The Bourdon-Lowther Crew

Tiny Dancer

2011-06-03T20:08:00.000-07:00

Kensley has been dancing since she was 2; tap, ballet and jazz, adding lyrical, and hip-hop in later years. This year, as I helped her with hair and makeup, it hit me that she really is growing up. How many more recitals will I be blessed with? I can remember her first one like it was yesterday; apple juice dribbled onto the leotard, bobby-pins struggling to hold the hairpiece into her wispy strands, excitement bubbling up as she realizes she gets a dab of mama's lipstick before the performance. As the tiniest dancer, she gets to perform with her teacher in the closing act.....tears of joy just flowed from my eyes!

The tears haven't stopped. Every time I see my graceful, beautiful little girl on stage, I'm overwhelmed with thankfulness, gratefulness for the blessing of being her mother. Her adorable exterior pales in comparison to the shining soul she has inside. tonight, as we applied makeup, pulled hair into buns and searched for costume pieces, I realized I wouldn't trade what I have in life for anyone else's in the world. Tomorrow is the performance; I'll be taking a dishtowel, because mere Kleenex won't contain the flow of happiness from my eyes.

Thank you, Kensley, for the gifts you give me every day. I love you.

It's Mother's Day Eve!

2011-05-07T17:07:00.001-07:00

Whooo - pee. Blah. Being the mother of a hormonal almost-teenager who would rather disintegrate than give you the satisfaction of eye-to-eye contact doesn't leave you with much of a loving maternal glow. Jon tried to rally some interest in my offspring to make one of those infrequent treks to 'the mall' and focus on buying something for someone other than themselves; maybe for the one in whose uterus they resided once upon a time. The kindergartener was excited, until he learned that mom probably doesn't have much use for a prom dress, camo underwear, or a Nerf gun. Then he just wanted to go jump from the foamy trees and mushrooms in the middle. You may as well try to get blood from a turnip than expect enthusiasm from any other participant. My high schooler would have tried, if he hadn't been at an all day crew meet. Bless his heart, he's finally turned the corner on his trip back from the dark hole of middle-schoolness. Apparently, it's a long, tough climb out. The mere fact that I can see some light gives me hope for those following in his attitude-filled footsteps.

Sometimes, I want to scream: "Is it too much to ask for a little enthusiasm? For crying out loud, fake it if you have to. This part of your life may not be where my parental gifts and talents lie, but I'm trying my best! Every night I pray for wisdom, guidance to be the mother YOU need me to be, and for patience..sweet Jesus, I need that more than anything. I know I'm not a walk in the park. I know my mere existence cramps your style and embarrasses you to no end. I know you are smarter, braver and even better looking than I am. But, c'mon, give me a break! "

Then, I want to whisper; "I also know that you know not what you do. There is absolutely no way that you can comprehend that your cold shoulder and avoidance cut me deeper than anything else ever could. I miss the times that I held you, carried you, cuddled and kissed you, and curse every time I asked you to give me some space, and longed for a night out without you. I love you. I love you more now, with your indifferent grunts and exasperated sighs, than I did then. Nothing will ever change that...not even if your eyes get stuck in the permanent upward roll. "

Happy Mother's Day!

What is a Doula?

2011-05-03T09:19:00.001-07:00

The word doula is an ancient Greek word, meaning 'woman servant or slave'. In our modern culture, a doula is a woman with childbirth experience that offers emotional support and physical comfort measures to a family bringing a new member this side of the belly ~ in particularly, the mother.

I've been a doula for over a decade now, attending birth in four different hospitals, and many, many homes. To try to add a bit further of an explanation, I equate my responsibilities to those of a wedding planner ~ a birth planner! I help families formulate a birth plan specific to their educated, informed decisions (whether I agree with them or not :) ) Without good, independent perinatal education, it's difficult to even know all of the options available. With a good birth plan, approved by the caregiver during a prenatal appointment which I attend with my clients, everyone is on the same page. It's better to begin to discuss the aspects of birth that are most important earlier, rather than later. If a current caregiver doesn't support them, an expecting mama want to find one that will.

Birth plans are not legal documents, and childbirth is rarely textbook perfect. Each one is unique, requiring respect and understanding of the laboring mother. A couple will want to choose a birthing environment that makes them feels safe. Likewise, it is equally important to only allow a few supportive, caring people to attend the birth. Sometimes, extended family members work well in the birth setting; other situations, it's best to have them wait until the labor, birth, first feeding and babymoon are finished to visit. It is a doula's responsibility to ensure that the laboring woman/couple have the utmost happiness in their experience, with their wishes followed as closely as possible, in a loving, nurturing atmosphere.

Childbirth is a pivitol moment in each woman's life. When you visit with an elderly lady, she may not be able to tell you her name, or remember what she had for lunch. She will almost always tell you in, intimate detail, about the births of her children if you ask. It is my passionate hope that each woman's birth I attend results in a very happy memory, year after year. I give all of my energy, expertise and experience to make this happen.

Every new family member deserves a gentle beginning, full of love and happiness. Having a rewarding, positive first experience as a parent usually leads to the next step being successful, and the next, and the next, and so on. Peace on Earth begins with birth!

Processing and praying ~ running

2011-05-02T06:52:00.001-07:00

I must have had my head in the sand all last night, because I didn't know about the Bin Laden news until Jon woke me at 6 to run. Emotions are crazy things...they send you here and back and here again. Personally, I struggle to keep mine under control ~ the passion inside wells up in every area, during the most inconvenient of events, and when most are least expecting it. Just last week, during variety show tryouts, I was just crying because each child was so beautiful, so talented, and trying so hard. Not wanting to freak them out, I held it to mere sniffles, and somehow held back the welled-up tears.

So, when Jon told me about Bin Laden being killed, I went for a run to process and pray. You can do anything when you run that you normally wouldn't, and no one notices, because you are going by them so fast. So you can cry, laugh, throw your arms up in praise, punch optical illusions of those you are angry with...the list goes on. The 6 am time frame helps, also; not many people out to notice you're acting like you forgot to take some very important pills.

Where am I now? Proud of our troops, and thankful that while I was living my busy life, full of blessings and fun, they were putting theirs on the line so that I could. Rocking babies in the church nursery, helping women have great births, voicing my opposition to circumcision, volunteering in Kindergarten on Thursdays and attending Harmar Rowing Club meetings where I pretend to be a secretary, and write some stuff down to send out in email as 'minutes'..all of these little freedoms are fought for. Someone died so that I can. I don't forget this for a second.

Running takes you places..it mostly just takes me to the fountain and back home, then back home again from walking Kensley to the middle school...but it helps with processing and praying, which bring me to peace. A great destination.

Things that make you go hmmm

2011-04-22T07:38:00.000-07:00

I am considering going into the placenta processing business, if for no other reason than to thoroughly gross my kids. Holly led me through the entire process earlier this week, from washing the raw organ, to steaming it, then dehydrating, pulverizing and encapsulating the powder. Most of you who know me well know that I don't deal with meat unless it's boneless, skinless and wrapped in cellophane. This adventure was a big deal!

