One more check box filled

Hooray, hooray, I finally submitted my packet to be approved for my birth doula certification. I say yay, finally, because I finished the work portion in August, but it's taken me this long to gather all the needed paperwork and letters, and write essays, self-assessments and such. Holy cow, they are thorough.

In case you are wondering, being a doula is not a licensed profession--which means there are no requirements that have to be met in order to practice. There are lots of lay doulas out there (meaning uncertified, sometimes trained, sometimes not, etc)-those doulas who choose to certify do it for a number of reasons--mainly because it gives a doula more credibility in the community (and because you can charge more). The certification process is not difficult, but time consuming. I was hoping to submit in September, but just had a heck of a time tying up all my loose ends (getting pregnant can really throw a wrench in the works).

But hooray, it's done, Troy can stop bugging me, I don't have to work during the holidays, and I just contracted with a lovely couple due in a couple months, so all is peachy in the world of doula-ing. I took the kids to a member meeting for my doula orginization (PALS Doula), and while trying to explain to Garrett that we were meeting with several other doulas (ladies who help other ladiea have babies) he spewed off a volley of inquiries, "Am I going to help a baby be born?" "Will we get to see the babies?" "Are we going to be there all day and all night and all day?" and my personal favorite, when asked if he remembered what a doula was, "Is that like when you swing your hips inside a big circle?" When I relayed that to one of the senior doulas, she cracked up--coining the pharse ,"doula hoops." Which actually isn't a bad idea-I've contemplated bringing hoops to births to help show a mother how to rotate her pelvis to nudge the baby into descending. I smell a marketing plan.......

In unrelated news, today my children got to video-conference with their great-grandmother and grea-aunt in Arkansas, whom they haven't seen for two years. When they moved away, my grandma told me, "I'm just afraid I'll never get to see you again." Best Buy should do a commercial about us. Right about now I'm loving technology.

Yup, my oven works.

Meaning there's a bun in it (for those who didn't catch the "morning sickness" reference in the last post). As of tomorrow I will be 9 wks, with only 4-5 more to go before I can begin to feel normal (well, pregnancy normal)!! Hooray! That means little bun will be ready to be nibbled (food references weirding anyone out yet?) mid-June. At the moment I am tremendously excited about two things: 1. I am going in for acupuncture next week to relieve my nausea, and 2. a week from Monday I have my first appointment with my midwives!! For any who weren't along for the ride when I was pregnant with Morgan, I am completely in love with my midwives. They are fantastically wonderful, compassionate, sensitive women who give their clients the respect, care, expertise and love that we deserve. Both of my children's births were wonderful and unforgettable, but Morgan's was transformative in none but positive ways. After Garrett was born (in a hospital, with an on-call OB I'd never met), I was determined that my next would be better--not that anything went "wrong" but there were things that weren't right, either. Like the nurse trying to talk me into an epidural I told her I didn't want, or his cord being cut before I'd even held him, or the caregivers being strangers, or the bright lights, absence of noise, sterility of the environment, etc. With Morgan there was no compromising, no coercion, I was not at the mercy of the all-powerful doctor. What I wanted, I got. And she was born into warm water, and soft music, dim lights and candles, in a room full of people who already knew and loved her (insert plug for the Puget Sound Birth Center and Lake Washington Midwives here). I was completely in charge and delivered her according to the cues of my body, with no damage to her or to me (a claim most hospital births cannot make).
I know I go on about my experiences quite a lot, but how can I not when they had such an impact on my life? I have no fear about birth--I have nothing but excitement and anticipation and I can't wait to see my lovely ladies and get the process started!
Garrett and Morgan are very excited as well, Garrett keeps asking me technical questions (how big is the baby today? Is the baby eating what you're eating?), and Morgan walks around with her shirt pulled up and her belly pushed out showing everyone HER baby. Which I find very interesting as my belly isn't growing yet, but still she knows to make hers look big. She's only really caught on to what's happening in the last week or so. Even when she was jumping up and down in the restaurant booth shouting "We're having a baby! We're having a baby!" to my mother-in-law (who totally didn't get it, even though she said it about ten times-MIL decided she was telling her "thank you"), she apparently didn' t hear what she was saying but merely repeated what Daddy told her to say.
And Troy is getting excited, also. He was kind of stunned there for awhile (even though he was sort of involved in the planning stages), but is remembering that getting ready for a baby is fun, and teasing me when I'm pregnant is even funn-er. His favorite part is getting to eat whatever he wants--see, I become very auto-suggestive. I might not have specific cravings, but if I see, read about, or hear about specific foods I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to eat that food. Troy abuses this aspect of my pregnancies. We ate a lot of pizza and cheeseburgers in my previous pregnancies (except this time I can't have gluten!! So HAHAHA devious husband!).
So there you have it, baby number three. If anyone is reading this and is totally stunned and wondering why I didn't call you personally, I completely apologize--we've had so much going on and I've been feeling so lousy that I can't even remember who knows and who doesn't. So it was either this or calling everyone we know with a lame "so, have we told you anything important lately? No? Well, guess what!"

