Friday, January 27, 2012

It's a Small Price to Pay for Sleeping in Sunshine

    For years I have been opposing Hero Hottie's constant suggestions to purchase a heating blanket. I had heard too many stories of fires being caused by old and worn blankets and it just made me too nervous.
  On top of that; my frugal natural kept insisting that if we have heat pumping from the vents and we have thick quilts, why do we need to purchase something that seems like a luxury item to me?
   Also, a heating blanket needs to be plugged in. To an outlet. Which somehow has a direct line to our check accounting.
    Now, in my defense, I swear I did not realize just how cold Hero Hottie was getting at night. I didn't. Cross my heart. So you can't think I'm just a big, mean ogre.
   We live in a house that was built before they realized that insulation should always be added so that your walls aren't as cold as the temperature outside. But still; I seriously thought we weren't that cold at night.

   "We need a heating blanket." Hero Hottie said. I had heard this statement many times before. Not just every year before this winter but about every week for the past three months.
    I rolled my eyes. "I'll put more blankets on the bed."
   "You would like a heating blanket." He tried tempting me.
   I shook my head and put even more blankets on the bed. That night I cranked up the heat.
  
   The next evening....
   "We need a heating blanket."
    "We don't. I know we don't."
    "Have you ever tried one? They're pretty nice. You would be warm at night." He was using his tempting voice. The 'I Dare You because You're just being Stubborn' voice. How many things had I agreed to something because he used that voice? Too many. None I regretted but you never tell someone that. ;)
 
     "I'm warm...enough." I said, thinking silently to myself of the night before when I woke up at three and I was freezing. Damn, that wall does feels like an ice cube at night.
     "Did you feel that wall last night? It's like sleeping in an igloo."
     "I don't know. We really don't need one, do we?" How much do heating blankets cost anyway?
     "I'll just sleep in my clothes." He starts to put his jeans back on and another sweatshirt.
    "Really? You're that cold?" I was losing this argument. I could feel it. It was slipping away and if I stuck to my stubbornness than I would definitely be the bad guy.
    He just gave me a look. 
    "Fine. Go see how much they are." I surrendered.

    "They're eighty bucks. It's Queen size and the good one is at Target." He tells me. I swallowed, but I knew my frugal side would protest.
     "Eighty bucks?! For a heating blanket?"
    "But you would be warm. They're so nice."
    "Alright. Lets use the Target gift card from Christmas."  I give in.
    He grins.
    "I was just going to buy towels with it anyway."
    His look is crestfallen. "Do you want to buy towels instead?"
    "No, lets buy a heating blanket." And we leave right then and there before I can change my mind.

   When we get home he happily sets up the heating blanket on our bed, explaining that each side has its own temperature control, so I can adjust my side to what I want. He tells me again that I'm going to love it.
   I'm not convinced but he's overjoyed with our new purchase. And who needs new towels anyway? Just because our towels are starting to look like Swiss cheese.

   He can't keep the grin off his face when he jumps into bed that night and buries himself under the heating blanket. I roll my eyes.
   "You're going to like it." He promises as I slide into my side. The warmth is instant, surrounding me from chin to toes. I nearly moan with the sheer delight of it.
    Why did I protest so long? And why didn't I realize just how cold our uninsulated house really gets? I feel lazy and relaxed under the heating blanket, almost like lying in the sun on the beach. Mmm, this is nice.
   "You like it." He says with a smug grin. Apparently my expression has given me away.
   "Maybe."  I didn't want to concede too much; I would never hear the end of it.
   "See you don't trust me. I've been saying we should buy a heating blanket since we were married and you wouldn't listen to me. But boy, now we realize we like it." He is definitely gloating just a bit about it.
    "Am I going to have to listen to this forever?" Boy, this warmth is nice. Why did I protest so long? I'm forgetting my reasons.
    "Yes. I knew you would like a heating blanket. Aren't they nice?" He's rubbing it in. I'm never going to hear the end of this.
    I pull the blanket over my head. "Yes, they're nice. Now leave me alone. I'm enjoying the blanket."
    He laughs.