Watching a new life come into the world is definitely a great benefit to my job. Being bitten, squeeze-pinched, vomited on, and having your feet soaked by amniotic fluid are not. Women in truly natural-childbirth mode find their inner-animal, and react accordingly. Not far into the career, doulas learn to pack extra socks in their bag o' tricks ~ thinking of adding bite sticks, as well.

Of the seven deadly sins, sloth is my biggest problem. I could just sit and do nothing if given an opportunity. Thankfully, life has arranged itself so that I am rarely given that opportunity. Right now, as I try to put my heart, soul and brain to paper, I've been interrupted by children 5 times...and counting.

Reflecting this day, Good Friday, on what Mary must have felt, seeing her son tortured and killed. Putting myself into her place is a tough place to go in the mind.

Not sure why I don't have people over for dinner more often. Last night was a blast, and I'm glad I have friends who organize things like Supper Club, which 'forces' me to entertain. It really is enjoyable, and a gift I seldom use.

Since we had said event, my house was completely clean ~ every single room, all three floors. OK..maybe not the storage one in the attic, but all the rest. Thinking of keeping it this way. I like clean. I also like to be lazy, though, and the two don't mix well.

That's all.

The World According to Caden

2011-04-18T18:27:00.000-07:00

Returning from a lovely birth tonight, I went to Caden's bed to cuddle with him since he was still awake. Kensley popped in to ask about my night, and we discussed the benefits of low, moaning noises compared to high-pitched screams during contractions.

Apparently, Caden was drinking the conversation in. As I rubbed his back, kissed his curly head, and wondered how in the world I was going to get all that dirt out from under his fingernails (he'd made a gourmet specialty tonight ~ macaroni and mud), He asked if it were OK to laugh when you had a baby, if it happened to be a very funny baby inside, and told you a joke when it came out.

Yes, I'll keep this kid around, if for no other reason, the sheer entertainment of his presence. The problem is, you are never allowed to laugh. Ever. His conversations are very serious..unless he's talking about gas, poop, or other bathroom functions. Then it's OK, and he'll tell you that you probably should laugh. It's not OK, however, to laugh when he asks why in the world you'd go running out to an ice cream truck when you have perfectly good Chunky Monkey in the freezer, or tells you your birth scrubs look like 'A Japanese Death Suit' (?? yeah, I was lost, too).

Just Some Stuff That Made Me Smile This Week.

2011-04-16T18:57:00.000-07:00

A pooptext (received, not sent)

Lunch on the front porch of the Buckley house with my handsome husband

Lunch inside the Buckley house with my sweet friend, Holly

Discussing the story of David with my same sweet friend. You think YOUR family is dysfunctional? Check out David's story in 2nd Samuel. Still, he was a man after God's own heart. It gives me hope that my crazy efforts at serving Him are good, and thankful that His grace covers me when they go awry.

Buying ice cream for everyone who forgot their money in Mrs. Haught's kindergarten class.

Realizing how fortunate I am that even my big kids still like for me to 'tuck them in'.

Driving with Alex, and realizing that I didn't have to remind or correct anything he was doing.

Walking Kensley to dance class, and watching her eat a drippy ice cream cone on the way.

The gift of a chest freezer from a friend who didn't want it any more. We were planning to buy one, but free is so awesome!

Sun! Sun! Sun! a few rainshowers in the mix, but still, a lot of SUN!!

Watching Caden ride his bike ~ he's so much stronger and better at it than last year!

Seas of purple violets, with occasional dandelion islands.

Bidding on and winning the most perfect of perfect potluck pots at an auction

Walking Kensley to school, picking Holly and Andre up on our way. Kensley, sweet girl that she is, doesn't complain that she has two moms walking her to school

The anticipation of a birth any day.

Feeling God's message to my heart..and sharing it. Hope I remember to share it on Facebook tomorrow ~ it's good !

Dinner and a movie with two of my favorite men. Rio rocked. I highly recommend it.

Praying

2011-04-15T08:48:00.000-07:00

When someone you love is hurting, you may feel there is nothing you can do to ease the pain. Especially for far away friends, family, or even someone you haven't met, but felt led to pray for, there is a way to take a bit of their misery onto your own shoulders. By sending the love of Our Father via prayer, the comfort that he will afford them will ease their suffering; they will feel your love, and His.

I know from personal experience that you can feel prayer as tangibly as you can feel a hug, see it as if you've seen a friend walk into the room. There comes a time at the bottom of your dismal pit that you experience peace, rest, comfort. There is no other explanation for it but that the prayers of others have come to you, wrapped around you and begun the healing process when you did not have the strength to begin on your own.

Who is on your mind today? Who needs to feel your prayer?

Reading to my Child

2011-04-11T09:40:00.000-07:00

"Mama, will you read this to me?" Hoping against hope that it's a Little Critter book, or even better, a book about Jesus, I take a look at his offering ~ USKids History: Book of the American Civil War. Great. This child has accomplished what several teachers in my lifetime were never able to: Reading about and discussing history. Mr. Lachapelle would be proud. Reading to my children has been a joy to me for as long as I could remember. To this day I have every single letter's poem in the Dr. Seuss's ABC book memorized because it was Alex's favorite book for so long. Test me. Throw a letter at me the next time you see me. I'll recite! I remember hearing him use the word 'actually' at the mere age of two while reading a book that called a piece of machinery a 'snort'. My mind still echoes with the sweet little voice saying 'Actually, dat's a back-o (backhoe)'. I was thrilled when Kensley allowed me to read every single 'Little House' chapter book to her. Sharing my favorite childhood series with my daughter was a treasure! Even better, the following year we were blessed with a cross-country trip, which included a stop in Minnesota, at one of the Ingall's homeplaces. Never mind the subject of the book; what really matters is that for quite a while, that little boy will be cuddled close to me. In my arms, he will fold his long, thin body parts to accomodate my short frame. I know, more now than ever, to cherish these moments. I know he will grow older, would rather read his own books than to have my voice stumble along the general's names and battle's sites. I know it will soon be way too uncool to cuddle this close to me, even though he may want to still. I know that these moments are blessings, that God has given to me more than I could ever hope to ask.

2011-04-10T20:28:00.000-07:00

Sick

2011-04-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

For the past two days, I've been sick. That's one of the hardest things for me to admit, to give in to. I religiously take Sambuca, Vit. D, Vit C, Fish oil and a natural mulit-vitamin. Hundreds of dollars pass between my wallet and All Pro. Yet, something wasn't right. I had felt tired, very very tired for the past couple of weeks..maybe longer if I admit it. It's no wonder, with all of the late nights and early mornings, I told myself. It's nothing. Nothing? What if it *was* something? So, I gave in and visited my medicine man (aka Dr. Eric). A few labworks later, I found out I was on the road to diabetes and a heart attack. Thankfully, I've been granted a detour. My own death scares me, but not for myself. I am confident in the knowlege that to be absent from my body is to be present with my Lord. The rest would be heavenly..literally! However, I don't want my sweet children to finish growing up with no mama. I know that my older two would probably have to go live with their biological father, and be ripped from all of the friends and 'family' we've built into our lives in the past eight years. Caden would not only lose a parent, but siblings as well. Unless some miracle came through, Jon would be left to deal with the loss of a wife, children he loves as his own, and one lonely little boy. The mere thought of it makes me cry. Writing those words made tears stream down my cheeks. SO..it's on to a new game plan. With God's help, and the help of some great friends and encouragement from my family, I'll be eating much healthier and excersizing even more. I thought I was doing a good enough job most of the time, but, apparently, I was giving into my addiction to cake and french fries a little more often than I remembered....

