The Disease of Being Busy

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting

07.27.2015

When someone asks you ‘how are you doing?’, how do you respond? It’s such a simple question, asked with almost every greeting, but I always stumble over my own answer. I over-think it, or maybe I don’t; maybe I just think about how I would honestly answer the question — reluctant to give way to the typical ‘good’ or ‘really busy’ answers that so many of us say without much thought or consideration. Sometimes I internally scratch my head because I haven’t honestly taken the time to even consider how I actually am because, well, I am really busy.

I’ve been wanting to slow down a lot lately; I feel the pull of a slower pace tugging at my pant leg. I observe people and I can’t help but notice how buried we all are in our own worlds. The last time we were at the airport, I whispered over in Willy’s ear, “look at everyone here… everyone has their head down, staring at their devices”. It spurred a brief conversation about this crazy technology driven world of solitude where we seemingly live alongside one another but not with one another. The idea of being part of a community feels like a notion from the good ol’ days.

I’m not excluded from the people I observe.

My sister sent me an article written by a man named Omid Safi called “The Disease of Being Busy“. He, too, notices that people often answer the question of how they are with an over-exaggerated response of ‘too busy’. He goes on to discuss how children, too, are over scheduled; school, homework, and a multitude of extracurricular activities filling all of their calendar days. So much so, he says, that nobody – kids and adults alike – ever attest to being bored anymore; or even simply being, for that matter. Safi states, “What happened to a world in which we can sit with the people we love so much and have slow conversations about the state of our heart and soul, conversations that slowly unfold, conversations with pregnant pauses and silences that we are in no rush to fill?”.

I’m not sure, but man I long for some of that slowness.

The following excerpt from his article is my favorite, he writes,

“In many Muslim cultures, when you want to ask them how they’re doing, you ask: in Arabic, Kayf haal-ik? or, in Persian, Haal-e shomaa chetoreh? How is your haal?

What is this haal that you inquire about? It is the transient state of one’s heart. In reality, we ask, ‘How is your heart doing at this very moment, at this breath?’ When I ask, ‘How are you?’ that is really what I want to know.

I am not asking how many items are on your to-do list, nor asking how many items are in your inbox. I want to know how your heart is doing, at this very moment. Tell me. Tell me your heart is joyous, tell me your heart is aching, tell me your heart is sad, tell me your heart craves a human touch. Examine your own heart, explore your soul, and then tell me something about your heart and your soul.”

So how are you today? I’m in a dream state with my concentration on how to make what is possible an actual reality. I’m feeling grateful for our community of friends and family and even neighbors, who have become friends, that add to our larger sense of belonging. And I’m feeling frustrated by two boys that should be napping right now, only one just pooped his pants and the other is whining because he wants out of his room so he, too, can poop.

Safi ends the article by saying, “Let us insist on a type of human-to-human connection where when one of us responds by saying, ‘I am just so busy,’ we can follow up by saying, ‘I know, love. We all are. But I want to know how your heart is doing.'”

Beautiful, no?

Crickets

by Ashley filed under Life

07.23.2015

It’s been more quite than usual around here and I’m okay with that – I never make this blog a priority in the sense that it’s not something I force myself to stay committed to. Hooper is no longer napping during the day and given the fact he’ll be 5 this year, I’d say we’ve had a good run. Gone are those solid hours of silence in the middle of the day that afforded me some much needed time to myself, time to regroup, reflect, write, create, and so on and so forth.

We just got back from a week in Arizona and I’m feeling overwhelmed with all I have to catch up on. Orders, emails, unpacking (and all that comes with unpacking – laundry, a trip to the grocery store, sorting, organizing, putting away), and preparing for Van’s birthday this weekend – something I have nothing planned for despite the family coming in from out-of-state and my grandma who’s taking the train in from the Valley – not to mention that 12 hour shift I have in the hospital between now and then. Sometimes it feels like there’s just not enough time in the day, not enough days in the week. And yet it all gets done, somehow or another. Or maybe it’s that what needs to get done, gets done.

Emails are haunting me like bright white eyes in a dark haunted mansion. Laundry sits washed but getting wrinklier by the minute in the dryer. And that little boy’s third birthday party remains unplanned but will be made great just as every party in the past; not by the decorations or the fancy invitations, but by the energy provided by being surrounded by those who love him.

Breathe in, breathe out. Hoping to catch up on things this weekend.

Homeland

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Life

07.20.2015

On a basis more regular than I care to admit, we get a letter in the mail from our Homeowner’s Association telling us that our boys are not allowed to ride their bikes on the road in front of our town home. I believe it has something to do with the street being private and I’m sure it’s a liability given the fact that everything these days feels like a liability. When the pleads are relentless, we close off the end of the road (which forms a cup-de-sac of sorts) with cones and let the boys have it and hope that no one of the I’ll-rat-you-out-variety takes notice. Nevertheless, I know we’ll want to leave – for reasons like this alone – in due time and the urge to own at least a little chunk of land we can call our own has been in the back of our minds much more as of late.

Our friend Chris, and his daughter Lilli, did just that and bought a couple of acres of land in Homeland. We went out to visit the other weekend on a day where the clouds granted us a bit of reprieve from the otherwise relentless summer rays. Jimmie was panting in minutes flat and both boys, with rosy red cheeks, seemed to give away the fact we live close to the water, where we’re spoiled with the kind of climate that brings hoards of tourists to our sleepy beach town in these summer months.

Their land is a beautiful contrast to what makes up our current reality; acres of land with a makeshift fence, piles of this and that that may – or may not – prove their worth in time, the freedom to shoot guns, a beautiful area dedicated to growing their own fruits and vegetables, a trampoline, and the BBQ which gets used most every night. I couldn’t help but think about the petition going around our neighborhood to have on of the homeowners replace his windows because he accidentally had white windows put in rather than the required off-white cream color like everyone else.

The kids ran the kind of wild that put them to sleep before we even made it on the highway; pushing motorized cars that lost their battery power years ago, swimming in the above-ground pool, jumping on the trampoline, hunting for bugs and snakes, fights involving dirt as weapons, and watching Lilli maneuver the four wheeler all by herself, like a pro, with the kind of deep rooted adoration that comes with watching someone just a bit older than you do something you long to try yourself.

When I place those cones at the end of our street and I watch my boys, who really don’t have as much practice time as they’d like, maneuver their bikes on their training wheels with their helmets on, I’m reminded that there is another way. There is more freedom out there, you just need to seek it out. And when you find it, you may come across a little girl driving her dad’s four-wheeler, like a boss.

Thoughts on having a third | Perspective

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting

07.06.2015

If you’ve been a long-ish reader of my blog, it’s no news to you that I’d like to have another child. I wrote about it here. It has nothing to do with how I view my ability to handle having three kids because I know better than anyone else that most days consist of varying levels of stress and self-sacrifice and that our home, the place we rest our heads most nights, is wickedly unforgiving. Just ask the dust balls on the stairs. There is no rational rhyme or reason to my madness, just the simple fact that I feel called to mother another child.

Willy looks at me from across the kitchen table perplexed as to why I’m not in a padded room; chaos surrounding us… toys everywhere, dishes piled up, a four-going-on-five-year-old who still requires to be spoon fed from time to time should you want anything to actually make it’s way into his stomach, and a two-going-on-stubborn-year-old that will slap you if he doesn’t get his way. Willy can’t help but question why I would want to add to our current situation when our current situation sometimes feels abusive (parental abuse should be a thing), overwhelming, and trying. We’re like underpaid, unappreciated workers.

I nod my head in agreeance each time because I can’t argue with things I agree with. But the pull to have another remains strong, regardless. And it wasn’t until recently that I was able to hit the nail on the head.

My sister sent me this blog post, which sums it up perfectly.

The author writes, “The first time a kind stranger peeked at my newborn baby and gushed, “Oh honey, treasure every second!” I almost burst into tears. Not because I was so touched, but because I was so tired. We were standing at the entrance to the mall–me, my baby, and my Shamu-sized postpartum belly–all three of us staring at this sweet lady with her abounding supply of freedom. I wanted to say, “I’ll try! I’ll try to treasure every second, and you try to treasure every second of the eight hours of uninterrupted sleep you’re going to get tonight. And treasure every second you’re going to roam this mall in total freedom, buying clothes that will fit your skinny waist, and shirts that aren’t breastfeeding accessible. And while you’re at it, treasure all the discretionary time you’ll have in the next decade while I watch Dora, and take temperatures, and settle fights, and pretend to be a human jungle gym, and birth more babies, and clean puke off my clothes.”’

