The First of Autumn

I noticed the first change of leaves two days ago, as I sat on the corner awaiting the girl's school bus to arrive. I often watch her, in her enthusiasm, bound off the bus and run across the street, legs pumping and blonde hair flying in the wind, reflecting the sun. Being five and a half must be a tough gig for a five and a half year old, but the only thing I see in her is innocence and curiosity.

It took me a minute to realize that it was the first day of fall, and I was reminded of my friend K., who took his own life when I was pregnant with the girl, right around this time of year six years ago. I'd seen him a few weeks before his death, and though I knew of his depression and manic episodes, and knew he had ups and downs, the last time I saw him, he was happy and smiling, and gave me a huge hug and congratulated me on the impending arrival of the girl. As it turns out, he was happy because he, like most suicidal people, had a plan and a way out. He was happy because he had made his decision and felt inner peace.

K. hung himself on the last day of summer, before the sun could rise on autumn, before he had to see the leaves change and wither and die, before the snow flew and the air froze and he had to live through another winter of seasonal affective disorder, which I'm told (but never knew personally) exacerbated his depression and kicked his mania into overdrive.

The timing of his death coincided with the anniversary of my grandmother's death as well. She died relatively young (age 66) after an extraordinarily rough life and a case of hepatitis, contracted at the hospital where she worked in the 1960's and '70's, which basically destroyed her liver. I was sixteen when she died and I think I still harbor resentment at my mother's choice to hide the extent of her illness from me. It was a shock when she died, as she was not only my favorite grandparent, she was also the first of my grandparents to die, and the first death I'd ever truly experienced firsthand.

Perhaps that is why I'm so attuned to the change of seasons. This year in particular because I can't help but relive the loss I experienced in the wake of the girl's impending arrival. I mark time in her face and growth. I listen to her voice and watch her eyes sparkle, and I hope like crazy she stays small for just a little longer. It's a joyful thing to raise a child, but nothing else makes you fly headfirst into the wall of your own mortality.

As I sat at the bus stop, and looked into the breeze, I reveled in the movement of the air, and felt warmth. I wonder why the earth takes so long to go dormant, and then in one moment, revive and turn green again. The most beautiful time of the year signifies the end of active growth and a slow retreat into hibernation. It was one of those unexpected moments of reflection and solitude. God gives us life, and retreat, and hibernation, and renewal, and the fleeting moment should be captured, cherished, and I suppose, ultimately released. In that moment, I felt actual loss. The end of summer is upon us, and so many things come to pass when another summer is done.

I breathe the mist
Floating about the stars
I can caress with velvet hands
I breathe the mist
Floating within without
This pen between my fingers

Messiah
I know you are there
Within without me holding me
Messiah
I know you are there
Catching carrying this beautiful mess

Escape the pain
Within a room somewhere
Escape the pain
So deep inside the soul
I have no key
No map to find
-- "Within A Room Somewhere" Sixpence None The Richer

Sunday Night

It's Sunday night, and I'm feeling rather peaceful.

The girl is bathed and fed, and is now watching her umpteenth episode of Spongebob whilst happily munching on blueberries, a substitute for a third (!!) piece of pizza or MOAR DUNKERS, MOM.

We ordered pizza for dinner. The kitchen is now clean, and I rearranged the pantry, which was reaching crisis point for disorganization. For some reason the shelves like to throw up of their own volition and things end up on the floor in there, to be discovered months later when one is searching for the reusable bags in an effort to be environmentally responsible at the grocery store.

We went to a very fancy party last night, a grown-ups only affair in honor of Jon and Julia's engagement. It was a lovely time, and I had the chance to do up my hairs and put on a sparkly frock and peep-toe heels. I actually wore makeup, for the first time in about a year (I think.)

The girl stayed at a friend's house from school, and said friend has a lovely little girl, around nine months old. Apparently the girl got a taste of what life would be like when 2.0 goes from theoretical probability to actual, real life baby. I have a feeling we'll have a rude awakening. On the plus side, my friend said that the girl was awesome and very cute.

If I can get ahead on Family Law and Con Law, I plan to volunteer for Obama on Tuesday night. Other highlights for this week: Robin Williams in concert on Thursday, and a shrimp boil on Saturday night with the boy's coworkers.

Six weeks into school and the novelty's definitely worn off. I need (NEED)to get my binders reorganized, and start getting ready to outline. We have a Property midterm in two weeks and I haven't even thought of it. On top of which, a Family Law paper... and yeah...then there's this impending thing that keeps kicking me in the innards and reminding me that this is supposed to be the easy semester.

And for those interested...the OB stats from last week's 24(?) week appointment:

BP: 117/70
Fetal HR: 150
Fundal Height: 27
Maternal Weight: +5 (+4 overall during pregnancy)

Glucose challenge at my next visit...oh the joy of drinking flat orange soda and then giving vials upon vials of blood... the lab monkeys will just LURVVE me...

Enough To Be On Your Way

Oh, it's enough to be on your way
It's enough just to cover ground
It's enough to be movin' on
Home, better build it behind your eyes
Carry it in your heart
Safe among your own

-- Enough To Be On Your Way, James Taylor

I just wanted to remember this.

Swollen

My belly is swollen.

My feet are swollen, and have been since 9:30 this morning. My internal thermostat is also off -- I'll be freezing, then sweating, then freezing, then fine, but warm to the touch.

My hands are also starting to swell.

