tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72690503141521058052024-03-13T21:58:20.508-07:00Beginning "Forwood"life togetherbrookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-43430294040150044062012-11-01T14:26:00.001-07:002012-11-01T14:26:59.601-07:00for the savings...<div class="sflyProductPreviewWidget" style="height: 494px; width: 425px;">
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brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-52583166107266910032011-11-21T06:56:00.000-08:002011-11-21T07:00:09.342-08:00change of scenerysorry bloggerrrrrrr : <a href="http://sbforwood.wordpress.com/">http://sbforwood.wordpress.com/</a>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-61955297841818263442011-11-18T08:21:00.000-08:002012-01-27T13:49:09.140-08:00NavigatingSigh. I have been achy with a sore throat, tight chest, and my chapped hands show the proof of excessive hand washing, worried I was going to get the baby sick. I remember asking my mom once: how do you handle being a mom and getting sick (I never remember seeing her sick in bed). And she told me, "you just have to do it." That is, life continues, through the aches and pains, you just have to do it. [Sarah, we are so German, too ;) ]<br /><br />I am so thankful for the advice and the old adages that we all hear over and over. Yesterday was the babe's 2 month well-check-or-first round of shots day.<br /><br />During pregnancy I tried to research and I hopelessly fell into the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">scary</span> world of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">internet</span> information. Most of which I found was anti-vaccine. I am a hypochondriac, I don't like medicine, I don't take any, mostly because I don't trust it. I don't know how it all works, and yeah, I feel like my, admitted, ignorance is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">alot</span> smarter than years of research. Yet, being the hypochondriac I am, the slightest sniffle or cough would be enough to send me into the dark world of , "what if:" What if that could be the start of pertussis?! I knew we'd be doing vaccines at some point, but when? Would I ever feel okay about this?<br /><br />Then at family night, I asked in semi-desperation my mother-in-law (then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">NICU</span> nurse, now Nani to 12 grandchildren) "I'm scared about these vaccines--are they safe? Can you just tell me?" And she told me (also drawing from knowledge from her pediatrician husband, Dr. Poppa), it is scary, it's usually really scary for parents, but the vaccines are really safe. And then she said, what we all have heard before, but I never understood, "You will NEVER know what all the answers are." I will never know completely what's best for my kids. But I can only try. Processing this, I realize, I really do have a fear of failure--of making a mistake with my kid. And maybe that mistake would be too great. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Unforgivable</span>. But knowing my limits as simple housewife and mom, I feel so much more freedom in NOT knowing the answers. I just have to try.<br /><br />So what did it look like for me to try? Reading on the 2 mo. vaccines, knowing the diseases they protect against, taking note of my initial reaction of said research and take it all to the doctor. This year for thanksgiving, I must recognize my extreme thanks for the care that our doctor gives to little Asa. I couldn't have been more impressed with him and his nurse when we went in yesterday. And it turns out, the shots I thought seemed extra important were the ones he felt were highest priority. He told us which ones we simply didn't really need right now and I feel we all left happy after that appointment. [Except for poor Asa; I have never heard the kid scream that high before--but he was a trooper and didn't seem affected by it at all, afterwards]<br /><br /><br />I am so glad to have relations that, rather than insulate us, make us seemingly more transparent. I am so thankful that we have help in this life, that there are those of us who are smarter, stronger than us, and those who need our help. What a wonderful place to be--to experience both roles. We have much to be thankful for.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-91743414189109320902011-11-17T08:07:00.001-08:002011-11-17T10:52:04.743-08:00A Cry-A Rant. Forgive me.At some point I think I told myself I would never write about any thing political. I guess because it's too controversial and because I recognize i am often times way ill-informed (i kind of give up--there is so much overwhelming bs out there and i get sick of it--and give up--) But as I get older, I am less apathetic, and more sure of some things.<br /><br />Politics is our national religion. God fits in somewhere <span style="font-weight: bold;">after</span> the distinguishing factor of Republican or Democrat. I would argue alot of people would say "I'm a conservative christian" or "a non-judgmental lover of Love. (translation: I was/am/could be considered a Christian but don't judge me, for I am very involved with liberal issues)" I've been both. and they both fail. They both are stuck up in being contrary to one another, and faithful to their political party.<br /><br />So I see all this hub a loo about these occupy protests and critics of said protests; and I can say the right thing to my right winged family and friends and the left thing to my lefty family and friends. But we all are so greatly misguided. Righties: I can show you verse after verse about the wrath of God and arrogant cheaters and about giving to the undeserving (the entire foundation of Christianity is the sacrifice made to the undeserving), etc... And lefties: I don't know, do you know what you want? I suspect some repaying evil for evil? What do you want and what will you do when you get it? Are you poor and want to live like the rich? How will we all get what we want? I feel the driving force behind political parties is to provoke. For example, I did it, you know, first by feeling defensive and theatened by the "hippy feminists" at a war memorial in D.C. when i was 17 and then again with my unshaven pits and gospel of relativity and all at 19. But I'm not convinced by any of it anymore and I know: It doesn't work.<br /><br />Nothing anyone is doing is working. And I'm kind of frustrated and annoyed and sad. I'm annoyed with christians that cry out on the streets that they have a <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span> to work and to have health insurance, etc, I'm annoyed with christians that think "you just need to pull up your bootstraps, kids and you poor people." I'm frustrated by conscientious christians who argue for everything green and peace while they judge families who chose to have a flock of children. I'm frstrated by christians who dress up in expensive rags and shout about being the 99% from their computers and iphones bought on credit that's accruing more debt. I'm annoyed and frustrated and sad about christians who arn't pro-life and I'm equally annoyed and frustrated and sad aboutchristians who are "pro life" yet believe it's their <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span> to carry arms and support capital punishment.<br /><br />I guess that is what it is to live in America. To be constantly annoyed and arguing with each other. This is the way to keep each other on track (? there is alot of sarcasm in these past couple sentences). I don't know, it's exhausting, and maybe this is where Seth's mantra, "we're not a part of that story" is especially applicable. I don't really have to worry about all this--I can do what I believe is right. I can raise another flock in order to bring about the Gospel (don't be afraid--geez). And maybe this is where I can really rest in Jesus:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">OH Lord, there is so much wrong with the world we live in today. I recognize I do just as much wrong by pointing my finger: you're wrong you're wrong you're wrong you're wrong. Deliver us. Help us not to contribute to the problems. Help us to bring about hope and peace (but not by making more turmoil). Oh come Lord Jesus, Come. Have mercy on us and forgive us. We've hopelessly lost our way. Help us to be bathed in the blood of the Lamb. Let us have Your mark.<br /></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-35416091229468249762011-11-14T07:39:00.000-08:002011-11-14T12:15:23.486-08:00A New Commitment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WG_6dKp4XgU/TsF2pLqstrI/AAAAAAAAAqM/-XkBvFiscek/s1600/DSC_0712.JPG"><br /></a><br />I have to begin cleaning out Asa's closet, because his clothes have become too tight. It's a task I don't really want to do: saying goodbye to his first clothes. And so I'm beginning to learn even more about this growing into adult thing, by watching my own child grow up.<br /><br />Yesterday I felt even more like a grown up (in some sense) as I was confirmed at Christ our Hope--I am now an Anglican! (I really like having some concrete tradition that I can say wholeheartedly that I am a part of--it's like taking responsibility and charge, I guess, of my own beliefs--and hey after all the crappy dark years, I've wound back up in a beautiful community of Christian believers.) Standing up with my husband I felt I was making a commitment like the one I made a year and a half ago. I felt the same way when Asa was baptized last week. These events are huge, and they should be regarded along the same scale as the sacrament of marriage. <br /><br />The liturgy of both events mark what it is we believe about being confirmed or being baptized. What is so profound about these events is not merely ritual and going through steps of tradition and religious practice (although I think alot can be said for adhering to tradition...) but what is built into the liturgy of the service. I grew up in an evangelical tradition, and I will say, there is alot of judgment passed onto some of the more liturgical Christian denominations--passing them off as cold, insensitive, communal? That is that an individual cannot possibly make a meaningful decision about one's faith if they're simply following steps in a ritual like confirmation or when a parent makes the decision to baptize a baby. And it's in that very individualistic thinking that I find a problem and thus liturgy is kind of my answer? Corporate worship. Christianity is not an individualistic faith. We depend on others to build us up in the Faith, and ultimately, we depend on CHRIST to save us. Where does the gospel of "me" factor into Christianity or into Christian worship? Should it? I think not. And I think that's where liturgy, call and response, whatever you call it, is so beautifully symbolic of this kind of faith. A dependence on something greater than ourselves! That's why when the Bishop said to us "candidates" yesterday, "Brothers and sisters" I'm moved. Every little word fashioned in the liturgy means something--that we are doing this together, that we are now a family in Christ due to the blood that he shed. Sure, we make those individual decisions to follow Christ (I mean not to minimalize this), but that is not the end. With confirmation, we pray that we remain committed to the decisions we have made and we profess them to an authority so we can be kept accountable by our True family, the church as we mature and grow within this new community.<br /><br />The Bishop prayed this yesterday at the close of the Confirmation, "God has made us one in Christ. He has set his seal upon us and, as a pledge of what is to come, has given the Spirit to dwell in our hearts."<br /><br />I am now committed to a community of believers, and with the help of our community we will, by God's Good Grace, will build up His Kingdom.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WG_6dKp4XgU/TsF2pLqstrI/AAAAAAAAAqM/-XkBvFiscek/s1600/DSC_0712.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WG_6dKp4XgU/TsF2pLqstrI/AAAAAAAAAqM/-XkBvFiscek/s400/DSC_0712.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674947455342130866" border="0" /></a>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-63653324338240667352011-11-12T15:43:00.000-08:002011-11-12T15:58:36.236-08:00A poem for a Mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PYz8avanxkk/Tr8HCJ0iO_I/AAAAAAAAApo/FZ6ZhZCOoN8/s1600/DSC_0329.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PYz8avanxkk/Tr8HCJ0iO_I/AAAAAAAAApo/FZ6ZhZCOoN8/s400/DSC_0329.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674261789087513586" border="0" /></a><br />seth read this to me the other day. i thought it was lovely.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Only she who has breast-fed<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Only she who has breast-fed<br />knows how beautiful the ear is.