Sometimes
Sometimes a
Sometimes a mom
Sometimes a mom has
Sometimes a mom has to
Sometimes a mom has to step
Sometimes a mom has to step in
Sometimes a mom has to step in and
Sometimes a mom has to step in and fight
Sometimes a mom has to step in and fight for
Sometimes a mom has to step in and fight for her
Sometimes a mom has to step in and fight for her child.
Even
Even when
Even when the
Even when the child
Even when the child says
Even when the child says it’s
Even when the child says it’s no
Even when the child says it’s no big
Even when the child says it’s no big deal.
A
A mommy
A mommy knows
A mommy knows her
A mommy knows her first
A mommy knows her first job
A mommy knows her first job is
A mommy knows her first job is to
A mommy knows her first job is to protect
A mommy knows her first job is to protect her
A mommy knows her first job is to protect her baby.
Don and I just marked 20 years of marriage together. 20 years. That’s a lotta time logged in a career endeavor. There are loads of things to say about how and why and how lucky I feel that after all this time, we’ve still got something going on, but today is not the day I am going to talk about that. I really want to talk about something else.
I will preface this succinctly.
I am, and have forever been, a broadway musical fan. I love the form and the format of a story told with music intermittently inserted. I know the formula is not for everyone and there are those who prefer their theatre more classic in substance and less maudlin. However, I am a fan. Don, whether by choice or force over the years, also loves the theatre, and from stage plays to musical he’s long been my companion at a show. As a matter of fact, he’s been the planner and the purchaser of the theatre trips we’ve taken over the years to both New York and London. He attributes his love of theatre to his “one gay gene” , but no matter what is at play there, I am glad for his company. Always.
Yesterday, in celebration of our anniversary, I booked tickets for a show at the premier theatre here in St. Louis. The show, In The Heights, gathered 4 Tony awards in 2008, including the Tony for Best Musical. It’s an exceptional musical, full of vibrant color and choreography, with an overall message that family matters, that home is where one is happiest, and that life, for all its challenges and hard knocks, isn’t all that bad.
In a particularly poignant scene, the community grieves the death of Abuela Claudia, who, for all intents and purposes, is the grandmother of all in the block. She is loved deeply and admired greatly; the embodiment of wisdom and grace, and a guiding light for her family and neighbors. Simply put, she is the woman I want to be.
As the residents gather to grieve together, to remember her and (of course) to sing her goodbye, we are offered a glimpse into what may just be her personal philosophy for life. From the lyrics:
Abuela Claudia had simple pleasures
She sang the praises of things we ignore
Glass Coke bottles, bread crumbs, a sky full of stars
She cherished these things
She’d say “Alabanza”
Alabanza means to raise this thing to God’s face
and to sing
Quite literally “praise to this”
I don’t know if I can really capture here what it meant to me hearing it there. This simple notion of recognizing in moments, in people, yes, even in things, that there is goodness and beauty which is worthy of our praise. I can tell you, it’s something I have considered before, and even work toward as a means to being a better person and living a more deliberate life, but yesterday, in the height of the dramatic moment on the stage I was absolutely struck. I want that. I want to be that person who is living life every minute; who is noticing good and goodness even in the hectic chaos of getting it all done in a day. I want to be the kind of person whose goodbye song is just like this; sung by those who loved me and whom I loved.
My pregnancy with Emma was the longest pregnancy on record. I am certain of it. Weeks prior to her arrival I was put on cautionary bedrest by the midwife for contractions which were coming too early. I didn’t rest as prescribed, I couldn’t really as I had nearly 2-year old Ian to chase after. Besides that, I had been on forced bedrest and medication for pre-term labor during Ian’s pregnancy for six long weeks only to get on my feet again at 36 weeks and carry him full term. Yup, all the way to his due date. Stubborn girl that I am, this time, I took the bedrest prescription as more of a guideline and trusted my body to do what it should. It did, altogether too well. 2 weeks from the due date I was certain she was coming early. My body was ready, my capacity to remain pregnant was waning and my Mom had already arrived to help. We were all poised and ready for Emma to make her entrance. Stubborn girl that she is, she waited it out. Finally, and with the assistance of herbal tincture and castor oil, I went into labor late in the evening on 19 November. Steady-as-she-goes contractions, expectations rose as Don and I walked out the door of our duplex to make our way to the hospital just before midnight.
We arrived.
We checked in.
We mentioned to the nurses that my labor was quick last time.
The nurses hooked me to monitors, checked my progress and left us to our own.
Then they came running back.
Emma was on her way.
I like to say faster than a speeding bullet, Emma arrived amidst a flurry of chaos and confusion in our delivery room. No one was ready, nothing was prepared, my midwife hadn’t been called. In fact, she came scurrying in pulling her gown over her shoulders as I made my efforts to “hold on”. And then, suddenly, after all the months of gestating, all the weeks of waiting, all the minutes of holding on, Emma was there.
Bald, blue, and beautiful.
