One Hundred Years

My dear sweet grandma turns one hundred today.  This is how she looked when she was close to my own age now.  Her smile, her laugh, the twinkle in her eyes, are all still the same today.  I have been told I look like her, and it is the best of compliments.

I couldn't celebrate with her today, but sent her a bouquet of colorful tulips.  I will get to see her in about nineteen days (but who's counting?!).  A bit over two years ago, she started staying in bed, and now has round-the-clock care.  But, besides plain old old age, she is in good health.  She sleeps a lot, but when I walk into her room for a visit she often says, "Sara!"  And my heart is filled to overflowing because I love her so much and want nothing more than to see her smile.

She is one of the kindest, most generous people I know.  What she has given me most is love, so much love.  I spent a lot of time at her house as a child and it is such a place of happiness, peace, and refuge.  I have so, so many happy memories there.  And more to come...

When I visit her, I ask her to tell me my favorite stories from her childhood.  There are several!  I learned about storytelling from her.  I learned that even seemingly ordinary memories are made wonderful in the telling, and are also wonderful simply because they are shared.  Stories (memories) are important.

I don't always succeed, but I try to be like my grandma.  Especially as a mother.  I think of her when I am frustrated with my kids.  It helps calm me down and look at the bigger picture.  I try to always be kind and considerate, always share a smile.  I hope my kids learn that from me (from Grandma).

Every minute, every hour I am fortunate enough to spend with my grandma is a treasure.  I just love to be near her, surrounded by her warmth.

Happy 100th Birthday, Grandma!  Thank you for being the such a beautiful presence in my life!

The Birthday Dress - 2012

Eight. Eight? Eight. Valerie changed my life eight years ago, simply by coming into it.

She is so very eight, indeed. For her birthday dress, she chose the animal print fabric (called Coffee Cat Cafe) and the contrasting zebra print ribbon. When it was time to pick the lining, she initially looked at brown until I said, "You know, it can be any color since it's on the inside." She went for apple green.

Animal prints aren't my thing. Unless they are on actual live animals, in which case they are beautiful. When Valerie picked the fabric out, I actually called Hubby at work to see what he thought. We ultimately decided it was OK. But I wasn't looking forward to making this dress.

I used McCall's #M5033. It has a full circle skirt--great for twirling! The pattern has kind of a funky assembly. I find the more garments I sew, the more opinionated I am becoming about the construction.

My feelings aside, Valerie was so thrilled when it was all finished. SO thrilled!

And that's the thing with mothers and daughters, I think. We don't always prefer the same things. Obviously. But the daughter's job is to become herself. And the mother's job is to allow that.

And celebrate it.

Eight years old. Smart, beautiful, creative, strong. Oh how I love this girl!

The Birthday Shorts - 2012

Andrew is all about shorts these days. I can count on one hand the number of times he has willingly worn pants since the weather turned colder. It was a battle to get him to wear socks, until he picked out a pair of Lightning McQueen sneakers at Payless. Yeah, the kind that light up when he jumps. Not my first choice, but at least I know he won't be getting frostbite on his wee little toesies.

But back to the shorts. He actually picked this fabric out about a year ago--I was going to make pajama pants for him. A year later, I barely had enough to make him shorts for his fourth birthday.

So, Andrew got a birthday garment celebrating two of his loves...shorts and mobiles. ("Moviles," as he calls them.) He likes all things that move, and these shorts sure do allow him to move his cute little four-year-old legs!

Two Years on the Blog

I started writing this blog two years ago this month. It's nice to have a place to express myself: storytelling, dreaming, complaining, celebrating, creating.

Thanks for coming along for the ride! (And a special note of appreciation for those of you dear regular readers!!)

And today I give you two photos I took of... airport chairs...

I find them aesthetically pleasing, for some reason.

No, I didn't fly anywhere. If I could get on a plane tomorrow and go anywhere I've never been, I'd fly to New Zealand. Though, I believe it is winter there now, so instead I'd go to Ireland.

How about you?

The Birthday Dress - 2011

Seven Years by Norah Jones.