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Tidal Wave

   Standing on the beach, my toes wiggling in the sand, the sun beats down on my bare shoulders. The small waves lap lazily but steadily against my ankles, drawing out the little tiny crabs from their locations. They flow, helplessly in the wave for a few inches, and then they scurry back, burying themselves in the sand again. But it's only on the edge, where the salty water kisses the land and in a few moments, the cycle repeats.
   The sea offers them an abundant serving of tasty things that crabs like to eat and I notice that some of the crabs like to stay near the long green ribbons of seaweed.
    The tides comes and goes and their life is intertwined with it, regardless of how hard they have to work to keep from completely being washed out to sea or the fact that they can't be too far away either. Danger lurks from being too far away from the sea. The heat of the sun, the sharp beak of a seagull, or the lack of food.
   And through all this, they never give up.
   But do they really have a choice.

   Sometimes I feel like life is that edge between ocean and land. Richly abundant and teeming with adventure but also dangerous and wearing. 
   How many events in my life has swept me off my feet like an ocean wave and threatened to take me out to sea? Some I saw coming....others were unexpected. There's a rule about the ocean...don't turn your back on it. Is that the same about life...don't turn your back on miscommunications or bad habits least they become tidal waves?
   Life ebbs and flows and we are intertwined with its rhythms; regardless if we want to be or not. When the weather is good and the ocean is calm we need to enjoy the sun warming our souls and the sand between our toes.
   When the weather is bad and the ocean is crazy we need to take cover; knowing that all storms eventually come to an end and the sun will shine again.
  
   So for right now this girl is going to find a rock ledge to hide under and wait for the storm to pass; letting the waves wash away the debris of gathered negative thoughts and when the sun breaks and the ocean glows with its warmth; this girl's going sunbathing.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Hero Hottie to the Rescue

    Tacos are a staple in our dinner routine. We use corn tortillas, Amy's refried beans and fresh lettuce and green onions. It's an easy and completely gluten free meal. Because of Bean's gluten allergies her comfort foods aren't the usual American meals. She likes mac and cheese but it's not quite the same with the rice noodles. It was only recently that we finally found a hamburger bun that made having burgers worth it. Before these latest hamburger buns we were stuck with hard, round, thick, dense pieces of bread that could have been used for hockey pucks when they dried out.
   So tacos became her comfort food. And they became my go to meal when I needed something I could make in less than fifteen minutes. Because unless you're rich, eating gluten free is vastly time consuming. There are so many things that have to be prepared from scratch. I suppose I don't cook more than my great Aunt Dottie ever did for her family forty years ago but I'm a woman of the 21st century, I thought long hours in the kitchen was something you read about in the history books.
   Not something I was going to have to participate in.
   And since eating out is a lot like playing Russian roulette when you have gluten allergies, we prefer to stay home. The few places and the handful of meals we have determined to be safe for our girls to eat are also menu items that have to be made from scratch and cost quite a bit. We don't eat fast food. Our favorite places to eat are local restaurants. But that makes going out to eat a treat and not a weekly break from cooking.
   And not only do I have to prepare dinner from scratch but lunch too. Luckily, we found a decent bread and bagel for toast in the mornings.
   But after a few years of both my girls being gluten free, preparing food at home is finally easy.

   Two nights ago though, I started cutting green onions and preparing rice and I just started crying. The easiest meal I could prepare and it was too much. I wanted to sit down in the middle of the kitchen and give up.
   "I just feel so overwhelmed." I told hero hottie, as I cried while the stirring the refried beans.
    He frowned, concerned."I know how you feel."
    Because his life has been overwhelming lately too, since his employers decided to make his life crazy with  new rules and new schedules. It has been weeks since we all sat down and had dinner together. On top of that his good friend, Justin is moving to the East Coast in a few weeks. And then he is faced with a wife that is crying while making dinner.
    "I know." I sniffled.
    I don't usually cry while making dinner, not since I figured out how to prepare all our foods gluten free. But it had been a long day, which had been proceeded by an even longer week and I just felt drained by too many things.
   Perhaps my three year old niece using me to unleash her anger on and constantly calling me 'meanie.' And 'You're the dumbest Aunt Christy, ever." over the past two weeks was too much. Even though I'm glad she feels safe and secure enough with me to express her feelings.
   Maybe my frustration over a school system that wants my daughter enrolled there because she can produce strong test scores, and make them look good but they don't really care about her education; had me on edge. 
   Or sometimes, when I have a hundred million emotions running through me; worries and doubts; fear and frustration; missing hero hottie and an inability to fix my loved ones problems; I just have to release my own emotions. 
   I chopped green onions, tears rolling down my cheeks and I wondered how I could ever be strong enough to be not only what everyone else needed from me but to also be myself.
  
