What They've Taught Me

I wrote this post months ago and never posted it...not sure why. But here it is. 


 A Not-Nearly-All-Inclusive List of The Number One Thing I've Learned From Each of These Important People in My Life

(how's that for a subtitle?)

   First, my mom. Mammas should always be first. I have very few singualr light-bulb-moment- type memories of my childhood with my mother. What I do have is more of a general feeling of her presence in nearly all my memories. Which, I think, indicates where I learned to be a present parent in my children's lives as much as possible. She was in mine. As to what she taught me, there are many things...how to bake without making a mess in the kitchen...how to fold hospital corners on flat sheets...and to always say 'I Love You' before hanging up the phone (with someone you love, that is). But I think if I had to choose one, I would say, above all,  that my mother taught me I can do anything. If I am still and close my eyes, I can still hear her saying the words. "You can be anything you want to be and do anything you want to do." Never, in all of my growing-up years, did I come to her with some scheme or dream to have her put it down. She never told me something was out of my reach or too hard, no matter how illogical or far-fetched or naive my ideas may have been.

Life Lesson from Mom: I Can Do Anything.

  Then there's my dad. I inherited from my father my love of reading, writing, poetry, vocabulary, classic British literature, and, I dare say, sarcastic wit. In contrast to my mother, whose inadvertent teachings pervade nearly all my memories, when I think of what my father taught me, three very direct, specific things come to mind. The first two have proven useful, if not always 100% accurate pieces of advise: Never vote for anyone with poor taste in neckties, and, When all else fails, try Masterpiece Theater. But it is the third life lesson that I remember most clearly and that has meant the most to me throughout the years: Find out what you believe in, and stand by it. Even if you stand alone. I don't know if my dad remembers the day he said this to me, but I've never forgotten it. He and I sat on the astro-turf covered kitchen porch of our small country house, watching the sunset and talking about things which, I'm sure, were mostly beyond me. At least, I don't remember anymore of the conversation than that. But I've done my best to put that teaching into practice. Ironically, many of the things that I've found I believe in have turned out to be things with which my father would disagree. So, in that sense, I do stand alone. But there it is. We teach our children principles, but we cannot dictate how those principles are applied.

Life Lesson from Dad: Find Out What You Believe In, and Stand By It.

  Now Brian. My husband and best friend of thirteen (at the time I write this) years. I don't even have to pause to think about what he has taught me, because I know it and I am grateful for it everyday. Brian has taught me that Life Can be Fun, Even When It's Not. Shall I expound? Brian has taught me that it's okay to find something to laugh about even when the rent is past due and the fridge is empty and the car needs new tires for winter. It's alright to smile to yourself and sing your favorite song even if the weather is yucky and you were late to work. And it's more than okay, it's absolutely necessary, to be happy even when you have failed. Or lost something or someone you loved.

Life Lesson from Brian: Life Can Be Fun, Even When it's Not.

Laurelei is my first baby. I could say she taught me to be a mother, but that wouldn't be exactly true. The skills of Mammahood are learned through being mothered and grandmothered, through observing other Mammas and applying what's learned. And saying Laurelei taught me that would be not only be a role reversal, but it would also be to place her value in the circumstance of her position, rather than the divine nature of her person, her individuality and soul. My beautiful Laurelei has taught me to Make My Actions Consistent With My Words. I have never met anyone truer to her proclaimed standards, more pure and Christlike and loving and fair in heart than my Laurelei. And when I, in my justifications and laziness, become a hypocrite, she tells me so. I see in her the blessed life of one who walks the walk of unconditional love and sometimes, I just want to be that girl.

Life Lesson from Laurelei: Make Your Actions Consistent With Your Words

Riley. He's sitting here, near me, strumming his out-of-tune guitar. How can I narrow it down to one lesson from you, my tender-hearted, wild and crazy, singing-silly-sweet boy? But there it is, as you, without a single guitar lesson behind you, plunk one chord, adjust the knob, and plunk it again and again before making up a tune. My Riley has taught me to Have Patience and Persevere. And I don't mean that in the way most Mammas would say their six-year old sons have taught them patience. I mean that Riley is one of the most patient, just-keep-trying people I have ever met. He'll spend hours figuring something out, and, most of the time, come away successful and happy and proud. Couldn't we all stand to be a little more like that? I know I could.

