Becoming Sarah

My sunshine.

2012-05-15T10:22:17Z

It must be said that after the rain comes the sun. And after a weekend of very difficult days and more attitude than I knew a two-year-old was capable of, Charlotte woke up yesterday morning in a great mood.

We made art in the morning. We shared a Very Special Treat (a brownie and juice) with lunch. We read books and blew bubbles and gardened most of the afternoon. We drew with chalk on the driveway. We listened to music and danced.

Okay, she danced. I watched. Then she twirled as fast as she could and played Earthquake (when she gets dizzy, we run as fast as we can to our house’s earthquake safe-spots).

In the evening when Donald came home, we spent time outside together and then we ate sandwiches for dinner. It was a lovely spring day. When the tide is against me, I cling to memories of days like those as though they were a life raft. And when everything is going well, I just enjoy sitting back and thinking about the smiles we shared.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary.

2012-05-14T10:39:31Z

The past few weeks with Charlotte have been particularly difficult.

As a general whole, I do not believe in writing about hard days with Charlotte. It makes me uncomfortable. If my daughter reads this blog at age 16 and ever, even for a second, doubts that we love her beyond all measure or is offended by something I wrote about our relationship with her, then I guarantee that this website was a monumental waste of time and energy.

At the same time, however, it is important to me that this blog remain an honest representation of my experiences as a parent. So when I think about the last few weeks, I simply do not know what to say.

Fun at the pirate park! (When did she get so big?!)

I have been turning this new developmental phase over in my head and what I have come up with is this: Charlotte is showing us in age-appropriate ways (for example, she might scream loudly in protest or ignore my requests when they infringe upon an area of her life over which she greatly desires control, or she might burst into tears when she has difficulty finding the words to verbally communicate her emotions) that some of her needs are not being met.

She is not rebelling. She is not testing her limits. And I patently refuse to call behavior that is normal for a two-year-old (if perhaps inconvenient for me) “terrible.” I have been explaining it to people by saying that I believe she wants more control over the day-to-day aspects of her life, but I think that a second truth to the matter that is immensely more difficult to handle is that as much as she may want more independence, she also NEEDS more consistency in our family life, more responsibility within our family customs and more stability in our daily routine.

Donald and I do not spank or use time-out. We also try to keep bribes, threats, reverse psychology, and guilt trips to a minimum. Nine times out of ten when we are dealing with a behavior that we want to “fix,” we handle it by talking to Charlotte. Just talking. If the talk is serious, we hold her in our arms or hold her hands in ours and make eye contact and discuss what behavior we would like to see, why we would prefer this behavior to other behaviors, and what her options are going forward. We call it “time in.” In minor cases, such as refusing to relinquish a toy at someone’s house, we might also divert her attention - although this is an increasingly ineffective tactic as she reaches an age where she’s capable of seeing right through our bullshit.

The time-in tactic almost always works for us. And when it doesn’t, then we try again. In extreme cases, we handle behavioral problems by isolating Charlotte and ourselves from a situation together for several minutes. Then we find another activity to engage in and discuss what happened while we work together on that. Gentle discipline is very important to us and it is not an area that we are willing to compromise at this point because we still feel that it is working for us.

Still, here we are. Charlotte and Donald and I are all exhausted by the frustration, the disappointment, the miscommunication. This is the first time in Charlotte’s life that we have not kept up with her need for more independence. We both believe that this is how parenthood is supposed to go. Over a period of approximately two decades, we will sometimes hand her power and she will sometimes demand it, and over time she will gradually come to run her life on her own. The challenge is to find the balance: what is she ready for? What is she not? Where are we willing to compromise? Where are we not?

I honestly believe that our struggle to find the best way to deal with this new development is in large part the result of our pregnancy. Simply put, I don’t feel great right now. I have less patience and less energy and this has enormously impacted the quality of care-taking that Charlotte receives on a day-to-day basis. These are the days in Charlotte’s life when we begin to give her the tools to handle problems that will arise in her future with confidence, maturity, and thoughtfulness - and when I’m not feeling 100%, I have a hard time modelling positive ways for her to develop those skills. I want to scream “PUT YOUR TOYS AWAY AND THIS WON’T HAPPEN!“ or “DAMN IT, STOP CRYING!“ instead of sitting down and empathizing with her when she steps on a Lego - and although I keep trying to stick to what Donald and I believe in, I’m sure that my daughter picks up on it. Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for, I think. There is no doubt in my mind that Charlotte knows when I feel impatient or angry and I think this only fuels her frustration and this is reflected in her behavior. That behavior may be age-appropriate, but when it isn’t the sort of behavior we want (i.e. whacking a kid on the head with a stick because she’s angry), it becomes apparent that this is a difficult cycle to break.

