A. Ha moments

rise early on that day with shining faces...

2010-11-17T11:17:00.000-08:00

11-17-10
About six months ago, I was living in Bella Vista, recovering from surgery and getting up the courage to walk and hike again. On those hikes I liked to listen to audio books. I’m a huge nerd about that. My favorite writer is C.S. Lewis (okay, he’s probably tied with Jane Austen), and I listened to him a lot for encouragement. I was tired and sad and feeling lonely much of that time, and he always brings me encouragement, and sometimes a sobering, liberating lesson also.

Suddenly, strolling through the bright green leaves and warm sunlight as I was, Lewis’s thoughts about Christmas were streaming into my ears. Now, that past Christmas, even though I wasn’t back to my full health yet, I had worked extra hours till I was sick so I could be sure to buy gifts for everyone. I wanted to be generous and show how thankful I was for my recovery. I felt guilty, I remember, about being too tired to send Christmas cards. I can’t say I remember feeling a lot of holiday cheer, which saddened me. More saddening, I couldn’t remember having really celebrated the shocking miracle of God Himself being born into the world as a helpless child.

As I listened, C.S. Lewis tried to describe what Christmas, in the true sense, would look like to an outsider and how it would differ from the commercial version of Christmas we get so easily entangled in.

“But the few… also have a festival, separate and to themselves, called (Christmas) which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep (Christmas), doing the opposite to the majority…, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most temples they set out images of a fair woman with a newborn child and her knees and certain animals and shepherd adoring the Child.”

Though it was still in the hazy future, I felt excited about celebrating Christmas in a new way the next go around, without financial stress, without exhaustion, without guilt… not just trying to “squeeze in” a bible reading but rising early, face shining, to adore the Child. I started looking forward to Christmas again instead of dreading it. Little did I know, God was preparing me for the fact that we wouldn’t be able to afford presents this year. And so far from being a depressing thought, that’s become a freeing notion. I feel free to show genuine love this year, coming together with those I love to celebrate—truly celebrate.

Though I’m definitely not against presents, nor would I dream of judging those who love to give them and get them, as a preference I lean towards Lewis when he says in Letters to an American Lady, “I feel exactly as you do about the horrid commercial racket they have made out of Christmas. I send no cards and give no present except to children.” (Lewis also pointed out in the essay that presents during Christmastime were originally more like token gifts, such as fruit or candy, and not the crazily elaborate exhibition we’ve come to equally expect and dread.) But that said, if a person enjoys giving gifts, likes sending cards, loves doing elaborate décor and throwing elaborate holiday parties, if a person is the type that ends up energized instead of drained by all of this, I think that can be a genuine expression of joy. My point is that I want to examine what I try to convince myself is “fun” and what I tell myself is “generosity” and "the spirit of the season" and see if it’s really even true this year. If I end up weary, drained, and full of uncomfortable obligations, something is wrong.

This year, I am asking that people do not buy me any elaborate gifts, and that they don’t worry if they do not give me a gift or a card at all. I plan on finding genuine ways to show my love and joy this Christmas. I already have more than enough reason to be thankful.

back to true life and true joy

2010-11-02T12:33:00.000-07:00

I thought I couldn’t be pushed anymore without falling over for good.

Most of my readers know the story: last year, after having my first child, I was unexpectedly diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. After that came major surgery and losing my right kidney. As I recovered physically, life seemed to be getting back to normal and yet something was a little… off. I felt that I had more fire to walk through, and I feared what might be coming. After that, I lost my beloved cat, Dickie. Only someone who has truly connected with an animal so that much that this creature feels like a person, almost like a child, can understand how I felt when I had to put Dickie to sleep and wept as he died in my arms. Then came the big one. My husband lost his job, in a really crappy way, right after we had sold our house. I was left with no medical insurance in the wake of recovery for cancer and major surgery, and in a marital crisis. And no means to buy another home.

Would you believe me if I told you I’m more at peace than ever? I don’t think God does any bad thing to us, but I think, in his mercy, he uses our human crises to draw our attention back to true life and true joy. It’s as if my husband and I were merrily skipping toward a cliff, and he allowed us to fall down and get scraped up pretty bad so that we would stop and really look at where we were. We are doing that now.

Without further ado, I would like to share some of the things I’ve learned so far. I have so so so much more to learn, but I’m taking it one day at a time.
1 – People are somewhat worse—and much, much better—than I ever imagined. Until this happened, I didn’t understand the depths of selfishness and disregard for others that people who claim to be Christians can show to others. I didn’t see how many people feel perfectly prepared and justified in casting the first stone. I didn’t realize how easily some people could use their “spirituality” as a tool of manipulation. I also found, though, that MOST people, both Christian and non-Christian, are much more caring, accepting, and forgiving than I ever could have imagined. I also don’t expect people to react “perfectly” to my pain anymore. People have their own troubles and their own fear and pain, and if the root of a relationship is in love, anything can be overcome.
2 – It takes more strength to ask for help than to think you can do it on your own. We are going to marital counseling, have gone to counseling sessions separately, and are attended an amazing group called Celebrate Recovery. This is a group for anyone who realizes they need help. I say that because I have come to see we all need help, and desperately. I remember the first night we attended CR. I felt like I had entered a room of sane people for the first time in my life. If that sounds over the top, think about it. A good definition of insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”. These people realize they can’t keep doing the same things, and that they need support, and God's strength, if they’re ever going to do things differently.
3 – I realized just how much darkness I have in me. I thought, perhaps a little proudly, that I didn’t have any enemies, that I didn’t really “hate”. That was before I was lied to, manipulated, and given misrepresentations of the truth about the things that mattered most to me. That was before the well-being of my family was threatened. That was before I felt like I was wet and cold, dying outside, and people kept splashing by me, soaking me to the core, never inviting me in not because they didn’t care but because they had themselves to worry about. There's not much time for remorse or empathy when you're looking out for number one.

I now know that I have a breaking point. I have felt hate, and it is horrible. I know what it is to forgive a betrayal that's been repented of, when my forgiveness has been sought... and I know what it is to try to forgive betrayals when you know they'll never be acknowledged or apologized for. I just can't seem to accomplish that second one. I know that that darkness has always resided within me and if I don’t let God reach into the core of my being and fix me up, then it will simply shrink below the surface as the memories fade, like a nasty sea monster, ready to rear its ugly head again the next time I’m tested to the core of my being. I’ve learned, though I haven’t mastered it, that the unmerciful need our mercy more than anyone.
4 – I have learned that God isn’t “annoyed” with me. I tended to frequently imagine God as slightly irritated, turning his back in semi-disgust at all my imperfections. I didn’t realize I was thinking this way, but it was there. I didn’t really see God as friend, as Daddy with open arms. I didn’t often use the name “Jesus” in conversation. So many anti-Christians have done their best to lend that name a ridiculousness just by casting people who use it in a ridiculous light. I had let that intimidate me. And since I usually talked about God, not Jesus, I usually just thought of God, not his Son. And yet ... since my life got smushed like a pancake backed over 50 times by a semi, I have felt the presence of Jesus right next to me, encouraging me, telling me he will never leave or love me any less or withdraw his hand no matter how badly I react to life. I have felt Jesus, yes, Jesus, telling me that all these things are actually SMALL compared to all he’s going to accomplish in me.

"For of this I am confident, that He who has begun a good work within you will go on to perfect it in preparation for the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6

Eight Ball Brain.

2010-05-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

The post is going to be all over the place, since I haven't posted in so long. Bear with me or just skip around to what interests you, or even just read the first and last paragraph (something I occasionally tried with my more boring textbook chapters in college that never worked extremely well) because this post is just as much for me as it is for you.

My mind has been welling up with so many ideas to post about, that when it comes time to think about writing, I can't remember any of them. It's like an over-stuffed magic eight ball. I shake it to see what comes up, and a jumble of things slosh to the surface, unintelligibly. Oh well, focus will grow as I commit to writing more regularly.

This has been the most difficult, and by far the best, year of my life. My Mom, so incredibly knowledgeable and fun, had a great word for it yesterday, but I can't remember what the word was. It's a word used to talk about something that happens to characters in novels--basically "the good catastrophe". Emma thinks Mr. Knightly wants to marry Harriet and it's all her doing, Dr. Elwin Ransom gets kidnapped and taken to Malacandra. Amy Ha begins suffering bizarre bouts of insomnia, then is diagnosed with a rare form of cancer... right after having her first child.

For several months, I was in what you'd call an anxious state. I was enjoying every minute with my baby, utterly supported in love by my husband, friends, church and family, and yet struggling with something that, deep down, I thought I had to accept. I really thought I wasn't going to live all that long. Until then, I'd always had the idea I'd make it to being a cute, senile old lady. It wasn't that I thought the cancer I had--kidney cancer--was going to kill me. In fact, it is really the "best" kind of cancer to have, with a huge majority of victims reaching a full recovery, and I, being so oddly young to be diagnosed, had an even better chance. No indeed. I thought in my pretty little head, though I shared it with no one, that being diagnosed with cancer meant that I was far more likely to get it again in some more deadly form. You always hear sad nightmare stories about cancer coming back and back and back again, and I thought surely it was the way I'd go sooner or later.

