Girls Night Out

Being the mother of young children can be described in many ways: rewarding, challenging, precious, exhausting, and fulfilling. It is all of those things and so much more in ways that words cannot adequately describe. I love my sweet children and I love being their mommy. And to be clear, I wouldn't trade my current station in life, not ever. But I will be a realist for a moment and add a lesser acknowledged descriptor to the list: being the mother of young children can be Isolating. Yes, with a capital "I."

Tonight I was invited to dinner with a few women that I have met through Amelia's preschool. All of them are fun, intelligent women with multiple children and demanding careers. As we sat down to talk, the one obvious common denominator between the four of us was that we were starved for female companionship. Some of us more than others. I know I am somewhere near the top of that list. I realized that since I moved to Alabama nineteen months ago, I could think of only 3 other times that I have gotten together with other women, sans children, just to hang out. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to hear how ALL of their husbands are messy, especially when left alone with the kids, and that their 3 year olds refuse their naps, or that I'm not the only one with post pregnancy back fat and deflated boobs.

Sometimes, when you are embroiled in the business of toilet training, tantrums and time-outs, it is easy to forget that many women around the world have done this before you, and are, in fact, going through it along side you. Tonight, between the Dos Equis and tortilla chips, I felt like I had allies; I felt as if I wasn't alone in this terrifying and wonderful journey of motherhood. After more than two hours, I left the restaurant refreshed, more connected to my own center, more ready than ever to dive back into my crazy world over on Marina Dr.

Second Child Syndrome

Here is Sadie engaged in one of her favorite activities

The other day as I was going back through some of my older posts, I realized that I haven't written much about my youngest child. So, I thought I would write a brief sketch of her life as a 14 month old.

Sadie: Destructively Delicious

Despite the fact that she takes everything out of every drawer she can find a way into and loves to splash in toilet water (especially after sister has forgotten to flush), little Sadie is a doll. This morning, Dave brought her in to bed with us before anyone else was awake. She layed down on the pillow between us and took turns kissing me, then Dave, back and forth for about 5 minutes, then curled up beside me for snuggle time. Currently, her favorite book is Moo-Baa-La La La by Sandra Boynton, though Barnyard Dance, Runaway Bunny and Goodnight Moon are also big hits. Sadie talks a lot, all the time and tries to copy many simple words I say to her. Her current lexicon includes: Daddy (both Dave and I are "daddy" at this point), Mimi (Amelia), kitty, doggy, tree, baby, nana (banana), hi, bye-bye, hot and duck. She also has become proficient in the baby signs for "please" and "thank-you." She loves to dance to old funk favorites like "Brick House" and "Jungle Boogie". She loves milk and grapes and quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches. She loves to rub food in her hair. She loves to follow Amelia around the house and steal her toys. She loves to be held. She loves her dad. She does not love afternoon naps or the word "no." She does not love the nursery worker at church. She wants to be bigger than she is. She is loved beyond measure.

And there you have it, my sweet Sadie in 5oo words or less. Sorry, that it took mommy this long to give you some blog time!

Little Girls

In January, our good friends took Amelia to see the musical "Annie." Though I was nervous that she was still a little young and would get restless during the production, she was spellbound by the little girl who "has red hair like me." Ever since, it has been all things "Annie" all the time. We now have a cat named "Annie" (this is a story unto itself), we taped a cheesy Hallmark Channel version of "Annie," which she watches at least 3 times a week, and her preschool teacher told me that while she is playing, she will belt out, "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" at the top of her lungs.

Tonight, while I was about to serve dinner, Amelia began whining for her food. Trying to prompt her to say please, I asked, "What do you say?"

Wide-grinned, she replied, "I love you, Miss Hannigan!"

