Turning Forty

This is the year I turn forty.

via GIPHY

I don’t feel bad about that, don’t feel like I’m losing my youth or anything (demonstrably I’m a lot less mature than many a forty-year-old anyway). Actually, I’m rather excited, and I have plans that I need your help with. But first, the explanation:

***

On the way home from another woman’s fortieth birthday bash recently, Brice turned to me and asked, “What do you want for your fortieth birthday?”

And I wasn’t sure what to answer.

I can usually buy for myself most of the “stuff” that I want. And the things that I can’t buy—time, patience, sleep, etc.—can be carefully worked in to life but can’t really be given as gifts. (Though Brice is always excellent at working in extra time for naps and alone time around my birthday.)

Parties? Gifts? What did I really want?

***

A couple years back on Twitter (I think) I saw someone make a comment about how women turning forty come into their powers and should celebrate by running wild with the wolves, that sort of thing. And for a while I kind of envisioned doing something immense and wacky for my fortieth. But to be honest, I’m not a run-naked-in-the-moonlight kind of gal (plus, egad, all the prickles here! and the summertime snakes! no running naked in the bush, thankyouverymuch).

I spent a lot of time wondering what I really did want to do. What would make me the happiest? I have lots of swirling thoughts, but I have condensed some of them down to a few actionable items, and I need your help to make them happen.

 

So what do I want?

I want to support my friends in their creative endeavors.

I want to support the creation of things that bring beauty into the world.

I want to support things that bring joy into the world.

I want to be a creator of some of that joy—or at least contribute to its creation.

 

 

Here’s how you can help:

via GIPHY

 

1. Sell me something beautiful. Or charming. Or quirky and fun. Are you a maker of something? Crafts? Art? Photography? ... Something else? (Not books, we’ll get to books in a minute.) I want to know about things that you (or your children or spouse) make. Or I guess I’d also accept things that someone you know makes, if you think they’re wonderful (but I want to stick to people I’m closely connected to; don’t just tell me about a cool creator you ran across on Youtube).

Tell me about the thing you make. Give me a link (if you don’t have an online store, send me a picture!). I can’t buy everything, of course, but I can buy some things. So tell me so I have lots of options to choose from! As a sidenote, I’d especially love to hear about why you create what you do—this isn’t a sales pitch, I am just excited to hear your stories.

2. Author friends: Tell me about your favorite book by a different author friend. I have no doubt your books are amazing (and, given that I buy a LOT more books than I ever manage to read, I probably have already bought one of your books), but I want to hear you brag about books by your friends this time around.

3. Tell me about a mutual friend who could use a gift. In theory, I could be buying several items, and I may not be keeping them all. Who knows? (Not me. I have no idea if this idea is going to really explode or totally tank.) But, as my 13yo decided this year for her birthday, I want to at least sort of celebrate “hobbit style” (by giving gifts to other people). So who needs some extra love via a silly small gift? (Tell me this privately please, via messenger or email or something).

4. Make a video and share your love of simple things! Are you a pet rock enthusiast? Do you love telling people about your favorite dinosaur? Have you just been waiting for someone to ask you about how to ___________? Now’s your chance! Pretend I asked, and send me a short video (1–3 minutes) about something you adore, something that excites you, something you think is just plain wonderful.

It doesn’t have to be professional or fantastically edited or anything nifty. Just something you love. I really, really want to hear about it.

 

So, if you are inclined to help me celebrate my fortieth birthday in the way that would make me ever-so-happy (and will hopefully make you happy too), then help me out! 

via GIPHY

Fifteen Years

2005: Oh frabjous day!

2006: A great catch.

2007: Wow, we had so many trinkets!

2008: With last year's new addition.

2009: Baguette!

2010: Another excellent addition.

2011: It was shockingly hard to find a picture of just the two of us for this year!

2012: Ah, Guatemala!

2013: He's loved me through a lot of different hairstyles.

2014: Do we produce cute children or what?

2015: Under my clematis archway. *love*

2016: Finally a half dozen.

2017: We're just so adorable.