After having my right kidney removed, I was pronounced to have undergone a complete surgical cure. It was all gone, and miraculously, if it hadn't been placed the way it was and if my darling Ransom hadn't been squashing against the tumor late in my pregnancy, it's likely I'd still not know anything about it. In that case it could have spread to my lymph nodes, and from there, disaster. Still, I was certain that I had a special talent for cancer. It wasn't until I went ahead and asked my doctor (always, always ask!) a few months ago how much more likely I was to get other kinds of cancer and he looked at me, surprised, and said they're aren't any studies that suggest just because I've had cancer once I'm more likely to get it again, that I was able to shed the secret burden. The good thing, however, was that over the months I had begun to make peace with it. To think differently about death and, in consequence, about this life. I think God allowed me to have this experience.

I've become extremely grateful for the wise teachers I've never met in person, though in a sense I'm certain I know them. In particular these teachers are C.S. Lewis, Jane Austen, Madeline L'Engle, and Mother Teresa. I have much more branching out to do in the world of literature, but as Lewis's character Psyche says in Till We Have Faces, "It would be dark as a dungeon inside me without his teaching."

One of the things I've been feeling a push to write about is what I've learned from these teachers I've never met.

Then there's the HUGE, heartbreaking joy of being a mother, something I could dedicate an entire blog to.

Then there's the new rebellious girl inside me who has finally started to understand why people will exaggerate their "shocking views" just to anger bullying, legalistic people who send the message that there is only one right way to be a Christian, and only they know what it is. I'm not saying it's right to respond this way, just saying I've begun to understand it.

There you have it. A few teasers for you. More coming soon.

I bet you were expecting me to talk about my kidney...

2009-11-16T14:20:00.000-08:00

Escapism

Fashion is good for me. For the most part. I know I just had my kidney removed so you’d expect me to be talking about that (and I will, a bit) but right now what I want to talk about is this fun thing that’s always cheered me up. Where did I get this interest, this nigh obsession? Not from my mother. She’s a total tomboy, although less in recent years, because of her daughters’ influence, she says. I learned how to put on makeup from teen mags because my Mom didn’t wear any, and I dreamed up outfits and sketched them constantly when I was a little girl. I did a lot of experimenting with my hair with the help of my two brave, perhaps at times reckless, older sisters. They were brave with my hair, that is. Scissors and brightly-colored dye came into play more than once. As the years went by, I developed an admiration for certain fashionable celebrities: Audrey Hepburn, Drew Barrymore, Gwen Stefani. I didn’t want to be exactly like them, by any means, because I’m not and never could be anyone but me which is great, but they did inspire me. It’s more of a vibe or aura thing, I guess. With Audrey, it was her ability to completely adorable and totally the lady while still being fun and daring.

With Drew, it was her free-spirited, positive radiance mixed with a lot of unabashed femininity and classic glamour.

With Gwen, it was her nutty mixture of rebelliousness and girliness and her whimsical, costume-y boldness.

All three, when I analyze it, are very feminine and glamorous while still seeming confident, individualistic and down-to-earth.
The day before my surgery, I was hanging out and B & N with a non-fat latte with one splenda and looking for reading material that would take my mind off the fact that I was getting an organ nipped out of my body in less and 24 hours and what did I go to? Fashion, of couse. I found this special “Vogue Guide to Style” or some such and began flipping through it. One big point continually preached within its glossy pages was the idea of finding a style and sticking to it. “Women with real syle,” it basically said, “know what works for them and stick to it. They don’t change their look every other day. This shows true confidence.” At first I was resistant. After all, I like to mix it up. Some days I feel like playing the bohemian princess with the flowing dress and jangling gold necklaces, maybe even a toe ring, and ethereal metallic makeup. Others, I like to seem slightly rebellious with zippers and studs and messy-on-purpose hair. There are many variations, but I won’t go into all of them here. My thought was, my moods change, my interests evolve, so I wouldn’t want to get stuck in a rut, would I? But then, there’s something to be said for steadiness. Without it, we would never be able to stick to our goals—muchless come up with any because we’d be in a constant state of flux about what we truly want and who we truly are. After very shallow some soul-searching, therefore, I decided it would be a good thing to develop a bit more of a “uniform.” Only one that has plenty of wiggle room. The way you adorn yourself, I believe, influences how you feel about yourself and your place in this world more than a lot of people realize. And if you can’t form a steady idea of who you are, that’s always open to the fact that you will inevitably learn and grow, you may never develop that deep focus and decisiveness that helps you keep plugging away at that novel even when you don’t feel like it, or on a more mundane level, the ability to toss out those jeans you never truly felt comfortable in anyway and that always put you in a slight funk but that you insist on continually wearing so you can get your “use” out of them.
So, when taking a break from mulling over more important things, I’ve been fiddling with the idea of my basic daily get-up. What makes me the happiest and how can I develop a better sense of what works for me so I don’t continually purchase what I won’t wear?
So, without further blabbing, here’s my little arsenal I’ve just started developing:
With eye makeup, I’ve realized that I can be a lot more daring and still not look freaky or like I should be strutting on a street corner. My favorite thing is to wear straight-up black eyeshadow and liner, but just on my lids.

In the crease, I like to add a wash of fun color, something bright and straightforward that complements what I’m wearing. I’m working on building a collection.

With my lips I like something red that can be a subtle or intense as you like, depending on how you apply.

This is Benefit lipstick in Frenched. Oooh la la.

Or something warm and corally with a bit of sparkle.

Benefit lipstick in candy store:

And my fun recovery get-up? This stripedy onesie of which Ransom would be proud!

Got it at Target, baby!

Don't worry, there's more to come on my fashion musings. For the moment, I'm worn out, but you haven't heard the last of this development by any means. I'm know there are a million beauty and fashion blogs out there, but this one's fun for me.

Love to all!!! (After all this fashion talk, I feel like we should do some kind of haughty cheek kiss. Muuah, Muuah, daaa-ling!)

EDIT:

I forgot to mention one thing: my new statement piece. You've gotta have a few trademarks, right? I ordered this from Forever 21 with the help of a brighten-my-recovery gift cert from my dearest, dearest Jenny. I had tried it on in the store but they didn't have my size. Anyway, yeah, it's leopard print, but way more Audrey Hepburn than Peg Bundy. At least I really, really hope so.

Little Bits of Life...

2009-10-21T17:48:00.000-07:00

Well, what's been going on in my little life lately? I had some shocking health news, as you all know now. Shocking it is, but not dangerous. Yes, I will be without a kidney, and yes it IS cancer--yikes!--but I should recover just fine. I will also carry with me the distinction of having my case, rare as it is, presented at a tumor conference. Goodness knows how many specialists have been eyeballing those kidneys of mine. But this is how God answers prayers in the loveliest ways. I wanted confirmation that everything had been thoroughly checked out... and boy is it gonna be.

I've been visiting my Mom in Siloam lately, as often as I can. I have such a great time with her. We play with the boy, take walks to the charming downtown and look at the shops and drink lattes and eat apricot crumble cake or go to teas rooms, play Scrabble while Ran naps, and just generally enjoy talking and laughing together. She is such an amazing person with so many amazing gifts, and she always encourages me in my spiritual walk and my creative ventures. And Ran just happens to adore her.

We dressed the cutie pie up in a white tiger costume, just for fun! And paraded him about town. This photo my Mom took at the park downtown is one of my all-time favorite pictures.

My parents' house is so charming and I love little touches like these stone urns on either side of their front steps. My Mom is amazing at gardening. See the happy yellow butterfly on the pansies?

One of my favorite things to do with Ransom is to give him baths. It's really a great playtime, because he's adored water from the getgo. I play classical music while I bathe him and always let him watch the water pouring down like a waterfall, to make the experience totally transcendent for him, ha ha. He loves it and always tries to drink the water.

I've gotten the chance to spend more time with my sixteen year-old niece lately. She's such a great girl and interested in creative writing and drama, just like me, and, of course, her uncle Vu. This is a snapshot from when we kidnapped her and took her to the Iron Horse coffee shop in downtown Rogers and a cute antique shop. She's a lot of fun and she even tried to change Ransom's diaper the last time we saw her--it was her first one!

Ransom has been experiencing a milestone a lot of babies go through lately. Stranger anxiety. It hits at slightly unpredictable times. Sometimes he's fine with strangers and even smiles at them, but if he stares at you for a time and then makes this face (see below) you know the waterworks are coming! I feel for him, but I can't help but laugh cause it's so cute. I also feel that I should continue to be diligent about having him around a lot of people in different settings so he can get comfortable with it.

I love having my sisters and their awesome husbands over for game nights and singing on Lips or Rock Band. Julie and I love to sing and lately we've both started taking to the drums. Is there perhaps some hidden musical talent there?