<br />Only they who have been breast-fed<br />know the beauty of the clavicle.<br />Only to humans the Creator<br />has given the earlobe.<br />The humans, through clavicles<br />slightly resembling birds,<br />entwined in caresses fly<br />to the place ta night where,<br />rocking the cradle of cradles,<br />the babe is wailing,<br />where on a pillow of air<br />the stars nestle like toys.<br />And some of them speak.<br /></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;">-Vera Pavlova<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vTlwRl3z2ek/Tr8HzbbHoJI/AAAAAAAAAqA/KZpeuAvXCgc/s1600/DSC_0665.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vTlwRl3z2ek/Tr8HzbbHoJI/AAAAAAAAAqA/KZpeuAvXCgc/s400/DSC_0665.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674262635626340498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-78185281549722681482011-11-09T07:37:00.000-08:002011-11-09T19:18:57.306-08:00wear the 'scars'My sweet boy slept for 6 1/2 hours last night. I was so awake when he woke up to nurse that I couldn't fall back asleep. My mind could not fall asleep.<br />It may be no secret that I have not always had the highest self esteem. During pregnancy I dealt with old demons as my weight escalated. Now after pregnancy and after child birth, similar thoughts emerge. They haven't been that bad, that is, not as bad as I had anticipated--I'm being fairly nice to myself and giving myself time. I don't really feel rushed to get rid of these "remaining so or so many pounds." But, in all honesty, I worry about not having enough time to "have my body back." You know, couples usually have another baby. And the cycle continues.<br />I don't want to make this a discussion about birth control or how ever many babies our particular family may have, but I do want to say that I realized I really want to hold on to this notion of "my body." My 24 or something year old body. My pre-pregnancy body. But I'm really realizing that I am only going to get older. And I give up my selfish desire to retain my youth (often through vain attempts). I will have more kids. And more importantly, I want more kids. But with more kids means, more nursing, more growing bellies, more post partum bellies; a body aging and weathering. It's all kind of frightening. That and becoming more "mom like" (as if that were a bad thing)makes me a little uneasy somehow--maybe my spirited and rebellious past is still desperately trying to hold on as my more conservative present becomes more and more of a reality.<br />And last night as I lay in bed wide away, pondering these things, thought about this long purple cardigan I got that looks cool but in some way, matronly. But who cares? It's handy, cheap, and completely practical. Now, what's not practical? My old clothes: like, unstructured shirts, dresses (not good for nursing), minis. And how about my old go-to hairstyle? Pig tails. Moms don't wear pig tails!<br />I'm exaggerating. I will probably wear all these things, but I am sensing a change. So watch out world [or watch out self] I may soon be pulling out some mom jeans and a very conservative cut.<br />I laugh partially because I'm joking, but mostly because does any of this matter, at all? What is the fear that lurks behind this mysterious "getting older" thing? I don't know but it certainly doesn't fit into any Christian narrative and so.....<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><sup style="font-style: italic;" class="versenum" id="en-NIV-28977">5</sup><span style="font-style: italic;"> We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:5)</span><br /></span><br /><br />The knowledge of God being, in this case, 1. children are wonderful, wonderful, wonderful 2. I am a mother, I've followed the design of things, and it is naturally beautiful 3. We are raising new generations in the name of Christ. That is it. And I am already getting to wear the "scars" of the battles of motherhood. [paraphrasing from a friend:] I would certainly say that they're beautiful on anyone else, now, how about I say the same for myself.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-14186270897216236412011-11-04T06:26:00.000-07:002011-11-04T07:31:41.219-07:00my nighttime prayerHaving a child is like getting a crash course in patience and understanding. Last night, after nearly a week of our son's new routine of sleeping 4-6 hours at night (that means--waking up once during the night!), we woke up nearly every 3-4 hours. I feel exhausted this morning (hello coffee) and felt, frankly, pretty annoyed with our little bundle of joy--or as it was last night, bundle of snorts and gas and discomfort. poor man. I know it's only natural to feel annoyed in times like these. Being a mom, and being needed constantly is an adjustment--especially after you've had time to "adjust" and when your child decides to change up his pretty consistent routine :) haha<br />But being a mom, for me, is a big wake up call that, "it's not all about me." I always say in baby talk, "it's hard to be a baby." And though i'm just being partially hyperbolic during my moments of baby talk, I think it's true, it is hard to be a baby: you're forced into a cold world from somewhere so warm and tight, your mom is not a mind reader and cannot give you what you need simply because she doesn't always know what you need, and you have to deal with these new weird things like dry colorado air, and painful gas (Mr. A's mom eats a real healthy diet with lots of greens, beans, and garlic but lots of greens, beans, and garlic, means upset tum for baby). It's hard to be a baby. And though I may get frustrated when I lose my precious sleep, I have to remind myself that this baby depends on me, not because he's just a clingy new friend who I risk spoiling and compromising my values, (I think sometimes we like to think these sorts of things when we are confronted with losing independence--that somehow we are just spoiling this new stranger in our lives), but because...he's a baby and absolutely cannot do it without me. You may read this and be, like, duh. But this small distinction, having empathy for my small child rather than being defensive that he's like, manipulating me to get closer to me (I know that sounds crazy, but your mind goes to these when you're losing sleep and you're constantly needed) helps me to calmly (even--happily?!) get out of bed, and to give my child what he really needs. He needs to know I am there for him. And I love being there for him. I will be there whenever he needs; a kiss when he falls, a hug before bed, the reassurance that we'll take care of him forever. Wow, just writing that reminds me of this gorgeous lullaby that my friend, Leah, posted to my facebook wall. It's by My Brightest Diamond and is written for her son. Watch it.<br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/u1p9kj-odnU" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />In order to do this though, I need strength. And help. My nighttime prayer is always to boldly ask for sleep. And then, not only for sleep, but for the strength, endurance and patience it takes to care for an infant. And while these things are good, I most of all pray that I allow God to work through my inadequacies and weaknesses as a mom. That I rely on the True Strength that comes not by my own means and accomplishments but in being weak and being unable. I pray that I would give up what I think I need for the true help and strength that can only come from the power found in Christ. True rest can only come from Him, and I just pray that I am able to wait in quiet for what this means--for me, and my family.<br /><br />Happy Friday, Happy Weekend.<br /><br />Asa gets baptized this weekend!! Talk about an answer to prayer--this very nighttime prayer--for this community is the Body that helps make us strong in some way, shape or form. We are blessed.<br /><br /><br />Peace.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-65206314334943822362011-11-03T12:32:00.000-07:002011-11-03T14:21:59.342-07:00brad + ashley...engaged!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gxGpfoPjqR0/TrMDixg6-GI/AAAAAAAAAoA/5Wj7A28VasQ/s1600/DSC_0517.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 442px; height: 295px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gxGpfoPjqR0/TrMDixg6-GI/AAAAAAAAAoA/5Wj7A28VasQ/s400/DSC_0517.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880251731441762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Om_sC5UpvYw/TrMCeCjmGPI/AAAAAAAAAm4/rHfFC31QKcs/s1600/DSC_0496.jpg"><br /></a>My dear friend Ashley just got engaged to Brad, and I couldn't be happier for them! I had the privilege of spending the evening with them as we went out and found the perfect fall backdrop for this beautiful couple's impromptu engagement shoot. Hooray for marriage, and hooray for Ash and Brad!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">goofing off while i test the light...arn't they sweet?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b59EYcNl13c/TrMBA9jnDYI/AAAAAAAAAmE/s8cbhRqMkjU/s1600/DSC_0468.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 466px; height: 305px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b59EYcNl13c/TrMBA9jnDYI/AAAAAAAAAmE/s8cbhRqMkjU/s400/DSC_0468.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670877471825137026" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cqlnUyBobeo/TrMBBYWZilI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/VjltJkqD6ds/s1600/DSC_0473.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 494px; height: 305px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cqlnUyBobeo/TrMBBYWZilI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/VjltJkqD6ds/s400/DSC_0473.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670877479017482834" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">pretty<br /><br /></span></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TnEha0yHtWs/TrMBCvF7QuI/AAAAAAAAAmc/CnFspYiXb1A/s1600/DSC_0480.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TnEha0yHtWs/TrMBCvF7QuI/AAAAAAAAAmc/CnFspYiXb1A/s400/DSC_0480.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670877502302274274" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-40zWnSoL-rc/TrMBDhJRqoI/AAAAAAAAAmo/18xAfbSA3d8/s1600/DSC_0492.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-40zWnSoL-rc/TrMBDhJRqoI/AAAAAAAAAmo/18xAfbSA3d8/s400/DSC_0492.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670877515738098306" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zd0grP9pbHA/TrMCe_N_-oI/AAAAAAAAAnE/plrM1_gVR7s/s1600/DSC_0497.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 326px; height: 461px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zd0grP9pbHA/TrMCe_N_-oI/AAAAAAAAAnE/plrM1_gVR7s/s400/DSC_0497.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670879087179070082" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe5nxeNgy9g/TrMCfsm2XpI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/yCoXzgvkBMg/s1600/DSC_0499.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe5nxeNgy9g/TrMCfsm2XpI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/yCoXzgvkBMg/s400/DSC_0499.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670879099362893458" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wXUak74FOz0/TrMCgj0KFXI/AAAAAAAAAnc/K5T9h9enXpQ/s1600/DSC_0500.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 447px; height: 298px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wXUak74FOz0/TrMCgj0KFXI/AAAAAAAAAnc/K5T9h9enXpQ/s400/DSC_0500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670879114182661490" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgLQUBoRW8k/TrMChRUdO-I/AAAAAAAAAnk/WZUhxe25-6E/s1600/DSC_0502.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 445px; height: 297px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgLQUBoRW8k/TrMChRUdO-I/AAAAAAAAAnk/WZUhxe25-6E/s400/DSC_0502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670879126397729762" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Om_sC5UpvYw/TrMCeCjmGPI/AAAAAAAAAm4/rHfFC31QKcs/s1600/DSC_0496.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZmLnxe-sfS8/TrMDjUUbWOI/AAAAAAAAAoI/4LbWoSDle28/s1600/DSC_0530.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 429px; height: 286px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZmLnxe-sfS8/TrMDjUUbWOI/AAAAAAAAAoI/4LbWoSDle28/s400/DSC_0530.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880261074278626" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DPuQh4xlMig/TrMDj2O2TXI/AAAAAAAAAoU/IxjNPghdh2I/s1600/ashbrad.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 497px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DPuQh4xlMig/TrMDj2O2TXI/AAAAAAAAAoU/IxjNPghdh2I/s400/ashbrad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880270177684850" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ro5nBCKmMVw/TrMDkoQNxwI/AAAAAAAAAoo/GHyKmrYEUss/s1600/DSC_0552.