Zook Book Nook

My Bucket List

2012-01-22T20:29:00.000-08:00

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,

And Eternity in an hour.

By William Blake

My Bucket List of 10 Things I Want to See Happen Before I Die

My three daughters become women.
The elimination of cancer-causing carcinogens.
Reforestation of barren lands across the globe.
Me keep a clean house for more than three days in a row.
A woman elected president of the United States.
An end to human trafficking.
Me lose the remaining 30 lbs. of the 60 I gained during my last pregnancy.
My husband and I growing old together.
The legalization of marriage between any two adults.
A home established for every homeless child.

Thanks to Stasha and her Monday Listicles for getting me back in my blogging saddle.
Thanks to Two Normal Moms for this week's timely topic.

Lifted

2012-01-18T11:55:00.000-08:00

We are lifted, in the small and big moments of life, by loved ones, strangers, even angels...

My husband lifted our 4 and 2 year old daughters into his arms on October 28th, 2011 after a seven month deployment.
I lifted my newborn girl into my arms for the first time on November 23rd, 2011.
An angel lifted my father to heaven on January 2nd, 2012.

And now, I have finally found the courage to sit in my writing chair and lift my fingers to begin writing this story...

My dad came to visit us in August. He taught my daughters how to play Candyland and Scrabble. He covered them with sand at the beach. He played "Tutti Frutti" (his version of Hide 'n Seek) with my daughters. I sat back, resting for the first time during the deployment, and felt my third daughter kicking inside of me, anxious to join in on the fun.

I imagined my daughters in the years to come, learning from my dad the way I learned from my grandfather.

But in the space of only three months an aggressive cancer took over my dad's body and an angel lifted him up to heaven.

I miss you, Dad.

You were lifted, Dad, up to heaven so shortly after my daughter's spirit was carried down to earth.

Our third daughter entered the world on a high note, literally.

Before the doctors could pull her entire body out, she pitched her first newborn cry and tears flooded my face.

"Tears of joy, right Mama?" my 4 year old daughter asks as I tell the story.

"Yes, Sweetie. Tears of joy."

I counted the days, and then the hours until my baby was old enough to fly to see my father.

He got to meet his fifth granddaughter. He even got to hold her for the first and last time.

My newborn baby girl is magical. One moment she looks like her oldest sister and then in the next moment she morphs into looking like her other sister. She is peaceful. She is gentle. And she is at the beginning of life.

I sat beside my father, holding my newborn girl, watching them both sleep.

They snored.
They had basic needs of food and sleep.
They cried.
They breathed.
They opened their eyes and listened.
They were at the ends of life, rather than in the middle of it like me.
One at the beginning.
One at the end.

Unlike my daughter's introduction to our world in a sterile, cold operating room, my father's departure of our world was in the warmth of his home, surrounded by my mom, my two sisters, my newborn girl and me.

We held his hands.
We touched his arms and legs.
And we wept as his spirit soared out of his body with his final breath and up into heaven.

The birth of my third daughter and the death of my father have altered me in many ways.
My heart expands and overflows with love, and yet it is clinched like a fist in pain and sorrow.
My mind tries to function to meet the needs of my three daughters, and yet it is foggy and spins on memories of the final moments of being with my dad.

My dad.
Who did calculus problems with me on napkins in restaurants.
Who coached my soccer, softball, and basketball teams.
Who took me on a walk when I got my period for the first time and told me how proud he was of the young woman I was becoming.
Who got on the floor and played with my daughters.
Who read to my high spirited daughter until she fell asleep on him.
Who held our hands and told us he loved us and he was ready to go.

I love you, Dad. I like to think you are reading over my shoulder right now as you used to do when I was typing an email and you came in to the room to talk with me.

I love you, Dad. Thank you for the amazing gift you gave me: a life full of love, joy, and endless possibilities.

I love you, Dad.

I believe the angel you saw was with you.
I believe you are with me now.
I believe one day I will see you again.

Thank You

2011-12-11T16:39:00.000-08:00

My newborn daughter is nestled on top of my chest as I type these words.
Her faint, cool, sweet breath eases in and out.
Her little hands rest under her chin.
I can't stop kissing her.
I am so happy!

And so I finally find myself able to write again with both hands, neither one going numb or in pain after only a minute of writing. My heart and mind are not into writing these days as they are completely enveloped in my family, the moments of being surrounded by love and giggles and kisses from all three of my daughters and husband.

But, for my dear daughter, I sit in my chair to write her birth story for some day she will see the video and hear stories, but I want her to also read these words to know how amazing her birth was and how miraculous her life is.

We were blessed with a healthy baby girl this late November. And while I sat in the cold, sterile operating room, waiting for the initial steps of the prep my mind went to the beautiful posts written for my blog. Before I left for the hospital I had the joy of reading them, and it meant the world to me to have so many wonderful words written to welcome my baby girl into the world.

So I'd like to thank each and every woman who wrote for my blog.

Thank you Stasha for sharing the beauty of life around the world and how it connects us all.

Thank you Kate for helping me to understand life with three and how each life is precious and unique.

Thank you Germaine for creating the sense of smell, the Parfum La Bebe, despite being done on the computer and in so doing, bringing life to the sterile operating room.

Thank you Abby and Angie for making my heart swell in anticipation for the first sound of my newborn baby crying; she actually cried before they had her entire body out of me!

Thank you Alison for such an incredibly written post that brought tears to my eyes; you shared with us an intimate moment in your life that all of us mothers understand and feel in each beat of the heart.

And I've enjoyed reading the comments left on everyone's post during the "birth week," so thank you for stopping by my blog and sharing your thoughts about the posts!

And now my mind is starting to turn its wheels and my fingers are starting to hum... I will begin to craft in words the birth of my baby girl, soon to be shared here on my blog!

A Newborn Series: Scent of a Newborn

2011-12-02T01:09:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to imagine the initial days with my newborn daughter, and I recall memories of my first two girls. They slept all day and lived to breastfeed at night. In the darkness of my room, I took in their scents, their sounds, the touch of their fingers... I am so excited to experience this again.

So as the final day of this series on newborns I welcome Alison of Mama Wants This!

As many of you know, Alison of Mama Wants This is a blogger with so much heart and soul. She truly gets it and writes about it. Her blog brings tears of joy to my face as well as tears from laughter. She is a gifted writer and thinker and inspires me as a woman and a mother.

So thank you Alison for writing a guest post for my blog today!

Scent of a Newborn

By Alison of Mama Wants This

The metallic smell of blood, when he was born.

My blood. Severe postpartum blood loss. Plummeting blood pressure. Midwives, calm but urgent. Drips, needles, drugs, quiet conversation, to save my life.

The familiar smell of tea and toast, my first meal in 30 hours.

Ravenous, I ate while my newborn slept peacefully, his father snapping pictures.

The assuring scent of lavender soap, my first shower after he was born.

Blood still streaming down my leg. My husband gently soaping me off. Washing my hair. Hot water pounding down on my tired body. A midwife keeping an eye on our 2-hour old son.

The distinct smell of a hospital, as I was finally wheeled from the delivery room to the maternity ward, 4 hours after our firstborn came wailing into the world.

A comfortable double bed. My things in my still unpacked diaper bag. My eyes are drooping, fatigue is taking over, but I'm desperate to hold my child, I need to nurse him.

The unfamiliar but gorgeous smell of his newborn skin, as he latched on and nursed.

I looked down at my son, my beautiful child. His eyes closed, his mouth making quiet sucking sounds, his cheeks full, his head full of black hair, his little fingers clutching mine, his tiny feet, oh-so-small.

This - this is the scent, the sight, the sounds I've been waiting for as a new mother. Finally.

A Newborn Series: Sound

2011-12-01T01:11:00.000-08:00

No matter where I am or what I am doing, the sound of a newborn's cry stirs up an instinctual awareness inside of me that is unique and unlike any other stimulus. As the surgeons in the past operated on me in the OR I felt no pain but discomfort as clamps were used to pull layers apart. I felt no pain as the weight of my babies was tugged and pulled from me, just a strong pressure and then a release. And that is when it came: the sound of my newborn babies crying.

I look forward to the initial cry of my third daughter. I know I will start crying at the sound of her voice.

Sound is strong. It unites a common thread among us humans, no matter the language.

During my short time as a blogger I have come across two bloggers who speak a language that truly touches the depth of my heart. Abby of Abby Off the Record and Angie of Angie Mizzell have a way with words that makes it seem as if I am hearing them speak when I read their blogs.

So it is an honor today to have both of them here, together, as guests on my blog!

A Newborn Sound

Hi, Zook Book Nook readers! We’re Abby from AbbyOfftheRecord.com and Angie from AngieMizzell.com. We’re both writers and bloggers living 600 miles apart, and we bonded when we realized we were both living what seemed like parallel lives, raising two little boys. While Kim is off welcoming her new daughter into the world, we’re here to share our thoughts on…

The first sound my baby made…

Abby: You know how in almost every birth scene in almost every movie or TV show, the pregnant woman suddenly goes into labor, grunts and pushes a couple times, and out comes the baby before the next commercial break? And after that, the doctor always announces, “It’s a girl!” or “It’s a boy!” and on cue, the baby lets out a wail. Well, that didn’t happen to me.

What happened was, after way too many hours of labor and way too many medical personnel in my (very) personal space, my baby was born and I heard…nothing. The doctor whisked the baby away to get cleaned up, leaving us calling after him, “Um, hello? What did we have?”

“Oh,” said the doctor, startled. “It’s a boy. See?” And he held out the evidence to prove it. I don’t even remember the baby crying. I felt robbed of my Hollywood baby moment! Oh, well, he more than made up for it later.

Angie:

With both my boys, I was sufficiently numb (I’m pro epidural). I pushed for two hours with my first; the second popped out in five minutes. In both cases, I didn’t hear anything at first, either! I can only remember hearing everyone else making noise as the babies came out: the doctor, my husband, the nurse. With my first, I remember making eye contact and crying. With my second, I laughed and kept saying “Hi there! Hi, little guy!” But he wasn’t little at all. He was huge!

The funniest sound my baby made…

Abby: Everyone knows babies are supposed to coo. Everyone, apparently, except my baby. When my firstborn was very young, we took him to a museum with his grandparents. All throughout the exhibits, the baby kept letting out these growls and shouts that literally made people jump. I think he liked the way his voice echoed throughout the marble galleries. Everyone laughed when they saw the tiny source of all that racket. Even so, we were mortified.

Angie: It’s very alarming the first time you hear a newborn, um, take care of business. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

The scariest sound my baby made…

Abby: I wish someone had warned me about all those choking, gurgling noises newborns make. Those first few nights home from the hospital, I kept bolting upright in bed, flipping on the light and lunging for that bulb-suction thingy, convinced the baby was choking. I’m sure this gave my husband more than a few heart attacks.

Angie: Amen to that! But it wasn’t as scary with my second. I believe it was because he was a bigger baby and didn’t have reflux like my first. At night, when he slept, so did I. Which makes for a much saner Mommy.

The thing I didn’t realize was…

Abby: Babies are pretty noisy, even when they’re not crying. From the diaper explosions, as Angie pointed out, to all the gurgling and slurping and lip-smacking, they make lots of sounds! At some point, I decided that having the baby sleep in another room and turning the monitor to “voice-activated” only made for a much more restful night’s sleep for both of us.

Angie: Just because the baby is calm and easygoing (and very quiet) during the first two weeks doesn’t mean he or she will stay that way. This does not mean “he’s a good baby,” as all my relatives kept saying. It means the baby is still exhausted from birth! Just wait until they transition from “just emerged from the womb” to “Hello, world! Do you hear me?”

I also didn’t realize how the sound of my baby breathing on me when he was asleep on my shoulder would melt me into a puddle of goo. It’s the sweetest sound in the world.

A Newborn Series: Smell

2011-11-29T20:33:00.000-08:00

My first two daughters were born in the up most sterile environments possible: the surgical room.

Prior to becoming a mother, I imagined warm scents of candles and fresh scents of flowers in a cocoon of a hospital room where I would give birth naturally. Instead, on the their birth days I inhaled the bleach of a freshly scrubbed floor, the rubbery plastic of latex gloves, and the disinfectant soup that cloaked my body from the hospital shower.

Today is my due date; however, I write this in advance of this important day as I prepare myself for a third c-section. Despite the non-welcoming smells of the operating room, I anticipate the most incredible smell of life: that of my newborn baby held against my chest for the first time.

It is an honor today on this special day to host my blogging friend Germaine of Kiddothings here on my blog as she took on the challenge of the sense of smell for this newborn series, and what an amazing job she did with it!

Thank you Germaine for making my due date easier for me as I will be thinking of this post and all of the wonders of newborn smells as I welcome my baby girl into the world!

Parfum Le Bebe

By Germaine of Kiddothings

Today is Kim’s due date. She is going to be a new mother again the third time around. And to celebrate Motherhood for the third time, she’s starting a Newborn Series this week. I am so honoured to be here today to help her welcome her little one into our world.

Since it’s also Picnesday today, Kim is co-hosting Picnesday with me. To those who have dropped by from my blog, thank you and stay a while to get to know Kim and Zook Book Nook. She’s a wonderful writer and a very supportive bloggy friend.

As I write this, I’m reminded of the early days when my kids were newborns. As I sifted through my picture archives to do this post, I felt a tug at my heartstrings. I felt my eyes sting with tears. For I miss my babies. And today, I’m given the opportunity by Kim to also celebrate my ‘newborns’. Kim has asked me to do a take on ‘Newborn Smell’.

So here, I am going to share with you what goes into making Parfum Le Bebe - a perfume that makes a mother fall in love with her baby instantly.

A whiff of soft baby fuzz

The peacefulness of a baby sleeping

The tenderness of a baby’s grip

The wonder in a baby’s gaze

The sweetness of a baby’s first smile

Having your baby lay down on your chest,

feeling his heart beat against yours

Taking in that magical feeling of being so close to a miracle that is

Your baby.

And that my friends is Parfum Le Bebe,

The Scent of Life.

Thank you Germaine!

I have tears in my eyes as I read this and look at these breathtaking photos again! My world will soon be full of the Scent of Life!

A Newborn Series: Touch

2011-11-29T01:10:00.000-08:00

The touch of a newborn rekindles the essence of life in all of us. Something about the softness of a newborn's cheek, the fineness of baby hair under our chin, the silken warmth of a newborn's naked body laying on top of our chest... touch is deep.

Kate of On-The-Go Momma and Mothers Central Blog reminded me of touch and its importance from the moment I first began reading her blogs. Her experiences as a mother are so insightful that I often would return two, sometimes three, times to her blog to read the same post. She reminds me that touch of a newborn is just the beginning of a lifetime of touch we experience with our children.

It fills my heart with joy to have Kate here on my blog today! Thank you Kate!!

When the Newness Wears Off…

By Kate Fineske

With my firstborn daughter, I vividly remember:

the sleepless nights (and days)
the endless cries (that I would wake to with worry)
and having an extreme sense of inadequacy because…

As a new mom I was constantly second guessing every. single. decision. I made.

And I struggled.

I struggled for just a little more sleep - that I thought would never come.

I mourned the remembrance of past "me time" - that was too quickly becoming a foggy memory.

And Yes. OH, HOW I WISHED for this time to pass. For more sleep. For less crying. For that feeling of inadequacy to be gone.

Yet even in my darkest hour, through my tears of sleep deprived, hormonal, frustrations - the one thing that could eventually help to sooth my frustrations (besides a good night's sleep!) was the memory of the time when my daughter was untouchable - snuggled safely inside my belly.

And this reminder would always make me smile.

Smile in amazement of how I could now touch her, and snuggle with her, and (attempt to) soothe her. And I would be reminded of just how wonderful it was to feel her tiny, breezy breaths as she laid peacefully in her crib (on occasion!) or against my shoulder (more often!).

When I allowed myself to remember where she had been, and where she was now… my hope began to return - the hope that eventually I would sleep again (right?), eventually I would leave the house again (right?).

Eventually…

And eventually time did passed, I did sleep again, and I could leave the house again.

And the newness wore off.

The days and weeks became months. The sleepless nights got better, the endless cries became more manageable, and I got used to the inadequacy. And then months became years, my newborn became a toddler (who yes! eventually was potty trained) and I began to adjust…

until…

Number two, my son, came into this world.

Followed by a return of sleepless nights, endless cries and more feelings (different feelings) of inadequacy. This time around, my feelings of inadequacy were amplified by my inability to fit in enough time with my oldest daughter.

I was scared we would lose our close mother/daughter connection. (As I fought to maintain my own sleep deprived sanity.)
I was worried that she would feel unloved. (During those times when her little brother was screaming, or sick, or needed to be nursed, or just had to be held.)

She no longer got 100% of my attention 100% of the time.

So to help fight these fears, my time with my oldest daughter became much more intentional - with mommy daughter dates, and reading rituals before bed. And it was during these times I would sneak in a snuggle, or a tickle, or a hug - to remind her that she was still loved.

And eventually…

Time did passed again.

Eventually, sleepless nights got better, the newborn cries became more manageable, and I got used to the inadequacy.

The newness wore off.

