The Morpheme Woman

Starting an Inning on Second Base

2009-10-29T09:33:00.000-07:00

By Wade Shaw, Grandfather of Redwinger Ethan

There is a reason for the plate on the pitcher's mound in baseball, but its exact purpose is not always clear.
I was able to watch grandson Ethan's Redwing team Tee Ball semifinal game yesterday with the Moms in the north bleachers. For October in Texas it was windy, and surprisingly cold, and we were all feeling chilled as the game's innings went on for a good long while. There were copious runs, but no real scorekeeping. There were no outs that I noticed. None of us in the bleachers really knew many of the rules, but everyone knew one important rule.

Every Tee Ball game ends in precisely 45 minutes.
But this one had not ended after an hour, and in the bleachers the other Moms were pawing at their cell phones inside their purses, texting, "we b late. dunno wen. get pizza". Probably the game would end soon

But it did not. After another chilly 20 minutes, and uncountably more runs, the coaches met on the pitcher's mound. After some scribbling on the scorekeeper's card the coaches eventually shrugged, nodded, and returned to their dugouts. A rumor sprang up the rows of bleachers followed closely by smiles of relief. A final sudden-death inning had been declared. Run counting being politically incorrect in Tee Ball, the winner would be the first team to put a runner out.
"Whatever," the bleacher Moms grumbled, "it's dinner time". We didn't know the rules, and sudden death sounded, well, quick. After a day of school the lads in the dugouts were clearly reaching a hunter-gatherer crisis. Most players were now fruitlessly picking through their backpacks for previously-scorned lunch snacks.
In the event, we all thought we knew at least one more baseball rule. No one gets on first base unless they bat. Right?
Wrong. There was surprised chatter in the bleachers, when at the start of this final sudden-death inning, Ethan's coach shouted into the dugout, "Ethan, put your helmet on and go stand on second base. No. Leave your glove. Go right now!"
Ethan hadn't batted, and in fact no one on his team had. How could Ethan go straight to second base, we wondered, even in Tee Ball? The coach then called the next Redwing batter up. "What's this?", the Moms muttered quietly, none daring to to question Tee Ball rules. "Its Tee Ball rewind!", someone quipped to short laughter. "Ethan was on second in the last inning, so..."
Out on the diamond with both feet on second, Ethan looked intently towards right field where he often played. "Why is he looking out there?", I asked his mother quietly. "Not unreasonable." another Mom offered. We'd already seen the opposing catcher take his bat and go home. Perhaps Tee Ball rules allowed the team at bat to loan fielders to the opposing team?
Whack! The Redwing batter hit a sudden grounder, and Ethan leapt off second base and ran like the wind. He ran straight for the pitcher's mound in fact. In both bleachers the Moms were up and yelling, "Third! Run to Third"! Ethan slowed at the mound, grinned, and made a careful circle completely around the pitcher's mound on his way to third base. Safe, he acknowledged a standing ovation from the Moms of both bleachers with aplomb.

Why put a base on the pitcher's mound if you aren't supposed to run around it, I thought, as the Moms pushed post-game snacks through the dugout fence to the Redwings.

The Dancing Bear

2009-03-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

The most important thing to understand about taking care of yourself is to use the everyday resources surrounding you.

This bear recognizes the potential of a tree. He demonstrates one way to get either a back rub or some good exercise - or both!

Close to Six at Twenty-six

2008-11-25T19:11:00.000-08:00

They say: Where does the time go? Where does it? I was absent-mindedly washing my son's hair in the bath tonight when I realized that he is almost six years old.

Almost six years old! My memories start at six.

I was pushing bubbles out from between the strands of his hair, rubbing his little scalp with my fingers as the realization washed over me. His skin still has that plumpish, sweet-baby clarity, but his legs are long and knobby like a foal's. He has running legs, playing legs - dotted with penny bruises from tumbles and fine scratches from tree-climbs.

I don't think my legs were ever like a foal's, though they were always bruised at the knee - rollerskating at six, seven to twelve.

I remember being six. And maybe that is why his age struck me the way it did tonight, at the edge of the tub, on my knees, at the mercy of the moment. Because I remember six, and because he is almost six.

He will remember six. He will remember this moment, I thought. The magnitude of this!

I don't really remember a whole lot about five. Things started at six. When I was six, I spent days at the art table making sock puppets, pretending to be a teacher, watching Matlock and microwaving marshmellows when no one was looking. I had a tiara. Six was good.

Most importantly at twenty-six, six does not feel that far away. I do not feel old enough to have a six year-old son. If we are being honest, most of the time, I feel six myself (minus the energy and plus the PMS). Six feels near, close. If I turned my head over my shoulder, I'd see six. If I reached back, I'd touch six. It would be fuzzy. It would be warm.

Six glows in the dark and is clean. It smells of Zest soap and Pert Plus, having been sterilized by time, I'm sure.

And my son at twenty-six? Twenty-six is good, too, but he'll remember six. Now. Today. This moment could be with him forever, with him at twenty-six, thirty-six to sixty-six.

It is strange to think that my son will remember the moments we make together - here in the bath, on the playground. I often wonder what our memories will mean to him. I wonder which memories he will really remember - the ones he will hold close to his heart, revisit, dedicate time to. I wonder which ones will fade into luke-warm, out-of-focus childhood feelings and which ones will crash over him at night just before sleep in his 20's and 30's - the sharp ones that feel like they just happened but came in like a flood from nowhere.

I hope he remembers me washing his hair and playing Billy Goats Gruff on the playground. I hope he remembers snuggling and hot chocolate before school. Surely, he'll remember snuggling! We spend so much time doing it. I know he'll remember times I wish he wouldn't. There are plenty of grumpy-mommy moments to choose from - moments of uncertainty and hesitation and sheer exhaustion.

Regardless, I look forward to his discovery, whether or not I witness it or get to discuss it with him, of the nearness, closeness, the just-over-the-shoulder feeling of being six. Because what a marvelous thing memory is! Really, the magnitude of it's presence. Time passes but remains suspended in our minds through memory, if we are careful - like a twenty-something toy boat in bath water, bobbing, carrying us.

So what does my value of memory and time and preservation and closeness mean for my son? What does this mean for us - for Moms who can still feel their childhood but have children of their own?

Memories are contributions. Contributions to create with care. Today. Cliche sentiment? For sure! And with good reason.

If I am twenty-six and still I feel close to being six years old, like I can grasp it in my hands and pull it back to me with the singular desire to remember, we must act, create, live and build memories of wonder and happiness each day, right now - for ourselves and those around us.

By acting, creating, living, building we are changing people. We are contributing to their lives, and through memory, to their futures. For that reason, we must make memories out of the good-fabric of who we are. Because we will remember. Our sons will remember - our daughters, our husbands and friends. And our memories will be part of us and of them.

And not only will we be in memory, our memories will be close, reachable. They will be all around us and in us and in others - from six to twenty-six.

These memories I create today, all of them will be in my son's future and in my future son.

The Grateful Nostalgia within me says: Thank you, builders and designers of six - parents, friends, teachers, writers, sock-makers, Matlock, Zest. Thank you for six, however soap-stained and sanitized. Twenty-six would not be so grand without such times.

May I do as much for my son.

Ethan's Computer Art, March 2008

2008-06-27T13:57:00.000-07:00

Great use of color. Hans Hoffman, you may have met your competition.

Team S Update

2008-06-22T07:52:00.001-07:00

I have been working like a dog - hence me laying down like one in this picture. Stella is bewildered. "What the heck are you doing down there, Momma?"

As some of you know, I am now the Marketing Director for the Lauterstein-Conway Massage School here in Ausitn. I'm trying to wiggle my way in to their Workshops department, too - mostly so I can take all the classes for free and scoop the commission. It is a good job, and they respect my opinions and experience there, which is very nice. I also am working with the new Fitness Director at the YMCA on youth programs and community relations. I have been doing it for a while, but without the Fitness Director - because there wasn't one - which was horrible. I am still teaching toddler gymanstics and dance there. Ethan, as you can imagine, is an expert tumbler now, and Michael has mastered the art of man-handstand. Go, Dad!

I also wrote a ridiculous children's book for Ethan about the power of making choices. I am about to start working on illustrations...someday.

Which brings me to the babies:

Ethan is such a gentleman. He has very good manners, and he loves his grandparents. He, of course, is a video game fanatic, and loves playing "mens" just like his Uncle David did when he was Ethan's age. The night before last, he and I took all his "mens" and hung them, propped them and staged them all around his "Spiderman hideout." Let me just say - he has a lot of "mens." He is fabulous with sounding out words - reading with me with relative ease at bedtime now. We are trying to make it to the library once-a-week for new material to practice on.

Stella is into books - way into books - and animal noises. (Sheep say baaaa!) Michael and I read the same books over and over and over to her - in a five minute period. Sometimes she reads to her "babies," and sometimes her brother reads to her, but when she comes up, book in hand, and turns her back, ready to be lifted onto my lap, there is no doubt that I am going to read Winne the Pooh a dozen times. She loves swimming, and much to her parents' dismay, has NO fear of jumping head-first into much-to-deep water. Loves it.

Michael is well, but you will have to check out his blog for the nitty-gritty details...

Much love!
J

Graham Family Easter

2008-06-22T07:42:00.000-07:00

When I was seven, the "Graham Clan" went to the Texas beach together for Easter. We all ended up with the stomach flu, but it was something - aside from spending all my time in the bathroom - I will never forget. I remember hunting for eggs by the pool and jumping waves with Don, who hardly ever took family vacations with us.

I hope my children, as young as they are, will remember the moon over the beach, wearing a sweater over their swimsuits in the sun and picking up sea shells with Grandmother with such fondness.

Happy Easter, Graham Clan.

and more...

