She Laughs at the Days

1. Did I ever tell you I once went to Micheal Jackson's house in Los Olivos, or whatever little town that was? It was on the way home after the year I spent as a nomad with 5 other girls and sleeping on floors, feeding homeless people and praying and whatnot. We stopped at the Getty Museum on the way home too for the artists and art lovers among us. One of our number, still a dear friend, and a big Micheal Jackson fan, felt very strongly that she needed to tell Micheal that Jesus loved him. We never went inside of course. We couldn't even see the house from the gate, where the security guard would neither confirm, nor deny, that is was MJ's house. But we sat on top of our big white van and prayed for him as she wrote him the sweetest letter and put it in the mailbox. (The guard wasn't allowed to take it, but we saw him go and take it out after she put it in.) I find myself wondering today if he ever got that letter, if it ever made a difference. Unlike the love of fan

There's the return of a monthly cycle, and the sight of blood again for the first time since I miscarried Shiloh. There's the wonderful joyful news that my little sister just gave birth to a baby girl, at home in her birthing pool. There's the hard hard wall of a husband who still thinks, as I would agree if I were rational, that trying on purpose to get pregnant this year is foolish. Not forever, just for right now. But oh how I want to. I had hoped... There are the insurance papers I keep putting off filling out. There are hormones, and exhaustion. There are the little reminders every where. "Your baby is gone," they shout. "No tiny bodies and downy soft heads in your immediate future." And I start to sink into self pity, in addition to the sadness. I've been trying to stay on top of this. I exercise every day, eat properly, don't get adequate sleep however, and these past 4 days have been too much for me. My eyes leak tears constantly a

She is laying there, in her new bottom bunk bed, wall scattered with stars and flowers, and fake gemstones behind her. Tears streak her freckled skin, make her eyes more brilliantly blue, make me notice her cheek bones, how thin she is. My eyes move to her collar bone showing against her pink shirt. She is the picture of All American Beauty, tousled blond hair, golden skin, adorable nose, pink puffy skirt. "Is she too thin?" I wonder again. Two weeks of illness plus however many months of parasites before then. And she eats like a bird. Dark circles are under her eyes, awake too early again this morning. She has gotten out of bed during quiet time, again. We reset the timer for another hour. "Why won't she just sleep? She needs it so much." "I can't lay down this long," she wails. So impatient, so full of ideas. "Will you lay down with me?" It's been a month since she moved into this room from mine. A month since I lay next to her

I get it. The last time you walked anywhere was 20 years ago. You slide into your car just to go to the store on the corner. Why would anyone walk all the way over to a place they can see from their house? It's a car culture. I understand. So of course it doesn't EVER occur to you that there may be pedestrians on the little roadways where you navigate your vehicle. FYI, pedestrians are people who get from place to place by WALKING! Shocking, I know. They also sometimes cross the street, where you are making a left hand turn. I know you are completely unaware of this fact for you never, ever look to the right when turning left to check for them. You don't think they exist. They could be less than 2 feet from the nose of your car in the cross walk with 3 children in tow and you would still be oblivious to their presence. They might be yelling and waving their hands even, but you in your sporty BMW with the music turned up, you don't need to pay any attention to them. Af

Many, many months ago Mary asked me if I would write a review for her book. I am finally writing it. The real title of the book is, A Sane Woman's Guide to Raising a Large Family . But don't let the title fool you. Mothers of any number of children will find this book helpful. Almost everything in this book is useful whether you have 1, 2, 3, or 10 kids. Don't let the title intimidate you. If you have children this book will be worth reading. I expected to like the book. I've been reading Mary's blog Owlhaven for more than 3 years now. I expected find more of the same great content that is on the blog, and lots of familiar material in a different format. I didn't expect to learn so much from this one volume. I didn't expect to come away from it encouraged and refreshed in my own life as a mother. I did not know how very useful this book might be. I didn't think this would be the book that would solve for me the mystery of how to strengthen the

This just in... Girl: If I had a penis but was still a girl, and the Boy had a vagina but was still a boy then he would have to shoot that stuff that makes babies out of his vagina and into my penis. And that would be just weird. (Not to mention the idea of making babies with your brother, that's not weird at all sweetie, not at all.)

As if the title weren't warning enough. Don't read if you have a weak stomach. A couple of weeks ago I twittered this little tidbit. Just collected the Girl's stool samples and put them in my fridge. You'd think once they're potty trained... but you're never done with poo. My friend pointed out how zen like that little sentence is. You really are never done with poo. Tonight it was a phone call at 9pm from the Girl's pediatrician. The good news is that she doesn't need to get blood drawn tomorrow, because they already have a diagnosis. We now know the reason she sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and clutching her stomach. It was dramatic when it happened, but so intermittent that we figured it was just gas pain. She is our resident drama queen after all. Except that even drama queens don't usually start yelling before they are really even all the way awake. But my mother in law had two dreams in a row about the Girl having

I'm fine. In case you were wondering. Except when I'm not, and then I burst into tears at completely random seeming intervals. But that seems to be at a rate of twice a week or so, so it's not that bad. I'm continuing to marvel at how many women are telling me that this record I am keeping of my experience of losing a baby is helping them deal with their loss as well. I certainly didn't set out to help other people by grieving publicly. It was more for me than anything else. I mentioned a few posts back how I trust in a God who promises to redeem all things. I have in the past year or so come to suspect that it is possible to go through suffering in a way that is actually redemptive. That's what certain verses on the subject seem to be saying anyhow. I've not had a chance to test that idea until now, as I've not had much sorrow or suffering to go through. I feel kind of silly even mentioning it, like you will all think I think too highly of myself. It