Spinning, laughing, dancing to
her favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
Is all alone

Eyes wide open
Always hoping for the sun
And she'll sing her song to anyone
that comes along

Fragile as a leaf in autumn
Just fallin' to the ground
Without a sound

Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
That's all her own


This song used to make me feel a little sad. But now that Valerie is seven, I get it. It is a beautiful song to me now. It is Valerie.

And this is her birthday dress.

She love, love, loves dragons. When I found the dragon fabric I thought it might be a little scary. Not at all. It was exactly what she had in mind. And she wanted another "vest dress." Complete with the black industrial strength zipper.

I love, love, love that that Valerie is her very own seven-year-old person.

The Birthday Pants - 2011

"Rocket Pants!" is what Andrew calls them. He recently turned three. I don't quite know how that is possible.

He has been into rockets, space shuttles, astronauts, etc. So he got these pants to wear for his birthday. I used Simplicity 8493. I love the pants pattern--just one piece. No side seams. SO quick. I was finished in an hour from cutting out the pattern, to asking Andrew to run down the hall to see how fast his rocket pants could go. (Quite fast!)

Now if only he wouldn't grow up so fast.

Barbie Meets P.J.

Valerie got the Happy Birthday Princess Barbie from a friend for her birthday. Thirty plus years ago, I got Fashion Photo P.J., who has always been my favorite of the Barbie clan. Or is clique? (According to this, I guess I should have kept her in the box.)

The two recently met, and hit it off immediately. I think they are going to be fast friends. P.J. has a Fashion Doll Trunk full of clothes to share. And there are other dolls in there. Including a Ken--who has been banished, but I know he'll be back.

When I was a girl, my sister and I would make Barbie set-ups in the living room that would last all summer long. And when I learned to sew from patterns, I made clothes (including the dress on P.J., above) for my dolls from vintage patterns that belonged to my aunt. She also gave me her old Barbie (with chopped off hair) and the Ken, along with clothes, a Barbie tent and bike. So Valerie is going to be the third generation playing with some of these things.

I'm not a die-hard Barbie fan, but I sure did spend a lot of hours playing with the dolls back in the day. And it has been fun looking up some of them including her and her and her and her and her. And now I'm looking forward to playing "Barbies" with Valerie. And sewing new doll clothes (with some minor adjustments, because the new dolls do have different proportions than my old ones)!

I'd love to hear your Barbie stories--please leave a comment!

The Birthday Dress - 2010

Valerie loves dinosaurs. It all started back in October when we happened upon an episode of Dinosaur Train (which is awesome--especially Dr. Scott, the paleontologist). And it has not let up. Valerie knows more about dinos than I do. She plays with her dino figures every day. Usually she sets up some sort of social situation, like lunchtime at school, and then there is inevitably some sort of altercation between the carnivores and herbivores. Often the carnivores try to convince the herbivores to try eating meat. I can't tell you how much this whole thing tinkles me. Oh, and her favorite dinosaur is Tyrannosaurus rex.

On to the dress. Of course, dino fabric was requested. And it was harder to find than I had imagined. I finally found this at fabric.com. The pattern is Simplicity 2680, Valerie's choice. She also picked out the aqua grosgrain ribbon and lace trim. Then, a week before her birthday party, she asked if I could make her the jacket to go with it. I had to say yes! It was close, but I got it done just in time, including sewing on the two big T. rex buttons we had bought months ago (with snaps underneath--I just couldn't face another button hole fiasco). And honestly, I think that little jacket with it's ruffled collar is one of the most complex garments I've made to date.

And so now Valerie is six. As a teacher I spent most of my time, before she was born, around six-year-olds. I had been looking forward to the years Valerie would be the ages of the kids I used to teach. I thought I would feel like I knew what I was doing. But it is different, parenting vs. teaching. Oh, yes.

Who knew I would have a daughter who cuddles a stuffed T. rex to sleep at night? And that is just the kind of thing that delights me about Valerie day after day. She is so her own person, just as she should be.

The Birthday Shirt - 2010

Some cutie little boy I know had his second birthday recently. My precious Andrew is now two. How can that be?

