Living in color

Some days, I look at my life, and I realize how charmed it is and how blessed I am to have experiences with beauty on a carefree day. Even in my gestational state, and in oppressive heat, I made a point to enjoy myself this past weekend at a local lavender festival. The setting is so picturesque at this particular family owned farm - I can almost forget that I live surrounded by desert. In fact, I can almost pretend that I'm back in the countryside of France at a roadside lavender field in Provence. And this year, I discovered the source of the farm name. We harvested on the back fields beyond the house - and it is indeed Lakeside. The view was soothing to my soul and the scent of the fragrantly fertile fields elevated my sense of calm and well being.


I love lavender.

And my girls are coming to love it as much, if not more, than I do. They are expert harvesters, free of fear from the bees that harvest alongside them. And they pride themselves in their carefully collected bundles that overflow their baskets. They increase and expound on the joy that I glean from these experiences as we create traditions and memories. I feel a small sense of guilt at our leisurely indulgence and privilege, but then I think - what better thing to teach my children to appreciate and find fulfillment in, than immersing themselves in natural beauty while experiencing the satisfaction of hard work and a job well done. (Well, there are other things I'm hoping to teach them as well, but this is hardly an unimportant lesson in life)

And for the moment, I can't think of anything better to do with our time.

A new horizon

By way of update...a group of midwives with a birthing center near the hospital I prefer (with NICU) has agreed to take me on! I am SO, so grateful for this outcome. I feel that I have just about every option open to me now, and I am so glad that I had the courage to make a switch this late in the game.

Basically, if I can wait until 37 weeks (less than 3 weeks away if ultrasounds are to be believed) our plan is to birth at the very lovely and peaceful birthing center. If things just can't wait that long, but I'm past 36 weeks, then we'll birth at home. HOME! I can't even believe I am really considering it, but there you have it. I'm currently trying to get the list together that I have been given in the event that this is a possibility. Yikes!

AND, of course...if anything happens in the next week or so, the midwives (wonderful, wonderful women that were recommended by my doula) have assured me that they will be there for me at the hospital, even though I won't officially have a provider that attends there (they aren't allowed to actually deliver at this particular hospital, unfortunately).

SO...all bases are covered! I think. I hope I'm not missing something. But I definitely feel more in control and more comfortable with all potential outcomes at this point. And I most certainly feel like I have a better support team. Why, oh why did I not do this sooner?! (well, insurance was a factor, but no longer a good enough one)

For anyone out there who feels that they are not getting what they need from a medical provider...don't take it! Don't let them make you feel like you don't have options. If we are going to treat healthcare like a business in this country (not my idea, but hey) then we should at least be able to act like the customers that we are. At least in our case, we are paying completely out of pocket until we reach our ridiculously high deductible, so I am no longer paying for what I do NOT need. (Of course, getting the money back that we have already paid toward delivery is going to be tricky, but I'm going to fight it as well as I can at this point).

Thanks for the support and info all! I really do feel that I can make the best experience out of this birth now, and I'm even more excited for it to get started already! (But not too excited, I'm still trying to hold him in :)

***Oh, and both my midwives and doula had heard multiple horror stories about the doctor that I saw last week. Close one.***

The end of the middle

D-day is approaching - possibly faster than expected. In the last two days I've lightened in more than one way. I'm fairly certain that the baby has dropped and my body has commenced in eliminating any and all waste. It's a strange feeling because I don't really feel panicked, even though this usually doesn't happen for me until a few days before delivery. But we're past the point of no return. Past the point where steroids would be helpful, and nearly past the point where anything would be done to halt the process of this baby's entrance into the world. But also...not past the point of a possible NICU stay.

I'm torn between wanting to keep him in there a couple more weeks and really wanting him out. And I get unnaturally giddy when I finally realize labor is coming. Don't ask me why, but I look forward to the whole thing. It could be that I just hate the anticipation of these last few weeks and I want to get everything over and done with. Because today would be a great day to have a baby. Or tomorrow. Weekends are historically when we do this. And I just cleaned the whole house. Fresh sheets, floors mopped, bathrooms scrubbed. Everything is in order. Just in time for me to leave for a few days. If it gets too close to next weekend, I'll get panicky about NOT having everything done and ready. Oh well. I do need a few more days to finish washing baby clothes. And there's a closet or two that still needs to be organized. So I guess another week would be nice. Especially since I need to find a new doctor or midwife.