Donald and I both have confidence that our family will come out of this with flying colors. Even on the roughest days, we provide Charlotte with the very best that we can give her: our unyielding, unconditional love. We try to be consistent. We try to be patient. We try to find an appropriate balance between standing firm and giving in. We try to be positive role models. At the end of the day, if our daughter comes out of this and says “I always knew I was the center of my parents’ world,“ then where we have failed in the rest of it is small fish. But even with the optimisim that we will triumph through this phase and that the foundation we are laying is solid, right now I still feel a little defeated that this is going on at all.

A little defeated and a lot fatigued.

Why?

2012-05-10T11:23:15Z

- Momma, did you eat an apple with me?
- Yes I did.
- Why did you eat that apple, Momma?
- I ate the apple because I was hungry, sweetheart.
- Why were you hungry?
- Um. I guess I was hungry because my body wanted more energy. My stomach told me that I needed to eat food to digest. One of the things our bodies do is convert foods we eat and digest into energy so that we can keep moving around and having fun.
- Why do our bodies make energy?
- It’s just how we evolved. I imagine that most, if not all, living things need to get energy from some place. You and I are human and in the case of human evolution, we’ve just been selected to obtain energy from food.
- Why are you human?
- I’m human because Grandma and Grandpa are human. When I was conceived, they passed all of their genetic information on to me and that made me human.
- Why are Grandma and Grandpa human?
- Well their parents were human too. And their parents before them. And their parents before them. A very long time ago our ancestors were probably more similar to apes, but over time our bodies and our brains changed to adapt to our environment until we became human. Every generation since then has been human, and that includes Grandma and Grandpa and me and Daddy and you.
- Oh. Am I human?
- Yes, you’re human too.
- But I am not human, Momma! That is silly! I am just Charlotte.

As soon as she began asking “why?“ all the time, I promised myself that I would answer all of her questions truthfully.

In my defense, I had no idea that she was going to be interested in everything. Why do the clouds move? Why is that man’s hair black? Why doesn’t Millie purr? Why are ladybugs so small? Why do boys have penises? Why do caterpillars tickle her arm? Why are snails so slow? Why does that car not look like our car? Why is the baby still in my belly? Why is Daddy at work? Why do we not play with wires? Why are some mushrooms poisonous?

You would not believe the number of new things I have learned in the last month on my quest to answer her questions.

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am fourteen weeks pregnant.

A pregnancy update.

2012-05-09T12:00:04Z

In case you are wondering (and you probably are not, but my dad would have soooo much less ammunition against me if my blog went without my trademark habit of oversharing), the last eleven days in this house have been 100% vomit-free. None of my other pregnancies have involved morning sickness – hardly even a whisper of nausea – but the first trimester of this particular Operation Sacred Vessel was predominantly spent in a fetal position on the couch.

I sometimes mixed that pattern up by assuming a fetal position on the bathroom floor as well. Sneezes and yawns were particularly dangerous as they could quickly turn from something benign into something that had me hovering over the toilet begging for mercy. For awhile there, I was even waking up in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of throwing up dinner, like all that transference of breakfast and lunch into my septic tank wasn’t quite enough.

And do not EVEN get me started on the dreaded task of brushing my teeth.

But then, suddenly, it started to wane. I still have rough days – and nearly every evening is spent lounging about on the couch like a useless lump – but I can now perform basic human functions without feeling like death warmed over. Two days ago, I actually found a dirty dish that had escaped from us and incubated its very own ecosystem and I was able to wash the whole thing out without retching once. And yesterday I walked into the produce section of a market and did not immediately empty the contents of my stomach on the grounds that I could smell that one rotten avocado in the dumpster three miles away. I can even imagine a day when I might be able to hammer out a blog entry again without my brain turning off halfway through because I’m too exhausted to spell my kid’s name.

