Like sands through the hourglass...

As I stated in my previous post, I am not patient. I am pretty sure that fact about myself was pretty high up on my list due (if you know me) to the obviousness of it's truth. 

My daughter is due Memorial Day. 

I am really not sure if she is aware...

That the weekend is perfect timing for all my friends to be able to visit me in the hospital...

That my first choice doctor is on call over the holiday weekend...

 That I have savored all there is to savor about pregnancy and I am ready for the ride to be over...


That I have already designed her birth announcement, her high school graduation announcement, and her wedding invitations in attempts to pass the time... 

That I just can't wait to meet her...

You see I am a planner and I have it all figured out...

Don't you hate that the most critical part of any plan (the actual implementation) is always in somebody else's hands?

I have become an expert at crafting (what can only be described as magnificent) plans and watching them turn to ash the minute they are handed off to a deciding body. (Could it be God is still trying to teach me patience? :-P )

Oh wait! My husband just called to inform me that he left his cell phone at home...thereby guaranteeing that she will come today.

I don't know whether to kill him or thank him.

Random facts about me

1. My face will always reveal my true feelings. I have no poker face.
2. Whenever I get takeout the first thing I always have to do, is "fix" my food. (E.g.: more of this condiment, less of that, removal of items it wasn't supposed to include, etc...)
3. You will never hear me claim to be patient. Ever. I prefer to label it "results driven."
4. I have champagne tastes and beer pockets.
5. I am extremely quick witted. I love watching peoples' heads spin while I knock 'em out rapid fire.
6. I am not stereotypically female except when it comes to changing flat tires and killing bugs. That's what men are for.
7. I am an efficiency expert. I should train others.
8. I hate the sound of dragging feet. If your shoes make it too hard for you to pick your feet up, you really need to wear something else. Do that for me, K?
9. Whenever I go to New York, I always treat myself to a ridiculously priced haircut at Frederic Fekkai. Love it!! (I swear the first time I went there, all the chi-chi's sounded an alarm that an intruder was present.)
10. You can snow me and make me believe in the magic of your product if you are shampoo or soap, but not if you are fitness products. I am a die-hard and cannot be lulled into believing in "magical, effortless" ways to lose weight.
11. I have loved God my whole life and cannot imagine my life without Him.
12. I am freakishly strong and equipped with incredible amounts of stamina. (When I am not pregnant...which is why I cannot wait for the descent back to normal...)
13. I have run and completed a marathon.
14. I have the most unruly eyebrows ever. I always say they look like an old man when they need plucking. Fortunately for me, I also have the best eyebrow artist ever in Leslie. She is on a New York playing field, but I am oh so glad she calls Michigan home. I am her best before and after photo.
15. I have a steel trap memory. I remember crazy things as far back as elementary school. I remember L. the kid who knocked down the concrete doll house my friend and I were building slowly over several recesses. Even remember what it looked like. Remembering conversations is a real strong point.
16. When I am in a garden store or nursery, I may as well be hypnotized.
17. You always know where you stand with me.
18. I am very people rich. God has blessed me my whole life with wise people. He has also given me the grace to listen to them, which has spared me an immense amount of drama.
19. I got sick on Chocolate Chip Cookie Crisp Cereal (do they still make it?) when I was five and have never recovered. I have hated cold cereals ever since. (I do like Oatmeal.)
20. When recounting the extensive locations I have traveled, I am more likely to tell you about the best food finds. Anything else will require your prodding.  This is a characteristic that runs throughout my family.

Too much?

Tie your shoelaces to my shoelaces.

I have been blessed to have both a wonderful father and a wonderful husband. (My dad is the reason I survived my mother. ) They both love me fiercely, but very differently. In the early years of my marriage, my husband felt like he was falling short because he wasn't my dad. I explained to him that the roles and methodology were vastly different...

Dad gets you a whole box of cookies, because he knows they are your favorite. Husband, knowing how you obsess about your weight, says, "are you sure you want to eat that?" because he doesn't want you to beat yourself up later.

Dad, seemingly mythic no matter how old you are, takes the whole world in his hands and tells you everything is going to be okay, in a way that always makes you feel he is somehow larger than it. Husband tells you the world is huge, but it's okay, you no longer have to walk through it by yourself.

Different.

With our first daughter due any day now, my husband is about to get messed up. He is about to understand me and my dad first hand.

The minute they put her in his arms, it will be over for him.

He will instantly tie his shoelaces to her shoelaces, (Thanks to 'The Choir' for that awesome phrase~I cannot take credit) and never again will he be unconnected, unaffected... by the choices she makes, the pain she experiences, the joys she inhales. 

