A poem

Good morning, Maeby Hazel.

According to babycenter, you're the size of a crenshaw melon. Having never seen or eaten such a melon, this description isn't helpful. What I do know is that your kickboxing adventures have, frankly, gotten wild. Chiropractor is lined up for next week to create a truce between you and my skeleton.

A poem, "Ordinary Miracle," by Barbara Kingsolver, to start our day:

I have mourned lost days
When I accomplished nothing of importance.
But not lately.
Lately under the lunar tide
Of a woman’s ocean, I work
My own sea-change:
Turning grains of sand to human eyes.
I daydream after breakfast
While the spirit of egg and toast
Knits together a length of bone
As fine as a wheatstalk.
Later, as I postpone weeding the garden
I will make two hands
That may tend a hundred gardens.

I need ten full moons exactly
For keeping the animal promise.
I offer myself up: unsaintly, but
Transmuted anyway
By the most ordinary miracle.
I am nothing in this world beyond the things one woman does.
But here are eyes that once were pearls.
And here is a second chance where there was none.

Parenting Philosophies #2

Good morning, MH.

One of my favorite blogs, McSweeney's,  serves up a perfectly snarky sort of article on strangers giving parenting advice, written by Wendy Molyneux:

"Yes, he IS crying, isn’t he? You are right. He’s probably hungry. Should I feed him? And if so, where do I put the food? His eyeball? His butt? What kinds of cuts of meat do babies like? Should I not give him hot peppers? How much salt is too much, and when can I expect him to use a knife? If he spits up, should I have him put to sleep? There are just so many things I need to know, and that is why I rely on total strangers like you who happen to be experts on child care."

Read the rest . . .

Safe Baby Pregnancy Tips

Magic Monday: Blue Moons

Good morning, dearest. Here we are, at the start of week 36. Are you feeling the desire to make your appearance soon? It is a blue moon this Friday.

(photo by Revera, Creative Commons) Both holy and insane?

Sometimes people will say, "It  happens once in a blue moon," and that's because a blue moon is a rare thing. All it means, though, is that we have another full moon this month (so it's a calendar blue moon, and not a seasonal one), right on the edge of our transition from summer into autumn. But, is that all it means, really? The moon makes folks feel religious, crazy, superstitious--magical. Even Neil Armstrong, who just passed away, said that, "I think we're going to the moon because it's in the nature of the human being to face challenges. It's by the nature of his deep inner soul ... we're required to do these things just as salmon swim upstream." The moon is a part of our souls.

Because the moon is cyclical, it's often associated with women. Women are all about the cycle, right? Almost every culture has some sort of goddess (some have multiple) associated with the moon.

Diana not only governs hunting and the moon, but birthin' babies, too!

The science says that even though people think more babies are born on the full moon, that it just ain't so. I love science, but sometimes it really sucks the fun out of stuff. The magic part goes that if we're mostly water, and the moon can control the tides, the moon should definitely have an influence on our bodies, right? So, if you decide to make your appearance this weekend, then we'll chalk it up to Diana. And if you wait a couple more weeks, we'll chalk one up for the scientists. Either way, magic wins, because you'll be in my arms.

"And then there suddenly appeared before me/The only one my arms will ever hold." Although Ella doesn't seem to like this version, I like the playfulness.

Morning meditation

Good morning, MH.

Focusing on mindfulness this morning:

May we be at peace.
May our hearts remain open.
May we awaken to the light of our own nature.
May we be healed.
May we be a source of healing for all beings.

I'm a kitty cat (and I meow meow meow)

Good morning, Maeby Hazel!

This video is really old, but it still tickles me.

I live with two old men. Well. Not men. Males. Of the feline variety. Siamese-ish. Not evil Siamese, though, like these pre-PC Disney demon cats (at least not most of the time):

I haven't seen Lady & the Tramp in years, but this clip doesn't make me feel too confident about it timelessness.

My oldest cat is named Humo. His name means "smoke" in Spanish, and I named him thinking that he looked a bit like a cat that had got caught in a fire. He is 14 years old. When I was a 5th-year senior at the University of New Mexico, I lived in a house on Lead with a couple of gals. One of those gals, Heather, had a long-haired gray tabby cat who gave birth to a bunch of Siamese-ish kittens (Thank goodness. It would have been really weird if she gave birth to dogs!). The kittens disappeared to their new adopted homes, and there were two remaining in our home. I had picked a very light, more traditional-looking Siamese, but nobody wanted the big-headed kitten that was left over (everyone thought there was something wrong with him). Heather's mom wanted a kitten, but refused to take the "weird" one, and my heart strings were tugged just enough that I let go of the fair one, and took big-headed Humo. I'm so glad I did. Despite turning into a grumpy cat for a number of years, he's been a peach of a companion. 

