Brooklynn's Baby Blessing

Brent gave the most beautiful blessing I have ever heard. It included:
* To have the positive attitude of her Great Great Grandmother Eva for whom she was named; the insatiable desire to search after righteousness like her grandmother; and an eternal compass like that of her mother, that she will always seek for and understand truth.
* To always look for and see the light, even in the darkness.
* The gift of revelation, that she may have a strong relationship with God.
Afterwards we had great food - breakfast casseroles, fruit, hot chocolate with peppermint whip cream - and lots of wonderful friends and family over.

Occupation: Mother

There is nothing that bugs me more these days than the phrase "just a mother". People say this in passing, like "oh, what do you do for a living?" "oh - I'm just a mom". Rather than go on and on about how ridiculous that phrase is, let me just list my new observations from this side of birth.

Occupation: Mother
Requirements: Must have an expanded heart. To achieve this heart you must go through 10 months of selfless service that will put you in perpetually increasing discomfort as the months tick away. At the end of 10 months you will be rewarded by a process that will bring you the most physical pain you have ever lived through, after which your heart, as it was, will explode and fill with a love and a joy you've never before felt.
Must be okay with a wash load that will triple in size, a garbage load that will double in size, and a schedule that will be put to shambles for at least 6 weeks, in which time your body will feel broken and bruised and you will be given little to no sleep. After six weeks you will be expected to go on with life even though it is completely different. You will never love anything the same as you love the newest contribution to your existence. This same subject will make you feel inadequate, worried, hopeful, frustrated, happy, contemplative, and important. You will continuously offer your schedule, your body, your time, your sleep, and your future to it, while the rest of the world ticks by. Every movement from it's small frame will have you looking, giving, and wanting to give more. The innocent person you were before will be lost in a passion that would protect it from anyone, and anything, at any cost. In the end, you will have to watch it learn, which often means watching it fail.
Must do dishes continuously, make lunches, wash, dry, and fold laundry at least 3 days a week. Must never put yourself first. Must be on call 24 hours a day, including all hours of the night. Must decorate for the holidays, cook dinners 7 days a week and have them be of a flavorful variety. Must be up to date on first aid and all areas of psychology. Must be willing to take on the weight of responsibility for creating an upbringing that will create goodness. The more education you have, the more beneficial you will be. Teacher training essential. No holidays, days off, or insurance included. No experience provided.
Pay: Lifelong doses of joy. Love as you could never have felt it before. Unending surprises. Knowledge of God's goodness. Happiness. Opportunities to learn peace, empathy, and selflessness, which will in turn give you the chance to become better than you are.

Modge Podge of an update

This is my sister Emily. She left last Wednesday on a plane for Tokyo, where she'll be serving an LDS mission for the next year or so. She called me from the airport and immediately we were like two chipmunks chattering away. It felt like no time had passed since she left for the MTC - except that in that pocket of time I had had a baby, and therefore my whole life had changed. It was a weird overlap of two worlds, and it felt so good to hear her voice. I have found she left a huge hole in my life that isn't really fillable, but I'm so happy for her and for how happy she is.

This is Ellen. During my maternity leave I got addicted to her show and all the wonderful laughter it brought me. I don't watch Ellen as much anymore now that I'm working again, and I must say, I miss her hilarious games. Including my favorite: ah snap.

These are the dark clouds of insanity. This is to display the fact that:
1. Brooklynn got sick and therefore we significantly relapsed in our baby wise ideas. Because of that, we are now beginning the long weekend of re-establishing the self soothing methods. Did I mention dark clouds? Only this time it's not as bad as the first go round because I have had the experience of knowing what it's like without her working towards this goal. Last night was the third night in a row that she didn't sleep well - - - when before she was sleeping 7 - 8 hour stretches in a deep peaceful sleep. I'm convinced the difference is our lapse in helping her learn how to coax herself to sleep. So. Today marks the first day of the re-learning process.
2. Working again can be draining and the balance a little overwhelming. I am in the process of dropping several students, which will be a huge relief. There are just those few that drain the life out of me and don't give back. It will be so much easier when I don't have to feel like I'm wasting my time with them.

Not to make it all dark and gloomy. But that's a quick overview of where we're at. Next week: Sunny California and a Thanksgiving with fam. :)

These are the reasons I love musicians in my life. . .

Burkhard: "I was laying there on the operating table and I felt like I was performing the Paganini Concerto for 600 people after not practicing for 3 months. I was terrified!"

Melissa: "Do you make up your own solo or just play what is written?"
Jamie: "Written? What do you mean written?"

micro managed

This is my chart for Brooklynn's schedule the last week. Babywise on steroids. See all those purple smiley faces? Those are the times I did silent dances in the kitchen for how well she was doing. I begin teaching again tomorrow - and I think we're in a good place with her sleep schedule.
here goes nothing :)

First Mother / Daughter outing

Last week Brooklynn and I went with some other moms from the neighborhood to the pumpkin patch. She enjoyed the time in the stroller - I don't think she cared much about the pumpkins. But it was fun to get out of the house, and it was my first outing with kids, which is worth noting. I think I've crossed over into that new realm of hanging out. word.