I can recall feeling the same way. Being told to treasure every second was my first experience of mom guilt. When I’d here those words, “treasure every second”, I’d feel this impending feeling of doom — I was not only expected to wake every two hours to feed my newborn, but I was also expected to enjoy it. Hell, forget enjoying it, we’re told to treasure it. Can you imagine being dead asleep following a sleep derived night before only to awoken by that ever-so-subtle newborn whine that not-so-slowly grows into an all out adult scream and think to yourself, “lucky me, it’s that time to nurse that baby again“. Those people that insist on such ridiculous notions clearly have had a better nights sleep. They’re clearly speaking from hindsight. They clearly have something all new parents in their delirious, over-worked, under-appreciated state have; they have perspective.

The author of the aforementioned post went on to have three children, all girls, and had to this to say following the birth of the third: “This time, if a kindly stranger tells me to treasure every second, I think I will burst into tears. Not because of my lost figure or freedom, but because I so ardently understand that the seconds truly are numbered. They are grains of sand slipping through the hourglass, never to be returned. That’s the funny thing about motherhood. You start off with so little on your plate, and it feels like you’re absolutely drowning. And yet the more you add, the more joyful it becomes. Because somewhere in between adding more babies, and more diapers, and more laundry, you also add more perspective. You realize there are worse things than a long night, and challenges really do pass, and tiny toes don’t stay tiny forever. You know cribs turn into beds, and strollers turn into bikes, and the chubby cheeks making fish faces today will be wearing your makeup tomorrow.”

And so when Willy looks at me from across the table I remind him it won’t be like this forever and hell, when it’s not like this, we’ll miss it. Parts of it anyway.

60 Years

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Life

07.02.2015

Willy’s mom turned 60 in May so we surprised her with a weekend family getaway to Encinitas, which is north of San Diego. We stayed at a house right on the beach, with long, steep wooden stairs that made even the bravest of us hold the handrails a little tighter. Jimmie, lacking brain cells, decided to make the 25 ft. jump off the cliff and onto the sand where he stood waiting for us with his back right leg held up like a flamingo. Fortunately he seemed to be okay, but it was scary to watch and seeing an animal in pain hurts my heart… and pocket, when you consider all the vet bills with had with Sarah.

We opted to eat in the first night, compliments of Willy who thankfully takes the lead in the kitchen otherwise we’d be eating out or eating boxed macaroni every night. The next morning we celebrated National Donut day and enjoyed donuts for breakfast, followed by a lunch out with just the girls in Ocean Beach. While in Ocean beach, we hit up several of the antique stores and I came home with a beautiful tapestry for the wall, a woven basket, and a box full of vintage candles that were just the size I needed for some old candle holders my mom gave me; complete with the .99 cent sticker from pic-n-save. Remember pic-n-save? We had dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant that accommodated our large group perfectly and got us home just in time to catch the sunset.

The boys had a great time hanging with their cousin, Zoe, who is just about old enough to be entertained by their shenanigans (she’s a year younger than Van). The way she watched them zip down the side yard on the toddler ride-on toy that was meant to be used for anything but, laughing at whatever they laughed at, and gracefully agreeing to be my photo subject when my crazy kids were, well, crazy.

I asked my mother-in-law to share some words on turning 60 because I think with every new decade comes new perspectives and truths you never anticipated knowing. Here’s what she had to say:

“Suddenly Sixty.” That title penned by the multi-talented Judith Viorst pretty much characterizes my arrival at this milepost. It might be trite, but it’s true: I’m really not certain how I got here! And, no, for me, 60 is NOT the new 40. Oddly enough, reaching other decades didn’t impact me the way 60 does. Not wanting to be maudlin, I’ve got to face the fact that on any graphic depicting life expectancy, it’s downhill from here. Very humbling! That said, age does bring a wisdom that’s comforting, a family that’s fulfilling (grandkids ARE the best) and friends who are true. For those blessings, I am more grateful than I can express. Looking back, I’m not sure I would really change much. Maybe worry less. It’s wasted energy. Maybe write more. I love words. And being married to my best friend for 39 of those 60 years is pretty darn cool. Where did those years go? Wish I had an answer, but the older I get the more I realize how little I know. In the end, though, if I died tomorrow I would die a happy woman knowing I did my best to leave the world a better place, mainly because of the two wonderful men who are my sons.

Fear

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting

06.24.2015

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the importance, for me, to let kids be kids; to openly explore their environment and to – more or less – take a back seat approach when it’s appropriate. But battling this outlook is an underlying fear I think we all face as mothers; an innate versus society-induced drive to coddle, to protect, and to give our children every ounce of our attention.

Before becoming a mother, I lived without any inhibitions (I’ve probably made my own mother’s head spin all the way around once or twice). I’ve been sky diving twice, I attended big outrageous parties in the middle of the desert that were not – shall we say – legal, I visited India (just Janet and I) and ended up – after many stops at checkpoints that contained several men with not one but two machine guns slung over each shoulder – in Pakistan at a time it was not – shall we say – safe to be there. And those are just the things I’m willing to admit here publicly.

And so, as a mother, I try to hold on to the notion that it’s okay to make mistakes and okay to explore and – more or less – trust the world; And that doing so will build a stronger human being based on the notion that I identify greatly with all I have done in my life and believe deeply that it has shaped what I trust to be a healthy perspective on life and a humble confidence in myself and my fellow man.

I don’t believe in parenting from behind a screen door of mesh made of fear. And yet, as I reflect on things that have happened over just the last year or so, I wonder if I’m really confident enough to practice what I preach because, well, I struggle with my own fears too.

My grandma died just a day or two after I had my spinal fusion. I was in the hospital when I learned that my dad had found her, still somewhat conscious, on the floor in her home office. She was 96 years old and despite her age, it came as a shock to all of us. She showed no signs of slowing down, refused all help, and lived alone completely independently.

When I came home after two weeks in the hospital, I experienced horrible opiate withdrawals. I had been on IV dilaudid for the full time I was in the hospital. If you google dilaudid, you’ll read urban dictionary’s definition: medical heroin. And it’s no joke; it’s something like one chemical compound off of heroin. It didn’t live up to the hype, but I think I was in so much pain that it did nothing more than knock me out and allow me to rest for an hour or two until I woke up in dire pain and repeated the process all over again. By the time I was home, I felt nauseous, couldn’t eat, and was still in horrible pain. Two months after coming home, I did something awful to my neck; so awful that I can say I was in more pain than I ever had been. Meaning it topped two natural births to large babies as well as the pain I experienced immediately post operatively. I laid helpless in bed for about two weeks and got a glimpse of what it would be like to be chronically disabled. A few weeks after healing from that, I got a stomach virus that made me so dehydrated that I passed out – completely – at home. An ambulance took me to the hospital, where I spent another few days loading up on IV fluids.

Prior to moving – as many of you already know – we watched helplessly as Sarah (our dog) got hit by a car. The vision still runs over and over again in my mind. And, more than anything, pointed to the fact that life can change in an instant right before your eyes. Following her death, the way we started talking to one another changed; “Have a fun trip” turned into “Please make sure you drive safely and that the kids are strapped in well”.

Just after moving to our new home, Willy came upon a scene where a pedestrian had been hit just a mile from our home. She flew at least 60 feet. The look on the faces of the two bikers that witnessed it is imprinted in Willy’s memory; I can almost see it myself, and I wasn’t even there.

While in Hawaii last year we got word that Willy’s grandma was in the hospital. Again, it was – more or less – unexpected. She was discharged and placed on hospice care with a poor prognosis. Thankfully, she’s still with us and fighting the good fight.

I came across the loss of the sweetest red-headed boy on Instagram and haven’t been able to shake him, or his family, from my mind. Ryan was three when he chased a Frisbee into the street and was hit by a truck. It was so painful to read about, I couldn’t even muster up a few words of condolences to his family. It hits home, as I’m sure it does for all of us.

And, of course, my recent car accident on the freeway… where all three cars involved were a total loss. I can still see that pickup truck coming straight at me. I wasn’t my fault, though at times I think it would be easier to deal with if it had been; It’s easier to say things like “I’ll never travel that close to the car in front of me again” or “I won’t ever check my phone while driving again” because statements like those insinuate some degree of control. Instead, all I can say is “I hope a truck on the freeway doesn’t fly into me out of nowhere again” and, well, that’s not very comforting — to know that I, or none of us for that matter, have control to stop things that are out of our control is scary.

The sum of all these scenarios points to one brutal conclusion: life is fragile, pain is real, and the paths we all walk are never straight. And these aren’t conclusions you want to hear or face or – dare I say – accept as a mother. We want life to be hardy and safe and dependable so we can let our children off of our proverbial leashes and enable them to make mistakes and learn and grow.