2007-12-26T07:01:00.001-08:00

Photos, photos, photos

2007-12-26T06:54:00.000-08:00

Great philosophy with real life application

2007-11-28T15:09:00.000-08:00

The Simple Secret to a Happier Life

WebMD Feature from "Redbook" Magazine
By Charlotte Latvala
In the immortal words of the Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want. And you know what? That's really okay. Discover how letting go of impossible (and draining) dreams puts you on the path to peace.
In the 37th week of my third pregnancy, I was cruising right along with no major health problems until — bam — I developed Bell's palsy, a partial paralysis of the left side of my face. I couldn't close my eye, I drooled when I ate, and, worst of all, I couldn't smile normally. Doctors assured me that the condition was temporary, and that my muscle function would return within months. But my progress was slower than expected, and I spent the next year feeling self-conscious and sad. I just longed to look normal again.
Eventually, I went to specialists, did countless hours of physical therapy, and received therapeutic Botox injections (at times, I felt like a human pincushion). It all helped, but my smile was still somewhat crooked. I felt depressed, defeated.
Then, on a visit to my mom's house, I happened to glance at the framed copy of the Serenity Prayer she keeps in her bedroom. You know the one: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference." Reading those words made it crystal clear: It was time to put my disappointment behind me and focus on the positive parts of my life — my family, my work, the simple pleasures of my day-to-day existence. I had lost something, to be sure, but feeling bitter and shortchanged wasn't the way I wanted to live.
So I quit mourning the loss of the "old me." I finally allowed myself to accept my less-than-perfect grin, and in the process, to make peace with the fact that life rarely turns out the way you expect. And that's true whether it comes to physical setbacks, relationships with people you care about, or even your hopes and dreams for your kids. It's tough to let go of something you want badly, but if you release yourself from the relentless pull of your If only... thinking, a sense of peace, and even joy, will rush into that mental space instead, says C. Leslie Charles, author of Why Is Everyone So Cranky? "When you can just 'be' with a situation," she says, "things usually begin to relax, turn, and reshape — for the better."
Giving up long-cherished dreams doesn't mean you need to deny or disown them. "Your dreams will always be part of you," says Charles. "But getting too focused or obsessed with a goal or yearning can leave you feeling cheated." Letting go, by contrast, means making a choice — you decide not to give in to thoughts and actions that waste your time, not to dwell on what you don't have.
And that can be the first step to a more blissed-out, less stressed-out existence. Read on to learn how to let go of those unrealistic longings — ones that you believe hold the keys to your happiness, but actually hold you back — so you can love the life you have right now.
If you long to be closer to a family member...
For years, Nanci Schwartz hoped for a tighter bond with her brother. "He never saw eye-to-eye with my dad, and is now somewhat estranged from the whole family," she explains. Every time Schwartz tried to reach out and was rebuffed, she was hurt. "The final straw came recently, when my husband and I planned a birthday get-together for our parents," says the 41-year-old from Fruitland Park, FL. "My brother never even bothered to respond to the invitation, and once again I felt completely let down."
Perhaps you, too, have a family bond that's coming apart at the seams. Or maybe you just have a sneaking sense that something is missing in your relationship with your parents or siblings. "No matter what has gone on before, we all have expectations about what our family relationships are supposed to be like," says Lynn Robinson, author of Divine Intuition. "Deep down, we believe that our family should always be there for us through thick and thin." Plus, it's normal to want to draw closer as we start to get older and realize how quickly time is passing, adds Robinson — since the family members you bicker with today may not be there tomorrow.
How to Let Go
Slowly, Schwartz has begun to accept her distant relationship with her brother. "I finally realize that it's not my fault we're not closer," she says. "It's his choice — and looking at it that way has lifted a huge burden from me. Now I can stop spinning my wheels, trying to make the impossible happen. I'm not thrilled with the situation, but it's not going to consume me, either, because there's nothing I can do about it." The (very liberating) bottom line here: You can't ever control someone else's behavior — you can only control your own.
You'll be happier, not to mention more sane, if you focus on the relationships in your life that are reciprocal — the friends and loved ones you can rely on, says Robinson. "Your peace of mind ultimately doesn't depend on the closeness or distance of one person," she explains. "The more healthy relationships you have in your life, the better."
If you've had a long standoff with a relative and you're aching for some closure, consider writing that person a heartfelt and compassionate note, she adds. "Make it simple, not a rehash of past events," Robinson suggests. "Tell them what you appreciate about them and that you look forward to hearing from them on their time and terms." Mail it and let it go, telling yourself that you've given it your best shot. Or write the letter and don't mail it — instead simply use it as a way to release and sort through your feelings. That process alone will make it easier for you to find peace.
If you want to get it all done — and perfectly — at work...
Museum educator Nikki Manning used to feel compulsively driven to complete all her work by the end of the day — and when she couldn't, she carried her anxiety home. "I'd wake up in the middle of the night and begin to write down things I needed to do the next day," says the 27-year-old from Columbia, SC. "My bathroom mirror was covered in sticky notes."
Sure, being a productive and valued staffer is a good thing, but knocking yourself out day after day — whether to achieve perfection on a project or feel "done" — doesn't make sense, since at any well-structured job there will always be fresh deadlines to meet, more paperwork to do, and the like. (It's sort of like the laundry at home — you're never completely caught up.) Plus, if you're consistently working late, you're likely neglecting your well-being, health, and relationships, notes Robinson. Ultimately, the satisfaction that you get from being "on top of things" is fleeting and not a true source of happiness — and it simply isn't worth the steep personal price you're paying.
How to Let Go
Watch what you tell yourself. "Saying things like, ‘I'll never catch up,' or ‘I'm always stressed,' will overwhelm you further and keep you working late," says Robinson. Instead, she advises, repeat calming (and true) messages such as, "When I clock out at a decent hour, I'm so much more productive the next day," and "Nothing tragic will happen if I turn this in tomorrow morning instead of at 8 tonight."
Try to step back and pinpoint why you're being so obsessive about your job. Could it be that you're avoiding problems at home or other personal issues? That your self-esteem hinges entirely on your career? "Ask yourself, What's missing in my life? What would be fun? " suggests Robinson. Then, make little steps toward positive change — get yourself to the gym instead of staying an extra hour at work, or meet a friend for coffee on the way home.
For Manning, letting go meant carving out official downtime. "I promised myself that two days a week I'd walk away from my desk at 5:30 p.m.," she says. "I literally scheduled time with my husband and daughter so I'd be forced to leave, and vowed not to check e-mails or my BlackBerry at home." Setting boundaries made all the difference. "Now I can sit and breathe and enjoy dinner with my family," says Manning. "I'm still getting as much work done — yet I have a life now!"

For full article: http://www.webmd.com/balance/features/simple-secret-happier-life?page=3

October Photo Smash-up

2007-11-03T07:11:00.000-07:00

Just imagine.

2007-09-23T09:20:00.000-07:00

Glamorous politician wants law to allow 7-year itch By Madeline Chambers
Fri Sep 21, 4:00 AM ET
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070921/od_uk_nm/oukoe_uk_germany_politics_marriage

BERLIN (Reuters) - Bavaria's most glamorous politician -- a flame-haired motorcyclist who helped bring down state premier Edmund Stoiber -- has shocked the Catholic state in Germany by suggesting marriage should last just 7 years.

ADVERTISEMENT

Gabriele Pauli, who poses on her web site in motorcycle leathers, is standing for the leadership of Bavaria's Christian Social Union (CSU) -- sister party of Chancellor Angela Merkel's conservative Christian Democrats (CDU) -- in a vote next week.

She told reporters at the launch of her campaign manifesto on Wednesday she wanted marriage to expire after seven years and accused the CSU, which promotes traditional family values, of nurturing ideals of marriage which are wide of the mark.

"The basic approach is wrong ... many marriages last just because people believe they are safe," she told reporters. "My suggestion is that marriages expire after seven years."

After that time, couples should either agree to extend their marriage or it should be automatically dissolved, she said.

Fifty-year-old Pauli, twice divorced, is a maverick intent on shaking up her male-dominated and mainly Catholic party which has dominated Bavarian politics since World War Two.

"This is about bringing ideas into the CSU and starting a discussion," she told German television on Thursday after she had unleashed a wave of criticism from other politicians.

Former foe Stoiber said she did not belong in the CSU and European lawmaker Ingo Freidrich dismissed her views.

"She is diametrically contradicting our Christian, ethical values," Freidrich said.

Peter Ramsauer, head of the CSU in Germany's parliament, compared Pauli's ideas to "the dirt under your fingernails".

Pauli, who attracted attention earlier this year when she posed for a magazine wearing long black latex gloves, was at the centre of a snooping scandal which eventually led to Stoiber, Bavarian premier for 14 years, saying he would stand down early.

She said his office tried to obtain details about lovers and alcohol consumption to use against her.

The CSU will elect Stoiber's successor as party head at a conference next week. He will be replaced as state premier in early October.

Viewed as a party rebel, Pauli stands almost no chance of winning next week's vote. The contest has been fought mainly between Bavarian state economy minister Erwin Huber and German Consumer Minister Horst Seehofer.

The popularity of Seehofer, a 58-year-old married father of three, has suffered from the disclosure that he had been having an affair with a younger woman who recently had his baby.

Hold your nose!

2007-08-16T14:38:00.000-07:00

Notice how the articles says ALL bodies of fresh water. More reasons not to swim in the lake. I can't even count how many times water went up my nose when water skiing or tubing...

Boy dies of meningitis contracted in Lake LBJ
Travis County 12-year-old got illness while at summer camp.
Thursday, August 16, 2007

A 12-year-old Travis County boy who contracted a rare, usually fatal type of meningitis after swimming in Lake LBJ lost a six-day fight for his life on Wednesday.

John Patrick "Jack" Herrera died at Dell Children's Medical Center of amebic meningoencephalitis, a severe brain infection. He would have been a seventh-grader this fall at Canyon Vista Middle School in the Round Rock school district.

Jack was stricken while at summer camp, where he swam many times in the past three weeks, a family friend said. The parasite invades the brain and surrounding tissue when a person inhales water through the nose.

The camp notified Jack's family Friday evening the he was sick, and he was taken to Seton Highland Lakes Hospital in Burnet. He was immediately flown to Dell Children's, but, as is often the case with the disease, his condition was already critical.

Since 1972, 34 other Texas cases of the illness have been confirmed, and all of the patients died, said Emily Palmer, spokeswoman for the Department of State Health Services. The fatality rate worldwide is about 95 percent, according to scientific articles.

Jack's family declined to be interviewed but asked for prayers and thanked the hospital staff, saying they were grateful for the outpouring of love from others.

The family issued a statement saying that Jack lived "12½ wonderful years" and that his organs were being donated "so that other children may live and overcome their terrible afflictions."

The amoebas responsible for the illness live in soil and in all bodies of fresh water — rivers, lakes, streams, stock ponds — except for those fed by spring water, which often is too cool for them to survive, Palmer said.

The parasites like water above 80 degrees, especially when it's stagnant. They don't live in properly maintained chlorinated pools or in salt water but can be found in hot springs and hot tubs.

Infection causes fever, headache, nausea, vomiting, stiff neck and hallucinations.

maroser@statesman.com; 445-3619

Grandmother

2007-08-13T14:17:00.000-07:00

She sits like a canvas folding chair, brown legs crossed
small, light, temporary
across the room from where they used to sit together.

But with him no longer with her in breath
with her in warmth, with her in grandparenthood
she stands like an old umbrella, alone
folded, shrunken, resigned
leaning against the wall where he left her without her.

And in the moments when I see her live
in patience, in slivers of participatory existence, waiting
I, her granddaughter, love her and worry
about the quiet hour of my age.

She knows she will end an inward lady, waiting
to be called, watching
those in front of her, watching their arm chairs, couches
watching their lives emptying into old age.

Those behind in their turn, watch
watch her without her, anticipating
the devastation of her departure without them.

Pinwheels and Popsicles - Success!

2007-07-29T20:52:00.000-07:00

Thank you, thank you for coming! We had an unexpected but much appreciated blast at our party. I am eating all the leftover popsicles...

More pics soon, I'm sure.