And, just as it had the last time, the days and weeks became months, months became years, my newborn became a toddler (who was finally potty trained!), my toddler became a child (beginning her first days of elementary school), and I started to adjust…

until…

Number three, my second son, came into this world.

For the most part, I could now handle the sleepless nights. I could now manage the newborn cries. I could now allow for intentional time with my two other children. I had been there. I had done that. We had all survived. I could do it again.

Until ONE night. (And it only takes one!)

One night, when my husband was working late. One cold, dreary wintery night when I felt as though I had been trapped in the house forever. One night when my newborn hadn't been sleeping too well, so in turn, one (of many) nights when I hadn't been sleeping so well either.

And I felt I JUST couldn't do it.

I just couldn't get my kids ready for bed - and it was already way past their bedtime.

I just couldn't read them a book (our nightly ritual) as the baby was screaming and needed to be nursed.

I was exhausted. I was run down. And I Just. Couldn't.

I left my two older children in their bedrooms - with a frustrated yell that THEY NEEDED TO GET IN PJ's and to bed - and I walked in defeat to the nursery with their youngest brother who needed to nurse and needed to sleep and only. needed. me.

I sat in the nursery with tears in my eyes. And dreamed of sleep.

Eventually my youngest finished nursing. Eventually he was quiet. Eventually I could leave him to check on the other two.

Eventually…

And what I found I will never forget: My two children - ages 3 1/2 and 7 - snuggled in their jammies, sitting together - legs dangling off the edge of my middle child's bottom bunk, both happy and content as my oldest daughter read a nighttime book to my middle son.

"Brown Bear, Brown Bear, what do you see." She said using all the correct tonal fluctuations.

As I watch them both from afar - so engrossed in the book - all I could remember was that 7 years ago it was my newborn daughter who I rocked and nursed asleep. And now, she had grown to this little girl, helping me (more then she will ever know) in my extreme time of need.

And I calmed. As I remembered her tiny breath when she used to lay peacefully against my shoulder (as my youngest just had been moments ago).

Time passes so quickly. The newness does eventually wear off.

But I will always remember her touch as a newborn.

A Newborn Series: Sight

2011-11-27T19:00:00.000-08:00

Not so long ago I experienced the awe and wonder of a miracle: the birth of my first daughter. For months I had prepared myself for a natural birth; however, I ended up with a scheduled c-section in a very cold, very sterile operating room. My disappointment over not being able to experience labor in the natural sense quickly vanished upon my daughter's arrival when my husband announced, after a full one minute stunned silence, "It's a girl! It's Ayla!" And I entered into the magical miraculous world of holding the hand of a new life.

Four and a half years later, my husband and I await the arrival of our third daughter. We are so excited, so eager to meet her. Like her sisters, our daughter will be born via cesarean due to her position, a transverse lie, and I have given up hope of ever experiencing labor and childbirth. This time, however, I have decided to create in my mind a warm, welcoming environment for her birth. To do so I have asked some incredible writers and bloggers to help me by writing guest posts for my blog about newborns and senses.

So to begin this series I welcome Northwest Mommy Stasha of The Good Life!

Stasha's blog, her photography, and her comments continue to amaze me. She makes me think about the natural wonders in life and how much I appreciate them. I am so grateful to host her here today on her famous Monday Listicle Day!

So please enjoy this first Newborn Sense today: the sense of sight!

Today I will share with you my passion- photography. Those magical moments captured for eternity by us. Images that can tell a story of a thousand words. Visual art.

We are here to celebrate a baby girl joining this world. I am sure I speak for all when I say we cannot wait to hear the happy news and see her photographs.

In the mean time let us bring the Listicles to the Kim's Book Nook . All I ask this week is to share 10 of your favorite photos. It does not matter if you took them, saw them or posed for them. If they are old or new. If you want to say something about them or not. Just share. Because when Kim returns I hope her screen is filled with happy images to say: here is our gift to you and your little miracle.

Make a list, check it twice, link it up. Read others. Have fun!

10 OF MY FAVORITE MOTHER AND BABY PHOTOS I FOUND ONLINE IN NOVEMBER

All images shared were pinned by Stasha on Pinterest
. Please visit the site to see individual sources of above photographs.

These Are The Days

2011-11-14T08:21:00.000-08:00

Less than 10 days to go until my little torpedo baby (see photo below) is born!

I type this post (it will be a short one) with only one finger.

This pregnancy has affected the nerves in my hands and arms so much that I can't use the mouse, type on the keyboard, or even eat with a fork or spoon without feeling pain and my hands and arms going numb.

So my hands are pretty much useless these days.

And since my husband came home from deployment I've unplugged from the Internet and have loved it! I love the time we've been spending together as a family, and there's been no desire in me to leave my girls and husband to come to the Internet.

However, as my baby's due date approaches, I wanted to share with you some wonderful news!

For the last week of November I will have a new series on my blog, called The Newborn Series. Each day one of my favorite writers/bloggers will share a guest post on my blog about one of the five senses and how it relates to newborns.

I asked these amazing women to write for me as a way to create a welcoming environment in my mind for the birth of my baby, because all three of my babies have been in transverse lie positions (laying across my belly and not vertical nor in my pelvis) and therefore have required c-sections. A c-section occurs in a sterile, very cold room, so opposite of the kind of environment I always envisioned giving birth in.

So I am incredibly grateful for these women who have written some wonderful posts that revel in newborn senses and create a warm, welcoming birth in my mind for my daughter!

So stay tuned...

Homecoming Moments

2011-10-30T15:26:00.000-07:00

My Top Ten Favorite Moments

First Kiss

Waving to the Ship

Handing out American Flags

Finally Home

Seeing the Ship

6
Waiting, 35 Weeks Pregnant, With my Two Daughters

7
Going to the Pumpkin Patch

8
Watching my Husband with our Daughters

Relaxing and Breathing Again

Doing Normal Things, Like IHOP for Breakfast

Wordless Wednesday: Homecoming

2011-10-25T20:29:00.000-07:00

Our Poster is Hung!

My Hubby's Paper Chain is Almost Complete!

We're Counting the Hours!!

New Mom Tips

2011-10-23T13:44:00.000-07:00

In one month my baby girl will arrive!

Her two older sisters are now almost 4 1/2 and 2 1/2, so one would think that I could recall the newborn stage with ease; that isn't quite so.

I get a flash of memories here and there, but I still find myself overwhelmed with questions. So I've been trying to grab hold of those short clips of memories in hopes that I'll remember more...

Ten Tips for New Moms (and Moms Who Can't Quite Recall All Those Details)

1. Hunching over for a few days after a c-section is normal, but to heal well get up on your feet AND stay on top of the Motrin.

2. Wiping away the yellow poop with a very wet wash cloth is much easier than wipes, and how diaper rash doesn't happen when I use water in place of wipes.

3. Patience for the initial days when a newborn's latch has the strength of iron jaws, desperately sucking for the milk to come in, or when a newborn's latch is still a work-in-progress until he or she finally gets the hang of it.

4. The c-section incision is kind of icky, so try to keep it clean AND dry despite the "Mother's Apron."

5. The second best thing to the nipple: my pinky finger, often useful when driving in the car with a baby who won't stop crying.

6. Phantom kicks may occur within the belly after the baby is born; this always makes me wonder if another baby is still secretly in there.

7. A touch of olive oil rubbed into cradle cap softens it, so it can come off if you wish for it to.

8. Layers! We learned with our first baby that she slept so much better dressed in layers at night.

9. Sometimes a baby will cry, no matter what you do and how you try to stop it. Our first baby was colicky for 13 months, crying all day and night due to built up gas we think (she never would burp or spit up or fart). We tried everything and it stressed us out the entire time. Now I wish I had just tried to relax more and felt like it was okay to hold a crying baby, soothing her, but being okay that she was crying.

10. Soak up the skin-on-skin time. I got so much of it with my first baby, but when my second arrived it was hard to connect in that way. Still I loved holding her close to my body as much as possible.

Thanks to Cookie's Chronicles for a great topic this week!

And thank you to Stasha for her wonderful Monday Listicles, the one thing I find myself looking forward to doing on my blog these days as I near the end of my pregnancy and the end of this deployment. I am happy to say that when I post the next Monday Listicles my husband will finally be back home!!!

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule Seven

2011-10-23T01:58:00.000-07:00

Rule #7

Sell dreams, not products

I've been racking my "pregnant" brain for how motherhood relates to this principle of Steve Jobs.
Yes, he understood that people think about themselves, their dreams, their needs, so he worked towards reaching them through that angle.

As a mother, I want my girls to dream and to achieve their dreams; however, I also need them to do practical things: pick up the toys, wipe the frosting off their chin, put their shoes on, make it to the bathroom in time...

Sometimes I feel like the moment-to-moment days are just a jumble of products being assembled and used and put back together rather than a collaborative effort made towards selling dreams.

Sure we get tidbits of dreams, the "you can do it" or "I believe in you" kind of thing, but perhaps my way of promoting dreams is through the hugs and kisses I give my girls, my expression of faith and belief in them.

My girls are definitely more than mere products, they are my biggest dream, a dream that every day unfolds itself in a new, awe-inspiring way.

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule Six

2011-10-22T01:57:00.000-07:00

Rule #6

Master the message

I've been baffled since becoming a mother why my skills as a teacher, communicating ideas in a classroom, haven't yet been channeled through to my communication skills as a mother.

When I taught biology I was an electric spark full of energy, riding a natural high, as I taught my students.

But I don't always have that abundance of energy with my daughters.
I wish I did, but I don't. I think if I did I might be able to inspire, educate, and entertain my daughters more.

Steve Jobs excelled at giving presentations that left people feeling informed yet inspired to achieve their dreams. I wonder if he was able to channel this same kind of energy as a father for his children?

I think in subtle ways I inspire my daughters to dream big, but I wish I had more energy and made more of an effort to create fun and fascinating activities for my daughters. I think they're getting the messages I send to them, but I know I could do better.

Why am I not as energetic as a mother as I was as a teacher?

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule Five

2011-10-21T01:56:00.000-07:00

Rule #5

Create insanely different experiences

Steve Jobs led an innovative life.
His footsteps on this world enriched the lives of many people.

When I seek out my blog as a break from motherhood and writing, I hope to enrich my mind and the minds of my readers in some way.

My blog has two purposes: (1) to give me a space to explore my thoughts and (2) to encourage thinking and discussion.

So my hope is that both my readers and I will find this a place that will enrich our lives in some tiny way.

(I'd hate to waste your time!)

I think that is why I find blogging as a way of art, an expression of what is inside of us, and that expression may come in the form of words, images, photos, and more.

When I express myself in my blog, I find the comments from my readers to be the truly enriching part of the experience for me, because my eyes are opened to new views and understandings.

How does your blog enrich the lives of others?
What is innovative about your blog, your writing, your walk in life?

P.S. As of today, I am now 34 years old! So I am thinking a lot about the footsteps I've taken and the footsteps I hope to take. I love the idea of creating insanely different experiences for myself and for others.

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule Four

2011-10-20T02:55:00.000-07:00

Rule #4

Say no to 1,000 things

We all get stretched thin at times.
We all get asked for a favor we can't say no to.
We all get overscheduled for too many activities.
We simply say yes when we should say no.

And if you're like me, you find it hard to say no.

Being pregnant with a deployed spouse has given me a little bit of courage and determination to say no, but I still have been trying to do too much with too little energy.

And that's when I realize whatever I am doing is without 100% effort of my heart and mind.

Steve Jobs not only said no to over 300 Apple products and yes to only 10 Apple products, but he also enhanced those 10 Apple products with the skills and energy, the heart and mind of many people.

As I contemplate unplugging from the Internet, I find myself wondering how much of my heart and mind is in the things I say yes to in my offline life.

I am guilty of blogging and being on Facebook when I could be playing with my children, working on writing a short story, finishing a blanket I am crocheting, putting away laundry, writing a love letter to my husband...

Sure I need an outlet, a place to use my 'voice' and explore my ideas in writing; however, it stretches me thin.
I want to say "no" more to my online life and "yes" to my offline world.

I want to see if I will feel richer, happier, more fulfilled, and peaceful if I live a life 'unplugged.'

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule Three

2011-10-19T02:56:00.000-07:00

Rule #3

Make connections

As a writer-mama and an introvert, I've been slowly sticking my head out of my shell.

The playground, my four-year-old's preschool, our church, the family readiness group for my husband's ship, my neighborhood, and the blogosphere have all been the fields in which I step out and connect with others.

Despite my reservations about Internet and social media, I am grateful for the way they have facilitated the connections I've made with mothers around the globe. Not only am I connecting with others over topics of motherhood and writing, but I am learning about cultures and traditions.

Steve Jobs took this one step further and saw the beauty of diversifying one's experiences and knowledge and making connections among the ideas gathered from both.

What are you doing to diversify your life experiences and knowledge?

My time is limited as a mother.
I don't have the free time to take oil painting classes or volunteer for Habitat for Humanity or live in a tiny hut all alone in the middle of the rainforest. These things I once did, and am grateful I did them when I had the free time.

But I still want to experience more, to learn more, to make more connections.
So I take what I can get in small steps...

I study a new genre in literature, I try a foreign recipe, I read a blog in a different field, I try to learn a new dance, and I give my children a new opportunity, a new experience and I re-experience it all over again in their eyes.

And I'm not done yet.
When the time comes for the limitations of my time to be lifted, even in just a small amount, I will seek the experiences and knowledge I crave, so I can continue making enriching connections during this lifetime.

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule Two

2011-10-18T05:18:00.000-07:00

Rule #2

Put a dent in the universe

I love this rule, because there has always been a kernel of need inside of me to do something 'big' with my life.

As a girl I had dreams: to win a pulitzer prize, to become the next Mother Teresa, to end world hunger...

I still dream these dreams.
But in between loads of laundry, wiping bottoms, and reading the same Dora book for the seventh time, my mind begins to wonder: Am I putting a dent in the universe?

I do believe being a mother is putting a dent in the universe in a major way: a mother nurtures a miraculous life. It's as simple and extraordinary as that.

I do believe being a writer is sending ripples out into communities and beyond, because writers craft strings of words that cross barriers and break rules.

And I am truly content being a mother and a writer, but...

But I can't help the yearning I feel inside of me to go further, to join the Peace Corps or teach at an inner-city school, to put the brakes on society's materialistic pull on children or on human trafficking, or to, yes, win a pulitzer or a nobel prize in literature.

This second principle of Steve Jobs reminds me there is power in kindling a vision and not losing sight of it.

Why?

Because it is the journey we go on, the small steps we take each day to apply this principle to our lives, that puts a dent in the universe.

Unleashing Our Inner Steve Jobs: Rule One

2011-10-17T17:27:00.000-07:00

I've never sat down and put together a list of rules for success in motherhood, because, well, to be honest, I don't always feel so successful. Especially at the end of a long day full of impatience, exasperation, let down, and guilt.

But when I see the random acts of kindness performed by my daughters, I like to think that perhaps, somewhere in the minute steps I have taken as their mother, I have been successful.

Steve Jobs lived a successful life by following some key principles.

So for the next seven days I will try to apply his Seven Rules of Success to motherhood...

Rule #1

Do what you love

Okay, so if you haven't figured it out yet, I was kind of an old soul, quirky, artsy kind of girl growing up. Not a loner, but a lover of being alone. In high school I often tried to break the ice at parties by asking someone, "What are you passionate about?" and it didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't the light-hearted, 'let's get drunk,' life of the party. Thankfully the parties carried on with easier topics (I won't say shallow, just a bit more lightweight).

The point is from an early age I was fascinated by passion, eager to discover what made a person passionate and how he or she kindled that flame.

Being a mother is something I always wanted to be. During my first yoga class in high school, our instructor told us to close our eyes and focus on the first image that came to mind when he said the next word. He paused, and said "beautiful." My image shocked my eyelids open. The first image that came to my mind was that of a mother breastfeeding her baby. I wasn't into Home Ec or Early Childhood classes. I was more focused on seeking truths about life through science and art, and the one thing I didn't like was babysitting. I loved children, just not babysitting. So I had no idea where the image of a nursing mother came from, but I liked that somewhere deep in my brain I knew that was 'beautiful.'

The truth is I never knew how hard motherhood would be. Does anyone?

Despite the challenges it presents, since becoming a stay-at-home mom and writer, I have realized how incredibly lucky I am in life to be able to do the two things I am most passionate about: being a mother and a writer. Every day I witness the beauty of my daughters and I get to write about it.

So perhaps I am successful in Rule #1: I do what I love.

Unplugging...

2011-10-16T18:50:00.000-07:00

Last week, in a town not so far north of where I live, a man shot to death eight people in a beauty salon and injured a few more; his motive: a custody dispute with his ex-wife over their 7 year old son. This is just one of many stories I come across on the news websites I frequent. It's depressing. I don't want to live in the dark, but I also wish I didn't have to read stories like these on any news website I go to. Almost daily now I find a story like this.

Would it be better to just unplug entirely from the Internet?

From this story my mind is questioning everything I've taken for granted: my innocence, the world in simpler times, my life before the Internet arrived.

While I am very grateful for computers and Internet, I struggle with the loss of so many things my daughters will never experience.