Then there's Pooka. Pooka was given to me as a gift 11 years ago. I named him after a very mischievous, shapeshifting fairy. When I first got him, I fed him the way I do Humo--that is, I just left out the never-ending bowl full of food (I'll probably have to change that feeding procedure, now that I think about it. I wouldn't want you to think cat food is a viable nutritional option). But Pooka kept eating and eating and eating . . . He would have eaten until his belly popped, I think! AND, he had really bad asthma. And bad teeth. And he might suffer from hallucinations. He's a hot mess. Despite putting him on a more disciplined diet, he's never lost that big ol' belly flap, and so when he walks, his belly swings gently from side to side. He's a love muffin and an attention diva.

Humo is the darker cat, and Pooka is is the lighter one. They sleep pretty much all the time. What a life. I hope they're content.

They might be a little bit afraid of you at first. When my nephews are over, the cats usually go into hiding under the bed. It might be confusing for them to be in a house that is now filled with all sorts of new noises. Usually, things are pretty quiet.

We're gonna be a most amazing, peculiar, brilliant, and beautiful family, MH. We're getting closer to meeting each other in person! Meow meow meow.

Magic Monday

Good morning, my darling. Yesterday was a rough day, both physically and emotionally. I didn't have a chance to sit down and write. Today will be better. In the meantime, a little David Bowie for your magic pleasure.

I promise not to ever hand you over to the Goblin King.

Maybe Hazel, Maybe Not--Part I

hazel 

O.E. hæsl, hæsel, from P.Gmc. *hasalaz (cf. O.N. hasl, M.Du. hasel, Ger. hasel), from PIE *koselo- "hazel" (cf. L. corulus, O.Ir. coll "hazel"). Shakespeare ("Romeo and Juliet," 1592) was first to use it (in print) in the sense of "reddish-brown color of eyes" (in reference to the color of ripe hazel-nuts), when Mercutio accuses Benvolio of being testy with:

Thou wilt quarrell with a man for cracking Nuts, hauing no reason, but because thou hast hasell eyes

from the Online Etymology Dictionary

Good morning, MH!

Why do I write "Maybe Hazel?" You probably want to know why I'm being wishy washy about the whole naming business. Naming a baby is a monumental task! I started the deliberation process like any good geek girl would do, and I created a Google spreadsheet, with columns devoted to boy names, girl names, meaning/etymology, and a place for people to offer feedback. (Isn't this what everybody does?)

At first, I really was drawn to Poppy. You were my little poppy seed, after all, when I found out I was pregnant. But then, I worried that it sounded a lot like Papi, and I didn't want anyone teasing you with "Papi Chulo" references.

Also on the list: Alice and Jane and Claire . . . I find myself drawn to these names that have a bit of an old-fashioned flair. But, Hazel kept popping to the top of my list. I really do love that name.

This is the flowering shrub from which your name is derived. 

The last time Hazel was super popular was at the turn of the century (the 18- to 1900s, not the 19- to 2000s). Your name also means "commander," and the hazelnut is supposed to be a source of wisdom. Hazel branches are filled with magic and protection. And we'll have lots of fairytales that involve hazel-ish references.

FYI, I'm a word nerd. 

As for the Maybe . . . well. I have had FOUR ultrasounds, two of them at the ER. How rad was it that on the very first one, at 10 weeks, you raised your hand and waved at me? That made me cry. A little hello from barely-formed fingers. Too early at that point to determine gender. And then, at 20 weeks . . . a tech who was anything but certain. Her final answer was, "I'm pretty sure it's a girl." Ummmmm . . . And then, my third ER ultrasound, the doctor's final answer, "I would say a girl, but I wouldn't guarantee it." And the fourth, the doctor said (as I'm figuring out everyone does, as sort of a failed preemptive strike against postpartum crabbiness), "Don't hold me to it, but I'd say 'girl.'"

So. Maybe Hazel, but maybe not.

Pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy

Good morning, mH!

WHEW.

My midwife thought I had this awful (and aptly named) skin condition. But, I'm just itchy. I think. Partially from all that stretching, partially from having my blood consumed by an army of mosquitoes on a nightly basis.

I wish I had something like this contraption, pregnant-woman sized, for me to roll my body through repeatedly:

Aaaaaaaaaah. Sweet relief.

Magic Monday: the morning walk

Good morning, Maeby H.

What a weekend! A bit of scary, a lot of exhausting, and here we are, at the beginning of another week.

Most mornings, since we've been together, I try to go for a little walk. I live in a pretty fascinating neighborhood, and I thought I'd share a few highlights from my magical mornings.

We have power

via Reddit--an 8-year-old's vision of girl power

Your power does not reside in your gender, Maybe Hazel. We do get jobs. We are creative. We are smart. And we do have power--but not because we have veginas and bobes. 

Yes, I'm debating an assignment from an 8-year-old girl, but only because, while I appreciate the spirit of her words, I want you to know that I disagree. A great Buddha quote: “All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.” Whether I'm holding a little girl or a little boy in my arms in less than two months, these are the words that matter. 

You're a trooper, MH

A little over a week ago, we had ourselves quite the adventure. Actually, we've already had quite a few, but this particular day was pretty extraordinary.