It's cold up here.

So somewhere in the last 30 days it became winter in the Pacific Northwest, which basically means it is very, very wet. And cold. Not freezing, but there is a distinctive nip in the air. This is not a complaint, I love fall and we were actually quite lucky through October, having a long streak of gorgeous, sunny fall days. The reason I bring all this up is that the second floor of our very old house is maybe not so well insulated, and since we don't sleep up here maybe not always habitated--meaning it can be cold. And it's where we keep the computer. So if I don't feel like getting frostbite in my fingers I might avoid getting online for days at a time. I suppose it's good that I have phone's then, so that my devoted fan base can still contact me.
This is my long-winded way of explaining my prolonged absence from the blogosphere. That and I was in CA for a week and a half, and my mom came home with us, and we've been busy doing things much more interesting and entertaining than typing. Sorry. I do intend to post pics from our trip and Halloween (our costumes where AWESOME) when I finally get 'round to uploading them.
Mostly right now I want to address current events. For the second consecutive time in a presidential campaign, I cried on election night. Four years ago I cried tears of despair, anger, and frustration-I lamented the simple fact that my baby would be five years old before we would throw off the shackles that I felt binding us. This past Tuesday I cried for very different reasons--it was like a shell had been built around me, a shell of mud, layer after layer sealing me in through the eight years of chaos and discord our nation has endured. And Tuesday night that shell cracked. Peices fell away, and I could see clearly that there really is a new path. The power felt that night, an uprising of voices held silent for so long, was overwhelming. Cars honking, people yelling as they drove, sharing celebration with strangers just because they could. That night there was a spontaneous gathering of thousands of people in the streets of Seattle, people who might never have met otherwise, needing to validate their own euphoria--being pulled together for joy and hope. Together. When was the last time we stood together? A time that didn't involve sorrow and disaster? A time that, purely and simply, made us glad to be who we are--made us proud.
I know there are those who do not share my sentiments, and to you I am sorry. I am sorry you can't see what the rest of the world sees, and am sorry you fear for yourself rather than reveling in the salvation of others. I hope that as the next four years pass, and the mood of our nation lifts, that you feel it and acknowledge the many reasons that mood sank so low to begin with. And I hope that our memories are long and that we give our country adequate time to heal before we decide we don't need fixing anymore.
And lastly, to those of you so engrossed the in Twilight series, I've spent considerable time in Port Angeles over the last 12 years. I've been into the bookstore she described as too "hippy" (it's mostly travel books, gifts and souvenieres with some comics-Troy lived in there when he was growing up), I've walked every downtown street--I've eaten in La Bella Italia. There is no area with warehouses and loading docks all in a row, no shiny boardwalk, no seedy bar right near the McDonald's. Apparently she got her info from map websites and the PA tourism board website. Kinda spoiled the illusion for me. And you wouldn't make a day trip from Forks to Seattle. It's a four-hour drive each way (with someone other than Edward driving). And while she is a good writer, very engaging and all (and I might be run out of town on a rail for saying this), upon finishing the first book I couldn't figure what the hoopla was about. I enjoyed it, but didn't feel my life had been changed and honestly, the only reason I read it in two days was because I kept trying to get to where the plot started. Not to be dismissive I did go out and get New Moon--I'm not very far into it but can see it's already more intriguing, so maybe the plotlines will improve now that characters are established.
And may I suggest to those of you drawn to the alllure of the vampire, pick up the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris. Fun, intense, and they get to have sex (I'm not LDS, I didn't buy Edward being able to hold back). Her writing is not as pretty as Stephanie Meyers, but the characters are great and the story makes up for it.
Wow. What an all-over the place post. If I though I could put off doing laundry any longer, I'd tell you all about our adventure in Disneyland. Or Garrett's and my birthday party. Or how horribley morning-sick I've been ;).