This topic comes up frequently on my blog, because I don't think I've ever quite adjusted to life back in North America after living in the rainforest without electricity, indoor plumbing and telephones. In those few short years I experienced a lifetime of simple and extraordinary joys.

William Blake said it best in the Auguries of Innocence:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wildflower;
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour.

That is exactly what I felt, what I lived every moment, in the rainforest.

In a world humming on social media, I realize how much I took for granted before the invention of the Internet...

1. The reward of working hard to answer a question on my own.
2. The skills I developed to communicate verbally.
3. The number of hours I spent running barefoot outside with children in our neighborhood.
4. The thrill of playing something as foreign as Donkey Kong on our Zenith TV.
5. The absence of the addiction to "hop online" to connect.
6. Using encyclopedias to study a foreign destination.
7. Using maps to calculate distance and time for a journey.
8. Writing artistic letters to family and friends and reading letters received.
9. Following weather patterns in the daily newspaper.
10. Pen pals with people living around the world.

I've come to accept that I will never be able to get into Twitter.

I know that Facebook and blogging have helped me stay connected to adults during my husband's deployment, and that I'll most likely pull away from them a bit upon his return home.

Not so long ago I joked with all of my friends that I would never get a cell phone. Actually I was quite serious. I said I would be 90 years old and be the only one without one. Then I met my husband and saw the value in getting a cell phone so I could talk with him when he was stationed in Japan and I was still in the U.S.

I still don't like having a cell phone. I often leave it off and forget about it.

When I took a blogging vacation for a year I still was online constantly, working on the digital magazine The Motherhood Muse, that I published for that year. But it was a break from this blog and I was fine with it.

So I am seriously thinking now about taking a break from the Internet entirely. Unplugging it completely.

Have you ever done this?

In order to ensure that I don't live in the dark, maybe I'll subscribe to the newspaper. We don't have cable, so maybe I'll call my parents daily to get the news. They'll weed out those depressing news clips.

But then I wouldn't have email, so I'd be forced to use my cell phone more. Hmm...

Just beginning to contemplate unplugging, seriously.

The Zook Book Nook Reading List

2011-10-13T14:17:00.000-07:00

Some like a laugh, some like a cry, and some like a rush of adrenaline.

Here at the Zook Book Nook, I like a thought-provoking read.

So I present to you my "work-in-progress" list of my favorite literary works that have enriched my mind and soul. (I will keep adding to it over time.) They may have made me laugh, cry, or jump out of my chair, but they've also given me so many thoughts to reflect on and grow from.

I hope you'll find this list of insightful books useful on a cold winter day when snow-bound or on a hot summer day when home-bound in the AC.

Top Favorite Books at Zook Book Nook

1. ??? (I'm still undecided on my all-time favorite book; the rest of this list is in no particular order; however, I want to say this spot for my favorite book once I figure it out)
2. The Pillars of the Earth - by Ken Follett
3. World Without End - by Ken Follett
4. The Shack - by William P. Young
5. Memoirs of a Geisha - by Arthur Golden
6. Anna Karenina - by Leo Tolstoy
7. Fahrenheit 451 - by Ray Bradbury
8. The Hunger Games - by Suzanne Collins
9. Lord of the Flies - by William Golding
10. Life of Pi - by Yann Martel
11. The Time Traveler's Wife - by Audrey Niffenegger
12. The Lovely Bones - by Alice Sebold
13. The Glass Castle - by Jeannette Walls
14. The Namesake - by Jhumpa Lahiri
15. The Witch of Blackbird Pond - by Elizabeth George Speare
16. Island of the Blue Dolphins - by Scott O'Dell
17. to be continued

Wordless Wednesday: A Rainbow of Love

2011-10-11T19:44:00.000-07:00

I'm Building a Bridge

2011-10-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

Not literally, just metaphorically, today and every single day since I've become a mother of two!

Today I am a guest at Adriel's site "The Mommyhood Memos!"

I don't recall how I stumbled upon Adriel's blog; however, I do remember that when I did I knew in an instant I had found a gem of a site. Adriel's blog speaks of the pure beautiful truth of being a mother in a literary way, and I love it!

It's an honor to be on her blog today discussing how I've been building a bridge,

so please pop over to The Mommyhood Memos!

Staying Positive

2011-10-09T16:21:00.000-07:00

My husband's ship is due to return before Halloween after being deployed for six and a half months.

With the excitement of his homecoming plus the approaching birth of our baby plus the anticipation of holiday season, one would think that I would find these last few weeks easy and joyful.

But they're not. They are the hardest weeks of the deployment.

I just really miss my husband a lot.

I've tried really hard to be strong during this deployment, even at the worst moments like when my girls and I were sick for a week straight throwing up during the night and all day long. We made it through those rough times, and I know we'll get through these final weeks.

But for the first time during the deployment I am finding myself in tears, wanting my husband home. Why is the end of deployment so difficult to get through? I can only guess it's because all of the emotions, all of the dreams, all of the plans, and all of the hopes I have inside of me are all mounting together.

My daughters keep saying every day how they are going to give their daddy so many hugs that he won't be able to put them down. I think they feel it, too.

So to give myself a pick-me-up today, I am going to create a list of the Top Ten Reasons to Stay Positive!

1. Weeks are mere seconds compared to months.
2. One can never have enough pumpkins or pumpkin seeds.
3. The vision of my husband's ship approaching from the horizon will make me feel giddy and tingly.
4. My girls twirl and shriek and go berserk every day when we talk about Daddy coming home.
5. Our baby girl will arrive less than one month after her daddy gets home.
6. My 33 week pregnant body is starting to finally cool off in this fall weather.
7. My parents are the most incredibly strong, supportive, and loving parents I could ever have.
8. My sisters make me smile every time I think of them.
9. My daughters finally sleeping in until 5:30a.m. for three days in a row now.
10. This:

and this


My 3-year-old's drawing of us on the day of Homecoming!

Hooked on Hooks

2011-10-05T14:36:00.000-07:00

Writers Link Up Your Hooks and Start Commenting!

From today until Sunday you can post a link to your blog through the Hooked on Hooks linky that is available at the end of this post. To do so, just add type the name of your blog and the URL for the specific post in the box below!

The only requirement is to stop by at least three other campaigners blogs to give them comments about their hooks. The WIP may be any piece of writing (short story, essay, fiction, children's book, MG, YA, chic lit, fantasy, article, poetry, blog post, etc) that you are currently working on. The first few sentences (your hook) may be for the beginning of your WIP, the beginning of a prologue or chapter or sequel. If you write poetry, it may be the first few stanzas. You may share one or two hooks on your blog, because you're more likely to get feedback on one or two rather than several.

This event is made possible through Rach Writes Third Writers' Platform-Building Campaign!!

And if you don't mind, please take a moment to read my hook and comment on it!
Thank you!

This is the opening for a short story I am currently working on:

My Hook:

My previous brain expired at the age of eight. On the eve of its death I fell asleep wiggling my last baby tooth and dreaming of a newly minted silver dollar. My teacher had already slipped the bomb earlier in the year: Santa Claus did not exist. Two plus two and my little boy brain extracted the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny out of the equation, leaving only my parents to pick up the slack.

Wordless Wednesday: A Mother's Eyes

2011-10-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

A Mother's Eyes are Telling Eyes

Happy

Tired

Angry

Surprised

Exhausted

Tension Tamer

2011-10-04T07:29:00.000-07:00

My two-year-old tiger lunges for her older sister, jaws wide open, baring her teeth.

"Bite me!" my four-year-old lion taunts, giggles, and leaps off the couch.

Her tiger sister slings a hug around the lion's neck, and wrestles her to the ground. Despite the four extra pounds her lioness older sister has on her, the tiger cub uses her denser weight and pins her older sister to the ground.

Giggles shriek up from the carpet.
Shouts of "no, no, no" are eclipsed by more laughter.
They roll around. They hug. They bounce on each others' tummies.

And then the tide turns.
A hair is pulled.
A foot is too confined.
A shirt gets stretched.
A pair of lungs is smothered.
A set of teeth graze the skin.

The tension builds, I watch in dread as I see the giggles ebb and the monster growls from both tiger and lion merge in the air.

Do I tame the lion and tiger before the tears and pushes and bites surface?

Well, I try.
I intercept.
I say the famous line "That's enough!"
But I'm always, always too late.

So tears come and go.
Sister cats are separated.
Anger is dispelled.

And my girls slink back into their joyful smiles and hug.
Most of the time.

Back in Time

2011-10-02T21:35:00.000-07:00

Thank you Stasha (@NorthWestMommy) for your wonderful Monday Listicles and Bits of Bee for choosing this week's awesome topic of ten things quotable!

I kind of, sort of, maybe miss teaching in a classroom.
I miss creating quizzes.
I miss taking my sword and slashing through incorrect answers.
I miss wondering what I did wrong as a teacher when students failed my quiz...

My sword these days is still my pen.
My quizzes these days challenge me more than they do my 4 and 2 year old daughters.
And I still wonder what I could do better so my children succeed and triumph over moments when meltdowns are bound to happen.

To relive my 'glory days' as a teacher, I have decided to create a quiz for you today using Monday Listicles topic of 10 Things Quotable!

Except I have a problem, my mind is a little spent these days.
So I'm going to take it easy and rely on the 80's. Those were easier days as I was only a child.

Do you remember those great feel-good movies from the 80's?
I do.

Just pulling up memories of E.T. and Sixteen Candles makes me feel like a kid again.

Well, let's see how you do on my quiz!

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mystudiyo.com/act149288/mini/go/the_quotables"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;the_quotables&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

Detective Mom: Do You Monitor What Your Kids Read?

2011-09-28T19:31:00.000-07:00

While teaching honors biology to 9th graders, I discovered several of my female students were reading graphic fiction books about young women who had s.e.x.ual encounters on a serious, scary side: violence, abuse, underage rape, etc. My students admitted they liked reading about violent s.e.x.

This moment froze in time for me: How does a teacher, a writer, a parent relate to today's teens?

This discovery came before I had children, before I had two daughters, soon to be three. The discovery stills hurts my heart today for many reasons: Why did these girls like this type of book? Why were their parents in the dark? What if I need to be a super sleuth to discover what my daughters are secretly reading?

I don't relish the idea of being a Detective Mom.

At the moment, mysteries need to be solved...

Is that puppy pee or little girl pee? Does it matter?

Why is there a third of the fish tank water on the floor and rug?

Why are all of your clothes out of your dresser drawers, again?

Who is it running down the hallway to my bedroom at 3a.m.?

Where is your other shoe? It's time to leave.

I don't envision such simple mysteries to be solved in my future.
The mysteries will deepen in complexity, both emotionally and mentally.

Being the bookworm that I am, I know every single book on my daughters' bookshelves. I should, I bought almost all 900 of them.

But maybe I won't know every single book they read when they are teenagers. They'll go to the library without me. Their friends will loan them books at sleepovers. And maybe I will find myself leaning more on the side of trusting them, than prying through their bookcases and under their mattresses and inside their school bags.

I do know I don't want my daughters to read the kinds of books that my students were glued to.
I do know I would not allow it.

But I don't think I will be strict and demand to know every single title my daughters' choose to read. I'll probably have other worries about them on my mind, than what books they are reading. Because, honestly, who would ever think that a young teenage girl would want to read a book like the ones my students were reading.

But now I know that it is a possibility.
At least I have ten years to go, maybe less, until I have to begin worrying about that.
Right?

Maybe if I am Detective Mom one day in the distant future my superhero-loving daughters will just laugh and say, "Mom, it's alright. We're making the right choices. Don't worry."

If you are reading this daughters (the year is probably 2021), please know I do trust you and I love you so much, but please reassure me that you are making the right choices.

Love, Mama (that's what you called me when you were 4 and 2)

Wordless Wednesday: Pure Pleasure

2011-09-27T22:33:00.000-07:00

(My second daughter, a few weeks old and so content)

Dance of the Labyrinth

2011-09-26T17:02:00.000-07:00

My daughter running through a corn maze in British Columbia

As a new, overwhelmed mom to a colicky baby I spent most days in the dark, running through what felt like a labyrinth without a beginning nor an end.

Why was my daughter screaming and crying all day and all night?
How did I not lose myself entirely in being a mother?
Why was I my own Goblin King?

Four years later and I am safely outside of that maze, no longer lost in the labyrinth of being a new mom.

My high-spirited four-year-old enters labyrinths of her own as she tries to understand rules, discipline, the tides of emotions, the absence of her deployed father, friendships at preschool, and the tug-o-war between independence and wanting mommy.

Unlike the innocence encapsulated inside my daughter's labyrinths, we adults may feel the Goblin King breathing down our unshielded necks at various points of our lives.

Most of the time the Goblin King isn't David Bowie, but ourselves.

I push myself to keep the day on schedule: shoes on before we leave the door, potty flushed, nap time rigid, TV as limited as possible, sugar off limits, outdoor time maximized, bed time as soon as possible, night time stories kept to three...

But who am I kidding?
What is the labyrinth I am trying to solve?
Why do I put pressure on myself?

Our days are actually far from a kept schedule. We go to the car barefoot, we flush when there's a brown deposit, naps may occur in the car, an entire movie may be watched while consuming not one, but two Dum Dums, we blow bubbles in the backyard for only a few minutes before my daughters want to go back inside, my girls watch an episode of Blues Clues with me while eating popcorn and staying up a half hour later, I read an extra book, I tell one more story...

But my day still feels like a maze at times.
Trying to navigate the uncharted waters of my oldest as her emotions sway to the extremes within the hour.
Being "on" 24/7 during this deployment.
Reminding myself that my time with my girls is our time, even if I am longing to sit in my writing chair and write.
Wondering how I'll gain back my confidence in my body one day.
Working towards living more simply with less "things" in our lives.

Perhaps our labyrinths evolve over time, a new one always dancing before us just as we exit the last one, eager to infold us in its walls.

Do you walk through labyrinths every day? What mazes are your children trying to solve?

10 Summer Moments

2011-09-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

I'm fortunate to live in a land of perpetual spring-summer.

The calendar tells me we are past the summer months; however, my daughters and I are still running through sprinklers, eating fresh watermelon on picnic blankets, and splashing on sunscreen daily.

Stasha's Monday Listicles this week is devoted to Summer 2011, so to recap June, July, and August I've put together my top 10 favorite summer moments from 2011!

Happy Birthday to My Little Two-Year-Old!!

Our puppy Willow has demolished all of my flowers in the backyard!

Flying to MN to be with family!

Grandma's Girls!

My Girl's First Medal: Awarded by Papa for excellence in reading!

I finally broke down and gave my 4-year-old her first hair cut!

Daily Floor Puzzles Wipe Us Out!

Happy 4th Birthday to My Mermaid SuperGirl!

A Walk on the Beach With Papa!

We're cheering the end of summer as Daddy's ship returns this fall!

The MotherShip

2011-09-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

Long ago my husband deployed.
(Six months is a long time in the land of a pregnant mommy chasing after her four- and two-year-old daughters)

After I lost sight of his ship on the horizon, I came home and plugged myself into blogging.

Blogging became my lifesaver, keeping me afloat through the highs and lows of this deployment by having an outlet at the end of the day when I struggled to stay sane.

Blogging is a therapeutic form of medicine, especially for a pregnant mama missing her husband.

So here I sit, anticipating the first speck of my husband's ship on the horizon in a handful of weeks and finding myself wondering where will I go with my blog...

I can no longer see my toes, as our third daughter will make her grand entrance at the end of November.

I can no longer keep up with our other two daughters as they bolt up the stairs and run around naked before bath time.

I can no longer sit in my writing chair for more than 10 minutes before my 10 little toes become swollen piggies.

Sigh.

My creative juices are spent.
My body is conserving all of its energy to sustain me until my husband gets home.

During this deployment I realized that "I can do this," and more importantly, that the only thing I am looking forward to with the end of this deployment is being with my husband.

Honestly, the thoughts of "good, now he can take over" or "finally, someone else to wash the dishes and pick up toys" or "it's my turn to sleep in" have not crossed my mind. Abigail Green of Abby Off the Record recently hosted me on her blog for two days about being a temporary single mom, and one of her readers made a comment that really hit home.

Malia Jacobson wrote, "Owning the difficulties of parenting (along with the good times) without needing him to rescue me has freed me from a lot of resentment."

And this is so true for me. I just want my husband home to hear his laughter, to feel his warmth, to see him play Tutti Frutti with our daughters, to feel the house fill up with his presence.

And this is why I question what will become of my blog.

I may take off a week, a month, or longer from blogging. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I will feel the creative juices start to flow again. Maybe I will feel inspired by the birth of our third little girl. Maybe I will receive an acceptance letter for a manuscript or a notice that one of my short stories won in a contest and I'll want to share my news on my blog...

But as I sit here, feeling like I've got a case of the blogging blaahgs because of being utterly exhausted, I know one thing: when I step on board my husband's ship in one month (after waddling up the bridge) I will melt into my husband's arms and I will no longer need a lifesaver to stay afloat.

I will want to be with him instead of in front of my computer writing on my blog.

