wake me up before you go go

I have an unexpected day off today and a few minutes to myself as Haven naps. He got sick at daycare yesterday, and though I'm pretty sure this simply means he isn't ready for oatmeal, the center's policy is that he must be puke-free for 24 hours before he returns. So we're home battling the heat together.

A few weeks ago Dave and I went to see Damien Rice. We love this guy. His music is passionate and intense and emotional. It's romantic. (Some of it is a little PG-13ish, so if you're sensitive ... don't say I didn't warn you.) He's kind of a variant of David Grey, whom we fell in love with when we fell in love with eachother. The performance was astounding, especially the songs he did with just himself and the piano.

We had the dumb luck to sit next to loud mouthed punk who belted lyrics along with Damien - off key, of course. He booed some songs. He pumped his arm like a maniac to others. We almost slapped some duct tape over his lips. The few Looks I threw him earned me a glance at his date, who looked like she might crawl under the seat.

Dave got us the tickets as a mutual gift for our anniversary, which was a few weeks prior. We've decided to alternate planning anniverary fun and this year was my turn. We went to Hoboken (a city across the river from NYC) and had massages and went to dinner. I feel like I already wrote about this ... maybe I'm being redundant, but it was just a lot of fun. Maybe I'm ready for another non-student, non-mommy night out of the house.

I miss Dave already. He's taking the youth group on a trip this week and the H-factor (aka Haven, Pumps, Munchkin Head...maybe my nic names aren't very nice...anyhoo) and I are home. We're booked each day and we have visitors coming, but nobody beats Dave. We'll miss him.

Delish

Today is busy, so I have little time for an update. I will grace you with a delicious idea for lunch. I admit that I got this idea from a dish the Macaroni Grill serves, but I have mixed it up a little ...

Toss:
Fresh spinach
Orzo pasta (cooked)
Tomatos
Olives - black, green or both
Nuts - sweetened walnuts are great, but any kind will work
Cooked chicken pieces (or not, if you're a veg)
Greek salad dressing
(Maybe a little black pepper and parm cheese on top)

This is best after it's been in the 'fridge for a while. I love it because it's healthy, tastey and colorful.

Tiny, Dancers ... you had a busy day today

Haven and I went to visit a friend with a new baby on Wednesday. Her tiny infant frame took my breath away, though I held my own just four months ago. Haven looked like a fat monkey next to that little newborn and he smiled and babbled to show the Mommy what she had to look forward to. (That picture is of Haven in the hospital, under 7 pounds!)

Yesterday was our anual client picnic at work. It's always a festive and exhausting time. And, oh, the dancing. Picture a crowd of mostly middle-aged people who have little coordination, watch a lot of music videos and are convinced they totally rock. I think the first time I watched the clients dance they made their space inside my heart. (See a former entry for more on my job.)

Tomorrow my internship will be busy, and then Dave and I are house hunting. After we saw a couple of houses on Tuesday, I fell in love with log cabins. There are lots of them on lakes near where we live. To me, that sounds like the word home.

Today, however, is just work. Just my regular job. Tonight we will all be home together. We will talk and eat and watch a movie and watch Haven and then go to sleep. Today is good. I'm craving the simple moments lately.

house hunt.

We've darkened the door of a few open houses, but yesterday Dave and I decided to apply for a mortgage. After a long, long phone conversation - in which I handed over all kinds of information - the mortgage guy (what's the real title?) said, "All you have to do is find a house. You could be in in 30 days." I may not be real estate savy, but I have seen enough of our friends buy homes to know there's no way we will be in a house in 30 days. Whatever dude, thanks for the loan approval, why don't you show me how I'm gonna find and move into a house in 30 days? Are you packing up my junk?

I have mentioned before that our area has high real estate prices. Really outrageous to this Delaware native. We live in one of the top ten richest counties in the country (don't be fooled - we aren't rich, we just see people at the grocery store who are). So last night Dave and I huddled around our laptop and sifted through homes for hours. It went something like this:

Me: Ooh, click on that one!

Dave: It's a shack.

Me: Who cares? It's in our price range.

I imagine we'll end up in a fixer-upper. Or a doll house. That's ok. We've already established that we don't need much space and we could learn to do home improvements. This whole home-buying thing might take us a long time, but we're excited to start looking around.

