesterday. Everything looks good, and I got to see the little one sucking her thumb and hiccuping on the sonogram. Yes, her. At least, that's what the sonogram shows (or, rather, doesn't show). She is now in a transverse position (lying horizontally across the uterus), which is the exact same position Katrina was in from this point to the end of pregnancy. So getting a lot of kicks on the right side. A LOT. And getting stronger. Another "very active" baby. You mean there are other kinds? Since having Katrina, I do get amused at the assumption that boys are higher energy than girls. Because, my word, it's hard to imagine a toddler boy being any more active than my daughter was. Now that she's older, I do see a difference in her being more verbal than *some* of the boys. But at two? It was off to the races.
That's about it for now, except for me whining about the weather. It was 35 degrees this morning. We had rain and hail yesterday afternoon. Last year at this time it was 70 degrees (which, admittedly, was highly unusual for Europe in April). I want it to get warm! WAH!
14 March 2008
Happily Ever After
Once upon a time, a baby girl was born. She was beautiful and smart; she had to be, to survive. You see, the girl's mother was troubled. She either couldn't or didn't know how to take care of her daughter. The girl often stayed with friends or relatives of her mother, who sometimes didn't take care of her well, either. Even when she lived with her mother, the little girl didn't have enough to eat, and she often had to find or prepare food for herself. She was three years old.
Eventually, people found out about the little girl and her neglectful mother. And the mother made perhaps the only good decision she had ever made about her daughter: rather than let the state take away her daughter, the mother would give her daughter a new mother, a new father. She contacted someone she knew through an acquaintance. Would this woman take care of her daughter?
The woman had already raised her own two children. She was looking forward to a new phase of life. But she could not get the plight of the little girl out of her head. So she said, yes, she would take care of the little girl. But only if the little girl could be hers and her husband's forever. They would adopt her.
It took some time, and some money, and a lot of paperwork. Finally, the woman flew to the little girl's home, and drove the little girl's mother two hours away to a lawyer who specialized in such things. As the woman waited for the mother and the lawyer, her hands shook. She was afraid the mother would change her mind, and that would be terrible, for the woman already loved the little girl. But the mother did not change her mind. With her signature, she gave her small daughter a new family, one that could love her and take care of her.
At age three and a half, the little girl had a new mother. But they hardly knew each other. On the plane to her new family's home, the little girl dropped something on the floor and used the words she had always heard around her. Her new mother looked at her, shocked (as did the other passengers), and told her gently that such words were not used in their family.
When they got to her new home, the little girl stood, speechless, in front of the full refrigerator. She had never seen so much food in one place.
When her new mother wanted her to get in the bathtub, she screamed and fought. She remembered being put into deep water when someone was angry with her. Water was dangerous. But her mother was patient. She got into the tub with the little girl, every night for months. After a long time, she stopped being afraid.
Now the little girl is six years old. She is happy with her new family, who is now just her family. She's learning so much in school. And she's taking swim lessons once a week. She swims in the deep pool, practicing the crawl, the backstroke, and treading water. She has fun at swim lessons. Her swim teacher is pretty and nice, and her class is all girls around her age. One of her swim friends is named Katrina.
The little girl doesn't know she is a heroine in a fairy tale. But to anyone who hears her story, she is. And so are her mommy and daddy. At least, the mommies of her swim friends think so.
05 March 2008
Attention Easter Bunny
Katrina doesn't like Jelly Beans. They are "too sour." Um, ok, the first ingredient is sugar and the second is high-fructose corn syrup, but whatever. Not liking candy is a good thing, health-wise.
But peas are now off the (short) list of acceptable vegetables. Last time I served them, she ate them and liked them and asked for more. Last night? "I don't like them anymore."
Rice, plain or flavored? "I don't like that anymore." Rice, people! The blandest food on earth!
This is in addition to disliking anything remotely spicy, such as chili or goulash, two of our (former) easy-meal standards.
And yet she now likes my relatively spicy Amy's Cheese Enchiladas. Even though she's tried and said "too spicy" at least five times in the past year. Now I must buy one for her and one for me. She does like tacos, as well (no salsa or lettuce, please).
She still likes corn...but only the way we make it on the stove. When she eats frozen kids meals (occasionally), the corn there goes uneaten.
Bananas and grapes no longer hold the appeal they once had, although she does not dislike them, per se. She no longer likes plums, though.
Oh, and no peanut butter.
And then there was the other day at the commissary, when for the second or third time, she begged me to buy Cocoa Pebbles. Since one of her usual cereals wasn't there, I complied. As we were standing in line for the register, she suddenly said, "Mama! I forgot! I don't like those anymore!"
A rotating menu of spaghetti, pizza, fish sticks, fried chicken, and schnitzel (but only at a restaurant, not homemade), with liberal helpings of french fries and mayonnaise, maybe an apple once in a while, would be just fine with her. Or, we could just give up and buy an industrial-sized barrel of Chee-tos.
On the other hand, she has recently decided that she likes cottage cheese and apple butter. Maybe there's hope yet.
Meanwhile, I've been eating a lot of green olives. And grapefruit juice. And garlic hummus with potato chips. And more green olives. And pickled beets for a change. And queso cheese dip. And maybe just a few more olives. And Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs, which are a poor substitute for what I'm really craving. But only between the hours of about 10:30 am and 2:00 pm. By the time it's time to make dinner, I'm feeling a bit queasy. I blame it on the pregnancy, but it could be all those olives. I bought cheese-filled green olives at the German grocery store the other day. Isn't it about lunch time?
26 February 2008
Toothless Wonder
Minus 1...
Minus 2.
No more are loose at the moment. The tooth fairy left 2 Euro coins for each tooth. Katrina was happy, thank goodness, because apparently other families' tooth fairies have been a bit more generous, and the kids have been talking at school. "N. got lots of dollas and a new nightgown, Mama!" Um, that's nice, honey, but I think you and N. may have different tooth fairies.
Minus 2.
No more are loose at the moment. The tooth fairy left 2 Euro coins for each tooth. Katrina was happy, thank goodness, because apparently other families' tooth fairies have been a bit more generous, and the kids have been talking at school. "N. got lots of dollas and a new nightgown, Mama!" Um, that's nice, honey, but I think you and N. may have different tooth fairies.
13 February 2008
Perspective
I just finished reading a Stephen Donaldson book called The Runes of the Earth. One thread running through the book is that ordinary people, faithful in service, can change the world. Which is pretty interesting for a fantasy novel with a plot centered around finding a particular object of power.