Yesterday I had an appointment with the 6th out of 7 doctors at the practice I chose this time around. And he was just about the most arrogant a$$ I have ever met. After practically berating me for gaining too much weight since my last appt, and then not even really listening to my concerns about early labor, he rushed me out of the exam room! He did offer to check my dilation while insisting that he didn't think it was necessary, but then when I declined (I felt seriously uncomfortable with the jerk) he didn't even check to see what position the baby was in. And I was the last appt of the day because he had canceled my appt earlier in the week (and not even called!) so I didn't have any other providers to appeal to. By the time I reached my car, I was in tears. And this isn't completely out of the norm for the doctors I have met at this office. With only one left to go, I'm not too hopeful that I'll find someone that will allow me to have the experience that I want with my last delivery.

Plus, the hospital that we're tied to doesn't have a NICU. So first thing Monday, I am going to plead with an office downtown to take me on for the last few weeks so that I can deliver at the hospital with the NICU. Why didn't I just do that in the first place, considering that it had doctors with GOOD reputations? I don't know. This time around, I really didn't think the doctor would matter all that much. I'm going natural, as with all previous labors, and I had a bad experience with a midwife last time. So I guess I thought I would just find a close and efficient practice for the obligatory appts and then do my own thing with my doula for delivery.

Bad idea. Turns out, a crappy doctor (or 6 of them) can really ruin the whole experience from the get-go, no matter how much you want to ignore them. So I'm also looking into a homebirth midwife - if one will take me on. I need a better support team, and I'm finally realizing this may be the only way to guarantee it. I didn't really want to do this at home (with 3 other kids around it just doesn't make sense logistically), and I like recovering in the hospital. But this may be my only option at this point, if it's even still an option at all.

Oh please, let there be more options...

Skirts

Both a symbol of femininity and women's oppression, skirts - and the art of wearing them - are a mixed bag to say the least. As a woman, I don't want to be told that I HAVE to wear a skirt, but I certainly feel different (in a mostly good way) when I do. It could be that my thighs can hide better when there is no distinction between them, or that my pear shape benefits from the typical a-line style moving away from my hips. But all in all, as long as my knees aren't visible, a skirt can be a highly satisfying and comfortable piece of wardrobe - especially in the summer, and as long as my legs aren't rubbing together at the time.

These particular skirts on my girls were custom made for them out of vintage sheets by a good and talented friend who blogs here, and designs here. My girls love twirly skirts for an outing just as much as they love a good pair of pants for climbing and bike riding. As it should be. And they absolutely loved these ones, as they had some say in how they turned out.

I also have my very own (coordinated but not matching) customized maternity skirt from the same wonderful source, but I just couldn't manage to get a picture of myself in it that I could stand to share. Nothing to do with the skirt, and I know I should really just get over this, but seeing myself in photos is highly distressing right now, and I need to be able to pretend that the way I see myself in my mind (or even just the mirror) is how I appear - it's better for my mental state and by extension, my physical well being. Though I've determined that it's my pregnant face distorted by my "photo smile" that I loathe. So maybe I should just work on requesting body shots from now on.

Yes, those are my daughters - and no, I don't intentionally keep them faceless, but it works out well for sharing.

A fourth

I like even numbers. It was inevitable that we would go on to have four children eventually, whether I thought I could handle it or not. Two was not enough, and number 3 came later than planned, so I could claim that we wouldn't have wanted her to be left alone, the perpetual baby without competition. But really, in my mathematically twisted mind, 4 just had to happen. One way or another, sooner or later. It just so happens that sooner (much sooner) is the way it has happened. And I've mostly accepted that, because, (as mentioned) 4 was inevitable. But suddenly, as I stare down the gauntlet of my last 5 weeks of gestation, 4 seems like an exponent, not an addition. How will we do this? Unprepared is an understatement.

