You've come a long way, Baby

Today my son is four years old. I can hardly believe it.





As I went to sleep last night, I let my mind wander back to the days leading up to his birth. There was this day, where I was surprised to learn that my placenta was dying, and Jack needed to be born faster than I had anticipated. And then there was this day, where I started out exhausted and hungry and wanting to just give up. I honestly believe that if someone else had walked in and said "hey, I'll have that baby for you" on that day I would have been all "Okay! I'm going to go out for a walk and a bagel, you can have this pitocin!" But after that day, I got to have this day. I got to have this boy:

I know, right? SO worth it. Worth every 2 am finger stick, worth every minute of pitocin labor, worth every second of swollen feet and sore back. Completely and absolutely worth it.

The day he was born, all I knew was that I was exhausted and I was elated. He was perfect and pink. I had no idea about the amazing kid he would become. Jackson is sweet and smart. He is compassionate and caring. He would give a hungry person the last bite of his favorite sandwich. His smile lights up a room and his laughter make my heart jump for joy. He is the physical manifestation of all of my hopes and dreams of becoming a mother. He's one of the best gifts in life that God has ever given me.

There was no part of his birthday that went the way I wanted, the way I had planned. But that was an important lesson for me to learn early on in my mothering journey: it doesn't always have to perfect. I've grown from that day of self-loathing and bullying myself as a "failure" and come to realize that there is no single one right answer or way of parenting that will be right for everybody. That was a huge lesson for Little Miss Type A Personality. From the very beginning, nothing I had planned worked out the way I thought it would, and that gave me the freedom to make it up as I go along. My boy's botched birth story is the best way I could have started on my path of motherhood. Because life is not easy, it doesn't always end up the way you thought it would and success isn't a only reward for those who plan and execute, it's also the reward of those who are flexible and adapt. When I dreamt of being a mother, I thought when God made my dreams of being a mother come true that would be the thing I was most thankful for. Instead, when I became a mom I learned to cut myself some slack, to go with the flow and to improvise. I didn't know how to do that before I was a mom. I only knew how to succeed or fail in shame, there was no inbetween.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that becoming a mother gave me so many more important life lessons than just mothering. Becoming a mom changed me, and changed my life in ways I never expected but am forever thankful for. Sometimes I still can't believe that God let me be this kid's mom. Because this kid is amazing. He makes me a better person; I thought it was supposed to be the other way around. And if he can change my world that much in four short years, I can't wait to see what else he accomplishes in life.

Happy fourth birthday, Jackson Phoenix. I'm so thankful that I get to be your mama.

We will never forget

September 11th. Nine eleven. 911. The date we will all never forget.

I don't think there's a single person who was school age and older who is alive today that has forgotten what they were doing, where they were, and how they felt that day nine years ago. It was all so surreal, like a terrible scene in a movie playing out before our eyes. But it was real. There were real people trapped and perishing. Real people missing, loved, searched for. They were fathers and mothers and sisters, daughters, sons. Families left heartbroken forever, all in an instant. It was unfathomable, the pain and confusion and anguish of that day.

But from that complete pain and unbearable loss arose something else, too. There was a surge of unity and brotherhood around the world, as people everywhere shared their grief over the day's great tragedy. On September 11th, we were not American or British or Irish or Russian or Chinese or Mexican or...Iraqi. We were all just "us", one devastated and broken tribe of people who were compassionate to all who had experienced loss, because we all felt deep pain that day. The worst spirit in the world brought out the best spirit in the rest of us. That's the memory that is the most vivid to me.

9/11 is something that my son will learn about in school one day. I'll probably share with him my recollection of my experiences when he's older. But I don't think I'll ever really be able to explain all of it. The sheer magnitude of the emotions of that day are overwhelming, and I don't think that any history textbook or story retelling can ever fully communicate the horror, the sadness, the grief...followed by the resolve, the strength, the international goodwill and united expression of love and compassion worldwide.

My wish is that we would never experience another day like 9/11, and that we could all treat each other every day as if it were 9/12.

Love Thursday: Redeeming

Hi, my name is Felicia, and I'm a crazy coupon lady.