Love,
Jen

Pinwheels and Popcicles: Thank you.

2007-07-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

Pinwheels and Popsicles
Thank you, thank you for coming! We had an unexpected but much appreciated blast at our party. I am eating all the leftover popsicles...

More pics soon, I'm sure.

Love,
Jen

Pinwheels and Popsicles

2007-07-18T15:10:00.001-07:00

Dearest Friends and Family:

Yes, Michael and I are the ones who sent the tacky evite for Stella's (and my) birthday party. I am slow on getting things going this year, but we have big birthdays to celebrate this month! Stella will be the big Numero Uno on the 24th, and I turned a quarter of a century on Monday.

We would be honored if you would arrive - in any state, form or fashion - at our little party, pinwheel in hand, to help celebrate.

If you did not get the evite, shoot Michael and/or I a line or post a comment, and we will be sure you get the invitation information.

Best wishes,
Jen

25 Plus 2 - An Amendment to Pessimism

2007-07-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

So last night I went out with my "Bastrop Girls" - we have been friends since middle school and have kept in touch - and on the long drive home in the middle of the night, I decided I needed to amend my post from yesterday.

Aside from delivering a beautiful baby, which I consider a family triumph, really, and not a personal one, I have been rockin' on keeping in touch with friends. If I hadn't been able to say home with the kids (thank you, Michael), I may not have been so successful at it, but nonetheless...

We had a fabulous time in Bastrop: ate at Big Mouth's on Main Street and the walked down to the Oyster Bar, to which I had never been. Everything was prettty dead - it was a Tuesday - but even if it hadn't been, we would have still been the loudest bunch of gabbers. We gossiped about old classmates, teased each other about old crushes...I got a lesson in pasture parties. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard for so long.

So in year 25, congrats, Jen, for keeping connected with good friends who represent times when nobility, honor, grace and maybe a little bit of wisdom were born and were in focus...

And man, we had the best joint 13th birthday party ever. Who was making out in the horse trailer again?

Much love to my Bastrop girlies!

25 Plus 1

2007-07-17T11:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my Harry Potter 25th birthday (thank you, husband, for reminding the world), and it came and went as birthdays do when you've gotten too old and busy to really celebrate them.

I remember birthdays as a child were a grand event - even for my rafting-trip-to-New-Mexico 15th birthday, I made a big damn deal about my "increasing wisdom," believing, of course, that age constitued worldly knowledge in one's pocket like an investment in life, saved, well earned by only surviving another year. I remember wanting so badly to be "old enough," to make more decisions, to carve out a future, to "make my mark."

Right. So how did all this happen?

From the lofty vantage point of ten years later, I think there must have been a moment in my life, pregnant 21st with kareokee, a time when I stopped paying attention and completely lost my focus on living nobly with honor and grace. Because being "old enough" seems to have become surviving the next catastrophe, wisdom gained, saved, invested, earned has become short-lived. My quarter century wisdom has the life span of a twinkly Snoopy birthday candle. Puff. I screw something up so viciously, note the lesson, vow to do better and then commit the same error at the next most immediate opportunity.

And now: happy birthday. Plus one day. I didn't even plan it. Barely was awake enough to acknowledge it when it came and went. Like last year. What grand trip, what grand gift did I get for myself? I survived the year - complete catastrophe by exception only - but the excitment of achievement, of lessons imparted by age got lost somewhere. Ultimate failure at 25.

Maybe in blowing out my pancake-planted candle this year, instead of making a wish for peace and happiness in my life, I should have planned for an achievement in year 26, made a resolution-like commitment to myself to wake the hell up. I should have promised, in that pause, to learn everything possible when I'm taught by life, emblazen it in my memory, and then, after promising all of that, I should have promised myself a big fucking party.

A person can promise all of that in one breath, right? If I can say goodbye to an entire year in that time, why not promise myself the next one?

Here's to next year. May I be more attentive and have a big party.

Much love to you all who remembered my birthday.

Supporting Someone with Bipolar - For Family and Friends

2007-06-30T19:24:00.000-07:00

by Tatty Lou - a bipolar sufferer

Spouses of bipolar sufferers often are the caretakers and care givers of the relationship. They are expected to hold everything together when emotional hurricanes hit their families. They hang on in spite of everything that is flying around them just waiting for the calm. Many people close to them expect them to be strong and almost heroically brave, when sadly, they, too, have weaknesses and fears.

So many people in their community are focused on the well-being of the bipolar person that they forget about the spouse. It can be very difficult to be the other half of a partnership in which someone is chronically ill. The spouse feels like all he/she ever does is put up and put out and that they never get anything back in return. It can be emotionally and physically draining when your spouse is continually the one that is the focus of your combined attention. The spouse often forgets to acknowledge his/her own needs and wants because their attention is so completely funneled to their partner. They may long for someone they can confide in, someone to listen to their concerns. Sometimes, the spouse can become resentful of the bipolar sufferer, and then, unfortunately, the relationship hits the rocks.

Not all relationships involving bipolar sufferers and their spouses are doomed to fail. In fact, I can think of at least three at this moment that are flourishing. These relationships survive because the two people involved are fully aware of the illness they share. That is right, share. They see their situation as a team effort. They make every effort to learn about and understand this disease together. They have established limitations and boundaries that must be respected in order for the relationship to exist and prosper. Honesty and a willingness to be open about the issues involved with manic depression is vital. And, most of all, they focus on the fact that they love each other enough to commit to the relationship in the first place. Why should that change now? Keep that love in the forefront of your mind.

As the spouse of a bipolar sufferer, you may be called upon to do things you never thought you would ever have to do. You feel the ups and downs almost as painfully as they do. You are the one expected to be strong, take care of matters at hand, and then desperately try to steer your household back from the brink. You are someone to be admired, you deserve admiration. My husband is my hero. Not just because he does heroic deeds once in a while, but because he also shows me his tears. We cry together sometimes. He shares his fears with me and tells me his weaknesses. It always amazes me that after all the hell we may go through, he can still muster a smile and hold me tight in his big, manly arms. It feels good. It also feels good to know that we are one in this big old mess of mental illness, not two alone in this freaky universe.

Visit http://www.healthyplace.com/communities/bipolar/related/support_019.asp for coping ideas for bipolar supporters.

We are going to TOLEDO!

2007-06-23T19:30:00.000-07:00

I finally bought tickets for our big family - that's right, all of us - trip to see Michael's friends and family in Toledo. We are going!

After much preparation, Jim and Ann put their house on the market a few days ago, and being Michael's childhood home (for the most part), we are going up to say goodbye to it. While there, we will also be saying a big hello to our newest baby nephew Cole, whom we have not met face-to-face. I know his cousin Stella will enjoy playing with him. We all look forward to witnessing that. Big play is certainly in order!

Also, Michael's friends Sean and Nicki (husband and wife) and Bill (Lone Ranger) will be on the list of must-see's. Michael and I stayed with Sean and Nicki when we went up two July's ago to meet Michael's parents, and Bill, as some of you might remember, was the sweet but hairy adventure that partook in our wedding in December 2005.

We will go to the beautiful Toledo Zoo, which is truly a part of the experience that is Michael's family and potentially Cedar Point, if we can make it work.

More news about our big trip as it comes. If you have input about flying with small children, we'd love to hear it. The flights (American Airlines both ways) are about 5-6 hours with one connection. I am terrified, and our seating, as it stands, is HORRIBLE.

We leave July 3 in the early p.m. and will return July 10th late, late.

One Day in Our Marriage.

2007-06-09T16:14:00.001-07:00

I took off my wedding ring today because it was bothering me. Underneath the bright metal cinch, there is a band of sad, dry skin and a pink dotted sore left-of-center. Like it hasn't seen the light, was my first thought. Suffocated skin. Like a bed sore or sun weathered parade of unhappy cutaneous cells. Funeral parade. This is the place where life leaves me - this tiny inch of skin. Just thoughts.

It would be unfair to say that marriage is harder than anyone told me. Why didn't anyone warn me about this? How many times have I complained about that? But in moments, I believe that the little blasts of white gold and diamond just might symbolize the status of my on-again-off-again affair with monogamy. It only seems to itch, sting, be too tight when I feel stuck, pinned, terrified, uncertain. Hello Doubt, welcome home. It is like a far-too-fancy marriage mood ring.

The instruction card might say, Note to ring operator: Itching = anxiety. Stinging = hurt. Too tight = flee, flee, flee.

When I got engaged, the ring, diamond encrusted, timeless, was too big. It swung loosely on my finger. I felt dainty. I had room to grow. And it was heavy, so when the weight of the band twisted along, pushed up against my knuckle, I remembered there was love. I always knew. And I was safe in it's circle. The ring or the love?

In reality, I'm just 15 pounds heavier than I used to be. The ring is tight because I am fatter. Duller because I am lonelier. My marriage has not changed too much from the very first day I accepted one brave man's proposal.

We have grown, learned, survived, become cautious but we are - together and apart - essentially the same as before.

I wish I could say that this piece will end well. Not knowing where my husband is this evening and knowing exactly where I put my ring, I predict there is no ever-after ending here today. But maybe tomorrow that shriveled skin, little itchy spot, extra water weight on my finger might allow for a more peaceful, sure marriage. Maybe I'll get the old toothbrush out to scrub up the diamonds, my polishing cloth to buff up the metal.

Polishing cloth for my marriage?

So there is always hope. As they say, tomorrow is another day.

a GRRRR mommy moment.

2007-06-05T19:12:00.000-07:00

It hurt.

In the moment, I imagined it as a tiny number six bear trap slapping shut, piercing white hurt through the layers of my forearm. Shit!

I looked down at him, his tiny three year-old hands, nails digging into me, breaking the skin. I heard his frustrated screaming. I imagined the bear in me screaming. Damn hunters. Damn angry three year-olds. But he was my son. I gave him a good swat on the butt - my son - I hadn’t thought about it. I walked away.

Caught. Panicked. “Stay in your room until you are calm and sweet. Mommy doesn’t want to spend time with little boys who hurt her. Mommies play with sweet little boys.”

Face stinging with guilt, breast an anxious blue bird flutter, hand dreading its misbehavior, I stalked back to the kitchen and padded left and right in front of the stove. He was in his room.

He was screaming. He was in shock, little bear. Him or me?

“Calm and sweet,” I called in my best I’m-in-control voice. Joke. It was more of a plea for everyone to find quiet. Times like these come in sudden shots of wind – blow right through us, our house, carry away our reservations like loose leaves. It takes mommies a minute to find their loose leaves.

There is quiet. I’m in front of his door, having flown there in search of my parental-state-of-mind. My arm is purple from his sharp snare. Poor bear. Him or me?

“Calm and sweet?” Yes, I am. I stand against the door, the tree between the gaze of a hunter and the prey. I wait.

“Yes, Mommy. Come in, please.” There was such a hug like you’ve never seen before - bear hug, a sorry hug. Kisses for bruises, for sore bottoms.

Forgive me.

