My first and third graders!

I’m supposed to be feeling lighter. Better. After all, 2/3rds of my children are in school after a long summer. But instead, I am a stress monkey.

I’ve crafted this life out of the scraps of good plans, thrown together with the very best of intentions, but nevertheless, messily. Laden with mistakes. If my life were an art project submitted for a grade, I would be kicked out of class. Allen and I have lived a transient life since having children. In our defense, we’ve been trying to find our town, our house, the place we want to be FROM. That may not make sense to those of you who figured it out sooner than we did.

But you don’t always get it right the first time **. Or the second. Or even the third *wince*. Of those who don’t get it right at first, many people just make do, just go along and make a life where they are, make the best of it. And then there is Allen and I. Fickle, pie-in-the-sky, idealistic people who want the BEST they can get, and are willing to sacrifice to get there.

What we hope is forgivable is that we have asked our children to go along with our plans. And they have been able to do so. Children are flexible, right?

Ready to go this morning, a little nervous.

We hope so. In the 8 years since having children, we have lived in 4 states. Kelsey, who just started third grade a few hours ago, has had her first day of a new elementary school 4 times already. Laurel just started first grade in a different school than she started kindergarten.

We didn’t do this on purpose. We thought moving to North Carolina in 2006, buying a lovely house in a very kid-friendly area would be THE PLACE WE RAISE OUR CHILDREN. We were naive. No, actually, we were just plain wrong. Living away from our friends, from any family whatsoever, was foolish, even though we met really awesome new friends and had the house of our dreams. It was a hard lesson to learn. And it took a lot of courage to give up that ideal, that house, that plan, and move back to New England to try to re-forge a life. You can’t start over. You can only begin again, wiser.

So here we are, in Arlington, Massachusetts. East Arlington, to be precise. We live in an awesome house we hope to rent for as long as they’ll let us. We are across the street from a truly exceptional school, and also a mere 7 minutes’ walking distance to Alewife, where Allen catches the subway to get to work in Cambridge. We are surrounded by friends and not far from my family of origin (although still far from Allen’s, which totally sucks). Regardless, THIS–what we have now–this is the fulfillment of a lot of years of trying to figure out where we want to be. And so I should be happy! And I mostly am. Every other day we have lived here, I have been happy about where I am waking up in the morning. Every day but today.

Because when I saw Kelsey from across the gymnasium as I stood next to Laurel in the 1st grade line, I saw a scared little girl, all alone. The anxious look on her face as she stood in the 3rd grade line, as children around her paired off, stood in groups, called out each other’s names, as she stood there alone and afraid BROKE MY HEART. When I could leave Laurel, I walked over to rescue her, but all I could do was stand nearby and smile at her, whisper encouragement, offer a hug. Placid smiling, confident-appearing Mommy was there, but on the inside, my brain was yelling at me. If only we had remained in the old apartment, she would be meeting up with her friends from 1st and 2nd grade, and they would be starting their third year together. If only you could be satisfied with what you have instead of always yearning for something MORE. What’s wrong with you? How could you do this to your kids?

That voice is the reason for this headache now raging through my cranium, untouched by a very considerate chiropractor who tried to de-stress me this morning during our weekly appointment. “It’ll all work out fine, Terry” he said, and I THINK he’s right.

I still have so much to be thankful for. After all, we found our home. And I’m optimistic that things will work out–if not right away, then long term at least. For all I know, both of my girls are having the best first day of school ever. I won’t know for a few hours yet. Until then, I am plagued by guilt, angry at my decisions.

Let me just get through this last transition, Universe. Please. I’m getting better at life. I swear. I’ve realigned my priorities. My head is on straight. I have the most awesome husband ever, and my marriage continues to be an astoundingly profound wellspring of understanding, comfort and love. We have three amazing children we couldn’t love more. The journey to where we are right now has been full of challenges and learning experiences, and I am grateful for the life I have. I just need my kids to be OK at the least, until we can grow deeper into this groove of our new life and make it AWESOME.