    But as Moms, don't we have a habit of trying to take care of everyone first that we are totally drained before we take the time to care for ourselves? We wipe noses, and help with homework, we have long talks about the meaning of life with our little ones, desperately hoping we're teaching them something that will guide them later and we slay monsters under the bed. We learn to cook anyway our kids need us too and we keep our tempers when faced with naughty behaviors.
  
   Hero hottie didn't know what to do for me though. So I thought he did the sweetest thing he possibly could. Yesterday he had Justin come over, since the guy can cook like a professional and with hero hottie acting like a sous chef; they filled the crock pot with dinner. 
   When I was finished babysitting the 'little girls' as I call my nieces, the house was filled with the delicious aroma of an Italian stew or gumbo or whatever Justin had called it.
    I called it wonderful. Dinner; gluten free and hot and ready to serve. Bean and Abu were okay with it. The stew contained chunks of tomatoes in it, which for as much as they like ketchup, pizza sauce, and tomato soup; I can not get them to eat chunks of tomato. But they tried it.
   I loved it. It had a base of fire roasted tomatoes in Italian seasonings, with a yummy mixture of hot Italian sausage, sweet corn and slightly crunchy green beans.
   The best part; it was already cooked!!
  Then hero hottie played card games with Bean and Abu while I took an uninterrupted bath. As a Mom, do you know the percentage of baths I have taken that I wasn't solving problems from the other side of the bathroom door?

   After the girls were in bed, he asked me. "Do you feel better?"
   I nodded. My worries were still there, they weren't just going to go away but I felt better able to handle them. Restored.
   "Yeah, I do. Thank you." I hugged him.
   He smiles. "Good. Because I've been planning that for a few days now since I noticed you were starting to have difficulties." He just had to wait until he was home to pull it off.
   "You've noticed?" I asked, surprised that he knew I was needing some TLC long before I started crying over making tacos.
   He nodded.

   Now that's true love. Not romantic flowers and diamonds; not sappy Hallmark card;

     but just love...simply.


Monday, January 16, 2012

Land of Confusion Or Why Don't We Put More Value on Education

 Before Bean was born I already had a bookshelf of newly bought, brightly illustrated children's books lined up and ready to go. While I was pregnant with Bean, hero hottie would read out loud books about screenwriting and screen plays. Perhaps that's why she wants to be a director. :)
   When she was born, we read to her constantly, sometimes only getting through a couple of pages before she would crawl off in search of trouble. But as she grew, she started to realize what these books meant and suddenly she couldn't hear enough stories.
     We continued her education by taking our bright and curious toddler to museums. We encouraged her to touch and feel everything she was allowed to and even as a small child she knew a ton of facts about dinosaurs and fossils.
     We spent hours outside, exploring nature. Leaves, flowers, sticks, rocks, and feathers were our learning tools. As we played, I explained science to her. How do trees grow? Why is the sun important? Why do birds need feathers?
   When Abu was born she joined us on trips to the museums and from her stroller she would try to touch everything Bean was. It didn't matter that she was only eight months old, she was curious and we encouraged it.
    Then Bean went to school. She continued her learning.
    During the summer I forced Bean and Abu to study an hour or two a day. I know, what a horrible Mom I am. It's summer and I'm making them do school work. But every fall, instead of falling behind like most kids had, they had leaped ahead. And it wasn't so bad. We could work on subjects they hadn't fully mastered in an one on one environment, overcoming difficulties. I could introduce subjects to them that I knew they would need extra time with the summer before; such as cursive writing for Abu. That summer it was frustrating for her but when she had to start writing it in third grade she was so confident about it.
   Sure of herself.