Spring

2011-04-04T09:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, spring, why must you be such a tease? Beautiful sun, breezy and warm this morning is followed by damaging winds and the possibility of snow? Really? Spring, you are bipolar. Maybe if we throw some psych drugs into this windstorm, you will calm down, and begin to behave.

My body longs to be sundressed and flipflopped, with sunglasses holding back the hair that gently blows in the breeze, tickling my face. The turtlenecks are tired...the blue jeans need a rest. This house grows tired of our neverending presence, due to your pathetic weather conditions. My soul grows weary of the dark and dreary sky.

Enough is enough. The sunshine in my heart is being squelched.

Getting older

2011-03-28T06:50:00.001-07:00

Turning 40 last year was a milestone, and caused an inventory-taking look at body, mind, soul. Here's what I came up with so far: 1. Doing the job you were put on this planet to do is important. How do you know what it might be? Try reading the bible, spending time *alone* with God, and asking him to speak with you about said path. It's still not crystal clear, but I'm a little dense. Still, I'm beginning to see a light here and there. 2. My children are my heart. I love them more than I love anyone else on this Earth; I love every single thing about them, right down to the mole on their second toe, their crazy shenanigans or their gentle, caring spirit. Every day is spent taking care of them, not as a chore, but in such a way that they know that they know that the know how much I love them. Parenting with intent and purpose ~ it's a good thing! 3. My dear, sweet, funny husband got let off the hook this year. He rescued me when I was a single mom with two babies, looking at a subsidized apartment, along with other government assistance, all while working a full time job and being a full time student. Missing those early years of my childrens lives would have been devastating to me. I held him to the standards of a savior, a God even; he *did* save me, after all. This year, I decided to let him down from the pedestal, and join the human race. Happily married doesn't even begin to cover it. 4. Move more, eat less, or you will turn into the tiny, round Italian meatball all of your dad's family has either had to fight or become. This doesn't mean a casual stroll downtown to have lunch. It's pavement pounding, sweating-til-you-smell running, every day. Every . Single . Day. 5. Look at everyone through eyes that see their soul, seeing past any rough exterior or pretend personality. Love them all, even the bad ones, for they are the most desperate for it. That covers the basics, I've also learned that asparagus and broccoli are ok (it only took me 40 years to come to that conclusion), but I still have to fight my carboholic tendencies.

Jeepers, Creepers!

2011-03-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

Kensley has always had uh-MAZ-ing eyes. From the moment she was born, they peered back at everyone in milky blue perfection. Alex nicknamed her Fishy-eyes the day they met, and her father worried about the fact that I'd let him bring a little tree frog in to play with a few days earlier. He thougth it had 'marked' the baby, and she was destined to look like an amphibian. This kid had some remarkably large peepers, set into a teeny little face; a few months later, she grew the most lovely dark, long, brown lashes to frame them.

I've always taken such great delight in her sparkling, beautiful eyes. Having everyone make the most wonderful compliments to her made it difficult to remain humble. I had been the manufacturer, after all. Then...it happened.

She perfected 'the eyeroll'.

Now, anytime I look at her sweet face, I stand the chance of seeing them roll skyward. These beautiful eyes, the ones anyone could get lost in, have turned into the ultimate mom-weapon. My deep, relaxing breathing has improved significantly since she learned her new trick, and I go to my happy place so often, I bought my own condo there. It's pink....

Vision Therapy

2011-03-21T19:30:00.000-07:00

Hearing me sing the praises of vision therapy isn't anything new; those months spent travelling to Columbus with my homeschooling girl and preschool boy were the best investment I've made in Caden so far, and I'm sure you're tired of hearing about the miracle that I know it was. Every time I see him enjoy something that he previously was too afraid to detach from my body to even try to experience, I get a little emotional. This year brought his first ride on a kiddie roller coaster, and other bigger-kiddy rides (before now, he was even afraid of most of the baby ones). He played on his first real soccer team, and is trying really hard to control those scissors and crayons!

Most importantly, this kid learned to jump off of and climb up on things. Never in his 5+ years did he jump down..from anything. Climbing was limited to how far I could reach to hold on to him, because he wasn't going solo. Being evaluated by the vision therapist made us realize that the kid had little to no depth perception, and didn't see 'in 3-D'. His world was flat, and he was having trouble navigating the round one the rest of us lived in. No wonder he just sat with his mama when everyone else was playing. Our family doc was convinced that he has Asperger's Syndrome, or was 'somewhere on the spectrum', because of his lack of interaction with his peers. I knew he really enjoyed playing quietly with other kids, when he could find one that would stand still long enough to play with him. We had him evaluated for autism at Children's in Columbus, just to but that worry to rest once and for all.

On our trip to Old Man's Cave this past weekend, this wild man of mine climbed trees, rocks and his dad, just to jump off again. He ran into the dark crevices of the rock structures, balanced on fallen logs, and gave me heart attacks from running too close to the edge of the cliffs. Drawing in dirt with sticks, and sliding down muddy trails to try to be one with the 6 year old indian kids of long ago (because they didn't have real playgrounds) were all on his agenda.

Had we not discovered, and believed in vision therapy enough to take a major chunk out of our lives to make it happen, I am positive he would have spent yesterday clinging to my body, freaking out in fear and resorting to spending the day playing quietly in the car while we waited for everyone else to finish hiking. So, when you see me witha goofy grin on my face, and a tear rolling down my cheek when my kid is in the crazy-zone, it's probably because I'm 'having a moment'; a moment of thankfulness and gratitude for my son who has turned 'all boy'.

Just some thoughts...

2011-03-19T05:41:00.000-07:00

I just paid my son's crew fees. For those of you who don't know, it's several hundreds of dollars, not counting the extra clothing, travel expenses, etc. We are, most definitely, a middle-class family, owning a house (home ownership is overrated. We'd rather rent a condo), cars (again, I'm wondering if leasing is a better option), and being able to pay for our clothing (even if it does come from a thrift shop occasionally), utilities and food without government assistance. Besides those claims to fame, we have to be very careful with where the rest of it goes. We are not a family of 4 ~ double that. Our output could easily exceed our income if we were not careful. Crew is not a 'wow, that's steep' kind of expense for us. It's a 'let's start planning, because we'll have crew fees in a few months' frame of mind.