** “it” being that confluence of events where you are living in a good location where you have optimal happiness for all your family members.

I'm so awesome that I eat myself!

This is the post wherein I’m supposed to brag about my awesomeness! After all, I did live through a photo shoot and even managed to take some good photos and put words together like a grown up. I was really quite competent, and that’s a good feeling to have. Oh, you want more, don’t you?

Well, OK. But you’ll have to slog through the photography geekery first. And then, for dessert, we’ll get to the shameless backpatting.

What’s in the Bag?

My equipment is not bad for an amateur. I have my beloved Nikon D50 SLR.  My camera feels good in my hands. I’m not your average photography geek in that I don’t need/can’t afford the latest and greatest gear. I take good photos with my phone. The camera is just a tool. I don’t feel a need to upgrade, and I probably won’t until/unless my camera breaks. When I do upgrade, I’ll probably be getting a Nikon D5000. I also really like Canon cameras and lenses, so don’t attack me in the comments about my camera preference. I learned photography with Pentax and Nikon, and I’m happy staying with Nikon.

I have a Nikkor AF 70-300 that I can use in most outdoor settings as long as my target isn’t moving and the light isn’t too low. I switch to manual for lower light shots and grab the tripod because it SUCKS in low light. Yes, the motor is loud and slow. Yes, it sometimes has trouble focusing on moving subjects. Regardless, I love this lens. I’m able to grab some nice shots with it. It’s not optimal, but it’s mine.

My go-to lens is the standard 18-50mm made by Sigma that a lot of folks have. I don’t love Sigma, but they make affordable lenses. I use this lens most of the time for casual close-ups.

I also have a Nikon 50mm lens that I am still playing with. I use it in low light to catch beautiful skin tones. This is more the lens I use for artsy/stylistic shots. I don’t use it as much, but it’s good to have.

What’s NOT in the Bag?

I’m lacking a macro lens and salivate over the Nikon 105mm. I’m sure Tamron makes a cheaper lens. It’s not something I need, but it would be fun to play with.

I desperately need a shoe-mount flash. Looking at the Nikon SB-600 TTL AF shoe mount. Not sure. Comments welcome.

Can you even believe I don’t have camera-cleaning, lens-cleaning supplies? Oh, it’s embarrassing. I used the soft cloth that came along with Allen’s new HD TV to clean my lenses last week. See my shame?

The Challenges, and How I Surmounted Them!

Thanks to a friend who was willing to watch all 3 of my offspring, I was able to arrive early to the site I chose so that I could spec out the best backgrounds/lighting for the shoot. I did a NOT BAD job of selecting places to take photos given the challenges: First, the photo shoot was outside, on a warm summer day at 2pm. And second, the fact that the subject ended up wearing very contrasty clothing. I’ll forgive myself for taking a few shots that made the subject appear to have a tree trunk growing out of her head. I took a number of good photos, and some that sucked.

My post production was hampered by the fact that PhotoShop grew up while I’ve been mucking about, raising babies. I am PhotoShop CS4′s bitch. So, I definitely need to hone my skills as a photo editor. It’s been a long time since I used PhotoShop on a regular basis, and my skillz, they are rusty.

But overall, with the setup, the shoot, and the post-production, I enjoyed myself a ridiculous amount. I think I took some nice shots. My subject seemed happy. She was very professional, and I tried to be professional as well. The friend who contracted me to take the photos is happy. I hope to do more work with her in the future. *waves!*

And NOW, the Awesomeness! The Bragging! The Backpatting!

I have the most amazing group of friends and readers and loved ones. You are the awesome here. Thank you for supporting me, cheering me on, giving me GREAT advice. Thank you to Allen, who brought out the big pom poms and has been thwacking me on the head with them for much of the last week. My heart is all explodey right now with the warmth of your comments. I love you guys!

My hair graduates from college, 1993.