So I just wanted to write this post in case any of my readers have been feeling let down that I have not been coming to your blog and commenting as much as I used to. I sincerely love your blogs as much as I love my blog. My blog means a great deal to me as it is a place for me to explore my thoughts and feelings. And I am so grateful to all of you for keeping me afloat during my husband's deployment.

I hope this message doesn't appear as if I am abandoning you. I won't be, I just may not be present as often as I have been.

I'm going to continue writing on my blog and reading your blogs, but I just don't know when and how often, so I thought it best to share with you the reasons behind my absence.

Blogging has been a mothership in a way for the past several months, but my true source of inspiration is soon to be rekindled: being with my husband and daughters, all together.

Where I'm From

2011-09-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

George Ella Lyon started a tapestry of poems by people across the globe when she published "Where I'm From" over 10 years ago. Since then she has united each person who describes their unique origin using the template from her poem. So I decided to try this assignment from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today. A lot of childhood memories surfaced as I began filling in the blanks...

Where are you from?

Where are you going?

I am from soccer cleats,
from Cadmium Red fumes and diary keys.

I am from the suburban sprawl over pockets of Midwest corn.
   (Row after row,
      by default.)

I am from the abandoned lot of Fescue grass, the maple red-bronze and gold-green,
   that melted in between wax paper and Crayola shavings
   under my mother's iron.

I am from birthday breakfast in bed and Thunder Thighs,
from 50 Mauck Lane and south side Chicago.

I am from the story tellers and poets, from survivors who eat table crumbs after meals and
   Christmas money envelopes on the tree, from the gift to enjoy childhood and no college loans.

I'm from Crying Doesn't Help and You're Not Average.

I am from Baptist and Republican,
from Catholic and Democrat.
I'm from the space of seeking a belief, the yearning to know the truth.

I’m from Midwest statelines, apple crunch and Fresh Bread Tonight,
from the yard Grandma B. set on fire to the departing pulse of helicopter blades over my father in Vietnam fields.

I am from sheltered closets and superficial hallways,
   scratching to escape and find a corner in the world where I belonged,
   only to discover after roaming the world
   my corner is home.

Wordless Wednesday: Laundry Basket Baby

2011-09-20T20:58:00.000-07:00

The Missing Parts

2011-09-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

My four-year-old daughter recently asked me in the car, "Mama, what parts of the Bible are missing? Tell me those stories."

My mouth opened, "Um, well, Sweetie, the Bible was written a long time ago. You're right, they probably didn't include every story, but it was so long ago I don't know what stories are missing."

My daughter continued to probe me for the missing parts for the remaining 20 minutes of our drive. She's one determined little girl.

But it got me thinking about the Bible, about our history, about stories I read and stories I write.

What parts make it into the text and what parts are omitted?

At the end of my day, after my girls are asleep, I write my husband an email. Sometimes it is short as I am tired. Sometimes it has different parts of my day in it, the cute, sentimental parts inspired by our daughters.

But there is so much more left unsaid.

I have a horrible memory. My earliest childhood memory is when I was in first grade, sitting beneath a huge evergreen tree with my sisters and neighborhood girl friends. I vaguely recall the blurry face of my kindergarten teacher, because she was a harsh, strict woman. But that is it. There are so many gaps, so many missing parts of my story.

I wish I remembered more, like the details of minor events in my life instead of just the big ones.

I like to think this blog and my email files hold those fleeting, small moments of my daughters' lives in case one day they wish to fill in the missing parts of their stories.

What parts are missing from your story that you wish you could remember?

Good Ol' Days

2011-09-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

If given only one opportunity, which would you choose: to travel back in time or to travel to the future?

I'd choose the past.

Stasha at The Good Life has picked a topic for this week's Monday Listicles

that is something I think about often: 10 Things We Wish Kids Could Do Back In The Day.

This topic is close to my heart, as I've been working on a YA novel, titled Surfacing in Clouds, that delves into this realm of wonder. Susanna Leonard Hill recently hosted me on her blog, giving me the opportunity to share the YA novel's pitch to get feedback on it, but in case you missed it this is the pitch:

Rigo and Esteban struggle to survive in a land without electricity, but when they set out to reach a world consumed by technology their friendship is ripped at the seams. This story chronicles the remarkable resilience of human nature in the face of losing what was once taken for granted: silence, privacy, and a connection with nature.

After living in the rainforest with a single lightbulb and without indoor plumbing, with a black wood stove and without a TV and computer, with treks up into the mountains to talk with neighbors and without cell phones and Facebook, I was in for a shock when I returned to the U.S. and found absolutely every person had a cell phone and spoke on it!

I am taken to the future... Will my daughters get to live in a corner of the world like I did in the rainforest?
I hope so, but those corners are becoming smaller and harder to find every year.

Here are the 10 things I wish my daughters could experience, but may never know:

1. Life without the Internet and with card catalogs at libraries.
2. Life without social media and with conversations over hopscotch.
3. Life without cell phones and with intellectual topics being discussed among college students walking on campus.
4. Life without texting and with passing notes written in longhand.
5. Life without digital cameras and with film that takes a week to get developed.
6. Life without Wii and Nintendo and with snow forts and summer twilight freeze tag.
7. Life without facial recognition cameras and with privacy and anonymity.
8. Life without empty, vandalized playgrounds and with neighborhood gatherings.
9. Life without taking off shoes at airport security and with family allowed to accompany them to the gate to send them off on their journey.
10. Life without the constant hum of noise and with being able to stand in one place and hear in the 'silence' the sounds of nature.

What memories of your childhood do you yearn for?
What do you wish your children could experience of your past that may never be able to happen?

Winners Announcement

2011-09-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

Thank you everyone for stopping by my blog this week to comment on my two book giveaway posts!

Using a random number generator to choose a winner who commented, I have two winners:

Anita of Beyond the Diapers and Spills has won a free copy of Karen Harrington's book Janeology!

Angie Mizzell has won a free copy of Judy Miller's ebook What to Expect From Your Adopted Tween!

Anita, if you could please email me (kimberlyzook (at) yahoo (dot) com) your mailing address I will send your book to you! And Angie, I'll pass your email address on to Judy so look for an email from her with your ebook!

Congratulations and thank you again everyone for commenting on these two posts!

Interview with Writer-Mama Judy Miller

2011-09-15T04:00:00.000-07:00

There are five people I've met in my life who radiate something extra-ordinary, something truly remarkable about the human spirit: a boy named Esteban in Costa Rica, a young woman named Arwa in Virginia, a boy named Mikal in Japan, a girl named Katelyn in Memphis, and my husband, Dave.

From the second I met each of these people I knew, I sensed it, and I wasn't alone. Others commented on the same unusual special feeling they got when they were around these individuals.

Have you ever crossed paths with someone who seemed to be glowing with a special energy?

Today I am fortunate to have on my blog a sixth person who gives me such a feeling, even though I have never met her and given her a hug. Some day I hope too, but I already know she is like the people I mentioned above. She is phenomenal and since I began blogging and discovered her blog, I continually find peace and inspiration every single time I read her blog and her writing. There is something truly special about this woman.

So thank you Judy Miller for being so extraordinary and for showing us all what it means to be a true guiding light in this world that sometimes seems to weigh us all down!

Judy creates ripples where ever she goes, and trust me, she goes to a lot of places! I hope you'll enjoy this interview with Judy and her bio below. Please stop over to her blog if you haven't already become a reader of The International Mom's Blog!

Here is just a small sample of Judy's voice:

Between Us

Every time I look at the moon and stars, in the deep quiet of the night, I send prayers and thoughts your way, believing you can feel my intentions and that they will find you healthy and happy. At peace.

She is our blessing. She is my heart and your soul. Born of you, adopted by me. Our daughter.

And to top off today's wonderful interview with Judy, every person who leaves a comment will be entered into the pool to win a free copy of Judy's book, What to Expect From Your Adopted Tween! By Sunday evening I will choose one person who leaves a comment at random using a random number generator, and he or she will receive a free copy of Judy's book. Just be sure to check back to see if you've won so I can get your email address!

The Passion

In the past two years you have had several major accomplishments: you've published an e-book (What To Expect From Your Adopted Tween), you are a presenter at conferences and symposiums, you're a column writer for Grown in My Heart, you're TheAdoption Pro for Parenting Squad's ProSquad, you've published essays and articles, you've continued your blog (The International Mom's Blog), and you've been raising four children! Whew! Judy, you are an inspiration to us all! What is the driving force behind all of these accomplishments? Years ago did you see yourself becoming a key voice in the world of parenting and adoption?

Judy: The driving force? College tuition. Actually, that’s not quite all of it; my kiddos inspire me to stretch myself as a woman and human being. I never imagined that my experiences with adoption (international and transracial) and parenting kids who were adopted would impact others. What I came to discover was that expanding our family through adoption required we become advocates—for our family, other families like ours, and for adoption…or be mowed over by the misinformation out there, i.e. ‘second best,” “damaged goods,” etc. I am passionate about my children and parenting them well, so naturally I discovered my voice, honing it through writing and it grew from there—into teaching, speaking at conferences, and into what I hope is the first of many e-guides. My parenting journey is one I love to share with others.

The Publication

WOW! Women On Writing recently published Issue 46, The E-Publishing Revolution, where they discuss the issues, challenges, and successes of digital publication. As you created your e-book, What To Expect From Your Adopted Tween, where did you go to find guidance for publishing your book digitally? What has been the biggest success and the biggest challenge from publishing your book online?

Judy: To learn how to create and micro-publish I took an amazing class from writing teacher and platform guru, Christina Katz: Micro-Publishing For Mom Writers. The biggest success that resulted from publishing my guide, What To Expect From Your Adopted Tween, was complete control over the final product, marketing and sales. The biggest challenge I experienced was learning the formatting and marketing the guide ongoing to my niche audience—adoptive parents.

The Personal

My readers range from mothers of adopted and biological children to writers and artists. As both a mother and a writer, how do you manage it all? You give so much of yourself to your family and the adoption community. What do you do to give yourself some 'me' time as well?

Judy: I try to balance and maintain spiritual, physical, and emotional health (not too easy some days…). As I tell the many parents I work with, “me” and “us” (couple) time is essential. Having happy, loving, connected parents is one of the greatest greats parents can give their child. Parenting four kids, although infinitely rewarding, can be exhausting. To replenish I try to find some quiet time each day, just for me. Quiet time is often one to two hours before my kids get up for the day or after they’ve gone to bed. If that doesn’t pan out, I try to get a walk in or go for a bike ride while they’re at school. I’m a big believer in the kitchen timer, to help me break larger projects into chunks, multi-tasking—doing laundry while I write, for example. After twenty years of marriage I still date my husband. Yep.

The People

Every day I come across an article or a story that spins a different angle on adoption: the let-down from an adoption that does not work out, a parent who regrets adopting a child, a non-adopter who sees adoption as a failed system, an outsider who can't understand how a multi-racial, mult-ethnic family can function, an adopted child who struggles with the question if he should find his biological parents. And then I read your blog and blogs of other parents who have adopted and I am uplifted and inspired! I am a mother of two, soon to be three, daughters, all of whom I've given birth to. My husband and I would both love to adopt a child one day, but I think we might find our family of five to be the right number for us. But I want to still offer myself to the adoption community. When I read your blog and the articles or stories that spin different angles on adoption, I feel a strong desire to help. There are so many views and opinions about adoption, and because I have no experience in it I feel like I shouldn't step in and help. But I want to. What advice can you give to individuals like me, who believe so strongly in adoption but don't have any experience with it, but want to help some way?

Judy: I’m not sure what you mean by “help,” but what I would share is that grace and compassion are appreciated. Offer support and withhold judgment. Be thoughtful with your questions and comments to parents who have adopted and children who have been adopted. Teach your children that people adopt because they wanted to be parents and love their children as much as you love the children you gave birth to. Also share that families come in different “packages.” Families created through or added to via adoption are “real.” They view themselves as similar to other families and want to be accepted as such. I do offer a lot of perspective and offer questions for reflection on my website, http://JudyMMiller.com, where I feel people gain a great deal of insight about adoption and parenting children who have been adopted.

Thank you Judy for giving us such an in-depth, honest insight into your life and the journey you've been on! This interview is sure to touch many hearts today!

Please be sure to leave a comment on today's post for a chance to win a free copy of Judy's book!

Judy M. Miller is an adoptive parent and adoption advocate living in the Midwest with her husband and four children. She coordinates and teaches parent preparation education to parents who are in the adoption process: parenting and adoption, adopted children, preparation and adjustment, and transracial parenting, as well as Parenting Your Adopted Child: Tweens, Teens & Beyond. Judy also works as a support specialist, assisting parents and their children with information and techniques to equip and empower them during challenging times.

Judy presented on "Finding Our Stories Online" at Stories of the Heart in Austin, TX and has appeared on MomTV’s Adoption Angles and TogiNet’s Adoption ~ Journey to Motherhood. Judy spoke at the Parenting Summit in March 2011. She will present at the Symposium 2011 Opening Adoption: Realities, Possibilities, and Challenges in Richmond, VA and the Crossroads of America Adoption Conference in Indianapolis, IN this September.

Judy is the Adoption Pro for Parenting Squad’s ProSquad and a columnist for the adoption network, Grown in My Heart. Her essays and articles appear in adoption and parenting magazines and her stories are featured in A Cup of Comfort for Adoptive Families (Adams Media), Pieces of Me: Who Do I Want to Be? (EMK Press), Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Mom (Chicken Soup for the Soul), Sensational Journeys (Future Horizons), and Women Writing on Family (The Key Publishing House Inc., January 2012). She is the author of What to Expect From Your Adopted Tween.

Crossing the Fence

2011-09-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

Not so long along I began to realize that my blog could do more for me than serve as a place to write and explore my thoughts.

It can inspire me to reach out to others, both online and offline.

I've just begun taking small steps to do so, but I can report now that I am becoming closer to our neighbors!
Just awhile back I wrote about neighbors and how fenced off we are from one another. So I baked a pie.

I had the excuse of our stolen pot of carrots, which our neighbor helped get back for me when he saw a bunch of crazy youngsters stealing my daughters' pot of carrots off our front porch. At 3a.m. our neighbor from across the street witnessed the thieves taking our pot and he came out of his house to confront them and got our pot of carrots back.

He is a hero in my daughters' eyes.

So I wanted to thank him for helping us, but I had been wanting to thank him for some time for always asking how we are doing during my husband's deployment. And to be honest, I wanted to teach my girls a lesson: that bringing a peach pie and a tub of ice cream over to a neighbor is a common practice.

So we baked a pie after dinner one night. The three of us then walked across the street, my oldest wearing her nightgown and my youngest wearing a tutu (it was almost 8p.m. by the time the peach pie was done). And we gave our neighbors the peach pie and ice cream. This was something so frequently done among neighbors when I was a little girl, but my girls have never experienced this.

And it made my daughters so happy! To give, to share, to relate to our neighbors. My four-year-old was relieved, however, that I saved a peach for her back at home.

And then today, our neighbors (the mom and daughter) came over with a bromeliad plant and my pie dish full of nectarines for us!

But what made it even better was that we talked and talked (in Spanish), and I felt great getting to know our neighbors. I had to translate it all for my daughters, and my youngest one tried to show off her Spanish by shouting "Dora" over and over.

Even though my girls couldn't participate in the conversation, they got it. They understood that neighbors are friends, not just people we wave hi to or peek at through the gaps in a fence!

So I want to say thank you to all of my readers who comment on my blog, especially the post "Us and Them: A Backyard Divided," because you encouraged and inspired me to step outside of my shell, and my fenced in yard!

Wordless Wednesday: Insatiable

2011-09-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

Janeology

2011-09-13T02:22:00.000-07:00

Motherhood is tough.
I like to think each day is a new day, that my frustrations from the day before don't carry over, but as hard as I try to sweep those frustrations out the door, in truth they only make it under the doormat.

I don't know if I balance the trials and challenges of motherhood with the joys and beauties of it on my blog very well. In my life, I really do feel the happiness of being a mother as the overwhelming feeling; however, the truths of motherhood are certainly present every day in my life. And these truths harbor frustration, anger, confusion, loss, sadness, and self-pity, so they make it here on my blog.

In the midst of my most recent battle (still ongoing) of my two daughters waking up between 1 and 3 a.m. every night, fussing and crying and refusing to go back to sleep in their room, only to finally fall asleep and then wake before 5a.m. eager to start their day, I received a book in the mail.

Karen Harrington sent me her book Janeology, and there I sat in the middle of chaos, harboring frustrations and self-pity, with a book I suddenly could not put down.

First, I was incredibly happy to find a book I did not want to stop reading. Being a mother means our precious reading time is valuable, not to be wasted on a book that bores us. So I was grateful to have a book in my hands that was more than worthy of my reading time.

Then, I made the discovery that surprised me enormously: this book integrates motherhood, a mother's family history, an unimaginable crime committed by a mother, a fascinating look at the possible inheritance of the capability of committing such a crime, and the dynamics of the law.

WOW!

I never expected to find such an amazing array of thought-provoking ideas creatively woven together in a fantastically written story. It was no wonder I couldn't put this book down.

As I read Karen's book, I couldn't help but begin to wonder how she became so skilled in so many different areas of life to be able to write so eloquently about them in a story about a mother and a father.