Ordinary people, without magic powers, with no particular talent, just being faithful.
How much do you know about the ordinary person sitting next to you in church, or living in your neighborhood, or working In the Cubicle Next Door?
Ordinary people, without magic powers, with no particular talent, just being faithful.
How much do you know about the ordinary person sitting next to you in church, or living in your neighborhood, or working In the Cubicle Next Door?
11 February 2008
Unorganized Thoughts On Being Undecided
I vote Republican. Rather, I have always voted Republican.
I liked a number of the Republican candidates. Unfortunately, none of them actually succeeded.
A strong reason for my voting Republican is my unshakeable belief that abortion is wrong, that it is taking a life, that it hurts not only the unborn but their mothers and fathers and society at large.
But...
Republicans have been in power for a while now. Other than Bush's stand against federal funding for stem-cell research, Republicans have done little that I can see on a national level to reduce abortion. (State levels might be something else, but having been away from the U.S. for a while, I'm not up to speed on that.)
I have felt for some time that reducing/eliminating abortion will not be achieved through politics and laws. Only through a cultural change, changes of heart, compassion for women in trouble, and concrete help for women in crisis pregnancies and their families. The pro-life movement needs to stop fighting the government and put more energy into helping women. They already do, actually...I volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center in Virginia. They did really good work on a shoestring budget...they stayed with their clients (no matter what their religion) throughout their pregnancies and births, and did their best to supply them with what they needed for their babies. That's what should be at the core of pro-life movement.
I think Republicans in power have ignored the poor. Democrats may not have the right solutions for helping the poor, but at least they talk about it.
I think John McCain is a blowhard. I thought that before this election, every time I've ever heard him talk on TV, for years.
Hillary Clinton's voice makes my teeth hurt. And oh, so many other things about her.
Barack Obama is one of the most pro-choice candidates. And he doesn't have the substance of any of the other candidates still in the running. But damn, the man is inspiring. He seems honest and sincere. (One can be sincerely wrong, of course.) He's refreshing.
SO. What does a good little Republican do? I'm not sure.
It will be interesting to see if the Democrats shoot themselves in the foot again like they did when they nominated no-personality Kerry. The Republican party is fractured right now. I think the only thing that would get out the Republican vote (assuming McCain wins the nomination) is...Hillary.
I liked a number of the Republican candidates. Unfortunately, none of them actually succeeded.
A strong reason for my voting Republican is my unshakeable belief that abortion is wrong, that it is taking a life, that it hurts not only the unborn but their mothers and fathers and society at large.
But...
Republicans have been in power for a while now. Other than Bush's stand against federal funding for stem-cell research, Republicans have done little that I can see on a national level to reduce abortion. (State levels might be something else, but having been away from the U.S. for a while, I'm not up to speed on that.)
I have felt for some time that reducing/eliminating abortion will not be achieved through politics and laws. Only through a cultural change, changes of heart, compassion for women in trouble, and concrete help for women in crisis pregnancies and their families. The pro-life movement needs to stop fighting the government and put more energy into helping women. They already do, actually...I volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center in Virginia. They did really good work on a shoestring budget...they stayed with their clients (no matter what their religion) throughout their pregnancies and births, and did their best to supply them with what they needed for their babies. That's what should be at the core of pro-life movement.
I think Republicans in power have ignored the poor. Democrats may not have the right solutions for helping the poor, but at least they talk about it.
I think John McCain is a blowhard. I thought that before this election, every time I've ever heard him talk on TV, for years.
Hillary Clinton's voice makes my teeth hurt. And oh, so many other things about her.
Barack Obama is one of the most pro-choice candidates. And he doesn't have the substance of any of the other candidates still in the running. But damn, the man is inspiring. He seems honest and sincere. (One can be sincerely wrong, of course.) He's refreshing.
SO. What does a good little Republican do? I'm not sure.
It will be interesting to see if the Democrats shoot themselves in the foot again like they did when they nominated no-personality Kerry. The Republican party is fractured right now. I think the only thing that would get out the Republican vote (assuming McCain wins the nomination) is...Hillary.
31 January 2008
Details & Updates
- I'm 11 weeks pregnant.
- My previous losses all happened between 5 and 8 weeks.
- I've had two sonograms already--at 8 weeks and 10 weeks--and have seen/heard a strong heartbeat both times. Measurements were right where they should be at 10 weeks.
- We've heard a heartbeat before, at about 6 weeks, before one of our previous losses, so it wasn't as much as a reassurance at 8 weeks as the doctor seemed to think.
- I love the German reliance on sonograms--one in every exam room.
- The doctor also copies each sonogram session to a CD and gives it to us to take home. But she says it won't work with Windows Vista, which is what we have, of course.
- My due date is August 18.
- Katrina's due date was August 21.
- Katrina's birthday is July 15.
- The hospital at which my OB works has no NICU. We have to decide whether to stay with my OB or switch to a different one at the bigger hospital a bit farther away.
- My fun pregnancy symptoms: nausea/lack of appetite (which is starting to abate); crippling fatigue paired with brain fog (or more fog than usual); shortness of breath; constant low-level agoraphobia paired with periodic high-level anxiety/panic attacks just for variety; and because of all of the above, irritability, whining, self-absorption, and a marked reluctance to leave the couch.
- I'm a joy to live with. Pray for my poor husband.
- We've decided not to move to a bigger house, so we may have company in our room for some time to come. Our bedroom is upstairs, and the other bedrooms are downstairs. There's no way we're trotting downstairs X times a night for feedings.
- We're delaying telling Katrina for as long as possible. One, in case something goes wrong, better for Mom to just be sick and getting better. Two, she'd want to see the baby right NOW and drive us crazy with asking when, when, when?
- Thanks so much for your kind comments and prayers. We appreciate you all so much.
25 January 2008
Planned Parenthood
“And was this planned?” asks the doctor, and her pen pauses over the file.
And I try not to laugh--or cry--only smile wryly.
We gave up our plans, slowly, painfully, years ago,
Replaced them with hope, with longing, with trying again.
With hard surrender to our limitations, with adjustments to our dreams.
Planned? Like the years-long wait, the rush of blood, the mad dash to the hospital,
Searching black screens in vain, tears, appointments, procedures?
And our longed-for, hoped-for child, the only one to hold on long enough to be born?
No plans there, either. Five years later than planned, and five weeks earlier.
And the past weeks, again, fearing to hope, trying to smile, nightmares filled with blood.
No. Nothing has been planned.
But that’s not her real question, is it?
So I ignore her words and respond to the unspoken.