On the morning of his birthday I happened to look at the clock and noticed it was within minutes of the very moment of Andrew's birth two years ago. My heart leaped into my throat. And I recalled meeting him for the first time so small and pink and warm. Birthdays are extra special days for the mamas (and daddies), too, wouldn't you agree? I can't imagine my feelings about my kids' birthdays will change even as decades go by.

Above is Andrew's birthday shirt. I've made a dress, or outfit, for Valerie for each birthday (from two on), so Andrew gets his turn, too. I used Simplicity pattern 2907. It went pretty well except for two things. One, sewing these kinds of sleeves in nearly always confounds me. I need to look around for some good tips on getting it right. Andrew's sleeves turned out just a tad puckered (even after two attempts), which totally frustrated me. And two, I should have practiced making a buttonhole for the first time on my "new" sewing machine. At least I started with the bottom hole. If you look closely at the picture, you will see it is not really a "hole" at all. But I did sew a button opposite just for effect. And then had to show my mom right away when she got to the party because I knew she would understand (thanks, Mom).

Luckily, Andrew did not notice either glaring error and was quite pleased to wear his monkey shirt (yes, yes!) for his party, and actually resisted taking it off afterward. And that is the happy memory I will hold onto from Andrew's second birthday.

Well, that and several others, too.

Birth Story No. 2, Pt. 2

I had already made arrangements with two neighbors who would be willing to drive Valerie and I to the hospital if I went into labor the next day while Tom was out-of-town on business. I didn't have to call either of them because I went into labor that night at about 1:30 a.m.

Tom's reaction to my nudging him awake was something like, are you sure...shouldn't we just go back to sleep for another hour and make sure? No, I told him, I was leaking amniotic fluid, it was time to call the doctor. I called my parents first to give them a heads up and a head start, since they live 5 hours away. My mom asked me to call her back after checking in with my OB. Indeed. I called my OB. He said I should go to the hospital. I called my mom and asked her to please get herself and my dad up and get on the road.

Even Valerie was hard to rouse. What finally got her out of bed was when I told her the doctor said it was time to go to the hospital. By this time I was definitely having contractions and they were 10 minutes apart. Really, shouldn't the woman leaking amniotic fluid and having contractions know when it is time to go?!

Before we left, I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror, smiled a goofy smile, and said to myself, this is it! Tom called his boss on the way and told him he wouldn't be able to make the meeting that day. The contractions grew in intensity and frequency for the 25 minutes it took to drive to the hospital. I was wondering what was to come, and how soon my parents would arrive to take care of Valerie.

A friend of mine refers to our regional hospital as the Ritz-Carlton of birthing centers. And I'd have to agree. I felt so cared for from the moment I arrived. My first nurse said she'd even do one contraction for me if she could, one.

Labor progressed and at about 8:30 a.m. the contractions were close together and painful enough that I couldn't help being loud about it, even with Valerie at the bench by the bed coloring in a new coloring book with the new box of 48 crayons I'd put in her backpack special just for the occasion. At 8:45 a.m. my doctor said he could rupture my bag of waters and the baby could be born in under an hour. I said, OK, but Tom needed to call my parents first to find out where the heck they were! They were close, stuck in rush hour traffic at the off ramp to the road the hospital is on.

All I could think of was that I didn't want Valerie to see me in so much pain. It seemed to me she was beginning to get concerned. Within minutes my mom and dad came into the room, my dad took Valerie out to the waiting area, and the team mobilized for the birth.

Tom and my mom took up the same posts they had been at for Valerie's birth, and I began pushing. Man, that was some pain! I actually writhed in pain, and for a moment questioned my decision not to have an epidural. Then, a split second of clarity came to me and I understood that the only way to make the pain stop was to push the baby OUT. And after a few more pushes, Andrew was born.

And it was wonderful. He was toweled off and placed right on my chest, just the way I had always imagined. He was small and pink and precious, 7 lbs., 12 oz. After a while, he was taken over to be checked out, weighed, etc. Then the nurse brought him back to me sucking away at his little fist and asked me if I'd like to breastfeed. Well, yes, of course, I said.