I am going to take a cool shower and then get a good night's sleep, and in the morning if I'm not un-swollen, I'm going to go to student health and have my blood pressure checked, and if it's high, I'm going to call my OB. I have an appointment on Thursday anyway but I generally trust my gut when it comes to my health. Since I'm so rarely sick, I know when I feel this way I should pay attention, especially since pregnancy brings its own set of weirdnesses -- what is one day a freak occurrence can turn into something serious very quickly. Granted, I've done this before, and I'm probably more laid back than a lot of other people about it, but like I said, gut reaction.

I am planning to clean up my eating a bit more in the next few months -- laying off the soda and sodium, caffeine and chocolate. I figure if I can lay a little groundwork now, I can hit the ground running, swimming, and biking after the baby is born. We've already got the strollers purchased (yes, plural -- I have my jog stroller from the girl, and we just bought a pram for the first six months), and I also have YakTrax for my shoes, so going for a stroll on "warmer" winter days will be doable. I also need to figure out how to get back into the pool - I can walk or do the elliptical with the bouncy seat or stroller next to me. The search for a sitter is on!

I will compete next year, and with any luck, better than ever. I want to break 1:50 at Danskin, and I want to do an Olympic. Sooz challenged me to a half Ironman, but I can't fathom that, even in the best of circumstances next year. I think I'd be satisfied with running a half mary at the end of next season, then ramping up to a half sometime next season.

I want my kids to be proud of me, and I want to set an example. I want to be able to write a story like this. More than that, I want to do this for myself. Because any other excuse isn't enough. It's not about a number on the scale, it's about my performance and training and knowing that I can *maybe* look in the mirror and be okay with what I see.

Seven

I know where I was.

Do you?

I know what I wore that day.

Do you?

I remember how I found out.

Do you?

I remember what I did.

Do you?

They say that every seven years, the body is renewed. All of our cells are replaced, all of our stores are replenished. On a cellular level, we are not the same person we were seven years prior. It's part of the aging process. It's why we look so different when we look back at old pictures and go "wow...we were really young back then."

I'm not the same person I was that morning. My hair is longer, my soul is older, and I have images and people and souls that haunt me each year on this day. I am not a New Yorker, I am not a Washingtonian. I am a Pennsylvanian by birth, but I have no ties to that rural Somerset county field.

Today, though, every year, I am a New Yorker, a Washingtonian, a Pennsylvanian. An American. I'm not the same person I was that beautiful late summer morning, which dawned with promise and ended in heartache.

Are you?

Changes

Who'd have guessed I'd learn to let the walls around me burn
Light up the hillside
My words, I ate them for so long and nothing changed...it was just the same
And I don't know if you see me here, but I can tell you your face is clear
I will see you...

Forever, forever
I will see you...forever, forever

I wanted you to be everything to me, now I've got to learn to carry on
I know I cannot hide this emptiness inside,
But nothing is the same since you've gone

"Forever" -- Vertical Horizon

The last few weeks have been a study in change. I returned from a trip to Florida to find that the last throes of summer in Minnesota had left in my absence, and left a trail of cool winds and 65 degree temperatures in their wake. It's as if the State Fair closed, and the carnies took the summer with them as they towed the midway rides off to their next engagement.

The baby has begun to kick more noticeably and more frequently. I'm beginning to follow her rhythms of activity and rest, and the movements no longer feel spontaneous or erratic. She's learning her own circadian cycle and it's quite interesting to note that I can now recognize her patterns, something I never knew to watch for with the girl.

Speaking of whom, the girl started kindergarten yesterday. She gets to ride the bus and pack a lunch, and we are working on our school and chore routines. So far, so good. She came home yesterday with a glowing report and this morning was after us to go out to the bus stop a full 45 minutes prior to bus time. I hope the enthusiasm carries forward.

My sister and her husband have decided to divorce. There was a bit of limbo for awhile, and the decision was made after a few months' contemplation. Apparently they came to the conclusion a couple days ago and, while it is never an easy thing to see a couple part, nor is it a good thing to see my sister hurting, I hope the decision is for the best.

The fact that both my parents and now my sister are divorcing in the last year makes me want to run home and cling tighter to the boy -- with all I'm worth. I can't imagine loving someone for as long as I've loved him, sharing a life and a bed and a family for as long as we have, and then turning it all over into sadness and acrimony. I can't say how long we'll last -- but I can say we will always be a work in progress.

As for me, my changes are physical and educational... after a massive growth spurt in the last two weeks, I am officially full-time into maternity shirts and am working my way out of my regular jeans. I have a feeling I will be into my maternity jeans this time next month. School is so much better this year -- perhaps it's all the work I did last term, but I'm feeling more solid academically, I have a much better mindset, and things are looking up. I'm watching the change of weather, knowing things will stay green for awhile, and preparing for the leaves of fall.

Listening to Pandora

My life, ca. 1992 (if only they'd ask my name):

There's a girl who sits under the bleachers, just another day eating alone
And though she smiles, there is something just hiding
And she can't find a way to relate
She just goes unnoticed as the crowd passes by
And she'll pretend to be busy, when inside she just wants to cry
She'll say...

Take a little look at the life of Miss Always Invisible
Look a little harder
I really really want you to put yourself in her shoes
Take another look at the face of Miss Always Invisible
Look a little closer, and maybe then you will see
Why she waits for the day when you'll ask her name

The beginning...in the first weeks of class
She did everything to try and fit in
But the others they couldn't seem to get past all the things that mismatched on the surface
And she would close her eyes when they laughed and she fell down the stairs
And the more that they joked, and the more that they screamed
She retreated to where she is now...and she'll sing...

And one day just the same as the last, just the days spent in counting the time
Came a boy that sat under the bleachers, just a little bit further behind...