I'm not begrudging the kid his crew fees. Being a part of this team, a 6-day a week, 3 hour a day commitment, has done wonders for increasing his maturity level and reducing the shenanigan-type behaviors. The coach, though young, seems to have a genuine heart for these boys, and a desire to see them succeed. For this reason, crew fees = bargain of the century, to me.

Row on, Buddy, Row on!

Stay off the sidewalks!

2011-03-17T13:38:00.001-07:00

After one previously unsuccessful attempt, the luck o' the Irish was with Alex today. When he pushed his chair back and smiled, I knew he'd made it to 30 correct questions without missing more than 6. It really does pay to actually read that little booklet they hand out. Consider this your warning; stay off the sidewalks and keep your children indoors. Almost 16-year-old-boy is at the wheel.

Thinking it was good enough to stop behind the car at the stop sign, and not actually again when it was your turn at the intersection was probably his only major mistake, but he has a lead foot. My dad would say 'just like his mama', but I quit driving that fast years ago when I strapped my first baby-bucket car seat into the middle rear of my Caymen Green Topaz.

That car seat held the most precious being I'd ever had the privilege of knowing so far, and he was all mine ~ all six pounds of him. The thought of driving him around, that there might be a teenage boy driving along and not paying attention, who might cause harm to one of the brown peach-fuzzy hairs on his head, made me stay home. A lot. Now he IS a teenage boy who I hope and pray will be paying full attention as we learn that *each* car has to stop at the stop sign, not just the one in front. How did we get here already? I can still remember wondering how I would ever be able to allow him out of my sight, deciding that it really wasn't so weird to be a 40 year old man living with your mama (as long as it was Alex), and that public schools were probably overrated and homeschooling him would be a much better idea.

If you ever thought you might want to talk to God a lot more often, I would highly suggest giving a huge part of your heart to a kid like Alex. He's been stitched, stapled, steri-stripped, glued, slung and casted back together more times than I care to list. Climbing up bookshelves, running headlong into things (was the kid running with his eyes closed?!), dancing jigs in the bathtub, rolling from a couch into the corner of a coffee table (at the age of 7, years ~ not months), flying from speeding bikes, stepping on rusty nails, jumping down a flight of stairs, and slamming his hand into car doors; these are just the highlights.

Now...he's going to be driving alone soon. I'll blink again, and he'll be driving alone ~ off to college.

Things You Learn When Your Dad Answers Your Mom's Cell Phone

2011-03-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

I'm still laughing....

I quote:

~ Your mom is down there at the far (fire) department, shaking her ass with that floozie and all those fat women. (She's taking a Zumba class).

~ The never-ending fence building (he owns 200+ acres) has commenced after a long winter's break. No, I don't need any help. Since I started building fence, it helps me stay out of trouble. It's like therapy. I haven't been to a bar or a whorehouse since I started again! (He's the most devout of Catholic worshipers I've ever met in my life)

~ Crew costs WHAT??!! I hope to everything holy they are giving him a gold-lined boat to row in!

~ I don't know why I don't buy a new tractor, they just don't make them like the MFer I've got any more. Some new gaskets and a coat of paint is all she needs. (Massey Ferguson, not the other MF word)

~ I'm sure glad you decided to let Jon hang around. He's a good guy. I'm glad he didn't take me serious when I said I'd kill him. He didn't think I meant it, right?

~ You be safe, Baby, and drive smart. I want to see you when I come down to watch Alex row in one of those damn gold-plated boats.

::sigh:: I'm homesick.

Prejudice is Alive and Well

2011-03-16T10:27:00.000-07:00

Maybe I'm oblivious, but I don't see a lot of prejudicial behaviors in public, except for one sector: Teenage boys. I've been out without my own, and watched store owners and patrons, pedestrians and other general-public-types take closer looks, become 'alert' , and raise eyebrows in a "I've got my eye on you" kind of way. They are being pre-judged based on age/gender.

Now, granted, this particular group of humans does have its downfalls. They are, every one of them, experiencing surging hormones along with the infamous frontal lobe regression. Some have driven their parents to the brink of insanity, and then left the house to see whom they could deliver there next. Some were never taught to respect other people and their possessions. Some have been hurt beyond anything we are capable of comprehending, and don't have what it takes to control their outlashes at a society that failed them.

But, in the grand scheme, most of them are good boys. I've spent hours at cross-country meets, crew meets, field trips all over the MOV and beyond, volunteering in classrooms, with smaller groups of them in my attic, in my kitchen, and my back yard. There's really only one that I've banned from the house, and that was because he had had way more than three strikes, and seemed to show no remorse for breaking rule after rule after rule. (and I'm not talking about small infractions. This kid was out for destruction of anything my family held in esteem or guarded as holy, and laughed like a demon when he accomplished it). All in all, these are good kids. They are bigger, smellier, louder and roudier than the cute little boys you once dressed in baby blue and cooed over, but they are the same being, and, inside, still want to be smiled at and loved.

The next time a teenage boy walks into a place of business, passes you on the sidewalk or rides his bike past your lawn, give him a smile and a wave...it might be the first one he's had all day. Remember, your adorable little tykes are going to grow into these awkward, finding-myself creatures one day. How do you want people to respond to them?

IF I had been on Facebook at all...

2011-03-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon is *really* looking forward to being sundressed and flip-flopped. C'mon, sun, shine harder!

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon is really getting tired of hearing people say 'WINNING' all the time.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon visited the Small Business Administration today, and walked out with a handful of information, and signed up for some free classes. The exploration has begun.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon has a freshly bathed and brushed Shih Tzu.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon and Jon should have given up the *same* thing for Lent. If I have a glass of wine with dinner, he retaliates by updating his status on Facebook.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon is REALLY enjoying the Beth Moore study of David. Really.

5 year old seatmate

2011-03-12T15:00:00.001-08:00

As I settled in with a good magazine in the charter bus on its way to a kid's retreat, I felt someone staring at me. When I saw the most adorable, blue-eyed five year old's face looking at mine, I didn't imagine I'd get much reading accomplished, as I asked if she would like to sit beside me, and she pushed past into the window seat.

You learn interesting things when a five year old becomes your seatmate. Her favorite topic of discussion was her phlegm dilema ~ too much of it. She took great delight in describing each detail of how it felt when it came up her throat, the taste of it in her mouth, the color, the voluminous amount that she managed to cough out last night and the cause: having a piece of her mother's birthday cake. Apparently, she needs to be on a gluten-free diet.

The pleasure was also mine of being introduced to 'Cutie', who happened to be a stuffed kitten along for the trip. Cutie loved to lick people, and demonstrated this several times. I was rewarded by being shown all of Cutie's tricks, including some dance moves and yoga positions. Just when you thought there wasn't anything more, you discovered that the cat wasn't an ordinary one. Oh no! This cat could TALK, and talk it did. When Little Miss Seatmate wasn't talking, Cutie was.