Incidentally, we are taking drastic measures to avoid number 5. Because if you give an OCD mother 5 children, she's going to need a 6th to with it....

Take away Two

With only a little over 2 months to go until life as we know it changes again, my otherself and I took advantage of an offer from my mother to get away...sans enfants. So we headed up to Sun Valley to recreate a very similar getaway to last year, when I was nearly equal in gestation. Only this time we thought we'd have different weather with it being almost the end of May instead of February. Not much luck there. It snowed a bit, though the temperatures were actually quite refreshing. And it took us a while to figure it out, but our choice in vacation dates coincided with "slack" - the slowest time of the year in a touristy vacation spot that relies on weather and outdoor entertainment activities for its revenue (though it explained the more reasonable hotel prices). I wouldn't say being one of the few outside visitors was all bad though. We got upgraded to a suite and never had to wait for a table. Those are perks worth feeling like you're in a twilight zone episode for in my book.

So we made the most of having nothing but each other for company for a while, because we know it'll be a LONG time before that occurs naturally again. We soaked up the mountain fresh air, ate deliciously local food, browsed a well organized used book store, and watched a few movies on the flat screen from our king size bed. Of course, it went by much too quickly, and although I missed my girls before we even left city boundaries, it was hard to come home and face impending realities, with all the responsibilities that come along for the ride. Life won't be close to resembling simple again for a good while, and while I sometimes miss the days of 1+1=2, or even 1+1=3, I wouldn't trade my path in life for any amount of (relative) solitude or relaxation. It may not be what I planned, and it certainly isn't easy, but it does have beautiful moments. Moments where I see myself clearly as a mother. Moments where I know that I am learning more than I am teaching. Even moments when I think I can't keep going, but I do anyway - and I feel stronger. I'm glad for all my moments, and I'm looking forward to a lifetime of more, even when the impossible happens, and 1+1 somehow equals 6.


Side note: That's us in the picture...me on the right with the newly shortened hairdo and extra pearish shape. That's the front of the cozy lodge we stayed in. I actually really enjoyed the tempermental weather during our stay. I just love when the sun comes out in the evening and pushes the darkened skies into the background. It gives the natural beauty a bit more definition and contrast.

Lyrical

I've been thinking in song lately. Do you ever do this? Do phrases from songs ever come to you in (or out of) context? Have you ever been driving down the road listening to your favorite music, while thinking of something or other in your life, and then WHAM! a line pops out from the song playing that perfectly and exactly fits what you were already thinking about? Though completely unrelated? I'm sure there is a good deal of subconscious effort at play in these synchronous moments, but I'll be (insert clever idiom here) if they aren't mind blowing regardless!

Maybe it's because I tend to stick with music that expresses me in some form as it is. Perhaps it's bound to happen that the thoughts streaming through the speakers mirror my own more often than not. Or maybe I've been listening to the same sets of music too much lately and my thoughts and perceptions are forming around the lyrics themselves!

In any case, my inner dialogue has a very musical quality to it of late. And I can't say it's all that bothersome. Maybe it has something to do with watching (and loving) Glee a little too much right now, but I have to say that thinking in song really isn't a bad way to go about your day. Now if I start breaking out into dance routines and acting like no one is around me as I sing the lyrics of my soul? That could be a problem...

"a statement that expresses a personal opinion or belief or adds information"

Ok, so I just have to come out and say this. Mostly because I just read my 4th blog on this very subject, and I figure there has GOT to be some commonality that is making everyone simultaneously sensitive about comments, and prone to leave LESS comments themselves.

And I can say this openly and without reservation, because I'm not passing judgment or saying I'm above it. I'm not. I've felt it too. Just look at my last post if you don't believe me. And I've also been guilty of commenting less overall as well.

But let me offer some possible explanations.

One, the weather is nice and people aren't stuck inside reading blogs as much as the crappy winter weather allowed (um, provided time for). This one isn't true for me. I've been out of the house more it seems, but I haven't enjoyed the sunshine as much as I could. My pasty whiteness can prove this. Which leads me to...

