A few weeks ago my sister and I rolled up our sleeves and canned green and purple beans. The project was so much fun! It involved lots of squealing, accidentally setting a dish towel on fire and overfilling the canning pot so that we ended up with a hot waterfall at one point. No one was injured (thank heavens) and last night we opened the first jar of Dilly Beans and were so pleased that they tasted absolutely delicious. With only 11 jars left I don’t think they will last long.
Personal
We’ve now been relocated in Spokane for 10 weeks and in light of recent personal developments, it seems about time to do some actual “settling in”. This weekend marked the final unpacking and now all that is left are a few empty boxes in our dining room and some un-hung pictures. Also left is an ache in my heart for the home I left in Oregon. Moving forward can be so difficult and bittersweet.
By nature I do not make friends quickly. It takes time spent getting to know one another and sharing life together. After five years in Portland, I had dug deep and found rich and beautiful friendships that nurtured my soul. Losing the close contact with that community hurts. Grieving about it sometimes feels a little forbidden. When we moved, both B and I decided that we needed to let go and turn our faces eastward with anticipation and joy. After all, we have lots of family in eastern Washington and we knew that God was calling us to Spokane. In fact, we had zero doubts about this transition. It crashed in on us over Mother’s day weekend and six weeks later we found ourselves back in B’s hometown. It was fast, there were mistakes made along the way and relationships strained because of it but still, to this day, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that right now we are supposed to be here. Knowing that has made it doubly difficult to feel permission to grieve about what was left behind. But this is not my home. I left my home only two and a half short months ago and it’s ok to cry about that, to feel the ache inside and wish with all my heart that I could sit across from dear friends and share face-to-face instead of having to pick up the phone or type an email.
I have also learned as I’ve gotten older that one can be in two places at the same time. I am still heartbroken over leaving Portland. I think about people there on a daily basis. I dream about the lush green landscape and my gorgeous seventh story high-rise apartment. I miss the activities were able to invest our time in. In the same breathe I love our new home. I love being surrounded by family and seeing my niece and nephews on a weekly basis. I love the fact that I’m not missing out on the important milestones in their young lives…moments that you can never get back once missed. The sunshine here is delectable. It leaves my spirit buoyant and free. There is a blessing of peace in this place. It is a peace that I know exists, in part, because we followed where we were led.
Just like that first encounter with lake water when I stand on the edge for an eternity before getting up the courage to dip a toe in and finally find myself floating out in the cool water, I feel like it’s time to take the plunge here in Spokane. It’s time to open our door (and our hearts) to friends both old and new and to move forward. I don’t know how long we will be here but that doesn’t worry me. Some day we will head back to Stumptown because we have roots there and always will.
I have hesitated to write this post for some time. And in my hesitation I have waited even longer, thinking perhaps that I needed to know why I was reluctant to hit “Publish” but recently I changed my mind and decided that sometimes it’s good to talk about things that you don’t have the answers to. So here goes.
I am not interested in reading any “how-to” or “help” book on parenting. There, I’ve said it.
At 16 weeks pregnant I know many of my friends were already well entrenched in at least half a dozen different manuals, books, websites, etc.–reading up on what’s going on inside, how to prepare for an infant, and how to raise a young child. But not me. In fact, I’ve gone so far as to even avoid bringing up the topic of parenting and childbirth in conversation with other adults. Am I being obstinate or self-righteous? Do I think I know it all? Am I foolish for not seeking the advice and wisdom of a marketplace of trained “experts”? Perhaps. But I don’t think so.
It’s sad to me that children can so easily divide us. Every parent has their tried-and-true method for just about any instance. Where to give birth. Plenty of opinions about that. Pain meds or no pain meds. Heard a few opinions about this. What about the topic of discipline? Spanking? Time out? Should a child be rocked to sleep? Should a child eat honey? What about meat? Oh and what about vaccines? The number of scenarios are endless and it makes my head spin just thinking about it. And boy are we passionate about our tried-and-true methods. This one works. That one doesn’t. When it comes down to it though, isn’t every child different? So won’t every parent have to adapt a little and doesn’t this mean that there really can’t be ONE way to raise ALL children? B and I joked the other day that we should join the chorus of voices and publish our own book on childbirth and early parenting. It wouldn’t cost much because it would be a pretty thin paperback. You’d open it up and it would say:
There is no one right way. It is different for every one and it will look different for every one.
(BTW, this quote works for our book on marriage as well. Publishing date TBD)
Mostly I made the conscious choice not to read a bunch of baby literature because my goal in this first pregnancy was to be as relaxed as possible. I want to savor each moment, before the birth and after. And by savor, I mean live those moments and not just fill my head with worries and conflicting advice. I know, I know…this is so counterintuitive for a literary buff who spends her time buried in books. Yet somehow when I even gaze down the aisle at the bookstore that is loaded with methodologies for parenting and such my whole body seems to tense and so, I turn and hustle over to the aisle with my beloved Jane Austen novels instead.
