Just Beachy

For the first time (ever!) my mom and sister and I went to the beach together. Just us (with guest appearances by Jimmers).
It. Was. Awesome.

We drank margaritas and danced the night away at the Ship's Wheel and got manicures and laid out.

*Kidding*

We worked on puzzles and searched for sharks' teeth for hours (I found fourteen!). Then we worked on more puzzles. We wandered through the Gulf Coast Market and Bolivar's one and only thrift store. We worked on more puzzles. We blew right through nap time and looked for more sharks' teeth. We went out for dinner at seven pm (what?! wild and crazy!) and Kelly and I ate a mountain of bbq crabs at the Stingaree.We didn't change any diapers. We didn't refill anyone's milk. We were un-needed for over 24 hours while our own mother took care of us. It was pretty much mom-of-toddlers heaven.

I even stayed in bed until seven. What?!

And then... I came home... to the greatest family ever. One of the best things about going away is missing each other. Chris and I have known each other for longer than we didn't know one another. That sentence was confusing. I met Chris when I was fourteen and I'm now almost thirty-three. So, yeah, missing him every once in a while is kind of nice.

I came home to a clean house and a huge cardboard space shuttle in the living room (I paid 8 bucks for that thing at Goodwill. Score! It's bigger than it looks online). A clean house. Sleeping beautiful children. Bliss.

This Morning

This morning I can't help but wonder how many Americans who are angry, scared, prejudiced against Muslims have ever actually really known anyone who is Muslim.

This morning I am worn out from yesterday... a day that began full of promise and list item check-offing. A day that crashed into a migraine with aura (the worst scariest kind), a sore upper back (the spot on my body where I used to repeatedly pull the same muscle and thus was freaked out that I might pull it again and be unable to move for days), and a sick Nils. Luckily, migraines with aura (though I lose my vision due to the aura and they hit fast and hard) don't tend to last very long (a few hours) so I was out of bed by the evening and able to help Chris when he found that Nils had thrown up in his bed and merely scooted over and gone back to sleep. So, with sore head and sore back I slept on Nils' floor and awoke periodically with him to "shush" him back into slumber.

This morning I keep thinking about Sarah Condon's latest for Mockingbird: Of Lice and Life and the Relief of Naming the Mother in the Room. Yes, yes, that resonates around here.

This morning I am relieved to have an email from the church where I have been the guest speaker as of late, telling me that people have been talking about the topic and anyone who has missed one has been worried about what they missed. Whew. I put so much work into teaching and it's hard to tell if people care or not. It's nice to know when they care.

This morning I'm thinking about the things that I can do while staying home all day with poor Nils. Laundry of course... because there is always freaking laundry. Perhaps I should pack for the wedding. Thanks to Kelly, grandmothers expect kids' hand print ornaments every year so I better get those rolling. I shouldn't complain because they are awesome and I'm happy to have them as well... but dang, Kel, you couldn't have chosen easier hand print ornaments to make each year than sewing them?! Those are a labor of love far above and beyond any pot of caramel corn.

This morning kids are watching Thomas the Tank Engine and I'm just thinking about how someday they'll be old enough to watch 30 Rock and they'll be like, "what is this crap? This is so weird! What year is this from?... and wait... I know that voice... is that guy the narrator from Thomas?!" and I'll just say, "Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!"

"Bye-Bye Crib"

Carolena, July 2011

Carolena, December 2011

Nils and Carolena, June 2015

Nils and Carolena, June 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

Nils and Carolena, July 2015

"Bye-Bye, Crib! Bed! Bed! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you! Bed! Bed! Thank you, Daddy! Bed!"

Nils, December 2015

So far, it seems to me, if I fully enjoy and appreciate and pay attention during each phase of life, then with the passing into the next I do not feel sadness. We took down the crib yesterday for the last time and I feel nothing but joy and happiness for our little Nils. Our nursery furniture was a generous gift from Chris' brother's family. It was the crib that held our niece and nephew. I remember picking it up from them while they apologized for Isabel's bite marks along its edges. I loved the bite marks. I loved them the entire time our crib was in use. It was a tangible reminder of the children this crib has held - cousins bonded together.