“Mommy was frustrated, wasn’t she?” He nods. “Mommy can be a real bear when she gets frustrated, huh?”

He kisses me and pats my hair. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” There are tears on his pink face, tears like raindrops.

“Mommy was wrong to pop your butt. I’m sorry, too. It was not right. I should have used my words, huh?” He nods and strokes my hurt arm with his softest paw.

A beast and boy reconcile, perfect friends, wounds forgiven.

Happy Father's Day - Early

2007-06-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

He Didn’t Arrive With Video Games: The Story of Our True Gamer Dad.
By Jennifer Shaw

When I met my husband, I knew he was a gamer: video games, RPGs, classic board games. I thought it was cute. I encouraged it. It was an endearing quirk, this love of games.

Who wants to make and raise children with a partner with no ability to lose himself in play? This is great.
I wanted to spend my life with the man, I wanted him to help raise my son, and so when he moved in, I knew to some extent I would have to love the tangled miles of controller cords and the speaker wire lines all over my living room walls. We talked about it for weeks before – not the moving in but the great presence of the game.

I don’t think you can handle my video games.

And so he arrived without them. And weeks passed. All of his smelly man stuff was scattered around the house. There were the speaker wires, the TV looming over my one year-old son like Ragnarok But no system. Then, in week four, it arrived.

My Duck Hunt fantasies vanished.

There were hours of machine guns in my living room. Bomb blasts kept me up late at night. And though it was amusing to watch him either jumping around cussing General RAMM after the kids went to bed or breaking into a concentrated sweat under the careful gaze of my son, I was so not prepared.

And then: will you play with me? I thought of my adolescent love affair with Mario and my college fling with Grand Theft Auto. I have yet to participate. But my son knows about the game. He watches his dad play Oblivion. Davrik’s your dude, Dad. If I didn’t shake them both out of their pixilated comas, they would spend entire days together, picking through goblin-ridden villages, bow and arrow at-the-ready.

A marriage, one daughter, hours of games and three years later, the man is still the best gamer and best dad I know. We talk about purchasing systems like people talk about purchasing cars. It is dinner table talk. He relentlessly keeps me informed about everything from patches to game releases to mini-dramas unfolding with gaming buddies.

Within a month of our daughter’s birth, he photographed her on her prettiest pink blanket with a 360 headset and controller. Months later, the only way she falls asleep is in the roar of the most coveted release, calmed by the invariable bounce of his arms as he pounds buttons. A concerned wife – concerned for the weekly video game quota not met – asks, Oh, honey, why don’t you put her down?

True gamer answer: But I like holding her like this.

So they sit together. And watching this most intimate moment, I’m sure our children will only grow in the arms of our gamer dad, the Frank West of our family, our lives. After much transition, understanding and eventual admiration, he just might get me in to run a level or two at his side.

Good game, guys.

(Sumbitted in this posted and shortened version on June 5th to Xbox Live's contest for Gamer Dad of the Year).

A Moment of Unexpected Body

2007-05-23T20:01:00.000-07:00

I was sitting at a stoplight on my way home today - alone in my Camry in a fading Texas sunset - when I became suddenly aware of the cars on either side of me. The awareness snuck up, took its time to settle down onto me like the mist from the garden hose sprayer when the wind catches the spray. Your skin knows when it is there, but your mind takes its time acknowledging it. Ah, what is this? Cool. Light. Water. Crap, I'm trying to water the lavender, not my tennis shoes!

Some things that feel so pleasant initially - when you don't really know what's going on - can really turn sour on you.

I looked around on my left side was a girl with straw blond hair pulled into a trendy knot at the nape of her neck - 18 or so - driving a silver Mustang. Her skin was tan and powdered, appropriately bronzed and pinked and lined. She was looking out the front window of her quiet car like a print model might gaze into but away from a camera lens. She was young and thoughtful and comfortably dramatic. Her expression said: What a day. And, I am so beautiful.

On my right, which is what really woke me up from my spotlight glare to begin with, was a striking black girl in a Jeep. Same-ish age. Her music was making the windows of my car thump and rattle. I felt rattled - not annoyed by it, just suddenly, unexpectedly rattled. Her hair was a free halo of coffee curls in spite the thick band of pink, yellow and white colored cloth tied around it. Her skin was equally as smooth and otherwise perfected as the Mustang model's. The sun seemed to make her glow from the inside.

Just like the mist, a moment I was enjoying - watching the pretty things all around me, feeling good - turned a rancid green. A smelly ochre moment stuck in my car at a stoplight surrounded and trapped, pinned in by super models at a traffic light. Young, trendy super models.

Man, I felt old. Without looking, I felt every inch of my slumpy clothes, and I felt the seat belt across my mommy pot belly, which has yet to dispel itself from my otherwise tolerable body despite nine months of crazed motherhood exercise and breastfeeding. I acknowledged the tired skin under my eyes and the forming zit on my chin that can only have resulted in from a box of Junior Mints eaten the previous night in a fit of anxiety. Maybe old person anxiety.

I called my friend, who I thought could relate. Rightly so. We plotted our tummy tucks and boob jobs - neither one having believed in them until after the birth of our seconds - and lamented over times when we were at stoplights like super models: when we did our hair and make-up, wore real clothes out in public, when high heels were sexy necessities and not an imposition on balancing a baby, coffee cup and calendar while trying to unlock the car door in a busy parking lot - other crazy things moms do.

When I got home, having only slightly recovered from that moment and a box of anxiety-driven Junior Mints, king-size, I went straight here: the computer, the Mecca of answers. Oh, great Internet teach me gratitude and appreciation for my suddenly mom bod and seemingly tired mind.

Why do I feel so old and frumpy and gross at 24? Twenty-four is not old. I googled "feeling old" and found an article by a 60 year-old woman who has learned to love her body. I fell asleep half-way through it. There was a time when I appreciated my body. (I wasn't 60). I didn't weigh it or harass it with starvation. I anticipated it only getting "worse" than it was at any given point, so I loved it.

But something happened between then and now, and I don't think it has anything to do with my body. Not really.

Our bodies change. Our bodies change because they get older, true, but also because of our lives - the style, the events, the relationships. People generally gain weight when in a happy or sometimes very unhappy relationship. Depression can wear a body out. A busy, preoccupied body might be thin and transparent. I appreciated my body once. Now, not so much. I am unfamiliar with it. It doesn't seem to be mine. I don't want it, love it like I used to. What does that say about my life? Exercise, eat right, sleep, sleep, sleep.

Tune in for an autobiographical analysis of my body...Whenever I feel suited (pun intended) to get to it.

It begins!

2007-05-18T08:33:00.000-07:00

Thank you Mom, Cody and Melissa Kincaid and Sarah Jane Chesney for being the first to book appointments with me! I am so excited.

I swear they have fixed their site and you really can book with me online now. I am "Jen S."

"My hands are clean."

2007-05-17T17:42:00.000-07:00

This is how I spent my days over the last three months - courtesy of my generous and supprtive husband, mother and grandfather. Thanks for backing me up...Pun intended.

"Oh, that is so good!"

Anatomical Twister

I'm out of school!!!

2007-05-16T12:16:00.000-07:00

Friends and family, I am out of massage school!!! Yippee. We are soooo excited.

I know I offered some of you free massages that we were not able to get to, but I will start my 50 hours of internship Friday May 18th...And I need bodies!

The massages will be performed at the school, and you will pay the school. Massages cost $35 for one hour and $45 for an hour and a half. (I'm pushing the longer massage because it is only 10 bucks more and gets me through so much faster).

You can book online with me by tomorrow morning at the latest. Go to www.texashealingarts.com, online appointments and pick me, pick me: Jen (Female Intern).

I am, of course, offering an incentive for clients who come in before the end of May. Pay $35/45 for your massage while I am in internship and receive your first massage from me (when I'm out of internship) for the same price. (FYI: Massages run on average between $60-80/hour).

I so look forward to seeing all of you!

Yippee!

Happy Mother's Day!

2007-05-03T06:00:00.001-07:00

Stay-at-home mother's work worth $138,095 a year
Wed May 2, 3:00 PM ET
If the typical stay-at-home mother in the United States were paid for her work as a housekeeper, cook and psychologist among other roles, she would earn $138,095 a year, according to research released on Wednesday.
This reflected a 3 percent raise from last year's $134,121, according to Salary.com Inc, Waltham, Massachusetts-based compensation experts.
The 10 jobs listed as comprising a mother's work were housekeeper, cook, day care center teacher, laundry machine operator, van driver, facilities manager, janitor, computer operator, chief executive officer and psychologist, it said.
The typical mother puts in a 92-hour work week, it said, working 40 hours at base pay and 52 hours overtime.
A mother who holds full-time job outside the home would earn an additional $85,939 for the work she does at home, Salary.com.
Last year she would have earned $85,876 for her at-home work, it said.
Salary.com compiled the online responses of 26,000 stay-at-home mothers and 14,000 mothers who also work outside the home.
(Reporting by Ellen Wulfhorst)

No Limbo for my babies!

2007-04-20T19:35:00.000-07:00

(This article is for those of you who may be concerned that I did not baptize my babies. Worry no more).

Catholic Church buries limbo after centuries
By Philip Pullella Fri Apr 20, 2:21 PM ET
VATICAN CITY (Reuters) - The Roman Catholic Church has effectively buried the concept of limbo, the place where centuries of tradition and teaching held that babies who die without baptism went.
In a long-awaited document, the Church's International Theological Commission said limbo reflected an "unduly restrictive view of salvation."
The 41-page document was published on Friday by Origins, the documentary service of the U.S.-based Catholic News Service, which is part of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops.
Pope Benedict, himself a top theologian who before his election in 2005 expressed doubts about limbo, authorized the publication of the document, called "The Hope of Salvation for Infants Who Die Without Being Baptised."
The verdict that limbo could now rest in peace had been expected for years. The document was seen as most likely the final word since limbo was never part of Church doctrine, even though it was taught to Catholics well into the 20th century.
"The conclusion of this study is that there are theological and liturgical reasons to hope that infants who die without baptism may be saved and brought into eternal happiness even if there is not an explicit teaching on this question found in revelation," it said.
"There are reasons to hope that God will save these infants precisely because it was not possible (to baptize them)."
The Church teaches that baptism removes original sin which stains all souls since the fall from grace in the Garden of Eden.
"NO NEGATION OF BAPTISM"
The document stressed that its conclusions should not be interpreted as questioning original sin or "used to negate the necessity of baptism or delay the conferral of the sacrament."
Limbo, which comes from the Latin word meaning "border" or "edge," was considered by medieval theologians to be a state or place reserved for the unbaptized dead, including good people who lived before the coming of Christ.
"People find it increasingly difficult to accept that God is just and merciful if he excludes infants, who have no personal sins, from eternal happiness, whether they are Christian or non-Christian," the document said.
It said the study was made all the more pressing because "the number of nonbaptised infants has grown considerably, and therefore the reflection on the possibility of salvation for these infants has become urgent."
The commission's conclusions had been widely expected.
In writings before his election as Pope in 2005, the then Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger made it clear he believed the concept of limbo should be abandoned because it was "only a theological hypothesis" and "never a defined truth of faith."
In the Divine Comedy, Dante placed virtuous pagans and great classical philosophers, including Plato and Socrates, in limbo. The Catholic Church's official catechism, issued in 1992 after decades of work, dropped the mention of limbo.

