…Unless it projectiles out of your severely-allergic-to-dairy-protein four month-old infant’s mouth AND lands you in the ER because he swells and turns tomato red all over. Then it’s OK to cry over the spilt milk. I sure did. Not in the frantic moments of seeing his ears almost pop off his head while driving like a stunt driver to the hospital (secretly wishing to get pulled over and opportunistically ask for an escort), but as soon as the young, serious, and self assured resident gently asked me to tell him what happened, that’s when I lost my adrenaline induced composure. “What happened to me?” I wanted to echo, clearly knowing he was inquiring about my bright red sausage baby. I wanted to let him know that I was in active cardiac distress and may need oxygen. I wanted him to triage me and call some kind of mommy ‘code’ that would alert unoccupied “reassure-ers” to come my way. I wanted to say something funny, to feel better, but realized sarcasm would be lost here. That there wasn’t anything funny about this sequence of events, not yet anyway.

There’s something very scary about being in a children’s ER, experiencing your trauma as well as the chaotic traumas of others. Little voices behind drawn curtains crying, some screaming, masked by the gentle humming of consoling adults, all of which is muted by loud concise orders exchanged between doctors and nurses. There’s something so frightening about being in the same hospital you were in just four short months ago, giving birth to this fragile little being now admitted as a patient. Life is fragile was the message in the ER, fragile and precious.

As I tried my best to find strength, I gathered my shaken voice and responded, “Well doctor, I gave him very expensive grade A formula and apparently poisoned him.” The young lad assured me that my little love would be fine (as I clearly looked in need of reassurance), but as for me, he couldn’t guarantee that I would be, fine, that is. After a mini cocktail of Benadryl and steroids, my darling boy began to return to his normal size, shape, and color. And as he dozed off into a drug induced slumber, I too returned to my normal color, sort of.

Laying there in the hospital cradling my young son in the same way I had done just a few months ago, I flash forwarded to a day that I will replay this experience for him, including all of the annoying details as only moms do, in an effort no doubt to convey my lifelong love and devotion to him. And as I thought about this, all of motherhood’s glory came flooding in. This is what makes us mothers, warriors. The ability to be present in the most dire and emotionally distressing situations. These are the stories we share with each other through tears and sometimes laughter, able to see the lighter side after it’s all said and done. Always ready for the next thing because there always is…a next thing. Motherhood is for life. Days pass and experiences come and go, but the memories never leave us. So for all the mothers out there, celebrate and be celebrated on this Mother’s Day, for I truly believe there is no greater honor or duty than that of a mother.

Happy Mother’s Day

xo

{Fin Update: He is back on his more-expensive-than-gold dairy free formula and is happy and healthy. Due to his chronic happy baby syndrome he is much less fazed than me by the whole experience.}

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

So if you’ve read my past reviews of Chobani, you know that not only are we  a family of loyal fans but that yogurt is a staple food in our house. Yet as with so many favorites, little taste buds are fickle and favorites fade fast. So it’s incredibly exciting that Chobani continues to create delicious and unique flavor combinations. These new additions seem to really focus on texture! The passion fruit is full of crunch with delicious natural seeds and the apple is creamy with a blend of real apple pieces and cinnamon. Luckily we stand divided on our cho’ices, whereas my darling daughter and I delight in the passion fruit, my husband prefers the apple cinnamon. At least that’s one less thing to bicker about!

Today was a stressful day. Not the first and certainly not the last, but so obviously frustrating for us all, that it needed a moment in space to be acknowledged and respected. Today it was hard to be 4, hard to be 2, and certainly hard to be new! Today, being 34 didn’t seem nearly old enough to be in charge of all that was occurring. It was the kind of day where everyone talked and nobody listened. The kind where meeting everyone’s needs and desires seemed next to impossible. Where requests were abundant and help was scarce. The kind of day where speaking nicely achieved little and despite my most sincere efforts my negotiations became loud commands. It was the kind of day that felt as though it was running its own course with no regard for us. And all of a sudden, in the peak of my frustration, there was a pause.

