Wednesday, May 22, 2013

The Prom Proclamation


We gathered in my cinder-block basement, my closest friends and I, seated around a dry erase board that my dad got when his company got bought out a few years before. Sorry about your job--here, have a file cabinet and desk. Husks of dead camel crickets lurked in the dark corners, but we stayed in the light.

Along the top of the whiteboard, I wrote our names. Down the side, a list of guys. "Let's start by elimination," I said. "Who do you not want to go to prom with?"

I made x's in some columns, questions marks in others, and check marks for preferred dates. The chart was less about desire and more about practicality. August was already looming, when we would all go our separate ways. Forget romance--we were taking control of prom. We would ask our dates so we could all go as a group. Apparently the idea of going together without dates did not occur to us.

"It's senior prom--I'm not going to ask a sophomore."

"No, no way, and maybe."

"He's still mad about Homecoming."

"If I can go with him, that would be, like, amazing."

"Same here."

"Maybe we should all just go with him. Like a harem."

There were subtle nuances and histories that had to be taken into account. Who had already dated, who had crushes on someone, who didn't get along. I reserved all opinions. For the first and only time in high school, I would choose my friends over guys. Whatever we decided, I would take this one for the team.

I was already half-dreading the night. Virginia loves old money and old traditions, which intersected in the form of the prom court. Twelve girls and twelve guys were voted onto the court and in the middle of the dance, they performed three classic dances: the cha cha, the waltz, and the fox trot. All of which we should have learned at cotillion during junior high, home of white gloves and formal manners. Only I had dropped out of cotillion early and had three left feet.

Worse than the performance aspect, all the girls had to wear the same dress: seamstress-sewn from a lilac taffeta, it looked like the kind of dress your grandmother might make for you. When you're seven.

I had tried to get off the ballot for prom court, but they had already been photocopied. I had hoped I wouldn't make the list, but I did. Now I was stuck. Finding a date was the least of my concerns. The thought of doing the cha-cha to Michael Jackson's "Rock with You" was making me sweat.

We came up with our whiteboard plan, wrote up The Prom Proclamation on a sheet of printer paper, and signed it into law. The guy I really hoped to go with called and asked me, but taking one for the team meant that I had to say no in favor of our group plan. But our Plan A failed, then Plan B, and meanwhile, one by one, everybody got a date. Except me.

It was only fitting that after years of ditching friends for guys, I had to call back the guy who I rejected, asking if I could change my mind. "I need to think about it," he said. "Overnight." 

In the end, prom had (awkward) dancing, laughter, an ugly taffeta dress, and maybe even a tiara. And somewhere in a cardboard box of keepsakes, the signed Prom Proclamation is still a testament to the Murphy's Law of best-laid plans.

_____
Joining up with Yeah Write, where most people are smart enough not to try and proclaim prom dates. But they don't judge my past naivete, which is awfully nice of them. Do yourself a favor--go read.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

A List of Our Tears

I'm linking up again with Stephanie Spencer at Everyday Awe for her Psalms Journey series. This week we are looking at Psalm 56.

________

Having a baby does crazy stuff to your hormones.

I like to say that I cry twice a year. In reality, it might be three times. Rob always jokes he's seen me throw up more than he's seen me cry. Except it's not a joke.

The only exception is right after birth, when I get what the books call "baby blues." That is almost an offensive term because it makes this period sound really kind of sweet.  Aw, she's got the baby blues! Isn't that cute! It's almost like being told you have a case of the Mondays.


I remember after having Lincoln weeping for literally hours at a time, bemoaning everything from the decisions made in his birth to the loss of my roller derby career that season because of a c-section to the fact that I felt exhausted by my first son after going through traumatic birth with his new baby bother.

Rob had no idea what to do with me. Throwing up is easy to handle. Three hours of crying from a woman who doesn't cry? I'm surprised he didn't have a panic attack.

All the while, I knew underneath my tears, there were hormones to blame. Some nights I cried over worries, and some nights I just cried. I remember telling Rob between sobs: "I'm really not sad. It's just the hormones."

This time it hasn't been so bad, but I do find when I talk about certain subjects, or mention certain things, the immediate reaction is weeping. (So mostly I've been avoiding serious conversations until the hormones level out.) I know for the most part anything I'm crying about is not worth the weeping. It is mostly just hormones.

And yet...there are many things worth weeping over.

Whether something small just affecting your life or something like the disastrous tornado in Oklahoma affecting so many lives, there are tears to be had. People often question (during the small or the large): does God know? Does God care what's going on down here?

Psalm 56 gives such encouragement to those questions. Another Psalm like that from last week, where David is facing human opposition, there is one single verse that resonated with me as I read:

Record my misery; 
list my tears on your scroll--
are they not in your record? 
Psalm 56:8

God has a list of my tears and my misery. Not only is he aware, but he has a record that is much better than my memory could ever be.

We don't always have answers, and our little issues may seem small compared to a tornado's destructive power, but God knows and God cares. We may not have an answer or clear picture of how God is working in a situation and yet we can still trust that he cares.

I think of Matthew, where Jesus assures us of our worth as God's creation:

"Are not two sparrows sold for one penny? Yet not one of them falls to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs on your head are numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."  Matthew 10:29-31

God has a list of our tears and the number of hairs on our heads. I don't even know the hairs on my head. God knows me better than I know myself and loves me more than I can fathom. I am worth more than many sparrows.