2018: I can no longer hide the horns.

2019: We loved that cherry tree.

2020: Don't go in the water or you'll get eaten by salties.

I'm so grateful for fifteen years so far. He's loved me through all my hairstyles, all the weird fashion choices, all our vacations, every time I forgot something rather important or mixed up the dates, four children (with all their ups and downs), more NaNoWriMos than I recall for certain, a whole bunch of writing conferences, at least one deeply unfortunate job, and everything in between. 

In honor of his birthday...

 The baby took nine steps today!

A Tribute to Pie

When I was a kid, we moved around a lot. Always in the same general area, but always far enough away that I ended up at four or five different elementary schools. That made it virtually impossible to really stay friends with anyone for very long.

Enter my big brother.

Makani (hereafter known as Pie, for reasons that take too long to explain) was an excellent friend, with the bonus that I could always take with me when we moved. He’s almost four years older than me, and you’d think that would be too great a gulf for children our age, especially since we are the opposite sex. But it somehow wasn’t.

Pie was the best kind of brother and friend. He occasionally let me play when he and his friends were doing D&D, but even when I wasn’t invited, he was still kind when I intruded. When it was just us, he would pretend to be a monster (level 1–10, depending on the challenge I wanted) and chase me around the house until I defeated him. Another time he set up a silly restaurant for me and my friends, menu and all. The grated cheese with cinnamon and sugar on top was the best. Yum.

I remember as we walked to school together one year, I would called him shrimp (he was on the short end), and he would pretend to hide from the cars we passed, afraid that they would want to eat him.

As we grew older, he was my idol. He competed in MathCounts, and I followed in his footsteps (I loved math on my own, but I know his example contributed to it). I knew that he was in debate in high school, so I wanted to debate too. It’s funny—because of a mix up, he had a trophy for Lincoln-Douglas debate, even though he actually did policy. But my brain latched onto L-D, so that’s what I did, thinking I was following in his footsteps. I just wanted to be like him.

Me, the hubby, and the handsome brothers
(Pie is next to me on my left, your right)

We’re both adults now (obv), and we’re both terrible at keeping in touch. But that doesn’t particularly matter, because I always know he loves me and wants the best for me and believes in me. He is a man who helped form my view of what a good man is. Because of him (and my dad and a few others, of course), I grew up without that stifling feeling that some women have of needing to pretend to be dumb so that boys will accept you. He never expected me to be anything other than smart, funny, kind. The men in my life were never intimidated by my success as I was growing up—they expected and supported it.

He was one of my first writing fans, but he manages to not make me feel guilty when he asks how the writing is going (since it usually isn’t). He’ll buy copies of my books (probably more than he needs) if I’m ever published. He and his wife did more for my wedding reception than I probably know—but I do know that they bought a great deal of the food and helped a lot with preparations, without making me feel like a burden. He has always been willing to help me in whatever I need.

I got to see him recently, on a trip out to Utah, and it was lovely. We hadn’t seen each other in over two years. We talked and talked and talked while our kids played and generally entertained themselves. It was happy but also sad. I miss the get-togethers we used to have until everyone started moving and going their separate ways.

Last week, Pie turned one year older, and probably a year wiser too. I’m grateful to have him in my life. In an art class I took in high school, we had an assignment that required we each bring a photograph to work from. I chose one of Makani, maybe five or six years old, standing in our front yard in a Superman costume. That’s who he was through all my childhood: my hero.

Happy birthday, Pie!

Number 3 Is TWO!

Then.

It was two years ago, around midnight, when a sudden POP announced the impending arrival of a fantastic little boy. He took his sweet time, which thing I perhaps should have expected since it was unexpectedly long for me to get pregnant in the first place. In some things we find that he just doesn’t like to be rushed.

