Lessons from daniel

Last Monday marked the two-year anniversary of my second miscarriage. A dear friend, who was right beside me during that dark time, stopped by with flowers. More specifically, she brought me an enormous hanging basket of fuchsias, one of my favorites. I confess, until I opened the front door and saw Erica there, I had forgotten what day it was. While I felt a bit guilty at first, I realized it signified something I am deeply grateful for: I am healing.

I decided to re-pot the fuchsia into a large terracotta planter, so it wouldn't be battered by the wind that blows hard against our north-facing front porch. I was initially heartsick by how roughed-up it got, how many delicate pink-and-purple blossoms and even branches broke off in the transition. I admit I even cried when I gathered them all up. The branches that were left seemed to stick out at odd angles and the plant just didn't look as lush and happy. Erica assured me fuchsias are hardy, that new branches would grow back, and over the next few days as I watered it faithfully, new buds and leaves did indeed appear.

Then, yesterday afternoon, I found out someone very close to me had suffered a miscarriage. My heart aches for her, because I know. I know. I haven't had the chance to talk to her yet, but thinking about what I would say--and more specifically what I would not say--got me thinking about what I have learned from my miscarriages.

If you have experienced miscarriage or stillbirth, or if you know someone who has, I hope these words may be helpful navigating through the grief, or comforting someone who is trying to do so.

1. There is no "good time" to lose a baby. My first miscarriage was at almost eight weeks and my second at nineteen. I grieved for each baby differently, but each was equally precious to me. The first one wasn't "easier" just because I didn't know the gender, or because I hadn't felt it move yet. In some ways, that was almost harder--because I felt like I didn't even know this dear little person who left me far too soon.

2.  People are going to be insensitive. I was surprised that some of the worst offenders were loved ones and people from church--those I expected would be more compassionate and sensitive. People I hardly knew offered to lend me books on grief. Books on weight loss. Folks who had heard I was pregnant, but not that I had lost the baby, congratulated me. Women who had miscarriages of their own took it as an open invitation to regale me with their stories--which I might have been ready for later, but at the time I was lost in my own sad story. I was told all kinds of things, some of them outright lies and others that were painfully true. I must not be a good enough mother to get another baby, God must be trying to teach me something I hadn't learned yet, my tribulation would help me have greater empathy for people I knew who had miscarried. That last one? True, but oh, the timing! No grieving mother needs to hear how her loss will help her to be more understanding to others; that realization comes with time and healing. In spite of having my feelings wounded even more deeply, I found relief in letting go. And I learned to say, "I'm sorry, but that's not helpful to me right now."

3. People are going to be amazingly sensitive, generous, and kind. I was the grateful and humbled recipient of meals, flowers, phone calls, gifts, emails, childcare, and Erica--the one with the fuchsias--came to the hospital with a tiny blanket she had made for me to wrap my baby in. I was surprised that sometimes the ones who had at first been insensitive later did things that touched me deeply. What meant the most were those who came to just sit with me in my grief: right after I got home from the ultrasound, at the doctor appointment the next day, in the hospital while I waited to go into labor, and in the weeks and months after. Sometimes I didn't want to talk, sometimes I did--and I appreciated so much those who were there to bear the burden with me in whatever way I needed at that moment. I learned to accept offers of help, and even to reach out and ask for what I needed.

4. Name the baby. A friend called me after my first miscarriage and gently asked if I would be interested in a book she had heard about, Naming the Child: Hope-filled Reflections on Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Infant Death, by Jenny Schroedel. She sent me a link so I could check out the description, and later gave the book to me. I found that choosing meaningful names for my babies helped me feel more connected to them, which in turn gave me some desperately needed closure about losing them.

5. Women and men grieve differently. My husband was not devastated the way I was at the loss of either baby. Rather than being resentful, I was grateful because he was stronger than me and I could lean on him. I learned to ask specifically for what I needed to work through my own grief, and I did my best to ask Jim about his own feelings and respect his needs. My biggest mistake was holding back my grief instead of sharing it with him as fully as I needed to. Months after my miscarriage, I was worried he wouldn't understand why I was still hurting or would think I just needed to get over it, so for a long time I didn't share my feelings with him--which was unfair to both him and me. Once I opened up, I was able to move forward with healing inside.