The crib is in the garage now. Nils has been politely (and sometimes not so politely) asking for a bed for some time now. I finally realized he is ready. He's known for a while that he is ready. I just took a little convincing. I was worried that he would be up all hours of the night prowling around his room. I'm sure nights like that will come, but his first night (last night) went exceedingly well. He was indeed ready.

Carolena, being the fabulous big sister she has proven herself to be time and time again, got in on the excitement and insisted that Nils borrow some of her sheets and comforter until he gets his own. I think, perhaps, this was best for Nils - better even than having gotten his own things right off the bat. The two kids bounced off the walls in excitement over the new bed, Nils' eyes lit in pride as he exclaimed over and over, "Bed! Bed! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you!!" and as soon as Chris got home Nils (ran for a tortilla chip and then) yelled, "Thank you bed Daddy!"

How could I be sad over putting the crib into the garage? It was time.

Soon, we'll pick up the dresser from my parents' house. We'll get the rest of Nils' room into "big boy" shape. And when that happens, the nursery furniture will find a new home- a home ready to welcome a new baby, hopefully a new baby who will ease in the pain of new teeth by putting more bite marks along its edges.

If You Give Casey a Nativity Scene

If you give a mouse a cookie, she'll want a glass of milk.

People always check out nativity scenes.

And then people always look back up from mine and glare at me in shock. "Why is baby Jesus already in your manger?! It isn't Christmas yet!" and sometimes they even go so far as to start shuffling magi farther "east."

It happens every year. Every. Single. Year.
Evidently this is something akin to being a Grinch before his heart expands a bit. *gasp* Baby Jesus in the manger from the get-go! The horror!
And I don't know what I usually say, but it isn't this:

If baby Jesus isn't in the manger and the wisemen wait until Epiphany to get there... THEN...

Then why are Mary and Joseph there? Shouldn't they be traveling?

And if I remove Mary and Joseph too, then we've just got a nativity with shepherds milling about.
BUT WAIT!

If I'm planning to put wisemen in the nativity then there shouldn't even be any shepherds. Because if I have magi tucked away to make their grand entrance for Epiphany then we're going with Matthew's version of the nativity so it's a no-go on shepherds. And, actually, if that's the case, and I have a Matthean nativity scene then it isn't a manger scene at all! Matthew says magi visit the "house" (2:11). Hmmm... so if I'm going with wisemen then we ditch the entire manger gig all together. BUT...

But if I'm sticking with a Lucan nativity then we'll go with a manger scene... and instead toss the magi and bright star. BUT THEN the shepherds don't arrive until AFTER Jesus' birth so now we just have an empty barn. Except that people didn't have barns like we think of barns, they kept animals in little caves in the hillside so I've got to find a big rock and carve that out instead. SOOOOO...

So if baby Jesus isn't in the manger, and the wisemen are waiting until Epiphany, THEN why are Mary and Joseph not also on the road? Why are there shepherds milling about the manger scene? Who is making an appearance, shepherds or magi?! Should this all be taking place in a house or a small hill-side cave? AND WHY DOES MY NATIVITY HAVE A ZEBRA AND A GIRAFFE IN IT?!?!?!?!?!



gasp for air. gasp for air.
breathe.
breathe.

*evidently* I can't go for the "accuracy" of the timing of baby Jesus and the magi.

So, yeah, when you come to my house on December 6th, baby Jesus and all the gang (shepherds, magi, zebra, and giraffe) are all there in the very American Gothic style barn... just exactly as it happened so very long ago.