I know, I know. What will I blog about next?! Banana slugs or ear wax?! BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH MORE INTERESTING! But seriously: this is actually big news around here.

Today I might even drag my sorry ass outside and take some pictures. We are fourteen weeks and two days down this path and I am at that point in a pregnancy where Donald can tell that I’m showing and I can tell that I’m showing and people who know me and see me frequently can tell that I’m showing…but everyone else thinks I just need to lay off the potato chips. It’s freaking awesome. Say what you will about that “warmed up” effect of subsequent pregnancies, the truth of the matter is this: if I’m going to spend seven weeks puking my brains out, I sure as hell better have a uterus the size of Russia to show for it. Otherwise, that’s just a lot of wasted ice cream is what that is.

Unless my midwife is reading this. In that case, it’s a lot of wasted edamame and summer squash.

And look! I managed to keep my kid alive through it too! I’m winning all the way around!

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am fourteen weeks pregnant.

On death.

2012-05-07T11:38:12Z

We knew that that day was coming, the day when their heart would stop beating and they would take their last breath. We watched time march forward, slowly, one step and then another.

Death is an excellent teacher. It reminds you to take advantage of the small moments you have left with everyone around you. It reminds you that when you enter and exit this world, your needs are reduced to this: people that love you. It reminds you that days are long but years are short. It reminds you that laughter and love endure when all else fades to dust.

We came to the house to whisper our good-byes and make the promises Death reminds you to make. The promises you should have been keeping all along. You will appreciate more. You will be more present. You will be a stronger person. You will love more fervently. You will stand steady by those you cherish. You will make an effort to find them when they are lost. You will be there, you will navigate these tumultuous waters with them.

The call came on a Sunday morning. We stood silent for a minute and reminisced. Then we bought Donald that suit and tie that we’ve known he would need. And we bought Charlotte a little black dress with a little black sweater and little black tights.

And I told her: this is Death, my love.

And I told her: this is Life, my darling.

Over the weekend, we came together. We signed a guestbook. We sat in a place of worship. And there, among faces we knew and faces we didn’t know, we listened and we remembered and we honored the very best we could.

When the sun rose the next morning, I looked at my daughter sleeping between us in bed and felt that profound gratitude that only comes when you have come face-to-face with loss. I kissed her forehead. I thought about the questions about life and death that I’ve answered from her this week and the questions I will answer in the years to come - and I felt immensely lucky to have the chance to answer these questions at all. It may be the cruelest of teachers, but I think we can all learn something from Death. And in this house, after this death, that something is thanksgiving.

Rest in peace. If there is one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, it is that you are always dearly loved and sorely missed.

*** Comments are closed on this post. I do not allow commentary on goings-on within my larger family community. There are no exceptions to this rule. If this post does anything, please let it remind you to take a moment to be more patient and more present today. We all owe this world a death and we never know when it might come.

Ten things I love about my daughter right now:

2012-05-03T11:36:45Z

1. Every time I get her dressed to go out, if I blink my eyes she strips and dresses up in a princess dress.
2. Her imagination is taking off. The stories she tells me are increasingly elaborate – and always based on the fairytales and myths I stuff her head with. Yesterday, she spent all day pretending to be Atalanta...with a twist of having elf friends who made her shoes.
3. Every now and then, she still is so exhausted at the end of the day that she curls up in my arms and falls asleep. It is always that heavy, deep slumber of a child who knows they are safe.

