Anthony Jake was born May 20. He was 7 lbs 9 oz and 20 in long. More soon.

I do not understand this silence. Words run through me like a forest stream; stories linger, waiting to be told; yet I am silent. Perhaps I am like the wintery earth, words beneath the cold rocks and arctic chill, waiting for the birth of spring. Waiting for the song of the birds to remind me of words trickling like melted snow, tumbling, cascading-- a torrent of words.

I think of the verse that my mom would quote at various times, "And Mary treasured these things in her heart." Perhaps my heart, as I grow into a mother, has learned to treasure things deep within; perhaps I am content without recording all the facets of my existence. Time will tell. In the meantime, I am learning the rhythm of cleaning, so that a little happens each day. I am learning the timing it takes to bring together a meal whose ingredients are ready within minutes of each other. I am learning to hold my tongue, to laugh often, to speak kindly, to pray instead of screaming, to sleep when I am tired. In short, I am learning to make our house a home.

Embarrassing moment in the past week: My friend celebrated her birthday last Friday. We decided to have lunch at Bahama Breeze and watch a chick flick after. After a satisfying meal, the check came and I opened my wallet to discover that the money I withdrew that morning was still at home in my coat pocket. Also my ATM card. So I gave her the cash I had and many, many apologies. I felt like the worst kind of dweeb.

In spite of myself, I devoured my Valentine chocolate within 3 days of receiving it. I have decided that "I'm pregnant" is my favorite new excuse for such times. I mean, how often will I get a chance to use it?

We had some friends over on Saturday. Shannon spent all day in the kitchen, preparing spanakopita and tomato-cucumber salad and a lemony herb chicken and hummus. I am such a lucky woman :) I cleaned and moved things around and made brownies. His friend Dan arrived first. They've been friends since middle school and love playing cribbage and pinochle. They invited me to join them, but I remembered the last time I played cards with them and felt that washing dishes was a more enjoyable diversion :) They can be, um, somewhat competitive. After a game of cribbage, the dinner was in the oven and our other guests arrived.

We had so much fun that evening. Everyone had seconds on the spanakopita, the hummus was almost gone, and the conversation was just as good as the food. After the boys cleared off the table, all of us polished off a tray of brownies as we played card games and told stories. The food was awesome (Did I mention how lucky I was?) and the company was great. Hopefully we can have friends over again soon.

 

 

The laptop is perched at the end of my lap. It is supported by my knees and a few inches of thin air. Because there is a cat. A fuzzy furry cat perched blissfully in between my laptop and my protruding stomach (it's not huge yet, but it's definitely an obvious sort of stomach). Sometimes she purrs, which means she is happy that she is so so close to a human being; sometimes she swishes her tail at me, meaning, "You are definitely not paying enough attention to me." Being a shy cat, she noticed that I was writing about her, and she has now hopped off of my lap and hid under the table.

The nice thing about pets, especially a cat, is that you can talk out loud when there are no other human beings around, but it's okay; you're not crazy; you're merely conversing with your pet. On the other hand, if you have more than two cats, and carry on consistent conversations with them and are a single female living alone, you might be a cat lady. I can guarantee you, I am not a cat lady; I don't even want more than one. But I do like the way cats make a room feel cozy. They also make me feel less guilty about taking a nap. And when a cat decides that yes, as a matter of fact, she would appreciate your company, especially if you scratch just beyond her ear, over to the left, ah yes, right there. Well, when a cat chooses someone, it certainly makes that person feel special.

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I have my car back. Again. We had gotten all of its problems fixed last December. Unfortunately the new oil pump had a gear or something all wonky. It broke down on Christmas Day (!) about a mile away from my in-laws. It took a week or so of waiting for my father-in-law to find a trailer he could use to haul our  poor lil Junebug to the repair shop. Then it took another week or so of waiting for the replacement oil pump to magically appear. Then a day and a half for me to retrieve it. But it's so nice to have Junebug back. We've been through so much together and now she'll get to be our family car. Hooray!

I love buses. I truly do. But I hate transferring. In the winter. While I am pregnant. So it is nice to have my own transportation again. My husband and I have decided that it is in neither one of our best interests for me to learn to drive stick while I am pregnant and hormonal. I think that decision alone might have saved our marriage ;)

2008 was a year of milestones, many changes, and learning to be at home wherever I was. I started a blog about the past year several times but it turned into a boring rendition of events that often were important only to me, and perhaps the one I love. Instead I'd like to post about the things I've learned.