Whenever I think back to the morning Andrew was born, I feel a little bit of that high I had after his birth. Part of it was the oxytocin, of course, but part of it was the empowerment I felt at having given birth without pain medication.

And then I start craving eggs, sausage, and pancakes. That's what they brought me to eat after Andrew had fallen asleep and I had showered with the help of my fantastic delivery nurse. It was the most delicious breakfast I'd ever tasted.

In fact, I still get cravings for that particular meal every time I even drive by the hospital. Funny how our senses and strong emotions are so wrapped up in each other. Ah, the strong emotions that came after Andrew was born--that is another story.

Birth Story No.2, Pt. 1

When Valerie was 3, I was somewhat ready to go ahead with another pregnancy. And it took three months to get pregnant with Andrew, unlike conceiving Valerie on the first try. So, as you can imagine, I was worried it would never happen. It makes me laugh now, but that's how I felt at the time. Then, a couple of weeks after a bout of nausea that didn't even occur to me as pregnancy-related, I took a pregnancy test and found out Tom and I had made another baby!

We were so excited, but I was also worried that the anxiety would kick in again, like the first time. And I was terrified, behind my thin facade of optimism that the baby wouldn't go to term. But this time around, I had decided to trust my OB, and that was a great comfort, just making the decision to trust. He didn't see any reason to label me high risk, and besides a couple of small details, there was nothing special for me to do. So, I relaxed a bit. And that really became the theme for my second pregnancy, at least mentally.

Tom and I decided to tell Valerie right away, and not wait the usual 12 weeks, to make sure the pregnancy was well established. We figured that if anything unfortunate were to happen, she would pretty much be aware of it, and that we would face whatever was to come as a family.

Of course, I cried as we told her Mommy was going to have another baby. Her first question: Is it a boy or a girl? Of course, we didn't know. Of course, she wanted a girl. Even after we found out at 20 weeks that "it" was a boy, Valerie still called Andrew a girl until the day he was born.


Andrew did go to term, to 38 1/2 weeks. But unlike my first pregnancy--which was virtually uneventful, until the totally unexpected final event--those were not the most pleasant of weeks. I grew to understand the remark my first OB had made to me about not having to experience the last uncomfortable weeks of pregnancy because Valerie came so early.

Here is my laundry list of unpleasant symptoms:

Morning sickness. I had about 2 weeks with the first pregnancy, but more like 12 weeks with the second. No vomiting, thankfully, but I didn't dare go anywhere, not even to bed, without a baggie of oyster crackers within reach.

Ligamentous pain. Every time I moved after being in one position for any extended length of time, the ligaments around my pelvic bones screamed at me.

The-Symptom-That-Must-Not-Be-Named. This was the worst, and totally new for me. I even had to eat Christmas dinner standing up. But I did get to take a lot of nice hot baths (alone!). I'd really like to write more about it, but I won't. Contact me if you'd like all the gory details.

Elevated Blood Pressure. This happened at about week 33. It worried me, but as you'll remember, I had decided to trust my OB. He said I just needed to lie down for an hour each afternoon, and take it easy. So, I did.

Valerie didn't like that I had to lay on the couch and rest, but she got used to it. It was so much fun watching her watching my belly grow. She would sing to the baby and kiss my belly, and make all sorts of fun plans for what she was going to do with "her". The first time Valerie felt the baby kick she was so surprised!

She and Tom went with me to nearly all my OB check-ups. Valerie always had a "question" for the doctor. Including, could she hold the baby upside down? No, he replied, he didn't think that would be a very good idea. We took her to a Big Kid and the Baby class at the hospital and watched with pride as she learned to change a babydoll's diaper and also to remind me to eat good food because whatever I ate, the baby ate through the umbilical cord.

As the weeks counted down, I was becoming extremely aware of how all our lives were going to change. I was mindful of the time Valerie and I spent together, and I was quietly beginning to mourn what would be the loss of the delightful experience of her as our only child. Tom kept reminding me how wonderful it was to be giving her a little brother, and how wonderful for Andrew to have her in return. I knew he was right, but I couldn't help feeling overwhelmed.