4. We read chapters out of books to her regularly – she gets one chapter before naptime from a book she and I read together (currently Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and we’re on the lookout for some Dr. Doolittle next) and one chapter before bedtime from a book she and Donald read together (they just started Stuart Little). Surprisingly, she not only retains the plot lines, she also likes to act them out. It is quickly becoming her favorite sort of reading.
5. I gave her an old hairbrush of mine to play dress-up with. She only uses it to torture the cats. She says her hair is “like a sheepdog” and that sheepdogs do not use brushes.
6. Twice this past week, she has showered alone (well, with the door open and Donald or me right there helping her scrub up). Cutest damned thing in the world. Also: the only known cure to her hatred of having water touch her hair.
7. The control battles have started. I’m not THRILLED about this whilst in the middle of “the only excuses I will accept to breaking quiet time are injury or needing to use the toilet,” to be honest, but I am loving the process of helping Charlotte gain and exercise independence in certain aspects of her life. My girl is a force to be reckoned with. This makes me so unbelievably proud.
8. She was recently in the car with a relative and she kept telling them that they were driving too slow. So the relative told her that if they drove any faster, the police would pull them over and then how would she get home? It quieted her down, and now any time Charlotte feels that I am driving too fast (read: on a freeway), she screams “SLOW DOWN, MOMMA! I WANT A RIDE HOME PLEASE!”
9. She cracks me up. Yesterday when I wasn’t feeling well, I told her I needed to lie down for awhile until my stomach settled. She said, “Okay. I will take care of you while you rest. But do not rest your eyes because then you will fall asleep AGAIN and who will peel my banana? Nobody. I will have to do it all alone and it will make me sad.” Um. Okay, kid.
10. She really REALLY likes mud.

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am thirteen weeks pregnant.

Dear Child.

2012-05-01T11:24:54Z

Dear Child,

On the fourth day of March, your father and I found out that we are expecting your (probably younger) brother or sister.

At first I cried. The adoption agency we are working with requires that we wait until this new baby’s first birthday before accepting a foster-adopt placement. This pregnancy was unplanned and, IRONY!, actions were even taken to prevent it. Crying was the only thing I could think to do. It’s not that your sibling was unwanted, because nothing could be further from the truth. It’s that…well…when we decided to put all of our eggs in the foster-adoption basket, I tossed my heart in for good measure. I wanted to put all of me - everything I had - into the process the same way that I put all of me into a pregnancy. In a lot of ways, finding out that we had to postpone bringing you home has been similar to dealing with the loss of a pregnancy, something I never expected.

The hardest part of learning about this pregnancy has been learning to live with the guilt that we are, in effect, putting a biological child’s needs first. But I want you to know this because this is very important: You were the first person I thought of. Are we letting you down? What if you need us RIGHT NOW? Have we lost you? Will we ever find you? Will the decreased spacing between you and your siblings harm your relationships with them and theirs with you? The worry consumed me for weeks. When I ordered my momma necklace a few weeks later, I made sure that an egg was put in the nest for you. Every time I touch the necklace, I think of you and wonder about you and worry about you.

Your father is and always has been the more rational of the two of us. Calm down, he said, this baby is a good thing. We are still going to adopt; we are probably still going to adopt more than once. It will all work out, this will all be okay.

This baby will teach Charlotte how to be a sibling so that when you come, she is more realistic about the challenges presented and what siblinghood means. This baby will help her and us to be more prepared for your arrival and more patient with your needs. And maybe, your father said, this baby came now so that our family’s door was not open until you were ready for us - maybe you aren’t in the system yet or your case hasn’t progressed to the point of adoption, maybe you need us to wait.

Your father is right, of course. This child, your sibling, is a good thing. We are all very excited to meet them, hold them, share our home and our life with them. We are all very much in love with this new life, even if it is only a few months old. And the more my belly stretches to encompass them, the more excited we are.

But it is very important to me that when you grow old enough to read these letters, you know this: we are all very much in love with and excited about you too. You and your siblings – be they adopted or biological – are the very best things that have ever happened to our family. YOU, you are what life is all about. The SECOND that we can, your father and I will move mountains to bring you home. Our hands are tied for now, but we are taking advantage of this time to prepare our house and our family for you.

I hope you know that you have always been wanted and that you are always loved. We will find you. And in about eighteen months, we WILL bring you home. Every day between now and then that we are apart, we are thinking of you and loving you and waiting impatiently for the day that we can all be together. Me. Your dad. Your sister. This new baby. And you.

Love,
Momma and Daddy

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am thirteen weeks pregnant.

Percy Prints for Jordin’s Journey.

2012-04-30T11:27:41Z

(Try saying that three times fast!)

The first shop that I am featuring is Percy Prints, who you may have seen around my blog over the past few weeks. Percy Prints happens to be owned and operated by my sister, Rachel, so now you have two really good reasons to check the shop out:
a) I can tell you ten highly embarrassing stories about the artist in five seconds flat, which is AWESOME, (but I won’t because it’s the Internet and Rachel would KILL ME, which is decidedly less awesome), and
b) even though she is just starting out, she’s pledged to set aside 10% of her sales to Jordin’s Journey. And we all know how I feel about getting that machine into a southern Californian hospital, right?