-- Miss Invisible, Marie Digby

My life, ca. 2008 (if only I would believe):

"I don't know why you don't go back to college and get your degree," he said
"You could be anything you want to be if you'd only believe that you're worthy, beautiful, you don't need their approval, And I'll be the rock that you can lean on..."

"I've watched you work the room - people hanging on every word, you build it, then kill it, leaving a mystery everybody needs, You're broken, beautiful, you fascinate them all, And they'll be the wind that you will lean on..."

"And why are you everybody's girl? Why (do) you throw your arms around the world? When I am all you need to see you through, I don't believe it, no, I don't believe it, no, I don't know, know about you..."

"I don't know why you don't give up the wild life and come be with me, you know, 'Cause I feel you, and I'm real, you've gotta believe that I never would leave you, 'cause I'm strong, dependable, and I could give you the world, Why can't I be the one you lean on?"

"And why are you everybody's girl? Why (do) you throw your arms around the world? When I am all you need to see you through, I don't believe it, no I don't believe it, no, I don't know, know about you..."

Because I always fell short, because they always wanted more
Because he left and shut the door before you came along
I couldn't feel anybody's love, so everybody's love was not enough
But I know one day, it's going to fill me up
And that's why I am everybody's girl

That's why I throw my arms around the world 'Cause I cannot believe it could be true I don't believe it, no I don't believe it, no, I don't know, know about
Why I am everybody's girl That's why I throw my arms around the world
'Cause I cannot believe it could be true...

-- Everybody's Girl, Jen Foster

Ultrasound, v 2.0

This is what I did yesterday morning.

The ultrasound experience is nothing new to me -- I did it at least 3-4 times with the Girl and this is the second one for the Bean. I was a bit disappointed with this one- the monitor was faced directly away from the exam table so I wasn't able to see most of the exam itself. Eventually the tech turned the monitor toward me and I got to see the Bean in motion. I will say that what I saw was just as cool as every other time I've seen a fetus of mine up on the screen. As you can see, she's become less bean than baby.

And yes, the use of the female pronoun here is indicative that there is a very strong chance that this bean is also a girl.

I've mentioned it before, but the confirmation of gender brings me to a weird place -- essentially it means I have emulated my family of origin. (My sister and I are approximately six years apart -- roughly the same as my girls will be.) I don't think I did this on purpose -- matter of fact, there's really no way that I did it on purpose. It really threw me for a loop -- last night the boy and I went to bed and he asked me how I was feeling about having another girl. It really threw me for a bit of an anxiety bender, and it brought up a lot of things I hadn't thought through -- I think I was getting used to the idea of having a boy (this pregnancy has been so drastically different than my first...and I'm in a better position to know how to handle an infant).

I don't know that I would want a third child at this point -- and I don't know that I would want to go for another baby just to try for a son. I don't know if it's selfish that I wouldn't want to give up another triathlon season, or that if we had another baby, I'd want to do it almost right away (seriously, at this point, an eighteen month delay wouldn't be a bad thing.)

I'm not disappointed that the bean is a girl -- not by a long shot. Having a sister is an amazing blessing for any girl. If we had a third child, I'd be fine with it...the boy and I have talked about two or three from the get-go. I think the worst part of this whole thing is that I feel like I should be happy and excited, and all I feel is confused and just...weird. There's absolutely no pressure from his family to "carry on the family name" and the Boy told me last night he likes the idea of being surrounded by "his girls."

I just wish I knew better how I felt...I wish I could pinpoint it. I know I'm happy that the Bean is, by all accounts healthy and growing, and I'm happy that the girl is excited to have a baby sister. For now, that's what I have to rely on.

Summer of 1994, Redux

It's funny how sometimes you return to music you've known for ages, and is so ingrained in your psyche so as to be second nature. I haven't listened to Dulcinea in eons, and quite frankly, I don't know where my copy of that CD is at the moment. However, I was Youtubing this evening and it struck me that I haven't heard the album in forever.

It will forever remain one of those seminal albums of my adolescence -- it came out around 1993-94 or so, when all was well, I earned $4.75 an hour folding sweaters at the mall, and my left elbow was getting sunburnt for the second summer in a row as it hung out the driver's side window of my non-airconditioned compact coupe. Seventeen is such a magical age -- a crossroads, no doubt -- but there is just something about the world being your oyster, and taking ownership of the possibilities.

Perhaps that's the point of adulthood: we spend our lives trying to recapture those heady days of carefree worldliness, days when we owned up to our loss of innocence and rather enjoyed ourselves in the process. Dulcinea was part of my soundtrack for that time in my life, and I will forever be able to pick up that album and sing every single song, line by line, note by note, no matter how much time passes between listenings. I actually had a thought -- I've heard a bootleg of JM and Glenn Phillips doing a cover of Walk on the Ocean, and it struck me that maybe during that summer when I was just a kid folding sweaters somewhere in the Midwest, he was just a kid, with a sunburnt left elbow, doing whatever it was he did for $4.75 an hour somewhere in Connecticut. In any case, Toad the Wet Sprocket will always be ingrained in my musical psyche, and there will always be a spot in my collection for Dulcinea (even if it's currently in a black hole somewhere).

another day, I call and never speak
and you would say, "nothing's changed at all"
and I can't feel much hope for anything
if I won't be there to catch you if you fall
--Something's Always Wrong

Nothings so cold
As closing the heart when all we need is to free the soul
But we wouldnt be that brave I know
And the air outside so soft, confessing everything...everything

And it wont matter now whatever happens to me
Though the air speaks of all well never be it wont trouble me
-- All I Want

There's something that you wont show
Waiting where the light goes
Take the darkest hour-break it open
Water to repair what we have broken

There's something that you wont show
Waiting where the light goes
And anyway the wind blows
Its all worth waiting for
-- Windmills

She said I'm fine, I'm okay cover up your trembling hands
There's indecision when you know you ain't got nothing left
For the last time conscience calls, for a good friend I was never there at all
When will we fall...when will we fall down
--Fall Down

Half Baked

Had my 20 week OB appointment this morning, and according to the doc, all is well for another four weeks. Ultrasound is next week and we are going to find out the gender of the baby. I don't mind knowing this time around -- the novelty wore off after the first one, and I have a need to plan due to limited space and limited planning time. The boy is in agreement, and I think the family is quite thrilled. If, however, I receive oodles of pink and frilly madness upon the news of a female, I shall scream.