Sunsets and Soccer Games

Tonight, Dave and I took the kids to Wendy's for an early dinner and then to Eufaula High School for the men's soccer game. Two of the students that I work with are on the team and after a season of cold, rain and sick children, I decided tonight would be a perfect night to watch them play. We spent an hour walking Amelia up and down the stadium steps so she could see "the top" and explaining how the boys in red clothes were trying to get the ball away from the boys in the black clothes. At the half, just as the sun was beginning to set, I scanned the stadium for Dave and Amelia, who had embarked on yet another trip up the steps. They were sitting side by side, content, at the very top corner. Dave called to me and pointed at the sky. The remaining clouds were shadowed with various shades of pinks and purples and melted into a buttery horizon. We all just sat there a minute and took it in.

The past two weeks, I have been homesick. Not for any particular place; just for anywhere other than south Alabama. But on nights like tonight, I am reminded of why we moved here. We are living the life that we hoped for. Of course, it is possible to appreciate a sunset in Southern California, but the fact of the matter is that we didn't. It was hard for us to slow down.

Tonight was a great night. We shared french fries with our little girls, we watched Israel and Ignacio tear it up on the soccer field and we were rewarded with a beautiful sunset. The complexity of our lives has been extensively diminished by our move here. Our calender is a little more empty than it used to be, and sometimes, I'll be honest, I just don't answer the phone. I am learning, very slowly, to enjoy life. Maybe it took our move to Alabama, or maybe it is my old(er) age kicking in. Whatever the reason, I have never been happier.

Looking Back

"We're all on our own, aren't we? That's what it boils down to.
We come into this world on our own- in Hawaii, as I did, or New York, or China, or Africa, or Montana- and we leave it in the same way, on our own, wherever we happen to be at the time- in a plane, in our beds, in a car, in a space shuttle, or in a field of flowers.
And in between those times, we try to connect along the way with others who are also on their own.
If we're lucky we have a mother that reads to us.
We have a teacher or two along the way who make us feel special.
We have dogs who do stupid dog tricks we teach them and who lie on our bed when we're not looking, because it smells like us, and so we pretend not to notice the paw prints on the bedspread.
We have friends that lend us their favorite books.
Maybe we have children, and grandchildren, and funny mailmen, and eccentric great-aunts, and uncles who can pull pennies out of our ears.
All of them teach us stuff. They teach us about combustion engines and the major products of Bolivia, and what poems are not boring, and how to be kind to each other, and how to laugh, and when the vigil is in our hands, and when we just have make the best of things even though it's hard sometimes.
Looking back, telling our stories to one another, we learn how to be on our own. "

Lois Lowry, children's author, in her book Looking Back

A Fish Named Sue

For Amelia's 3rd birthday, Dave and I decided to expand our family. So, last Friday night we drove 54 miles to Columbus, Georgia where we purchased a lovely little Beta fish, some faux seaweed for its tank, and about 6 months worth of Beta fish food (are we being optimistic?). When we got home, we set up the tank and put it next to Amelia's bed for her special birthday surprise.

The next morning we awoke to shrieks of joy. She wants a puppy, but for now a Beta fish will more than suffice. Dave and I sat down with her on her bed and asked what she wanted to name it.

"Well, how about Sue," she said without hesitation.

Sue it is. Life ain't easy for a fish named Sue.

One Year in Eufaula

It's been a little over a year now since our family pulled up stakes in California and headed for the cotton fields of lower Alabama. We've survived tornado season and one of the hottest summers on record, even by Southern standards. We are used to the smell of the paper mill that blows into town from time to time; an aroma akin to a stale dirty diaper, and we are used to the pervasive lack of urgency that I suspect is not only a facet of life in the South, but of life in any small town.

Amelia is assimilating well to our new reality. She wears big bows in her ponytails and says things like, "Mommy, I have to tee-tee," and "Let's go over thay-er," or "Can I play with your hay-er?"She has friends with names like Sarah Elizabeth and Mary Helen and Colby Mac (double names are as popular as seersucker in the South- off the top of my head I can think of at least 3 people I know named Mary Frances). She's used to a simpler life now- one without freeways or department stores or amusement parks. Saturday afternoons mean swinging in the backyard or going over to the neighbor's house to say hello. This is the life that we wanted for her, and for ourselves.