So here’s the deal. Rachel is a lino-cut artist, and I’m going to be frank with you and tell you right now that I’m not 100% clear on what she does…but my experience is that it takes a lot of physical toil and comes out beautiful. She makes prints that absolutely astound me in their attention to detail and the emotion they evoke. Take, for example, this print of a father and baby:

You can find this at Percy Prints by clicking here.

This print is in my home. I adore it because it reminds me SOOOOOO much of the first days with Donald and Charlotte. (Rachel says she designed it based on some random picture she found lying around, but I steadfastly refuse to believe it could be anyone else. And I’m sure that there are TONS of mothers out there who look at this and refuse to believe it could be anyone other than their partner with their baby too.) Every time someone sees the print, they make a point to compliment it.

Or take this print of a zebra parent and baby, which is also in my home and is equally stunning:

You can find this at Percy Prints by clicking here.

Incredible, no?

And how about this print of Mont Saint-Michel in France:

You can find this at Percy Prints by clicking here.

Can you even imagine how much patience, consistency, discipline it must have taken to slowly and painstakingly cut out the ripples in the water and the shadows on the island just so?

As well, my sister (errr…Percy Prints) takes custom orders. So if you want a print to represent your wedding or the day your munchkin learned to ride a bicycle or that iris in your garden you just cannot get enough of…you can send her a couple pictures (she’ll use them to composite together appropriate shadow areas for contrast) and boom! Something bound to be perfect for you.

At any rate, I would love it if you would check it out. 10% of her sales might not seem to be much, but it can certainly add up to help Jordin’s Journey in the long run.

Percy Prints | Percy Prints on Facebook |Jordin’s Journey | Jordin’s Journey on Facebook

Looming.

2012-04-27T11:15:13Z

On Wednesday night, I attended the orientation meeting for the French immersion preschool that we enrolled Charlotte in for the fall. And OH.MY.WORD., parenting is suddenly about to become five million times more complicated.

Earthquake kits! EARTHQUAKE KITS! With two full days of nourishment. and clothing suitable for a variety of weather and water.

And lunch boxes! And packing suitable morning snacks and lunch foods in toddler-appropriate portions. And teaching her that she doesn’t have any other choices, that this is it. And figuring out how to pack soups on cold days in a thermos so that they are not too cold and not too hot when lunchtime comes around.

And volunteer days! And parent meetings! And getting a copy of her immunization record and her birth certificate! AND AND AND AND AND!

Suddenly motherhood has deadlines and tardy infraction notices and co-op duties and I just feel so unbelievably overwhelmed by it all. I keep thinking back to those early days with Charlotte, how I thought that NOTHING could POSSIBLY be more stressful than jaundice and sore nipples.

That poor, lost little girl. I wish I could tell her that breastfeeding was the least of her problems. She’s going to have to start getting her kid out the door by 6:40 A.M. sharp twice a week in August. TAKE THAT FOR STRESSFUL.

(Ye working parents who have been dealing with daycare and spare changes of clothing and getting your kid ready by EARLY THE FUCK A.M., you are my heroes.)

In true dork fashion, I spent ALL of Charlotte’s “quiet time” (code for “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you skip your nap, just please for the love of all that is holy at least hang out in the bedroom for forty-five minutes and PRETEND TO PLAY QUIETLY so that Momma can sleep, capiche?”) googling lunch boxes and earthquake kits and how to vacuum seal meals and how to use an ice pack to keep cold foods cold.

How can she possibly have grown up so quickly? Yesterday I was snapping a picture of her first budding tooth and tomorrow I’m going to fork over a copy of her birth certificate, tuition, and learn to pack a lunch box. A part of me wants to prance around beaming because WE MADE IT, PRESCHOOL, HURRAY! and another part of me wants to cry.

*** I planned to begin the features of shops that will be supporting Jordin’s Journey with a percentage of their profits today…but something came up this week that put blogging on the back burner. Or, rather, took blogging off the stove top altogether to just sort of chill on a nearby counter. So I’ll post the first feature on Monday instead. Jordin’s Journey is now up to $8,078, which is about 27% of their goal. Thank you to everyone who has contributed thus far. THANK YOU!

