Things...

Contrary to previous reports, Garrett's Winnie-the-Pooh mobile is not broken. This literally had to have been a "healing" kind of situation because for all intents and purposes, I was headed to Target to purchase a new one. (My boy loves him some mobile.) We had shifted to playing music on his cd player to lull him to sleep. Nearly every time I went into his room I stared longingly at the object and lamented it's untimely death. And then, one day, in a grief stricken manner, I went to the mobile. I touched it and it began playing. (Turns out that actually, there is a stopper on the mobile that I never knew existed and it had somehow been, well, stopped.) Glory be!

In other, not so exciting news, our Honda failed its smog test. And I feel like the two hours in which they trouble shoot the problem and MAKE IT PASS should be up by now. However, I have not heard a mumble from them and I am starting to feel panicky. Nevermind that it's already costing us 250 lovely dollars that we really do not have and will be more depending on what they find...dun dun dun. Nevermind that we don't even drive the Honda (it's our "back up" car). Nevermind that sometimes I wish we still rode around in covered wagons...
"Axel broke again."
"Get under there and fix it, Billy."
No, we have no Billy in our family but Billy sounds like alot more of an axelfixey name than Troy. And speaking of Troy, has anyone ever said his name aloud? It could be spelled Chroy and I think you'd pronouce it the same way, at least, I would.

And also, Garrett might have eaten part of a sticker. I can't really multi-task well when it comes to theatre and boy. So I'm over at the venue and I'm measuring some stuff and Garrett is playing with my Visitor sticker and I sort of forgot that he had it and I remembered when, quite several minutes later, I heard a weird sucking sound coming from his mouth. I then recalled aforementioned sticker and removed chunks of it from his cheeks. However, I think he may have swallowed some and while I assume that paper is fine in the belly of a baby, I kind of question whether adhesive should be in there. Which has led me to wonder if that has anything to do with the abnormal amount of spit-up that has been chucking out of him today. If any of you have fed your babies stickers and have knowledge on the matter, clue me in.

And if any of you frequent RAE, stop in there and tell them to CALL ME AND TELL ME THAT MY 22 YEAR-OLD CAR IS ACTUALLY FINE AND DANDY AND THEY ARE COMPING ME THE FEE BECAUSE, CLEARLY, I CANNOT AFFORD IT!

Silly ministry habit my husband and I have. We really should get a job to support that addiction.

To Kelli and David (and drains, and cracker drool, and getting up way too early)

Airfare to Sacramento: $118.00
Two nights in a hotel: $147.00
Bridesmaid Dress & Alterations: $160.00
Standing by one of your best friends as she promise to love, honor and cherish: Priceless

I just spent a whirlwind 48 hours flying to Sacramento, driving to Oroville, being in a wedding, driving back to Sacramento, and flying home all in time to be at our 10:45 church service this morning. I took Garrett with me, you know, for fun. I took my Mom with me because I took Garrett. Troy, obviously, could not join me as he had Easter churchly duties to attend to.

April 6
4:35 am: My alarm goes off.
5:00 am: Mom and Dad arrive. I pick Garrett up out of his snuggly slumber and deposit him into the carseat, wet diaper and all. We leave.
7:15 am: After preboarding the plane (thank God for babies!) we take off for Sacramento. It should be noted that Garrett was in surprisingly good spirits, considering that he had not followed my plan and gone back to sleep in the car. It should also be noted that I am leaving out details such as we went through security and we changed Garrett's diaper and we scarfed our yogurts because, apparently, they count as a liquid. During the duration of the flight, Garrett refrains from forcing this particular jet to join his Poopy Plane club. All parties involved are thankful for this choice, especially the plane.
9:15 am: After having landed safely, retrieved our luggage, and taken the shuttle to Alamo, I am handed the keys to my "white" PT Cruiser. And by white I mean that perhaps it masquerades as white in its spare time but, when on the job, wears a decidedly cream colored suit. And by PT Cruiser I mean that when I was given the keys I very nearly decided that quitting the wedding and going home was a better option than driving the awaiting vehicle. If you know me at all you know that I loathe, despise, and have deep feelings of hatred for such mobiles. (If you like them, or actually happen to own one, I hope we can still be friends...I'm just telling it like it is. Sometimes, the truth hurts.)
11:00 am: We make it to the McCoy house where much flower arranging is occuring. Mom feeds Garrett lunch. We hang out for a little while. I find out that the best man/brother of the groom/best friend of the groom was severely burned on his way down to the wedding, is in a hospital in Portland, and more than likely will not make it to the wedding. Not long after, we leave, get lunch, and check in to the hotel. I tell my husband to get everyone at the church to start praying for the B.M. And by that I mean the best man, not what Garrett did THREE DIFFERENT TIMES ON FRIDAY!
3:00 pm: Rehearsal. We get word that the B.M. is being released from the hospital and will, miraculously, be attending the wedding. PRAISE GOD!
5:30 pm: Delicious "Rehearsal Dinner" at Checkers. Hanging out with Kelli, Michelle, Kevin, and alot of Point Loma people begins to feel like a lunch break in the caf, but with chicken alfredo over angel hair instead of fries and cardboard pizza. Note: Gawked at some lady's gigantic diamonds. She better have bought David and Kelli a new house or a car or at least a top of the line vacuum with jewlery like that.
9:00 pm: After getting Garrett to sleep, Kelli, Michelle and I put a new twist on an old tradition and talk for awhile. Though the conversation wasn't exactly chipper, it reminds me that though separated by distance and circumstance, I'd probably claw someone's eyes out for these girls. I'd definitely give them the shirt off my back and walk around topless--but that certainly wouldn't be something they'd never seen before. We're talking about my college roommates here.
11:00 pm: Bed!