(Hi, Felicia)

In my never ending quest for the best deal on everything, I see this word frequently: Redeem. Redeem at face value. Redeem one per purchase. Redeem for $1.00 off any 3 boxes of General Mills cereal. So I redeem, redeem and redeem and I do so much redeeming that the word itself has begun to lose some of its shine. Some of its depth. Some of its je ne sais quoi. The other day while I was driving, I started to think about what redeeming means to me, when it comes to my walk with God. So when I got home I did what any modern girl would do, and Googled it. This is what Merriam-Webster has to say about what "redeem" means:

It was all the normal stuff I thought of when I thought of that word. "You are bought with a price" blah blah blah. Until I got to definition number 6, part b, section 2. "To make worthwhile."

I am not only bought, paid for, freed, changed and released. I have also been made worthwhile. Which would indicate that prior to my redemption, I wasn't worthwhile but God chose to redeem me anyways. He made me worthwhile, because of his grace, by the power of my faith and nothing else. To me, that is the single most powerful and amazing transaction to have ever taken place. He made me worthwhile. He offsets everything bad in me. That's awesome. That blows my mind. I love it so much.

Autobiography

I recently volunteered to be an area group leader for the mothers' group that has been our lifeline here ever since we found them. I really hadn't planned on doing that, but they asked and I have the time and all the moms there have been so great to me and Moose that I felt like I needed to give a little back to the community. Y'all know I'm a huge sucka for community service anyhow.

Part of what I had to do to get started with my new volunteer position was write up a small bio on myself to be posted on the group's "Staff" page. I've never written out my own story before. I write out small parts of my story all the time here on my blog but I've never written out all of my own story before, or had to figure out how to condense a lifetime into two small paragraphs. I ended up writing about my family, my passions and my plans for my future. I left out a lot of my past simply because there wasn't room and it wasn't exactly relevant to the purpose of what I was writing. But I got to sit and give it some thought, and write my story.

And then after I clicked "send", I thought about how cool it is that each of us get to write our own story every single day. That thought is so inspiring and liberating to me. Every day, I get to choose my own adventure, like those books I read in grade school. Every day, I get to write and tell my own story, and so do you! It gave me pause to consider...what story am I writing, for my husband, for my son, for even my pets? For my friends, for my brothers, for everyone I love? Our "happily ever afters" are all a daily work in process, as we cultivate love, friendship, intimacy, passion and compassion in our lives. To me, it was a refreshing and encouraging challenge to think about the story I'm writing with my life. There's not one part of my story that I would go back and erase if I had the opportunity. And for that I say thank you to all my friends and family and people I love who have been a part of my story. It's all a part of who I am today, and I really dig that chick.

The sea speaks

I spent some time out in the ocean today. I love the beach. I love any swimming-friendly body of water, actually. And while there is some shark, stingray and jellyfish-related debate as to whether the ocean truly is swimming-friendly, I took my chances and walked out into the salty waves this afternoon with Moose. I love the water, because in the water I am weightless and free. If you've ever seen the backside of my lap, you understand how valuable and precious I find that feeling of weightlessness. I can float and kick and frolic and I am bound only by my own will as to how far I can go.

As the tide rolled in, my son and I jumped the waves. Well, I should rephrase. We jumped some waves. Other waves overtook us, and we ended up blinking and sputtering. After he grew tired from being taken down too many times, I encouraged Moose to go play in the sand with Mr. I returned to the surf, wading out into the soothing waters to rinse sand off of me. Then I sat on the shore, watching each curl of sea roll in and wash over my feet. I toyed with the sand, marvelling at the shells and pebbles. There were so many of them. Several of them were perfect, and I stashed them in the palm of my hand. My feet found a bigger shell while digging my heels deep into the sand. There's nothing like an Ocean Pedicure to scrub the rough spots from your feet. I picked up the big, thick shell and traced the edges with my fingertip. This shell was broken, but the formerly jagged edges had been brushed smooth from years of the tide rolling in and rolling out, sloughing off the rough edges with each pass. Now the edges were smooth and soft, with an elegant finish that looked bound and not broken.

I thought I was seeking perfect, whole, decorative shells. So I tossed it back into the saline surf. Wave after wave rolled in, and the polished edge shell found its way into my hand again as if the power of the sea wished it to be there. So there I sat, with this beautifully broken shell in my hand, watching and listening to each wave roll and crash into the shore. I sat and I stared and I thought and I pondered and then I felt it in my core: I am this shell. We are all this shell. We are all floating deep and shallow on this journey of life. We get broken and chipped along the way, but the warm tides of love and grace in life wash over us and smooth our sharp edges away.