I was inspired as a writer.
I was relieved as a mother. Relieved to know that as hard as it might be for me in a moment, the moment passes, and I find peace and I love the joy of motherhood, even if it takes me more than a day to sweep the hardships out the door.

But as a mother and a woman, I glimpsed a new insight into a mother who can't handle all of the pressures and hardships of motherhood.

I once asked on my blog, "What if you're not cut out to be a mother?"
But I only imagined a mother abandoning her family. I never considered a different alternative the mother might find is the only possible solution to her misery.

Karen's book gives us a new perspective into such a mother's mind and how she arrived at that point. I am so glad I read this book, especially during a challenging moment in my life as a mother, because it helped me to appreciate my ability to deal with the struggles and my ability to know that I am cut out to be a mother.

Karen has donated a copy of Janeology to give away to one reader here today! All you have to do is leave a comment and I will choose one person at random Sunday evening to receive a copy of her book. Please check back here to see if you are a winner, so I can get your mailing address!

Will You Marry Me?

2011-09-12T17:49:00.000-07:00

My four- and two-year-old daughters fight over who gets to marry their daddy.
Even though I remind them that I am married to him, they each claim that they get to marry him.
Finally, it gets settled: "Mama marries Daddy on Saturday and Sunday" while my girls get to marry him on alternating weekdays!

Then a few days ago, my oldest daughter offered a new solution.
She asked her younger sister, "Will you marry me? I'm nice."
And my youngest daughter smiled and nodded yes.

I listened, smiling at the simplicity of her proposal.

The criteria, the aspirations, the standards, the traits... everything we look for in a partner, a lover, a mate, a best friend, a spouse can feel like an enormous list, but perhaps long ago a proposal was backed with such simple statements like the one my daughter offered.

I have a job.
I have a house.
I have a plow.
I have a piece of land.
I have a trade.
I have a skill.
I have a respected family name.
I have two hands and a strong back.

I cherish the simplicity in my daughters' eyes. It makes the spin of the crazy, busy world slow down and stop for me. I remember what life and love is all about.

Unanswered Prayers

2011-09-11T20:51:00.000-07:00

It is Monday Listicles from Stasha at The Good Life, and today's topic is change.

This week's list was very difficult for me to do. I normally put the list together as soon as I learn of the topic, flooded with creativity and excitement, but here it is Sunday evening and I am wondering why my inspiration is still so slow to arrive.

Is it that I am just so tired of chasing my 4 and 2 year old daughters and our puppy behind my 28 week pregnant belly?
Is it because I've been reading so many fantastic posts about change that I feel like it's all been said?
Is it because I just finished writing 4,600 words in two days for a new short story?
Is it because all I feel like doing is sleeping?
Is it my emotional state from thinking and reading about 9/11?

It is September 11th today, and I have been absent from blogging for a few days now. The time away has helped me to slow down and sit with my children more, playing with them and relaxing. But my heart has been heavy as I have been thinking about all of the changes that have happened around the world in the past 10 years. I imagine I am not alone in finding myself wishing some changes never happened.

So this led me to think about changes I wished for (most of them during my adolescence) that never happened. And I am so grateful that these changes I wished for went on to be unanswered prayers.

The road has been a difficult one, but I have learned to truly appreciate who I am. I believe I am enough. I am more than the sum of my parts.

Changes I Wished for and am Grateful They Never Happened

1. My mind - I wished to change from having a mind that struggles to a mind that is naturally brilliant.
2. My track performance - I wished to change my slow legs for long, lean, fast legs so I could hurdle.
3. My book addiction - I wished to change from a studious, introverted bookworm to a social butterfly.
4. My hair - I wished to change my corkscrew curls in for silky long locks.
5. My voice - I wished to exchange my old soul, thinker voice for a vibrant, life-of-the-party voice.
6. My country - I wished to leave the U.S. behind to live in Costa Rica forever.
7. My first love - I wished to change his mind about letting me go and moving on.
8. My time - I wished to exchange the few minutes I had to write for hours and hours of writing time.
9. My blog - I wished to modify my blog from serious, sometimes dry posts to a witty, fun-loving blog.
10. My missed opportunities - I wished to go back and take alternative paths that I passed by in order to stay on the straighter, safer path.

I imagine most young adults struggle with appreciating themselves. Most probably wish to change many aspects about themselves. And for some this doesn't go away once they become adults. I've always felt like I am a continual work-in-progress. But a few major events in my life have really helped me to step over that hurdle and realize the beauty of me. And that I don't want to change anything about who I am.

Memories of September 11th

2011-09-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

This Sunday has been on my mind for so long now.

Each story, each memory shared that I've listened to or read makes me want to reach out to every human being. By connecting with one another we may find peace in the comfort of one another.

This single day is surrounded by days of loss, mourning, confusion, sadness, fear and hope.

In memory of all of the lives lost and impacted by September 11th, I will refrain from writing on my blog from now through Sunday, as I want to spend this time with my family and connecting with people in my community.

I've never attempted to write about September 11th, so when Mama Kat offered it in her Writer's Workshop set of prompts I thought maybe I would try.

September 11th began for me the moment my friend, Danielle Lee, entered our grad class on ecology and announced we had been attacked in America. Confusion reigned and our professor conducted the remaining parts of his lecture, then we all fled to learn more about what had happened.

I don't recall who told me the towers had been hit.
I don't remember what my colleagues were saying.

I remember returning to my office, sitting in my chair and not knowing what to do.

Then I remembered my best friend Meredith was flying that day, and I wasn't sure if it involved Boston. So I called her, only getting a voice mail. And thankfully I later found out she was safe.

So I left my university for my apartment.
The gas station by my apartment was packed with cars, waiting 12 deep in line to get gas.
I worried, "Did I need to get gas? Will life cease to go on as I knew it?"
I continued on and burst into my apartment, seeking refuge that only followed me inside, refuge from being afraid of the unknown.

Then I was alone.
I did not have a roommate.
I did not own a television or a radio.
So I called my mom.

She told me it was on the news, video after video of the planes hitting the towers. It would not be until weeks later that I would finally see these videos that she taped for me.

Knowing that people had died and were dying frightened me, but it wasn't until I saw the visual images of the planes hitting the towers and people falling and flames and smoke everywhere, that I felt the impact of such an attack on our country, on our people.

I don't remember what I did for the remaining hours of that day.
I do remember I stayed inside my apartment, feeling confused and sad and scared.
I do remember going to bed early that night, so I could pray and curl up under my blanket.

I felt so lonely.
I was 22 and I felt like a child.

So now I will pause from blogging until Monday as I pray and think of all of the lives impacted by the events of 9/11. Please share your thoughts and memories of that day with me, it helps to know we are not alone and that we have each other.

Batter Up

2011-09-07T03:48:00.000-07:00

It is quite a Wednesday!

My clone and I are in two different places today:

Susanna Leonard Hill

and

Abby Off the Record

Children's author Susanna Leonard Hill is giving me the spotlight today on her blog to throw my pitch!

Susanna has been running this amazing Wednesday event: "Would you Read It Wednesday?"

Every Wednesday a writer's pitch for his or her manuscript is put in the spotlight for readers to leave their comments about what works and what doesn't for the pitch, and if they would read or even buy the book given the pitch they read.

So today Susanna is displaying my pitch for the YA novel I have been working on,
so please pop on over to her blog and leave your two cents!

AND

Writer Abigail Green is hosting me for a second time this week on her blog Abby Off the Record!

Abby interviewed me about my life as a military wife, mom and writer, and today is Part Two of the interview. In case you missed Part One, you can find it by clicking here.

Thank you to Susanna and Abby for hosting me today!

Being woken up at 4:30 a.m. by my two-year-old

doesn't seem to be so draining on a day like this

when two fantastic writers show their support for me!

Abandoning Her Family

2011-09-06T02:57:00.000-07:00

What if you're not cut out to be a mom?

Sure there are many of us who struggle with the challenges of being a mom, feeling like we aren't enough, like we can't do it, but we stick with it.

But not every mom does. Some walk away.

I recently wrote a very rough draft of a 200 word flash fiction story, titled The Abbreviated Woman, to try and capture a moment on the surface of a mom who leaves her family.

The summer before starting graduate school, I came back from the rainforest to earn some money to buy furniture and rent an apartment in St. Louis. I took on a job at a daycare, working with the 5 and 6 year old children.

One day I discovered a little girl from my class who couldn't go poop. It frightened her. She wouldn't talk about it. She actually didn't talk much at all. That day at pick-up I approached her father and mentioned it to him. I didn't expect the response he gave me:

"She's been having some issues since her mother left us."

I was a very naive 22-year-old and couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that a mother could leave her husband and child. I simply thought there was something wrong with the mother. Who could do that?

I had heard stories of husbands abandoning families, but women, no.

I have often thought of that father and daughter, hoping they found happiness and peace together.

But I have thought more about the mother, especially since becoming a mother myself. Yes, the fear of losing my children is present daily, but not consuming my entire mind and spirit. But I've never feared I couldn't handle being a mother.

How does a mother who abandons her family feel?
What is she going through in her mind when she decides to leave?

I can't imagine it is easy for any mother to make the decision to leave.

Perhaps she is unhappy and believes her children and husband would be better off without her in the picture. Maybe she wants a life living alone, to pursue what she wants in a manner she wants.
It's possible she wants to start her life over.

Why am I absorbed enough with this question to have written a flash fiction story and this post about it?

I don't really know, except that I know I never want to be apart from my children and husband. I love them more than anything in this world.

Maybe the mothers who abandon their families love their husbands and children as well.
Maybe they are following some intuition that leads them down that path.

It is a question I will never know the answer to though as I will never abandon my family.

I'm a Guest Today at Abby Off the Record

2011-09-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

Writer Abigail Green from Abby Off the Record has invited me over to her blog this week!

Today and Wednesday I'll be sharing my thoughts about managing the homefront and my writing career,

while my husband is deployed half-way around the world!

So please step over to Abby Off the Record today and Wednesday!

Be sure to also check out this fantastic class taught by Abby:

"Personal Essays That Get Published"

The Abbreviated Woman

2011-09-05T04:48:00.000-07:00

A moment may pass in a millisecond, but in our minds the memory of it may last much longer. Describing that moment in only 200 words or less is very challenging.

Rachael of Rach Writes has given us an assignment to write a short story in 200 words or less that begins with the phrase "The door swung open" and if we felt up to the challenge, we could try ending it with the words "the door swung shut."

So the over-achiever that reigned in me during my school days surfaced and decided to write the following fictional story of 200 words for Rachael's first campaigner challenge! Stay tuned for a future post about how this idea came to me.

Here goes...

The Abbreviated Woman

The door swung open and Sylvia sighed as she stepped over scattered puzzle pieces in her stilettos.

“Oh, you’re here,” Nick said from up the stairs, holding their 10-month-old daughter.

“Mama!” shouted their six-year-old daughter Kat. “You’re back!”

Sylvia pushed Kat down.

“Katydid, don’t wrinkle your mother,” Nick said.

Sylvia adjusted the purse on her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Kat.

“Kat, your father tells me you aren’t talking at school.”

Kat shrugged and burrowed her head into Sylvia’s skirt.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sylvia demanded.

Kat swung her head side to side against Sylvia’s knees.

“What wrong with her?” Sylvia asked Nick.

“Probably you,” Nick answered. “She stopped talking after you left. Us.”

Sylvia stepped back, causing Kat to fall forward.

“You have to start talking. Stop being so ridiculous, Kat.”

Kat looked up at her mother and stuck out her tongue. She ran off before Sylvia felt like making the effort to stop her.

Sylvia shoved a puzzle piece away from the door.

“You’re leaving already?” Nick asked, shifting the baby in his arms.

Sylvia flicked a sharp look at him before opening the door. She breathed the fresh air. Her stilettos clicked. The door swung shut.

Wild Nights & Bloggin' Beasties

2011-09-04T19:27:00.000-07:00

This week's Monday Listicles topic is just too cool to do only one list on it, so I give you TWO lists!
Thank you Stasha for picking such a fabulous topic!

Now I know two lists are a lot to read,
so grab your cup of coffee (or smoothie in my case)

and settle in to my animal kingdom.

Ten Wild Nights

(from when I lived in the rainforest)

1. First night in the bunkhouse - A bat lands on my bunk mate's face in the middle of the night. Thank God I was in the bottom bunk.

2. First night (one hour later) - A scorpion crawls into bed with me, causing utter horror among everyone sleeping within 30 feet of me.

3. First night alone in my hut - A cockroach the size of my thumb is attacked on my ceiling by a scorpion, while I laid huddled inside my sleeping bag, watching it with owl-struck eyes of fascination and fear.

4. Two days after a full-moon night - A mountain lion devours its prey on top of my hut, crunching on bones and clawing my aluminum roof.

5. A black night with only clouds - A local man (unidentified) creeps about my hut outside, stalking me or the capuchin monkeys, I do not know.

6. A night when sleep was needed - A swarm of daddy-long-legs covers an entire wall inside of my hut, the wall that my bed laid against.

7. A night full of drinks and discoteque - A tarantula awaits my arrival on top of my pillow, which I don't notice until I am reclining backwards in a buzzed state of mind.

8. My bladder infection night - Women of the valley come to my hut with a tea made from medicinal plants of the rainforest, which gave me enough relief to crawl out of my hut and into a ride to the hospital five hours away.

9. My worst night - I trap The Mother Rat, after she has pooped and crawled all over me for weeks, and plan to kill her the next morning because she keeps returning to my hut after I release her each time.

10. My last night - I cry, knowing I will miss the rhythm of nature I have become a part of and the instincts I have finally discovered. On my final morning I wake up to six snakes dangling down in my face from my ceiling.

Are you still here?

If my wild nights didn't scare you off, here's a second treat for you:

10 Whoots to My Bloggin' Beasties

Whoot Whoot!

Whoot Whoooooo!

1. Stasha of The Good Life - Stasha encourages her readers to dig deep and get in touch with our soulful animal through her writing, her photography, and her comments.

2. Kat of Mama's Losin' It - Kat's weekly writing prompts and her own personal posts bring out the Mama Bear in me, making me feel the need to protect children all over the world.

3. Alison of Mama Wants This - Alison's heart and soul is poured into her blog. Her posts make me want to stand on top of a mountain and say, "I am She-Ra!" or something like that.

4. Germaine of Kiddothings - Germaine's blog is a treasure trove of richness that inspires the creative wild side of me.

5. Abby of Abby Off the Record - I miss my connection with nature, and Abby's blog and her former blog, both keep me connected to the rhythms in life.

6. Angie of Angie Mizzell - The woman inside of me has been encouraged to set herself free and to know that my life is waiting and I need to keep moving forward with change.

7. Jen of Runner Mom - If blogging doesn't get you out of your seat to get outside, Jen certainly will do the job. Every time I read her blog I feel my feet twitching to get moving!

8. Adriel of The Mommyhood Memos - Adriel's beautifully written posts connect me deeply with the experiences of being a mother and a woman.

9. Kate of On The Go Momma - Kate's posts on this blog and on her second blog, Mothers Central Blog, always help me to see the big picture of our whole world and how we step through it each day as women, as mothers, as wives, as citizens.

10. Mother Nature - Okay, I know she doesn't necessarily blog, but she is right there with my children and husband for inspiring me to write daily on my blog! And in case you missed it, she also inspired me to publish these four issues of The Motherhood Muse, just some light literary reading for you now that you've finished these two lists!!

Link up your list of 10 animals today at Stasha's The Good Life!

I'm Featured on BlogHer!

2011-09-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

I'm honored to be on BlogHer today!

They are featuring my post "Not For Sale," so please click here to go to BlogHer!

I wrote this post to express my fear, to help stay in control of my fear, and to bring awareness to the issue of human trafficking.

I hope today's discussion on BlogHer about "Not For Sale" will help bring us one step closer to keeping all of our children safe.

Scavenger Hunt

2011-09-03T19:26:00.000-07:00

Disclosure: I'm just not as creative with my camera as I used to be when I had more sleep.
I had to use two photos from my files this week.

Stairs

"Inside My Daughters' Dollhouse"

Macro

"Wet Life"
(from my files)

Clouds

"Alaska"
(from my files)

Abstract

"Netted"

Smile
"Less Than Two Months Now"

Sleep Child of Mine

2011-09-02T14:03:00.000-07:00

This child.

That child.

Your child.

My child.

Alex, Age 9, Brazil

Every single child is so precious, so full of life.

The innocence of a child's life rings of fragility.

James Mollison's project "Where Children Sleep" grips my heart. It is in print; however, you can view it digitally online to see the images of children around the world and where they sleep.

As I began to look at each photo, my heart felt that flutter moms feel when we want to reach out and help a child in need.

Then I began questioning myself:

Maybe the child is happy in his or her environment?
Maybe the child receives the same unconditional love my children receive, just in a different setting?
Maybe the child's parents would view my daughters' bedroom as less than optimal?

Who determines what is best for a child when it comes to the child's rights?

"Where Children Sleep" is a production to bring awareness to the rights of children.

