Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Parasailing into the Dark

Last year I wrote about free falling.  Well, if that was free falling, now we are parasailing off a cliff into the darkness. Yet, I feel calm about it.  This last week we went from planning on leaving Columbus around the end of July.  Today we are now leaving by the first of June.  Only a difference of two months - not much time, even in the space of a year.  But these were our last two months here, where we have spent six and a half years. Avram and I will celebrate our tenth anniversary this April, and all but  three years and five months of those years have been here.  We have lived three different places here, in a townhouse, one little white house, and then another little white house with a bright red door.  We have had three children here.  We have sent two children to school.  We have been in the same ward the whole time, which means we have grown in the same religious and social community most of our marriage.  We live across the street from Avram's brother, and Samuel and Aleatha and their three children are an integral part of how we plan our social days and weeks (not to mention the untold times Avram and I have borrowed an egg, sugar, rice, baking soda, and every other food item because apparently we can't remember anything when we shop).

We have always known that our time in Columbus, Ohio was a sojourn. A stopping point, that although not brief, has always been temporary.  Yet, somehow I thought that we would be able to say goodbye sufficiently, that somehow five months to mentally wean ourselves from our friends, our beloved little home and our life here would be enough.  Now we are down to three months. Yesterday I listed out every weekend that we have left, and then filled them in with the trips we want to accomplish while left here, places like Kirtland, or the Amish Country.  I added a monthly trip to the zoo, to make sure we get our full value out of our Christmas experience gift.  After a few other necessities, like Graduation weekend, our weeks were all filled up.  I believe there is one day free from here until we move.  So quickly do the days turn into weeks into months into us driving away from Ohio into....where?

For we do not yet have firm plans for after we leave.  Although, it looks as though Avram will be adjuncting some classes at our alma mater this coming year. And there is even a possibility of a Summer seminar he will take part in as well (which is why we wanted to move up our moving out, even with having to say goodbye faster) . But nothing is settled yet, there are no promises. Still, I feel a great measure of peace, and I am calm in our moving forward, even through this dark passage - I just sometimes wish I had a little more light.

 I used to hope that he would get a tenure track job straight out of Graduate school. Then, as Avram applied to Jobs last fall, I educated myself on the truths of the job market. I even wrote a lot of half finished blog posts about this topic, which I may edit and actually publish, but basically just say that in the humanities there is a much greater supply than there is a demand. And the demand (the number of tenure track jobs, or any full time job for that matter) continues to lower while the supply (the number of people with Ph.d.s) continues to rise.  Just statistically speaking, Avram's chances of getting any full time job, let alone a tenure track job, will never be very likely - something like twenty percent for a tenure track. Probably less.

I spent the month of last November in a daily emotional roller coaster, realizing how broken the humanities market was. I had thought that we were always walking a long, difficult road, but there would be a good job at the end of it. And here we are, at the end of that road, and we can see no further.  I didn't know that the academic humanities was like trying to be a professional musician, or trying out for movies or Broadway. You must have talent and ability to even make it very far, and connections (like a fancy school) do help. But at the end, only a few will make it, and it seems more dependent on luck than skill. By the end of November, when Avram was gone at a conference where we had hoped he would have interviews, and he had none; when we were already a couple of weeks past being rejected from the one phone interview he has ended up getting (and that we felt went so well!), when our bright prospects, promising future, and carefully nurtured greenhouse flower hopes hit the icy chill of what the academic job market is truly like; I felt at the bottom, emotionally, spiritually. I couldn't understand why God would lead us here, and then seemingly abandon us. Avram has had many promptings, blessings, spiritual experiences, even a line in his patriarchal blessing that have all guided him to be where his is today.

The day Avram presented his paper I blogged (this is unpublished) my heart out while sitting on the couch, with my children watching a movie around me.  I cried as I typed my fears and concerns out, and as I did so, I realized that God did love us. That he had not abandoned us - that not getting a job does not mean that we have failed, or fallen of the ideal spiritual and temporal path in life. Of course, if I were asked in a vacuum if following commandments and promptings means that you are assured a certain job or temporal path, I would vehemently disagree that this is how God works.  Yet, when it was our own life it has all been a lot murkier, especially because Avram studies religion, and we have received a lot of specific religious encouragement to pursue this professional path.

 I have come to realize that telling the Lord that we will go where he wants us to go does not in fact mean, "I will go where you want me to go, and since you directed us to go to grad school and Avram felt specifically inspired to move to Rabbinics and for him to study in Israel that this means that where you want us to go is to BYU, or another university, with a tenure track job and everything will work out perfectly with financial security, public acclaim and vocational satisfaction."

Originally we decided that we would give Academics one application season, and then if nothing turned up that was full time (so a TT, VAP or Post-Doc) we would find another field for Avram to apply to - something like teaching at a secondary level, or becoming a civil servant or chaplain.  Now we are in the dregs of this season, and nothing full time has worked out.  Given a variety of factors, however, we have decided to give it one more year before moving on from Academics.  One factor in this has been that the BYU religion department, where Avram has adjuncted before in the summers a couple of times, and where we principally saw ourselves if we did go back to BYU, did not have any job openings this year.  We did not want to have a still born career, where we never even had a chance at applying to the Tenure Track job we were most likely to get (since the LDS pool of candidates is much smaller than the general pool), and so giving it one more year makes sense. Plus there is a strong possibility he will be able to teach a few classes there this coming year, and that combined with an online side job means that we will be able to survive through this next year financially, making it possible to "stay in the field" one more year. And if Avram were to get a tenure track at BYU next year, this would, in fact, be the straightest route to Provo and BYU - which means as hard as it has been, this could be the 'easiest' road (not that I think this is the way it has to be, mind you).


Most convincing for us, although least convincing when logic is added up, is that we feel peaceful about this direction.  We have talked about how we both still feel that academics will work out as a career future, despite the complete lack of proof otherwise.  And even if academics is not in our future, I still feel really good about going forward with this direction, with moving to Provo and spending another year making ends meet while pursuing Academics as a profession.  Yet because of time lines for moving, this means that we have set our moving date (June 1st we leave Ohio), and we are already mentally planning for Utah, like where we will pursue living, or what companies to look at for moving trucks. Yet we don't have a contract yet for next year, and I don't even know when we can begin to hope to get one.  Currently we are hoping to get a few more specifics (like, a contract for next year) before making concrete moving plans, but because moving is only three months away, we shall see how things unfold. We may truly be driving off into the wild blue yonder sunset with no landing place for our Honda Odyssey full of seven people and our most precious (and grubby) personal belongings.