Playing catch-up

There are so many things I am trying to prepare for, I cannot decide which to work on first--so I begin organizing the house to make costume-making easier, then abandon that in favor of the costume-making which causes the house to be more disorganized. Add that to the tremendous amount of food prep I do daily, and the standard laundry/dishes/sweeping cycle, plus Garrett's new gymnastics and sports classes, plus trying to finish my doula certification packet before the next board meeting, plus continuing to do doula work, and I can't seem to fit any more hours into the day which doesn't help my plight at all.
I am not a super-mom. I am not a do-everything look-perfect person. I do not harbor any desire to keep myself constantly busy. I ENJOY leisure time. So this is make me a little whack-oh. I should explain why all these things need doing, like, right now: we are leaving for CA on Wed and will be gone for 9 days. I will be bringing my mother back with me, and would like the house clean and nice for her. We will be trick-or-treating at California Adventure (did I mention we're going to Disneyland, hooray!), so costumes must be done way early. I am making Morgan's and my costumes from scratch (like with patterns and everything), and they will be awesome if they are ever done. When we get home we will have 6 days to prepare for our birthday/Halloween party (which reminds me, I need to invite people to that), plus actually celebrate our birthdays, plus work on some house projects as Troy is off that week.
Oh, and I haven't had a chance to blog about it, but we've taken the kids off gluten (to clear up a bizarre mystery rash they both get), and limited their dairy intake. So I must make even MORE things from scratch now (for anyone who is unaware, I've gone mega-granola in the last few years-the only prepared foods we still buy are crackers and cereal), meaning homemade crackers and granola (no pun) plus new and more complicated recipes for baked goods (I want to cry at having to abandon my killer whole-wheat buttermilk pancake recipe). I love making food, and I love that my kids eating only good things that I have complete control of it terms of quality and ingredients. But my kitchen is always a mess (if I haven't JUST cleaned it) and I don't have much counter space. But it's fun most of the time, like this morning when Garrett was helping me juice carrots and cauliflower, parsley, kale, cucumber and yellow squash (the last we grew ourselves!). Sounds fantastic, don't it? It's a chugging sort of beverage.
So anyway, here's the end result of all this craziness: it's easy to find most things in my house, because they have a designated place and get returned there. There are exceptions (has anyone scene my glasses?). We will look awesome for Halloween, and will have a really cool party to celebrate with our friends. We get to see my family, and visit the Magic Kingdom. We will have tostadas for dinner with refried beans I make myself (super-yum!). Our house and yard will begin to actually look like the work we've done there has a purpose. We will continue to be healthy and happy, and my kids will no longer have blisters (from the gluten). Garrett has experienced a life-changing transformation, as the removal of gluten from his diet (along with a more rigid eating schedule-every two hrs-an increase in protein, fish oil, and Cinnamon and addition of magnesium supplements) has made such a marked improvement on his ability to control himself and regulate his behavior. Not that he's been a complete wild-child (for those who haven't met him), but he has a history of what I call "the crazies"-where he will suddenly just lose all sense of judgment and impulse control. When it happens you can see in his eyes that he doesn't like it, but he can't stop it-and I become the mom chasing her kid constantly scolding "Not stop that, don't do that, put that down, let go of that," a chant I'm sure you've all encountered in a crowded shopping mall or playground. What's always been so frustrating is that Garrett is by nature very sweet, gentle, and remarkably smart-but those qualities do not show when he succumbs to the crazies. It's taken a year of diet modifications and supplement experimentation, but we seem to have finally cracked it--and oh, is he a happier child. And oh, are we happier parents.
So while I'm running my hind-end off trying to complete my to-dos, I wanted to take a minute (or ten) to remind myself what it's all for, and that we are so thankful for what we have and who we are. We have so many opportunities to be joyful--I just need to slow down and enjoy my joy.

Fun with sleepy children.

Troy went in to check on the kids last night after they had been in bed awhile. Garrett was having a tough time settling down due to a dream he had about evil pumpkins the night before (he loves Nightmare Before Christmas). Garrett was apparently asleep, with his pillow over his head. When Troy moved it, the following exchange occurred:

G (very groggy): I was under that to hide from the scary ghosts.
T: There are no ghosts here now.
G: What about scary pumpkins?
T: No, no scary pumpkins either.
G: Oh, then what's the problem?!?!

And back to sleep.

This might not translate that well in text, but we thought it was freakin' hilarious.

The return of running water.

Hooray hooray, I say, for the return of running (or rather, draining) water! Seriously folks, we have not been able to use our main bathroom sink for TWO MONTHS. Two months. Ridiculous, right? Two months of hand-washing in the tub spigot, of tromping upstairs to brush our teeth (and holy god, finding my disgusting husband's toothbrush in front of the computer). Would you like to hear the tale of how it could possibly take two months to fix a sink? Of course you would.

Way-a-way back in July, in preparation for my sister's family's visit, I decided to finally tackle the slow-drain issue we had occurring in our main bathroom (we have three, but one is in the basement and the other is impossibly tiny and upstairs by the guest room). I am reasonably competent with plumbing matters, it isn't my favorite household task, but I do what needs to be done. So I set about disassembling the drain to clean out what I was sure was a nasty ole' hair clog. While what I encountered was indeed nasty, and hairy, it was not the cause of our blockage. And by the time I realized this, it was too late to delve any further prior to company coming, so we simply marked it out of order.