Two, people are busy spring cleaning. HA! I know, this seems bogus, but for me, any moment at home this week has been filled with scrubbing and closet cleaning and laundry folding....I finally have the urge (and partially the energy) to get to the things that have been neglected for the past 4 months. But I may just be starting a very early nesting pattern, so maybe that only applies to me...

Three, people are bitter about their own posts not receiving many comments, and are less inclined to be generous with their own commenting. Pessimistic? Mean spirited? Maybe...but I hope this is actually a more common subconscious reason than one would assume, because I think I do this, without really meaning to. Though it's more along the lines of not wanting to add my comment to the end of a long line of comments, when I feel like no one cares to hear from me and could care less if I comment or not. Which leads into...

Four, pettiness. Tit for tat commenting. We've all done it at some point. Some have abandoned it, for some it's a way of blogging. But in the end, I think it goes along with the adage..."You have to be a friend to make a friend". Maybe we're all just holed up behind our blog walls waiting for someone to comment and bring us out, when everyone else is doing the same thing, and sooner or later, no one is commenting anymore and we wonder what's going on? Where's the love?

Could this be it? We all love comments, yes?! It's healthier to admit it then to pretend that we blog for no one's approval. And the sad thing that happens as a result of these perceptions, is that some amazing bloggers stop blogging altogether. They stop sharing their gifts and light with the world (well, ok, just the online world, but still!)

Why can't we all recognize how important comments are to others because we know that they are important to us? We are all putting ourselves out there in different forms, for different reasons, but each of us is sharing something that we're proud of. That we love. That we worked on. We want validation. It's a human need. It may be a very basic one, but it's still there, and most of us won't overcome it anytime soon - no matter how much we coach our brains into believing otherwise.

So let's stop being jealous of other's comments in the hundreds or dozens, or even single digits, and start focusing outward. Let's support each other better. Even when we don't have anything super amazing to say. If it's important to others, it should be important to us, and by sharing we will get back. Does this sound overly saccharine and silly? It probably is, but it also couldn't hurt anyone.

(But we really shouldn't be overly sensitive as summer approaches...I'm pretty sure I won't be allowed to "read-a-the-blogs" while on vacations, but we'll see ;)

And if you truly are one of those that genuinely doesn't care about comments (but also doesn't GET many comments) feel free to share your advice on how you do this and what has given you better perspective. I'm sure there are many (including me) that would like to know the trick on that one.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a sycophantic commenter. I'm not a "yes (wo)man". I don't like inflating egos that are already a bit puffy (that's my evil judgmental side). I hate repeating what others have already said, especially if I don't know someone personally or don't have anything clever or interesting to add. But if I know you, or want to know you better, I'll be a better commenter too - I'll try, I promise.

Also, I've been spending a lot of my online time at a new (old) hangout where discussions happen in the comments. It's been great fun (mostly), and I've actually met some real life amazing people from it, but it's also a time drain if I'm not careful, and it makes me less likely to comment elsewhere or engage in my non-virtual life. I'm trying to find balance. It's a good thing. ;)

Emergence

These are the tulips from the front yard (the attention seekers). This year they have come in waves. The yellows faded into the background as the reds exploded in front of them, and the hybrid of the two came up last, much scarcer than the rest - which made me sad, they're my favorite. Everyday that I pull out of the driveway, I smile to myself as I catch their vibrant colors in my view. Sometimes they are closed to the chill of morning, with their lips pursed as if to slurp the dew that clings to them. By the afternoons they are usually split wide open, welcoming the sun as they turn themselves outward, showing all that lies inside them.

This is how I feel lately. At times closed off from the elements of a harsh reality, and at others opened to new possibilities and opportunities for growth. It's an exhausting push and pull of protecting myself from damage in one moment, and showing my vulnerability in the next. But I do it because that is how I know I can survive the inner turmoil that is my life. If I remained tightly sealed, I wouldn't be receptive to what helps me to grow. If I left myself open, the bitter winds of judgment and assumption would rip me apart.