2009-08-31T01:09:00.000-07:00

It’s two-thirty in the morning and I can’t sleep. I’m not sure if it’s stress-related. I know most people assume that when you can’t sleep but although I feel stressed by the idea of being very tired tomorrow, which only exacerbates the problem, I think most of it boils down to the fact that these have been my sleep habits for so long… getting up in the night, staying up to all hours, and I would always make it up the next day. Of course, I can’t do that with a baby to take care of. And I start to worry about my abilities to care for him on so little sleep. Then sleep becomes even more difficult. I can’t change my habits overnight, I know, but I need to change them as quickly as possible. People have made all kinds of suggestions, such as to knock myself out with Benadryl, (I’ve taken two, nothing) not to watch TV in the evenings (I hardly ever do) and now I’m starting to wonder if I should call my doctor and ask for sleep aids. Regardless, I may as well do something constructive since I’m up, so here is a journal entry I started weeks ago about being a Mommy, and what I’ve observed.

You can NOT trust 90% of the parenting advice you get. The other 10% is golden.

So, as you see, I’m not saying you can’t trust parenting advice. I’m only saying that only a very little of it will apply to you. Some of it will be downright insulting, some just bad, some okay for someone else’s child, but occasionally you will come across the wise parent who (non-preachily) drops some little tidbit or says how this book helped them and you’ll spend the rest of your baby’s childhood thanking God he brought you into contact with that person at that moment.

Here are some examples of the kind of advice I find extremely dubious:

The kind that starts, “Experts say…” Who are these experts exactly? The articles often don’t say. And how, may I ask, did these so-called experts come to their conclusions? What kinds of studies were done and how many? Have the conclusions based on their research been contradicted by any other “experts”? I’m not about to trust a faceless person whose only credentials may be that they wrote one of the billions books on parenting.

The kind that obviously goes with a very specific philosophy of parenting. This is something I’ve learned. There are many, many different philosophies out there, and the people who preach them state their point-of-view like fact. There’s the Le Leche League/attachment parenting crowd who are extremely confident in stating advice that completely contradicts the Babywise school of thought, the school of thought I happen to buy into. You can’t just randomly google, say, a breastfeeding question therefore and get the definitive answer. Both Babywise and Le Leche are extremely supportive of breastfeeding, and each strongly contradicts the other.

Most people you talk to are well meaning, but they have only their own kid/s to go by. It seems to me that because every child is different, you can’t raise any two exactly the same way and expect the same results. My Mom tells me that when she was a little girl, if someone even spoke to her in a stern tone, she would cry. One of my sisters on the other hand, has a son who laughs at the idea of a spanking. When I was a baby, I loved being cuddled as much as possible. When my sister Wendy was a baby, she’d squirm to get out of my parents arms so she could run around. I think there are certain principles, such as the need for oodles of love and affection and the need to learn discipline and self-control, that apply to all children, but specifically how they apply differs from child to child.

Now, about the advice you can trust. Well, that’s the advice that works. This advice is almost always given out of love (though much bad a advice is also given out of love, too). There are people who only feel comfortable when others in similar situations do things exactly the way they do—it’s an insecurity thing, I believe—and then there are people who will make suggestions simply because they genuinely think they can help and want the best for you and your baby. Sometimes people will make little comments that just leave your heart in knots of self-doubt. If what they said gets under you skin, work out why. Maybe there’s truth in it. Sometimes, though, there isn’t. And some parenting books will leave you so confused and anxious when they contradict what’s already been working for you and your baby… and tell you their way is the only way. I find it’s best to put these books away, for a while at least.

“Motherly Pride” can be a very bad thing.

I was feeding Ransom one night in the nursery when Vu had his co-workers over for a team-building game night and I read Mere Christianity out loud to us as a way of entertaining myself and soothing him. I came across the chapter on Pride, the sin of sins. This is a chapter I need to re-read every few months at least. It always shames me. Lewis acknowledges that we use the term “pride” in different senses and to feel proud of your child in the sense that you think they’re absolutely wonderful and your brimming over with affection for them is absolutely natural and good. That’s not what I’m talking about. The kind of pride that creeps in and messes with your motivations for being a good parent is what I mean that we mothers, or at least I as a mother, need to guard against. Lewis describes pride as being essentially competitive. Pride doesn’t get pleasure out of being rich or beautiful, but being more rich or more beautiful than whomever. When I see a kid throwing a temper tantrum in Wal-Mart and a Mother responding with bitterness and anger and I say to myself, “I’m not going to be that kind of mother.” I have to be careful what territory I’m verging into. It’s fine to see people doing things and disagree, even resolve not to do those things yourself, but, I have to ask myself, “am I wanting at this moment to be a good parent out of love, or because I want to be better than that parent?” And where is my compassion for that mother's situation? Do I get a secret little satisfaction out of the idea that my parenting will be “superior” to hers?

You can make your baby and excuse for not getting things done, or you can get creative.

This I learned from observing Vu. He’s had a lot more experience caring for children, in actuality. Vu’s Mom has spent many years helping out families in the Vietnamese community, and there were always babies around his house when he was growing up. When he moved back to his parents’ house to help with a family crisis, his nephews Tony and Topher were babies, and he had a big hand in raising them. They are two of the happiest, most well-behaved kids I’ve ever met. This last Sunday Vu suggested I take the day to relax, and he would watch the boy. I’d kind of been a single parent that past week. Vu had been entertaining co-workers at our house, then playing with the church band during the afternoon on Sunday, then spending the week teaching drama camp every evening. He did it because he felt called to and I wanted to support that, but I was a little rough around the edges. He kept Ransom with him and played with him, but also managed to get a lot done. Ransom played out front in his bouncy seat while Vu fixed the garden hose, Vu took the monitor outside when Ran was napping and cleaned out the pond. Ever since I observed the way he calmly did his thing and took care of a few things around the house while still caring for the boy, I realized that with the right attitude it certainly can be done. I choose the right moments—when Ransom is fresh and cheerful and in the mood to play near me in his bouncy, bumbo, or jumperoo, and I fold clothes or do dishes or whatever else I need or want to do. He really likes to watch me do things and I talk and sing to him while I work. I’ve found that he doesn’t mind being in the Baby Bjorn while I vacuum. This is so freeing, to open your mind to the possibility of being able to accomplish things. I think it’s our minds that hold us back more often than anything else.

You. Must. Stay. In. The. Present. Moment.

Your baby is always in the present moment. If he’s frustrated because you got his arm stuck in the sleeve of his complicated but oh-so-cute onesie or if he’s squealing in delight because you're talking nonsense to him, this moment, for him, is eternity. I think that’s why babies cry sometimes like it’s the end of the world. They don’t know that their frustration is going to pass. We do. I calmly say to him now, “this too shall pass, sweetie,” if he fusses about something unavoidable or necessary. The great thing about the fact that children are always in the present, though, is that it’s a good reminder for us parents. How much of our lives, once we make it into our twenties and thirties and have so many plans, responsibilities, memories, hopes and fears, are spent just experiencing what’s right before us? It’s sad because the present is truly all we have. Most of those fears and some of the hopes will never be realized, and that’s okay, because not everything that comes into our heads is part of God’s plan. But we still can waste so much time thinking about it all. Ransom is the best reminder I have to let all of that go and just be. I’ll be walking him in the stroller for instance, stewing over something or other, and I'll look down and see him smile, just look me in the eye with the most tender unconditional love and joy, because I'm Mommy, and suddenly nothing else matters, and nothing has ever been so wonderful as this precise moment.It’s also so important to stay in the present moment when caring for a child because it takes all your awareness to keep up with and take joy in, all the many things you do with (I prefer “with” rather than “for”) your baby every day. I thought when I had a baby I’d worry a lot more about all the trouble in the world, but in actuality, I worry less. Interacting with him always calls me back to the here and now.

How Ransom Came Into The World (Written Weeks Ago, Just Remembered To Post It!)

2009-07-13T15:25:00.000-07:00

(Okay, I wrote this several weeks ago. Little Ransom is now nine weeks old and weighs 15 lbs.!)