I had the pants beaten off of me in tic-tac-toe, and learned the names of each of LMS's immediate and extended family. I was shown the special lunch packed just for her (smart girl! the bagged lunch I was rewarded with later that day was dismal at best. Thank God it contained Oreos and an apple, or I would have starved), and allowed the privilege of carrying her jacket. Once we got there, I learned that I had not only shared a seat, but earned myself a close companion for the day. She never left my side, and was usually on my lap or hip.

At the end of the day, on the way home, she fell asleep on my shoulder. As much as my ear were ringing from the incessant chatter, I missed it. My own little girl is almost a teenager, and not nearly as enthralled with my attention as this little one was today...but she used to be. She used to release so many words from her little mouth that I could almost see them weaving through the air. Sometimes, she would ask; Am I talking too much, Mommy? I hope I always said 'no'.

Day 3 of No Facebook.

2011-03-11T15:40:00.000-08:00

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon doesn't come home with the run-of-the-mill library books. Among our new and exciting titles are: Learn to speak Spanish, Civil War Spies, United States Government for kids: The Presidency and Patriotism. At least we aren't reading Spongebob and Barnacle Boy.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon could think of many more fun ways to blow a thousand bucks than paying property tax.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon is beginning to hope her house has some bouyancy....

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon is happy that her dear friends are actually texting their Facebook statuses to her phone. It's kind of pathetic, but it's also awesome.

In other news...

2011-03-10T16:10:00.001-08:00

From the *AWKWARD* department ~

My son informed me that he was giving up soda for Lent ~ Alex, not Caden. Because his friends think it's funny to follow me on Twitter, I follow them as well. As a result, I know that soda is *not* what they are giving up for Lent. I also know that I won't have to worry about interrupting anything when I go into his bedroom at night to be sure he is A) breathing, B) covered up from the drafts and C) hasn't jumped from the balcony to TP the middle school. Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it.

Said son turns 16 this month. The mixed emotions of less drop-em-off-pick-em-up time (kind of a wooohooo feeling), and sheer terror of letting this maniac of a boy behind the wheel of a car are something I have to come to terms with in the next 6 months. I will probably be back on Facebook by then, and will warn you of when to stay off of the sidewalks.

All in all, Alex is becoming quite the fine young canibal..err..I mean man. His dedication to crew, his ability to use his frontal lobe from time to time and his passionate, caring heart beating under it all are just a few of my favorite things, just a few of the things that make me smile, squeeze his shoulder, and give thanks to God for allowing me to be his mama.

Things I Wanted to Post on Facebook

2011-03-10T11:46:00.000-08:00

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon wishes she hadn't brought the industrial-sized tub o' cookie dough into the house.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon's little boy is one smart cookie. His first venture into the 'hot lunch' world left him wondering what the fuss was about. Apparently, mechanically-seperated-chicken isn't his thing!

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon would rather have snow than the cold, wet sludge on the ground now.

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon and Jon Michael Bourdon celebrated Empty House Afternoon with a rainy-day nap :) (yes, *just* a nap)

Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon must have been on some pretty strong drugs to decide to give up Facebook for Lent.

I would have taken a picture of the Muskingum across the street, now edging its way up the parking lot under the bridge, and made some quippy quote about building an ark.

I would have taken a picture of Caden skipping to school in his fire fighter rainboots, and professed some love :)

Yes, Crysta Venettozzi Bourdon misses her some Facebook time!

What I wanted to say was.....

2011-03-10T05:14:00.001-08:00

Facebook is blogging for those of us with ADHD. I have yet to have anyone professionally diagnose me as such, but I'm sure if there is a test, I'll pass with flying colors. I have quick, fleeting thougths, and have a Droid with an app to record them. It might be fun to get a compilation of all of my posts to Facebook ~ I may have already written a book, and not even know it.

Life here at the bungalow is just funny. The 20somethings that come and go, searching for life's path, the teens that think they know it all and can't believe they have to live under our rule of lesser intelligence, the 6-year-old ~ cute, quirky and always cracking a line or two to make you pee your pants trying *not* to laugh at him, and Jon and Myself, strapped in tight and enjoying the loop-de-loops of life. Yes, it's a sit-com waiting to be played out by taller, made-up, liposuctioned movie stars.

The little blurbs I post each day when something strikes me as noteworthy are glimpses into our life, and a peek into my soul. You can easily guess what my passions are and where my treasure lies; I don't wear my heart on my sleeve ~ I post it on Facebook.

Day one, not so bad.

2011-03-09T19:24:00.000-08:00

Today, my children had a two hour delay, so I stayed in bed longer than usual. I always like a good morning to sleep in, but there was also an alterior motive. Facebook is usually my ten minute wake up call, my chance to get both eyes open and some caffeinated Vitamin Water in and running before I have to kick it into high gear. This morning, I stayed in bed until the last possible moment, avoiding the siren's call to log in.

Then, there's the problem of the smart phone. My ancient Droid has the Facebook app, and, at least 10 times today, I hit the damn F icon. Good grief, is the addiction that strong? Not many people think I'll be able to make it the entire Lenten season. They may be right. But, for today, I've kept my resolution. I didn't really have time to do anything significant with my usual time I would dedicate to 'checking Facebook', but surely that will come after several days.

I miss it. Immensely.

I'm giving up Facebook for Lent ~ am I NUTS?!

2011-03-08T10:46:00.000-08:00

In my ever-forward-moving attempt at understanding and relating to the God that created me, the God to whom I owe everything, down to the breath I just exhaled, deciding what to give up for Lent this year became a different experience; more significant.

Rather recently, I've discovered that I have developed a distaste for religions and the rule followers within them. Not that I don't try to follow them myself, but, if that's your main goal, you're really missing the point. God wants us to believe in His son, everything He taught us, and to passionately persue a relationship with Him. Without the flesh and bones I've grown to know and love as a human, it's been difficult for me. I've felt holy presences surrounding me, very strongly, several times in my life, but wished for something more concrete. The struggle is still there, but I'm learning to work around it.

Giving up Facebook for Lent is a HUGE leap of faith. I still have not formulated a plan for dealing with my withdrawl. I know that I must replace it with something positive, and have faith that it will happen. There is a birth scheduled somewhere within those 40 days, and I'll fill in the rest with good things.

Playing the 'villes, the 'burgs or the 'wars was never something I was into. People are my passion. Being in the presence of another human makes my soul sing! Learning more about the people I love, and interacting with them daily, no matter how far away they may be are the drugs that keep me addicted to Facebook. Oh, how I will miss this...

So, my friends, stay in touch! Call, text or stop by; and, if you really want to know what I'm up to, I'll be blogging here . I will make my final post tonight, after what promises to be a fun Fat Tuesday party, on Facebook. Then, for 40 days, we'll see where the Spirit leads!

Guys in my pocket.

2010-09-01T06:46:00.000-07:00

Walking Caden to school has been the sweetest part of my days since he started Kindergarten last week. After dealing with sleepy-eyed, surly teens, barely masking their demands as requests, his smiling little face and chatty good humor are a refreshing turn in the morning road. Every morning, he asks the same thing "Can we be guys on the way to school?"