It's a delicate and dangerous balancing act that I'm learning to live, but I suppose it's worth it right now in order to show my true colors. I feel vibrant inside, and I want others to see the life that I hold within me. I want to let it out so that I, too, can see its value and beauty. And I'm grateful when others choose to risk the harsh and changing climates to let me see their beauty too, even when I know the blooming can last only a short while. It makes me sad to know that my tulips will soon be nothing but petal-less stems, but I'm grateful that they last as long as they do. And I try to remember, that they will be back next spring. I just have to be patient.

Yielding fruit - edited

My four-way pear tree is currently taking center stage in the back yard (the front is overshadowed by the tulips). These blossoms are some of my favorite, delicate and hearty at the same time. Bright and prolific, they add both current beauty and a splendid reminder of what potential they hold. Bartlett, D'Anjou (red and green), Bosc - all juicy and all delicious.

We also have cherries (4 varieties) and peaches and apples in our future, and strawberries and carrots. But my hopes for harvest this year are unfortunately limited to the carrots. I will probably add some cherry tomatoes and basil to that list so that we have more color in our collection, because as much as I love my trees, they are not for the impatient home producer. Their very blossoms seem to tell me that I am receiving a gift that is meant to dull the pain of what will most likely be an empty harvest again this year.

Though, in what must have been a strange aberration of the natural process, my precious pear tree left an even more pointed reminder of it's potential abilities 2 years ago. A tease. When all the leaves had fallen to the Fall, we found an unexpected gift. A perfectly formed pear sitting in the crotch of the small tree. It was shriveled and worn by the time we spotted it, but the very memory of what was possible has certainly made the barrenness bearable. I think back to when such a symbol of fertility would have brought me hope. When I thought my womb was deliberately being uncooperative as we struggled (admittedly not for as long as it seemed and not as long as others) to make our family more complete. I guess I should have known patience was the answer - because fertility certainly came in time.

So I will wait on my little fruit trees, and I know that someday we will have more harvest than we can handle (at least not without a good organizational system) - and we will be grateful for our abundance.

I will continue to enjoy the more immediate and present fruits of my labors as well. I will harvest my carrots and tomatoes and basil and enjoy them to their fullest while I wait to be more prepared for what is waiting around the corner of the seasons. Because I am currently blessed to overflowing with the abundance I have been given. And I love the variety and visions of colorful life that I am already surrounded with. Life is good.

Post edit: Our infertility was secondary and really quite minor in comparison to others, even though it felt like a monster at the time.

Second chances

I wanted this Easter to feel different. To be more of what it should. I even had grand plans to attend an early morning Catholic service in one of the beautiful cathedrals downtown. But I kinda knew that I would sleep in - or attempt to as my girls bounded in before dawn searching for evidence of a certain hopping mammal with large ears. It's just not meant to be under such circumstances. But I still hold out for change. For a year that I teach my children more about the week of Easter. For a year that I rise early and go out to experience how the rest of Christianity celebrates what is undeniably the most important event in the history of the world (from the view of my particular religious persuasion).

Maybe one year I will do what I have imagined would be best and move our pagan Eostre celebration to Saturday - leaving Sunday free of secularity. I think I could do it. The children won't know the difference for years. I just don't know how to effectively separate the two in practice any other way, and I still dearly love the idea of taking a day to celebrate Spring and new life and new chances (not to mention the fun of the hunt and the excuse to eat chocolate rabbit ears). They aren't entirely incompatible, but both ideals suffer when they are forced together.

In truth, it may be that I need to turn inward more at this time of year and find more connection with Christ and the Atonement. It could certainly be true that I am just looking for an external method of helping me feel what I know is important. But for now, I will try to remember that because of this day, I am given second chances and time and space to learn from my mistakes and my inadequacies and to build on what I know to be true. I am grateful that I don't have to be perfect in this very moment and that there is always someone that understands me better than I understand myself. Someone who is trying to help me see things more clearly if I will just be quiet and listen. I need to remember this more often.

So I guess I could be fine with little or no celebration, because what matters most is what I do every other day of the year in my heart. I will try harder to remember that better this year.