We have preliminarily decided upon names, which of course will not be broadcasted here, in continuation of my privacy policy. They are very nice names.

BP: 122/68
Weight: +3 since the last appointment, -5 total.
Fundal Height: 20/21 cm (right on track)
Fetal HR: 150

The thing that was most remarkable about this visit was the utter difficulty in finding the baby's heartrate. The doc chased around my belly for a good couple minutes and ended up using a second dollop of gel before she finally found the baby. I was almost to the point of worry, especially since I haven't felt much in the way of real movement yet, but we finally caught the little stinker and the heart sounded normal and strong. It seems my body has a talent for making babies, and this one seems to be no exception.

I'm halfway done with this pregnancy, and that seems hard to believe. In four weeks, the baby would be potentially viable if I were to go into pre-term labor. In six weeks, the baby would have a better than average chance of survival, and I will officially be in my third trimester. In eight weeks, I will be staring down midterms and outlines. It will be fall in Minnesota, and I will be wearing maternity jeans with my autumn sweaters.

And now, I must finish the Property reading I avoided yesterday, and get going on Family Law, before my 2:30 class this afternoon. Ah, the joys of law school...

Cowboy Music

So I'm sitting in the basement student lounge at school, blatantly ignoring my Property homework, and listening to Pandora.

I've got the classical station on, because it's usually good to have as background music whilst delving into legal minutiae. The lounge is filling up with freshly minted 1L's, still hopelessly optimistic and just released from their 9:30 classes.

I am drawn from my Mozart-induced coma by a loud, brash combination of winds and strings, and am immediately drawn to the Old West. It's Copland, sending me to the land of Clint Eastwood, spaghetti Westerns and tumbleweed-infested saloons in a way only he can. I don't know how one composer can embody a spirit, a time, an imagery the way Copland does with the Western spirit, but if there is a quintessential American composer, one that brings forth barn-raisings, Conestoga wagons and Stetson hats in the mind of the listerner, it's him. (Horrible runon sentence, that. Sorry.)

Most people would know the particular piece as the "Beef! It's what's for dinner!" song, but I know it by its given name (Ballet Rodeo) and specifically by movement (#3: Hoedown).

Copland goes beyond "Rodeo" for me though. Appalachian Spring is a favorite, and its "Variations on a Shaker Hymn" (Simple Gifts) is a three minute journey to the ever-possible.

My dad loves Copland. I think I was inculcated by the time I was five. It hasn't left me. It's probably one of those things I don't mind having in common with him.

First Week of School

First week of school is officially over, and in and amongst the readings and classes, I'm finding a bit more joy in school. Partially because I get to choose some of my classes this term, and also because the professors seem less like intellectual gods and more like scholars with something to share.

Okay, maybe they are simply demi-gods. One can always hope they retained some of their humanity.

Choice quotes and phrases from this week:

"wily quadruped"
"saucy interloper"
"corporate erection"

I'll just let those speak for themselves. First impressions: Property will be hard but hopefully interactive and somewhat interesting, Con Law is a poli sci major's dream, except that the final is going to be regimented and (I'm assuming) incredibly difficult if the argument isn't structured just so, Negotiation will be fun and hopefully slightly argumentative, and Family Law will be just plain fun.

I love watching the conservatives in class squirm every time we talk about the "definition of marriage" and "same-sex marriage" as well as "cohabitation." Great sport. (Honestly - I was waiting for someone to pull out a KJV or NIV and hurl it with great abandon at the professor's head. No such luck. Merely a bout of silent fuming and resignation. I hope there are some RAGING debates this term.)

More on this later - but as our examination of marriage begins, I can't help but think that the state has no business in the business of marriage. Much of our issue and problem would be resolved by abolishing state sanctioned marriage altogether and adopting a civil registry system for all couples. In doing so, we leave "marriage" to the individual couple (i.e., if one wants to invite God/Vishnu/Jesus/Yahweh into their marriage, they are free to do so at the temple/synagogue/church of their choice) but in order to reap the social benefits of couplehood and union, they must go to the registry office, register in person and receive documentation thereof.

I posit that any two consenting adults, regardless of gender, should be able to present themselves, verify they are free and able to join, solemnize the union in front of a court officer, and then go about their lives as they see fit. Whether their next stop is a church and a priest, a beach and a friend, or a wooded glen and a high priestess is their choice and none of the government's concern.

I imagine most churches will insist upon a registry license or somesuch before they will marry someone, but the point is this: those who wish to register as couples may do so, and those who wish to marry in church may do so without a registry. Or couples may do both.

Surely those who both claim limitations on government and the "sanctity of marriage" could not be opposed to such a proposal -- one which not only takes the government out of the business of intereference in individual lives and liberties, but also reserves the title of "marriage" to those who wish to recognize it via religious or social means, rather than governmental ones?

See what I did there?

Has She Lost Her Mind?