And I felt myself not only wanting to reach out to these children, but also judging:

Was the lavishness of one child's room creating a child who will not be conscious of her footprint later in life?
Why did the seven-year-old girl have to work in a quarry?
How can a child's mind and soul grow in such a barren environment?

And then I hated myself for judging. It might have been instinctual to judge because it's the Mama Bear in me, or it might have been my own upbringing, my own view on top of a pedestal that made me begin to think I knew what was best for the child.

It's easy for me to make the assumption that my daughters have one of the best chances at living a healthy, safe life by living in the U.S.

But I've always wondered since the day my first daughter was born:
What if we lived in a different country?
What if my child fell asleep at night with a different view of the moon?

It is certain I wouldn't love my child any less.
However...
How might my child's life be different?
What if a mom from the U.S. viewed my child's bedroom and judged me?
What if 'others' felt my child's rights were endangered?

James Mollison's project has made me aware of both the rights of children, but also the rights of parents. From where we stand we all may have a different opinion on a child's rights.

But perhaps we can all agree on one universal truth: A child's life is the only one the child has.

WOW! Women on Writing!

2011-09-02T06:21:00.000-07:00

WOW! Women On Writing!

Please hop on over to The Muffin, WOW! Women on Writing's blog,

where I am a guest blogger today!

They are in fact my favorite online resource for women writers.

Writing a Great Hook

2011-08-31T18:41:00.000-07:00

"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink."
(Dodie Smith in I Capture the Castle)

You know it when you read one.

"It was a pleasure to burn."
(Ray Bradbury in Fahrenheit 451)

Your eyelids raise.

Your mind brightens.

Your lips form "Wow."

You get giddy.

"In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street."
(David Markson in Wittgenstein's Mistress)

You're hooked.

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins."
(Vladimir Nabokov in Lolita)

And it all happened within a breath of a few words.

How do you write an opening that hooks the reader

and nails her to her seat?

We're about to find out!

At the end of this month, I will be hosting the Hooked on Hooks event, where writers can link up on my blog with their own hooks for their Works-In-Progress, so we can comment and critique the hooks. In ~~perspiration~~ preparation for this event, made possible through Rach Writes Third Platform-Building Campaign, I decided to try and stitch together the key points of a great hook based on what I've learned from some amazing authors.

Writing a Great Hook

Ann Whitford Paul

Author of Writing Picture Books

(Click HERE for a detailed interview with Ann on writing!)

Dive Into Your Story with the 6 W's:

Who is the main character

What is the problem, goal, or conflict

When does the story occur

Where is it taking place

What is the tone of the story

WOW! the reader with the opening line

8 Ways to Create a WOW! with the First Line:

Time

Mood

Setting

Opinion

Provocative Statement

Middle of the Action

Conflict

Scrapbook (letter, journal entry, newspaper article)

Les Edgerton

Author of Hooked

(This entire book is about the opening of your WIP,

so I'll only pick out some key points)

First Line Successes:

Give the reader an unexpected response to an event

Give the reader a character who is "cut out of different cloth than Everyman"

Give the reader trouble (either past, present, or future)

Give the reader pleasure, then "drop the forbidden apple into your Garden of Eden"

Give the reader a reason to read the second sentence; provoke the reader's curiosity

Openings to Avoid:

A dream

An alarm clock buzzing

Too little dialogue

Opening with dialogue

James Scott Bell

Author of Plot & Structure

Grab the Reader:

Action

Raw Emotion

Look-Back Hook

Attitude

Prologues

Bond the Reader and Character:

Identify with being a real human being

Sympathy (from jeopardy, hardship, underdog, vulnerability)

Likability

Inner conflict

These authors provide much more detail on the topic of writing hooks,
but the best way to learn is to read and write.
That's what the Hooked on Hooks event is all about!
We're going to write, write, write,
then share and read and comment.
So please come back on Friday September 30th!

Have you written a post about hooks on your blog?
Please leave the URL to that post in my comments!

Helen is in the short story campaign with me,

and recently wrote about... HOOKS! and HOOKS! and more HOOKS!

Three unique and resourceful posts by Helen that all of us will learn from,

so thank you Helen!

If you'd like some examples of great first line sentences, please use the following links:

100 Best First Lines from Novels by American Book Review

The 25 Best Opening Lines in Western Literature

Best Opening Lines in YA Novels

Keep working on your hooks, writers!

And come back on Friday September 30th to link your "hook" post to my linky Hooked on Hooks!

Wordless Wednesday: A Beginner Reader

2011-08-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

Stepping Into Shoes

2011-08-30T06:42:00.000-07:00

We often hear ourselves saying "I wear many hats," but what we don't always talk about are the numerous shoes we step into every day.

Being a mom means feeling quite alone...

I am the only one on this planet who is going on three hours of sleep.

No other mother has to deal with a sick dog and a sick child at the same time.

Those other moms, the ones who publish novel after novel,

they all have full-time, live-in nannies, right?

Everyone else is having a date night, while I'm the only one alone in a house with sleeping children.

But blogging let's us know, despite our reservation to trust it, that in fact, we are not alone. Quite possibly in this very moment another mom is alone in front of her computer, with her little ones tucked asleep, her husband deployed half-way around the world, and she is lonely.

I tentatively try to step into her shoes.

And she isn't the only one. I attempt to imagine what it might feel like to be in the shoes of the mom who locked her keys and children inside her car or in the shoes of the dad who coaches his son's soccer team or in the shoes of the mom who works 50 hour weeks or in the shoes of the mom who is single and deploys, leaving her child with her elderly mother or the dad who comes to the playground every day with his children and stares at his phone the entire time...

Several years ago I listened to a man giving a talk about measuring sticks.

He asked us, "Do you measure the people around you with your own personal measuring stick?"

He continued on to question "Who are you to measure someone else's morals and actions with your own stick?"

And I looked around, I still look around sometimes, and realize I am judging. I am assuming I know what a person is thinking, feeling, living.

But I don't.

Who am I to judge?

When my hair has gone unwashed for two days, my shirt has stains, my two-year-old's mouth is showing evidence of the morning's breakfast, and my four-year-old's sassy mouth is drawing attention, I wonder "Is someone judging me?" They don't know the whole story of why we all appear this way. They only see the surface of the moment.

And that is all they get.

So I tuck my measuring stick away. I've learned to appreciate the challenges of being a parent, and know that many others have it a lot rougher than me:

A mom who gives birth to twin boys with four other children at home and her husband deploys a month later.

Parents who deal with fear on a daily basis that their five-year-old's disease may take her life.

A father who is struggling to understand why his four-year-old daughter refuses to talk after her mother, his wife, left them...

Stepping into shoes... I don't know if it makes a difference, but at least it reminds me not to judge, not to think I am alone, and not to believe no one has it rougher than me. It helps me to appreciate every moment I have every day.

She's On a Roll

2011-08-29T18:35:00.000-07:00

In 7th grade a friend of mine once confided in me that she French rolled her jeans to perfection just before choir class in hopes that the popular girls would be impressed by her jeans and accept her into their group. Within a few months, my friend had already had s.e.x. with one of the boys in the popular crowd to pursue her desire to be 'in' with certain people. Rolling forward into 8th grade, my friend then began throwing back shots of Vodka after school with the popular kids, and that really marked the dwindling end of our friendship.

When my older sister was in middle school just three years before me, students were only making out and kissing. And just a generation or two before us, middle school students were only holding hands and passing notes. Today I hear in the news that my friend's actions in 7th grade now occur among boys and girls in elementary school, so I can't even begin to imagine what is happening in the shadows of middle school.

Now how does a writer-mama relate to these children?

Before our first daughter was born, my husband and I did not want to know her gender. We anticipated the surprise. Upon her delivery, my husband took a minute before he announced proudly "It's a girl!" In that minute I imagine a thousand thoughts of worry ran through his head: some day I will have a teenage daughter, some day I will have to have 'the' talk with her, some day I may have to give her hand away in marriage, some day I will see her become a mother. We are so happy to have two daughters (and a third one on the way), and whether we had a daughter or son we both would think about their future days among peers with pressures that my friend in middle school experienced.

I have discovered teenage girls reading X-rated books. And I'm not talking about books with heated passion. No, these books go way beyond that with abusive, drug-induced, scary-in-the-details s.e.x.

These teens had only recently entered their teen years. As an adult I was in disbelief and worried about the future of our children. As a writer my mind got lost in one question:

Who writes these horrible books and why do they get published?

At the time I found the teenage girls reading these books (in the classroom), I was a teacher. Confronting the parents did little to prevent the girls from reading more books like these, because the parents said they did not monitor what their children read.

Monitoring what our kids read is a topic for another day, but come on, a book about the details of s.e.x. bordering rape and more, how can anyone let any child read that?

Well, getting back to being a writer-mama... How do we relate to the young adolescents today in our writing and parenting when so much more serious stuff is going on among them, stuff we didn't experience or see or hear about until we were several years older?

I want to write for my daughters and children around the world.
I want what I write to inspire them to lead healthy, positive, adventurous lives.
I want my readers to close my book feeling encouraged to believe in themselves, to embrace themselves, and to have the courage to stand tall in the inundating wave of peer pressure.

But I also want to relate to my readers, to describe what they are experiencing and witnessing in their day-to-day lives, to be in touch with them and say 'hey, I understand what you're going through.' A frequent comment among my students when I taught 9th grade was, "Mrs. Zook, you get us. Maybe it's because you're so young." I don't want to stop "getting children and adolescents" as I get older. I imagine having children will always help me relate to them, but as a writer I need to reach children of all backgrounds, of all experiences so my writing can touch each person who opens my book.

I hope my friend, who rolled into 8th grade on a different path than me, is happy and healthy today.
I hope the teenage girls whom I taught have found happy and healthy relationships.
I hope I will be able to relate to my daughters, my readers no matter what direction they roll in life.

I first posted this on my blog back in 2009, but I wanted to share it with you again in hopes to learn more from my readers about how they relate to the adolescents of today.

A Writer-Mama's Favorite Places

2011-08-28T18:35:00.000-07:00

Top Ten Places a Writer-Mama Loves

10. The first sentence of a book.

9. My daughters' bookcase when it is organized.

8. A new blank page of my writing pad.

7. A new blank page of my writing pad with a piece of chocolate.

6. A new blank page of my writing pad with a piece of chocolate and a brand new book to read.

5. Inside a bookstore.

4. At a cafe table with my journal.

3. Inside an Amazon box when a new book has arrived.

2. Sitting beside my daughters as they write.

1. Inside my daughters' minds as they spin story after story after story.

What are the 10 places you love?

Amid the Olive Trees picked a wonderful topic this week, so thank you Saretta!

Join in on the fun at Stasha's The Good Life today for her awesome Monday Listicles!

Scavenger Hunt

2011-08-27T21:17:00.000-07:00

Old and New
Night Photography
Music
Cheesy
Sun

My first 'online photography' scavenger hunt!
My images aren't as artistic or original as what you'll find on the link above,
but it's my first attempt so here goes...

1. Old and New

"Palm Reading"

2. Night Photography

"Asleep at Last"

3. Music
"It's a Small World Twinkling in a Snowglobe"

4. Cheesy
"My Cheese-Lover is back to eating cheese after a week of the stomach flu"

5. Sun
"My short shorts aren't short enough"
(this is one from my files, so I cheated here by not taking a photo this week for Sun)

The Hand Off

2011-08-26T20:30:00.000-07:00

To get in and out of the rainforest where I once lived I had to hike for about two hours up a mountain to catch the bus. I always appeared a sweaty mess, and stood baffled beside the locals who were not only sweat-free, but mud-free and clad in wrinkle-free clothes and polished shoes.

To this day it remains a mystery how they managed to look so fresh after a journey up the mountain.

On one particular day I had to travel to the city of San Jose to visit the doctor (I could no longer hear the birds sing). I stood in line for the bus, anticipating the 4 1/2 hour bus ride that involved passing cars in no passing lanes around mountain curves and breathing in exhaust that made the street signs in the city literally black.

To my surprise, my friend Maria showed up with her three-month-old baby. They were traveling in my direction on the bus. I was thrilled to not be alone for part of the trip, and I offered to hold her baby. Maria gladly handed her over to me.

I held the baby girl in front of me, making silly faces and googley eyes, when the baby suddenly threw up all over me.

Maria, laughed whole-heartedly, and took her baby back, offering me a piece of cloth in exchange.

I smiled, genuinely appreciating Maria's laughter to take my mind away from the mess.

I could not return to my hut. I had to get my hearing fixed. Without being able to hear the birds I could not be a naturalist and a guide to those who came to the rainforest in search of manakins, motmots, and quetzals.

So I wiped myself off as best as possible, bordered the bus, and opened the window as much as possible.

I imagine I smelled when I arrived at the doctor's office, but it was mixed with sweat and dirt, and I had given up being embarrassed by it.

The thing is in Costa Rica, where I lived at least in a small valley with only 20 some families, hygiene is very very important. If I skipped a morning shower, the local women who came to cook breakfast at the research station where I worked would ask me: "Kimberly, why is your hair not cleaned?" And on the days when I did shower (trust me, taking a shower in the mountains with frigid mountain water is not the ideal way to wake up at 5a.m., even in the tropics), the women all nodded their heads in approval and touched my wet curly locks.

Nevertheless, the doctor did not say a word. He gave me medicine in my ears, and we waited and waited and waited. Then he flushed my ears out. An entire tablespoon of earwax came out of each ear. Both the doctor and I were so disgusted, so shocked that in that moment I forgot about my throw up/sweat/dirt-stained attire.

And I realized, there was background music playing in the examination room I was sitting in! I could hear!!

When I returned late that evening the rainforest was screeching and roaring with life that I had not been able to hear for weeks.

I washed my clothes and took an icy shower. I pulled on my wool socks and fleece sweater. I checked my bed for scorpions and tarantulas. And I hunkered down into my bed, smelling fresh and clean.

As I closed my eyes, I smiled remembering Maria's laughter over her baby throwing up all over me.

And I remember this now, after spending seven days inside my home with both of my daughters throwing up all over me and me throwing up as well. I desperately felt the desire to hand over my girls to a friend.

Like Maria, I didn't want my girls to throw up on a friend. I just needed a break. I'm glad I took Maria's baby all those years ago. I'm glad Maria didn't have to travel with a baby and throw up. I know now that being clean is a small matter compared to being strong enough to keep going when the day never ends.

Small Tokens

2011-08-25T17:14:00.000-07:00

Today is a special day!

I'm at Kiddothings today discussing 'Small Tokens,'

so please hop on over to Malaysia with me!

I've been so fortunate to discover new blogs through Stasha's Monday Listicles,
and Kiddothings is now one of the blogs I start my mornings off by reading!
If you haven't already been to Kiddothings,
prepare to stay for awhile as Germaine's posts will inspire both your mind and heart!

Silencing the Pain

2011-08-24T20:55:00.000-07:00

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop is today!

I've chosen the following prompt: 1) A mom fail moment.

My four-year-old is "super brave," as she puts it.

When she had blood drawn from the vein in her arm, she shed a single tear.
When she had six cavities fixed in one appointment, she hummed the entire time to stay calm.
When she has an upset stomach, she runs to the bathroom and throws up in the toilet and tells me as I come running after her that she's all better and smiles.

So when she had her most recent MMR shot, I did not plan on it being a traumatic experience for her.
I also did not plan on the nurse being new and young and with a case of the shakes.

We entered the scene unaware:

Nurse: "Do you see these three shots? These are the needles I'll be using."
(Nurse holds up each LONG needle in front of my daughter's eyes)

My Super Girl: "They're different colors."

Nurse: "Yes, which one do you want first?"

My Super Girl: (starting to tremble, because the nurse is still showing her the LONG needles) "The blue one."

Me: "Remember, this will only hurt for a second and then the pain will stop."

Nurse: "Okay, I am going to give you the first shot right here."

(The Nurse then proceeds to SLOWLY insert the LONG needle, seriously taking about 10 seconds to put the needle into my daughter's arm.)

My Super Girl: (crying hysterically now)

Nurse: (hand uncontrollably shaking now)

Me: (steam blowing out my ears in rage)

Nurse: "Okay, only two more to go. Which needle do you want next?"
(Nurse holds up the remaining two LONG needles for my daughter to see.)

Me: "Let's just finish this, please."

My Super Girl: (crying so hard she can't talk)

Nurse: (20 seconds later) "Okay, we're all done."

We've had numerous nurses administer numerous shots, and they've always been very quick, 2 seconds tops per shot.
I watched in horror as this nurse took 10 seconds per shot to insert the needles into my daughter's arms.
My daughter ended up getting severe swelling and bruises and complained about the pain deep inside her arms for days.

And I felt so helpless. I kept my mouth shut. I felt like I failed my daughter.

I tried comforting my daughter with words and hugs, but for the nurse I remained silent. I felt bad for him, being new and not knowing the better method for giving shots to children. But if we are assigned to him again for any shots in the future, I will ask our doctor for a different nurse.

There is no way to silence the pain, but I can use my voice to make it hurt less.

Wordless Wednesday: The Tiny Touch

2011-08-24T03:52:00.000-07:00

Yin Yang: Part Two

2011-08-23T03:10:00.000-07:00

From the time our first daughter arrived we have been told the same thing over and over:

"She is a mini-me of your husband!"