April 7
8:15 am: Kelli and Michelle pick me up for my hair appointment. We wave goodbye to the PT Cruiser. For the next few hours we talk about vacation, college, marriage, weddings, dogs, etc, etc, etc while we get curly.
11:00 am: Ben, the groomsman who is assigned to me, picks me up and delivers me to the wedding site (if you're wondering why the PT Awesome keeps getting left, it's because my mother and Garrett should not be trapped at the hotel all day with nothing to do).
12:00 pm: Pictures.
2:00 pm: Ben and I walk down the aisle. We are followed by three more bridesmaids, three more groomsmen, a matron of honor, and a best man. (His face was...well, severely burned. He couldn't be in many pictures and it was all pretty awful. But he was there. A labor of love. A definite prayer answered.) And then came Kelli. And she was beautiful and happy and David said yes and Kelli said yes and they promised to love each other forever and they 'til death do us part-ed and there were rings and there was a kiss and, in the words of Kevin, "the trifecta was complete." And by that he meant "any sequence of three occurances" (or in this case weddings) and not "a parimutuel bet in horse racing"--at least I hope Kevin wasn't betting on which of us would beat the others in a race around a track whilst carrying a jockey on her back. Although that image is somewhat humorous and the three of us did once take numerous photographs in Underoos made for husky boys so I'm not going to say that it could never happen.
2:30 pm: Reception. I got to hold my son for the first time since early that morning. And very quickly we all learned why I hadn't held him before. Cracker drool spots everywhere...all over my otherwise beautiful bridesmaid dress. The dry cleaner's is gonna have fun with that one. I ate fondue. I ate cheese and crackers. I ate cake. I laughed and reminisced and Garrett's delightful mood crashed just as the bride and groom decided to vacate for what we will diplomatically refer to as alone time. So, Garrett, me and the Babysitter (THANKS Mom, it could not have been done without you) packed up and headed for the hills, er, Woodland.
6:30 pm: I have never smelled quite so much curry or insence or both in my life. We stayed in a Days Inn in Woodland, just north of the Sacramento airport and I could barely sign my name authorizing my card because it was making my eyes water like the mouth of some enormous river, like, the Amazon or something. I managed, however, and after dumping our belongings in room 110, we grabbed some dinner.
8:00 pm: Back in our hotel room Garrett begins total meltdown mode, I realize that the shower refuses to drain and we have a fiasco, and I will spare most of the details, involving the man who checked me out not having the authority to move us to a new room so that I can bathe my baby, get the can of hairspray that is on my head washed out, and get in bed so that I can get up at 5:30 to make it to the airport. Finally he comes to our room and asks, with a thick accent, "So, the bathtub spills over?" And I think to myself, and mind you, I become rather surly when I'm exhausted, "Well, I'm sure it would spill over if I kept running it, seeing as how it FILLS because it refuses to drain!" But I say, rather nicely, I think, "No, it fills. It doesn't drain." And he says, "What?" And I say, "It makes a bath. And I would like a shower." To which he says, "Oh." And walks out of the room. I am left to wonder about the status of his return. Ten minutes later the phone rings, "You go to 107. Come for key." So we transport suitcases, diaper bags, sleep deprived baby, sippy cup, curling iron, purses, etc three doors down. Mom and I bathe (I'd decided to wash Garrett in the sink during the whole debacle) and then we sink into the covers and, oh no wait, then she whispers that we forgot to check to make sure there were no unwelcomed hairs. We could not turn the light back on because Garrett had finally cried himself to sleep and we weren't risking that. So I busted out the cell phone and used the backlight to comb the sheets for any strays. My mother seemed to find this funny because, as we all know, hairs glow with infrared light when illuminated by a cell phone.