Has he lost his mind?
Can he see or is he blind?
Can he walk at all, or if he moves will he fall?
Is he alive or dead? Has he thoughts within his head?

- Iron Man

Sooz just posted a new goal in her LJ blog.

I think I've created a monster!!

And I am thinking I might join her.

IMOO 2010, baby!!! (But first, a standalone marathon, a century ride, and a LOT of training.)

A Moment of Beauty

This made me cry this morning, during a study break.

No Language Required

We are waiting for the notoriously slow elevators at St. Vincent’s after one of my checkups. Standing next to us is a nurse, a new baby, the new mom, and a couple of her friends. The new mom doesn’t speak English, so her friends translate what the nurse is saying. It is an exciting day; they are taking the new baby home.

When the elevator finally arrives, we all step inside, and I cannot stop looking at the little baby, fast asleep in the carseat, tiny and pink and perfect.

The mom notices me noticing her baby, so I give her a smile. Congratulations.

Her eyes flick to my belly and she smiles back. Good luck.

Eastsidegirl is due any day now. I love her writing, and so should you. Best of luck to her.

The Comfort of Couplehood

Sometimes, when you are a couple, you set aside a Saturday night and make reservations, and hire a babysitter, and put on your nice clothes and your grown-up shoes, and get the car cleaned and you go out on a date to a restaurant where it is quiet enough to have a civilized conversation and the words kids menu don't exist.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, you call each other on the way home and make plans to meet somewhere for dinner, and more often than not it's a more kid-friendly place, or a chain family restaurant, where likeminded families will also congregate and your kid can be a kid. You finally get home and remember that you have a load in the dryer that needs to be folded and you notice that the kitchen floor could use a Swiffering. You send the kids up to bathe and get ready for bed, and you notice that your partner has already gone to the basement and hauled the clean clothes upstairs, and you chat quietly while he Swiffers and you fold.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, and you are expecting a baby, you spend your third trimester nights together, a half-eaten pizza on the living room floor. You change into your pajamas immediately upon coming home from work, and you get comfortable on the couch, sharing a blanket and shifting into each other's sides, the flicker of the teevee in the dark room reflecting on your partner's face as you watch the latest installment of the DVD series you are working your way through together, probably The West Wing or Band of Brothers. You give him the extra pillow, he places his hand over your distended abdomen, both of you feeling the baby kick.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, your husband brings you red roses in the middle of the winter, because he knows you like fresh flowers on the table, and he knows the surprise will make you smile.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, you let him play Rock Band louder than you ever thought possible, because you know it's how he gets his stress relief, and you know it was a difficult day at work for him.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, you fall asleep in each others' arms and wake up with the kids in the middle of the bed, and all you can do is rub each others' feet and say "good morning" in the language that is your own.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, and you hear another couple is parting, you cuddle each other extra hard, and kiss each other goodnight a few extra times, because though you share the pain of the separation and sympathize with the ones doing the breaking up, you are grateful that it isn't you.

Sometimes, when you are a couple, you don't know whether you'll last another 48 hours or 48 days or 48 years, but you make damned sure you give it your best shot, because the other person is more important than anyone or anything else in life.

And at the end of each day, when you are a couple, you give and take, and talk and listen, and decide and disagree, and punish and forgive. But mostly what you do is decide to be together, and to sacrifice for each other, and lift each other up, every day, embracing love like a soft comforter wrapped around you both on a cold winters' night and knowing that there is nowhere else you'd rather be.

Someone Else's Tomorrow

Have you ever been baptized in the cool winter water
On a Sunday morning when the sky was gray?
You filed out of the churchyard, so cold it was silver
To gold, tan, and blue cars, and the cars drove away
All the memories fade, send the ghosts on their way
Tell them they've had their day, it's someone else's tomorrow

The tall and the tiny ships on the water
Farther and farther, floating away
Will never return now, all wooden and burned out
They echo and groan now in their salty graves
All the memories fade, send the the ghosts on their way
Tell them they've had their day, it's someone else's tomorrow
Someone else's tomorrow

Someone Else's Tomorrow - Patty Griffin

Haunting, ethereal song in my head. It speaks of death and renewal and moving on, allowing the past to slip away gracefully in honor of what the future may hold.

There are so many things in my past that I should let slip. And yet, there are so many things that I deal with on a daily basis that require dredging up the past in order to understand.

One of my solutions to the drama surrounding my family of origin is to simply concentrate on the here and now, and on the family the boy and I have created. I will always honor my parents for giving me life and education and as much as they did. But it's now my job to make sure they don't interfere with what we are trying so hard to build together. I am forever grateful to have had my mother by my side when I was pregnant with the girl. Now that I'm six hours away from her, and on my second pregnancy, and am older and (theoretically) wiser, I feel so much more capable regarding my decisions and my approach to pregnancy and the birth of the bean.

My dad wrote me an email today. More drama is afoot, and I wrote him back with what I considered to be a straightforward answer, a little common sense advice, and a whole lot of honesty. He replied that I was "a helluva lot stronger" than he ever knew. The trick of it is that I have had to learn how to be strong and how to fight for what is best for me, rather than trying to appease everyone, or be everything to everyone.

I have as big a selfish streak as anyone - but all of the labels I carry with me (up there in the corner - take a peek) - are just little parts of me. Without them I wouldn't be myself, but I don't have hats and aprons to take off and put on as the situation requires. I have one great big patchwork quilt, and it goes everywhere with me. I sleep with it wrapped round me at night. It lays on the ground in transition during a race, and it becomes my coat of many colors when life gets cold and lonely. Sometimes it needs to be repaired, sometimes it needs a spin through the wash.