Before I arose, another shell floated into my lap. This one was thinner. The friction of sand and pebbles over the years had worn this shell so thin that it had no center. It was as if life had drilled a hole through its heart, and the shell was now a wide open circle, embracing each polishing that came to it. Eventually, it wouldn't even resemble its former self. How I want to be this shell. Broken and polished and smooth and open. Open to life. Open to challenges and difficulties and trials that open me further. Opening me to truth, to love, to others.

One thing I very much love about our denomination is their "God is still speaking" message. To know and love and serve a God who is not done and finished speaking to us is a special part of my walk of faith. Since God is not finished speaking to any of us, I treasure the opportunity to hear God's voice and see God's hand in small, everyday moments. As I sat there at the ocean's edge, I looked out into the majestic waves and saw the face of God. I saw God's hand as it pulled the waters in and out, smoothing and perfecting each part of every shell. And then I thought about me. And you. We are all millions of little pieces in God's universe, but God remains actively engaging with us each day. Polishing us. Working in us. Opening us. My prayer is that as I've shared these thoughts with you, that you are able to pause from your busyness for a moment to consider how God and life is breaking you to strengthen you. Roughing you up just to polish you down. My prayer is that we are all able to remain open to the beauty and wonder of a life filled with joys and pains and peace and trials, because the combination of all of these experiences are what develop our inner grace, allowing us to share it with others and opening us to experience God in our own way.

I rose and returned into the deep to rinse the sand from my body. The waves were stronger then, as they washed me they nearly rolled me down. As I went to join my boys with shells in my hand, my legs were weak. It felt as if they'd become spaghetti. I can only surmise that those are the results of looking deep into the face of God, finding your truth there, and going forth with that truth deep in your heart.

It was either that, or I had too much sun today.

Wax on, wax off

I'm flying home to Maryland after a lovely week in Chicagoland.

Also, I'm crying a little bit.

I knew it would be such a happy time to see the folks that I love so much and miss so dearly. I failed to consider how difficult it would be to say goodbye to all of them all over again. It's less traumatic than when we moved, but still hardly easy. It still smarts. I've decided that this experience of going "home" to visit, then returning to where we live now is pretty similar to a bikini wax. It hurts, significantly. I'm assuming that as I continue to visit here and back in the future, it will hurt less with each subsequent visit. Last time I could have used something to bite down on, it hurt so bad. This time it hurts so much I'd like to scream, but since that kind of behavior is frowned upon when travelling commercially I'm writing about it instead of verbalizing my feelings.

As the sun is setting, we rise above the Windy City. The Chicago skyline that has always captivated my spirit brings a tear to my eye. The trip was great; the farewell makes me ache inside. I wonder if anyone else on this flight feels the same way.

Somewhere in the middle of this trip, Moose said he wanted to go home. And then it struck me. As strongly attached as my heart is to this city as home, it's not our home. Home is where my husband, dogs, and all my stuff is.

As thrilled as I was to go "home", I'm also very pleased to be going home.

Mommy vs. The Spider

I am married for a few reasons:

1. Mr. Felicia is the best man I've ever met
2. I don't like taking out the trash
3. I need someone to kill the spiders

Mr. knows that part of his job as Husband includes killing the spiders. The other day, I called Mr. on the intercom function on our cordless phones.

Sidenote: I love the intercom function on our cordless phones. It really reduces my need to yell. If someone is in the basement family room, and I'm two floors up in the master bedroom, the person in the basement can't hear a thing. You can't even hear the doorbell if you're downstairs in the family room.



Sometimes when I call the basement, I put on my Phone Sex Lady voice and purr something silly at Mr. Then I ask him whatever I was calling him to ask. Monday morning, I walked into the master bathroom and saw this freaking, WINGED spider with a huge blood sucking beak that was about 3" across. Scared the piss out of me. Which is highly inconvenient, when you're all tra-la-la ing to the bathroom first thing in the morning and you have to pee anyways. So I see this giant freak bug and call Mr. on the intercom to come and rescue me. He took care of it and then I was free to begin my day. I don't know what that bug was, it looked like a dragonfly and daddy long legs mated and made this freak of nature killer spidersquito dragon monster. That's what I'm officially dubbing this creature. "Spidersquito dragon monster." Because if that beak didn't suck blood, it surely spit fire.