Dave and I are adapting, but not necessarily assimilating. Beyond the big bows, seersucker suits and Sunday afternoon fried chicken buffets, there is another reality to life in the gentile south. It is the reality that stereotypes are made of. To some degree, any stereotype has a basis of truth, and this is what I have found here. For now, I'll just leave my commentary at that; I haven't lived in the South long enough to be an authority or to understand its rich history and complexity. We will never be true Southerners, but we are soaking in the life that our time here offers us. We have met people that we love and who love us and the slower pace affords us time to enjoy our children. This is all we need.

Naughty By Nature

One day last week, Dave and I officially earned our parenthood stripes. Amelia was up three times in the night (and up for good by 5:45am), kicked and screamed through her diaper change (NOT good for anyone involved), writhed and wailed while being dressed, asked for frosted mini wheats only to reject them minutes later in favor of mommy and daddy's granola. More screaming. All of this before 8am. Throughout the rest of the morning, she followed me from room to room, whining, "play in my playroom, mommy," and effectively eliminated any of my remaining personal space by lodging herself in between me and the changing table/kitchen counter/bathroom sink. When I settled in on the couch to feed Sadie, she tried to remove her from my lap, crying, "put Sadie down, pick Mia up!" Even my final reserve, Playdough, which I save for very special occasions, was a total bust. She mixed all the colors together and finally decided to eat it- not because it looked good, but because, of course, I had told her not to.

Though this was not a typical day for Amelia, it was not all together untypical, either. Especially lately. I don't talk to many people about my difficulties, but those who I have spoken to assure me that all of these things are a product of the terrible two's, that this is a stage every child goes through and that I shouldn't worry so much about her. But I worry. I worry that she will become the bratty pastor's kid that everyone whispers about. I worry that I'm not providing enough structure or discipline. I worry that I'm providing too much structure or discipline. I worry that our move across country has made her insecure and created her various misbehaviors. This stuff keeps me up at night.

This is our first performance as parents, and unfortunately we didn't get a dress rehearsal. And though Dave and I are doing the best we can, we are undoubtedly screwing up at least a few things as we try to raise her. My mother, who is very often my sounding board and my voice of reason, encouraged me on that difficult day to concentrate on all the things that we're doing right with Amelia. That helped because she really is a great little kid. She says please and thank-you (most of the time). She loves her baby sister and squeals with delight when she sees her. Every night she gets on her knees beside her bed and prays for her friends ("thank-you for Addison and help Michael to feel better..."). She loves to help out and is crazy about our special "mommy and Mia" trips to the Piggly Wiggly or Walmart. And last week when Dave took her to the park, while he was pushing her on the swing she exclaimed, completely unsolicited, "Daddy, you rock my socks." There's nothing better than that.

And so we push on. We endure her tantrums and savor her sweetness, knowing that every stage along the way will most likely have this duality. Something I tell friends who have had new babies is that there is no perfect stage. There are great things and difficult things about every stage, and it is important to appreciate it all because before you know it, they're not babies anymore. Even though there are days like last week and her 3rd birthday seems a million miles away, I am more in love with her now than ever.

Glory Days

After three months of sleep deprivation, countless hour long drives to the pediatrician's office and a tantrum prone two year old who was sure she was being replaced, our life as a family of four has finally settled into a manageable and wonderful routine of joyful chaos. We've cleared up Sadie's eczema, fattened her up so she can sleep through the night, and taken Amelia on lots of special trips to the library and swimming pool (sans Sadie, of course) to reassure her that she still has an important place in our family.

Though not tantrum-free, Amelia is much more secure in her role as an older sister. She now greets the baby each morning with the exclamation, "Ooooooh, Saaaaaadie (insert burgeoning southern accent here)" and a big, and increasingly gentle, kiss on the forehead. Sadie is now entering what Dave calls "The Golden Age of Baby." Our efforts at keeping her fed and diapered all these months have finally been rewarded with enormous, full body smiles; she's all dimples and gums and eyes. Her daddy and I are suckers for it.