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am twelve weeks pregnant.

Letter to my punkins: 33 months.

2012-04-25T16:11:09Z

Dear Charlotte,

You hit two years and nine months last week.

You may have noticed that I did not write you a letter last month…and you will also probably notice that there is a significant lack of photographs of you taken over the past two months. The truth of the matter is that for nearly two months now I have been dealing with a nasty case of morning sickness. And one of the byproducts of this is, frankly, less energy.

The way I see it is this: I can use what little energy I have to get you dressed, brush your teeth, and feed you every day…or I can use it to take pictures and write letters. And if you smelled your breath after eating scrambled eggs with spinach, guess what? You would pick the teeth-brushing too.

The most important thing that I want you to know about the last two months is that your father and I COULD NOT be more proud of you. As soon as I began to get sick, routines and rules of the house changed seemingly overnight and although we can tell that you sometimes have difficulty adjusting, overall you have taken this like a champ.

You are really looking forward to being a big sister, OF COURSE, and you are particularly excited about the fact that you are going to eventually have TWO little siblings. You tell this to everyone who will listen. First, you tell them all about the reproductive goings-on of my body – about your father’s sperm and my uterus and how the baby has eyelids now – and then you tell them all about how you have to wait a VERY. LONG. TIME. and then POOF! there will be ANOTHER! BABY! (LIKE! MAGIC!) “Only maybe not a baby, but maybe a kid, and maybe a brother named George,” you tell people. “It is called adoption,” you say.

The last two months have also been extraordinary for your development, most notably your recognition of letters, sounds, and words in both French and English. As soon as you started realizing that individual letters were present in words, you somehow figured out that this meant that letter shapes REPRESENT sounds, and your ability to discern words really took off. You recognize several words in both languages now. It’s amazing.

On that note, we recently registered you for attendance at a French immersion preschool two mornings a week in the fall. I am admittedly a little nervous about this because you and I have never spent so much time apart so consistently, but I think that long-term this will be good for you. We are still planning to home-educate you, but your father and I hope that such consistent exposure to French will help you build a solid foundation for future language study. At the very least, it will provide you with a community of French speakers and other young children who live locally, both of which I am sure we will rely on in the years to come.

The most, er, UPSETTING development of late has been your sudden, saddening decision to ~~maliciously torture me~~ give up your nap. You are not always successful, but boy do you try.

I know that we tell you this All.The.Time., but your father and I love you, darling girl. We love you with a thousand beating hearts and you are the light of our world. We love watching you grow, watching you spread your wings, watching you fly.

Love,
Momma and Daddy

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am twelve weeks pregnant.

On naming an entity the size of a lime.

2012-04-23T12:12:21Z

I am sure that there comes a point in every marriage when one spouse looks at the other and is nonplussed, maybe even irritated, by what they see – and in my marriage, that point happens to be intrinsically linked to naming a baby.

Donald and I are a perfect match for each other in many, many ways. Picking names just does not happen to be one of them. To understand this, to some extent you have to understand where we both come from when it comes to names.

Donald’s name is very common among men twenty to fifty years older than him…but there is a significant lack of Donalds born in his generation. The year he was born, his name was number 46 on the charts. As a result, my husband always swore that when he became a parent, he was not going to burden his children with names that their peers did not have. He wanted them to have popular, common names. No “old” names, no unique names, none of that balderdash. Donald likes the classics and mostly leans toward soft vowel sounds. We have him to thank for Charlotte’s first name.

Names that Donald likes: Benjamin, Samuel, Jacob, Olivia, Lily, and Amelia. All of these are in the top fifty names; Jacob has been in the top 10 names for nearly twenty years.

On the flip side, Sarah ranked number 5 the year I was born – and remains a popular name today. One year in school, I was one of SIX children in a class with my name (two of whom spelled it without an H). I swore that when I had children, I was not going to burden them with popular, common names that everyone else had. I’m not personally a huge fan of super-creative names or spellings – the infamous Abcde (Ab-sidy) or Jawknee (Johnny), for example – but I do like old names and foreign names and names inspired by nature or mythology. I also tend to prefer strong vowel sounds. We have me to thank for Charlotte’s middle name: Anaïs.