Yet, more than ever in our lives I know that God is at the wheel.  This does not mean that we don't need to move forward, or that we will automatically get a career in academics, or even any kind of job at all.  Rather, this means that when we depend on him fully, that he can turn any circumstance our our lives to the building up  of his kingdom, to the strengthening of our family, and to greater testimony in our own lives.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Nothing Makes you Blog like Shutting Down Facebook for Lent

Lately I have been feeling like my  time on facebook has not been helpful. Not that there aren't useful parts of facebook, like the groups I have for my ward Relief Society, book club or my family group.  And I love being able to plan an event and invite a bunch of people with very little fuss, and everyone being automatically reminded so they actually show up. It has been invaluable for arranging visiting a large number of people when we are going to be in Utah on vacation.  And I like seeing bits and bobs of other's lives on my feed, especially family members - there are news updates that I would never know about without it.  Crowd sourcing and soliciting for advice has always produced a volume of support and help (and advice). Even the articles linked to, on occasion, provide thought provoking conversations.  And there are those rare, like a purple unicorn, moments where an interesting, insightful, or just plain humorous conversation arises out of a comment section of a status. It is just - there is so much of it, all the time. I don't have a cell phone, so I don't have it with me all the time, but when I do get on the computer and check facebook, I always seem to be on it longer than I mean to. The news feed just keeps going and going, and because I don't usually get on every day, when I am there I feel like I either have the choice of not checking my feed at all, and just my notifications (who are basically just family members whom I have starred) or to start looking at my feed, and scroll down for untold amounts of time and and through untold amounts of links to sites with click-baiting titles, large numbers of status updates that never seem to be from those closest to you, but always some casual acquaintance you knew in high school who wants to tell the world a play-by-play of their morning.  


Apart from all this, do not even get me started on the algorithm facebook has set up that means you never know if what you are seeing is all that your friends have even posted, which means even if I do scroll all the way down to a point I have seen before I do not know if I have "caught up" because there are always status updates that don't show up (unless some how later they do - usually long after they are relevant). And sometimes it is hard to get off the computer when I should or when I plan to, because I am checking (just one last time! And of course, being the nature of facebook, there is almost always some change, some new aspect to give the illusion of progress, the perfect set of circumstances to lead to "Fear of Missing Out") to see if someone said something new, or if anyone commented on my newest status update that I like to pretend was a witty bon mot, but more likely in reality was an unwieldy commentary that did contain humor, just of an overly esoteric kind - which probably most readers completely missed anyway.

Which illustrates another difficulty in my relationship with facebook - it makes me overly conscious of my audience. I will often mentally compose statuses like I am living my life waiting to mine it for humor or clever comments for public consumption. Although I obviously do not despise writing out my inner thoughts for others to read, I felt like always seeing my life through the lens of sharing has changed my reality in a way that I am not completely comfortable with.  Clearly this is not the fault of facebook, but fault or not, it is an aspect of my interactions with it. Of course, this same aspect exists to an extent with blogging, but something about the method of presentation, where in facebook everything moves to the shortest deliveries with a wide audience of casual readers, effect me differently than blogging, where although theoretically the whole world could see my long ramblings, but in reality only a handful of people, who are choosing to sit down and read them, actually are. Despite its more theoretical public of a discourse, blogging is actual a personal discourse (at least for my little hobby blog), where this is my domain, and I feel a greater ease to fully express myself on my own territory, than in doing the equivalent of going to the town square and nailing up a sheet of paper on the public board saying the same sort of topic in such a public sphere. Discussing natural birthing on my blog, while still a potentially controversial topic, still remains to the most part me dialoguing my thoughts out with an occasional comment chiming in. Sure, plenty of people could come away from reading my long missive convinced that Thora is a little (or a lottle) bit too intense, or too crazy, or just plain too wrong. But they probably wouldn't tell me so, and we could all go on our ways comfortable in our respective spheres. Even if someone does comment a disagreement, which if were civil I wouldn't mind - as difficult as it can be, communication through disagreement is one of the best ways to grow as people and in in our relationships with others - it is still on my space, which means someone they know, that doesn't know me, or at least the me through long blogging, wouldn't see it and come over and sidebust with a comment that displays a lack of understanding of either those engaged in the discussion or of the actual matter being discussed, but mainly only shows their biases and opinions that were too burning to be kept to themselves. 

 Despite my constantly thinking of ways I plan to share or condense my thoughts into scintillating paragraphs of mirth and sparkling wit (which I don't love doing - if this blog post shows even just one principle, it is that I want to say it all, and I want to use all the words to do so), by the time I am actually on facebook I rarely remember what I meant to say, and if perchance I do I usually end up nixing the status, sometimes even after typing it out two or three times, after trying to find a way to express myself without offending this set of people (what if this is too crunchy/anti-crunch, or seems combative, or what if so-and-so took this topic in this way that would seem to be designed to denigrate their life choices/circumstances/innate selves?) or boring that set of people (what if this is too religious for my friends of other faiths? What if no one but relatives want to read about the cute things my kids say and do?), or setting of the topic vigilantism of a third set of people (what if I don't acknowledge those who aren't able to have children in this status about the blessings of motherhood? what if I don't validate those who feel alienated my my religion while still being honest about how I feel my LDS faith is truly for all people?) By the time this three way venn diagram has overlapped all sorts of 'friends' that I have on my feed, I am almost always left with such a small overlap of people who would not be offended or bothered or bored by my update that I do not post it at all. 

If I do decide to post, I end up too often measuring its worth by the number of comments. This is not limited to facebook, of course, but somehow when it is so much easier to comment on facebook than on blogs I expect more comments. And then even if a status update is well received, commented on, and hits all the right notes of humor, self deprecation wit and droll commentary with enough humble bragging to keep the universe in balance, it all too soon disappears into the gaping maw of facebook past. Despite the fact that people say you should be careful what you put on facebook because once it is on the internet people will always be able to see it forever and ever, this only seems to occur when people are trying to hang you on your poorly worded personal record or awkward photos best never taken, and never when I am trying to find something I myself have said, and would like to remember. I feel that although I have tried to remember and mark my children's childhood at least partially through sharing things on facebook, that twenty years from now it will all be gone forever like the eight track tape and floppy disks - indelibly marked in dead technology with no access point.

Although, writing this post has reminded me of one reason I use facebook - throughout it I have struggled time and again with writing because various kids have come and leaned on me, sat on me, read aloud as I am writing every word, asked me for things, discussed the plot of the movie they are watching, hid out next to me to avoid awkward moments from that movie, and in every way seemingly tried to prevent me from actually producing anything - all the while asking me repeatedly when I am going to be done, and how have I not finished writing yet? I am sure in all this time I would have had plenty of time to compose at least one status and get commentary on it, even if it fell far short of the kind of communication I would like to engender more of in my life.

Coming at last to the main point of this grandiloquent manifesto, I feel that lately the good of the many points facebook has brought to my life, through frequent, if casual, communication, has become over time outweighed by the time wasting nature facebook promotes, the paralyzation of sharing of information through too small of sound bites in too public of a sphere, and in ultimately the way that facebook takes up mental and writing energy and outlet I would rather see expended in more productive areas, such as blogging. I would like to slow my communication down - not in a true, "slow life" way, but to at least an email, phone call, and blogging sort of way. Sure, I will lose touch with friends that I do love to touch, however peripherally through the internet ether, but I hope that the deepening of  fewer relationships in my real and online life will more than make up for this. After all, we only have so much ability, time, and mental energy to engage and connect with others - I would like to change more of this engagement to more meaningful encounters.  And yet, the useful nature of facebook, especially the quick ability to email friends and relations, the groups I belong to that I do worry I would miss out on vital information (like book club being cancelled the night before) has always kept me from taking a step away.