Motherhood, as a vocation, is a whole lot harder than I ever thought it would be. It takes all of my heart and most of my energy. Probably the most challenging part of the whole deal is the lack of time that I have for myself. Sometimes, I just want to read a book without falling asleep before I get through the first page. Or watch "Ellen" uninterrupted. Or eat a dish of ice cream without having to share. And someday, I will again. But for now, I try to savor it because this life we are living is the life I always dreamed about. It's full, but it is fulfilling. These are our glory days.

The Real Slim Sadie

Welcome to our family, Sadie!

Actually, at 9lbs and 7 ounces, not so slim. Sarah Vassar Burgess arrived a little earlier than we expected on March 14, 2007. She is beautiful. To us, she looks like Amelia with dark hair, though we're not completely sure yet where that characteristic came from. We are overjoyed to finally have a new baby to fill up the crib and keep us awake at night again (it's not so bad).

One of the most precious moments of my life was the first time I saw Amelia after Sadie was born. We live an hour away from the hospital, so I hadn't seen her in two days and missed her terribly. Daddy sent her into the hospital room by herself while he stood outside the door. In her arms was a bouquet of flowers. Her little face lit up when she saw me and of course, I was in tears. From the door, I heard daddy say, "Give mommy the flowers..." At that, Amelia grabbed an enormous handful of petals from the bouquet and placed them in my hand. And her first thoughts on her new little sister: "I like Sadie. I want to hold Sadie." We are blessed.

Big Girl Bed

As Dave and I prepare to welcome a new baby into our family, our first baby, Amelia, has taken the first step away from her babyhood and into (gasp) what we call the "big girl bed." One "oh-my-gosh-what's-this-parenting-thing-really-all-about" moment that remains crystal clear in my memory took place at Amelia's two month old appointment at the pediatrician's office. A little girl, about two and a half, was sitting with her mother across the aisle from us in the lobby. As I listened to the mother lamenting on her cell phone, I gathered that the little girl was in the office because she had thrown herself out of her crib and on to the hard wood floor of her bedroom and had been acting pained and drowsy ever since. I remember looking at my serene little infant in her carrier on the floor beside me and wondering if we would ever get to that stage. Maybe my child will skip that stage, I thought to myself. Wouldn't that be nice.

Amelia's timing is impeccable, really. Three weeks before her world is about to get rocked to its foundation, our mischievous little girl decided that this would be a really good week to start throwing herself out of her crib. And when I say "throw," it's not a hyperbole in any way. Dave watched her on Monday as she lifted one leg over and then flung herself with all of her might out of her little prison. That was enough for us. Within hours, we had disassembled her crib, brought out her new bedding (I was prepared, knowing this moment was at hand) and had a heart to heart with our two year old about the benefits of a sleeping THROUGH THE NIGHT in a real bona fide bed. We read her a story, sang her a song and then said good night. Forty-five minutes of screaming and a little bribery later, she finally curled up with her stuffed Elmo and doggy and fell asleep. As parents, Dave and I have not had a prouder moment.

Sweet victory!

Whistling Dixie

January and February were the most homesick months that I've had here in Alabama. And I've struggled to put my finger on exactly why that is. The cockroaches are a fading memory. We have a beautiful new home. I've even met a few people I would consider friends. Yet, I've spent the past two months racking up phone bills and feeling like a little piece of my heart was missing.

It could've been the weather. Or maybe it's because my mom was here in December. But most likely, it's because the euphoria of living in Eufaula has been replaced by the reality of living here. And the realization that we're not going home again. We're not just passing through; we live here. We have Alabama driver's licenses and Alabama tags on our cars. When we return to California for a visit, we will inevitably be introduced as "friends from Alabama," a label I'm not yet fully comfortable with.