The "Cry it Out"

Recently a good friend of mine posted on her blog asking for feedback on what people thought about letting their baby cry to sleep. I think whatever people want to decide to do with their children is wonderful, and I’m not out there to tell people they are wrong. However, having just gone through this myself, I have very strong feelings about this subject, so much so that I thought I’d post my thoughts on my own blog so I could really lay out my reasoning’s.
So, Nonie, this ones for you :)
I think one of the biggest misconceptions of “letting them cry it out” is that you are giving up snuggle time. However, in my experience (the whole 7 weeks of it :)) this isn’t the case at all. You can still have plenty of cuddle time with your baby – we use Brooklynn’s awake time to cuddle, read, hold, and play together. What “crying it out” does do is help them learn how to fall asleep without your aid. I believe that this is something babies need help learning; and it’s our opportunity as parents to give them that skill. In turn you are laying the foundation for healthy sleep the rest of their life, and a healthy emotional future for the mother as her family grows. Let me restate: you are not eliminating the nurturing that comes with cradling your baby, you are teaching the clear distinction between “cuddle time” and “falling asleep time”.
I went through a whole episode where I didn’t understand why I would choose crying when I could just as easily fix the problem in 3 – 5 minutes by going in and holding her. But what I’ve learned is that it’s the simple difference between a “quick fix” and a long-term solution.
All too often I have seen mothers start with savoring the hours of snuggle time that come before bed with one child, only to have that child become two children, then three, than four and before you know it 3 hours of evening are dedicated to putting the kids down to bed, and all too often what used to be cherished has now become stressful. This is only magnified once the kids are down because the children don’t know how to self soothe, which means anytime they wake up, they need mom and dad to help them go back to sleep - which really translates into everyone walking on eggshells: doorbells are turned off, words are spoken in a whisper – anything to avoid waking them up. It can be a recipe for tense nerves and exhausted parents, especially when all the variables come into play: trips, changes of schedules, sickness, new members of the family, construction in the house next door, anything, really. It seems so obvious to me that there is a skill missing here. The parents have failed to teach the children how to do something that will in the long run be for their good. What used to be an innocent cuddle session has now become a crutch that has hampered the years to come.

Unfortunately, the only way to teach it is to experience crying. This part sucks. I can say whole-heartedly that it is the hardest emotional thing I have ever gone through. I found I needed a huge support system of women who I would call every 3 hours, the ability to leave the house, and a husband who was 100% on board. With these three things, it’s doable, but still torturous. I also believe the longer you wait, the harder it becomes. One friend starts the ‘crying it out’ lessons from day one, and I can see why. Even at 7 weeks old, I believe it was harder on Brooklynn than it needed to be, simply because we had spent 7 weeks establishing a routine of expectation that had to be eliminated.
I haven’t talked to one mother who has said that waiting eliminated crying, or made it any easier. Although it’s easy to put it off (because it’s the most dreaded period of time thus far in your existence), if a mother wants to help her child learn to sleep on his/her own, there is no better time than NOW. The good news is that within 3 days a healthy habit will be learned that will help both of you for the next 15 years. Three horrible, terrible, torturous days – 15 happy, healthy, balanced years (with as much cuddling during awake time that you want).
To top it all off, I also believe that the mentality that is established in this routine plays into a mindset of overall parenting. I believe that children who are raised without being given everything are better children. I believe that children need structure and boundaries. I also believe you can’t spoil an infant. But it’s so easy in the first several months to establish a parenting mentality that quickly continues for years to come. The difference is that babies who are rocked to sleep have mothers who are always listening for their cry. When the do cry, whatever the mother is doing is dropped, and the baby is comforted. In other words, the whole world of the whole household revolves around baby. With babies who know how to soothe themselves back to sleep, when baby cries, mom stops and listens. She hears baby working, and she doesn’t stop the baby from succeeding on her own. Baby is able to go back to sleep without any help, and mom continues what she was doing. The world and the household revolve around the parents – who are the “leaders of the pack” (to use my husband’s analogy). This establishes a life-long healthy balance of structure and happiness for everyone involved.
Again, for all of those who do it differently, I would never in a million years tell anyone they were wrong. But I’m pretty darn convinced that for my family, this is the way to go.

This is what happens when you live in Utah.

This sounds so bitter.
Maybe I'm bitter this morning. I don't feel bitter. But anyway, this is what happened.
I had to call my most hated store. I really really despise Day Murray Music. I do. They are crusty and unorganized and living in the dark ages and it reeks of the worst kind of culture. I don't like it there. Lots of people love this store. I don't.
I called this morning and asked if they had the sheet music for Schumann's Fantasy for violin, op. 131.
The woman got back on the line after 10 minutes of being on hold and said "well, I'm looking all through the Barbara Barber books, and I don't see it."
GGGRRRRRHHHHHH. I don't like Barbara Barber either.