A couple of days ago this dissatisfaction became the topic of conversation between my sister Mary and I. We decided as an experiment to step away from Facebook for a while, and conveniently since we are in Lent, and we both feel that our having no Facebook could help with our balance, with finding more spiritual and temporal centeredness, we decided that for the duration of Lent we would not sign onto Facebook. Thus until April 6th I am Facebook-free.  At that point I am planning on evaluating how I feel, and either resume Facebook, or hopefully have found alternate ways to accomplish what I loved most about Facebook, and leave all the "She wrote a blog post about THIS and you'll NEVER guess what happened NEXT...." behind.

I won't lie, despite all the difficulties I have outlined above, I have really missed it. I missed feeling connected when the people who toured our house as possible renters knew a childhood friend of mine of Facebook, and I thought to myself - I could totally tell Winslow on Facebook that I saw his friend, and what a small world it is!  I have wanted to share in a snow discussion with others when church was cancelled today because of a winter storm.  I have composed lots of status updates that I am convinced (!) this time I would not only remember until I made it to the computer, but that would still sound as great when typed out for the world to see. I have wanted to share multiple videos, thoughtful links, and just generally I have wanted to go to the virtual town square for socializing and soapboxing. But for now I am sitting back here in my virtual internet home instead.  I will have to nail my 95 status updates to my own front door, and maybe a much smaller audience will see them, but I am hopeful that the communication that results will be more meaningful. Just please, if you move book club or any other group information that I belong to, let me know. My fear of missing out truly exists most in missing those real life connections I value, and what has kept me tethered to an imperfect medium for so long; that, plus the chance to share my own click bait....after all, you'll NEVER guess what happened NEXT....

Friday, January 30, 2015

Homeschooling, the Why

I am planning on homeschooling Lydia, Elisheva and Guinevere next school year.  This is not the kind of statement that goes lightly in today's world: there always seems to be an elephant accompanying the phrase into a room.  Here's my elephant - I am excited, but also terrified.  I am doing it, but mostly not for educational reasons.  Sometimes I think I will sit on the fence between homeschool and public school for so long that my proverbial feet will fall asleep and sting me sharply when I finally decide (or fall from lack of balance over to a side).  I suppose this post is an attempt to get off the fence, to formally say, move over large vans full of unruly children with frumpy moms of stereotype, Thora's coming to join you. (Except...could we just lose the stereotype? I mean, I do have a lot of kids who act crazy, and I do drive a van, and I am probably frumpy, but I have never worn a denim jumper in my life, so there is that.)


So why then? Why spend more time and money and bother educating my kids at home when they are already getting educated somewhere else for free? Well, in a nutshell, because it makes sense for me and for our family at this time. But of course you know that the only thing I have ever put into a nutshell is a nut, and so here is the long reason.

Avram is graduating this year, and we know not where we will be in the future, from the midwest to Hawaii, with a permanent job to a visiting assistant professor to adjuncting.  About the only thing certain in our future is its uncertainty.  I expect to be moving three to four times in the next five years, between post docs, VAPs, adjuncting, and hopefully finally settling down with a tenure track job.  As part of our prable many moves, I have concerns about changing state and regional requirements every year or two. I worry about having so much disruption with our children. 

 Lydia is currently in a full time Gifted and Talented program, which is situated at the closest school to our home, and where Elisheva is able to attend as well.  I don't know how the other G&T programs will work in other parts of the country, but I do know there is a good chance that I would be schlepping Lydia across the city, or having her take long bus rides to attend a school with a full time program - if I could even get her into such a program, coming from another state. The thought of having to work out this situation multiple times in as many years back to back has been rather unappealing to me. Not to mention balancing children in different schools - just the few weeks I did that this year still make me grateful I was able to get them together at the same school.

As well, Lydia is very advanced in some subjects, but she is actually remedial in others - she has struggled with writing, can't summarize to save her life, and yet does compose poems.  She struggles to master the basic facts of math, but is the most accomplished in her class in logic puzzles.  So although she needs advanced work, she also needs help with laying a solid foundation - which she has been able to gloss over in the past because she was so advanced in other areas. Meanwhile Elisheva is fairly on board with her grade across the subjects, but I do not like how the school teaches her reading, with the emphasis on guessing and whole language versus phonetic progression. I taught Lydia how to read at home, I did about have of the work of teaching Elisheva, and I feel like I would end up teaching Guinevere as well.

Avram and I also disagree with some of the other prevailing pedagogy in public schooling in America. One is the amount of homework expected out of elementary school. We both feel that six hours a day of schooling is plenty for younger children, and that to do extra work on top of that, when they are already tired out for the day is excessive. Practically speaking, I find that the time spent with Lydia and Elisheva on homework to be dubious in value, excepting just straight reading.  Not that it is a bad thing to require a student to practice principles that they are learning, and I also see the value of parents knowing what children are doing in school. Rather, I am not sure of the efficacy of homework in accomplishing both of these activities, especially in light of the fact that homework is directly competing, in the manner of time, with other worthwhile home activities - free, imaginative play, chores, cooking and eating and cleaning up as a family, reading as a family, reasonable bedtimes.  We don't watch TV at our house, and I still feel like there is not time to fit it all in.

 Additionally, we do not like this emphasis on testing, especially with schools who already do well getting more funding, while schools that struggle get less. Often the struggling schools, like the ones my daughters have attended, have lower income families that are working a lot, often have many immigrant children and families who are not familiar with English or the American school system, and who need more help than ever, not less, when their scores are low.  There is nothing wrong with tests per se - it is this test that measures the worth of a teacher by how well her or his students do on a test, thus leading to teaching to the test, and thus encouraging focusing on a test.  And yet the teachers continue anyway - I have been happy with every single teacher my girls have had, all seven of them. They weren't perfect, but then neither am I.  And they all cared a lot about teaching.  But within a system of pedagogy that I increasingly feel dissatisfaction with, I feel they are hampered.

I feel like our days become so disconnected, with the rush in the morning to get the girls off to school, the lull during the day when I am only home with small children, the rush of the afternoon routine with picking up the girls, homework, dinner, bedtimes, and hopefully some chores squeezed int here somewhere. I want to effect a more organic day, where we move from one activity to another, but not on someone else's timeline.  I want to feel like I can look back on a day and be satisfied with where we spent our time, instead of feeling like we are always artificially marching to the beat of someone else's drum.  I want to give my children a solid basis in home management and cleaning, without feeling like I have to sacrifice something else equally vital in order to do it. There are some difficulties I feel that I have in parenting our various children, like Lydia and her defiance, or Elisheva and her tendency to be the emotional barometer (and hence very affected by whom she spends time with), and as I look forward in time I see that these have grown worse, not better with age.  I don't think that homeschooling will be a magic cure, but rather it will stop giving me places to hide, but force me to spend so much time with these children that I have created that we will begin to work through some long time underlying difficulties, instead of applying short term band-aids while hoping that somehow they will just grow out of this stage (that had been life long, so not a stage at all).