When she is sad, he will realize that no matter her age, he will always be dad. Able to shut the shades on the world and make it all go away.  

You see dads teach their sons how to be men, how to stand on their own. But with daughters, there will always be something in them that protects...

He will want to crush anyone that ever breaks her heart.

He will be surprised at how little he says "no."  Because believe me, in a contest between dad and my husband over who says "no" more often, dad never had a chance.

He has no idea that from the time she puts her tiny hand in his, to the time her bigger hand holds his going down an aisle, all the way through to the time when her hands start to show her age, that she will always see herself as his little girl.

He will be the man who sets the bar for how she should expect to be treated by men.

And she will will love him in a way he doesn't know or understand yet. And it will mess him up.

Why I was glad Martha Stewart went to prison...

I recently read in a friend's blog about her frustration with a Martha Stewart project, which got me reminiscing about my own frustration... Now truth be told, I am very crafty (not in the evil maniacal sense :}) so I love Martha's craft projects, and haven't had a problem there. Cooking is something I am good at, but I am in no way a gourmet cook or pastry prodigy. I cook out of necessity not enjoyment. And it is this area where the Domestic Goddess got me.

See this:

     Photos © Martha Stewart Living

Beautiful, right? Garden cakes, what an amazing idea!

(My dad is a landscaper so I thought it would be a great cake to make him for his birthday...)

As someone who has worked in photography and graphics, in my opinion, Martha Stewart Living is the benchmark for beautiful editorial content. And you see, this is how she plays with your mind. She presents a stunning photograph of a dish, flower arrangement, or craft project, etc... put together with supplies from New York { that the rest of us mere mortals cannot get in our home states-unless of course we order them from her ($$$ brilliant business!)}, and she makes us believe that we too can make this beautiful whatever. Never mind that professionals worked hours on it to get it ready for the magazine... Never mind that you are going to try and do it around your crazy life and schedule... Martha just told you that you can! Before you even know what happened to you, you have been lured and your mouth is on the hook.


There is no going back now. It is in your head. You are excited! You are determined! So you go out and empty out your wallet to buy all the supplies (you know, the ones Martha thinks everyone has lying around) you are going to need to accomplish what you are sure will be a new found area of brilliance in your talent suitcase. For me that meant a set of modelers tools to form all the vegetables for the garden, a whole bag of specialty food dyes, marzipan, and of course (the cheapest item) an open windowed cake box to show off what would surely be the most amazing cake ever.

Okay, now you are ready to roll!
Supplies √
Instructions √
Time √ (Sure, you've got about an hour or so before your life starts pounding on the door again...)


Now that you are deep in, you begin to realize that Martha did not give you everything you need to accomplish your awesome feat. For every undertaking there are tricks, secrets even, that professionals or at least experienced laymen understand and know. Like perfect temperatures for things (E.g: room temp or refrigerator temp), perfect handling techniques, etc.. Editorial space is tight. Martha did not have room to give you all of that. You are equal to the professionals, remember. She helped you believe that. You already have this knowledge inside of you. (It is at this point that I start to think a Martha support line would be a brilliant idea and wonder if I could make millions of dollars implementing one...)

So you start the process of making your marzipan vegetables when you suddenly have the halting thought that you have NEVER worked with marzipan before. Weird stuff. There must be a secret to it. It is sticking to the tools. Sticking to itself. Sticking to your fingers. Martha must have warned and guarded you against this. So you check back to the instructions. Nope. (Remember what I said about editorial space..) Your garden is suddenly looking like a Semi-truck intruded and ran over all the vegetables. You are really starting to re-think your opinion of Ms. Stewart.

You are running out of time and patience, so you take the one vegetable you managed to make that actually looks like it should and place it in the middle of your beautiful crushed Oreo dirt bed (that part was easy). You tape the picture from the magazine of how the cake should look to that open window on the cake box that was supposed to be your showcase, and (if you're me) tell your dad how much you must love him that you would even attempt this crazy lady's cake. You also explain to dad that you decided to take a more interpretive approach and show how drought can affect a garden.

Now when they sent Martha to prison it seemed extreme (given what the Enron/Worldcom guys were getting away with at the same time), but when I think about that cake....

Love at the finish line

It usually begins with an attraction. An infatuation even. The desire to know another and to be known. And left to continue on this path, usually culminates in a ceremony.

The middle is filled with jobs, mortgages, children, bills, packed schedules...and infatuation gives way to real life. Lots of people don't make it through this point, eager as they are to remain in the highs of emotional entanglement. Here is where real love takes root, and you realize you have a stalwart partner with whom to navigate the bends and twists of life.

The end? Well, the end is an entirely different proposition....