This activity of making inanimate hunks of plastic come to life with voice and movement isn't a totally foreign concept. When the plastic was in Barbie form, I could do it for hours in my early years. Having my mother's afternoon soap operas to provide lots of dramatic scenario ideas, these dolls lived on the brink of ecstasy or disaster every moment. Plastic in Transformer, Lego, Power Ranger or other boyishly masculine form is a lot more challenging. Power Rangers don't go on dates, or find out they have a terminal illness. Nor do they fight over who gets the man. They pretty much just defend the citizens with any means necessary while they are on patrol of the 4 blocks between here and Washington Elementary School. There is a bit of drama when the enemy is the next block over, but the evil 'Don't Walk' sign is mockingly preventing us from destroying him. These adventures are a real 'think outside the box' activity for me.

After he's marched in a line to Mrs. Haught's classroom, I am left holding 'the guys'. They become symbolic, a precious reminder of our brief time together on the trek to school. They are very carefully deposited deep into my pocket, so I can place them on his bureau, and he can smile a little, too, when he comes home and remembers the morning.

violated

2010-08-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

After 6+ months of hip pain during walking/cycling, I decided that is wasn't going to jusst go away. Diagnosis: Bursitis. Great. I've just turned 40 and my body is failing already. Exploration of treatment options landed me in the quick-fix first; a shot of cortisone directly into the joint. The very thought of it was nauseating, but with a trek around the Ohio State Fair looming just days ahead, it seemed the best route.

This morning, injection day, the queasiness hit. Why in the world was I being SUCH a baby? I was in tears thinking of what was to come. Sitting in the doctor's office, and wishing I'd had a valium margarita for breakfast, my heart was pounding out of my chest. Where was this fear coming from? The utter dread of this needle was not typical; not for me.

After a few OH MY GOD!!s, the procedure was over. On the drive home, it hit me. I hadn't had a needle in my body since Caden was born. Caden's birth was traumatic, and I'm still healing from it. I had a total flashback to this time. The violations to my body were numerous, and , some, without consent. I was so angry and scared that my beautiful homebirth had turned into this medically managed freak show that I have forever scars on my heart...and, sometimes, an unrelated event will irritate them.

Thankfully, my loving Jon was there, to talk and make it all better with lunch at the Levy House . The blessing of a sweet, supportive family is mine, and I thank God for their healing and His in my life.

mean girls

2010-04-24T13:37:00.000-07:00

I would rather have my wonderful group of friends suddenly turn their backs and disown me, than to watch my little girl see the people who she thought were her friends turn their cold nasty little backs on her. She's not a perfect girl, but truly has a servant's heart, and a giving spirit. This makes her an easy target. These girls know if they need to exclude, to have a target, to gossip, that she is one who will forgive, forget, and go to the movies with them the next weekend.

Social networking makes it even worse. Seeing pictures posted of fun times, sleepovers and parties that she didn't get invited to make her withdrawn, sullen and wondering what is wrong with her. No matter how many times we do the mall, paint our toenails or walk downtown to check out the newest Troll beads, a mom is no substitute for girlfriends. I'm too old, and she knows I'm just trying to make things up to her..things I didn't do; things she didn't cause.

The pain of middle school mean girl syndrome shows up as blue eyes that don't sparkle, a perfectly bowed mouth with corners pointing down and hours of endlessly watching TV. She thinks her belly is too big, her clothes aren't good enough, her house not in the right location. My sweet girl never had problems making or keeping friends until this year. Deciding to homeschool for the first time was probably a major cause; not only would she not defend herself in the first place, but, she isn't someone they have to face each day, knowing how cruel they've been. This is the girl that, in kindergarten, had to have the teacher draw names from a coffee cup to see whose turn it was to sit beside her, or they'd all push and shove in a 5 year old mosh pit to secure the coveted spot.

I'd give anything..anything at all for this pain to be taken from her. I remember it well myself, and am sure these little girls who are being mean to her have learned it well from another. Why is it this way? Is there a way to end it? Am I the only mother that teaches The Golden Rule?

Then Along Came Caden

2010-04-18T18:41:00.000-07:00

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning" (psalm 30:5). Clinging to this promise, and many others was truly the only way we managed to move onto another attempt at bringing a new person into our lives. The loss of Keaton, followed closely by an earlier 'miscarriage' left us scared, bewildered and longing even more for a baby. Having lost all faith in my body's ability to produce a living, breathing, full term infant, I tossed aside any hope of a home birth, and went full medical model.

Once the pregnancy was acheived, I became strangely excited and peaceful. Acknowledging my lack of control over anything, my mantra became : I am living in this moment, thankful for the last, and hopeful for the next. The new being growing underneath my heart was not guaranteed to be there for any length of time, so I enjoyed it fully every moment, and didn't think about the next very much. This strategy worked for about 15 weeks.

One morning, the sheets felt strangely wet. Throwing back the covers, my eyes fell upon the bright red stains on the bed, and my heart fell into my stomache...not again..please, God, not again. Jon managed to get me to the doctor's office, and he grimaced, led me down the hallway to the dreaded ultrasound machine. His words were "Let's see what we still have to deal with". I didn't even look at the screen, unable to bear the image of one more still baby. "Look, Crysta.".

"No."

"Look!"

The perfect little baby was turning, waving and had a gloriously bleeping heart! The scare wasn't over, but, I was thankful, once again, for that moment, and lived right there. I was sent home on bedrest, hoping for the best...and not preparing for anything.

Life on the couch with a 5 and 9 year old was difficult at best. Jon came home as often as he could, and women from church took my children to and picked them up from school, ballet, karate, etc. My mother drove to Marietta once weekly and did grocery shopping and cleaned. It was so difficult to not care for my other children. I hated it what this pregnancy was doing to them. So many sentences began with "If this baby doesn't die...." Somehow, we made it through.

Around 37 weeks, bloodwork and other tests indicated that my body was going into pre eclampsia. With the recommendation of labor induction, Caden was on his way. In the hospital, as the water was broken, pit drip started, I cried uncontrollably for the loss of my other babies, the loss of the lovely, gentle birth I had once envisioned. I knew it was going to be cruel and against all that I beleived, but, maybe, just maybe, I would leave the hospital with a live baby. I kept his monitor turned up full blast the entire time, the booming of his heartbeat mixed with my sobs as I accepted an epidural. It did little to ease the pain .. the emotional pain was much more severe than the forced labor. Finally, it was time to push, and his heart rate went down with each push..once it was in the single digits. I gave up, and stopped. I was sure this baby would not survive this final step. He was vacuum extracted from my body, and whisked to the warmer. He was floppy, blue, and silent.

Then, he cried. He cried! They finally brought him back, burritoed up, and I didnt even remember to unwrap him and put him on my skin. He was so beautiful, and looked nothing like me. It was as if Jon Bourdon had cloned himself. My heart opened, and all of the love I'd been reserving, holding back, protecting, spilled into this baby boy. I finally unwrapped him, cuddled him , nursed him, and held him all night. There was probably a rule against that, but the nurses said nothing. The next morning, he was still there, alive and breathing..and the next, and the next..