I remembered. I remembered that despite the overwhelming emotions that I was feeling in response to the chaos that was ensuing, that this was not going to last. This was a moment in time in itself. And in this instant acknowledgement I knew that I was not going to forever be covered in spit-up. That I would not always sport a sweatpants uniform (covered in other people’s food) decorated by the dark circles under my sleepless eyes. The sink would not always be full of dishes I couldn’t wash, and the laundry wouldn’t be forever beckoning me. I knew that glitter would not always grace the carpet and that small plastic jewels would not be embedded in the couch. There will be a time when I won’t step on shards of crayons or have to peel stickers off of walls and appliances. There will come a day when I will have time to eat time accurate meals, sitting, maybe even at a table. When I won’t be someone’s direct source of nourishment. One day I won’t have to spell words or sensor the television. Some day I will be able to talk on the phone. One day, I won’t have to rock someone to sleep (except perhaps myself). And when that day comes, I suspect that despite the relief from those stressors, I will feel a mix of emotions, among them great sadness knowing that my darlings are grown. I imagine that I will not look back with regret on the sacrifices, and if asked, like so many other moms I’ve heard say, I’ll tearfully reply along the lines of, “I’d do it all over in a heartbeat.”

I have my own memory of an exchange with my mom at some point during my teens. In response to her asking me to complete some domestic task which in my angst I did not desire to do, I remember telling her that one day, the house will be clean and everything will be put away because we won’t be there. I didn’t say it to be hurtful or in a dismayed tone, just stated a fact. Both my mother and I remember that conversation vividly because of the truth that it held. It seems that those ‘messes’ which most frustrate and stress us are the blueprints of our lives and the essence of those who share that life with us.

It’s near impossible to think of the grand scheme in the moment. To remember that everything passes, and that time doesn’t stop, not during the hardest moments or the grandest. But some days, in the peak of our frustration, we get this gift, and there is a pause. I recommend breathing…and remembering…that everything other than your darlings…can just wait.

{note to self}

And by crazy….I mean sometimes crazy making…clinically.

Now that I have three darlings, my perspective has shifted and I can see the pattern much more clearly…the “distraction theory” and its full effect. When there were two darlings, the opportunity wasn’t quite as available to them to do as they liked as it is now with three. Sure there was the notorious albeit brief phone call (which quickly ceased to exist) or the moment of biological necessity in which I had to use the bathroom which allowed complete mayhem to ensue for just a moment, but mostly I was present and watching which deterred most serious shenanigans. Now, with a naturally need-based newborn, my slowed mobility and dexterity, along with my sleep deprived thought process and all around slow reaction time, I provide my darlings endless opportunities to reek the havoc they so wildly desire. Toys thrashed in abundance, wild chasing and yelping, furniture climbing and jumping, physical battles over momentarily coveted items, and of course a dual to the death over mommy’s undivided attention. Yes, my darlings are opportunists.

But I digress, this is a love day entry. And it’s not like I don’t sing their praises and write about my unconditional love and devotion for them daily, but still, this is the official day to praise. So as I was saying. After I silently recite my own version of the serenity prayer, desperately asking for an immediate dose of sanity, compassion, and restraint, it all becomes so clear. The love for our children is the only one of its kind. Unconditional is an understatement (while crazy might be a bit of an overstatement). There seems to be no other explanation as to Why, or rather, How we would be able or willing to tolerate such behaviors and verbiage from another living being. And yet we do, tolerate, and endure so much, trusting blindly, forgiving consistently, and loving unconditionally without any explanation or reason other than, this is my child.

As a parent I can’t quite speak to the true longevity of this relationship as we are a young family. But as a child, I can soundly say this crazy love lasts a lifetime.

xo

Time seems to stand still in our most emotional and momentous life occasions. Certainly birthing our babes qualifies. And as this little one entered the outside world, time certainly stood still. But somehow, once time starts moving, it seems to be incredibly fast and unstoppable. Leaving me desperately clinging to every tiny moment in an effort to hang on, not miss, and remember. It’s difficult to comprehend that a whole week has passed since he arrived, I guess because time stood still…and perhaps also because I haven’t collectively slept a full night which has caused the days to blend. But reality says it’s been a week. As I look down at my newest darling, bundled and curled in my arms, the reel plays in my mind’s eye, and the details surrounding his arrival saturate my thoughts. I am overcome with love and adoration and silently let him know:

I have no expectations of you my darling boy.

