Susiej

I’ve already done three “first time ever things” for my 46th birthday today — two of them I will only tell you over a very good bottle of wine. .. maybe. Here’s the third:
It should come as no surprise that my husband, the Ironman, is into all kinds of adventure sports.  One of them is water skiing.  Not just any skiing, of course, but slalom, trick and barefoot.  This type of skiing requires high speeds — 30 to 35. Pretty fast for a boat. Pretty fast for someone who only learned how to drive the boat a week ago. Our lake is only 90 acres, so going at a fast speeds requires lots of turning.  My husband explained:

When I swirl my hand above my head (the boys are spotters) that means it’s time to turn.  And when you turn, do a 360, and go right back over the wake you just made.

There was a lot of leeway in his instruction… how tight do you make the turn?  Very tight, he said.  Do you speed up or slow down going into the curve, into the curve or going out of the curve?  My head was spinning with questions, and he jumped out of the boat and pulled on his skis.

The good news was that the lake was empty.  The bad news was that by then, everyone was sitting on their porches watching.  With my husband in the water, he gave me his thumbs us, and kept his instructions in my head.

Except this:  My kids, who were watching Dad would see him give me the signal to speed up.  When they said, “Speed up Mom, they  — all four of them — took their eyes off Dad and started watching me.  This made me nervous, because I was getting really close to the woods on the other end of the lake.  I was sure I was going to crash right into the bank, but the kids insisted Dad didn’t say it was time to turn yet. Yet, everytime I asked, “Is it time to turn,” all four heads were looking at me, instead of him.

I turned anyway… a tad sooner than he would have liked.

My “tight turn” was “tighter” than his, and I swear I was going to hit that ramp that was dangerously close in front of me.  Boats are different than cars.  Later he told me I didn’t need to turn that sharp — actually it wasn’t really a 360, it was more like a 270 with an angle back to the wake.  Thank you for that clarification.

Still, determined, I pulled him up again and again. Three times. Or was it four. My hands were trembling the entire time I was trying to maneuver the boat, and I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. And my kids were staring at me the entire time — like in my face. Every time we came towards shore, I was convinced I was going to hit the bank, and that no matter how sharp I turned the boat, I wouldn’t make the turn. Still, if I made the turn too sharp, I’d lose my skier.

Three times was enough. Still, part of me was looking forward to doing it again tomorrow morning.

Later that day, one of our neighbors came down, an avid skier himself, said, “I’ll be happy to drive your boat for you tomorrow morning… it looked like you were having some trouble out there.”  My husband said that would be great, as “she’s really not used to it yet; her first time and all.”  I was … relieved.

In other firsts, my savvy kindergarten graduate went tubing today, but this isn’t him. This is his younger brother and his older brother.  I didn’t get that shot…

and our four-year-old caught this cute baby Grass Pike fish with his hands.

Then, that kindergarten graduate (I still can’t get used to calling him a first grader) caught this HUGE fish.

Oh, and I’m so very glad my husband is here.

(Oh, and I just have to say, the reason my second son is not pictured, is because he was back in the boat fishing, trying to top this fish from his kix brother. You can see the edge of his red canoe between our shoulders.)

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Filed under: Laugh, Life, birthday, the lake house by SusieJ - 13 Comments →

My husband has a spot on his chest that he proudly shows off every year on our son’s birthday. This is the spot I bit when those last few contractions came when I was standing up, leaning on my husband, at 9.5 centimeters. I was in a rush to see my baby sooner rather than later. Today, that son is 10.

If I was standing during labor, at 9.5 centimeters, this means that there was no epidural; there was no internal monitor. The veil between the physical act of labor and a woman’s body was not cushioned, padded or softened. This was exactly what I wanted. Unlike his older brother’s birth, two years earlier, that resulted in a c-section. This plan had its roots formed in the hospital room when I first came into the world. There, childbirth caused my Mother to “come face-to-face with death.” Her story originates further back when her own Mother fell into a black hole of death, but eventually escaped. My Mother’s story was full of pain and isolation. The nurses left her alone too much; Dads, of course, weren’t allowed in to comfort.

I was terrorized by these stories. They haunted me. For 38 years, I lived with an overwhelming fear of childbirth. As a young girl, I used to lie in bed at night and try to think of ways I could avoid the whole act, yet still become a Mother. One of my favorite scenarios, because it was a fool-proof system for preventing pain, was to begin an anesthesia treatment early in the pregnancy, so that I would sleep through labor and delivery.

I didn’t know then that birth unfolds; a woman responds to what’s happening. Every action she takes with either make it easier for her body to open, or harder.