Even Baby Steps Move You Forward

Two weeks ago I had a hard time fathoming how I would ever NOT be in pain, if I would ever get my energy back, or if it would be possible to ever once again maintain a stable emotional pallet. Since then,
* we bit the bullet and bought a treadmill so that I can run while Brooklynn is sleeping, which eliminates all kinds of juggling issues with schedules and getting to the gym, and on which I am slowly starting to regain some form
* After all kinds of trial and error, reading, praying, and inquiring, we have now had 3, count them, three nights in a row where Brooklynn wakes up only once to eat . . . GLORY! . . . I do believe we are getting on some kind of a schedule here . . .
* I have read three new books: Babywise, 12 hours of sleep by 12 weeks old, and Steinbeck's East of Eden. All of which I recommend.;
* Found a new favorite show: My Own Worst Enemy - check it out.
* I've become incredibly blog updated - - - you wouldn't believe how many blogs you can surf with nursing hours . . .
* and yesterday Brooklynn began to 1. smile and 2. coo and goo at herself.
I've become a stereotypical mother that only blogs bout her child - but honestly, it's like in one day she got so much older.
So, once again, I learn that things always change - even when you can't ever imagine getting there.

More pictures of baby. . .

As requested . . .

WHHHAAATTT??!!

Calling everyone and anyone who ever wanted to start exercising and hasn't. Confident that although slower, I was still in shape after diligently going to the gym every weekday up until the day before I gave birth, I studiously adorned my gym clothes yesterday, complete with new running shoes as a reward. I waltzed into the gym, bigger busted and less bowling ball looking. . . . climbed on the treadmill, placed the earphones in my ears, turned up my new playlist loud, and began. to be. completely surprised.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STEEL BOD I WAS SURE I WOULD HAVE? To my complete shock, abs are non existent. Legs are worn and tired. Arms are flabby. Cellulite reigns in places I didn't know existed. My breathe comes in short and uneven gulps. I am horrified to admit that I sluggishly gasped towards a mere 1.5 miles. . . at a slightly fast walk.
THE HORROR!!!
So. I figured this is a perfect opportunity to embrace the humility and declare this as a beginning. I am at the bottom of the barrel people. There is no boasting here - there are no excuses. Yesterday I began. I will continue, I will push to the top.
Who is with me? No excuses! Nike plus unite!

3 Cheers for new TV

Finally!! Writers strike over, and a new season of all my favorite shows. I don't handle suspense well . . . . which eliminates shows like Heroes, 24, the Unit, and Prison Break. Sorry - I know they're great, but I just can't watch them without lying awake at night imagining the many ways bad guys could ambush my home and blow up my living room.
Instead, I go for humor and light-hearted fun. It may be less intellectual, but I always leave laughing and repeating lines. 3 cheers for my favorite shows, now with all new episodes:

The first 10 seconds I thought "oh, no . . . here it comes - cheeesy." The next 4 minutes I was so grateful. The last 2 minutes I cried :)
Thanks to some girl named Sara, who is friends with Laura, who is my sister-in-law, for posting this.

"Everything alive has a rhythm" he says. I think of the pulse that I live with . . . the methodical drum beat of getting things done. There is something secure in checking it off my list. I think of dancing barefoot in the African Dance class on the second floor of the building, our shouts echoing off the floor like an indoor basketball game, creative and free.
There is something beautiful in movement.
We dressed in bright colors that year, baring head bands and holding drums. I used to smile as I heard the echo of djembe's as the sunset hit the Wellsvilles, calling to me. I felt a yearning to belong to that rhythm, to be a part of it all. I loved the clap of air as touch and sound collided, and the way the vibration entered my skin and sat there.
Last week my rhythm was changed. It's slower now - steady and quiet, filled with more space than sound. Months before it happened I tried to imagine what it would feel like, to move on that frequency. It's different. "Life is a series of being the expert, and being the beginner" Michelle says. "embrace being the beginner" she urged. I feel like Sarah inside - a nine year old girl who jumps off stage, running into her mothers open arms with the most genuine call "I did my very best, mom".
I'm doing my very best.
It is hard - staying in time with largo when you work best at a scherzo. Ten days now of a thousand new emotions - spurts of color that explode in my heart without warning. I love those tiny feet, those tiny hands, those big eyes and that hair that can't seem to look like anything but miniature bed head. Tiredness is heavy inside of me. Days and nights run together and everything melts into a simple 3 hour feeding schedule. How can such a simple schedule feel so overwhelming? And yet, she is the only thing that comforts me when I feel I can't do it anymore. The cause and the solution, all in one 19 inch bundle.
I didn't expect the simple rhythm to come with so many ups and downs. Physically I am fighting to feel normal again - a simple walk around the block suddenly feels like a marathon. Something about minimal sleep, producing milk, and having just given birth has thrown me into a realm that requires more healing than I've ever needed. Emotionally I am learning I love so much deeper. Which means I can cry a lot. And then there is the psychological . . . this ever persistent battle I've never before fought. I've discovered several demons that have found my head and like to sit in it. "You don't know what you're doing" they shout. "You're failing, failing, failing. You are a terrible mother, look - see. You're doing it all wrong". I look at her beautiful face and it breaks my heart - she deserves someone who isn't going to fail.
But then I pray, and remember the talk Joy gave when I lived in Queens. "I believe in Failing" she said, as the high strung New York energy buzzed around outside. "I believe in failing because there is so much growth in learning, and letting Him heal us". I look about my bones and tendons for pieces of my shattered courage, gathering them together into a battered and meager pile. Brent kisses my face and says I am beautiful. He says I am a wonderful mother.
And the rhythm beats on. It's a comforting feeling - knowing it will continue to pulse, that I am a part of it and regardless, it will continue. I am learning to embrace this slow tempo. I am grateful for it - it is encouraging because I know I can catch up. Much faster and I'd never be able to play all the notes. It's gentle and it's slow, and I am new and I am trying.
Motherhood. So much wrapped up in one word.