I’m reminded of a quote I recently read over on The Ma Books: “Only later did I come to understand that to be a mother is to be an illusion. No matter how vigilant, in the end a mother can’t protect her child – not from pain, or horror, or the nightmare of violence, from sealed trains moving rapidly in the wrong direction, the depravity of strangers, trapdoors, abysses, fires, cars in the rain, from chance” (Nicole Krauss, Great House). That quote brings tears to my eyes, every time.

I really do believe in letting my kids be kids; I believe in allowing them to make mistakes. I believe in allowing my kids to fall and struggle and learn and grow. My hope is that I can raise them to be independent and confident. But there are cracks in concrete just like there are holes in fences and sometimes little bits of life happenings become weights, each of them stacked upon the other, weighing me down and trying to force me into surrendering to fear.

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t have a conclusion that suggests it’s all okay; I only have the truth that it’s not always okay and that things can change at the drop of a hat. I guess the take home message is that you can’t plan your life around unexpected tragedies nor can you plan your life around the idea that everything will be okay, always. So I guess you can dumb it down even further and simply say you cannot plan life; You can merely enjoy the days, the moments, and surround ourselves with those we love with the harsh reality that none of us will be here forever.

Photos by Tish Carlson

A Guest Post: My Ectopic Pregnancy

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood

05.28.2015

There’s this stupid Burger King commercial on TV right now where a chicken announces, “French fries and I are pregnant and we’re having chicken fries!” Normally, I wouldn’t even notice a commercial like this. If I did notice it, I would think, “Lame” and wonder aloud how much the ad agency got paid for creating it. But, things haven’t been normal since April 30, when I found out my pregnancy was ectopic (growing in my left fallopian tube). After an emergency surgery, I came home to sit in front of the TV for a week, during which time I saw that commercial about 20 times and hated the f-ing world.

Here’s the thing: I was never sure about having kids. I was on the proverbial fence. Or, actually, that’s not even true. For a long time, I was on the “no kids” side of the fence. I wrote a post for this blog about my hesitations with being a mom. At one point, I was pretty sure that being an Aunt to Hooper and Van would be fulfilling enough, and I wrote a post about that. And then, still wrestling with the whole motherhood thing, I wrote a post with a letter to my future possible child (which makes me kind of teary-eyed now).

What I’m saying is it’s no secret that I spent a good deal of time hemming and hawing about whether or not I should tackle parenthood. My sister said, “You think too much,” and that’s probably true. Then, in the months after I got married in 2014, something shifted and I wanted a family. My husband and I talked about it for hours upon hours over many weeks and months. We didn’t take the decision lightly. It was very thought-out. We couldn’t be impulsive even if we wanted to be because I had to taper off my antidepressant before we could even “try.” That was a grueling two-month process in itself.

All that said, when I took 3 pee-on-a-stick tests and found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic. Like, I was shaking, which I haven’t done since I was 15 and my crush gave me a ride to school one day. I saved the three tests until just yesterday when I finally decided to throw them away.

My plan was to tell my family on Mother’s Day by showing them the ultrasound picture and saying, “My gift won’t be ready for 7 months.” We had started talking about names and how to convert the guest bedroom into a nursery. I had started fantasizing, big time. I bought the very best prenatal vitamins and cooked awesome meals, saying to my husband, “This baby is gonna love me for 9 months.” I took the cliché “just found out I was pregnant” photo, planning to keep a log showing my growing bump. I couldn’t wait to see that bump grow.

My excitement turned to worry when I had some spotting. Google told me this was fairly common in early pregnancy. Still, I called the doctor and they said, “It’s probably nothing, but we can check your hormone levels with blood tests if you want.” I did want. I needed some peace of mind. The first two tests were fine. My levels were in the normal range and, most importantly, were rising as they should. In fact, they tripled from the first test to the second, which the doctor said was “excellent.” But, the third test was not good. The levels had barely risen. In retrospect, this makes me sad. The levels were still rising, albeit slowly. The baby was trying to grow.

They wanted me to come in right away for an ultrasound. I was expecting a miscarriage. I felt like a ticking time bomb, going to the bathroom every 10 minutes to see if I was bleeding. I wasn’t. I had some mild cramping, and figured that was just the beginning of losing the baby. I tried to comfort myself with, “Well, if you miscarry, it’s probably because there was something wrong with the baby.” That’s what I’d heard. I like to pride myself on being logical.

During the ultrasound, the tech kept sighing and shaking her head. I told her, “I know it’s bad, just be straight with me.” She said, “I think it’s in your left tube.” That was not what I expected to hear. After all, ectopic pregnancies are rare—1% to 2% of pregnancies. Ten minutes later, the doctor was having me escorted to the admitting desk of the hospital to have emergency surgery. I was shocked and scared. I’ve only been under anesthesia once—when I had my wisdom teeth removed. The whole process—getting vials and vials of blood drawn, having an IV inserted through my hand, answering questions about my advance directive—made me feel ill. And then the lights went out at the hospital and I had to wait, lying there on the gurney, for 2 hours before they could operate.

I should consider myself lucky. People die from ectopic pregnancies—not just in the 1800s, but today, especially in countries where medical care isn’t great. I’m fortunate to live where I do. When I woke up, the doctor said I was already bleeding internally so the tube would have ruptured “at any minute” if they hadn’t operated. That would have been bad, very bad.

From the moment I got home from the hospital, I was stubbornly determined to just move on. I was not prepared for the tsunami of grief and sadness and anger that would crash down. I keep looking for a reason why this happened. Maybe it’s because I was wishy-washy about kids for so long. Maybe it’s a sign that I was supposed to stay on the “no kids” side of the fence. My husband thinks it was to test our resolve and prove our strength and resiliency (because god knows you need strength and resilience if you’re a parent). Oh my husband, his glass is always half full, even when I attempt to drain it.

Physically, I could barely move for a few days. It hurt to sit up. I fainted during my first attempt at walking. I ran my first marathon a few months ago and felt so strong and empowered by that. Suddenly, that person was gone and I was completely weak and depleted, unable to even go to the bathroom without help. The only thing that felt okay was lying flat, staring at the ceiling. With my type of surgery, they pump you full of air so they can see around in there. I was so bloated and uncomfortable. In a bit of cruel irony, I looked about 5 months pregnant for several days. My belly still isn’t back to normal.

Physical effects aside, the emotional recovery has been incredibly difficult and humbling. Logically, I know it was barely a fetus, but I can’t stop thinking about how the baby’s heart was beating and the baby had eyes and all of that. It’s sad. It was a healthy union of egg and sperm, just in the wrong spot. That f-ing sucks and really pisses me off. The pregnancy hormones take weeks to go away, so I still “feel pregnant.” If I pee on a stick, it will say I am pregnant. That’s probably why I’m so sad. My body is responding like I lost a baby. I did, I guess. I did.

People try to say the right things. They really do. But when you’re in a certain head space, nothing really helps. It goes something like this:

Nice friend: “At least you could get pregnant.”

My imagined retort: “Yeah and it turned out to be potentially life-threatening. Lucky me!”

Nice friend: “I didn’t even know you wanted kids.”

My imagined retort: “Right, so I guess it’s okay this happened. Thanks.”

Nice friend: “You can try again.”

My imagined retort: “If you went skydiving and the parachute didn’t open, would you go again?”

Nice friend: “I’m sure it happened for a reason.”
My imagined retort: “When our friendship ends, that will be for a reason, too.”

Seriously, folks, I had a days-long, very elaborate pity party. A real rager.

And don’t even get me started on the evils of Facebook when you go through something like this. I follow lots of runners. I hated them for their health. I follow lots of friends who are pregnant or already moms. I hated them for their bliss. Even now that some time has passed, I still feel angry. I know it’s not rational and I know it’s bitchy and unfair of me, but it’s there.

Not even my husband has been safe from my wrath. Frankly, spouses can’t understand. They want to, but they can’t. And that’s frustrating. I don’t know if we’ll try again. Even though I have only one tube left, my doctor says many women go on to have healthy pregnancies after an ectopic. I think we will take the summer to heal and relax and drink some beers and think about what’s next. I see this experience as a microcosm of motherhood itself. It stripped me of so much control and left me feeling so vulnerable, which is probably what it’s like to be a mom a lot of the time. I have to wonder if I can handle that long-term.

We did a small ceremony at the beach, involving some rose petals disappearing into the waves. I cried. My husband said, “That was nice,” which is the closest he will get to crying, I assure you. I’ve been up and around now. I’ve spent time with my family. They’ve made me laugh. It freaking hurts my belly when I laugh. But at least I’m laughing.