Ten years ago today, I walked through my fear. Unlike my Mothers, I did not pummel to the depths of death in the process.

To prepare, I was hypnotized, started yoga, listened to guided imagery, took the Bradley Method, and hired a Doula. My goal was drug-free labor. If I could reach back and grab the root of my deepest fear; I could do anything, I thought. I needed to live without fear.

Still, despite all the prep work; my body was reluctant. Stuck at a painful 3 cm for 72 hours, I took many walks through the woods and park by our house. The walks did little to move me along. Something was still holding me back — this was in my mind and not my body. I avoided my doctor’s phone calls. He wanted me to come in so he could “induce me” and get this over with.

What I can remember from those three days of walking were the incredible flowers that were blooming; Lilly of the Valley, the Kentucky Bean tree and the Lilacs all bloomed at the same time; the smells were intoxicatingly pleasant. Returning home from our walk, we’d see the message waiting light blinking; the doctor had called; again.

I told my Dad, “My doctor thinks I’m not going into labor because I’m scared.” He said, “Well, you probably are.” His words gave me an instant wave of relief. I was afraid. This was the elephant in my “mind” that I was unwilling to acknowledge; yet I became aware of how much energy I was investing in suppressing this fear. So, I carried the fear with me, and things began to open up.

Labor was not pleasant; but it was my doula that made it bearable. Rather than passively waiting for each contraction to pass, she gave me jobs to do during each one. Visualize something, lean like this, stand here, and her favorite, “relax your mouth and you relax your entire body.” My job was to figure out how to relax while pain came in waves. Tension made the pain worse; and made the birth come slowly. Now, I had focused work to do. I began to feel empowered in the places where I felt the most fear. This lack of empowerment was the root cause of my Mother’s birth stories. Gynecology asked women to lie on their backs, feet in the stirrups — “get out of the way so we can do our job” was the motto of the medical profession. In that time, there were few other options.

When the nurse said I was 9.5 cm, a red flag when up, as I instantly remembered the part in the Bradley class explaining that 9-10 cm is the most painful part of labor. What’s coming will be even worse than what I’ve already been through… My doula put her face close to mine, and started talking before my brain could complete those negative thoughts. She gently said, “OK, you’re 9.5. If you stand up through these next few contractions, we’ll be able to get gravity to help us make those contractions that are coming work harder for you. You’ll hold your baby even sooner.”

Stand up. At 9.5. This was unheard of in the birth stories I learned; this is the point where you’re supposed to be closest to death. Now, 9.5 was a “place’” a station with its own set of tasks. There was no option; the doula and my husband were already lifting me out of the bed. There were so many words that comforted me in those statements; “contractions that are coming.” I realized then, the contractions are coming anyway, so I might as well use them. I relaxed completely.

Now, I saw that contractions were like a train that would come in and out at regular intervals. If I didn’t work hard enough to “open” for this one, there was always another train coming right behind. I found myself waiting for them to come. I wanted to jump into each one. And thank God, there was even a break between each one! Whoever designed this whole “labor” thing really knew what they were doing.

Still, the words she said, so gently, “…you can hold your baby…” shifted my perspective. I wanted to hold my baby, and if standing up meant that labor would be over sooner, stand I did.

That’s when I bit my husband. The pain was sharp, ohhhh so bad. The bite was maybe my way of sharing the intensity of what I was feeling. My doula was right. Standing up made the contraction so much stronger; and labor was over within a couple of minutes. I was soon holding that baby, and that warm little baby against my chest was pure bliss.

I did more than give birth without drugs. I wiped out decades of terror and fear; I replaced the horrific birth stories in my family with ones of empowerment. I love it when my husband rubs that spot on his chest and brags about that day when Mommy gave birth. I always smile and remember all the demons I conquered that day.

And today? He’s still a babe.

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Filed under: Life, birthday, boy, health, memories, parenting, spirit by SusieJ - 18 Comments →

“What is WRONG with him?”

“He’s a baby, and he’s hungry, and that’s the only way he can talk to us.”

“Well, we’ve got PLENTY of food … he doesn’t have to go hungry like that.

They head for the cupboard and pull our cans of brown beans, chicken noodle soup — “How about pasta, would he like Pasta?”

They used to sit by you while you sat in your carrier, and they whispered lullabies to you — specifically, “The Batman Theme Song.” They dressed you in capes and superhero T-Shirts before you could properly sit up.

You captivated us with your beautiful doe-like eyes.

You still like to dress-up as knights and superheros, although you want to hide this from your kindergarten peers.