Is this baby wanted? Will you welcome it with joy? Will you do all you can to keep it?
Yes, I answer.
Please, God, yes.
And I try not to laugh--or cry--only smile wryly.
We gave up our plans, slowly, painfully, years ago,
Replaced them with hope, with longing, with trying again.
With hard surrender to our limitations, with adjustments to our dreams.
Planned? Like the years-long wait, the rush of blood, the mad dash to the hospital,
Searching black screens in vain, tears, appointments, procedures?
And our longed-for, hoped-for child, the only one to hold on long enough to be born?
No plans there, either. Five years later than planned, and five weeks earlier.
And the past weeks, again, fearing to hope, trying to smile, nightmares filled with blood.
No. Nothing has been planned.
But that’s not her real question, is it?
So I ignore her words and respond to the unspoken.
Is this baby wanted? Will you welcome it with joy? Will you do all you can to keep it?
Yes, I answer.
Please, God, yes.
18 January 2008
Big News
Now, my sister may have just given birth to the cutest baby girl on earth (well, that's what she tells me, and the pictures sure are cute) on January 9--but that doesn't mean that OTHER family members can't also have milestones to be forever remembered.
Today, ladies and gentlemen, Katrina got her first loose tooth.
Oh, yeah, and strep throat. (As does at least 4 of her classmates. Including one with scarlet fever, which apparently is strep plus rash and other nasty stuff. I have never been so glad to live in a time with antibiotics.)
Oh, all right, a loose tooth just can't compete with the miracle of life. Welcome to the world, Taylor Alexa! By the time you see your cousin, she'll be missing at least one tooth.
Perhaps at some point in the next year, between Taylor getting her teeth and Katrina losing hers, they will have a matching number of teeth and gaps. Get your cameras ready!
Today, ladies and gentlemen, Katrina got her first loose tooth.
Oh, yeah, and strep throat. (As does at least 4 of her classmates. Including one with scarlet fever, which apparently is strep plus rash and other nasty stuff. I have never been so glad to live in a time with antibiotics.)
Oh, all right, a loose tooth just can't compete with the miracle of life. Welcome to the world, Taylor Alexa! By the time you see your cousin, she'll be missing at least one tooth.
Perhaps at some point in the next year, between Taylor getting her teeth and Katrina losing hers, they will have a matching number of teeth and gaps. Get your cameras ready!
31 December 2007
Boredom is the Mother of Creativity...or something like that
Day 9 of Christmas vacation, on the fourth day of rain:
"Look, Mama! That's me and Max playing! See, I put a hat on one so it looks like me, and we're playing with blocks. Can I eat two Hershey's kisses so it looks like we ate them? Papa! I have something to show you but you have to close your eyes! Hey, what can I use to make them look like they have legs?"
[side note to Aunt Wendy: She's wearing the outfit you got her for the third time in less than a week. I guess she likes it.]
"Look, Mama! That's me and Max playing! See, I put a hat on one so it looks like me, and we're playing with blocks. Can I eat two Hershey's kisses so it looks like we ate them? Papa! I have something to show you but you have to close your eyes! Hey, what can I use to make them look like they have legs?"
[side note to Aunt Wendy: She's wearing the outfit you got her for the third time in less than a week. I guess she likes it.]
26 December 2007
December at our House
Busy, busy, busy, as I'm sure everyone else was. Here are a few pictures of our Christmas.
We got to a few Christmas markets in early December. The one in Kaiserslautern is just the right size for an afternoon.
Last week was Katrina's holiday program/party at school. The kids sang about 10 songs, then decorated gingerbread houses.
And then, there was Christmas morning in our jammies and Christmas afternoon in our, um, safety goggles.
School doesn't start back up until January 7. This morning, I scheduled one playdate for Friday, and later today or tomorrow morning, I'll try to line up a few more. I like that we decided on just relaxing at home for a bit, instead of another trip, but Katrina needs social interaction like we need air. Thank goodness a number of her friends are also staying close to home for Christmas. Enough for a different friend to come over probably every day until school starts up. Maybe we can be the ones to give some parents a break...especially the moms with deployed husbands. But it's not really altruistic; parents of only children know that in some cases, taking care of two kids CAN be easier than taking care of one. Let the playdates begin!
We got to a few Christmas markets in early December. The one in Kaiserslautern is just the right size for an afternoon.
Last week was Katrina's holiday program/party at school. The kids sang about 10 songs, then decorated gingerbread houses.
And then, there was Christmas morning in our jammies and Christmas afternoon in our, um, safety goggles.
School doesn't start back up until January 7. This morning, I scheduled one playdate for Friday, and later today or tomorrow morning, I'll try to line up a few more. I like that we decided on just relaxing at home for a bit, instead of another trip, but Katrina needs social interaction like we need air. Thank goodness a number of her friends are also staying close to home for Christmas. Enough for a different friend to come over probably every day until school starts up. Maybe we can be the ones to give some parents a break...especially the moms with deployed husbands. But it's not really altruistic; parents of only children know that in some cases, taking care of two kids CAN be easier than taking care of one. Let the playdates begin!
14 December 2007
04 December 2007
Puppy Love
Katrina has marriage plans. She's going to marry Max. This year, that is. Since she entered preschool at age three, her groom has changed each year. When she was three, a dashing older man named Josh (age 5) introduced the concept of a long, loooong engagement. All the little ones were paired off within the first few months of school, apparently. The teachers were a bit mystified. Tragically, the engagement was broken when the groom-to-be moved at the end of the year.
Last year, an engaging young towhead captured Katrina's affections. The friendship was mutual, if rocky at times. When they first met, Michael was a sweet and mild-mannered little boy who's chief quality (other than his undeniable cuteness) was that he would do anything Katrina asked him to. Alas, over the course of about nine months, he started standing up to Katrina. Their relationship had ups and downs...clashing games of "let's pretend" ("I want to be a princess!" "I want to play superheroes!" "WAAAAAH!"); moments of absolute agreement ("We don't WANT to leave the playground!"); and the always fractious relationship between the girlfriend and her boyfriend's other friends ("I don't like Aidan. He bosses Michael around." Too bad irony is lost on four-year-olds.). And then, just as her relationship with Michael grew distant (they were preparing to move)...