I keep a vigilant eye on my mirror. And I’ve noticed age creeping up on me, sneaking up and setting up housekeeping in the corners of my eyes, in the pain in my back, in the length and silvering of my hair.

It’s not an unwelcome friend, age. But my appearance is conflicting with the fact that I feel young on the inside.

I’m… looking 40. I suppose this is the universal challenge of aging. Doesn’t everyone feel young inside? And perhaps being a new mom again is making me feel like putting time in a bottle for a few years. Or time to open up a bottle and splash some color onto my head!

I can’t change the character lines on my face. I wouldn’t want to. Those are earned. The chiropractor is working on the back pain. But there is one thing I can do to turn back the clock a bit, and that’s update my tresses. I have long, dark, thick hair that gets tucked into my pants far too often. My hair has been long for most of my life. And I love it. I even have a friend who is willing to attack it with henna regularly to subdue the gray. But I could use something a little more maintenance free. I would like to have hair that is not such a fun pull toy for my 9 month old son. Or a leash for my 6 year old. Or a source of vanity I have been holding on to, just for the sake of vanity.

Is this getting ridiculous?

This long-haired hippie freak could use a new look.

I’ve been thinking about it all summer. And a few of my friends have gotten short, fun haircuts that totally match their personality, including Sierra’s awesome new cut that so fits her style. I wonder sometimes who I would be if I weren’t Terry, the long-haired. I think of how nice it would be to not have to spend time brushing out the tangles. Or braiding it to get it out of the way. Or prying hair out of my son’s clenched fists, the car seat, the seat belt, the hairbrush. My husband’s belt buckle *ahem*.

It’s not that I need a drastic change. But when you have hair as long as mine, cutting off a foot of hair still leaves a lot of hair. I could handle that. I think.

What do you think? Should I do this? Can you suggest a good style for me? Got a hairstylist referral? Is THIS my mid-life crisis?

Some words from your littlest grandkids

Dear Grammie,

I love you because you’re so sweet to us. I love you because I have lots of fun with you! I love you because every time it’s my birthday, you give me hugs and kisses, and I have lots of fun with you. A LOT!  On my 8th birthday, could you give me some Bakugan? I promise I’ll forget about it before my birthday. Hope you have a wonderful birthday! -Kelsey

Dear Grammie,

I love you because you bring me to Chuck E. Cheese’s *giggle, giggle*. I love you a WHOLE LOT! For my 5th birthday, I like my big puppy that you gave me for my birthday!  -Laurel

I switched midwives this week, mostly because I have no faith that Cambridge Birth Center will actually be the place I’m allowed to give birth. There are so many medical regulations dictating the admissions and requirements of most birthing centers that are associated with hospitals. I don’t blame the midwives at all, but I don’t want to be rolled across the parking lot to give birth at Cambridge Hospital. I switched to Midwives at Mount Auburn Hospital, and I’ve been assured that they will do their best to allow me a medically unassisted delivery at Mount Auburn, as much as is possible.

My new midwife informed me yesterday that I’ll be seeing the Advanced Maternal Age Specialist at the hospital when I get an ultrasound in a few weeks. Being over 35 and pregnant qualifies me for this, umm, honor. It’s a good thing I don’t turn 40 until a few months after I’m due, or more… honors would be bestowed upon me.

The AMA specialist will likely recommend that we induce labor at a certain gestational age. I’ve been doing a lot of reading about advanced maternal age and the complications of having children past 35. So, I am aware. I get the reasoning for such recommendations. But I’m also very healthy and had NO complications in my last two pregnancies. My medical history is positively boring. I will, of course, adhere to recommendations IF there is any evidence that I need to for the sake of the baby’s health.

Don’t get me wrong! I’m grateful to be living in a part of the world where good prenatal care is available. And I realize how lucky I am to have excellent insurance, a caring and supportive partner, and the availability of modern medicine in case there are any complications.

Still, it kinda sucks to be treated like a risk, based on my ADVANCED age. But I’m going to have to put this out of mind, for the sake of my own happiness. I want to continue to be positive, big-bellied confident mom-to-be, not her paranoid, obsessive, pessimistic alter-ego.