And no matter what I choose to do with our weekend, I would be fine as long as I still get my tulips and deviled eggs (does anyone else see the irony?).

Where do we go from here? -edited

Well, the verdict is in. My husband will no longer be the only male in our household.

I am having a manchild. And I can't quite get over the shock. I mean, it really shouldn't be so surprising. We did have a 50% chance of this happening. So why am I finding it so hard to wrap my head around? The only explanation I can muster up to excuse my befuddlement, is that I was going down a singularly female path with my children up to this point, and I am not prepared for the change this will entail for my future parenting skills and the subtleties involved.

I suppose I was so sure of continuing along the estrogen trail that I hadn't given myself space to consider the other side of the coin. Of course, my shock over being pregnant again hasn't quite subsided, so I think I can lump that together with my general surprise as well. I know that these aren't issues that will be dealt with for years to come, and everyone is telling me how babies are really all just the same for so many years anyway, so don't get nervous about change just yet.

But for some insane reason, I can't think of the immediate future. Perhaps it's the looming decision of whether to circumcise or not and all that this implies that has me freaked out, because right now I can only think of 15 years down the road to a point in time where I am at a loss for what to do with a teenage boy! "But what about your three teenager-to-be girls", you ask? Yes, scary thoughts there as well, but not quite on the level of the unknown as a growing MAN!

I think it must have something to do with all this Feminist theory raging in my brain lately, as I have been consumed with what and how I will communicate my thoughts, concerns and knowledge to my daughters. And somewhere, deep inside me I know that I can raise a Feminist son as well, but it seems to me that it will take entirely new directions in conversation. Will I be ready? Even if I prepare for the next 10 years?

I know I'm over-reacting. I just need an adjustment period and I'll be fine.
Or will I?

Do you want to know something? I don't admit this to many people, but I have always wondered how mothers can love their sons as much as their daughters. My lack of understanding in no way implies judgment or a belief that girls are better than boys. I just couldn't look at a little boy (no matter how cute) and fully comprehend the devotion that I witnessed. Admittedly I have a one-sided view, but it has honestly always made me scratch my head. I'm fairly certain anyone in my reverse situaton would have a similar question about a girl, but how would I know?

Secretly, I wanted a son so that I could understand the similarities and differences in how I might feel toward such a significant and yet overplayed distinction. Maybe it is the difference in how we view the gift of gender in this country. In most represented cultures in the US, I'd say that many women covet at least one daughter to pass along their knowledge to and share that certain part of themselves with. But in many outside cultures, and in most of even recent history, it seems that a male child is and was especially desired. I won't get into the anthropological or societal reasons, but I can't ignore that women were once (and still are in negatively patriarchal societies) measured by their production of a male heir. How do I find myself so far from that perspective? (Not that it sounds like a bad thing in that context).

I have no doubt that my fears and insecurities will be laid to rest (eventually) and that I will come to understand what I cannot at this moment fathom, but I wish I knew if I were the only one who felt this way. My husband - ever the perfect example of embracing change - assures me that none of this will matter once he arrives. But I feel guilty about not being as excited as I should be, even though I know it will pass.

And for the moment, at least, my daughters are excited enough to cover for me.

Post Edit: I'm getting really quite excited to meet this little guy as he makes his presence known more and more. I bought some cute little outfits with frogs and trucks and all those gendered symbols, and I'm actually really looking forward to a boy finally. What a relief to have some positive feelings for a change. Pregnancy hormones....what are ya gonna do to me next?!

Appearances

How much disservice do we do to others when we accept point blank the obviously public face they put on and care nothing for deeper connections? In my large congregation of people that should be each others' support system and family away from family, how is it that I hear story after story about how lonely everyone is and how unhappy we all are that we don't have friends and that we feel isolated at church? It's like an epidemic around here. And it's the largest group of people I've ever lived in proximity to that attend church with me. It's all so backwards!