Luke entered the picture. An energetic Star Wars fan with black hair and gorgeous brown eyes, Luke was Katrina's foil in numerous Star Wars games. For awhile, Katrina's after school posse of Luke, Ben, and Michael spent a half-hour or so running wildly around outside the school. Katrina was always Princess Leia, and the boys took on various good guy or bad guy roles. This year, Luke moved on to a different kindergarten. He's still around, and before Thanksgiving, the two had a playdate. In which their chief occupation was nagging me to let them play Lego Star Wars on the Xbox. (Me: "But you haven't seen each other in a month! Why don't you play together for a while before I turn on the TV?" Them: "Is it time yet? Can we play Lego Star Wars now? How about now?") But by switching schools, Luke has lost his place in the hierarchy of Katrina's affections.
Now, it is all about Max. The son of one of my husband's co-workers and now a classmate of Katrina's, Max and his parents have become good friends and sometime traveling companions. In fact, while we were discussing potential travel plans for the Thanksgiving break, Katrina interjected with, "Where's Max going? I want to go with Max?" And so we did.
That lengthy history is just an prequel to the true purpose of this post, which is to post a short pictorial series entitled: "Puppy Love, or the Love/Hate Relationship of Two Only Children at Age Five." [Confidential to my brother: No claims are made as to the quality of these snapshots, or of the eyes open or closed. :) ]
Not to worry, though...a little rest and some German cartoons on the hotel TV can do wonders.
Last year, an engaging young towhead captured Katrina's affections. The friendship was mutual, if rocky at times. When they first met, Michael was a sweet and mild-mannered little boy who's chief quality (other than his undeniable cuteness) was that he would do anything Katrina asked him to. Alas, over the course of about nine months, he started standing up to Katrina. Their relationship had ups and downs...clashing games of "let's pretend" ("I want to be a princess!" "I want to play superheroes!" "WAAAAAH!"); moments of absolute agreement ("We don't WANT to leave the playground!"); and the always fractious relationship between the girlfriend and her boyfriend's other friends ("I don't like Aidan. He bosses Michael around." Too bad irony is lost on four-year-olds.). And then, just as her relationship with Michael grew distant (they were preparing to move)...
Luke entered the picture. An energetic Star Wars fan with black hair and gorgeous brown eyes, Luke was Katrina's foil in numerous Star Wars games. For awhile, Katrina's after school posse of Luke, Ben, and Michael spent a half-hour or so running wildly around outside the school. Katrina was always Princess Leia, and the boys took on various good guy or bad guy roles. This year, Luke moved on to a different kindergarten. He's still around, and before Thanksgiving, the two had a playdate. In which their chief occupation was nagging me to let them play Lego Star Wars on the Xbox. (Me: "But you haven't seen each other in a month! Why don't you play together for a while before I turn on the TV?" Them: "Is it time yet? Can we play Lego Star Wars now? How about now?") But by switching schools, Luke has lost his place in the hierarchy of Katrina's affections.
Now, it is all about Max. The son of one of my husband's co-workers and now a classmate of Katrina's, Max and his parents have become good friends and sometime traveling companions. In fact, while we were discussing potential travel plans for the Thanksgiving break, Katrina interjected with, "Where's Max going? I want to go with Max?" And so we did.
That lengthy history is just an prequel to the true purpose of this post, which is to post a short pictorial series entitled: "Puppy Love, or the Love/Hate Relationship of Two Only Children at Age Five." [Confidential to my brother: No claims are made as to the quality of these snapshots, or of the eyes open or closed. :) ]
Not to worry, though...a little rest and some German cartoons on the hotel TV can do wonders.
30 November 2007
Budapest: Ways of Seeing
What adults see while walking along the Danube River on a hazy November morning:
What adults see while climbing up steep Gellert Hill:
What kids see: "Mama! My legs are tiiiirrreeedd! Are we to the top yet???"
What this adult thinks (worries?) about on Thanksgiving: "My daughter won't have memories of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving! Oh, the bad parenting!"
What the daughter says: "Last year I ate turkey and then threw up. I never want to eat turkey AGAIN!"
What adults think at the Italian place on Thanksgiving night: "It doesn't feel much like Thanksgiving."
What the kids think: "Cool! Pizza!"
What kids see: giant maple leaves on the ground. Better collect them all and carry them as long as possible!
What adults see in beautiful St. Matyas church:
What the kids remember: the skull of a saint. And in the display case beside it, a foot.
What adults see while climbing up steep Gellert Hill:
What kids see: "Mama! My legs are tiiiirrreeedd! Are we to the top yet???"
What this adult thinks (worries?) about on Thanksgiving: "My daughter won't have memories of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving! Oh, the bad parenting!"
What the daughter says: "Last year I ate turkey and then threw up. I never want to eat turkey AGAIN!"
What adults think at the Italian place on Thanksgiving night: "It doesn't feel much like Thanksgiving."
What the kids think: "Cool! Pizza!"
19 November 2007
Holy Places Are Dark Places
"It is shallow nonsense to say that God forgives sin because He is love. When we have been convicted of sin we will never say this again. The love of God means Calvary, and nothing less; the love of God is spelt on the Cross and nowhere else. The only ground on which God can forgive me is through the Cross of my Lord. There, His conscience is satisfied."
--Oswald Chambers
After a number of years, I have come back to reading My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers (that link is to a version with "updated" language; my copy has the original text, first published in 1935, but compiled from talks Chambers gave around 1915-17, according to the Foreward). It's challenging. Chambers strips away the warm fuzzies that we often wrap around the gospel. No sentimentality for him. The way of Christ is difficult, and all-consuming--or should be. The love of God does not overshadow the justice of God. Chambers' God does not say, "there, there, dear, we all make mistakes sometimes." Justice requires payment, forgiveness exacts a price, and the price is "the rending of His heart in the Death of Christ."
I am reminded of my absolute favorite C.S. Lewis book, Till We Have Faces. Much lesser known than his Narnia books, Faces is a re-telling of the Cupid and Psyche myth, in the voice of Psyche's ugly half-sister. Doesn't seem like the myth would have much in the way of spiritual fodder, at least of the Christian sort, but Lewis does it. One of the images? concepts? that stays with me from this book is the contrast Lewis creates between the old goddess worship and the "new" Greek gods. The goddess the main character grows up with is a shapeless, smooth black rock, fearsome and bloody. She demands blood sacrifice. Her ways are dark and mysterious.
In contrast, the Greek gods are clean and tidy, with sharp angles and recognizable faces. They do not smell of blood and darkness. They do not inspire fear or demand too much.
"Holy places are dark places," says the ugly sister.
In my experience, many Western Christians like our religion clean and tidy. God is our Father, Jesus is our buddy, the Holy Spirit...well, the Spirit is in us, but let's not get too crazy about it. We soften the hard edges of sin and justice and the bloody sacrifice that was the Crucifixion. We see the Bible as a blueprint for life; we gloss over things that are not clear to us, that shake our comfortable certainty.