So, we made a public announcement and got lots of positive, encouraging support from friends. And a few “What the fuck were you two THINKING?” responses, to which we admitted we weren’t thinking particularly fecund thoughts. That we THINK it was the sex that got us here, not the thinking.

The ultrasound tech used 20-year-old technology to see a blob in my uterus, a blob with a heartbeat. One blob. If she also saw ping pong balls or fibroids, she kept that info to herself. As soon as she got some photos, she went into another room, probably to laugh at us. 

This week, Allen and I have talked about our options for genetic testing and tests to detect Downs Syndrome. There’s a lot of emotion around these tests for me. Well, obviously there’s emotion. I’m emotional cracking pistachio nuts.

I wouldn’t be here today if my mother had listened to her doctor, who advised that she terminate her pregnancy with me because she had German measles during her first trimester. There were concerns, and preparations, for my being born with severe abnormalities.

I came into the world with the usual number of fingers and toes. The abnormal is only inside, in the strange ways in which I sculpt my own realities (and yours! mwa ha ha ha!). This is not to say that there isn’t value in getting testing done in early pregnancy. I’m sure many make that decision, and it’s a good choice for them. I’m all about choice. But I think we’re going to opt for a positive outlook and good prenatal care. Testing is fraught with emotional peril, and the results, be they positive or negative, would not change my decision to do my best to carry the little bean to term.

So, we head into week 9 with hope and a heartbeat! If only the nausea would back off, I’d be smiling!

T, in her new shirt from shirt.woot

My husband loves me! This shirt pretty much sums up the prime motivation for my life. Which is . . . NEEDS MORE COFFEE.

Thanks, Allen! I love it!

I’m sleeping at night.

I think my sleeping issues began a few weeks after Kelsey started school at the public school, when I started feeling unsure and unsafe. I’ve been waking up at 4 every morning. I wake up in a panic, go and check on the girls, then try to go back to sleep. I would seldom if ever get back to sleep after my wakefulness. And I was uncomfortable, like every muscle in my shoulders and neck were twitching and pulled tight. I never considered that it was stress. I figured I pulled something. But now I think most of that pain might be one-part arthritis in my collar bone from a childhood injury, and the rest may be stress.

It’s really no wonder I’ve been so wound up. After the first incident at her old school, when I found Kelsey standing out by the pick up line alone with no supervision, I’ve been paranoid about being even a few minutes late in picking her up. Like, severly paranoid. You know, sometimes when you run by the store to pick up milk and bread before school lets out, and your younger child has to go to the store bathroom, and of course she has to, errr, spend some time on the potty, and you end up having to race across town doing 70 so that you are there to pick up your child on time so that she doesn’t get snatched by some stranger?

*breathe*

And now, if I’m running a little late, I know that her teachers are still THERE, in the classroom, and that Kelsey will be there with them, or else she will be out playing on the playground, with supervision.

So, I’m sleeping once again. I still wake up at 4, go check on the girls. Listen to their sleepy breathing/snoring. But then I go back to sleep. And I sleep until the alarm goes off.

I feel RESTED. More able to deal with stress. My kid is safe when she’s in school.

And did I mention that she’s happy? But that’s the next post….

Now, to be honest, I own a yoga DVD. And I have played it probably a dozen or so times, doing the poses in the safety of my own living room.  I guess I never thought yoga was ENOUGH, probably because it was too easy. So, like many things I try, I moved on to the next thing. I think, at the time, it was jogging, which didn’t last long, as I have huge tits and a low tolerance for being painfully out of breath!

So two weeks ago, the niece and I put on some comfy pants, and I donned the world’s tightest athletic bra to ensure that my participation would remain G-rated. And the class began its warm-up and then went right into a sun salutation practice.