And four years later it is still true. Her face, her expressions, and most of all, her personality.

The presence of my oldest daughter makes it feel as if my husband is still here every day with me, despite the thousands of miles that separate us during his deployment.

So one would assume that since I love and understand my husband, raising his mini-me would be a piece of cake.

But I am finding myself more and more encircled in the yin yang relationship with her.

Maybe it is just her age. Maybe it is the effect of her father's absence on her. Or maybe it's me?

Whatever the matter, my heart and mind struggle with understanding her, with knowing what method of discipline will work with her, with comprehending what is best for my high-spirited daughter. And because of this struggle, my heart aches, wanting her to know that I love her so incredibly much even if it doesn't seem like I do when we are at odds.

While I try to engage her in raising caterpillars or playing in a water puddle,

my daughter is seeking the thrill of pretending to be Spiderman or wanting to watch more TV or imagining riding a rollercoaster.

While I seek silence and a calm moment,

my daughter races around, pretending to be a musketeer or a superhero.

While I cave under attention,

my daughter shouts, "Look at Me!" all day long.

We aren't opposites, but we do compliment each other. My actions and words feed her, replenishing her spirit. And in the same moment, she does the same for me.

I love my daughter for who she is. I love that she knows all of the superheros by name and wants to build a pedal car from scratch with her daddy once he gets back home. I love that she dreams of being a volcanologist to experience the thrill of being inside a volcano. I love that she is fascinated by motion and thrills and excitement.

I love that she has dreams of her own.

And I believe that I know and understand her, but it doesn't always seem easy to do so.

With my own mini-me, our second daughter who is two, it's really easy to get inside her mind and know what's going on. And maybe that makes it that much more challenging to get inside my oldest daughter's mind?

I don't always get it right with her. I don't always give her enough hugs or attention. And I don't always have enough patience to watch her try to blow up a balloon over and over while she says, "Mommy, watch this," and follows me around the house, wanting me to watch her do it for the 1,000th time.

At the end of the day, especially if it's a day where I've had to be hard on her, I just want my daughter to know one thing: that I love her with all of my heart, and I'm trying to understand her.

Hooked on Hooks

2011-08-22T15:52:00.000-07:00

Writers, get the first 1 - 5 sentences of your Work-In-Progress ready for the first weekend in October!

Starting on Friday Sept. 30th you can post a link to your blog through the Hooked on Hooks linky that will be available on my blog, Zook Book Nook.

From Sept. 30th to Oct. 2nd you can link up to have your Hook reviewed by fellow campaigners. The only requirement is to stop by at least three other campaigners blogs to give them comments about their hooks.

The WIP may be any piece of writing (short story, essay, fiction, YA, chic lit, fantasy, article, blog post, etc) that you are currently working on.

This event is made possible through Rach Writes Third Writers' Platform-Building Campaign.

Writers Platform Building Campaign

2011-08-22T13:47:00.000-07:00

Rach Writes has made my day!

In Rachael's words,

"There are so many of us out there. Aspiring authors, bloggers (whether established or beginning), industry peeps, even published authors, all of whom want to build their online platforms. We write insightful posts and articles, actively blog within the blogosphere, take part in challenges, competitions, and contests galore.

We have the passion and the drive to make it, but…we could all do with a bit of support. "

Starting today and running through October 31st is the Third Writers Platform Building Campaign. So hop on over to Rach Writes to join in!

Yin Yang: Part One

2011-08-21T18:20:00.000-07:00

Thank you Stasha at The Good Life for letting me choose this week's topic for Monday Listicles!

I don't really know why I chose Yin Yang for the topic,

but I sure am curious to see what everyone comes up with!

My four-year-old passes her bookcase without a glance.
"Mama, tell me a story," she says, all day long and several times before she falls asleep.
I am now a storyteller for my daughter, and no longer a reader. I had it so easy before, but making up stories turns the wheels in my mind...

So here is the story of Yin and Yang, a mother and a daughter, who are inseparable yet find their forces opposing one another at times. This is Part One of our story. Part Two, a closer look at our yin and yang, will follow tomorrow.

The Ten Journeys of Yin and Yang

1. Positive & Negative:

"Yang, you were so positive when you got your MMR vaccine today!"
"No, Mama Yin, I cried because it hurt. It still hurts. Super Bad! (lots of crying) I need a toy."

2. Feminine & Masculine:

"Are you absolutely, 100% certain you want a Batman pinata at your birthday party and not a Princess?"
"Mommy, Batman is my FAVORITE superhero! Oh, I like Thor, too! Do they have a Thor pinata?"

3. Black & White:

"Yang, I got out this black construction paper and white chalk, so we can draw ghosts!"
"No thank you Mama Yin. I want to draw them on white paper. Where's the white paper?"

4. Soft & Hard:

"Yang, Sweetie, this frozen pretzel will break your teeth. Let me thaw it for you in the microwave."
"NO! I want to eat it frozen. I like it cold like a rock."

5. Moon & Sun:

"Let's visit the moon, it's nice and cool Yang. We can look at the Earth."
"No Mommy Yin, I want to be hot. Like Super Hot! Which is hotter, Venus, Mercury or the Sun?"

6. Winter & Summer:

"Yang, Santa won't come until Christmas. You know, when it's cold outside."
"But Mama Yin, it's my birthday. I want it to be Christmas, too. When is Easter? Let's make Easter now, too."

7. Rest & Active:

"Yang, you've been up since 4:30 this morning with your sister. We need to take a nap. Now!"
"No, thanks Mama Yin. I'm not tired. You lay here and I'll style your hair."
(20 minutes of nap time for Mama Yin to the soothing touch of Yang's little fingers putting 25 barrettes in Mama Yin's hair)

8. Earth & Heaven:

"And that Yang is how dogs evolved from wolves here on Earth."
"So Mama Yin, are all those wolves now in heaven? Can more wolves become dogs?"

9. Receptive & Creative:

"Yang, I'm just going to rest here on the floor for a minute. You can bring your drawing over to me."
"Okay Mama Yin, but when I'm done coloring Spiderman, let's go swimming! And then let's play frisbee! And then we'll make cupcakes! And then we'll have a movie night and eat popcorn! And then we'll play hide-and-go-seek!"

10. Pink & Blue:

"Yang, baby, you have been inside of me now for almost 42 weeks. I think you're a girl, but I don't know."
"Mama Yin, I'm giving you all the signs that I am a boy, but you'll just have to wait and see."

Relation Ship

2011-08-20T04:03:00.000-07:00

My grandparents met in a hospital. My grandfather was sick and quarantined, and my grandmother, his nurse, kept bringing him books to read. As she told the story, she was frustrated by him, because each book he read had to be thrown away as it might have been contaminated.

Months later she saw his photo in the local newspaper. He was stationed overseas, fighting in the war. My grandmother picked up a pen and wrote him a letter. Thus, began their correspondence that eventually led to marriage for almost 60 years and six children, my mom being their fourth child.

I think about my grandparents often these days, wondering how my grandmother held it all together to raise six children when my grandfather was assigned to go back to war. This is my first time experiencing a deployment with children, and it is very different than the previous deployments.

Unlike my grandparents, who had only pen and paper, we are lucky to have so many ways to communicate. It is hard, however, when we get off the phone. The house is hollow and empty despite the presence of my daughters and puppy. And after I've read an email from my husband, I long to read more of his words. At night, when I am all alone, I ache with loneliness and boredom.

I am learning what it means to not only be a military wife, but a mother to children whose father is in the military. The military, the ship, the crew, the crew's families... it is all an extension of our family. Our relations stretch across the bodies of water, connecting vessels floating on top of the ocean to vessels carrying hearts homesick for our sailors.

I am grateful to the ship and her crew for keeping my husband safe, for keeping everyone safe, and for keeping the fight for freedom alive.

What Rebels Are Made Of

2011-08-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

A visit to the past...

So I've only been drunk once in my life. I enjoy wine (not beer or martinis), but I've never felt the desire to get drunk, except once.

Like any typical college girl, I decided to finally figure out what all the hype was about on my 21st birthday. Skipping an evening out with my rowdy sorority girl-friends, I asked my three organic chemistry lab partners to join me at Nick's English Hut after we finished creating a form of Aspirin. No, we didn't try it out (on ourselves).

The lab took us over five hours to do since I broke a $180 flask half-way through and we had to start over, so obviously I had to treat my three lab buddies to some drinks even though it was my birthday.

My three lab friends knew it was my 21st and that I intended to experiment with the drunk sensation, so they ordered me a pitcher of beer, a shot of some sort (it was green and red and had the name 'turtle' in its title), and another drink with lots of glitter in it.

I took it ALL in by myself, and within two hours I was back home, opening the passenger door, falling onto the street with my legs still in the car, giggling and claiming I could make it to my volleyball game within the hour.

My amazing best friend, Emily, took me inside and put me to bed. She helped me six times during the night when I got sick and couldn't make it to the toilet, and she cleaned the toilet for me in the morning!

At some point during the night I shouted to her that I was hot, hot tamales, before I sank back into drunken sleep.

The next morning I awoke and made it to my fungi lab with a face that was literally green. My Berkeley-hippy professor actually asked me why I was a pale shade of mold. Pretty embarrassing, but I survived.

Why did I wait until I was 21 to get annihilated? Once was enough for me, and I've never gotten drunk since. But I am perplexed why I lacked a rebellious streak when I was in high school and college? All of my friends got drunk all the time, but I was the one who volunteered to be the designated driver.

I have never been a rebel (unless you count living in the rain forest by myself for two years as an act of rebellion, but for me it was a normal, easy thing to do that didn't involve extra courage or fearlessness on my part. It was simple and fun. I wanted to get away from a fast, crazy, technology-filled, materialistic world, so I went to live in hut for awhile).

The only time the desired-rebel part of my writer-mama shadow is allowed to come out is when I am writing about a character that has traits of people I've known in my past. Their rebellions, their freedoms, their choices all come through in my writing; I don't know if I envy them or fear them.

I don't consider my lifestyle to be that of a wallflower; I am fairly liberal, laid-back, and adventurous, but I don't see myself as feisty, rowdy or the life of the party.

Trying to put myself in the shoes of a rebel is not easy to do since I've never really experienced that frame of mind. I can try to fake it in my writing, but it seems so obvious to me that my words show that I've never really done some of these things.

Young adult novels today are full of extreme experiences to draw the reader in (e.g., alcoholic friends, abusive parents, drug-addicted siblings, rape/incest/teen pregnancy, murder, abandonment, etc). I've read numerous award-winning books, and they all have at least one of these topics in the story.

It's depressing, but I wonder if more and more adolescents are relating to this material.

When I was in high school the hot topics were sex and booze, but now it seems like these topics are light and the heavy ones in the award-winning novels today are the ones publishers want to see.

My experience with the light topics is certainly more than my experience with the heavy ones, so as a writer I struggle with writing stories that teens relate to on such deep (depressing) levels.

Is my main character in my young adult novel too simple, too boring, because he faces different types of challenges instead of experiencing acts of rebellion in his life?

Well, I may be simple and down-to-earth, but this is what makes me happy. I'm certainly looking forward to having my first glass of wine once my baby is born (after I've pumped or nursed), but one glass is enough for me.

I just hope that the simplicity and down-to-earth approach of my writing for teens can interest them and make them think. If I ever publish my YA novel.

In the meantime, I look at my daughters and wonder:
Will they be rebels one day?
Will they grow up among peers who experience abuse, alcoholism, drugs, rape, murder, etc?
Will they want to read about these experiences in books?
Will they be content to experience an act of rebellion once or will it become a habit?
Will they look at me as a softy, a boring mommy or as an adventure-seeking mommy who just has no interest in getting drunk?

Elements

2011-08-17T18:54:00.000-07:00

It's Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today!

This story came to me from many directions,

one of them being a song that has become one of my favorites since I became a mom:

"I've Got Peace Like a River," sung by Elizabeth Mitchell.

The connection of river, ocean, and fountain

made me think about the elements,

and this short story was created...

Elements

By Kimberly Zook

My years as an organic chemist have taught me only one thing: every human on earth has a single element that permeates their entire being. Unfortunately, I'm still trying to discover mine.

MERCURY (Hg) - My husband's metallic body pools into a heavy liquid over mine as he falls asleep on top of me under the hot Nicaraguan sun. Beads of quicksilver drip into my pores. A restless scorpion stirs under the roof of our hut. My lungs dampen to a level of toxicity when my suave Latin lover rolls off my body.

It is winter in the states. Are my sisters thinking of their ex-pat sibling baking in a hut on a dual-volcanic island shaped like an hour-glass, waiting...

We married only three weeks after magnetically meeting on the shore of Lake Managua. Its waters drip of mercury. Our honeymoon, a ferry ride over waters buzzing of bull sharks, ended at Ometepe Island, Raul's home.

"I used to race those sharks as a boy," Raul told me, "but they're unpredictable and aggressive. You're lucky they didn't catch me."

Volatile mercury, known for speed and mobility among the Roman gods, should be handled with care.

MANGANESE (Mn) - Her hard and brittle calluses crackle in my hand. Raul's mother snorts and returns to flattening tortillas on plantain leaves in the spicy kitchen. My efforts at making tortillas do little to melt this manganese mother. Our relationship is already tainted with rust. My kidneys ache of her element.

"Mi carina, Zobeida," she exclaims at the entrance of a dazzling young woman. My dear, Zobeida.

"Quien es que?" Zobeida asks as a little girl peers around her legs. Who is that?

The disgust in his mother's voice burns my face. "Raul's esposa." Raul's wife.

"Esposa," spats Zobeida. Her eyes reflect a painful shock before she shrugs it away. "Puede cocinar?" Can she cook?

Raul's mother cackles and tosses her head to the black stove where my lumpy thick tortillas burn next to her fluffy light ones. At the table, Zobeida begins to sort through a pile of black beans, casting aside the ones bored into by insects.

The forgotten little girl stares up at me, her coffee-rich almond eyes linger on my necklace of cowrie shells.
Raul's been gone for six days now, off to Managua with a cart full of plantains. My passionate drunken love for him begins to dissipate as the bruises of manganese upon my body color to a shade of amethyst.

Manganese colors glass a shade of amethyst, which was once believed to protect a person from intoxication.

MAGNESIUM (Mg) - The little girl giggles as I wrinkle up my nose at the stench of a stink bug. We've been harvesting coffee all afternoon. I've learned only that her name is Maria and she is six years old. I anticipate Raul's return, so I can understand more about her.

Maria's delicate thin fingers wrap around my wrist, preventing me from accidentally disturbing another pungent bug. Her infectious laughter and brilliant smile have healed my wounds from this morning's interactions in the kitchen, and I relax in the shade of the tall coffee plants.

"Papa!" Maria shouts. She bursts into the air like an exploding vision of fireworks, and races down the row of plants. I glance up from my basket of red coffee berries to find Raul walking toward us. I look past him but see no one. Raul gets down on one knee and Maria steps up and jumps into his arms, a move so smooth it's been long-practiced.

His free hand grabs my waist and pulls me to his body.

"My daughter, you met," he states.

"Mi papa," Maria says proudly.

"They live with us, some days."

"They?" I ask, stepping away from his magnetic pull.

"Maria and her mother, Zobeida."

My body hardens. Raul sees the accusation in my glare.

"She's not my girlfriend. You now are my wife." Raul slowly reaches down for my hand. "My wife, I love."

The instant drain of attraction for Raul leaves my body quaking as his last words sprinkle down on me like rain drops on a cracked desert floor.

I panic, running blind inside the labyrinth of my mind until Maria's hand gently touches my shoulder. She leans out of Raul's arms towards me and lightly touches the seashells around my neck.

"I make."

Magnesium, a supernova element, is essential to all living organisms.

I published this story with WOW! Women on Writing a couple of years ago.

Their writing contest is currently open until August 31st, so I encourage you to enter it!!

Hunger of the Mind

2011-08-16T21:20:00.000-07:00

A tree-hugger's tree-climber

(don't worry, I photoshopped myself out of the picture)

Back in St. Louis in the early 2000's I stumbled along in graduate school. Call me nerdy, but here's what excited me:

helping baby trees grow in deforested areas of the rainforest

(you'd be surprised that most tree seedlings die in an area that's been cleared of rainforest)

(For those of you who aren't numbed already by the science of this post, specifically I researched the way a type of fungus (mycorrhizal) helped tree seedlings to grow in cow pastures while insects (herbivores) devoured the nutrient-rich seedling leaves)

It was, in my world, thrilling! I was the mother to thousands of baby trees who were crying out "Don't eat me bugs!"

Now that world of science and research is far far away. I'm probably closer to trees as instruments of perfecting how to climb than how they sustain our planet.

I miss the demands on my mind. Motherhood is demanding, but my mind is not a sponge for things like listening to Dora sing "Come on Vamanos" or reading Big Dog...Little Dog six times in a row or picking up the Tinker Toys again.

My mind is hungry for the intellectual games of being an adult.

How do you keep your mind active? What challenges you so that your brain doesn't become as soft and depleted as Sponge Bob's?