And if you ask me why baby Jesus isn't hidden away to be placed in the manger on December 25, I'll probably just laugh, and tell you that while I really don't care at all what other people do with their nativity scenes, mine just have to stay complete, because... to put it simply... I really overthink things.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Sometimes a few days at home is just what the doctor ordered. And no, I don't mean my own grown-up life-in-suburbia two-kids-and-two-cats home. I mean home home. ET phone home. Big Money Texas. Beaumont, y'all. There's just something about driving down I-10 and seeing a huge alligator welcome you to Beaumont that just screams... well, I'm not sure what that screams actually... something.

Ah, yes, a few days at home with my family was wonderful. I slept in my own room. Well, for like five seconds. I slept in Hunter's room for two nights as I crashed while tucking in C and spent a few sleepless nights shushing N from Kelly's bed as well. Evidently we like to leave my mother with sheets to wash on every single bed. Sorry, Mom. Carolena came home talking about how the Piney Woods make you sneeze to which I like to respond in a weird creepy Cajun/country/made up accent, "Yyyeeeeppp, that's liiife behiiind the piiiine currrtain. I was born in that there briar patch."

I never claim(ed) to be normal.

We ate fabulous food (but awesomely not toooo much of it), danced the Charleston (because, duh), played games (nope, other people did that. I read BFrank's bio), and were just happy to all be together.

But, as all good things must come to an end, Saturday morning arrived and the piney woods had taken their toll. My sinuses have forgotten how to survive in such extreme circumstances. My children were exhausted. My mother was remembering her own Benjamin Franklin research ("fish and visitors" you know). So we loaded up the plethora of Coke glasses I'd reclaimed from the attic (I'm sure Chris is thrilled) and headed home.

We came home with a pile of dirty laundry (because I did not heed my mother's advice to wash it before leaving) and arrived to a completely empty refrigerator. So I started a load of laundry and hopped out to the grocery store.

Chris tossed our bags into our bedroom and we started hauling down the Christmas decorations. A tree was purchased and decorated. Lights were strung up outside. I pulled out white paper and started cutting out snowflakes galore. I have priorities after all. The laundry will eventually get done. The grocery buying can wait. But the joy and anticipation of Advent? The excitement and wonder of incarnation? The mystery of love and God among us in a hurting and war-torn world? Yeah, I'm ready to get into that. So we pulled out the things that we claim as "Christmas" and started pouring them all over our household. There is so much in this world that I can't control. There is so much anger and hate and hurt. But you know what I can control? Whether or not there is a 7ft tree taking up residence in the living room. Yeah, we're ready for Advent. We're ready for a season of hope. A season of reflecting on peace, on Emmanuel.

So this morning we awoke to a twinkling Christmas tree. A good-smelling-happiness-inducing slice of Advent. A reminder of hope. A reminder of peace. A reminder that God is with us. Nils stares at it in impish wonder and joy. His face glows in merriment that can't be contained nor described. "Tree! Tree!" he exclaims while dancing and pointing. Carolena sighs and stares dreamily at its twinkling lights. They know nothing of the hurt and pain of the world. They know only of love and comfort and joy. Children at Christmas time. I'm just ready for that.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Thanksgiving

Last night Chris came home to two smiling children. They were bathed and in their pajamas and fresh-faced and sparkling. Those two sweet crumpets sat quietly together reading a book while I handed Chris a drink and politely told him that dinner was ready and that I just needed a minute more to finish my own book. It was bliss.

Oh wait. Nope.

Chris could hear the screaming when the garage door was still rising. Mine? Carolena's? Nils'? Who knows? All I know is that you don't speak to your viking mother like that if you don't want to see her fly into a fit of rage. I think my own mother's Brooklyn accent came out.

And yet, when Chris said something about our "rough day" I had to admit that, despite a few low-lows, it really wasn't bad. We got the house cleaned up and worked on a surprise for someone we love. We went on a first-ever-in-the-kids'-lifetime-trip through a big machine car wash which was a huge hit. We had a blast "hootin and hollarin" and as soon as we drove out Nils started chanting "again! again! bunny! bunny!" ("Bunny" is how he says "funny" which is insanely adorable, especially considering the number of things he finds "bunny!").