Your favorite book is still Blue Bowl Down: An Appalachian Rhyme, you love snicker-doodles, and you like one-on-one time with Mom and Dad. You love the broth of chicken-noodle soup, and your favorite song is still, You’ve Got A Friend in Me.” And, you’re a good little worker…

You melted my heart when you said, “I was the only person in the whole school who got to play a game with their Mom at school today… And that means I’m the luckiest kid in the whole school.”

You respect your friends, and you’re open-minded enough to assume that everyone IS your friend. You expect grownups to listen to you when you’re speaking, and that you “are in charge of your body.” You surprise me sometimes. You seem so tough, so defiant; you know exactly what you want and stubbornly expect nothing else. You like to stir things up — you know exactly what to say to get a brother to jump on you in an all-out wrestle…

Yet, your heart is wide-open. Willing to take all the love you can find. Perfectly assuming it’s all yours for the taking.

Oh, and thanks for the flowers.

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Today, is my blue-eyed Dad’s birthday. He comes around here every once in a while. He has a gift for words, as evidenced by his toast, here and this post here. Most of my great memories of my Dad center around the times he had the courage to say the thing that I needed to hear, but didn’t want to hear. When I was about 8 years old, I was sick in bed, and I just wouldn’t snap out of it. I think, at that point, I was just relishing in the moment of not having to go to school, laying in bed, etc. He came to my side, and said, “You know, as a woman, you’re going to have to face a lot greater pain than this, so you better get yourself better and get used to this.” Oh, how right he was.

Once, when I was in labor for this guy, 72 hours of it, I called my Dad, just because I needed to hear his voice. I said Dad, they think that maybe I’m scared, and that’s why I’m not delivering the baby. He said, “Well, that’s because you probably are scared.” I can’t tell you what a revelation it was to hear those words.

When, Pumpkin Lunar Baby was born, so close to his own birthday, my Dad drove the 5+ hours to visit him, and spent several hours alone with me and baby in the dreary hospital. It was a great memory.

So, Happy Birthday Dad. Can’t wait to see you at the lake.

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Today is a total lunar eclipse, called the Pumpkin Moon, as it turns the moon into a

beautiful ball of orange. It is red because, believe it or not, the Earth’s shadow is filled with red light. The red light comes from the rim of Earth itself, which is aglow with sunlight filtering through our planet’s atmosphere. But according to this chart, I think we missed it. (How to convert Universal Time to your time zone, here.) But, here are some gorgeous pictures and amazing links here.

So, it’s your birthday, and I’ve been reading up on this eclipse, and what it could possible mean about you, and I read this: In ancient times, people realized after watching several eclipses, that the Earth cast a round shadow. This helped them to figure out that the Earth was round long before there were spacecraft and astronaut pictures.

When you were born, you, like the moon, helped teach me something very important too. You were a surprise, and while I was pregnant, I had my hands full with 3 boys, and I just didn’t have time to be pregnant. I never had time to rest, eat right, or stay calm. So, I wondered, how would I have time for you, if I didn’t even have time to be pregnant? I soon learned….

This is hard to explain. But when you were born, I looked into your eyes, ready to do my best to calm and comfort this new little infant. However, I saw something in you that I didn’t expect. You were calm — almost giddy–and you had this look of far-off wisdom and “knowing,” as if you had been waiting to meet me. Yes, I know you were just a baby; but you came from somewhere — and I caught a glimpse of this place. Your eyes were so full of love, wisdom and joy, and it was almost as if you were here with a message for me. I had no choice but to learn to let go, and let be. I can’t put it into words, but basically I learned, when it comes to love, 3+1 does not always equal 4. Love is boundless. And you saw that I could do this before I saw it in myself.

I remember coming out of the delivery room (you were breech, so, it was surgery), to see my Mom and your brothers, and they were in awe, of course. But my Mom, who loves babies, and can’t take her eyes off them, couldn’t take her eyes off me. With tears in her eyes, she kept saying, “I’m so proud of you.” I’m so, so, so, grateful for that moment, and it was all I could think of 2 years later, when she left us in that same hospital.

So that is your birth story.

And here you are, your first day of school, for your brother’s show-and-tell.

Your brothers could never keep their hands off you…

And here’s that adorable smile you always have…

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Filed under: Life, birthday, boy by SusieJ - 20 Comments →

We’re 3 days, and 4 years apart. And this year, we’re spending our birthdays apart. But the boys insist we make up for it this weekend with s’mores.

Here’s a message from each of the boys:

Thank you for the fishing poles.
Thank you for the lake house.
Thank you for my batman scuba divers.
Thank you for the s’mores.

Ditto from me — and more….

And, honey, by the way, here’s what 10 tons of sand looks like.