Five weeks ago he was still in my belly. That’s difficult to comprehend. Here he is, weighing 11 pounds (last time we checked) with my cheeks and lips and Vu’s eyes and hair (we think his nose might be mine, too, but we’re waiting to call that one) and a face as expressive as a stage actor. My sister once said of her first son that as much as he changed their lives, he was so amazingly familiar, so a part of them, that they couldn’t really fathom how he hadn’t always been there. I know what she meant now. And yet I never could have “predicted” Ransom. He’s totally his own person, complete yet with so much to learn and so much to show us.
I was going to be induced on a Wednesday at 10 am. I was nearly a week past my due date. That evening, when I finally fell asleep, I was still not able to grasp the gravity of the next day. But the pain started making it’s way through my dreams and into my consciousness at around 3 am. There had been jokes (and wishes and even prayers from some) that I’d go into labor before the induction. Not sure if the pain that morning was the real thing—we’d already had a false alarm, so disappointing—I took a hot shower and tried walking around the house a bit, to see if the contractions would continue. When I started needing to steady myself on a counter because of the pain, I woke up Vu. As he started gathering our stuff for the hospital by the door, just in case we decided to go in early, I sat on the couch and watched the clock. The contractions were coming five minutes apart, very steadily. Zillah, the kitten we found dying in the road the night I found out I pregnant, the kitten that Vu nursed back to health, came and draped herself across my belly and purred, as if she knew. She is so light I hardly felt her. Just the soothing vibration of purring and the warmth of her fur. I talked to her to distract myself from the discomfort, telling her how she was Ransom’s and how it was because of him that we found her, and she stared into my eyes.
When we got to the hospital it took a little convincing and a little nerve gathering for me to go in. I started to second-guess myself. The contractions weren’t that bad, I said, gripping the sides of my chair and gritting my teeth. Maybe we could just nap there till morning, when they would be expecting us. It was around 4:30 am, I think. It only took a few minutes of that before the contractions and Vu convinced me it was time to go ahead and go in.
With these contractions, I felt grateful for the wheelchair I had disdained on the night of my false labor. The nurse I got I remembered us from that night. She was nice in a bedraggled, distracted kind of way. Surely she’d been having a long night. Things were progressing slowly, but time seemed to speed up. At around 9am, they went ahead and started me on Pitocin to get things going faster. My doctor was going to be out of town that evening and they wanted me to have the baby before she had to leave. I still don’t know how I feel about this. I have an idea that Ransom might have been born naturally on Vu’s birthday, had we not hurried things along artificially. They warned me that the pain would start to get more intense. As it got worse, they asked me if I’d like to go ahead and get the epidural I’d been planning on. I admit, I felt ready for it.
The epidural guy (sure there’s a more technical term) had a friendly face, a reassuring smile, and a huge needle. They brought Vu around to face me during the procedure and hold my hand. They worry fathers might faint if they see what’s going on back there. The epidural felt strange, but didn’t hurt. I was told my legs would start to feel warm, then numb.
I felt a little warmth in my legs, but also a strange tingling sensation in my upper back. It wasn’t until about an hour later, realizing I could still wiggle my toes and lift my feet and feeling the contractions quite painfully, that I suspected that, for me, the epidural wasn’t quite going to work how I’d expected. But then, who knew exactly what to expect? I’m not sure the reason, but the epidural never fully took. The positive though painful side of this was yet to come. I would feel everything a few hours later: head, shoulders, legs, slip out and it would be so crazily unbelievable and somehow very awesome. The nurse who got me through the hours of pushing that later ensued had bright, steady blue eyes and a calm, sensible air. As soon as she came in the room she automatically tidied up the mess of tubes and cords left by the tired night nurse and generally brought a little harmony to the room. She asked for Vu’s name, remembered it, and addressed him by it. She was the nurse I’d prayed for.
The contractions got increasingly more painful. There was a button to push if I needed it, to deliver more medicine to help with the pain, but pushing that button didn’t seem to make any difference. Another nurse came in and asked if I was feeling the contractions now and was it painful.
“Yes. And very, actually.”
“Just push the button,” she said kindly, and left.
Okay, I thought, I guess this all an epidural does. I said no more about it. Someday I’ll learn to stop being too polite.
I managed to wince my way through a few games of Connect Four with Vu while we waited for our moment, much to amusement of our blue-eyed nurse. (Sadly, I can’t remember her name, even though she told us and I remember thinking it didn’t suit her.) Vu let us end on a game I won. Sweet of him.
Towards the end I sat quite still, breathing, smiling at Vu, too distracted by the pain to say or do anything else. Then, finally, it was time to push.
Alright! We’d have this baby out in no time. Right.
We pushed on my left side. We pushed on my right. We pushed with my lying on my back and Vu holding one leg, the nurse holding the other. We counted to ten while I pushed. She told me it would help if I didn’t push with my face. The doctor showed up and I pushed with her help for a while. I started to feel dizzy and very, very hot. I started having a hard time keeping my eyes open.
Towards the end, when we were into the second hour of pushing and my doctor had delivered another baby and come back, I noticed Vu’s sympathy pushing though my blurred vision. Every time he and the nurse would hold back my legs and count, Vu would hold his breath and strain with every muscle in his body until I took my break and let my eyes close again. I told him he’d better not pass out on me. The nurse laughed.
I was dimly aware, towards the very end, of comments that my temperature had reached 107, but I was holding to the more important thing being said: my baby had a full head of hair. They could see my baby’s head, if only for a few seconds at a time.
Just when I thought it was never going to end, that that full head of hair would remain unseen by me forever, things started happening really fast. There was talk of the vacuum. I’d been pushing so long and my temp was so high, they wanted to get this baby out. I didn’t want Ransom to come out with a cone head, but I was too weak to protest.
I think Vu remembered the last part better than I do, fully conscious as he was. I remember a sudden sensation of extreme pain and tears streaming down my face. I found out later what I was feeling was an episitomy. Then out the vacuum came. I was asked to push again. I felt like this had to be the last time and my head crashed back on the pillow. The doctor said
“Amy, Amy, look.”
His head was out.
I can’t remember exactly what happened after that but I remember pushing, Vu saying he could see the head, and then suddenly feeling the rest of him come out. The doctor pretty much threw him on top of me. He was very quiet. They slapped him on the back and he coughed and began to cry.
And this was the most amazing moment of my life to date. I was sobbing, Vu was crying and telling me I did amazing, the baby was amazing, we were saying “I love you,” I remember seeing that his eyes were dark and beautiful and that his skin felt so, so soft, but what was behind my tears is hard to explain. Joy, of course, but how do you explain it? Every new parent tries but words fail us. You can say “her face is bright and pure like the rising sun,” or “his eyes sparkle like the ocean,” but what is the sun like? What is the ocean like? With this wonder called birth you just hit the core of God’s beauty and all you can do is cry.

I got tagged!

2009-04-10T12:11:00.000-07:00

8 Things I Am Looking Forward To:

1. Having this baby in a few weeks. (About 4, to be exact) I'm not sure I've even looked forward to anything more, and neither has Vu. I love being pregnant. It's been quite the roller coaster (and when I say that, you have to remember that I love roller coasters) but now I'm ready to hold my baby in my arms, see him in person, and hopefully tie my own shoes again fairly soon. I'm excited about the experience of giving birth, but scared of course, too. The pain I think I can handle--but actually pushing a baby out? It seems so... visceral. I'm weird, I know, but it's that that freaks me out the most. I guess when the time comes, though, I'll do what I need to do! Oh, and to my wonderful mother friends and sisters out there, I have a question: What do I REALLY need for the hospital? What were you glad you brought along?

2. Having the nursery finished. We've picked up a lot of the major stuff: crib, car seat, stroller, etc. and I've washed the newborn clothes I have and the baby Bjorn and boppy pillows I've been given. Now all we have to do is move out the stuff that doesn't belong in there and do a bit of cleaning and decorating. The bassinet is in our bedroom and that's where he'll sleep for a while, but I'll still spend a lot of time with him in the nursery, you guessed it, nursing him. Yup. I've been breaking in my glider while watching Vu put stuff together. Who knew nesting would involve so much time simply sitting on my nest?

3. Vu getting published and being able to work for himself. Vu is one of the most amazingly multi-talented and self-motivated people I've even known. He's meant to be working for himself. Right now he doesn't mind what he does and is happy to be supporting our family, but I want him to use his gifts fully and completely. I respect him so much and am heartbreakingly grateful that he deals with a corporate environment every day. I know it would be torture for me... most people get on my nerves so much and I hate stressful, unpleasant atmospheres... and Vu and I are quite similar. He has learned so much patience with difficult people over the last several years, though, and I'm so proud of him.

4. Getting published myself. I have so many people supporting me and rooting for me: Vu, my family, friends, even most of my professors, but my confidence has been shaken in these last few years. I'm praying for renewed strength, more strength than I ever possessed before. I want to make the people who believe I'm meant to do this proud, but most importantly, I want to fulfill my purpose in this world--to add my small contribution to the right and the good.

5. Taking our first major family vacation. We plan to go to Camel/Pacific Grove, one of the most beautiful places on earth. I can't wait to see my baby's reactions. There are so many beautiful things I want to show him.

6. Getting back to a more serious workout routine after the baby is born. Everybody says I'm very lucky that I was preggo through the chilly weather and not the heat, and I totally agree with them, but that icy, dismal weather and the fact that Vu got home after dark during the winter months did cut back on my favorite exercise: hiking out of doors. It's gonna be my main weapon for getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight. After that, I really want to step it up a notch and be in better shape than ever. When I accomplish that, I'm going to celebrate by cutting my hair into the cute bob I've wanted for so long. Just watch me.

7. Finishing the last little bit of painting in our living room/entryway. We've worked so hard, we can't stop now!

8. To finishing up my English Degree! I don't regret all the electives, but I'm soooo ready to be done. I don't know if having the degree is actually going to do anything useful for me in a practical way, but I need to close this chapter. I need to feel that I've finished what I've put so much work into.