YOU are worth more than many sparrows. 

He knows your sorrows and your joys and those of this world.  He hears the weeping of loss today in our country and across the world; he also hears my hormone-induced weeping which seems so small when I stack it up against the tragedies of this world. Yet both are important to him.

So as you go about your day with its joys and sorrows, large and small, bring them to the Lord in thanksgiving or as requests. Know that he has a record of them, but still desires that you bring those to him because he cares for you.

__________

Knowing that God cares for the sparrow and for human life, let us reflect that care in our own lives for those around us. If you want to donate to those affected by the tornado in Oklahoma, you can give through the Oklahoma Baptist Disaster Relief. Donations will go directly to those in need in Oklahoma.There are, of course, lots of other organizations, but I like ones that promise the money will go directly where you want it to go--to those in need.


Monday, May 20, 2013

Life Now: Two and a Half Weeks Out


Cooper Maryln
Ah, Cooper. We are loving our little girl! It's still weird to use girl pronouns (sometimes I slip and call her "him") and so much fun to put her in clothes. We went from having one girl outfit to having like 50 thanks to hand-me-downs and new gifts. (Thanks, everyone!!) She is super easy-going so far and reminds me a little of both boys.

Cooper sleeps like 23 hours a day and when she is awake, she is aware and looks around at everything and everyone. The only time she really cries is when I don't feed her fast enough. She eats every 2-3 hours, sometimes 4 at night, and has gained over a pound since we left the hospital (which puts her almost a pound above her birth weight) and has grown about an inch. Crazy!

I am reminded how much I love the times when my babies are small and love the long days with her--just feeding her, letting her sleep, and changing like 19,000 diapers. What's hard right now for me are the boys, which is a lot because of the recovery and just not being at full steam. I feel mildly guilty at how relieved I am when other people play with them or take them places (thanks, Rob and grandparents!!). I do know that it's a season, so I try to just enjoy those moments and not feel guilty, but it's definitely much easier for me now just to have Cooper. We are definitely loving her!


C-Section Recovery
This time around has been much easier. I knew what was coming, for one thing, and there is so much to be said for having a c-section without also having gone through labor. And also having a spinal/epidural rather than being totally under and waking with no pain meds, like last time. (Shudder.) By the time I came home, I was already feeling much better. I stopped taking the heavy pain meds the second day and just switched to Ibuprofen.

Then in week 2, things went back down. I had a few days where I was in a lot more pain and bleeding a bit more heavily. I talked with the nurses at my doctor's office and they said that it was really normal a week or so out was still early and I should expect good and bad days. Mostly I sit around in pajamas, but we have had a lot of activities like Sawyer's birthday and a few end-of-the-year performances that got me out. I could always tell at the end of those days that I'd done too much.

My swelling is mostly gone, but I still have some pitting in my swollen feet. But I have legs and ankles! And lost 30 pounds since Cooper's birthday, leaving little baby weight left to go. Yay! (Clearly, I gain lots of weight pregnant, much of which is my fluid overload.)

Though Coop sleeps well at night (eating usually every 3 hours, maybe 4), I am exhausted all the time and fall asleep at least once every day in the middle of something--whether watching TV or talking to someone. I can't keep my eyes open! Go figure.

The low point: I found myself crying alone in my bedroom after taking a shower, unable to get my underwear on by myself. There is little more humiliating than when you have to ask for help getting your underwear on.Thankfully Rob is the best husband ever and managed to help me without making me feel more humiliated.

The good news: Every day is a little better, and I'm only taking Ibuprofen when necessary, maybe once or twice a day. I definitely feel like I'm getting back to normal.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Update, in Numbers


Girl outfits we had two weeks ago: 1
Girl outfits we have now: 75 (rough but realistic estimate)
Times Cooper has spit up down my shirt this week: 5
Hours of sleep I get in a stretch at night: 3
Naps I took today: 2
Loads of laundry we have done in the past two weeks: 20
Cookies I baked tonight: 147
Weight Cooper has gained since leaving the hospital: 1 pound, 5 ounces
Seasons of Justified Rob and I have watched: 2

Life is full of numbers. Good numbers.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Future Derby Girl

This week Cooper is being reintroduced to roller derby. I say reintroduced because her first introduction was being in the womb for my last (and maybe second-to-last) bouts. Tonight she attended her first practice and Saturday we'll go to the first game. She slept all through practice tonight--the sound of whistles, wheels, and shouts are familiar enough because she has been hearing them through my skin for the last nine months.

She also got her first introduction to smack talk. I couldn't resist posting a few edited photos of her, using her giant yawn face.
Eating babies is a derby term. When a jammer (the point-scorer for each team) gets through the pack, if you can somehow slow her down so she gets sucked back into the group of defensive blockers, it's called eating the baby. Flyon Maiden skates for the Brawlers, the team my team (the Bosses) will play this week.

One of the refs, Ajax, took the same yawn photo and made this fabulous pic.

No pack is when the two sets of blockers become separated to the point that they are not in proximity to each other. A ref will call "No pack!" and the blockers must reform a pack.

Houston Roller Derby is now starting junior derby, so maybe in a few years, Cooper might make her debut on the track. Or...maybe she'll do her own thing. But derby is definitely in her blood.

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