I am a stay at home mom for a few reasons, among them because as a mom of very young children, often with one nursing, working would be complicated to balance with childcare.  Especially because I do not have a thriving career I put on hold to have children. I never had a career - I graduated from college in Near Eastern Studies, originally having intended to go to grad school and become a professor. By the time I graduated, I did not want to do that, but I didn't have any other real career plans in place.  And without a job that either provided sufficient remuneration to compensate for being able to be home with my young ones, or, alternately and more important by far, that was a vocation that I felt passion for and was emotionally fulfilling to work at, I would rather be a homemaker. I know that I have complained in times past (or current) about my job - about being a stay at home mom. But it would take a "true love" level of job for me to pursue a career or even long term job outside the home.

I have always planned to do that, with going back to school for a master's and possibly a doctorate after Avram graduated and obtained a tenure track job. My long term plan has been to go to the school he would work at, where I would get free tuition. If Avram would have gotten a tenure track this next year, I would have planned to start grad school the year after that.  However, that did not happen, and until he gets an academic job that is tenure track, we would not have the stability for me to start a program and knowing I would be there to finish it.  So my long term plan is quickly ranging out of reach, potentially for forever. With these limitations, I have thought a lot about, "Now, what?" Now what can I do, because I feel like without something extra, I am home all day mostly with kids who cannot carry on an actual conversation. I feel like an unpaid maid, because it seems some days as if my highest calling is to make sure that the family's laundry keeps on its eternal round.  I definitely feel that I was made for more than laundry rotation, however necessary and good that is as well. 

And yet I did not structure my life to have skills or developed interests that I could pursue outside the home. Avram and I did not lay out a life where we could share care, and switch off child care while both pursuing jobs. And neither of us have an entrepreneurial bone in our collective bodies to desire to try and create these opportunities ourselves. Homeschooling, for me, is a way that I could exercise my brain and my house running capabilities.  The modern home does not require a constant, full time caretaker, and yet small children still do.  Thus, modern homemakers often develop all consuming hobbies (scrapbooking, couponing, cooking, cleaning, blogging, exercising) or small businesses (blogging, Etsy, Scentsy or Mary Kay and the like).  They volunteer at schools, take their kids on excessive amounts of activities just to get out of the house, and some become like my grandmother spent her days playing bridge, shopping, and at the officer wives' club.  I believe this is a hidden reason behind the growth of homeschooling - it provides a productive way to engage one's brain and time, all while providing more family time together with one's children, and freeing up the family schedule to pursue what is important to ones family on ones own time. I feel that I am here on this Earth at this time to be a mother, but I also feel like God created me to be smart, to use my brain. And while I do use my brain to manage the home, I know I am capable of so much more than just what I currently fill my days with.  I feel like I have been hibernating mentally for years, which feels like it is made worse by the fact that Avram is in a very intellectually stimulating environment.  There have been many days where he has been home writing on his dissertation, and I have stumped around the house, struggling because he gets to sit and read all day (yes, I know this idealistic, yes, I know that getting a Phd is very hard...) and I get to change diapers and clean up continually made messes.  I did not go to school for elementary school teaching, so it is not necessarily the vocation that has always called to me, but I certainly believe that spending hours everyday working with my children on chemistry, ancient Egypt and the rest of the ancient world, reading and writing and grammar and math sounds a lot more intellectually stimulating than trying to perfect the art of a daily chore routine.  

And since I am home all the time anyway, it makes sense to take charge of our family's schedule, so that we no longer have the dreaded homework hour every night (that Avram and I conveniently forget to do on so many nights).  It makes sense to solve the disconnect and rushing through our days that occur, and accomplishing our schooling early in the day so that we may have better evenings as a family.  It makes sense that in moving around the country and its associated upheavals that we may as a family keep as much continuity as possible within our own family unit.  It makes sense to find something to do as a mother that is more fulfilling that housework to fill my days (uhh, and personal reading, because of course I do that too....).

What homeschooling is not for us: we like public school. I actually feel guilty in a way for withdrawing from the public school 'conversation' because I deeply believe in the existence of a quality public education in a society.  I think there can be no true modern civilization without one. Also, it is not a statement of future intent. If we ended up in a stable position where I could go to school or pursue an outside career that I love, I would mostly see our kids going back to public school. Who knows? Maybe I will give it a try for a year, and decide that despite the scheduling downfalls that I am more grateful than I ever knew for our daughters' public education options.  Or maybe after a year, the minimal time I am giving it a try, we will decide that I should have started homeschooling back when Lydia entered Kindergarten like I first thought of doing.

I do have the fear that we will begin the year with pomp and circumstance, and then somewhere in the middle a child will be buried alive under a pile of books and unfolded laundry, and as they claw their way out our house will spontaneously collapse under the combined weight of family guilt and  insanity and the collective bystanders will watch as the "Fall of the house of Shannon" occurs before their sympathetic yet mildly entertained eyes.

But, at least that would provide fodder for better literature and all that, and after all, isn't that what Homeschooling is all about - the pursuit of knowledge in all its areas?  

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

How to Have A Merry Christmas Part Two - Christmases Past

In Part One we talked about keeping Christ at the Center of Christmas.  Well, this wouldn't be the blog with my own name as the title if I didn't talk a little about how I came to not just know this theoretically, but practically. I am Christian of course - Christ had always been a part of Christmas, so it's not like keeping Christ in Christmas has been a revolutionary idea. Rather, as I have journeyed throughout the Christmases of my lives I have increasingly realized that I have consciously needed to focus on Christ during Christmastime, and that just being a religious person did not automatically ensure religious experiences.

I caught my first real glimpse of this ten years ago.  In 2004 I did a fall semester study abroad in Egypt, and after the program ended in early December there was an optional two week add-on, where we spent one week in Jordan and one week in Syria.  That Christmas we had a whie elephant gift exchange with the twenty or so students and our trip leader Dil, and his wife and daughter.  One student had packed a small tree all the way from America and carried it around on our travels for just such an occasion. She pulled it out, and we stacked our little gifts under it. I don't remember what I got, but I do remember giving a complimentary pad of paper, pen, and small sewing kit that a previous hotel had in their rooms. Our hotel had a special Christmas Dinner for us as well (remember it was mainly a Muslim country, so no Christmas was celebrated).

That night we gathered with Dil and his family to sing Christmas carols, like we had some nights of the trip. It was a long tradition in their family that leading up to Christmas atevery night they gathered around and each person picked a Christmas song and then the family sang it. Dil handed out packets of song lyrics, with everything from Here Comes Santa Claus to Silent Night printed on its pages. As a group we sang, our simple melodies carrying the Christmas spirit together in our hotel in the middle of Jordan, so close (yet so far) from where Christ himself was born.  