8 Things I Did Yesterday:
1. Did my copywriting from home. I had lots of jewelry to work on, and some flowers. I'm so blessed to have this job. Diamond copy is this girl's best friend.
2. Took a bubble bath with sandalwood-scented bubbles to wind down. My beloved had scrubbed the tub for me before I got home.
3. Ate dinner at the Olive Garden with my awesome sisters and had a small glass of wine---yes, you read that right. It's perfectly safe!
4. Did some fun planning for the baby shower my sisters and Mom are kindly hosting for me, which is in a couple of weeks.
5. Made plans to go to Ruth's Chris tonight for a celebratory dinner with some friends. I've never been there. I'm going to curl my hair.
6. Nearly finished the Graham Greene novel I'm reading, Our Man in Havana.
7. Found an adorable stuffed monkey at Barnes and Noble and managed not to buy it.
8. Got a call from my husband while I was out with my sisters saying he had the list for the store I wrote and what kind of hairspray did he need to buy for me. Those kinds of moments just fill a girl with love.

8 Things I Wish I Could Do:
1. Buy the house Vu and I want in Rogers. It's big, beautiful, on a lot of land and out of the way of busy areas, yet deceptively close to the Promenade. It's a great price, too--though still not a price we can afford at the moment.
2.Sing. I envy people who can express themselves with song and achieve some emotion from the people listening other than mirth
3.Publish a series of dark, satirical mysteries
4. Be in several Shakespeare productions and indie movies
5. Have the ability to run ten miles and radiate good health
6. Rescue every sad or stray animal
7. Travel all over the world with Vu and my little boy
8.Live by the ocean

8 Shows I Am Currently Watching:

There's no way I'm currently watching 8 shows. But I can probably come up with eight that I've liked...

1. Fawlty Towers. Not a lot of people know about this show, but Vu and I both love it and have since before we met. The acting and writing are so impeccable, hilarious, and British. The writers were a very clever and hilarious husband and wife who also starred in the show: Connie Booth and John Cleese.
2. Friends. I started watching this show with my sisters when I was around 11, and I'm just so attached to the characters. The humor is so natural and spot on and the relationships are so genuine.
4. Seinfeld. I'll never feel the same way about Michael Richards again, but it's still an ingenious show. And my Dad always says I remind him of Elaine. I take that as a compliment because in my opinion she's one of the funniest female characters on a TV show ever.
5.Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I've seen every episode. I can't fully explain it, the show just makes me happy.
Okay, so I could only think of five.

8 People I Am Tagging in this Game - YOU’RE IT!:1. Wendy 2. Rachel 3. Vu 4. Sonja 6. Jenny (I know you won't do this)7. Mom 8. Heather

Pizza and milk at 4 am.

2009-01-11T02:36:00.000-08:00

I'm not gonna lie to you. It's 4:25 in the morning and I'm up eating a cold piece of pizza and drinking a glass of milk. The main reason I'm up is because my knee is completely annoyed with me. Not matter what position I try (and they are limited), it aches and complains. It's all because Vu and I are redoing our living room. Again. Around last year I chose a color similar to pumpkin puree because I wanted to "warm things up" and a dark espresso color for the beams, not to mention a dirty-looking grayish white for the trim. It was interesting, and unfinished, while it lasted. We had trouble finishing the beams and they've looked like smeared chocolate around the edges for I don't know how long, and some of the trim high up on the walls remained light green. Um, yikes. At least to me. I read this really flaky feng shu book that made a really good point: any unfinished project should be described as clutter. It zaps your mental and physical energy day after to day to look at it even if you don't consciously realize it.

So onto the new. We're ripping out all the yucky carpet for love of our little one on the way and also for our own satisfaction, and replacing it with this really pretty laminate in a reddish finish. It was a little more expensive because it comes in individual little planks and looks a lot more like real wood, but it will be so worth it. I can't wait to see it finished. The wall and trim color is a... well, a white. I used to be against white until I realized all the wonderful and infuriating variations there are to choose from. Ours is a bright, soft, creamy white that you'd like to pour in your coffee. Covering all the mess I attempted with the never ending trim and the pumpkin puree color has been so satisfying and freeing. The closest thing we've gotten to a blanket of fresh snow. We chose the most beautiful color for the beams and the brick as well, called Mediterranean mocha. It looks like what it sounds like, a pretty coffee color with a little more of a warm tint than most coffees. When the whole affair is done--and it needs to be mostly done by the end of today--I'll post pictures. Keep in mind, I'm just watching Vu do most of the work, but he says the moral support is most important.

I can't believe how much Vu and I already love our baby boy. We call him by his name all the time, so you might hear us slip one of these days even though it's supposed to be a surprise. I really can't wait to find out about him. What he's like, how he takes after each of us in different ways, his facial expressions, his cry, everything. I've had several dreams about being in labor, or thinking I was in labor, and then being told I was going to have to wait a few more months. And wait I will. And all the while the belly grows rounder, and the belly button keeps disappearing. Things like tying my shoes and putting on lotion are getting more awkward. And I'm getting even clumsier. I drop pretty much everything I pick up and then stare at it and then stare at Vu because I don't fancy bending over. I tried on an empire-waist formal dress this evening, thinking I could squeeze into it for the adult prom coming up at our church, and found that not only would it absolutely refuse to even look like it might zip up, but I got stuck in it. Vu had to help pry me out of it in a mess of black beads and satin and lace. I caught a glimpse of my bare belly in the little round mirror on my vanity table so it was perfectly framed, though, and goodness it was beautiful. The shape of a pregnant belly is so glorious and joyful. I love it when people notice my belly and smile. It makes them happy and it makes me happy, this image of new life. It's a ray of bright light in this seriously dark world.

I can't wait till his kicks become more pronounced. Right now, it just feels like tiny little feet and fists flailing around and every once in a while making blessed contact, which I know it about right. I can't wait until Vu can feel it too. I want him to share in this unbelievably cool sensation. A couple of times it has felt like the baby has flipped or rolled over and it does the funkiest thing to me. It messes with my equilibrium, as if I'm standing on a high cliff looking down or about to take a dive in a roller coaster. I'm like, "whoa, whoa, whooooaaaa, what's be doing in there?" I love it.

I regret not taking more pictures lately. I love seeing everyone else's pictures and I can't help but think that my own ramblings would be more interesting if I inserted a few. Let's see what I can do...

Our Christmas tradition.

I sat on the couch with Vu, doing some blabbing while be did some scribbling, and here's the result.

Pregnant fun on Christmas day. Julie's a genius with camera angles.

baby boy...

2008-12-25T19:39:00.000-08:00

Life can surprise you. We're so excited. Our ultrasound technician switched to 4D unexpectedly! Nice lady. So we got a great image of his sweet face.

Love alters not with brief hours or weeks...

2008-11-21T15:45:00.000-08:00

EDIT: Belly, belly, belly!

I've been keeping a journal lately. Not an online one, but an actual handwritten journal. It's leather-bound with soft leather and inky rose designs and leather ties. I find that it's actually difficult to write for very long because my hands are much more used to typing now. This may seem weird, but I've become my own thought police with regards to the journal, and I only write positive things in it. No complaining, no "I'm dreading such and such...". I guess I have this hope that all the positive things that are happening now, or ever will happen in my life, so outweigh the little snags and annoyances that they won't be as important for chronicling. Don't get me wrong, there are places to vent. Venting good. This blog for, instance, has been a nice place for a bit of venting. Friends and husbands are ideal. But not in my lovely little leather journal.

Yesterday I was seized with inspiration and stranded myself at a coffee shop to write. There's something about getting out of your house and being stranded with nothing else to do that really gets you motivated to put a little work into your life's purpose. I do think my life's purpose is to write. Why I am supposed to write or what's going to come out of it, I don't know yet. But I don't suppose that's necessary information at the moment.

We saw the new James Bond movie last weekend with some friends. I liked it. I actually like the new James Bond, and though in my opinion this one wasn't as great a Casino Royale, it was still good. I actually respect this Bond as an intimidating force and a real person. And even though he's a shallow jerk in some ways, like all James Bonds, he's different in that he has his own ungraspable depth and that I actually find him attractive.

I heard the baby's heartbeat this week, which was wonderful. It's slower now, as it's regulated by her/his brain. And the only thing that kept me from fully appreciating the moment is that, as my doctor was moving the little heart listening object thingy around on my belly, she had the most inscrutable frown on her face. So while a part of me was thinking, oh, how lovely, my baby is alive and growing and a miracle still, another part of me was thinking, "what's with the frown? Does everything sound okay? Is she trying to figure out how to tell me..." and then the doctor looks up and me, smiles, says a a few numbers and also says, "everything sounds great." So I guess she was just frowning trying to remember how much basil to buy for her spaghetti sauce that night or something.

Being pregnant is awesome. And besides being slighty sick a few weekends ago which I don't think was a direct side effect of pregnancy, I'm feeling good. I can already tell that I'm going to miss it. I love seeing my belly growing rounder and knowing that I have the privilege of carrying this miracle and sustaining it as God forms it. Miracle may be an overused word in relation to babies, but it's impossible not to use it. It really helps remind me that my body is a temple and that the holy spirit always dwells within me. So all the care and attention and respect I give my body now because of this child shouldn't ever stop. I had a dream about a little boy a couple nights ago--all my other dreams have been about little girls smiling at me or running around outside--but this one was about a little boy who looked like me, sitting in the front of a shopping cart at the store. He smiled at me and I smiled at him like we knew each other, and I felt so happy. But then he waved goodbye, still smiling, and his parent (I didn't see who it was) continued past me. What does this mean, do you think? That I'm having a boy or that I'm not having one?