Last night once the children were in bed and the fireplace was lit and all was quiet and calm, I looked at Chris and marveled. This is the dream. Eleven years ago we were engaged and our families were gathering together for Thanksgiving. We were full of love and hope... hope that one day we would be right here. Right here with kids and a home full of love and laughter and yes, sometimes yelling and tears. A home full of real life. And it's wonderful. And I'm thankful.

Yes, it's messy and loud (mostly due to me and the minis). It's up and down and all around. But it's the dream we dreampt and keep dreaming. Someday we'll be really old (and tattooed) and wrinkled together. Chris will still be talking and talking and talking. Kids will be grown. I'll be... drinking coffee. And we'll continue to give thanks. We'll marvel at our old and shrunken hands and inspect one another's wrinkled brows and smile. We'll look around us then too and say, ""Look! This! It's the dream! Thank God thank God thank God!"

Got Milk?

I can't remember how I first learned of the need for sharing human milk. It was at some point while we lived in Austin though I don't remember how or through whom. I do remember getting on the computer when I was pregnant and finding Mother's Milk Bank Austin (Hey! Look at that! It's proof that I did do something while pregnant other than just eat queso and reread Harry Potter!). I did some research and quickly realized that donating to the milk bank was something I couldn't bear to not do. Preterm and many ill infants are at risk for something called necrotizing enterocolitis - which attacks and destroys the intestines. Human milk is the best defense but mothers are not always able to supply enough milk to their hospital-bound child(ren). Enter the milk bank. Long story short: the milk bank is safe, healthy, and effective. There were babies who needed help! How could I not apply?

First though, I had to have my baby. And learn how to breastfeed. *sigh* Details. Details. Knowing that I could donate to the milk bank only added to my determination to successfully breastfeed my firstborn. As many new moms discover, breastfeeding isn't necessarily as simple in the beginning as one would hope. But knowing that mastering the ability to feed my infant would allow me to not only feed her, but also help provide milk for fragile babies (not to mention who wants to have to wash bottles all of the time am I right?!) furthered my determination to succeed in breastfeeding. After a great trip to a lactation consultant I was feeling much more hakuna ma tatas and had finally mastered the fine art of feeding my newborn. Err... kind of. Eventually my baby and I got a (football) hold on the whole nursing thing, and I was pumped about getting signed up with the milk bank (yes, I do think I'm very punny). Going through the screening process couldn't have been easier. Some quick paperwork. A phone call with a lovely supportive employee. A quick trip (on their dime) to draw some blood (which really, after pregnancy and with a newborn what's one more trip to a medical building?). And badda bing badda boom: I was a milk donor.

The donation process was simple: pump.
That's it. Pump.
Okay, perhaps more than that: Pump. Pour into bottles. Label. Repeat.
I made a date with my pump new brest friend part of my nightly bedtime ritual. Take out my contacts, take my vitamins, brush my teeth, wash my face, pump for the milk bank. It just became a part of the nightly routine. And I discovered an added bonus: it gave me a guaranteed nightly 15-30 minutes of coveted alone time. All mothers know how valuable a few uninterrupted minutes of peace and quiet can be. Especially during those first few months after giving birth to my second child when every moment of my time was demanded. I found that pumping was my time to just sit. Sometimes I would spend the time in prayer. Sometimes I would spend the time reading a magazine. My plan was always to pray for the recipients and their families while I pumped... honestly though I spent a lot of the time during those first few months after my second child was born just zoned out in a tired daze. But it was my time. I was alone. No one was crying. No one's hiney needed wiping. No one's favorite blankie was inexplicably missing (again?!). It was just me and the quiet sounds of liquid gold. And it was glorious.