I think my greatest hope right now is that my children grow up with love and without baggage. I want nothing more than to give them the strength to leave for college, the willingness to call home every now and again, and the idea that home is a place of unconditional acceptance and love.

OMG Triathlon!

Congratulations to Sooz, for finishing her first triathlon in 1:53:39, kicking my own course PR all to hell and smashing her personal goal of 2:00:00. You rock!!

The title of this post comes from an email that Sooz sent me last Thursday - right before we took off for the Danskin Triathlon.

Due to the impending Bean, I was not comfortable competing this year - it was truly a personal decision, as I saw at least two visibly pregnant women in the field, and congratulated them on being braver than I. Instead of pushing myself through my training, or doing what I would consider a half-assed job at training and competing, or putting myself into an unknown, uncomfortable position (i.e., a race where I could get kicked or run over or injured) I chose to involve myself as a race volunteer this year, and accompany Sooz to the tri as we planned before the Bean decided to appear. I also have a tendency to turn into a rather competitive animal when I race - and I didn't think the adrenaline surge would be the best thing for the Bean at this stage.

I spent Saturday at the info booth, lining about 300 early birds up into orderly queues for registration entry (they started showing up at 8:30am for a 10AM opening), then repeating the parking/shuttle/bike racking directions ad nauseum to many athletes and friends who did not bother to read the website. Fortunately, being a two year vet, as well as a (former) local yokel helped matters a lot - I was able to give what I thought was good advice. It was a lot of fun - and the bonus for the info booth was CHAIRS! I got to sit down and rest my legs a bit during intervals on my 8-2 shift.

This morning, we were up BEFORE dawn (3:30AM!) because I had an event pass where I was allowed to park inside the event venue - but I had to report for my volunteer shift at 4:30am. Sooz went with me so she didn't have to freak out about catching a shuttle. The excitement of the day ended up occurring about 10 minutes after we arrived, when Sooz discovered she'd forgotten the key to her bike lock. This necessitated me making a quick run home and retrieving the keys, then racing back to the race site without arising the concern of the local constabulary. All was well after my mission of mercy, and I continued to work the transition area. My duties mostly included asking anyone if they had questions or needed help, running around with Coach Ken's bike pump and pumping tires, directing human traffic, and kicking everyone out at 6:30am. (Not as easy at it may seem.)

My next job involved traffic control at the swim out - we had to keep the crosswalk clear of spectators whilst the athletes were crossing over the walk path. (Again, not easy. Try herding cats. Possibly easier than telling insistent husbands and boyfriends that the crosswalk was not an appropriate place to stand and wait 10 minutes to take a photo of their athlete coming out of the water.)

Once most of the mixed agers were out of the water, I wandered over to the finish line to watch Sooz run in. I found Steven and Jeremy - her two boyz - and we waited about 15 minutes until she came round the bend, running in and finishing strong.

We found her right after the finish, bawling and with her medal around her neck. I choked up and cried myself at the sight - I can pretend to blame the pregnancy hormones for turning me into a squooshy mess, but in truth, I remember doing the exact same thing two years ago - collapsing in sobs and tears in the boy's arms right after I finished my first triathlon. I just remember telling her how proud I was of her, and how amazing she is as a person and an athlete. We all got pix with the new triathlete, and then I headed back to transition to finish my shift by checking athletes and bikes out after transition was opened to be cleared. Thanks to the trusty parking pass, we cleared out of the venue post-haste, got back to the house to shower, change and pack up, and then headed home to the TC - but not before a post-race celebratory burger-and-custard at the legendary Kopp's in Milwaukee.

Today was a great day - I am so incredibly proud of my friend, at what she's accomplished and what she has the strength to do. She's strong and beautiful, and now I have a training buddy in the T.C.!! She's thoroughly addicted to tri and is already talking about more races, offseason training, and next year's tri schedule. (As if I needed another reason to *heart* Sooz.) We're both toying with the idea of the Duluth Olympic next August - and I would love nothing more than to take this year's goal and move it to next year.

For a few moments, I was insanely jealous that I wasn't out there, bodygliding my thighs and racking up my Trek with the rest of the gang - but in the end, volunteering reminded me of how much I truly love triathlon, and how much I have to work for and look forward to next year. Once this Bean is a reality, training will be that much harder, but I want to be one of those moms that grabs their kids on their way into the finish line. I met breastfeeding moms and new moms and pregnant moms and mothers and daughters and grandmothers and 4000 amazing women, each with a story to tell and each with their own reason for being out there today. The girl and the Bean are my reasons every single year I tri.

As much as I would have given my eyeteeth to have been in the lake, on the bike, and on my toes today, I'm grateful for the time I did have to help out 4000 other women accomplish their dreams and goals.

And I'm grateful for friends like Sooz, who inspire me.

Knocked Up, Out of My Mind

Apologies to Messrs. Hancock and Mayer for ruthlessly ganking the title of their lovely collaboration. Which by the way, sounded FAN-TASTIC in Milwaukee and St. Louis.

We now interrupt the Summer of Awesome and its regularly scheduled blogging to bring you the following PSA:

I have oft been asked "why don't you like being pregnant?" As ridiculous as that question may be alone, it is often asked by people who have either never been pregnant, or were pregnant over 30 years ago. In other words, they don't know, or they don't remember.

My feelings toward pregnancy are...complex. (Gee, me? Complex? Naaaaaaaaaaaaah.)

When I was growing up, I was fairly ambivalent about having kids. I didn't know if I wanted them - I didn't know if I was cut out for motherhood. I think I figured I'd probably have them eventually. If I did, I did. If I didn't, well then.