Now if you've been diligently reading this blog (and who hasn't?) then you know we've had a very busy summer and our poor sink just didn't rate high enough on the list of priorities to get much attention. We did eventually buy a manual auger (a long metal coiled cable with a screwy-lookin' thing on the end that you run down your pipe and then turn the crank to THEORETICALLY grab the clog and pull it out). Once again we met nasty emissions of sludge and slime and gunk, but still no drain. I can't even tell you how many times we dis-and re-assembled the drain-my fingers twinge thinking about it. And the auger-oh how I hate the auger! It twists and yanks, it's heavy, it fights with you and tries to climb back out, it sprays whatever it's collected ALL OVER if you wind it too tightly (I got it in the face last night), it leaves rust marks in coil patterns in the bottom of your tub, it is evil. And it didn't work. Couldn't move the clog.

This weekend was our last attempt. Last ditch effort. Final hoorang. Troy wanted to turn it over to a plumber weeks ago, but I persisted--why give some stranger hundreds of dollars to do a job we could do? We just needed time, and patience, and pants that sit too low. If this didn't work, we'd call in the big guns. It was a close call. In short, after cutting (yes CUTTING!) the pipe OFF with a reciprocating saw, running many manner of objects into and through the whole drainage system, being splattered with MORE yummy disgusting-ness, and finally ramming an extendable broom handle up the d$&% thing to break through the still immovable clog, then reassembling the whole system with the help of some really handle flexible couplings (nifty doo-dads that hold to ends of pipe together with a thick rubber tube and hose-clamps), WE HAVE DRAINAGE!!! WE HAVE REJOINED THE MODERN ERA OF INDOOR PLUMBING! HOORAY!

And let me say how cool I felt walking into McClendon's Hardware, by myself (which usually elicits odd questioning looks from old men and LOTS of "can I help you find something?" from employees), in my ratty best project clothes, covered in stains, smelling of decades old plumbing rot, and heading straight for the pipe department to get another coupling. Not one person asked if I needed assistance. Not one old man questioned my presence. Today, I was one of them.

Still not sure how I feel about that. But if it means I can use my bathroom sink, it must be good. Very, very good.

Babies are stealing my summer.

Our weather has finally decided to warm up and be sunny--for the whole two weeks we have left before fall falls upon us. We have been frantically attempting to take advantage of it, as we still have mountains of things to finish and not much time left for finishing. It has not helped our scheduling that my last client decided to labor for 41 hours (no, I am not exaggerating, though I wasn't there the whole time, only the last 37 hours of it) or that exactly one week later I was called in to help out my partner who had two clients break their water the same day. So it the course of eight nights I spent 3 of them not sleeping. And hello, I should really get some sort of prize for heading home after last weekend's birth long enough to shower and change then head back out for an advanced doula training (I was over an hour late, but none of the other doulas held it against me ;) ). I then insisted Troy and the kids meet me that afternoon at our birth center's annual alumni picnic, at which I spent most of the time laying on a blanket on the ground. Again, it's a pretty understanding crowd--my midwife had also been up all night at a birth. She apologized to Troy for my being, "hooked on birth" and suggested he get together with her husband to complain about us.
The unfortunate side of this whole doula biz is that while, in general, birth is wonderful and fantastic and I arrive home exhausted but buzzing from the energy and joy of it, sometimes it doesn't go right and it leaves a deep emotional dent in me. This last birth went that way--due to a medical "oops" (read: neglect and ignorance) the client had to be delivered by c-sect. This is a young, single girl who had wanted beyond anything to have a gentle, interference free out-of-hospital birth and was only in the hospital because her midwife felt she needed a little help getting into labor (I won't get all technical, it's a standard protocal sort of situation). This girl had prepared herself fantastically well despite the fact that she had no one helping her, and all control was taken from her. And there wasn't anything I could do to help her out of that situation, I could merely try to help her through it. So I've been pretty frustrated and sad this week, which is really too bad as it eventually affects the kids-but they are troopers and love being able cheer me up. And Troy is at his best when I am at my worst, so I know I always have a pillar to hold me up. It amazes me how intuitively supportive he is, and how much he has picked up about pregnancy and birth from listening when I don't think he is. I start to lauch into an explanation of a certain procedure or term, and he'll jump in and finish it often surprising the pants off me. And I'm pretty sure by now he'd make a great lactation consultant (I actually overheard him discussing breastfeeding with a friend of his).
I am glad for the exposure to birth the kids are getting-they are growing up knowing that it is a healthy, normal process, difficult but gratifying. They love watching the videos of their own births (G calls them the "being born" movies) and marveling over how they once were such tiny, squirmy creatures. G asks lots of question when I get home from a birth, wanting to know how big the baby is and what I did that helped the mommy. I have to pat myself in the back for assuming that someday he's going to be a great support for whomever he becomes a parent with.