The next morning my roommate from the study abroad, who had also come on the trip, opened a few presents that she had received from another friend on the study abroad.  For the only time in my life, I opened no presents. I had no gifts I had given or received. I had no family nearby, and while I felt a general friendship with the group I was with, I had no close friends. I was engaged to Avram, but no way to contact him except by email (I sent him a long email later that day). For our activity that day we went to Mount Nebo, and visited the church built on it's top, where Moses looked across the River Jordan, and the Lord told him he would never enter the Promised Land, and he was carried away into heaven.  Dil gained permission for us to enter the nave, and we gathered on the semi circle of bench seats and sang several Christmas songs.  Afterward all the people also visiting the church applauded, thinking we were an official concert.  

And that was Christmas.  

I didn't quite know how to feel. Normally the glow of Christmas that slowly built all December long and culminated in a thoughtful Christmas Eve reading of the Nativity and the joyful of frenzy of gift opening on Christmas morning was all missing.  As we rode the bus up Mount Nebo I felt a little empty, a little like it wasn't Christmas at all.  I also felt, though, that Christmas came just the same, although it came with no presents, no fanfare, no family, no traditional food. I had never been a Grinch, but like him, that year I had the personal experience of Christmas coming without ribbons or tag, packages boxes or bags.  That Christmas laid the invisible seeds where I began to see that Christmas comes, even without all the trappings.  I had always known that Christ was an important part of Christmas, but without the other obfuscations, good, bad and indifferent that being in my normal American life gave me there was nothing else that came Christmas day but the Christ child.

And although I had not depended on the physical and family trapping of Christmas to know that, without all the extras I also saw that I could not depend on others to bring me the true meaning of Christmas wrapped up with a bow, either.  I needed to make room in my life, my schedule, and my heart to prepare for Christ's coming every Christmas - to bring Christ into my home and life every year, or else the flurry of all else could easily cover up that which I always acknowledged to be the most important part of Christmas.  Without that intentional courting of the true Christmas spirit I would always feel a little empty come Christmas Day - something that I had unknowingly observed and could now pinpoint from previous Christmas Days. I had thought at the time this came from the inevitable growing up, from not being a child wherein Christmas seemingly came once in a lifetime, and where filled stockings and wrapped presents provided more magic than one child could conceive of, but that Christmas in Jordan gave me the first glimmerings of this truth - that only through centering on Christ will His Spirit provide the only ful and living Christmas Spirit.

 As Christmases have passed, this has grown, even through the coming of my children, who in turn do provide a renewal of that simple Christmas joy and excitement that comes so naturally to them. 

In England three years later Avram and I celebrated our first Christmas alone, with 22 month Lydia with us. That year we had so little money that instead of trying to surprise each other and perhaps unintentionally creating a remake of the Gift of the Magi story, we decided to each pick out something we wanted ourselves.  Avram picked out a fleece sweater with Queen's College's (his college at Oxford) seal on it. I picked out the big mortar and pestle I had been coveting for weeks. Lydia received a few gifts, some chosen by us, and some shipped over by Grandparents.  We had asked our families to please just send us some money instead of gifts, because Avram had not yet found a job, and we were living on the ends of our savings we had brought.  We had bought a little five pound prelit fake tree and some wooden ornaments, and had it on the table, along with a little stocking I had knit for Lydia.  We had walked in the woods behind our Yarnton Manor, where Avram's program was based, and had gathered greenery that we hung around our home. We did not even have a camera, as it had accidentally gone with our friends who had visited us before Christmas in a long layover to visit his parents in Dubai.  

That morning was very quiet and dark - we did not even wrap our personal presents, but laid them aside our little tree. We helped Lydia unwrap her few presents and enjoyed that quiet time together in the glow of the Christmas tree without even the impulse to capture this moment forever via a camera.  In that darkness the truth of what I had learned before in Jordan echoed again - Christmas truly cannot be found in trees or presents, not in prosperity or baked goods or even family.  But with all of those so present and loud, it can be hard to remember to focus in on Christ, to notice if I am not doing so.  

Thus, over the years since then I have increasingly realized that in order to keep Christ in Christmas, in order to remember the nativity over all else, however worthy other holiday pursuits may be, I would have to not just be open to it, but make conscious action to bring Him in, to remind myself and my family time and again of who we are celebrating - because the world doesn't care.  The world wants you to buy!  To do!  and then buy some more! Sure, buy because you love others, because you care, for a good cause, because you deserve it, but remember, most of all to buy!  There are so many voices calling for us during this season, and it took two Christmases away from my own culture, in a small cocoon without all the usual trappings to help me better receive the largest gift of all - Christ.

I have not in my own family jettisoned the American Christmas - we are not moving to other countries and only using two foot tall trees if at all - we are not getting rid of gift giving, and we happen to enjoy having friends and family around us. Rather, throughout the years we have tried to work out ways that we can best focus on Christ while still enjoying much of what the American holiday season also has to offer.  We have embraced the manger, but also enjoy watching Rudolph, think Ginger cookies are pretty great, and can eat candy canes without reminding our kids that they represent the shepherd's canes.  We even like beating back the darkness by lighting up our tree and home, and are okay with it being an extended metaphor and not innate symbol that this is Christ. Increasingly, though, we have tried to focus our greatest efforts for ourselves and our children on Christ, and kept the other traditions only when we have felt that they are solid contributions of merryness, beloved traditions from our childhood, family bonding time, and are sources of joy and not stress.  Finding ways to celebrate Christmas that bring Joy and not stress and contention goes for all kinds of Christmas activities, whatever the focus.


Monday, December 29, 2014

How to Have A Merry Christmas, Part One - Keeping Christ in Christmas

Note: I wrote most of this three part series...before Christmas. But due to family visiting and two different bouts of sickness, here it finally is...after Christmas. I know I missed the boat, timing-wise, but hey, we are supposed to think of Christ all year long, right?  Just think of this as an opportunity to reflect on this last Christmas season. 



We talk about the magical feeling of Christmas, and it is a feeling that can be solicited by a Child's gasp of joy for the perfect toy, or by the warm glow of receiving a gift that shows the giver really knew you and what you desired.  It comes in easier surrounded by loving family and caring friends, ushered in by their caring love, tender gifts, happy memories together.  The jolly activities, the beautiful concerts and get togethers emphasize the warmth and love we can feel at Christmas. Christmas is a magical time, filled with wonder, excitement, family and friends, parties and celebrations.  It is also almost always also filled with stress about gift buying, stress about money, stress about gift receiving, clutter, cleaning, decorating and then undecorating, and more, more, more - more lights, more stuff, more things.