That has certainly been the case for his talking. It has only been in the past three months or so that he has really started talking much. His first word was “hi,” which he used liberally and frequently. Then he said “banana,” or something approximating it, once. Then there was another word or two maybe, and then the words just started rolling in. “Ball.” “Nana” (for Grandma). “Honk,” when he squeezes your nose. “Guck,” which of course means “duck” and “truck” and a number of other things. He even started saying “Ammon” fairly quickly after his brother was named. Or, well, he says, “Amm,” which is close enough. Also hat, dragon, taco, cup (which he pronounces “bup”), more, banana again (“nana,” just like “Grandma”; it also stands for other fruits as well), and so on. He says “daddy” and occasionally “mommy.” Just the other day, when he was supposed to be napping, he said “baby” approximately one million times. He will try out most words if you ask him to, and if he’s in the mood, but with varying levels of success.

It is strange to see how much he has grown up in just the past couple months. Partially, I’m sure, this is because I have daily comparisons now to someone much smaller. But also he truly has changed a lot lately.

He is very attached to Pandy still, but now there are two others bears he likes to sleep with, Brownie and Sandy. If you give him all three, and tuck them all in with him, he’s pretty happy.

And now.

In fact, even when he’s slow to do things and learn new skills, he is still overwhelmingly a joy in our lives. He truly is well-named Koa (for “joy”). He has such a happy smile, and I love to make him laugh. He is quick to laugh, quick to smile. Coriel and Brice are best at making him laugh, and Coriel has a few funny things she does that almost always work. For example, she says the last line of What’s Wrong, Little Pookie?: “Umm, I forget.” And this usually makes him giggle.

He also enjoys silly noises, playing with blocks, reading and reading and reading, eating food (usually condiments like ketchup, salsa, and mustard), snuggling his little brother, and playing outside.

We are so happy we have had him in our lives for these past two years, and we look forward to many more!

Happy birthday, kid!

"After" Pics for the Room Makeover

Hey, remember when we totally redid the girls' bedroom for Coriel's eighth birthday? Well, I'm finally posting some pics. I don't currently have the "before" pics because that would have required me remembering to take some (my lovely sister D took some, but she's got them, not me). If I get them, I'll try to remember to add them here.

For now, here are the "after" pics. And when I say "after," I mean right after. Because within an hour or two, it was kinda messy, and it just has not been the same since. :)

Note the tie fighter hanging over the bed. Also, my sister K insisted she had to put those cute stripes of purple/blue around the bed because the previous color clashed. I mocked her for her efforts, because they would be only temporary (it's construction paper, and it's mostly gone by now), but she was right. It did look much better.

Sister D made the cute curtains. she helped me learn to make the two bulletin boards hanging above the blue chair.

See how beautiful and neat those shelves look? Sigh. Now they look a little like a junkyard.

Our artwork isn't actually finished, but I'll get around to it someday. The girls and I did these together.

One of my awesomest ideas ever, brought to life by the sewing sister D again. It's a bedcave! The little curtains can be taken down (they're velcroed up), and they can also be closed so that there's a little cave area under the bed. Good times.

I'm pretty sure every home decor show ever has the scene where you recover a bench or chair or something, and it's "just so easy!" So I decided I had to give it a try. This bench used to be a polka-dotted red, and now it's a lovely gray/white zigzag. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, but it was still not too hard. Thanks again to D, who found the perfect fabric and helped do it. She was just awesome in this process overall, and I wouldn't have been able to get it done without her and K helping me.

Doesn't it look so nice and bright and clean and uncluttered?

The awesome sister who helped make it better than it would have been without her.

Coriel being very excited about it.

Okay, it's a blurry picture, but it's still fun!

Because obviously tables are for standing on.

The bedcave curtains closed.

The Birth Story, Part III: Picking Up Steam

Note: You can find part I here and part II here.

Further note: If you are inclined to be judgey about the decision to forgo pain meds, feel free to skip part III. Here is where I tell you how much it hurt and also that I am not a warrior about pain. But I am not really interested in being an example you can point to and say, “See! Not getting an epidural is crazy!” Plus, despite the pain, I would still choose this again.

Further further note: You may have noticed that Brice doesn’t feature prominently in this narrative. This is because, for the most part, Brice was just doing what he does best: quietly going about doing good. He was just there, you know, present with me, without getting in the way.* You can tell from the pictures how much he was a part of labor, but there are very few specific things I can point to and say, “Brice did this.” Mostly he just was. Which is exactly what I needed.