  I take educating my children very seriously. Knowledge is key to life. And knowing how to learn is even more important than just having a head full of facts. I don't want my children to ever stop learning.
  Bean is highly intelligent and parenting a smart child can be a test in patience. :) But a week ago I was still quite surprised to receive a letter from her school district offering her a chance to take this smarty pants test from some big wig college. She's fifth grade. Wow.
   Hero hottie and I discussed it and even asked for advice from his Uncle who is involved in academics. He recommended that she take the test, since it might offer her opportunities for scholarships and summer camps later on.
   This sounded like a great plan to us. So I emailed the contact person in the gifted department to arrange for the test. The email went unanswered.
   I called the high school where her office is located. The deadline for registering was closing in. The school district had only given us a week to decide and register for the test.
   Two days before the deadline we still had not heard from the contact person. I tried calling again, this time the phone number to the local high school wasn't even answered. (As a parent I love the thought of sending my child to a high school where I can't even get a hold of anyone. -Sarcasm.)
   I had hero hottie call. The secretary took a message.
   Finally...The contact person calls us back.  She was a teacher in charge of the gifted department at the local high schools. We started talking about the benefits of the test, why Bean was selected to take part in it, what would happen after the test and how the test is internationally known. She chatted about how the gifted department of the district arranged for the students to take the test.
    After fifteen minutes of chatting about the test and I was quite ready to register her, the contact person pauses.
   "Bean's in fifth grade right?" She asks.
    "Yes."
    "Oh, well. That's going to be a problem. There isn't actually a test being conducted in our town this year. She'll have to wait until next year."
    "I'm confused. You sent me a letter?" I was shaking my head and trying to rub away the deep frown in my brow.
    "Well, I sent out the letter before I realized there wasn't going to be a test this year. Last year it was at the local college and I just assumed it would be again. So I sent out the letters before I knew for sure. But don't worry...she gets to take it next year. I'll make sure."
    "So there's no test?"
    "Right. I got all the information off their website about dates and times but I didn't realize until the last few days that there wasn't going to be a test in our town."
    "Okay...Well, tell me about the gifted program, like when Bean gets into middle school. I know elementary school doesn't have anything."
     "Oh, we don't really have a gifted program, even for the high school students. It's horrible." She really did care that there wasn't really a program for the kids that were ahead of their grade level. "Budget cuts, you know. That and the school board just cares that they score advance on the test. They're not going to spend time on kids that don't need any more help to boost up test scores. They need to worry about the kids who aren't scoring well on the tests. The government requirement you know."
     "So your job is?" I was fairly confused at this point.
      "Just to work with the parents to connect them with other outside resources. Online classes, camps, etc. It's on our website."
     "I'll check it out."

     Later I checked out the website for the gifted program through our school district. Half the links didn't even work for the camps and online classes. I had to Google the info and find the correct website links. I hate broken links; I'm really disappointed in broken links on a website for a gifted program.
     I like living in a small town; most of the time. Not so much this week. And then to top off insult to injury; the contact person finally emailed me back, thanking me for taking the interest in my child and then she said,
-I encourage you to continue being your child's "teacher".-
   "Teacher" Quote - Unquote
 
        How was all my time and effort to educate my child (children)  turned into a diminutive form of the word teacher? 
    I value great teachers, don't misunderstand me.  Just see my blog entry about Mrs. Tracy. On top of that; my children have had some awesome teachers at their school.
    But a teacher isn't just someone that holds a degree in education. The Webster guy defines it as "one that teaches"

    Doesn't that apply to almost everyone? And then especially as a parent, isn't one of our first jobs is to teach our children?
     "Teach our children well?"

      As parents we teach our children to talk, to walk, to brush their teeth, to eat, to enjoy reading, to write their names, to remember their manners, to love...
      I am more than my child's "teacher." I am one of  my child's TEACHERS. Capital Letters.