6. Healing takes time. Lots and lots of time. With both miscarriages, I reached a certain point where I told myself, "You should be over this by now. Move on." Later,  I came to realize that getting on with the day-to-day business of my life--caring for myself, my family, my home and my other obligations--could happen while I was still grieving. I tried hard to be open with my kids about what I was going through so that they would know it was okay to talk about their own feelings of sadness. I took small steps at re-entering society: shopping at the grocery store, taking my kids to the park, going to the library. Sometimes I found I was doing too much too soon; I wasn't ready to see my pregnant friends and all the babies at church, so I stayed home on Sundays. For weeks. I didn't put a statute of limitations on my sadness, and I found that letting it take as long as it needed to allowed me to grieve more fully and ultimately, to heal more fully.

Summer time (and the livin' is easy)

It's finally summer break. And a good thing, too, because Joseph is teething and I've had a hard time getting up early to get school going. Over the past two weeks, he's been cutting four new top front teeth. When I ran my finger along his gums to massage them, I found a lump on the bottom, so it appears there's a fifth tooth on its way in another month (give or take).

What this means is those easy nights of one or two feedings that I'd finally gotten used to are over (the only constant is change, right?) Starting Monday, we had three straight nights of misery. Joe would wake me up between 3-5 times a night crying inconsolably (Baby Orajel has its limits, and I'm not into using homeopathic teething tablets since they apparently contain belladonna--who knew?) So I cuddled Joe up in bed between me and Jim, and every time he'd cry, I'd just roll over groggily and nurse him till he fell asleep. Not ideal, but better than the alternative.

Now that those four teeth have all cut through, the fussiness is starting to subside. Joe only woke up once last night, so everyone is feeling a lot more chipper this morning. Now I can actually get something done with my mornings!

Tightwad tips: summer reads on the cheap

 

With one day of school left, I'm starting to think about what books I might want to pack along for trips, or for just laying out on a blanket in the back yard while the kids play in the wading pool. I've been curling up with the Kindle right before bed (still only part way through Death Comes to Pemberley, by P.D. James), but I'm looking forward to having more time to read for pleasure.

As stated in a previous post, the cheapest place to find a good read is the public library. Some libraries even offer books and magazines left to swap by other patrons. However, if you must purchase a book---because the library doesn't have what you want, or they are charging for inter-library loan (as ours just started to do), or you need to add a favorite to your personal library--used bookstores are an inexpensive alternative.

Our small town does have a couple used bookstores, but finding what I want is a hit-or-miss proposition. Sometimes I've been able to get store credit for my old books; the amount varies depending on the resale value of what I bring in.

That said, I buy most of my used books online, and most of those at Half.com. What I love about Half.com is anyone selling an item (they also sell movies and music) lists the condition and the price they are offering, and buyers can choose the price and/or condition that suits them. One of my favorite sellers is Green Earth Books, which carries a substantial catalog, many of them for 75¢.

Audrey recently discovered the Mr. Putter and Tabby series by Cynthia Rylant, and after multiple re-readings of the half-dozen on the shelves at the library, I bought her a bunch of the ones she hadn't read, all for 75¢ each plus shipping. 

Oh, and I picked up the third volume of The Tightwad Gazette (also for 75¢) to round out my collection--for research, you understand.

Messy

A shout out to my dear friend and fellow poet, Elizabeth Maurer. She bravely invited me and the kids over for a playdate yesterday with her, her dog Max, and their trampoline. Later, she challenged me to write a poem about it and while I initially demurred, some phrases kept bouncing around in my head, trying to get out. 

So Lizzy, it's rough and yes, messy, but this one's for you.

Messy

Being a mother is messy

in ways having nothing to do

with blood, amniotic fluid

snot, urine, vomit

pureed carrots, mashed bananas

mud, grass stains

or crayon on a white wall.

A visit to a childless friend unravels

when three children (mine)

mix with overly friendly dog (hers)

and fancy landscaping (also hers).

The boundaries of whose mother I am blur

when my friend needs me

as much as my son

after he falls off her deck

and scrapes his back and elbows

on the volcanic rocks in her flowerbeds.