In other churches, I've seen names for children's choirs or Sunday School classes like "Jesus' Little Lambs," and I'm sure to the modern mind it conjures up cute images of furry animals cavorting in grassy fields. But that's not what Lamb of God is meant to convey. In the Lutheran liturgy (and the Catholic as well, I believe), we sing "Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy on us." Jesus is the Lamb of God, because Jesus was the blood sacrifice for our sin. Lambs were routinely sacrificed under Old Testament law. So I wince when I hear children in the church being called "little lambs." (One could argue, I suppose, that the reference is to Jesus the Good Shepherd, but, still...)
By nature, I think, we don't like mystery. We want to know with clear certainty. We forsake the murkiness of blood and sacrifice for pretty gold crosses. We forget that God is not squishy and sentimental, that his love and his holiness are/were in conflict, that only the mystery and the heartbreak and the bloodiness and messiness of the crucifixion could bring us into any kind of relationship with him. And it was long ago and far away for us, so it is easy to leap over it to the resurrection, to the clean lines of theology, to Acts and Romans.
But, still. At the center of the Christian faith is that mysterious, shapeless darkness, smelling of blood and fear, howling with evil, abetted by indifference, with jeering, wild faces all around. Because of our darkness. Because of God's love, hard-edged, sharp, and ruthless.
Relentless.
Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, grant us peace.
14 November 2007
Random Randomness--Now with Amoxycillin!
We had a long, glorious autumn, but this week the gray of late fall/early winter began. Gray skies, gray rain, gusty winds, browned trees, even snow flurries today. I'm hoping for a colder winter than last year, when we had one measly snowfall of less than an inch. Because the alternative is four or five more months of gray.
After the excitement of Halloween, we're back into the routine. Or as routine as we can get when germs are stalking us. Katrina is fighting off another ear infection with a 10-day round of nasty antibiotics in large doses. The doctor even apologized for prescribing 10 ml twice a day. But there was no higher concentration in liquid form, and Katrina is still too young for pills but large enough physically to need the higher dose. So far, we've had only minor rebellion, nothing like last time she had this stuff. She has about four more days to go. That means four more days of glorious protection from all of the other little buggies being so generously shared by her classmates. Meanwhile, Jon and I both have been coughing and coughing, oh, and coughing some more. I've gotten somewhat better, and Jon seemed to be on the mend but now the stress of a business trip has worsened it again. So, I'm not really a fan of this time of year.
In other news, we had the first conference of the year at school a few weeks ago. No surprises, really. Katrina is starting to read and knows about 6 sight words, all her letters and sounds, and can count to 39 on her own. She's also working on addition.
The part of the "report card" outlining her social and other nonacademic skills was kind of interesting. Teacher comments on "works independently": "Well, she CAN work independently..." and we finish the sentence in unison, "but she doesn't WANT to."
We were also not surprised that Katrina does not choose challenging work on her own. She's a perfectionist, that one--typical of an only child, and I suppose, of the child of two parents with perfectionistic tendencies. She'd rather do something she knows she can do well/perfectly. Plus, she came home from school one day distressed that the teachers wouldn't let her play with play-dough during work time, but made her choose "serious work."
The only thing that the teacher is a bit concerned about is Katrina's gross motor skills. She can't skip yet, and she has difficulty hopping on one foot. (She also hasn't yet mastered pumping her legs on the swing--she gets the rhythm of the legs but doesn't put her body into it enough to propel the swing higher.) Apparently, having trouble skipping and balancing can be a sign of vision or hearing problems. Both were checked and found normal at her last physical, so I don't think that's the problem. No, I think the poor child just inherited my poor coordination.
She can run like the wind, though. Which is more than I ever did. So maybe there's hope!
It was kind of confidence-building as a parent that what the teacher observed matched up with what we know about Katrina. We know our child, we knew most of her strengths and weaknesses before we walked in. And the nice thing is, after two years and beginning her third at the same school, her teachers know her well, too. I don't know that she'll have that kind of advantage after she moves on to elementary school. Though, not being the shrinking violet type, Katrina will make herself known fairly quickly wherever she is.
We're starting to look into schools for next year. There are a few private schools in the area, in addition to the school on base and the German school. I checked out the British school (set up for members of the British military stationed here, but open to other nationalities, as well), and I was impressed. The teacher/student ratio is much better than the schools on base, which are essentially public schools. As a contractor rather than a military member or government civilian, Jon is not entitled to use the schools on base free of charge. As a part of him working here, however, his company will pay Katrina's tuition. This gives us much more flexibility than we would have otherwise. The base schools--which are average to above-average public schools--actually charge a much higher tuition than the private schools we've looked at so far. And the private schools have 12 to 15 kids per class, rather than 20 to 30. To me, the class size alone is a compelling reason to go private.
Of course, also by virtue of being a contractor, we don't know from year to year whether we'll be staying or not. Uncertainty R Us.
And that's about it for the random news here at Haus Gross. Tune in next time to hear Katrina say, "Mama, when are we going to take a walk where the graves are?! I never get to go there!"
After the excitement of Halloween, we're back into the routine. Or as routine as we can get when germs are stalking us. Katrina is fighting off another ear infection with a 10-day round of nasty antibiotics in large doses. The doctor even apologized for prescribing 10 ml twice a day. But there was no higher concentration in liquid form, and Katrina is still too young for pills but large enough physically to need the higher dose. So far, we've had only minor rebellion, nothing like last time she had this stuff. She has about four more days to go. That means four more days of glorious protection from all of the other little buggies being so generously shared by her classmates. Meanwhile, Jon and I both have been coughing and coughing, oh, and coughing some more. I've gotten somewhat better, and Jon seemed to be on the mend but now the stress of a business trip has worsened it again. So, I'm not really a fan of this time of year.
In other news, we had the first conference of the year at school a few weeks ago. No surprises, really. Katrina is starting to read and knows about 6 sight words, all her letters and sounds, and can count to 39 on her own. She's also working on addition.
The part of the "report card" outlining her social and other nonacademic skills was kind of interesting. Teacher comments on "works independently": "Well, she CAN work independently..." and we finish the sentence in unison, "but she doesn't WANT to."
We were also not surprised that Katrina does not choose challenging work on her own. She's a perfectionist, that one--typical of an only child, and I suppose, of the child of two parents with perfectionistic tendencies. She'd rather do something she knows she can do well/perfectly. Plus, she came home from school one day distressed that the teachers wouldn't let her play with play-dough during work time, but made her choose "serious work."