New Life

2008-11-05T03:19:00.000-08:00

We did it! Not only did we make a baby but we managed to scan that baby's picture!
Beautiful, beautiful, yes?

Dancing Child

2008-10-22T13:13:00.000-07:00

Thank you girls so much for the lovely and encouraging comments. I'm so blessed to have supportive friends who see me in such a loving light and see the good and creative in me. I know it's God's will for us to have all the tools and all the strength we need to be great parents, so I trust Him for that. I'm getting quite excited. There's a thin line between excited and nervous, but that's okay. So many of the really amazing things we do in life produce those sensations. Kissing the person you love for the first time, waiting to step out onto the stage, getting ready to fly to a new place and see and experience new things... it's a good feeling.

Apparently, my baby already takes after me, because she (?) obviously likes to swim. I saw her yesterday and she was waving her little fists, kicking her tiny legs, and literally flipping over. I want to post the pictures as soon as we get our scanner up and running again. The doctor called her "wiggle worm" so that's what we're calling her for the moment. It's amazing how babyish she(?) looks already. We could see a face with a high forehead and a little chin, and even the outlines of fingers and toes. And I promise you, she was having fun in there. I can't feel her moving yet, which is odd because she moves so much, but she's already making the most of her (?) tiny world. It was the most beautiful thing I've EVER seen. I can't fully describe it. I can only say that in my mind's ear, I heard music.

Pregnant? Pregnant.

2008-10-17T14:05:00.000-07:00

It’s true enough: I’m pregnant.

Pregnancy does a lot to girl, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally.
Firstly, I feel tired almost all the time unless I feeling giddy, hungry whenever I’m not nauseated, ready to cry for not very good reasons and when I’m not even feeling sad, and very excitable about the idea of a little person growing inside me. Sheesh, that’s weird. Vu and I were driving in the car the other day, having a normal conversation and boom, I grab his arm with a loud gasp. It totally freaked him out, but all I wanted to say was, “we’re having a baby!”
Spiritually, I just want to be as fit as possible, as close to God and his plan for my life as I can be for the sake of our growing family. I want my child to have an inspirational mother. That doesn’t mean I have to be famous or a mega-triathlete or break the world record for chewing the biggest wad of gum or anything, but I want to be someone who makes a positive difference in people’s lives. Who leaves things in a better state than she found them. I want to model courage and positivity and self-control. I know I can’t become all the things I long to be overnight, but knowing I’m going to be a role model sure adds to my motivation. I want to be mature and also fun, someone who sees herself not only as a mother but a lot of other things as well. It’s all interconnected. Mother-Artist-Wife-Friend-Student-Traveler, etc. I don’t want to ever think or talk like being a mother means giving up my life. God has many plans for me, all woven together more beautifully than I could imagine.
Mentally… well, I feel a little mental. Not in a bad way, but in a giddy-sleepy-hungry-super-sensitive kind of way. I was reading a book I didn’t agree with the other day, and when normally, I might, say, put it down in a huff, this time I threw it across the room. And then in the trash. I haven’t regretted it. It was actually quite satisfying.
I know my baby has fingers and toes and toenails and peach fuzz on his or her skin, is developing like crazy, but it’s hard to believe that not too long from now—let’s face it, time flies—I’m going feeling and seeing the baby kick, to be holding him or her in my arms and looking into his or her beautiful eyes and waking up to cries in the night. I’m not that experienced with babies. All I can say is that, come what may, God will help me rise to the occasion. Same with my labor.
Wait a second. Am I REALLY pregnant?
I have this thought occasionally, you know, five or six times a week.
Names are tricky. When it was a theoretical baby, I had so many names for it. Now that I have to just pick one it’s a little more difficult. My favorites at the moment are Lolly, Beatrice and Istra for a girl, Kingsley for a boy. I’m not sure when I’ll know which one is the right one.
I think it’s a girl. I wonder how often it happens that the mother is so sure and then it turns out to be wrong?
To sum it up, this is something I’ve been praying about for so long, and now it’s happened. God is good!!

Look, I'm on a website homepage!

2008-08-15T21:21:00.001-07:00

Go to http://www.samsclub.com/shopping/index.jsp to see the page.

Philbrook Art Museum with the Nephews

2008-07-23T04:21:00.001-07:00

Vu and I took his nephews Tony and Topher to the Philbrook Art Museum last Saturday. It's weird--they're not little boys anymore, they're like little teenagers. I liked being in the atmosphere of the dusky old mansion filled with paintings and sunlight. Tony was fairly convinced the place was haunted. On the way there the boys slept in the car and Vu and I sang loudly and danced to old Madonna songs and Green Day. That was fun. It's criminal to be taking as many long drives as we have lately.

The boys liked being able to put back their seats and conk out. This is actually on the way home. If you look closely, you can see Tony's new possum puppet, "Rabies".

I tend to always go for more classical-style art. I feel like, with modern art, the artist is always getting in the way. I like art as art, and I'm not necessarily interested in the person who did it. People should be able to draw their own conclusions about a piece without having some opinionated artist forcing their own personality/political views on top of it. I think that's why I'd be fine with never meeting any of the artists, writers, or musicians whose work I like. Enjoying their work is enough for me.

This piece, for example, was a series of seemly random video footage set to "Leaving on a Jet Plane." It had a room to itself. Wha? Am I supposed to be impressed?

I liked this painting because it reminded me of Pacific Grove. I'm not sure anything makes me feel more joyful than these kinds of images:

I liked this painting because it reminded me of the warm, mysterious beauty of the woods and trails around our house:

The whole time we were there, they were setting up for a big wedding. They put out the flowers shortly before we left and I sneaked a photo with some of them. Somehow I feel like I look slightly crazed in this photo. Is it just me?

Though it was thick and hazy with humidity, the gardens were still charming. Yes, I said charming.

I thought this image of my hands might make a nice painting, but you can barely tell my fingers are under water. And there's the shadow. Maybe I can still work with it.

Check out the blurry action on these plants. It's like they were running away. We'll just say it's impressionist:

And how sweet is this? It wasn't posed.

This time of year again...

2008-07-17T13:02:00.000-07:00

So here's what's bumping around in my pretty little head today. Don't expect too many logical connections.

Okay, so the most trying time of year for me is always the hot summer months. I love spring, I adore fall, I don't mind early breezy summer or a few enchanting, snowy winter days, but hot days that drag on are ssssooooooo tedious to me. If I were a super independent, hippie-chick, water nymph wannabe I might go splash around in the lake all day long, but I don't fancy going alone for reasons as varied as possible water moccasin bites and crazy rednecks.

In the summer I also feel very old-fashioned. Working from home and taking a break from classes, gardening and writing and painting, I feel like I'm leading the life a monk or something. I start craving a loud get-together or a crazy, undisciplined shopping trip. But then when I start to get really busy again, I wish for this kind of monk-tress like existence. But without the stifling heat.

People keep asking me when I'm going to finish school. I know they mean well and they're just curious but this question makes me want to drop everything and run out of the room. After my first year I changed my major, I took like a year's worth of electives at least, and I did a few semesters part-time, so I'm going to be going a little longer than most people. I feel like whenever someone veers from the norm and the accepted, even in something innocent, it makes other people uncomfortable. I just want to live my life the way God wants me to, and I don't think He minds me taking a little longer than the traditional student to get my Bachelor's. I'm not like anyone else, and I'm not going about my schooling like everybody else. I don't know, maybe I'm the one making myself feel weird about it because I have friends about my age who are way ahead of me, degree wise.

I'm writing an article for the re-vamped Bella Vista Animal Shelter newsletter. It's going to be a feature on a volunteer--who, typical of most generous types, doesn't think he deserves the recognition. I know it's not a huge publication or anything, but I want to do the best with it that I possibly can. I think people should always do their best, not that anyone needs to be perfect or can be, but I don't think we should ever put out shoddy or lazy work. Next week, I'm helping with a puppet show for our church for VBS. I'm playing a human who talks to the puppets, can you believe it? Talk about exposure therapy for someone who's been irrationally terrified of puppets since she was a little girl. Anyhow, I want to do a good job performing. Not that it has to be professional acting, I know the kids don't care, but I don't want to go into it not trying because it's "just for kids". So there's that musing.

For my self-imposed summer writing project, I'm going back to a story I started a long time ago, one that I've actually worked extensively on but then put away because I got too much feedback. It's actually Vu's favorite story of mine, and I'm writing it for him pretty much. It helps to know that he will enjoy coming home to a new chapter every evening.

And on that note, enough blogging.

Animals!

2008-07-09T11:30:00.001-07:00

Okay, so we all know I adore animals. I think God loves them as an incredibly important part of His creation and that we are meant to love, adore, co-exist when them and care for them and help them. I believe they have feelings and emotions and that God takes it very seriously when they're mistreated. Not everybody has to like animals--although I think that was what was originally intended--but I do. I love them. Life without them would be totally messed up.