What do I do all day?

Non profit. That's my industry. The term non profit essentially means that there is a cap on how much money the agency can make annually and for that the government gives all sorts of tax breaks. It also means everybody is there to try to make the world better. (I say can't we help the world and make a profit at the same time? But that's another story.) I've worked at one for just about four years.

The agency where I work is comitted to helping individuals with disabilities receive job training and gain competitive employment. When I tell people what I do, they usually consider it and then admit they had no idea there were places like that. We have two departments - one for finding jobs, one for training for jobs. The first department consists of a team of people who go to retail stores and talk to managers about hiring our clients. Sometimes we will "create" a job for somebody by noticing something that needs to be done and suggesting they hire one of our guys to do it. The second department is where clients come to work and learn everyday if they are not yet ready for a job in the community. We train them by giving them production work (such as colating, bagging, cleaning small items), we run groups on social skills and offer day-to-day counseling. I work in the second department.

I have a caseload of about 40 people with all types of disabilities, including neurological (eg Autism), psychiatric (eg Schizophrenia), cognitive (eg Mental Retardation), and physical (eg Cerebral Palsy). Most of them have more than one disability. I'm responsible to help them make long term plans for work and prepare for those goals. I also deal with interpersonal problems, medical emergencies, referals, transportation issues and do some group counseling. All of this boils down to stacks of paperwork, a bunch of band aides and maxims gallore.

Have you heard the story about the person who was throwing starfish back into the ocean, one by one from a mound that had washed up on shore? Another person walked by and said, "There are so many, there is no way you could make a difference." The person picked up another starfish, threw it back into the ocean and said, "It made a difference to that one." That's how I have to live my life. In this field there are few revolutions, but there are baby steps. In my job, specifically, we celebrate the smallest improvement, like when my Autistic client came to my office to say hello one morning - (Autism greatly impacts social skills, so in the grand scheme of his life, this is a big deal).

I never thought I'd find myself working with people with disabilities but I've gleaned so many things from this job - patients, experience, a working knowledge of "the system" (not sure I should count that one as a plus, though). When I complain about it, I'm forgetting the bigger picture. It's difficult and it's easy. It's frustrating and it's calming. The dichotomy of the day to day here is what has kept me coming back for more.

(I will write about Father's day soon ... but it will be late. Like my Dad and father-in-law's cards, which are still on our kitchen table.)

milk.

I say the term "boob tube" came from the soothing nature of the television - you put your child in front of it and they are quiet. Like when you nurse a baby. Dave says the term came from all of the boobs that are on tv. I'm pretty sure I'm right (and what is he watching?!).

Nursing is an experience. The first weeks of breastfeeding - or, rather, cringing and reaching for a bottle - were tumultuous. Eventually, somehow, Haven and I adjusted to it and it is now relaxing for both of us.

Recently Dave noticed that I ask him to get me stuff all the time while I'm nursing. Water. The remote. My book. A gourmet meal. A pair of socks, and I promise, that's all I need.

"I notice you're ordering me around a lot. Do you wait until you're nursing to decide you want something?" Who, me? No, it's when I'm just sitting there that I have a moment to realize I'm hungry, thirsty ... needy.

So nursing is good. It's easy. It's the always-ready food that requires no bottles, bottle warmers, trips to the store, clean dishes ... etc. It gives me time to stare at Haven. It gives me time to think. It give me a reason to boss Dave around (no, I'm kidding. I am).

Pumping, on the other hand, is a different animal. First of all, electric pumps are loud. If I pump at home, I watch television with the subtitles on - this is mildly entertaining. When I pump at work, I close my blinds, lock my office door and sit there watching the bottle fill, drip by drip. I stare at my yellow walls and cheap art. Pumping is not relaxing, nurturing or heart warming. Dave does not bring me things when I'm sitting in my office attached to a machine.

The one perk to the black hole of pumping is that Haven appreciates it. I know he does. His teacher has told me he guzzles down the breast milk bottles but ruefully and with a bad attitude takes small sips of formula until he's had enough. Also, when I make his cereal with breast milk he eats it ravenously with a smile. When it's made with water, most of it ends up inside the pocket on his bib and he tosses me confused looks.