The only thing that the teacher is a bit concerned about is Katrina's gross motor skills. She can't skip yet, and she has difficulty hopping on one foot. (She also hasn't yet mastered pumping her legs on the swing--she gets the rhythm of the legs but doesn't put her body into it enough to propel the swing higher.) Apparently, having trouble skipping and balancing can be a sign of vision or hearing problems. Both were checked and found normal at her last physical, so I don't think that's the problem. No, I think the poor child just inherited my poor coordination.
She can run like the wind, though. Which is more than I ever did. So maybe there's hope!
It was kind of confidence-building as a parent that what the teacher observed matched up with what we know about Katrina. We know our child, we knew most of her strengths and weaknesses before we walked in. And the nice thing is, after two years and beginning her third at the same school, her teachers know her well, too. I don't know that she'll have that kind of advantage after she moves on to elementary school. Though, not being the shrinking violet type, Katrina will make herself known fairly quickly wherever she is.
We're starting to look into schools for next year. There are a few private schools in the area, in addition to the school on base and the German school. I checked out the British school (set up for members of the British military stationed here, but open to other nationalities, as well), and I was impressed. The teacher/student ratio is much better than the schools on base, which are essentially public schools. As a contractor rather than a military member or government civilian, Jon is not entitled to use the schools on base free of charge. As a part of him working here, however, his company will pay Katrina's tuition. This gives us much more flexibility than we would have otherwise. The base schools--which are average to above-average public schools--actually charge a much higher tuition than the private schools we've looked at so far. And the private schools have 12 to 15 kids per class, rather than 20 to 30. To me, the class size alone is a compelling reason to go private.
Of course, also by virtue of being a contractor, we don't know from year to year whether we'll be staying or not. Uncertainty R Us.
And that's about it for the random news here at Haus Gross. Tune in next time to hear Katrina say, "Mama, when are we going to take a walk where the graves are?! I never get to go there!"
10 November 2007
You Know You're Really Off Your Diet When...
you watch "The Biggest Loser" while eating ice cream.
Twice in two weeks.
Twice in two weeks.
31 October 2007
Happy Halloween!
The beginning of the evening...
After trick-or-treating...
A good time was had by all...except maybe the pumpkins.
After trick-or-treating...
A good time was had by all...except maybe the pumpkins.
30 October 2007
This Is Why I Read Blogs
Katrina is not the easiest child to parent. She is not easy-going. She is not particularly flexible. Like Jon, she has clear, detailed expectations of how things should be. Like me, she is impatient and easily frustrated. Don't get me wrong, she's also got a lot of stellar qualities. When she's good, she's very, very good...but you know the rest.
But you know, sometimes I get impatient and frustrated (see above) that tears, whining, and even screaming ensue if some little detail does not live up to her expectations. In fact, managing Katrina's expectations is an essential part of parenting her effectively (or, really, of surviving the day without tearing out my hair).
Unfortunately, one cannot always predict the unpredictable. Last night, Jon made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. One of Katrina's favorite meals (mine, too). The gravy didn't get as thick as usual, though. After Katrina took her first bite of mashed potatoes, the gravy spilled out of the little well in the middle of the potatoes. It spread across part of her plate. Mind you, it didn't actually flood adjoining food. It just escaped its bounds. The crying, it began. And the annoyance, it began. We had to talk her down so that she could eat HER FAVORITE DINNER.
The best part is, she ate everything on her plate and then asked for more potatoes and gravy. And when the gravy AGAIN did not remain where she wanted it? More tears. Followed by eating that helping and again asking for more.
And about that time, I flashed back to this post on Dooce's blog, which I read mere hours before the Great Gravy Flood of 2007. Skip the first few paragraphs if you're in a hurry, but do not miss the lollipop story. I laughed and laughed, because I have been there. I've felt the tension as I wondered if some small change of plans would be accepted or lamented with a wailing that would put professional mourners to shame.
You know the cliche...it's funny 'cause it's true. Not for every kid, but certainly for mine. And Dooce's. And THAT, ladies and gentleman, is why I read mommy blogs.
But you know, sometimes I get impatient and frustrated (see above) that tears, whining, and even screaming ensue if some little detail does not live up to her expectations. In fact, managing Katrina's expectations is an essential part of parenting her effectively (or, really, of surviving the day without tearing out my hair).
Unfortunately, one cannot always predict the unpredictable. Last night, Jon made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. One of Katrina's favorite meals (mine, too). The gravy didn't get as thick as usual, though. After Katrina took her first bite of mashed potatoes, the gravy spilled out of the little well in the middle of the potatoes. It spread across part of her plate. Mind you, it didn't actually flood adjoining food. It just escaped its bounds. The crying, it began. And the annoyance, it began. We had to talk her down so that she could eat HER FAVORITE DINNER.
The best part is, she ate everything on her plate and then asked for more potatoes and gravy. And when the gravy AGAIN did not remain where she wanted it? More tears. Followed by eating that helping and again asking for more.
And about that time, I flashed back to this post on Dooce's blog, which I read mere hours before the Great Gravy Flood of 2007. Skip the first few paragraphs if you're in a hurry, but do not miss the lollipop story. I laughed and laughed, because I have been there. I've felt the tension as I wondered if some small change of plans would be accepted or lamented with a wailing that would put professional mourners to shame.
You know the cliche...it's funny 'cause it's true. Not for every kid, but certainly for mine. And Dooce's. And THAT, ladies and gentleman, is why I read mommy blogs.
23 October 2007
Shifting Gears
Jon taught me how to drive a car with manual transmission when we were in college. We've owned manual transmissions ever since.
There's a moment when you shift from one gear to the next--clutch in, shift gears, let clutch out while pressing the gas pedal--when the car seems to pause. You can feel it in automatics, too. When the car isn't in one gear or the other. The engine is still going, of course, but the momentum is lost, just for a split second. You could be preparing to speed up or slow down, but you haven't done it yet.
That's about where I am right now. In the middle of shifting gears. In the space between.
When Katrina was born, everything else fell away. This hungry, demanding, squalling creature took over both day and night. I gladly let everything go except the imperative to love and care for her. Because of her nature and mine, I found the job all-consuming for a long time, perhaps longer than high-energy, highly organized moms would. For a while, I fit in editing and writing projects here and there, but my rose-colored vision of mommy writing on the computer while a quiet, contented child played at my feet never came to pass. (Go ahead and chuckle; I'll wait.)