     I am a partner with my child's grade school teacher and apparently since our school district lacks any sort of programs for smarty pants kids, I'm going to be a huge factor in making sure Bean and Abu reach their academic potential.
     So, since I will play a huge part in how far my children's education goes; I wish a teacher; especially a teacher that kept telling me the value they placed on education; wouldn't lessen my value as one of my children's teachers.
    I wish our society would just put more value on education. We focus on test scores and labeling children, until only children that score well on test are considered 'gifted.' Other children are struggling, or they have learning disabilities or they aren't smart.
    Do we value education? Or do we value test scores? There is a difference. And somehow I think when we value the wrong thing, all our children lose something special. Important. Vital.

     In the meantime, I have to find a way to teach my girls to shoot for the moon when we live in Smalltown, USA. ..When we live in a country that has confused education with the outcome of tests. When we forget that all our children are failing in their full potential even when the test scores are high.
     Perhaps by the time Bean and Abu have children; things will have changed and learning will be a wondrous adventure by all the child's teachers and more value will be placed on all children reaching their potential and less time on test scores.


Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Zombies Ate my New Year's Resolutions

   Well, I was going to share my resolutions for this year, which happens to be the year of Doomsday but those damn zombies ate them.
   
     I'll try to remember them. Let's see.... It's 2012. Should I even bother with resolutions? After all, the Mayans have said we're all going to die. Doesn't seem to be much point in making a list that I'll fail to keep after three weeks anyway?
    Did I say three weeks? Mmmm, that's hopeful. I think my track record for resolutions made in the gloomiest month of year happens to be as accurate as Harold Camping's predictions of the end of the world. You know he's just trying to steal the Mayan's thunder. :)

    But boy, it's 2012 and the Internet is buzzing with more ways to die in the end of the world than any Hollywood script writer could imagine. Perhaps they should borrow some ideas from some of these sites, because no offense to John Cusack; but I'm not depending on him to save me during the end of the world.
   First of all...his only claim to fame is just simply being in the right place at the right time. He knows to flee, in a borrowed limo (give me an awesome pick up truck from the zombie movies), then the step-dad happens to be a pilot and his employer happens to have tickets and so on and so forth. Everyone around him dies horribly but he's just that lucky.
    Like I'm that lucky? Nope, I'll be sucked down into the bowels of the Earth.
    And then my second point; if you're the step-Dad you're going to die. Because John has to get back together with the ex-wife in this strange new world where only the ultra rich have survived.
    That's seems about right.

   I had a discussion about this. If you had to choose between John Cusack or Bruce Willis to save you from the end of the world, who would you pick? I think I'm going to post that on my Facebook page and see who wins.
   My vote: Bruce Willis featuring Aerosmith -because you need a good rock song to accompany the end of the world.

Heck, I would pick Frodo over John Cusack. :)

    Boy, all this talk of 2012 is starting to scare me. Ohh, I'm scared now.
   No, not really. Because if I made it through Y2K than I think I can make it through the end of the Mayan's calendar. Did anyone wonder if they didn't just run out of stone to carve on?
    Or better yet...
    "Hey, boss. Do you know what would be funny?" The bored, underfed stone carver asks.
    "Joe, get back to work, no one's asking you to be funny." The supervisor snarls.
    So Joe, not being especially bright, plots revenge. He's going to carve the end of the world into the calendar. Ha, that will show the boss. Wait until he gets scared and trembling because the end of the world is going to happen.
    Funny joke Joe. But now at least people are showing interest in other cultures, like the Mayans.

    In the meantime, I should at least make a New Year resolution to prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse. Never thought P90X would come in handy to get in shape so I can run away from the zombies. Thank you Tony Horton, do you know how many people you're helping reach their 'Escape the Zombies' resolutions. 
    I need to purchase a pair of Velcro tennis shoes. Forget the laces, do I want to be tipping on untied shoelaces while the hoard of brain eating zombies are chasing me? Not a chance.
    Throw a bag together of some shotguns and chainsaws and I should be ready.  There, now that's a New Year Resolution I can keep...preparing for the zombies.
    And I'll start practicing on my weekly shopping trips to Wal-Mart...Where I happened to see a zombie the other day, seriously. She was dressed in old, dirty sweatpants and a big, grimy t-shirt. Her greasy, thin hair was matted down on the back of her skull and she walked in that laborious fashion of the zombie while nonsense words grunted from her lips. She wasn't mentally handicapped, otherwise I wouldn't be joking about it, she was just that uninterested in being human. Her cart was loaded with the worse processed food you can find and I have to start wondering if junk food isn't just food made specially for zombies.
    Wal-Mart; the birthplace of the zombie apocalypse...I'm sure of it.