I had the privilege, while working in home health care, of taking care of a couple that had been married for 60+ years. He was terminal with bone and lung cancer. She was showing early signs of dementia, but was otherwise physically healthy. When I first was assigned the case, it was to take care of the Mrs. while her husband was in the hospital undergoing tests to determine the cause of his pain. I was there to make sure she didn't burn the house down or get lost since her thoughts were something hard to hold on to these days. He came home from the hospital with singular focus, knowing he did not have long. He wanted to make sure that his beloved wife was taken care of, placed in a facility where she would have access to round-the-clock care, where his money would be enough to pave the last miles of her life.

After witnessing improvement in his pain level over a couple of weeks, I was surprised to show up for my shift one day and find him regressing. As it turns out, he had taken himself off his heavy narcotic pain relievers because he felt they were clouding his ability to make decisions concerning his wife's future care. Without his meds, just getting up to go the bathroom left him in excruciating pain. Amidst the hideous, unfair nature of his pain, I was so struck by the beauty of his sacrifice.

Whenever the pain became so great that he thought he was at the end, he would ask me to get his wife so he could sit in the silence and hold her hand. No need to speak. They had fit in all their speaking and now they sat confident, knowing nothing had been left unsaid. Nothing left. Just the two of them. Pretty is gone. Busy is gone. Time races to the finish line. And you are left with whatever foundation you built it all on.

We are inundated with images of candlelight dinners and swooning hearts, but love is often it's most beautiful in the darkness. We of course see our first and most potent example of this kind of love through Jesus. Only God would birth salvation and love in the hideousness of the cross. It reminds me of a favorite song of mine from the late Rich Mullins:

"...And it's Wally and the Beaver, David and Jonathan
It's the love of Jesus puttin' on flesh and bone
And we both feel lost
But I remember what Susan said
How love is found in the things we've given up
More than in the things we have kept..."

Mr. passed away in December, right after he had finalized details for his wife. They moved into a facility together and then he was gone. I knew he would be. I knew he was only hanging on for her in the first place...

(Musings of a first time Mom-to-be) You know you're really pregnant when....

There is no such thing as comfortable underwear. (Seriously, I have tried.)

You realize you really took bending over for granted.

You can't wait to tie your own shoes again.




You can't stop the onslaught of commentary from complete strangers, most of whom seem to work behind a register.

E.g: The cashier at Home Depot told me, unsolicited, that she was sure I would have an 8 lb-er. Wow, an expert at lumber and birth weights! Lucky me!

The saleswoman at Gymboree took one look at my ninth month belly and said, "Please don't have the baby here." Believe me, given her panic, I was praying harder than she that the baby would wait for a better time.

You find yourself rating social events not on the kind of time you are having but rather how equipped the people you are with will be in getting you to the hospital should the baby decide to surprise everyone.

Buttons and zippers seem like a dream.

You understand how it feels to be 85 years old.

You feel lucky that one pair of shoes still fits. (I currently live in my running shoes. By default, they now go with everything.)



Eating a meal feels more like Russian Roulette.



You are pretty sure the term "nursing bra" is a misnomer. Body armor or military issue seems so much more appropriate.



Going into the Baby store for the first time feels like someone threw you into a Kaleidoscope.

You traveled back in time physiologically to 18 and got everything back (acne, crying spells, mood swings, etc...) except your metabolism.

And lastly, You know this is your first time if...
you have spent considerable effort and energy creating a beautiful nursery when your friend lovingly nudges you and says, "you may want to buy some diapers, and bottles, etc... for when the baby comes home from the hospital." (Thank you L. She will know to thank you once she can speak.)

It's hard letting go...

This is my favorite hat.

Once upon a time it was a deep, beautiful, blood red.
It's appearance has waned (understatement), but the fit and brim have become more perfect over time.
My husband hates this hat. He calls it a cesspool of germs.
I have tried (under his less than subtle suggestion) to replace it.


I bought this one:lured by it's perfect brim, but later disappointed that the fitted nature of the design only fit my head if I had hair clips in my hair.



And this one:again, a perfect brim~ amazing given that it is a men's hat. But since it is a men's hat, I had to tighten it too much and it gave my head that just-born, cone-shaped head look.

I have observed what can only be described as a twinkle in my husband's eye at every hat purchase, sure that he is this will be the purchase that lands my beloved Nike hat on the curb for Tuesday's trash. I have watched that twinkle burn out as every hat pales by comparison to my beloved hat.

Where he sees sweat stains, I see glorious training runs where my mind willed my body into submission.
Where he sees dirt stains, I see cathartic hours spent in my garden hanging out with God and His wonderful creation.
Where he sees paint stains, I see my baby's nursery coming together.
Where he sees how badly the sun bleached the red into more of a yellowish/orange (and believe me I am being generous assigning it a color at all...) I see a million solitary high points of my life.