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ro5nBCKmMVw/TrMDkoQNxwI/AAAAAAAAAoo/GHyKmrYEUss/s400/DSC_0552.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880283605190402" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">so happy together ( and so happy we caught the yellow leaves before the snow!!)<br /><br /></span></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nhLOoGS8QIg/TrMDmBfPzQI/AAAAAAAAAow/xDaH5n4gfp8/s1600/DSC_0561.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nhLOoGS8QIg/TrMDmBfPzQI/AAAAAAAAAow/xDaH5n4gfp8/s400/DSC_0561.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880307558993154" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ICFGN_9omQ/TrMEOFT5v5I/AAAAAAAAApM/4Q2HquoCv9o/s1600/DSC_0575.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ICFGN_9omQ/TrMEOFT5v5I/AAAAAAAAApM/4Q2HquoCv9o/s400/DSC_0575.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880995779919762" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sbBozN6pyWI/TrMENk_6j-I/AAAAAAAAApE/LnysuL4JypA/s1600/DSC_0572.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sbBozN6pyWI/TrMENk_6j-I/AAAAAAAAApE/LnysuL4JypA/s400/DSC_0572.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670880987106152418" border="0" /></a>Blessings to the couple as they prepare for marriage; this is such a special time!brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-34488941538905515142011-10-21T08:04:00.000-07:002011-10-21T08:09:01.203-07:00common prayerThis was yesterday's prayer in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Common-Prayer-Liturgy-Ordinary-Radicals/dp/0310326192"><span style="font-style: italic;">Common Prayer</span></a> :<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lord, you descended into the mire of this world to raise us up. Enable us to descend as you descended that we might rise with you to the beloved community of your resurrected life. Amen.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>Come, Lord Jesus, Come.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-53925853903171209172011-10-17T08:50:00.000-07:002011-10-17T09:33:25.807-07:00asa 1 mo.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1flRcAzgrTU/TpxVojNZmzI/AAAAAAAAAi0/bAqthIEgSiA/s1600/DSC_0489_2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1flRcAzgrTU/TpxVojNZmzI/AAAAAAAAAi0/bAqthIEgSiA/s400/DSC_0489_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664496586459814706" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D9JGC6dxwZg/TpxUmmYD0aI/AAAAAAAAAio/lehwHzk7MO4/s1600/Asa_Forwood%2B015_1.jpg"><br /></a>one month?! the babe is getting bigger and stronger and chubbier each day. happy day, Mr. A.<br /><br />from this:<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D9JGC6dxwZg/TpxUmmYD0aI/AAAAAAAAAio/lehwHzk7MO4/s1600/Asa_Forwood%2B015_1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D9JGC6dxwZg/TpxUmmYD0aI/AAAAAAAAAio/lehwHzk7MO4/s400/Asa_Forwood%2B015_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664495453438464418" border="0" /></a><br />to this:<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNUUi7HXxlM/TpxVo76TcDI/AAAAAAAAAjE/BCRSWOcnxfE/s1600/DSC_0493.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNUUi7HXxlM/TpxVo76TcDI/AAAAAAAAAjE/BCRSWOcnxfE/s400/DSC_0493.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664496593090605106" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjEGZDglXDI/TpxVp1HmAdI/AAAAAAAAAjY/DrGq5b3QxrA/s1600/DSC_0497.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjEGZDglXDI/TpxVp1HmAdI/AAAAAAAAAjY/DrGq5b3QxrA/s400/DSC_0497.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664496608447168978" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lMHiooUMTn0/TpxVpvjdM5I/AAAAAAAAAjM/BGmn9Vn9FCM/s1600/DSC_0496.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lMHiooUMTn0/TpxVpvjdM5I/AAAAAAAAAjM/BGmn9Vn9FCM/s400/DSC_0496.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664496606953419666" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TVneAr1ApzU/TpxWWQAcFUI/AAAAAAAAAj8/2gPQfBe5deM/s1600/DSC_0511.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TVneAr1ApzU/TpxWWQAcFUI/AAAAAAAAAj8/2gPQfBe5deM/s400/DSC_0511.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664497371579159874" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iPTGvfYlw8Q/TpxXHZd7DMI/AAAAAAAAAks/PsHXFCHpHGE/s1600/asaonemocollage.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iPTGvfYlw8Q/TpxXHZd7DMI/AAAAAAAAAks/PsHXFCHpHGE/s400/asaonemocollage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664498215932333250" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wmwXmQXsjW4/TpxWXC6RBMI/AAAAAAAAAkI/CK1EqbVCXHA/s1600/DSC_0515.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wmwXmQXsjW4/TpxWXC6RBMI/AAAAAAAAAkI/CK1EqbVCXHA/s400/DSC_0515.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664497385243477186" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6_09QiuhQA/TpxXHC-oH1I/AAAAAAAAAkc/iYl7IUcgiU0/s1600/handsandfeetonemo.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6_09QiuhQA/TpxXHC-oH1I/AAAAAAAAAkc/iYl7IUcgiU0/s400/handsandfeetonemo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664498209895489362" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6M2HqlblitU/TpxXG8PzaRI/AAAAAAAAAkU/RWSOoIi6QZU/s1600/DSC_0547.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6M2HqlblitU/TpxXG8PzaRI/AAAAAAAAAkU/RWSOoIi6QZU/s400/DSC_0547.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664498208088484114" border="0" /></a>Mom and Pa love you.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-67015243010529251552011-10-14T07:13:00.000-07:002011-10-14T11:38:47.424-07:00Conversations with A Newborn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j1dJyaTuMk0/TpiA1XjVf1I/AAAAAAAAAiQ/KaMDrzd9e5U/s1600/IMG_0465.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j1dJyaTuMk0/TpiA1XjVf1I/AAAAAAAAAiQ/KaMDrzd9e5U/s400/IMG_0465.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663418185762045778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8:00am </span><br /><br />"Are you lookin all around, Asa? Are you lookin at daddy's desk?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Asa's eyes like blue marbles shift from side to side; his jerky limbs swing up and down.</span><br /><br />"Well, we have plenty of stuff to look at in here; it's like a crazy old grandma's house in here."<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OkRSQvBun0I/TpiA1AYJcZI/AAAAAAAAAiE/8CXWR-QIiMM/s1600/IMG_0428.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OkRSQvBun0I/TpiA1AYJcZI/AAAAAAAAAiE/8CXWR-QIiMM/s400/IMG_0428.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663418179541102994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Asa responds with his infamous and way-too-loud-for-such-a-tiny-guy fart.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">8:40am</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"</span></span>What are those weird things going in your mom's hair?"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Asa watches as pink purple and green curlers go up in my hair. Gives concerned look. Probabl</span>y <span style="font-style: italic;">thinking: finish feeding me, lady.... Nope. Gives another mighty fart.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">12:30</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">pm</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>"Hi, Bubs. Do you like pears?"<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Asa stretches and begins to cry. Probably thinking, "Mom, quit with the blogging, give me food."<br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KM-3uoSyXPk/TpiA2DnAYTI/AAAAAAAAAic/DqbgkQNLRX8/s1600/IMG_0471.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KM-3uoSyXPk/TpiA2DnAYTI/AAAAAAAAAic/DqbgkQNLRX8/s400/IMG_0471.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663418197588599090" border="0" /></a>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-45544434132099255722011-09-28T07:56:00.000-07:002011-10-03T09:44:31.359-07:00Birth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ysnilm4qso/ToilQPEteOI/AAAAAAAAAhs/FhBUY-Bhm9w/s1600/DSC_0163.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vSlT_0jJF-w/ToilP-HeEsI/AAAAAAAAAhk/no2mAdqD1lE/s1600/DSC_0126.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vSlT_0jJF-w/ToilP-HeEsI/AAAAAAAAAhk/no2mAdqD1lE/s400/DSC_0126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658954625581978306" border="0" /></a><br />It's been two weeks since Asa made his beautiful arrival into this world. And when I say beautiful, I wholeheartedly mean "perfect" or the way birth was intended to be. :) Rather than trying to forget my birth I enjoyed replaying it in my head, over and over. I have a couple friends who have asked about my birth story and I feel (just as I've done with the story of Seth and my Engagement story) I should document the details if only for my own benefit.<br /><br />I will warn. This will be long. And it will be a birth story--which means--blood, sweat, swear words, etc. j/k<br /><br />I was induced two saturdays ago at 7:30am--Asa had been measuring slightly small. Though my midwife wasn't concerned, the doctor at the clinic who read my ultrasound figured if something was wrong (say the placenta was pooping out) it'd be better to nourish him outside the womb. Induction was never part of my "plan" er.."preference" and I had to mourn as the days drew closer to the induction date without any signs of my body going into labor on its own (or rather, with many frustrating "false starts" or warm-ups). My midwife wanted to start cytotec (i was skeptical--i'm well aware of the scary reports about this drug) at night and give me an ambien so that i could sleep through the effacement process. Though cytotec was not something I would have chosen for myself--after frank conversation with my CNM I decided to trust her judgement as I had entrusted her for my care, while opting out of the ambien idea (ie getting induced at night and "ripening" overnight). I prefered to skip the sleep meds and labor and efface through the day--even though that could mean a long drawn out early labor process. It must have been maternal instinct but going in sat. morn. was probably the best thing we could have done...<br /><br />So we got in right away, and I am given my saline lock (seriously, worst part for me--I nearly passed out--had to have oxygen and everything--and i've been so good during the pregnancy, you know, with all the blood draws) and administered the cytotec. I was 1 1/2 cm and 50%. My midwife came back around noon and checked and I was 70% effaced with no change in dilation. But it was good news that the cytotec was working the way it was supposed to. (we were warned induction could either work well (with only cytotec jumpstarting labor) or that we'd need other things ("interventions") to encourage dilation (the "balloon" or pitocin) and that it could last until monday morning. AH! (Though I am sooo thankful to have a care provider who was in no rush to get Asa out or to begin pitocin) I was given another dose of cytotec and was told she'd return at 4:30 to check me. My doula, Kate, encouraged me to take a nap at 3:00 since the possibility of laboring through the night was very possible. At 3:30, after having really manageable menstrual-like cramps from the beginning of the day, started having them strong in my back--I "breathed through my contraction" for the first time and things progressed extremely quick after that. Unfortunately, all was back labor--right in my tail bone! OW! but I was fortunate enough to have an incredible nurse, doula and seth to take care of me. My nurse suggested a TENS unit which I had entertained the thought of but kind of forgot about during pregnancy. It's a handheld machine with electrode-like pads that you put on your tum and back and you control these tiny shocks that interrupt the pain receptors and thus the pain you may experience. It sounds crazy, but it got me through the waves. I had contractions that were coming one after another from the very beginning. At 4:30 I was checked and was 6-7cm and 90%. Labor got very intense but my doula really helped guide my breathing so I was able to stay on top of the contractions (by really surrendering to them :). Because of the back labor, the toilet was my favorite spot to be. I moved there one last time around 7:30 and had a couple contractions, but then I automatically started grunting. My midwife showed up right in time. I guess she said, "there's the head!" Then my water broke. I think it was then that people encouraged me to get up to go to the bed, but as I started I could feel his head down there and I kind of fell down to my hands and knees (on the bathroom floor) and pushed through my contractions. Midwife was great and seemed completely fine with me not moving, though the nurses seemed concerned that we were remaining in the bathroom. There were moments of frantic activity as I concentrated on pushing and resting through the contractions: people ripping the TENS unit off ("we don't want any shocks!") and someone holding the doppler continuously on my tummy. But it was only like 10-15 minutes of pushing and he was out. SOOOOOO crazyyyyyyyy. Seth caught him and I pulled him up through my knees. It's incredible that as I recall this moment, all I can ever remember is muffled sound, bright bathroom light beaming on our little boy, bright eyed, looking all around, covered in vernix. Seth was right there with me, he was tearful, I was not; intstead I was completely stunned, pain-free, and completely overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. The baby nurse took him to be cleaned up. Asa had to be under some oxygen for a tiny bit because since he came out so quick, he didn't have time to have all the fluid squeezed out of his lungs!