Tornadoes and NASCAR obsession aside, Alabama is not altogether a bad place to live. People welcome you into their community and treat you like family. We've received more covered dishes and baby gifts than we know what to do with. Plus, there is a lack of pretense with most people that I find refreshing; people generally say what they mean and mean what they say. There's a lot to appreciate about this place and I'm really trying to open my heart and mind to the potential of being here a while. But I have to let go of a few things first.

I never ever considered my life in California to be glamorous in the least, but as I pull my car into the parking lot of Young's Bait and Tackle for my drink every morning on the way to school, I realize that it was a pretty cushy existence. What it really comes down to for me is learning to appreciate wherever I am, because it's likely I'll miss it when I'm no longer there. Someday, in the distant future, when I'm once again living in the big city, I'm sure I'll mourn the Bait and Tackle shop on Lakeside Drive that would order cases of Power Bars just for me; I'll shed a few tears over Howell's Paint Store that would meet me outside at my car with my order and still operates on a customer tab. And undoubtedly, the piece of my heart that is missing right now will be filled in with lots of new friends- new people to love. Maybe Alabama isn't so bad after all.

Thankful

Our first Thanksgiving in Eufaula was a wonderful day. We invited a few people over who were in similar situation to us and ate ourselves silly. I must admit, however, that I didn't cook. The oven in our rental home is broken; it takes almost an hour to cook a frozen pizza. Thus, we ordered a 12 pound turkey and all the fixings from one of our local grocery stores, the Winn Dixie.

Later in the evening, after our company had left, we walked down to a new friend's home to share in their annual Thanksgiving tradition: a low country boil. Basically, a low country boil consists of sausage, potatoes, shrimp, and ears of corn all boiled together in an enormous pot in the backyard. We talked, sat by the bonfire and made new friends.

Here are a few photos from the day.

I had fun setting the table!Our guests: Robert and Lynn Murphy; Van Smith

Amelia enjoying the turkey

We told her to smile and this is what we got...:)Happy girl!

First Sunday in Eufaula

A man from our new church took these photos of Dave's first Sunday at First Presbyterian Church of Eufaula

The Processional (people don't like to sit in the first five rows)

Dave speaks passionately about the Reformation

A full church!

A bagpipe concert in the garden after church

Amelia playing in the garden

Half Full or Half Empty?

Five Things I Love About Eufaula So Far:
1. Sweater weather
2. Chocolate covered pecans (delivered by the pound)
3. The choir director and his wife who washed our windows in the dark before we arrived.
4. The "Playground of Dreams"
5. Sonic drive-through


Five Things I Hate About Eufaula So Far:
1. Roaches the size of my big toe
2. Men who sit shirtless on their front porch in 50 degree weather
3. No pumpkin patches
4. Cars with special "camoflauge" paint jobs (we've seen several)
5. Corporal punishment is alive and well in Eufaula City Schools

Sweet Home Alabama

The many months of our discernment process has finally birthed a decision: the Burgess family is heading to Eufaula, Alabama. Eufaula is a town of about 14,000 people and is located directly across the Chatahoochee River from Georgia. The nearest bookstore is 50 miles away, as is the nearest movie theater, obstetrician or shopping mall. Having lived the majority of my life in the urban paradise that is Southern California, I have been questioned as to whether this move to small town America is something I'm really ready for. I guess ignorance is bliss at this point. But I think I am ready for it. I'm ready for a little bit of quiet; for a place where stores close at noon on Saturday and don't open again until Monday; for a place where the hardware store still operates on a customer tab. For where I am in my life, this slower pace appeals to me.

Roots

About a month ago, as we were preparing to place our home on the market, Dave and I spent an afternoon re-landscaping the planter of our backyard patio. During the busy year, we had sort of let it overgrow in some areas and wither in others. It was a ratty mess of dying Queen Anne's Lace and leafless fruit trees. It was so bad, we decided to rip it all out and start over. So, we went to Lowe's and bought some hearty flowers that would thrive in the Saharan-like composition of our soil and in the unrelenting sunlight that the placement of our patio affords. It's a tough life for plants back there.