I remembered sun salutation, and, more importantly, my body remembered it. Before I knew it, I was moving my body in ways that surprised both me and the instructor. I looked around while stretching from Hastauttanasana (raised arm) into the next, Padahastasana (hand to foot) pose, and I noticed that while others were trying to scrape their fingertips on the ground, I was scraping my elbows. Comfortably. Best of all, I felt totally relaxed.

The instructor reminded us to honor our bodies’ limits in our practice. That comment stuck with me, and when I got home, I took some time to really search out my feelings about my body. I came to a very disappointing conclusion: I haven’t honored this body in a long time. This body has failed me in a number of ways the last 2 years. I’ve actually been rather angry at it. But I came to realize that I have failed it. Of course I am experiencing health challenges! I’ve been blaming age instead of taking control and doing something positive for myself.

So during my second yoga practice, I paid attention to my limits, but this time I tried pushing them a little. I stopped assuming I couldn’t do things like inversions (like shoulder stands and handstands) and poses that require a lot of balance, like Trikonasana (the triangle), and tree poses and “big toe” stretches. I found I was able to do so much more than I ever imagined, more, even, than almost anyone in the class.

The instructor talked to me after our practice, and she said that I am a natural. She wanted to know how many years I’ve been practicing yoga, and why I had signed up for the beginner yoga series. *beams*

It feel so unlike me, the old me, but I’m proud to admit that I like my body’s response to this new stimuli. I think I’ve found my exercise! I can see myself doing yoga, improving, gaining strength, reaching milestones, finding peace with my body.

I’m not sure how I’m going to afford to continue with lessons, but I’ll find a way. This revelation feels important in one of those deeply resonating ways that should not be ignored.

Back before I became the incredibly intelligent, knowledgeable, self-actualized person that I am today, back in the bacholorette, kid-free years, I would make my resolutions on New Year’s and then BREAK most of them and then some for my birthday celebration. You know, the usual: I resolve to consume less alcohol. I resolve to work out more often. I resolve to eat less chocolate. I resolve to NOT pass out on the bathroom floor. And then January 5 comes along, and I would break every damn resolution and probably a few laws as well. Of course, the disappointment would set in, the self condemnation.

Now, in the wisdom that I’ve acquired since those days, I make my resolutions AFTER my birthday. After I eat too much chocolate cake and go through the rest of the holiday candy. This year, there was a whole lot of candy to get through, so I’m getting to them a little late!
Resolutions, Terry 37
Artistic: I will take more photos of things that aren’t my children. I will take a drawing class, as I have a natural talent for drawing that I have never pursued. I will knit more. I will create things with my hands and give them as presents. I will write more, and I will submit something I wrote for publication.Social: I will go out dancing. I will drag my spouse out of the house on weekends and bring out the extrovert hidden within. I will meet new friends. I will communicate better with existing friends and nurture the special relationships I’ve made over the years. I will connect with that exuberant part of myself that thrives on being in the midst of friends and community.

Health: I will work on improving my cardiovascular health. I will continue strengthening my knees and my back. I will seek out alternative, homeopathic solutions to health challenges for myself and my family. I will implement a healthier meal strategy for my family that takes into account all our dietary limits and needs. And, yes, I will eat less chocolate, damn it. The chocolate that I *DO* eat will be quality. I will focus on moderation, yet still indulge in the things that I love.

Family: I will plan more family outings to take advantage of the recreational opportunities available here in North Carolina. I will communicate more patiently and lovingly with my family of origin, and I will try to increase the frequency of my visits and phone conversations with my family of origin and with my parents in law

Marital: I will nurture and grow my relationship with my husband. I will try to better influence his health and nutritional choices. I will give him space to do the things that make him happy, even if doing so makes me feel lonely.

Vision: I will keep looking at the world differently. I will read more alternative press. I will vote my heart and my conscience.

Spiritual: I will broaden my knowledge base and continue down the spiritual pathways that resonate most deeply with me. I will celebrate the different way I approach all things spiritual and try not feel guilt or apprehension when confronted with someone with more mainstream beliefs.