Running over, under, and throughout all this is the silver thread that reminds us - Christmas doesn't come from a store, and in fact Christmas does mean a little bit more - it means a lot more.  Often we hear that Christmas is not just about getting presents, that it is not about things - instead, it is about giving - giving presents to others.  Or we hear that Christmas is about love, or about family, or occasionally we might hear one voice in the corner of facebook whisper that it is about bringing back the sun and banishing the darkness through rituals like lights and evergreen trees. But these things are not Christmas, as wonderful as they are.  The magical feeling of Christmas is not magic at all - it is the Spiritual witness to our souls of the coming of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

If you are Christian (if not - carry one with banishing the darkness with lights, that's good and historical too), Christmas is about giving, love, and family.  But not just any giving, not just our showing love, not just spending time with our nuclear families.  Christmas is about God sending down his son as the world's greatest, largest gift that ever came in a squirming seven pound (or so) swaddled bundle.  A baby who not only showed the everyday miracle that our gaining a physical body is, or a yearly reminder that every baby comes, 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 
And not utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God who is our home.
- Wordsworth

This baby grew up to be our Savior, or Redeemer, who saved us from a fallen word so that we may live with God again.  Our Christmas directly leads to Easter. The true bone deep thrill in our chest and hope in our hearts does not come from gifts or family, not even from earthly love. It comes from God, and from Christ, it comes from knowing that God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten Son that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. Like the Primary Song says, "how could the Father show the world of love and tenderness? He sent his son, a newborn babe, with peace and holiness."

Christmas is about family - about our eternal family, about all of God's children, about His love for us, for this world, for all his Creations.  When we give, we echo Heavenly Father's gift. When we love others, we echo His love. When we learn love for all mankind as our family, we love our family like he loves His family - like he loves us. Just like anyone with Children reading this will echo me in saying that truly our kids could give us no better gift this Christmas or any Christmas than truly loving each other and treating each other well. Heavenly Father truly wants us to give the gift of kindness, of giving, of helping to those around us far more than he wants us to simply talk about Christ or Christmas, as great as those things are.

Being happy throughout Christmas truly is not just a product of what gifts we are able to give, what gifts we receive, who we spend Christmas with, whether we even have family or close friends to spend Christmas with at all.  It is not about the size of our trees, the merryness of our situations.  Mary and Joseph celebrated the first Christmas semi out-doors, basically homeless in a transitional move, spending a while in Bethlehem only to move to Egypt, and then eventually up to Nazareth.  Christ got presents, yes, but not on Christmas itself, and when the wise men brought them, Mary and Joseph probably sold the Gold, Frankinsence and Myrrh to move to Egypt, or help out their meagre finances - after all, Christ grew up in humble circumstances, and he needed food and shelter more than Gold.

Keeping Christ, God's love and mercy, and the coming of our Lord and Savior in mind throughout Christmastime might not change our physical circumstances, but it can change our hearts, and give us a Merry Christmas where ever we are, whether surrounded by family, or alone among strangers.

Christmas time is one of traditions - it is not a simple holiday, but rather a celebration that engulfs an entire month, 1/12 of our ever repeating year.  I believe there is room to celebrate Christ, to celebrate His birth and life and meaning while also including the gift giving, the family and cultural traditions, and even especially the innate need for us to conquer darkness at this darkest time of year - for the lights, for the trees, for the holly and for the gaiety.

Despite the length of the Christmas season that stretches before a child gazing longingly at an Advent calendar on the eve of December 1st, we all know that Christmastime becomes the busiest time of the year.  Although we may have the theoretical priorities of Christ at Christmas, if we do not intentionally carve out ways to remember and be like Christ at Christmas all too soon it will be December 25th and we will be sick to our stomachs from too much candy eaten in the morning, trying to track down that one missing small toy piece inevitably thrown away in the bags of discarded Christmas packaging, and trying to help our kids work their presents or watch a movie, and all too soon Christmas has come and gone another year, and we wonder why we feel a fall of disappointment, a fleeting feeling of an opportunity missed.  Quite frankly we will all probably imbibe too much candy Christmas morning anyway, and I have no way to prevent us from throwing away pieces of puzzles or key components to complicated toys.

Throught this short series what I can comment on is what our family has done to keep Christ in Christmas - what our traditions, new and old, were for the holidays this year and how we worked on incorporating the silver thread of Christ and remembering the nativity without exiling Santa, Nutcrackers, Christmas Trees or Pagan (we like pagan) lights to the curb.

Given that I am not publishing this until after Christmas, you not only get to hear our grand plans, but also how it all went down, including the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day that I spent 99% of the time in bed for. But who needs perfect plans anyway - it's always more interesting to hear about the messy realities of life, and don't worry, part three will be full of those.

I will start with a narrative through my own Christmases past and how this led me to a better understand of the importance of keeping Christ as the center of my Christmas as part two. Then, like Scrooge, we will move to Christmas Present and talk the nuts and bolts of Christmas traditions for part three. Don't worry, I promise to skip Christmas Future, because I never liked Ghost stories anyway.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Camera (ab)use

We're getting a new camera (on Christmas Eve - thank you overworked mail people).  It's a good thing, because shouting for joy when Avram comes home isn't enough for Guinevere: one day she threw the camera for joy when he came home, and now it won't focus.


Not Modern Art

 But after sorting through our most recent batch of pictures I don't feel bad anyway - our camera struggled with focusing after years of (ab)use, and so unless you used a flash it mostly looked like this

Athena, still cute in a bad picture 

Not quite in focus, the colors a little off.  So the only option left for pictures in focus was the flash
 Uncle Luke, wherein he is like our camera and also being abused by Guinevere


Sadly, though, this means there has been very little photographic evidence of our Christmas merriment.  However, just so you know - we do have a tree.  It only took us five days to go from buying it, actually getting it in the house, the kids trying to get out the ornaments and decorate it on their own, to Avram and I finally decorating it.  And our camera bit the dust in the middle of all this, so we don't even have a picture of our tree in all its glory.




But our kids are cute enough, that I guess I will keep them anyway. One morning before school they set up Santa's sleigh and reindeer.



Hopefully there will be newer, better pictures coming your way soon.  And since we are upgrading to our first DSLR, of course that means the pictures (and therefore our life) will be sharper, more in focus, brighter and better.  Or, at least I would like to believe so.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Athena Luthien's Birth Story, Part Two

At long last (does three weeks count as soonish?) here is the sequel to Athena's Birth Story.  Catch up on the first half here.

As we made our way out to the car, I had a contraction while leaning up against the gold Honda Odyssey.  As it rolled over and through me, I prayed over those people and causes that I had thought up beforehand as intentions.

Intentions?  Causes? Praying during labor?  Let me explain.  No, it's too much, let me summarize.

My sister a year previous had told me about a blog called Carrots for Michaelmas - a Catholic "bookish mama" as she called herself. I checked out the blog, read some posts, checked out some links, and suddenly I was reading a bunch of Catholic bloggers.  I never really comment, feeling awkward somehow that I am outside of their very tight online community. But I can honestly say that reading about other women follow their Catholic faith has taught me a lot about myself, my following of my faith, and what religion even is.  I learned about Natural Family Planning (NFP), the religious version of Fertility Awareness Method (FAM).  It changed my heart and my soul about birth control. I can honestly say Athena would not be here if not for them (well, maybe....I did get pregnant with Enoch while I had an IUD, so perhaps I can't honestly say anything about my ability to prevent or achieve pregnancy).  I found advice and solidarity in larger families with small children. Among the blogs I read are Conversion Diary, Catholic All Year, House UnseenTime Flies When You're Having Babies (her husband is in grad school - she had three girls and a boy in that order - it's like my life, only with more wine and coffee), and Fountains of Home.