Five years later, he's still here. My curly-headed little boy, quirky and laid back. He's sweet and cuddly, not really your typical 'boy'. I've been overly protective, fiercely loving, and have tried to remember to live in the moment with all three of my children. I still am thankful for the last moment, hopeful for the next, but living in the present one (most of the time).

How much stuff do we really need, anyway?

2010-04-06T13:07:00.000-07:00

Our local parenting group had a mom ask this question: How many clothing items does a child need? In the beginning, my only answer is: A LOT. fluids spew and leak out of every opening in a new baby ~ poop, pee, spitup, drool..you name it, it gets on their clothes (and yours). Changing my new baby's clothing occurred about as frequently as a cuckoo visits on some days. Those baby showers that resulted in endless onesies and stretchies were a blessing, for sure!

Once a child gets past that stage of uncontrollable sliminess, (what, around 3? 5?), how many clothing items do you need, exactly? One mama confessed to 40 dresses! I used to collect every cute new outfit, in each bright color. Why not dress them in cute clothes, isn't that why we had them in the first place? ;) soon, though, you realize that more clothing = more laundry. Only keep what you want to wash. So, how much do you enjoy laundry?

Here's what we do:

3 pairs of PJs (we rewear them unless they get food or other messiness on them)
enough of everything else to last one week, with a few (and I mean very few) extras thrown in for the sheer sake of variety. 2 swimsuits are enough for anyone ~ one to wear, one to wash/dry.

Kids seem to go through phases of clothing preferrences. Kensley would only wear dresses and dance leotards when she was three. By age four, she was open to other clothing choices...as long as leopard or zebra print was involved. Sometimes, it's only jeans, only sweatsuits, only PJs ( I did draw the line at school and church ~ they had to wear actually clothing) If your kids won't wear it, get rid of it. Don't pay full retail for anything, and it's not a huge loss. Plus, donating makees you feel good :)

The decluttering of drawers and closets makes it easier for even a young child to put away their own laundry. Bonus! Our old house has very few closets, and those we do have a miniscuole compared to modern ones. When the house was constructed, the people who lived here only needed three changes ~ one to wear, one to wash, one to go to church. We don't need to go to that extreme, but, we could take a lesson.

The Cleaning People are coming ~ The Cleaning People are coming!

2010-04-06T04:27:00.000-07:00

Hiring professionals to do the job that really just irks me ~ cleaning the house ~ really is a blessing. We do not have fancy cars, and our house is a rumbly, tumbly victorian, 103 years old, in need of a paint job and a garage door. Caviar, family jaunts to Europe, and purses that cost more than $20 are out of the question under the Bourdon-Lowther family management. If it's not on clearance sale, or at least qualifies for a coupon discount, it is not purchased. But, cleaning people are about as essential as bread and socks, in my humble opinion. Knowing they are coming every couple of weeks gives us a chance to run around like crazy people, organizing, picking up and de-cluttering. We would probably drown in our own filth if it weren't for these special days.

I am such a believer, I've become a sales associate for Precision Cleaning. As usual, I don't do anything *just* for the money, although, I enjoy money, and take it any time someone wants to give it to me (usually to just give it away to a kid who needs lunch money or new guitar strings). Truly, this is a mission to free the masses from the domestic drudgery that plagues our society. Yes, I have several missions in life, including childbirth choices for all, and freeing the world of rude, mean kids. Don't worry. I have enough passion to spread it around a little.

What are YOU doing this evening? Dusting the blinds? Scrubbing the floors? Cleaning the TOILET?! Seriously? Time is money, folks, especially when you have children. Some people beleive you cannot buy time. That is not true; not at all. By paying professionals to do it, and do it right, you've bought yourself precious hours to take a walk, put together a puzzle, and/or bond over a game of Scrabble ~ or go to bed pissed because you lost. Either way, your day didn't include pulling the microwave out to clean all the stuff that has accumlated behind it.

You should free yourself. Call me. I'll give you the 4-1-1!

Keaton

2010-04-04T18:29:00.000-07:00

Unless you and I are intimately close, you may not know that, in that 6 year space between Kensley and Caden, another little boy carved his way into my heart. Sharing him with everyone really isn't comfortable in casual conversation, and bringing it up later really isn't, either. Because I am hypersensitive to another being inhabiting my body, I knew even before the stick revealed its heart (no plus sign test for me..I found one with a heart!) that there was yet another soul dancing under mine. After months of 'trying' (which is fun ;) ) we were at 'Mission Accomplished' status. I was having a baby with the love of my life, and couldn't wait to share him with my two little loves, Alex and Kensley.

The pregnancy was bumpy from the start ~ bleeding, cramping, horrible nausea and exhaustion. Chalking it up to being in my 30s, rather than 20s, like my first two, I still never imagined what was to come. After a day or two of nonspecific sickness and dread that I couldn't put my finger on, I went to a routine OB visit, which already had an ultrasound scheduled.

On the table, with the cold gel on my belly, the lab tech ran the transducer over my abdomen. Being almost 19 weeks pregnant, maybe she could tell me the sex of the baby. For some unknown and odd reason, they like you to come back alone first, then they bring your husband/partner/family back with you. Alone, on the table, waiting to hear 'boy or girl', the tech called another person from the office back, and they looked at each other, nodding. They had still not let me see the screen, so I twisted myself to get a look. It was terrible~no bleeping heart; in fact, no movement at all. The words that followed echo to this day in the empty part of my heart: "I'm so sorry. Your baby did not survive the pregnancy".

Peering at the screen, hoping to see something different, I saw my poor, sweet baby, curled at the bottom of my uterus, unmoving. The tech said she would go get my family. NO! The pain was excruciating; I didn't want to share it. To Jon, and 4 year old Kensley, the baby was still alive, still growing. The hope and promise of it was still in their hearts, where the stabbing pain now inhabited mine. Although I refused, thinking I would just sit on that table forever and never allow them to know, someone watched Kensley while Jon joined me. His face was so pale; he didn't know what was wrong yet, and I found it impossible to speak the words. "What's wrong with our baby?", he asked. I have a huge blank after this; someone must have told him. I remember pieces of time as snapshots in an album. Kensley asked "Will we ever stop crying, because it's too sad to ever stop?". Alex drew me pictures of Pokemon that had word bubbles saying "cheer up, mom".

Since my body was still clinging to this lifeless little body, an induction was scheduled. The medicine made me so sick, I felt like the worst flu ever had invaded. Vomiting, diarrhea and the worst cramping and aching, along with a heart that had shattered were my new reality for the next few hours. Finally, in the early hours of the next morning, my body finally released. I'd refused pain medicine, wanting to be awake to at least hold him, and being afraid of it making me sleep. Jon somehow convinced them to give me something anyway. It took that drug, I beleive, to make my body relax enough to give the baby up. Physically, I didn't know he'd died. It wasn't time for him to come, and my body was holding tight to him.