Life Lesson from Riley: Have Patience and Persevere

My baby boy Jasper is not old enough, as I write this, to have anything I say mean much to him. I hope to be  around when he is. But I will tell everyone who might read these words that Jasper has taught me to Linger in the Quiet Moments of a hug, a snuggling nap, a silly nose-to-nose laugh, a kiss. I think even more, because of the changes that have come about in my life, than my other babies did. Memories are made in those moments. And memories, I believe, are one of the few things we can take with us from this world.

Life Lesson from Jasper: Linger in the Quiet Moments

There are others...my sisters, my closest friends. Too many to list. But never could I express enough love for all of them, never except in living, as best I can, the lessons they've taught me. And hoping we get to learn many more together.

xo

Natural Childbirth: My Story, Part II

Picking up what I began so many weeks ago, writing what I want my children to know about their own births and the birth journey; what I don't want to forget...

Two years after the birth of Laurelei, I was pregnant with my second child and determined to educate myself and remain in control of our birth this time around. For the first time, I ignored the majority of moms' go-to pregnancy book (you know, that one about expectations) and turned instead to Childbirth Without Fear by Grantley Dick Read.

It was during this pregnancy that I truly began to understand that the advancements of modern-day medicine and science are both a blessing and a curse. We have access to solutions and cures for so many diseases and conditions that, in the past, have been fatal. But because of this power over nature, we often undervalue our bodies' own healing abilities and strengths. Concerning childbirth, we (and by 'we' I am mainly referring to modern Americans) use the lifesaving methods which should be reserved for the few to unnecessarily complicate the process for the many. Like giving the treatment for leprosy to everyone with a little dry skin. And we do it, as Grantley Dick Read could see even so many decades ago, and one of my personal heroes, Ina May Gaskin has taught since the 1970's*, because of the pervasive culture of fear. Women are taught to fear childbirth, to fear pain, even to fear the natural instincts which tell us to stand, to push, to place our newborn babes immediately on our breasts.

With my Riley growing inside me, I believe I truly overcame those fears.

At the time, Brian was working 60 hours a week at an intense job. December came, with Riley due December 19th, and Brian was told by his boss that if I hadn't given birth by December 15th, he could have time off for the birth OR Christmas, but not both. Everyone to whom I related this antidote said the same thing: get induced. But artificial inducement, usually done through use of the drug Pitocin, was absolutely a no-way for me. So I listened to my body, my baby, and, yes, my doctor, who all told me my baby boy was doing well, growing strong. I went for walks, took warm baths, and waited patiently for him to move lower, into a birth position. Then, on December 11th, when I felt with all my Mammahood instinct that he was ready, I rearranged our bedroom furniture. By myself. And my labor began that night.

Laurelei was with Brian and I in the hospital while I labored with Riley, and when he was born. She slept for most of it, and I won't pretend that we intentionally chose a family birth, but we had only lived in the town we were in for a few months and just didn't feel we knew anyone well enough to drop off our two-year old daughter in the middle of the night. I'm glad now that it happened that way. I wouldn't take it back. I worked through the contractions with Brian's arms around me, standing, kneeling, balancing on a ball, all while our sleeping daughter reminded me of the joy to come. The doctors and nurses, thankfully, for the most part, left us alone. No one told me how to labor, no one made me have an IV. No one looked askance at me when I said calling the anesthesiologist would not be necessary and no, thank you, I would only be on the bed when I wanted to be. And when I felt that unmistakable presence of my baby entering the birth canal, the reawakening of memories flooded my mind, bringing me even more to the moment, to the oneness of mother and child. With Brian's hands on my back, once again I pushed when my baby asked me to. The doctor barely made it into the room before my 9 lb., 5 oz. beautiful baby boy entered this mortal sphere. With him cradled on my chest, my husband's kisses fresh on his head and mine, Laurelei's first words for Riley were: "Oh Mamma, he's pretty."  

And those words, coupled with the love jam-packed into our little family of four and the soul-moving comfort of a newborn babe in my arms got me through the next few weeks, when that pesky, and sometimes scary, health problem I mentioned began to rear its head. But there were years to be lived and a third babe to be had before answers would become clear.

Natural Childbirth: My Story, Part III coming soon.

xo

*so need to see this movie

Valentine Cuties

Happy Valentine's Day blogland beauties! Just a quick idea today for a sweet and healthy Valentine's treat:

Use a Sharpie to draw messages like "Hey Cutie", "Be Mine Cutie", or "Kiss Me Cutie" on a whole

box full of cuties, then share the sweetness and the love!