To all you women who have struggled with losing a baby in whatever way, shape, or form, I am so sorry. And you are so brave. Stay off Facebook for a while and you’ll be okay.

Author: Kim Hooper | Photos found on Whitney Taylor’s Pinterest, artist unknown 🙁

March On

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood

05.22.2015

When I became a mother, I felt this annoyance with all those women before me who fought so hard for women’s rights. And by “women’s rights,” I mean this notion that women can “do it all.” I mean of course we CAN do it all. In my opinion, we are more equipped than men to “do it all.” We are biologically hardwired to multitask because motherhood is, essentially, multitasking.

But, as a mom, I quickly realized that the implication is not simply that we CAN do it all, but that we MUST. And “all” now encompasses taking care of the household and working a good job and sustaining wonderful friends and being a good sister/daughter/whatever. I don’t think the feminists intended to make us all stressed out. They wanted us to have equal rights. They wanted things to be fair. They wanted to be inspiring. Unfortunately, I think many of us have taken their “you can do anything” mantra and turned it into a “you should do everything” mandate.

When I had my boys, I hated the fact that I had to leave home and return to work. It felt very unnatural to leave my child. Everyone says to follow your instinct as a new mom and my new mom instinct was barking like a little annoying yippie chihuahua for me to stay home.

What I do for work has changed some over the last few years and when someone asks me what I do, I kinda stumble over the answer. Consistently, I say, I’m a registered nurse. Passionately, I say, I’m a photographer. And, because I wanted to, I opened an Etsy shop. Sometimes I wonder if doing all three inhibits me from doing any one with any sort of excellence. I never give it much thought though because all three make me happy and I have come to the conclusion, over much time spent mulling it all over, that all three work symbiotically. I have, however, witnessed the struggles of those around me; moms who feel less adequate because they’ve chosen to leave their careers to mother children, moms who never had the opportunity to pursue a career because they stayed home with kids from the beginning, and moms who do a little of both but don’t feel like winners at either one.

Point being, I think we all question what we do and if we’re doing it right. I think women are notoriously hard on themselves and tend to compare themselves to one another and set unrealistic expectations; expectations that can lead to us feeling really crummy about ourselves.

I came across this article on The Huffington Post that kind of touches on women who seem to give more energy to what they’re not doing instead of to what they are. I suppose it’s the whole glass half-full versus glass half-empty phenomena. Or the notion of wanting what you have as opposed to having what you want. In general, I think we’re all more inclined to self-scrutiny and I think Elizabeth Gilbert’s article is a great reminder to lighten up a little. In today’s day n’ age, it feels like we’re doing more than ever – in all facets of life (home, work, motherhood, etc), and yet we’re seemingly more self-critical. It’s backwards.

The last bit of the article has a ‘screw it’ like mantra and has really stuck with me:

“Move to the wrong city. Lose your temper in front of the boss, quit training for that marathon, wolf down a truckload of cupcakes the day after you start your diet. Blow it all catastrophically, in fact, and then start over with good cheer. This is what we all must learn to do, for this is how maps get charted — by taking wrong turns that lead to surprising passageways that open into spectacularly unexpected new worlds. So just march on. Future generations will thank you — trust me — for showing the way, for beating brave new footpaths out of wonky old mistakes. Fall flat on your face if you must, but please, for the sake of us all, do not stop. Map your own life.”

The reality is that there is no right or wrong. Sometimes I think I need to stop analyzing what I’m doing with my life and – so long as it’s working for me – keep on keepin’ on. What I’m doing right now is fulfilling. There is always more out there, always. But, to me, the point of life isn’t to cram it full of accomplishments; it’s to find accomplishment in the simplicities of the everyday.

Photo by Tish Carlson

Life

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood

04.30.2015

“I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a living is not the same thing as making a life. I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou

Muddy Thoughts

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood

04.20.2015

I go through periods where it’s hard for me to write.

I’ve always thought of myself not so much as a writer, but as a feeler, and – in turn – a writer because, well, I’m obviously into documenting. I used to feel everything. Lately, all I’ve felt is exhaustion; an urge to do nothing at all – like a depressed person who suddenly no longer wants to do things that once excited them. The difference being that I’m not depressed, I’m tired.

And I’m not quite sure why.

I mean, I’m sleeping. I’m eating. And on most mornings I start the day with an energy that would surely give me an edge in the super-mom competition should it actually last any longer than the fleeting 2 hours it actually hangs around. Yup, two hours in and I’m already staring at a sink filled with breakfast dishes on top of the day-before-dishes that I was too tired to wash the night before. And the thought of doing them all overwhelms me.

I start wondering what the point of it all is; why clean up the floor if 5 minutes post-kids-waking-up-from-nap it’s going to be a disaster again? Why bother washing their hands after they go to the bathroom if 2 minutes later they’re going to poke Jimmie’s butthole.

Some days feel like I’m just repeating shit over and over. Make meals – wash dishes – clean their hands – take dog out to pee – wipe their butts – repeat. So monotonously draining. It starts to feel like I’m just going through the motions.

I start to think of other things that usually drag me out of what-seems-to-be the monotony of motherhood; I think about my photography, this blog, our etsy shop — creative endeavors that give me that pep in my step, and I’m bothered by the lack of time I’m able to give. I get fixated on stupid shit like not a single shirt selling in a day or not being able to write when a wave of emotion hits at seemingly the most random time only to find that when I do have the time, the wave has crashed, the thought fled, the inspiration soaked like water into the sand. That’s just what it’s like — trying to catch water and all I’m getting is wet sand; muddy thoughts.

I’m assuming I’m not alone. Tell me I’m not alone.

Photo by Tish Carlson

Perspective

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood

03.31.2015

Last Friday I was in a terrible car accident on the freeway. I was on my way to work when a pickup truck was rear ended and came flying into me faster than a speeding bullet. I can still hear the sound of the crashing metal and the smell of the air bag. It plays over and over in my mind in slow motion, but the reality of it is that it all happened in a second. Life can change in a second. It’s terrifying. All three cars involved were totaled and yet, we all walked away. Almost immediately, however, I felt pain in my neck. It’s been a year and a half since my surgery but the pain I felt was all too familiar. It’s been a long time since I’ve had debilitating pain and the accident has served as an unwelcome reminder of all that comes along with it.

I remember spending much of my time in bed in the weeks following my surgery. I felt very sorry for myself. It’s really difficult to rely on others for everything; to give up your independence and the freedom to do what you want when you want and, frankly, how you want. I was plagued by the realization that while this was simply the recovery process for me, many others go through their entire lives with these limitations. I feared I’d forget the perspective that I acquired during those hard times. And, in truth, part of me has. I found that as I slowly recovered, I also slowly forgot. I started to take my health for granted. Maybe that’s not the write word. Rather, I started to feel entitled to good health because that’s what life had always given me.

It’s hard to make sense of tragedies. And my accident is far from a tragedy, I know. But when I look to find meaning embedded in what happened, I think about the perspective that I let slip away and I think about the entitlement I felt. And I think, maybe this accident was meant to give me some sort of reminder; a reminder that life – the good and the bad – is a privilege. When people ask me about how my neck is feeling, I tell them neck pain isn’t a bad problem to have. Because, really, think of the alternatives.

I haven’t been able to do as much as I normally can. Dishes have piled up, clothes have piled up, the floors are dirty, the entryway is cluttered with unmatched shoes strewn about, piles of mail are sitting unopened, and so on and so forth. And I’ve found myself swearing that if it weren’t for my pain, all of these things would be done; that the house would be clean, sparkling even.

I’m familiar with this cycle. You see, I know that when my body recovers, the house will stay dirty. I’ll be left wondering where that positive, energetic energy went that was so looking forward to being healthy so that things could get done. Because, you see, when I can’t do them, it’s what I miss most. When I can’t do them, I realize that being able to do normal, everyday things really is a privilege.

It’s a shift in perspective from bitching about having to make a bed to being grateful for having a bed to make. And nothing has taught me that more than my experiences with debilitating pain. I hope this go-around I can hang on to that perspective just a little bit longer.

Photo by Tish Carlson

Life

by Ashley filed under Life, Photography

03.13.2015

“One day, you’re 17 and you’re planning for someday. And then, quietly, without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And then someday is yesterday. And this is your life”. -John Green

Images taken from my Pinterest. Wish I knew all of the creators.

The beauty of hindsight

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting

03.10.2015

Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t write posts about topics I don’t have the answers to. It sounds foolish admitting such, because who am I to think I know anything at all? Chances are I’m no different than you; I have opinions and experiences, but not always answers.