I do however have many many wishes.

I wish that you will be healthy.

I wish that you will love and feel loved in return.

I wish that you will laugh and be curious and learn.

I wish that you will be kind and compassionate and understanding of others.

I wish that you will quench your desires and never forsake by being grateful.

I wish that you will find your way in this sometimes tricky world.

I wish that you will recognize your worth and your potential and surround yourself with people who see it clearly in you.

I wish that you will find acceptance of yourself and others.

I wish that you will never feel sadness or pain or sorrow and if heartache should come, I wish you good friendships and strong bonds.

I wish that you will smile often.

I wish that your own wishes will come true.

{I also really hope you will survive your sisters}

♥ Mom

It seems as though we’re always waiting…for something. In life and specifically when it comes to our darlings. It’s one of those life lessons we’re offered daily practice in, and every day the session could be titled The Art of Waiting 101. I say this because no matter how much we know the patterns in our life and learn to expect and anticipate their typical display we often seem to struggle in mastering the maintenance of our patience and our calm. We wait on our darlings to transition from one moment to the next in their everyday routines, the “art” being not losing our cool. From waking up and getting ready, to cleaning-up, finishing to play, taking that last bite, we wait for them to share, to say that they’re sorry, to snap out of a stubborn moment, to come in and out of the car, to listen, to use kind words, and to fall asleep. We wait for them to understand that while the lessons we’re teaching may not seem fun or fair, they’re ultimately good for them and will shape their ability to one day wait patiently and calmly for the moments in their lives. And therein lays the magic of the lesson for us all. If we are able to somehow realize in the moment of waiting, that ‘it’ is actually the gift, a chance to truly acknowledge and appreciate the time in-between the events we anticipate most, then we have understood life in a more profound way. In essence, the waiting is typically the more abundant and active portion of our lives and if we welcome instead of resist we will more often find that peace and calm we are seeking.

When it comes to our childbearing, we have had plenty of practice “waiting”. Our darling daughters took their sweet time entering this world. The first was 9 days ‘late’, and the second was 6 days ‘late’, and both were “coaxed out” via induction (Makes me wonder and wish I knew how truly wonderful it is in that womb). While I recognize and understand that due dates are calculations and negotiable at best, there is still some irrational psychological switch that flips when that day appears and baby does not. Currently, we’re anxiously, yet patiently (is that even possible ?) waiting for our littlest one to make his debut. While I thought that he would surely come on time (if not early), here he is, one day past his due date, he’s my third reminder in patiently waiting. And so we will. We’ll be here ready to welcome and love him whenever it is he decides to come out…we’re waiting.

It’s true that every pregnancy is unique in its characteristics, and equally so, I have found in its sequence in your life. I can clearly recall my first pregnancy where every day was a milestone and the ability to track and document the wonder of it all was present. Where my excitement was matched or seemingly surpassed by others, continuously questioning my well-being and my whereabouts. There was time, lots and lots of time. Every bubble and gurgle and unidentified physical sensation was reason for glee and discussion. There was time to sit down and relax. Time to create lists and even check things off them. There was time to design and collect and assemble a room fit for a princess. Time to read books and consider the variety of methods offered in dealing with potential issues despite their seeming ridiculousness. And the overwhelming joy and anticipation of the unknown was so grand that our meeting day almost seemed unable to come quickly enough, (that paired with her true late arrival).

Oh how things change.