Then I met the boy. The boy had always dreamed of fatherhood. He knew he wanted kids. When we got married, having a kid or two was non-negotiable in his book. Theoretically I had no objections, I had no reason to think I was unable to get pregnant, I knew the mechanics, and I figured we'd have them at some point. Cue three years into our marriage, and the girl was born. We never had to "try" to get pregnant, we never struggled with infertility or conception issues. So many of my friends who desperately wanted kids had issues getting pregnant and when they did, it seemed practically unfair that someone like me (the ambivalent, reluctant, sarcastic one) would be a Fertile Myrtle.

During my pregnancy with the girl, I feel like I did pretty well - I gained a good amount of weight for someone my size, didn't have any serious issues or complications, suffered a garden-variety of maladies (nausea and a bad nose in the first trimester, car/motion sickness in the second and third, general exhaustion, misery and snoring throughout) took my prenatal vitamins, ate pretty much what I wanted, staunchly avoided "What To Expect When You Are Expecting", tried to avoid caffeine (sorry kid, sometimes a fountain diet Coke is a must), craved french fries from McD's, and in keeping with my rebel streak, took Bradley classes from a home instructor rather than the three sessions of hospital-instructed Lamaze (what I affectionately termed "What To Do Until The Epidural Arrives").

I intended to give birth commando - no drugs, no monitor. Old school style - which meant if I needed to scream my head off and birth squatting, so be it. Lithotomy position be damned. Gravity would not work against me. I will never forget the look on the tour guide's face when we went to the hospital tour - she proudly pointed out the mirror on the ceiling "so we could watch the baby being born!" The pride quickly melted into a shade of horror when I told her it was ridiculous to put a mirror on the ceiling, because if you are squatting, you can see for yourself what is going on down there.

I don't know if she knew that stirrups were optional in childbirth. (They are.)

Of course, our well-intentioned plans were shot all to hell because the girl refused to cooperate. For two weeks past my "due date" I squatted. I took castor oil. I took evening primrose. I drank gallons of red raspberry leaf tea with a tincture of blue cohosh. We had sex. (Seriously - not the fun kind, the put me in labor, damnit, kind.) I walked. I ate Mexican food.

Nothing happened.

Bottom line, the kid was happy and wasn't coming out the way God and Mother Nature intended, and we ended up scheduling a c-section about 12 hours ahead of time. I was both devastated and relieved - I really did not want to have a c-section, but I wanted to be done being pregnant and meet our daughter.

And in a matter of 35 minutes in the OR, I was, and we did. And it's all good. Over the last six years, I've managed to figure out being a mom - not without a fair share of bumps and bruises along the way. I truly dig my kid - she's just the right blend of the two of us, and I'm hoping the bean is going to be equally as cool. "We make great kids," the two of us have said to each other repeatedly over the last few months.

It's that thought that will get me through the next five/six months or so. At the end of the bloating and edema and cravings and weird vision and placenta brain and all that stuff, will be a kid who hopefully will fit right into our little tribe - and I'll have to relearn how to be that kid's mother. I’m cool with that.

Now, on to the point of this post: pregnancy, to me, feels like the invasion of the body snatchers. You gain weight. You have uncontrollable urges, cravings and mood swings. Your core temperature rises on a whim and you go from incredibly horny to don’t effing touch me, I swear you will be banished to the sofa! in 3.2 seconds or less. I am less weepy than others but I am weepy (for me.) You have to go to the doctor and pee in a cup on a regular basis, and they weigh you, and they take your blood pressure, and every damn time I go in for a prenatal appointment I feel like they are passing judgment on me. I swear, I had a 15 minute discussion in the exam room with the NP at my first appointment wherein I had to defend my lifestyle and my weight to a woman who barely knew my name. I truly had to convince her that my life and my choices are fundamentally healthy ones – I just happen to like carbs and sugar, I don’t have much portion control, and truly the only thing “wrong” with me is that I am, by some random governmentally approved standard, overweight. Yes, I know, I know. This is neither the time nor the place, children. Close your email clients. Now.

I tend to look on pregnancy as a necessary biological process. It’s something you live with, is temporary and hopefully has a pretty cool permanent effect. It’s no miracle how pregnancy occurs – it’s actually quite fun if done properly. It’s also no miracle that women give birth every day – yes, each pregnancy and each mother and each child are different, but fundamentally, the process remains the same, no matter what type of birth one experiences.

I think the other thing that bugs me about pregnancy is the whole societal “thing” with pregnancy. How many times have I heard sickly sweet platitudes about pregnancy, and how wonderful it is that we’re giving our daughter a sibling, and how nobody wants you to lift anything, and how any kind of chemical at all, ever, is bad bad bad, and somehow when you become a pregnant woman you are identified merely by the swell of your abdomen. There is a definite loss of self, of identity. I worked for 31 years to become the person I am, and just because I have a kid on the way is no reason for you to treat me any differently than you would if I didn’t. Yes, I know how to ask for help, and sure, I get tired more easily, but for God’s sake, I am not made of glass, nor must I be treated as such. If I’m tired, I’ll sit down. If I’m hungry, I’ll eat. If I need to go to the grocery store a week past my due date and push a cart with $300 of groceries in it, I will. I never take kindly to unsolicited advice, and pregnancy is surely no exception. Part of the reason I don’t have a separate pregnancy blog, or a counter or anything cutesy like that, is because I view this pregnancy as part of my life. There’s no reason to compartmentalize – if anyone wants to skip over the pregnancy bits, I have no problem with that.