So, if you ever hear a humming sound coming out of my office, it's this yellow machine. No, I'm not buzzing my beard. I'm not shaving my legs. I'm not practicing on the kazoo. I'm pumping. Feel free to yell through the door, I could use the entertainment.

groceries, naps and giggles

I have no great insight today. I have no break throughs, except that I might be more content with my life after considering a different job and realizing that maybe what I have now isn't so bad.

Yesterday was our (Haven and mine) glorious day off from work and daycare (worcare? dayork?). I had a meeting with my internship supervisor at 9:15. I walked out of the house with a pacifier, my binder, purse and Haven ... but no keys. The door locked behind us. So, I missed the meeting and we watched the birds until the landlord opened the door for us an hour later.

We then hit up the grocery store - a giant Shop Rite my friend Danna introduced me to. It's like a maze in there and they literally have everything. Try to think of something they don't have. I bet they have it. I took my sweet time wandering the aisles, too long I guess, because Haven cried the whole way home in hunger.

He took a long, lazy nap all afternoon while I did the laundry and dishes and finished watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. When Haven woke up he was in a great mood - he is adorable when he first wakes up. He unscrunches his body, reaches above his head and straightens his knees like he's just been born again - not in the Christian sense, in the literal sense - finally able to unfold after months in the womb.

We played for a little while and he giggled and squeeled. This new development takes my breath away. Dave and I have desperately awaited his laughter, but as with smiling, he's doing it as he's ready, in his time. And then, after all of our anticipation, we just gape at him like we did not believe it would ever actually happen.

That night, for a long time I was bouncing and humming to him (our ritual for putting him to sleep). Finally, I gave Dave a turn. As soon as Haven was in Dave's arms, sans a single bounce, he closed his eyes and put his head down. WHAT?! Probably cause once Daddy decides it's time for Haven to sleep, he doesn't stop bouncing until Haven is enveloped by z's. I sometimes get distracted by watching Haven watch himself in the mirror, or by smelling his hair or, well, trying to make him laugh.

That's it. I've gone on and on. This was more of a slice than a nicely constructed pie.

More, more, more

Dave and I have somehow become hooked on shows about people finding a new home. Since we aren't ready to buy yet, we vicariously house-shop from the couch. We banter about which house we'd choose. We laugh at the ugly houses. We sit drop-jawed in front of some of the buyers.

What strikes me is the amount of space people think they need. What double strikes me is the attitude of these people, like they couldn't possibly do without five rooms per person in the family. Since the show takes place all over the US, the budgets do not seem exhorbitant -- but no budget seems exhorbitant to me after house shopping in North Jersey where you might get a 3 bedroom cape cod for less than $400k. What gets me is that American mindset that more is always better.

A few weeks ago the show featured a family who had "outgrown" their 3-bedroom house when their first baby was born. (WHAT?!) Suddenly there were baby toys where the Daddy used to play and he needed his own gigantic space to himself again. Mommy complained that she desperately needed a new house, like, yesterday. Suddenly the expanse of the living room, dining room, eat-in kitchen, garage and family room was cramped with the entry of this 7-pound person. Really?

What about being content with what you have? It brings peace to life. It highlights the important things. No, this thinking is not how I make myself feel better after glancing around our 4-room apartment after shutting off the television. I mean it. There will always be more - there will always be a bigger house, a nicer yard, a fancier you-name-it. We could easily spread out our junk in twice as much space as we now have, and one day we will. It will make us more comfortable, sure, but it couldn't make us any more happy.

how do i love...

I love Dave (my husband) because we have an inexplicable connection and always have. But there are all kinds of things I love and appreciate about him...

• I love that spending time with Haven and me is his priority.


• I love that when our pastor asked him if he's been babysitting a lot he said, "It's not babysitting when it's your own kid."


• I love that I easily believe him when he says things will be ok.


• I love the way he unassumingly slipped his hand into mine that summer day six years ago and that so many times since I feel the same way I did then. Blessed ... and excited.


• I love it that he listens to me.


• I love the way he makes macaroni and cheese (but don't him I said that 'cause I always tell him how unhealthy it is with all of that extra fake cheese).


• I appreciate that he did not automatically expect me to quit my job or school when we had a baby.


• I love it that we are a team, we compromise, we both have a say.