In addition to which, how many of us are suffering silently and have learned the art of "flipping the switch" so that we can give off whatever impression to others it is that we choose? (Because it's just too exhausting to be honest.) Surprisingly, it's not a hard trick to learn. Walls are easy to build, even within your own mind. You can separate and block off as much as you want and see life as you choose to see it. You can direct your thoughts and your perceptions like a lazy river, or you can flood the plains and risk drowning. In my experience, it's more work to maintain the canals and can be significantly less tiring to let them break down here and there. Sometimes you slip up and you pay the consequences and you have to repair the damage to regain control. And sometimes, the damage is more than you can handle alone.

Everywhere around me there are barriers. Barricades of friendship and understanding, even on blogs. There are those who see your walls as painted scenery and assume that you live a pleasing and placid life, or that you have abundance enough and don't want to share, so you are distant and need nothing from no one. When in reality, a kind word or gesture (sometimes public, sometimes not) is all that is desired and all that is needed to break down walls.

I think there are too many masks. And too much assumption, with not enough reaching out. I'm taking off my mask, and I'm learning to be honest. Though I'm not sure which is harder, to be honest with myself, or honest with others? I don't mind burning bridges, if that's where honesty leads me. Especially when I worked so hard to build them and they seem to lead nowhere. But it seems that by opening up in order to reach out and tell it like it is, I have to see myself without barriers first. And I've been lying. Is lying ever for anyone's good?

In study and service...

I find myself.

This (and one other print) was my birthday present to myself (well, not really...my husband's sacrifice made it possible to go pick it up on our road trip Friday). I was so excited to get some new art that I put it up as soon as we got home. I already had frames and matting that worked since I was replacing some other prints that I have long become bored with. Like this image, they were religious in nature, but they were bought years ago when I was in "my home is supposed to feel like a church" mode. So I literally bought prints that I had seen IN church. Not a bad thing really, I just never felt really connected to them. So I have replaced them with what some would consider real art (though I'm not sure how one defines the difference) and I do, in fact, just enjoy their presence more. I still believe that home should be a sacred and safe place for a family to feel protection from the negative influences of the world, but I am happy that I have found a more expressively ME way of creating that feeling.

Because I LOVE this particular print and it just makes me smile to look at the image of Christ teaching both Mary and Martha in different ways and it tells me that all sides of who I am are important and have their place in my relationship with Him. At least that's what I take away from the story and from this particular rendition of it. Thank you Minerva, and thanks Mom for introducing me to her beautiful work.

Joy in the Journey

Sometimes I wish I were still a kid so I could request a a whimsical cake for my birthday. If I could still make silly requests, I would request this cake. In honor of my favorite animal growing up. But it would have to be a VERY delicious cake under all that fondant, because fondant is just gross, there's no way around it. Even kids eat don't seem to eat it. I found this picture while searching for birthday cake ideas, and it just seemed so fitting as my birthday is the only day that I really allow myself to be gluttonous. *Oink!*

And, on that note, we are off an a gastronomic adventure, with an overnight thrown in for good measure. I just really need to get out of my house for 24 hours. Road trip! From breakfast to dinner, I am going to try to enjoy myself as much as possible within the limits that my gag reflex has imposed. I'm planning on a good steak, and maybe some smoked Gouda potatoes au gratin. I hope my digestive system can handle it. The tums will definitely be in the diaper bag. And I am ending my special day with a flourless chocolate "decadense" cake from my favorite bakery. Perfectly dense, but not too sweet.

Happy Birthday to Me!

*I thought about writing a thoughtful reflection of the day of my birth and what another year means to me, but I've been serious enough lately and I need a break! No more long faces. I won't give in to the suffering anymore, and I am determined to enjoy myself! Plus, when you're pregnant and all you can think about is food (for better or worse), this is all that you can really focus on when it comes to celebrating a birthday. Maybe next year I'll take stock of my life, because by then, I hope that I will be able to handle the reality of what my life is quickly becoming. To another year!

What's in a name?

I just want to clarify a few things because of all the hoopla lately about whether it is a good thing or a bad thing to call yourself a Feminist, especially in the LDS church these days.