Anyways, we went to the Gentry Safari this Saturday. I hear they've improved the conditions a lot and on the drive I saw that most of the animals have a very vast space in which to roam. And the monkeys can no longer jump on the cars. I think that's best for the cars, people, and monkeys. You'll notice I haven't included any pictures of the roaming emus or ostriches. That's because they're the only animals I don't love. I wish them no ill-will, but they frighten me.

Here was an overly friendly goat. I think he wanted to eat my paper, but I fed him some whole wheat breadcrumbs instead.

The baby goats had their moment too.

The Kangaroos were soft and docile, and slept in the sun like lazy cats. There were a couple of mothers with baby legs sticking at impossibly odd angles out of their pouches.

This guy. This guy was my friend. A lovely little dog-faced lemur. He was so much more than a silly monkey. He was luxuriously soft with the softest little feet and liked to be scratched behind the chin and ears.

Lots of the animals appreciated breadcrumbs, like this sweet little kangaroo. I hope they don't get too much of them. I fed them little pieces cause I didn't want them to overdo it.
Jenny grabbed up this bunny lightning fast before it had a word to say about it. It didn't seem to mind. They had these leaves in with the bunnies that the bunnies just went crazy for.

Aren't his horns glorious? He was the KING.

THe precious baby fawns really were very shy but they really loved Vu and sniffed his fingers. When they get bigger, they'll be running around the huge enclosure with the other deer.
A baby tiger with his own stuffed tiger. Beyond precious.

I decided to go back and have a little talk with the lemur about how much I liked him.

He decided that we were friends.

Now, speaking of exotic animals, when Vu's 70-something year-old grandmother visited our house she thought Dickie was the most amazing thing. And doesn't he look HAPPY?

The Halo Effect

2008-06-30T10:14:00.000-07:00

So after five hours, two dealers, and not a little drama, the car is mine. Actually, it happened to be in the exact color I would have chosen had I decided to be picky. And it happened to be a Fit Sport which I really would have preferred had I been being a shallow brat. And it happened to be in our price range. And new. (And only $3oo more than the used one which had just been sold while we were there.) Totally crazy. After we talked to a rude, bully-ish dealer, we got a really nice lady named Sonya and she worked very diligently with us, even to the point of running across several parking lots and (I think) a heated discussion with her boss. I'll tell the whole story in person, if you're interested. I'm too lazy to type it all out, and it would end up being a dauntingly long post. It's all smoke and mirrors at dealerships anyway, and who knows what really went down behind the scenes, but I think we had a pretty trustworthy person to work with. We prayed about it before, and an honest car dealer can only be a miracle.

She looks friendly, doesn't she? And she's so safe. Her color is "Tidewater Blue" I think. I know it's just a car and it doesn't matter but it's my first new car and I think it will be highly useful to me. It will be so nice not to have to climb through the passengers seat again because the drivers door doesn't open, wonder if I'll make it to Siloam or class without breaking down, or listen to my nano in one ear because I have no cd player or radio. I plan to take good care of it and make good friends with it. Her name is "Halo", I decided, because she's sort of angelic looking with her darling shape and peaceful color and there's the "H", of course.

2008-06-25T23:40:00.001-07:00

Well, I'm about to find out what it would be like to work a 50 hour week in an office. Starting tomorrow morning, I'm going to be working in the office doing copy for the content team while one of the managers is out of town. I'll have a list of 1,000 items to work on and make comprehensible. Nothing flowery, it just needs to make sense--which apparently many items do not at this moment. I'll be able to ride to and from work with my Vuness every day, which will be nice. I'm not mentioning the name of the company because I don't want my blog showing up on a bunch of search engines, but you know what it is. After that I'll most likely have an assignment working on something they call a "style book" which will probably take me the rest of the summer. I have to be up early and I simply am not in sleep mode right now. So hopefully I don't perform too badly tomorrow or fall asleep at my temporary desk. But if a person can't sleep, she can't sleep. Lying there stressing about it only makes matters worse. I'm naturally such a night-owl and a sleeper inner, and I don't know how long it would take me to permanently adjust to an early schedule.

Vu and I are in the market for a car or two, since the ones we have are on their last wheels. We don't want a huge monthly payment, so we're trying to be very economical while still getting good vehicles. One of them we might be able to totally pay cash for. The car I'm interested in is a Honda Fit.

They're rated the best economy car--and they're adorably tiny. This looks just like the one I test drove at the honda place. It's a fit sport, which is cuter and has better features and a bit more power but I'd settle for the regular one--or even another car--and not be frivolous if need be. I don't want life to revolve around money and car payments. My time on this earth is waaay too short for that. That said, it is very fun to drive and the back seats fold forward all cute to make extra room and there's actually enough room for my puppies in the back area even before the seats are folded forward. This would be a wonderful thing because I could have friends ride in my car and not have to apologize that the back seats are furrier than Shetland sheepdog.

Now take a moment. This is Big, what I'm going to say next. I want to write a screenplay. Me, Amy Ha, my own screenplay. And no I'm not slumming it. I think movies are an incredibly valid art form. I have such a talent-crush on Charlie Kaufman. Every time I watch Eternal Sunshine or Adaptation I feel inspired. But this won't be an "Amy rips off Kaufman" screenplay. Actually, I have no idea what it will be. Any ideas?

Another thing I want to do before my hair gets really white and I shuffle off to heaven is write a novel that children will appreciate. I don't say "Children's Book" because I think so many books aimed at children are dumbed down. I still love reading A Wrinkle in Time and am always impressed at the vocabulary L'Engle uses in it. I still have to look up words occasionally when I read her "Children's Books."

Okay, I think I'm going to have a small glass of water and find something really dry to read until hopefully I drift off...

2008-06-06T08:33:00.000-07:00

So I picked a bouquet from my garden and decided to paint it so it will be ever-preserved and all that nonsense. It involved red, bright pink, and light pink roses with a couple of teensy little violets. I sketched it, watercolored it, then inked it when it was dry. I found the whole process very enjoyable and sanity-inducing. I like to put in movies for with the right atmosphere for inspiration, and paint sitting cross-legged at my coffee table. Even though I have an art desk. I watched a little bit of Miss Potter and some of Marie Antoinette while I worked on this. Yes, I am the Queen Nerd. Dare anyone challenge me?

The Garden Secret

2008-06-02T10:57:00.000-07:00

The secret to gardening, for me, is just to get my butt outside. Sort of like the secret to writing is just to sit at my desk and open a word document. I'm not an expert yet, but I'm a person who learns by doing. The more I work on it, the more I start to recognize different types of plants and ways of keeping them alive. When I finally get my first paycheck, I'm going to start a water garden around my pond. We already have lily pads thriving in there, and we bought our first real koi (a "butterfly" koi, it's called) to join our cute little goldfish, but I want to plant things around the pond to give it a lush, tropical feel. Because my roses are all alive and blooming even, I'm also going to plant some orange roses and blue flowers of some sort by the pond. I think orange and blue look spectacular together and the orange will bring out the gold in my fishies. I really don't know the best place to buy plants. I lean towards Lowe's a bit more than Wal-Mart, although they're pricier, because their plants seem healthier and usually have clearer information on how to care for them. Jenny has this adorable and mysterious little gardening shop by her apartment that basically a little house that goes back and back and back with attached greenhouses and is full of neighborhood kitties who apparently have no place else to go, but when we went there and wandered around the owner seemed to be hiding from us. So even if I had wanted to buy something I'm not sure I could have. I did discover a blooming bulb in a pot, though, and thought it was so glorious I asked another customer what it was: an amaryllis.

I didn't know anything about roses when I bought them. Still don't, really. I looked through a book on roses and I think it said something about how the holes should be plenty wide and deep, so the roots can splay out comfortably. The book also had many incomprehensible charts on pruning which I stared at until my eyes watered. In the end, I dug what I thought was a good hole, put some peat moss in for good measure, have fertilized with rose fertilizer a few times since, and held my breath and cut diagonal cuts with pruning shears anywhere that looked brownish. I've gotten many blooms. Most of the rose bushes I bought were on clearance at Lowe's. I'd love to try a rose tree.

Someday I hope to live in a much more polite climate that doesn't get disgustingly hot and then strangely cold and send me tornadic winds that knocks over my trees. As it is, I plan to brave the weather in my cute floppy hat, gardening smock (which has been cut out though not yet sewn), and plenty of bug spray.

My Mom is truly an artist with her camera. All photos courtesy of her amazing eye:

One of my darling nieces and two of my darling nephews helped my plant window boxes. We mixed peat moss and planting mix and fed them with slow-release pellets. The red and yellow pansies are doing really well, it seems:

Horseback riding at Devil's Den

2008-03-03T10:13:00.000-08:00

This weekend Vu and had what we agree is our most meditative experience in a while. We went on a trail ride! (http://www.westmountaintrailrides.com/therides.php) We chose the hour long ride, and though our butts are a little sore now, it was so worth it. Luckily it was a beautiful day. There was a soft breeze, a view of the blue mountains, the temp was in the mid-sixties, the sunlight was golden, the trees were whispering pretty little secrets, blah, blah, blah... you get the idea. We saw a little deer in the woods, too. It was stalking us from a distance, from behind a clump of ever-green trees. Our guides said it was the first deer they'd seen on any rides that day so it felt like a good omen.