So today, I was all chilling on the sofa in the living room with Moose when I saw something out of the corner of my eye on the drapes. I saw this:

Now, you can't really tell from the picture because my iPhone doesn't zoom and it was kind of dark...but let me tell you, this thing was terrifying. It was about 4" across. I was so scared that I wanted to puke. I quickly evacuated the room of boy and dogs, and paced about trying to figure out a plan of attack. I didn't want to squish it on the drapes because that looked messy. And this looked like the kind of bug that would go "crunch" when you smash it, and if that happened I would throw up for sure. So I paced, and I took a picture, and I texted it to my husband saying "WHERE ARE YOU WHEN I NEED YOU, SPIDER SLAYER?!?!?" and I uploaded a picture to Facebook because I'm a total oversharer. And then I paced and worried and freaked out and Moose asked if he could come in and I told no because there is a VERY SCARY MONSTER SPIDER that Mommy has to kill. And then he freaked out and ran downstairs to hide in the family room with the dogs. He is his mother's son.

I don't know if you can see it from this picture, but this spider is a freak of nature. It had long, red FANGS. I just know the fangs were red because they were dripping with BLOOD. And it had this evil sounding breathing sounds...like Darth Vader, but more evil. And I swear to God it made eye contact with me and actually rubbed its front legs together, as if to say "Ha ha. And now I see my prey. I shall EAT YOU, silly woman with pink hair. YOU LOOK DELICIOUS." I actually heard him say that, "You look delicious." And while I may be a tasty morsel, there's no way in HELL I was going out this way. Oh, no. I will NOT be a headline in the Baltimore Sun in the morning, "Area Woman Dies After Spider Attack".*

So after deciding I did not want to smoosh the giant mutant spider, I thought maybe I'd vacuum it up. But I was worried about that because:

1. My Dyson is my preciousssss and I didn't want spider guts stuck in it
2. What if the vacuum doesn't actually kill the spider, but just maims it and then it can crawl out and seek vengeance on me?
3. Have you ever tried vacuuming a sheer curtain with a super suction powered tool like a Dyson? C'est impossible!

At first, I approached Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet with some paper towels. And a small box. My game plan was that I could scoot him down off the curtain into the box and take him outside. Very gentle, very zen. Catch and release to nature where Mr. Spider could be free! But then I chickened out and plugged in Tyson the Mighty Dyson. I aimed my long telescoping wand towards the curtains. Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet simply scooted up the curtain. And that's when the screaming started. It was half fear and half Braveheart as I screamed at the spider. Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet might have screamed too. At least he should have, because at this point he knew it was on like Donkey Kong, yo. The spider crept up the curtain and I screamed more and chased him. Then he got trapped in the folds of the curtains, so I shut the Dyson off. Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet recovered, and started climbing down the curtains, so I resumed trying to suck him up, and screaming like a terrified Braveheart. Then I realized there was a small chance that Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet could fall OFF of the curtain and into MY GAPING, SCREAMING MAW, so I started screaming with my lips closed. This is hard to do, have you ever tried doing that? So I was yelling like "MMMMMMMWWWWWAHHHHHHHHUHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" with my lips shut while I vacuumed at him. It wasn't an even match. Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet didn't have a prayer against the Dyson. After it was done, I put that paper towel that I brought out earlier on top of the Dyson hose to maximize the suction into the canister and let it run a few minutes until I saw something big and black, with a flash of his red fangs swirling up at me. That spider better stay in there.

I hope Mr. comes home soon to take care of cleaning out the Dyson canister, and I pray I am never a widow so I don't have to deal with spiders ever again by myself! I'm also wondering how much I value having a pesticide-free home, since this is the second spiderrific freak of nature I've seen in a week. My racing heart is finally slowing down, and I'll admit it - I do feel a little badass after taking care of him. I hope his arachnicide sends a strong message to any other mutant spider brethren that this house is NOT one to mess with. WE WILL fight back, and we will win. I don't take kindly to 8 legged creatures around these parts!

Update: Mr. Felicia came home from work and emptied the Dyson outside. He found Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet alive and well inside, so he was set free. After all that drama, we have a very peaceful ending as Captain Mutant Ninja Spider from Arachnid Planet and I go our separate ways. Hurrah!

*None of this paragraph is true, except the part about me not wanting to die by spider.