It would be nice to have a new name by which to call myself and the other women that feel as I do, but since there currently is not, I will still proudly adopt the term because I believe that any term is what you make of it and that we don't need to be threatened by the minority that has and continues to give it a bad rap. I know there are those that disagree, but I myself won't be afraid of a word and I will use my abilities to help influence what others will think of it in the future (if, in fact, a new term does not emerge).

So, yes, I am a Feminist. But I am a liberal feminist - which sounds worse than it is, but by definition is much more conservative than you would think. It's the radicals that have everyone's panties in a bunch. And I think I have forgotten how much I used to shrink from that word myself, so I want to let anyone know that reads this how I define feminism (along with many others).

1) I am NOT a man hater. I love my husband and respect him and the equality that we share in our marriage - meaning, that NO, we are not the same and should not BE the same, but that we have equal value in our separate roles. Roles that we have determined for ourselves and not based entirely on traditionally gender specific definitions. Men are an equally important half of society. I do not think women are better, I just don't think they are less. I don't like misogynists, but I don't hate them and I hope that they can learn new ways of thinking.

2) I do NOT endorse abortion except for in cases of fetal inviability, health of the mother, and rape or incest. But even in these cases, I believe that if at all possible for the mother to handle the emotional baggage of it, the pregnancy should be carried to term. However, even though I am personally against abortion, I recognize that in the world of legislation, a blanket ban might do more harm than good for the rights of women. I don't want women to have easy access to abortion, but banning it altogether would not put an end to the evil practice, and would put undo strain on the women who actually NEED abortions in rare cases to prove that they are necessary. The recent legislation in Utah proves what a dangerous slope it is to legislate that a woman must prove her intentions, or even miscarriages could be prosecuted as criminal offenses. This does nothing but deny women their rights, and it is not the solution. There is no win-win in the abortion debate, but my feminism does not necessarily make me pro-choice. Pro-responsibility maybe?
And, to be clear, I think that late term and partial birth abortions should not exist, and that women considering elective abortions need to see some of the horrific educational material on such practices. (though I'm a bit more alone in this opinion)

3) I believe that women in priviledged countries (such as the US) need to do what we can with our influence to support oppressed women everywhere (both in and out of such countries) and to educate others on the horrors of female infanticide, female genital mutilation, and all other forms of abuse. We have strong voices if we unite them, and we can't just sit back in our comfortable homes, even if we are happy with a patriarchy, because something that doesn't affect us isn't necessarily removed from our sphere of responsibility. Those women can't do it alone. It was the priviledged women of the past that fought for the women's rights that we enjoy the fruits of today, and we can't spit on their work by claiming the luxury of denying the label that they fought under.

4) I don't believe that there is enough equality in the workplace or in legal spheres for women, even in the US. Just because we are close doesn't mean that we stop fighting. There is nothing that makes that inbalance palatable. And just because we choose to stay home (which choice is a product of feminism) doesn't mean that we shouldn't support the rights of women who CHOOSE or NEED to work outside the home and get paid for their equal contribution. Not all women are blessed to have children or marry. What are they supposed to DO with their lives? (sarcasm) And why are they not entitled to full and complete equality in the work that they choose for themselves as a contribution to society and as fulfilling to their lives?

5) I believe the choices that Feminism has given us include the ability to stay home and raise children, and I still and always will believe that this is the best place for women to try to be if they desire to have a family. It is a natural and Godly role to play that part to the children you choose to bring into your life, either by birth or by adoption. BUT, I also recognize that there are women that cannot have this in their lives, either by choice or circumstance, and that even in families, sometimes the man is more suited to child rearing and nurturing. That's just how it is sometimes, and that's OKAY!

I'm sure there is more, but these are the issues that seem to pop up when women express their disdain for Feminists. Please, don't be ignorant. Don't stick your head in the ground out of fear. Do the research. Do the math. Read. Educate yourself. Don't believe me, and don't believe everything you "hear" about Feminism. Listen to your heart and do what feels right. And if at the end of the day, you really don't want to be called a Feminist, I am fine with that, because it is your CHOICE. I like having the ability to choose my life, and I appreciate the feminists that gave me that right.