Do you ever feel like motherhood is best viewed in hindsight? Sometimes the day to day feels like nothing short of a struggle, with a rare glimpse of beauty or moment of peace. And I wonder how it is that I actually love this motherhood gig as much as I do. Because it doesn’t really make sense to always feel like you’re about to drown, yet love the near-death repetitive experience.

That’s when it dawned on me that things don’t always go great in the moment (or smooth, or easy… insert the adjective of your choice), but looking back on whatever the moment was, even if it’s a mere hour later (especially after the kids are in bed — who’s with me?), is a whole different experience. I can’t comprehend it and I won’t even attempt to explain it.

I suppose it’s because the good always outweighs the bad even if the bad outnumbers the good. You can go on a road trip with your obnoxious whiny kids who spill their juice all over the carpet of the floor, make you stop for feedings and changings, and whine more-or-less much of the way, but chances are that in a week’s time you’re not going to remember anything other than watching the sunset behind the vastness of the ocean with your family, all together. Even looking back on photos of a vacation or even just any old day that I remember to be draining and hard makes me chuckle; Like the suffering I go through literally becomes humorous. Only in motherhood.

This thought – of enjoying motherhood in hindsight – has popped in my head several times as of late. Most recently, for example, while I watched Janet feed her beautiful babies in Utah. It made me sentimental to watch them latch on and the way their tiny little hands held on to the side of her body. And yet the look on her face of exhaustion and frustration and the yearning for just a moment of time to herself brought me back to reality. I didn’t always enjoy that time either. But in looking back on it, in hindsight, I don’t remember the exhaustion, frustration, or the lack of time to myself; I remember my boys latching, looking into my eyes, and caressing the side of my body with their smooth tiny fingers. Motherhood makes you forget the bad and dwell on the good.

So I guess the million dollar question is how do you enjoy it when you’re in the thick of it? That’s the answer I don’t know. But what I do know is that looking back on it all is really beautiful.

Plastic Surgery

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood

01.22.2015

A while ago, I shared my thoughts and a link to the Nu Project over on the Ma Books. It prompted many further discussions between my sister and I in regards to woman, our bodies, and my post partum body. Then my sister turned me on to something NPR put out about Brazilian woman and plastic surgery and we couldn’t stop talking about; so-much-so that I asked if she’d share her thoughts on it here because I think it’s an interesting topic and I’d love to hear the thoughts of others as well.

This is Erileide Barbosa Da Rocha. She’s 29, Brazilian. After giving birth, she was bothered by her “flaccid stomach” and got a tummy tuck. In her words:

“I put on an item of clothing, looked in the mirror and it was horrible… I cried because I couldn’t get what I wanted. So for me, I think my surgery was necessary. For my own good, for my self-esteem. Beauty, for me, is fundamental. It’s the door. It’s the entry to many things…I intend to do more surgery. Because women are never satisfied. Women always want perfection.”

And then there’s Maria Da Gloria De Sousa, age 46, who got breast implants, butt implants, a tummy tuck, and liposuction (multiple procedures). In her words:

“Plastic surgery starts to become an addiction. You’re born perfect, but then you have children, and you know what having children does. And then suddenly comes the rebirth: plastic surgery. You can be beautiful, even more beautiful than you were before.”

And Mariza Chaves—age 33. Displeased with the extra skin left behind after pregnancy weight gain, she got a tummy tuck, thigh liposuction, breast implants, and a torso lift (yes, apparently there is such a thing). In her words:

“Beauty is feeling good about yourself. I wasn’t satisfied with my abdomen. When I saw it [after surgery], I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. I feel privileged.

NPR talked to seven Brazilian women about cosmetic surgery and what beauty means to them. Their words shocked me. And it makes me sad to know that these views aren’t just confined to Brazil.

Most of the women’s body complaints were directly tied to having children. As Janet Da Silva Timal De Araujo, age 47, says, “Us women, we’re born with the desire to be a mother. But we’re also born with the desire to be beautiful.”

If you believe these words, you think the two can’t co-exist—motherhood, beauty.

If you believe these words, you think it’s not enough that your body created a human; it must also look “perfect” (whatever the f—k that means).

I, for one, do not believe these words.

I guess it’s easy for me to say. I don’t have kids. I haven’t been through the body changes that come with having kids. I’ve seen my sister go through them though and I think she’s more beautiful than ever.

I would be angry—yes, angry—if my sister got any kind of plastic surgery. Why? Well, for one, I think it sends a strange message to her kids. Yes, they’re boys, so you might think it doesn’t matter as much, but it does. In my opinion (which you asked for because you’ve read this far), plastic surgery communicates, “I don’t like ____ about myself and that’s okay because I can change it completely!” If one of her boys gets made fun of at school for one reason or another and she says, “Oh honey, you’re fine just the way you are,” she’s a hypocrite. Her words carry more weight if she lives by them herself.

Now, if she has a girl in the future, I would be bothered even more. Because, let’s face it, society is brutal to little girls. Most of them are already aware of the “benefits” of being thin and attractive. Most of them already tie their self-esteem to how they look. They might not know what fake boobs are when they’re young, but when they’re teenagers, they’ll know. They’ll see their mom as someone who once didn’t like the size of her chest. They’ll see their own bodies as malleable.

If I had my way, the body wouldn’t be malleable. Not with surgery, at least. I mean, SURGERY? That’s serious business. That’s not a new pair of shoes or a fresh haircut. All of us fall victim to the little boost those things give us. We’re talking about SURGERY. Anesthesia. Incisions. Recovery time. Permanent alteration.

The women interviewed by NPR expressed a sense of empowerment with their choices. That doesn’t really make me feel any better. That makes me think that our society is messed up. Women should be empowered by a promotion at work, not by a tummy tuck. Maybe it’s good if women walk around with more confidence—whatever the reason. But I’d be more hopeful for the future of female progress if the reason was related to their brain instead of their newly achieved thigh gap.

There’s a bigger picture here, too, involving all women. Unfortunately, women are notorious for being catty, in competition with each other. Off the field (or the court or whatever), men don’t really have that mean spiritedness with each other. Men have more of a “let’s have a beer and chill” camaraderie. It would be nice if women had that, if we could support each other, if we could promote things like self-love, if we could stop obsessing about our faces and bodies and turn our attention to more pressing matters. From my perspective, that fight-the-power sisterhood effort is threatened each time a woman signs the elective surgery waiver for whatever “enhancement” she’s getting. Whenever I see a woman who has done something to her face or her body (because you can always tell), I sigh and think, “Ugh, we lost another one.”

Sheryl Crow sang, “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.” And in that vein, pro-plastic-surgery people will say, “You can’t argue with what makes someone happy.” Well, actually, I can. There are people who abuse drugs or starve themselves or otherwise harm themselves, saying it makes them “happy.” I can argue with that—and you probably would too. At the crux of it, I think women who get plastic surgery are misusing the word “happy.” Going under the knife to address a source of insecurity may bring a relief that resembles happiness, but I can’t believe that would last. If anything, plastic surgery just perpetuates the idea that you “need fixing.” As Erileide said, “Women are never satisfied. Women always want perfection.” Whatever the f—k that means.

Resolutions

by Ashley filed under Life, Parenting

01.12.2015

I can’t say that I’ve never had New Years Resolutions, but I can say that I’ve never made any that I was absolutely determined to keep. I’m not really a wait-’til-January kinda person; if I want to change something, I’ll change it at the time I feel like it needs to be changed. And there are several other things that I know would be better changed, but I’m just not on board with — like trying new foods or eating healthier (I’m as picky as they come). I need to work out and read more, like everyone else and their mom. I stopped going to physical therapy because the people there just started pissing me off and my strength and recovery have surely suffered some because of it. So yeah, I’d love to change that.

But resolutions like these aren’t just something you can do once or twice and put a check mark in the proverbial box; resolutions are typically lifestyle changes. And dammit, it’s really hard to change your lifestyle. Especially when you like your lifestyle. I, for one, like spending my free time doing something I enjoy. I’m not really wanting to trade it for time spent doing something that I don’t enjoy just because it’s “good” for me. I know, I’m a whiner, right? I agree.

Anyway, I was texting with my dear friend Summer when she mentioned that she cut sugar out of her diet, entirely, and has been feeling a lot better. It dawned on me that, as a family, we’ve been eating worse than usual and I’ve felt kinda tired lately. I wondered if I too could feel better if I changed my diet in someway, too. And in an instant, I felt overwhelmed and defeated before I even gave it an honest thought. I replied with something like, “ya, that’d be awesome but it’d have to involve me getting Willy on board too and I don’t see him giving up sugar”. To which she confessed it was only for a week, “to see how she felt”.