A major theme in the three jobs that I had in the past year was my frustration with management. I expected them to be concerned with my needs, but I had a hard time expressing my needs to them. My relationship with my husband is slowly helping me to speak up when I am needing help or needing a change. I have learned that nothing can be changed until you are brave enough to speak up.

The day of the wedding has perhaps been the most inconsequential day in my marriage so far. It was a day of celebration, an event in which family and friends join together, and I wouldn't change my wedding for anything. But the days that define my marriage are a blur of moments held together by the memory of love and perserverance. Marriage is not an easy road; sometimes it is a lonely and frightening path. But we share the journey, the hope and the joy and the pain--we share it all together. A person's touch can change everything; within each person's hand is the power to convey peace.

I can make bread. Even bad homemade bread that sticks to the pan and is burnt on the crust is better than any bread you can find in the store. The smell of yeast rising, of a caramelizing crust, that is the smell of home. And a slice of homemade bread, toasted . . . words cannot describe how wonderful it is.

A mother's world is bittersweet. My brain pulses with Caution! Be careful! The world can be dangerous! But there is a blossoming hope, a joy, that more than compensates for the worry and concern that have etched themselves into my heart.  I think often about the plans we had made for the future--a child was at least a year distant, we told ourselves. And now, as my belly grows and the course of our life changes and thoughts of a child crowd out every other future plan, I know that this is the right time. Sometimes I wish that we could have been married for a year and gotten to know each other a bit before the craziness of an "instant family", but I am happy that our child was borne out of love, that our child's birth will be interwoven with our own birth into this strange shared life of marriage.

I have lived in three homes, and I finally live in one that is my own. It is a slow process for me. I have always been a wanderer, like a seed floating on the breeze. But I have found a bit of land that has rooted me. Sometimes I resent these roots and feel bound and confined, but I am learning that freedom has many dimensions. In love, there is a freedom to try and fail and try again. For a few years, I have feared failure and disappointment. My dreams were haunted with my broken promises and shattered dreams. I am learning to face failure and believe that trying counts for something. Eventually success will come. What does all this talk of failure and success have to do with my home? An awful lot. I struggle with putting things away; I hate cleaning; I like to put things off indefinitely. It is a gift to my husband, sometimes a grudging one, but I want to make our house a home. I want to learn to be tidy, to be a gracious hostess, and someday I will be closer to that goal.

I had agreed to take Ted to the hospital last week. I drop him off at the entrance and then park. Once inside, we settle ourselves into the VA routine: waiting, waiting, and more waiting. I had let the person at the desk know that Ted was not able to hear; when Ted was finally ushered back behind a partition, the guy began slowly yelling out what he wanted Ted to do. Hilarious, because he still had to repeat most of what he said. Volume does not communicate as well as enunciation when someone is deaf. Then samples were taken, walk down another hallway, deposit sample, give more samples, walk down more hallways. And always, the sitting and waiting. After two hours and a commitment to return in a few days, we headed out of the hospital. Ted waited in the covered area while I went down to retrieve the car.

And that's when I noticed my keys . . . sitting in the front seat. All doors were locked, and I didn't have a spare. I fantasized about the most likely solution: take the 39 into Seattle, snag Shannon's keys and come back to unlock my car. Except Ted was in no condition to sit at the VA for a multitude of hours or to tag along with me. When I explained the situation to Ted, he said to call a locksmith. I thought, surely there is a better (and cheaper) way to handle this. Police are often equipped to handle damsel-in-distress situations such as these. I explained to Ted that I would be back soon and went off in search of a knight in bright blue.

The officer would be here shortly, the information desk informed me. I sat in a bright orange coat, waiting to be rescued. He appeared within a few minutes, and we walked out to his car. Kinda funny driving such a short distance, but the trunk held the tools he needed.  We stood in the rain, he with his bent coat hanger and me with a hopeful look. Neither did any good. He put the coat hanger back and grabbed another wiry tool. And another, and another. By now, we were both dripping and he had started coughing. I was shivering, in spite of my bundled up clothing. I realized that, even with my prayers and his wiry tools, the situation called for a more expert hand. "Thanks for trying," I said. "I'll call a locksmith."

I found out as he drove me back up to the hospital that he was recovering from a cold. I watched the water drip off his bald head and was thankful that he helped as much as he could. Even though he wasn't feeling great, he stood in the cold and the rain, trying desperately to help me out. That means something, you know?