    But joking aside, I hope if anyone purchased a yearly calendar that they asked for a discount since the end of the world is on December 21st. I wouldn't want to pay for an extra week. That also means I should plan on celebrating Christmas early. I would hate to get the tree up, the stockings hung and all the presents wrapped and not have time to enjoy a few pieces of pie before either we're hit by a huge asteroid, or the Earth does a shift on its axis thingy, or Wal-Mart is out of brains.

    Hey, I know what my New Year Resolution should be...getting Bruce Willis' number on speed dial. Just in case it's death by asteroid.

    That's sounds like a new board game. 'Clue- the 2012 edition'

     Is it death by asteroid, zombie apocalypse, mutant virus, or city falling into the Earth?
   
    Or even worse, death by overdose on Facebook?

      As long as the zombies don't come after me I'm wishing everyone a Happy New Year!!!

Monday, January 9, 2012

Day Twenty Five- Baby Jesus is Lost

   I know I'm a few weeks late on this blog entry. Writing twenty five entries in just twenty five days when I'm a full time Mom and Aunt was even more difficult than I had planned. But here we are, Day Twenty Five of Blessings but no where near the end of our journey on faith.
    I've actually learned a lot about myself on this digital journey. But I have to recommend, if you're going to take a honest look in the mirror, don't do it in December. The emotions already seem to be too stretched during this month and then you add in other stuff...it's like eating a third piece of pie when you're already stuffed. :)
   I've really enjoyed writing the stories...the moments...that have shaped who I am. The ones that reminded me of my faith or taught me to dig deeper into my faith to guide me. 
  There were some things I found I couldn't write about yet, perhaps in the next few months when winter is at its bleakest and I already feel dark and gloomy...I will tell you about when I was so sick that Death was literally waiting on the front porch for me and how it took a whole bunch of faith to overcome everything. But since I couldn't write about it last month, we'll see how long it takes me to explore how emotional damaging getting that sick can mess with a person.

    I feel extremely blessed to have the family and friends I do. Even though this last year has been difficult for my family and right now hero hottie and I feel like we want to take the next train out of Crazyville...I know what emotion drives my faith...LOVE.
    The Beatles had it, "All you need is love, love---Love is all you need.'

    Through the ups and downs; the little daily struggles and the monstrous I might die struggles; through the frustrations and the grief; the one thing I could hold in my heart, almost as if it was tangible was LOVE.

   Love for my family.  Love for hero hottie. Love for Bean and Abu. Love for canine critters that love back unconditionally. Love for God and all creation.

    Mary gave birth to the baby Jesus in a manger, surrounded not by the ideal environment to be laboring in but she had love.
   Jesus taught about faith, forgiveness, and love.

    One day CT, my niece was playing with the small wooden Nativity dolls I have and in her playing she misplaced the baby Jesus in the pile of presents under the tree. Suddenly, she is frantic, searching through the wrapped gifts.
   "Aunt Christy, the baby Jesus is lost underneath all the presents. Help me find him."

   I came to a shocking stillness and stared at her. She was simply speaking of the wooden baby Jesus doll lost in the presents but it was a stark reminder that even though presents are the fun part of Christmas... I do enjoy finding and giving the perfect present for someone...the true meaning of Christmas must never be lost underneath all the presents.
    Love. Forgiveness. Faith.

    They're some of the true gifts of Christmas.

   "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
    Matthew 6:19-21 TNIV

    Love, don't go on a journey of faith without it.
  