Happy Hearts Day!

xo

Alive

     No, not the book/movie wherein the soccer players eat their dead teammates while stranded in the Andes (that's Alive, right?). I'M talking about me. I'm alive. I haven't taken fingertips to keypad for over a month on this here blog, and I'm blaming that mostly on my fun bout of bronchitis-while-pregnant, but here I am now, alive and kicking typing. And not only am I alive, but for the first time this fall (my favorite season...I may have mentioned that once or twice...), the land around me feels alive and beautiful, even as it prepares to enter the sleeping death of winter. For nearly two months our valley has suffered heat, drought, and the choking, stagnating smoke of the Sawtooth Wilderness fire, keeping us all (well, the smart ones at least) inside and longing for cool breezes and rain and the damp earth smell of autumns past. A death that is in so many ways alive. And finally it has has arrived!

   
     We celebrated that earth life cycle this weekend in a way our family has come to love: our third annual outing at the PEAS Farm Fall Festival, where we engaged in fresh cider sipping, pumpkin picking, pig observing, chicken squawking, playground romping and tractor hay riding under a stormy sky.

 Last year at Fall Fest! Look how much my munchkins have changed! 

 Why, yes rugged tractor man who looks like a skinny James Franco, I would like to know more about kale and rye grass and garlic.

I  also indulged in plenty of sweater and cute boots spotting

(look at that adorable yellow hand-knit! I need to learn to knit this winter...) but it is hard to take a person's picture without them knowing it, so, alas, I captured only this one.

     The next day our weekly Sunday drive took us to Garnet Ghost Town, in the Blackfoot River Corridor, where the silence and the chill and the turning of the Tamarack Pines whispered softly of autumn and beautiful decay. And while the baby in my womb kicked and rolled, the kiddos in the back seat giggled and sang, and my husband's warm hand softly tickled the back of my neck, I felt wonderfully, undeniably, alive.

I hope you feel that this fall. 

xo

Camping Glacier

     I love camping for so many reasons.

(Me with three reasons right here.)

       Sleeping outdoors, even in our own backyard, can be an amazingly refreshing experience, but I've found when I can sleep outdoors in the wilderness, where no lights outshine the stars, no human-made sounds overpower nature's own nocturnal soundtrack, no machines change the temperature of the night air, I am more than refreshed. I am inspired. Cooking and eating outdoors always makes food taste better. And, for me, organizing a space for my family to live in, a space to meet our needs, is like playing Little House in The Woods. I get giddy with nesting, homesteading excitement when we find the campsite that, for a few days, becomes ours.

(Our little campground home.)

     We all get dirty, letting soap-free lake or river swimming serve as our only baths, but despite the dirt, camping always makes me feel beautiful, natural and clean.
     I love to see the effect of wilderness on my children and my husband, and to feel it in me; to know, when we are stripped of our phones and computers and toys and comforts, who we become. Laurelei and Riley never fail to inspire me with the things they find to do; the play things and places they make in forests and on riverbanks and lake shores. Brian and I work together without effort to plan and cook and tend, laughing, seeming suddenly to have energy and patience we have only on the best days at home. Is that the distance from worries? The lack of deadlines and schedules? The not knowing what time it is and having that be okay? And sleeping on the hard ground (let's face it, camping pads and air mattresses don't really do all that much) is okay. Even that squirrel who throws pine cones at our tent every morning before dawn is more than okay.
     Whatever it is about camping that does this to me, I crave it. And we, as a family camp at least once a summer; more often if we can. This last weekend we spent four days camping in one of the most beautiful places God ever put in man's fumbling care: Glacier National Park.

     The last time the kids and I were in the GNP, it was two years ago with Nanna and B couldn't be there. I fell in love with the park, and, even though I don't think L and R have very clear memories of that trip, the vague impression of familiar beauty and wonder was still upon them as we explored this time around.

(This is my favorite shot from that long-ago trip. Look how little they were!)

     

   I've wanted to take B there ever since. He's a loyal Yellowstone groupie who vowed his affections would not be swayed, but by the end of our four days, I think a soft spot for Glacier had made its way into his bison-and-geyser-loving heart. And me? My heart was full. 

    How could it not be?

    We came home with sunburns (Mamma remembered sunblock on three out of four hikes--no one's perfect), tired legs and feet, sleeping bags to be aired, coolers to be scrubbed, and roughly eight loads of dirty laundry I almost didn't want to wash. I didn't want to lose the smoky, piney, forest smell. But as B and I unloaded our little car and cleaned up the remains of a trip not to be forgotten, all I could think was: When can we go again?