Being Catholic mamas, they also talk about labor.  As I read about Kendra from Catholic All Year offering up her labor pains for other's intentions, as I read about many of them using many different circumstances in life as a time or place for praying for others, I became intrigued by the thought of turning labor, that is often only seen as something to be suffered through, into something that I could use to spur me to pray for others. Not that somehow I can transfer the amount of pain or effort I expend into "points" that God can then apply on someone else's blessings account. Rather, somethings do not go out, except through fasting and prayer. Sometimes prayers aren't enough, and let me tell you, if labor cannot exceed fasting in terms of effort, then I don't know what would.  As well, when we suffer with others in mind, above and beyond ourselves, we can let go of the pain, the hurt, the relentless suffering and (while not escaping it - in natural labor there is no escape) embrace the pain, embrace the suffering and through all of this offer it up to God, offer it up to my child, who without my birthing her cannot gain a physical body - the necessary next step in our progression through life.  During my labor with Enoch, when I saw the cross during my labor, for the first time in all of my births I thought of Christ, and what Christ gave for us all. I thought of Gethsemane, and knowing that Christ suffered more than mortal may gave me strength - gave me courage because if he had done such a great thing, then I could proceed in my small (yet mighty and difficult) thing of one labor.  This experience helped me especially understand where they were coming from in bringing in religious intentions into labor.

So as I leaned my head against the van I prayed - not fully formed prayers, of course - I prayed for those I knew who were struggling. As Avram drove us through the dark streets of Columbus, I prayed for those I knew who are not able to have children. As each contraction washed over me, starting high up in the Uterus and moving inexorably down, opening a path for little Athena to come earthside, I prayed for others, for myself, for my baby.

We arrived at the hospital and slowly made our way through the parking garage, waited at the doors for them to be unlocked, and then slowly made our way down the everlasting hallway and to the elevators. Remembering my labor is feels like a paradox. I know in reality that we arrived at the hospital sometime around four am.  We arrived at the actual reception desk at 4:18 exactly (no, I wasn't watching the clock, why do you ask?).  And yet in my mind every moment moved ever so slowly. The entire spinning of the world slowed until all the universe walked some steps, paused as a universe engulfing contraction pulsed through us, around us.  We paused, audibly breathed out the pain, prayed, envision Athena, and then the contraction faded away, its energy spent.  Since my labors start hard, go fast, and end hard (but fast), there was no real gaining in intensity, or feeling of progress, just each contraction, each endless moment in time.

Finally we made it to the reception desk, where between contraction I typed in my social, and signed my life away.  There may be other birth stories that talk about the glories and beauty of labor, and they are there. But....as the receptionist led us back, I cannot lie - a part of me, even after four successful natural labors, had a moment of longing for something to come and take this all away. For a magic button (an epidural?) to just seep the pain and effort away.  (For why I do not use epidurals, you can read Elisheva's birth story, although be warned, it is actually a novel masquerading as a blog post. I bet you are shocked). Although a part of me knew that, like every labor I have endured, this one would also come to an end, and not even with a long wait. But perhaps because I have also had to endure it four times, this fifth time still saw me impossibly dreaming of another shortcut or way out.

We were settled into the triage room at 4:25 (the large red digital clock on the wall made it very easy to ignore the passage of time and never keep track of it like a desperate laboring woman keeping track of the minutes of her travail, or anything). The nurse checked me, and I was at a 5. My midwife, blessed Pat, came within a few minutes, and as I asked her to start setting up the birth pool as soon as possible, and to not wait until I was out of triage because I know they take a long time to fill up, and I have quick labors, and I really wanted to have a water birth, and to labor in water, and so please, please go start filling it right now. It is all vague in my mind now, but someone (the nurse?) told me they were not allowing water births anymore, and I believe that Pat asked that the nurses not tell anyone coming in that, because they would be so disappointed at the sudden shock, since this had only been finally decided the night before when at 6:00 pm she had gotten the call.  Pat apologized for answering her phone to me, and that I could not have a water birth.  Perhaps they could tell I was having the shock - I had birthed Enoch in a Jacuzzi Tub, but I wanted a real water birth, where the baby was born completely underwater and I had more of the buoyancy of water to support me.  And although I cared more about laboring in water than this, and I could still do that, this sudden departure from my birth plan shook me.

And yet I could not stop and discuss it, or process the information. The contractions came, and in order to not succumb to one I had to keep riding it, keeping relaxing during it.  It was like the first time I went to the Ocean, when I was twelve and my family visited California. We spent one day at the beach, and I, lover of all things oceanic, went right in to the water.  Where the force of the waves knocked me over.  Knocked me under.  And I came up spluttering the briney water, got my feet under me - and the next wave did the same thing again.  I eventually learned to relax at the wave hit me, to let the force of the incoming water buoy me up so that as the crest of the wave hit my body I was cresting with it, and not trying to dig my heels into the sad and meet it by force, but rather by submission.  I did learn the trick, but by this point I was waterlogged enough that I escaped to the sand, where I spent most of the day that was left building sand castles and collected shells.

Except that there is no escaping from the waves, and I knew if I derailed too much, I would fall underneath the tide of contractions and so I receded from the information, and just focused on relaxing, on riding the wave of every contraction.  Water labor to me was as for many women getting the epidural is, and so I just focused on that, instead of the hoped for water birth as well. I have realized that although I am not a hypnobirther that I do achieve a state during labor where all my energy is going to relaxing through each contraction, and where I feel almost in my own state of mind.  Interrupting this would mean crashing through the water to the sea floor.  Hypnosis?  Maybe, I don't know.

Pat went and started the water (in the room with the most water pressure, she said.  Oh, I loved her).  The nurse kept checking the computer read outs of my contractions, and finally Pat convinced her that they should move me, although they were still missing one 'needed' readout (do you want to have the baby here? Pat asked).

At 5:00, per the large red clock I was not looking at, they had me climb out of bed and wheeled me down the hall, the very same hall I walked while in labor with Guinevere.  This time I thought of how we were whizzing down the same space I had laboriously walked before.  Then a contraction hit, and the discomfort of sitting up made it feel more uncomfortable, harder to relax to. I looked forward to my room, which we arrived in at 5:05 (those large red, completely ignorable clocks were ubiquitous).  I stood out of the wheelchair and felt another contraction coming, so I leaned over a convenient table and rotated my hips while vocalizing at the same frequency as the contraction.  (Yes, this may sound weird - but if you are ever in labor, I suggest you try it.)  This contraction also felt a little harder, but once again I was in a strange position, since my preferred way of laboring is through reclining and relaxing, or best of all through relaxing in water.

They were filling the pool right next to me, with about six or eight inches in it.  As the contraction ebbed away, and I heard the nurse asking if they should still have me get back in bed and get the last needed readout (hence why I spent a half hour in triage, and not fifteen minutes, in retrospect, although I was not capable of thinking such things in the moment), I ignored her, and Pat both, who was reassuring her that they did not need it.  As fast as a women mid labor can I stripped off the hospital gown and the straps used for gaining the computer read-outs off my belly, and then jumped (in my mind - probably more like waddled to everyone else) into the pool at 5:05 am.  I was ready for the relief, the comparative ease of water labor.