In Memory

2007-03-25T21:57:00.000-07:00

(My grandfather passed away Thursday. Tomorrow, I will deliver the following speech/writing at his funeral).

For those of you who do not know me, I am Jennifer Shaw. I am the first child of the fourth child or eighth grandchild by birth order of Charles and Elizabeth Graham. I am a third generation Graham in this time in our family’s history.

If names suit you better than numbers, I am Patricia’s daughter, who we affectionately call Janey, who is the third and last daughter born to Charlie and Bets. She is the daughter born just after Margaret, who we affectionately call Peg, but just before John who would like you all to know him as the “favorite son.” (I’m glad some of you are paying attention).

The bottom line – for those of you who still can’t unravel our family tree – is that I am proud to be a Graham. And I am proud and so grateful to know a Graham – especially the one who brings us here this morning in celebration of life.

I’m sure we each remember Old Dad differently, but what is important now in his absence is what we can remember and share together.

Before I continue, please close your eyes, if you dare, allow yourself a deep breath and take a light-hearted moment of silence or laughter to remember our Charlie Graham, the man.

(PAUSE)

I remember how he’d hunt everyone down as soon as we got in at family parties for a hello kiss or a good-old-boy thunk on the shoulder and a vise-worthy handshake. I remember, “Hey, Sam-bo,” he’d say to me, “Are you going to say ‘hi’ to me?” or “Where’s my kiss?” I always appreciated being found in a house of more than forty noisy Grahams, and there is something to be said for a man who is sure to welcome you when you walk into a room.

And I remember, as a child at those parties, if you didn’t lick your dinner plate clean like a dog or find a bush to scrape your leftovers in while no one was looking, you’d hear about it from him as soon as he saw the crust of your once turkey sandwich. “Eat that,” he’d say.

And remember the constant humming? (Although really you couldn’t call it humming because there was nothing musical about it). He was what I know my mother – Patricia or Janey, the fourth child and third daughter born to Charlie and Bets – would call: a true character.

I remember the way Grandfather owned every chair he sat in. He always allowed himself a slight satisfied recline but with both feet firmly on the floor – watching us as we all scurried around, watching and sitting as if he knew how secretly smitten with him we all were. I remember his arms and hands covering every inch of arm rest. And that is how I will always think of him.

In his life, Charles Edward Graham Jr., Daddy-dear, Grandfather, Old Dad, was many things to many people – entrepreneur, confidant, dance partner, business associate, friend – but when I close my eyes and think of the man, humming, of course, I will see Old Dad sitting as a king on his throne, surrounded by one self-described patient wife, seven doting children, a dozen plus well loved grandchildren and ever increasing great and great-great grand children…Past and future Grahams in plenty.

For us, he was the leader of the Graham Clan, our pride, and for me a teacher of generosity, consequently gratitude, and of love.

In this spirit I hope that at the reception and many times after, each of you will joyfully share one of your memories of Charles Edward Graham Jr. with someone – family, friend or stranger – so we might help each other remember him and honor his life with our love and fond memories.

But more importantly, I ask that we remember Grandfather so we might encourage each other to live with a dignity and grace that would only make those that pass before us – like Old Dad – proud to be a Graham and proud to say they knew you in life.

Thank you.

Moving Forward: A Family Update

2007-03-04T06:30:00.000-08:00

So since October, our family has been working on a lot of things - namely "keeping it together." But Michael has also been job hunting (within Dell), and I have been pursuing my massage/bodyworking license. We have been so busy!

Michael has not heard back about his first set of interviews, which he finished up not too long ago, so please send all your positive energy our way. He is really excited about moving up in Dell and has been working really hard over the last year plus to do so.

And I have about 2 more months left in the massage program. I am doing free "homework" massages right now - if anyone is really desperate for some touch, let me know. Starting after May 16th, I will have to complete a 50-hour internship through the school, so I will some victims for full-body relaxation massages. The school charges $30-45 bucks for me to practice on you (instead of $60-80 or more). Since I will be forever indebted to you for forking over some cash to let me rub your bods, I'll give you another massage for the same price after I graduate and am "masseuse extraordinaire." Then you can get two massages for $60ish or less instead of $160ish or more. Oh, I would be so grateful! Any takers? (This is me begging in advance). Keep it in mind! Again my internship starts May 16th.

Stella and Ethan are wonderful as usual. I am so fortunate Michael is so supportive of me staying home right now. The kids are a wonderful and very full-time job. I am so tired!

Stella is babbling and drooling more and more every day. She does not scoot or roll (much to certain people's concern) but she is making teeth right and left and mastering spit-bubble blowing and "dadda." She weighs a ton - or 20+ lbs. and is developing a very female/mildly entertaining and mildly annoying attitude. She will certainly be our little princess! On Thursday she had her first get-together with "the girls." My friends/"the girls" are starting to get married and have babies now, so the next generation is upon us. See the pic, from right to left: Kalyn, daughter of Faith Moore (1 month), Laney, daughter of Melissa Klaus (5 months), Stella, my little star (7 months). Aren't they funny together?!

Ethan has retired, so it seems, most of his super hero gear with the exception of Peter Pan, which he demands everyone pronounce with a British accent. He never leaves home without a "knife-sword" and his Nando and daddy, kind-heartedly, become "Johns Captain Hook" at his demand. We made a weak attempt to go to the Austin Kite Festival today, only to learn that none of us really wanted to wait in the traffic jam badly enough to see the kites, so we ate our picnic in the car in the shade of the AMLI Downtown. Ethan was very good-natured and understanding about the whole thing. We had a good little picnic. (Photograph by Michael, of course).

Ethan is also very gracious. This weekend we had two of his preschool friends' birthday parties to attend, and with very little if any prompting, Ethan thanked his friends and their parents for inviting him to the parties - and of course, giving him gift bags with candy in them. I was very proud. One of his friends Caleb started crying (apparently because Ethan was leaving) when Ethan and I got ready to leave the second party, and with such compassion, Ethan gave Caleb a sweet hug and offered to share his goodie bag - candy and all - to make Caleb feel better. Did I mention how proud I am???

We are all Surviving: A Family Update.

2007-02-23T02:28:00.000-08:00

Although it is 4:26 in the morning - I woke up at 3 a.m. and can never go right back to sleep at that time - we are all surviving our bout with the "sea of bacteria," as Michael called it on his blog this week. The kids and I were able to come home, although as soon as we got here Ethan, from whom Stella, Michael and I got our latest round of sick, got another fever. It really is endless, isn't it? There is a lot about raising children they never tell you!

But we are grateful. Despite the occassional crumbling of our health due to daycare cestpools, our children are healthy. Stella Edison weighed 20 lbs. at her last doctor's appointment. (That's really big for a 6.5 month old, for those of you with nothing to compare it with). She is such a big girl with two teeth and lots of baby talk. Ethan has taken to calling everyone "very helpful" and adores his Meema, my mom. (She has been the lifepreserver in this wave of illness we've had lately - and pretty much every one before, too. Invaluable). Massage school is going well, though I am often tired. Michael, as you may have noticed from his blog is interviewing for several new opportunites at Dell. We are very proud of him. He officially had his one year anniversary with the company on Tuesday.

More as it develops! I hope!

Catch-sup.

2007-01-29T06:57:00.000-08:00

I suddenly have what seems to be a couple of seconds to make a quick post, so here's the news:

I start massage school Thursday. A generous friend who is already in the industry is leading me along nicely and even letting me borrow her books, which is great.

I am also now a plasma donor, which is great news mostly because it means I have a wonderfully clean bill of health...As far as anything like blood and hormones and proteins and blood related diseases and viruses and stuff. So that is great. My first experience was wonderful. I joked with the attendant that after seeing the epidural needles and going through that, no arm poke - even with a big needle - was going to phase me. The environment was clean and contemporary. I read a book in complete peace and quiet which was an unexpected and much needed surprise. I got paid a very little bit but left it on an account to pick up later as it accrues - it can go toward extra expenses over the next few months of school, etc. I left feeling healthy and positive. It was a surprisingly self-benefiting and rewarding way to make a non-monetary contribution to the world.

I still have not heard from Dell about the evening sales position, which might be a blessing in disguise. They have until Thursday to meet the three week lead time they gave me.

A good friend from Tileworks/Lakeview Management Tory Harding was in town yesterday. We met her for brunch at Michael's favorite, Double Dave's Pizza, after church. It was so nice of her to think of us while she was in town. We had a long lunch, since Stella was with us - baby goo-goo time.

The house is coming along. Since we've moved back in October no one has felt much like unpacking...again. But it is coming together. Ethan and Stella's beds are in the same room to give Ethan one room just to himself for toys, toys, toys. Ethan recently started sleeping on the top bunk of his bed. He can see inside Stella's crib from there, so when she is in the room sleeping, when we can manage to get her and keep her there, he can see her. He seems to relish the big-boy responsibility of watching over her and is very quiet and respectful.

That's the news! Michael has so great and funny pics of the family up. Check it out. www.themorphememan.com

Community and Education

2007-01-23T07:58:00.000-08:00

Calling all Angels! Michael and I are going to church! In fact, we went to church. This is really a glorious moment for Michael, so I will let him share the bulk of the story with you, but I had a very encouraging and uplifting experience.

We attended and will be attending Live Oak Unitarian Universalist Church in North Austin. Our first visit, by all accounts, exciting. Michael has not been to church in years and years, and I stopped going when Ethan neared one year. (At the time, I just couldn't make church - in the Christian sense - be what I needed it to be for me. I felt fraudulent most of the time because my round-peg ideas didn't fit in Christianity's square holes...But I didn't know where else to look for what I needed. And though the experience started out fulfilling and moving, I felt disappointed in the end).

So, we arrived just in time, and parked under a big tree. Many gray-headed couples and trios were weaving paths through the parking lot. A younger man carried a school-aged girl into a side door. Ethan and I had taken family yoga with the girl the previous Saturday at Ruta Maya. She recognized me but didn't say anything.

Michael was a little nervous, and so was I in fact. (One thing the Catholic church does not do is teach about its competitors...Why would it? So I am completely unprepared for any other spiritual experiences I encounter - aside from reading I've done on my own, which isn't a lot). Ethan wasn't sure what was going on at all, but they had an excellent playground on first glance, so he was interested at a minimum. I put Stella in the sling, and after a brief debate about which door was the best door to enter, the four of us bravely marched up to what appeared to be the front door.