I nursed Carolena for eleven months until she demanded sippy cups. Typical. I'm surprised she didn't jump directly from breast milk to cappuccinos. I diligently pumped for the milk bank while we lived in Austin but our month long nomadic stint and Carolena's self weaning ended my donation time a month or two earlier than I had anticipated.

I nursed Nils for just shy of a year. He too discovered the freedom that sippy cups afford and began to push me away and bite and claw and bring cups to my husband demanding that he be served milk. My children are very independent and strong willed. I have no idea where they get that from.

During my second round as a milk bank donor I found an added bonus for our family: sharing the donation process with Carolena. She was thrilled to see our freezer slowly filling with milk containers. When it would reach a capacity that was full enough to make ice cream purchasing impossible, Carolena would help me load up a cooler and we'd drive to the hospital drop off location next to our house. Carolena found this thrilling. "Tell me about the babies!" she would call out as we drove. I would tell her about the pumping process. We'd talk about how Nils drank milk from my body and how all babies who are newborn need milk from mommies. I would tell her about how some babies are born and are sick or really very very little and their mommies just don't have enough milk for them. "I have more than enough milk for Nils. So we share. There is enough milk to go around. If we all share then everyone has enough."

Every once in a while I would find her sitting by herself quietly nursing her stuffed animals and baby dolls. Sometimes I would find her holding a small baby bottle to her chest whispering to herself, "pump. pump. pump." Inevitably during her "pumping" she would catch me watching her. She smile up at me and face shining say, "I'm pumping for the sick babies. If we all share then everyone has enough."

Having weaned my last breastfed baby, I have now begun a new chapter in my relationship with Mother's Milk Bank Austin. I have joined their team as a volunteer Milk Bank Ambassador - a retired donor committed to the good work the milk bank is doing. Among other things I will be distributing pamphlets to pediatrician and obgyn offices, inviting nursing moms to donate milk, and encouraging others to spread the word about Mother's Milk Bank Austin: an organization I could easily vote as the Brest in Show. 

And finally, here's a good breastfeeding joke for you. Ah, nevermind... it's a letdown.

My friends, consider sharing something you have with Mother's Milk Bank Austin. What can you share? Got milk? Get pumping! Got money? Yep, of course they need it. Got a voice? Tell a friend about the milk bank, link them on your blog, post them on your facebook.
If we all share then everyone has enough.

Expectant Waiting

For a pregnant woman, the last weeks of waiting are some of the most intense. The fear of childbirth and the unknown of when it will begin. The excitement of the baby finally arriving after so much waiting and waiting and waiting. The feeling of knowing it could be "any day now" or weeks of still more waiting.

In the gospel of Luke when we find Jesus anticipating his arrest and coming passion (ch 22), the Greek word translated "anguish" or "agony" leads us to view Jesus with every muscle tensed. That's the "agony" described. Agony is not a very good translation into English - but alas, I cannot think of a better single word either. It's not agony like the agony of stubbing your barefoot toe on concrete. Agony in this sense is more like a runner. He is like the last person in a relay waiting for the baton. Every muscle is tensed. The anticipation is palpable.

I like to see this particular agony like that of the last weeks of pregnancy. Every emotional muscle is tensed waiting. Could today be the day? Am I going to make it all the way to lunch? Will I go to bed in my own bed tonight or be in the hospital? Will we have a newborn here in a few days? Or next week? Bags are ready and by the door. A crib is set up and the nursery is clean. A carseat rides around empty in the car.

This is Advent.

This is how we are to await the second coming of Christ. Like a woman awaiting the birth of a child. Like a runner poised to grab the baton for the final lap. We are supposed to live in such a way that our spiritual muscles are tense with anticipation. Like the parents who paint the nursery and wipe off every surface in anticipation of their newborn child. Like the father who glances at his wife's enormous belly and decides to go to bed a little earlier just in case he's awakened during the night to rush her to the hospital. Advent is the first season of our church calendar year and it should not surprise us that this first season reminds us of how we are to live out our lives. We are to live in anticipation. We are to live in this type of agony. Waiting. Watching. Preparing. Living our lives in advent as we make our song, "Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel."