I could not get comfortable, and I complained about it. Avram held the hose over my back to try and ease my discomfort.  I rolled from one side to another, but there was just not very much water in there.  Pat asked if they could put a hep lock in. I said, "No." She asked if I meant no, never, or no, not right then. I said no, and Avram interpreted, "She means, no, not right now, but in a little bit when she has settled in, then you can give her one."  And that right there is why Avram will have to attend every labor I ever had, because of course, that was exactly what I meant. Then I had a contraction, and it was hard, it was intense, it was long - and I was pushing.  I yelled out that I was pushing, and as soon as the contraction eased Pat had her apprentice Bree check to see how far I was dilated.

I am very much a fan of helping midwife apprentices learn their trade - with Elisheva's birth it was actually the apprentice who delivered me, while the midwife sat right next to her, directing her.  I did not mind Bree checking me, and given the same opportunity, I would let her again. But...that was also the longest check for dilation in the history of womankind while you are in labor and that is all. She finally determined I was at a 9 1/2 with a cervical lip, and Pat suggested that getting out of the pool would help remove that so I could fully dilate.

With the help of Avram and Bree I slowly climbed back out of the pool - a mere five minutes later at 5:10 (I have no idea how in the middle of all this I managed to even catch a glimpse of the clock, but my theory is because it is the brightest thing in the room, and about five feet (or six inches) tall).  They had laid out a path of towels for me to walk on to the bed, which was just a few feet away.  I walked on, two steps, and then another contraction hit - another pushing contraction. Although I was upheld by Avram and Bree, I could not walk, I could not even stand. I sank to my knees, all ability of riding through a contraction lost as I then sank to the floor, kneeling on my knees with my forehead on the ground, in perhaps the oldest submission of all.

I vaguely heard Bree talking with Pat about me moving, or not, I heard people doing things behind, around me. I did not notice, but just vocalized to the point of screaming through the never-ending pushing contraction, my forehead on the cool, ground - a counterpoint to the fiery heat (pain?) everywhere else.  I yelled about the pressure, and Pat miraculously did something.  And then, and then...she came.  At 5:14 am, two hours and around fifteen minutes after my very first contraction, Athena entered the world. She was squalling (perfect!) and the Pat wanted to hand her up to me, but I was still kneeling on the floor. We finally managed an underhand pass, and I brought Athena up to my front, where I held her.  The midwives helped me stand up with Athena, and then get into bed.

Athena in her first couple of minutes of birth.  Notice that she is actually on a couple of towels on the floor.

After all, it was a good thing that I couldn't have a water birth - I am not sure birthing in eight inches of water would have been that great, anyway.



I got to hold Athena until the cord stopped pulsating and beyond, and then Avram cut the cord - he is never really sure why they want him to, but they always have him do it.  I nursed her.  Athena was Pat's 1000 delivery, and so I put on a real shirt instead of the hospital gown they had put on me after the birth.  I had known Pat was nearing her 1000th birth - at the midwive's office they had put up a sign a couple of months before that was counting down the births. And then a week before my due date, two weeks before Athena came, the sign listed 999. I hoped Athena would come early, and get to be her 1,000th. But no baby came (see previous story). And there were three other midwives as well, so my chance of even getting Pat was not great anyway.  But, it turned out that was a very strange two weeks for deliveries for Pat - one woman had an emergency c-section (which doesn't count). Another first timer got to the hospital and then before Pat could get there (which she came immediately) had her baby.  And mostly no one was going into labor at all during her shifts.

During the middle of the night when I went into labor Pat had woken up, seen the clock, and thought that there went another shift without her thousandth baby, since her shift only went to 7:00 am.  And then I called a few hours later, and two hours past that we were getting ready to take a picture of Pat and I and Athena.



Pat and her thousandth birth!



In less exciting moments, my bleeding was off, and with the anemia I had during the pregnancy, they had to give me a bag of pitocin. After five babies I had finally had a labor where I managed not to get a heperan lock for the epidural that never came - and then after Athena they had to give me one anyway, and it felt like one, long continuous (but lower level) contraction for as long as the Pitocin dripped.  But even all that could not dampen how wonderful it was to not be in labor any more, to have Athena here, she whom I had known was coming (not just any baby, but Athena, a girl, a real person who had always existed as herself through eternity), and now she was really here with me.

I feel really great about the labor. My last three labors have had the transition moment where I have felt that I could not do it, but perhaps because I was moving rooms during transition, I did not have had a transition moment of giving up at all.  Of course, it was my shortest labor, and I felt very focused during it, which helped as well.  I love natural labors, but I admit that I am not a good poster child for them, because they are so short, so although they are intense, I cannot truly understand what it is like to have a long and intense labor, or even a long and easier labor.  Enoch was my favorite labor, until I had Athena, and now hers was my favorite.  I take that as a good sign - that I keep feeling better about my labors.  I am too the point where by far I would rather have another labor (ten more labors!) than have morning sickness.  Too bad I can't figure out how to overcome that....

As far as my worries about having Athena in the same hospital as Guinevere - it really wasn't a problem at all. Having a supportive midwife who showed up almost as fast as I did (instead of fifteen minutes before delivery) made all the difference. Otherwise if she had taken her time, I almost certainly would have delivered Athena in the triage room with a nurse catching the baby.  So it goes to show it is who your care is as much as the hospital you use.  So for those in the Columbus Area, the OSU midwife group is who to go with!

We gave her the middle name of Luthien because Avram really wanted to have a Tolkien name.  He loves Tolkien - when we lived in England we even tried, and eventually found, Tolkien's grave. On Tokien's Grave is his name, and then underneath in the same size font, "Beren." On his wife Edith's grave it has her name, and then underneath, "Luthien."  Tolkien called his wife Luthien, and himself Beren, after the mythology he created in the Silmarillion. In it, Luthien is an immortal elven maiden, daughter to a powerful elven king. Beren is a mortal, a man who sees Luthien dancing in a glade, and loves her immediately.  Her hair is dark as the shadows of twilight, and her eyes were gray as the starlit evening (Athena's hair is dark, and her eyes may yet be gray - I keep hoping).  Her father forbids her from marrying Beren, but he finally consents that they may marry if they capture the silmarils - the elven jewels that held the light of creation - from Morgoth's iron crown (Morgoth is Sauron's boss, and in the story Luthien even roughs Sauron up).  They manage to do so, and marry, but Luthien must pick mortality and death to be with Beren. She does so, losing her immortality and elvish nature so that she may be with the man she loves, although he is far below her.

The fact that Tolkien called his wife Luthien, and himself Beren tells you much about how he felt about his wife, and what he felt she had given up when she chose him. (I believe his son references this in her conversion to Catholicism when she married him).

So, Athena gained the name Luthien, in honor of Luthien in the Silmarillion, as well as the living 'Luthien,' Tolkien's wife.


And here she is (You can tell she is thrilled to enter this world, too).