   What places and family trips have filled your heart this summer?

xo

One Pink, Two Blue

     For a time that seemed so long to me we thought we'd never have another child. I remember buying my kids something one day, a couple of years ago- I think it was a lemonade at an outdoor market- and pulling two straws from the jar. One pink, one blue. My hand froze in midair as I realized those straws symbolized my Mammahood. One pink, my Laurelei; one blue, my Riley boy. And there was nothing wrong about that. There were, actually, so many things right. His made-up songs and jokes, her mind-blowing vocabulary and wise-beyond-her-years ways. And the bond of friendship between them that, even now, I know will last their whole lives. But still, we took our lemonades and went home and I stood in the closet in front of a box of baby clothes and cried.

     It wasn't the thought of not having a third baby that broke me, it was the not knowing, and mostly, the not knowing why.

     We kept trying. Eventually, I told myself and everyone around me I would be okay either way. And then, eventually, I accepted that it was not going to happen after all. We had a yard sale and got rid of the strollers, the bassinet, the bike trailer, the hiking back pack...and two weeks later I woke up one morning and puked.

     My first thought was that I'd eaten something bad. But in the shower, my breasts leaked. And ached. Still, I didn't want to think I might be pregnant...I'd been wrong so very many times before. I waited. I looked at the calendar and thought maybe...I'll give it X amount of days before taking a test. I didn't make it that long. When you want something so much, even when you thought you'd stopped wanting, and you've waited so long, the unconfirmed possibility is worse than the heartache that might come.

     This is not an announcement. If you know me, if you've ever read this blog before, you know the end to this story. Two lines on the pee stick; a miracle of modem science. But today, the day this little one has not stopped leaping in my womb for even one minute, my Mammahood color pallete was finally redefined. One pink, two blue. The growing person Laurelei and Riley have been affectionately calling Little Sprout is now our son. Jasper.

I love you, Jasper, my second, happy blue. And I can't wait to hold you in my joyfully overflowing arms.

Turning Eight

     Last Friday, though I am still not sure exactly how we got here so quickly, my daughter turned eight.
Eight.
      When did eight years go by? When did she become old enough to reference books she's read as a party theme? And say things like, "It's common knowledge..." (Actually, I take that last one back. She's been audaciously verbal since she was two.)
       This weekend, our family's lives were filled with all things Laurelei, from her birthday party, to the arrival of her Great-Grandma Jarmin, to her baptism--one of the most important events in the life of a child of our faith. It was a memory-making weekend for this Mamma...and it started with a coconut cream cake.
       Just a cake. We had decided this year the baptism would be the big deal, and as far as birthday celebrations go, a coconut cream cake (like the one Sunny Baudelaire makes for her sister Violet's birthday in A Series of Unfortunate Events--books Laurelei happens to love)  with family would do nicely. But then I happened to think about The Beatrice Letters... and how the letters in The Beatrice Letters (letters of the alphabet rather than the correspondence variety) would make an intriguing banner to hang above a table where a coconut cream birthday cake was being served.... This led, of course to a harmless googling of "ideas for Lemony Snicket birthday party" and the deal was sealed. Not that I found many ideas; but my own just kept popping into my head and I couldn't help relaying them to Laurelei, who added her own, and soon, even though at this point the birthday was only a week away, the party hostess gene in each of us took control, and we knew we had an irresistible theme.
     I drew up this invitation, based on the "Dear Reader" letters that appear on the back of each volume of the books, snagging artwork from the jacket flap and end pages (sorry Mr. Helquist! Seriously, big fan = me) and we rushed to get them out to a few friends and the family members we already knew would be there.

   
    Decorations came via the aforementioned Beatrice Letters (poster and letter cut-outs) and, as per Laurelei's request, paper cut-outs of VFD crows, and big bowls of peppermint candies.

                   
    The original plan was to hold the party outside in, as the invitation says, a "Caligari Carnival" tent, despite the forecast rain, but when the day came and the temperature outside dropped to only 45 degrees, we knew we couldn't do something so villainous to our guests ;-). Indoors, in our little living space, the influx of guests/hostages raised the warmth of the room enough that the words literally began melting off the cake. When your party theme is A Series of Unfortunate Events, however, any little thing that goes wrong like that can simply be counted as part of the plan. Games included Laugh, Count Olaf, and a somewhat disorganized, circular shouting-out of words that begin with V, F, or D. And even though Laurelei, Riley and I (and Brian to a certain extent) were the only ones who really understood all the references to the books, I would call the whole shindig a success. The birthday girl was happy, and that's what counts.