Week 34 come and went and I knew Andrew could come at any minute, as Valerie had. And, honestly, I was ready to be done being pregnant! But he held out for 4 1/2 more weeks, right until the night before Tom was scheduled to go out-of-town on business.

For Pt. 2, please read Thursday's post!

Birth Story No. 1, Pt. 2

I felt the first small contraction Tuesday morning just before a doctor from the NICU came up to speak with me about what I might expect with a baby born six weeks premature. I can't really remember much of what he said. Probably because of the contractions--tiny twinges in my lower abdomen. I was relieved I wouldn't have to be induced, but fearful of what lie ahead. This baby was going to be born. Six weeks early. She was so little.

I labored for 27 hours from then on. The really painful back labor began about 12 hours later, and I thank my dear Tom for rubbing my back as the contractions came about every 1 1/2 minutes all through the night. He would fall asleep for a few seconds between contractions, only to be awaken by my requests for more back rubs.

I was relieved to see my parents arrive the next morning just as I was getting the epidural. At about 24 hours in, I was totally exhausted. The pain lessened considerably. I was told to rest. I may have even slept. Later I was put on Pitocin to get the contractions moving along again. And before long, with Tom on my left, my mom on my right, and my dad standing nearby, it was time to push. And it was empowering to feel like after all those painful hours, I was finally working toward something.

About an hour later my lovely Valerie was born. She weighed 4 lbs., 11 oz. She was 17 3/4 inches long. Tom was the first to hold her. He brought her to me all swaddled up after her initial examinations. She was so precious, looking at me with tiny little eyes. I was totally overwhelmed with joyful love. Then she was whisked away to the NICU where she would live for the first 2 weeks of her life.

I pumped milk for her every three to four hours on the hospital-grade pump I'd been supplied with. I was constantly washing the bottles and pumping equipment, because I was constantly pumping. I became obsessed with the cleanliness of the pumping supplies. I felt so helpless to care for Valerie, it was the only thing I could control. I would bring several containers of milk for her each morning.

So much of those two weeks is a blur, yet as I concentrate on recalling it, it is amazing the details that surface. Truly, the whole experience is etched in my memory. We spent our days and much of our nights at the hospital holding Valerie, talking to her doctors and nurses. We watched her lose, then regain weight; quickly progress through various respiratory therapies as her lungs grew stronger; pull the feeding tube out of her nose a number of times; learn to suck milk from a bottle, and later to breastfeed.

But Tom and I will never forget the morning Valerie's doctor called us and said we could take her home that day. Elation! We could finally bring our baby girl home! She weighed 4 lbs., 9 oz., at the time. Up 2 oz. from her lowest weight. I was worried about her being so little, but the doctor assured me that she was as healthy as any other baby, just small.

No one could ever give me a reason why Valerie came early. Not even anxiety. I think she was just impatient about meeting her mama and daddy.

Even though she wasn't nearly as tiny or needy as the 2 1/2 pound baby in the crib next to her in the NICU, it was still traumatic for me to give birth to a preemie. And I had never planned on having an epidural. And I had dreamed of my baby being placed on my belly right after birth, and nursing soon after. Nothing happened the way I had imagined or expected.

I think I have told this story close to 100 times. I had to before I would be ready to have another child. But that is another story.

Birth Story No.1, Pt.1

I've never thought of myself as someone with good skin, but I had really great skin during my first pregnancy. However, I can't credit any hormonal phenomenon for this fact. It was the anxiety.

I was so out-of-my-mind anxious for those seven-and-a-half months that I wouldn't even scratch a blemish for fear that some horrid virus or bacteria under my fingernail would make it's way into my bloodstream and, through any number of terrible scenarios, harm my unborn baby. I felt like a complete lunatic, but I'm guessing I'm not the only pregnant woman ever to have thought such things. A quote I came across at the time said it all, "Worry is the work of the pregnant woman." That made me feel just a little bit better, like maybe I wasn't alone with all my worrying. Still my skin remained flawless.