In the end, I’m generally laid back about the pregnancy – yes I do wonder what kind of kid our DNA will bring forth this time, if this one will be male or female, if this kid will have the same black stripe of hair amongst the blonde that the girl has had since her first breath. I worry about breastfeeding (sometimes) and I worry about remembering everything that goes with a new baby (seriously – amnesia sets in after awhile).

But I also don’t worry too terribly much about it. If I seem laid back and nonchalant about pregnancy, it’s because I’m lucky enough not to have to think about it much, and also because I know that however faint, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Without pregnancy I wouldn’t have the girl or the bean. And those two things are worth the aggravation and body-snatching.

Meet and Greet: Milwaukee

This is the true story of the first two John Mayer concerts of the season. Well, we'll get to the shows later. This is the true story of how I met John Mayer.

A round trip of about 1300 miles from the TC to the hometown to St Louis and back. The equipment: one Audi A6, one booster seat, my entire collection of John Mayer CDs (with some Colbie Caillat, Sara Bareilles, October Project, Vertical Horizon and Matty Nay thrown in for variety), two suitcases, a scooter and helmet for the girl, and a backpack with my laptop and class stuff. Even on summer break, law school waits for no woman.

The girl and I headed out the afternoon of the 2nd - about six hours behind schedule. This didn't bother me so much - I wanted to have some stuff ready for the boy when I left and didn't have enough time to run all my errands and stuff the day before. I will say that I had time to run to Target and buy the special edition of Where The Light Is, and it kept me thoroughly entertained for about half the drive.

Upon arrival at the mom's, I saw that two very important packages arrived: Jen's Minolta camera, and a copy of Continuum on vinyl. Both items went to the concert with me the next day, for a very important purpose:



As the lucky winner of an L-83 meet and greet, I was thrilled and overwhelmed to meet John Mayer. For about a week beforehand, I kept telling myself "he's just a guy." Just a regular guy who happens to be an amazing musician and is beyond gorgeous and... yeah. Right. The only thing I was determined NOT to do was to break down in tears, all NKOTB fanstyle.

Apparently I did a good job - my friends have remarked that I look very chill and also that I am "glowing." (It might be the pregnant. I don't know.) It was incredibly cool to meet John - he was gracious, shook everyone's hand and asked our names, and signed autographs for everyone, as well as posed for pictures with each of us. We were together for a good 20 minutes before the door to the green room opened. The first person to walk in was Ken Helie, John's tour manager, and right on his heels was John himself. I'll never forget the first thoughts that ran through my mind: wow, he's a lot more tan in person, he's got bedhead and his voice is a little raspy, wonder if he just got up from a nap, cool shoes, niiiice eyes and tattoos... I've read recounts of prior meet and greets, and a few things came to mind to check out for myself:

1. Yes, he is tall. However, I was not surprised - I would say he's about the same height as my husband, maybe slightly taller. Living with someone who is 6'3 gives you perspective on height, I think.

2. He is NOT rail skinny as most people think. Definitely lithe and healthy, but there is some lovely, muscular meat on that frame. When we posed for the picture, I think my arm went roughly around his waist - his went round my shoulders. I was too busy trying to a)smile nicely, b) not touch his ass, and c) get close but not too close as to inappropriately invade his personal space to really get a good feel...but his arms were very, very nice.

3. His tattoos are beautiful. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm is not nearly as dark as it shows in pictures, and the color work he's had done definitely helps it. The tattoo on his forearm (three squares) struck me as a bit faded - but then again, it's however old (at least six years if not a bit older) and like I said before - boy is much tanner than I thought - so that probably contributes.

4. I can confirm that he smells LOVELY. His shoes and watch were both immaculately cared for. He's got a great smile and overall, he seems like a very busy, but genuine guy.

The show itself was fantastic - more later on that. The autographed album is currently sitting in protective cover, awaiting a frame and a place of honor in my study space. And I think it will remain there when the guest room becomes the bean's room - in all honestly, the Bean was there with me, you can totally tell I'm seriously knocked up in the picture, and it will be a cool story to tell him/her when she/he's older. I joked with my buddies that since I'm going to five Mayer shows this summer, this kid better come out knowing six chords and the correct way to hold a Strat.

Nice to meet you, John. Hope we can do it again sometime.

Wir Hat Ein Audi Gekaufte!

Das ist mein Audi. Es ist grün. Es muss eine ordentliche deutsche Name. Vielleicht werde ich es Lars Namen. Oder vielleicht Johann. Ich weiss es nicht.

The last thing I thought I'd be doing in law school is buying a car. However, the car above is not only sweet, and was not only a super-sweet deal, it was an opportunity that we could not pass up. Kate's dad was selling his old Audi, since he bought a new one, and I happened to see it last week when we went out on Kate's boat.

I mentioned it to the boy, he said "sure, let's check it out!" 90 minutes on the phone secured the financing and the insurance, and three hours later, I shook the man's hand and we were the proud parents of a 1999 Audi A6. (Which according to Arthur Miller is a VW with a glandular problem. That's a civ pro joke. If you got it, you've been to law school. If you didn't...ehhh... move on.)

I have high hopes for this car - though it has high mileage, I think it will last at least another 100-150K, and if we switch off driving it, it should be fine. Plus, I would not be embarrassed to show up to work at a law firm as an attorney driving this car. Audis have a timeless look to them - and they are fuuuuuuuuuun to drive. The 2.8L V6 might have a little something to do with that.

In any case, we'll sell one of our cars, and we have a short term loan on the car so it'll be paid off pretty quickly. And I mean seriously... look at it:




Ich bin ein Präzisions-Instrument der deutsche Maschinenbau. Du wirst mich lieben.

Edited to add: his name is Heinrich.