The first thing I noticed was a very small, triangular, native habitat planting to the left of the walk with a plaque stating its significance and a "torture is wrong" banner hanging high against the brick. We were, as in every church I'd ever been to, greeted warmly by a swarm of men and women wearing name tags - one wore a small sandwich board sign: Ask me anything. A man a few feet away from us wore a T-shirt with a poignant spiritual quote from the Dali Lama.

I took Ethan to the kid's room, and he stayed happily only after a little persuading. (One of the things Michael really liked about this church was the program for religious education for children, but I'll let him explain that). Stella, still in the sling, and I met Michael for the service.

I won't go into too much detail because, as I said this community find is truly Michael's victory to describe, but the service and the speaker (in sharp red-framed eye glasses) both were funny, liberal, relevant, political and inspiring. I left feeling called. In fact, when I got home I wrote on my bathroom mirror with soap, "Choose your sacred work," so I would remember how inspired I felt after the sermon.

When the room started moving and filing out, Michael and I dashed away. (There is a coffee hour held after each service, but I hadn't checked on Ethan as I had promised because Stella fell asleep in my lap...Michael was just ready to go. He was so excited and nervous and overwhelmed, which is a good sign most of the time, in case you are wondering). Ethan was "doing laundry" in the playroom when we got to him. They said he was great - very good at puzzles. We skirted down a back hallway out of the building.

We finished up the morning with Michael's favorite - Double Dave's Pizza - to celebrate our new found community, and for me education. Look for a post from Michael to hear more details!

In Year Two We Play.

2007-01-17T18:06:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Dad and Patty who have always been very generous in more than one way in supporting my marriage, Michael and I "hit the town" alone twice in the last two weeks.

While Dad and Patty watched the kids, we went dancing at 80's night on New Year's Eve/our anniversary. (Michael is a blast to dance with, by the way. I have never had so much fun with a guy at a club). And this last Saturday we went to the Cheesecake Factory for an adult, quiet, lavish, overwhelming meal and the for a couple quick and dirty games of bowling. It was a blast. I rolled three strikes for my all-time highest score ever, which I won't share with you because it is really not that high. (Hee, hee). Michael, of course, beats me most of the time. I pretend it is because he has bigger biceps.

Oh to be a big kid again! Glorious...

When people called to congratulate Michael and I on our first year together - to congratulate us for "making it" in other terms - it took me some time to realize what that meant. Frazzled, exhausted and glossy-eyed, we get so caught up in the day-to-day of being parents and employees and house maids and whatever...Finally, it hit me: man the first year was damn hard. (That was not just hard, but damn hard - for those of you that didn't pick up on the emphasis). And now it seems so much easier. We even get some time out. It's not all work! Imagine that! I get to play with my husband? Play? What? As in the beginning, I am blissfully happy with Michael, but ironically, we couldn't have made it this far without the love and support of our family, without the people who understand what a "first year" meant for us.

Thank you family and sweet, sweet husband for giving us such a great life.

A Six Month Commitment: Healing

2007-01-06T14:06:00.000-08:00

I have been really wanting to post about/announce this for days. It is well over-due.

(You'd think with all the snow and ice keeping the kids and me inside, I would've finally had the time. Yeah right. Quite the opposite. Both of them are bundles of anxious, bored, pent-up energy. Michael has been home, too, because of bad weather closures at Dell, so I also spent the last two days taking advantage of the great company and willing helping hand. It has been sooo nice having him home for an extended weekend).

Here is the scoop: In an effort to take a huge risk and try something completely different in the way of work and livelihood, I begin massage school on February 1st at Texas Healing Arts on Burnet Road. At the end of the 4 month program that runs daily from 9:30-1 pm and an internship that follows, I will be licensed to perform massage therapy in Texas. I hope to work with a good friend of mine who has an more than established client base for esthetics and massage.

So you are thinking: Where did this come from? Massage therapy is a hard field to be in. You're right! Most massage therapists burn out after 7 years, make $10-15/hour, work a lot and don't make their own schedules. What the hell is she thinking? I'm thinking I've tried everything else. And I'm thinking the glass is half full - some therapists make $45-90/hour and do make their own schedule - like my friend who is in the industry already.

I've tried the sales jobs, having the kids in daycare all day every day and living on a shoestring budget even though Michael and I are both working our tails off. I've done what I think everyone else thinks I should do, which is ridiculous even just as a thought. I believe it is time to try something else. And since my years of dance and anatomy classes, I have always been facinated with how the body works.

(But, for those of you who are freaking out: I am trying to maintain a tid-bit of realism and caution, I have also applied for a part time evening inside sales position with Dell Round Rock to supplement Michael's income and keep one foot squarely in the sales world. The interview went swimmingly, and I'll find out about this job for sure by the end of January).

So that is the plan. For the next six months or so, I am committed to learning how to heal and relax strangers' bodies. Although, I do have to tell you, I am looking forward to this as an opportunity to learn how to relax and balance myself as well and do something I want to do as a method to center myself and heal a part of my body - my heart - so I can take better care of myself and my family in this precious life.

More later about the program!

Check it out: Texas Healing Arts

http://www.texashealingarts.com/

Check this artist out!

2007-01-05T20:23:00.000-08:00

http://www.toddkurtzman.com/

Dark Energy as Defined by Wikipedia

2007-01-05T19:26:00.000-08:00

In physical cosmology, dark energy is a hypothetical form of energy that permeates all of space and has strong negative pressure.[1] According to the Theory of Relativity, the effect of such a negative pressure is qualitatively similar to a force acting in opposition to gravity at large scales. Invoking such an effect is currently the most popular method for explaining recent observations that the universe appears to be expanding at an accelerating rate, as well as accounting for a significant portion of the missing mass in the universe.

Interested? Though I don't pretend to understand most of it, I am rivoted! See also:

Evidence of Dark Energy
http://www.nasa.gov/home/hqnews/2006/nov/HQ_06353_Hubble_Dark_Energy.html

Dark Energy Changes the Universe
http://www.nasa.gov/missions/deepspace/f_dark-energy.html

Dark Energy Pushing Galaxies Apart
http://www.space.com/scienceastronomy/astronomy/cosmic_darknrg_020115-1.html

Human Origin and Dark Energy
http://www.space.com/scienceastronomy/mystery_monday_040531.html

Belated Gingerbread Adventure

2007-01-04T11:06:00.000-08:00

We were well prepared...

All parties were present...

(This is Michael's breadman. It is the closest to a picture of him you will get in this montage, because he refused to relinquish the camera for a close up).

It is a serious business making a gingerbread man. Skittle buttons were the most essential body part in 2006...

And a smile, of course. A little breadman would be truly naked without one.

And so we were all content. A happy end to a happily exhausted holiday season.

(That nose has never seen so much sugar!)

Michael's art shot. Wouldn't be a family event without creative documentation. Thank you, M James!

Another Exercise in Creativity: Little Bird, Little Phoenix

2007-01-02T21:54:00.000-08:00

Devastating
Wicked
Prophetic
Important
Introspective

Serotonin – constituent of many venoms
Oxytocin – feeling like heroin
Vasopressin – pairs with oxytocin

Big

Little Bird, Little Phoenix

I am perched like a bee humming -
bird on your hips, you wicked smile.
I need to be light.
Feathered importance weighs on this
love. We were prophets in earlier years
on serotonin heroin highs, oxytocin wild rides.
We saw this coming.
And now I am devastated

by the introspective enormity
of my chemical heart in this small cage -
no breath in this gray breast for exploding stars.
Seemingly still on your crest, curve of the moon
to be light
I fear my intention has no other word
to describe this love, this love, this love, no other -
word other than
big.

More than you might want to know...

2007-01-02T21:07:00.000-08:00

More than you might want to know about love. Economist covers it all - including prairie voles and oxytocin overload:
http://www.economist.com/printedition/displayStory.cfm?Story_ID=2424049

Hanukkah - Night One

2006-12-18T13:34:00.000-08:00

Michael gets credit for this pic of our menorah on night one.

Night one went swimmingly. Michael did all the grocery shopping and made the family Chicken Parmesan and spaghetti - not exactly a Jewish meal, but excellent, nonetheless.

We followed the traditions, which I researched, as best as possible. We didn't say the prayers in Hebrew, and we were all starving so we ate within thirty minutes of lighting the candles, but we tried. And I think the important parts got through to Ethan. He is loving it - especially dreidel because he likes the chocolate coins (gelt). We are exchanging gifts - trinkets mostly - each night as our official gelt. Ethan got a Batman watch (with hands - not digital). He wore it to bed, took it off the next day and has not mentioned it since. But it is cute and we also got him a book about telling time, so this will be a learning opportunity all the way around.

The hardest part about Hanukkah is following the rules - mainly all being in the same place at the same time at night to light the menorah. It is something we would like to do all the time - eat together and spend time together after dinner, but invariably something always comes up: there is a friend in town or a game to go to, shopping to do, etc. So that part has been a challenge...And good practice.

Michael will post about night two.

History Fighting to Repeat Itself - or Not?

2006-12-15T12:57:00.000-08:00

For those of you who have not heard, consider this:

Spain's parliament is debating the Law for the Recovery of the Historical Memory, which is a bill that will - among many, many other things - provide financial compensation to the victims of the dictatorship, recover thousands of bodies that remain in unmarked graves even forty years after Franco's passing and remove statues of and tributes to the dictator.

Picture above: Nationalist dictator Franco, in full get-up.

For the most part this is just fine with me. I believe it is always a good idea to reexamine some of the more painful periods of our lives, of our histories - personal and worldly - to remember the losses, whatever they were, and reinforce the lesson either learned or missed the first time around. (You know, so history doesn't repeat itself).

Spanish Popular Party spokesman Gustavo de Aristegui had this to say about the proposed bill: "Our transition from dictatorship to democracy is an example in Europe and I think that we've got to cherish this and not re-open wounds that have already been able to be cured, wounds that are healed...You know, leave things be, it's not an issue any more, I mean people on the street are not worried about these things any more."

What an opportunity! If Spain's civil war is such an example, shouldn't Spain be setting one?

Germany had an excellent opportunity at one time, but just this month an international conference was held in Iran to debate and question the existence and reality of the Holocaust...What? Germany specifically and Religion generally, in my opinion, have failed if even a few angry men think it is necessary to squat like Primitives in a country who supports nuclear development - another lesson left unlearned - and rail on Israel. You want to change the world? Hey, morons, don't kill people, don't wish the undoing of their cities, their countries. If it is absolutely necessary to intervene, which is ridiculous, you offer to convert them, you share what you've learned, you love them...And leave them the hell alone.

In any case, Spain seems to be struggling with what to do next - or nearly forty years later. Oh, things move so slowly. They are at the proverbial fork in the road: Take down the statues, remove the Franco legacy from mountainsides and state buildings and make things right with families scarred by the war, or leave the settled dust settled because the past isn't important to anyone "on the street," as it was put. Nobody worries about these things anymore.