More lake house posts, here.

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Filed under: Life, birthday, boy, the lake house by SusieJ - 12 Comments →

When I was pregnant with my third son, I went off on some retreat that was supposed to be relaxing.  But it wasn’t.  I’d tell you about it, but I’ll spare you that horror.  But, I’ll just say I was 8 months pregnant, I had a UTI infection, and they wouldn’t let me take a nap.  And they claim to be “God loving.”  My husband and boys brought me my antibiotics — and they snuck me in a snickers bar with it.  The “package” had to be delivered by someone else.  Anyway.  The one good thing that came out of it was this.  Each participant had to have a sponsor.  This person was responsible for going to the particpant’s family and collecting letters of encouragement to be shared during the retreat.  I have one from my Mom.  This was a few years before she died so suddenly — but as I read it now, it sounds exactly like something she would have written if she knew she were about to die.  It’s a treasure.  (And no, she didn’t know I was having an awful time when she wrote it.) 

Dear Susie,

I’m so glad that you were able to attend this retreat, and I’m praying for you to have a special time.

Don’t worry about the boys; I know Dave will take care of them.

I just want you to know what a special person you are and how proud of you I am.  I admire your strength and you’re determination. You have accomplished a lot in your lifetime and have overcome some very trying times.

But most of all, I am so proud of the Mother that you have become.  It shows. I never have to worry about what will become of them because of the love you are giving them.  They are well adjusted and know that they are loved.  And know that you are loved by them. I watch you and the kids together and there is a strong beyond between you and the boys.

Your Grandma Wren would be so proud of you.  I wished that she could have lived to see you as a Mother.

I with you the best this weekend, but even more I wish you the best life.  You deserve the best.  I also wish for you and Dave to have a good marriage.  Dave is a good guy.  You must be very proud of him.  He’s a good Dad.

Again, enjoy this weekend, and try not to miss the boys too much!!

Love ya,

Mom

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Filed under: Life, Tears, birthday by SusieJ - 7 Comments →

He’s 9 today. And to say that he is one of the 4 of my life’s greatest joys would be an understatement. This son is known for his quick-thinking, strategy, and off-the-cuff remarks that make you look twice to check to see if he’s really 4, 5, 6 or 9. He was the one, at age 5, who informed me that “I am older than Jesus. Jesus died at 33.”

At 4, he had already figured out how to get rid of food he didn’t like. However, his 6-year-old brother stood up for him, and said, “No, he’s not hiding food Mom, he’s just flushing the toilet for no reason.” This was the same year, he said, “I can’t wait till I’m old enough to drive, so that I can have Lenny Cracker Rabbits (Lenny Kravitz) playing, with 5 girls in the car. Notice, how he had already calculated the number of spare seats left open to guests. Once again, the 6-year-old befuddled, said, “Girls?! Why in the world would you want to have girls in the car?” The birthday boys denies this statement to this day, as he can find no use for girls in his life today. Here are some of the highlights of things he has shared with us over the years:

• If he were in 5th grade, and he had to do the Egg drop? Heck with all that building and planning. His plan is to just chuck it so he could watch the egg splatter from the top of the Middle School Stadium. Why throw that chance away?
• If he did have an egg contraption that did work, he’d sell it at MiniMall.
• “I think the best job to get is one like my Dad’s. He sits with his feet on his

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All of you are so kind to express your words and thoughts about my Mom’s Birthday. Each one of you said something that helps me heal. I will always remember what my cousin Leslie said: What if it were you, and you knew one of your boys was upset about something they did that may have hurt you? When she put it like that, I could instantly see how much of it doesn’t matter, because I love them unconditionally. It took me a long time to realize that feeling hurt could not make me feel better. A better choice would be to live as if I was loved by her, unconditionally — which I am. And, this is good for my boys to see. But, the most important thing is this: I did not choose to stop feeling guilty, and to stop hurting. It just happened. You know that old story about the footprints in the sand? I look back, and realize I was carried.

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Today is (was?) her birthday. Yesterday, I would have been searching for the perfect gift. Finding a gift, I admit, is not one of my strengths. I am miserable at gift giving — I wait until the last minute. For my Mom, not only did I wait until the last minute, but I would also get her, really, the last thing she wanted. Why did I get her something that was already, and still is, growing in abundance, under her steady green thumb? Instead of flowers, I think what she really wanted, was my time. A gift that I thought I did not have the luxury to give.

Two years ago her birthday was only more than a month away from her death. Which, I might add, I did not see coming. I ordered flowers — early — this time. The flowers arrived, but they were dead. I did have [Read more →]

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