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

A few years ago when I was pregnant with my firstborn I found myself on the phone with my sister, complaining about all of the annoying things people say to pregnant women. "You look so big!" Wrong. "You look so small!" Wrong. "Any day now?" Wrong. No matter what anyone said, unless it was "You look fabulous," it was the wrong thing to say.

After listening sympathetically to my woes Kelly responded, "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

And my head exploded.

She was right. No one knows what to say to a pregnant woman (except me: just tell them they look good and then shut your mouth). Everyone flounders and says stupid things. People reach out to touch their bellies. Everyone just wants to be a part of the miracle.

We say that the Episcopal Church welcomes you. What we don't mention is the caveat: the Episcopal Church welcomes you... until you start celebrating Christmas earlier than we have deemed appropriate and then people start to lose their shit.

Until recently, I would watch my neighbors string up their lights in mid-November and shake my head, "It isn't even Thanksgiving yet!" I would hear the carols playing in stores and roll my eyes, "Ugh, don't people observe Advent?!"

Last week we were driving home and passed a few houses decked out for Christmas. I inwardly cringed, but then I heard Kelly's voice echo in my head (how does she DO that?!), "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

People just want to be a part of a miracle.

People just want to be a part of a miracle and they are looking for it in the wrong places. Each year we put up more decorations and bake more cookies. We turn on the Christmas music a little earlier and watch just a few more Christmas movies. Those things are fabulous, and certainly fun, but do not in and of themselves bring us to the miracle of the incarnation.

One of the overlooked aspects of Christmas is that the Church stole a lot of our Christmas traditions from others. Sure, the incarnation part is significant to say the least and wholly ours, but the huge winter party complete with tree trimming - that was originally pure paganism. No one even knows when Christ was born. We took some traditions from "the world" and work to make them holy. It's kind of our thing.

So why do we get so worked up when people start celebrating too early? People just want to be a part of a miracle. Plus, get ready... not all churches observe Advent. Gasp! Perhaps, instead of blasting them on Facebook and shouting about how it isn't Christmas yet, we should offer them grace. Perhaps we should stop worrying about the world stealing our Christmas celebration (much of which we conveniently forget has always belonged the world) and instead work to make this time holy. Why don't we work to celebrate Advent and Christmas in such a way that people look at us and know that there is something more going on then just a big winter celebration?

It is easy to point out the problems with modern Christmas. It is difficult to find solutions. Nonetheless, here is what I propose:

• This year, let's focus on holiness. Instead of being annoyed with others and the frantic Christmas present buying and all of the excess, let's focus on silent nights. Holy nights.
• This year, let's forget about that damn Elf on the Shelf. Everyone knows that Santa does in fact bring presents to the "bad kids" - let's stop the b.s. on that one and instead teach our children the truth: Santa brings presents to everyone because all kids are actually good kids.
• This year, let's not worry about what others are doing during Advent. Put up your tree, sing Christmas carols, do all that jazz in December. But then... celebrate Christmas. Celebrate the twelve days of Christmas (they start on Christmas Day!) with acts of love and charity. Christmas is so much more than celebrating Jesus' birthday. It is celebrating incarnation, the moment when the Creator stepped into his creation. We are an incarnational people. Let's celebrate Christmas by being just that. 

My plan for our family to celebrate Christmas this year is to set aside the 12 days of Christmas as days to reach out to others in love and charity. Days to focus on being incarnational people. I plan for us to have projects for each of the days of Christmas to make it a time that is holy. Cookies for the garbage truck driver, food for the food bank, bird seed scattered to the birds, each day we'll find a way to bring peace, comfort, and joy to the world during this season.

This year when I see people celebrating Christmas "too early" or in ways that I think to be shallow or irreverent, I will remember that people just want to be a part of a miracle. People just want to be a part of the miracle, so let's shower them with tidings of comfort and joy.