The tiny, perfect boy was the most precious person I'd ever had the privilege of holding. His eyes were still fused shut, so he looked just like he was sleeping. His translucent skin was hairy everywhere. I remember being amazed at his fingernails; they were barbie-doll sized. The tiniest little body, this boy was perfect and complete. Weighing in at only 12 ounces, and measuring a mere 8 inches long, he looked like the baby dolls I'd played with so long ago. I was actually enjoying looking at him, holding him, being his mama.

Then, I realized that he wouldn't be with me, that he was dead, and, the part of him that would have made his eyes sparkle, his voice laugh was already gone. The grief from that moment on was too much to bear. I held him, told him how much I loved him, and how sorry I was that he couldn't stay. After a while, my body was exhausted, and fell into a fitful rest, with baby Keaton Nicholas (My favorite name and Jon's favorite name on the 'boy' list we'd made) 'resting' in a little wooden box on the stand. When I woke after a few hours, I asked Jon to give him to me. After peering into his little bed, Jon shook his head, and, with more courage than any man I'd even seen, covered him with a tiny blanket, and put the lid onto it. Keaton's body had not fared well apart from mine, and Jon wanted to protect me from what was inside.

A few hours later, as I was wheeled out of the labor and delivery floor, it seemed all I heard was crying babies and, even louder, fetal heart tones. Tears streamed down my cheeks for my little boy in his wooden box, whose heart was still. We brought him to my parent's farm, and buried him, not far from my Grandad Bart. I had brought roses from the grocery store, and a balloon stating "It's a Boy". Jon had tucked a tiny stuffed Snoopy in with him. My dad dug his grandson a resting place, put him inside, and covered him. It's all so precious to me, so horrifyingly precious, these snapshots of memories that come through the fog.

Now, as I type these words, tears stream. and I'm swallowing sobs. I miss that baby boy.

The love in my heart multiplied itself by two!

2010-03-25T17:00:00.001-07:00

At a funeral home, bidding goodbye to a dear old soul, a ripping, SEARING pain tears across my lower abdomen. The baby inside seems active enough, but, I'm scared. An emergency trip to the OB ward at the local hospital reveals a healthy baby, and a torn ligament ~ not stretched, torn! How does that happen? The nurses are even stumped. Also revealed: the healthy baby does not have a penis.

It's a GIRL! My heart poured fourth again, into the tiny soul, dancing under my own ~ my daughter. Up until now, it had been fairly owned by the tow-headed two year old Alex. Upon finding out I was pregnant again, I loved the little being, but was too busy to give it as much thought and attention as my first little fetus. Laying in the dark room, tears streamed down my cheeks as I realized that I'd have the honor of tea parties and Easter dresses, Prom pictures and Wedding cakes. Pink!! My favorite color!

Fast forward two months. I tried a different hospital this time, a female OB. Surely she would understand what birth was supposed to be. I had been naive my first time around, but, this time, I had read, educated myself, attended independent childbirth classes! She perused my birth plan (big stuff, 12 years ago!) and said the words they all say "As long as everything goes well, you can do anything you'd like." I believed her. She was even a red-head. We were practically soul mates!

HA! Laying in a bed, realizing that the doctor was only coming for the last five minutes, I gripped the bar, and pushed my (first) husband away. No pain medicine was my goal, and I fought my way through each wave that slammed into me alone. No one understood, no one supported me. I wondered what the hell I was thinking! Why did I even want another baby? What would this do to poor little Alex, being displaced as my only love?

Blessedly, the labor was fast, and pushing felt SO good. I tried an alternative position, and was slammed onto my back by the nurse, as the doctor yelled "I can't deliver your baby like THIS!" My little girl slid from my body as my legs were restrained from kicking her red head into the wall. It felt so good! Reminding the nurses that I wanted her immediately did no good. They whisked her lustily wailing little body over to the warmer, and proceeded to wipe her, inject her and suction her with the blue bulb. Finally, she was burritoed up and handed back. Angrily glaring, I unwrapped her, and put her on my naked belly, guiding her lips to my nipple. Then, the intense moment melted away. Once again, there were only two people, only one need: this precious girl . I drank every detail of her in, as she greedily nursed.

She weighed 6 pounds, but was only 17 inches long, so she was chubby! She was also the most beautiful girl ever to bless the Earth with her presence. Loud. My stars, was she loud! For those of you that gave birth in hospitals, you'll know that on every floor, at every birth, there is that one baby that you hear and say "Man, I'm glad I'm not taking THAT one home". 'That one' was mine ~ and I loved her spirit. She was born into an angry, fighting environment, and I spent the next hours making sure all was calm and peaceful for her, even if it meant being the laughingstock of the maternity ward.

Kensley's birthday isn't until June; she'll be twelve then. She's always been so sweet, so caring. The littlest one in any class, the one everyone wanted to sit beside. Her kindergarten teacher actually kept a cup of student names, and drew from it each day to see who got to sit beside Kensley for circle time. My tiny dancer, aggressive soccer player, creator of masterpieces and second mother to her baby brother. My daughter. My heart, multiplied :)

My heart

2010-03-24T17:11:00.000-07:00

There is no sweeter pleasure in life, in my opinion, than a newly born babe in your arms. Newborns are my very favorite people; slimy, cheesy, sometimes bloody, fresh from the vagina newborns. I have been blessed to find my path in life that brings me to many of them. People just a few seconds old have passed into my hands, however briefly, for their mamas to resituate, to recover, to learn to pass them to dad.

Tomorrow, my Alex is turning 15, at precisely 1:59 pm. As if it were yesterday, I can see his milky blue eyes looking into mine as if to say "WTH??!! What's up with this? I didn't ask for this!" Being a first time mom, I didn't question the doctor who said "They'll take him to the nursery, clean him up, warm him, and bring him back". It was as if someone had taken my heart to the nursery. Dragging my leaky, exhausted body out of the bed, I trudged down the hall, leaving quite the messy trail, to reclaim 'my heart'. "He's not breathing well, we need to keep him" the nurse stated, fully expecting me to retreat. I pushed past her, and positioned myself by the warmer. Eventually, they gave up, put a towel under my feet, and left me alone. After they were satisfied that he would inhale and exhale, they were glad to be rid of the pair of us.

Back in the room, a little delayed, I put his skin to mine and drank his presence into my soul. Never had I loved anyone like I loved this 6 pounds of boy. My heart tore open, and love reserved for just Alex poured into his being. We were the only people on the planet...in the universe. Only we existed. Air and water took on secondary importance in my life. The nurses were unable to remove him from my body, no matter what policies they stated. I was a mom; I was Alex's mommy.

I am still Alex's mom, even though he resents my position rather than delights in it. I am learning to let go of this amazing person a little at a time, and pull him back when necessary. Sometimes, at night, when I go into his room and check on him (to be sure he hasn't snuck out to TP the principal's house, more than to be sure he's covered and breathing), I can still catch a glimpse of that tiny baby who, alone, ruled my heart so many years ago.

Happy birthday, Alex. I am proud of the young man you are becoming, and still love you with all of my heart ~