Word Search

2011-08-15T21:34:00.000-07:00

When asked for a word on the spot my mind goes blank. I don't touch cross-word puzzles. They're impossible.

But if I'm given time to come up with a word on my own, say as in Scrabble, I love it, but I'm slow at putting those little letters together.

Life throws at me moments and feelings that are indescribable. If I try to find the exact word to describe it, my mind goes blank. I'm searching for the words, the all encompassing words for these moments, these feelings...

Standing on the edge of the ocean, I find it to be inviting yet threatening all at once.

The ebb of peace washes back to sea, revealing a deep tremor of the finality of engulfment.

What word describes that feeling of welcoming tranquility

while harboring an instinctual threat to survival?

Holding my two-year-old over my pregnant belly,

I breathe in love as the edge of wanting space unsettles the moment.

What word captures a mother's heart yearning for physical freedom

yet clinging to the waning umbilical cord?

Waking before dawn, I listen to my toddler sing "I love Mama. I love Dada." over and over

and I want to run to her to inundate her with my love,

but I burrow deeper into the covers wanting more time alone.

What word holds the essence of the moment a woman tips over into a mother?

What words are you still searching for in your life?

Thank God I'm Not 14

2011-08-14T15:10:00.000-07:00

Stasha's topic of "10 I Miss" for her Monday's Listicles touched my heart.

I immediately thought of my husband, who comes home from deployment in less than three months! And then I thought about our love letters. And then I thought about all of the letters I've written in my lifetime that include the phrase "I miss..."

This train of thought led me down the road to... my diary when I was 14.

So here is a flashback to my past (yes, I cracked open my dear old diary, because diaries are treasures for writers) and found 10 times I used the phrase "I miss..."

It's a bit scary and embarrassing.
But I'm giving you the opportunity to step inside the mind of a 14-year-old girl!

And if you are stopping by from The Good Life for Stasha's Monday Listicles I have two requests:

(1) bombard Bill at Smells Like Borscht with tweets (@SmellsofBorscht) for all the weight we gained after his "Food" topic from last week! So many yummy posts were consumed!

AND

(2) start spinning those gadgets in your mind for next week's topic for Monday Listicles: "Yin Yang"

Thank you Stasha for asking me to choose the topic of next week's list of 10!
Being the pregnant lady that I am, I can't Yo-Yo diet right now (not that I ever would), but Yo-Yo dieting made me think of Yin and Yang.

Top Ten "I Miss..." Flashbacks of a 14-year-old Girl

(the past is never easy to digest)

10. February 24, 1991 - "Dear Diary, I haven't kissed a guy yet, but I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything. The girls shed a million tears when their boyfriends dump them, and then next week they all swap boyfriends anyhow..."

9. February 25, 1991 - "Dear Diary, I get my braces in two days. Yuck! I'm going to miss my teeth. I can't believe my parents are paying my little sister to write a summary of her chapter book Oh, well."

8. March 9, 1991 - "Dear Diary, Tom and Leslie like each other. :( Oh, well. I wore my headgear last night and it hurt soooo much. I have a headache. I miss being a kid."

7. March 10, 1991 - "Dear Diary, My older sister says I have an attitude problem & my parents take her side. (Like always she tattle-tales). I read the Genesis part of the Bible yesterday. I actually found it interesting (some parts were boring & others neat). I wonder if God misses how humans used to be."

6. March 16, 1991 - "Dear Tom, I miss you already. You and Leslie started going out only 7 days ago and already we don't talk on the phone anymore. I feel like crying. I think I love you. Oh, well."

5. March 31, 1991 - "Dear Diary, Tom and I had a great time at the dance. He dumped Leslie and we played b-ball. I missed even my layups, but oh, well. I hope my great-grandchildren will read this someday."

4. August 1, 1991 - "Dear Diary, I just got home from b-ball camp. I got to know this guy there, Mark, and I already miss him. He was our coach, and he's still in college. But anyhow he was so nice and mature."

3. October 25, 1991 - "Dear Diary, My mom said I can't read "Alice something?" I forget the whole title, but secretly I am reading sections of it. I'm not missing out on much by reading it instead of watching boring TV."

2. February 4, 1992 - "Dear Diary, I just read Dances with Wolves. The Indians believe that everything that happens has a meaning of purpose. Now I'm listening to a drug commercial on TV. I wish I lived 200 years ago. I miss that."

1. March 12, 1992 - "Dear Diary, My science teacher told me that all of my teachers are wondering why I'm so spacey lately. I told him I'm just happy & I laugh a lot & I don't worry about my grades. He said it was good to come out of my shell, but I don't want to be thought of as a bimbo. So maybe I'll calm down for awhile. I am going to miss my friends. 8th grade is almost over."

So that's little old me, almost 20 years ago.

I sure hope my writing has improved, in addition to my ability to think!

The Baby Baby

2011-08-12T04:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Baby,

We created you from love Little One.

We discovered your miracle of life shortly before your daddy deployed. So while your daddy was deployed I surprised him by having a 4D ultrasound before Father's Day! From the second I saw your tiny 10 cm long body, I fell in love. You raised your little arms to your face when I gently poked a finger into my belly. Your perfect tiny body held me spellbound.

An enormous grin lit up my face at hearing the technician say "See these three lines, you're having a girl."

Your sisters predicted you would be a girl! And your daddy and I are so incredibly happy and so blessed.

I mailed the 10 minute video of the 4D ultrasound to your daddy, who was half-way around the world. Sitting inside his ship, he watched you come to life on his computer screen and heard every word spoken at the ultrasound appointment.

I got to see you again when you were 20 weeks old. You amazed me by moving so much and displaying your beautiful profile so well for the technician to measure you.

And here I sit with you inside of me. You are 24 weeks old and already I feel you kicking when I put the palm of my hand on my belly.

Who is this little one inside of me?

What will your laugh sound like?

What will make your face shine?

Do you smile when you hear your sisters singing to you from the outside world?

I love you as much as I love your sisters. Your daddy loves you this much, too. We are so blessed and can't wait for you to join our family little one.

We love you!

P.S. Please remember I love you if one day I am screaming at you and your sisters when you are all 18, 16, and 14 and living under one roof, trying to share one bathroom while getting ready for school in the morning.

The Twinkie Indulgence

2011-08-11T19:47:00.000-07:00

Free time is a luxury, I know that now.

Memories of reading for six hours straight or watching three romantic comedies back to back are bittersweet. How did I ever have the time to run two hours a day five days a week? How did I get lost oil painting for eight hours straight without feeling hungry or tired?

Sleep, I took it for granted when I had it so good.

These days I can barely catch my breath, let alone sit down and put my feet up.

Once a week my daughters are both at school (a Mom's Morning Out) for a few hours. I rush home to mow the lawn, walk our puppy and write. Or I clean the house. Or I run errands. But I never, NEVER, relax. I push myself to fill every single second of my free time with work.

But this week, I did something I haven't done for years. Years!

I bought a Twinkie (the last one I ate occurred in the early 90's) and the September Oprah magazine.
I came home to an empty house, and put the puppy in the backyard.
I sat down on the couch and put my feet up.
And I read my magazine, cover to cover, while enjoying every morsel of my Twinkie.

And best of all, I didn't feel a single ounce of guilt.

I don't know what made today different than my other free days. Why did I buy a Twinkie and the Oprah magazine? I don't know. But it felt so good!

When was the last time you truly indulged yourself without sweating the guilt out on the side?

Their Watchful Eyes

2011-08-10T18:06:00.000-07:00

Crank it up!

"The Police said it best when they said,

"Every breath you take/And every move you make/Every bond you break, every step you take/I'll be watching you".

Write about a time you believed someone was watching you."

I chose this writing prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, because I couldn't get the song out of my head for two days after I read this prompt! And now I am tossing the ball over to you.

PLEASE don't leave a line from an 80's song in the comments. It will be stuck in my head for eternity!

Their Watchful Eyes

It's no secret.
I whine about my daughters' habit of rising at 4a.m. every morning.
I beg my readers for advice on how to get them to sleep in.
I blog about how tired I am, how grumpy I am, and how by 5 a.m. I am reduced to a bad-momma, letting my girls watch a movie so early in the morning.

But what I don't often write about is how much I love cuddling with my girls.

By 4a.m. my two-year-old is in bed with me, wanting both of my arms wrapped around her. She sings to me. She says "Dora" over and over, wanting to go downstairs to hear "Come on Vamanos."

And then by 4:30a.m. my four-year-old is laying in bed with us, cuddled up on my husband's pillow. She says "Mama, I slept in like a teenager!" or "I get to choose the first movie."

And in that brief moment their eyes are completely on me, waiting for me to start our day.

Every breath you take, Mama, and my two-year-old matches it.
Every move you make, Mama, and both of my daughters shift around my 24 week pregnant belly.
Every bond you break, every step you take, Mama, and both of my daughter raise their voices in protest if I try to curl up on my side away from them, trying to fool myself into thinking I can fall back asleep for even just one minute.

I'll be watching you, Mama, and I sit up.

The day has begun.

So my two-year-old runs to my closet and grabs my bra.
"Mama, bra!" she shouts.

My four-year-old turns on the bathroom light for me.
"Mommy, watch this!" she shouts, twirling in front of the closet mirror.

And downstairs I hear our Sheltie puppy begin to whine.

Our house is a chorus of chimes and whistles. It is a home of watchful eyes, never letting me out of their range for very long. I once wrote on my blog about being Tethered to the Umbilical Cord. Both of my daughters and I go back and forth with being inseparable and independent.

And I know one day their eyes won't be so watchful of me. One day my husband and I will wake up in our bed longing for those little arms and legs wrapped around ours. One day I will read this post and have tears in my eyes.

In the not-so-distant future, my girls will be springing not toward me, but away from me.

Wordless Wednesday: The First Wish

2011-08-10T04:13:00.000-07:00

No Kids Allowed

2011-08-09T04:06:00.000-07:00

This 'movement' has been going on for awhile now, and I am still trying to wrap my head around it.

First a 'no kids restaurant' and then no kids movie theater shows, no kids grocery shopping hours, no kids in an outdoor area of a condominium... What will be next? (see Piper Weiss's article for details)

We take our daughters to restaurants and 9 times out of 10 they are angels. We feel horrible for the other patrons during that 1 time they act up, and we usually ask to take our food to go, pay and leave right away. But that 1 time may leave a lasting impression on people who wish to dine in the absence of children.

I took my daughters to their first professional baseball game and got them seats in the 15th row from first base. For their first experience, I wanted them to be able to see the players and the blades of grass. But they were more interested in their snow cones and bag of cotton candy. We got up four times to use the potty. My oldest daughter got a bit loud a few times. And I worried the fans around us were angry that they had paid a lot of money for their seats only to be bothered by my children.

We don't sit in first class on airplanes, but in coach I cringe if my daughters cry or fuss and worry those sitting by us will complain.

But I've never really been paranoid about going places with my girls. I bring them along not with a worry of disturbing others, but with the excitement of seeing my girls experience something for the first time.

This "No Kids Allowed" movement; however, is making me anxious. Should I be more conservative in where I bring my daughters?

But then I begin to argue with myself: who will teach our children if they are not allowed in certain places? The elders, the community members, other parents... aren't these the people who used to teach our children generations ago?

Have you seen this "No Children Allowed" in your area yet?

The Wild Tree

2011-08-08T18:24:00.000-07:00

Every woman needs a wild tree.

A tree she turns to in times of need: her shelter, her provider, her care giver.

Her wild tree is hers and hers alone.

She may find shelter in her lover's arms.
She may be provided a cup of comforting tea from a friend.
She may become a girl again in her mother's caring arms.

But her wild tree... it sets this woman free into the wilds of her spirit.

What is your wild tree?
Is it writing, your blog, a book, God, painting, water, walking, random acts of kindness, laughter...?

My wild tree is the wind moving through a tree's branches.
The fluttering of leaves, the whispers on my ears, the whiff of tree bark...
it shelters my soul, provides me with new energy, and helps me to feel centered.

I abandon all of my mixed up thoughts and emotions when I witness the wind blowing through a tree.
It sets my mind free. I am given the gift to enter the wildness of being a woman.

What is your wild tree?

Ferocious Feeders of Food

2011-08-07T18:12:00.000-07:00

Stasha at The Good Life runs her Monday Listicles, and this week's topic, food, was chosen by Bill at Smells Like Borscht!

These days I am trying to teach my two girls their table manners.

The experience brings to mind all of the times I've witnessed "animals" eating food.
My four-year-old daughter still denies that she is an animal; however, this list should convince her that she is indeed a living, breathing, hunger-driven animal.

Ferocious Feeders of Food

1. My daughter attacks her cottage cheese mouth-on-plate like our old dog, who devoured a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans he had stolen off the kitchen counter.

($600 and a stomach pump later, our dog survived)

2. My daughters mimic the white-faced capuchin monkeys that stole bananas from me in Costa Rica: they're sly, stealthy and secretly peel the banana delicately piece by piece just out of reach from me.

3. My four-year-old's hand snaps at the last Dum Dum like my childhood pet turtle lunged for live caterpillars. "It's Mine!"

4. My daughters hover in front of the refrigerator, waiting for food, like our fish in the tank that swarm the surface right before meal time.

(They at least paused to hug for the photo)

5. My two girls nursing so contently (when they were babies) like the baby gorilla nursing at the zoo.

6. My oldest daughter crunching on pretzels like the puma in Costa Rica that crunched on a rodent's bones while sitting on top of my casita at night.

(No I didn't go outside to take a photo of the puma, but here's one of my casita & friends)

7. My two-year-old chasing after her big sister, trying to bite her (and succeeding), like a great white shark attacks its prey (no cannibalism was committed; although she did draw blood).

(Not a PG-rated image of the vampire scene, but you can see how sharp her teeth are here)

8. Teaching my daughters how to suck the nectar at the base of long stemmed red flowers just like a hummingbird drinks nectar.

9. My daughters nibble little holes out of lettuce leaves like the caterpillars outside devour my cucumber leaves.

10. My daughters nibbling on books (when they were young) just like the pregnant rat inside my casita in Costa Rica chewed up the pages of my books (to make a nest for her offspring).

This rat doesn't deserve a photo;

she destroyed my books & my clothes,
pooped all over my pillow,

and crawled on top of me when I slept at night.

If you have a list of 10 on the topic of Food, link up to:

Hidden Gems

2011-08-06T21:55:00.000-07:00

I lucked out in college. I found my two best friends, Meredith (above) and Emily (below).

I didn't even have to go digging around for them for very long. We met during our freshman year at Indiana University.

Since then they have traveled miles upon miles to see me, to help me, to meet my daughters. I am so fortunate, and so humbled. I wish I was as good a friend for them as they are for me.

Meredith flew to Costa Rica to help me hack with machetes and dig with shovels into abandoned cow pastures. Just so I could collect samples of dirt by any tree in the pasture.

I was hunting for hidden treasures: fungal spores. They're quite lovely, little round balls ranging in color (under the microscope).

Emily traveled to Canada as I neared the end of my first pregnancy and then to D.C. to meet my second daughter after she was born.

I was experiencing the mystifying treasure of motherhood, and needing a friend.

Despite my lack of communication, my efforts to travel to see my two friends, my forgetfulness of birthdays, my two best-friends are my true friends in my life. And I am so grateful that they understand me so well, to know that I love them, cherish them, and hold them as gems in my heart.

I know most bloggers write tributes to other bloggers, and I truly value the relationships I have with other bloggers, but I wanted to write this blog post for my two dear friends tonight.

Thank you Meredith and Emily for always being there for me!

A Call to Arms

2011-08-05T19:39:00.000-07:00

I'm enlisting all able bodies to be on the receiving end of the "all-day cling" in my house!

I love hugs, abrazos, прегръдка, 拥抱, yakap, memeluk, kumkumbatia, kram, ôm.

I bet you didn't know I can speak nine different languages, I didn't either, until now.

If I really did I think I'd be in Brussels with the UN.

I digress; back to my advertisement...

I seriously need arms to hold my two-year-old. She is an angel!

The arms must be strong, however, she is a 30 pound monkey with great toe gripping capabilities.

She gives the neck lots of loving smooches.

She giggles and sings for minutes on end.

She's warm and smells of sweet summer grass and chlorine.
She combs through corkscrew-curly hair of the holder until it is a mass of frizz, on one side of the head.

After awhile you'll forget she is a separate entity as her body will mold to yours until she's an extension of yourself.
And best of all, you get an unending hug of love.

I must forewarn you that she might cry if it is not her mommy's arms that hold her.

You see, I want to hold her, and I do, despite my doctor's disapproval.
But it's getting harder and riskier for me to do so. I'm only 24 ~~months~~ weeks along in my pregnancy, but I am sticking this much out (I've already had people ask me if I'm due this month):

If I get no takers, I will send this on to my husband and request that he come home early from his deployment to hold his little girl, who matches her growing clinginess with every inch my belly expands. She knows that soon she won't be the baby of the family by late November, and she's trying to get as much of me as possible in the mean time.

I love my little girl so much. Maybe I won't give up holding her just yet.
But what will I do if I seriously can't pick her up and hold her before my husband gets home?
It honestly is starting to break my heart to see her sad if I can't hold her as long as she wants me to.