April 8
1:14 am: I dream that Garrett is falling off of my bed at home and just before he hits the ground I grab him by the foot. My mom jumps. I've actually grabbed her.
5:25 am: Too early. Too early. Too tired to move. The alarm goes off. Up we go. We get ready, get out of the land of the clogs and the curry, return PT Hideous (which by the way, drives really nice...if only it didn't look so darn humiliating), check in at the airport, go through security, get on our plane, etc etc etc.
9:45 am: We land. Get our luggage, which takes forever because apparently every college student, family with small children, and Orthodox Jew decides to fly on Easter morning, and endure a woman saying, "Oh, look, Easter dresses," in reference to our attire. We should have informed her that, indeed, we were in dresses fit for Easter and our bonnets were in our checked luggage. It's still about going to church, lady. It's still about our risen Lord. I wonder if she'd have had the same reaction if we'd climbed off the plane in giant rabbit suits bearing hard boiled eggs and Peeps (do not get me wrong. I love hard boiled eggs and Peeps...it's just the principle). It should be noted that we did not actually have bonnets in our luggage. In case you missed the sarcasm, I didn't want anyone thinking we actually wear Easter hats. My brother picks us up. And we are Ramona bound.
10:40 am: With a few minutes to spare, we actually make it to the church on time. We are tired. We all have an entire day left before we can get a good night's sleep. But He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

Special Thanks: To my mom, for being Garrett's babysitter for two days while his own mommy played dress up and caught up with dear friends. To Garrett, for being a pretty decent baby...except when car rides were concerned. To Kelli, for getting married. Without your blessed union I would not have learned that there is a Days Inn in Woodland, CA that has a stopped up drain. And to the PT Cruiser, for driving well and not breaking down. And, of course, for humbling me.

Happy Engagement Day

Four years ago, Troy asked me to marry him. He wanted to be able to remember the date.

My finger likes the clothes it's been wearing ever since. My ring (there are two, fused in to one) might be one of my favorite earthly possessions. It could tell you alot of stories, that's for sure.

I love that it was on my finger the day I said, "I do." And I love that's it's still here, loving my husband more with each passing day.

So, to Troy: happy engagement day. You're my favorite. Thanks for waiting for me.

To everyone else: hold out for true-fireworks-and-butterflies-and-everything-you-thought-it-could-be love. Because sure, there will be hard times, but it's just not worth it if at the end of the day, you don't sometimes feel a little of that initial magic lingering. Of course, you briefly acknowledge it as you step into your flannel pajamas and turn out the light. After all, what's magic if it's not comfortable?

Attitude 101

The Power of Prayer.
The Word.
If it's not from you and it's not from the enemy, it's from GOD!
Submission of the heart.

I think I'll remember a lot more than 3% of what Bonnie Floyd spoke about during our annual women's retreat. I've been wracking my brain but I do not think I have ever heard a more dynamic speaker. And that includes retreats, camps, sermons, university chapel. It has become apparent that this weekend, Conviction was my middle name.

Carol, Bethany and I performed before each session and if you ask the majority of the women watching, they all went really well. If you ask me, three of the four went well. It might have been because I completely forgot one of my lines during "the one which shall not be mentioned by name." I figured out that it happened because the audience laughed really hard after the trigger line and I plum forgot, when the laughter subsided, that it was MY line that came next. But I knew long before that that something was going to happen. I knew because I was really flustered right before we went on that night. And I felt like I needed to run the lines again. But the reason was because I was wearing a skin tight dress. We had just eaten an exquisite meal which had been delivered to our room. Carol had done my hair all up and Bethany had done my eye make-up all gold and brown and to be honest, I was feeling a little...um...awesome looking. I ran back to my room to grab my microphone and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The vision before me was...kind of glamorous (if you saw the dress and the pashmina I think you might agree.) I don't think it's a sin to feel glamorous. I do think it's a sin to forget that you are ministering to women through drama (even if you are just comic relief) because you're wearing heels (which you never wear because your husband is vertically challenged) and you find yourself being moderately attracted to your own calf as it flexes with each step of the beautiful shoe and you fully expect compliments on your ensemble when you finish your sketch. I realized this unfortunate line of thinking as I smirked at my...self. And I didn't have much time. "God, I'm so sorry that I'm lusting after...my own leg. Please forgive me and help me to remember all my lines so that I don't ruin everything onstage." (If you don't regularly spend time in prayer, let me give you a crash course. Don't ever pray like that.) It was an insurance prayer. It was just like when I was in high school and I forgot to study for a test so I prayed that I would pass. What I was really saying was, "Hey, God, aren't you so impressed with me that I've spent all this time memorizing lines and stuff? Could you pat me on the back and reward me by having it all come off just splendidly? And by the way, God, thanks for making my calves." I wish I had realized the error of my ways before Carol, Bethany and I had to improvise nearly an entire sketch.