<br />As I returned to the bed to recover (lots of shaking--hormones do weird things) I noticed the clock I had unconciously been watching all day was missing off the wall. I asked, as if it was really important that the room had changed, "where is the clock?!" Apparently the baby nurse had it brought in to record the time of birth--the giant wall clock--which seemed kind of silly to me.<br />Once all was said and done, with Seth and Asa in the nursery, and me recovering with Kate, our nurse answered the knock at the door where my mom and sister were out in the hall. The nurse said, "um, brooke, your mom is wondering if your sister can come say hi." (Mind you, no one knew I had delivered yet--last they heard, I was 6-7cm....) I turned to Kate and we knew it was time to announce the news, completely uncoordinated and disorganized. My mom came in, and I said, "do you know what has happened? I had him. He's here." I thought Mom was going to need to sit down--she was shocked, and Kate ran out to announce the news somehow to Seth's parents.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rIvH_APjfgg/ToilQr_lPFI/AAAAAAAAAh0/uCUytbDuEK8/s1600/DSC_0164.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rIvH_APjfgg/ToilQr_lPFI/AAAAAAAAAh0/uCUytbDuEK8/s400/DSC_0164.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658954637896924242" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ysnilm4qso/ToilQPEteOI/AAAAAAAAAhs/FhBUY-Bhm9w/s1600/DSC_0163.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Ysnilm4qso/ToilQPEteOI/AAAAAAAAAhs/FhBUY-Bhm9w/s400/DSC_0163.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658954630133807330" border="0" /></a><br />It was the perfect birth. No amount of planning could have made it as good as it was.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ABM6Bs17DzY/ToilQ1axPmI/AAAAAAAAAh8/iS9fmP3ikbY/s1600/DSC_0193.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ABM6Bs17DzY/ToilQ1axPmI/AAAAAAAAAh8/iS9fmP3ikbY/s400/DSC_0193.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658954640426876514" border="0" /></a>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-48989775403764956552011-09-09T07:45:00.000-07:002011-09-12T08:08:46.940-07:00Really, Any Day Now.<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />nothing too exciting today. but for the record:</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>How far along?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >39 weeks plus, and i'm done.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">How big is baby?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >well....at last week's appointment they said he's kind of small. 6lbs 9oz. But everything looks fine and good according to the ultrasound and biophysical, so this is me being okay with trusting the doctor's opinions and not worrying about our peanut of a child. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br />Gender?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >Boy. I get a precious mini-Seth. I always said I wanted a million of them....... </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br />Weight gain?</strong><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >When I get weighed, I look at the ceiling, so, I have no idea. But according to how i look, I think it's probably in the 30ish range.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Symptoms?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > My stomach cramps, and tightens, and my round ligaments send shooting pain down my side, but nothing gives me an Asa. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br />Food cravings?</strong><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >It was nutella, then french toast, and I've satisfied them all. Now I'm not really craving much. If anything maybe some good cereal--it's like I'm reverting back to the first trimester.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Sleep?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >Relatively good. I wake up during the night but if I can sleep till four, I can usually drift back to sleep. If it's before four I lay awake for at least and hour and a half. I have no idea. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Movement?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >Oh he loves to move. alot. to the point where I think he's going to bust through the skin. it's a bit uncomfortable.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Stretch Marks?</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >none, yet. but i've begun to itch so I'm not holding my breath for a second.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><b style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Belly Button?</b> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" >the top part is out, bottom part is flat. it's so weird </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><strong style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br />What I am looking forward to?</strong><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >alot. i really want to see this squirmy little guy. and dress him up and walk around with him in a sling right next to me alllllllllll day. but i also want to lay on my tum, and hug with my whole body. im looking forward to breastfeeding. and going into labor. and pushing. kind of everything that gets me away from pregnancy.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><b style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><b style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Pregnancy Moments with Seth:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > I just love and will miss Seth's flabergasted expression when he see's my stomach twist and shift, and "good griefs" when Asa kicks HIM!<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-family: georgia;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><b style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Belly Photo:</b></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" >i look and feel just like this *scary* picture<br /></span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bERS_5YTUTo/Tm4fE6BtC-I/AAAAAAAAAhc/CUmz4W0qQIU/s1600/DSC_0004.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bERS_5YTUTo/Tm4fE6BtC-I/AAAAAAAAAhc/CUmz4W0qQIU/s400/DSC_0004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651488751552891874" border="0" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;font-family:Georgia,Times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><b style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></b></span>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-63443919031408196162011-09-03T20:28:00.001-07:002011-09-03T20:39:45.473-07:00Now, things can happen.<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ouW07v1UBo/TmLxiXdj5WI/AAAAAAAAAhM/XS4Cprno-7M/s1600/38weeks.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>Sometimes I'm in a state of disbelief that I'm 38 weeks pregnant. That I can honestly say, "i should be able to make it, unless something else, say a baby comes up (or should i say, "out?")"<div>
<br /></div><div>The nursery is done. All the essential components are finished, maybe not all things are put up or put away, but, we finished the cabinet. Thank you to all who contributed, especially since I couldn't do any of it. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Alrighty Asa, we're ready for you.</div><div><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" ft="{"type":1}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-size:16px;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8xXelZ9Dws/TmLxhrucvEI/AAAAAAAAAhE/C_gkfzlnvlo/s400/DSC_0017.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648342443651546178" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></h6></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ouW07v1UBo/TmLxiXdj5WI/AAAAAAAAAhM/XS4Cprno-7M/s400/38weeks.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648342455391872354" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 329px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">
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<br /></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-64631240181960562011-08-31T08:12:00.000-07:002011-08-31T11:45:32.308-07:00Waiting Game<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">It's a wednesday morning, and we just got back from our 37 week appointment. I've had a beautiful pregnancy and even though i know that being pregnant and having the baby inside is easier than having the baby outside....I am utterly miserable. I feel like I have hit the limits of my patience and I am kind of driving myself crazy. I want to meet our little son so badly, I want to see his face, I want to go through the adventure of giving birth, and then all the challenges of parenthood. With every contraction and tightening, with every kick, I start playing these mind games about when he'll come. Is this labor? It could be? Maybe this is the start....</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">The thing is, labor probably has started in a sense, my body is preparing for what it needs to do, but my temptation is to want to speed up the process. Sometimes, in these times when I'm hit with the reality of "this could happen anywhere from now until three weeks from now," I selfishly"get" why women would elect to schedule an induction -- YET at the same time this is another example of why pregnancy is another example of God's amazing creativity in design. How better to learn the disciplines of patience, of welcoming the unexpected stranger, and of simply being still, resting in His creation. I have been created to give birth a certain way, and Asa has been created to come out a certain way :) I have to surrender my own plans about what should be happening and when it should be happening and just go with the design. As simple as it is this is another opportunity to live Jeremiah 29:11</span> "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Charis SIL', charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; "><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-19647" style="font-size: 0.65em; line-height: normal; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: text-top; ">11</sup> For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."</span></div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> I am blessed to be able to partake in the blessing of motherhood and pregnancy. Intervening with the design is not proper, and I just have to remember, if nothing else, I've waited nine months, I can wait another week or two ;) Oh, and also, that I am doing the work I've been given to do--to grow a baby. Now it's time to rest in this work, knowing doing it is good. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I am participating in a miracle. I can wait another couple weeks....but I'm allowed to complain about my waddle. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">
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<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">ps.[Funny pregnancy thing week 37--I have a weekly outfit. With each new week, I have grown out of what previously has fit. So I get creative with my wardrobe, pick out one or two outfits and wear them all week. This week, it's a black dress with a belly band worn as a tube top. Next week will probably be Seth tank top with stretchy pants....oh man.]</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"> </span></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-73701329533947370102011-08-12T06:43:00.000-07:002011-08-12T10:12:02.700-07:00I haven't written in a while. It could easily be that rather than sitting and collecting information and digesting and trying to make sense of it through writing, I have been really busy with preparing for our little son's birth. I've been nesting for weeks--making curtains and crib dusters and mobiles. They're nothing pretty but I'm really proud to have spent my time doing them myself.