Doting.

Brooklynn Eva Thatcher - 7 lbs, 7 oz, 19.5" long - born 9/10/08

The Arrival:
This story begins at 5:30 a.m. Wednesday morning - exactly two weeks away from my due date. Having just seen my mid-wife the previous afternoon, I was sure that everything was right on schedule. She had explained that the baby was posterior, but that she was also turning and my muscles were doing what they needed to to help her get there. The appointment ended with the Danielle smiling and saying "now, don't deliver before Monday because I'm going out of town tomorrow through the weekend". I laughed, thinking how weird it was that it was only two weeks away.
Everything was going normal until about 3 pm when I started having what felt like contractions. I called Brent, who was golfing in a tournament and told him what was happening. He reminded me what Danielle had said the day before and said my body was just getting her ready.
I took a deep breath and began teaching my afternoon lessons. At about 4 pm the contractions were getting strong enough that I started making note of what time it was when they came. After several, it was obvious that they were coming exactly 40 minutes apart. This continued until they got so strong that I had to stop lessons and leave the room so I could concentrate through them. At about 6 pm I knew I couldn't keep teaching any longer and I called and cancelled my last two students. At 6:30 Brent came home and I spent some time curled up on the floor sobbing as he stayed on the phone with my doula. A side note here for how much I love my doula. She brought with her an unending amount of courage and calm that I could not have produced on my own. With her on the phone Brent relayed how I was feeling and what was going on. She suggested that I go to the hospital because the contractions had quickly gone from 40 minutes apart to now 5 minutes apart all within an hour. I resisted because I have been told by so many sources that if you are planning on an unmedicated birth, one of the best things you can do is wait as long as possible before going to the hospital. But suddenly my contractions started coming every 2 1/2 minutes and they were more intense then I could have possibly imagined. This was quickly followed by me throwing up all over the front room. Brent was suddenly running around the house trying to pack a bag for me, while once again on the phone with Angie, who insisted we drop everything and start driving. At this point we had accelerated so fast that I was sure I couldn't get in the car. Brent said "Melissa, we can't have the baby here" and I said "Brent, I can't get in the car". He turned white and said, "you need to get in the car". I did the only thing I could do - which was crawl onto the back seat on my hands and knees and crouch there on all fours as he drove 900 miles an hour to the hospital. Each time a contraction came, now only about 60 seconds apart, I would say "here it comes" and Brent would start talking me through the breathing as I tried to understand how anything could ever be so painful.
We pulled up to the hospital vallet and stumbled into the reception area to find a line of people waiting to be helped. Brent called up to the receptionist "hey, we're having a baby here!" to which the nurse looked up with a stone face and said curtly "so is the lady in front of you." I glanced over to see a woman with perfect make up and obviously not one contraction slowly filling out a form. I groaned and leaned over the table. A nurse in the back took notice of us and quickly came to my side, ushering us past the line and into a room where she told me to get undressed so I could be checked. Angie, our doula, arrived at this point and began stroking my hair and pushing on pressure points. It immediately cut my pain back and I was able to breathe. After a quick overview, the nurse looked at me and said "you're dilated to a nine". "A what?!" I shouted and looked at Brent. We had bags of CD's I'd compiled of great music, dozens of relaxation scripts I'd practiced and months and months of anticipating the longest labor of the century - the which I was convinced I would experience because it was my first baby, and because I had chosen to do it unmedicated.
However, this baby - two weeks early and all - had other plans. Suddenly everything happened at once. I looked at Angie and in a slightly panicked voice said "Angie, I have to push". She calmly replied "then push". Which I did, and pop there went my water. The room was immediately filled with people - 3 doctors, 4 nurses and not a mid wife to be seen. My beautiful supportive doctor was not yet even on vacation - she just lived 30 minutes away and was driving as fast as she could down Parley's Canyon.
The doctor on call did a fantastic job though and through the series of many emotional moments, our baby girl was born. Her heart rate dropped dramatically during birth because of how fast everything went - which put the doctors into a frantic spin giving me oxygen and then quickly deciding to do an episiotomy to get her out. My doula was a saint - the only voice I remember through the whole process was her quiet coaching to keep breathing, telling me I was strong and could do this. I do remember one point saying "Angie, am I going to die?" She replied "no." to which I responded "please, can I?"
Brent was my silent strength and a voice on my behalf. I couldn't have done it without him holding my hand the whole time. All these months of joking that he'd be in the other room watching TV so he wouldn't faint - but of coarse when things got hard, he was there stroking my face, enduring with me, and championing me on. He claims that I may have injured his hand for life from squeezing so hard . . . so I guess we both sacrificed something physically. :)
And that's how 3 hours of "in denial contractions", 1 hour of staying home trying to get our bags together, an extremely fast drive to the hospital under one of the most beautiful sunset skies this month, 30 minutes of active labor (including 9 whole minutes of pushing) . . . .after having checked into the hospital at 8:05 pm, that 27 minutes later our Brooklynn, with all that hair, came into the world.