And that little seed sat in my head and just like other little seeds, it grew. And I came up with this: A new resolution each week. Because seven days is more manageable.

Sound like a cop-out? I agree, to some extent. But in my defense, I also know what I’m capable of and in the field of change, it ain’t much. I also think it will be nice to try different things and see the result; with the hope being that once we try it out, we may like the results enough to make the change stick. It will also give us a chance to try lots of different things, things we surely would not be able to commit to for an entire year because – well – we suck like that.

So Willy and I sat down and compiled various resolutions that we’re gonna give a try. We’ve written each one down on a piece of paper and have put the folded paper into a jar for us to pick out of each week. I’m planning on including a small update once a week, on our family portrait series. Here’s some of the resolutions we’ve come up with thus far:

Walk Jimmie everyday

We complain often about how hard of a dog Jimmie is to take care of. He’s got tons of energy. He has accidents often in the house. He chews toys. He, for lack of better words, goes crazy. But I’m pretty sure it’s also all our fault. Sadly, we don’t have the time – or make the time – to give him the exercise we know he needs. It’s just plain hard when you have two little ones. Then there’s times we’ve made the trek to the dog park only to realize that there’s no other dogs there and Jimmie’s left sniffing around different corners, but not expelling any energy. A walk a day would do him some good, I know it. He deserves it. We’re not the best dog owners at the moment and I’m tired of feeling guilty about it. This one, in particular, is a resolution that I hope sticks around.

No eating out

Willy cooks the majority of our dinners, which is awesome… but, you know how men are… they aren’t the best ::cough cough:: planners. So there are many times, it feels, that it gets to be that time and he’ll confess he hasn’t planned anything or doesn’t feel like cooking, and so, we end up going out to eat. I love eating out, but I think it’d be nice to save the money and eat a little healthier too. My goal with this resolution is to have better meal plans, especially since going out to eat will not be an option.

No eating dessert

This will be harder for Willy than it will be for me.

No spending money on personal items

Not that we are big spenders, because we really don’t buy a lot for ourselves anyway. But a week of conscious spending could do anyone good, I suppose.

Eat vegetables with dinner

I hate vegetables. I swallow them as whole as I can with as much water as I can. But, I know they’re good for me. So…

Clean up after putting boys to bed

As I’m sure everyone can relate, the house gets so dirty so fast. It makes my head spin. I find it hard to write and hard to create and hard to feel inspired when there is just shit strewn about everywhere. Every time we clean the house we vow not to let it get so messy again and then, by the evening, it’s messy again. I think if we did a small part, each day, it would stay cleaner a bit longer. I’m hoping this resolution can become habit, too.

No TV before bed / Read before bed

It’ll be a challenge… we kinda have our routine down… Hoping Willy can stay strong on this one. I better buy him some Astrology magazines.

Only music playing during dinner

Sometimes it becomes so easy to put a dumb cartoon on so we (meaning Willy and I) can enjoy dinner in peace. But it’s also nice when we tell them no TV and put a record on instead. So I’d like to do this for the entire week and see if we can’t kick that TV-on-during-mealtimes thing.

No TV

Willy’s hoping we don’t draw this out of the jar until football season is over. Again, this one will be a bitch for him, but fairly easy for me – I think.

Make bed everyday

How much better does a room look when the bed is made? I’m hoping this becomes habit, too.

Watch 2 documentaries

Because there’s like a thousand on my list that I’ve been dying to make time for.

Have the boys pick up their toys before bed

They’re pretty good about doing so when we ask them too. Sadly, we don’t ask them too all that much. Not sure why. I’d like to make a conscious effort at having them pitch in a little.

Have the boys help with at least one chore per day

Because they actually really enjoy helping out and it’s good for their little brain cells. Ideas I have thus far are making their beds, helping empty the dishwasher, vacuuming, and taking the trash out (the recycling bag is small enough for them to handle).

Drink the recommended 2-3 liters of water each day

I read once that everyone suffers from dehydration to a small extent. Kinda interested in if we’ll feel any different after drinking the recommended amount.

Go for a family hike

Want to make this more of a priority because I know we’ll all enjoy it, but we rarely make the time on weekends to do things like this. I want to change that.

Workout M, W, F

Because I’d fail at doing so everyday. I have a plan in mind for stuff I can do at home. Willy has a weight bench in the garage that he bought months ago and has never – as in NEVER – used.

Attend a yoga class

We want to do this together, so I’m hoping to find someone to watch the kids and maybe add dinner out onto it — yoga date night.

No checking our phones while on the road (red lights included)

It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even sit at a red light and do nothing. Having a little computer at my fingertips makes me want to utilize every second and it’s f’n annoying. I often think to myself, “gosh, what did people used to do when stopped at a red light?” — How about sit there, and wait, for a freakin’ minute. It’s ridiculous. I want to change this. And Willy’s the worst with checking his phone while driving, though he’d probably deny it.

Spend 20 min per day working on Hooper with his letters / alphabet

I’ve never had any sort of urge to homeschool my kids and I prefer them to be in school for my own reasons, but I would like to supplement his education with some education at home a bit more. Because I have the time and not doing so has been weighing on me. Especially because he’s such a sponge lately and seems to really enjoy learning ::cough cough — firstborn:: My mom gave him some great workbooks for Christmas and we’ve been using them here and there, but I’d like for it to be something he expects and can count on each day.

Read at least 3 books to the boys per day

I feel like a punk for admitting this, but I often tell them I’ll read to them later or tomorrow or when they wake up. Granted, those little manipulative boogers are usually trying to crunch it in right before their naps or before bed, so I feel like they’re just putting off sleep by asking. But, nevertheless, I feel bad every time I say “No”. So I want to carve out time during the day for reading.

Open and sort through mail everyday

Oh my gosh, don’t mail us anything… we are the worst. I’m pretty sure our mailman wants to buy us a bigger mailbox or knock on our door and kindly* ask for us to empty the darn thing. Our accountant just dropped us because apparently there was something Willy was supposed to fill out and return, but that never happened and resulted in an email telling us to find a new accountant. Not to mention there are piles and piles of mail that still needs to be sorted all over the place. It’s ridiculous. We’re horrible. This needs to change.

We obviously need 52 ideas to fill up the entire year but we figure we can always repeat what we have now, as doing each resolution for a second week would clearly benefit us. What are your resolutions this year? Do any of you have any ideas that we could add to our resolution jar?

The hardest year of my life…

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Life, Motherhood

10.10.2014

It’s hard to say that – that this has been the hardest year of my life – because embedded in the difficulties there have been so many blessings. I mean, it’s hard to complain about having most of my spine fused when it was something I signed up to do; meaning I didn’t have an accident and wake up in a post-op bed at the hospital with something fixed that was never broken. Rather, I drove to the hospital with a severely curved spine and walked (::wheeled::) out with a straight spine, and some metal. Meaning, I got something “better” than what I had, even if there was a price to pay.

And boy was there a price to pay.

There was so much I felt in those early days; things I wanted to hold on to and never forget that, as time has passed, I’ve let go of and – begrudgingly – forgotten. Emotions surrounding what it would be like to be handicapped, forever; to watch your family move around you and to be present but not a part of what they’re doing. We take these vows of “in sickness and in health” but we never really know what sickness could entail. To be honest, I don’t know if we could have made it through if what was temporary was actually permanent. I’d like to think so, but you never know. It was hard to watch Willy struggle to do it all: work from home, care for the kids, care for me, and deal with my pain and health in conjunction with his own battles with health anxiety.

And then I gave him the scare of his life when I came down with a stomach virus and completely passed out and collapsed in the middle of the night. If his health anxiety wasn’t bad enough before, I’m sure I put it over the edge. When I came to he was on the phone with 911 and not long after that I was in the hospital, again.

A few weeks before that hospital visit, I had the worst neck pain I’ve ever had in my life. You can take the word “neck” out of that sentence entirely as it’s fair to simply say I had the worst pain I’ve ever had in my life. It just happened to be in my neck. Even to this day, I get a soreness that’s reminiscent and I get anxious just thinking about how bad it could be. I’ve birthed two very large babies under less-than-ideal circumstances with no medication. I’ve also, as you know, had thirteen levels of my spine fused and woke up with blood pressure in the 70’s, which meant I was not allowed to have pain medication for fear it would drop my blood pressure even more. I had a few blood transfusions following that. And even with all of that – the crazy births and the crazy surgery – I can say, with one hundred percent certainty, that nothing has hurt as bad (and for as long) as that pain in my neck.