<br />I've noticed, as the months go on, Seth and I changing. As strange as this sounds I have seen our parental instincts surfacing as we engage with the children (and get this-animals) in our lives. From noticing Seth's super creative ways of interacting with our nephew during his birthday to my vigil watch over changes in my dog's (yeah, DOG's) behavior, I think we're slowly gearing up for this new stranger entering our lives.
<br />I don't like the idea of preparing for welcoming Asa into our lives by having to say our final goodbyes with the life we know now. Maybe its because I'm overwhelmed enough as it is by the huge change having a kid will bring that I don't think it's necessary to have my "lasts." Maybe I want the "lasts" to happen without celebrating them as being "the last time doing [whatever] without a baby in my life." It's not like I'm kissing parties or bars or girls night outs goodbye. It's not like I need one final fling with my husband. As with marriage, where life changed, yet it changed for Good and it just <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span>, I feel having a child will be similar. Things will change, but our lives have been moving slowly in this direction anyways. If I was to feel entitled to be independent (which as I write that word out--I'm sure I still feel this entitlement deep in my bones) then, yeah, motherhood would be a miserable existence. Just as marriage would be if I felt I had the right to be independent of my spouse. But you know, I don't really strive to buy into the our culture's strange obsession with independence.
<br />Instead of saying "goodbye" to our lives, Seth and I are striving to make changes to our household--one of the biggest has been to keep the Sabbath. We hope to work well during the week and keep Sundays open to visiting with friends and family and rest. The other day we put another condition on our Sundays and I discussed with Seth something that has been convicting me as of lately. This condition involves no idle internet time--but I admitted that I felt that maybe I need to take some time from facebook. [doesn't everyone say the same thing?] At least, something needs to change. I don't know how I feel about posting everything about our growing family, especially after he comes. Which is difficult, as I love that about fb--the ability to share with people (as some of my closest friends live furthest away); I think I just need more restraint. This also calls into question what I want to do with photography (as that is also why I like facebook--it's a good discipline for me to always be shooting and making silly 'albums'). All this might include using it less or writing more or shooting with film or becoming alot more picky about my pictures and what I choose to show.
<br />In all, it's an attempt at actual relationship. To people experiencing our family not by my words or how we look on film (or digital files) to what we do in action. How we interact with the world and community around us. Besides, the older I get (I know--I'm still pretty young) the more old fashioned I get (read: what's the point of style and fashion? why are there iphones? why are there kindles? i'll stop there, i don't want to get in trouble) and I want to keep my heart content with the limits we are faced with and I want Asa to know that we are content with the way we live--that it's okay to embrace these limits. Protecting my own heart by using my time wisely and on good things will hopefully keep our family from at least <span style="font-style: italic;">some </span>of the pressures of the world.
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<br />I'm 35 weeks pregnant today. He's coming so soon. And I really just can't wait. I'm off to go sort baby clothes (for the third or fourth time :) in the nursery. Speaking of nursery: We are finishing up the final touches. The biggest project? Sanding, Priming, and painting our armoire. Thank goodness I have some help. :)
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KsWc6-HBYCo/TkVTsMVjuLI/AAAAAAAAAgM/q4U3s0Vhh5I/s1600/DSC_0003.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KsWc6-HBYCo/TkVTsMVjuLI/AAAAAAAAAgM/q4U3s0Vhh5I/s400/DSC_0003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640006127042410674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Inspecting one of Asa's [creepy] books
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<br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-agmTURfFEkI/TkVTs89tsiI/AAAAAAAAAgc/NY1QqqJvWzI/s1600/DSC_0008.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-agmTURfFEkI/TkVTs89tsiI/AAAAAAAAAgc/NY1QqqJvWzI/s400/DSC_0008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640006140095738402" border="0" /></a>
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eZKLDSB2uKE/TkVTsVb7kbI/AAAAAAAAAgU/bljhyQbJTLU/s1600/DSC_0004.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eZKLDSB2uKE/TkVTsVb7kbI/AAAAAAAAAgU/bljhyQbJTLU/s400/DSC_0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640006129485058482" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She's super Nani.
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<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">Happy Friday!
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LBTi5E-Aq40/TkVbsAcXEyI/AAAAAAAAAg8/_n16T3V6fEc/s1600/DSC_0005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LBTi5E-Aq40/TkVbsAcXEyI/AAAAAAAAAg8/_n16T3V6fEc/s400/DSC_0005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640014919942738722" border="0" /></a></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-63422566393683840672011-07-12T20:58:00.000-07:002011-07-13T07:31:06.994-07:00What an Afternoon Off Looks LikeI am a student, once again. And being enrolled in a 4 week class in the middle of July means I can see August approach, with the promise of September (baby time) on its heels. Today I was able to do the work around the yard and even some photo work in addition to my linguistics readings.<br /><br />Here's what I did after class and before our 30 wk appointment. [Fun note: I asked our midwife if she could tell where baby was situated and she said his head was down. Seth got to feel and in maybe a bit of disbelief exclaimed, "wow! it's big" and Lani joked, "well, don't tell her <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span>!!"]<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JkNosEyJH-Y/Th0Z0R5WvoI/AAAAAAAAAfE/zeNsDdVqu7U/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollage.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 202px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JkNosEyJH-Y/Th0Z0R5WvoI/AAAAAAAAAfE/zeNsDdVqu7U/s400/Picnik%2Bcollage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628683495230848642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I spend at least some of <span style="font-weight: bold;">every</span> afternoon collecting our raspberries. Does anyone want fresh raspberries?<br /><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WctRDHtA2C4/Th0Z0t4DgEI/AAAAAAAAAfM/zPXhmSV_41Y/s1600/DSC_0513.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WctRDHtA2C4/Th0Z0t4DgEI/AAAAAAAAAfM/zPXhmSV_41Y/s400/DSC_0513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628683502741585986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">We have our own onions. I think I'm happier about this than Seth is.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M9Y1ht37Yxs/Th0Z0zEN-KI/AAAAAAAAAfU/75zO5_MoRRg/s1600/DSC_0520.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M9Y1ht37Yxs/Th0Z0zEN-KI/AAAAAAAAAfU/75zO5_MoRRg/s400/DSC_0520.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628683504134781090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Decided to do my own maternity pictures.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDbZqHACjiw/Th2nF2YBQzI/AAAAAAAAAfc/5PWXGw15A2E/s1600/DSC_0527.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 395px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZDbZqHACjiw/Th2nF2YBQzI/AAAAAAAAAfc/5PWXGw15A2E/s400/DSC_0527.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628838828220433202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">After pregnancy, I'll miss the nails.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j2MvWZZ7xu4/Th2nGIm5N9I/AAAAAAAAAfk/pDvT0cHEYEg/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollagebr.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j2MvWZZ7xu4/Th2nGIm5N9I/AAAAAAAAAfk/pDvT0cHEYEg/s400/Picnik%2Bcollagebr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628838833114658770" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FTogckfcSaI/Th2nGRpVzfI/AAAAAAAAAfs/6APW3FxucXo/s1600/DSC_0531.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FTogckfcSaI/Th2nGRpVzfI/AAAAAAAAAfs/6APW3FxucXo/s400/DSC_0531.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628838835540839922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Hydrangeas make me happier than any rose.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvBEYKAOnI4/Th2nGsLf3FI/AAAAAAAAAf0/LoDoEbWPz60/s1600/DSC_0532.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WvBEYKAOnI4/Th2nGsLf3FI/AAAAAAAAAf0/LoDoEbWPz60/s400/DSC_0532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628838842663427154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Although it doesn't look like it, the nursery is coming along--look at Seth's amazing paint job!!<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P87mfHxg0Kg/Th2nG-4T8SI/AAAAAAAAAf8/UeZ9XFcYPhw/s1600/DSC_0533.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P87mfHxg0Kg/Th2nG-4T8SI/AAAAAAAAAf8/UeZ9XFcYPhw/s400/DSC_0533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628838847683227938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">GREY</span></span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J4nuf0tCUDs/Th2rn6n6NKI/AAAAAAAAAgE/iAhR9clf_u4/s1600/DSC_0534.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J4nuf0tCUDs/Th2rn6n6NKI/AAAAAAAAAgE/iAhR9clf_u4/s400/DSC_0534.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628843811522884770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I can't wait.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-71411778297477761082011-07-09T06:21:00.000-07:002011-07-09T07:42:06.166-07:00Tea Time for A and B<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YRxK2wE_L2s/ThhfHE60itI/AAAAAAAAAe8/9smHq-TNNkE/s1600/DSC_0515.jpg"><br /></a><br />I wake up any where from 5:30-7:00 most days. I wake up to a lively and kicking baby. I am 30 weeks pregnant; which to me, feels like a milestone of a week. Something psychological perhaps has occurred in my brain that whenever I think of the next short ten weeks, I get a bit choked up, not with tears, but with fear. I have to hope I'm not alone in this "stage of fear," that others have experienced it too. In the weeks prior, I could, in times of fear, find solace in imagining cuddling with our future little bundle, but now such pleasant thoughts are polluted with images of a fatigued me struggling to cope with figuring out how to mother 24/7. I imagine myself frazzled and insecure.