And I was darn mad at myself when it was over. Because upon the anxious let down, I immediately realized the ridiculousness of the aforementioned prayer. I went to the bathroom to change my clothes and I locked myself in the stall. I wanted to punch the door. And cry--because it was my fault for making it--in my mind--about my outfit. And it was my fault for praying a crappy and flippant prayer. But as I walked back to the ballroom, seven women at seven different times told me how great it was. (It's not even that far of a walk.) I began to feel encouraged. The moral of this story is that God can use a wrongful attitude to accomplish His will and plan and bless people in the process. Which is something my husband has been trying to explain to me for quite some time.

(But Carol and Bethany, I am very sorry that this revelation had to come at your expense. Great improvisational skills by the way...)

Anyway, like any retreat, I am feeling spiritually recharged and physically exhausted. I am going to pray more, probably without ceasing. I am going to love others as Jesus loves me. I am going to read my Bible daily (and not just the Veggie Tales Bible that I read to Garrett...the real Bible that doesn't illustrate Goliath as a giant pickle.) I am going to be the best wife...in the world. I am going to be nominated for mother of the year. I am going to do everything the speaker said to do because I'm a pastor's wife for crying out loud. In fact, I'm probably even going to grow up and become a Christian speaker! (In the same way that whenever I go to Sea World I'm going to grow up and train killer whales.) These are things I feel I can do as I turn the ignition in my car. And two seconds in to my drive home I will get cut off and choke on a curse word. "No, you love that moron. You love him. You love him," I'll tell myself. I will anticipate 100 percent growth. I will achieve, perhaps, 1 percent. But I think it's always good to set the bar high.

And the outfit was awesome, by the way. It just should never have been about the outfit. The second it crossed my mind that it might be about the outfit, I had basically sent an email to God. "Dear God, humble me. Signed, The Same Girl It Always Is."

Rolling and Eating

Garrett finally rolled from his back to his stomach! And...he is a piggie for food.

Okay, so...in September he rolled from his stomach to his back. And then he just decided that he was content to lay around and do nothing. I mean, he is a very calm baby so it's no wonder that he had no desire to do anything, but at his two month check-up the doctor said, "He'll be rolling by his next visit." Well, the four month check-up came and went and Garrett still did not care to move. "He'll be rolling by the six month for sure," the doctor informed us. Well, three days ago, at his six month, he still had not flopped from back to front. But since he can sit fairly well, the doctor said not to worry...he's just lazy.

But he finally rolled today. Six days after he reached the six month mark.

He cannot roll proficiently. But what my child can do, fabulously well, is chatter himself up one wall and down another. Einstein probably rolled young but he did not speak until he was five. Or at least, that's the rumor I've heard. And boy can that kid eat. I think when he grows up he might be a talk show host that enters those hot dog eating contests for fun. Despite all the different kinds of foods he's had though, he remains a lightweight. He's in the 45% for length and the 5% for weight. The doctor was glad (because Garrett is skinny) that he's been eating so well and basically told me to give him whatever I wanted to give him from now on (except the no brainers...like honey and cow's milk...and no meat until eight months) which has been splendidly fun and has made for a much happier child around dinner time. We plop him in the high chair and hand him cheerio after cheerio or carrot chunk or whatever. Dinner used to consist of me holding him and him clawing at my plate and trying to shovel fistfuls of salad into his mouth.

So so far he's had: rice cereal, oatmeat, green beans, squash, peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, garden vegetables, corn, potatoes, applesauce, pears, cheerios, sweet potato puff finger foodie things, and one saltine cracker. I think that's it except for the cookie dough that he ate when he was only three months old and he lunged at my finger and gulped down a taste when I was baking Halloween cookies. Because he is a food loving hog. I think he came out wanting table food.

Anyway. To recap. He rolled. He's skinny. He talks alot. He eats alot. That is Garrett today. He is 190 days old.

Reflections of Garrett

He's a really fantastic shade of green. Troy and I have decided that Periwinkle and Vibrant Yellow, when mixed together, make Shamrock Green. It's lighter than forest and just a slight bit deeper than a Granny Smith Apple. Which is probably a good thing. My son doesn't want to be referred to as Granny Smith, most likely.

Garrett is six months old today. It's not that I haven't experienced the phenomenon of flying time. Because I have. When I think back, high school flew by in a couple of clock ticks and college was a mere blink of the eye. But both of these circumstances require thinking back. After the fact I realize how quickly the time went. With Garrett, I feel the time whizzing past me. I look at him and he still feels small and helpless but he's so much less small and less helpless than he was six months ago.