Yes, you read correctly, my first pregnancy did not go to term. In the midst of the 34th week, my bag of waters ruptured prematurely and, at 2 AM on a Monday, just hours before I was supposed to get up, get ready, and go teach my class of first graders, I found myself sitting wrapped in a towel in the passenger seat as my husband, Tom, drove us the 20 minutes to the hospital birthing center. It was not supposed to happen that way. We hadn't completed the birthing class sessions!

The ultrasound performed just after I arrived indicated the baby weighed about 5 lbs. She was so little. That whole day, in my birthing suite, hooked up to the fetal heart monitor, terrorized by every germ infested surface, that thought kept popping up: she was so little. No one could give me any reason for what was happening. (Not even anxiety.) There were no signs of infection. And if I didn't go into spontaneous labor, I would be induced on Thursday. So scary.

Phone calls were made. Tom reluctantly had to leave for a few hours to take care of some things. Nurses, food service, orderlies, doctors, and interns flurried about. But everything in my world had stopped. All except for the heartbeat of that very tiny baby inside me.

I tried to read the copy of Birthing From Within I had just opened two days before, but I just couldn't relate. I tried to work on some booties I had begun to crochet, but couldn't concentrate. I spent a lot of time looking out the window at the light blue barely springtime sky, just waiting. She was so little. We weren't ready.

For Pt. 2, please read Thursday's post!

Speaking of Birthdays...

I love hearing birth stories. And I want all the details, please. No need to leave anything out.

Whenever a friend or acquaintance or total stranger in line with me at Trader Joe's has had a baby, I fiddle around waiting for just the right moment to ask, "So, how was the labor and delivery?" All I want to do is celebrate, commiserate, sympathize, support, connect. Yet it is a difficult question to actually ask.

Sometimes, I feel the topic of childbirth is taboo. I'm not exactly sure why that is, but I have some ideas. For some women, I imagine, it is simply the most extremely private of experiences. For many, I think, it feels uncomfortable or even unacceptable to speak of--labor and delivery are bundled up and tucked away in the back of the brain. Maybe woman aren't expected to talk about the pain, physical or emotional. Or maybe women censor themselves (from either asking, or responding wholeheartedly) because their own expectations, or those of others, weren't met during the process. Maybe when women do open up, they are comparing notes, judging, being judged.

I do know one thing for sure: the more we talk about it, the better. Communication is the key to connection, after all. And that is what makes life rich, right? Connecting.

In a mothers' group after the birth of my second child, we were invited to share our birth stories. Some women were excited, while others were apprehensive about the opportunity. The wise moderator of the group also asked us to talk about how the actual experience related to what our expectations had been beforehand. We listened to each other quietly and carefully, as our babies cooed and cried, nursed and napped in our laps. Tears flowed, happy, sad, and relieved. Then the moderator told us, it is said you have to tell your story 100 times in order to work through it, especially if it was difficult or traumatic for you. I can attest to this truth, myself...but that is another story.

Childbirth is by far one of the most intense and transformative experiences possible to have in life. Shall we talk?

Happy Birthday

Today is my birthday. Since becoming a mother, I have a different view of birthdays. Especially my own. You see, now I have some idea of what it took to bring me into this world.

I was born early in the morning, on a Tuesday, long ago when Nixon was president and gas cost 55 cents per gallon. I never tire of hearing my parents tell the story of how my mom was sure she was going to give birth as the car bumped over train tracks on the way to the hospital, causing my dad to step on the gas. And later, how the nurse came to the waiting room as my dad was arranging his cup of coffee and Reader's Digest, to tell him he'd better get in the delivery room if he wanted to see his baby being born! Times have changed...but that is another story.

I can imagine the relief my mom must have felt with the final push. And the complete wonder of looking at my tiny face for the first time. And the love. That big, big joyful love that was a feeling unknown until that very moment.

So, every year on my birthday, since becoming a mother, I think about this. I think about how no matter where I find myself, on this day however many number of years ago, I was brought into this world and welcomed with wonder and love.

Now isn't that the nicest of birthday presents?