(And don't even get me started on the lazy hair days it has concealed...)

Now admittedly if I could find the same hat again or a hat that fit as perfectly, I would buy it in a heartbeat...
Except odds are, (like my grandmothers before me) I would probably hang it up and say it is too good to use. And again I would watch my husband deflate as I put the nasty, faithful one back on my head.

What can't you bear to let go?

Making Room For Baby~ an unconventional baby's room

(Forgive the haziness of the image on the left~my 20mm lens needs repair. I included the image to give a sense of layout)

I have spent far too much time looking at designer baby rooms (ala Posh Tots and Pottery Barn Kids). I suppose that is why I was determined to not create a conventional baby nursery. When you spend too much time looking at catalogs with $75,000 custom made fantasy beds, it admittedly does leave you wanting more than what the local baby store has to offer. I also figured someday my daughter will want Hannah Montana, High School Musical or whatever other noxious theme is popular when she is older, so I am attempting to beat her will with a room I like. Since I can't in my wildest imagination dream of having the kind of money to spend 75Gs on a bed (!), I bought something I could afford, the gorgeous Barbie sketches by Robert Best. How they look online do not even do them justice; they are spectacular!

















I love, love, love vintage fashion illustrations and have scoured google looking for graphic designers online selling them. Before finding Best's work, I stumbled across Elaine Biss and fell in love with her work. The sketch of the woman in the ball gown on the couch was my inspiration for the room; I built the rest of the plan around it. Elaine has been wonderful in adapting sizes and colors for me to fit my room scheme. I cannot say enough good things about her work.





Also adding to the room is the beautiful custom made vinyl monogram by LolaDecor. Jamie was also wonderful in helping me coordinate my colors!


After I had all of my art picked out, I started looking at paint ideas. Pottery Barn had a beautiful boys room painted in a blue, white, and gray stripe pattern. I loved it and thought in pinks it would be a nice contrast against the art I had picked out. All I can say is, God bless my husband! I could never have undertaken such a project without him. He figured out all the math and mapped out each color sequence with painters tape and a level! I got off easy just doing the actual painting! Between all the taping, painting, waiting for the paint to set up before moving to the next color, and touch-ups, the painting took us four weeks (obviously planned around the rest of life..)! I promised us both if I ever have an idea like this again, I will hire a professional painter! But the payoff is that it did come out really nice. My husband did a perfect job! And I, being the perfectionist that I am, got the paint as perfect as one can get it without going completely mad.

I have enjoyed creating a room my daughter can grow into, and God willing she will love the room enough to keep it for more than a minute! ;-)

God is a God of restoration and second chances~ The story of a baby shower and so much more...

I am expecting my first baby this month. I was never in a rush to have children (I am in my 16th year of marriage), my relationship with my mother was sufficient cause for my fear of having my own children. I grew up with a very damaged mother who did not know how to deal with her own pain and issues, and therefore I became not her child to nurture, but rather someone cast in the role of filling up all of her needs. Every milestone in my life was stolen in her attempt to fill herself up. Every day an exercise in emotional abuse. I limped out of adolescence with a beaten, bloodied, self-esteem. I am not sure to this day she has ever been aware of me as person in my own right, with my own needs, desires, etc..., separate from her own aching need.

I have had lots of friends who have wonderful relationships with their mothers. I have witnessed the joy their mothers shared with them when they had their own children. I have enviously watched their mothers help out in the first, difficult weeks after the baby comes home, giving the benefits of their experience, easing the load, and sharing the beauty of it all. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never have this. Sometimes that was just an objective fact and sometimes it ached. Even though I knew my friends would throw me a shower, I knew that I would miss out on the whole maternal element~ the mom figure who would give me a day just for me, without any of her own entitlements coming in to play.

But God is a God of restoration! He is not defeated! And I have seen Him more than once give us back what He never intended us to be without.

Three years ago I started working with Ms. P. A woman who has been through some STUFF. If anybody deserves a pass to be bitter, it is she. But instead she is the kindest, most compassionate, loving, unencumbered person I have ever known. I have had the good fortune to stand under the umbrella of her wisdom, encouragement, and love. She has shared every moment of my pregnancy with me from the moments of grief through all of the triumphs. She has offered her advice, help, and joy. When she offered to throw me a shower, it was the topping on the sundae! Not only was the shower absolutely beautiful, but it was thrown with the intention of making me feel loved and special. It was one of the best days of my life. Something I truly never expected to have.

God is good!