I've forgotten so many details of my birth story. Just the other night I recalled how in the hours after my epidural and before his birth I had violent shakes. I couldn't stop shivering with uncontrolable convulsion. I felt cold and tired and ready to get my kid out of me. It was as though my body was trying to shake him from within. I kind of forgot all about those attractive mesh panties you wear once the child has emerged, the ones with the built in pouch for easy insertion of ice. Is that too much information? I forgot about taking a shower about an hour before my epidural and feeling like maybe I would claw the wall because maybe the tile would help me get out of my skin, which is what I really felt like doing. I forgot about all of this because I looked into the perfect eyes of my perfect son. He was small and he didn't move. Except to rip his arms out from being swaddled. He never did like his arms being confined. He weighs 14 pounds now. I guess in the grand scheme of life, 14 pounds is still considered small. But he sits in a high chair and wolfs down baby food with wild abandon. He clings to my side like a little monkey. He laughs. And it is the most delightful sound I think I've ever heard.

I am trying hard to stand in awe of every little thing he does. I am trying to understand that in a few blinks of my sometimes very tired eyes, he will be all grown up and some other woman in some other time will be his everything. He won't cry when I leave a room. He won't even remember to kick his legs happily and smile at me when he sees me for the first time in the morning. He certainly won't grin at me from the bathtub--at least, for both our sakes, I hope he won't. He'll be a man. He's on his way already. And after half a year, I feel nostalgic for July 20, 2006 at 7:30pm. I feel like it was oh so long ago. I feel, in a way, too young to have a six month old.

But all the time. All the while. Every single solitary day. I am blessed to stick him on my hip and carry around the most beautiful shade of green.

We're All Here Arguing About Glow Tape

So see, last night, I went to bed around 11:15 and fell asleep somewhere in the vicinity of 12:45. During the day I am mighty content to sweep responsibility under the rug in the back of my mind and enjoy my last few days of Christmas break. In fact, I've decided I love teaching, with reason numero uno being the fact that, once again, I am blessed with the peaceful recognition that I am in possession of a two week break during the holidays. Don't even get me started on summer, the mere thought of it is enough to send me into a giddy tailspin. So, with that being said, I've been trying to really savor the last couple of days. But at night, when the world shuts down except for in really awesome places like New York City--and let's face it, Ramona is not the new New York City--my thoughts begin to attack each other. I toss onto my right side, check the baby monitor and then the clock, "Glow tape!" It pops into my mind like a mack truck slamming into the back of an unsuspecting minivan. "I need glow tape for the show," The Cute Little Director Lori shouts at me. Cute Little Director Lori is not, in all honesty, that nice of a person. She's stressed and high strung and, let's face it, out of control. But she does have on a really cute shirt from The Gap and a pair of jeans that make her look kind of thin. I stop to admire her jeans and just then Wife & Mommy Lori grabs Cute Little Director Lori's chin (you know, that look-at-me-while-I'm-talking-to-you chin grab that all mother's master) "Get a grip. You certainly can't get glow tape at 12:00 in the morning. Go to sleep. Enjoy your last two days and worry about glow tape on Monday." Cute Little Director Lori knows that Wife & Mommy Lori is correct. She tosses onto her left side, but not before scoffing at Wife & Mommy Lori's flannel pajama pants. "Those make you look kind of fat. And frumpy." She concentrates, "Sleep. Sleeeeeep. You're getting very slee--I still need some songs. Preferrably two. But one is a dramatic imperative." Wife & Mommy Lori taps her on the shoulder. "You need to sleep. You have a baby who is going to wake up in the morning and need you to be a fully functional human being." "Oh shut up Wife & Mommy, this is something I can think about while I am attempting to drift off to sleep. This is not glow tape!" Wife & Mommy Lori rolls her eyes and makes a mental note to dust something when she wakes up in the morning. Cute Little Director Lori starts racking her brain. She runs through soundtrack after soundtrack after soundtrack. She thinks of ways to completely restructure the show's agenda. She debates the theatrical integrity and implications of switching the order of the one-acts. She glances over and watches Wife & Mommy Lori sleeping peacefully. She kicks her. "Get up and vacuum something." She sees the look on Wife & Mommy Lori's face and realizes she's hit a nerve. Wife & Mommy Lori cracks. "I know! I need to clean this whole entire house. I need to come up with more ideas for the sketches for women's retreat, which, I think, are technically part of your job description but NO, you're too worried about your show. I need to make sure Garrett gets enough tummy time and I need to read to him more often to encourage early literacy and I need to sit with Troy on the couch and remember to ask him how his day was and THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY!" "Geez," replies Cute Little Director Lori, "Chill out." She tosses onto her right side and just as she is about to doze off she remembers not to forget that somehow she needs to acquire several Shakespeare costumes, figure out how tickets work, finish all the other things she's started and amazon.com really needs to get on it and send her the scripts she ordered because she told her class she'd pick a play over the break but amazon didn't see fit to ship the scripts in a timely fashion. And as she somehow managed to fall into a deep sleep, a nightmare began. A nightmare involving a forty-five minute intermission because some detail had slipped through the cracks. A nightmare where tickets were little scraps of paper that someone ripped out of a notebook. A nightmare in which several actors were not where they were supposed to be and when...