<br /><br />Maybe that's because I am [frazzled, insecure] right now. I am unprepared for birth and I am unprepared to be a mom. Maybe unprepared isn't the word, maybe inadequate would better describe how I feel. But you know? It's when I realize that, that I can <span style="font-style: italic;">kinda </span>move forward. I can clearly see my position: first time mom, afraid of all the unknowns of the future, etc. But I can also see a solution. Sure I'm new at this, but I'm surrounded, absolutely drenched in a community of parents and wise peers that I have been blessed with. I need them. It's okay to depend on their support, and find through them love that is only possible through the gift of a Son to the world, the Truest sense of love and security, that is of and in Christ. The people I know shower me with this love, and I from where it flows. I am truley thankful. [Though still, honestly scared] it's in the moments of fear however that I can, hopefully, find that I CANNOT do this alone [Nadya Suleman--you need a community, lady!] That I can only depend on the love of God that extends through Him and His Church.<br /><br />I felt similar feelings once in my life. I've always been a fearful and worrisome child, it's how I was wired, but never like the anxiety I felt before the wedding, and now before having a kid. I was terrified of the wedding--not of marriage, but of the motions of being in front of two hundred plus people, standing; I still can't exactly wrap my finger around what scared me about it but somewhere in my brain's pathways, I had paved a way that told me that I am not strong enough to handle my own nerves. That my body would take over and defeat me, and frankly, that I'd interrupt the whole ceremony by passing out [which really wouldn't be the end of the world, but in my mind, it just would be]. I think it's the same something that is making me react to birth and mothering-- perhaps feelings of worthlessness, shame, and failure could be at the core of these reactions. It's those words, when processed, that make me want to stretch out my arms, clench my jaw and refuse the passage of time. But it's not okay to react like this. And I need to face my fears like I did with those feelings a month or two before the wedding--therapy worked wonders. Now, I have other ways and tools to address my fears. Going to childbirth class is one way, having a network of supportive mothers around, too, will help.<br /><br />Having Asa is what I'm waiting for and, really, longing for, but in order for that to happen well, I need to face my fears, and start, with one shaky foot in front of the other, with the preparations that will get me ready for his arrival.....<br /><br />1. Go to class-get informed, learn how to breatheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee<br />2. Tour the hospital, tour the hospital, tour the hospital, tour the hospital<br />3. Practice breathingggggggggggggggg<br />4. Ask questions--welcome help and suggestions<br /><br /><br /><br />30 weeks-(confession: I think I'm bigger than this, but when you're 20lbs heavier you'll gladly accept the the deceiving camera angles and the color black ;)<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YRxK2wE_L2s/ThhfHE60itI/AAAAAAAAAe8/9smHq-TNNkE/s1600/DSC_0515.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YRxK2wE_L2s/ThhfHE60itI/AAAAAAAAAe8/9smHq-TNNkE/s400/DSC_0515.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627352309583612626" border="0" /></a>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-72425223388340169342011-07-01T08:48:00.002-07:002011-07-01T09:02:46.300-07:00hormonesThings that make me cry these days:<br /><br />*16 and Pregnant birth scenes (yeah I love 16 and pregnant, so what?)<br />*actually, <span style="font-weight: bold;">any</span> birth video<br />*really well written birth books (Like Ina May Gaskin's <span style="font-style: italic;">Guide to Childbirth</span>)<br />*<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxbRdxbBROI">diaper commercials</a>. yeah. diaper commercials. as sensational and sentimental as they are, the tears are out of my control.<br />*Emmet Gowin photos<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3UJi3wUnjG4/Tg3uRpbPrKI/AAAAAAAAAes/wimm-s5u7NA/s1600/129357469559003070_db444cac-6c5e-4c4d-82b9-3cbac253a102_252144_273.Jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 273px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3UJi3wUnjG4/Tg3uRpbPrKI/AAAAAAAAAes/wimm-s5u7NA/s400/129357469559003070_db444cac-6c5e-4c4d-82b9-3cbac253a102_252144_273.Jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624413496600931490" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RNaIX6vXGGo/Tg3uR9oB3cI/AAAAAAAAAe0/3XhSm_4U7SQ/s1600/d5038184r.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RNaIX6vXGGo/Tg3uR9oB3cI/AAAAAAAAAe0/3XhSm_4U7SQ/s400/d5038184r.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624413502023261634" border="0" /></a><br />My body is not my own.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-27040177652489578832011-06-16T07:19:00.000-07:002011-06-16T15:21:06.149-07:00happyhappyhappyhappy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-epD3lwKbfbo/Tfp8KfG5yfI/AAAAAAAAAeM/qT4Hd8MGeIE/s1600/DSC_0512.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-epD3lwKbfbo/Tfp8KfG5yfI/AAAAAAAAAeM/qT4Hd8MGeIE/s400/DSC_0512.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618940004689103346" border="0" /></a><br />[Sigh of Relief] It's summertime, I'm about to begin my third trimester of pregnancy, preparing for the arrival of our son. This means, alot of reading, alot of documentaries, and alot of observation and earnest inquiry into my wise friends and family. I'm not a big reader (a big surprise being that I married a guy who could read for hours and hours on end) but I can't get enough all the childbirth and breastfeeding literature that I can get my hands on. I'm studying hard, for a big test is coming in September...<br /><br />So the other week, I watched a documentary called <span style="font-style: italic;">Nursery University. </span>Sure, it had nothing to do with newborns but preschoolers. The documentary showed the cut-throat culture of getting itty bitty children into private preschools in Manhattan. I was hoping to see a number of affluent couples whining alot and hopefully some down to earth and humble family realizing this pressure for position is meaningless and fruitless. But no. They were all affluent and annoying. And by affluent and annoying I mean, there was a mother who was crying that her three year old didn't make it into the parents' first choice school and cries, "We're just not used to this not getting what we want thing [maybe I should cut her some slack--that's a pretty honest thing to say], especially when we're happily willing to give the school 20 grand. sigh. But this will be fine. sniff sniff. I just wish they could spruce up the place a bit." (and i'm thinking, "ohhhhhh, you are so annoying.") The entire documentary chronicles the stressful process of parents taking kids to interviews, to spending their time writing college, I mean, preschool essays. To be fair there is one "alternative family" who elect (because of a lack of space in other more prestigious schools) to take their kid to a more laid back preschool where there is more parental involvement. My problem with it was that there was no alternative. The alternative of refusing the "do whatever to get ahead" attitude or of refusing the idea that sucess equals eventual acceptance into Harvard (undeniably to get rich) was never discussed or even thought of makes me sad, discouraged, and yes, annoyed! Many parents made the argument, "i just want my kids to be happy," or "I want them to have more than I did,"(Happiness? Really? How can that be a goal?) and the ultimate moral of the documentary tacked on at the very end was a shallow, "what it ultmately comes down to, what this all is about is bringing our kids up and seeing them develop well, to see our kids grow and learn, in whatever fashion." And I'm thinking, "no, it's all about power, position, rank, and $$$$$$$$$$$$$$." Living well in today's world, is obviously not to live a life of simplicity or dare I say, poverty, but to get rich, look good, give some, live comfortably: this is a responsible and respectable American life.<br /><br />So it was a bummer of a documentary and I was left needing some encouragement for how and what Seth and I are going to do with our own kids. Then I remembered an article Seth sent a long time ago. Probably one of the best and most simple things I've ever read, from a humble mom's blog, I feel it is drenched in Truth. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> She doesn't want her kids to be happy.</span> What? No, she wants her kids to be content and to be holy. I don't know if I could sum up better goals to have for Christian parenting than that. Those things are what LIVING WELL is all about. Read her blog please. I think its important for everyone (male, female, with kids, without kids, etc). <a href="http://itsalmostnaptime.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-dont-want-my-children-to-be-happy.html?spref=fb"> http://itsalmostnaptime.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-dont-want-my-children-to-be-happy.html?spref=fb</a><br /><br />I need constant reminding that the things Seth and I can and will provide for our children will not be riches or comforts of this world. Sure I feel bad at times, I actually struggle alot with it, with the reality that we don't have everything, that we have limits. But our little guy is hopefully going to grow up in a community where play time comes from making toys out of the resources or- gasp- imagination we already have before buying the next video game, where vacation means not escape and luxury but rest and good company, and where achieving happiness is not our goal; that happiness is a fleeting thing and that lasting joy and contentment comes from committing to a life of virtue, a life connected to the Good Earth we've been entrusted with, and a life woven completely in the Kingdom, in the lives of our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Practically speaking, this means living simply. Really simply. This will take creativity, prayer, and encouragement from our community that we are blessed with. And the Mennonite texts "More with Less" and "Living More with Less" will be my go to texts for practical tips for this kind of simple life. I will share my findings, of course.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fH4OEqiAAXE/Tfp8Jw0tlRI/AAAAAAAAAeE/60UBbiU7CGQ/s1600/LivingMoreWithLess2010.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fH4OEqiAAXE/Tfp8Jw0tlRI/AAAAAAAAAeE/60UBbiU7CGQ/s400/LivingMoreWithLess2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618939992264774930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />ps. i highly recommend either book for their challenging and Christ-centered practical approaches to living (and eating and cooking and buying and decorating and giving) well.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-1636877806847539522011-06-06T13:39:00.000-07:002011-06-15T20:27:06.342-07:00jay + loriI was pleasantly surprised when one of my oldest and best friends, Raeann, suggested the idea of photographing her aunt's wedding; and luckily her aunt, Lori, agreed. Held in their backyard, Lori and Jay celebrated their commitment to one another with a easy-going, and very enjoyable wedding. I had such a nice time and am very thankful to have been invited to record some moments from the day (and to enjoy some yummy Pinkberry frozen yohgurt). Blessings to the happy couple!!