I had a pretty feisty little mare--petite females tend to be a little crazy, don't they? She was great. She tried to take off into the woods once, and tried to pass our leader and take me on a joy ride about half-way through, AND she hated Vu's poor horse, who was behind her. If Vu's horse got too close she would turn around and give him a poisonous glare. It was hilarious. I was a tad bit nervous because of her slightly wild ways, but in the end that made it more fun. Riding horses made me think of lots of things: Indiana Jones, Lord of the Rings, Mansfield Park, that scene in Charlie's Angels where Lucy Lui is winning a trophy for her horsemanship... I tried to be really poetic too and think about the lovely things I was seeing in a clever way but my brain was too relaxed. I definitely want to go again. And I'd love to gallop.

2008-02-04T20:38:00.000-08:00

Cooking:

I believe when two people are married, or roommates, or stuck on the same island or whatever, chores should be divided up according to who likes them most, or at least who despises them least. Assuming none of the people involved are lazy, I think this works amazingly well. My husband, Vu, doesn’t mind vacuuming the icky gunk out of the aquariums. In fact, he loves to see them all clean and clear and truly spends more time—much more—admiring his Oscars, Bala Sharks, Pacus, Angels, and Rosie Barbs, than he does in front of the TV. I positively enjoy cooking. To me it is a creative act, stress relief. My last job—working the drive through at a very poorly run new Starbucks—left me exhausted and scattered until I could get home, look at my inventory, pick out a recipe, and get to it. The sizzling olive oil, the smell of herbs, the boiling of noodles in water, the steam rising off the hot foam in my sink so I can be ready to give the dishes a proper bath, are all incredibly therapeutic to me. I sometimes also put in a well liked and much watched (so I don’t have to give it my full attention) DVD in our little player in the kitchen, or listen to danceable music, or one of my audio books. I’ve always been very attached to the sensory world, and my emotions are strongly affected by sights, sounds, smells, and of course tastes. (This is why, by the way, I have a harder time keeping up a pleasant mood in a cold or uncheerful atmosphere and don’t go to places like Wal-Mart any more than I have to.)
Gosh I love food. I admit I don’t usually trust people who don’t care to eat very much, who aren’t adventurous, people who, you know, can exist on a diet of cold cereal and no introspective thought. This is very wrong of me, I’m sure, to assume that people who don’t enjoy food intensely don’t feel things deeply, and I guess I should try not to assume it, but, oh well. My real point is that I usually love people who are adventurous with food, or at least have strong passions for some particular type of food. My husband is one the most adventurous, non-picky, open-minder gourmands I know which is so so lucky for us. He has good taste in food, but he’s not a snob. He’ll try all kinds of dishes and restaurants and he won’t pout if something was not prepared just in such a way. I have a little arsenal of favorite recipes I keep in sheet protectors in a binder in my kitchen but I can never resist tinkering with them. And, though I have a pretty good feel for flavor and spices but I do still have little disaster moments occasionally. Every once in a very long while. The amazing is, though, that I can only remember my husband not eating one of my disasters: a couple of pieces of fish that somehow ended up turning into a flavorless pink paste which I—insanely—tried to save in the microwave. But those disasters—the ones of the truly inedible kind—have gotten more rare for me the more experience I’ve gotten.
Though I still love to eat out in charming yet un-pretentious places with fairly serene atmospheres, if I had to give up cooking at home or eating out I’d certainly give up eating out. When you cook at home, you decide and know what goes into your food, who touches it, and you shove potato and carrot peelings down the drain, not cash. Not to mention the Zen-like state those comes from all this mixing, boiling, steaming, mashing, and sitting back contentedly after dinner to watch one’s husband plunge his hands into the warm soapy water and do the dishes.

Here are some of my favorite recipes at the moment. I’ve taken a life-expectancy test and it has occurred to me in a more real way than ever before that what I cook actually will effect my and Vu’s quality and length of life. Of course, though, there’s always good old-fashioned joy of experience, and I’m not sure I’d want to shuffle off my mortal coil without having experienced sticky buns.

So here’s a healthy, easy and delicious one:

(My Mimi, who is an amazingly creative and skilled cook and hostess sent me this one. She has so many classic “Mimi” dishes that the family request and adore, but she’s also always trying new things which I think is so admirable.)

Lentils Olé
Serving suggestions: These lentils go well with rice, plain pasta, or corn bread. Or serve them as a taco filling with chopped fresh vegetables (tomato, lettuce, cucumber, peppers, onion) and grated cheese for garnish or as the base for tostadas (prepared on softened corn tortillas) with toppings that might include shredded carrots and zucchini, chopped fresh spinach or lettuce, mashed avocado, plain yogurt, salsa, and sunflower seeds.
3 cups water
1 cup lentils
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
½ cup chopped scallions (including the green tops)
½ cup chopped sweet green pepper
½ teaspoon cumin seeds, crushed or 3/8 teaspoon ground cumin
1 Tablespoon chili powder (mild and/or hot)
1 8-ounce can tomato sauce
1 Tablespoon red-wine vinegar
1 Tablespoon molasses or brown sugar or maple syrup
1. In a large saucepan, bring the water and the lentils to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover the pan, and simmer the lentils for 25 to 30 minutes or until the lentils are tender but not mushy. Do not overcook the lentils.
2. While the lentils cook, in a medium-sized skillet, preferably one with a nonstick surface, heat the oil, add the garlic, scallions, green pepper, cumin, and chili powder, and saute the ingredients for 2 minutes or until the vegetables are tender-crisp.
3. Stir in the tomato sauce, vinegar, and molasses, and simmer the mixture for 1 minute.
4. When the lentils are cooked, add the vegetable mixture to the lentils, and heat the mixture through before serving it.
Preparation tip: Make enough of this dish to freeze some. It holds up well, and the flavor improves upon reheating.(NOTE: We served the lentils over rice and topped them withavocado, salsa, fiesta-blend cheese, and finelychopped raw cucumber and onion mixed together (Ireally enjoy serving cool things on top of hotfood--they do that a lot in Vietnamese cooking andit's really grown on me since I’ve eaten so many of Vu’s Mom’s amazingly delicious dishes. It ended up being a great
combination of flavors.)

And here’s a challenging and decidedly unhealthy one that you must experience:
(This is from The Joy of Cooking, a good friend of mine) (http://www.amazon.com/Joy-Cooking-75th-Anniversary
2006/dp/0743246268/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1201895440&sr=8-1)
These are festive smelling and looking for winter parties, but I’ve made them in summer and they weren’t any less yummy then. Drink them with skim milk if you want to appease your conscience about all that butter and sugar. Mmmm, butter and sugar…

Sticky Buns:

First, prepare yeasted coffee cake:

Combine in a large mixing bowl or the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer and let strand until the yeast is dissolved, about 5 minutes:

1 package (2 and ¼ teaspoons) active dry yeast
¼ cup warm water

Add:
½ cup flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, slightly beaten
¼ cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix by hand or on low speed until blended. Gradually stir in:
2 cups flour

Mix for one minute until the dough comes together. Knead by hand for about 10 minutes or with the dough hook on low to medium speed for 5 to 7 minutes until the dough is smooth and elastic and no longer sticks to your hands or the bowl. Add:
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) very soft butter

Vigorously knead in the butter until completely incorporated and the dough is once again smooth. Place dough in large buttered bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place (75 to 80 degrees F) until doubled in volume, about 1 ½ hours.
Punch down the dough, knead briefly, and refrigerate, covered, until doubled again, 4 to 12 hours. Punch down the dough and shape it. If it has not yet doubled, let the dough finish rising in a warm place, punch down, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

After the yeasted coffee cake dough is prepared,

Butter a 13 by 9 inch baking pan. Bring to a boil in a small saucepan over medium heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar:

1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 stick butter
¼ cup honey

Remove from heat and stir in:

¾ cup chopped pecans (optional)

Pour the hot syrup into the baking pan and spread it evenly. Let cool. Using a rolling pin, roll out the dough to a 16 by 12 inch rectangle. Brush the dough with:

1 tablespoon melted butter

Sprinkle with:

1/3 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Starting from one long side, roll up the dough as you would a jelly roll. Cut crosswise into 8 slices. Arrange the slices cut side down in the prepared pan, spacing the slices equally in the pan. Cover the pan with plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature until doubled in volume, about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 350.

Bake until the buns are golden brown and the syrup is bubbling hot, about 30 minutes. Let the buns cool in the pan for 5 minutes, then invert the pan onto a baking sheet to collect the hot syrup; you may want to line the sheet with aluminum foil. Serve warm or at room temperature, pulling apart at the seams.

Check out my Slide Show!

2007-09-14T15:33:00.001-07:00

My Secret(ish) Garden

2007-09-08T19:09:00.001-07:00