And in the morning Wife & Mommy Lori woke up. She brought Garrett into bed with her and snuggled him into the crook between her bent knees and her chin. She breathed in his Johnson & Johnson's baby shampooed head. She forgot about all of the cleaning and all of the scrubbing that needed to be done. She decided that even tummy time and literacy could wait another hour. She glanced over at Cute Little Director Lori who was sleeping soundly. Apparently she'd decided to savor her last two days of Christmas break.

And Cute Little Director Lori, in the aftermath of her nightmare, knew one thing, that theatre has a way of working out. It is, almost, as constant as the sun rising. And she somehow pushed it all to the back of her mind. Yet, she couldn't manage to shake the tightening in her chest when she looked at the calendar and she couldn't help but break into a light sweat when, in her sleep, she heard Wife & Mommy Lori mutter, "Glow tape."

And from her vantage point at the computer, Writer Lori took a puff on her fake cigarette (for she knows smoking is both disgusting and bad for one's health) and a drink from her fifth cup of fake coffee (because she doesn't really like coffee) and blogged about it all...

Ordinary Miracle

I was making dinner the other night and Oprah was on in the other room. Troy was outside chopping more wood for the fire, Garrett was balanced on my left hip. Beck was helping Troy and Oliver was lazing in front of the fire. At the end of the episode, Sarah McLachlan sang Ordinary Miracle from Charlotte's Web. In the middle of the song I walked out to really listen and that's when it hit me. Garrett is my ordinary miracle. I've become obsessed with the song. Troy never doubted that we'd have a biological child, he just thought we'd be blessed with an adopted child first and somewhere down the line we'd have a biological one. I, on the other hand, truly believed that adoption was the single method by which our children would be obtained. I was in (good) denial for about half of my pregnancy. To be truthful, I am still slightly in denial. Sometimes I look down at the baby sleeping my arms or giggling on the floor and I literally feel the need to pinch myself. Babies are ordinary. Women in every city of every country on every continent grow them like it's the easiest thing in the world. There's nothing unique about an individual's ability to procreate. But every baby, and especially the baby of the once infertile, is miraculous. The words to my son's theme song are listed below…



It's not that unusual

When everything is beautiful

It's just another ordinary miracle today

The sky knows when it's time to snow

Don't need to teach a seed to grow

It's just another ordinary miracle today

Life is like a gift they say

Wrapped up for you everyday

Open up and find a way

To give some of your all

Isn't it remarkable

Like every time a raindrop falls

It's just another ordinary miracle today

Birds in winter have their fling

They always make it home by spring

It's just another ordinary miracle today

When you wake up everyday

Please don't throw your dreams away

Hold them close to your heart

Because we are all a part of the ordinary miracle

Ordinary miracle

Do you wanna see a miracle?

It seems so exceptional

When things just work out after all

It's just another ordinary miracle today

The sun comes up and shines so bright

And disappears again at night

It's just another ordinary miracle today

December 7

December 7 is a good day for our family.

Four years ago today I started dating Troy.

One year ago today, I found out that I was pregnant with Garrett. It is incredible how much changes in just 365 days. I can't believe that in 525,600 minutes this little boy has gone from a bean shaped heartbeat to a laughing, wiggling, tiny human. And then people have the audacity to even so much as mumble that there is no God. I beg to differ.



Dear God,

Thank you so much for giving me Troy four years ago, words cannot describe the blessing he has been. And thank you for letting Garrett be a part of my life for the past year. His presence is nothing short of miraculous. Amen.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Earlier in the week, the doctor gave us the green light for starting solids. We decided to wait until today and let Garrett have a little holiday snack. So, around noon, we put him in the high chair, gave him a spoon of his own to hold on to (because I've heard that these things encourage good table manners) and busted out the rice cereal. The verdict is in. Garrett is a food loving hog. Of course, the first bite came back out all over his face. However, once he realized that it was intended to be swallowed, he started opening his mouth up like a little bird, just waiting for the next blessed bite. Apparently, like his mother, he's just a little more than slightly fond of food.

Partnership (or...maybe...not)

MR. CRUISE: Hey, chick from Dawson's Creek, can I dance on Oprah's couch whilst confessing my undying love? And then will you have my baby?

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Yes.

MR. CRUISE: Silently and without an Epidural?

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Um...

MR. CRUISE: I SAID SILENTLY!

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Okay. But, can I please have the Epidural? Please?

MR. CRUISE: I guess.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Then, I guess. Sure.

MR. CRUISE: Did you say Suri? (PAUSE) Excellent name. Let's use it.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: What?

MR. CRUISE: Exactly.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Um, ok. But just so you know, I'm Catholic.

MR. CRUISE: You're a Scientologist now.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: No, I'm...

MR. CRUISE: I SAID YOU'RE A SCIENTOLOGIST NOW!