Then we moved. And I can see now, in hindsight, why my parents – and probably others too – thought we were crazy. Not that it wasn’t the best decision, because it was, but moving is hard. Moving with two small kids is even harder. And moving at a time when you’re not able to lift anything or bend is just damn silly. But, we did it. And, like my spine, we came out on top because of it. We love our new location, we love our new home, and all-in-all, it was worth the trade.

But that’s not to say it went smoothly. Our hearts were shattered the morning we lost Sarah. I still cry about losing her. I’m choked up now just reminiscing about her life and it’s tragic ending. It pains me more to think that people lose children. It all just makes me sad. Sure, we have Jimmie and we love Jimmie, but Sarah holds real-estate on our hearts that is hers and hers alone. Losing her on the last day in our old house made moving all the much harder and more painful. I couldn’t help glancing back in the rear view mirror and thinking that at the very spot her life ended, our new one was just beginning. And doing it without her with us has been hard. Man, the lump in my throat is painful right now. It doesn’t help that today is her birthday…

Recovery from the surgery has had it’s varying degrees of highs and lows; days go by where I feel more-or-less normal only to come crashing down with soreness and pain reminiscent of what once was. What I can say is that through the course of the year, the highs get higher as do the lows, if that makes sense. I’m out of the woods, albeit a few days here and there that require more rest and ice and advil than I’d like.

And so, it’s been a year. According to the PDF my surgeon gave me in the beginning, I’m approved to do yoga now. It also says I can do gymnastics after one year which, as a previous competitive gymnast, I find funny given the fact that my back does not bend (nor will it ever bend) so doing something like a handstand (which I used to do around the house all the time) would actually require some sort of push off my legs to land on my hands since I cannot fathom getting my hands on the floor in front of me at the same time my foot is on the floor. I’ve succumbed to the fact I will never tumble again, which is a little heart breaking because it was something I’d still do here and there at local gyms whenever I had the chance. I’m also allowed to go bowling now. Yes, I’ve had to take the whole year off bowling. Who knew. Other things I’ve been cleared to do: basketball, baseball, roller coasters, roller skating, rowing, and ::cough cough:: pregnancy (you hear that, Willy?). And two things I’ll never be cleared to do: sky diving and motorcycle riding. I guess it’s a good thing I’ve been sky diving twice in the past and have no interest in riding a motorcycle after my gymnastic coach passed away riding one. So that’s that.

My surgery has been more of a physical change, it’s been an identity change. I’ve always been the girl that could swing a bat and throw a ball; hell, I’d kick ass in pull-up contests and could beat many of my guy friends in push-up contests. My body today is not the body I knew before. I’ve had to adapt. I have yet to accept as I’m still working toward what once was. Most weeks you’ll find me at Physical Therapy three days a week, where I keep to an ever-evolving strength program intermixed with some massage so long as the people working there aren’t feeling lazy — that’s the price you pay, I suppose, when you’re a “regular”. I think they have a hard time fathoming why what they’ve been doing hasn’t made me completely better yet. I think I have a better vision of the length of the road than they do. I also think they are cool with me simple being able to do everyday things while – for me – recovery is much more than that (I want to be as close to the person I was before my surgery as possible). And that’s been frustrating, to say the least.

And there are other things – physically – that still bother me. I have absolutely no sensation in my mid to upper back. I have two scars – one from a heating pad that burned me when the cover came off (I couldn’t feel a thing – it took Willy to point out the large blister on my back) and another one from an ice burn (also couldn’t feel a thing). I can feel pressure in the area, but no sensation. The muscles there feel extraordinarily odd, so odd that I don’t even know how to describe it except to say that it doesn’t feel like they fire correctly. My low back gets tired from overuse and I can feel myself walking around hunched over, trying to fight folding over into the fetal position out of fatigue. I get numbness, from time to time, on my left side that creeps around to the front of my rib cage and really just causes me to think about my back more than I’d like. It’s kinda like when your heart skips a beat and then you become super cognisant of every beat your heart is taking. When my back is sore or I have a knot in my neck or my body is fatigued, it consumes my thoughts. And then there are days that I don’t really even think about my back. I like those days.

You know that feeling of returning to work after being off for maternity leave? (And I hope you do. And if you’re in the UK – I’m jealous of your postpartum time off). Anyway, take that reluctance and nervousness and overwhelming feeling of anxiety mixed with fear of change and multiply it. I was not cleared by my surgeon until September to return to work, nearly 11 months after my surgery. His main concern was my ability to perform CPR, which fortunately has yet to happen but is obviously a must have skill in the field of nursing. I was worried about other things: moving equipment, caring for adults when caring for little kids is hard, transferring patients, moving patients, being on my feet for 12 hours, and all that jazz. It’s been an overwhelming process that’s only complicated by my drive to do a thousand other things like getting my photography business to where I want it and a hundred other things I don’t even want to list for fear I’ll start dwelling on the whole process all over again. What it comes down to is this: it will be hard to return to work after so much time off. It will also be hard to get used to a new unit, as I will not be on the same unit I was on before. And I don’t even want to talk about the commute because getting up at 4am and getting home after 9pm is not going to be easy. But sometimes you just gotta suck it up and feel grateful for having a job to return to.

Hoping the hiccups in the months to follow are few and the celebrations many. Cheers, to getting through the hardest year of my life. And special thanks to all my loving friends and family that made so many sacrifices on our behalf and for the handful of you that have been so kind to share your similar stories of recovery with me; the love and support have helped us more than any of you know.

You can read other posts about my surgery here and here.

Blowin' in the wind

by Ashley filed under Life

09.24.2014

“Do not ask your children to strive for extraordinary lives. Such striving may seem admirable, but it is a way of foolishness. Help them instead to find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples, and pears. Show them how to cry when pets and people die. Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. The extraordinary will take care of itself.” -William Martin

Goodbye summer, hello fall.

Our newest member

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Life

09.17.2014

Meet our newest member, Jimmie. We adopted him from a couple of college students in Riverside. He’s 8 months old and all kinds of sweet and playful.

Some ramblings on Jimmie thus far:

-He has an affinity for woven baskets. I’ve lost one thus far.

-We almost enjoy when he gets in trouble. He cowards down by your feet and ultimately curls up into a little ball on your feet and looks up at you with the most pleading puppy dog eyes. He then proceeds to roll over into total submission. And so, a basket – here and there – has proven worth it.

-He has mad hops. His trademark move at the dog park is when he pushes off of all fours and literally hops entirely over another dog. It’s insane. A show stopper, to say the least.

-He poops and pees a lot. But has not made an accident indoors. So yay. This is excluding his “excited pees”, which is when he just can’t help himself because his butt is wiggling so hard that he dribbles, just a little.

-Notice a close resemblance to Sarah? We do too. It’s bittersweet. Bitter because it feels like we’ve simply replaced her in this weird cloning type way and sweet because he is totally his own person (er, dog) and fills some of void left behind from Sarah’s early and traumatic passing.

-I think Hooper remembers Sarah being all up in his space and he seems fine with Jimmie doing the same. In fact, the other day we were scolding Jimmie for jumping on Hooper when Hooper said, “It’s okay Papa, he can jump on me”. Van is not as cool with his personal space being invaded, but is getting used to it. Van likes sitting on him.

-There are three of us in bed now. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but he sure does look comfortable at night. So… whatever.

-We have taken him everywhere we’ve gone since we’ve got him. He’s been alone only twice; once for an hour and once for a half an hour. He’s ridiculously attached to us and will sit by the door and groan anytime one of us leaves.

-He came with the name “Cooper”, which didn’t bode well with “Hooper”, so we renamed him after his previous owner: Jimmie. The nickname game has already begun, starting with Jimbo, Jimmie Boy, Jimbo Slice, and Jimmie Jonkers.

-He needs to be fixed. Otherwise all the lady dogs in the area better watch out. My sister just adopted a new female pup and Jimmie is, um, very fond of her. So much so that they can’t be in the same room ::cough cough::

-I feel grossly outnumbered.

Ramblings

by Ashley filed under Life

09.10.2014

I haven’t felt like blogging much lately. Actually, that’s a lie… posts pop in my head all the time but the time that I have to sit in front of the computer does not seem to be coinciding with the time when I’m inspired to write something. I have a slew of posts in my drafts folder, I guess it’s just a matter of finding the right time to finish them.

I’ve been posting here and there over on the Ma Books, which I really enjoy. I hope some of you have had a chance to check it out as it’s something I really believe in; I love the community aspect of it and I love the realness in the posts.

I’ve also been trying to get this photography gig up and running, as it will be a very necessary supplementation income for us. I hate financial stuff, don’t you? I started my official business just about a year ago and though I’ve done a lot within that time, it’s no where near where I want it to be. The thought of getting it from where it is now to where I want it to be can be paralyzing at times, but I tell myself to keep on truckin’. And so, I do.