How can I explain to her

that next time may still be messy

even if dogs and children

are kept apart?

That being a parent is not just about preventing chaos

by compartmentalizing variables

but accepting it will still be unavoidable

when large minds housed in small bodies

learn the limits of their world

and their wills?

She cannot know

until it happens to her

how a woman’s hands leave the wheel

the instant she conceives

and never return.

I can hope, though

she will open herself, get her hands messy

and find the art of nurture can be learned

only in facing the fear

that what we have to offer 
will never be enough—

that giving up control

before the unthinkable even happens

is what prepares us

to be the calm eye

in the storm.

Eight months

Here today, flan tomorrow

For the past year and a half, we've been using La Clase Divertida for our Spanish curriculum. Due to state budget cuts, CVA won't be offering it as approved curriculum next year, and I confess I'm a little sad to see our time with Señor and Señora Gamache come to an end. Despite the low-budget video production values, Jimmy and Audrey both look forward to watching each lesson and then doing the activities that go along with it--especially the cooking lessons.

This year we made torrijas (a sort of Spanish "french toast", and a huge hit with everyone), paella (not as much of a hit, so I ate the leftovers for lunch for about a week), and finally, flan. I have to say, the flan was actually the easiest to make, and the video instructions were quite helpful, since the written recipe in the teacher's manual was sketchy at best.

Jimmy and I made the flan yesterday afternoon--cooking while sharing our most flan-tastic puns with each other--then let it sit in the fridge overnight to set up. After lunch today, everyone had a slice and it was wonderfully rich and creamy. Just one more reason to love homeschool.

Keyed up

Jimmy's first recital was Monday evening. He played well, considering how nervous he was. And the choice of music was well-suited to his personality, I think.

Bio lab

Since last year we've been trying to observe protozoa for Jimmy's science classes. Two different orders of grow-it-yourself samples from a homeschool science company yielded no results. Last November I threw in the towel and decided to wait for warmer weather, hoping it would help the little critters to proliferate.

Fast forward to this spring, when I got smart and realized I could get protozoa locally at a convenient pond. After one failed attempt to find some on our own, Jim asked a colleague from the storm water department at work if he could recommend a good place to look. His buddy came through with a great spot to sample pond water, and this afternoon we got an eyeful of amoebae and paramecia. Apparently the key is to look for warmer, still water, rather than anything that is cool and moving. Good to know.

Tightwad tuesday: hard water, clean dishes

I've been using my homemade laundry soap for over a year now and I love it. I love how I'm still on the same box of Borax and the same box of washing soda because the stuff is so darn inexpensive and a little goes a long, long way. Jim was a skeptic at first, but quickly became a convert. Recently he said, "Say, do you think you could find a recipe for dishwasher detergent, too?"

Right around that time I discovered Pinterest (which is a whole other post) and one of the first things I pinned was a recipe for dishwasher detergent. It did a great job getting the dishes clean, but I was less than thrilled that my glasses were left cloudy. In multiple test batches, I tried adding different ratios of Kosher salt, Kool-Aid and Fruit Fresh, as well as adding white vinegar as a rinse agent at various points in the wash cycle, but nothing seemed to make any difference.

So after several months of cloudy glassware (and a brief return to expensive store-bought detergent) I googled "DIY dishwasher detergent hard water". I found this recipe, which is essentially the same as what I had tried before, except it uses Lemi Shine instead of Fruit Fresh or Kool-Aid. Works like a charm--and the glass stays sparkly.


DIY Dishwasher Detergent for Hard Water

1 cup washing soda
1 cup Mule Team Borax
¼ cup Kosher salt
1 cup Lemi Shine

Mix all ingredients in a mixing bowl, then whisk to break up lumps and combine thoroughly. Store in an airtight container with a small silica packet, as even in an arid climate ANY moisture will cause this harden into large clumps (I like to use the little silica packs that come in shoe boxes, and an old peanut butter jar for storage). Use one tablespoon in each soap compartment (1 T for a light load, 2 T for pans and really greasy dishes). Add white vinegar to your rinse agent dispenser as a low-cost alternative to Jet Dry.

Seven months