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Okay.

MR. CRUISE: Oh, by the way, you go by Kate now. It sounds much more sophisticated than Katie.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: But I've always been Katie.

MR. CRUISE: You've also always been Catholic and we've taken care of that little problem. Now you are Kate.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Okay.

MR. CRUISE: Here is your wedding dress, I've had it designed especially for you.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: Oh...really...see...I...kinda...always wanted to pick out my own dress.

MR. CRUISE: Oh, well, it's been done. Now you can spend all of your time brushing our daughter's hair instead of looking for wedding dresses.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: But (PAUSE) that (PAUSE) was (PAUSE) really (PAUSE) important (PAUSE) to (PAUSE) me.

MR. CRUISE: (PETTING HER HEAD) There, there. (PAUSE) Now, I know that you wanted some Catholic traditions in our wedding but I've taken it upon myself to write a strictly scientologist ceremony. Boy. I bet your folks are going to be pretty mad.

GIRL FROM DAWSON'S CREEK: But, I thought we agreed that a combination of Catholicism and Scientology would be good.

MR. CRUISE: Oh yah. We did. But um...I AM Tom Cruise and you ARE just that girl from Dawson's Creek.

Hercules

You do really weird things when you have a baby. For example, who woulda known a year ago that I'd be sitting in my office holding my almost four month old and saying over and over again in a really high pitched voice, "Hercules. Hercules. Hercules. Hercules." You see last night they said something about him on television and I bounced a crying Garrett on my hip and said, "Hercules" in a really high pitch. He immediately stopped crying and gave me a huge grin. Now, every time I do it, he flashes a giant smile and darn near cackles. Which, in turn, makes me do it over and over and over and over. Sometimes life doesn't need to be complicated.

Reminisce

I had a slumber party with my mom on Friday night. It was the weekend of men's retreat and both of our husbands were away. We decided to order pizza and rent a movie and not think about how the boogie man could get us because Troy and Dad weren't there to bash him over the head with a baseball bat, or, in Troy's case, the sword he keeps next to his side of the bed. The boogie man's gun has nothing on that sword or the medieval knight who is wielding it. I'm not sure it can be called a slumber party given the fact that my mother was in her bed, I was in the guest room, my infant son was in the pack 'n play in the office, and there was no prank calling involved, but I like to think of it that way. After our movie, I turned in for the night. As I was settling down in the guest room I glanced up at the ceiling and a few, bright, specks caught my eye. Wayward stars left over from my early teenage years, when the guest room wasn't a guest room at all but the place where a little girl had grown up. I laid awake for awhile thinking about those stars and all the changing I had done in that room and all the dreams that had come true and how it was comforting in a nostalgic way that my parents had left a few up as tribute to the daughter who had more or less spread her wings and hovered. I hope they think I'm flying but I try to use the wind under me to its full potential and allow it to maintain an optimum level of floating. The next morning I found out that the little stars had merely evaded my father's putty knife. They aren't supposed to be there at all, it's just impossible to see them in the daylight and who wants to stand on a ladder in the middle of the night to scrape them off? It's okay that my nostalgic fantasy was shattered, God must have given me a double dose of "reminisce" and I don't expect the rest of the world to meet my quota.

As I lay there, though, contemplating the stars, I realized that I forgot to remember what I swore I'd never forget. Of course I remember Christmas morning and Fourth of July parades and Halloween costumes. But I can't remember a single pancake breakfast in my pajamas. And because I know there were many, I am disturbed by this. I remember the last night I slept in that bedroom before I got married but I can't remember the night before that or the night before that and I certainly can't remember the night before I went to college even though that was the last night that it was really my room. I remember that my brother got older, just like I did. I forgot to recall what he was like as a little boy and if it weren't for pictures, I'd always think of him as a man pushing twenty-three. I don't like thinking of my brother as a man. Part of me wants him to be seven. I forgot to remember the smells of dinner cooking when dinner was still something that magically appeared in front of me and I did nothing to prepare it. Of course, I remember alot. But it's the memories just beyond the reach of my fingertips that I miss. Truthfully, I forgot the stars. They were banished to a part of my brain seldom used, a storage bin where I've also placed the Pythagorean Theorem and how to make those paper snowflakes. And when I looked up and saw them, a sense of peace washed over me that at least, if I forgot to remember things, the stars and consequently, the walls of that room, reminisce. So Mom and Dad, if you read this, if it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to leave those stars on my ceiling...or rather, the ceiling of your guest room, it would mean alot to me. Oh and also, please never sell the house. But move with me if I move. And bring my brother too. Those are my requests. And thank you, all of you, for all the things you help me to remember.

schedule

It's official. I'm a mother. Here's what I did between 4 am and 2 pm today.

4:00-4:20: Garrett cries. I get up and feed him. Includes diaper change. Put him back down. We sleep.