The Name:
Brooklynn is named after many facets. The most obvious is the New York roots that Brent and I share. Although we both grew up in Utah, it took us moving to New York City to meet. Out of a lack of other appropriate borough names (we weren't too fond of Queens as a first name) we chose Brooklynn to represent where it all began. The spelling is chosen because of the name Lynn, Brent's grandfather's name on his mother's side. Brent was at his bedside when he passed away in 1996. A man who had a deep love of the outdoor country, horses, and especially dogs, Grandpa Reeder was known for his ability to train animals and his charming charisma with people.
Just before he passed away, Brent, who had spent over 5 years looking for the girl he was supposed to marry, asked his Grandpa that once on the other side, he help him find that girl.
It was 8 years later that I met Brent in New York. (He still is frustrated that it took that long). We were both shocked that in the city that never sleeps, he - born and raised on a farm - and I - an animal lover who always wanted to live in the country - would meet. I'll never forget the day that Brent looked at me and said "My Grandpa lead you to me, in fact, I think he hand picked you. You two would have really gotten along". At that moment I didn't know the full extent of what that sentence meant, but since, I have learned to love the memory of this man.

We chose the middle name Eva from Agatha Eva Katharine Reeder, Grandpa Lynn's mother, and our Brooklynn's Great Great Grandmother. She was an extraordinary woman, but one virtue in particular that she magnified is the reason we wanted our daughter to carry her name. It is a story of the value of attitude. Grandma Eva raised her family during the depression, when even the sturdiest of supplies was waning. However, Grandpa Lynn recalled that the only thing that stood as a reminder to him that things were hard was that his overalls had patches on them. Although they were a full house on a less than meager income, their home was full of laughter and light - and in his memory things were never that bad. Grandpa Lynn eventually married a woman who came from a very high social class and a lot of money. Her description of the same years were grey and dismal. She, like the majority of the population who lived through it, described them of some of the hardest times in her life. The lack of what they had determined everyone's outlook - she recalls the years as full of endless struggles.
This lesson is one that I cherish. One mother's attitude was able to alter the whole state of being in her home at a time when the nation as a whole was struggling. I'm sure it was not easy nor comfortable for her - but her outlook on life made it easier for everyone else, and the situation was then supplemented and sustained on the rich things she could offer: family, laughter, love, and God.

The name Brooklynn comes from English origin, meaning "Water". Eva is of Hebrew origin, meaning "Life" or "Living One". Therefore, we felt it also appropriate that the two combined relay the message of "living water". It is a Christ centered name - we hope a reminder that everything that touches Him lives, and that our lives should always be nurtured by his Living Water.

How Are You?

I get asked this 10 - 15 times a day. It's nice - I like that people ask. Since announcing that I'm pregnant, and with an ever increasing frequency since, I'm asked it with a certain amount of concern behind the voice. This is also nice, but sometimes it freaks me out and makes me want to say "Doing Grrrreeeat" like the Wheaties Tiger, to encourage less worry behind their voice.
But the ever so real answer is that I am doing great. Every so often I find a night where it's hard to sleep, but for the most part I hit the pillow and I'm gone. I think this has something to do with not taking any naps during the day. I was told by several people that I need to be taking naps. I tried it. I didn't sleep well those nights. I stopped. Now I sleep well. Sometimes I get tired during the day, but I push through because I'd rather sleep when it's dark.
Being pregnant for me is like walking around with a pumpkin (appropriate analogy for the coming season), tied to my stomach. Eventually I feel clumsy, my back aches a bit, I find it hard to bend over, or see my toes. When I go to the gym or hiking people give me funny looks like "wow, it looks like she has a pumpkin tied to her stomach". I want to whisper "and what a fiiiine stomach it used to be . . . " :)
But overall it really hasn't been that bad. Some people warned me it would be the hottest summer of my life. Not so - I found. Moab running rivers was much hotter. When the second trimester came around and I finally stopped being sick, people said "oh enjoy it now because the third trimester is awful!" But I'm two weeks out from D-day and still waiting for that awful 3rd to start. I guess I'm lucky, although I think some of it has to do with attitude, and some of it has to do with what I learned from Lowell Bennion on why we do things that are hard.

An unexpected light.

Last week I received the best compliment anyone 9 months pregnant can receive.
We were in Logan, eating at Cafe Sabor. Because of the way the table was situated, I was tucked away from the waiter's full view until he came to give me our check, at which point he looked at me shocked and said "I had no idea you were pregnant until I saw your stomach!" He proceeded to tell me I looked great. Now, just because I was about to put pen to paper and fill in the tip, don't you even begin to think this compliment didn't make my WHOLE LIFE. I don't even care if it was true or not. Coming from a complete stranger, feeling HUGE and really rather . . . . slow (for lack of a better term), at that moment this man became my hero. I wanted to cry, hold him close, thank him for being so unbelievably kind, and tell him that I love him. It's not that Brent doesn't give me great affirmation - it's that the waiter didn't know me. That means something.