When Katrina started preschool, I started to try to lose weight. I went to the gym at least three times a week, and that combined with the peace of doing various errands by myself (plus a little blog writing) filled up those three hours a day.
I'm still going to the gym, and all of those other things to keep the household running. And if I let it, I can fill even those additional hours with this and that. In my time-management-challenged world, tasks truly do expand to fill the time I have. I can take a long time to peruse labels in the commissary, take an extra half-hour during lunch to finish reading just one more page, and stay on the Internet long enough to read "just one more" thing. And then it is time to go pick up Katrina.
But I do not want my days to be aimless, idle. I now have the gift of time, and I want to use in purposefully. I've thought of re-starting my freelance business (which would be a bit more complicated to manage here in Germany than it was in the U.S.), or of trying to write a novel, or any of a dozen things. But what keeps coming to the top is a desire to help. I'm not sure with what, though. I have a few ideas, too many, really. There's a crisis pregnancy center here. There's Fisher House. There's a score of things I could start up at church.
I haven't made a decision yet. It feels more important than it should, I think. It has the feel of remaking my life...or even starting anew. My prior life fell away naturally, easily, while I held my daughter close to my heart for hours at a time. Not so easy is figuring out what to to with my hands--and time--now that they are free.
There's a moment when you shift from one gear to the next--clutch in, shift gears, let clutch out while pressing the gas pedal--when the car seems to pause. You can feel it in automatics, too. When the car isn't in one gear or the other. The engine is still going, of course, but the momentum is lost, just for a split second. You could be preparing to speed up or slow down, but you haven't done it yet.
That's about where I am right now. In the middle of shifting gears. In the space between.
When Katrina was born, everything else fell away. This hungry, demanding, squalling creature took over both day and night. I gladly let everything go except the imperative to love and care for her. Because of her nature and mine, I found the job all-consuming for a long time, perhaps longer than high-energy, highly organized moms would. For a while, I fit in editing and writing projects here and there, but my rose-colored vision of mommy writing on the computer while a quiet, contented child played at my feet never came to pass. (Go ahead and chuckle; I'll wait.)
When Katrina started preschool, I started to try to lose weight. I went to the gym at least three times a week, and that combined with the peace of doing various errands by myself (plus a little blog writing) filled up those three hours a day.
I'm still going to the gym, and all of those other things to keep the household running. And if I let it, I can fill even those additional hours with this and that. In my time-management-challenged world, tasks truly do expand to fill the time I have. I can take a long time to peruse labels in the commissary, take an extra half-hour during lunch to finish reading just one more page, and stay on the Internet long enough to read "just one more" thing. And then it is time to go pick up Katrina.
But I do not want my days to be aimless, idle. I now have the gift of time, and I want to use in purposefully. I've thought of re-starting my freelance business (which would be a bit more complicated to manage here in Germany than it was in the U.S.), or of trying to write a novel, or any of a dozen things. But what keeps coming to the top is a desire to help. I'm not sure with what, though. I have a few ideas, too many, really. There's a crisis pregnancy center here. There's Fisher House. There's a score of things I could start up at church.
I haven't made a decision yet. It feels more important than it should, I think. It has the feel of remaking my life...or even starting anew. My prior life fell away naturally, easily, while I held my daughter close to my heart for hours at a time. Not so easy is figuring out what to to with my hands--and time--now that they are free.
19 October 2007
18 October 2007
"D" is for Disconcerting
Every week or so, Katrina brings home a bunch of papers from school, all of the worksheets she's completed. I was going through them this morning, and one of them reminded me of how, uh, unique my little girl is.
Oh. look, they worked on "D" last week.
Wait, what's that?
I wonder what the teacher said when Katrina came up with that. More importantly, I wonder what she thought. Or maybe I don't want to know.
Our conference in November might be interesting.
Oh. look, they worked on "D" last week.
Wait, what's that?
I wonder what the teacher said when Katrina came up with that. More importantly, I wonder what she thought. Or maybe I don't want to know.
Our conference in November might be interesting.
15 October 2007
Just Trippin'
I didn't mean for that Angry Whopper commercial to stand at the top so long, but life got in the way. The weather has been outstanding the past two weeks, and we have taken advantage of it.
The Friday before Columbus Day weekend, we decided on the spur of the moment to join some friends on their long-planned weekend trip to Disneyland Paris. Jon secured a hotel room for us at noon on Friday, I quickly packed, we picked Katrina up from school at 3, and drove off. It was a good decision. The weather was beautiful, much better than when we visited in July.
And the park was all decked out for Halloween.
As you can see above, we traveled with some seriously cute children. Katrina and three boys. They all got along well, for the most part, and the three families separated and came together as our interests crossed. The boys were all much more into the rides than Katrina was, but she managed to visit her old favorites and even try a few rides she refused last time.
And at Disney Studios, we found something that highlighted one of Katrina's true talents.
Yes, the "scream machine" from Monsters Inc. It kept both her and her friend M amused for about a half hour. She outscreamed the mild-mannered M, though. No one was surprised.
And, this past weekend, I went on a girls trip to Cheb, in the Czech Republic. Well, at least that was the original plan. One of us (not me, thanks to an early-morning reminder from Jon) forgot her passport. We tried to get her through with her military ID, but just got turned around for our troubles. The Czech border guard was very friendly, but matter-of-fact. "No passport, no come into Czech," he said sympathetically, before he motioned us to turn around.
The German border guard on the way back into Germany was not so friendly. "Passport into Czech is normal," he said. My friend, in the driver's seat, answered yes, she knew, we just forgot it. And we thought that was the end of it. But no, the guard apparently needed to bully three American women that day. "I could call the military police and make a report! You need your passport!" he ranted. Later, all of three of us agreed that at that point, we wanted to see him call the American MPs and make a report. Because all that happened was that someone forgot her passport. It's not like we made a run for it. We tried, on the off-chance that the military ID would suffice. When told it wouldn't, we just turned around. Ah, well, hopefully the guard relieved his power-trip needs and was more civil with the next car.
But the adventure didn't end there! No indeedy, when it rains, it pours. Our forgetful friend urged us to drop her off at the hotel and head back to Cheb to shop at the Asian Market there, as we had planned. We decided to do just that, if only to see if it was worth it to our friend to try to come back. After about an hour strolling through booths of near-identical knock-offs of various designer labels, we headed back. We pulled out our passports at the German border. My friend handed them to me, I took mine and handed hers back. And that's the last we saw of my friend's passport.
We spent Sunday morning searching the car and retracing our steps to find the missing passport. Now WE were the ones calling the MPs. But no luck. So we headed back home.