I will point out however, that this does not mean B and I haven’t discussed our views on childbirth and parenting. We’ve talked those subjects into the ground. We’ve rung out of them every ounce of juice possible. This activity I fully support and engage in because what can be more important than being on the same page as your spouse when it comes to such life-altering issues? The last thing I want is to discover as I go into labor that B is ridiculously uncomfortable with us giving birth to our first born in a tub in the kitchen or when our child acts out for the first time and I find that, unbeknownst to me, B was raised to handle the outburst one way and I was raised completely the opposite and now we’ve managed to confuse our poor misbehaving kid and still nothing has been resolved. No, I definitely appreciate the long talks we have been having.
I guess ultimately my philosophy of parenting at this present stage of life is that we will learn what works and what doesn’t, we will cherish our child and love them with everything we have. We will strive to keep open hearts and minds and realize that this is a tiny individual who is entirely unique and cannot be fit into a definition that some doctor, therapist, or family expert has written somewhere at some time without every meeting our child.
And yes, this probably means that we will break all the rules. I’m ok with that.
My new favorite wardrobe item is “la robe” a.k.a. “the dress”. Waistbands and I are not the best of friends right now. This past weekend my Mother found some adorable summer frocks and I couldn’t resist posting a picture of my new favorite.
Dress: ?. Sunglasses: picked up a clothing exchange, Prada. Bag: thrifted.
Dialogue or dissention?
It was just a few short days post 9/11 and an overly exuberant college-age girl found herself standing on her chair in freshman orientation engaging in a yelling match with a pacifist. She, clearly, was not. (a pacifist). I still share many of the same opinions that young woman had but my forms of expression have matured (i hope) since then.
Of course,there are a number of things that have changed since then and I don’t see the world in quite the same way. For one thing, I don’t see in black and white anymore. There’s a whole lot of color thrown in the mix (some call it gray). Now I’ll be the first to admit that living in black and white felt a lot simpler than where I am today. I could be so sure. So confident. So willing to pick a fight. I like to believe that it takes some amount of courage to admit that I’m not so sure anymore. But I know that there are others who take this uncertainty and worry over it. Maybe I don’t know what is right. Maybe I’ve lost my way. Perhaps….(again with the not-so-sure thing).
I have been fairly silent for a long time on this blog about my opinions. Somewhere over the last six or seven years I went from being overly verbose in my sharing to almost silent. Mostly I have been thinking. Inside. Quietly. And observing. I have done some growing, some changing, some maturing, some staying-the-same. But I think the time to break the silence has come. I miss my writing. I miss free expression on the page, using words and sculpting thoughts out of verbs and nouns. As much as I love face-to-face chats (and trust me I am up for a coffee or tea date any day) there’s something magical, thrilling and downright scary about the written word. It’s so permanent. Orality has a history of eventually being lost. What is spoken into the space between two or more people is eventually gathered up and translated to mean something a little different and then eventually dissipates like the mist that rises off the Oregon coast on a summer morning and vanishes by lunch. I like that about conversation. It doesn’t have to last forever. Words on a page, however, stick around. In the age of the internet they have a permanence that terrifies me. They come back and haunt you. It seems far easier and much less risky to write/say nothing at all.
My last post on pregnancy and reading generated some great dialogue…and lets be honest at least one or two remarks that made me shake my head in disagreement. But that’s why I posted it. To share an opinion and get feedback. Then it turns out that a seemingly innocent Facebook post about eating sushi also brought out a whole lot of comments. Intentionally or unintentionally, sharing personal opinions in a public space invites response. Why else would any one put something out there on the web? Why not just keep it to yourself if you’re not prepared for someone to say something?
So all this rambling to say, you’ll probably be hearing from me a little more frequently. And it won’t just be nice pictures of family outings or video footage of the last futball match. I am not the same girl who practically begged to put on the boxing gloves and get into the opinion-flinging boxing ring that I was at 18…and yes, somehow I am. And to continue in the spirit of honesty, I know that I risk getting my feelings a little bruised. Maybe ruffling the feathers of friends and strangers alike and heaven-forbid making an enemy or two. That’s ok. I am not saying I am fully prepared for that but I do intend to share with sincerity, with heart and with a desire and openness to listen thoughtfully to the responses. Pull up a chair. (I’d say “hit me with your best shot” but I am not that confrontational anymore). Share your own story. Engage. Let the space we’ve been provided with here on the great big world wide web be a space to dialogue.
I do have one request. Lets play nicely with each other ok? (to put it bluntly, no poo-flinging allowed).
Literary Pursuits
Personal
opinion