The last 2 weeks of Summer

Usually my summers are packed full of sun, green, and water. This summer we've worked a lot: on the house, in our jobs, in the yard. Not much backpacking and river rafting has occurred; instead a nursery has been created, a bedroom has been painted and assembled, carpet installed and baseboard attached, lessons have been taught in order to not feel guilty with taking a maternity leave at the beginning of school . . . . Yesterday I woke up to begin teaching and found the air cold and the morning sun still sleeping. Where did the summer warmth and golden rays at 5 in the morning go? It was all a bit too fast.
Luckily I had thought ahead and scheduled some time off the last two weeks, but, ever so typical, 8 full days off was slowly whittled away as I scheduled Jenny Oaks Baker to give master classes to my students for 3 days, and then rehearsals somehow snuck up and took over another 2, and then there were family things that needed attending . . . . leaving instead of 8 full days, a mere 2 for my beloved trip to the Tetons. But anyone who knows me knows those mountains are the oxygen that keep me going strong the rest of the year long. 24 hours or less, I was not going to give them up.

Honestly, I have to admit, while packing I was overcome with the temptation to just stay home and sleep. I was tired, worn out, the list of things to do was a pile over my head. But how grateful I was as we rounded that bend and the Grand smiled down at us that we packed the day packs and loaded the car . There is not a more beautiful place on the whole planet Earth, I'm convinced. Sun was shining, green was growing, windows were rolled down and I sang at the top of my lungs for the joy of being at the place I'd rather be than anywhere else.
We rolled into Jackson at the perfect peaceful time of night to walk the streets, get dinner, hold hands, and figure out where to sleep. I wanted to camp, but Brent insisted we find a bed. I consented, only because I'm 9 months pregnant, and I was so glad we did. We ended up at a bed and breakfast nestled into the woods - a beautiful room with the oldest TV I've ever seen, and a clean homy feel. It was a magical get away, and completely unexpected.
Early the next morning we were on the trail to hike Taylor Mountain - a steep 9 mile hike that the book rates as "strenuous", even though it's not, but it made me feel so much better as I proved to myself that being pregnant, once again, does not mean I can't do the things I love. We told everyone on the trail that looked at me funny that I''m in training for birth. They all smiled and cheered me on.
The drive home was leisurely and ended with an exploding sunset that fit the magnificence of the smell of pines, the sound of crickets, and the crisp cold air that means you're in the mountains.

The next evening we found ourselves in Deer Valley for the Park City Jazz festival - somehow playing the violin and knowing my dad had landed us VIP passes that included a gourmet dinner backstage, seats front and center, and a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert. Some people don't know that Brent is one of New York's finest swing cats - - - images of mob hats and vests would go right in hand with his suave steps. Many a night of red high heel dancing shoes and clubs full of fast paced jazz filled our dating days. Needless to say, it was a night of tapping toes and swinging hips. What is it about loud music under the stars that somehow leaves me completely invigorated?

The next week ended with a quick trip to Lake Powell. I have to admit, this one I wasn't really looking forward to. Something about being so pregnant and going to 115 degree weather where I couldn't do any of the fun playing that everyone else would be doing just didn't sound appealing. But I admit, I stand corrected. Nate and Cami know how to do Lake Powell - everything from the valet service from your car to the boat, to the air conditioned cabin with a full kitchen (two refrigerators!), to the leisurely pace of vacation. I think I slept a total of 25 hours in two days. It was glorious. The sun was warm, but the air wasn't blistering like I remembered it. All in all I was grateful I went.
And so, with school having begun again for everyone, I tip my hat to summer and embrace the rhythm of keeping to a schedule. The next adventure will be bringing a child into the world. Here we go :)

mmmmmmm

Thank heavens the first trimester, upon leaving, took with it all of my crazy cravings for junk food. Now, at 32 weeks, I'm very much back to normal. Every once in a while the thought of buying some gummies sounds irresistable, but most of the time I just want peaches.
Is there ANYTHING as good as warm fresh sliced peaches dripping with Brown Cow vanilla yogurt?