And I checked my purse about every hour to make sure my passport was still there.
01 October 2007
Because Someone Said I Was Getting "Too Literary"
For your viewing pleasure, the terribly high-brow use of English for a new product here in Germany.
You don't really need a translation, do you?
You don't really need a translation, do you?
27 September 2007
Songs of Lament
There's a song we hear a lot, but only on German radio. On German radio, it's currently in relatively heavy rotation. I haven't heard it at all on AFN (American Forces Network). It's not hard to figure out why.
Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me. ...
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.
What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why?
Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.
What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh
How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?
--"Dear Mr. President," by Pink (feat. The Indigo Girls)
It's no secret that I vote Republican and voted for the president. Some of the lyrics in this song are cheap shots (what, Clinton had no homeless under his watch?), including pretty much all of the second verse. And needless to say, I don't agree with many of the things Pink is so angry about.
Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me. ...
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.
What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why?
Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell.
What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?
And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?
I can only imagine what the first lady has to say
You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh
How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?
--"Dear Mr. President," by Pink (feat. The Indigo Girls)
It's no secret that I vote Republican and voted for the president. Some of the lyrics in this song are cheap shots (what, Clinton had no homeless under his watch?), including pretty much all of the second verse. And needless to say, I don't agree with many of the things Pink is so angry about.
But every time I hear this song my heart hurts and tears come to my eyes. Partly because the melody is beautiful and mournful. It's simply a lovely song. But also because you can feel the pain and heartbreak in the refrain. People are crying out for justice, for help, for someone to listen to them. Mothers are crying at night. Families are broken. The world seems so very dark.
But the question to the president in this song, and I think, to the leaders of the nation in general, is not "What is your plan for getting us out of this?" At least, that's not what I hear when I listen. The questions this song really ask are: Do you care? Does injustice trouble you? Do you know what we're going through?
It's obvious that Pink believes the answers to these questions are "no." No, the president doesn't care. No, he'd never take a walk with her (of course, I wouldn't want to take a walk with someone who just wrote a song insulting me, either).
But would any other political leaders and presidential wannabes walk with her or answer those underlying questions differently? Of course, many would say they would, at least during election season. But I'm not convinced that very many of those who call themselves "public servants" truly would listen to someone who's not powerful or in a position to donate to their campaigns. Despite her harsh words, I think Pink asks some valid questions, not just of Bush but of those who are and who would like to become our leaders.
------------------------------------------------
Perhaps you'll find this an odd juxtaposition, but "Dear Mr. President" reminds me of another song. The context is different, but the underlying questions are the same.
You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth
Who are afraid of being left by those we love
And who get hardened by the hurt
Do you remember when You lived down here where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread
Did You forget about us after You had flown away
Well I memorized every word You said
Still I'm so scared, I'm holding my breath
While You're up there just playing hard to get
You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that's not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then
Did You ever know loneliness
Did You ever know need
Do You remember just how long a night can get?
When You were barely holding on
And Your friends fall asleep
And don't see the blood that's running in Your sweat
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted
While You're up there just playing hard to get?
And I know you bore our sorrows
And I know you feel our pain
And I know it would not hurt any less
Even if it could be explained
And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most
And after I figured this, somehow
All I really need to know
Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time
We can't see what's ahead
And we can not get free of what we've left behind
I'm reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears
All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret
I can't see how You're leading me unless You've led me here
Where I'm lost enough to let myself be led
And so You've been here all along I guess
It's just Your ways and You are just plain hard to get.
--"Hard to Get" by Rich Mullins
My favorite Rich Mullins song, as I've mentioned before. In a crisis of the soul, what does the singer want to know about God? Do you care? Does injustice trouble you? Do you know what I'm going through?
Songs of lament, both of them. Songs of angry questions, shaking your fist: Do you see? Do you know? Do you care? Wrong is being done! People are dying and you stand by, seemingly unmoved! Help us!
---------------------------------------------
When I was in college, I took a course on religion and modern culture. I was fairly outspoken as one of the few practicing Christians (or admitted ones, anyway) in the class. One of my classmates did a presentation on some song that she deemed was anti-God--or anti-religion, anyway. She nervously warned that some might find the lyrics offensive. I did not. I found them to be strikingly similar to some of the Psalms, and said as much. (I remember the speaker being shocked that I wasn't offended, and me being shocked that she thought I would BE offended. I don't, however, remember what the song was.)
The format, the questions, even the anger and cries for justice--from Pink as well as from Rich Mullins--I find strikingly similar to some of the less-quoted Scripture passages.
How long, O LORD, must I call for help,
The format, the questions, even the anger and cries for justice--from Pink as well as from Rich Mullins--I find strikingly similar to some of the less-quoted Scripture passages.
How long, O LORD, must I call for help,
but you do not listen?
Or cry out to you, "Violence!"
Or cry out to you, "Violence!"
but you do not save?
Why do you make me look at injustice?
Why do you tolerate wrong?
Destruction and violence are before me;
there is strife, and conflict abounds.
Therefore the law is paralyzed,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked hem in the righteous,
so that justice is perverted.
--Habakkuk 1:2-4
Why do you tolerate wrong?
Destruction and violence are before me;
there is strife, and conflict abounds.
Therefore the law is paralyzed,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked hem in the righteous,
so that justice is perverted.
--Habakkuk 1:2-4
It's the question of evil. Why does God allow evil? Why does he allow good people to suffer? The standard Christian answers have to do with free will, original sin, and the devil. And those answers may somewhat satisfy us intellectually. Until we actually face suffering, until we are exposed to war, to poverty, to injustice. And then all of the theology in the world does not mend our broken hearts. And so we cry out. We cry out for justice, for understanding, for help. We cry out to a seemingly unmoved Power: Do you see? Do you know? Do you care?
One of the reasons I am suspicious of pat, tidy answers, especially within the Christian church, is books like Habbakkuk, like Job, like parts of the Psalms. I believe the Bible holds the truth, and with C.S. Lewis I believe that Christianity offers the best explanation for why the world is the way it is. But the Bible doesn't hold all of the answers. Sometimes, it just asks the right questions.
Awake, O Lord! Why do you sleep?
Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever.
Why do you hide your face
and forget our misery and oppression?
We are brought down to the dust;
our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up and help us;
redeem us because of your unfailing love.
--Psalm 44:23-26
Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever.
Why do you hide your face
and forget our misery and oppression?
We are brought down to the dust;
our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up and help us;
redeem us because of your unfailing love.
--Psalm 44:23-26
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