Our high school staff drove to San Diego for a little sailing/bonding time. I've never been sailing. I've been on a ferry during a terrible storm, traveling from the north to south island of New Zealand. I've slept on a ferry traveling the English Channel. I took a boat ride out to dive with sharks when visiting Hawaii. I've been on powerboats to waterski and canoes to paddle around lazily. But, alas, no sailing. Soooo, despite the fact that your momma has been known to get motion sick on a treadmill, I am very much of the mind that I must follow Eleanor Roosevelt's advice, and regularly do things that scare me.

We set out at 1 pm. My dorky chart above shows that although I'm a little anxious, I'm mostly pretty joyful at the start.

Here we go!!! Whee!!! So exciting. Until  . . .

So exciting, until, as Captain Greg was doing whatever it is one does to a sail to make it go up, I felt something fall from the sail and onto my chest, and from my chest, onto my thigh. I thought a bird pooped on me, and asked, "Did a bird poop on me?" when all of a sudden, my thigh was consumed with a critical amount of pain. I'd been stung. By a bee. On a boat. In the ocean. I do not think this type of scary thing is what Eleanor had in mind.

I'm apiphobic. Few things can make me run around squealing like a little piggy, but bees and wasps can, and do. The kicker of this misadventure is that my friend DeeDee told me that it's not the first sting I have to worry about, in terms of allergy, but the second. She then explained the scientific reasoning behind it, but I was too busy whimpering and sniveling to understand or care, much beyond thinking, "I still have to be nervous around these necessary-but-terrifying creatures???"

Co-captain DeeDee gave me a cleansing wipe, followed by a cold beer (used for cooling my inner thigh only, sadly), and then a generous swabbing of mustard. Yes, mustard.

Well, despite the spike in adrenalin, I did my best to get over it, and decided to explore the front of the boat. I clipped on a life jacket and scrambled to the bow, where my friend Tim grabbed some excellent pictures, like this one:

You'll notice on my handy-dandy chart that my levels of joy and pain have inverted at this point.

Then, another too-exciting adventure: Canada (yes, Canada) was conducting some underwater-sonar-submarine experiment that consisted of a military helicopter flying in place, dragging a line from the helicopter into the water. While I was sitting peacefully, having a moment, we came so close to said-Canadian-"warship" (as it was referred to on the radio) that the spray covered me, and the boat caught the wakes created by the helicopter. It was all very action movie-esque, and I made my way back with legs of jelly.

It was then that, perhaps, the Dramamine upon which I'd relied gave up on me and my adrenalin rushes, and I became ill. Very ill. Embarrassingly ill. I felt badly for my co-sailors, as I know how I react when I'm around someone who's yacking, and there I was, my body squished between the metal bars (sorry about that), miserable (another spike on the pain chart) and yacking.

They decided to turn the boat around and head onto calmer waters (which still didn't feel calm). Even land didn't feel calm for a while. Still, I'm glad we did it. I kept smiling, even through my embarrassment, and kept looking for the joy. Eleanor would have been proud, even if the bee sting now might have gone into Super Evil Phase II at this point and transitioned to an infection.

Magic Monday

Good morning, my beautiful MH.

School is starting today.  Actually, it started last week (hence, the sudden drop in posting action), but my students arrive this morning.

I'll need a little bit of magic to get through today. I am a woman who always is prepared, always organized (in my own way) . . . but today is different. I usually have anxiety dreams about being completely unprepared at this time of year. There's the one where I lose complete control of my classroom and end up screaming at students at the top of lungs. There's another that must spring from my brief theater days, where I have to perform in a play but have not been given the script. This time, I'll be awake! I think that despite my chaos, though, it'll be a good day, mostly because it was an amazing weekend (more on that later). Love is the most powerful magic there is. 


From one of my favorite (and most magical) book series of all time :

"If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign ... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever." Dumbledore to Harry, The Philosopher's Stone

Cravings

Good morning, MH!

I've developed a bit of queasiness in this third trimester. There are, however, a couple of cravings I've had throughout that never seem to have waned, despite the current (in)stability of my stomach. I'm pretty sure you'll be curious about my cravings at some point. I know it's a question that me and my siblings still ask my mom. "What did you crave when you were pregnant with me?" I never seem to remember the answer, but maybe it's because I love hearing my mom talk about it again and again.

My top 3:

1. Eggs. I've been lucky enough to benefit from our school chickens, and the yolks from those eggs . . . yummy. Creamy, buttery goodness. I prefer a soft-boiled treatment so that I fully can appreciate the yolk--by far the best part. Soft-boiled eggs with a couple pieces of buttered toast (sometimes with a little strawberry jam on the second slice) have been my comfort food since I was a little girl.

2. Watermelon. I get the little personal-size, seedless melons, cut them in half, devour one piece with a spoon, and save the second half for the next day. Refreshing, especially with the awful heat of Phoenix summer.

3. Ghirardelli Milk & Caramel. I'm usually a dark-chocolate girl, but this stuff . . . heaven. There's three servings (I think) in a bar, but I admit that when this candy is in my grubby hands,  it's usually gone in about a half hour.