• I appreciate that he is willing to clean the bathroom.


• I really appreciate that we agree on money issues.


• I love that he gets along with my family and that my sisters treat him like a brother.


• I love that he can cook (often better than I).


• Finally, every time I remember this I'm thankful ... the day before our wedding when everything was as crazy as it is the day before a wedding he saw me sitting there, beet red with frustration among a desert of diagrams and he said, "Go do something else, I'll do the seating chart."

Here's to anybody who isn't married yet ... may you end up with somebody who makes you think, "I never imagined I'd end up with somebody this great!"

a teeny tiny light at the end of the long, narrow tunnel

I think that all of this work and sacrifice is going to yield a career that I find more fulfilling than cleaning behind my toilet (see previous entry if you're confused). Oh goody.


My night at my internship went so well. Well, my first client was a no-show. Rats. Was it something I said? Did I piss you off by saying you need to get your friggin' act together? NO - I didn't say anything like that.


Anyway, my next client showed up (this is an important part of the therapeutic process). Obviously I can't go into much detail whatsoever, but the session went so well. You can learn all of the empathathic responses and have plenty of book-knowledge, but having a natural connection with a client can't be taught or formulated. I felt like I got what she was saying, I could take a couple of steps in her shoes - even though we are different in many ways. She looked touched and relieved as she left. She looked like she had been heard.


I cried a little bit on the way home. Maybe, just maybe, little old me will be able to help somebody work through the crap that life sometimes presents. Maybe I'll be able to help somebody see a little more clearly. Maybe walk with less of a limp. Maybe this is so worth it.

Pass the help wanted section.

10 things that would be more fulfilling
than being at work today . . .

1. Writing this list
2. Starting a diet of nothing but meat (gross, but ... yes, more fulfilling)
3. Cleaning behind our toilet
4. Eating those pork ribs that didn't taste good when I first made them last week
5. Giving a presentation at school that I am ill-prepared for
6. Hand-washing all of our laundry
7. Hand-washing all of YOUR laundry
8. Getting braces put on my bottom teeth (for the third time)
9. Using cloth diapers (on Haven - not on myself, it's not quite that bad)
10. Getting a Brazilian wax

Do I smell burn out?

In honor of Haven's four-month birthday...

As requested, here is the story of Haven's birth. If you've already read it or heard it ... why not read somebody else's blog today. There are some good ones linked to the right. I wrote this a while ago...

Haven was born one week ago today. I want to write about The Experience that was his delivery, but I'm not sure I can without first discussing how amazing it is to be Haven's mom. Everybody told me that I would be captivated with this little infant, but I had difficulty believing I would fall in love with a tiny screaming person. I guess it is one of those things you just get when you get it. Thanks to a myriad of hormones, I could just cry any time by looking at that tiny, wrinkly face. He's amazing. Remember that slogan from some diaper company - it's the hardest job you'll ever love? So true.

Now I will get on to the delivery. I believe after last Sunday I will look at all physical pain and laugh in its face. Relatively, nothing will ever compare (I hope).

I am not quite sure how long I was in labor, since the contractions started so mildly, but I was at the hospital over 14 hours before Haven was born. The nurses set me up on a bed, strapped me to the monitors and poked me twice until the IV was in the right place. How sweet it is that I thought that IV needle was painful. So naive.

By mid afternoon I had strong and regular contractions and was ready to award huge trophies to all women who have delivered naturally. I asked for the epidural and from watching A Baby Story obsessively, I knew I was in for an uncomfortable bridge to relief. The nurse helped me to hunch over as the anesthesiologist inserted the epidural needle. Did you know you can’t move an inch while the tube is inserted into your spine? Sounds simple, but it’s kind of a bummer when contractions are cramping your style one after another. I hope I didn’t break the nurse’s hand.

A moment later I asked the nurse, “Did I stop having contractions?”

”No,” she said eyeing the monitor, “You just had a big one.”

“Sweet!” I laid back on the bed and let my body work as I slept.

Around 9:00 PM it was time to start pushing. I pushed for about two hours (through the Super Bowl) and this was surprisingly simple. (Listen girls, when you’re about to have a baby, unless you feel an obligation or a reason to go naturally, just get the epidural when you arrive at the hospital. I could still feel; I just did not feel any pain.) The doctor ultimately suggested to me that I get a C-section since the baby was not coming through the birth canal and his heart rate declined each time I pushed. Dave and I conferred and agreed.