Names that I like: Hugh, Amos, Wyatt, Ruby, Clementine, Flora. The most popular of those are Wyatt (number 57), Ruby (number 113), and Hugh (number 963).

Sigh. Wish us luck.

What are some of your name favorites?

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am twelve weeks pregnant.

Friday notes: Jordin’s Journey and…bubbles.

2012-04-20T10:13:28Z

As a reminder for those of you who live in southern California and might be interested: the TGI Friday’s restaurant at The Block in Orange is hosting a benefit for Jordin’s Journey. You can go any time between 11:00 A.M. and 1:00 A.M. – just print out a flyer (that link should take you directly to the PDF) from the Jordin’s Journey website and you’re good to go!

Our family will be at the benefit this evening with some friends. We would love to see you there too, so if you do come please hunt us down and say hello! And either way, remember you can always donate via PayPal on the donation page at the Jordin’s Journey website.

Next week I will begin the features of shops who will be donating to Jordin’s Journey. Readers from this website in conjunction with a few private donors helped raised around $500 last week (I’m not certain what the percentages were so I can’t tell you how much readers from here helped exactly) (you can see the original post on the Jordin’s Journey Facebook page) and I am hoping that these shop features will contribute as well. For those of you who have donated, who have volunteered up your blog space, who have volunteered to donate a portion of your shop’s proceeds (if I have not e-mailed you back yet, fear not, I’ve just been sick but am carving out some time this weekend to respond to everyone)...THANK YOU. I cannot express enough how much we all appreciate this: my family, Jordin’s family, and the MANY families who will be helped by easier access to an SES machine. From all of us: THANK YOU! I will continue to keep you posted as to how the fundraising efforts go.

And because I simply have not been posting enough photographs lately, here is one from yesterday. Charlotte grabbed the bubbles and told me she needed to “blow bubbles for the trees.” CUTENESS.

Last but not least, one of my favorite features of Jill’s blog Baby Rabies (after the hilarity!) is that she posts the ages of her kids at the bottom of each post. I LOVE THIS and have decided to copy it. I wish I’d thought of it earlier, though, because it is going to take me approximately ten years to actually finish backdating everything.

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old. I am eleven weeks pregnant.

Her compassion.

2012-04-19T11:49:51Z

Yesterday afternoon I snapped at Charlotte because she made a mess in the bathroom while I was washing dishes – and you know what? IT WAS MY FAULT. I was too busy focusing on my activity to tend to her needs. From my daughter’s perspective, she had a problem and she resolved it without me. When I came back to find her, she was immensely proud of herself.

But I came back and I saw the mess and I said “NO! Charlotte! Why did you do this? You should not have done this!” and blah blah blah blah blah. I was too wrapped up in my own irritation at having one more mess to pick up to focus on how incredible it was that she’d solved her problem so inventively in the first place.

Her face fell faster than a lead weight. She looked at me like I had crushed her soul and she ran into the farthest corner away from me that she could reach and turned around and put her palms outward toward me. “STOP!” she said. “You are being MEAN, Momma! I AM NOT LIKING THIS! STOP! YOU NEED TO BE NICE!”

It stopped me dead in my tracks. It broke my heart.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said. “You were right to be proud of yourself. I’m sorry that I was so upset. I’m very proud of you for figuring out how to solve that problem yourself; I was just short-tempered because this mess could have been dangerous. Next time, please talk to me first. And you’re right; Momma should be nice too. It isn’t fair for me to ask you to be nice if I can’t be nice myself, huh?”

“NO IT IS NOT!” she said.

“Would you like a hug?” I asked. She shook her head. “Would you like me to sing a song?” I asked. She nodded.

So we sang. Bill Grogan’s Goat. She’ll Be Coming ‘Round The Mountain. Big Rocky Candy Mountain. Princess Pat. Sweetly Sings The Donkey. And when we were through, she was in my arms and I was rocking her slowly and smelling her hair and kissing the top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” I told her again. “I’m just so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Momma,” she said to me yesterday while she gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You are just sick. The baby makes you sick. You will feel better if you sleep. Do you want me to tuck you in?”