After several long minutes of inspection, Apgar scoring, and rubbing some pink into my baby girl, the midwife presented her to me. As any parent knows that meeting your baby moment is unforgettable. I can’t stop the tears as I write this, remembering. Here was our girl, wanted loved and instantly adored.
Our baby girl:
Coming home to a big brother who would worship her.
And a daddy who would forever fawn on her.
And no matter how many years pass–14 have gone thus far–she will always and forever be my baby girl.
Happy Birthday, baby Emma. I’m so glad you arrived.
It has already begun. We are officially in the throes of the altogether-too-many-celebrations-in-too-little-time season for our little family unit. I shall mention them by name , in list form. Because I like lists.
1. Nov. 14–Don’s birthday
2. Nov. 20–Emma’s birthday
3. Nov. 21–Don’s & Jenn’s wedding anniversary
4. Dec. 5–Sinterklaas or Pakjesavond
5. Dec. 10–Ian’s birthday
6. Dec. 25–Christmas
That’s right. 6 weeks, 6 major celebrations. And we do our best to do ‘em up properly. ‘Tis the season to celebrate the lightening of our wallets and the broadening of our bellies. Because, with three birthdays, an anniversary and two seasonal celebrations, that’s a lot of presents, and a lot of cake. Happy memories, every one.
First of all, giving credit where credit is due, I would like to thank Allison, of Soccer Mom in Denial, for pointing out to me that this day happened. It’s not that DOMINO DAY escaped my attention intentionally this year (I mean, honestly, who would forget DOMINO DAY?), it’s just that I am not sure I ever knew that DOMINO DAY existed, full stop. However, now that I’ve Google searched it, I can see just how very remiss I am in this knowledge breach. And I am only being a little facetious.
For your education (and mine) I offer the video below. I apologize to non-Dutch speakers as there doesn’t seem to be an extended video offering in English as yet, but you’ll get the gist of what’s happening. Also, I think you’ll get a kick out of the intermingled English inside of Dutch. It’s a great language to speak, Nederengels, as it can sound altogether familiar and foreign in a single sentence. The video is on the long side for a typical blog stop, but I promise you it’s well worth the watch. Pour yourself a cup before you press play and enjoy the massive (if only partial) display of the world-record domino tumble. Yes, set in The Netherlands, 2009.
Beste Nederlanders, ik mist je zo. Gefeliciteerd met de domino dag! Hoera!
Last night as I lay in my bed, listening to my old man snoring the white noise of the rainstorm, I felt soothed and washed; swept away, even. When it rains here in MO, it rains in earnest. This is so different from the relentless rain of The Netherlands. There, it seems, rain is the constant, the norm, the backdrop for every day’s events. It’s not so much that it rains a lot in Holland as it is that it rains constantly through the seasons. The continual drizzle wears and tears at the psyche and pulls the corners of the mouth downward. Also, it wreaks havoc on a tan.
Missouri rain, on the other hand, feels like rain with a purpose. Rain that falls in an attempt to do its job and do it well. Rain that will be relentless, but only for a time, not forever. As a point of contrast and comparison, the total rainfall each year in Missouri and The Netherlands is nearly the same, with MO besting NL by a few inches. This is what I mean by purposeful rainfall. There is a quota to fill and the rain clouds of MO seem intent to do it in record time, dumping rain to the earth in measurable buckets, then they move on. Cue sunshine and blue skies, the rain is gone. No chance for the rainy day blues to linger and become the actual blues, or extend to SAD. This means very good things for me.
What the chattering puh-puh-puh-pupupupupu of the rain means for me is the accompaniment to my dreams at night and my waking steps in the early hours of day. This morning, with the pitter-pat-a-pat-a-pat still at play on the windows of my bedroom, I couldn’t stop the rhythm from turning to melody, chasing down lyric. (Seriously, how can I keep from singing?)
“Well, if it rains, I don’t care
Don’t make no difference to me
Just take that street car
That’s going uptown
Yeah, I’d like to hear
Some funky Dixieland
And dance a honky tonk
and I’ll be buying everybody
Drinks all round”*
And so it rains, and I don’t care. In fact, I am captivated, inspired, and ultimately charmed. Missouri, for all its surprises, is doing just that: it charms me. From the summer fireflies, to the autumn colors, to the bright harvest moon in clear skies, I am charmed.
“Keep on shining your light
Gonna make everything
Everything, gonna make
Everything all right”*
And now, for the rest of the music. But before you go (press play), I should also like to mention that the Mississippi River runs through my new state; near my home, actually. Therefore, by rights, poetic or otherwise, this tune is mine in a way that I’ve not been able to claim before. This is the rhythm of my day. You can sing too, if you like.
“Pretty mama, come and
Take me by the hand
By the hand (hand) take me
By the hand, pretty mama”*
Funky harmony is a marvelous thing.
“Come and dance with
Your daddy all night long”*
Come on, climb aboard the raft with me.
“… [we] ain’t got no worries
Cause [we] ain’t in no hurry at all”*