As we got down to the business of tearing out the mostly dehydrated plants, we hit a bit of a snag with the fruit trees. While most of the other plants came easily out of the dry soil, the fruit trees, our near death, stick-figure fruit trees, refused to be uprooted. We pulled, we cajoled, we took a spade and dug at their bases, only to find that while they looked as if their numbers were up, their roots had taken hold deep in the soil base. They had almost literally become a part of the property. So, we left them. And watered like crazy. A month later, our nearly departed fruit trees are experiencing a renaissance. They have leaves and lemon buds and are growing like hungry infants. We are so glad that their roots defied our expectations.

The imminence of our move across country has led, subconsciously or not, to another kind of pulling up of roots. In the past month, especially, I am aware that I have begun the process of mentally tugging a bit at the different friendships and other relationships in my life as I prepare to leave. Inevitably, some are going to wither and fade away, while others have unexpectedly developed roots so deep that they have become a part our family for a lifetime.

Moving is always traumatic and I know that the coming months will hold many tears and even more uncertainty. Though, I must admit, in many ways I am kind of looking forward to starting fresh and replanting. Whether it be in the rich red earth of Alabama or in the sandy soil of St. Louis, the landscape of our new garden will undoubtedly be different than the one we have here. But we know our "fruit trees" will always be where we left them and hopefully, those roots will only continue to deepen.

The Edge of Reason

Dave and I made a decision tonight about our already sizzling social life: we either have people over to our house or we hire a babysitter when we go out. At eighteen months, the toddler stage has done us in; we're finished with social outings where we linger over cocktails, appetizers and conversation with adults. For a while, at least.

This decision comes on the heels of several attempts at having dinner at the homes of friends who are almost, but not quite yet parents themselves. The latest attempt left me covered in vomit (twice) and feeling like an annoying friend, a bad mom and a terrible conversationalist. Upon our hasty departure just after the vomit and right before dinner was about to be served, I said to our host, "Thanks for everything and I hope that we didn't scare you!"

To which she replied, "Too late."

Subconciously, I was hoping that she would say it was alright; that the chaos we had brought to her house that evening was endearing, not annoying; that we were still fun to be around. The reality is that if one is not a parent yet, the energy and curiousity of someone else's eighteen month old is cute...for about an hour.

In Amelia's toddlerhood, Dave and I are getting jumped in to the business of being parents. We are learning more and more about the epic struggle between what we want and we need versus what she wants and she needs. The two are opposing forces looking for compromise: to work or not to work, to go out or to stay at home, to keep your sanity or watch an episode of Barney. What I'm finding is that more often it is not a compromise at all, but a choice. And she wins everytime. It doesn't feel like sacrifice, though, and that's because she's not someone else's eighteen month old. She's mine and this is her time.

Dance and the World Will Dance With You!

...Or maybe you'll just be that weirdo that everybody else watches. I love it! This is a pure and unadulterated good time. Sometimes I wish I was this guy. I stole this from my friend Melodie. Enjoy!

"Mr. Orange"

I don't know why it didn't occur to me to post this before. A wonderful old friend was killed in a head-on collision almost one month ago. This horrible accident has given me pause for several reasons, one of which I wrote about a few posts back. Another is that he leaves behind a wife, Bridget and a 3-year-old daughter, Kaitlyn. Those of us who are married and those of us who have children can especially empathize with the overwhelming emotional and financial responsibility of having to continue on without their spouse. For that reason, a fund has been set up in his daughter's name. Steve Ambriz gave an incredible amount to a community that he loved, and now the community has the opportunity to give back to his family. You may or may not have known Steve, but if you are able and feel inclined, donations can be made at the following website:

www.kaitlynfund.org

Or can be sent directly to:
Kaitlyn Ambriz Scholarship Fund
1940 N. Tustin Avenue
Suite #103
Orange, CA 92865


Please say a prayer for Steve's family...