I do. What do you think? Can't Spain agree on a happy medium - is it worth such division? I propose a happy medium: Pay the survivors and victims families, find their bodies. And leave up every statue of Franco there is. Document the war, the real stories on all sides and podcast it non-stop for fifty years across the entire world, so no one will forget what everything from backward politics to mere differences in believe, in tradition, can do to a nation and its people - the people that serve it.

Picture above: Should it stay or should it go? Franco's tomb - you can see it for miles...

Reference:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5192228.stm
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6625505

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/5224762.stm

http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&c=Article&cid=1165963812362&call_pageid=968332188492

An Exercise in Creativity.

2006-12-11T18:49:00.000-08:00

Faithful

Spastic

Marmalade

Traipsing

Syntax

Picture: "Dr. Suess' Island" by Alex Ford

Errors:

We are faithful traces, rotting possibilities
traipsing through marmalade lands
making tiny lizard trails, snail lines
in gooey orange peel rank.

Unravel the syntax of such scarlet hills -
tiny mounds of opportunity set for development
by spastic matchmakers commissioned

to define life - and you will find green

Suessical high rises with swizzle straw stairs
are only jarred errors of Nature’s fruit.

Poem: Jennifer Shaw

I wrote this, but I don't have any idea what it means. If it means anything, I would guess it is something like: We have no idea what we are doing on this journey called life, though we seem to be committed to messing up. And if we try to spend too much time sorting it all out, we'll be sorely disappointed in the end since reality is always wackier than we expect...

The Importance of a First Life - Saturdays Win Out!

2006-12-11T08:36:00.000-08:00

In a moment of uncontrollable realism, I turned down the job with Austin Plumbing Supply. It was going to be too much to handle, realistically. And though it may be self-important to think so, my family needs me home more than that job was going to allow. Aside from my family, I would have been very, very unhappy working six days a week.

So maybe I did get a little bit from that Oprah show about becoming your better self. I at least managed a little bravery and made a choice that is a tad risky - because now I am jobless again - but completely right. I have spent a lot of time in the last four years trying to make the right choices, so I can only be proud of myself. I took a stand. And I believe this family can survive anything - even mere temporary joblessness - if we work together.

Also, as you may remember, I decided I need to make a plan for my life. I promised myself I would make a list of things I wanted to do in the time I have been given, and then decide what vehicle, what job, what sacrifice was going to carry me to those goals. (I am also going to consult with a career development counselor, since I my interests are so varied).

Here is a start:

Make my own work schedule.
Make my own work schedule.
Make my own work schedule.
Learn more about the body and make mine healthy.
Help young parents understand their new roles.
Dance in a company and teach dance.
Travel to/live in different countries.
Learn how to meditate.
Learn and teach a foreign language.
Write and publish a book.
Work for an art gallery.
Get an MBA
Retire on my terms...

And I'm sure there is more to come.

Giving up Saturdays.

2006-12-09T11:58:00.000-08:00

This Saturday morning the kids, Michael and I adventured to the Omelettry on Burnet Road. While obsessively scoping out Austin Plumbing Supply's parking lot (to see if they are busy enough for my professional and constant need for stimulation), I keep passing the restaurant and thinking: I really need to go there.

I have a sweet but foggy memory of being at the Omelettry as a child - pancakes and blind-filtered sunlight, a rocky wooden chair I hung upside down from - and every time I pass by it, I am surprised it is still there - just as it was a least 20 years ago. It is perched on a corner that seems to stretch out into the middle of the street - precariously positioned to draw a driver's wandering eye but secure enough to only look like it is going to fall off into Burnet's ever-increasing traffic. And even though the paint is new, the building looks precarious, too. It could collapse inward at any moment, though the smell of buttermilk would certainly hold it up if it did.

After struggling to park in a parking lot that is cinched. like a belt, just a little too tightly, we go in. My newest theory is that parking lots completely represent what a person can expect once inside wherever they are going. Austin Plumbing Supply's lot is always pretty full for its size. There is one little row of neatly parked cars that match rows of neatly organized knobs and faucets and toilets and bath tubs. (Imagine a neat little row of bath tubs).

In the Omelettry, we were pushed up against the front window. Ethan had a lot of energy, as he should for a late Saturday morning and was bouncing off people as they pushed by. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Michael shifting, looking nervous but taking deep breaths. I was confused and in absolutely everyone's way. We needed to get on a list - and quick.

Jen for four. Ethan and I went outside to look at the line of red newspaper boxes. The air was light and cold. Refreshing. Ethan wanted a key to open the Dallas Morning News box. There were no papers in it, which made me smile with private opinions about Dallas, Texas. Cars zipped by behind us on the street. A trio of grumpy hipsters stood at the corner of the building talking about movies. Michael came out to get us. They had a table.

Michael, a man with an impeccable sense of direction, led the way to the back room through clattering spoons and butter perfume. There is the wooden chair and the sunlight. I felt the warmth wrapping me in. I can only relate it to sinking into a bowl of tomato soup (not that I've actually ever done that) without the smell, of course, but the consistency is right - creamy and slow. There was a cute blond girl sitting in the booth behind us. Ethan saw her and started singing. Loudly.

I showed him how to drink his water with a spoon. Ethan, I used to do this when I was a kid. Dip your spoon in - keep it flat, not tip first. Good. Let the water roll in, lift it really slow and slurp it out. Don't spill. Awesome, Brother. Show Dad! He was so proud.

Our breakfast arrived carried by a girl in a flowy floral skirt and a lot of beads. Ethan and I split a short stack of pancakes - two large flat disks of sweet bread. There was a hill of butter on top that looked like it came out of an ice cream scoop. It melted while I watched, creating a weighty lake of fat - a moat around a castle - on the stack. I am generous with syrup. If you have ever had Omelettry pancakes, you know what a mouthful of sin tastes like. The first bite when straight to the roof of my mouth, dissolving in its own time. The bread itself - without the butter or syrup - is sweet. I drank six glasses of water.

Saturday morning breakfasts out are an event. It is the one day in the week that feels like the beginning of something good. (Sundays are the end of something good and Mondays are usually the beginning of a week of work). Saturdays take their time, too. After a week of hurried meals, contrived conversations with co-workers you need to be on good terms with and staying up late trying to do the things you actually want to do, Saturdays provide the weary rejuvenation and refreshment. They provide a moment for the tired mind - even at 24 - to wander to memories and conversation with loved ones and good food.

I will fight for Saturday morning breakfasts.

In All Their Glory.

2006-12-07T14:20:00.000-08:00

Stella Edison Shaw: 4 months, two teeth and 10,000 lbs.

Ethan Marley Shaw Read: At three years - when even underwear are part of the constume.

Become yourself - a lesson in failure.

2006-12-01T07:50:00.000-08:00

Monday I accepted a job I know I will be very successful at - and miserable at. It pays well.

I will work 45+ hours a week, which includes a half-day on Saturdays. Every Saturday. Hell starts Monday.

Oprah, you taught me nothing, but you can still wish me good luck.

___________________________

December 1st

On Oprah yesterday, actress Ellen Burstyn spoke about her book Lessons in Becoming Myself. Composed and elegant in crystal and silk at 73, she talked about the "tracks" that are laid when we are young and how hard it is to break free of their path. She claims it took 25 years to become awake in her life - to become who she was and what it meant when she made conscious choices.

Lessons learned from this leading lady: it is okay to choose your life, to be powerful and a woman and be loved all at the same time.

How, how, how?

Another idea that I really found striking came from actress Kimberly Elise who said she felt like it took her so long to meet and become her true self because she was a very young wife and mother. The job was so all-consuming that she didn't know who she was or what she wanted until she divorced. Now, she says, she has been able to take time to understand herself, to take care of herself and to choose a "track," a path that is her own. I can relate to this!

I make flippant remarks about my "air-headedness" to other mothers who assure me that it is okay. Mothers just feel frazzled and foggy and half-asleep all the time. The three year old in me wants a better answer: why, why, why?

It is not okay.

This is the time that I have - right now and all the yesterdays missed.

I post about feeling indifferent about broken glass when I am barefoot, being asleep and perfectly functional at my job, being a blackhole for ownership - a void, in every sense of the word. I feel myself as a little blond girl in a red peacoat on the front of a Christmas card, but instead of peeking through a snowy window, it is a dirty one. And I'm not seeing just a Christmas tree or carolers, I'm watching a life that is wonderful, that is hopeful and weirdly mine. And I'm two-dimensional. I'm flat. I'm an outline or a cut-out. It is not possible to participate in such a life in the state I am in.

Oprah's graceful icons say that they met and beat and survived Struggle to become themselves. I have met Struggle and his persistent allies Doubt and Anxiety, and I have overcome them time and again - especially recently. But nothing. I am still asleep. I am still rolling down a track I have claimed but have no interest in. I am still making someone elses choices because it is so easy to do.

Now what?

Oh, great Oprah, are you out there? Your super-star guests have all the answers.

Please comment.

2006-11-29T13:21:00.000-08:00

Hey, people I know and love: feel free to comment on these posts. Please. It does feel a little strange opening what is essentially a diary up to the entire online world, but I hope that it will serve as a record of life - not an internal commentary.

Are you out there? I look forward to hearing from you.

Importance of a First Life - Part one

2006-11-29T08:04:00.000-08:00

This is it: I am the most confused person there is.

I see all the possibilities of my life hanging in the air like molecules of Rainbow Brite's star sprinkles. (She colors the world, right?) The possibilities are tiny lights of job offers and career opportunities that keep blinking and burning out as I watch, too unorganized and overstimulated to snatch one out of the air. It's a nice show, but it's not getting me anywhere, which is further paralyzing.

As a high school senior, I remember working so hard on my college applications. They had taken on a life of their own. I was just on auto-pilot. At the time I think I was doing it because I felt I was just supposed to and because I wanted to make my parents happy. But I didn't actually have any idea what I was doing, why I was doing it and where it was supposed to take me...Did I even want to be where it took me? My parents would have loved me anyway.

There are no regrets there, but since then I have done a lot of the same: doing things because I was supposed to. Somehow, Society got in and planted these ideas about what I was supposed to do in my life. These thoughts dictate my life. It is easy to cover your eyes and follow the rainbow road that is laid out for you like a bed sheet or picnic blanket - a quick flick of the wrist and a foundation is laid, covering what no one wants to sleep on, brunch on. As far as I can tell, most of us shuffle down this path, but we are not happy. Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. But the three year old in me wants to know: why, why, why?

I need a plan, man. I need a way to break out of these transplanted thoughts. The thoughts can only be time bombs in my brain - that is not a light show I would survive. A decision must be made. When all these star sprinkle possibilities are gone, when I give up on snatching one out of the sky, give up committing to only a possibility of lively success and follow the path I know is concrete, then what? Creative death? But also an end to anxiety and indecision?

Insert Jeopardy theme music here.

Rainbow Brite has a lot of star sprinkles. I have a lot of talents. There are a lot of possibilities out there for everyone. How do we get there? How do I get to do all the things I want to do in my life, from hanging with my kidos to making money to traveling the world to leaving my mark...Hey big bad Society, you've told me what I'm supposed to do. Riding a unicorn through my life while making the skies blue for my children - now tell me how that is done?