7:00-7:30: Garrett cries. I get up and feed him. Throw on some walking clothes.

7:30-7:35: Change Garrett. Includes diaper and clothes.

7:35-7:45: Sort and start a load of laundry.

7:45-7:50: Get Garrett ready to go for a walk.

7:50-8:20: Take a walk with Garrett and Beck.

8:20-8:22: Start watering the lawn.

8:22-8:27: Put laundry in dryer.

8:27-8:40: Shower and get dressed.

8:40-9:20: Write out guidelines for Production Review for Advanced Drama. (Garrett was napping)

9:20-9:30: Garrett wakes up. Walk around bouncing him for a few minutes.

9:30-10:13: Attempt to fold laundry while keeping Garrett entertained.

10:13-10:43: Feed Garrett.

10:36-10:45: Talk to Carol on the phone. Agree to be an honorary member of Three for the Show at women's retreat in March.

10:45-10:49: Change Garrett's blow out diaper that he created while I was on the phone with Carol.

10:49-10:55: Check email and myspace.

10:55-11:30: Make grocery list. Look through coupons.

11:30-12:32: Grocery shopping.

12:32-12:56: Put away groceries. Wash off eggs because one cracked on the drive home and slimed the rest. Put Garrett's pacifier in three hundred times so that I could have two hands for putting away groceries.

12:56-1:02: Change Garrett. Talk goofy to him on the changing table because it makes him grin and cackle.

1:02-2:00: Feed Garrett. Hold Garrett. Bounce Garrett. All the while making lesson plans and prepping for my class tomorrow.

2:00: Garrett falls asleep. I watch a little bit of the Padres getting beat while he naps in my arms.

I think I got alot accomplished in a short period of time. Indeed. I changed more diapers than that too. He soils himself alot.

Giants in the Sky

There are giants in the sky. There are big tall terrible giants in the sky.When you're way up high and you look below at the world you left and the things you know, little more than a glance is enough to show you just how small you are...

It's true. I'm not a fan of Into the Woods. I had a bad experience. I pretty much hate the fact that it should be over at intermission and isn't. I hate most of the songs. It's not that I can do better, Sondheim, because clearly I can't. So don't think that's what I'm saying. I hate the princes. I hate Agony. I hate the Baker, but that topic probably ought to be reserved for a therapy session somewhere down the road. Sometime when I drudge up misplaced and unadulterated loathing. And I hate fishing line and actors who flip out at stage crew when their props are missing. But aside from hating Into the Woods, I appreciate it on the grandoise level that Broadway demands. Which is why I find it humorous that middle schools attempt such a show. And why, when my students suggested that we take it on (not this side of Hades, guys, we'd only embarrass ourselves, I promise) I nearly choked on my own tongue. But it's got me thinking. It's got me thinking about Milky White. Man I loved that cow. Another topic for therapy I suppose. I loved Kristin in the giant Peep dress because it was like when you dress a tomboy up on Easter and make them wear a bonnet. Not that Kristin is a tomboy at all and not that there was a bonnet but you'd know what I mean if you saw the dress. I think, perhaps, the Queen of England would have looked like a tomboy in it. And I love Giants in the Sky. Probably because I love Jack. Probably because I love Matt. Not in a "let's get married even though we both already are and have three sons between the two of us" kind of way, more in a "because I knew you, I have been blessed" kind of way. But I really, really did love Giants in the Sky. And I still do. And it's kind of how I feel right now.

It's kind of like I realize now how idealistic we all are in high school. I'm still idealistic. I'm just not that idealistic. And it's kind of like I'm up in that sky. And it's kind of like I'm looking down. And it's kind of like just a glance...a seven year glance since high school...is enough to show me just how small I am. I'm not the next star. I am just a dime a dozen. What my degree has gotten me is a handful of high schoolers as idealistic as I once was...perhaps more so. But I'm just glad to have the opportunity to direct their idealism, because that's more than most people get to do in the theatre. (I'm just, not going to direct Into the Woods...is all)

And the thing is...I'm not even sure I would want it anymore. Sure the money would be swell and sure I wouldn't turn down the notoriety but I've been to New York. And I've been to LA. And I've seen the hollow eyes with the blank stares of the ones who want it so bad that they can't make friends with the ones they plan to step on. And I've seen the twinkling eyes of my son. And I wouldn't trade him for a world of fame and fortune. Not for a second. But still, I guess a part of me wishes I could live in between. In between the idealism and the cynicism. In between the way I was and the way I am. In between the hope of my youth and the hope of my son's. Somewhere in the world I never thought to explore.

...The roof, the house and the world you never thought to explore. And you think of all of the things you've seen, and you wish that you could live in between, and you're back again, only different than before, after the sky. There are Giants in the sky! There are big tall terrible awesome scary wonderful Giants in the sky!