<br /><br />--brooke<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LLmpWEQnINs/Te09lPjTnPI/AAAAAAAAAbM/DCYsc_cvEkM/s1600/DSC_0105.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LLmpWEQnINs/Te09lPjTnPI/AAAAAAAAAbM/DCYsc_cvEkM/s400/DSC_0105.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615212020439948530" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VzCc8Ohmuak/Te09jiyYMaI/AAAAAAAAAa0/akTOp9QNH90/s1600/CSC_0509.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VzCc8Ohmuak/Te09jiyYMaI/AAAAAAAAAa0/akTOp9QNH90/s400/CSC_0509.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615211991243698594" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DwNQujBiYDA/Te09jTN1psI/AAAAAAAAAas/AHXKX-L_Q4Q/s1600/DSC_0030.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DwNQujBiYDA/Te09jTN1psI/AAAAAAAAAas/AHXKX-L_Q4Q/s400/DSC_0030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615211987063908034" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ru47vHdtvME/TflyVMU1shI/AAAAAAAAAd0/Abgn_-7uw5E/s1600/DSC_0102.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ru47vHdtvME/TflyVMU1shI/AAAAAAAAAd0/Abgn_-7uw5E/s400/DSC_0102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618647718532854290" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fpn3Sqqd4Cw/Te09ktLkXXI/AAAAAAAAAbE/WOhkFqUQR-A/s1600/DSC_0102.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KrjsywjhXPs/Te09kLWdniI/AAAAAAAAAa8/rPx-B-_bkZ0/s1600/DSC_0082.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KrjsywjhXPs/Te09kLWdniI/AAAAAAAAAa8/rPx-B-_bkZ0/s400/DSC_0082.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615212002132467234" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bP0COF8ptUw/Te1ArUCtC2I/AAAAAAAAAbU/UJoB9xp-X9U/s1600/DSC_0134.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bP0COF8ptUw/Te1ArUCtC2I/AAAAAAAAAbU/UJoB9xp-X9U/s400/DSC_0134.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615215423259478882" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VbeSSEoxxsw/Te1ArlwBZQI/AAAAAAAAAbc/yLBL5t0oCII/s1600/DSC_0151.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VbeSSEoxxsw/Te1ArlwBZQI/AAAAAAAAAbc/yLBL5t0oCII/s400/DSC_0151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615215428012958978" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ql3NCDPMCT8/TfKR0gzRbtI/AAAAAAAAAdk/VrIwbh4eIO0/s1600/DSC_0159.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ql3NCDPMCT8/TfKR0gzRbtI/AAAAAAAAAdk/VrIwbh4eIO0/s400/DSC_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616712016628641490" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jp-CBHxwXmI/Te1AsCYxXsI/AAAAAAAAAbk/sZnuwuOMqV8/s1600/DSC_0158.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6vqkKKLjxMY/Te1AsbNetjI/AAAAAAAAAbs/IXXHAtFqMLI/s1600/DSC_0167.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6vqkKKLjxMY/Te1AsbNetjI/AAAAAAAAAbs/IXXHAtFqMLI/s400/DSC_0167.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615215442363594290" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8hq2JY5tzo/Te1AsyNyXdI/AAAAAAAAAb0/ZPXz55pHcL8/s1600/DSC_0171.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8hq2JY5tzo/Te1AsyNyXdI/AAAAAAAAAb0/ZPXz55pHcL8/s400/DSC_0171.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615215448538897874" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-azPGvoRqf_o/Te1CG8WhBXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/LcQnIJfiy2o/s1600/DSC_0240.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-azPGvoRqf_o/Te1CG8WhBXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/LcQnIJfiy2o/s400/DSC_0240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615216997448090994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMmC6ijotZQ/Te1CHKKuq5I/AAAAAAAAAcE/za-LVC0DG2U/s1600/DSC_0248.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uMmC6ijotZQ/Te1CHKKuq5I/AAAAAAAAAcE/za-LVC0DG2U/s400/DSC_0248.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615217001156750226" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nYOX99TeBG8/Te70Un8oqgI/AAAAAAAAAdM/8G6M5o__hjs/s1600/DSC_0307.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nYOX99TeBG8/Te70Un8oqgI/AAAAAAAAAdM/8G6M5o__hjs/s400/DSC_0307.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615694420535454210" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9JLce6WOb8/Te7zb4uqz6I/AAAAAAAAAck/yu0mbzgeavI/s1600/DSC_0219.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9JLce6WOb8/Te7zb4uqz6I/AAAAAAAAAck/yu0mbzgeavI/s400/DSC_0219.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615693445787733922" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WkDujig7kno/TfKR00FxPGI/AAAAAAAAAds/GPpuoXtQjgI/s1600/DSC_0225.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WkDujig7kno/TfKR00FxPGI/AAAAAAAAAds/GPpuoXtQjgI/s400/DSC_0225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616712021806496866" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3NcxISv66xo/Te7zcG_1QvI/AAAAAAAAAcs/1P3BsI9pKHs/s1600/DSC_0301.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3NcxISv66xo/Te7zcG_1QvI/AAAAAAAAAcs/1P3BsI9pKHs/s400/DSC_0301.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615693449617818354" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jUeV8vlo1Cs/Te1CHt-8b5I/AAAAAAAAAcM/CNx9DmKqnEQ/s1600/DSC_0311.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jUeV8vlo1Cs/Te1CHt-8b5I/AAAAAAAAAcM/CNx9DmKqnEQ/s400/DSC_0311.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615217010770997138" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A5QD1pIpFCE/Te7zcZiL7UI/AAAAAAAAAc0/8ZzgIfHCl9M/s1600/DSC_0320.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A5QD1pIpFCE/Te7zcZiL7UI/AAAAAAAAAc0/8ZzgIfHCl9M/s400/DSC_0320.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615693454593748290" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hvde3XsmmWg/Te1CIbNDTEI/AAAAAAAAAcc/_Dpe2Cn8_yY/s1600/DSC_0339.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hvde3XsmmWg/Te1CIbNDTEI/AAAAAAAAAcc/_Dpe2Cn8_yY/s400/DSC_0339.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615217022909762626" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MAn17U6Coj4/Te7zc1_ubSI/AAAAAAAAAc8/GAjFzf9lk6c/s1600/DSC_0340.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MAn17U6Coj4/Te7zc1_ubSI/AAAAAAAAAc8/GAjFzf9lk6c/s400/DSC_0340.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615693462233836834" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3VpjsPmVqLs/Te1CHxqL7XI/AAAAAAAAAcU/Rxjeit_qVRI/s1600/DSC_0343.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3VpjsPmVqLs/Te1CHxqL7XI/AAAAAAAAAcU/Rxjeit_qVRI/s400/DSC_0343.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615217011757673842" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELZsYc_T_oo/Te7zdJhEIrI/AAAAAAAAAdE/bCJVa-PeSAI/s1600/DSC_0352.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VG5iq3DMnO8/Te70U8JsfeI/AAAAAAAAAdU/c3vFM2Czvjc/s1600/DSC_0373.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VG5iq3DMnO8/Te70U8JsfeI/AAAAAAAAAdU/c3vFM2Czvjc/s400/DSC_0373.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615694425958940130" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ml-ahy8EgG0/Te70Vf3lWPI/AAAAAAAAAdc/syufjJthoHg/s1600/DSC_0380.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ml-ahy8EgG0/Te70Vf3lWPI/AAAAAAAAAdc/syufjJthoHg/s400/DSC_0380.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615694435546650866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">i even got to dance [or flap my arms like a chicken].....<br /><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bQGzmZ5JE2Y/Tfl3ggw3GkI/AAAAAAAAAd8/FJPQrXPeTLA/s1600/DSC_0455.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bQGzmZ5JE2Y/Tfl3ggw3GkI/AAAAAAAAAd8/FJPQrXPeTLA/s400/DSC_0455.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618653410555796034" border="0" /></a><br /></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-3175577125197762952011-06-03T10:55:00.000-07:002011-06-03T11:44:59.824-07:00Really, I Realize No One Wants to Hear Me Whine....BUT.....<br />I have a lot of suspicions about this whole blood glucose test thing. This morning I went in for my 1hr test and midwife appointment. It went like this: Me and Mom went to the 2nd floor of the Women's Clinic for the clear liquid orange crap. I chugged it. It is bad, maybe not as bad as I thought it'd be, but bad and it did make my stomach uneasy. Then I went for my monthly visit to our midwife, which was great as always (blood pressure, urine all in check), but I kept thinking--where's my water? I need to be drinking water--I'm pregnant for God's sake. Oh right, to test for diabetes I'm not supposed to drink water?!?! After that, it was time for the blood draw; this usually involves me laying down and doing some heavy breathing exercises to keep me from crying/passing out. Then the nurse brings me snacks and juice, as usual. I sit up, feel nauseous, then lay back down. All and all though, the blood draw and everything wasn't that bad. But I'm genuinely pissed off. Yes, perhaps irrationally. But why oh why would I be given pure sugar syrup, wait an hour and be expected to have a "normal result;" how could my levels NOT be elevated?! <br />Policy is that when said levels are elevated, a woman has to take a 3hr test....no food, no water, nothing but sugar drink (with double the amount of sugar of today's test). How can that be healthy for a pregnant woman--and baby? Maybe I just want an honest answer: why wouldn't eating one's normal diet and being tested for elevated levels be more accurate? Why wouldn't they just do the 3hr test first (if they really have to do the tolerance test in the first place--arn't there other ways?)--there are alot of women I saw today who failed the first test and were in for their 3hr. I bitingly remarked to my mom, "it's a con, they just want my money." (The cost of 1 test versus 4, I think the hospital would choose 4) But, really? If gestational diabetes really only affects "3 to 8 percent of pregnant women" then why all these people failing the 1hr. Irrational Brooke says, "It's a set up."<br /><br /><br />I KNOW. I know it's a luxury to have the medical advancements and tests to better prepare ourselves for things, and I know I'm jumping to conclusions. And mostly, I'm aware that I'm fuming, and that it's probably over something so insignificant. I also know my anger probably is coming from my real unconscious fears. Diabetes. Finger Pricks. Insulin: things that tripped a neural pathway in my brain as a child (I saw something that scared me, I passed out--the response is carved in my brain, now) and has stayed into adulthood.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-17608619390471670392011-05-13T14:08:00.000-07:002011-05-13T14:10:47.837-07:00First Day of Summer Break<span style="font-size:78%;">And Seth sends me this article. Everything about it is good good good. And that's all I'll say. </span><br /><br />http://forsclavigera.blogspot.com/2011/05/letter-to-young-parents.html<br /><br /><br /><br /><span></span><div><blockquote style="margin-top: 5pt; margin-bottom: 5pt;"><p class="MsoNormal">Dear Grace and Alex,</p><p class="MsoNormal">Congratulations! Thanks be to God for the safe arrival of what sounds like a packed little bundle of hope: my goodness, 10 lbs., 6 oz.! It must be the milk there in Wisconsin.