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Day Twenty Four- The Rhythm of the Heart

The Heartbeat
  
     The sound of Bean's heartbeat from the Doppler fetal monitor filled the hushed silence. For a wonderfully still moment, recorded in my heart for all time, her fetus heart pounded out a quick galloping rhythm. And suddenly, after this pregnant woman had questioned herself time and time again in amazement, wondering if a little life actually grew inside her -I could hear her.
   It would be a little while longer until I would be able to feel her movements, her kicks, and hits and her stretches and her bouncy movements to music but before all that I had heard her heartbeat.
   It was strong. Steady. Miraculous.

   Every doctor appointment I held my breath while the doctor pressed the Doppler fetal monitor against my chilled belly skin until the wondrous sound filled the air, bringing a reassurance that Bean was still safely snuggled within my womb.
   What we shared before she was born was the rhythms of our hearts. For, as I could hear hers- nestled within my body, she was listening to my steady adult heartbeat every moment of her days.
   Beat after beat she could hear the familiar drumming of my heart as she grew, as she slept, as she moved in her tiny world. How important is this sound to our babies? Some researchers have tried to studied it, to measure the value of hearing the maternal heartbeat and of course, it's difficult to form a concise statement of importance. Newborns can't explain what they heard in utero and or explain what was important. But place that babe against your chest, with their tiny ears pressed against you and I have to wonder, as they settle down, if they aren't listening to our hearts, to the familiar rhythms that have surrounded them since before they took their first breaths.
  
   Late in the night, as Bean would wake asking for milk, I would feed her and then cuddle her against me, watching her chest move with the beating of her heart, with her even breathing, all working together in the rhythm of life.
   This would never change either, checking to see the heart beat, the breathing moving through her. Even as toddlers and young children, I would quietly tip toe into their rooms at night, before I went off to bed, watching these movements of life to reassure me that Bean and Abu were alright. They would roll over in their bed or flop around, clearly okay since they were moving and still, I would have to see that beat of their heart and hear their breathing before I felt like things were right in the world.

   And then I would cuddle with hero hottie, my ear pressed to his chest so I could hear the strong, masculine beat of his heart.

   From the moment we can hear we are surrounded by the heartbeat. When we are still and quiet, we can pay attention to our own, feeling it beat continuously, sometimes controlled by our emotions, for surely there has to be something about the heart being the center of our emotions. When I'm happy, my beat is sturdy and relaxed. When I'm excited or hyper, it beats frantically, as if to join in with my joy. Fear will make it race. And sadness or grief will make it feel heavy.
   Scientists will explain that the different hormones we produce in relation to our emotions affect the heart. There are physical explanations to all these different things. Regardless of this information, our hearts play a momentous part in regulating the beats of our life.

  We give our hearts away when we are in love...our hearts our broken when love is not returned...our hearts are bursting with joy...our hearts are fragile and vulnerable.
  
   Home is where our heart feels safe and loved.




Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Day Twenty Three- The Ground is so Small From the Highest Tree

    In the park near our house when I was in middle school there was the tallest pine tree all by itself, growing in the field.
    It whispered, "Climb me. To the top. Where my branches touch the cloudy Oregon sky."
    For a while I ignored the tree, knowing that it was bit higher than my Mom would want me climbing. I can't say for sure how high it was, I'm horrible at judging distance, my brother Chris, would probably know since he was often there with me, wanting to climb the same tree. But it was definitely taller than four or five stories, which was off limits to us.
   One day though, the tree was extremely loud and we decided we were going to climb the tree...all the way to the top.
    The absolutely wonderful thing about trees in Oregon are their solid branches that grow densely together. It's perfect for tree climbing, which Chris and I had done plenty of times. There's a few rules to remember when climbing a tree.
   1. Don't step on branches thinner than your wrist. That's just asking for trouble.
   2. If you start to step onto a branch and the tree groans and complains and screeches at you, perhaps you should pick another branch. Listen to the tree.
   3. Ignore sap, it's sticky but Mom's are great at getting it out of your clothes. They may roll their eyes at you when you hand them your clothing in a sticky bundle of fresh tree sap but they will get it out. They're amazing, Moms.
  4. Windy days are for flying kites, not climbing trees.
  And finally.... 5. Don't climb so high that the ground is now so small it has became a deadly weapon should you fall on it.