 

Finally, around 4 p.m., things went from sunny to doomy. Ahem, I mean that labor picked up. By which I really mean that I started whimpering and crying and saying, “No, no, no” repeatedly and despairingly. I mean really. I have distance from the whole experience now, which is why I can look at it and laugh, but in those moments it felt like my whole soul was saying, “No.” It felt like my whole world had narrowed down to just one unending contraction. It felt like this would never stop.

You want to know how desperate I was? When Susan suggested that she could check and see if I had a cervical lip in the way of pushing, I said okay. So here’s a bit of information about me: I do not—DO NOT—like cervical checks. When I’m asked what was the worst part of labor with Coriel, I can say without a nanosecond of hesitation, “Cervical checks.” (And that’s saying something, because labor with Coriel was pretty darn hard.) I didn’t get a single check with Addra, and that was bliss.

I am definitely not feeling good.

After I said okay, I also said, “But if you check and I’m only dilated to, like, a six, just lie to me.”

Here’s what she said after she checked: “Well, you’re not quite ready to push yet.” (I asked her later, in a postpartum checkup; she said I was dilated to about seven.)

You’re probably wondering about now why I would choose to do all of this stuff when there are awesome things like epidurals in the world. Well, that’s a complicated question with many answers. The short one: I think it’s better for me and for the baby.** Also, pain isn’t the end of the world, not even bad bad pain.

Speaking of pain, though, I never hopped in the shower! Ridiculous me. Showering was the epic relief that made Addra’s birth pretty much a cakewalk. (Which is only slightly overstating the case.) I remember that Laurie suggested it once or twice (her recollection: “I kept telling you to get in the shower”). And I remember that all I could think was how hard it would be to get in the shower. And how hard it would be to get back out. All that stepping over bathtub ledges as if they were the Great Wall of China or something. You can’t be asking me to do that sort of crazy hurdling when I’m in labor! And for what? Any minute now, I would feel the need to push. So instead I dithered around, forgetting that contractions do stop occasionally (no, not really in this case; I swear I was in transition—unending waves of contractions—for endless hours). Forgetting that the feeling of water beating down on my back might be lovely. That if I couldn’t pick my leg up to get over the ledge, someone would do it for me (because labor isn’t really weird enough without other people picking up your body parts for you). So, um, no shower.

And really, while I was in it, that time did seem to last forever—wave upon wave of contraction, with not even a long enough break in between to properly use the bathroom. (Come on, I would say, sitting on the toilet. Really? You couldn’t just wait for thirty seconds?) Now, outside of those moments, I realize it was only about three hours, maybe four at the outside, of really intense labor. But such is the nature of reality—it isn’t always helpful when you’re in it.

Scootching off the pillow again.

Eventually I was in sheer misery mode, whimpering “no” in a pathetic voice over and over again (no strong, Amazonian roars for me!), and I was lying in my bed. I repeat: I was lying in my bed. On my back! The horror! I used to see the occasional birth photos of other women lying on their backs straining and pushing, and I would think sanctimoniously, “Well, if you’d just get off your back, everything would be much easier. I had Addra kneeling beside my bed, and it was awesome. I would never give birth lying on my back.” Ha! As I lay on the bed, everyone kept trying to prop me up with pillows or suggest different positions. I would pretend I didn’t hear them and then slowly scootch myself sideways off the pillows until I was sort of leaning sideways but definitely on my back. It was the only thing that was even vaguely comfortable (emphasis on “vaguely”). So much for the virtues of gravity in labor, that’s all I have to say.

Stay tuned for part IV, in which things get even more hairy.

* Well, except for one or two contractions where he misjudged that I needed a massage or a hand on my abdomen when what I really wanted was not to be touched—and also to rip his head off and throw it out the window. But hey, no one’s perfect, not even Brice.

** Again, please remember I’m not judging you or anyone else for doing something different. NO JUDGEY!