Summer has yet to give way to Fall down here in Southern California and our air-conditionless house is hot enough to put just about the happiest of people on edge. We’ve all been snappy and I have no doubt it’s the heat. Hooper woke up in the middle of the night last night complaining of being hot. Not long after getting him back down, Van woke up. We played whack-a-mole a bit before everyone was back to sleep, albeit sweaty and still hot.

I’ve been attending physical therapy. I go three times a week and though I know I need it, I really want to tell it to kiss my butt. It’s crazy how one hour, three times a week can more-or-less destroy any chance of adventure for that day. It just throws off our whole schedule. On the flipside, I’m getting so much stronger.

The house is a disaster. I cleaned the stairwell banister the other morning and felt good for the two minutes it stayed clean. There’s nothing like moving into a new-to-us home, remodeling it, and then watching as it slowly self-destructs.

So, I guess I’ve been overwhelmed for a number of reasons. Sometimes just putting them down on paper, or typing them into the weird ol’ world of the worldwide web feels better. Because, ya know, I doubt I’m alone. I’ll post more when I can catch my breath. Until then, I hope you don’t mind me invading this space with some recent photography sessions. Which begs the question of what kind of blog this really is? Ha. That’s been bothering me too. But, I’ve always shared what’s important to me so if what’s important to me grows and changes and looks different than before, so be it. Right? I hope you all don’t mind.

Thoughts on having a third…

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting

08.25.2014

I’ve always had some degree of envy for the couples who don’t plan their pregnancies, but instead let nature take her course (religion aside). Both of my pregnancies have been planned. Van came along a little sooner than we had intended, meaning he came the first chance we gave him.

And two seems to be the magical number for a lot of people. I’m one of two, as is Willy. And good things come in pairs, or so they say. Much of life today is geared around the four person family; I mean who likes to sit in that little awkward seat in the middle when riding in the car? Or be without a partner on a ride at an amusement park?

I’ve always wanted three. People told me I would change me mind after I had my second. And I did, for a short time; mostly because with all the pain and stress my body had to endure with my back surgery I couldn’t imagine actually carrying, or birthing, a baby. But slowly, as my body continues to heal, I want a third again. Not right now (as I still don’t think my body is ready), but at some point in the future.

It’s a weird debate to have, deciding whether to have another child or not. You can either take the practical or the emotional side and you can really swing it in either direction depending on what you really and truly want. There doesn’t seem to be a “right” decision.

When the debate occurs, for us, it is centered around finances with the question of “could we afford another child” being the end of the debate because who really knows how much that thrid child is going to cost or who really knows how much anything is going to cost. And if we’re making decisions based on finances, was it smart to have any children at all? I mean if two is more affordable than three then wouldn’t the notion that none is more affordable than two also be true?

You see, it comes down to what you want because the pendulum can swing either way. Now is not the time anyway, so I suppose we will put off the debate for another day.

Do you leave things up to chance or go the planning route? What does the debate come down to in your family? Would love to hear from those mamas mothering three (or more) munchkins and how the third (and each subsequent child) changed things.

Start typing

May 2024

A Mother's Journal

I’m not excluded from the people I observe.

I’m not sure, but man I long for some of that slowness.

The following excerpt from his article is my favorite, he writes,

“In many Muslim cultures, when you want to ask them how they’re doing, you ask: in Arabic, Kayf haal-ik? or, in Persian, Haal-e shomaa chetoreh? How is your haal?

What is this haal that you inquire about? It is the transient state of one’s heart. In reality, we ask, ‘How is your heart doing at this very moment, at this breath?’ When I ask, ‘How are you?’ that is really what I want to know.

Safi ends the article by saying, “Let us insist on a type of human-to-human connection where when one of us responds by saying, ‘I am just so busy,’ we can follow up by saying, ‘I know, love. We all are. But I want to know how your heart is doing.'”

Beautiful, no?

Breathe in, breathe out. Hoping to catch up on things this weekend.

I nod my head in agreeance each time because I can’t argue with things I agree with. But the pull to have another remains strong, regardless. And it wasn’t until recently that I was able to hit the nail on the head.

My sister sent me this blog post, which sums it up perfectly.

And so when Willy looks at me from across the table I remind him it won’t be like this forever and hell, when it’s not like this, we’ll miss it. Parts of it anyway.

I asked my mother-in-law to share some words on turning 60 because I think with every new decade comes new perspectives and truths you never anticipated knowing. Here’s what she had to say:

I don’t believe in parenting from behind a screen door of mesh made of fear. And yet, as I reflect on things that have happened over just the last year or so, I wonder if I’m really confident enough to practice what I preach because, well, I struggle with my own fears too.

Just after moving to our new home, Willy came upon a scene where a pedestrian had been hit just a mile from our home. She flew at least 60 feet. The look on the faces of the two bikers that witnessed it is imprinted in Willy’s memory; I can almost see it myself, and I wasn’t even there.

While in Hawaii last year we got word that Willy’s grandma was in the hospital. Again, it was – more or less – unexpected. She was discharged and placed on hospice care with a poor prognosis. Thankfully, she’s still with us and fighting the good fight.

Photos by Tish Carlson

All that said, when I took 3 pee-on-a-stick tests and found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic. Like, I was shaking, which I haven’t done since I was 15 and my crush gave me a ride to school one day. I saved the three tests until just yesterday when I finally decided to throw them away.

People try to say the right things. They really do. But when you’re in a certain head space, nothing really helps. It goes something like this:

Nice friend: “At least you could get pregnant.”

My imagined retort: “Yeah and it turned out to be potentially life-threatening. Lucky me!”

Nice friend: “I didn’t even know you wanted kids.”

My imagined retort: “Right, so I guess it’s okay this happened. Thanks.”

Nice friend: “You can try again.”

My imagined retort: “If you went skydiving and the parachute didn’t open, would you go again?”

Nice friend: “I’m sure it happened for a reason.” My imagined retort: “When our friendship ends, that will be for a reason, too.”

Seriously, folks, I had a days-long, very elaborate pity party. A real rager.

To all you women who have struggled with losing a baby in whatever way, shape, or form, I am so sorry. And you are so brave. Stay off Facebook for a while and you’ll be okay.

Author: Kim Hooper | Photos found on Whitney Taylor’s Pinterest, artist unknown 🙁

When I had my boys, I hated the fact that I had to leave home and return to work. It felt very unnatural to leave my child. Everyone says to follow your instinct as a new mom and my new mom instinct was barking like a little annoying yippie chihuahua for me to stay home.

Point being, I think we all question what we do and if we’re doing it right. I think women are notoriously hard on themselves and tend to compare themselves to one another and set unrealistic expectations; expectations that can lead to us feeling really crummy about ourselves.

The last bit of the article has a ‘screw it’ like mantra and has really stuck with me:

Photo by Tish Carlson

I go through periods where it’s hard for me to write.

And I’m not quite sure why.

I start wondering what the point of it all is; why clean up the floor if 5 minutes post-kids-waking-up-from-nap it’s going to be a disaster again? Why bother washing their hands after they go to the bathroom if 2 minutes later they’re going to poke Jimmie’s butthole.

Some days feel like I’m just repeating shit over and over. Make meals – wash dishes – clean their hands – take dog out to pee – wipe their butts – repeat. So monotonously draining. It starts to feel like I’m just going through the motions.

I’m assuming I’m not alone. Tell me I’m not alone.

Photo by Tish Carlson

It’s a shift in perspective from bitching about having to make a bed to being grateful for having a bed to make. And nothing has taught me that more than my experiences with debilitating pain. I hope this go-around I can hang on to that perspective just a little bit longer.

Photo by Tish Carlson

“One day, you’re 17 and you’re planning for someday. And then, quietly, without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And then someday is yesterday. And this is your life”. -John Green

Images taken from my Pinterest. Wish I knew all of the creators.

Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t write posts about topics I don’t have the answers to. It sounds foolish admitting such, because who am I to think I know anything at all? Chances are I’m no different than you; I have opinions and experiences, but not always answers.

So I guess the million dollar question is how do you enjoy it when you’re in the thick of it? That’s the answer I don’t know. But what I do know is that looking back on it all is really beautiful.

This is Erileide Barbosa Da Rocha. She’s 29, Brazilian. After giving birth, she was bothered by her “flaccid stomach” and got a tummy tuck. In her words:

Nice friend: “I’m sure it happened for a reason.”
My imagined retort: “When our friendship ends, that will be for a reason, too.”