Enter Pain. It is a little gray right now, but we think the epidural tube slipped during a transfer between beds and the pain killer was not, shall we say, effective, as I was ripped, er, cut open. Let me back up for a moment.

First of all, when I was transferred to the surgery table my arms and legs were strapped down. I could have easily panicked, but I tried to focus on seeing the baby in just a few moments. Breath, two, three, four, breath, two, three, four… Masked people swirled around me and the anesthesiologist poked me a few times and asked if I could feel it. I could, but it was bearable. They let Dave come in then and he looked cute in the scrubs and his eyes were warm above the surgical mask.

The surgery began, and for some reason I could feel each cut. The doctor and I had a conversation about pain versus pressure, but I was certain I recognized the feelings as pain. It felt like a struggle to remove Haven, but maybe that’s just how it goes with a C-section. As I yelled, the doctor and anesthesiologist mumbled some words to each other and the anesthesiologist said something about, “I don’t know…I tested her.” The rest is a blur of “I can FEEL THAT!” and “ARE YOU ALMOST DONE?!” The anesthesiologist was right behind me saying over and over, “The baby will be out soon and then you’ll be fine.” I looked over at Dave and gripped his hand more firmly.

As soon as Haven was out, I heard the doctor say that it was, in fact, a boy and I asked why he wasn’t crying. A moment later I heard him shriek and then everything turned into a cartoon. They knocked me out since I was in so much pain.

When I woke up the nurse told me Dave was with the baby and I was so glad they were together. They brought me into the room where Haven was and I saw him getting checked out. I was still very groggy, which added to the dreamlike feeling of seeing my son for the first time. The nurse brought him to me and laid him on my chest and I just cried looking at his perfect face. I have been in awe since.

This first week of motherhood is full of emotion and joy and excitement, but I have gone on for a very long time. Dave has astounded me with his patience and skill with Haven (and me!) all week. If you’re still with me, thanks for sharing the story with me.

Happy four-month birthday,
my little munchkin boy!

Hello Monday. Not you again.

I don't mean to complain. I know I have an awesome life, especially compared to people around the globe. I know I should be thankful for all of this opportunity - but sometimes it's just too much. Between my internship, my job and class I work 46 hours week. Additionally, there is a plethora of chores at home that do not see the daylight ... laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, ETCETERA.

May I remind you I have a four-month old son, whom I desperately love and want to stare at for hours at a time. For obvious reasons:And my husband - he's my best friend but I feel like I pass him like a ship in the night. My moments with these guys are too rare and I soak up every second.

I am not super woman. I do not have special powers. This schedule is wearing me down. I'm not loving it. I love aspects of it, which is what keeps me going. I love the idea of having my license to be a therapist - so I continue with school and my internship. Dave and I are brainstorming about how we could make some changes to this schedule ... if you think of us and you pray ... please pray for guidance for us.

Until then ... if you see a blur go past your window, wave, it's probably me.

Open wide.

If you can't put breastmilk in the microwave, how will I make the cereal?

I have been plagued with thoughts of Haven's first eating experience and woke to this thought a few weeks ago. I was able to drift back to sleep once I conceded that I would probably find instructions on the box of cereal.

I was at the grocery store the day before he turned 16 weeks. I gawked at the choices of infant rice cereal for a half hour. Organic. Whole grain. Nondescript. Iron supplemented. Store brand. Gerber. Earth's Best. 8 ounces. 10 ounces. Then on to spoons. Oh Lordy.

The recipe for infant cereal is 1 tablespoon of mix to 2-3 tablespoons of breastmilk (or formula or water). This amounts to the thinnest gruel you've ever seen. The point, more than to fill his tummy, it to teach him to use a spoon. After a few wet and whiney attempts to give him cereal this week, he sucked down a full bowl (read: 2 tablespoons) of slightly thicker cereal this morning. Quite a bit landed inside his bib pocket and in the rolls of his neck, but he slurped some of it into his mouth. His eyes were gigantic and he babbled through the whole event, then, when it was over, he cried until he fell asleep. Growing up is so hard sometimes.