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Well, on behalf of the rest of us exhausted, grateful, and terrified inhabitants, let me welcome you to a strange new world: parenthood. This is going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and it’s worth every bit of the blood, sweat, and tears that are to come. You can’t imagine that now. I understand. Soak up every ounce of joy and elation and starry-eyed wonder at the miracle of baby Liam. I’ll be watching as the terror sets in. It’s usually when you’re headed out the hospital door and it hits you: “They’re actually letting me take this little creature home? But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!” Yeah, get used to that.</p><p class="MsoNormal">But also remember this: in a few weeks, you’re going to bring Liam forward for baptism. In that sacramental act he is going to be tangibly marked with the sign of God’s promises. That should be a first reminder that you’re not in this alone—that Liam is being claimed by a promise-keeping Father who is even more faithful than you. There will be days and seasons when that will be an unspeakable comfort to you. </p><p class="MsoNormal">In the sacrament of baptism, not only will you claim God’s promises, you’ll be confessing that you alone are not able to raise Liam. The baptismal ceremony is, I think, a wonderful gift to parents who rightly approach their task with fear and trembling. For while you, in response to God’s promise, will make promises to God about how you will raise Liam, the congregation will also make a promise—to come alongside you, to support you and nourish you, to sustain you all within the household of God that is bigger than the three of you. So baptism is a sign that our homes are open, interdependent households, not closed, nuclear units. Baptism signals that all of us—married or single, parent or child—are part of a larger household which is the church of God, and together, that household has pledged to be one big community of godparents. When you run up against the challenges of parenting, don’t be scared to remind the church of the promise it made to you.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I hope and pray that your labour as parents can be buoyed by these promises and this sense that your tiny, growing family will flourish just to the extent that you center yourselves in the “first family,” which is the church. You will need this, believe me. One of the terrible lies of our culture—and even the rhetoric of “family values”—is the crippling myth that our homes are self-sufficient incubators for child-rearing. If you buy into that myth, you’ll isolated by a constant sense of failure. For it won’t take long to realize that you are not able to do this on your own, even though you’re an intertwined team. But if you’ve bought into the myth of the self-sufficient family, you also won’t be willing to admit that you need help. Baptism is the church’s way of signaling right from the get-go that we know you need help! We know you can’t do this on your own. So we’re not going to be surprised or disappointed or judgmental when you lean on us. We’ll be there waiting. Why not get into the habit early?</p><p class="MsoNormal">Finally, while I don’t mean to rain on the parade of your joy, I do feel compelled to share the bad news, too: Liam might break your heart. Actually, Liam <i>is</i> going to break your heart. Somehow. Somewhere. Maybe more than once. To become a parent is to promise you’ll love prodigals. Indeed, some days parenting is exactly how God is going to teach you to love your enemies. Because there’ll be days when a 17-year-old Liam is going to see <i>you</i> as the enemy, and all of a sudden you’ll realize that the Sermon on the Mount is not about war and foreign policy, nor is it just pie-in-the-sky piety: instead, you’ll hear those words anew and realize that in the command to love your enemies, Jesus is calling you to follow him <i>as</i> a parent, and sometimes even that task will look cruciform. It will require absorbing all Liam’s misplaced animosity, all his confused attempts to figure out who (and whose) he is. At those moments, Jesus’ call to lay down your life and take up the cross will have a mundane tangibility you could have never imagined. Some days, loving Liam is going to require you to turn the other cheek and absorb that heartbreak like a slap across the face. And it’s then that you’ll most want to remember the promises of a faithful Father that trickled down his little forehead years ago.</p><p class="MsoNormal">But those painful moments will be overshadowed by a million others. You’re going to think it’s incredible when Liam smiles, or says “Mama,” or rolls over on his tummy, but let me tell you: that won’t even compare to the afternoon when, in what feels like an out-of-body experience, you realize you’re having a conversation with this <i>man</i>—you might be sitting on the front porch talking about Mumford & Sons or Andy Warhol or World War II artillery, and for a moment you can hardly believe that the little bundle you brought home from the hospital has grown into this beautiful, mystifying, wonderful young man. And you realize that, in your son, God has given you one of your best friends in the whole world, and you try to suppress your smile while thinking to yourself, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” </p><p class="MsoNormal">It’s all worth it,</p><p class="MsoNormal">Jamie</p></blockquote></div>brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269050314152105805.post-1584262495798636892011-05-10T06:27:00.000-07:002011-05-10T07:43:50.886-07:00A Year AgoA year ago, probably to the week, I was anxiously awaiting my last final, so as to anticipate a symbolic new beginning as I crammed boxes and made countless trip from my college house rental to my fiance's house. Though we wouldn't be living together for yet another two and a half weeks, I was ready to start preparing for the move. More than anything, all these changes and moves moved me closer to that wedding date, and that was most exciting of all!<br />Now it is a year later, and I'm remembering that time and, for my own entertainment, doing some of the same things I did during those two weeks preceding the wedding (maybe its a bit of ocd but i like rituals). Not only am I treating myself to some highlights as I did during finals week last year, but I feel this newly awakened sense of housewife surfacing again. Not that this went away necessarily, but with school wrapping up and work piling up and lots of "this time of year" activity, the house is frankly not that pretty. It doesn't smell good, the dreaded pink ring is around the toilet bowl, papers strewn about, and if I live like this any longer I will go crazy. Written in my planner is my finals schedule with Friday, once completely open and available, now-as if it were some kind of treat- is, "CLEANING DAY--YAY!!" I really can't wait, and I'm looking for ways to begin early.<br />I feel like this impulse towards what I will refer to as domesticasity? is purely just a want to refocus on what it is that I really feel is valuable to me and my family's life. Sure, getting an education and studying is great too (bla bla bla bla bla-shouldn't i be studying renaissance art right now?), but I am happily responsible for taking care of things at home too. I want to be making good meals at night (we've slipped-partially in part of pregnancy laziness--to lots of boring food, taco night, pasta night, left-over night, sandwiches, repeat) and I want to clean up the kitchen afterwards. I want to learn new healthy, good things in order to practice good and necessary tools before giving birth to this little guy (who's seemingly doing flips in my tummy as I write this).<br />This brings me to realize how things have changed, how I have grown. Sure, I may feel like I'm slacking a bit now, but what student isn't? Seth and my forever goal is to make our home a house of production and by trying to grow our food, being conscientious about what we buy, and conscientious about how we live, I feel we are doing our part to bring up a family who hopefully, really knows the Good Life (different from the American Dream life). Last year, I tried to plan out a garden, but it's hard to do such a thing when you don't live near your plants and, well, when you start late. We planted in May last year, and had some success with growing somethings but this year, having interacted with our plot, our compost, and the weather all fall and winter, we were prepared to plant as early as mid-march. We already see the bounty of this planning--we have rows of greens and radishes and onions already!<br />In terms of our home, I've been decorating and rearranging all year in order to get the most out of our small space without spending, well, virtually <span style="font-weight: bold;">any</span> money. Sure, maybe a mess and eyesore to others, but I'm telling you, our house is so cozy, and I never want to leave it. The biggest luxury in our home is our 80.00 diningroom rug (wedding giftcard!)--once a crisp white and blue--now worn, faded, showing the signs of all the diners and people who have passed through. My new challenge, however, is to organize an effective guestroom in a very small room, and a wonderful nursery to welcome our highly anticipated new family member.<br />And like I've said before, I want to keep our house a healthy and good place for all, and that of course includes what we put in our mouths. I'm not going to say we're the best at this (I bought a freaking box of hot tamales the other day, why? absolutely no nutritional value), but I will say, I try. But all this brings me to this book I got for my birthday.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u92fbMejuZ4/TclNgWnEzZI/AAAAAAAAAag/WCeByEDwXG0/s1600/Photo%2B300.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u92fbMejuZ4/TclNgWnEzZI/AAAAAAAAAag/WCeByEDwXG0/s400/Photo%2B300.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605096429459918226" border="0" /></a> It's beautiful, and though some of the recipies are "too foody" for me, others are just so wonderfully rustic and deceivingly simple. The emphasis, though, is to cook according to season and locale--a good challenge.<br />Unfortunately, there is a recipe for "Gratin of Bay Scallops with Jerusalem Artichoke Puree" or "Lobster Mac and Cheese" which kind of calls for a second trip to the East Coast.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IWNPgS-q04Y/TclNf8-s_qI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/AtNI26D2jRA/s1600/IMG_0245.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IWNPgS-q04Y/TclNf8-s_qI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/AtNI26D2jRA/s400/IMG_0245.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605096422579699362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">(New Bedford, Mass., WHALES!)<br /><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cITCgj89wsk/TclNgAj12II/AAAAAAAAAaY/Pu4iRg1gri0/s1600/IMG_0945.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cITCgj89wsk/TclNgAj12II/AAAAAAAAAaY/Pu4iRg1gri0/s400/IMG_0945.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605096423540775042" border="0" /></a><br /></div>I love May, and I love the curious reawakening of all things during this time: the flowers are out, and plants are flourishing, and I am filled with a surge of energy to make and do.brookeeeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11419439276274000482noreply@blogger.com1