She tucked me in and then she curled up next to me and we sang songs until we both fell asleep. And when we woke up, everything was okay again. We cleaned up the mess together and we talked about bathroom safety and we finished the dishes. We talked about how proud I am of her and why and we talked about how important it is to be nice, no matter how tired Momma is. And then we told stories and made art and blew bubbles and fed the chickens and had a generally fantastic afternoon.

It will never cease to amaze me what a gem my daughter is. Truly.

** Charlotte is two years and eight months old. I am eleven weeks pregnant.

The heartbeat.

2012-04-17T12:05:13Z

Yesterday was my first midwifery appointment, so I pawned my daughter off on my unsuspecting (and infinitely patient) sister.

Sometimes people comment on this blog about how patient I seem, which just goes to show that blogs are really a miniscule snapshot of reality. My family scoffs at this description of me. Among the Schlothan clan, the name “Sarah” is synonymous with “IMPATIENCE PERSONIFIED” (also: “ridiculously opinionated” and “really bad at remembering punchlines”) and my sister’s name is synonymous with “saint.”

So I basically cobbled together a spare change of clothes and slingshot my kid at my saint of a sister and then I climbed in the car and drove to the birth center, where I proceeded to spend an hour and a half talking about my medical history and how NO, REALLY, I don’t drink.

It’s that fuzzy feeling in my throat, you know? I hate that feeling. I didn’t even drink at my wedding because I wasn’t about to have that fuzzy feeling in my throat ruining a big day. No, siree! I toasted the day with apple juice.

In fact, if you LIKE drinking then I highly suggest you go out of your way to make friends with someone like me who does not. Hello! DESIGNATED DRIVER! Why do you think my husband married me?!

It occurs to me now that my name may also be synonymous with BORING AS HELL. But I digress.

So yesterday, I woke up and I nursed Charlotte and I worried about the baby. I prepared breakfast and I worried about the baby. I gave Charlotte a bath and I worried about the baby. I showered and dressed and I worried about the baby. We brushed our teeth and I worried about the baby.

I swept the living room and I worried about the baby. We had a picnic snack and I worried about the baby. I drove to the birth center and I worried about the baby. I talked about my medical history and I worried about the baby. I peed in a cup and I worried about the baby.

And then FINALLY, I was instructed to lay back on a bed and unzip my pants and that long-awaited moment came when a magic wand covered with jelly the temperature of ice in Siberia was placed on my belly and…WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH. Suddenly it was all worth it: the morning sickness, the weeks of fear, the months of waiting, the grief following our miscarriage, the incessant worry, everything.

Laying there, listening to the thunder of my child’s heartbeat, was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

** Charlotte is two years and eight months old. I am eleven weeks pregnant.

Evidence that chickens will eat anything. And I mean ANYTHING.

2012-04-16T12:36:28Z

We found out that we were expecting the first weekend of March. I bought a pregnancy test on the way to a five-year-old’s birthday party and took the test in the bathroom while Charlotte and Donald made quality bounce-house memories together.

As it turned out, peeing on a stick was wholly unnecessary because four days later I woke up and smelled OXYGEN and began to heave. I tore off the covers, bolted out of bed, and weighed my options. The bathrooms had not yet been cleaned that week and because I am a prissy fool consumed by first-world luxury, I patently refuse to vomit into a toilet that has seen fecal matter more recently than it’s seen a sponge…so without really thinking about it, I ran outside.

I ran into the backyard, kneeled over a tomato plant, and just retched. I was amazed that there could still be food in my stomach after a night of sleep. Over and over my stomach clenched and any time something came up, I couldn’t help but be amazed at that fact.

When I was finished, I sat back on my legs and cried. My neighbor called at me through the fence to see if I was okay and I said yes, just ate something that didn’t agree with me, sorry he had to see that. And THAT made me cry harder because here I am throwing up all over myself and my half-dead tomato plant with bedhead and sweatpants and my neighbor is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and tending a perfectly manicured garden.

Then, suddenly, there was a squawk as one of the chickens realized with glee that she had just stumbled upon a jackpot. A vomit-licious jackpot. Within seconds, our chickens had flocked to scene of the grossness from every corner of the yard and gobbled down every shred of proof that I’d ever been ill.

For the record, I’m not sure I will ever be able to look at another egg quite the same.

** Charlotte is two years and eight months old. I am eleven weeks pregnant.