If we were living in a Greek Tragedy, Brent's tragic flaw would be his need for the latest and greatest technology out there. Of coarse, true to literature, it is also something that makes him great. We get phone calls several times a week of people who have questions on certain electronics. In fact, it even played a roll during my year of falling in love with him. He seems to always know exactly how to fix a problem, answer a question, or update your device to ease the stress of your day.
He's also a mac guy. , there have been nights (many, actually), where I'll wake up to find him reading the acclaimed website macrumors.com. I think he knows what's on the horizon before Steve Jobs does.
So as you can imagine, when the iphone was introduced this time last year, my husband was a ball of joy. He waited for months - listing in random moments between conversation two or three more things that it had the ability to do, how many gigs it stored, the weight of the product - how it would feel in his hand.
Unfortunately, if you all recall, it also cost $600.00. And that's before the cancelation fee from Verizon (another $250), plus an upgrade in minutes for internet (another$30), plus the inconvenience of not having a family plan for our minutes - which put my bill up another $50 a month, and the unfortunate event of realizing those saved minutes were nice - after going over several months in a row . . . (at least another several hundred dollars), which eventually meant me switching over to Verizon to save us minutes with a family plan (another cancelation fee . .). You get the picture.
So in reality, the first iphone cost us well over $1,000.
But I had just gotten back a week earlier from France - which cost us much more than the above mentioned amount. Who was I to steal such joy from my Greek Hero, after having whitled away our savings for my own personal satisfaction and training abroad?
So we struck a deal. It took one conversation and Brent readily agreed that if he got the iphone he would keep it for 2 years without upgrading. I tried to sway his decision, I did. I knew that there would be a lighter, faster, GPS loaded one around the corner. But sway him I could not.
Fast Forward 10 months to June 2008.
The new iphone has just been posted on macrumers.com. Brent is in a fit of passion - every waking moment is spent researching how wonderful this latest device will make citizen's lives. He is counting down the days until it is released. He talks about it around every meal.
I remind him of our deal. He determines that if can raise enough money outside of our budget, then he should be able to have the phone. He starts making phone calls about selling off some of his golf equipment . . . .
Then it happened. I was running some errand and I had forgotten my computer. My computer, a simple macbook, is my brain. Without it I don't know where I'm supposed to be, at what time, or who with. It keeps my life running - and smoothly, I might add. In a panic I called home, hoping Brent would be there to navigate through ical and tell me the list of things to be done that day. And in so doing, I realized, it was I who needed an iphone.
So the banter began. Brent would be daydreaming about the white 16 gigs of GPS that could be in his pocket, and I would sigh and mention how worth the wait it will have been for me - when I had that sleek device in my hand.
It was mean, I admit. But truly, I really never expected to buy the phone.
Except this time around it is only $200, and by now we've both switched to Cingular, so there's no cancelation fee. Sigh.
What I didn't expect was my dear husband to stand in line an hour each day, five days in a row, until he could buy the phone for me. He then came, sacrifice in hand, and offered up what he had wanted so much, to me: the non-electronic savy she-bear.
Can you blame me for expecting it to be a trick? I was sure he was guilting me into just trading him the new one for his old one. But believe it or not, no such thing has happened. Eventually I did offer to trade - who wouldn't have? But he has held fast to the commitment he made. And now his wife is a mac-lover too.

Things I've learned this week:
Motion means things are working.
Never feel guilty for taking a moment to write.
Dancing and kissing will always make me smile, even if it means pulling the blinds and dancing alone to music that's way too loud in a series of movements that don't look at all coordinated, and kissing even if it means leaning over a huge baby bump to get to his lips (for those that think that is supposed to make me feel cute, see below post).
There is no better smell than horses who've been out to pasture.
Logan in the summer is absolutely one of the best places to be.
There is so much good to be given in this world.
There is so much good to be seen in this world.
Fear is just having a vague understanding.
It's always easier to see someone else's problems than your own.
It always boils down to love, doesn't it?
Why is it soo hard to not care what other people think?
Everyone needs outlets.
Burkhard was right - we all have addictions, but I've learned some addictions are healthy ones.
Look how much can happen in a year. Makes you kind of feel good, eh?

Dog, Man, Water

If anyone knows Brent well, they know how much he loves Mesa. What maybe they don't know is how much Mesa loves Brent. Watching the two of them makes me think of Mabel Louise Robinson who said "From the dog's point of view, his master is an elongated and abnormally cunning dog".
The two of them are inseparable. Brent has taught Mesa (we counted the other day) over 40 words that she obeys and responds to. Just a year old this month, I dare say she is one smart puppy. And man how she adores him. I watch her wait for him when he leaves the house, sit by his side and follow him wherever he goes.
This weekend, with two family reunions back to back, each got their fill of a mutual love for water.

“I took a walk in the rain one day on the wrong side of the tracks . . . I stood on the rail until I saw that train, just to see how my heart would react.”
- Mary Chapin Carpenter

I think in everyone lives a degree of danger. Of coarse some people have a bright red streak that bleeds into everything they do: the color of hair dye they use, the clothes that they wear. For others its a light green that sings and is satisfied by a walk through the woods on a summer evening.
For me it's an ever changing ebb and flow that I find myself manipulating in waves. I have within me a thick desire for self expression. I find if I get enough practicing in, I feel satisfied. However, if by chance time does not allow - it begins slowly like a soft thirst and then grows until I am driving to the tattoo shop to get something carved on my lower back. I usually wake up dreaming of fast motorcycles, nose rings, and very sexy dancing. Needless to say, I am still tattoo-free, however you wouldn't believe how much fun all of the above can sound to me in my moments of weakness.
Now picture me pregnant. I'm pretty convinced that I'm doing it all very . . . . differently then most people who I'm surrounded by. For some reason I'm having a hard time seeing myself as anything but what I feel - completely independent, busy, and to be honest, selfish. I haven't spent two minutes shopping for baby things, I don't have the slightest idea where to begin. I'm not goo goo eyed and frilly, in fact I have a small panic attack every time I see someone with a baby.
And to make matters worse it seems my dangerous streak has gotten bolder in all of this anticipation of anticipation. It doesn't matter how much violin I play - I have an unquenchable thirst to cut my hair, dye it colors, buy a bullet bike, and go cliff jumping. It's not that I'm not excited to 'settle down' so to speak and do the grounded mother thing - I am - in fact, it sounds wonderful, doesn't it? But realistically I'm having a steady small freak-out over what it all could mean. The unknown is making me feel very unprepared.
So the other day I just had to allow myself a moment to relax. I took a long walk and prayed that I would feel some sort of okayness with all of this change. And of coarse there was amazing peace the moment I just let go. There are a thousand fears inside: of being good enough, of being all these things I think I need to be but aren't yet. There are a thousand things to know that I don't. There are a thousand feelings other mothers-to-be feel that I haven't. But in that moment there was calm, even with all of what I don't have.
There are those out there that would read my list and shake there head, thinking "why not do all of that stuff?". Maybe one day I will. But for now I need to remember that having courage is sometimes more adventurous than responding to your fears.