By the second pregnancy, I didn’t even realize that there was a first trimester and I may as well have started midway through. There was less time, a lot less time. Less time to sit, to think, to organize, to prepare and to ponder. There was an agenda, a time sensitive one at that, and the slightest stray from the game-plan was reason to panic. Although the excitement was there in the same magical way, the ability to be fully present as previously was simply unrealistic. Rather than counting my internal baby’s kicks, I was trying to prevent my ‘outer’ toddler from kicking my belly (accidentally of course). More than worrying about adjusting to ‘newbornism’ once again, the concern was about how could our precious darling adjust to life with another baby. And somehow, while we were reacquainting with the somewhat known territory ahead, almost without realization, it was time. She was here. Things weren’t pristine and perfect and ready, yet while there was a bit more chaos, there was a lot less stress. Ironic right? I know! It was this sense of familiarity that just took over and seemed to smooth things out. Sure it was challenging in new ways, but more than that, we knew stuff. We had done this before and surprisingly we hadn’t forgotten. And so it was, perhaps because of this feeling and sense of confidence, that we were much more apt and able to consider having another baby after we had our second…much sooner than we had considered having a second after our first.

Here we are. In the last week and a half (as per estimated due date and not by prior track record) of our third pregnancy. I am grateful to say that I have had remarkably healthy and what I would consider ‘easy’ pregnancies just in relation to what I have heard. Of course the discomforts and unpleasant symptoms exist, but they certainly haven’t disabled or drastically impeded my ability to function. It’s interesting though, because as others ask how I am doing, I feel compelled to say that “I am great”, because I am mostly, but at the same time, I do wonder, is there a choice not to be? I mean, all serious complications aside, of course I am exhausted and have chronic heartburn, by the end of the day I can no longer, bend, sit, stand or find any position of comfort in fact, I am either ravenous or completely dismayed by any nutritional option, and yet, “I am great”. And as I consider feeling that way, I feel that it is directly connected to the need to be ‘great’ (to the best of my ability) for my girls. While they have come to know my ‘belly’ as a daily reminder of the brother that’s coming, there is no true understanding (and none can be expected) of the limitations that come with hosting this little life for 9+ months. And so for the most part, their expectations go unwavered. “Pick me up mommy, carry me, play with me, sit with me, get me, take me, help me, I want to be on your lap mommy.” And while my heart consistently and without hesitation says, “Of course my darling”, my body says, “Not so sure I can although I’ll try”. But for the most part, except when the energy is completely drained late in the day, I have been able to be great and do those things that I treasure doing with them. And though they appear like small tokens, to them, I can see, they are monumental reminders that no matter who is welcomed into our family, my darlings must never fear losing their space or importance as they are permanent in our hearts.

And so it is with excitement, anticipation, love, and an abundance of overwhelming emotion that we eagerly await the arrival of our little boy. Countdown to Finley Ben

Olivia’s Eden came before my heartful journey blog started. It was the precursor in my creative outlet. Inspired by my older daughter, it was a way to channel my inspiration and creative process in a productive and useful direction.

I have been making jewelry, knitting, and dabbling in other handmade trinkets for over a decade now, and the work seems to evolve in a parallel process to life. For a long time I held a standard for myself that if I couldn’t paint properly on an easel like I wanted to, well I just wasn’t doing it at all. That expectation created a drought and a block in my creative production for much too long. After some time of feeling the pangs of deprivation I considered the notion of adaptation and acceptance. It became acceptable to work in a limited space than to not work at all. It became cathartic to create small sketches or watercolors than to not create at all. It became OK to express myself in whatever medium at any time and that included all the in between times of sitting in a parked car, while babies were napping, while my darlings were eating and truly any moment in time. That is how I journeyed into creating hair clips and accessories for little girls, because it was relevant, and because I could complete it in timed increments.

What I never expected, has been the rebound satisfaction and gratification of seeing how excited others have been about these small treasures. It has been lovely to see others gift and share these trinkets and to know that my creations are walking around all different spaces and places. This labor of love has reminded me that we adapt and persevere, and that change, while uncomfortable at times, provides potential for evolution of self. And your art (or craft, or skill) as an extension of self, will evolve and change and adapt too, and with time reveal a new potential you may have never considered or known existed.

You can find the above pictured handmade goods and more at Olivia’s Eden Boutique