Developments

2006-11-25T15:26:00.000-08:00

Since June, things have really been changing at and around the Newberry house - we have a new baby, we are working harder than ever on our marriage and in our jobs, Ethan has changed schools a billion times, and we've moved out, moved in and been everywhere in between. For a while I felt like we were spinning our wheels like crazy and not going anywhere. But now, things are slowing down, and all this time we have been moving, progressing, developing something. I just hadn't noticed it. Payoffs are big!

The most exciting development of late - or literally three minutes ago - is STELLA'S FIRST TOOTH! I am totally not kidding. Stella cut her first tooth, I guess, today or maybe yesterday. Wasn't she just born? I'm sure she has been trying to draw our attention to it for hours, but I discovered it right after she finished nursing. She was singing and cooing and giggling and snorting and gurgling and babbling on and on - probably saying, stop fooling around, woman, and look in my mouth - and there it was! It is the tiniest, white, glossly line on her rudy gum, and it is so cute just like everything about her. I immediately raced in to show Michael, who was equally excited. Before you know it, she'll be losing that tooth, he said.

(Note: One of the awesome things about sharing "Stella - The Experience" with Michael is that both of us had similar circumstances regarding our first-born: we were both very young, in school and more or less single with no one to get giddly over these milestones with. I am so thankful I have such an awesome co-parent to share these developments with).

I am sure Michael will be snapping a thousand pictures of that adorable chunk of enamel shortly, so you will all be able to see what proud parents of a tooth-bearing child we are.

Also, and especially in the last three minutes since I noticed Stella's first tooth, for the last week, I have really been coming to terms with my new job with the University of Phoenix. I think it is fair to say that 95% or more of the people who know me well, know I have absolutely no idea what I want to do in my professional life. That seems to be a given all the way around. However, I know what I don't want to do, and being a recruiter for UOP is up there. The company is actually amazing, but the job is not. Since returning to Newberry more than a month ago, I have been unable to accomplish anything outside of the JOB - including regularly bathing my daughter - because the demands are so much more than I can handle in my new state of double motherhood and wifehood and housekeeper-hood and other such "hoods." So, at least until I find a job that will either be my "calling" or work with my first life - being a parent - I will be postponing my second life - the JOB life. And I am happy about the decision - looking for the right job while enjoying my family instead of just working in the wrong one and hating myself for not getting anything done. I have always wanted a little more time with my kids - something a little girl dreams about when growing up...Or at least I dreamt about it growing up.

ALSO, Michael has decided to go back to school, which has been the blessing of the University of Phoenix, my job from hell. He will be starting, we hope, online classes in December to complete a software engineering degree. I'm sure he will make an announcement of his own with more information for you all. (Honey, I hope you are not mad at me for posting this, but I am SOOOO excited for you. Congratulations).

More "developments" coming soon.

Life is sweet - a family update.

2006-11-21T10:53:00.000-08:00

Ethan has been a his new school, Little Munchkins for over one month. His teachers and classmates seem to really love him. His best friend is a boy named CJ. He seems to know a new song every day and this week they learned about ovals. At some point, he watched "All Dogs Go to Heaven" because he suddenly started talking about it at dinner last night. He amazes me with the things that he says and/or repeats, and he spends hours outside climbing on his swing set or pretending to be Peter Pan. ("Come on Wendy-bird," he calls to me). He and Michael even went out for a walk a couple of days ago to "hunt for Indians" (like in Peter Pan).

Our newest adventure at the house is money! For a while, I have been encouraging him to pick up Michael's change around the house and save it. (Most of it falls out of Michael's pockets when he sits down anywhere). I was mostly encouraging it, of course, so I wouldn't have to pick it up because it makes me nuts, but one day Michael suggested we take him to the dollar store and let him spend it. He LOVES the dollar store. So this week, Peter Pan had a little, plastic trumpet when he threw "John Captain Hook" off the swing set into the crocodile's mouth.

Stella is so chatty! She is blabbering and bubbling along for a good half hour at a time, whether anyone is paying attention to her or not...But she does like to be cooed at. She is also starting to roll around - onto her tummy at least once! She crosses her little ankles and shoots her legs out until she rocks over onto her side.

She loves Sesame Street, too. I suspect that is why she first rolled over. Ethan watches PBSkids.ord, as he calls it, some mornings while Michael and I get dressed. One morning when I was walking through the house from the laundry room to my bedroom, I noticed Sister laying on her back in the living room, craning her neck at the TV where Elmo was playing the piano - her little legs were shoved out so her heels pushed her heavy bottom just in the right direction. She was kneading her hands, eyes and mouth wide open, so excited by the neon muppets on the screen.

Michael and I are doing well,too. We have been working a lot, not unpacking, not cleaning, not stressing out too much about finances. It has been wonderful. Last night, we stayed up late reading comics together on the couch - he with his laptop, me with mine. I hope that the past month or so is an indication of what our new life as a family again can be all the time. Horray for hope!

Happy holidays -life is sweet!

חנכה or חנוכה

2006-11-19T13:31:00.000-08:00

This year at Newberry Drive, we will be celebrating Hanukkah in an effort to expose ourselves and our children to different traditions celebrated throughout the world at this time of year.

There are two reasons for this:

Numero uno: When I met Michael almost two years ago, I came face to face with a suspicion that has been striving for years to become a realization: I don't know what I want to know, and I have not experienced what I want to experience. My opinions about life and knowledge are theoretical and never experienced. And I realized that understanding such a shortfall and doing nothing about it makes me a hypocrite...And a sorely self-disappointed one. So, also knowing I have a tendency to be only temporarily motivated, I sprung into action! Michael and I talked about it - he, without fail, holds me accountable to the ideas I lazily toss around.

And also: One of the things that makes Michael and I a strong parenting team was a discovery that came up in conversations about raising independent and aware children. We found that as parents we believe it is our job as parents to light and fan Curiosity's flame - appropriately and specifically termed for this holiday - for our children. If we can't do that much for them, we ultimately fail.

We are especially concerned about the * presence of Christianity during this time of the year. To put it bluntly, if our children choose to be Christians at some point in their lives, we want it to be because they know enough about the world and the spiritual choices it offers. Not because it is the largest religion in the world in more ways than one, and they can't escape it.

Though Michael and I have been talking about making this change in our lives for the past two years, I became especially motivated this year to make this change in our lives when I started looking for a menorah for our home. Now I realized that Christmas is Retail's dream come true, but I was sure there would be a menorah tucked away on the holiday isle at HEB or Walmart. They sell stockings, right? Nothing. We had to go to World Market to find a menorah and candles - World Market being the retail store selling "eclectic" stuff. I also saw one at Party Pig Super Store. What? Does any one else see the horrific irony in that?

We bought the menorah at World Market - since a plastic one from Party Pig was surly going to melt - and are now researching our new holiday. I can't promise I'll learn Hebrew in time and we do hope to have a Hanukkah potluck, but for the most part we would like to follow the traditions as best as possible.

So, we'll keep you posted on all of this as it unravels...

Working woman

2006-11-06T20:46:00.000-08:00

I worked from 8:45 this morning until 8 p.m. tonight. Michael and the kids picked me up. I nursed Stella, read Ethan four books...Kissed my husband.

I just knocked over one of my favorite vintage style water glasses. Now both the water that was in it and the glass are all over the living room floor.

I'm too tired to pick it up. I'm bare foot.

But I'm also thirsty.

I often wonder where my indiffernce comes from. There seems to be a lot of it. Every now and then, I wonder if the indifference is actually apathy. Like with this water glass - I knocked off the coffee table at least 15 minutes ago. And yeah, I'm tired, but I think most people would be startled into action just by the sound of a smashing glass. I've been sitting here with the broken-ness all over the floor, typing away, thinking about it but making no choices.

In one of the trainings at the office last week, we learned - or more accurately we were told -how"being awake" or "being there" at work was a crucial part of customer service. For some people I imagine it is crucial, but in my case I tend to be pretty good at listening and anticipating needs. Does this mean I need a new job? Because I can do it in a waking sleep?

When do I get serviced? Where's my help hotline?

There is also a commercial for McDonald's coffee about "being awake." It's too bad it's so clever and horribly relatable. The mom and her kids are in their mini van, presumably on the way to school and work in the morning. Mom takes a drink of her very tall McDonald's coffee, then turns around in her seat. There are three kids squished in behind her. She is shocked. She's never seen these kids before. She turns back around wide-eyed and says: I'm a soccer mom. The commercial ends with Mom trying to guess her children's extracirricular activities. Girls, ballet?

Didn't McDonald's get sued because their coffee was too hot? Maybe in real life, Mom wouldn't have been able to ask her kids if they expected her to take them to soccer practice because her tongue is blistered by the coffee.

I don't know. I'm so tired. I keep having tiny explosions of reality: This is my life. But it sure feels like a dream.

This old house: Newberry in absence.

2006-11-04T21:10:00.000-08:00

It has been a long four months.

It is funny how when you are with a thing too much - even if in the beginning you were so proud of it - you can really, really hate it. Everyone knows it is possible to get too much of a good thing, but home is where the heart is, right? In this case, I was in the thing that there was too much of - a house - Newberry. And in the end, I hated it.

It was the kind of hate that just made me want to lock it up with everything still in it and walk away. Let it fidget anxiously behind my back - She's not really just going to walk away, is she? Just leave it sitting. Make it wait, empty - Watch this, you old house. If the house hadn't been all around me, if it had been possible to glare at a fixed point to really make it feel my frustration, my impatience, my anger, I'd glare at that spot until the house withered in my gaze - or went up in flames. Then I'd give it the big middle finger. I despised it. I resented it. It robbed me of extra money I might use for a movie, toys for my kid, a bill payment, hell, savings. Ha! It was a lot of work. It knew all my secrets. It still knows all my secrets.

And yet...I'm back.

And it feels good.

Absence surly does make the heart grow fonder. Again, we are all familiar with such cliches. But maybe the house just needed to air out a bit. Lord knows a lot happened in it. It heard a lot about me from its spidery spies. Maybe it had just gotten heavy with thought, anticipation, misunderstanding, fear, promises and possibility...And a couple of stupid people doing stupid things. I know that in the last days, aside from my pregnancy, I could hardly move in the house. It was like walking in water. The ceiling was a wet washcloth, and I was a small scorpion underneath it. It was suffocating. I hated it, and I had to go.

I am at least 50 pounds lighter now, which helps, but the air is lighter around here, too. Maybe I just needed to clear the air. There is still a lot of thinking and anticipating and misunderstanding, fearing, promising and a ton of possibility. There are still stupid people doing and saying stupid things. We are always as dumb as we think we are - but I learned something in the last four, very long months: I didn't just miss this house...In the end, it's all just a big, fat analogy anyway.

Four Months

2006-11-03T12:01:00.000-08:00