Ode to Mr. Chook

Brent and I are reading the Power of One this summer. I've read it a couple of times already, but Brent never has, so I'm reading it to him out loud. Last night we got to that chapter where Mr. Chook, the boys only friend and confident and the "toughest damn chicken in the whole wide world" is killed by the judge and jury on his last day of school. We've been through so much with this chicken, he seems the only glimmer of hope in a story wrought with grief. His massacre sent me into an emotional frenzy where suddenly Mr. Chook represented all good things in my life - Mesa, Max, even Brent, in times of trouble. I had a pretty good cry over the loss of such a great friend.
I find it fascinating that five chapters into the book we still don't know the name of the main character, other than the derogatory names that the other children place on him. It also took Brent and I researching Apartheid to figure out if he was African American or Caucasian. It's a book saturated in reality, and sadness. But there is a wonderful message there and we're having a great time reading chapters together.

This month is a month to celebrate purchasing our very first dishwasher. We've never had one - at least since we've been married. It is a glorious thing - this machine that takes piles of dirty dishes and then miraculously makes them clean with only the push of a button.
I adore it.
As the kitchen continues to be completed I can only imagine the possibilities of joy. . . .

Deepest Secrets

From the beginning of my existence there have been two things that I have always wanted to do. Do not take this lightly - it isn't some phase I have come across and will be gone this time next year. These are things that get me giddy, send me into fits of passionate longing, make me wish and hope with despair. All secretly, of coarse, because there is nothing like not actually accomplishing a long lost goal - no sense to do it publicly.
Believe it or not, I have ALWAYS wanted to play Cape Breton Fiddle,
and I have always wanted to Salsa Dance.
Why have I waited so long to get on with it?
All the reasons that we never start a goal - and probably a lot of reasons more complicated than that.
I am a classical musician and for me to dabble in the other musical fields is looked upon with all sorts of snobbish attitude, in addition to just being one more thing to get better at. There just simply is not a lot of time to study celtic music - there never is enough time to learn everything I need in classical. And classical musicians look at fiddling with this attitude of "ohhh please". It's easy. It's for the masses. It's done so very often badly. There's no technique, or there is only bad technique. There is no discipline.
sigh.
And salsa dancing? Well. I don't know why I haven't done this. Maybe because I got into it in a phase of life that no matter how much I wanted it to be, was not the best time to be dancing in very sexy outfits and in very sexy ways. Something in me must have known, because I just never got started.
But alas. I am one of those people that finds the cheesiest sappiest dancing movies and watches them again and again. I love Dirty Dancing. I love Shall We Dance, and Dance With Me and even Dirty Dancing II. Ridiculous! I know.
But today I finally came to terms with these forever lingering wants and wishes.
I've done it. I am learning Cape Breton Celtic Fiddle. Jamie and I had our first lesson today - we're trading. She's a kick butt fiddle player. We're trading information every Tuesday at 11:30. Of coarse we talk the first hour, but the second hour I am finally learning how to play those cool licks and she's going to learn some classical technique.
I figure, why not dedicate a summer to just indulging? I've got two degrees in classical playing - can't I just try fiddling for a second without always feeling guilty with the lingering thought "I should be practicing real music" in the back of my mind?
As for the Dancing . . . . I asked for it for my birthday. As you recall, my birthday was three months ago. Brent said he would take me, but it has yet to happen. Now I'm as big as a balloon and have no desire to try and fit into a sexy salsa dress. But don't think I've forgotten. After the baby comes, I am hitting the dance floor and cashing in my birthday present.
Olay!

Quote of the Week

My favorite comment on the photos below came from Nadine, a loud loving jewish mother of one of my students. "Those pictures were dangerous!" she smiled as she came in for her daughter's lesson today.
"why?" I wondered.
"That big belly in those tiny slot canyons! I thought you were going to get stuck!!"

South for some Sun

After a long stretch of working a lot, practicing a lot, preparing for a recital, playing the recital, remodeling the house, and feeling like every morning was a new opportunity to become exhausted, I declared Brent and I take a day off.
Monday morning we packed the gear into the car, loaded Mesa, and off to Buckskin Gulch we went. It's usually done as a two day hike, but because it's known as the world's most amazing slot canyon, there were no camping permits left. So we camped outside the canyon and did the 18 miles in one day the following morning.
Sometimes you just have to leave the computer home and go breathe some fresh air.

"We think we know a great deal, because we are ignorant of what remains to be learnt." - John Newton

"Someday, when those we love honor our memory, they may be proud of all the times we were right. But they will be inspired most by the times we admitted we were wrong, when we realized we were blind and were willing to see."

Melissa is learning to embrace all things pink, Brent is learning to stop staying IT. :)