   I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. I love climbing trees and this one was tall with the perfect amount of branches.
   I grabbed the first branch and hauled myself into the tree. It had that fresh scent of pine that they try to bottle but will never succeed because humans can't duplicate the natural part of a smell. Somehow your nose will always know.
   Chris started climbing the other side and we made quick time as the branches had grown just like a ladder. They were never far apart and they were all nice and sturdy. Every once and in a while we would peek out of the branches, noticing how the park was growing smaller and smaller.
   But still we climbed.
   Then my brother, who was younger than me, stopped. He was not going any higher.
  I was in middle school, the big sister and the family tree climber. I wasn't going to stop. So higher and higher I went. It was amazing. The tree was so well built all the way to the top. Most of the time a tree starts to tamper out too thinly before you can reach anywhere near the top, so you have to stop...it's rule number 1 and 2. But this tree, having grown in the middle of the field didn't have to share nutrients from the ground or any rain water. It was king.
 
   I climbed until the branches finally were too small near the top. The palm of my hands were scratched from the rough bark and covered in sap but I was grinning. I took a look around me and was amazed that I could see over most of the other trees, across the neighborhoods surrounding the park, and past the sugar beet field growing on the other side of the running track, I could see my friend's houses and I could see a vast expanse of cloudy Oregon sky.
   And then I looked down...and down and down...to where my brother stood so tiny against the green grass that was so far away. My stomach lurched and my throat tightened. I gripped the tree tighter and felt a bit sick.
   I had never felt afraid of being high up in a tree before. Ever. But I had never climbed so high up either. A gentle breeze blew across my cheek and I really started to realize just how far above the ground I was. If I were to fall, I would die. The thought was that simple and that direct.
   The view was stunning but I suddenly had this intense and pounding need to touch the ground again but my hand wouldn't let go of the branch I was on. My fingers had suddenly started thinking for themselves and they refused to do anything that had to do with letting go of the tree.
   Being the wildly creative person I am, I suddenly starting wondering if the fire trucks could reach me and how would they pluck me out of this tree and would they even drive on the grass to get me, or would that grouchy park manager that always scowled at me send them away because he didn't want his grass messed up? Would they leave me up here? And oh, boy, how mad would Mom be if she found out I climbed this far up into the tree. She would never allow me to go to the park again. I would be grounded. I was too old to be grounded. Urghh. I could not live in a tree even though it is a very Oregon thing to do.

    Finally my thoughts turned back to my fear and knowing I couldn't allow it to win. I refused to live up in the tree and I decided I rather conquer the anxiety coursing through my veins than have to send my brother to fetch Mom. Parents can be great motivators. :)
   Slowly, I made my way down the tree, my heart pumping quite fast and sweat dripping down my back. What had I been thinking? Apparently, there were trees that were just too high to climb, no matter how great and thick their branches were.
   I jumped onto the ground, wanting to kiss it. I had always wondered why they did that in movies, it seemed so yucky, but now I understood. There is something immensely wonderful and grand about the ground...and your feet actually touching it. 
   Chris stared at me and I simply stared back. He knew I had went too far. But we both knew that we wouldn't speak a word of it to our parents. Perhaps when when we were thirty. We left that pine tree king alone for the rest of the time we lived there. It had somehow earned immunity from our tree climbing.
   The rest of the trees had not and we spent a great deal of time climbing them. I was not going to let that moment of fear in the tallest tree keep me grounded.

   I tell this story because there are some things we can't learn from the confines of our houses, watching television or chatting on the computer. We have to be outside, in nature, learning from all of creation just how far we can push ourselves. To be able to recognize the pounding of our own heartbeat, pushing ourselves pass our fears to accomplish the tasks before us. It is sometimes the closest I feel we can be to God in this physical world we inhabit.
   So I give thanks that through a simple pine tree I learned that only my silly fears keep me from climbing higher on this journey of faith.
  But I have to say, I wouldn't mind a parachute some times either. :)