     The next day, the most important part of the weekend arrived. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we believe that eight years old is the age of accountability--the age when a child begins to be able to have a clear sense of right and wrong, and be responsible for the choices they make. Consequently, eight years old is the age when children of our faith are baptized, by immersion, in the same way Jesus Christ was baptized by John the Baptist in the river Jordan, so many years ago, as an example to us all.
     Saturday morning, our Laurelei made the choice (yep, we gave her the choice) to follow His example.

     The baptismal covenant is one of promises to live her life as an example of Christ's love and kindness and service to all...and in turn to have the Holy Ghost to be with her always. Brian and I taught her the importance of this promise, that it was not to be taken lightly, and I can truly say that I feel Laurelei's understanding of her own eternal connection to our Heavenly Father and purpose in this mortal life is deeper than even my own. I believe she did not make these promises lightly. And we are so proud of her. We could not be more grateful to be her parents or love her more. 

     I made--or, rather, altered--her baptismal whites using a bit of the same fabric that I used to make her baby blessing gown. Her after-baptism dress I made using some of Brian's old white dress shirts, which is especially symbolic as LDS priesthood holders, like Brian, wear white shirts to signify their reverence and respect for the power they hold, that their families share, and it is by this priesthood authority that ordinances like baptisms are performed.

     To add to the beauty of the day, we were able to share the baptismal ceremony with two of Laurelei's closest friends who also turned eight this month. I cannot begin to describe the spirit of power and purity that absolutely radiated from these three faithful young girls as they stood together, just after being baptized, each individually, and sang "We'll Bring the World His Truth." I am not being quaint or sentimental when I say it was the power of angels. 

(CTR stands for Choose The Right)

     The day was, like our little girl, bright and beautiful and full of love. We were surrounded by friends and family and the Spirit of the Lord and it was a day full of moments I hope to never forget. Moments I hope Laurelei will never forget. I'm glad I could share them with you.

xo    

p.s. I almost forgot another blessing of the weekend! Just in time to wear to his sister's baptism, Riley's missing Easter bow tie appeared! So I can finally share a photo of the whole ensemble...bow tie tutorial by A Lemon Squeezy Home and Out-On-The-Town jacket pattern from Sewing for Boys.  Handsome and sweet. That's my boy.

Beauty All Around (My 100th Post!)

     When I started this blog in June of 2011, my life was, for many reasons, in a state of transition and unrest. I was writing my thoughts almost constantly, allowing the flow of words to anchor me as I figured things out. As I figured me out.

This is a page from one of the many notebooks/journals I filled that year.

      I have blogged before and was drawn to starting a blog again, but, knowing the commitment of time and energy that keeping a good blog requires, I had to ask myself if it was worth it, and why? The answers I came up with reminded me that I really did have much more figured out than I thought.

     I blog because I find the blog to be a medium, and the blogosphere to be a place, wherein words and images are essential to one another. Yes, an image may speak for itself and words may paint a picture, but, when balanced, whether serendipitously or purposefully, to complement one another, their combined power is unlike any human-made influence I have known. And I cannot separate my inclination to express myself both verbally and visually. I never could.

     I blog because I, like any mere mortal (okay maybe a little more than most), need validation. Immediate feedback and gratification. And admittedly, I blog (at least a little) to self-promote. To build a platform for my writing, to sell my stuff. To let the things I love to make and do do a little making and doing for me.

    I blog because I have finally figured out that I am happiest when I am creating--whether that's creating in a literal sense with pen and paper and paint and camera, etc., or creating beauty and joy in my family and in the world through kindness and service and love. Expressing my joy and gratitude through beauty is my gift.

     I blog because, even in the lowest, darkest times of everyone's life there still is, always, in some small way, beauty all around. And I want to share the beauty in my everyday and to inspire others to see the beauty in their lives as well.

     Thank you gentle readers, for reading and commenting. If I have given at least one of you a little hope, a little inspiration, a little smile or laugh, then I am happy with the written musings of my handmade, vintage, pretty life. My life of beauty all around. Won't you stay for the next 100 posts?

xo

p.s. For those of you who don't follow either me (@amberjunek) or @portabellopixie on Instagram: the couch in that last photo has quite the story. Stay tuned...